#slapping my hands from the spending money button

[obstinaterixatrix]

hang on. I could walk over to the sushi place and eat sushi. and I do love sushi.

[queers-gambit]

Adore Her, Dior Her

prompt: ( requested ) what good is having all that money if he can't spend it on the woman he loves?

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 4.3k+

warnings: author foams at the mouth for Mafia AUs, overwhelming fluff, cursing, not edited.

"That's the one. That's one we should get!"

"You've said that about the past three dresses, Buck!" You groaned, smoothing your hands over the skirt. "We need to narrow this down, okay? The wedding's in a month!"

"Why did we even agree to go?"

You glared, "'Cause we love my brother and we're supporting him."

"But she's just so - "

"Jen. Her name's Jen."

Bucky nodded, leaning back on the cushioned chair, "Well, Jen's just wrong for him. Literally the definition of toxic."

"Does it count if they're toxic together? To each other?" You sighed, standing on the pedestal and turning to look in the three mirrors beside the dressing room.

"Of course it does," he stood, buttoning his suit jacket out of habit. He approached you, head cocking as he looked your body up and down to get the full view of the gown you tried on. "You're really okay letting him marry her? Turn this way a bit, baby, lemme see the front."

You scoffed, but took his offered hand and twisted on the small platform towards him, "You were there at Christmas, he doesn't listen to reason. So, if Daniel's convinced Jen's for him, as his sister, my only job is be supportive."

"They literally abuse each other," he pointed out.

"Well, he's not changing his mind. Okay? It's been three years, he won't budge, whenever someone brings up them breaking up, he goes into hiding - so, I don't know what else I can do," your hands slapped your thighs when you shrugged, "except just be there for him. Now, focus, please, help me narrow a dress down."

He shook his head as you turned to face the mirrors again, "Actually, you know what? I don't think anything in this store is for us."

The attendant perked up and scurried over, rushing, "Oh, well, we have a much larger selection in the back, Mr. Barnes - "

"That won't be necessary, Barbra, thank you, though," he nodded. "Doll," his hand planted on your waist, head over your shoulder as you still looked yourself over in the mirrors, "go get changed, I know where we need to go."

"Bucky, no, there's plenty of options here," you argued, twisting on the wee little pedestal to face him again. "We don't need to drop a stack on a dress - "

"You let me worry about the price tag," he smirked, leaning in to peck your cheek. "Just go change, pretty girl, c'mon. Step-to!"

You offered Barbra, the attendant, an apologetic smile as you shuffled back into the changing room; quickly stripping from the dress. When you exited in your street clothes, Bucky was tipping the aged woman for her effort in gathering your options, but the moment he saw you, his hand was extending to hold yours tightly.

"What was wrong with that store?" You asked when you stepped onto the noisy and busy street to approach the sleek, tinted car Bucky drove for day-to-day errands.

"We're not shopping at David's fucking Bridal."

"You literally drove us here," you laughed.

"Yeah, and then I had a much better idea," he smirked at you, unlocking the car and opening your passenger door. "C'mon, princess, just gotta trust me."

"Last time you said that - "

"That wasn't my fault," he groaned, cheeks flaring red in embarrassment. When you opened your mouth to retort, he rushed, "Aht, nope, don't say shit. C'mon, I'm taking you somewhere special so get that pretty ass in the car."

He grinned when you laughed and did as bid, feet safely inside when he closed the door after you were settled. Bucky easily jogged around the back of his car, New York busy this time of year as traffic flew past on the street and forced Buck slow. He dropped into the driver's seat, sniffling slightly.

"Reminds me," Bucky smirked as he pulled onto the street, "how would you feel about us going to Aspen this winter?"

You sighed, "Why?"

"You wanna stay in New York for Christmas?"

"Well, yeah! It's so magical."

"Okay, so, we can go over New Years?"

You sighed, "You know, we don't have to go anywhere..."

"Sweetheart," he cleared his throat, "I actually have some business in Aspen, this will just help determine when I schedule the meetings for."

"Oh," you nodded slowly.

He sighed, "I know my job isn't orthodox, but business is business, right, sugar?”

"No, yeah, yeah, I get it. It sounds kinda nice, maybe we can go skiing."

"You know how to ski?"

"No, but I'm sure someone in Aspen could help teach me."

Bucky grinned. The drive was full of easy conversation, neither you nor Bucky dwelling on his business dealings, always feeling as if it was taboo given his station in the Mafia. So when he pulled up in front of a designer store, you gawked. "Now, if we can't find something here - "

"Um, absolutely not," you laughed. "Bucky, I can't even afford to walk into a place like that!"

"Good thing I'm paying," he smirked. He assisted you out of the car, tossing his keys to one of his security guards who had been following in a separate, tinted vehicle. When you both entered the dimly lit store, you were blown away by the gorgeous minimalist design; warm lighting, open floor space, and racks of different clothing options.

"Ah, Mr. Barnes! Hello, hello, hello!" A new attendant greeted with more enthusiasm than you would've greeted any of your clients, approaching you two. She shook your boyfriend's hand vigorously, "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist, "Looking for a dress to wear to a wedding."

She offered you a forced smile, telling your boyfriend swiftly with her teeth on full display, "You came to the right spot!"

"See?" Bucky smirked at you. "All right, Valeria, what's first?"

Valeria waved you both onward to a private changing room, offering complimentary sparkling waters, coffees, teas - even offering to go retrieve anything you two would want from the Starbucks down the block. Valeria took your measurements and dress size, making idle chit-chat with Bucky and making it obvious he was a regular in the store, then scurrying off to collect an armful of options.

"This is - wow," you nodded in impression, petting the material of the display dresses hung along the wall.

"Like it?"

"It's growing on me," you eased with a small shrug, hearing Bucky chuckle and for his phone to chime. You perused the place as he became glued to the little device, sat in front of the dressing rooms.

Valeria returned with another attendant carrying coffees. "Right this way, Mrs. Barnes," Valeria directed you into a changing room, missing the giddy look you sent Bucky over your shoulder at being called his wife. "All right, so," she sighed, hanging up the dresses she selected, "I think these are modest enough for a wedding, but still glamorous to turn a few heads."

You hummed, "They're kinda short, don't know if that's the energy I want to be giving off at my brother's wedding."

"They'll fit differently once on but we can always accommodate," she assured, pulling one from the hanger. "Here we go," she assisted you, zipping you in and looking you over. "Oh, it's just darling on you! Look at that, not a single hair outta place, right?"

You giggled lightly, "It's certainly pretty."

"Shall we show Mr. Barnes?"

You nodded, following her out to reveal Bucky sitting on a plush loveseat, sipping his coffee. His eyes widened when he saw you, nodding, "Oh, yeah. This is what I'm talking about."

"Hush, we're only buying one."

His eyes rolled, "I'll buy the whole damn store if I want."

"You don't own it already? Hm," you teased, perking your brows.

"Keep sayin' shit, I'll cut a check right now - "

"Bucky," you tisked, moving to the runway mirrors. "It's a little tight, isn't it?"

"It's snug," Valeria agreed. "Is there a color scheme for the wedding?"

"Um," you paused, "I'm not sure - I just know it's in winter, like, in a month."

"Maybe a pretty powder blue?" She looked to Bucky, who nodded. "Or how about a pale green? Like an olive tone?"

"She looks gorgeous in anything," Bucky smirked from behind you, taking another pull of his coffee.

"What about that brown number?" You asked, ignoring the way his compliments made you feel like the only girl he's ever seen in the world.

"You have a very good eye, Mrs. Barnes," Valeria nodded. She asked her coworker to go find your size, taking you back into the dressing room. You narrowed down the options without changing again, not wanting anything black or dark since it was a wedding and not a funeral. Though, you knew Bucky would disagree.

You showed your boyfriend a pretty little green dress, but he shook his head. "I thought the black was nice," he told you.

"I'm not wearing black to a wedding," you laughed lightly. "It screams bad luck to me, don't you think?"

"Think it's more of a statement, sayin' the entire event is a sham and they shouldn't be doing this," Bucky snickered, the other attendant, Laura, returning with a pretty brown dress. "That satin?" He asked, rubbing the material when it was presented to you both.

"It's very fashionable now," Laura nodded, "and it's not too dark."

"Since when is it a rule to not wear dark colors to a wedding? I miss the memo?" Buck leaned back to his seat.

All three women offered him a small look, you chuckling under your breath before Valeria was leading you back into the changing room. "If I may, Mrs?" She spoke softly, "I've known Mr. Barnes for a number of years but he's never brought anyone into the store. Then, one day, he tells me he needs a new suit because the 'girl of his dreams' had agreed to a date, and every time since then?" She smiled softly at you, "He's sang your praises. I'm very honored you're trusting me with helping you today."

"Oh," you blinked in shock, giggling nervously, "well, thank you very much, Valeria, now I know why his suits are always top of the line." She waved you off, making you add, "And for the record, I'm not Mrs. Barnes, guess that'd be his mother, wouldn't it?"

"Oh," her eyes widened, gasping softly, "oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I just - he talks so highly about you - "

"No, it's okay, it's okay," you rushed, patting her arm. "I actually kind of like it..."

She hummed, zipping you into another dress, "You know, he's the reason my girl and I are together."

"Really? How'd that happen?"

Valeria chuckled, "He's very bold, your man. We were getting coffee one day, discussing his wardrobe for a business trip he had in Hong Kong, when my lady walked in. I went all silly and stupid, and Mr. Barnes just," she shook her head with a fond smile, "brazenly asked her out for me, in front of the whole shop."

"Oh, Jesus, yeah - sounds like him."

"Well, luckily, it worked, else I don't think he would've come back for my assistance. I was so embarrassed, you have no idea, but my lady - Charlie - thought it was charming and cute. Mr. Barnes hasn't let me live it down since. Says he demands an invite to the wedding." She met your eyes through the mirror, offering, "And I'd be really happy to give him a plus one, hmm?"

"You're so sweet," you whispered, turning to survey the dress. You spent the better part of three hours there, trying on dress after dress, nitpicking almost everything as you just weren't sure what to wear. Bucky wasn't much help, he just approved everything.

So, it was up to Valeria and Laura to help you; bringing out iPads and design books, trying to piece something together that best fit your comfort and the vibe of the wedding. You didn't want to look like a walking money bag since your family wasn't by any means wealthy, thinking it would be a slap to their faces since your boyfriend could spend his money without ever thinking about it. You didn't want to give your family any reason to talk behind your back.

"I like the brown satin," Laura offered softly, looking you over in the mirror. "But the blue is just wow, it really looks like it was made for you, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but I think the green compliments her eyes more," Valeria cocked her head in thought. "Are you wearing your hair up or down?"

"Up," you answered, trying to mimic the look by pulling your locks off your shoulders, "with thin jewelry, I think."

"Diamonds?"

"Pearls, if I can find a dress that looks nice with it," you smiled, seeing Bucky's reflection in the mirror watching you with a soft smile on his face; head titled in thought before his phone chimed again and warranted his attention. "Maybe we could try the pink dress?" You looked to the two women for an opinion.

"No," Valeria shook her head, "it washes you out. And pink in winter? Oh, sweetie, I'd lose my job if I let you leave here with that. Guess that means you'll have to come back in the spring, right?"

You grinned in response as Laura chimed in, "The green's actually really nice, but the brown looks much better with your body type." Then she turned to Bucky, prompting, "Mr. Barnes? Final decision - which dress?"

Bucky paused, musing, "Lemme see them all again, get one last taste. It's between the green and brown numbers?"

"Or the blue," Valeria nodded. "C'mon, sweetie," she offered her hand to help you off the wee runway you were perched on in front of the magnificent mirrors.

"You look sensational in them all, doll, how the hell am I supposed to choose just one?" Bucky teased, his canines on display from the broad grin that stretched his lips.

"You'll find a way," you answered.

"Awh, telling me Mr. Big-Tough-Manly-Business-Man who makes impossible decisions everyday can't choose a simple piece of fashion?" Valeria tacked on.

"You guys can't pick either!" He laughed, "And you do a helluva lot more shopping than I do!"

Laura, Valeria, and you paused to exchange looks, you pointing at Bucky and relenting in a drawl, "Touché."

When you were escorted back into the dressing room, Laura waiting outside the door for your privacy with Valeria, Bucky sat back on the plush loveseat and extended his one arm over the back of the seating. He smirked to himself, shaking his head as if in disbelief - but he was. Bucky was in disbelief.

How did a rugged Mob boss find himself here? Watching his girl like a private fashion show?

His whole life, all he knew was turmoil, pain, drama, and fear. He knew he would inherit his father's well-built organization after he passed and knew what this life would entail; having no preconceived notions about a quiet life. He knew he would have to be tougher than tough, adaptable, intelligent, and confident in his role as the head of the 3-6 Brooklyn Mob. Knowing the idea of a family was farfetched, knowing he'd never know the simple pleasures in life, that he would constantly be on the move - in-able to form real, sentimental, emotional connections. He knew, in this life, he'd remain alone for everyone's best interest and safety, indulging in a series of flings and one-off relationships that couldn't haunt him.

Yet they did. These encounters reminded Bucky how alone, how stranded, how isolated, how different he was. Instead of satisfying an unquenchable thirst, these fleeting partners became heavy anchors to Bucky's reality and reminded him that there was no such thing as love - nor was there any room or logic.

And then... He met you. Bucky's lips silently spread in a grin as he remembered meeting you at a bakery; purchasing the last slice of coconut cream pie to your absolute chagrin. He thought you were gorgeous, something ethereal and unobtainable; authentic, raw, and unfiltered - things his one night stands could never measure up to. So, he offered you the slice of pie if it meant giving him your number as currency.

After that, it was impossible for Bucky to consider ever being alone again because you were the sun; center of the universe that drew everyone into your orbit. He was smitten, content, excited to date you, turned on by the fact you had no idea who he was - a rare occurrence in the city. You were pure as fresh snow; sweet, kind, affectionate, attentive, and borderline overly empathetic.

Bucky knew he was in love with you after only a few weeks when he had shown up at your apartment, dripping in blood. You didn't panic like he feared you would, just checked up and down the hallway before yanking him into your home. You cleaned him up, tending to wounds, offering a safe space for him to relax in; making mindless conversation to help distract him from the pain he endured.

And now? Now, Bucky was sat in Dior, giving his opinion on your wedding guest dress; wondering how he allowed himself to get to this point of being domestic. Bucky wasn't a man to give his opinion on dresses, what color nail polish you should use, to send fresh bouquets of flowers every other week. Yet here he was, sipping too-expensive coffee, deciding between brown, green, and blue dresses that he never would've batted an eye at.

However, that was just the domino effect you caused in his life. You were sweeter than apple pie, becoming Bucky's one tether to reality that saved him from losing himself in this dark, criminal mindset he adopted. You didn't know it, but you had transformed Bucky from a brooding asshole into a boyfriend; someone you were proud to claim and never hid from - never shied away from. He admired the way you came to terms with his job, knowing it was a hard pill to swallow and yet noting the way you just accepted him as he was.

Bucky realized in that moment that he adored this new aspect of life after thinking it was impossible to obtain. He adored sitting here, offering opinions on dresses, his security left outside instead of hovering over him like a brutal reminder he was seedy. He loved having you to come home to, he loved being part of your mundane world - a person who went to weddings, who drank Starbucks, who asked her boyfriend his opinion about how she looked in dresses. Who thought bouquets of flowers were romantic, who baked him homemade cakes for his birthday, who worked overtime in order to afford his Christmas or birthday presents, who walked to the takeout place instead of paying for delivery.

All that you are, Bucky adored deeply; falling in love with you each and every single day. All he wanted to do was protect you, share his life with you, even pick out outfits for weddings you would attend. He knew if any of the men in his organization knew the extent of his affection, they'd surely weaponize it against him... Or at the very least, tease him relentlessly. Yet he never cared, knowing you wanted to be loved out loud instead of hidden away in a storage closet; but did care if it meant his enemies could use you to get to him. It was a risk, an occupation hazard for loved ones to become targets, but that only made Bucky so much more protective of you.

Laura glanced at Bucky and saw the fond smile soften to let his teeth trap his bottom lip, smiling at the Mob boss looking soft, content, smitten being there. She knew most boyfriends would never put this much effort into helping their girlfriends in the fashion department, thinking he must've been truly in love to look so at-ease. Plus his enthusiasm through the entire ordeal assured her that Bucky was genuinely enjoying himself.

Once again, you slipped into the blue dress and showed Bucky. He hummed and snapped a photo, asking you to turn this way and that. Then you tried the green dress, him taking another photo, and finally, you changed into the brown satin dress, facing Bucky for his final verdict.

Bucky hummed in contemplation, swiping through the photos. "You know what?" He asked, looking at you with a grin. "You look delectable in everything, I can't decide - so, let's just get them all."

"Bucky, no - "

"We'll take all three, Valeria, please," Bucky interrupted you.

You waited until the attendants left you alone with a knowing look shot in your direction to ring up the desired purchases, hip cocking and hands to your hips. With an underlying exasperation, you questioned, "What the hell, Buck?"

He grinned and stood, again, buttoning his suit jacket, "C'mon, princess, this is fun, right? Being spoiled?." His arms wrapped around your waist, looking down at you as if you hung the very sun that sucked him into your orbit. "What's the point of all my money if I can't spend it on you? Huh?"

"You can save it for a rainy day?"

He shrugged, "Not necessary."

"Maybe pay to send some underprivileged kids to go to college?"

"Well, there's a thought," your boyfriend mused, "but I already do that through the Stark Foundation. I sponsor a few scholarships."

"Okay, well, buying all three still doesn't help me decide what to wear," you chuckled, you mimicked his action and wrapped your arms tightly around the base of his ribs. Due to his height, your head had to tip backwards to meet his eyes with a small smile.

You could look at this gorgeous man all day, everyday if God ever permitted such an act. Why wasn't dating a paid activity? You'd be the top earner with the way you were absolutely enthralled with all Bucky Barnes was. And what an honor it was to earn his mutual adoration.

"We'll figure it out at home. Gotta get you moving in the material to make an honest judgement," he offered softly. "But you look gorgeous in all of them, baby, seriously. Like, drop dead gorgeous that makes every girl brim with jealousy. Shit, doll, you're gonna run the risk of outshining the bride."

You sighed, "Look, Buck, I appreciate what you're doing, but three designer dresses? Where the hell am I ever gonna wear them? What kinda event calls for overpriced fashion statements?"

Buck eased with a soft expression, "Guess I'll just have to take you out so you can put them all to good use, huh?"

"That's not a solution!"

"Is to me," he let a hand drift to roughly palm the meat of your ass cheek over the brown satin; another symptom of him being whipped, his comfort over public displays of affection. "Seriously, doll, how the hell did I get so lucky?"

"Hmm?"

"Just look at you, my girl," he chuckled lightly, "radiant in anything you put on. It's almost unfair, makes me wonder what I did so right to have someone like you I can call my own. I can't wait to show you off in those dresses, just look so Goddamn tantalizing. I mean, damn, baby, I'm gonna have to fight off men with my gun and the jealous women with a stick."

"You do realize we're already dating, you don't have to lay it on so thick."

"And you do realize being with you makes me the luckiest bastard in the city, right? Least I can do is spoil you, I've already got everything else I've ever wanted."

Your heart swelled at his words, sighing gently as your chin rested on his chest to keep your head tilted. Softly, you admitted, "I don't think you're the lucky one, pretty sure the honor's mine. I couldn't ask for anything more in a man - in a partner. I'm so fucking in love with you, Bucky, it honestly doesn't make sense."

He nodded, asking, "Know what else doesn't make sense?"

"What's that?"

"You refusing those dresses, I mean, c'mon!" He laughed, you groaning and releasing your hold; making his tighten to prevent you from escaping. "Those dresses look phenomenal on you, you really gonna reject my gift? C'mon, you know the rules, doll, if you adore her, you Dior her." You were ready to retort, but Bucky smiled, "For the record, I think you should wear the blue dress to the wedding."

"Blue it is," you smiled, lifting onto your toes and hooking a hand around the back of his neck to meet his lips in a scratchy kiss. "Thank you so much, baby," you whispered, feeling his lips spread against yours before he brought you back in for a much-more passionate kiss. "Hm!" You hummed, pulling away to scold, "But no more, all right? You spend too much money on me - I mean, who the hell needs three designer dresses?"

"You do," he whispered, "you deserve all of this, sugar, and I'll do what I can t'spoil you the way you should be. Might as well get used to it, I got no plans on stopping."

Your eyes rolled in good faith, excusing yourself, "Yeah, yeah, all right. Lemme get changed and we can - "

"Nah," he shook his head, petting the skin of your back exposed from the brown satin dress with his fingertips, "know what? Stay in the dress, I wanna take you out and show you off."

Your lips found his in a breath-sucking kiss, trying to convey your appreciation and giddiness over never having been spoiled like this in your entire life - feeling grateful, refreshed, and privileged for a man like Bucky in your life. Whatever greater force there was in this world, you thanked repeatedly for choosing you to love this man and for this man to love you. There was no telling what you did to deserve him, but blessed be those heavenly powers.

requesting rules and masterlist

MCU masterlist

[thecoochiefairy]

𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖔𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖞

━━ 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒 .ᐟ getou.

warnings 𑄽𑄺 13.4K word count. filmed sex, suguru getou, third person omniscient pov, black woman, black girls, vaginal penetration, nasty mf sex, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, squirting, creaming, oral [f] [m], choking, praising, LOTS and i mean LOTS of dirty talk, a lil degrading, slapping, condomless sex, kissing, pet names, spanking, aggressive suguru, lil bit of sweet suguru, suguru makes that girl lose her mf mind on that dick, minors aren’t welcome!

song to play while listening; 𝑝𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑜𝑠 ; 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑦𝑎𝑧

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ okay y’all, i know it’s long. i’m sorry. IM SORRY! but, mocha said this is her favorite one, so i hope it might be y’all’s favorite too. ngl, i love it as well. it’s sweet, it’s nasty. it’s perfect. enjoy babies 🫶🏽

“IT’S BADDIE-BADDIE SHOT O’ CLOCK!”

Ears ring from the music blaring within her head, red bottom heel buzzing from the vibrations the floor carries. It’s not that she didn’t enjoy spending time with her friends, but this was the last place she wanted to be.

Clubbing wasn’t necessarily her thing. More so her friend's enjoyment, but to make up for lost time she agreed to this outing. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She held her drink close to her body, nodding her head softly to the music as her friends cheered out. She watched as the bottle girls appeared in front of them, swinging giddily to the beat of the song.

This had been her only day off in almost a month, working back to back doubles at her clinic. Her friends always complained that she needed to get out more—she just wished that they actually did something she enjoyed, rather than her being too nice to say the club was a bit overwhelming.

Drink after drink was being offered to her by every man within the building, her friends shooting her down each time she declined. She wasn’t interested in any of them, no matter what they offered. A dance, money, sex— her mind was elsewhere.

She kept a smile along her face as everyone in her section continued to yell in enjoyment, raising her drink as they cheered for her once again. The minute the song changed, she took that as a moment to duck off. She muttered to her best friend, “Gonna grab something out of my car,” she offered to go with her, and she shook her head that she’d be fine.

The cool air outside almost felt refreshing, as if she’d just come up for air out of the ocean. Birds chirp within the night. Any sound was better to her ears than the chaos that ensued inside the club, a sigh passing her lips as she dug her hand within her purse, searching for her lighter.

Instead of retrieving her lighter, she gripped her phone that conveniently buzzed as she touched it. She turned the screen towards her face, reading the unwanted message.

FROM:

smalldickbitchassmothafucka.

MESSAGE:

wya?

She rolled her eyes instantly, shoving the phone deep within her purse. She successfully retrieved what she was actually looking for, finding her pink cigarette box, pressing the button along the side as an equally pink bud released from the top. She pressed it in between her lips, fully focused as she searched for her lighter. Nothing.

She became more antsy as the air swooped around her, fishing around her purse deeper as she continued to search. A thought runs across her mind to completely dump the contents of her purse along the ground, knowing that was overzealous. She groans as she can’t seem to find it. Had she left it at home?

Her eyes then follow over to the light bursting open in her vision as the door swings out, quickly returning back to darkness as a body now stands a couple of feet away from her. A broken light above them flickers down onto a tall man. Cigarette poking in between the plush of his lips, even being in darkness, she sees him. He was horrifyingly attractive. Tattoos roam under the black top he wears, the shirt seemingly supposed to have an oversized look but it mistakenly clung to his hard upper body. Gauges swinging in his ears, low bun dropping tendrils around his face as he lights the end of his cigarette, shaking the fire off the tip as he inhales quickly. She drinks in his appearance. Eyebrow piercing glinting under the dim light, midnight black hair that complimented his olive skin, piercing eyebrows that give him a natural frown. Jesus.

She usually could see attractive men and go about her day. But something about him clung to her, moth to a flame as she stared at him. He was beautiful. The only thing that took her out of her staring was her phone buzzing in her purse again. She opens it, eyes dropping down to the lit screen.

FROM:

smalldickbitchassmothafucka.

MESSAGE:

ik you’re at the club. let me pull up to your section.

She turns her phone over in her purse, other hand still holding her box of cigarettes. She usually wasn’t the type to approach a stranger in any scenario, but it wasn’t gonna kill her to ask, nor would it kill her if he said no. She takes a deep breath, taking a couple of steps towards him as she asks, “Sorry—you gotta’ light?”

His figure was tall and well toned more up close. His eyes shifted over to her, smoke coming out of his nose similar to a dragon as he stared down at her smaller frame. The way that she drank in his appearance wasn’t the way he consumed hers. She stood in front of him, pretty as can be. Light brown skin, onyx curls that wrapped around the fullness of her baby face and heart shaped russet lips. Her eyebrows were darker than the night, arched over the wisps of lashes that lined the edge of her eyelids. Her face was almost feline under the dim light. Dark brown eyes glowing viciously at him, coaxing his attention. Between the brown lip liner and mauve color scheme she mixed together, nose having a tiny amount of pink blush on it, it all enhanced her beauty in a way that gave her a great amount of appeal. If it wasn’t her face, it definitely was the heavily detailed dress she wore, clinging to a preposterous figure as it was a long sleeved, deep v neck design dipping down her chest to show the valley of her taut breast. Her nipples poke through the multicolored material as if saying hello to him, fabric clasping around her child bearing hips, fat ass, skidding down to the dangerously tall red bottoms she wears. She was sexy if he couldn’t think of another word.

“Yeah,” his deep voice rang in her mind, reaching somewhere in her body—maybe nudging her clit—as her brain scattered fantasies of hearing that voice in her ear. She shook the thought away as quickly as it came, watching as he leans forward, flicking the lighter as he cuffs his large hand over it. Her body leans into him as she successfully lights the end of the cigarette, pressing her two fingers around it as she inhaled, letting the smoke fill the space.

In her own way of saying thank you, she attempts to spark a conversation as she mutters, “Trying to knock my habit. I seem to be failing.”

The man chuckles softly, a sly smile growing across his lips, “Same here. Shit is too expensive.”

As he watched her take in a long inhale from the cigar, his dark eyes would scan over the rest of her body.

“What’s an innocent girl doing out here alone? Tryna’ get away from the loud music?”

“Innocent?” She raises an eyebrow, a glint of amusement in her eye, “How presumptive. Just needed a moment of silence, not much of a club person,” she explains.

His deep chuckle was smooth in her chest, shaking logic off of her shoulders as she felt a little too captivated in wanting to hear everything he had to say. He’d give her another charming smile before he nodded his head, “Too bad, pretty little doll like you shouldn’t be smoking like an old ass man. Sure you aren’t out here hiding from a crazy ex or something?”

What a damn flirt, she thinks. Nonetheless it causes her to chuckle, “Mm, not quite. I’m actually here with my best friends. It was easier to come out here, I wasn't trying to bring down the mood with my shitty one.”

Her eyes knock down to her phone that buzzes again, a roll coming to her eyes as she doesn’t read the message this time. The man in front of her seemed to be studying her, almost. He sees as she refuses to look at her phone.

He’d raise his eyebrows, “I didn’t peg you to be a liar.”

“You shouldn’t peg a stranger to tell you any type of truth,” she’s quick, he thinks, a smile back along his lips as he turns his face towards the night.

“Entertain me, then. You gotta’ man?” He flatly asks.

“Had one. You’re nosey, it’s cute.”

“It’s an occupational hazard,” his eyes flick down her body, “I’d like to think I’m making conversation. You’re good at fuckin’ around before giving a solid answer,” he tells her, bringing his lighter back out as he flicks it on for the end of his cigarette.

She leans back against the building, noticing the intense stare he gives her, almost like he wanted to pin her along the wall.

“Ex-boyfriend. Almost a month now.”

He’d give a nod of his head upon hearing her response. After taking a long exhale of the cigar from his lips, he’d glance down at her again, “Must’ve been a fuckin’ idiot. The bastard cheated or something?”

She turns her head towards him, silence as she hears what could’ve been a compliment, “With my co-worker, actually. Called me crying that her car broke down and I asked him to give her a ride to my apartment. He had my car. Next thing I knew, she was riding him,” she shrugs, hearing as he sucks his teeth, “It’s okay. I’m trying to be a big girl about it.”

“I’ll kill him for you,” his voice is serious.

She lets out another breath, laughing softly as she says, “He’d be dead if my intent was to kill him.”

“That’s a damn shame. You should be angry,” he tells her, scanning her face that rids any emotion from the comment. She’s quiet.

She shrugs, “Could just be a coping mechanism. We were together for a while. NowI just feel—stuck…”

She feels like she’s over sharing. She shakes her head, changing the subject as she asks, “So what are you doing out here by yourself? You’re not a creep, are you?”

A deep chuckle comes from under his breath, “A man can’t take a smoke break?”

“Not if he’s preying on innocent women, scathing for their vulnerability,” she scans his face, his amusement to her words unbearably attractive as he shows his bone straight smile to laugh.

“And you say I’m the cute one,” He exhaled the smoke, watching as the puffs quickly got taken up by the soft wind before it scattered in every direction.

Although he seems to brush off her slightly rude comment, she snapped only because he was digging the surface of her emotions. She didn’t like that. She let out a breath as she tried to correct herself, “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to offend. I’ve heard there are monsters crawling the city at night,” she tries to joke, “But I am voluntarily smoking beside you. So I can’t really call you anything.”

“Need me to protect you?” He taunts.

“Absolutely not. Maybe you’re projecting, sure you’re not the one in need of saving?”

He eyes her, “Funny. To answer your question, I’m here with some friends—I needed a moment to myself.”

“Doesn’t answer on whether you need saving or not.”

“You seem to have a big imagination,” he then points out, flicking his cigarette onto the ground, raising himself off of the wall as he steps closer to her.

“Bigger than a child’s,” she agrees, “I’ll always be a believer in spooky things,” she states, twisting the cigarette within her fingers.

“I could be one of those monsters,” he shrugs, body towering her frame as he now fully stands.

She continues to lean along the wall, a small laugh falling from her lips as the nicotine makes her slightly buzzed, eyeing him in a way she hadn’t before. Her phone buzzed in her purse again. He was close to her, his cologne drowning in her nose as he placed his arm along the side of her body against the wall.

“Are you scared?” He asks, his voice low, deep.

She shakes her head, trying to suppress her smile as she says, “Nope.”

“Good.”

It was true. At that moment, she felt nothing. All she could see was this attractive man in front of her, the tendrils of his hair close to her face. He’s trouble. On the other hand she thinks—should’ve had a goddamn lighter.

Right on time, the door to the club then swings open. Eyes look around outside, successfully finding her friend as she holds her phone to her ear, “Here her ass goes. Earth to the birthday girl! I’ve called you three times, Star. ’The hell have you been doing out here?” She eyes the man with a frown, bringing her focus back to her friend.

His eyebrows slightly raise at that, yet he keeps his eyes on her. An evil grin reappears atop of that eerily straight smile as he smugly states, “Looks like your smoke break is over, birthday girl.”

She sighs, “Unfortunately. And your name was?”

“Suguru,” he replies, the name sounding sexy falling from his lips. A brief thought wonders what it’d sound like falling out of her own mouth.

“Nice to meet you,” she hums, “Thanks for the light.”

She dropped her cigarette along the ground, digging her thin heel into the object before making her way inside, his eyes knocking down to her ass, “No problem,” leaving him outside by himself.

The rest of the night was better than she expected it to be. Her mood was up a bit more—specifically after a couple shots of Dussè—an outgoing personality now fitting along with the rest of her friends as they sang her happy birthday. She could admit, the rest of the night also included her constantly making eyes at Suguru, his presence reaching from the other side of the club even as he distractedly spoke to his friends. She felt him staring. Her phone buzzed in the corner of their section, Star and her friends now tipsily rapping out to ‘Fake Jammin’ by Sexxy Redd, the alcohol in her system providing a confidence as as bent over the table, swinging her hips to the song, dipping down sultrily, careless of the eyes that followed her body. And yes, she knew he was looking. As she continued to giggle and dance with her friends, she curiously looked over to see if he was watching. Of course he was.

Yeah, okay. He thought to himself.

The night eventually came to an end, the DJ announcing that the club was closing with it being four-thirty in the morning. Star’s feet were aching in her heels as she trudged behind her friends through the front door, her body feeling the presence of the man she’d met outside behind her, even in the chaos of other people walking. She refused to look back. Even with her feet hurting, she was still a little floaty from her previous shots, a giddiness that couldn't ruin her happiness. Her other friends trailed behind her, two of them holding onto each other as they were drunk, her best friend also being the only other sober one.

“We woke up in the kitchen saying ‘How the hell did this shit happen? Oh baby!” One friend sings behind her, seemingly becoming more intoxicated as she shouts out the lyrics.

“Last thing I remember is our beautiful bodies grinding up in that club—“ the other sings, clinging onto her friends arm as they sing in unison, “DRUNK IN LOVEE!”

“You think they’re gonna throw up?” Star asks, trying to hide her laugh as they belt out the chorus.

“God I hope not,” her best friend sighs, eyes on the screen of her phone as she throws her purse up her shoulder, “Big-E just texted me, said he wants me to pull up on him.”

“Who?” Star frowns deeply.

Her best friend frowns back, “Don’t do that. You know that’s my lil’ play thing!”

“Oh girl, you mean Emmanuel? The one that steals cars?” She ignores the arm that shoves her away, laughing at her best friend's irritation, “Please call that man by his government. I am not calling his ass by that stupid ass street name.”

“It’s cute!”

Star rolls her eyes, “Ghetto. You’re tryna’ go over there right now?”

She nods her head in reply, “Imma’ drop off dumb and dumber to my house before I go, let them raid my kitchen and sober themselves up. You’ good to drive home?”

“Yeah, I’m good—“

At the mention of her car, she halts as she sees her blood red Camaro, a bright yellow catching her eye as she sees not just one—but two boots on her back wheels. Her energy quickly falters, anger seeping up her spine as she picks up her dress, darting closer to her car as she spits, “Motherfucker.”

“Oh hell,” her best friend curses, “I thought you paid to park?”

“I did! Fuckin’ forty dollars just so I could be close to the door, the bouncer told me it was fine! That stupid ass nig—“

“Calm down. What are you gonna’ do?”

“I don’t fucking know. I have a night shift later on. This is so stupid!” She exclaims, leaning along her vehicle as she runs her fingers through her hair exasperatedly.

Almost like clockwork, Suguru appeared behind her after overhearing the conversation between Star and her friends, seeing as she was now fuming about the boot on her wheels. He gave a nod to his own friends as he made his way over to the bodies standing around her vehicle, a small hint of amusement on his face as he asked, “Everything alright?”

“Hell no. Motherfuckers put a boot on my damn car.”

“Damn. That’s crazy,” he tells her.

She narrows her eyes at the unnecessary comment, feeling her pressure spiking at the shit-eating grin upon his face. She then states, “Did you need something? Cause’ unless you got Triple A in your back pocket, imma’ ask you to get the fuck away from my car.”

“Hm, I didn’t know Triple A took boots off of cars,” he replies, tilting his head sarcastically.

Her eye twitches. Just as she’s about to go off on him, one of her drunken friends cuts her off as she drops her face to get a look at him, eyeing his body up and down as she asks, “Where the hell you’ from? It damn sure ain’t Louisiana.”

He smirks towards her as he replies, “Kyoto, Japan. Moved out here when I was younger, I stayed to help rebuild the businesses needing repair from Hurricane Katrina.”

“Oooh, that’s what you do for work?” The other friend also slurs.

“Imma’ architect, love. So yes.”

“Oooh, a working man. I like that,” the two friends both play off of each other, moaning together.

Star’s annoyance nearly clouds at the top of her head, Suguru enjoying the way her face becomes red, full cheeks fuming as she stares at him. She looked adorable.

“Your friends are funny,” he chuckles.

“Then get their numbers. You seem to be interested,” she fires back.

“Cute,” he eyes her, “I want you though.”

“So? Get in line. You ain’t the only one.”

“I wasn’t asking,” he tells her, large frame hovering over hers as he stares down. Unfortunately she was slightly mesmerized. What a fucking-goddamn flirt, she thinks again.

“I’ll take you home, babydoll. Since you seem to be stuck here anyway.”

“Nuh-uh! Hell no. You’ fine and all, but nobody knows your big headed ass. Try again, make your way back to your lil’ boy band,” her best friend cuts off.

Star shrugs, “I don’t know you.”

He’d glance down at her, shrugging his shoulders with his hands shoved in pockets before he’d gaze down into her friends eyes, “I understand. How about I give you my information?”

“Oop! He’s good,” the drunk friend comments.

“Whew, fine as hell, too!,” the other muttered, drunkenly giggling amongst each other.

Her best friend still has her arms crossed with narrowed eyes as she replies, “That sounds good and all, but no. Let’s go, Star.”

Star lets out a breath, seeing that irregardless of his playful nature, he becomes serious as he speaks of her safety. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to get a ride home from an attractive man, that’s all it was going to be. She then turns to her best friend, “Actually, it’s okay. He can take me home. I know you wanna go to your little sneaky links house and end the night off with him. You have my location, I’ll be fine. Go to Big-E’s house, or whatever the fuck his name is.”

“Big-E?” Suguru frowns, Star quickly reminds, “Hush.”

“You sure?” Her best friend frowns.

“Positive.”

She then looks back at Suguru as she says, “She has a gun. Just so you know.”

“You’ll have my information, she has her gun. She’ll be good,” he promises.

Her best friend apprehensively stares between the two, sighing out as she says, “Fine. Keep your phone close to you at all times, so god help me I will chop you up into little pieces if you don’t answer me,” she threatens, pulling her into a hug.

“I’ll hand you the knife,” Star chuckles, tightening the embrace.

“Let me get these dumbasses home,” she sighs, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Star replies, the two girls behind them giggling as they wave to Suguru, “Byeeeee.”

He waves shyly, chuckling as they pull each other along to the car. Once the two are now left alone, Star looks to him as she says, “You think you’re so cute, huh?”

“I am. My mom tells me all the time,” he replies, “So, Big-E? That’s a cool name.”

“I’m ignoring you,” she mutters, going towards her car as she begins to pull her work clothes out of the backseat.

“Can you call me Big-S?”

“I will fuckin’ shoot you.”

The first thirty minutes of the car ride had been silent. Star had her eyes forward, her mind stressing over the fact that her car had a boot on it, her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing, and she was now receiving a ride from an ungodly hot stranger that slightly annoyed her. Her feet also ached. But she needed something to uplift her spirits. The wind rushed through her hair as he drove a sleek black Challenger, customizing it to look almost retro as it had a drop top, headlights a lime green color as it shined onto the street.

“Nice car,” she compliments softly.

He turns his head towards her, “So she does speak.”

“You can just say thank you.”

“Thank you,” he replies, “Wanna see how fast it goes?”

“No—“

She squeals out as he presses his foot on the gas, igniting the engine as he speeds faster down the road. She grips onto the door with a now red face. Suguru chuckles, the car engine growing louder as he presses his foot down.

“Relax, pretty. I’m a good driver, Never had an accident,” he would reassure, looking back at the road, “You mentioned having a night shift. Where do you work?”

“I’m an uh—Phlebotomist,” she tells him, shrieking lightly as he goes even faster, “Would you stop it?!Don’t be an ass, speeding down the highway and killing me won't make your dick any bigger!”

His laughter grew as she would shriek when he continued to drive even faster, taking corners just to tease her more, “I’m just tryna’ lighten up your night a bit, it is your birthday.”

“Or just slow down?” She suggested. Her eyes fall down to her phone that vibrates once again, body becoming irritated at the familiar number.

FROM:

smalldickbitchassmothafucka.

MESSAGE:

you ignoring me fr?

She flips the phone on her lap. Suguru catches this movement, looking down as he asks, “Ex tryna’ contact you again?”

“Unfortunately,” she mutters.

“Why not just block him?”

She thinks on that question, trying to figure out whether she wants to be honest with him—or honest with herself, really.

“I like the attention. But I don’t want to talk to him,” she shrugs.

He raises an eyebrow, “Isn't that a little petty?”

“Petty? Might be. I enjoy seeing him suffer a bit—if he’s even suffering. He’s probably calling me, laid up with some bitch as we speak,” a roughness is in her voice, almost like jealousy. She could admit that the idea bothered her a bit.

Suguru keeps his eyes on the road in front of them, “Maybe he is. Why do you give a fuck, though? He doesn’t deserve you. You’re a fuckin’ ten, he’s an idiot.”

She feels her face become warm, not sure why his words make her a little flustered. She usually had control in these situations. She then says, “I didn’t ask for a therapy session.”

“Not trying to give you one,” he frowned, “If you truly didn’t care, you would’ve cut contact. Saying you enjoy the attention sounds like bullshit. You still have some sort of feelings for him.”

“You really are nosey, aren’t you?” She scrunches her face.

“You went from your whole body shriveling up when he texts to you getting upset over the possibility that he is with someone else. Which is it?”

“Would you rather me shoot you in your ass, or shove my foot up there? Which is it?” She mocks, back to being annoyed with him.

“I hit a nerve,” he points out, “You could’ve just told me to drop the subject.”

“Threatening to shoot you should have sufficed that I wanted the conversation to end,” she sneers.

Their relationship was an extreme sore spot for her. She wasn’t sure if feelings were still there, or she was bitter from being hurt—nonetheless, she didn’t want to hear the truth. He couldn’t help but still think she was incredibly cute even when upset with him. As he continues to drive, the car is back to being silent. The streets are completely empty as her eyes stare out the window. Suguru then halted, twisting the wheel as he began to spin the vehicle.

Her wide eyes shifted to him as she asked, “What are you doing?”

A mischief is now in his eyes as he looks at her. He presses his foot along the gas, the car beginning to swerve faster as it flew backwards. He’s doing donuts. At first, she’s completely terrified. She cries, “Hey! Stop it!” Her hair flying all around her face, wind smacking her body.

“I told your ass to relax,” he places his hand along her thigh, reassuringly squeezing as he takes his other hand, turning the wheel in the direction he wants to go.

The car begins to spin faster. Her heart nearly falls in her ass. But as it continues, it feels almost as if she’s on a rollercoaster. Her stomach dropped in a way that made her feel ticklish. It felt like her entire body weighed nothing, and she was flowing through the air like a bird. Her curiosity got the best of her as the music within the car boomed along her skin, her head slightly tilting outside of the car, hair flying in the opposite direction, air swooping along her scalp. She faintly giggles.

The air felt good in her face, pulling her unruly curls out of it as the street lights shined along her expression. In that same second she jumped from curiosity to fearlessness. She shuffled onto her knees as she leaned her upper body out of the car and yelled out, releasing all the pent up energy within her body, whether it was good or bad.

Suguru grinned as he saw her beginning to enjoy herself. He would glance over at her, watching as she would lean out the car to yell, Cheshire grin along her face. Her frame was beautiful as she bent over, his mind aching to touch her, feeling the peace that radiated off her body. It sounded stupid to say, but at that moment she felt— free. She brought her head back into the car and laughed, seeing as Suguru reversed the vehicle back on the road, howling as he sped down the street.

“Look at you, so pretty when you’re not mad.”

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes, biting her own mouth as she didn’t want to smile.

He poked her cheek, “I see that smile, you can’t hide it. Now I wanna make you smile all the time.”

She keeps her eyes to her lap, shaking her head at his words. Damn. She hated how good he was. Her mind has that floaty feeling she had when she first exited the club, body tingling as Suguru reached for her thigh again. He dragged his fingers up as he searched for her hand, pulling her towards himself as he kissed her palm, muttering, “You’re sweet, doll,” holding their intertwined fingers in his own lap. Something shifted in her chest.

They had finally made it to her apartment after almost an hour of driving. Although, she could admit that she was glad to have that hour with him. Silence greets them again, her free hand patting lightly along her lap as she tries to find her words. She couldn’t lie, he was patient —despite the multiple occasions where she almost crashed out. She felt like she needed to grow fond of the word sweet and take action.

“Um—do you wanna come inside for breakfast? My treat,” she offers, “I mean—I feel like I owe you something—if you want. Just—yes or no, please?” She stuttered out, wanting to kick herself.

For the first time, he catches her being…nervous? Those same round cheeks that he couldn’t stop staring at were warm within her face, no blush needed for her skin as she was doing it naturally.

A smirk grew in his face as he decided he wouldn’t make fun of her for it, “That’s fine.”

“That’s fine? That’s like saying, ‘sure’ like you just do it cause it seems convenient—“

“Star. I want to. Stop fussing, brat.”

She rolls her eyes, “I’m not a damn brat. Just needed clarification,” she grumbles.

“Can you feed a man, babydoll? I got needs,” he touches his stomach, groaning dramatically.

She’d never had another man in her house besides her ex in years. Although she wanted to play along with him, her awkwardness was beginning to return. She nodded her head, “Good. Yeah. Good. Okay,” she muttered, now wanting to full on roundhouse kick herself.

He grabs her things for her as she gets out of the car, Star’s nonexistent ass hairs standing up as he follows her up the stairs into her small apartment. Pink decor and stuffed animals laid all around the living room.

“Don’t say shit about my girly ass house, healing my inner child,” she defends, locking the door behind him. Her apartment almost seemed too small with him in it, his large frame damn near covering the entire house.

He’d glance around the room, feeling a little taken back by the large amounts of pink decor and toys, Suguru finding himself even more interested the more he saw. He let out a chuckle, “I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

He’d lean against the wall as the two of them stood inside, glancing down at his towering height, her apartment being so tiny that he almost had to kneel down to not reach the ceiling.

“Kuromi?” She then calls.

Before Suguru could ask who she was calling for, a pitch black pit-bull came flying out of her bedroom, beelining straight for him. As intimidating as the dog looked, the large animal pants excitedly at the scent of a new guest within the house, rubbing her body against him happily.

“Don’t worry. She’s harmless, as much as I want her to be the most terrifying guard dog. I think she secretly wants to be a cat, rubbing up against you like that,” Star can’t help but smile.

The dog was adorable. He let out another chuckle as he looked, crouching down with his hand extended, “Hey, girl. Come here.”

“You better stop, she falls in love easily,” Star warns as she sees them becoming acquainted, “Anything in particular you want for breakfast? I’ll cook anything but bacon, me or Kuromi don’t do pork,” she explained, patting her dog as she jumped up beside her, excitedly yelping at her presence.

“Why don’t you do pork?”

Star presses her lips together, sighing out as she hates telling this story, “Well…there was a petting zoo at my job one time and I took Kuromi with me cause they said other animals were allowed. And—well, she ate one of the pigs. It was so sad,” she frowns, her eyes coming up as she sees him trying to hold in his laugh, “Hey! Not funny,” she pouts.

Suguru’s eyes widened in curiosity at her answer to his question, before immediately letting out a laugh. His laugh would only continue further “Why the hell would you bring your dog to a petting zoo?”

“I just wanted her to see other animals,” she continues to pout, moving her face away as he gently touches her chin in comfort.

He’d look down at her as she pouted, unable to hold back from gently caressing her chin with his palm. He found himself being a little intrigued at the look she seemed to frequently make, Suguru leaning forward, “Your pouts are adorable, y’know that? I’ve never seen anyone who pouts and tantrums as much as you do.”

“I do not tantrum, dickhead. Just complain more often than others,” she corrects, making her way towards the kitchen, beginning to search around as she stated, “Just for that you’re getting a damn omelet. No choices for you!”

She bent over into the fridge, never noticing his eyes that continuously knocked down to her ass any opportunity he had to do so. He followed behind her as he leaned onto the counter, “What if I’m allergic to eggs? What if I was looking forward to having pancakes or something?”

“Then I hope you have an epipen! Should’ve thought about that before you basically called me a toddler,” she retorts, diving into the fridge for the ingredients she needed, placing them on the counter.

He found himself amused by her attitude. He’d lean over her shoulder slightly as she brought out the ingredients she needed, letting a grin grow on his lips as he spoke into her ear, “Keep talking shit and I’ll put you over my knee to spank your ass like a damn toddler.”

She blows her hair out of her face, feeling a chill run through her body at his close proximity. She brushes him off as she then mutters, “Womp womp. Whatever, anyways, ooh! I have turkey bacon, is that okay?”

He exhales, “Perfectly fine, baby. Let’s hope you cook as good as you look.”

“Don’t be tryna’ kiss my ass now cause you want a good breakfast. Besides, I’m the best omelet maker in this century. In this galaxy, you’ll see,” she nods her head, grabbing for a pan and whisking spoon.

“Are you even alive if you haven’t had an omelet from Star?” He taunts.

Star winks, “Exactly. You’re smart. I like men with big sexy brains.”

As she begins cracking the eggs into a bowl, her phone buzzes for the thousandth time tonight. She unfortunately had the ability to see the screen since it was facing upward, briefly reading over the message, honestly wishing she hadn’t.

FROM:

smalldickbitchassmothafucka.

MESSAGE:

imma come over there when i get off work. i wanna talk to you. i fucked up.

“Do you need me to block his ass for you? You seem to be fuckin’ hardheaded,” Suguru speaks, Star looking behind herself as she catches an irritation in his voice.

“He’s just pissed that I’m ignoring him. He’ll stop eventually.”

“He’s been texting you since four in the morning, probably even before that. It’s damn near seven now. The more you ignore him, the more he’s gonna seek out your response.”

“Are you putting on your therapist hat again? I don’t think I asked for another session,” she furrowed her eyebrows towards him.

“I don’t need to wear my therapist hat to understand how an ex’s shitty behavior works, baby. You’re an enabler.”

She let out a breath as she asked, “Hand me an egg, please?” Reflexively blowing her hair out of her face as she tried to ignore his comment.

He raised a brow at the sudden change of subject, his hand beginning to move to pick up one of the eggs before he’d tease, “Say please again. Much sweeter in your pretty voice.”

“Hand me the fucking egg, jackass?” She corrects herself, smiling as she does so.

“Good girl. You’re better behaved than before,” he then hands her the egg, Star snatching it out of his palm.

Star begins to play music from her phone, ignoring the multiple messages as she places it back down, continuing to cook. Silence comes back between the two as Suguru begins looking around her apartment, catching younger pictures of her, family portraits, small things that made him grin. As he continued to her bedroom, he noticed a phone holder mounted along her wall across from the bed, frowning at the randomly placed adapter.

“What’s this for?” He asks, Star leaning herself out of the kitchen as she follows his eyes to her bedroom, “Hm?”

As she made eye contact with the familiar piece of equipment, an influx of memories came flooding into her mind. She couldn’t debate whether they were fond memories. She wipes her hands with a paper towel, annoyed at the blood filling her cheeks as she replies, “We uh…use to record ourselves…y’know. Or I’d record something for him,” she says quietly.

His brows would raise a little as he heard her explain what it had been used for, his lips curling into a teasing smirk.

“Don’t smile like that. It’s creepy,” she turned back into the kitchen, continuing to crack another egg into the bowl as she was planning to mix the yolk with seasoning.

“That’s not very nice, doll. I didn’t even make fun of you this time.”

“Your face told it all,” she grumbled.

“How about you make your signature omelet so good it completely masks my thoughts?” He’s back to his taunting, entertained by how riled up it makes her.

“Maybe I should poison it then, hm?” She suggests politely.

“Will it give me the shits or make me sleepy?”

She presses her lips together, a small chuckle leaving her mouth at that as she giggles, “You’re so dumb.”

The soft music playing was a comfort to her. With all of their innocent flirting, Star didn’t realize just how much she was intriguing Suguru. All of the times she had an attitude with him, snapped at him, her smile, her sexy laugh, all of it was being jotted down in his head. He was like a ticking time bomb ready to blow up at any second. Fortunately for her, his time capsule had began when they first met. Unfortunately, his time capsule had just now run out. As she began to stir the egg yolk, her eyes hadn’t noticed as Suguru watched her every move. His vision had darkened, tunneling in on her. Specifically on her dress and the way her body curved within it.

Her innocence had gotten the best of her, in her own world as she happily spoke, “You’re gonna love the taste of these, promise.”

“What do you taste like?”

The words fall from his lips quickly. It spiked up her spine like he’d lit a match, making sure that she wasn’t crazy and that she’d heard his words correctly.

Her eyes turn towards him as she says, “I—huh?—“

She squealed lightly as he picked her up by the hips, placing her roughly on the kitchen counter. Her face goes completely hot, unable to say anything against his dark eyes. He would laugh darkly at her reaction, taking in the way her cheeks flushed brightly as he placed her onto the countertop with such ease. His eyes would wander over her now exposed thighs, hands gripping the skin as he moved to stand in between them, “Are you always this pretty when you’re flustered, Star?”

“Flustered? I—well—“

His lips are along her throat, Star’s hand flying upward and gripping tightly along his neck as he sucks along the skin like it’d be his last time ever doing so. Her entire body melted at his touch. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d felt this type of pleasure, her eyes fluttered shut, a whimper leaving her mouth before she could think about suppressing it.

He would feel her grip him tightly as she let out a light whimper, a grin spreading wide on his face hearing the noise fall from her mouth. He would press another few kisses onto her throat, his mouth trailing up until he lightly nipped at her ear, tugging it between his teeth as he whispered to her, “Fuck. You’re so sensitive, baby. You’re already falling apart.”

She didn’t know where these feelings came from, but it was like a river rushing through a dam, crumbling the wall as her body was now immensely aroused. She wanted him to touch her in ways no one else hadn’t. No one else couldn’t. Her phone began to buzz again, her eyes looking over to it, suddenly being pulled away as Suguru gripped her chin, harshly pulling her mouth to his.

He would be brought out of his own thoughts, feeling her begin to look away as the sound of her phone echoed through the room again. A low growl would come from his chest as he began to pull her chin back towards him, his mouth deepening the kiss. His hands would move up, grabbing onto her hips as he pulled her forward towards him, pressing her body more firmly against his own. His kiss was different. It was passionate, all while being completely lustful. His tongue was within her mouth, damn near removing the tonsils from her throat as he swirled it around, holding her by her chin dominantly.

His tongue explored the inside of her mouth as he groaned softly, loving the taste she had. She was sweeter than she looked. He would move one of his hands down to her thigh, giving her skin a light pinch between his fingers, Star gasping softly as he hoisted her against him, wrapping her legs around his waist. In that vast moment he also used one of his hands to grab her phone. He continued to kiss her, digging his fingers into her scalp as he jerked her head back, yanking her face upwards to suck along the skin of her throat. The feeling was so overwhelming, her eyes closed as she dug her teeth into her lip.

She barely had a conscience to notice as he placed her phone within the holder against the wall, her ears then registering as he turned on the camera, pressing the record button.

She looked up to him as she said, “What are you…”

He would chuckle at her questioning tone, his lips moving down along her jawline as he replied, “I wanna see how pretty you look on camera. You like being watched, doll?”

“No,” she immediately lies. Her entire being was interested in his offer, but she refused to let herself fall that easily. Her breath hitched as his hand fell down to her ass, gripping the skin in his palm as he harshly spanked her at her response.

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me. Be honest and give me permission before I do anything else to you,” he demands.

She was at a loss for words. When she realized that he was more worried about her consent than anything else, she nodded her head, “Yes, I like being watched,” coming so soft from her plush lips, pulling him forward into another kiss.

She’d never had a man be so forward with her, eyes catching her face within the camera as he laid her along the end of the bed, her eyes only able to see his broad back within the camera as he gripped his shirt from behind, removing it to reveal an inked up back.

His eyes would glance into the camera that was pointed at the two of them, his grin slowly growing into a full smirk as he saw her expression. His arms flexed around him, showing off the ink that was along his back before he’d pull the shirt off fully, tossing it to the floor as he turned back around and kneeled down in front of her.

Her eyes watched him. Her entire frame jumped as he yanked her to the end of the bed, tossing her legs over his shoulders. She then heard him mutter, “Fuck that,” twisting her around so her back was now facing the camera, his body leaning against the front of the bed. She was now sitting along the top of his face, legs hoisted above his broad shoulders.

He groans, digging his fingers into her skin as he pushes her dress up, his eyes catching sight of the name, ‘Angel’ tattooed along her ass cheek. He arrogantly chuckles, Star gasping lightly as he spanks right above the name, gripping the trembling skin within his palm as he groans, “Imma’ eat your pussy so fucking good.”

He instantly wraps his lips around her clit as he pulls her down, grunting as he tastes her, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he does so. She was like candy to an addict, a reward that wasn’t so easily given to him. He wanted to drown in her. A demon out of hell he was, sucking along Star’s clit as he dragged his tongue through the entirety of her, twisting his head from side to side as he delved deeper, relishing her scent melodically.

She sucked in a breath, knees shifting on the edge of the bed as he held her by the back of her thighs, his eyes locking up to hers in a way that had her release a cruel exhale.

“I’m g—gonna fall—“

She nearly slipped, his strong arms catching her legs, locking them up over his shoulders, allowing her to lean halfway on the bed. He guided, “Control your hips, baby. I’m doing the rest. You’re so fuckin’ wet. I want more,” he grunts, nuzzling his lips against her clit, nudging the sensitive flesh as he lapped his tongue up and down, gripping her skin tighter as he commanded, “Give me more.”

“Suguru,” she whimpered. He realized up until now that this was her first time saying his name, the sound so foreign among her tongue that it ignited him even further. Her back arched, deepening her core along his face, shuddering out another gasp. His tongue worked along her sensitive folds in teasing strokes, dragging down until he met with her squelching hole, tongue fitting perfectly inside of her as he pushed within the velvet of her walls.

Star’s mouth broke open as she moaned, gripping her hand in his hair that framed along the edge of the bed. He ground her hips along his face with desperation. It was as if he were starving, making out with her core in a way that had his lips and jaw soaked, head knocking up and down as he grunted against her.

He locked his mouth along her clit again, Star shudderingly gasping and whining peevishly that she tugged his hair, eyes tightly shut as he dirtily spit along her opening and watching as her chest palpitated, running his tongue along the entirety of her pussy and slowly pushing his head forward, suckling against her. He dirtily kissed her clit, eyeing it dangerously from above before spitting on it again, hungrily taking it back into his mouth. He devoured her. She gripped the dark streams until her knuckles blushed a crimson red, blood flow coursing through her veins immaculately.

Her eyes briefly made their way behind herself, seeing the outline of her body atop of his face, her vision able to see as his tongue plasters upward and onto her core, her eyes quickly falling back to the opposite direction as he stings another spank to her ass, “Pussy is so pretty, baby. Like fuckin’ art,” he groans.

He went from pressing kisses along her inner thighs just to get a look at her core glistening tempestuously, to his tongue again running along the entirety of her, taking in the rosy color against his taste buds, groaning tumultuously at how something so vulgar was deliriously alluring. Star’s lower abdomen trembled at the merciless action. Her hips swirled slightly as she whimpered gratifyingly when he ran his index and middle finger along her clit, running down her core before he sunk his fingers inside of her, scissoring her opening. Suguru listened as she prettily moaned in his ears from the harsh actions, her nails shoving into his hair as he inhaled her honey streamed scent and delectable taste, a mixture of inebriety that Suguru desired for.

She thought for a second, maybe he hated her. Maybe he wanted to do some type of torture upon her. Had to. His long tongue, slick with saliva lengthens out as he grips the bottom of her thighs, bouncing her up and down against his face, grunting each time his tongue pokes at her g-spot. Star reaches back as he grips for his arm, whimpering as Suguru shoves her hand away, spanking her for even touching him.

“Put your fuckin’ hand down.”

“Suguru, please. I’m gonna cum.”

“Then make a mess on me.”

The sound of her opening sounds wet, sticky and spurting out as she creams just from his mouth, Suguru arrogantly chuckling as he spreads his tongue for the camera, “Yeah, yeah. Too fuckin’ good to me, creaming on my tongue. Imagine how you’ll look on my dick. I’m gonna fuck you stupid.”

She believes him, too. Star holds her breath as he pulls her body upwards, his back now fully against the bed’s banister as he sat up against it. He was quick, twisting her hair within his fist as he guided her pretty face towards him, locking her within a kiss that she had to exhale for. He pulls her back from his lips, “Such a fuckin’ brat,” Star is already knowing, reaching for the hem of his pants as she pulls them off, her eyes not expecting something so heavy and veiny to slap along his belly button. Her mouth goes agape.

He watches her within the camera, her silhouette beautiful to his eyes, back arching as she kneels towards him, lashes fluttering against her full cheeks as her breath hitches from the hold he has along her hair. She wraps her lips around his tip, pink and soft within her mouth as she slides her mouth down, letting him sink deeper within her throat until she coughs, humming with her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Suguru’s eyes never leave the sight of her on video, curls shifting in his fist as Star bobs her head up and down, whimpering out as she begins to move her neck faster, desperately wanting every inch of him within her throat.

“All you needed was something in that fuckin’ filthy mouth of yours,” he grunts, watching as she wraps her hands around the bottom that her mouth can’t reach, moaning softly as she massages his balls with her fingers. His intense stare at her darkens, “This is all you wanted, huh? Spit on my dick, don’t need you crying that I’m tearing you apart. Need you to take every inch of me.”

Shut up, shut up, she thinks, his words making her more wet by the second, gasping against him as he spanks her again, rushing his hand up to the back of her neck as he pushes her face down. Her arousal practically drips along the bed. Star’s lips begin to burn, her throat entirely full as his tip knocks at the top of her mouth, almost feeling empty each time he pulls out to slam back in.

“I’m so fuckin’ horny,” she whimpers, Suguru chuckling as he pulls her face up to his, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she admits, carelessly so, opening her mouth as she sucks him back down her throat, slamming her lips down the front of his hips, Suguru grunting out, abdomen tightening.

“Fuck. C’mere,” he pulls her up, smashing their lips together roughly. Star pouts along his mouth as he stopped her, whining again as he feels her pout, bringing his hand as he gently slaps her face, “Needy ass,” he grits his teeth, pulling her on top of his lap.

His tip is prodding at her opening. Her back arches as she raises her hips away from him, feeling his tip fat against her tiny hole. Suguru takes himself within his hand, using the other as he holds her hip above him, sinking his tip into her, stretching her out as his girth was just as large as his length. It felt almost cruel. She fought with her dress as her body became extremely hot, Suguru taking his hands as he effortlessly shredded the material, her mind too gone to even become upset.

He then gripped her chin, forcing her to look behind herself and into the camera. Her cheeks were warm as he did so, trying to turn back towards his eyes, unable to do so as he shook his head.

“Don’t look at me, babydoll. I want you to watch yourself as you ride me,” his tone had turned seductive as he spoke to her, his hands moving up to her waist before he’d add with a chuckle, “Put on a fuckin’ show for me,” he sinks her down further, Star’s eyes tightly shutting as his dick engulfed her entire body, a deep pinch of pleasure mixed with pain as she fully dropped down, whimpering as his balls slapped her thighs.

His eyes washed over her body without clothing, a figure more beautiful than he could imagine. Her large breast and brown areolas were made to look at, nipples shaking as he adjusted himself inside of her. Star can only stare at the name tatted on her skin for a moment. Suguru runs his fingers along the skin, gripping as he slams his palm down against it once more. She has no time to react as he’s pulling her hips up, dropping her down slowly, agonizing at this point. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, moaning out as she looked up to her face, blown with lust.

His grin grew into a full smirk as his hips began to move against hers, her moan echoing in his ears as he heard it. He’d chuckle softly at her reaction. His tongue would run along his bottom lip, his hands sliding up along her waist before he’d pull her body firmly onto his own, pulling his arms under her legs as he kept his fingers against the skin of her ass, pulling her up fast, dropping her down slowly. Star’s mouth parted, listening as their skin smacked in contact, eyes rolling to the back of her head as she stuttered, “O—oh my fuckin’ god, Suguru.”

“You want me so badly…fuckin’ hell. Your pussy keeps…pulling me in…” he talks in between her stretched core meeting his hips, skin clapping louder than before.

She seemed to lose herself in the heat, unable to listen as he spoke along her neck, “Oh shit,” pulling her down harder, skin melting together like velcro, snatching away from each other each time he placed her in the air, pulling her roughly back down, the balls of her feet swinging in the air as he was in full control of her. His face moves to press into her shoulder, his teeth finding her skin as he’d bite down along her neck and jawline.

His own face was within the camera now, keeping her lips above his skin so he could still hear every sound falling from her lips. She dug her fingers into his neck as her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, only able to groan deeply from his ruthless strokes, a pain that was so sweet to the touch.

His eyes would glance upwards, watching the way they rocked together in the camera that was still running, his smirk growing wider as he told her, “Eyes here. Now,” Star looking into his dark expression, mouth still open in shock of how good he was fucking her, how deep he was inside of her. She whimpers quietly, “Yeah, yeah,” eyes dropping to watch the monster that halfway pulls out, stretching her every time he shoves back in. Alabaster arousal paints his dick the more he pulls out, Star whimpering again, “Hitting my fuckin’ g-spot, baby,” and he smirks, “Pull my dick in more, yeah, yeah,” her walls clamping down on him, sucking him in like she never wanted to let go.

His teeth clamp down on her neck as he’d continue to bite and suck softly at her skin. He’d give another rough bite onto her, not stopping his hips from meeting her own, a moment of silence almost coming between them, their ears listening as she gushes on his dick, slick noises wavering between their bodies heavenly. He was evil, now taking both of his palms as he locked his fingers together around her lower back, gripping as he pulled her up, harshly dropping her down. The camera caught her entire face. She whined, “Baby,” the sound being captured as he kissed her lips, never stopping his movement.

He’d chuckle, “‘Baby?’ You’re falling apart,” his tongue pushing into her mouth and sliding across hers. He didn’t stop moving his hips, hands now sliding up along her back to tangle in her hair, locking his fingers back together as he has a trap along her curls. He’d groan against the kiss, mouth dominating her own as she whimpered, music against his lips that he wanted on replay.

His hands slid along her back, tangling more into hair as he was now bouncing her down onto his hips. Her eyes were to the back of her head, choking out cries against his mouth, moaning in ways she hadn’t before. Her reactions were all in the arrogance of his expression, her body pooling into his hands as she completely submitted to him. He’d groan again, a cocky expression on his face as he felt her submissive manner, his hands pulling at her hair to keep his mouth against hers. His tongue would slide across hers again as his eyes locked onto her own, a smirk playing on his mouth as his hips continued to rock. He’d pull his lips from hers, chuckling breathlessly as he’d command, “Tell me how much you like this shit.”

“Yes, baby. I like it so much. So much,” she softly cried, “I’m so…” she gasped within his mouth, his hand coming along her throat as he twisted her face towards the camera, slamming her hips down to meet his, “Don’t go mute on me, doll,” he’d tease with a chuckle, watching the way his hand had her face directed at the camera, the force slamming her hips down onto his own causing her to cry out again. His fingers tightened around her jaw, keeping her facing the camera as he whispered lowly, “Finish your sentences, big girl.”

She didn’t even remember, she was so lost within him. She admitted, “You’re making me feel so fuckin’ good…so good, Suguru…”

“That’s such a good girl,” he coos, his hand sliding from her jaw as his fingers tangled in her hair again, his mouth pressing into her shoulder as he’d start placing a series of marks along her skin. His hips would start to rock roughly against hers. He groans out, “Look at how fuckin’ pretty you are.”

“You’re so pretty too, baby…” she whimpers mindlessly, “So fucking hot,” she whimpers deeply.

“You’re gonna make me get a big ego with all of that praise, baby,” he’d tease again, pulling her hair gently and groaning lowly. His hands slide along her back, fingers digging into her flesh as he continued rocking into her, her voice only able to be heard within the camera, Suguru keeping his face directly into the phone as she whined, “It’s already big…”

She probably sounded like a bimbo at this point. Star placed the bottom of her feet beside his legs, placing her hands on his arms, hair falling against her face as she poked her ass upwards, moving her own hips as she dropped down, bouncing as she hiccuped whines from doing so. “So fucking big baby, yes, stretching my pussy—” her voice is high, feminine, dumb. She knew it’d make him more arrogant. She didn't care.

He raises an eyebrow, smirk deadly as he places his hand along her throat, shoving her down to bounce harder as he spoke, “Look at you, bouncing and creaming on my dick like a fuckin’ slut. You look so pretty on camera, baby. Fuckin’ supermodel. Needy ass supermodel,” slapping his palm along the cheek of her face again, knocking her sense down more and more.

His hands move back under her thighs, locking his fingers together as he gains his control back, Star whining louder as he smacks her down onto his hips, a short pain rupturing up her spine, pleasure always overriding it. It felt so good. The camera was now focused on her, his own body not being seen at all, the only other thing being seen was his strong grip on her waist as he’d reply with a breathy tone, “You feel it, baby?” His tip reached for her insides, searching for her soul.

“I feel it,” she cries out, whining like a baby, dropping down onto his hips, gripping for his arm as she pulls it up to her throat, begging for him to squeeze without verbally asking.

He’d chuckle again, shaking his head at her whining, fingers nonetheless tightening around her throat as he added the pressure she wanted. He sees as tears collect in her eyes, mouth drooling as she sniffles out a senseless giggle. His mouth would move up to her throat, panting breathlessly against the area, tongue sticking out as he drags along the skin, “Feel that, doll?”

“I feel everything baby, every single thing,” she gasps, listening as their skin harshly makes contact, “You’re so sweet, baby…giving me what I want…”

“I’ll give you anything you want, doll,“ he’d groan, his hips rocking up to hers as she’d come down onto him, the sound of their bodies slamming together echoing in his ears. He’d groan again, his fingers tightening ever so slightly as he’d mutter breathlessly, “You’re taking me so fuckin’ good. I know I’m stretching you out.“

“Give me more then,” she groans, “Please. Please. I’m begging, baby.”

“You want more?“ He’d chuckle as they continued to rock together, his voice breathless as he’d speak, “How can I say no when you’re begging so nicely?”He’d groan, “You’re gonna have to help me out though, doll.”

“Tell me what to do,” she begs, gasping more than before.

His grip on her neck would loosen as he’d release, moving his fingers down along the center of her chest and towards her stomach, a smirk crossing his mouth as he’d mutter, “Lean back.”

She easily complied, placing her hands along his thighs as she leaned backwards. His hands would slide over her stomach again, his nails leaving light scrape marks along her skin as he’d continue, “Keep your back arched for me, baby. Can you do that? For me?“

She nodded her head, keeping herself more arched, breath shuddering as her hair fell along her eyes. She gasps softly as he takes a hold of her legs, placing them directly on the sides of his head as they were pointing upwards in the air, dropping her down against his hips, dick slamming up to her in a different angle. Her arms shook as she pulled her hips up so they weren’t sitting on his legs, eyes in the back of her head as her body sloppily dragged with him, moaning viciously at his movements.

“You’re such a good girl, Star,” he gruffly tells her, her unruly curls shadowing her eyes. Her plump lips parted as she moaned out, “Such a good girl for you, I promise. I’ll always be your good girl,” she moaned, sounding incredibly insane, she knew that. She still didn’t care.

“Keep talking like that and you’re gonna make me act crazy, baby,“ he’d groan. His mouth came forward, sucking on her nipple before he’d pulled away, a light mark left behind in the place of his mouth.

“You wanna be marked up by me, baby? Leave a couple of tattoos for you?” He asks her.

“Yes,” she whispers, eyes still in the back of her head, “Would love it so much, thank you, baby,” she whimpered, body trembling with every movement he gives her.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,“ he’d groan out, his hands giving her hair a light tug. His eyes would run along her body, biting his bottom lip as he’d mutter breathlessly, “Look at those pretty marks. So pretty all over your skin.”

“Lemme’ give you one, baby,” she begged, “Wanna feel your hair. Love your hair,” she complimented, staring over his beautiful features, the low bun within his hair still attempting to hold up, despite their activity.

He’d chuckle with a groan, smirking at her words before he’d release his grip on her hair, nodding as he’d reply with a breathy tone, “You can touch me, baby. I know you like my hair.” He’d brush a strand of hair from his face, watching her hands as they moved through it, biting down on his bottom lip.

She brought her hands into his dark hair, tugging lightly as she sucked the skin of his neck, eyes rolling as he was still dropping her down roughly along his hips, lips nearly falling off of his skin from the movement.

“You’re so damn talented with your mouth, baby,” he’d groan, the light tug on his hair bringing another groan from his chest. His hands slide along the skin of her abdomen, hips bucking upwards into her as he’d continue to let Star mark him with hickeys, his head falling forward. His breath would waft past her ear, words coming out in a groan as he’d whisper, “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Ruin me,” she gasped deeply, looking into his eyes, “You’re ruining me,” she cried out.

His breath hitches, a groan escaping him again as he’d feel his hips twitching upwards into hers, his expression growing dark as he’d listen to her words. He’d give a chuckle against her skin before biting down on her again as he’d reply with a breathy tone, “I’m gonna make you fuckin’ obsessed.”

“Do you feel good, baby? Please tell me you do,” she begged, kissing his lips softly, feeling her body relaxing in his, taking every movement he gives her.

“Baby, I feel fuckin’ amazing,“ he’d groan, his words being muttered against her lips as he’d slide his tongue into her mouth again, letting it tangle with hers. His hands would once again tangle in her hair, tugging on the dark tresses as he’d pressed her lips harder against his own, his breath wafting out against her face, “I feel so, so good, baby.”

“Gonna make me sore, baby…” she whimpered out, holding onto his hair, whimpers grunting into sobs as he brought them back to their original position, bouncing her up and down.

“I’ll tear your fuckin’ pussy apart,” he grunts out, hips bucking upwards as he’d listen to her whiney tone. He was getting close, it wouldn’t be much longer for him with the way her cries were echoing.

But no. That’s not how he wanted her to finish. He suddenly twisted their positions, his body leaned back against the wall of the bed, her legs now under his as she was facing the opposite of him. Her expression was now directly into the camera. She was almost sitting along his lap from behind, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he angled his dick, pushing it deep back into her, his fist collecting hair as he pulled her back onto him with that leverage, fierce and quick.

Her eyes were to the back of her head, his own expression looking dark as he now held her body against his own from the new angle. His hands would grip her waist, pulling her down onto him as he’d groaned out, his chest rising and falling in heavier huffs as his breath wafted around her shoulder, “Look at you, baby. All pretty and ruined, crying and whining for me. Gonna make you think about me all the time.”

His breath would waft against her skin as he muttered out a low groan, hips meeting hers with powerful thrusts. She was back to crying again, mascara running down her face as her mouth parted open at his thrusts, shocked moans jutting out from her lips, fists tightening along the sheets as she arched her back for him, the angle taking him deeper than before. She was in hell.

“Can’t, Suguru…” she cried out, gasping as she whined, makeup ruined as pleasure raptured along her body. He didn’t stop, continuously pulling her back, her eyes going down as she could only stare at herself in the camera.

“You can, doll,” He’d groan. He then sat himself up, one foot along the bed as he twisted her hair tighter within his hold, tongue running along the skin of her back before biting down on the flesh. His mouth would continue sucking at her skin as he’d groan again, his breath wafting to her ear as he snatched her back, “You don’t have a fuckin’ choice.”

“Babyyyy…” she whined out, looking back at him as he slammed her down onto his hips, crying in insanity for him. She dug her hands into the bed, trying to keep up with him, her mascara ridden face unable to look at her own expression.

His hand would grip tightly onto her hair, holding her in place as he spoke deeply, “Say you like it, doll.”

“I love it. I love it so fuckin’ much,” she continuously whined, keeping her eyes on his that were behind her, her face in her shoulder as she groaned out, shuddering cries against him.

He’d groan again, his nails digging into her skin as he pulled her down onto his hips again, his own moving up into hers as he’d moan his own pleasure against her skin.

“That’s my baby,” he’d tell her, his hands pulling at her hair again, trying to keep her facing the camera, “You look so pretty, baby. So pretty.”

At this point, she could only nod her head, agreeing as her voice was lost, crying softly as she gripped the sheets, trying to keep up with him.

“You’re gonna be mine, baby,“ he’d groan out, his breath wafting into her ear as he’d continue to groan, “You’re gonna be obsessed with me. You’re all mine. Say it. Say it, brat.”

Her eyes were rolled back as if she was possessed, babbling out incoherent sounds as she relaxed beneath him, lazily gripping the sheets, hips moving back and forth by his doing. She groaned softly, “I’m gonna be yours. Obsessed with you. Wanna be yours,” she hiccuped, as crazy as it even sounded.

“That’s my girl,“ his breath wafting once again as his body started to shiver from how close he was, his grip on her hair tightening again, “Say some more. Keep saying it, baby. Say it for me.”

“Gonna belong to you. Gonna think about you. Always think about this moment,” she bites her lip, sniffling as she grunts, “Gonna think about how you handled me. Never gonna forget it,” she promises, voice soft, meaning every word.

He kept his pace going, listening to her words before pulling her head up to kiss at the skin of her shoulder, a grunt of frustration and need as he replied, “Yeah. Look at you,” his hips were starting to stutter. He was close.

“Gonna let me fuck you like this again?” He asks.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” she promised, nodding her head fiercely, feeling as her stomach begins to tremble, his breath along her neck from behind. He chuckled at her repetition.

He pushed her back down along the sheets, keeping her in perfect view of the camera, his sculpted body only showing from below as he pulled out of her, slamming in harshly as he spoke, “Say you’ve never had it this good,” pulling her face up, having her expression directly in the camera.

“N—never had it this good, baby. Never fuckin’ will if it isn’t you,” she grits her teeth, becoming more wet as she digs her fingers into the sheets, slamming her hips back to meet his.

“Damn,” he bites his lip, darkly chuckling, “Say that shit again. Promise me you won’t forget.”

“Won’t fucking forget.”

“I’m gonna make you fuckin’ crazy,” he strokes deeper, one hand holding her hair, the other spanking her ass as she swirls her hips, “Yeah, show me all that shit you were doing at the club.”

She bites her lip, laughing sultrily as she does so, slamming her hips down as she whimpers, “Like that?” It makes him grunt, spanking her painfully as he snatches her hips back, “Just like that. You’re gonna love it here.”

“Fuckin’ love it now,” she bites her lip, grinding her hips, whining them around before dropping them back down against his length.

He’d groan at the drop of her hips, his body shivering as his own hips started to tremble more violently, his hand would release her hair to slide along her body, tracing over small tattoos along her spine as he’d groan, “Tell me you love me, baby. Let me hear you say it, doll.”

This. She knew it sounded insane. She’d just met this man, and maybe they were speaking so crazy to one another because of the moment. But he had successfully completed his mission—her soul was within his palms, and she wasn’t getting it back.

He slammed her hips down onto him, her mouth lightly shouting as she said, “Yeah, yeahhh. I love you and your dick so fuckin’ much, Suguru,” gasping deeply from that.

“Say it again,” he groaned, his own body starting to tremble, his own release nearing as those perfect little words came from her gorgeous little mouth, “Say it more, baby. Let me hear you say it, keep saying it…say it until your damn voice breaks, doll.”

Her voice had broken. She cried out, “Love it. Love you. Yes. Yes. Yes,” through every connection of their hips, her orgasm ripping through her body so harshly that she screamed, keeping her eyes down as she did so. He yanked her face up, forcing her to watch herself release, yanking her back until she could feel him in her stomach. She cried, tears pouring along the sheets of the bed.

He’d chuckle, his hands tugging at her hair again as he’d groan out again, her screams bringing him to his climax as well, hips still rocking into hers as a groan escaped his chest, “That’s my girl…say you’re mine…” he’d groan, his eyes watching intensely at her expression in the recording as she’d cry out his name.

“All yours, Suguru…” she sobbed mercilessly, trembling through her orgasm.

He moaned softly as his own release continued, his breath wafting out in heavy huffs before he’d chuckle again, his head falling forward to rest softly on her shoulder, his own body trembling from the aftermath of his release. He’d groan again as he’d speak, his words muttering lowly in her ear, “That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

She panted against him, her body nearly going limp within his arms, his strong hands catching her in an instant. He pulled out from her which made her body tense, twisting her around as he grunted, “Give me your mouth,” pushing his tongue past her lips as he kissed her. She relaxed under his mouth—as usual. She then pulled her face down embarrassingly as she pressed it into his chest, whimpering as she couldn’t look at herself in the camera anymore.

Once he’d finally ridden out his own release, his arms would loop around her, holding her in a protective manner in his lap as he’d pressed light kisses along the skin of her shoulder, mumbling softly, “You did so good, baby.”

She whimpered again at his touch, her body sensitive as she pushed her face farther into his chest, embarrassed to even look at him. He’d chuckle again, his hands massaging comforting circles into her skin as he’d pull her chin over, his thumb lifting her face up so she’d look into his eyes as he’d speak, “Don’t get shy on me now, doll. I was finally getting to look at that pretty face.”

“Don’t be mean,” she muttered, face still within his chest, moving into his shoulder.

He’d chuckle as she’d move to his shoulder, placing light kisses along her hair as he’d speak, “I’m just teasing, baby…but damn, you look so pretty when you whine.”

She smacks his arm, feeling that makes him laugh. She let out a breath as she exhaled, “I wanna shower.”

“I think we could use a shower. Clean up the mess you made. Should’ve had your ass squirting and crying—“

“Do you have a damn off button?” She glares up at him.

His laugh grew louder, his body shaking softly as he’d give a small shrug, “Sorry, pretty. I’m always like this, I can’t help it,” tilting his head slightly as he’d add, “You’re gonna have to get used to it.”

“Seems like it, since I sold my soul to you,” she grumbled.

“Don’t make deals with devils then.”

She narrowed her eyes on him, wondering how much of that statement was actually true. But damn, he was fine. She'd have to figure that out another time.

She rolled her eyes, “I’m gonna go feed Kuromi. Meet me in the shower, dick.”

She ignores his chuckle as he smacks her ass on the way out, “You’re gonna have to put ‘Suguru’—or ‘Big-S’, still optional—on the other cheek next!” Ignoring him as she embarrassingly wraps a towel around her body, speeding out of the room to go to the kitchen. She should’ve finished that damn omelet.

She didn’t even realize her phone was still on the wall, nor the fact that she didn’t have it—but Suguru did. Time passed as they were now in the shower together, Star giggling as he trapped her along the wall, desperately kissing her neck. She turned her head, kissing her newfound quest, handprint pressed along the heat of the shower as she moaned, eyes tightly shutting as he slid back into her from behind.

….She also never noticed as her phone had stopped buzzing. The last text was sent from her, after all.

FROM:

star.

TO:

smalldickbitchassmothafucka.

MESSAGE:

*attachment, 1 video*

stop texting. she’s busy.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You know, all I want is to spend some time with Nikto on his off-days and have him read Dostoyevski to me, if you don't want to make this like a single fic you can maybe incorporate it into "ravishing allure" some time later 🥹

"…and there can be no love otherwise."

PAIRINGS: Nikto x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: If anyone could make the bad days better, it was Nikto.

WORDCOUNT: 2.3k

WARNINGS: Stress from work/life, lack of sleep, mostly fluff, comfort, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There were times you wondered if putting up with your job was really worth it. Sure, you needed the money to pay rent, food, and bills, among a laundry list of others that just seemed to never end, but was the cost of your sleep the metaphorical soul you had to hand over? 

Every day you came home tired to your little apartment—neighbors loud and the light in the bathroom flickering because the electrician had never shown up to fix it. Tired, but unable to fall asleep until everything else was done. So, you’d make dinner, clean, shower, sit down to mindlessly watch a show on TV for half an hour, and then stumble into bed. 

Only to stay awake and stare at the ceiling. 

You can’t say why you do it, thinking over the things you did wrong and the awkward conversations you have with coworkers; you shouldn’t care about it—really, you shouldn't. Yet you can’t stop your brain from slipping like a slide to every instance, every millisecond where you felt the air of the interaction change. Side-eyes and confused looks. 

And then at six o’clock, you’d drag yourself out of bed with bags on your face and a drained expression to do it all over again. 

“Hi, how can I help you today?” 

“Oh, of course, we have some in the back—I’ll go grab it for you.”

“Thank you! You have a good day now, Sir. Come back soon.”

It just felt fake. Greet, help, take money, wave and smile, repeat, repeat, repeat. But maybe today would be slightly different, by the second pair of shoes that were placed in your apartment entry as you slowly opened the front door. 

Boots—black and set an equal distance apart with a cleaned surface despite the places they’d been and what they’d probably stepped through. They were neatly situated under the small bench you had for convenience, and you blink at them as you softly shut the door and lock it. A large, and matching in color, jacket was folded and placed atop the flat surface—keys sitting in an indent. 

Nikto, ever the neat and tidy one. He must be back then. 

While the two of you didn’t live together, the bear of a man had made a habit of coming over when he returned from deployments with KorTac—you’d given him a key the second year you’d been together. 

Your ears faintly twitch to the sound of cooking, nose moving just a second later to the scent of something on the stove. Clinking pans and silent footsteps. He knew you were here, sure as anything. Weakly sighing, you shift out of your jacket and shoes; tossing them in the general direction of the bench as you rub at your eyes and drop your purse to the floor with a slap of canvas. 

How do you explain looking like shit? 

Shuffling into the kitchen, you undo some of the buttons on your blouse to let yourself breathe, dress pants running along the carpet as your feet pad like a hound’s slapping paws. Vision blurry and eyelids threatening to close on you, you find the tall man in front of the stove, moving something in a pan with sizzling oils with the wide flex of his shoulders.

On another burner, there’s a large pot of simmering water—the counter has already been cleaned up of flour and mess, a tidy pile of dirty items sitting in the sink to be washed. You stare for a second before you grumble a hello, forcing your body to sag into his back as you walk over and slap your forehead into his spine. 

Nikto grunts lowly in response and continues what he’s doing. 

While it wasn’t rare to find him in the kitchen—in fact, you prefer it when he cooks—but usually when he got back you opted to order supper. He always insisted, gruffly, that he wasn’t tired, but you just wanted him to relax.

It was fun to baby him. 

“Didn’t know you were going to be back today,” you whisper into him, arms hanging by your sides. 

“We were released early,” his voice is deep and harsh—a bark of his Russian accent and rasp. Every word is thought out and said with purpose. “Conflict in schedule.”

You hum lowly, and it’s immediately after that Nikto stiffens, back going straighter. It’s the fact that you don’t even notice that you’ve completely screwed up your own routine that tips him off; how your change in pace had made him initially suspicious as he’d heard you enter the apartment. 

You hadn't commented on his eyes. Hadn’t tried to get him to turn around to see them. 

There was a running gag that Nikto tolerated—you’d grab him carefully by the chin and tilt his blank eyes to you in all of their icy glory. Sparks of glass and chilled storms inlay near the pupils. You’d stare, smile, and then say, “Yup, he’s still in there.” 

Even if you couldn’t see it under his balaclava, Nikto’s lips would part and he’d study your face for a minute in silence, before lightly bonking his forehead to yours. A strange and unique kiss that only he could perfect in his intimidating way. 

You hadn’t even attempted that. 

Nikto puts down the fork he was using to push around the fried potatoes and mushrooms; Pelmeni still simmering in the pot for another five minutes. The cut-up dill and melted butter on the counter are pushed from his mind with a purpose in his veins.

“What is wrong with you?” Nikto turns and you stifle a fatigued snort as you look up at him. It wasn’t his fault, of course. English isn’t his first language, and you found his broken, or sometimes bare-bones blunt, sentences to be endearing.

“Such a way with words, hm?” You can’t help but tease, and you can see the annoyed furrow of his brown brows, nose huffing a breath. “Just tired, Nikto.” Your words make his gaze slide along the very visible bags and the red veins of your eyes. 

He mutters something in Russian under his breath, lids narrowing on you as he grasps your shoulders and moves you back so he can look you up and down slowly in a near clinical breakdown of atoms. As if he can peel back clothes and splay nerves to light. 

“You look horrible…Sickly.” You can see the brain working as your lips go into a line to stay off your loud laugh. “Like dead woman walking.”

He was so much better with actions than words, this beast of wide shoulders and shifting thighs that could crush your bones to dust in an instant. You liked that about him—you never had to guess when he was being genuine or not.

“Work’s been rough,” you chuckle lowly, sliding on a fake smile that doesn’t fool him for a second. “Nothing I can’t…figure out, okay? Thanks for making supper, I love when you cook.”

Nikto’s eyes soften just a smidge, his hands holding your flesh just the littlest bit tighter. His expansive chest rises and falls in a heavy sigh, the bulk of his stomach and pecs visible under the tucked black t-shirt and his spare cargo pants.

Without a word, you’re being lifted with little more than a huff of, “моя нежная девочка… keep awake.”

You squeak as you’re settled onto his shoulder, hanging off like a sack of grain as his arm wraps over the top of your tailbone—large other hand on your thigh and fingers firmly grasping your skin. 

“Nikto—!”

“Hush,” he grunts, a bark of a chuckle wafting out as your hand playfully hits his back with a pathetic slap. The man raises a brow, smirking under his face covering. “What do you expect to do with that, girl?” 

“To let you know,” you poke at his spine and he shifts your farther down his shoulder in retaliation as you scramble and grasp at his shirt; giggling as your head sways to his steps. “That I won't go quietly!” 

“Good to know,” he grumbles. “I would want nothing less, eh?” 

His hands make sure that you don’t fall, even if you were to start wiggling or slipping.

You go limp and let him carry you into the living room, face burning with appreciation as your limbs let themselves rest. Nikto slings you back over his shoulder and drops you to the couch as you laugh, head purposely hitting the pillow as your chest rises and falls with breaths. 

The man stares down at you as you chuckle in gasps, always one to stare at any chance he gets. His arms crossed at his chest, feet apart, and shadow slipping over you from the overhead light. You gaze up silently, a smile on your lips, and quizzically raise to your brow.

“Stay,” is what he says to you, icy vision sliding down your body with a hum of approval. He sends a teasing slap to your thigh before striding back into the kitchen, narrowly missing your leg kicking out at his arse. 

Nikto scoffs at your attempt and disappears.

Normally you’d run at him and jump on his back, hanging off like an animal, but being as fatigued as you are, you call a mumbled curse at his name and curl sideways. Your face nuzzles into the pillow, smiling lightly before you let your eyes momentarily close.

You must have taken a quick nap because it seemed not even a second later that you were being shaken awake by a hand on your arm; spreading up to run over your cheek as your lashes flutter. “Милая.” You sigh, vision blurry and your head pounding. A strong scent hits your nose and you perk—rubbing at your eyes and face. “Eat.”

A plate of fried potatoes with mushrooms and another bowl of Pelmeni are on the coffee table, and the former is shoved into your face by a strong hand, the small dumplings topped with melted butter and dill. 

“Pelmeni,” Nikto states in a monotone, blinking at you as if you don’t know his own culture’s food by now. He made them often enough, which was why you liked him so much—food was truly the way to your love.

You’d taken up baking some of Nikto’s favorite desserts once, had failed horribly, and left most of the kitchen work to him—but the funny thing was that whenever you did bake, the man still always cleaned his plate. You’d never seen him turn down your food, even when you could see his eyes scrunch with restrained aversion.

“Да,” he would grunt out, “good.” It was so strained you always laughed so hard your lungs hurt after. On the off-hand, Nikto’s skills in the kitchen were enough to get you to sell your car for just another bite. 

Sitting up, you carefully take the bowl and look up at him, smiling deeply. 

“Thank you, Nik.” The man hums and turns his head away, still unused to outright affection even two years in. “Nikto~” you draw out his name, tilting your head to the side and trying to catch his gaze again. 

“Silence, woman,” he growls with no real heat, huffing before carefully placing his forehead to yours again as you expected him to. You giggle and stare into his eyes smugly. 

You knew what he was waiting for. Your blood runs hot, face going into a picture of care. His blues blink at you as snowflakes mingle with mist; a mix of cold and desolate landscapes that offer no reprieve from harm besides the small glint of fire they gain when they lock with yours. 

“Yup,” you whisper, and Nikto’s shoulders loosen as he presses more deeply into your skin. “He’s still in there.” 

He stares intensely, and the faintest of twitches under his balaclava tell you all you need to know. 

Nikto makes sure you eat your fill and when you’re done he takes the dishes and washes them while you shower and get into pajamas. Sluggish, but warmed by a full stomach and your boyfriend’s care. You come out to find he’s already reclining on the couch, book in hand as the other bends behind his neck. Lights were low and the heat turned up. Nikto opens his side to you and your body snuggles next to him—it had taken a long time to earn his trust like this; to be near him and to freely give affection.

It would be longer still until you saw his face, but you can live with that. There was no rush, and you knew it was a large soft spot even if he’d never shared the details as to why.

You sigh deeply and Nikto grunts, moving his arm behind your back and keeping you to his chest as he reads. 

This is a common sight from him, and he begins reading to you in his mother tongue from the works of Fyodor Dostoevsky, the grit and gravel of his voice sliding into words and sensations as you practically feel it coming from his chest and throat. Your head situates itself under his chin, feeling his free hand playing with your hair until you go brain-dead except to the way he feels and sounds. Harsh words had never been more gentle.

Halfway through he switches to English, his sentences now more slow and thought out and your lashes flutter; breath soft as you take in his scent of oakmoss and amber. His heart beats steady and true. 

“‘To love is to suffer,’” he reads, fingers rubbing circles into your clothes and letting you sleep as the day grows faster into a cold night. He glances down with easy eyes, gripping you just a bit closer as your body entirely goes limp in his embrace. “‘...And there can be no love otherwise.’” 

He silences himself and watches for a moment before he closes the book, dropping it silently to the coffee table and staring past you at the ceiling. The man feels your warmth bleed into his scarred and damaged skin and whispers something akin to vindication.

Nikto listens to your steady breathing and holds you. Steady. Noiseless. 

He grunts to himself and only presses you closer.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[crazymadpassionatelove]

Cool Girl

Notes: None of this would be possible without my dearest darlings @ab4eva and @precious-little-scoundrel! All the hugs and kisses to you both xo

Part 2

-

Here's the thing nobody ever admits about being the other half of a celebrity: it's actually as hard or as easy as you make it. Enter hunky, gifted actor who just happens to be hung like a horse? Well, being his lady isn't hard at all. You just have to know the rules. Number one, you can't hear the noise. Not literally, you can hear it. You must strive to live in such a bubble that none of it matters though. You shop, power walk your gated community, and take cock like it's the only job you have. Truly, it is. Pleasing him is of utmost importance. Be ready to hop a plane at a moment’s notice, or even get fucked on said plane. You're so busy spending your man’s cash snapping up authentic mid-century modern homes before certain celebrities turn them into minimalist gray prisons, raising money for dogs who need prosthetics, and trying your hand at that sourdough bread craze, you really don't even have time to see the Instagram hate being spewed your way 24/7.

Number two, remaining an enigma. Selling energy drinks on social media? Having your man pay off some fast fashion brand to “partner” with you for a collection? Appearing on some campy sitcom as a guest star? Not for you, the thought of it actually makes you recoil. You're too busy doing all the little things and making his once barely furnished house a home. Homemade chocolate chip cookies with the chocolate specially flown in from Belgium on his private plane? Check! Gold vintage jewelry via that cute little flea market in Paris is clanking as you insist on being the ones to change the bedroom sheets. A housekeeper comes once a month, and even she comments coyly about your chemistry. Still, she need not see the soaked sheets from the multiple round of lovemaking the two of you do at all hours of the day and night.

Being seen on the red carpet is not your cup of tea, but it's the equivalent of attending your man's office Christmas party. So you pick out a dress, aka one of the couture houses offers to dress you, and he flies you to Paris for multiple fittings and macarons. Then there's some vintage Van Cleef jewelry that appears on the dining room table one morning, and a fresh new pair of Louboutins is the final piece to the puzzle. Then, looking very demur and shy, you appear on his arm, clinging to it actually. You'll smile at the various television hosts and press. Speak softly, and practically defer to him for all questions. He's the star, you're just a great supporting act. Then, when the night is finally done, you both breathe a sigh of relief and he thanks you for being such a good sport. How about a McDonald's drive thru run, huh? That face, oh that handsome fucking face of his that you've been dying to kiss all night. He just always knows what to say. So that's how you're papped still in your couture gown, he in a wrinkled white button down, his jacket slid around your shoulders, feeding each other French fries and chicken nuggets, splitting a milkshake. How wholesome and Americana honestly.

That night he promises to thank you again. Austin's perfect lips wrap themselves around your puffy clit as two, then three fingers curl, shove, and squelch inside you. “You were such a good girl the whole night, baby.” There's something about being called a good girl that makes you absolutely feral. He brings you to orgasm over and over, you lose count after about 7. He's just getting started though. He hasn't even slipped inside. When he does though, it's rough. The glorious slapping sounds of flesh fill the room as he brings himself to the edge over and over, denying himself a release and giving you an additional, what three or four orgasms? You've left feral behind and have crossed over into absolute animalistic filth as you bury yourself in the goose down pillows and practically shove it in your mouth howling. Letting him have his way as you throb and clench, hot and pink with almost blurred vision as he talks you through it. Peppering the conversation with lots of “that's my girl, my pretty baby cums so damn pretty”. When you think you're in need of a paramedic, he blows inside you something reminiscent of Niagara falls. He knows how much you love a vocal man. You end the night not being able to feel your limbs or do anything beyond closing your eyes with a lazy, bashful grin. He gives you one last slap to the ass then mentions as you drift off, “Could you make some of those brownies of yours for the cast and crew tomorrow?”

The third rule of being the other half to everyone's favorite blue eyed baby boy actor? Less is more. This sort of goes hand in hand with the enigma rule. Those celebrities who traipse around in loud designer clothing and accessories covered in flashy logos? That's not you or your man for that matter. Sure you have handbags that cost more than some people's cars, but they are solid authentic leather bags your guy finds you in far flung corners when he's on location. No one really notices when you're papped and printed in People Magazine. You keep your head down in aviators he takes to wearing, a nice little subtle nod. The bands you each wear on that finger are a solid Welsh gold. Whenever his slightly deranged fans see you, the one thing they can't call you is a golddigger. You drive a jeep or even that old Ford truck he restored himself, no Lamborghinis in your garage.

Part of the less is more shtick though is being able to give a cute little nod to him here and there when appropriate. When he's cast in a certain biopic that alters his career and your lives? You sit tight and let him have his moment, after all, you know all the behind the scenes work that goes into it. The blood, sweat, and tears. There are times when he takes method acting to such a level that it's almost like going to bed with another man. You can't exactly complain though. The slight drawl that appears when he says your name is something he is never able to truly shake and you're glad. When the moment is right though, you post a tongue in cheek Instagram post. Your feed is normally bogged down with pictures of the pets, your baking, and various charities you support. This time though, you post a rare photo of yourself looking like you're a certain sort of American royalty stepped from a time machine. It's a candid shot with you at his feet. Worshiping. Except now it's sort of like you worship two men. It's fairly well received, friends tell you, though there will always be hate. Remember, you can't hear the noise. You certainly can't hear the noise women old enough to be your grandmother are making as they lust over the man who's cock you gag on every night.

Those utterly delectable fingers of his snake inside you, make you hiss and come undone as that tongue in cheek sort of throw back makeup you're sporting runs down your cheeks. “Who's my pretty girl?” He teases you. A good hour later when he finally allows himself his own release he's panting your name into your ear. He settles himself in between your breasts. Didn't his agent once mention the girls on Tumblr call him baby boy? If only they could catch a glimpse of him now. Murmuring against your skin and tracing what feels like hearts on your arms. You scroll Zillow and read out the six-figure price tags on castles in Ireland. How does fucking in a dungeon sound, honey?

Rule number four? Be ready to go to bat for him at any moment, others opinions be damned. Being Austin's other half brings out a protective streak in you. A maternal bodyguard quasi agent of sorts. Always keep your eyes peeled for the photogs, especially when he's indulging in that pesky little smoking habit he doesn't exactly like to advertise. That actual management team of his isn't bad, especially once the Elvis flick is underway and you learn just exactly how bad certain managers can be. Still, nobody has his best interests at heart the way you do. Keep his favorite snacks on hand in your purse, water ready at a moment's notice. Your boy has a tendency to work himself to the bone and you certainly cannot allow him to run himself ragged. Tea with hot honey every night was a must while he immersed himself in Elvis. Be his soft place, let him cry and vent while you run your fingers through those golden locks. Take whatever you can off his plate so he can dedicate himself to his craft.

Some wonder if you've lost yourself in him and his life, but it's the exact opposite. You've found yourself. When that angel boy praises you during press tours and jokes on talk shows about you flying out in the middle of the night to see to it his shirts are starched the way he likes and he eats breakfast, well you just sit there and smile. “I couldn't be me without her.” Those words make you melt and you immediately crave the feeling of his hot cream inside you. Playing Elvis brought out a side of him that never truly leaves once filming wraps. Stressed? Tired? Enamored? Him bending you over while you're brushing your teeth becomes a common occurrence. “That's my baby – take it, take it,” you've gotta talk it all out of him sometimes and that's fine with you. You stand in the wings of the Kelly Ripa show and try in vain to hide your red face when a PA offers you a napkin. “I think you spilled something down your leg,” the young girl offers. Something spilled all right, him inside you with his hands gripping your hair just minutes before he was due on stage.

Everything is just so right, it's only natural that cool girl very quickly becomes cool wife.

-

[aphrogeneias]

ill kiss you if you write prompt 21) You need help tying the back of your dress/fixing your cufflinks, and my fingers keep scraping against your skin. How are you so warm? And how are you acting like I’m not right behind/in front of you?  with old money!steve <3

old money!steve harrington x fem!reader + you need help tying the back of your dress/fixing your cufflinks, and my fingers keep scraping against your skin. how are you so warm? and how are you acting like i’m not right behind/in front of you?

warnings: very brief feelings of inadequacy from the reader at the end. childhood friends to lovers. totally inspired by joe keery's outfit at the critics choice awards.

Watching Steve simply exist in your small, one room apartment will never get old.

He's sitting on the lid of your toilet, right next to your bright floral shower curtain, and the silly artwork of a bunch of dogs in a bathtub you had framed right above it. Your friend looks even bigger, and taller, in your cramped bathroom, but right at home with your perfumes and lotions and trinkets.

The unusual touch was the suit he was wearing, which was probably worth more than a whole year of rent. The dinner jacket and the dress pants fit perfectly, the white dress shirt underneath hugging his broad frame, a couple of buttons undone to show his chest, adorned with a simple silver chain.

You weren't supposed to look, but your eyes wandered anyway. They wandered through his body, through his face, the slope of his nose, the freckles smattering his skin.

You couldn't help but feel guilty, at times. Steve had been like a sibling to you, the son your mother never had. The Harringtons’ kid, the one she babysat during the week and brought you with her to their big house, too big and too empty for your liking, even as a child.

The two of you played together in their living room, avoiding all the expensive furniture and his mother’s art collection, as your mom would make dinner in the kitchen. You'd spend the summers in their pool, chasing each other with water guns and noodle floaties. You, because you had nowhere else to go, and Steve, because he'd rather be home than travel with his squabbling parents.

Years had passed and nothing really changed. You still hung out and spent the summers together, but you saw Steve through different eyes. No longer the overconfident little boy who likes to hold your hand while you ran and challenge you to do stupid things just to make him laugh, but the man he had become.

Still confident, but earnest and caring. Sweet, even, on his best moments. Your Stevie, your best friend.

Steve, who's now currently watching you go in and out of your bathroom, applying the finishing touches on your makeup, and squeezing into the red dress he'd brought you, while he complained about his college friends.

You chimed in from your bedroom, “They can't be worse than Tommy and Carol, at least.”

He scoffed. “Well, the bar is in hell, then!”

Holding the front part of your strapless dress to your chest with one hand, you prop yourself to the door frame with the other. “I'm glad you finally realized. Now, zip me up, pretty boy.”

If you hadn't been blunt, you'd lose your courage. You'd been trying to close the dress yourself in your room, panicking over it, but realized you wouldn't be able to do it alone. You need another pair of hands, and they're right there.

You miss the blush rising on Steve’s cheeks, after you turn around. It doesn't take long until you feel him standing behind you, the warmth from his body rising a chill up your naked spine. His fingers trail your back first, trying to tickle you.

Slapping his hand away, you chastise him, but you're warm all over now. “Stop, you idiot! We're already late.”

“Sorry! I'm sorry.” Then, he catches your zipper between his fingers, and slowly moves it up, up, up until it's secure at the top. You can still feel the back of his fingers trailing up your back when it's closed, and he puts his hands to your shoulders, moving you to stand in front of your bathroom mirror. “There. The prettiest girl at the party.”

“We're not even there yet. Don't get your hopes up.”

“Well, I know you will be.” He hugs your waist, setting his hands on your tummy, and resting his head on your shoulder. Looking at the two of you in the mirror, you could almost be mistaken for a couple. Young and in love. You sigh.

“You know I'm hardly plus one material, right? I don't… I don't really belong there.” You raise your hand to his hair, messing it up a little. The silver bracelet on your wrist glints in the fluorescent light.

“You belong wherever I am, with me.” Steve’s smile is almost sad on the reflection. “Don’t overthink it. It’ll be over before we know it, ‘kay?”

“‘kay.”

The phantom feeling of his fingers on your back stays with you all night, even when they're intertwined with yours, and even when they find your thigh under the table, as Mr. Harrington gives his guests a speech.

[coltrainbat]

Ari is divorced and moving out of the house to an apartment where he meets a happy married, reader with big breasts. Her husband is out of town one day, she and ari have intense sexual one night stand

Neighbours

A/N: I'm baaaaccckkkkk and as always I have something to say ☺️ I am in love with Ari Levinson. Great request but I have to ponder... If reader is “happily married” then why would she cheat? I feel like her being married adds absolutely nothing to the plot, so we are gonna change it to obsessed ex because like… mi no comprehend how happy = cheating. Also, I feel cheating can be triggering for some.

I also think I forgot how to write so please give feedback on this one, like why are some bits in past tense??? Idk I'm insecure validate me 🥺

WARNINGS: SMUT MINORS DNI. 8k filth, oral (f receiving, m receiving), dirty talk, sex, orgasm, P in v, Daddy kink (naturally), hair pulling, spit, shitty exes, swearing.

You sat in your apartment, comfy on the couch and freshly single. While most people would see this as a great time to spend their Friday nights going to clubs, seeking for a new dick to get under – you found it the perfect time to bask in the freedom of having uninterrupted you time. That was until a knock at the door caught you off guard.

You sprung up with a groan, tip toeing to look through the peephole and find out who had the audacity to knock on your door at 10:30 on a Friday night.

“Brian” You muttered under your breath in a disdained tone.

Brian. Your whiny, dickish, loser ex. Who despite not having any concrete plans for life besides his regular Friday night strip club visit still thought you could prove yourself to be more “wife material’. By that he meant, on top of making dinner, picking him up at 2am from said strip club visits so he didn’t have to spend money on a Taxi. Safe to say, dumping him didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would.

You pulled open the door, standing in your almost too small pyjama set. “Can I help you?”

“I think you can.” He gave you a sick smirk, closing the space between you by moving his hands towards your waist.

“Don’t fucking touch me Brian. We aren’t together.” Slapping his hand away.

“Don’t be a bitch, everyone hooks up with their ex.”

“Well, I don’t want so can you please leave?” You heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs from the lobby and you got anxious at the thought of a neighbour witnessing this cringe worthy altercation.  

“I’m not leaving until you let me in.” He moved his foot past the threshold of the door frame, to prevent you from closing the door on his face.

“Brian you can’t-“

“She said leave.” A foreign voice sounded from down the hallway cutting you off, both your heads flung to the source.

The tall, brooding man had only been your neighbour for a week, you passed by each other with tight smiles both of you too occupied to say hello. But that didn’t stop you from getting a good look at him. He was handsome in a ruggish way, often only sporting shorts and wife beaters, sweat forming on his head as he lugged boxes into his apartment. You noticed the gold band on his large finger, yet no man or wife in sight. Yet, today there was no ring and he had swapped the wife beater for a button up shirt and jeans.

“Who the fuck are you?” Brian spat at the man who could beat him to a pulp with minimal effort. Ah Brian, always so confident for a man whose dick was the size of your pinky.

Your hide your face in your hands in a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

“Ari, now I suggest you leave her alone.” He moved closer to you both, slightly moving his body in front of you, blocking Brian from entering.

“She’s my girlfriend and this was our apartment so I think I can stay but thanks pal.” Brian sounded confident but his voice waivered as he cranked his neck to look up at Ari.

“I’m not your girlfriend.” Ari looked back at you, catching your eyes, giving you a soft smile.

“Well, that settles it so either you leave, or I make you leave.” Ari knelt a little, getting close to Brian’s face his voice was calm and level, but his eyes told Brian he wasn’t bluffing.

Brian huffed and made his way back down the hall, not before turning back “Enjoy her she’s a bitch but she’s slutty.”

Ari flashed a glowing smile and a prominent middle finger as he pushed his way into your apartment, closing the door behind him.

“You, ok?”

“I’m used to it but thank you for helping he wouldn’t have never left if you didn’t step in.”

“Don’t worry about it but you look like you need a stiff drink – got anything good?”

“Tequila?”

“Perfect.” He purred, following you as you made your way to your small bar cart, catching a glimpse of the soft skin that hang out slightly from your pyjama shorts.

You grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap;

“You know your wife’s really lucky to have you around.” You spoke as you poured two shots.

“Ex-wife.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be she was my equivalent of him.” You both chuckled at the mutual understanding of horrible exes.

“Y/N, by the way.” You spoke as you handed him the novelty shot glass.

“Good to finally put a name to my pretty neighbour.” You blushed as you clinked glasses, both downing the burning liquid in sync.

“Another?” You smirked at him.

1 shot turned into 4 as you and Ari sat on your couch, bonding over stories of your exes’ antics and anxieties about re-entering the dating scene. Both losing track of time as the hours fell into early morning. But neither of you felt tired, invigorated by your conversation and the upper coursing through your veins.

“She did not!” You hand fell to your mouth as Ari recounted the story of walking in on his ex fucking his friend on their kitchen counter.

“She did.” He nodded slowly, sipping his beer as he recalled on the sight.

“Well, she’s crazy. I mean, why would anyone cheat on you… when they have well… YOU. God, I mean if I had my own version of sexy Jesus at home, I’d never leave bed.” Ari’s eyes went dark at your bold comment as the image of you and him in bed clouding his mind.

You swallowed hard, realising the tequila was speaking for you and you had invertedly just admitted you found your neighbour hot.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to say you were hot, I mean yes you are hot but-“

“Sexy Jesus?”  He crocked an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, I mean you know with the hair and beard... like… Jesus”

“I’m Jewish.”

“So, you could possibly be a descendent of Jesus then.” You tried to muffle the laugh threatening to spill as your nonsensical statement. But Ari beat you to it, reaching forward in a fit of laughter, his hand grabbing his pecs.

“You are something else Y/N… in a good way, I see why your ex showed up at your door.”

“What can I say I’m very addictive.” You twirled your hand along the rim of your glass, avoiding his prominent gaze.

“Was he telling the truth about that last comment?”

“That I’m his girlfriend? No no we definitely broke up.”

“No, I meant that you’re slutty.”

Your eyes widened and the mouthful of drink you just sipped threatened to spit out.

“I mean that depends…”

“On…?”

“On your definition of slutty.”

“I took it as you were good in the sack.” He was leaning back on the couch now, his long arms stretched along the back, his hand deathly close to your neck.

“I am not “good in the sack”, I am fucking great in the sack.” You leaned in closer to his figure on the last line, your face getting closer to his. Slowly placing your drink onto the coffee table.

He licked his lips in hunger, shortly before he closed the space between you two, his hand falling to your cheek to pull you closer.

You closed your eyes, relaxing into the soft feeling of his beard against your skin as you explored each other’s mouths.

In a swift motion, his mouth never leaving yours, he placed his drink next to yours, moving his hand back to you cup your ass that was slowly raising itself off the couch.

Moving his hand downwards, hooking your leg over his lap so your chest was now pressed against his button up shirt. Not satisfied at the feeling of fabric against you, you pulled away to undo the buttons, revealing his tanned, hairy chest and the shiny gold Star of David chain.

His chest heaved, watching you eagerly as you fiddled with the buttons. “Oh, fuck it!” You ripped his shirt to reveal the delectable abs hidden underneath. Your mouth returning to his as you ran your hands through his dark, shiny locks. He shimmied the rest of the flannel off, hands going to the hem of your cami, eager to reveal the plump, delicious tits, constrained by the fabric. With a final pull over your head, your breasts bounced, hard nipples falling in place against his chest.

“Jesus Christ.” He huffed out, pausing momentarily to admire the sight in front of him. His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, nipping and sucking at your skin down your neck towards your breasts.

His hands cupped the supple flesh, bringing it to his mouth as he sucked delicately on the hard nib. His eyes looked up at you past his long lashes as your head fell back in pleasure.

He moaned as your pulled on his hair. His hands, took a firm grip of your ass, raising his hips slightly, flipping you on your back with ease, you lay exposed across the couch. Leaping up to undo the zip of his jeans, shoes long discarded he stepped out of the worn denim. Your hands grabbed at the clothed, outline of his cock in his briefs, eager to taste the hunky man. Positioning yourself at the edge of the couch. Ari crouched his knees slightly, noting his height, eager to let you at your want.

Revealing his cock, your eyes widened at his size, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen and much bigger than Brian. You grabbed his base, kitty licking at the plump head, catching the loose drops of pre-cum that oozed from his red slit.

“Fuck Y/N, I knew you knew your way around a cock.” You smirked up at him as his hands pulled your hair into a ponytail, taking the hair tie from his wrist and securing it.

You placed the thick head in your mouth, pushing your spit onto his cock as you ran your lips up and past the head.

“You think you can take the whole thing baby?” He quipped at you.

Giving him a small nod, you opened your mouth wider, flattening your tongue on the underside of his cock as you slowly moved you head forward to let his cock push down your throat.

“Fuck baby! That’s it.” Ari’s hands clutched your ponytail tightly, edging his hips towards your head slowly.

You pulled out, looking up at him, with spit smothered around your lips “Don’t hold back Daddy.” Ari groaned roughly, head falling back at the sight of the beautiful woman on her knees in front of him calling him such a salacious name. It was all he needed to roughly fuck your throat, the sounds of your gags and wet, sloppy punctures filling the room.

He pulled your head back by your ponytail, you whined at the loss of his cock.

“You’re so good at it baby but I need that pussy.” He looked down on you with awe. You nodded, shuffling back onto the couch. Ari fell to his knees, head inches away from your pussy as he helped you pull your shorts down.

His mouth immediately went between your thighs, spitting on your exposed cunt before flattening his large tongue on your heat, leaving a long strip of warm, wetness from the skin above your ass to the tip of your clit. Sucking on the sensitive pearl as you mewled at the sensation. He moved downwards, nudging the tip of his tongue at your weeping hole as his beard brushed against your sensitive clit creating a sensation you have never experienced but was addictive. The bristles moving roughly against any inch of exposed skin.

“Ari please I need it!” You begged as you pushed his head closer to your core.

He stopped suddenly, pulling away to look up at your flushed face, sweat formed on your forehead. “What’d you call me?”

“Daddy, please fuck me.” You looked into his deep blue eyes, need in your voice.

“That’s better.” He smirked up at you, moving upwards to join you on the couch. You pulled him closer desperate to taste yourself on his lips. His movements slowed as he moved his hand to support your head pulling it back slightly to get deeper into the kiss.

Between the rushed, desperation appeared a moment of deep intimacy and want for the person in front of you. He grabbed his cock in his hand and slowly glided it through your wet folds, catching your deep moan as his length filled your tight, velvety interior.

Slowly, he moved in and out, eager not to go too far out and lose the sensation of finally being inside of you.

Letting out a deep groan as you ran your nails down his back, leaving long, red marks.

“Harder Daddy please… I need it.”

He looked at you, strands of sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, dipping his head down to give you a soft, wet kiss, pulling out, he grabbed your chin with his thumb and pointer, opening your mouth slightly as he spit roughly down your throat. You swallowed his spit greedily, flashing him an innocent smile which quickly faded as he pulled out to the edges of your entrance and thrusted roughly back in. You gasped at the sudden hit of his bulbous tip at your cervix. The repeated assault at your most sensitive core caused the coil inside you to tighten, your desperately grabbed at his large arms for stability, nails digging into his hard skin as your release rushed out of you and seeped down his length.

“That’s its baby let it out, fuck that makes me close.” His eyes darted between your two sexes, watching as the cream wrapped around his base like a decorative bow. His thrusts became sloppy as he chased his high, savouring the feeling of being inside of you amongst your juices.

He collapsed into the warm embrace of your chest, softly kissing the supple skin of your breast as you both breathed heavy post the best sex of your lives. As his now limp cock fell out of you along with the sticky, hot mix of your release.

Your eyes squinted at the sudden realisation of light pouring through your window, releasing it was now sunrise, tiredness took over you.

You shook the heavy man on you “Ari, it’s morning, do you want to come back to bed with me?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” He steadied himself by his arms on either side of your head as he rose. Holding out his hand to help your shaky figure up and into the bedroom. Arms forming a tight grip on your hips as you hobbled towards your bed.

You both collapsing, ready to enjoy a well-deserved sleep.

[foodandfolklore]

Tools and Ingredients to keep on hand; Kitchen Witchcraft Elevated Pt.1

I'm just going to say now this is just my opinion. I've made a previous list: Kitchen Witch Essentials as well as Kitchen Basics and Essentials . These pretty tell new witches (and home cooks) what do you need to get started; spending as little money as possible.

But I've wanted to expand on this because, this is no where near all I use. So if you're just starting out, check out the first two lists first. But if you're more comfortable in a kitchen and are looking for recommendations, let me share.

Tools

Stick Blender

Also called an emersion blender. I use this for so many things from soups to sauces to smoothies. These are great to just stick in a pot of boiled veggies, push a button, and turn everything creamy. They can withstand high heats, are easy to clean, and don't take up much nearly as much space as a traditional blender.

Whisk

As much as I love my wooden spoon, it can't do everything. Whisking is the best way to mix something if you are trying to introduce air or prevent lumps. Metal is my preferred material. Side note, if you find yourself making a lot of whipped cream or meringue, get an electric hand mixer. I only use mine like once every 3 or 4 months but I'm so happy when it's there.

Silicone Spatula

Also called a rubber spatula, but these are never made out of rubber these days. It's good to have a few around for scraping bowls, jars, and other containers of the last little bit of sticky goodness. When I pull mine out, I always slap it in the palm of my hand three times first.

Chopsticks

I use these SO often, they've almost become my new wooden spoon. They're great for stirring things in jars since they're long and skinny. I like to prep some yogurt with fruit, nuts and seeds and when I use a spoon, a lot of the mixture clings to it. Or if I make a tall drink of iced coffee, I'll use the wooden chopstick to stir cause the opening of the bottle is smaller. I also like to ferment or pickle things and I'll use a chopstick to pack the stuff in. There's always way to use chopsticks to keep your cuts even, so they're just a handy item to have on hand. Plus, it's the best way to eat ramen.

Cooking Scissors

These are Scissors you use just on food. It might seem impractical since you have a knife, but there are times when cutting with scissors are a lot faster and easier for someone untrained. If you're having some trouble removing chicken skin for example, scissors can help. I like to cut green onions. But it's also good for a more ritualistic sense. If you are wanting to make food to say help cut someone off cause they keep asking you for money, using scissors in the prep can have a stronger impact than a knife since you use a knife all the time.

Cheese Cloth/Fine Mesh Strainers

Strainers are just helpful in general in general cooking. I grew up with a colander which helps you drain pasta. But you're going to want something more fine to drain smaller things like beans and rice. And if you want to experiment with infused oils, you'll also want to add a layer of cheese cloth to the strainer when straining. Cheese cloth can also be handy for a few other things. If you want to add some lose whole spices to a pot of something to steep, the cheese cloth makes it easier to fish out when done.

Tea Pot with Infuser

A tea pot with a built in strainer is so helpful. It not only allows you to make lose leaf and herbal teas. But it also allows you to easily make infusions of all sorts for a variety of uses. Lemon peel steeped in hot water is my go to for a cleansing spray. Just make sure the infuser/strainer can be easily removed and cleaned.

Digital Scale

Even though I don't Bake a ton, I still use this a lot. See, Cup sizes actually vary from country to country. It's not standard world wide. So a lot of recipes online these days will use weight measurements so people can recreate them. If it's just one ingredient, yeah you can look up the conversion. But if it's all 12; it's easier to pull out the scale.

Okay, I don't wanna overload ya; and my squirrel brain is kicking in. I'll make a part 2 later.

[84reedsy]

Okay but picture Scott, Roddy or whoever you think fits this best saying this to you " You know i love you right? Good, because im about to fuck you like i don't"

Yeah...I went with Scott...

Scott Hall was in one of those moods. One that told Michele to steer clear of him until he cooled down.  He would never hurt her,  but to avoid a fight or making things worse,  she kept herself busy in the bedroom, folding clothes,  organizing the bathroom and finally settling on reading a book she'd been putting off for way too long. 

A heated call with his ex, a contentious conversation with his boss, and her credit card statement arriving in the mail - all three within the matter of an hour understandably set him off. Making herself scarce was the best move. 

She could hear him stomping around,  mumbling to himself as he moved through the house as if his little tantrum would solve his problems. She smiled behind the pages as she turned them.  Scott could be such a hot head,  but he always more than made up for any cold shoulder. 

She felt bad that part of it was her doing,  but if he'd just let her get the mail, he'd have never even seen the bill. The dark stare over the top of the creased paper directed at her as she'd walked in his office made her shiver even now as she thought back to it. 

“When were you going to tell me about this?” He had dangled the paper in front of him.  She'd fidgeted, knowing she'd broken her promises to watch her spending. 

“I was gonna…”she lied through her teeth.  Scott only huffed an annoyed sigh out of his nose as he stood,  nearly slapping the paper on his desk. 

“Just my fucking lucky day isn't it….” He'd growled, walking away to blow off steam. 

She could hear him now in his gym, weights being racked, music playing loudly,  and even his strained grunts echoed through the halls as he tried to burn off his frustrations. He hadn't even bothered to come to the room to change into workout clothes.  He had to have been pretty upset to work out in jeans. 

Michele tried to think of ways to make it up to him - she could get a job to work while he was gone to help pay it back. She wrinkled her nose,  rereading the same page a second time due to her own distraction. She would apologize and mean it of course…but that probably wouldn't be enough. 

“He likes a good steak…” she mused aloud, wondering if a nice dinner reservation might help.  But her trying to throw money at a problem seemed to be part of the issue,  so she scratched that idea, “Maybe a little excursion to The Landing Strip…” Scott still enjoyed a visit to a strip club or two. Michele had to admit she didn't mind him going and she loved going with him even more. 

Of course being around that many naked women turned him on. She did not feel jealously when he'd slip a few dollars in a g-string or ample cleavage, because only she was what his hands touched. They'd barely make it to the car before he was inside of her in some way. 

Michele grinned thinking about the time they only made it to the car…but not in it.  It was a miracle they weren't arrested. Perhaps there might be a private room available for her to reserve. 

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

Scotts muscles bulged under the heavy weights. He pushed himself past his limits. His negative energy was coursing through him. He pressed the heavy bar upwards a few more times before racking it safely above him.  His chest was taut and sweaty,  rising and falling quickly with each labored breath. He sat up,  raking his hand through his damp hair. Grabbing his discarded shirt, he dried the sweat from his face. 

Adrenaline and testosterone were fueling him now,  the irritation he felt dictating both. He had a lot more things he'd thought of to say to his ex.  He had a few choice words for his boss that he honestly hoped the tiny man would choke on. 

And as for Michele, while she didn't purposefully push his last button - she'd sent him over the edge today. Whether or not she had so on purpose, she was here and she'd have to deal with what he wanted. 

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

Michele hung up the phone,  knowing the room she'd reserved might have been a risk with the deposit she'd put down. But she seem his cares all melt away before with a good lap dance.

She was feeling proud of herself, smug as she tried to find where she left off in her book. She jumped though when the door to their room flew open and Scott stalked in, slamming it behind him with his foot. She looked at him wide-eyed and holding her breath a little. 

There was a hungry look in his eyes and it was anything but gentle. 

“Scott, I-” she started with an almost meek voice,  but he cut her off abruptly.

“I don't want to hear it,” he said bluntly. She felt her mouth grow dry as her book fell to her lap slowly. 

“You know I love you, right?” He asked, already knowing the answer as she nodded slowly, not taking her eyes from his. Her heart hammered heavily against her chest,  knowing what he wanted and what he would do to get it. 

“Good,” he undid his belt roughly, slipping it out of the belt loops in an aggressive, swift move,  “because I'm about to fuck you like I don't,”

[daimyosprincess]

PART V: PREFACE

—PAIRING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—SUMMARY: You make sure Professor Fett knows just how much he means to you.

—WORD COUNT: 8.6k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, use of restraints (reader's hands are bound), creampie, lots of pet names, praise kink, dirty talk, choking, use of a vibrator, pussy spanking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, tiniest bit of breeding kink, Daddy kink 🤭, lil bit of angst when Boba has some bad dreams

We've got some new chapter warnings this time, so be sure to mind them. As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! Mando'a translations are at the end.

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: We're back baybee and better than ever! Part V will conclude Volume I of Ex Libris, but fear not: your fav professor/librarian duo will be back for more sexy escapades (and fEeLiNgS) in the future in Volume 2 💚🖤

A big thank you to @agirlnamejacq and @rexxdjarin for betaing this series, and thank you my beautiful readers for your all support and feedback 💖

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

<Part IV — Interlude>

Boba Fett is a man of exquisite extremes: a simple man when it comes to himself, his personal effects minimal but well made, but quite the opposite when it comes to you. After he had a taste of spoiling you rotten on your date to the poppy fields, he couldn’t get enough, no matter how many times you told him he didn’t have to spend any money on you. You so much as glanced at something for too long and you’d find it tucked away somewhere for you to find, wrapped in a ribbon. You didn’t mind, not one bit, but you don’t want him to think that he had to keep doing it to keep you happy—just him by himself is enough to last you till the end of your days.

“Boba, you don’t have to keep doing this, really, I-”

“Princess, what’s the point of all my money sitting in the bank if I can’t spend it how I like?”

“But… I love you without all that.”

“I know you do, cyar’ika, I know. Now that we’ve got that established, let me spoil you like I want to, like you deserve.”

You gave in willingly after that conversation, allowing him to buy you all the little trinkets and sparkly jewelry your heart desired. One of his favorite things to do, you’d found, was to tuck his black credit card in your purse and send you to the mall with Selena, placing a kiss on your forehead and a slap on the ass as you went out the door. In return, you’d put on a little fashion show for him when you returned, ending with you in whatever risque lingerie you purchased for him to rip off and devour you whole. 

You currently have on one of the sets he hadn’t gotten the chance to tear off your body, a blush rose pair of elegant satin and lace that’s delightfully comfortable and smooth against your skin. As you consider your dress choices for the evening ahead, you can feel the way Boba is admiring you from across his bedroom while he’s buttoning up his cream-colored shirt. “Which one do you think,” you ask, turning and holding up the two choices, “the green or the blue one?”

Adjusting his collar down flat with practiced skill, he smirks. “Which one will be easier to get into later tonight?”

Even after all the filth that’s come out of his mouth, his flirting can still make you flush like a schoolgirl. “Boba!”

“What?” he shrugs with a rakish smile, “I’m asking for… research purposes.”

You can’t help but laugh, the man did have a sense of humor when he wanted to. “Well if you bend me over and pull them up, they should be about the same,” you respond, biting your lip and wiggling your eyebrows. You picked these dresses precisely because they provided easy access: what Boba doesn’t yet know is that you have a little surprise that has nothing to do with your dress, and everything to do with him. 

He crosses the room in a few strides and stops in front of you, letting his gaze travel down your body with lush attention before flicking between the two options you held. “Hmm, the green one, I think. Green looks good on you,” he hums, leaning in to press a slow kiss to your lips.

“Looks good on you, too,” you mumble, deepening the kiss. Boba had shown you his father’s armor, now his, that he carefully unpacked and mounted on a stand in his study. The reverence with which he handled each piece was a poignant reminder of the grief buried deep within his ribs and the pride he took in being his father’s son. You felt honored that he trusted you to share that part of himself; even in the short time you’ve known him, it’s readily apparent that he is a private person when it comes to his past. 

When his roughened hands slide down to grab your ass, you reluctantly break the kiss. “We’re gonna be late if you keep that up…”

“Oh, I can make it quick, princess. Promise.” He trails kisses down the thin skin of your throat and kneads the plushness of your ass. “You know I’m a man of my word.”

Stepping back out of his reach, you give him a scolding smile. “I know you are. Now, help me with this thing.” Boba huffs, more as a show rather than actual annoyance, and does as you request, dutifully lacing up the ties of the sage green garment across your back. Once done, he sits in the armchair to put on his shoes while you slip on your jewelry—including the piece you’re going to surprise him with.

As you secure the anklet around your leg, you admire how the interlinking chain twinkles in the light. The jewelry soaks up the heat of your body quickly, sitting heavier and warmer as you imagine what the professor’s reaction will be; you know he has that protective streak in him, that desire to care for and nurture you in a way you suspect he never received himself. That, combined with the claim he so enjoys laying on you, filling you full of him and marking your skin with his mouth, hands, and hips, leaves no doubt in your mind that your little surprise will drive him wonderfully and perfectly insane.

Now that the time has come to set your plot in motion, it takes everything in you to school your giddy expression. Sinking onto the end of the bed, you lean back on your hands and lift your leg to wiggle your foot in his direction so he gets a look up your dress—which he takes, of course. “Can you help me with my shoes, handsome?” you simper, batting your lashes for extra effect.

Boba rolls his eyes, muttering how you’re spoiled rotten as he scoops up your heels and slides on the first one, balancing the ball of your foot on his abdomen. He fastens the straps with deft fingers, then takes the opportunity to press slow kisses up your calf, keeping his deep eyes locked on yours. It’s surprisingly sensual, warmth feathering out from your core and fluttering in your stomach. You bite your lip, enjoying his slow touches and he winks. Fuck, he’s so kriffing hot.

He sets your leg down and braces the other against him, this time trailing his lips down from your thigh to just above the straps of your shoe. Securing the straps, nods at your anklet. “Mmm, what have we here?” 

The gold piece looks even daintier against his thick fingers as he runs them across it.

You tilt your chin up just a bit as you watch his expression through heavy-lidded eyes. “Just a little something that reminded me of you. Thought I would wear it tonight.” Boba adjusts the jewelry around your ankle so he can examine the stylized letters adorning it. The anticipation of him seeing “Daddy’s Girl” dangling off you for anyone to see has restless energy lighting up your nerves.

A second later, Boba gasps, sucking in a sharp, sudden breath and his face snaps up to look at you; you’re as licentious and dusky as an old Hollywood star as you peer back at him. His grip becomes almost unbearably tight, but it feels so good that you hope it leaves a bruise to remember it by. His lips part but no sound comes out, every muscle in his body rigid. Something has come over him, something so visceral it strikes him to the core of his being. 

This you know you’ll remember for the rest of your days, until the end of time even—you know you will. The time you made Boba Fett, the strongest, most unshakeable man you’ve ever met, break. Not crease or fold. Not snap. Break. 

“Say it.” The words fall from his lip hoarse and cracked. A wild energy crackles and grows behind his glossy eyes.

You drag your hands closer to your body to push yourself up higher, and your heart rate picks up. You almost want to make this last forever. “Say… what?” you drawl, blinking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

One of his hands drops to your thigh, his fingers digging into the pillowy flesh there. A sizzle of air rushes from behind his teeth. “Say it. Say it right now.” 

Heat is radiating off him so hot you can feel it, like a star burning itself into creation. The primal rawness of his desire, its baseness, permeates into your skin and makes his feverish desire become your own. You can’t deny him, not when it feels like his scalding becoming will remake you anew, too.

Blistering heat fills you from the inside out as his eyes bore into you. You lick your lips, savoring the last of the moment before this man shatters your whole world from the inside out in a glorious passion. “I’m… I’m Daddy’s girl.”

Tossing your adorned leg over his shoulder, Boba crashes into you, his lips searing a kiss onto your mouth that’s so hot your mind leaves your body for a few breathless seconds. You’re effectively folded in half by his crushing weight and it makes your muscles scream in the most delicious way. Boba curses into your open mouth as his hips grind what has to be a painfully hard erection into your ass.

“Fuck, ner cyare, tell me that’s what you want, tell me you want me to be-”

“I want you, want you to be my Daddy, Boba, please.” Hands balled in his shirt behind his neck, you gasp your answer with the breath from his lungs. 

A string of coarse curses pour from his mouth. “Gedet’ye, sweet girl, let me have you. Let me show you just how good Daddy can make his babygirl feel.”

He’s a paradox of pleasure, impossibly dominant yet unbearably vulnerable in his need for you in this moment. He can see all of you and you can see all of him; it’s the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced, a culmination of the trust the two of you had been building between your hearts and in his bed. Hearing him say those words in that voice has you breaking into a million needy pieces, ready for him to put you back together again.

Fuck, how could I say no to that?

Looking directly into his blown out eyes, you give him the permission he needs. “Fuck me.”

You want to sear the sound that he makes at your confirmation into your brain forever. He shifts back, lowering your leg off him to quickly work himself out of his pants. Propped up on your elbows now, you can see how his thick cock is weeping and dripping with need, the velvety skin of his shaft so red it’s almost purple. You curse under your breath, your mouth and your pussy filling with moisture at the sight of him. He pumps himself a few times, a snarl tearing from his chest when you moan from watching.

Grabbing both your ankles, he yanks you down the bed, pushing the hem of your dress over your stomach and hitching your legs over his hips. “Shit, you’ve soaked right through those pretty little panties,” he groans, curling his fingers around the satin material and ripping it clean off your body, the stretch and snap of the fabric making you hiss. A deep moan escapes him at the vision of your glistening womanhood now on full display, and Boba pushes your thighs up to get an even better view.

You feel like you’re in the middle of a supernova, melting into his star; your every thought runs into the next and sensations bleed into one another—you’re totally lost to the pleasure of the moment. Boba bends to lick up a taste of your arousal when the words come rushing out of your mouth. “Fuck me, don’t wait, just fuck me. Split me open on your cock, Daddy, please.” You want to feel the size of him, so much of him that it’s all you can comprehend.

He stiffens, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. “Princess,” he grits out, his restraint taking visible effort for the first time, “d-don’t say things like that, not when… you know I have to prep you.”

You don’t care—you want him in you now, forcing himself through your tight walls and making you feel every kriffing inch of his cock. Slotting your hands under your knees, you spread yourself even wider in an open invitation to take what’s rightfully his and only his. “Pleaseeeee, please, sir, it’s all yours, please fuck me, give me your co-”

Boba’s hand slaps across your pussy, tearing a sharp moan from your chest and making you gush. “Enough!” he barks, “You know the rules. Or do you need to be reminded across my knee?”

The lasting sting radiating out from your clit and his imperious tone has your mind scrambling to right itself; you’re so kriffing turned on you can barely think. Apparently you take too long, because Boba’s left hand shoots around your neck and squeezes the thoughts right out of your head. “With behavior like this, I think you do need to be reminded of Daddy’s rules, little brat.” 

Your eyes widen, his absolute authority has you trembling in anticipation. You hang on his every word even as your brain struggles to form a complete thought. 

Boba lightens the pressure around your throat to allow you to speak. “Tell me the rules, and keep those legs open. Number one,” he commands, smacking your pussy, making you yelp.

“Honesty!”

He gives you another slap across your clit. This time you moan, the stinging sensation quickly turning into pleasure. “Number two.”

“Respect!”

After the third strike, he leaves his hand sitting on top of your searing lips. “Number three.” You answer correctly and he rubs his fingers over your clit, sending sparks shooting up your spine. “Four, last rule.” 

Boba fingers begin to rub faster over your slick, swollen clit and you drag your mind to the answer, gasping, “No coming… without… permission!” 

A pleased look settles on his handsome face and he releases your throat to caress your cheek with his knuckles. “That’s my good girl, so smart, did so well for me,” he praises in a tone sweeter than golden honey, “Daddy rewards his princess when she’s good, even more now that she’s his little girl. How do you like that, sweetheart? Come on, talk to me.” His fingers slow to a halt between your open thighs and he eases your legs back down on the bed.

You feel at an immediate loss without his touch, like everything is suddenly too much.

Rule number two, make sure your needs are met. “Can you hold me while we talk? Need to feel you, please.”

Boba’s eyes widen, concern flickering over his features as he scans for any additional discomfort. “Of course, babygirl. Wanna get undressed, too?” he asks, his hands rubbing your thighs to give you a point of contact as you consider his question.

Your unease stops rising enough for you to crack a smile. “We’re really not going to that play, are we?”

Chuckling, he smiles down at you. “No, princess, we are absolutely not.” 

That established, Boba helps undo all the work of getting you into your evening attire—spending extra time kissing down your legs to remove your heels, his fingers playing with the anklet that led to the evening’s fun—and gets out of his. Tucking you into his side, skin to glorious skin, he pulls the covers over the both of you and begins rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “That better now?”

“Mmm hmm, so much better,” you confirm, burying your face into his warm chest. The rising tension in your own abates and your heartbeat slows back to normal.

“You want to keep going, princess? We can call it a night if you want to.”

You start kissing up his neck in answer, yours hand roaming up the inside of his thigh. “Yes, Daddy, I want to keep going. I wanna keep going until you’re coming dry,” you tease, biting down on his shoulder.

He gives your ass a swat. “Behave.”

“Yes, sir,” you giggle, resting your head back down on him and reigning in your wandering hands.

Boba strokes his thumb over your hip bone and you can tell he’s trying to find the words to say whatever he’s thinking about. After a couple moments, he asks in a low voice, “So you… really want that from me?”

You trace over the tattoos swirling over his pectoral with your fingertip. “Want what?”

“Your anklet… do you really want to be my girl?”

“I am your girl.” You smile to yourself at his sudden sheepishness; you know what he’s trying to ask but you want to hear him say it in that luscious voice of his. Is it selfish? Maybe, but you think you’re entitled to a little fun at his expense every now and again, especially when you’re about to let him fuck you into oblivion.

Boba grumbles at your insistence on being difficult, exhaling a long breath. “I mean, you want me to be… Daddy?”

As cute as it is to see your big bad dominant boyfriend have any doubt about your wish when you’re literally wearing jewelry that says so, the coals of your desire are starting to glow hot and ready in your belly. And he makes it sound even better than it already is with that voice. “Yes, Boba. I want you to be my Daddy,” you smile up at him with a peck to his jaw. The professor is a deeply caring man under the thick armor of his exterior. He craves an outlet for the tenderness the universe never allowed him just as you long for the safety the world so rarely afforded you.   

“Oh babygirl,” he groans, pulling you into lap so you’re straddling him. He cups the back of your head, slotting your lips against his in a passionate kiss. “I’m… you’re… what made you want this?” he gasps into your mouth, his lips never leaving yours.

His growing desperation and the hard length of his cock twitching against your thigh has your hips rocking over his. “Well… when I first saw the anklet… I thought it would be a funny way… to rile you up. So I bought it… with your money of course.”

He chuckles, peppering kisses down your jaw to your neck. “I would hope so, princess.”

You pull him farther into you with a hand on the back of his head. “But the more I thought about it… the more I liked the idea-fuck, just like that.” Boba has taken your pebbled nipples between his fingers and is rolling them just perfectly. “I read some stuff about those kinds of relationships online and it just seemed right. You take such good care of me and I trust you with every bone in my body. And you’re just so… you. Knew it was what I wanted ahh-” He had pinched your nipples, making you keel into him with your back arched. 

He grabs two handfuls of your hips and presses you flush against him, his lips seeking yours once more. When you’re sufficiently breathless, Boba pulls back with a soft smile. “Thank you, princess,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “That kind of trust you have in me, it… it means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hug him close, breathing in his scent feeling the beat of his heart against your own. Who knew love could be like this? Powerful and sweet; intense, yet soft. Unplanned but perfectly balanced.  

“Now what do you want for your reward, pretty girl?”

It had seemed like a wonderful idea to ask Boba to tie you up and use the new vibrator you’d bought before he fucked you into next week, but now that you’re strung out and openly sobbing after your third orgasm of the night, you’re not sure so sure. Every nerve in your body is raw and burning, and you’re consumed by even the slightest physical sensation, down to Boba’s breath on your damp skin.

“Aww, look at you taking it so well, sweetheart,” he coos proudly, slowly dragging the toy up and down your folds, “You look so good like this, you know that, my pretty girl? I wish I could see you like this all the time. You’re so beautiful.”

All his sugary words only add to the thick haze of overstimulation shrouding your mind; you can’t do anything but whimper and moan as you convulse at the incessant vibrations buzzing on your clit. Even though he’s lowered the power several notches, you’re so kriffing sensitive that you’re crying from the overwhelming sensation of your unabating pleasure. 

“Little princesses should be taken care of, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he promises, “Gotta make sure you’re nice and sensitive so you can feel every single inch of Daddy’s cock when he’s fucking you.”

His words cause the frayed string of your remaining sanity to snap. You wail at the thought of having him inside and out, rocking through your sopping cunt. “Oh, fuck, oh ffffuuuuck! I’m gonna-I’m-” you choke, desperately trying to get the words to form on your tongue that feels too big for your mouth, “P-please can I come? Wanna-wanna be good but it’s too f-fucking much, please!”

“That’s my good girl, go ahead, go ahead and come for Daddy,” he permits, “I wanna hear you scream.” He pushes the vibrator more firmly against you so no matter how much you shake and squirm you can’t escape its boundless energy.

Too much, too much, feels so good, too much, FUCK! You explode with ragged pleasure, your nerves raked to shreds, the overbearing sensation ripping through your wound-up insides like some sort of demon of desire. 

When Boba removes the toy from your clit it almost makes you scream again, the sudden loss of contact shocking your senses like you’d been dunked in ice-cold water. “Shh shh shh,” he soothes, the tender pride in his voice caressing over your harsh angles, “I’ve got you, that’s a good girl, there you go.” He continues to coo over you, rubbing your overwrought muscles loose from their tensed state. He doesn’t untie you though.

“You did so good for me, little one, I’m so proud of you,” he praises, ��coming four times for me. That’s a new record, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Parting your lower lips, he brushes his fingers through the unbelievable amount of wetness there. You shudder and whimper as you press your thighs together in an attempt to stop the agonizing friction of his fingers against your aching clit. Boba tsks, slapping his free hand down on the meat of your thigh, making you squeal and jump at the stinging strike. “Ah ah ah, you don’t decide when you’re done, princess, you don’t get that choice. Only I decide when you’ve had enough.”

“B-but it’s s-so m-much,” you sniffle, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks as you pull against the restraints that have your hands fastened to the headboard—the only thing tethering you to this universe.

He rubs his large, warm hands up and down your ribcage in slow strokes. “Aww, I know, pretty baby, but you want to be good for Daddy, don’t you?” Dipping down, Boba plants soft kisses up the valley of your breasts and neck and over your chin, finally landing on your quivering lips. You bob your head, a broken hum from your throat confirming your sentiment. “That’s my girl, my sweet little angel. Now open up those legs nice and wide for me, let me see that pretty pussy.”

With another sniffle, you crack your legs apart against your body’s instincts, feeling so exposed yet totally safe with him. You know down to the depths of your soul that he would only ever care for you. That in his bed, you’re perfect, adored, and safe, you’re the center of his universe. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you if you asked and no amount of pleasure he wouldn’t bring you.

Humming in enjoyment of what his work wrought, Boba shifts down the bed to layer wet kisses over the expanse of your slicked thighs and puffy folds. He stops to lick and suck your arousal up with his tongue while he mumbles about how delicious you taste just for him. The fog of your orgasms clears just enough for desire to start to spark again between your thighs at his wet tongue and salacious praise.

You want him inside you, no, need him inside you, painting your insides with his mark and sweating curses into your skin. You crave the way he’s stripped bare by your body and the pleasure it brings him, those precious few moments where he can shed the weight of his pain and be lost in you. “Daddy, please, want you inside me, want you to fuck me,” you whine, arching up with an offer of your body, “Wanna make you feel good, too.”

Boba groans at your request, his dark eyes fluttering shut as he bites down into your thigh. “You’re so good to me, cyare, so, so good to me…” He rests his forehead on your soft belly for a moment, looping his arms around you and holding you close for a handful of heartbeats. He then slides up your body to release you from your bindings. “Let Daddy hear you beg for his cock one more time, pretty baby. Let me hear it one more time and give you just what you want, just what you need.”

You do as you’re told, pleading and simpering while you watch how Boba begins to crack under his desire, his arousal glowing through his fissures like magma beneath a volcano. Maker, how you want to feel the tectonic power of him, the unforgiving slate of his hips and the obsidian points of his lust-blown eyes, to drown in his primordial pleasure. Digging your nails into his back you tell him so, panting your desires into his ear until he finally erupts. 

Snarling, he tosses your legs over his shoulders and buries himself into you in one smooth, frictionless motion. He sets a harried pace that has your anklet swinging right next to his face with every thrust of his powerful hips. And true to his word, you can feel every single goddamn inch of him pounding into you; you swear you can see the brink of ecstasy’s insanity on the horizon, brought closer by every ridge and vein of his thick cock sliding in and out of you.

Boba’s fucking you straight through the mattress, pinning you underneath his massive bulk and forcing the air from your lungs with every stroke—it’s almost violent and you fucking love it. Seeing him lose control, burn through his restraint, has you clenching around his length as it pumps inside of you.

 “Fuck, princess, baby, I’m not going to last long,” he growls, pressing his lips into you calf, “You’re so karking hot and wet and tight. I’ll never get tired of-shit-of fucking this perfect cunt.” His fierce pace of his snapping hips begins to falter and you know he’s close, your swollen walls sucking him into your velvet heat over and over as your own mind begins to dissolve. 

You feel too hot for your own skin in the best possible way. Boba’s a wreck and it’s making you insane. “D-don’t,” you plead, ragged and fucked out, “j-just come in me, please.” The wet sound of skin slapping and his dick shucking into your soaked pussy is all you can hear.

“N-no, want you to… fuck, I want you to come too, you’re so perfect… so fucking good to me, I want you t-to come with me-”

“Daddy, please,” you whimper, what’s left of your mind knowing it would shatter the remainder of his restraint, “Oh, please, Daddy! Daddy please come inside me, I want you so bad. Want to ache and feel you dripping out me all fucking night!”

Boba makes a primal sound that has to be both a curse and prayer, his face contorting in the shape of pure pleasure as his muscles ripple and lock, his hot release pumping into your insides with a sweet heat. He bites into your ankle, just below where your jewelry hangs and his fingers carve bruises into your soft flesh. 

You’re marked with him in every conceivable way—the thought of truly being his inside and out has another orgasm slamming into your chest, knocking the breath from your lungs as you cry out in unexpected ecstasy. You can feel his spend spilling out around his cock as he continues fucking into you. It ratchets you even higher, making your pleasure feel like an epoch of its own, unending and rapturous as it burns you alive. “F-fuck, Boba, I can’t stop-I can’t stop coming!”

“D-don’t you dare stop, don’t you fucking dare… ner mesh’la cyare you feel so karking good I’m going to lose my fucking mind…” Boba’s rough rasp is utterly wrecked and only prolongs your pleasure; so long you’re afraid you won’t be able to make your mind fit back in your body it’s so full of him.

His hips don’t stop rutting into you as his head drops to your shoulder, moving on their own accord. You shiver and moan into one another as the pulsing waves of overstimulation wash though you. “C-can’t s-stop, babygirl, can’t stop. You feel s-so good,” he pants in a thin, strained voice, his hands running over every piece of you that they can.

In your blissed out existence, your only marker for the passage of time is the feeling of his length beginning to swell and harden inside you, the erotic sensation making your fluttering hole clench tight around him. He groans and starts rubbing your clit with shaking fingers and you contort with the overwhelming pleasure, pulling his hardened cock even deeper into your ruined cunt. Boba begins to push deeper and faster inside you, the very idea of him fucking you again making you throb around him. You know you’re too far gone to come again, but you want nothing more in the whole galaxy than to feel him fill you up when he’s already dripping out of your pussy.

Weakly moving your hips to match his thrusts, you mewl into his ear, intent on giving him all the pretty sounds you can to push him over the edge. You could break him like this, but all you want to do is heal him in whatever way you can, to give him everything he has given you. So when you get your next idea, you don't think twice about it: slinging your arm around his neck, you beg him to fuck you like he’s gonna be a real daddy, beg him to fuck his load so deep that it takes. 

A groan rips out of his chest like his spirit is tearing free and he snaps his hips so far into you he might have ended up in your guts if he hadn’t knocked into your cervix first. The sharp pain doesn’t even matter, intense and harsh as it is, because Boba is fucking coming. Inside. You. Again. The wet sound of him pounding a second load of his seed into you to the point of overstimulation for both of you is sin itself, nearly drowning out the sound of his ragged curses, your broken moans, and both your haggard breathing.  

When he finally collapses on top of you heaving and sweat-slicked, you’re smiling, your face soaked with the tears running down your cheeks and temples from the intensity of the night’s pleasure. Eventually, he pulls you on top of him, careful to slot your legs between his own instead of straddling his hips so you’re comfortable. He kisses the tears from your lashes and whispers how kriffing naughty and dirty you are for begging him to knock you up; you just giggle and praise the Maker for birth control.

After a quick shower that’s more or less the two of you wrapped in one another under the hot water, you’re curled into him under crisp sheets with him just as the sun finishes setting, painting the walls in carmine light. You’re both out before the moon even rises.

The next day you’re sore, incredibly sore, as in every-damn-step-you-take sore. You don’t mind, not really, not when the previous night’s pleasure and its reminder make you dizzy to think about. You do, however, milk it for all it’s worth, insisting that your handsome professor baby and coddle you to the point of ridiculousness. Your plans for a day out quickly turn into a day in, snuggled under blankets with him and take-out food. 

Boba himself is utterly infatuated by you and the entire situation, the pride of fucking you so deep and good that you nest the next day—in addition to setting his own personal record in recovery time—mixed with the almost bashful remorse of causing you a lasting discomfort. You don’t think there’s been a second where he wasn’t massaging or rubbing out some muscle in your body the entire day. Maybe heaven really is a place on earth.

No one calls at 1:27 in the morning unless there’s a problem. Ragged anxiety scratches down your nerves, pricking your skin and pumping awful heat into your blood. Boba’s name stares up at you from your phone screen as it continues to ring, its light too harsh for your sleep-adjusted eyes. Forcing a path through your thorny dread, you yank your phone off its charger and drag your finger across the screen to answer the call. “B-boba? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You don’t mean for your voice to come out as distressed as it does. But no one calls at 1:27 unless there’s a problem.

The familiar deep voice of your professor on the other end attempts to assure you. “Easy, princess. Everything’s alright.” There’s a long pause that keeps your heart from settling back down from your throat to its place in your chest. “I’m sorry to wake you, I just… I needed to hear your voice.”

  The uncharacteristic hesitancy and tightness in his tone makes your stomach churn; things are definitely not alright. Spiked adrenaline starts to flood your system, making sweat bead across your skin as you stumble out of the bed towards your closet to find real clothes. I have to be ready to help him, go to him. “Boba, baby, tell me what’s wrong,” you coax, yanking a hoodie on while you consciously attempt to keep him from clamming up, even as your own anxiety claws up your ribs.

There’s a couple breath’s worth of leaden silence that is far too heavy for the few seconds it lasts. “I-I shouldn’t have bothered you so late, princess, I’m sorry…” He sounds ragged, like he’s still trying to catch his breath after losing it.

“No, no, it’s okay.” You’re doing your best to keep your voice calm despite the fact every alarm bell in your head is screaming at full volume. “Just tell me what’s wrong, Boba, tell me, baby.” You’ve never called him that before—baby—but it feels right, feels soft and comforting in this moment. You might not know what’s wrong, but you do know he needs comfort.

A heavy sigh crackles through your phone speaker; you can almost imagine how Boba’s brows are furrowed together, his handsome face creased in a stormy expression as he searches his depths for the right words to say. You know you have to be patient, give him the time he needs, but you’re so anxious you’re pacing the distance between your bed and closet, chewing your lip.

When he finally speaks again it’s like it’s been ages since you last heard his voice, its sound like a balm on your mind. “The dreams are back, and I don’t always sleep well… you always make it better, I just needed to hear your voice, know that you’re safe.” The torment in his beautiful voice is like a vice around your heart; it makes you ache all the way down to the dust in your bones at the prospect of him suffering so greatly. You know he has his demons, the ghosts of his past that you sometimes catch flashes of like haints in the mirror of his eyes. He hadn’t yet acknowledged them and you haven’t pressed, aware that he needs a wide berth around his inner self. 

But now? He’s reaching out a hand and you’re going to do everything in power to pull him from the rapids roiling inside him. “I’m safe, baby, I’m okay,” you soothe, chucking your phone between your face and shoulder so you can pull on a pair of leggings, “Tell me what you need.”

“I’m fine now, cyar’ika, really. I’m sorry for waking you up, just get some rest for me, babygirl.” Boba’s voice is beginning to steel over and you can tell he’s closing in around himself.

I can’t help him if I don’t know what’s wrong. You have to take a firmer approach.

“Oh, no you don’t!” you declare sternly, planting a hand on your hip even though he can’t see you, “No one calls at 1:30 in the morning if everything’s ‘fine.’ I’m coming over. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” You’re wide awake and your body is itching for action: you can’t rest knowing the man you love is in so much pain he actually allowed it to be seen.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, “I don’t want you on the roads at this hour.”

You already have your purse in hand. “Then you better start talking, or I’ll be knocking on your door.” You shake your keys loudly so he can hear—sometimes you have to threaten the man for his own good. 

He groans and falls silent and you can tell he’s reached his limit for words—you have to tread very carefully to keep him from shutting down completely. He needs action, touch, something physical to soothe his soul, immaterial words did very little for him. “Hey,” you try gently, your voice softening, “Why don’t you come over here. You always sleep better with me, yeah? And that way you can make sure I stay put.” 

After a moment of consideration, Boba grunts out an affirmative. “I do sleep better with you…”

“Then get over here,” you urge, “the light’s on.”

“I’ve already disturbed you enough, little one, it’s-”

“Boba Fett, since when have I ever passed up the chance to have you in my bed?” you interrupt. The nerve of this man, I swear. 

Your exasperated question garners you a weary chuckle from the professor. “I’ll give you that, princess.” He sighs and you can hear that he runs a hand over his face. “Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”

Your heart clenches at the genuine concern in his voice. If only he would care for his own wellbeing as much as he does for mine. “It will be the exact opposite of trouble,” you promise, “I sleep better with you, too.” It’s the truth, his solid warmth next to permitted you a sleep you didn’t even know people could get.

Boba finally acquiesces at your assurances and says he’ll be over as soon as he packs some clothes. Satisfied, you flick on a lamp and wrap yourself in a blanket on your couch to wait for him. Now that relief is starting to cool off your shock, your eyelids begin to droop at the late hour. You’re determined to stay awake until he arrives, however; you open one of the games on your phone and half-play it until a message notification pings with Boba letting you know he’s pulled up. A minute later, there’s a knock on your door and you pick up your blanketed self to let him in.

You’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that fits snug across his broad chest. As good as he looks though, it’s all overshadowed by the slump in his proud shoulders, the darkness shadowed under his deep eyes, and the weariness creased in his face. He manages a tired smile when he sees you. “Hey, princess.”

Relief rolls through you when you see him whole and breathing on your doorstep. Wrapping your arms around his thick frame, you just hold him close for a moment. He sags just the slightest bit under your touch, leaning into you and inhaling in your scent. You would carry the weight of a mountain for him if it meant he could find some solace in your arms. “Let’s get you to bed, professor,” you whisper with a chaste kiss on his lips.

Whether it’s the dark hour of night or the promise of your body beside him, Boba is pliant, allowing you to pull him over the threshold and down the hall into your bedroom. You take his shirt for the next day and hang it up and stow his bag away for the morning. He’s practically carved from stone the way he stiffly stands, his only movement coming from his fists clenching and uncurling at his sides as he watches you with a fraught, lost expression.  

Catching the tumult in his eyes, you reach out and snag his hand, pulling him down to the bed beside you. You can see the tension held in his shoulders and corded in his neck, the amount of vulnerability he’s allowing beginning to take its toll. You don’t overwhelm him with words, you just quietly pull the blankets over his body and him into your chest. For being built like a brick wall, Boba is surprisingly pliable underneath your hands as you guide his head under your chin. His arms wrap around you after a moment, tightly pressing him to you as if you are the only thing keeping his head above the water. 

You find yourself humming some nonsense tune you remember from your childhood as you stroke over the back of his head and neck with gentle fingers. One by one, you feel his muscles start to relax where he’s pressed against the line of your body; his breathing slows and evens and his strong heartbeat thumps easier against your chest. You don’t know how long you stay like this, in the warm and peaceful dark, and it doesn’t matter. This is a turning point, a moment of revelation in your relationship with the Mandalorian professor, that happens in silence. Words are unnecessary when the understanding itself is so palpable. 

You are not alone Boba Fett, you care for me and I care for you. Your strength is commendable, impossible even, but that is not what binds me to you. No, it is your heart, that thing you claim is just a scarred-over place between your ribs. I will hold it close to mine, protect it in my own chest as you clear the past out of the spot where yours belongs. There is no rush, no time too long for me, my love. You are mine and I am yours.

You aren’t sure if Boba is even still awake until you feel his lips move against your collarbone in a hushed tone. “I love you.”

It’s a whisper of a thing, wrapped in the safety of the night between the warmth of your bodies—he hadn’t said those words since that first night you were together. You never needed him to, although it’s music to your ears, when his actions spoke far louder than his words.

“I know,” you sigh, brushing your lips over his scarred skin, “I love you, too. All of you.” 

His admission and your affirmation seem to unhook the last of the pain from his chest and he settles into your body, content to melt back into your shared slumber. Looking at him before you shut your eyes, you wonder if the sun ever gets to appreciate its own light and warmth, or if it’s doomed to the cold vacuum of space without ever knowing the life it gives.

It might have been all a dream were it not for the gentle hand caressing your cheek the next morning, waking you to the world of the living. Haloed by the sun beginning to peek through your windows is the man you held in arms through his storm, radiant and beautiful as ever as he rumbles out your name. “Time to wake up, cyar’ika.”

He truly is a sight he is to behold as the morning sun lights up his brown eyes like warm honey and skates across his bronze skin… Maker, you wouldn’t mind waking up like this everyday. “‘Morning,” you mumble back, smiling sleepily up at him as you rub the haze from your eyes. The aroma of fresh bread and savory cheese wafts golden and delightful under your nose. “What smells so good?”

“Breakfast, of course.” Boba flashes you a smile that might as well be liquid sunlight with the way it beams and he reaches down to retrieve a box loaded with pastries from the Cuban bakery down the street. Squealing with happy surprise, you nearly crush the box between your bodies and you lurch forward to throw your arms around his neck. “Careful, princess,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss onto your cheek, “Got some coffee, too.”

You accept the travel up he presses into your hand and the strong smell of the island roast floods your senses. Savoring the first sip, you make a sound of delight at the rich flavor. “How’d you know how I like my coffee?” you tease.

He smirks at you. “You informed me quite early on exactly how you like your coffee.”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “it’s just how I like my men.” When Boba cocks a brow, you grin with the joke on your lips. “Strong, sweet, and full of cream.”

Boba groans at your words, shaking his head with chagrin written across his face. “What am I going to do with you, my little princess?”

Checking the time on your phone, you pat the spot next to you. “Well, you can come back to bed and eat these with me. We have time.”

He obliges you, slipping back under the covers and letting you snuggle up against him as the pair of you tuck into the delicious pastries. After you both have had your fill of the savory danishes, Boba moves to get out of the bed to start getting ready for the work day ahead.

“Wait,” you call out to him. He stops, turning back to face you and tilting his head as he waits for you to speak. “I need you to promise me something.” 

You know he needs things said plainly. You can’t assume he understands you’ll care for him just as he cares for you, that he’ll acknowledge his feelings and let you be the support he needs when everything comes crashing down.

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “Name it, princess.”

You take his face gently between your palms, pulling him back close. Brushing your thumbs over his lips, you search his deep brown eyes. “I know last night was not a one-time occurance. You don’t have to tell me everything or even anything, really, but I do need you to reach out when you’re hurting. You don’t have to face your pain alone. Not anymore.”

His expression clouds over, his walls threatening to go up. “Sweetheart, it’s fi-”

“If you say ‘it’s fine’ I won’t let you near my pussy until after the school year ends.” Boba groans and clicks his jaw shut. “Imagine if I didn’t let you take care of me when I’m hurting or if I didn’t let you help me when I needed it.” Seeing his displeasure with the thought, you continue, “That’s what it’s like for me when you bottle everything up and pretend it’s all ‘fine.’ I need you to promise you’ll tell me when you need help. We don’t have to talk, you don’t have to explain yourself, just tell me what you need in the moment.”

For the first time in your life since you’ve known him, Boba Fett looks afraid. As painful and wrong as it feels, you’re immeasurably grateful that he’s allowing you in to help. “What if… I don’t know what that is,” he finally croaks, unable to meet your eyes.

It breaks your heart to see him like this, so lost in his own mind that he can’t see a way out. “Then just tell me that, my love, and we’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone, Boba. Not now and not every again,” you murmur, brushing a kiss on his lips. You give your words time to sink down through the depths of him, past all his doubts and uncertainty to settle into his heart. “Can you promise me that?”

The rise and fall of his chest is his only movement as he mulls over your words—shifting one’s universe takes time. Eventually, Boba lays his hand over yours and turns his face to the side to press a kiss into your palm. “For you, ner kar’ta, I will try.”

“And that’s all I’ll ever ask of you,” you promise.

The morning eventually carries on, both of you going about your routines in pleasant harmony. Boba takes great joy in picking just what bra and panties you’ll wear for the day when you ask him to, and even greater joy in putting them on you. You yourself quite enjoy buttoning up his crisp blue shirt across his wide chest, especially when he lifts you on your dresser as he kisses the breath from your lungs. You don’t know if it’s the new layer of your relationship or the air of domesticity surrounding the morning, but you swear you’ve never been more in love with Boba than you are right now.

“We’re gonna be late, professor,” you gasp as he kisses down the column of your neck.

“Mmm, they won’t miss us…” he rumbles, grabbing the meat of your ass and pulling you to the edge of the dresser so you can wrap your legs around his torso, “My first class isn’t until ten o’clock.”

Biting down hard on your lip in an attempt to focus your restraint, you shoot back, “Yes, but my first meeting is at 9:30 and I need to answer emails first.”

Grumbling, Boba shakes his head. “Tsk tsk tsk, when did you get so responsible?”

“When you started calling me your good girl,” you answer with a cheeky grin, “Gotta live up to my name.”

“Oh now she wants to be good,” he chuffs, leaning back to look at you with a smile turning up his mouth.

You nip at his plush bottom lip, wiggling in his embrace. “I’m your babygirl, your sweet little angel, remember?”

He snorts. “When you want to be.” Running a hand down your leg, he pulls your knee over his hip so he can feel that your anklet is on. “Still Daddy’s girl?”

Linking your arms around his neck you pull him flush with your chest, you ghost your lips over his. He is yours and you are his, forever.

“Always.”

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS

(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love

cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)

gedet’ye - please

(ner) kar'ta - (my) heart

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

<Part IV — Interlude>

[stickycave]

Building Interest

Summary:

You owe Sans money. You do not have that money. But that's fine! Really! He has an entire business set aside for people like you, to help you pay back your debts like any honest citizen would. Though, it seems the more time you spend with him, the higher your interest grows, and does his personal interest in you.

Pairings: Fellswap Sans/reader

CW: Forced prostitution

His hand is warm and buzzing with magic against your skin as he holds your hip, barely covered by the sparkling fabric he gave you to wear. Claws dig in slightly, a sigh he’s about to speak and you need to pay attention.

“Your first night out my dear, and it looks like you’ll be a popular one,” men, human and monster, stare lecherously at you and the others on offer here. Sans’ smile thins to a devilish grin at the sight, at the men’s building anticipation for the show he’s prepared you for. Well, explained to you anyways, he knows it’s always more fun when the fresh meat is unprepared mentally and emotionally. It always brings in more money. The patrons stare at you like a delicacy, a carefully wrapped sweet they can’t wait to devour. You have to admit, you look the part. Catching sight of yourself in a reflection, you see your body wrapped like candy in the sparkling fabric that denotes you and the other women here as for service for the night.

The men press buttons on the electronic ballots they were given and his tablet pings. With a sharp slap to your ass that makes you yelp, he gestures to a section of the club with a padded level, like a table.

“Good, keep making sounds like that, they might even tip you.”

“There? In front of everyone?”

“Of course. Some prefer to watch than participate, but still pay. It adds up. And if you want to pay off that pesky little debt of yours…” He trails off, his arm around you again as with a smug grin he drags his claws down the small expanse of exposed skin along your side.

You go stiff despite the small shiver his action brings you, remembering just how much money you owe him. You needed it at the time, it was an emergency and yet every debt has to be paid. Swallowing hard you nod, walking like a death march to the platform, your first customer waiting for you and if you want to pay off that debt sooner rather than later, hopefully not your last.

All the while Sans watches with a satisfied grin, coaching you from the side lines, enjoying the sounds of your voice as it cries out and you do your best to fake a moan when you can and the slaps of skin as the customers take you carelessly. Perhaps your next night he’ll make sure to swap out your make up, something that runs easier.

His hands tighten on his tablet, a crack webbing across the screen, as her remembers applying your make up for you just hours ago, making you stay still as he painted your face. He doesn’t bother with more of his products, but you… Yes. You’re his favourite.

And he could mold you so easily. He’ll have to add the tablet to your debt.

[frizzybizzy-21]

Reality (Atsumu Miya x Reader Timeskip!)

Prologue

I forgot to mention, this won't really be following the timeskip in haikyuu. and since Im not in university, please give me feedback on what is wrong in this! I would really be thankful. Btw, this is a female reader, I'm sorry!

                                          ~~~~

You had just finished summer break. Now you are getting out of your parents car to finally move into your own apartment. You were debating if you should get a dorm instead of an apartment. You found out that the apartment wouldn't be so bad since the rent would be split with your roommate. So, you of course trying to spend little to no money right now decided to go for the apartment.

When you got out of your parent's car, you walked to the back of the trunk and pressed the button to open it. Once it opened, you grabbed your luggage out first. You knew that the heavier stuff would be easier since it would go by faster, but you didn't really care. You wanted to do the lighter stuff first. You placed the luggage on the ground and went to grab another one. Once you had both on the ground, You started to walk toward the doors of the apartment building.

"Y/n! Don't you want to do the heavy stuff first? It would be easier," Stopped when you heard your mom yell your name out. You turned around, walking back to the car. You knew she would say that, but you also knew that she agrees with anything you say. "Nah, it'll be fine. Trust me." All she said was if you say so. I smiled at her, turning around while walking toward the apartment building again.

You stopped in front of the building. You placed the luggage down and put your hand in your pocket. You started to search in your pocket, digging deeper to see if your paper was there. 'Come on...I know I have it in here!'. As you were about to give up, you realized that it was in the other pocket. You pulled your hand out to reveal the paper of your apartment number was there. 'Thank God! I should probably write things down on my phone instead.'

As you were about to walk in, your dad walked in front of you. He opened the door and grabbed one of your luggages from your hand without saying anything. You thanked him and the both of you started to walk to the front of the desk to ask for your keys. Your dad was about to open his mouth, but you nudged him on his side. You knew that he was going to ask for you, but you also knew that you had to do things by yourself now. You sighed and faced toward you.

"I can do it. Trust me, I can." You turned and walked toward the desk. You already practiced in your head what you were going to say so all that practice would've been for nothing. You reached the front desk and saw that guy was there. You waited there until he had realized you were there. "Oh! Hello there! Is there anything you need help with?"

You sorta just stood there, not until your dad hit your shoe. "I uh...I'm just moving in and I wanted to know if you had my apartment key." you mentally wanted to slap yourself. 'Of course they have your key!!!! Why wouldn't they???' You realized that you were overthinking it, maybe he didn't notice? Whatever, you just wanted to go to your apartment already, you were tired of traveling and being in a car for hours.

"Okay, what is your name?"

"L/n Y/n" You gulped. The anxiety started to kick in slowly. You started to fidget with your fingers. 'Just calm down, just calm down'. You kept thinking to yourself. You looked down at the floor, waiting for the guy to say something. "Okay...", You looked up from the floor and watched as the guy placed a hand under his chin as he was looking at his computer. He started to squint his eyes, taking longer and longer to find your name. 'Damn, how long is this going to take? What if my name is not there?! What happens if I'm not at the right addr-' Your thoughts were cut off as the guy finally opened his mouth.

"There you are! Okay...here are your keys! And here and some of the papers that you would be needing to sign with your roommate! Sorry for taking so long! Have a wonderful day!" He reached his arm toward you and smiled. You grabbed the keys from his hand and bowed. You said thank you very quietly, but it was still loud enough for the guy to hear.

You turned to face your dad and motioned him to start following you. As he started to walk toward you, you headed to the elevator. As you made it in front of the elevator, you heard your dad sigh. You glanced at him seeing that he was looking down with a frown on his face. "What's wrong? I've never seen you like this." He looked up and just stared at the doors of the elevator. He still had a frown on his face.

"I just...I just thought I would wait longer. Seeing you grow up so fast. I thought maybe it would be slow, but I guess I'm finally letting you go now." You never really saw or heard your dad like this. So him being like this is obviously going to make you tear up. You waited a few seconds to make sure that you were prepared to talk to him without crying.

"You know I'm still going to be your little girl, right? Even if I'm busy with school, I'll still call you and mom when I can. Okay?" you placed your luggage on the floor and hugged your dad. As you were hugging him, you felt the tears coming back again. No matter how hard you try, you seem to cry when your dad says something. You pulled away not really knowing what to do, but you felt him pat your back.

"Okay. But just promise me that you'll be careful? I don't want you getting in trouble while I'm not here." you heard him chuckle at the last part. You smiled when you heard that. Even if your dad didn't really show it, he really wanted to cry. "I'm smart enough to know what's trouble and what's not." As you said that, you both laughed and watched at the doors to the elevator open. You both walked in not really saying anything, but you two were smiling in secret.

You pressed the button with the number 3. You were thankful that your apartment was on the 3rd floor. After waiting a minute or so, you walked out with your dad behind you. You looked down at your paper and saw the number 13. You look up from the paper and scan the hallway to see where the door was. For a few seconds, you didn't see it. But your eyes landed on the door that was on the far right. 'Yes! Finally!'. You turned to your dad and motioned to him that you had found it. You felt like a kid when you found it, you had run to the door, not even waiting for you dad. You got your keys, frantically trying to put the key in the keyhole. 

You struggled a bit, but you finally got it open. 'Omg! I finally can't wait to rest now!', you stretched like you were finally home from a long day of work. "You seem like it's already home!" You rolled eyes playful to your dad, "I mean, it is home. Now, let's go find mom. She's probably lost by now!". The two of you laughed and placed the luggage in the living room before walking out and trying to find your mom.

TIME SKIP!!!!!!

After getting everything out of the car and into your apartment, you told your parents that it was fine that you took care of the rest. But, of course, your mom was worried.

"Are you sure you don't want us to help out with unpacking? Your father and I don't have anything to do!" You raised your hand and waved at them no. "No, it's fine mom. You two have already done enough. Either way, it's getting late. By the time you two are halfway done with unpacking my things, it would be 10pm. Just imagine how late you two are going to get back to the house!" Your mom looked at you then at your dad.

"Well, you do have a point there...But just call us if you need help! We'll be having dinner nearby, so just call us okay?" You nodded at them. "Okay mom. I'll text you guys, just to see if you found your way home." your parents laughed. They made their way towards you, hugging you one last time. You hugged them back and stayed that way for a while.

"I'm going to miss you." you didn't realize that your mom was crying until you felt your shoulder being a bit wet. You rubbed her back trying to comfort her the best way you could. She finally pulled away and looked at you. "We will too..." You hugged them one last time and walked them out. As you saw them leaving, you yelled out, "I love you!" your parents turned around and yelled it back. You smiled, waving at them as they entered the elevator.

You walked into your apartment and closed the door behind you. 'It's now just me. I wonder when my roommate is going to be here? I better start getting everything unpacked.' You walked towards all of your luggage and started the long process of unpacking everything. 

                                                                                                                        word count: 1636 Words

[man--eater]

WIP Wednesday!

It's WIP Wednesday! Time to share works-in-progress, writing or art, for Hazbin Hotel/Helluva boss! No pressure tags to share a piece of what you're working on: @sunsetofdoom @onswifterwings @alikandre @verona2314 @oakishdelights and anyone else who sees this and wants to play! Consider yourself tagged by me! Feel free to use the banner!

Here's a (SAD) Alastor backstory/flashback bit I'm working on for the next chapter of my fic:

Alastor sat against the thin wall of the shack, listening to his mother’s low whimpering and the occasional grunt from the man. His fingers worried the little piece of antler he carried everywhere, worn smooth by his relentless fidgeting. The repetitive creaking of the thin cot frame finally stopped. Alastor squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the man rise to his feet, buckling his belt, then he dared a glance through a crack in the wood. “I need money,” his mother said slowly, thickly, as if she had to speak around each word. She was clumsily buttoning up the front of her dress, missing several along the way. “For food, for clothes—for the boy.” “I told you to drown it years ago,” the man said, rough and dispassionate. “This is your own damn fault.” He lit a cigarette; there were so many holes and cracks in the roof of the shack that Alastor could see the smoke rising through it. “He’s your son,” his mother spat, “and you can’t even spare a penny!” She slapped the man across the face once and wound up for a second blow. The man seized her by her shoulders, lifting her off her feet and slamming her against the wall hard enough to knock the last candle off the shelf; it fell and broke in two on the floor. His mother groaned, reaching up to palm the back of her head. She looked at her hand, bemused by the blood on her fingers—too drunk to fully register the pain. “If you ever say that again, I will fucking kill you,” the man said, his voice low and eerily flat. “You know who I am, you know I have a family—a real family, and I will not let you jeopardize that, you stupid slut. Every cent I’ve given you, you spend on moonshine—that moping boy of yours begs what little he eats off the women in town. Don’t you act like you’re some innocent fucking madonna here.” Alastor ducked away from the wall of the shack, fleeing into the bayou. He crossed a deep patch of water, small feet nimbly moving from stump to stump, knowing where each awaited his next step. His mother was always in a foul mood after the man visited—he came less and less as the years went by, but that only served to stoke her anger. Alastor disliked when the man visited, because no matter how much the man blustered, he always left money for his mother. And when his mother had money, she would be drunk for days and days. He was afraid of her when she was drunk. The bayou, for all its alligators and mosquitos and veiled dangers, was his refuge.

[eldritchaccident]

Timing: While Leviathan was Away(tm) Location: Axis Investigations Feat: @faustianbroker (as Gabagool), @mortemoppetere, & @eldritchaccident Warnings: Alcoholism tw (mention) Summary: Everyone's favorite gossip demon spends some time at Emilio's

Beady little mismatched eyes peeked up over the edge of the table, narrowing into slits when they saw the unattended phone sitting there. The badalisc hunkered down, wiggled his butt, and then leaped onto the table, claws skittering on the wooden top and adding to the scratches that already marred its surface. 

Paw pads slapped at the phone, the creature finding himself thankful that the horrible man his master had left him with didn’t value security, unlocking it to a familiar sort of screen. He knew what the phone button looked like and nosed that, staring at the recent calls screen. 

Shit, he didn’t know Teddy’s number. Or how to spell their name. Shit. 

Oh well.

Starting from the top down, Gabagool started calling every number that had been incoming or outgoing, immediately bitching about being picked up when someone answered, not bothering to wait and hear if it was Teddy. Eventually it was, though, and the lesser demon heaved a relieved sigh. 

“I’ve called like twenty people, Teddy! Come pick me up! This jackoff isn’t even giving me my daily serving of lamb! This is bullshit!” he hollered into the phone, sounding on the verge of hysterics. 

—

When he’d agreed to this gig, it had seemed like easy money. After all, Emilio had once been the father of a newborn who required next to no sleep and had enhanced senses informing her of every movement her parents made in the next room. How hard could any babysitting gig be in comparison to that? 

He wasn’t sure if it was the years separating him from fatherhood or the fact that Levi’s badalisc was just a fucking nightmare, but he was beginning to think Gabagool was worse than a slayer toddler had ever been. He wasn’t even cute, the way Flora had been. He was just annoying.

So when Emilio came into the kitchen to find the little monster on his phone, it ticked him off a little bit.

“Give me that,” he snapped, marching across the room as quickly as he was able and snatching the phone out of the little beast’s grubby hands. “Who the fuck are you calling? Stay away from my shit, man.” He glanced down at the caller ID, groaning at the name he saw there and hanging up as quickly as he could. With any luck, nothing of the call had gone through at all. He and Teddy might be on steadier ground now than they’d been before, but the last thing he wanted was for them to have something like this to hole over his damn head. “I told you, I’m not buying fucking lamb. There’s food here. Just eat that.”

—

The call had gone through, and had the slayer been listening to his surroundings more than just the whiny whims of the badalisc, he might have heard the quiet, raspy, and always just a little curiously eager voice on the other end far closer than he would have imagined. Definitely far closer than he would have liked. Teddy was practically right outside the slayer’s door when the call came. Teddy didn’t even know that Levi had left the precious baby with Emilio of all people. And you know what, Teddy was a bit offended by that. Clearly the detective wasn’t doing a stellar job.

Timing it just-so for maximum effect, Teddy waited until the clamor died down inside the apartment, then knocked a pleasantly annoying tune on the old painted wood. 

— 

Gabs hissed at Emilio as he snatched the phone away, scrabbling his paws on the table in a defiant little dance. “I’m calling for help! I need help! This is abuse!” he howled, leaping down from the table and tearing back into the living room.

“Your food is shit, poor man! I want lamb! Get me lamb! Leviathan makes me lamb! It makes lamb for me every night!” As he sucked in a deep breath to continue wailing, he heard the knock and clammed right up. His ears flicked toward the door, followed by his big head, and that massive mouth split into a toothy grin. “Teds? TEDS?! Oh! Oh!” He could smell them already, bounding over to the door and skittering in tight circles. 

“Get the door, sourpuss! I don’t have fucking thumbs.” 

—

A knock at the door, the subtle scent of sulfur and soap that was becoming more familiar than Emilio would care to admit. The detective groaned, throwing his head back in frustration. How the fuck had Teddy even gotten here so quickly? He glared at the little demon as it took off for the living room, clambering after it quickly enough to make his leg ache. “Maybe I find out what badalisc tastes like, hm? I’ll show you abuse, you little shit.” 

Another knock, and the demon was running to the door on its stupid, too fast legs. Emilio stomped after it, though he made no move towards the doorknob. “One second,” he called through the door. “I gotta put something in the microwave first!” He made a grab for Gabagool as he said it, making it pretty clear what he intended to put in the microwave. He wouldn’t turn it on or anything. He just thought the demon might be quieter in there, was all.

—

The micro– Oh NO. Without another word Teddy barged into the apartment, not waiting for any kind of invitation. What were they, a vampire? Was that even… Not the time Teds. There was a little furball being scooped up by an abrasive detective and clearly he needed saving. The taller demon didn’t even stop to close the door behind them as they swept into the apartment like a tidal wave. 

“Hey– hey! No cooking the baby!” Demons, despite popular belief, were not fireproof. Or radiation proof for that matter. Video games got it wrong. (Though, not too many had tested the microwave method.) With one fluid motion Teddy carefully dropped the basket of things they had brought with them, and scooped up the little furball the way he liked to be held. “Hell’s wrong with you?” Clearly not directed at Gabagool, the very best demon in the world. 

— 

Gabagool had just started up a rather shrill wail when Teddy came barging inside, scrambling to get away from Emilio as the hunter’s hands gripped his fur with malicious intent, only to be scooped up by the other demon and cradled protectively in their arms. 

“He was gonna cook me! He was gonna eat me, Teds!” the badalisc whined, covering his eyes with his front legs, in a dramatic show of fear. “When does Leviathan come home? I want Leviathan back! And I want my lamb!” 

—

Stupid broken lock. Teddy barged in before Emilio could make good on any of his threats, snatching the wretched little demon out of his hands and holding it like it was a baby instead of the worst thing Emilio had ever had to put up with in his life. He preferred the vampire who’d gotten the drop on him in Mexico six years ago to this thing, even if he’d been mostly dead by the time Rhett finally found him and dragged him back home. He’d like to be mostly dead right now, he thought. If he were mostly dead, he wouldn’t be babysitting a sea monster’s badalisc. It’d probably be peaceful. 

Glaring at the badalisc as Teddy spoke, Emilio nodded. “No, no, you’re right,” he said. “I shouldn’t cook him in the microwave. I’m sorry about that. Really. The oven would work a lot better.” He made another grab for Gabagool, though it was a half-assed attempt at best. He wasn’t really going to put the little shit in the oven, but he’d like to spook it into acting a little less annoying. 

Still glaring, Emilio turned his attention to Teddy. “Wait, how the fuck did you get here so quick. And what — You brought a basket? I’m not cooking lamb for this thing.”

—

There was a lot of mental gymnastics going on behind those ruby red glasses. Teddy tried their best to soothe the frantic demon in their arms with scritches right behind his ears, the way Gabs liked. If Leviathan trusted Emilio to take care of Gabagool, he had to know. But how much? Levi knew he was a hunter, even went as far as to say that was a reason to not 'hang around' the slayer. The middlest Jones squinted, boring their eyes into Emilio as if all his secrets would spill if they just stared hard enough. But they weren't a badalisc. Just the pudgy ball of sass still wiggling about in Ted's arms. 

"I was summoned." They replied flatly, lying outright for once. Another sort of test, gauge his response, see where he lands. "The basket isn't for Gabs." Would they explain what it was for? No. Detective Danger over there could figure it out his damn self. "I did door dash us some ingredients though. This place does have a stove right?" Cooking for Gabagool was always a treat for Teddy. Where Leviathan gobbled up anything the lad made, happily, greedily, Gabs had a discerning palate. Made Ted feel like they were on a cooking competition show. Made them want to make fancy things. "Braised lamb and carbonara, okay Gabs?"

—

Positively melting at the suggestion, Gabagool relaxed in Teddy's arms. "Ohh, that sounds heavenly," he sighed, reaching for his back paws with the front pair, throwing Emilio a faux smile as he did his best to appear as cute as possible. "See, garbage man, this is how you treat a guest! You're getting paid a ridiculous amount of money to take care of me… you could try a little harder." 

Seemingly done with his tantrum now that Teddy had arrived, he wiggled to be put back down, standing stock still as Perro entered the living room to see what the commotion was. The two had a five second stare-off before Gabs huffed and scurried over to him, initiating play much like if he was a dog himself. 

—

Kiss ass, Emilio thought, continuing to glare silently at Gabagool as he twisted and relaxed in Teddy’s arms. Acting like he hadn’t been a little shit the entire time he’d been here. Now Teddy probably thought he was some kind of an asshole who’d been tormenting the stupid thing. Not that Emilio cared, of course. Who gave a shit what Teddy Jones thought of him? 

He shoved his hands into his pockets as Gabs ran off to play with Perro. The dog, at least, was thrilled with the temporary addition to the household. Emilio turned his attention to the basket Teddy had brought, rifling through it. Groceries, like they’d told Gabs, sure. But other things, too. “Why are you walking around with a basket full of candles and shit? And did — You’re kidding. Right? About the summoning.” Levi made it sound a hell of a lot harder to summon a demon. Emilio shook his head, straightening back up and nudging the basket towards the door with his foot. “Whatever. That thing doesn’t deserve… whatever you said you were gonna make him. He’s a prick.” He said it loudly enough for Gabagool to hear, shooting another vague glare in the smaller demon’s direction. “We don’t need any help here. Tell your dad that everything’s fine.”

—

“The candles are for something else that I said I’d do. I’m just here to do it.” Teddy didn’t answer the second part. Simply smiled and raised their brows as they brushed past, searching for the kitchen they were not invited to use. They passed by the playing creatures with a pleasant hum. It was actually pretty nice to see the little demon getting along with another animal, even if that one couldn’t talk up a storm the way Gabs could. “If you think you don’t need help you’re in denial. Did pops not tell you that Gabagool could make rumors come true? You gotta treat him like the little prince that he is, and he’ll be a wonderful house guest. Plus, he likes the Golden Girls. That tip’s for free.” One big grin and the demon disappeared behind the wall. 

Teddy didn’t know what they were expecting to find in the kitchen, but it was somehow both better and worse than they thought it’d be. But– serviceable. Enough. Just a bit of light scrubbing before they got to work. Something they’d probably have to do before setting up any wards or rituals anyway, if they wanted the chalk to stick long enough for it to work. Ted’s phone chimed lightly, letting them know the dasher was coming up to drop off the ingredients that they’d need, but Ted had brought some stuff with them. Were they planning on making dinner here anyway? Maybe. Would they say it’s just cause the rituals would take some time, and doing magic on an empty stomach was never a good idea? Yes. 

“Do you at least have a sauteé pan?” 

—

Hearing Teddy talking up his abilities, the lesser demon allowed a smug smirk to settle over his animalistic features, replacing the scowl that’d been directed right back at Emilio only moments ago. 

Headbutting Perro gently to end their play, the badalisc trotted into the kitchen after Teddy, bumping hard into Emilio’s leg as he went, his stump of a tail held as high in the air as it could be. “And gosh, wouldn’t it be a shame if I’d heard that both your knees were bad? Or that you were terribly, terribly sick? That would be so sad for you!” The threat, while lighthearted, was… probably serious. 

“A man without a sauteé pan? You see what I’ve been dealing with, Teddums? This is an outrage.”

—

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emilio wracked his mind as Teddy brushed by him, trying to remember if the demon had promised (or perhaps threatened?) to do anything around his apartment. There’d been talks of rituals to ease the curse, sure, but the curse was over now, wasn’t it? Sure, he still woke up in a cold sweat with his own voice in his head, echoing the thought that had rattled through his mind when he put that blade in Lucio’s gut, but that was no different than the dreams of his old living room back in Etla that still plagued him, or the way he sometimes swore he spotted Flora in a crowd. Not a supernatural thing, not really; just the broken mind of a broken man. 

Deciding that whatever was happening in the kitchen was more important than the basket on the floor, Emilio turned to follow Teddy in that direction, shooting Gabagool a glare at the threat. “I’ll feed you to a goat,” he hissed in Spanish, figuring Teddy couldn’t judge him for a threat they wouldn’t understand. Turning back to the slightly more tolerable demon, he said, “I have a pan. It’s on the fridge.” It was not, of course, a sauteé pan, though Emilio was unaware that there was any kind of a difference. “If your little monster starts making things come true about me, I’m going to kick it,” he added.

—

If anyone was gonna spill the beans that Teddy knew Spanish it was going to be Gabagool, but there was definitely more dirt to unpack from that pile. So the demon just looked over at the badalisc, looked back at the food they were preparing and gave a rather knowing look to the little gossip monger. Gabs had been in the family long enough to know the scheming face of Teddy Jones. 

“Speaking in tongues is usually the thing that demons do, not the people watching them, Cortez.” Pan. Single. Ugh. This was going to be a challenge. In a way, that was kind of good though. Fun. Like being on Cutthroat Kitchen. At the very least Teds could spy a few wooden tools, and knives. “If my little angel does that, it’s only because you didn’t respect him enough. Also you may not have a foot long if you do that. Double also, If your kitchen knives aren’t at least as sharp as the ones you use on hunts, I will be disappointed.”

— 

Keep the trap shut. Got it. Gabagool sneered at Emilio, adding a “You wouldn’t dare. Leviathan would gut you,” for good measure before he jumped up on the counter, then to the top of the aforementioned fridge to watch the scene unfold from afar. The creature might have a big mouth, but to be an effective gatherer of gossip, he had to know when to listen, too. 

So he did just that, curling up on top of the smelly, mostly-unused fridge with his chin hanging over the edge, watching the two move about the kitchen with quiet curiosity. 

—

“Getting gutted would be worth it,” Emilio bit back, still glaring at the creature. Gabs retreated to the top of the fridge, which wasn’t quite a victory, but Emilio would accept it as such all the same. Confident — or at least momentarily hopeful — that Gabagool wasn’t going to make good on his threat to rumor his good knee into breaking, the detective turned his attention to Teddy.

They’d certainly made themself at home in his kitchen easily enough, pulling out tools and cooking items that Emilio hadn’t even known he’d possessed. Some of them may have been left by the previous occupant of the apartment, the way a lot of the items scattered around Axis were. Others may have been placed there by well-meaning friends and neighbors. The large wooden spoon certainly looked like a Javi addition. “Knives are sharp,” he confirmed with a nod. You never knew when you might need to use one, after all… though Emilio’s idea of ‘using’ the kitchen knives certainly differed from Teddy’s intentions here. “What are the candles for? If you told me while I was drunk, I don’t remember it now. Don’t remember much of anything there.” It was a lie; he remembered that night on Teddy’s boat a lot more than he’d care to admit, remembered the warmth in his chest that hadn’t been the curse or the alcohol. 

—

Teddy hummed satisfactorily. If there was one thing the demon loved it was knowing something that someone else didn’t. Well. Only if it was for a good reason. Or at least a funny one. Emilio’s confession that Ted wasn’t the problem in their relationship (or lack of one) was a juicy enough tidbit that the ghost would not be given up any time soon. 

Gabs scrambled upward, and the pan came down. All sorts of dirty and grimy in that way that only untouched kitchen clutter always got. Oily dust. A bitch to clean. Teddy’s expression said just as much as they pushed past Emilio to the sink, and slid the pan between a host of other dirty dishes (mostly coffee mugs?) that sat in various stages of growing their own eco systems. A frown wouldn’t do this justice, so Teddy just returned to their aloof base state. 

“Even without the curse hanging over your head I’m sure the wards will do you a bit better than Big Finn alone.” It was quieter, softer. As Teddy scrubbed what seemed like years of build up off the pan, and any stress off their own back. This was something they could do well, something they liked to do for other people. Clear up the clutter in a house, you help them clear up the clutter in their head. Plus, Teds got to cook after, and that was enough to put them in a good mood. If the whole affair came with a little verbal volleyball between them and Emilio? Eh, that was a bonus. 

— 

The fact that they’d been together when Emilio was drunk might’ve been something, but if the bottles catered around the terrible apartment were any indication, that was more the norm, anyway. So maybe nothing. Unless Teddums was also drunk. Humans always did stupid things when they were drunk, and Ted was enough of a human to fall under that umbrella. Affectionately. 

“Is he really worth the effort?” the lesser demon interjected with a scoff, his gaze darting to Emilio. “I mean for fuck’s sake, look at the state of this place. It’d take a miracle to keep anyone happy in a place like this.” Gabagool didn’t know exactly what the wards were for, but he knew Big Finn well enough to make a guess.

—

He could make the claim that his apartment was a mess because of the chaos involved with babysitting Gabagool, or pretend he would have tidied up if he knew that he’d had company on the way, but he didn’t think anyone would buy it. Most of the shit in that sink had been sitting there for far longer than his houseguest had been present, to the point that Emilio had been drinking his morning coffee straight from the pot for a week or so now, and he didn’t think the pan had come off the fridge since the day he moved in. That much was probably obvious by the state of it, if Teddy’s expression had anything to say. 

But, strangely, they didn’t give him hell for it. Emilio watched them carry it to the sink, watched them scrub with a strange expression on his face. What did Teddy care, he wondered, about the shit that went on in Emilio’s head? After all the crap he’d given them, why were they still trying to help? “You don’t have to,” he said lowly, uncharacteristically soft. “Don’t want you wasting any… energy on me, or whatever.” Some things couldn’t be fixed; Emilio Cortez was one of them.

That didn’t mean he enjoyed Gabagool’s commentary, of course. Turning back towards the fridge, his expression shifted from the strangely soft one he’d been delivering to the back of Teddy’s head to a sharp glare. “I still haven’t decided not to stick you in the microwave,” he warned. “You’re small and easy to catch. It could happen at any time.”

—

The badalisc was jabbering on again, and Teddy just continued to smile. Adding in a small shrug at his question. Because hey, when did Teds ever know why they did what they were doing, right? Maybe it was because of some strange desire to see the world better than how they found it. Maybe it was an experiment just to see if they could do it. Maybe it was because throughout each interaction some small sliver of something was uncovered in Emilio that excited Teddy. That reflected back on something that burned within them too. There was a mystery, or at least a hidden treasure. They just knew it. Some strange feeling they couldn’t ignore. 

It wasn’t something that the demon thought the other shared. Even as the man in question talked in softer tones towards Teddy’s back. Even as they turned and caught the briefest glimpse of Emilio’s face before he turned and continued to badger the badalisc. To which Teddy just mocked a stabbing motion behind the slayer's back, mouthing to the tiny demon a quick ‘Should I?’ along with a mischievous grin. To some eyes, (perhaps those seeing this situation for the first time as a third wheel) the motion may have looked to be something else, but that was neither here nor there. There was dinner to be made, and big mouths to feed. 

“Eh.” Teds shrugged again. “I’ll do it anyway. Your apartment’s pretty much in the center of this building. Might help out Sully and Co too. Call it philanthropy. Once I get my mind set on something it’s pretty hard to stop me.” It wasn’t personal. Right? Couldn’t be. Teddy was barely a person. And Emilio sure didn’t think he was much of one either. If the state of this apartment was anything like the man’s mental health, it wasn’t going good. 

— 

Gab’s hackles rose at the return of the threat to cook him up, eyes narrowing at Emilio. “I cannot believe that Leviathan thought you’d be a suitable caregiver, you dick. What’d you do to seduce it, huh? Why’s it like you so much?” Hm. A grin stretched wide across the badalisc’s face at Teddy’s pantomime, unsure of the exact meaning but finding it amusing either way. Snorting, the lesser demon scrabbled down the front of the fridge again to land somewhat ungracefully on his paws, darting underneath the table where it sat to lick the dust out of his fur. 

“You know, you live like this much longer and you’re gonna attract a whole fuckload of stakichar. Then you’ll really be sick all the time, and not just from the whiskey breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

—

“I’m likable,” Emilio replied, a little smug. “Either that, or you’re not likable. Maybe Leviathan left you with me ‘cause he’s hoping to get rid of your sorry ass.” He saw the badalisc’s mismatched eyes dart to something behind his head and he quickly turned around, but by the time he was facing Teddy again, they were the picture of innocence. Asshole. Why had Emilio thought it was a good idea to get involved with a family of demons in the first place? They were all dicks. Even Levi. He’d definitely saddled Emilio with Gabagool as some kind of terrible prank, the slayer was sure of it. 

He watched the lesser demon scramble down from the fridge with a roll of his eyes, glancing back to Teddy. “You really think whatever you’re doing is going to cover the whole building?” That certainly made him more open to it. Trying to help Emilio might have been a waste of the demon’s time and efforts, but if those efforts ended up helping Wynne, Arden, Zack, and Sully, it was something the slayer could get behind. 

As Gabagool went on, Emilio had half a mind to take off his shoe and toss it at the demon. “It’s not that bad,” he said, a little defensive. The apartment wasn’t in great shape right now, sure, but he’d get around to cleaning it eventually. Motivation was just… harder to come by lately. The last few weeks had found him struggling to pull himself off the couch or the mattress for anything other than his basic ‘work, drink, hunt’ routine. It happened, sometimes. Eventually, he’d get enough extra energy to manage the dishes. Until then, they weren’t hurting anyone, no matter what the nosy demon claimed. “You don’t get to talk about how I live, anyway. Are you licking yourself? Eso es repugnante.”

—

“Listen, I’m sure there was a reason Dad chose you.” They trailed off as they got busy. It was strange, but hey Levi had done stranger things. Picking Emilio. Instead of the very clear obvious choice, the one who knew about Gab’s temper, about his likes and dislikes, about the need for lamb. Lamb that Teddy was finally getting to prepare. The nice thing about this particular recipe is that it was quick. Or maybe that was just because of the ritual magic baked right in. Sped up the process. A day's worth of ‘slow cooking’ and flavorful braising in about… five to ten minutes. A demonic instapot. The young demon wasn’t nearly as practiced, or as powerful as Leviathan, but they sure were creative with their rituals and rites. 

Garlic and shallots were thinly sliced, a flavorful broth was boiling away ready for the pasta, and a bit of butter in the pan was making the whole apartment smell like a five star kitchen. The simple things, Teddy found (if they were done juuuust right) made all the difference. The meat was already in the oven, and the demon was quickly balancing a magical act between the ritual and the ‘analog’ cooking. 

When they got like this it was like the demon was in their own little world. Where everything else faded away and some rare equilibrium was reached. Usually this kind of act was reserved for the ones Teddy really cared about but… Well they did care about Emilio. Kind of. In a strange way. It was just… with an odd fascination or something. Right? The idea of something bad happening to the grumpy garbage man twisted up Ted’s stomach in a way they couldn’t really explain. It wasn't pity. That carried a connotation of looking down on the other’s situation. Which just wasn’t the case either. It wasn’t like they were friends, Emilio had made that clear. So maybe it was… empathy? 

Some outreach of the demon’s heart that saw a similar ache in him. Wanted to bandage a wound they had no right to even ask about. In the end it probably didn’t matter. Teddy could feed the badalisc (and the grump), set up the runes and wards, then go back to being told to fuck off. They could figure out feelings later. 

“Bon Appetit my darling prince.” Teddy made a grand show of setting up a plate (perfectly presented with an artistic flair) for the little demon at the table. On top. Not below. They sat next to him, with a much less fancy, but still quite full plate of their own. Then motioned to the counter for Emilio to find the dish set up for him, too. It was rude to just eat in front of someone. Doubly so in their house. 

—

“Yes, because I know how to bathe myself unlike someone in this room,” Gabagool snapped back with a huff. He stood, giving a thorough shake of his little body and then turned on the spot to headbut the table chair until it was pushed out enough for him to climb into. 

Seated on his haunches, the lesser demon stretched his front paws out on the table, resting his chin between them as his gaze danced between the two humanoids in the kitchen. Teds was in their own world as they cooked, which was pretty par for the course. The result, as always, was a delicious concoction of flavors, presented to the badalisc as it ought to have been: with grace and respect. Fuckin’ hell, was that so hard? 

Grinning from ear to ear, the demon bounced excitedly in his chair, wishing he had the booster seat that was back at home. “You, babysitter,” he barked, his gaze snapping up to meet Emilio’s before he got a plate or sat down or did anything that might give him an excuse to say no (aside from just being generally disagreeable), “Get me a phone book or something to sit on. I need leverage on this incredible, amazing meal thankyousomuch my dear sibling.” The back half of the sentence was delivered with a decidedly honeyed tone, a big grin flashed in Teddy’s direction at the same time. 

—

Teddy seemed to lose themself in the process of cooking, though it looked a little more like black magic to Emilio. Whether that was because of Teddy’s added flair to the process or because the slayer had simply never seen anyone cook anything more complex than a sandwich was hard to say. In any case, Teddy’s fascination with their craft essentially left Emilio once again alone with Gabagool. 

“I do bathe myself,” he snapped, irritation clear in his tone. “Just not by licking myself, like some people.” Was it ridiculous, bickering with what essentially amounted to a demon’s pet cat? Yeah. Absolutely. But Emilio was nothing if not stubborn, and he refused to let Gabs get the last word even when it became clear that the argument wasn’t one he could feasibly win. 

If he were a little less exhausted, he would have protested a little more about Teddy’s preparation. The stupid badalisc didn’t deserve lamb after the way it had acted. If you rewarded bad behavior, you were only ever going to see more bad behavior. Every parent knew that, even the bad ones. But he knew Teddy wouldn’t listen, and Gabagool was only his problem for a couple more days, anyway, so fuck it. Anything to make the demon shut up.

Except nothing would make the demon shut up, because the universe hated Emilio specifically. “Stand,” he replied flatly, looking down at the plate Teddy had prepared for him. It looked good, as far as food went. It would taste like ash, anyway. Everything always did. “Who the fuck even has a damn phone book? No.” 

—

Ted’s brows raised as the rest of their face scrunched, as if to ask Emilio if that was really the best course of action here. It couldn’t hide the hint of a smile though. Curling at the edges of their lips, making dimples where smooth cheeks should have been. Instead, the demon stood once more, got the basket they had brought along, and upended it. Carefully. They still needed to actually do the full rituals to fix up this place, and hopefully provide Emilio with a bit of solace. However much the man raged against the idea. Often personally making things worse for himself. 

Teddy lifted and sat the littlest demon on the basket like it was a perfect high chair, comfy and sturdy enough to hold the tiny but dense body. They gave Gab’s one little scritch then decided standing was a lot easier than trying to sit still. Teds munched upon their meal and began the preparations for the ritual. They moved aside the sad excuse for a carpet that blanketed the old hardwood floor and started drawing up the circles and adding in the required runes. 

“Soooooo.” Teds said lowly, trying their best to think of something to talk about that would entertain the badalisc and not piss off the detective too much. “What’ve you been up to that kept you from properly feeding your temporary house guest, huh Cortez?” 

— 

Beaming appreciatively up at Teddy as they situated him on the basket, the creature’s little nub of a tail gave a small wag, and he hummed happily. Paws on the table, Gabagool tucked into the meal with enthusiasm. He was only half listening when Teds posed the question, ears pinned flat as he gave a snort of acknowledgement. 

“Drinking too much, what else?” he snipped, beady gaze darting from where Teddy was settling up the ritual to Emilio, where it narrowed. “Didn’t even take me for any walks. Left that to his… whatever she is. Ward, or something. I dunno.” His expression softened, however. “She was nice, though, so it wasn’t all bad.”

—

God, Teddy babied this thing. Giving it everything it asked for, treating it as gently as one might treat a child or a beloved pet. Emilio rolled his eyes as they bent to its will again, using their basket as a booster seat to help the little monster see over the table. The glare he shot at the pair was mostly directed towards Gabagool, though there was some frustration towards Teddy as well. If they didn’t spoil the demon so much, it wouldn’t have been quite so insufferable. 

Gathering the plate Teddy had prepared for him, the detective practically collapsed into the chair across from Gabagool, still glaring petulantly. A fork pushed food around on the plate, though he had little interest in actually eating it. The rock that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his stomach felt heavier as of late, and attempting to put any food in his stomach didn’t seem like a particularly appealing thought. Neither did conversation, but that wasn’t quite as easy to get out of.

“I don’t drink too much,” he snapped, though he knew it was untrue. “You’d probably drink, too, if you had to deal with someone as annoying as you for a week. Have you ever listened to yourself speak? Anyone would drink.” He stabbed at the lamb on his plate aggressively. “She’s not my ward. She’s my dog walker. And if I find out you were an ass to her, I really will toss you in the oven.” Propping his chin on his hand with an elbow on the table, he added, “And how the hell am I supposed to walk you, anyway? Can barely walk my fucking self.” Another aggressive stab. There was a lot of meat on his fork now. Rather than bringing it to his mouth, he glanced to Teddy. “You’re seriously doing those rituals? You don’t have to, man. It’s fine. We’re fine here.” 

—

A sly grin slid across the demon’s features as they worked, as they caught the look Emilio shot them. Teddy turned towards the little demon as it gobbled away at the meal.  “My sweet baby Gabs, you’ve gotten your lamb. I can make sure to send more food until pops comes home, would you please be sweet to the poor man? I know it’s very hard, he’s got a very bully-able face. Clearly he’s going through it, and needs some kindness in his life. That’s the least we can do.”  

Pleased with themself (obviously) Teddy returned to the ritual. Carefully outlining a few more runes and glyphs. Almost done. “You got a dog walker? Bougie.” Perro, the other perfect angel, was being a very helpful assistant to Teddy’s rite. Chilling on the couch and every so often giving a little huff of approval or otherwise. Brilliant. “Now I’m just gonna do them out of spite. Protest any more and I’ll add a ward that makes it smell like fresh baked cookies.” 

— 

As much as Gabagool hated the idea of being kind to the ornery private investigator, he cared more about being kind to Teddy, an extension of which was doing as the young demon asked. “Fiiiiiine,” he sighed dramatically, throwing one last glare in Emilio’s direction before settling in to finish off the rest of his meal. 

Plate cleaned, Gabagool hopped down from the basket and trotted beneath the table, stopping and parking his butt on the floor by Emilio’s feet. It was probably the closest he’d been to the man while not trying to bite at his shoelaces or some such antagonistic thing, so it was something of an olive branch, at least on his part. “Cookies? I think you should do that anyway.” He craned his thick neck around to glance up at Emilio, gaze meeting the slayer’s for a brief second before jumping to the food he wasn’t eating. “Not a sane person alive that doesn’t like the smell of cookies… especially chocolate chip. You really can’t go wrong there.” It was almost as if he was asking the man’s permission, which was yet another olive branch. 

—

Emilio returned Gabagool’s glare in kind, tossing a half-assed one in Teddy’s direction, too, just to cover all his bases. “I am not ‘going through’ anything,” he mumbled irritably. “And I do not have a bully-able face. I don’t think that’s a real word.” A bold accusation coming from someone who hardly spoke English, but he was pretty sure he was right. 

The demon came and placed himself on the floor beside his chair, and Emilio eyed him warily for a moment before determining that he wasn’t looking to cause problems. He did seem to be looking for seconds, and Emilio kept his eyes locked on the demon’s as he shoveled the sizable chunk of meat on his fork into his mouth, just to be contrary. He chewed intently and swallowed, the food settling like a stone in his stomach. Worth it, just to piss off the demon a little more. “I don’t want my apartment smelling like cookies. I have a business here, you know. Businesses do not smell like cookies.” Or maybe they did; it wasn’t as if Emilio was a successful businessman. 

With a sigh, he lifted the still mostly-full plate off the table and set it in the floor in front of Gabagool, expression warning the demon not to mention it lest the food be taken away. Unsurprisingly, the slayer wasn’t very hungry after all. With that out of the way, he turned in his chair to face Teddy. “The dog walker’s a kid,” he offered. “Won’t let me give her food or anything without doing something for me, so I let her walk the dog. She’s stubborn.” As if he had any room to talk. “Look, man, let me get you a beer, at least. Can I do that? To say thanks for keeping me from tossing that thing out the window.” He inclined his head towards Gabagool.

—

“I’m in my Shakespeare era. Making up words, inspiring people, not giving a shit about gender roles. The uszhe.” Teddy grinned before standing with a dramatic flourish. They put the very last of the lines on the floor, lit the candles and began the chant. It was an ancient language, bending it to the very modern will of a young demon just starting to fledge themselves on half-baked rites was tricky. But they’d perfected these small enchantments one by one. Lots and lots of trial and error. Teds wasn’t even sure Leviathan knew how much they’d done. Certainly not on the boat, certainly not why. A careful secret they kept, and yet another reason to keep the little gossip as pleased and happy as possible. 

The fabric of time and space seemed to waver, the apartment all at once felt like it was swirling in on itself and expanding out into the farthest reaches of the void. Just for a split second. Light poured around the demon and bled along the chalk until it became one with the wood below. Somehow Teddy didn’t think Emilio would be getting any security deposits back anyway, so it’s not like this would fuck up that situation. Besides, a place like this, what could it possibly be? Twenty bucks and a sticker? 

Everything settled back into place, and Teddy was fairly confident no one outside of the room would be any wiser to it. But the ritual had worked, they could feel the way the magic pulled and pushed around them. Powerful, like a newly plugged in air freshener. Teddy’s joint pain eased away, they sighed contentedly, then turned back towards the table to catch the very end of Gabs gobbling up everything on Emilio’s plate. “I’d take a beer, sure.” They pretended not to notice. They wouldn’t push it. Maybe Emilio still somehow thought Teddy was out to poison him. Like demons used arsenic instead of salt to season their lamb. “She sounds like a mini you. Where’d you find a kid like that, hiding in a dumpster?” 

—

Finishing the food on the plate he’d been offered, Gabagool resisted the urge to make an annoyed face at Emilio, true to its word to be nicer. Instead, he just got to his little feet, sneezed loudly, and trotted out of the kitchen, leaving the other two alone. 

He wondered if their conversation might take a more interesting turn if he wasn’t present—not that it hadn’t been interesting already. Plenty left unsaid. Plenty said that would require picking apart and digesting… maybe while the badalisc digested all that lamb. With a grunt, he hopped up onto the lumpy couch beside Perro and turned on the spot a few times before laying down, using the dog’s rear end as a pillow. He didn’t drift off to sleep, though, instead keeping one ear cocked toward the kitchen, curious about the nature of this relationship.

—

“I don’t know what this means,” Emilio sighed. The phrase felt like a familiar one, like he was in a constant state of not understanding. He felt like that a lot, with Teddy. They were so vibrant sometimes, rattling on and on about things Emilio never quite grasped. It wasn’t a bad feeling the way it had been in the beginning, though. Strangely, Teddy seemed to explain every time they noted Emilio’s confusion. Maybe it wasn’t as much fun rambling when the person you were rambling to couldn’t follow. That explanation, he thought, made far more sense than the idea that Teddy cared whether or not Emilio was confused.

He watched with some interest as the demon finished whatever it was he was doing, sending the apartment into a brief state of chaos before everything settled. Emilio had very little experience with magic. Some hunters worked with spellcasters, but the Cortezes had never been among them. Even if they had, Teddy’s magic certainly wasn’t that of a spellcaster. It was something all its own.

When they were finished, some of the old aches and pains that lived in the hunter’s bones seemed to retreat. His leg hurt a little less, his muscles loosened. The badalisc decided to fuck off, too, which seemed an unrelated but appreciated bonus. Moving around Teddy, Emilio made his way over to the fridge to retrieve two beers. “Actually, yeah. Found her in a dumpster.” He popped both bottles open and offered one to Teddy. 

It felt like an olive branch. A cold peace treaty in a bottle, signed in ink by the markings now etched into his floor. They weren’t friends; Emilio doubted they’d ever be that. But they could get along if they tried to. Maybe that could be worth something, bad first impressions aside.

—

[ruruumin]

the person i like...

₊˚ ᗢ itoshi rin x childhood friend! gn! reader.

⤷ inspired loosely by horimiya, 5.2k words, angst/comfort + u-20 spoilers.

the person i like can’t be explained in simple terms.

sucking in a deep breath, rin lays on the ground, heaving in a frustrated sigh. the sun has long passed the horizon, retiring after a long day of work. throwing his arm over his eyes, the crisp air feels like acid on his hoarse throat. his leg was twisting in all sorts of ways. the muscles that wrap around his skeleton threatening to snap under his pressure. his body hurts in ways he can’t describe. so much so that he barely missed how a handkerchief came to wipe the drool left on the edge of his lips.

“if you keep pushing yourself like this, is soccer even fun anymore?” looking down at him, a smile engulfs your expression, starkly contrasting your shallow and frigid words. in your hands was a bottle of water filled with electrolytes. at the same time, a towel hangs over your shoulder, a cute embroidered owl staring back at him. 

slapping away your handkerchief, rin takes the bottle for himself, taking a large gulp before wiping the corners of his mouth. despite the unkind and wordless exchange, you don’t look surprised. on the contrary, you were expecting this reaction. it’s been like this for years for you to know the kind of person he is.

“you’re mean, rin,” you say.

he turns his head away from you, “and yet you’re still here.”

he’s as childish as ever. you remember when he was younger, he would take your toys and smash them together, playing pretend a little too hard (on some rare occasions, he might have drooled over them.) you can’t count how many godzilla toys he’s been through before he noticed his destruction. even after he pushes you to your very last button with his sour personality, he expects you to stay. its abundantly more clear whenever you have to stay after school with another classmate that this side of him comes out. 

it’s this kind of ego that keeps him from being tied down by everyone else around him.

“of course, i am, no one else is here to put up with your bad attitude.” a laugh escapes from you. as you kneel beside him, you reach out to touch his cheek, noting the warm air that exudes from his skin, “as your student council president, i can’t let my favorite person hurt themselves.” 

“i’m your favorite? you’re joking.”

“nope,” raising your finger, you press it between the space of his eyebrows, leading to him staring at you with an unamused look, “you’re my favorite person, rin.” 

✦

the person i like can be kind.

on cold december nights, he’s the first person to show up at your house to wish you a merry christmas. with the allowance his parents give him, he buys the same strawberry shortcake from a bakery across the street. he remembers when you were younger, this was the thing that cheered you up. whether it be from a bad grade on a test, or the stress of being number one in his class, something as simple as shortcake is enough to make you smile. his parents tell him he’s sweet. he thinks it is logical. 

hes not fond of children, however, he’ll make an exception for your younger siblings (one boy and girl). he gets many presents from his family (none of which are from sae) so he understands how rowdy they can get during the holidays. he comes prepared with small trinkets, other times he offers to play soccer with them. though, it’s more of a mercy on his part for you. he gives you enough time to set up the dining table and prepare dinner without any distractions. 

sitting beside him, you realize spending christmas with rin was beginning to be a tradition. while you don’t have the money to afford lavish gifts or a tree, being with him lights up your year. it’s nice having him around. it’s nice seeing him spend time with your small family. even nicer when you see him picking bones out of your mackerel, trying his hardest not to make it obvious he’s making your life easier. it’s sweet how he pretends not to care.

when its time for your siblings to sleep, rin makes it clear he wants to watch a horror movie. it’s almost frame one after you close the door, he’s standing next to you, holding up two DVDs. one is his favorite movie, the shining, the other is another classic, the thing. although christmas is the time to see cheesy, family hallmark movies, every year, he’ll ask you to watch the shining with him, even though he knows you’ve seen it a hundred times by now.

laying in bed beside him, you shift your weight onto your side, observing the way rin licks the bottom of his lips, concentrating on the events in the movie. in the background, the two of you are watching the sadness, a terrifyingly well written apocalyptic movie that would send shivers down any adults spine. its endearing to see him focused on something that wasn’t soccer. you know that despite being a fan of horror movies, he doesn’t like cheap jumpscares or gore. he likes the quiet kind of evil. the one that lurks underneath your bed when you don’t know it. he likes the way writers play with human emotions and fear. cgi blood and screams are too lukewarm for him.

after a while, he notices your stare and turns to look at you. he takes this time to lean back against your soft, plush mattress, his elbows creating a dip. he’s facing the same way as you now, carefully monitoring your expressions.

“your lower eyelashes are long,” you comment, reaching out to brush away part of his bangs. his hair was always soft to the touch. what kind of conditioner does he use to make it so luxuriously smooth? this act leads to a hum to escape his parted lips, his body relaxing into your bedding, “what is your secret to having them look so nice? you look like a girl, you know.”

“shut up. there is no secret.” 

“so you don’t deny the girl part? itoshi rin you drooly—”

“shut up.” 

he holds your hand, the beads on his wrist fumbling and clattering loosely together, his gaze lingers on you. from the corner of your eye, you could make out the shared bracelet you made for each other last christmas, colorfully lit because of your cheap tv screen. when you first proposed the idea of making matching bracelets, he scoffed in typical rin fashion but still compiled. 

his fingers slipped through the cracks of your hand, squeezing your muscles with enough force to draw your focus to a thin thread. he can be a total ass whenever he wants your attention.

“are you going to watch my soccer game next week?”

“do i have a choice?”

a scowl makes its way onto his face as his grip tightens.

“no.”

✦

the person i like has a cute side to him.

“here,” you say, holding out a box of chocolates. dressed in your usual school uniform, the two of you meet each other in the hall. as you stand in front of the student council room, a small crowd forms as whispers echo through the tight space. while it wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to be seen together, people couldn’t hold back their noses.

rin gets a lot of valentines day chocolates. since the day you’ve known him in preschool, he’s been popular with the girls. despite being unfriendly, his good looks are enough to attract a lot of attention, even from boys alike. the last part being a long-running joke you’ve had with him since middle school.

“you got me valentines day chocolate? were you bored and had nothing to do?” he takes the gift into his hands, rubbing his thumb against the crisp material of the wrapper. he notes that the color of the ribbon is the same as his eyes, a clear blue, just like water. he also sees that you’ve written your name on the small tag, surrounded by hearts and stars.

“i made you chocolate,” correcting him with a huff, you rest your hand on your hip. “and i made it specifically for you. i know how picky you are.” 

this isn’t the first time you’ve made chocolate for him. every year, you make special ‘friend’ chocolate to give out. when it comes to sweets, rin can be a very childish and picky person. he doesn’t like it if chocolate is too sweet or bitter. he has a terrible habit of sticking out his tongue if it’s not tasty. it might be one of many reasons he rejected other charming girls. 

you used to think the real reason was that he hatred chocolate, though this was quickly disproven one afternoon when he greedily ate half of your pocky from your cupboard. he even dared to complain you didn’t have enough candy for movie nights, leading to him coming over with more snacks to fill your cabinet.

“is that so?” he tucks the box into one of his bag pockets, “did you make it for anyone else?”

“i had extras for everyone in the student council. they got icebox cookies. though, they’re not as cute as the ones i made for you,” wagging your finger, you smile eagerly, “the convenience store nearby had these cute chocolate molds. i got them on sale too. they’re owl-shaped, isn’t that cute?”

“super cute,” he says with a deadpan expression.

a beat passes before you stifle a laugh behind your hand.

“rin, you’re funny.”

“am i?”

“you are!” 

you stop teasing him to interlace your fingers behind your back, peering up at the taller male. in a rare turn of events, rin’s expression changes. there is this soft look in his eyes, the lowering of his upper lid and slow blinks that communicate to you something otherworldly.

before he turns around to leave, he leans forward, whispering in your ear a phrase that leaves you scrambling in suspicion. 

i’ll pay you back.

when white day comes, you are reassured by the sight of a neatly wrapped box, tied with your favorite color ribbon. inside was another strawberry shortcake, curtsey of rin. he might not have known, but from the corner of your eye, you saw the reddening tips of his ears give away his appearance. how cute.

✦

the person i like can be incredibly sensitive.

opening the door, you were met with an unexpected sight. dressed in his usual soccer uniform, rin had his gym bag slung over his back. snaking his arms around your waist, he elicits a surprised chirp out of you.

he pulls you tightly to his chest, squeezing as hard as he can to steal your breath. despite pushing him with enough force to tip an elephant, he remains still, holding onto you tightly as if you could disappear anytime. 

“rin?”

bringing your arms around him, he finally lets go a sigh of relief, almost as if he was waiting for this moment all day. 

before you could say anything else, he blindly guides the two of you back into your room. swiftly taking off his bag and shoes, you awkwardly stumble over his foot, noticing the sharp inhale he takes. once making it past the wooden door, the two of you collapsed onto your mattress, tumbling like lopsided jenga blocks.

still quiet and reclusive, he loosens his grip, giving you ample time to breathe normally.

you’re left laying beneath him, getting a small glimpse of the way his expression becomes crestfallen and still. perking up your ears, you swore you heard him say something.

“... movies.”

“huh?”

“let’s watch a movie.”

raising your eyebrow, you tilt your head to the side, “you came all this way just to watch a movie with me? couldn’t you have waited until this weekend? rin–”

“yeah.”

letting out a defeated groan, you don’t say anything when he leans his weight against you, effectively crushing you between himself and your cushions. you have to ignore the way your heart is beating ten times faster than an olympic athlete and how your face turns hot every time you feel his warm breath graze your ears. 

if it was anyone other than rin, you might have gotten the bright idea of hitting him over the head with your bedside lamp. however, because he is your favorite soccer player in the world (his words, not yours), you had to endure his strange, clingy habits that he denies so quickly.

lifting your arms above his head, you let them rest against the nape of his neck, grazing over his spine slowly and carefully. you make a mental note of the way his muscles tense up in certain areas. soccer practice must have been hard on his body. you could feel knots all over his body.

an impish grin makes its way onto your face, your fingers drawing smiley faces and hearts on the surface of his back, causing him to exhale audibly into your neck, muttering about how ticklish he is.

a comfortable blanket of silence drapes over you, tiredness creeping up on you like a bedside monster. blaming it on rin’s warmth, you sink your head back onto your mattress. for someone who describes himself as unfriendly and cold, he was starting to melt in your arms like putty. he was like a personal heater at this point.

finally, after a little while, you feel his lips graze across your neck, “do you think i’d be the best striker?” his question slips through your mind, dancing across your neurons and flickering. 

“why wouldn’t you be?”

“i don’t know. sometimes i don’t feel like i’m the best.”

“you’ve worked the hardest out of everyone i know. there isn’t another guy this obsessed with soccer and his brother.”

you wince at the sudden pain in your side, realizing he had used his index and thumb to harshly pinch your abdomen. he’s such a total ass.

“do you think i’ll be as good as sae?”

“probably not as good—” he elbows your stomach, making sure to hit you in the same spot he pinched you earlier. “let me finish my sentence!”

in return, you force one knee against his lower torso, a surprised gasp leaving his throat at your sudden retaliation. as his guard is lowered, you push yourself up, flipping your positions. 

laying beneath you, he is left in awe by your boldness. taking his face into your hands, you squeeze his cheeks, bringing him closer to you until you can barely feel his nose graze yours. there was this strange look in your eyes. it was incredibly warm, almost as if it had been lit up by some kind of fire. it has him gripping at the reigns of his emotions, riding out what feels to be adrenaline.

“if there is anyone as good as sae, hell, even better, it would be you, rin.” this comment sent rin’s heart jumping through hoops. 

“there isn’t anyone else i’d dream with but you.” 

✦

the person i like can be cruel and selfish.

sitting at the center of a snowy field, rin digs his head into his gloved hands. hes on his knees, gasping heavily as he choked on a sob. his mind is racing in indescribable ways, dragged from end to end, he’s stretched thin. perhaps it’s the air itself that is thin because he’s struggling to breathe properly. despite wearing a black scarf, nothing could have braced him for the storm. 

his brother truly was amazing. he surpassed his record four years ago. he’s playing for the most famous team in spain. he’s a renowned soccer player not only in japan but in every other country. he’s everything rin has ever dreamed of. the only thing that was falling behind was himself. all the time he spent training was for nothing. his throat was constricting on itself. the world was growing darker and foggier. he could feel his nerves coiling around his lungs, a deafening boom of his own heart tuning the sound of crunching snow.

“rin?” your voice trails off, unsure of what to make of this sight.

you’ve never seen him look so defeated in your life, and you’ve known him for years. the prideful man you’ve grown so fond of looks like he was on the verge of crying like a child. you’re at a lost for words as you squeeze your hands together. 

just a few minutes ago, you saw his older brother drag his suitcase across the snow, wielding a stone-cold expression that grazed over you. what sort of fight did they have?

“are you here to laugh?”

“what?”

“you heard me,” he holds his fingers up to his face, withdrawing air from his lungs carefully, “you’re here to call me lukewarm, aren’t you? just because i lost to sae.” cradling himself, he tries to block out the pained expression written across your face.

“why else would you be here? at such a perfect time too. were you just waiting for him to leave? so you can see me like this? and laugh?” 

“why would you think that?”

your words come out shakier than you expect and despite that, he still doesn’t look up at you, not even with the small amount of sympathy you hoped he would spare. hell, it feels like he’s avoiding your gaze altogether, on purpose. now that stings.

“why are you here?” he chokes, “leave me alone.”

you don’t know what hurts more: hearing his voice in shambles or your heart falling apart.

“you know i can’t.”

“why?”

“because—we’re friends.”

he tightly bundles the snow under his fingertips, squeezing it until it forms a hard ball. “just leave me alone!”

keeping his head low, he blindly throws a snowball at you, nearly missing your cheek by a hair. shock was an icy force slowly creeping up on you. “leave me, (name), get the hell away from me. i don’t need you,” he huffs, struggling to catch his breath as his body droops forward, “i don’t need anyone!”

“you don’t mean that—”

“shut up—shut, i don’t need you, i never–” biting the tip of his tongue, he lets himself slip through the cracks. for a fraction of a second, he looks up to you. 

illuminated underneath the moon’s light, you see a nameless ball of hatred seethes through those familiar irises. it bleeds through the cracks and down his long eyelashes, trailing down like damned tears. this type of loathing didn’t just appear out of nowhere. it was born eons ago, quelled by a supernatural force whose spell broke.

“i never liked you. not one bit.” he says, “you’re a stupid, know-it-all, student council president, who thinks you can fix me—but,” he heaves, “you can’t—i’m not some kind of charity case. i’m not someone you can just use to feel better about you—and your sad, lukewarm life.” 

“i don’t understand why we became friends—i’d never—you’re terrible at soccer, and worse of all, you try to lecture me about it as if you know more than me, but you don’t. you’d never know what it is like to be enough. you got two loving siblings who care about you even if you do a shit job. everyone in the student council glazes you like you’re the best thing that ever happened to them, and it’s honestly so sickening.” 

“god you make me so fucking sick (name). you’re so lukewarm that it hurts. it’s so boring to be around you sometimes,” he continues digging into your skin, twisting the knife so far you find yourself clutching your stomach, “you really have nothing to do but wait on me. it’s annoying.”  

“you don’t mean that,” you knew rin could be cruel but never merciless. you swore he was sweet inside. sweeter than candy even. so why—

“i don’t need you in my life.” 

“rin,” using the back of your hand to wipe away at the loose tears that threaten to spill over, you refuse to lower your gaze, “tell me, you didn’t mean that. you really don’t mean it.” 

the wind blows over, both your scarves bellowing alongside the frigid cold. he’s tightening the grip he has on the ground, lips pressed tightly against each other as he thinks about the next string of words he could piece together. something he could say that will hurt you.

like a broken record, you ask again: “do you mean it, rin?”

and this time, he didn’t hesitate to answer.

“i do.” 

✦

that was the last time you saw rin. 

despite waiting on christmas day with his favorite food, patiently waiting for him at the table, he never showed up. it stung knowing he was still mad at you. your heart was twisting in uncomfortable ways every time you stared at his empty seat. it took everything within you to restrain the sobs that bode over your bottom lids, to choke down the cold rice you’ve made. your younger brother slid himself closer to you, patting your back as you struggled to hold back your tears, a wail escaping from the cracks and seeping through the walls. 

you want to convince yourself that a small fight like this won’t be the end of your friendship, but considering how vindictive and punishing rin could be, your wish is less likely to be heard. maybe you should have listened to your friends when they said he would be a bad influence on you. you knew him as an incredibly petty and childish person, a trait that is further amplified when it comes to his older brother

he can take and take, but never give. he can get mad at any boy who tries to give you their jacket but scoffs in your face if you suggest the same. he can push you around as many times as he wants, and expect you to be okay with it. that’s how selfish he is. 

when you heard about japan’s newest program, blue lock, a meticulous yet ambitious plan to create the country’s best soccer team, you could only imagine how quickly rin signed up. to this day, you still don’t know what they talked about or what led to the explosion. your younger brother called you stupid for mauling over a guy who didn’t give you a second thought. 

and perhaps you were stupid. you were stupid over the worst guy.

you still think of those sleepless nights, the ones where it was you and him against the world. still thinking about the dream he shared that one christmas, when he rested his head on your shoulder, speaking in a low whisper, his warm breath tickling your ear. you believed in his dream of becoming the world’s best striker, his name placed neatly beside sae’s. those sleepless nights watching horror movies, having your side pinched by a bumbling idiot you called your best friend.

all of it felt like a fantasy you created in your head. when you scream into your pillow, you wish he could hear it.

months would go by without a single message. your family meals have resumed to being a three-person activity. no more strawberry shortcakes and movie nights on christmas. your life was completely devoid of anything soccer-related (your siblings decided to call it quits and move on to another sport. whether or not it was out of respect for you, or because they got bored, you aren’t sure.) all you knew was that instead of having a checkerboard ball in your backyard, your brother replaced it with a pure white volleyball.

it wasn’t until you awoke with a fated breath that you saw three tickets placed neatly on your lap. the two rowdy children you called brother and sister jumped excitedly on your deflated mattress, having waited supposedly hours to surprise you. they had ripped open your mail early, pulling out vip tickets to the next u-20 game. they were fairly expensive as well, being seated extremely close to the railing and pitch.

after confronting your siblings about the dangers of opening suspicious mail, you finally decided to check the name on the return address. when examining the letter, you notice the sender was a familiar name: itoshi.

✦

although he should have been proud, he couldn’t be more angry at himself. giving isagi the final goal was the last thing he wanted. even if it was luck, it simply wasn’t in his favor. clutching his forehead with the palm of his hand, rin drew in a heavy-hearted breath. his muscles were screaming at him, clawing up from the bottom of his ankles to the top of his knees. his tongue felt numb with a slight metallic taste following the cold texture. how many times has he seen this happen already?

“i thought japan could never produce a proper striker,” with a hand on his hip, sae stares off into space, eyes trailing the crowd. at his words, rin peeked his head upwards, a smile he hadn’t felt in a long time rushing to his face excitedly. 

“the one who drew out your instincts and will change japanese soccer is yoichi isagi. he might be the one to do it.”

what?

a pitiful expression quickly washes over rin’s enthusiastic expression. the dream he thought he reignited in his brother faded away pathetically, and the realization that he’ll never be acknowledged for his efforts dampened his ego severely. out of all the people he could have said, it had to be the one person he dreaded the most. and as if his mood couldn’t get any worse, he watches as isagi jogs his way towards his direction.

prepared for the inevitable gloat, he—

“what is that look on your face, get up rin!” screaming at the top of your lungs, you squeeze the edge of the railing tightly, leaning forward as you press your entire weight onto the tip of your toes. one wrong move, you might accidentally tip over and fall into the pitch. your siblings raise their homemade banner as high as they can, puffing out their cheeks as wave the heavy flag. 

“do they know the game is over?”

“maybe they’re cheering for someone else.” 

“that sounds embarrassing.” 

with reddening cheeks, you close your eyes, blindly calling out to the wind and hoping he’d hear you.

“rin, don’t give up! you still have time! i…” hiccuping, you hold your chin up high, “still believe in you!” 

“idiooooooooot!” 

there was a deafening minute of awkward silence before sae erupts in a fit of laughter, breaking rin out of his stupor spell. he quickly twists his head, facing the direction he heard your voice. only one person was willing to call him, blue lock’s number 1 striker, a complete idiot across the pitch for everyone to hear.

“god, i didn’t think they’d actually come,” sae brought one hand to rest on his ear, “and i thought your lukewarm personality drove them away for good.”

raising himself from the ground, rin hesitantly steps forward, meeting your gaze. you could feel your heart leap up to your throat, unable to contain the jittery feelings that once accompanied your former friend. underneath the shining, glimmering sun, you could make out the colorful bracelet adorned on his wrist, a symbol you were all too familiar with. he was still wearing it after all this time.

“i guess you just have those kinds of people.”

the kind that would still believe in your dreams.

without a second to waste, sae harshly slaps his back, propelling the young man forward, though, not before calling him a lukewarm fool.

despite the burning exhaustion he felt one minute ago, his legs felt as light as air right now. he sped through the interview crowds, weaving with ease to make it to the other side. this act caught the eye of isagi who stopped midway, watching in disbelief as the once stoic man clambered to his knees, fumbling over someone.

before you could catch your breath, your younger brother and sister shove you over the railing, forcing your body over the metal bars. hitting a firm, warm chest, you find yourself wrapped in a familiar tight embrace. 

ignoring the crowd’s whisper, rin kept you close to his heart, (literally and figuratively speaking.)

“idiot.” you whisper, squeezing his neck with as much force you can muster this time. “idiot—idiot—you idiot.” 

“i know.” 

“rin you’re the biggest—stupidest, most idiotic idiot–” 

“i know,” he repeats, murmuring in the crook of your neck, “i know.” 

“idiot!” words continue to spill out of your uncontrollable lips, “idiot, idiot, you are the worst!”

he doesn’t fight against you even when you punch his back as hard as you can. he doesn’t even flinch when you kick up your feet, wrapping them around his waist as you choke up a sob that’s been trapped in your throat for months. he doesn’t do anything. he only holds you. keeping you as close as possible so you could hear the way his heart beats. 

tucked in his arms, the world finally goes quiet, and its only the two of you.

“you’re so stupid rin.”

“i’ve heard that before.” he withdraws his expression following the crook of your neck, “i’m sorry.” 

“sorry isn’t going to cut it.” 

weakly raising your arms, you stow your fingers away in his slightly sweaty hair, withdrawing a comment about showering. he exhales carefully, closing his eyes, he melts in your body, “i understand. i don’t expect you to forgive me after what i said.” 

“and i won’t for a while.” 

“that's okay.”

his curt answer garners a huff from you, “is it?” 

“yeah, that’s okay with me.” 

“you’re not mad?”

“you didn’t do anything wrong.” he lets you pinch the back of his neck (even if it does really hurt, he doesn’t want to accidentally let go of you). “i said all of those things without thinking about it.”

“it sounded like you did for a long time. those words hurt, you know.” 

“... yeah. i thought about them for a long time. and i wish i never said them out loud. not because they were true, but—” like a clumsy child, he stutters over himself, “i wanted to give myself a reason to hate you.” 

“did you hate me?”

as quickly as your question came, so did his answer: “no.” 

“well,” you mutter, a pout drawing itself on your face, “i hate you just a little bit.” 

“is that why you’re still holding onto me?” with an irked expression, you pinch the surface of his skin even harder, trying to send a not-so-subtle telepathic message. he winces but doesn’t try to shove you off, this position he has you in is a little too comfortable for him to let go of right now.

“you give me no choice.” he has to pull himself together so he doesn’t instinctively reach out to squeeze your waist. he’s definitely heard this line from you before. 

slowly drawing in a breath, he lets his muscles relax. they loosen just slightly, allowing you to wrap your arms firmly around his body. his heart was still beating as fast as ever, you could feel it thump against his ribcage. it was just as fast as yours.

“...can i come over?”

“do you think after all this time i’d just let you come into my house?” you snorted, “who do you think you are?” 

“someone who wants to come over to your house.” 

a beat breezes through..

“...you’re the worst, rin.” 

the person i like the most is the biggest idiot. 

[reds-self-ships]

Sketch: The First Draft

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CHAPTER 2: Descriptive Sketch

Detective Giles Johnson straightened out a dollar bill before sliding it into the vending machine, waiting for it to dispense a cup of coffee that tasted as thick, burnt and tarry as it looked.

He was a tall, well-built man in a dark green suit with red tie and an oily black slicked-back haircut that made him look like a rejected cast member of Goodfellas.

"Must be a big incident down at the bank, eh?"

"Must be if Gordon's gone down there, along with Montoya and half the SWAT team," said Ethan Dryden, taking a slug from a bottle of room-temperature water and wincing. "Chiller in the soft drinks machine must be broken again."

Dryden was a tall and thin man with red hair, wearing a standard police-issued pale blue button-up shirt, dark blue clip-on tie, dark grey trousers and shoes.

"Yeah they spend so much money on fighting crime every year that this place is falling apart." Johnson hit the coffee machine a slap on the side, causing it to rattle into life and start plopping out its usual coffee-adjacent syrup. "Getting worse by the day."

"Ah, well. Not much that can be done about it, I suppose. And I'd better get back to work before the big man and his team gets back."

"Yeah, you'd think there was no other police officers in Gotham but those three.. Anyways, I'd better get back to writing reports; Do drop that sketch off later when you're done, Dryden."

"I will." Dryden threw the water bottle into the waste basket and headed into the interview room, where his sketchpad, pencils, erasers and charcoals had been left waiting for him alongside the witness.

Carmina Guerrero looked to be almost the dictionary definition of "little old abuela you see at the checkout line at the drug store."

"Mrs. Guerrero? My name's Ethan, and I'm a police sketch artist. I'm working with Detective Johnson this case."

"Ah yes, I see this all the time on my telenovelas. You're going to draw as I describe the man I saw earlier this evening. yes?"

"That's right. Though it's not as exciting or as dramatic as a telenovela, unfortunately. You can talk away and I'll draw up what you're describing, and feel free to correct me at any time."

"I only saw him through the car window when he was talking to someone."

"That's fine, ma'am. Sometimes a face is the only thing that's needed for us to lend a big hand in cases like this. What sort of shape did his head have, then?"

"It was a round head. A great big, round head. Mucho gordo. And the nose—"

"What about the nose?"

"It was a very big, very long nose. No, longer than that. Pointier."

Around fifteen minutes later, Detective Johnson entered the room, emptying the last trickle of coffee-adjacent tar into the waste basket before throwing the cup in after it. "How're you guys getting on, then?"

"Mrs. Guerrero has been very helpful, detective. I think you'll be very pleased with the results."

Dryden carefully pulled along the perforation, handing it to the detective. Detective Johnson immediately nodded and smiled. "I am indeed, I already know exactly who you were referring to. Muchos gracias, señora. I don't think The Penguin is going to know what's gonna hit him."