#though it will be a while yet before things look back to normal

[sabxynsweet]

yessss another jealous!sweetheart reader pls

sweetheart!reader gets jealous again (w situationship!mattheo)

sweetheart!reader getting jealous pre-situationship here !! thank you for your request & also other anon for the request <3

"Mattheo and the new girl." "Mattheo and the new girl." "Mattheo and the new girl."

You’re pretty sure you’re four minutes away from flinging one of your shoes at someone’s head because every scatter of conversation or chatter of gossip today has included this phrase. "Mattheo and the new girl".

Ever since a brand new Slytherin joined Hogwarts.

You spent the entire day ignoring the pitying looks people gave you in the hallways and the shared whispers you were not apart of.

It’s not like you could actually ask him about it, even if you worked up the courage to, because you haven't really seen much of Mattheo today.

It's a Tuesday, which means you don't share any classes with him.

You woke up late, leading to you skipping breakfast and you had intended to miss lunch, anyway, due to a project.

When that project ended sooner then expected, though, you walked into the great hall and there she was - the new girl - at the Slytherin table sitting next to Mattheo while laughing with his friends.

Even Pansy was laughing with her - you'd hate to admit it but that hurt just a little bit more.

So, like you typically do, you ignore the problem and run away from your fears - that everyone is right and Mattheo has simply just become bored of you now, moving on to the next cooler girl.

You only wish he had the decency to tell you.

You ignore Mattheo at lunch, hiding in the crowd of the Hufflepuff table. You grip your pen extra tight during classes when you think about him and her. You tap your shoes incessantly against the wood floors at the prospect of losing him.

When your final class ends, you're ready to go back to your dorm to listen to music while hysterically crying yourself to sleep.

But of course Mattheo couldn't even let you have that because when you open your locker, you find a note on a pink heart post-it. One that was most certainly yours to begin with.

Sweetheart,

movie night in my dorm later

MR

He had not only stolen your stack of post-it notes but also broke into your locker. You frown in confusion at the "date".

He's being very normal, does he think you haven't heard yet?

You scold yourself internally for getting excited about the idea of seeing him after an entire Mattheo-less day.

We're mad at him. You remind yourself.

You roll your eyes, shoving your books, stationary and the note into your bag before slamming your locker door shut. Lacking the softness you normally hold.

You practically storm your way to the Slytherin common room, your heels clicking loudly against the floor.

When the door opens before you, you hear them before you see them.

Right in front of you is Mattheo and the new girl talking about something. You swear if looks could kill they'd both be somewhere even the dark lord couldn't find them.

The door slams behind you, getting the attention of the two of them.

When her eyes fix on you, you’re prepared to fight.

You hands grip onto each other and you try not to get intimidated by how much taller she is, or how scary she looks.

It's okay. You took, like, one martial arts class. You can fight her.

She walks over to you slowly, her eyes running over you - like she's studying you.

You cower slightly. You expect a punch or confrontation. At the very least a very mean sneer that will make you sob. Oh, God, what if you sob in front of the entire Slytherin common room again.

But instead of all those things, her face breaks into a wolfish grin - one that replicates Mattheo’s.

“Hello.” She practically purrs. You tilt your head in confusion.

The girl resembles someone, with her ebony black hair and dark emerald eyes but you can't really place your finger on it.

She continues in your direction and your eyes flicker to Mattheo who’s just watching with amusement and crossed arms.

She gently takes a hold of your tie, examining it. “What’s a pretty Hufflepuff like you doing in a snakes’ den, hmm?” She says, your eyes widen.

Your lips part to say something but nothing comes out, this is not what you expected.

“Alright, Diane, that’s enough.” He says, he walks towards the two of you swiftly before wrapping his arms around you protectively. Diane rolls her eyes.

You look up at Mattheo with wide eyes filled with confusion, you expect his eyes to be angrier - or maybe just equally as confused as yours - but instead the ends of his lips curl into the smallest of amused smiles.

“Sweetheart, meet Diane Lestrange.”

Your brows furrow. “Lestrange as in…”

“His cousin.” She finishes for you with a smug grin.

Oh. Oh. The resemblance clicks in your head finally. Though she looks very different from Mattheo on a whole, they certainly have very similar features, or at the very least they have the same energy.

You breathe out a soft breath before quickly snapping into your usual self, you smile sweetly before extending your hand out.

“I’m-“ She shakes her head before you can introduce yourself.

“No need for introductions, everyone here has told me quite enough about you.” Diane waves you off before giving a pointed look at Mattheo who simply shrugs unapologetically. You tilt your head.

“Though, I can understand why." She smirks again, staring you down, "I didn’t know someone so sweet could exist but, clearly, I was mistaken."

She makes a move to kiss your hand but Mattheo quickly drags you behind him.

“Easy, Diane, this one’s mine.” His tone is soft enough, knowing she wouldn't actually make a move on you but stern enough that she backs down.

She pouts. “Fine.”

She winks at you one last time before moving away to flirt with someone else, you guessed.

Mattheo turns to you fully now.

“Hi Baby.” He mumbles, in the low tone he only really used with you.

“Hi.” You say, warming up to him again. “Diane seems nice."

He smirks as you fumble through your sentence. "You didn't tell me your cousin was transferring - well, you never told me you had a cousin.”

“She’s not transferring. She’s here for the week - exchange program.” You hum in acknowledgment.

“You know, I missed you today.” He says, brushing a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “I hardly got to see you.”

“I missed you too.” You say.

You pray that he doesn’t realise you were avoiding him the entire day but when the slightest trace of a smirk forms on his face, you pray he doesn’t bring it up.

He snorts. “Don’t even, you were avoiding me all day.”

“I was not!”

“You so were and you know why.”

You cross your arms, playing difficult.

“Why?”

“Come on, Sweetheart, I saw the look in your eyes earlier at lunch. You were totally jealous.”

"I was not jealous." You insist, before adding, "You saw me at lunch?"

"You're easy to spot." You didn't need to know that he looked up every time the door swung open, hoping it was you, or that he saved his fruit cup for you in case you came back.

He chuckles. "My jealous girl." He teases.

You swat his hand away, he laughs.

He cups your head, leaning in to whisper in your ear, a small grin forming on his face.

"You know." He mumbles, in that low tone again that makes your knees weak, "You have no reason to be jealous, ever."

"I am so hopelessly, tragically, yours."

taglist: @fallingwallsh @espressqe @theodoresvalentine @fanfictiononly4 @genuinelyfloatingsouls @fayezasstuff @glittervame @wxnterwidow333 @thalibaby @cminoko @blainea98 @randomfanpage @megzz-x @peterparkerspersonalplaything @kiessecretcove @kiesrepostarchive

[diormoon]

NETFLIX & CUDDLES - p.bueckers x a.fudd

- Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

- Azzi plans a surprise date night for Paige!

- Fluff

REQUESTED • YES x no

Paige always plans the dates. She never lets Azzi even think about lifting a finger to help.

Azzi knew Paige was having a bad week and wanted to do something for her. She just had to be careful because Paige would argue that she doesn’t need anything and that she plans all the dates.

Azzi knows Paige isn’t the type to go out to expensive restaurants every date night; she values quality time. So, her plan was to make Paige a homemade meal. Most of the time, they either eat food from the dining hall or get fast food, so Azzi was going to make sure she doesn’t mess up.

She’s using one of her favorite recipes that her mom uses, and when in doubt, she can FaceTime her mom if she starts having problems with the instructions.

Paige had a few media interviews today and was going to be in New York for three hours today, not including the two-hour drive there and back. So, Azzi had time, as Paige should only just now be getting to the place.

Along with dinner, though, Azzi bought snacks and has already set them up on the coffee table. She’s also laid out blankets and pillows for a movie night.

Azzi was prepared. She never gets to do this, and she refuses to let this night be anything less than perfect.

Candles? Check! Rose petals? Check! A backup dinner plan? The local pizza place is on speed dial! Everything is already planned; she just needs to set everything up and try to cook a meal without burning it.

—

Azzi has been working for the last four hours, but now she has the remaining time all to herself.

The rose petals make a path from the dorm door to the dining table. The candles are lit and placed everywhere, no overhead lights are on, and the LEDs are set to a dim purple. The living room is set up for movies, with a vase full of roses in the center of the coffee table, and dinner is mostly done and tastes good from what Azzi spooned out to try. All that’s left is the garlic bread that’s being re-toasted in the oven and Paige’s arrival.

Azzi was proud of herself—extremely proud at that. She was able to successfully put it all together and keep it from Paige at the same time. Plus, she made a delicious meal without burning it, which is an accomplishment in her eyes!

She never really cooks. She can do things that are considered easy, but she’s not really a cook. So Paige will be in for a treat when she gets home.

Right now, though, Azzi's going to take advantage of the remaining hour and go take a warm bath.

—

Paige didn’t know what she was walking into. She could smell something delicious from the dorm hallway but chalked it up to one of the neighbors. But when she was standing in front of their dorm door, smelling the exact same aroma? She went wide-eyed: ‘What is Azzi up to now?’

Walking into the dorm, the first thing she sees is the rose petals. She’s confused, but she keeps going — keeps following the amazing smell that she's been sensing since being in the hallway.

When she sees the dining table set up and the food ready to be eaten, she thinks she’s hallucinating. She rubs her eyes and reopens them only to still see — and smell — the food.

But she hasn’t come across her girlfriend yet, and she normally greets her at the door every time she walks in.

Paige turns around to look for Azzi — not before doing a second glance at the table just to be sure she isn’t hallucinating.

—

It’s not hard to find someone in a dorm. There’s barely any room for anything, let alone “hiding.” Paige found Azzi in the bath, headphones on, calm music playing through them, with a book in her hand—a WLW romance book, to be exact.

Paige stood in the doorway for a minute, admiring what she gets to call hers—admiring the side of Azzi that no one except Paige gets to see: the fully relaxed, the fully soft Azzi.

After thinking for a little while, Paige carefully started undressing.

Paige didn’t make a sound; she barely even moved. She didn’t want to scare Azzi.

Carefully walking over to the tub, she pushed back one side of Azzi's over-ear headphones. “Just me, scoot up a little.”

Azzi was slightly surprised before pushing that shock aside and scooting up—letting Paige get in behind her. Once Paige sat down, she pulled Azzi back towards her—Azzi now sat between Paige’s legs with her back to Paige’s chest.

“Hi,” Azzi mumbled, turning her head so her face was on Paige’s neck. “Hi, Mama,” Paige responded, her hand rubbing circles on Azzi’s stomach. “You wanna tell me what’s going on in the dining room?” she asked now leaning her head down to press small kisses to Azzi’s neck and shoulder.

Azzi giggles before saying, “I planned a date! You’ve been having a bad week, and I wanted to do something for you.” Paige looks at her as if she’s scolding her, prompting Azzi to continue, “And I know you like planning all the dates, which is one reason we are still home for this date instead of going out, so you can’t be mad!” Azzi gives Paige her most doe-eyed look, making Paige immediately forget what she was mad about.

—

Paige was blown away. Azzi never cooks but made an absolute masterpiece. The same Azzi who can only make easy dishes like eggs or mac and cheese created a plate worthy of Gordon Ramsay.

Well, Paige might be biased, but she fully believes Gordon Ramsay wouldn’t yell at this plate and would actually love it.

“Azzi, what—how? You need to start cooking like this more! This is so good!”

Azzi laughs out an “okay." “I’m being so serious! This is amazing!” She ducks her head to hide her flusteredness but says a little thank you to Paige.

Paige notices her flushed face but instead of making Azzi look at her and stop hiding from her, she just smirks and goes back to eating while complimenting Azzi after every bite.

—

Dinner was amazing, if you didn’t get the hint. After they were done eating, Paige collected all the dirty dishes and put them in the sink so she could store all the leftovers first. Azzi tried to help; she really did, but Paige was not having it and made her go sit on the couch.

Once Paige had put away the leftovers, she washed all of the dishes herself, not complaining once about her shirt getting wet and not allowing Azzi to step foot in the kitchen.

After the kitchen and dining room were cleaned, and after Paige changed shirts, it was officially time for what Azzi was most excited about: Netflix and cuddles. Who doesn’t love that?

Paige got on the couch behind Azzi, pulling her to lay on top of her. “What movie are we watching?” Azzi asked. “You pick,” Paige responded, pushing some of Azzi’s curls out of her face.

Azzi sighed, not really wanting this commitment. She was the most indecisive person, and Paige wanted her to pick the movie?

Azzi spends at least eight minutes scrolling through Netflix before she randomly lands on something and puts it on before she can think about it. Let’s be honest; they are both going to end up falling asleep during the movie anyway.

As the intro begins, Azzi turns her head to look at Paige. “How was media?”

“Tiring. I’m glad to be home now with you,” Paige mumbles. Azzi leans up and softly kisses Paige.

That’s the beauty of love. On a tiring day filled with repetitive questions—questions bordering on invasive—and cameras constantly being on and flashing, Paige got to come home and just be herself. She got to be soft and tired. She didn’t have to hide anything or put on a mask because Azzi gets it. Azzi gets her.

[munsonify]

relentless

pairing. john walker x fem!reader

summary. the night you and walkers rivalry comes to a screeching halt

content warnings. smut 18+ mdni, enemies to lovers, arguing, post-mission adrenaline, pwp, making out, brief groping and dry humping, unprotected p-in-v, mutual orgasms, alludes to aftercare, surprisingly soft!walker. not proofread.

word count. 2531

a/n. i can’t get this out of my head so you’re welcome

———

there was something about john that aggravated you. every word he spoke, every sideways move he made, every frustrated huff he let out had you tensing up. your jaw seemed to be permanently clenched while around him, always leaving a dull ache to deal with later. you couldn’t quite put a finger one why he got under your skin the way he did. yes, he’s stubborn, hotheaded, and a bit of a pushover. that wasn’t quite it, though, there was something else. something about the man ignited a fire inside of you that you struggled to put out.

so, you took it out on him. during training, you made it a point to double down on walker, make him put up an extra fight. in passing, you threw jabs at him, telling him to straighten his shoulders up or to walk like a normal person. even during missions, when you should really being focusing on the task at him, you still found it in you to pick on him. and the best part? every time you got a rise out of him.

walker fed into your distaste for him, doubled down on your insults and pushed you just as hard. it was like second nature the way you two bantered, consistent and immediate with every remark. it took a lot to make the other speechless, something you’d only done to each other once or twice before. you strived to make him break again, to force him into a short circuited mess. it seemed like he was trying to do the same.

tonight, walker was just about to push you to the edge. he had you teetering right up against it, despite your best efforts to back away. you had been sent on a weekend long mission across the country, just the two of you. there was no one there to be the buffer, or two come in between you guys when things got a little too heated. you couldn’t help but feed into each others anger.

while fumbling with some keys, you began storming away from walker, an hours long argument still continuing on. you were cooped up in some shitty 1 star motel on the outskirts of a rather depressing town in oklahoma. the beds were creaky and paper thin, something you were willing to look past. it was actually the least of your concerns about your little set up here, the fact that john’s bed was merely inches from yours was much more of an issue. you didn’t want to be so close to him, not when he was angering you this bad.

“i don’t know why you’re still arguing with me about this!” you exclaimed, pushing your way through the door and into the room. you were quick to throw the keys at your bed, ignoring the fact that walker had slammed the door shut behind him.

“because you didn’t stick to the plan!” he exclaimed back, slamming his helmet onto his bed much like you’d done to your keys. only, with his strength, the helmet bounced right off, spiraling towards your head by accident. you were able to dodge in just enough time, watching as it hit the wall behind you. that, for some reason, didn’t stop your argument in the slightest.

“the plan wasn’t working. i did what i had to do!”

“you didn’t even talk to me about it! you could’ve gotten us killed.”

“yet here we are, still very much alive and breathing,” you told him, arms waving around at the two of you. sometime during this little spat, you’d moved closer to each other, bodies now inches away as you shouted. “i don’t understand why you can’t just follow my lead and trust me for once!”

the air between the two of you was heavy and thick and suddenly quiet. walkers intense eyes stare down at yours, chest rising and falling rapidly alongside your own. something between the two of you shifted then as you stood in front of each other. something inside of you clicked into place, the realization of what you’d been feeling this entire time washing over you simultaneously. all of this anger and resentment, misplaced and pitted against the other, wasn’t out of spite or hatred, rather quite the opposite.

no words were spoken between you two, not at first. instead, both of walkers hands reached to brace your face, pulling you the rest of the way towards his body. that’s when his lips smashed against yours in a heated, desperate, long-awaited kiss, one that you quickly reciprocated. the kiss was opened mouthed, all teeth and tongue as you devoured each other. all of your swallowed down feelings and pent up frustrations came out all at once, and you were dying to keep this momentum.

your hands were quick to grasp at his gear, urging his thick clothes off between messy kisses. in the midst of tearing each others clothes off, walker pushed you towards his bed, watching you fall to your back against it. the whole frame shook under your weight, even more so when he’d joined you, crawling over your awaiting figure. while laid back in simply your panties and a sports bra, you watched the man tug his thin undershirt off above you, leaving himself in only a pair of tight, very revealing boxers.

hesitation suddenly filled walkers body, noticeably freezing above you. with your thighs spread and your elbows propping you up slightly, you gazed up at him, eyelashes fluttering. you gave him a firm, reassuring nod, like you knew exactly what he was waiting on. you saw the way his shoulders relaxed at your affirmation, eyes now shamelessly beginning to scan your body. you’d never been this exposed to each other before, and yet, it just felt right.

walkers body found its way between your thighs securely, watch as they part more to accommodate him. with a forearm pressed right beside your head, his other bracing your face again, he leaned in for another kiss. it was a bit slower than before, though the desperation and the heat was still evident. his hand cradled your jaw as his slick lips moved against yours in tandem, tongue meeting yours halfway like they were meant to intertwine.

you stopped resting on your elbows and instead rested against the uncomfortable bed, something you now didn’t even register. you were too focused on walker and how he felt against you, warm and broad and secure. his hips dipped down to meet yours, grinding in one short, smooth motion that had you gasping. you laced your fingers through his thick blonde hair, grasping at the back of his head and tugging him closer. even through two layers of clothing - yours and his -, he could feel just how wet you were, panties damp with your own arousal. with all of the adrenaline and need and pent up frustration inside of you, it was no wonder you were reduced to this.

walkers hips came down in just a few more short, desperate draws before the hand on your face found its way to your chest, pawing at your tit. with a small string of spit connecting your lips, he pulled away just enough to help you shimmy out of your sports bra. usually, you’d be all up in your head about how sweaty you were, how sticky your skin felt. it was hard to notice that when he was right there with you, skin just as sticky and slick with his own salty sweat. your panties were quick to follow your bra, and walkers boxers right after that.

another pause happened then, but not out of hesitation. rather, it was admiration, taking in each other for just a few moments. as much as you wanted your eyes to stay at his broad chest or his toned abdomen, you couldn’t help but drop your sight to his thick cock and his leaky, reddened tip. your hands found their way to walkers firm biceps, tugging him back down to you then. you needed him now. you didn’t need any warm up, anything to ease you into things. all you needed was him deep inside of you, and who was he to deny you of that?

walkers large palms found their way to the back of your thighs, maneuvering you to spread them open wide, resting your legs around his waist. you warm slick clung to his cock as he slowly glides through your folds, tip catching right at your clit perfectly. that’s when he lined himself up with your entrance, eyes finding yours again in a deep stare. it was another intense stare, though it was much different than before. this time, it was full of need and adoration, a fondness you didn’t know he possessed, especially for you.

slowly, walker nudged his cock into your aching hole, stretching you open in a way that had you the best kind of dizzy. he leaned his body into you further, weight on top of yours again as he guides himself deep inside of you. he watched your every last facial expression. the way your eyebrows scrunched together at the stretch, the way your jaw went a little slack at the intrusion. both of your hands moved to cradle his face in your hands as he finally bottoms you out, filling you to the brim.

“how’s this for trusting you?” walker asked, resting his forearm beside your head again. even still, he managed to send a jab your way. you shook your head in disbelief, hips rocking slightly in search of friction as you adjust to his size. despite your disbelief, a small smile found its way to your mouth. walker thought that smile suited you.

“just shut up and fuck me, you idiot,” you told him with no heat behind it. behind that comment, you were beyond grateful walker trusted you with this. he knew this, you could tell you appreciated what he’d offered up, even if he played it as a joke. there was a sort of understanding between the two of you now, finally something that could go unsaid.

walkers hips drew back, cock drawing out of clenching hole. when he rolled his hips back down, fucking into you slowly, a quiet wet squelch echoed into your ears. out of slight bashfulness, you tugged his face down to yours, capturing his lips into a deep kiss as he slowly begins to thrust in and out of your cunt. he was steady with the way he picked up the pace, slowly inching his way up to the pace you craved.

it wasn’t rough, surprisingly enough, only quick and needy. a hand of yours fell to his shoulder, nails scratching at his skin as his hips snap against yours. moans fell out of your lips into his weakly, ankles hooking behind his back to keep him secure against you. the arm that wasn’t holding walker up snaked down to where the two of you were connected, the pad of his thumb blindly searching for your clit. despite taking a second, the moment he found it, he began to rub against it in slow, tight circles against the sensitive bud.

when you’d clenched around him, moaning out contently at the the sensation, a goddamn whine fell from walkers lips. a whine. your grip on his shoulder tightened at the sound, giving him a few moments to compose himself before your walls clenched and fluttered around his cock again. another involuntary whine slipped from his mouth, his thumb and his hips stuttering its pace. walker pulled himself away from your lips, his head finding comfort in the crook of your neck as he continues to rut into you. his thrusts became a little more sloppy and uncoordinated then.

“gotta quit doin’ that, sweetheart,” he grumbled against your skin, placing wet kisses to wherever he could reach. you clung onto his body, tits bouncing with every thrust he made, head resting back against a floppy pillow.

“not when you sound so pretty for me,” you responded, your voice an octave or two higher than normal. walker whimpered against your skin at your words, sending shivers down your spine. god, you were close, and you could tell he was, too.

walker came just right before you had. with short snaps of his hips, he released deep inside of your pussy, warm ropes of cum painting your walls. the feeling of him filling you up, and his desperate whimpers, were enough to send you to your own orgasm. your back arched up off of the bed, tits pressing right up against the man as you came, nails scratching down his back. he kept himself settled deep inside of you as you come down from your orgasm, the hand on your clit moving to your hip, beginning to gently trace your skin.

he brought his face from your neck when he pulled out of you, eyes finding your face in an instant for some sort of validation. he was met with drooping eyes and a fucked out expression, and a now dopey smile when you’d caught sight of him. one of your hands found its way back up to his face, fingers brushing strands of hair away from his forehead as you gazed into each others eyes, chests rising and falling together as you caught your breath.

“we should’ve done that months ago,” you told him, completely content with what’d just happened. walker moved from between your thighs, closing them gently for you to give you some sort of integrity as he began searching through his duffel bag full of clean clothes. he tossed one of his shirts your way, smirking as it hits your face. he was glad your face was covered when you’d giggled, otherwise you would’ve seen the blush that crept onto his face out the sound of it.

“well i was under the impression you hated me,” walker defended, watching you tug his shirt over your head, before pointing at the tissues on the nightstand. he was quick to grab ahold of the box, tugging out a few in an instant. and, despite intending on doing this yourself, he cleaned you up instead, gentle and efficiently.

“maybe i do,” you shrugged, watching as he finished up cleaning the mess he’d made in you. walker let out a small chuckle at your words, discarding of the tissue and tugging on a pair of boxers. after giving you a pair of your panties to put on, he crawled back into bed, this time beside you. it was a little cramped, a twin sized bed that could hardly fit the two of you together. that didn’t stop you two from laying together, anyways.

walker tugged you into his side, letting you curl up into his strong arms, your head resting on his chest. just 30 minutes ago, the two of you were relentlessly arguing with one another over a mission. now? now you were cuddled up together contently as if none of that mattered. like the past few months of endless arguments didn’t mean a single thing to you. which, in the end, it didn’t matter all too much.

[a-casxandra]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇!?

Sylus x mc, dw it's angst free (●'◡'●)

Sypnosis : In the lawless N109 Zone, Sylus—feared leader of Onychinus—rules with ruthless power and unmatched influence. But his secret obsession with a popular bishoujo game becomes his unexpected weakness. So imagine, if his favorite in-game character, Mc. mysteriously appears before him in real life.

At first, Sylus hadn’t cared.

The chatter of Luke and Kieran about some “witnessed by deepspace” gacha game was just another childish distraction he ignored while reviewing Protocore shipment data. Yet, one afternoon, after enduring their incessant squealing over newly unlocked CG scenes, his curiosity piqued.

“Show me what’s so damn special,” he ordered lazily, lounging back in his dark office chair, Mephisto perched atop his desk clicking its mechanical beak in disapproval.

fingers trembling with excitement, Luke handed over the sleek tablet displaying the game. The moment the screen loaded, Sylus’s gaze fell upon her.

A girl with long dark hair, doe eyes, and an expression equal parts defiance and charm. Her name: Mc. Her voice lines were equally arresting—sweet and mocking, childish yet bold, refusing to yield to the protagonist easily.

Sylus was intrigued.

Then he was invested.

And within the span of a week, he became obsessed.

Sylus spent hours between deals and meetings, fingers tapping the screen with eerie precision as he cleared stages, gathered gacha currency, and—when even that wasn’t enough—he simply bought out every pack available. His subordinates watched in horror as their leader, the most feared man in N109 Zone, transformed into a whale without hesitation.

“Boss-man…you spent 700,000 credits just today…” Kieran whispered under his breath.

“And?” Sylus replied coolly, eyes never leaving Mc's newly unlocked swimsuit costume animation. “She deserves everything. She’s mine.”

He maxed her stats. Collected all her limited costumes, event outfits, New Year’s kimono, Valentine’s dress, Halloween succubus set. Even her “bond rank” voice lines—each soft teasing tone saved to his private database, Mephisto glaring with disgust each time her sweet ‘good morning, baobei~’ echoed in the dim room.

No one dared mock him, though Luke accidentally mentioned once that “Mc is just a coded NPC, you know—”

The glare Sylus gave him almost knocked his soul out of his body.

“She is real enough.” Sylus’s voice was low, borderline dangerous. “And if they release her wedding dress outfit… I will buy it. Immediately.”

He returned to staring at her CG illustration, thumb brushing across the screen like she might feel it.

After all, in a world as broken as theirs, perhaps the only pure thing left for a man like Sylus… was a pixelated girl with dark hair and doe eyes, who looked just defiant enough to be real.

“Boss, what did you wish for?”

Luke’s voice was hesitant as he glanced up at the faint streak of light disappearing into the suffocatingly dark sky of N109 Zone. Beside him, Kieran adjusted his gloves, equally curious. Both stood silently outside Onychinus base, feeling the cold night breeze ruffle their hair.

Sylus remained quiet, crimson eyes following the dying trail of the falling star. He’d just wrapped up business—left blood and threats behind with his men to clean up. Normally, he would’ve dismissed such childish notions of wishes outright.

He had everything, after all. Wealth, power, influence, fear. He ruled these streets. Owned every illegal Evol trade route. Had an empire at his fingertips. Women weren’t hard to get, either.

But someone who accepted his world without flinching…someone who was sweet yet defiant enough to keep him entertained, to glare at him with teary eyes and still bite back when commanded—

That kind of woman was fiction. Quite literally.

He tilted his phone down to check the notification blinking at the top of his cracked screen. The lag annoyed him, freezing just as he was about to log in to Witnessed by Deepspace. His dark haired, doe-eyed virtual girl, Mc, awaited him. Her pixelated CG smile was his only comfort lately.

Sylus exhaled softly, almost a scoff at his own fleeting vulnerability.

“Hm…” He finally spoke, slipping the device into his pocket. “The phone is lagging. I should buy a new one tomorrow.”

And with that, he walked past them, expression blank but eyes glowing faintly in the dim light of Onychinus’s steel gates. Luke and Kieran exchanged a knowing glance, hearing Mephisto’s mechanical caw echo from inside the mansion.

That wasn’t the wish he wanted to say.

But they remained silent as they followed their boss—past the corpses still cooling on the ground, past the pools of blood reflecting the starless sky, back into the empire ruled by a man who could have anything he wanted.

Except, perhaps, the one thing he wished for most.

Sylus’s consciousness clawed back to reality with a simmering irritation.

Something heavy was pressing down on his chest, restricting his breathing ever so slightly. More annoyingly, there was a persistent poking at his cheek—sharp, repetitive, and unafraid. His brows twitched in annoyance. Luke and Kieran, again? He would definitely punish them later.

Without opening his eyes, he grabbed the offending hand in a crushing grip, fully intent on flinging the perpetrator across the room.

But instead of a panicked boyish squeak, a small, feminine gasp reached his ears.

His eyes snapped open instantly.

And froze.

There, straddling his waist with wide doe eyes, was her.

Dark hair cascading in loose, tousled waves down her shoulders, ending in soft curls against his bare chest. doe eyes that glowed with a stubborn glint even as she pouted, lips trembling slightly at his bruising hold on her wrist.

“H-Hi…?” she squeaked out, her voice small but defiantly trying to sound calm.

Sylus stared at her, his blood running ice cold then searing hot within a single heartbeat.

This… this couldn’t be real.

The girl sitting on top of him—wearing a frilly pastel outfit that he distinctly remembered as her default costume—was Mc. His kitten. The same character whose sprite he’d just maxed out in-game last night after spending another million credits.

His grip slackened as he blinked slowly, uncomprehending.

Was he still dreaming?

Or had he finally, completely, gone insane?

Because no matter how ruthless, powerful, and omnipotent Sylus was—

Even he knew.

2D girls… weren’t supposed to become real.

“I’ve been waking you up since earlier!” Mc complained, her brows scrunching together as she pouted down at him, lips pink and plush, voice ringing with indignation. Despite her small stature and undeniably cute aura, there was a hint of defiance in her expression—the same spark he’d always admired about her in-game dialogues.

Sylus could only stare, utterly silent.

Her dark hair glimmered under the dim morning lights seeping through his blackout curtains, falling like a silken waterfall around her flushed cheeks. And that dress… god. His crimson eyes flicked down instinctively. She was wearing the red sundress. The limited edition one from the seasonal gacha banner last week. The one he’d spent a ridiculous amount to pull, just to see her sprite spin and smile shyly in it.

And the flower clip—

He remembered choosing that accessory too. It came in the costume set, tucked just above her ear, brightening her entire design.

His grip on her wrist tightened imperceptibly as he studied every detail, from the slight trembling of her shoulders to the subtle scent of sakura and summer fruit wafting from her.

This was… impossible.

“Sylus…” she said again, softer this time, almost hesitant as her doe eyes searched his unreadable expression. “Are you… ignoring me again today?”

Again.

Today.

Ignoring her.

He felt something in his chest twist painfully at the genuine hurt flickering across her gaze, so identical to her game expression whenever the protagonist neglected her for other routes.

His jaw clenched.

No. This wasn’t a dream. Nor was it a hallucination. Her warmth was too vivid, her voice too clear, and that stubborn pout—

Sylus pulled her down swiftly, until their faces were inches apart, his red eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her gulp.

“Speak. Who sent you here?”

Because if this was real, then he’d finally gotten his wish…

And if it wasn’t—

Then someone was about to die for playing with his sanity.

“I… I don’t know…” Mc stammered softly, averting her eyes as his piercing gaze bore into her. She shifted uncomfortably before crawling off his lap and settling onto the bed beside him, her small hands fidgeting in her skirt.

“All I know is that I woke up here…”

Sylus sat up slowly, his silver hair falling messily over his eyes as he studied her every twitch and breath, trying to discern any glitch, any hint of projection or artificiality. But she looked too real. Too… alive.

She tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, glancing at him sideways with those doe eyes. Her pout softened into a wistful smile.

“Of course I recognize you…” she whispered, her voice growing quieter, almost melancholic. “After all, you’re… you’re a dedicated player.”

He stiffened slightly, eyes narrowing.

“Having me at maximum level…” she continued, her lashes fluttering as if embarrassed. “Pulling on each of my gacha banners… and even owning every outfit… limited editions or otherwise.”

Her small fingers gripped the hem of her red sundress, crumpling the delicate fabric as her voice wavered.

“Sometimes… I thought you liked me the most out of everyone… even though I’m just…” Her words trailed off, leaving only a silence thick with unspoken loneliness.

Sylus’s chest felt tight as he watched her. The girl before him wasn’t just an AI anymore, nor a collection of beautifully coded lines. Right now, she was real, and the raw vulnerability in her trembling smile sparked something dark and possessive within him.

“Look at this!” Mc beamed brightly, standing up from the bed to twirl once in front of him, the skirt of her blue sundress fluttering around her thighs. The sundrop flower hairclip glimmered softly under the dim bedroom lights, perfectly accentuating her dark hair.

“It’s the new outfit you bought for me from the recent spring banner, right?” she asked proudly, placing her hands on her hips with a playful tilt of her head. “I like it. Very much. Especially the color of the dress—it’s a good combination with my hair color, don’t you think?”

Sylus remained silent, crimson eyes locked onto her with an unreadable expression. His thumb traced the edge of his tablet, still laying beside him on the bed, its screen frozen on her character profile from last night.

She giggled softly, her cheeks tinting pink as she shuffled closer to him.

“Hehe… thanks!”

Without warning, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He felt her warmth seep into his skin, the faint scent of sakura and spring flowers enveloping him completely.

“So… this is how the player looks like behind the screen, huh?” she murmured against his collarbone, her voice muffled by the fabric of his black sleep shirt. Pulling back slightly, she looked up at him with those wide doe eyes, twinkling with amusement and something more tender. “Your OC is just as attractive as you are in real life…”

His brows twitched at that.

In-game, players could customise their own avatars, creating OCs that would appear in all story and interactive scenes. Of course, Sylus had modelled his down to every last detail—his silver hair, the layered cut that brushed his sharp jawline, the piercing bright red eyes, and even his exact build.

Why wouldn’t he? He always thought there was no point creating something lesser than himself.

But to hear her say that…

That his real self was just as attractive as his idealised in-game avatar…

Sylus exhaled quietly, almost scoffing. But his hand moved up to cradle the back of her head, thumb brushing lightly against her hairclip.

“Of course it is, kitten.” he murmured lowly, his voice dipping into an amused growl as he leaned closer, his forehead pressing against hers. “You’re mine, whether it’s behind the screen… or right here.”

Author's note : I don't know what to feel about this. I'm not satisfied 😭 i really tried guys and honestly, it's more easy writing angst than any normal romantic/fluff stuffs. In angst, i could just make characther's lives miserable and dead just here and there ahahaha

[chleem]

Love Deception IV

Series : ceo!drew starkey x assistant!reader

Summary: In order to secure a business deal, you pose as Drew’s girlfriend at an engagement party.

Genre: fake dating, slowburn, yearning, age gap (31 & 26), (read at own caution

⋆.˚ don't copy or translate my work!

⋆.˚ inspired by this tweet!

♡⸝⸝ three | index | five

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Drew walks out of his office, catching you eat while watching a video on your laptop. 

You don’t notice him at first, too immersed in the video you’re watching. 

He holds back a smile as he observes you- eyes slightly widened, mouth chewing, your hair tied up- before noticing that you're eating an apple for lunch.

He knows about your eating habits- an apple simply isn’t enough. 

Drew tightens his grip on the bag he’s holding, which has lunch he ordered for you, before walking over to your desk. 

The 11th floor is an open-space type of office, so anyone walking around is visible, and since your desk is just outside his office, it’s hard not to notice him approaching.

You immediately stand up when he approaches your table, quickly fixing your skirt, preparing yourself for any unexpected task he might throw your way during your break.

Drew’s tongue pokes against his mouth, a subtle hint of awkwardness creeping in as he realizes his position as your boss. 

He stands there for a moment, unsure, before glancing around the empty office. It’s quiet now, everyone else having left for lunch, and here you are, eating alone again. 

“Is there…anything you need me to do?” You ask, eyes glancing down to the bag in his hand. 

He blinks, and quickly puts together words to form a sentence. “Yeah, actually.”

There’s that look again- where you can’t help but overanalyze things, trying to read between the lines, yet somehow always come up with the right answer.

Drew places the bag on your table, and in the most casual way, he says, “Get rid of that apple.” 

There’s a small smile on his lips, one that only adds to the playful tone in his voice.

Your eyes widen even more, "Excuse me?”

He nods down at your apple, before looking back into your eyes, “it’s an order.”

Aw, gawd, he’s cringing at his own word choice. 

Although you’re more confused than ever, you still toss the apple into the trash can. 

While you do that, Drew pulls a random chair from someone else’s desk and sets it down next to yours. He leans back in it, looking entirely at ease as though this was completely normal.

He starts taking the contents out of the bag, revealing a small container of Chinese food- just enough to satisfy without being overwhelming. A portion of fried rice and a couple of spring rolls are neatly packed inside, giving off a mouth-watering aroma.

You’re still rooted in place, watching as he sets the food on your table. 

He glances up at you, and it’s like that analyzing, doe-eyed look never leaves your face. It's a good thing, he knows- you’re sharp, perceptive- but something about the way you're studying him makes him shift slightly in his chair.

He doesn't quite like it when you look at him like that, always piecing together his every move, as if there’s always a motive behind them. 

Well, there is, and it’s quite obvious why. 

“Sit down,” he murmurs. 

“…is that an order too?”

The tug of his lips come up, his gaze on you softening for a moment, “y’know what I mean.”

There’s a brief pause before you sit back down in your seat, and usually, your desk is big, but right now, it feels crowded. Your presence, scent, and just the closeness of you, is enough to get his mind to malfunction. 

He takes in the way you sit upright, your body angled toward him as you look down at the food, your eyes almost gleaming with a mix of curiosity and hunger. 

The smirk on his lips doesn’t fade, watching the way you seem to try and compose yourself despite the closeness.

He slides a box of food toward you, the motion slow and deliberate.

“Oh- no, I don’t need-“ you raise your hands, almost instinctively, wanting to push the food back to him. 

But Drew furrows his eyebrows, stopping you by gently pushing the food back toward you, offense flickering across his face.

“I ate that apple already-“

“Stop that,”

Drew’s words come out firmer and more frustrated than he’d intended, causing you to look up at him with widened eyes.

There’s- that look again! He can practically see the gears turning in your head, trying to figure out why he’s suddenly getting mad.

No, he’s not mad, just frustrated that you’re pushing him away- and staring at him like he’s grown two horns. 

You’d try to reject his food yesterday- and now that he’s back, isn’t the reason obvious?

“Stop- stop acting like you don’t want it,” he explains, his voice a little softer now, though still holding onto that hint of frustration. 

You’re still staring at him with those doe eyes. 

“Stop that too,” he mutters, but more to himself, his heartbeat picking up under your gaze. Drew looks away, clearly trying to regain his composure, and reaches into the bag to grab the forks. He hands one to you, his fingers brushing over yours.

"Thank you," you murmur, taking the fork from his hand.

He hates how his eyes return to you again, watching as you start digging into the noodles of the white box.

You take a bite, and Drew can see the energy return to your face almost instantly.

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, though he tries to hide it by looking back down at his own food. He starts to eat, his eyes occasionally flickering to you when you’re not looking. 

As you catch his eye, you smile awkwardly, food still in your mouth, and Drew pauses for a moment, feeling a bit embarrassed that he’s caught staring at you. 

He quickly looks away, his gaze shifting to your desk instead, trying to distract himself. 

His eyes scan the scene; scattered sticky notes everywhere, personal photos around your computer, piles of binders stacked up on one side, pens forced into a small (half-cut?) water bottle, your glasses resting on one corner, and small figurines. 

It’s organized chaos, and Drew’s eyes linger on the photos stuck next to your computer, some partially covered by the sticky notes. 

The photos: a younger you on your dad’s shoulders, twin babies, a family picture with you as a teenager, and another family picture at your graduation. Each one offers a glimpse of a different version of you, which he wanted to find out, more than ever. 

But then, suddenly, your hand shoots up, blocking his view. Before he can even process it, you’re already starting to take the pictures off the desk, moving them out of sight.

“Sorry- I know we’re not suppose to keep family photos-“

“We have that rule?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, urgently grabbing your wrist to stop you. 

“I- I think so.”

“Keep them on,” Drew says, “I like them.”

He reluctantly pulls his hand away, going back to his food, but as the words hang in the air, he quickly realizes he might’ve come off a little too forward. His thoughts race, and the familiar feeling of awkwardness creeps in.

You swoop in and save the moment. 

“The Harringtons are very happy,” you start, “I think at one point Lily told me she loved me.”

Drew smiles, which he hides behind his next bite of food. 

“But speaking of the Harringtons…”

Drew already knows where this is going; since it’s the only thing consuming his every thought since last night. Checking documents, taking a shower, laying in bed…maybe he even dreamt of it. 

“We need to practice,” you finish your sentence, the shyness and uncertainty lingering in your voice. 

He puts his fork down, leaning back into the chair enough to take you in fully. He swallows his bite; legs spreading to have his knee touch yours. 

The simple touch sends a jolt through him, yet he can’t bring himself to pull away.

Then, Drew chuckles, at your expression, at the way you seem so hesitant and shy,  and he thinks of your first day of work. The first day you stepped into the office, hyper-aware of your surroundings and clumsy enough to make the right mistakes. 

Your eyes widen at his deep laugh echoing through the space, and he quickly tones it down. 

“I remember everything,” Drew says, his voice low, “I remember everything we talked about, last night.”

“…okay, good.”

“Do you remember everything?”

“Of course I do!” You laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I’m scared that you might’ve just, said yes because you were too drunk.”

He smiles at your laugh. 

“Never,” he quietly answers. “What about you?”

“Me?”

You set down your fork, slowing turning to meet his eyes. 

Drew takes note of how straight your posture is; of how your back is always so composed, and he wonders when he can get you to relax, to lean back just like he is. 

“Starting to regret it?” He asks- hoping for clear transparency between the two of you. But, the answer is more for himself, for the racing heart of his to settle down. 

“…no.”

“…You hesitated.”

“No! I mean, nervous, yes, but not regretting it,” you say quickly, words tumbling out. It's a habit Drew's been noticing more often- especially when it’s just the two of you. “We have to be perfect, right? So that’s definitely going to be hard to-“

“Y/n,” Drew says your name with a calm finality that stops your talking, “we don’t need to be perfect. Just…real. Just you and me.”

You swallow, and he catches it- the slight hitch in your throat, the way your fingers twitch like you're bracing yourself. He feels his own composure wobble.

Still, he holds your gaze, steady and quiet.

“And like you said,” he adds, “practice. Practice being each other’s.”

To Drew, it feels like something huge- raw and honest, maybe even too honest.

To you?

Well, you came prepared.

Without a word, you shift in your seat, bending slightly to open one of the filing cabinets near your desk. You rummage for a second, then pull out two heavy binders. 

With practiced ease, you drop the green one right onto Drew’s lap.

Drew stares at the binder like it might explode. “What is this-“

“I, uh... kind of stayed up all night. And this morning,” you admit, brushing imaginary dust off the blue binder on your lap. “Gathered everything I could think of about us- stuff that might help. Background stories, habits, little quirks. Made-up ones too, just in case.”

Drew raises a brow and flips open the green binder at random. The page he lands on? A full spread photo of your family- your parents, your twin brother and his wife, and their twin kids: your niece and nephew.

“Oh- that’s mine,” you say quickly, as if you’d just handed over a lunch menu. “For you to review.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. He already knows so much about you. 

His gaze slowly drifts to the blue binder in your lap.

“What’s this?” he asks, reaching for it.

But you immediately pull it to your chest, hugging it like something private. You shift your body slightly away, and his eyes catch the flush blooming over your ears.

“Um... it’s all the stuff about you."

Drew can’t help the slow, amused smile spreading across his face. “Me?”

“Yeah... well, you have one, I have one. It’s only fair.”

“Show me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

He leans in a little, “let me check if it’s accurate, or something.”

His words trail off near the end as his fingers gently hook around the binder’s edge. The back of his hand brushes against your chest in the motion.

You hold it a second longer- then, reluctantly, let it go.

The binder slides into his hands, and he has to pretend that wasn’t as intimate as it could get. It’s like, his heart hasn’t stopped jumping all over the place since he sat down. 

“Wait- It’s sort of... don’t be mad.”

He flips to a random page- and pauses.

It’s a list of habits, preferences, and tiny details he didn’t think anyone noticed.

A breath of laughter escapes him. One of the notes is so hilariously off-base, he can’t help but look at you.

“Where... where did you get this about me?” he asks, still smiling, amused by your cuteness. 

You’ve scooted closer without realizing it, your thigh now barely an inch from his. 

You reach for the binder, fingers brushing his arm as you try to pry it away. “I... I asked around,” you mumble.

“Really? Who?”

“…Jeremy.”

Drew raises a brow. “Jeremy? I talked to him once, about quarterly reports.”

“He remembered your coffee order!” you defend, laughing under your breath. “I figured he was observant.”

He pulls the binder slightly out of your reach, eyes locked on yours. “Who else?”

“Um... I forgot. But they were consistent with the answers, so I figured it was solid.”

Drew shakes his head, smiling. “No, y/n, these... these are wrong.” He flips to another page, chuckling. “Way off.”

You reach for the binder again, and he playfully uses his hand to block you as he keeps reading. You whisper, “…Give it back to me.”

Drew lowers his hand, turning to you with a grin. Maybe laughing at you was a little mean.

Then, a spark lights in his eyes.

At first, he hesitates about it. Because what kind of person would you be if he took advantage of…this moment? 

But then, he realizes that maybe- maybe he could take advantage of it. 

“Actually,” Drew starts, and he sets the blinders on the table, 

“practice should be actual practice. Instead of just notes and binders, why don’t we… just do it?”

Your eyes widen, and he can’t tell if that’s surprise or calculation.

So he adds softly, almost like a confession, “Eating meals together. Talking about everything. Holding hands…”

He sees the blush creeping from your ears to your cheeks.

“…Okay.”

Wait- what?

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Drew smiles- slowly, like the idea is settling into his bones. He nods once, almost to himself.

“When’s the hunting party again?” he asks.

“Less than a month.”

He does the math in his head, “okay. That might be enough.”

You glance down at the table, fingers idly tracing the edge of one of the binders. “You’re serious?” you ask shyly.

Drew leans forward, “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

There’s a pause. Quiet stretches between you, but not the uncomfortable kind.

“So what does that look like? Us… practicing?”

“Y’know, spending so much time together that we start getting on each other’s nerves a little. Maybe even… figuring it out as we go.”

“That sounds, dangerous.”

“Makes it more real.”

“And the holding hands part?”

Drew smiles again- wider this time, boyish. “Eager to touch me?”

He’s not sure if this kind of banter is up your valley- or if it’s just a step over the line.

You blink once, then tilt your head, “…not at all.”

Drew laughs. 

“Practice, then.”

“Practice,” you echo, “…makes perfect.”

He watches you say the words, that small smile, the way you hesitate before adding ‘makes perfect’. 

“You wanna start today?”

“Today?” 

“Why not?”

“…tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Drew laughs, “I’ll pick you up then.”

“…where we going?”

“…to work,” he replies; the answer obvious. 

You’re nervous; and it’s cute. 

He’s known you for a long time, longer than he’d probably admit, and this- this feels different. Not like the usual daydreams or secret glances he’s stolen when no one was watching.

No, this feels like the start of something he’s wanted for a long time but never thought he’d get to touch.

Maybe after all the pretending, all the ‘practice,’ he won’t have to fake it anymore.

Maybe- just maybe- he might actually be yours.

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

word count: 2.6k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i finally updated 😭 sorry for this short chapter, but writing has been really hard for me lately, but hoped you enjoy it! again, ur comments rlly inspire me, so ofc i will try my best to write in my free time!

the official taglist for this fic: @ecstqzy @wheeniemyloove @melvigaristaa @drewwhor @maybankslover @iwannagetdickeddown @lilithblackkk @mattiwe01 @jessiskindacoolig @suzuki-18 @drewstarkeysbabydoll @hugheswife @rafeslvttygirl @starkeysfile @artbymin @esme568

elevator | other | three | index | five

[cyberexo]

Laundry Night | Byun Baekhyun x Fem Reader

“Could you pass me the detergent?”

warning: a lot of sexual tension, masterbating (f), cussing, full display of nudity, and more. This is not suitable for pupils under the age of 18 so minors dni.

wc: 3k+

an: I haven’t proof read yet 💔 just wanted to finish this quickly and put it out there before I lose all hope in it- hope you guys enjoy it and if you don’t then.. idk what to tell you but thank you for taking the time to read 😛

≪•◦0 🧺 0◦•≫

You swear you didn’t do it on purpose- accidents happen right? Maybe this one is a little less common than most accidents but nevertheless still an accident right? Right??

You weren’t trying to flash anybody, it’s just been a really long week- laundry wasn’t done, you were tired- and how were you supposed to know that your nightgown was apparently see through. The label said sheer when you bought it so was it really your fault? You had night shifts that took a toll on your day life that had left you with basically zero time to get anything done. Tired all the time and unaware of your surroundings.

And now it was finally the weekend, the first sliver of free time you’ve had in a while so you took the opportunity to take your long awaited ‘everything shower’, shaved every inch of your body, mastered your post shower hair routine, oiled and lotioned yourself with twinning rose scented products. And like any other woman on the planet- the process made you lethargic, too lazy to do anything else with your Friday night other than pouring yourself a glass of wine. Not bothering with a bra or a pair of panties, just your favourite nightgown, it was apparently a vintage piece; silky, ivory, floaty- paired with lace trim on the edges and an inviting slit up the thigh.

In layman’s terms: slutty. But so comfortable and freeing to lounge around in.

Spending the rest of evening sipping and doom scrolling was the plan, till you momentarily looked up from your phone and noticed the long overdue laundry basket waiting by your front door to be taken care of.

Fucking laundry, the last thing you wanted to come home to after five days of night shifts that made you teeter at the edges of complete insanity.

You lived in an apartment block where the laundry room was communal, in the basement, it would be better if you had your own but there’s been a lot of noise complaints from other tenants about not wanting a machine causing an earthquake above their heads. Even though it was tiresome to keep going up and down many flights of stairs to get your laundry done- it saves you from the noise pollution and annoyance it’ll cause you if everyone had their own. Plus you saved money this way.

Normally you’d wait till morning to get your clothes nice and clean again but you were down to your last undergarment, so it was either you do it now or go commando for the next 48 hours.

Without giving it more thought you got up, glass of wine in one hand and laundry basket in the other- slipped on some fluffy sliders and headed downstairs to the laundry room.

The stairs were concrete, the type that echo out every step you made which was great, now all your neighbours could hear you do the walk of shame for uncleanliness.

Yawning, you used your hip to press the buzzer to the laundry room, using your back to push the door open before turning around to get this shit over and done with-

And that’s when you saw him.

The new guy that had just moved into the apartment above you. You’d put him at around late twenties to early thirties- perfect features, beautiful hair it almost made you jealous. Pulling his headphones off his head he looked up at you for polite acknowledgement which quickly turned into stunned silence.

The look on his face confused you, looking down to see what he was gawking at.

Fuck.

The harsh overhead lights of the laundry room had your nightgown almost transparent, you could see almost every inch of your business. Your breasts teasing the fabrics- one bad move away from being on complete display, your torso, the lining of your pussy peaking through, even your thighs were obscene. The lace trim dangerously flirting with your behind.

“Shit-“ you muttered, lifting your laundry basket to try and cover up as much as you can. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was down here.”

He blinked, quickly looking away as if he’s been caught, clearing his throat and laughing it off, “No worries! It’s a communal area, right?”

Right.

You could see it on his face he was trying not to look, really trying but you noticed his eyes flicking down before darting back to a spot on the wall behind you which didn’t work out for you because nervous guys were a turn on for you; which was your queue to get the hell out of there.

“I’ll come back later-“

“No!” His voice cracked a little. “It’s fine, really! I mean- I’ve only got a few minutes left..”

You scanned the screen of the washing machine and he was right, he had seven minutes left of his cycle.

Seven minutes, that’s all I have to get through.

“Okay.. thanks.”

You walked past him, holding your basket closer to your body, your legs were bare, thighs rubbing together in a desperate attempt to soothe the wanting ache in between your legs, and the lace trim barely covering your ass. You could feel his eyes on you, and without any complete self restraint on your part your nipples hardened with excitement, making them even more obvious and pronounced through the basically nonexistent fabric.

It was happening already.

“I’m really sorry,” you began, placing your wine glass on the dryer, and then proceeding to bend over a little to place your basket on the floor, making the slit of your nightgown ride up, revealing the curve of your ass. If he was sat down he would have gotten to see your slick folds too. “I thought this place would be empty at this time.”

He cleared his throat again before answering, “yeah I’m just a bit of a night owl I suppose,” to which you hummed in agreement as if you weren’t obviously and completely naked, breasts stretching against the fabric with your freshly moisturised slit just inches away from his eyesight.

“What’s your name?”

“Baekhyun,” he introduced himself, his voice was soft, inviting, the kind you could listen to forever. “You’re from.. downstairs?” He enquired.

“Yeah, 3C. I’ve been living here for a few years now,”

He nodded in response, “I’ve seen you around, it’s nice to meet you.” He said, offering a soft smile paired with the obvious light blush of his cheeks.

“You too,” you smiled.

You stood there for a few more seconds in complete silence, listening to the washing machine hum alongside the distant tick of pipes.

You knelt by the basket and started to sort through the various garments, sorting them into different piles of colours and types of fabric, knees touching the cold ground and your head on the same level as the slightly evident bulge in his sweatpants, you tried to not notice it, tried to not think about what it would be like to just let him take you right there on the washing machine like you’ve seen countless of times in movies. The scenario painting in your mind was titillating.

You tried to refocus your mind back onto your clothes- pulling them out one by one. Shorts, skirts, tights, and your prized collection of bikini tops that came all in different styles. Then came the underwear- you always picked your undergarments carefully, small, thin- slutty. One of the pairs was still evidently slick with cum, you made sure it went to the top of your pile. You couldn’t help it, you’ve been so busy and alone for a while your body was pleading for male attention in anyway you could get it.

You could feel yourself getting wetter with each passing second.

Why am I like this?

You allowed your movements to dislodge one of the straps of your nightgown off your shoulder, pushing your breasts together as you worked through the rest of the pile knowing Baekhyun had the perfect down blouse view of you, probably wondering what it would be like to have his hands cupping the soft flesh.

You didn’t dare look at him.

Keeping your eyes on your clothes that seemed to never end, reaching back into the basket making your gown shift further down, the tops of your nipples becoming visible. You could feel the soft fabric getting caught in between your thighs- the friction was nearly unbearable, every movement, the unspoken tension did anything but keep your arousal at bay.

He still stood there, not making a move or sound.

You shifted on your knees ever so slightly, trying to relieve the pressure building up in between, but the gown moved with you, it clung, tightly wrapped around the tops of your thighs and lower back. You picked up a lace bra, one of your favourites, the type you would wear on a balcony somewhere in Paris, adorned with delicate embroidery, you laid it softly on top of the pile.

Glancing sideways, just for a second, and the fabric of his sweatpants was fully tented now, an unmistakable raging boner, you wanted nothing more than to pull his sweatpants down take him into your mouth immediately but you diverted your attention back to your laundry instead. You were completely soaked at this point, afraid to stand back up just to see a puddle under yourself.

You digressed and stood up, a little too quickly, your chest jumping up with you, the remaining strap falling off your shoulder and you just stood there for a moment, gown almost off, the edge of one nipple teasing the trimming of the lace, imagining the state you were in made your thighs tremble with excitement.

You wanted to get fucked, needed to.

Your eyes met his, this poor unsuspecting, incredibly attractive man was now confronting a whole lot of ass, and breasts that threatened to spill over your gown at any given moment paired with a dripping pussy that was begging to have his dick stuffed inside.

You looked at the washing machine, three minutes left.

“Could you pass me the detergent?”

≪•◦0 🧺 0◦•≫

So there you were pressed up against this semi stranger in your shared laundry room, reaching across from him for the washing powder, ass almost completely exposed, your gown constantly riding up with every move- you wanted nothing more but for him to reach his hands underneath and start working you over the washing machine.

Instead he handed you the detergent, eyes trying to look anywhere else other than your breasts which were an inch away from spilling out of your gown. His eyes found yours for a split second before they darted back to his laundry.

“I..uhhh- I- I think my load is nearly ready..”

God I hope so.

You felt another rush of wetness in between your legs from his unintentional double entendre. The washing machine played a little tune. “Perfect timing,” you smiled at him, finally moving away and adjusting the strap that had fallen off your shoulder, pretending to not know you were exposed, that you still were, pretending that the glistening wetness you were trying to not reveal was in fact very obvious.

Baekhyun popped his washing machine door open and began to frantically pull his clothes out in handfuls, eyes locked on the basket in front of him. It was cute how restrained he was being, trying to give you all the space you needed, respectful of your accidental nudity.

But it only made you want to fuck him even more.

The fabric clung between your legs, you could feel how messy you were, how desperate your own body was revealing you to be. Simultaneously making you want to run back to your apartment but also push him up against the wall and grind on him till he finished in his own boxers. Instead, you began to load the washing machine.

Around five minutes later your clothes were loaded and on a hot cycle- he had his basket of clothes all neatly organised and ready to be dried. You were still aching with the thrill of being so exposed in front of man like himself- and that’s when you came up with an idea.

This is going to be fun.

“Walk me back to my room?” You innocently asked as he opened the door to leave. He stopped, head turning slowly with a questioning look on his dangerously good looking face, ‘Hm?’ His voice was low- questioning if you just asked him what he thought you asked him.

You just shrugged in response, “I would just feel a lot safer if I had a.. chaperone, you know? Considering my situation?” You asked, holding your arms out to highlight your nudity, displaying your body to him fully for the first time; your nightgown didn’t even try to save your dignity- breasts full and heavy from arousal, nipples visible through the tight fabric, begging to be touched. The hem of the gown fluttered against the tops of your thighs, the way the moisture from your pussy had darkened the front of the gown, legs unmistakably glistening from your fluids.

You didn’t bother to hide it. You wanted him to see.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I mean- what I meant was.. yeah, sure.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his obedient little yes, his body language, the relief that this wasn’t over yet.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you giggled, as he held the door for you. Stepping past him and into the stairwell, trying really hard to resist putting your hands down his sweatpants and help relieve the pressure. The air was cooler, which made you think of what even possessed you to come out with no extra cover.

But you were glad that you did.

As you began to ascend the stairs, you made sure to give him the best possible view you could- he stayed a few steps behind you, not too close but not too far, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t staring at your ass which was basically on the same level as his head. You wondered if he was thinking about just taking you right there in the stairwell, letting you moan out in echoing pleasure for everyone to hear.

“I swear these stairs just double up every week,” you said, trying to keep your voice even, pretending you weren’t teasing him with your seductive movements up the stairs.

“Yeah,” he laughed quietly, his voice breaking a little, “I know what you mean.” He finished, somewhat lamely (?) but it only endeared you to him. Allowing your gown to ride up with each step you took, knowing he was watching. Letting your hips swing with each step, by the fifth riser, the laced hem was past the bottom of your ass. By the tenth, it was practically at your waist.

You didn’t bother adjusting it.

As you reached the landing in between floors, your heart almost jumped out of your chest with excitement. There was a shirt on the landing floor.

This is all working out so well!

Looking down at it, you exaggerated your surprise.

“Oh no! Look at what someone dropped.”

Am I really about to do this? Yes, yes I am.

You bent over to pick up the shirt, slowly. Keeping your legs straight, pushing the back of you as far up as you could- making your nightie ride up without any resistance; bunching fully around your hips. You felt a cool rush of air engulf your legs and the slick mess in between- causing goosebumps on your skin.

You stayed like that for a few seconds, knowing he was watching- the silence in the stairway was deafening, you could hear a pin drop from the ground floor- silently hoping to god that he would just bury himself into you right there. The image in your head drove you crazy, you could feel your arousal slowly trickling down your inner thighs and he could definitely see it too. You heard him sharply inhale- and you stayed like that, letting him take in the erotic view that was in front of him.

Still reaching for the shirt with unnecessary slowness- finally picking it up and turning to him, the tent in his pants basically begging to be let out- you hoped he would just drop his basket and take you right there- knowing he would be able to slide right into you with zero resistance.

“Yours?” You asked softly, tossing it into his basket before he could confirm or deny- clumsily catching it before it got mixed in with his clean clothes, his flustered manor made you quietly laugh to yourself as you turned back around and continued walking up the stairs.

≪•◦0 🧺 0◦•≫

By the time you reached your door, you were due for another shower, your slickness coated most of your upper legs, and inner thighs- very evident to any onlookers.

Any thoughts of modesty has been locked away by your raging hormones- yearning for a mans touch- Baekhyuns specifically. Exposing yourself like that to him, you knew there was no turning back, there was nothing you could do now to save face. And whilst you knew your needs wouldn’t be satiated tonight, teasing him like that, a complete stranger, gave you a thrill you’ve never had before, you felt a little sad that it had come to an end.

Turning the handle slowly, you opened the door to your apartment, hearing the hinges quietly squeak.

Letting the warm air engulf you, the soft scents of rose scented lotion and other products you had used earlier still lingered in the air, welcoming you back in.

You turned to him, his basket was clutched tightly to his chest with both hands, knuckles white. His face was red, hair; messy. His eyes were full of hope and hunger and maybe a little hint of desperation, making you wonder what he was planning on doing to you in his head- which sent another throb in between your legs.

You smiled, “Thank you for walking me back,” you said softly.

Gulping, he answered back in a quiet voice, “Yeah, it’s a… no problem.”

You stepped into your apartment backwards, still facing him, letting the lights you left on cast you in full view. Body flushed, gleaming faintly, nipples still evidently hard through the flimsy fabric with of course one of the straps hanging off your shoulder.

“Oh, shoot!” You said, feigning surprise. “I forgot I wanted to wash this. Would you mind taking it back down for me?”

He looked around what he could see from your apartment, his eyes searching for any discarded laundry here and there- “Wash what?”

“This.”

You took your nightgown by the hem and lifted it up slowly, letting it rise inch by inch, exposing the wet raging heat that was in between your legs, and then the smooth dip of your waist alongside your torso. Your breasts shifted as the fabric dragged over them, fighting to suppress any lewd sound you wanted to let out from the feeling. One final tug and it was off your body, soft and warm with the hem slightly damp from your arousal.

Baekhyun stood there, frozen and wide-eyed in your doorway, laundry basket still in his hands.

You were completely naked now, you stepped towards him, body hot and buzzing from arousal, alight with the secret hope that he would just grab and fuck you right there- you’d let him too. But he stood transfixed and so you folded the gown gently and put it in his hands.

“You can leave your basket here,” you offered, taking it from him, bending over again to gently set it down by your door. “You can get it on the way back,”

He blinked, watching you bend, analysing your every move- “What- yeah. Ok. Yeah.”

You smiled at him innocently, “Such a good man. I’ll see you soon,”

You closed the door gently, the second the latch clicked into place, you exhaled. Your whole body throbbed. Your pussy was soaked, open, aching. You dropped to the floor, spread your legs, and let your fingers dive between them, wasting no time, unable to wait any longer.

The teasing was over.

You rubbed hard and fast, messy–slick sounds filling the quiet apartment. You imagined him, still stood outside the door, listening to the sounds as you spread your wetness all over yourself. Your hips bucked into your hand, eyes fluttering shut as gentle moans of his name escaped your lips, and you again imagined him hearing them, his cock straining, mouth dry, thoughts spinning.

He didn’t even get to touch you.

The thought brought you to the edge of orgasm almost instantly, and your legs trembled as you imagined him standing in the laundry room again, that poor innocent face trying so hard not to think about your bare ass or the patch of wetness you left on the gown. You imagined him holding the fabric to his dick, pressing into the damp part of it, soaking it with his cum. Whilst the wet scent of you intoxicated him- the scene playing over and over again in your head as you laid on the floor, secretly fucking yourself with your fingers.

You came, collapsing into a warm, wet heap on the floor.

When the knock came a few minutes later, it was timid. You walked slowly and casually toward the source of the sound, and opened the door, greeting him with a big, satisfied smile.

He blinked. His hair was tousled, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly. You could see the confusion in his face. You weren’t naked anymore. You weren’t flushed or exposed or biting your lip or begging to be watched. You were just… you. Relaxed. Sated. Like something had happened in his absence, something important, and he hadn’t been part of it.

He swallowed.

“I–uh, I put your…thing in the wash,” he said.

“Awww, thank you so much,” you said, lifting his basket and handing it to him. “I really appreciate it.”

He took the basket from you, his face a picture of confusion and disappointment. You knew how much he wanted to fuck you, how much he would be thinking about you when he made himself cum later, how much he would regret not sticking his face in your spread pussy in the stairway when he had the chance.

And you loved it.

You leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. You wondered how much it made his cock twitch. “We should do laundry again sometime,” you murmured. “Soon.”

Then you smiled, stepped back, and closed the door.

Leaving him standing alone in the hallway.

Hard.

Silent.

And alone.

That's when you decided to make yourself cum again.

[devswritingcornerorsmth]

Stefan and Freddy Yeti dating a clumsy Cook Reader who have tendency to somehow making bizarre horrifying meals or causing unnatural fires for example

Boiling Water On Fire

Black Soup that looks like it moving

Or

Purple Scramble Eggs or Sour Tasting Hard Cakes

Causing the two to help the Reader to learn how to cook*and succeed* to prevent them from getting themselves killed 😂

as someone who cant cook for shit this is very relatable. i can only imagine the things stefan wants to say to me. also arma is not having a fun time with this reader-

Stefan

= Stefan is confident he can teach you how to cook. It's very easy and simple once you get how the kitchen works. He starts with something really basic, ramen on the stove instead of the microwave. Super easy, right? Just follow the instructions and why is it on fire.

= Arma starts beeping loudly as Stefan quickly puts it out, staring at you like you had grown two heads. He stares at you, hesitating to start yelling like he normally would, but it's you and he loves you and you're still learning-

= "How do you set WATER ON FIRE???"

= Mr Cluckles is quick to calm him down as Stefan takes a few deep breaths, covering his face as every possible outcome flashed through his mind, BUT this one. He cleans up and thinks of other easy things he can help you with, telling you to come back tomorrow.

= He warns the other objects in the kitchen that the next few days are not going to be fun, telling them that he's trying to teach you how to cook. The others are... hesitant, asking River and Sinclaire to be on standby just in case, while Arma keeps a close eye. Friar Errol tries to preach that if you were to use an air fryer that none of this would happen and the world would be a better place. Stefan has to walk away before he strangles the fryer priest.

= The next day, he's thankfully a lot calmer and has baby-proofed everything. He says that you'll be making soup, and all you have to do is stir the ingredients together.

= You managed to stir the soup, yet it somehow looked like a new element the way it bubbled. Stefan stared at it with a quizzical expression and began to wonder if the Dateviators were messing something up. He took a hesitant taste test; besides it being burnt, it was pretty good. Stefan picked up the soup concoction by the handles and held it out to you.

= "No, don't pick it up by the bottom, it's hot. Stop- no IT'S HOT ON THE BOTTOM!"

= At least it was some progress...? Next was grilled cheese, can't mess that up too bad... then, Stefan thought over how everything could go wrong... and changed his mind to scrambled eggs, promising to keep a close eye on you.

= He genuinely celebrates when you make decent scrambled eggs, hugging you tightly and spinning you. He quickly puts you down and apologises if you don't like physical touch, if you do, he keeps you in a warm hug until you tap on his arm to break free. He makes you your favorite food as a reward.

= Stefan helps you slowly learn how to cook without burning or creating another magical concoction. You're soon able to make a very basic grilled cheese without ruining something! River is still on standby just in case, because even the best of chefs make mistakes, but Stefan is always there to help, even with the littlest of things.

= He watches you like a hawk every time you use the stove to cook or the oven to warm up something, making sure you get the right ingredients and yelling when the food is ready and doesn't get burnt, so Arma doesn't freak out. Mr Cluckles will also yell out, but louder and more annoying.

= In the end, Stefan is able to teach you how to properly cook without the water catching on fire. The two of you cook together a lot after that.

Freddy Yeti

= Freddy isn't that great of a cook, preferring cold foods and simple microwave meals. Though from time to time, he does indulge in a nice warm meal from Stefan. He can make very simple foods like scrambled eggs, grilled cheese, ramen, stove popcorn, and a few other things. He's a little surprised when you ask him to help you cook, since Food Fetch (DoorDash) is down. He agrees, figuring you don't want to deal with Stefan's anger if you were to mess something up, not like he could talk, though.

= He's... almost impressed that you managed to set the water on fire, almost forgetting that the two of you were in a house filled with very flammable, now sentient, objects that could get hurt or worse if it spread.

= After that mess, Freddy is a little hesitant to help you again, trying to keep you to stick to Food Fetch or easy microwave meals. But you want to learn, and he's the person you're closest to in the kitchen, and damnit, he can't say no to those eyes.

= He already knows your track record with burnt water, so he starts off slow and simple, with scrambled eggs. It couldn't be that hard, right? Just mix the eggs together and pour them into a pan with a little salt and pepper for flavor, maybe some cheese and/or ham, unless you don't eat ham, of course.

= Freddy looks away for two seconds to check something in his drawer, only to turn back and see that somehow the eggs are already overdried and have a rubber texture. But you had just put them on, how...

= "Cool kid, this... how did you-?" Freddy is baffled and confused, not knowing how someone could mess up scrambled eggs just by touching them. After the eggs are done, he takes a few bites with you before you both decide that Cam would like these better. He tries to cheer you up if you feel sad or dejected about not being able to cook, offering you some ice cream and saying that a lot of people can't and it's fine not to know in this day and age. But it's always a nice skill to have, and you never know what could happen, so you keep trying.

= Freddy helps you manage to make an okay-looking soup! Edible, but does not look like it is. The yeti can only describe it as oobleck, not quite liquid, but not a solid either. At least you're slowly getting somewhere. You make a slightly burnt grilled cheese, but at least it didn't change color!

= Now was the time to try and remake scrambled eggs. Freddy hovers over you, keeping a close eye while giving words of encouragement. You both keep a close watch on the eggs, making sure they don't "somehow" turn into rubber again. They thankfully stay nice and fluffy, allowing you to plate and serve them to Freddy, who gladly takes a bite out of them.

= He loves them and congratulates you with a high-five and a tight, warm hug despite being a yeti. Freddy asks you to make him some food every now and then, now that you're not casting spells to set the water on fire, or turn it into a new element on the periodic table. He helps you cook every once and a while, serving whatever you made up at his restaurant, but all the good stuff goes straight to him.

----

thank you for reading mwah

[rhysxvuldak]

Soren's world was reduced to a few things, but it was plenty for the bard at the moment. Still, he had the wealth he'd taken, earned by blood, and it would hopefully be enough to help Freydis do what she wished to, as well. Which is simply live without endlessly fighting. And if Soren were to die in some way before she did, then at least he could leave her what he'd gotten. "You flatter me." He didn't need to know the plenty of things, she'd already boosted his ego enough that he didn't need to be teased. And he wasn't going to give her the opportunity to just yet, either.

He looped his arm around Freydis' shoulders, dipping his head closer to hers, "I think that bard would go missing on the night of a full moon. Bones and all," he didn't often joke about the dark side of his...condition, but it was warranted. Only because he was almost certain that the Vuldak within him would just know and seek out someone who dared to do such a thing. He chomped his teeth in her direction, though he looked back at the road that led to the Manor. "The Lord of Minetia doesn't come into town, y'know. Aloof, in his very humble abode. It's how I keep my anonymity." Had he been left to his own free will, able to roam the streets with Rhys, he'd never be able to get by with his own stories. He thought for a moment, and while he'd normally say the bathhouse was an excellent and most favorite spot for him, for many obvious reasons, he figured he would take Freydis somewhere he hadn't taken many others. "Would it be selfish of me to say that my favorite place is indeed in the house? Come on. We'll take the long way." He led her down a stone path, shaded with trees that were adorned with plenty of different flowers. The place was serene, and the path eventually opened up to higher above the shoreline – steep stone cliffs below them and a path lit by magical lanterns that were simply floating there, waiting for dusk to settle in so they could light up.

His answer probably should have surprised her less than it did. Perhaps if she had seen him with others as often as she had him to herself the response would have been more expected. Freydis was quiet as he explained, the island fading to little more than background as she focused on Soren. Months ago, she might have taken his words for mere flattery, but she believed them now and she understood his fear. She only fought as hard as the well of all she wished to protect was deep. “I’ll help you hold your world up,” she promised as she lifted his hand to press her lips against the ridges of his knuckles. When he spoke again, she pretended to be perturbed and nipped at one of his knuckles as if to punish him for sullying the moment. “I think you’re plenty of things.” 

Freydis’ attention landed on a window box of flowers–the same that were carved into the bow that belonged to Soren–but she was listening. “You know I’ll just start to tell you I favor another bard just so I can hear your voice while you lecture me, don’t you?” Freydis stated, pointing out the flaw in his logic. “What if another bard writes love songs for me, about me, rather than your odes to my accomplishments and presence?” It wasn’t nice to tease him. She enjoyed doing so anyway. “Anyone more noble than the Lord of Minetia himself?” she asked, looking up at him. She glanced up the way where he said the house would be and it didn’t feel like much of a loss to postpone seeing it. “Fine, then let’s start with,” she pondered aloud, trailing off for a few moments as she thought. “Let’s start with whatever place you refuse to come and go from the island without seeing first. Your favorite place.”  

[magical-reid]

The Soldier and His Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.

One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.

Bucky Barnes was gone.

The Winter Soldier stood in his place.

And yet—he didn’t hurt you.

Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.

Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.

A shield.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.

But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.

Not to eliminate.

To protect.

At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.

“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”

“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.

“Yet,” Tony shot back.

You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.

Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.

The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.

Bucky was on you instantly.

His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.

He was still in there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.

Unless they posed a threat to you.

That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.

“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.

“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky—” you tried.

“The room is secure.”

“That’s not the—”

“She does not require assistance.”

“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”

Bucky didn’t move.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”

That got his attention.

“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”

His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“…Understood.”

Progress.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.

Just a moment of quiet.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.

And then you heard it—his breath hitching.

A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.

You blinked sleepily, looking up.

Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.

His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.

“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.

You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”

His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.

He just buried his face in your neck and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough.

“You threw Steve like a ragdoll.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

A laugh. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, Bucky Barnes was back.

[artficlly]

his girls [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x reader alpine barely tolerates anyone but bucky, so when she curls up in your lap without a second thought, the team is left reeling—especially when it leads to the not-so-subtle revelation that you and bucky have been sneaking around for months.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, alpine is a troublemaker, secret dating, swearing, kissing, alcohol, tony knows all, natasha too, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: hello! once again a fic no one asked for lol. i'm supposed to be on hiatus buuut i took some time this afternoon to write this because i'm procrastinating a uni assignment. i'm sure this concept has been done before, but i was thinking about that scene in rivals with the dog (iykyk) and yeah! step away from the usual angst and heartbreak i normally provide you all with. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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You were careful.

Or at least, you thought you were careful.

For months, you and Bucky had kept your relationship under wraps. It wasn’t that you wanted to keep secrets from the team, but there was something thrilling about stolen moments and hushed conversations. About Bucky’s hand on the small of your back as he guided you through a crowded room, or the way he’d brush a kiss against your temple before disappearing down the hall.

You figured no one had noticed.

Until today.

It all started with one of many white hairs stuck to your t-shirt.

Natasha plucked it off you mid-conversation one morning in the kitchen while you were praying—desperately—to whatever all-seeing god might finally make the coffee machine work faster. Between the groaning, spluttering sounds and the blinking lights, it felt like the damn thing was possessed. With flawlessly manicured nails, Natasha held the hair up to the morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the compound.

“Is this Alpine’s fur?” she mused aloud, twirling the long, pale strand between her fingers.

“Probably.” you replied absently, more concerned with the coffee machine’s latest refusal to cooperate. You jabbed the buttons harder, ignoring the way Natasha’s eyes flickered with something dangerously close to amusement. 

“For all of Tony’s money, you’d think we’d have a coffee machine that actually works,” you grumbled.

“Turn around?” Natasha asked. There was a particular lilt to her voice, that barely concealed intrigue she tried—and failed—to mask whenever she was onto something. It set you on edge instantly, the tone that meant she was clicking a mystery into place, giddy with excitement beneath a thin veil of indifference. You didn’t trust it for a second.

“No, just—” You smacked the machine in frustration. It whined pathetically before the lights blinked off entirely. You let out a long, exasperated groan. “Why won’t this stupid fucking thing ever work—”

“Jesus, you’re covered in it—”

You froze mid-motion as Natasha yanked at your shirt, effectively grooming you like a monkey. Her sharp lips had turned up into a wicked smirk, the type of smirk that made dread pool in your gut. 

“Everything is covered in her fur,” you said quickly, still trying for casual. You reached for the plug, praying Natasha would drop it. “She sheds everywhere, especially on the couch.”

“Mm.” Natasha tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “And yet, I thought Tony hired cleaners for that? Especially with Kate always bringing Lucky around?”

You yanked the plug from the socket a little too forcefully. “Honestly, Nat, I don’t know. I just want this damn machine to work.”

Right on cue, a familiar voice rumbled behind you.

“Machine giving you trouble again?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest before resuming its normal rhythm—though maybe a little faster. You turned just as Bucky strolled in, looking frustratingly good despite the early hour. His hair was a little dishevelled, sleep still clinging to him in a way that made him look too soft for someone who could snap a man’s spine in half.

“There’s a trick to it, remember?” He stepped in close beside you, skin brushing yours as he reached for the machine. The scent of his aftershave lingered, warm and familiar. You tried—and failed—not to watch the way the muscles in his forearm tensed, veins shifting beneath his skin as he pressed a series of buttons.

“Barnes, you’ve got cat hair all over you,” Natasha noted, not even bothering to be subtle. You didn’t dare look at her. Instead, you busied yourself wringing your hands, pretending you weren’t hyper-aware of Bucky standing so damn close.

“Huh?” Bucky barely spared a glance at his shirt, where Alpine’s fur was unmistakably clinging to the fabric. “Oh. Yeah, guess I do. She always wants attention in the morning.”

Then, with one final smack, the machine roared to life. The rich aroma of coffee filled the air as liquid finally poured into your mug. You sighed in sheer relief.

“There you go,” Bucky said, looking down at you with a small smile, a few strands of dark hair falling across his forehead.

Your stomach did a stupid little flip. You smiled back, warmth creeping into your face. “Thanks.”

The machine beeped again, snapping you back to reality. You quickly grabbed the mug with both hands, muttered another thanks, and let Natasha tug you away.

“What was that?” She hissed, voice low as she turned to you with narrowed eyes.

“Huh?” You weren’t entirely listening to her words. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. You could still see Bucky standing in the kitchen, both hands braced on the counter as he waited for his own coffee. His back was turned, but even through the thin material of his fur-covered t-shirt, you could see the way his muscles shifted beneath it—

Natasha didn’t even humour your innocence. She crossed her arms. “You and Barnes?” 

“What about him?” You mumbled, pulling your gaze away as the elevator dinged, doors sliding open.

Her lips twitched, amusement clear. “Are you two—?”

You made a face at her. “What are you on about?” 

Natasha didn’t look convinced, but she let it go.

For now.

As the elevator hummed and Bucky was cut from your view as the doors shut, you took a sip of coffee, the liquid a few degrees between too hot and burning. It scalded your tongue, and with the phantom smell of Bucky’s aftershave no longer haunting you, you felt your mind snap back into action.

Right. Focus.

“We’re going to be late for the meeting,” you declared, shaking your head. “And that damn machine is the reason. You know what? Let’s take a detour to Stark’s lab and demand a better one.”

Natasha chuckled, pressing the button for a different floor.

“I like the way you think.”

—

You knew Alpine would be your downfall.

The little white menace was notoriously selective. If you weren’t Bucky, she wanted nothing to do with you. Everyone at the compound had suffered her wrath at least once—Sam even had the scars to prove it. Alpine liked to play dangerous games that usually ended in blood or a yowl of pain. You swore the Avengers bled more dealing with the feline than fighting aliens, wizards, or whatever else tried to obliterate Earth every other week. She was a cunning little creature, lurking around corners, hiding under tables, prowling along bookshelves. And just when you least expected it—bam. Teeth and claws bared, she would pounce, latching on like a tiny, vengeful spectre. This was her idea of fun. The Avengers had learned to tread carefully, tip-toeing around the compound whenever they knew she wasn’t safely curled up in Bucky’s room, where she ruled with an iron paw.

So, when you sat down on the couch one evening, and Alpine immediately hopped onto your lap, you knew you were fucked.

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t so much as sniff at you in consideration before curling right up, purring loud enough to be heard over the football game droning on in the background—which you were only half paying attention to. 

You stiffened, caught between awe at the rare privilege and sheer dread at the witnesses currently gaping at you.

Bucky, for his part, had been sitting at the other end of the couch, flirting with danger in his usual way—stolen glances, conveniently placed touches as he shifted in place. Alpine, just as obsessed with him as you were (Bucky had taken to calling you both ‘his girls’ in private, which always managed to make you swoon.), had immediately perched in his lap when he sat down. Only when he carefully pried her off to grab another round of beers did the little white she-beast decide you were a worthy substitute, strutting over with lazy, languid confidence before settling down, blissfully unaware of what she had just unleashed.

The room fell into stunned silence. Several pairs of eyes locked onto you, breath collectively held. They were waiting for the yowl, for the inevitable attack, for you to tense up and leap to your feet in pain. But to your horror, the little sadist simply settled in. Cosy, unbothered, as if this had been the plan all along.

“Okay, what the hell is this?” Sam finally demanded, pointing an accusing finger.

You blinked down at Alpine, then up at Sam, stroking the soft fur like nothing was amiss. “Uh… a cat?” 

You were foolish and desperate enough to pretend this was completely normal, to gaslight the others into believing Alpine was a perfectly gentle and affectionate cat. A sweet, loving companion. Not a tiny, vengeful menace who had terrorised them all—and definitely not a creature who had only warmed up to you in recent months because you spent more time in Bucky’s bed than your own.

“The same cat that tried to claw out my eyeball for getting too close? And now she’s just—” He gestured wildly at Alpine, who flicked her tail with the smugness of a queen on her throne. “—cuddling with you like you’re her best buddy?”

“She likes me, I guess.” You blinked innocently, turning back to the TV, hoping he would drop it, but Sam, ever the dramatic, was not satisfied.

“Are you kidding me? That cat has tried to kill me.”

Natasha snorted into her drink. 

Alpine smugly licked her paw before resting her head upon your thigh and blinking her wide blue eyes at Sam, who shook his head with an exaggerated shudder.  “This is bullshit, and you know it—”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like you, Sam.” You huffed, scratching Alpine behind her ears. “She’s always been fine with me.”

“That is not true!” 

“She took a chunk out of my arm once,” Natasha added, ever the instigator.

“Remember when I gave her a treat and she bit me?” Steve piped up.

Bucky returned at that moment, frowning as he saw the conversation unfolding before him. You turned to him with wide, desperate eyes, silently pleading for help. Alpine, the little traitor, merely pressed her pink nose to your hand, rubbing her face against you with a contented sigh.

“She only likes people she’s comfortable with,” Bucky offered, setting the beers down with a clink, but his pitiful attempt to be helpful only added fuel to the fire.

The room exploded into a series of overlapping voices.

“I didn’t realise you spent so much time with Alpine?” Natasha’s sharp gaze flicked between you and Bucky, her smirk primed to taunt you both. 

“Buck, doesn’t she spend all her time in your room—?” Steve leaned forward, forearms braced against his thighs, invested now.

Sam jolted upright like he’d just solved a murder case. “Now, hold on a second—”

“You have been covered in cat fur a lot lately,” Natasha mused. “And you two have been suspiciously close—”

As you glanced over at Bucky, you couldn’t tell if his repeated blunders were intentional or borne out of genuine panic. He cleared his throat, his brows raising as he casually popped off the cap of one of the beers with his vibranium thumb in faux nonchalance.

“Coincidence.” He muttered with a shrug, tipping back a mouthful of the brew. 

Alpine, completely oblivious (or entirely aware of the chaos she’d caused), didn’t budge as Bucky sat back down beside you, levelling you with a look that screamed we are so screwed.

“You two aren’t even going to try to lie?” Natasha pressed.

“Lie about what?” You feigned innocence, but the act was flimsy at best. The jig was well and truly up.

Bucky, clearly done with this little charade, let out a long-suffering sigh that might’ve sounded exasperated if not for the telltale smirk tugging at his lips. Without another word, he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you effortlessly against his chest, Alpine still coiled contentedly in your lap. The smug little she-beast didn’t even stir. She just purred loudly—too loudly, like she was taking credit for the entire thing.

“Wait a second!” Sam pointed a dramatic finger between the two of you. “How long has this been happening?”

“How long has what been happening?” Tony strolled into the room, a glass of amber liquid that looked suspiciously like whiskey in hand.

“Her,” Steve announced, gesturing between the both of you. “And Barnes.”

Tony didn’t even blink. “Oh, I already knew that. You didn’t know that?”

Bucky turned so fast you were surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash.  “You what?”

“Oh, come on,” Tony drawled, making himself comfortable on the armrest of the couch like this was all just another day at the office. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice her sneaking out of your room at ungodly hours for the past six months? F.R.I.D.A.Y. kept flagging intruders, and, shocker—it was just you two, utterly failing at stealth.”

Sam threw up his hands. “Did you say six months?!”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but instead of answering, he just turned to you and, without hesitation, kissed you.

It was sudden but warm, his lips soft against yours like he’d been waiting for an excuse. The room erupted into even more noise, Sam shouting something unintelligible, Natasha making a sound of smug satisfaction, and Steve groaning like he should’ve known, but it all faded into the background.

You laughed against Bucky’s lips, breathless but entirely unbothered. “This is definitely her fault.”

Alpine, still purring in your lap like the devious little mastermind she was, flicked her tail.

Bucky just hummed, brushing his nose against yours. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Not complaining, though.”

And, truthfully, neither were you.

[classyrbf]

classmate!gojo part 3!

classmate!gojo who has been watching you from afar for the past week now. His eyes are always gravitating towards you in class, trying to catch any other possible connection. He’s try so hard to convince himself that you’re not his mystery girl, but at this point he should just accept it. The photo of your nails was proof enough, not to mention how much of a rush you were in. Neither of you have texted or exchanged photos since then, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t driving him crazy. Every single day since then he can’t get you off of his mind, getting so hard from the thought of you that he has to sneak away to rub one out to your pictures or videos. He just can’t help himself.

He watches you in class, in the cafe area, even sees you walking on campus, doing normal things. He would have never guessed in a million years you were the one he sought after so badly. You hide it so well. But he knows deep down under that good girl persona you have, there’s a slut waiting to caught, waiting to be fucked and used like you told him all those times over text. He’ll make you break. He sees you sitting on a bench on campus just scrolling through your phone, knowing this is the perfect time to execute his plan.

He finally breaks contact, sending you a video he took of himself last night.

gojo: i miss you

it was simple, but he was hoping it’d work. He watches intently, a small smile spreading across your face, though he’s unsure if it’s because of him

gojo: send me something, yeah? miss seeing you, baby

and like clock work, he sees you get up, heading towards the bathrooms inside one of the campus buildings. What else to do but follow. He sees you slip into the bathroom, and now he finally has you where he wants you.

you enter the bathroom, riddled with excitement that he finally texted you. Maybe he didn’t catch on that you were the one sending him photos. Good, it means you can have more fun. You enter the stall, replaying the video of him jerking off, putting the phone close to your ear so you can his moans. You smile, your hands finding themselves under your skirt, rubbing your clit through your clothed pussy. Little do you know he’s standing right outside the door, waiting for you.

You unbutton your shirt and grab onto your tits, massaging them in your hand while you send him a video. Quickly, you send him another of your wet panties, still rubbing your clit.

you: missed you too. can you tell?

and gojo can’t believe it when he receives the videos, chuckling to himself at how slutty you can be. He saves the videos nonetheless and puts his phone back in his pocket, the bathroom door opening, you walking out, completely caught off guard. Your heart thumps against your chest, mouth hanging open like you want to say something but nothing is coming out. All you know is that you can’t stop staring at him. He’s smirking at you, eyeing like a piece of candy as he moves closer towards you, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “I know you’re little secret.” You’re frozen, unable to do a thing. You couldn’t even deny it at this point. “Give em to me,” he demands.

“W-what?” You blink, voice barely above a whisper. He moves back, a smug smile on his stupidly pretty face. God, he smells so good. And his whispering? You’re even more wet than before. He knows what he’s doing to you.

“Your cute little panties. Give them to me.” He’s so casual about it and makes you even more nervous yet more intrigued. You turn to go back into the bathroom but he grabs your arm. “No, no, no. Do it right here.”

“But—” you look around to see if anyone else is around.

“What? Scared of getting caught? Sure weren’t thinking about that when you sent me all these videos and pictures. So, hand them over.” He watches as you slightly bend over, reaching under your skirt and gently pulling your panties down, letting them fall to your ankles. You sheepishly pick them up, they’re coated in your slick, an embarrassing sight. He grabs them from you, chuckling at the wet stain. “Wasn’t so hard, right?” He shoves them into his back pocket.You shake your head no, unable to keep eye contact with him. All the confidence you had over text has completely disappeared in the presence of him. What were you even thinking? He’s Gojo Satoru. “Thank you for these, baby.” He steps closer towards you, cornering you against the wall. “Send me something else later on tonight. Oh, and make sure to stop hiding that pretty face of yours too, okay? I wanna see everything.” He grabs your chin, tilting it up so you were looking at him.

“Why don’t you just fuck me already? We’ve both been waiting long enough,” you abruptly ask. It was taking everything in you not to drop on your knees and let him fuck your face.

“I can fuck you right here if I wanted to. You know how’ve riled up you’ve gotten me for all these weeks? I get so hard thinking about you that it hurts. I can’t fucking cum if it doesn’t involve you. You’ve taken over my mind, made me go on this chase to figure out who you were. So, if I wanna make you wait a little more, then I’ll fucking do it.” He gritted his teeth, gripping your chin slightly tighter. “Remember, only good girls get rewarded.” He smirked, pulling away from you before walking out of the building like nothing happened.

previous part

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: your boyfriend comes to pick you after a long day at uni. sensing your jealousy about the attention he’s getting from your classmates, he makes it up to you in his own way.

tags. olderbf!gojo x female reader. fluff, tiny bit of angst, suggestive [make out sesh]. age gap — reader above 20, gojo early 30’s. jealousy. reader gets called ‘princess, baby, beautiful.’ not proof read !

satoru’s arrival, as per usual, serves as pure entertainment for many students. it’s not often that they get to see such a tall and handsome man around campus after all.

you patiently stand there, waiting for that said man to come and get you. the increase in giggles and whispers around you can only mean one thing: he’s nearby.

your boyfriend’s car comes to a stop in the distance. satoru steps out of the driver’s seat a second later, one of his hands running through his fluffy, snowy hair.

‘. . damn, he’s fucking hot,’ ‘yep. heard he’s in a relationship though. sucks,’ ‘girl— do i look like i care? need him so baaaaddd.’

it’s infuriating to hear those words while you - his girlfriend - are standing close to them. you decide not to give those girls any attention nor do you try to speak up. it’s not worth the effort.

satoru closes the car door behind him, his hands in the pockets of his slacks while he strolls up to where you’re standing. it’s as if he’s walking down a runway - graceful, confident, every step executed with perfect balance.

he can hear the murmurs from the students around, but he simply does not care. his steady gaze has been fixed on you the moment he spotted your figure from across campus.

“cute,” satoru mutters under his breath with a small smile, blue eyes taking in the sight of you standing there against a wall. the way you’re fiddling with the strap of your bag while pretending not to have noticed him is quite endearing.

you look down at the ground until a pair of black oxfords come into view, stopping right in front of yours. you slowly tilt your head back until you’re face to face with the man himself.

“hey, beautiful,” satoru greets, his voice smooth and slightly deep, a faint smirk playing on his lips. his knuckles brush against your cheek whilst he admires your every feature, acting as if he hasn’t seen you in days.

you nod in response, whispering a small ‘hi’ before your eyes dart around campus again. your bottom lip pushes forward just a tiny bit to form a small pout.

. . and there it is; satoru knows that look in your eyes like the back of his hand. he’s seen that same pout before, along with the hint of jealousy lurking behind your gaze that you try so hard to hide.

he understands why you’re feeling that way.

the other girls on campus, the way they ogle him and whisper, it would make any woman insecure. but to him, there was no need for that. satoru is yours, and he’s made that known to every single soul around you a million times before.

perhaps they need to be reminded once more.

satoru wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, his touch gentle and possessive. he can see how you’re trying to act normal, though he knows you way better than that.

the pad of his thumb rubs small circles into your hip as your lover leans in and speaks in a low yet intimate voice that only you get to hear, “oh? look at you, acting all tough with your little pout.”

“tell me. what’s up, princess?” satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ticklish skin. he lowers his head to your face and plants a small kiss on your nose, gaining a mix of delighted yet irritated whispers of the people around you.

“usually you jump right into my arms after seeing me— y’know, like a lil’ bunny,” the white-haired man starts sulking as well, pressing your body flush against his. “where’s my cute ‘n clingy babyyyy?”

satoru’s over-exaggerated whine makes your nose scrunch up, though you can’t deny the truth. he knows you better than you know yourself. he can see right through your attempt to disguise your jealousy, yet you’re still too stubborn to admit anything.

“whatever. come on,” you roll your eyes before grabbing his arm and tugging him forward. you want nothing more than to escape your surroundings. you’re getting tired of the continuous and unwanted attention satoru is getting.

it’s irksome. you know satoru doesn’t give them the attention they so desire - he never will - yet you still feel this pang in your chest whenever you see those girls shamelessly ogling your boyfriend.

satoru, being naturally observant, notices your sudden eagerness to leave campus. he can tell that your jealousy is growing worse because of the other students that keep on eyeing him. while he is used to the attention, he hates seeing it affect you.

the whispers and giggles from the other women are like white noise, insignificant background fodder that barely warranted his notice. you’re all he sees and listens to— no matter what.

your presence, your voice, your body, your soul. . . you’re the only one he cares about. he just wishes you’d realise that.

satoru wordlessly allows himself to be dragged off. his gaze is fixated on the back of your head, a mixture of amusement and worry glinting in those blue eyes of his. he can’t help but feel guilty. even if he didn’t really do anything wrong.

he wants to make it up to you, somehow.

once you reach the car, satoru gently shoos your hand away from the door handle the moment he catches you try to get in yourself. he reaches around you and pulls it open with a soft ‘click’.

satoru then surprises you by kissing your forehead— his free hand coming up to cup the back of your head. his fingers bury themselves in your hair. a subtle smirk tugs at his glossy lips as he senses the envious glares from the other, irrelevant onlookers.

that’s exactly what he’s trying to accomplish. to make it known to the world that he’s your man. he’ll gladly do it over and over again, until all of them finally take the hint.

“ladies first,” satoru gestures, his voice gentle and loving. he pulls back and smiles at you with his dimples showing. you’re slightly taken aback by the smooth gesture before thanking him in a small murmur.

“thank you.”

it’s silent for a good couple seconds after satoru gets into the driver’s seat. he settles his keys into the ignition switch, though doesn’t turn them. instead, he faces you with a small sigh.

your lover already recognises what’s up. you probably won’t talk to him until the jealousy subsides. but that isn’t how he wants to fix this situation— he wants you to communicate with him.

“hey,” satoru tries to get you to look at him. your body is slightly turned away, your eyes looking out of the car window. it’s painfully obvious that you’re upset with him, even when it isn’t specifically his fault.

“don’t hide from me, c’mon,” he chuckles and tries to make you feel better by bringing your hand up to his lips. satoru leaves small kisses on your palm, eyes peering over the rims of his sunglasses to gauge your reaction.

you still don’t turn to face him. you’re too caught up in your own feelings— too stubborn to talk about the jealousy and insecurities that are bugging you. you know it’s unfair to your partner, but you currently can’t fix your own emotions.

sensing your insistent reluctance to face him, satoru places his hand gently under your chin. his fingers curl around your jaw and gently guide your gaze to meet his. the sight of your downcast expression - plagued with insecurity - tugs on his heartstrings.

“oh, my sweet little baby,” the white-haired man sighs once more.

without another word, the gap between you quickly closes as satoru leans in, his lips meeting yours in a firm but soft kiss. a soft gasp escapes your lips at the suddenness of his kiss, but the tension in your shoulders slowly starts to dissappear as you melt into his embrace.

the touch of his calloused fingers on your jaw is a wordless command you cannot resist. the kiss is a silent form of reassurance, a way for him to remind you of his feelings for you.

his want and need for you.

satoru can nearly taste the jealousy etched into your initial resistance, which he seeks to silence with his touch. thus, he deepens the kiss with renewed vigor. his free hand cups the back of your head and gently tilts it upwards to gain a better angle.

“mh. sweet,” satoru’s tongue swipes over your bottom lip. he eagerly swallows the faint taste of candy that you had eaten earlier. his tongue delves into your mouth the moment your lips make way, memorising every part of it.

he doesn’t let go of you until you’re both breathless. the sorcerer pulls back, though keeps the distance between your lips at a minimum. his cheeks are painted a soft pink, eyes half lidded and lips even glossier with your saliva now coating them.

“haah— fuck,” satoru catches his breath while his free hand rubs up and down your waist. he resists the urge to pull you into his lap and ravage you right then and there. he’ll leave that for when you’re home.

his gaze is on your parted lips once more. he simply cannot hold himself back from leaning in. his body moves closer to yours, caging you in between him and the passenger seat.

“i’m all yours,” satoru murmurs against your soft lips. he cups your face as he places a quick peck on your mouth. “only yours,” another chaste kiss causes your smile to find its way back onto your face. “don’t you forget,” and a third kiss finally makes you giggle.

your lover hums in satisfaction. he nuzzles his nose against yours, grinning widely as he successfully managed to coax the jealousy away— to gain his beautiful, happy girlfriend back. “there she is,” satoru coos and squeezes your cheeks together.

you huff at the feeling of your lips forced into a deformed ‘o’ shape, yet the bright smile tugging at your lips doesn’t disappear. “sorry for acting so childish,” you apologise for your own behavior. if it wasn’t for satoru taking the initiative to make it up to you, you would have given him the silent treatment.

the white-haired man shakes his head. he ruffles your hair affectionately while his lips settle on your cheek. he tenderly nibbles on the plush flesh, “no need to apologise. ‘t was cute,” he replies in a muffled voice.

satoru pulls back and his thumb brushes over the subtle mark that his teeth left on your skin. “besides,” he pinches your cheek before cocking his head to the right. your eyes follow the direction he’s looking at— which is your car window.

“i think everyone finally realised that y’re the one ‘n only girl for me.”

your heart drops as you only then remember that satoru’s car windows aren’t tinted. that means that everyone on campus probably has seen the little make out session you had with your boyfriend just now.

your eyes quickly dart around the crowded area. the way your fellow students are glancing at you - some with envy and others with embarrassment - tells you more than enough. . .

you clear your throat and try to hide your face with the sleeves of your top. you don’t know how you’re going back to university after today without facing the humiliating consequences of your (satoru’s) actions.

your shameless boyfriend sits there and grins from ear to ear, proud of his accomplishment and oblivious to your embarrassed state until you speak up again;

“. . satoru, please drive away as fast as you can.”

[alygator77]

──little things like this

a/n. just something small i felt like writing 🫶🏻 what i imagine grocery shopping with satoru would be like.

cw. domestic fluff. dad! satoru. husband! satoru. and just... satoru being satoru. also, he's missing you (like, a lot).

You should’ve known better than to bring him.

It was supposed to be a quick trip—milk, eggs, veggies, rice, soy sauce. Easy. You had dinner planned and everything. His favorite—the one he always says you make better than anyone. The one he begged you to cook the first night he stayed over, back when you were still figuring each other out in that too-small apartment with the broken stove and mismatched bowls. He used to sit barefoot on the counter, freshly showered, stealing bites before you could plate anything.

But now?

Now you’re married to Satoru Gojo, and he’s pushing your daughter through a grocery store like it’s the highlight of his week—sunglasses shoved into his windblown white hair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He’d just come off a string of missions, barely enough time to breathe between them, but when you mentioned needing to grab a few things, he immediately offered to come. Said he missed you. Said he wanted to do “normal stuff.”

Which might’ve sounded sweet, sure—until somewhere between produce and frozen foods, he completely veered off-script. And now, fifteen minutes in, your cart is a sugar bomb. Sour gummies. Five flavors of Pocky. A jumbo bag of marshmallows no one in your household has ever requested.

Though here he is, your husband, pushing your cart with one hand, lighting up in pure joy at every little treat you come across through the aisles.

“Satoru Gojo…” you deadpan as he reaches for a pack of cookies. “That is not on the list.”

Clicking his tongue, he holds them up like a sacred offering.

“Buuut… neither were you,” he hums, batting those ridiculously pretty blue eyes. “And yet—best thing I ever brought home.”

Narrowing your eyes, he smirks.

“’toru…” you sigh. “I really don’t think we need more sugar in this cart.”

Tilting his head, he pretends to ponder. “Need? …nah,” he tosses them in the basket anyway. “But, deserve? Absolutely.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to the list on your phone. You have… what—three items checked off? You’re pretty sure Satoru has added at least seven more. And, he seems to be multiplying his haul by the minute.

As you make your way down the next aisle, your daughter’s delighted squeal draws your attention. Glancing over your shoulder, there is Satoru—holding up two bags of candy to her like a game show host.

“Mmkay princess… choose wisely,” he whispers, low and dramatic. “Red or blue. You get one.”

Babbling, her little hands reach forward, grasping for the blue one.

“Ahhh… strong choice,” he nods, handing it over. And then, with zero shame, he drops the red bag into the cart behind her back.

“Ahem…” you squint, and he straightens. “You said one?”

“What? She picked hers,” he says, all innocence, sliding his sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose. “This one’s mine.”

You groan, laughing despite yourself, as he resumes pushing the cart—now like it’s a racecar, swerving down the aisle while your daughter giggles.

“Please don’t teach her to shop like you,” you call out.

“Too late~” he sing-songs, vanishing around the corner, muttering under his breath, “Drifting into dairy… snack thrusters engaged…”

You sigh—but there’s no real frustration in it. Just warmth. Familiarity. Love.

Because sometimes you forget—you’re not in that cramped apartment anymore, counting coins and comparing brands. Not since Satoru. You still catch yourself reaching for the cheapest option, still instinctively scan barcodes and double-check price tags. But he never even looks. He just fills the cart like it’s second nature. Like full shelves and soft snacks and mochi picked on a whim are things you deserve.

You’re still learning how to live like this—where love doesn’t feel like a debt, and money isn’t something to fear. And even though he could buy out the entire store without blinking, he still treats picking out snacks with you like it’s the most important thing he’ll do all week.

Shaking your head, you turn back to the list. Soy sauce. You still need soy sauce for his dinner.

But as you round the corner, you don’t find the aisle you’re looking for—you find him instead, crouched in front of the freezer, elbows resting on his knees, two tubs of ice cream in hand.

Why is he studying them like he’s trying to defuse a bomb? He looks… entirely perplexed.

“Satoru…” you step up beside him, brow raised. “You good?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He doesn’t look up. “Just, uh… evaluating options.”

Glancing down at the tubs—matcha and black sesame—you fold your arms.

“Umm… you evaluating them for fun, or is this, like, an actual crisis?”

“Mmm… crisis is a strong word,” he mutters, still avoiding your gaze. “It’s just… strategy. Y’know. Ice cream strategy.”

Crouching down beside him, you rest your hand on his knee.

“Uh-huh…?”

There’s a pause.

Then, he sighs through his nose. “Alright… fine. I… couldn’t remember which one you liked more,” he admits. “I thought it was matcha. But then I remembered that one week you wouldn’t touch it, so now I’m stuck here like a dumbass, spiraling in the frozen aisle…”

You try not to laugh. “You’re spiraling over ice cream?”

“I’m spiraling because it’s you,” he huffs. “I wanted to surprise you… thought maybe we could stay up late and eat it in bed like we used to?”

Your teasing slips away, replaced with something soft.

“Oh… Satoru.”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but there’s something in the way his voice lowers when he speaks again.

“I just… dunno. It feels like it’s been forever. Between missions, work, parenting—you’ve been running around nonstop. I just wanted tonight to feel kinda normal again. After dinner—after the princes goes to bed. Just… us? Even if it’s just ice cream.”

You watch him for a beat—your husband, who can bend reality, stand at the edge of the world, and still get hung up over picking the right tub of ice cream for you.

“I… like them both,” you mumble, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “So why not both?”

He exhales like it physically relieves him. “Oh, thank god.”

You both stand, and without hesitation, he tosses both tubs into the basket.

“But… don’t go picking at mine and then pretending you didn’t like that flavor, okay?”

Grinning, you step ahead of him.

“Oh, I will steal yours. That’s marriage, babe.”

With a quiet laugh, he falls into step behind you.

“Brat.”

By the time you reach checkout, your cart holds three kinds of mochi ice cream, a suspiciously large bag of seaweed snacks, and absolutely no bread. Your daughter’s holding her bag of candy like it’s a stuffed animal, fussing while you try to scan it, and you’re juggling a reusable bag, along with what’s left of your patience while she begins to cry.

Noticing your frustration, Satoru slips in, insisting on scanning everything himself—for you. But when the self-checkout machine beeps loudly, his brows furrow and he pouts.

“The fuck? I did scan the damn carrots…” he mutters, narrowing his eyes, fumbling with the touch screen. “Don’t gaslight me... stupid thing..."

You sigh, somehow his presence makes the monotony feel… warm. And though this ‘quick trip’ has become what feels like an all-day event, you can’t deny how much you have also missed this man.

Outside, the air is soft with the promise of evening. Your daughter’s nodding off in her car seat, still hugging the candy bag like a teddy bear. Satoru loads the bags into the trunk with a proud little huff, dusting off his hands like he’s accomplished something huge.

“See?” he says, flashing a grin as he climbs into the passenger seat. “Told you grocery shopping as a family would be fun.”

You glance at the receipt. Then at him.

“You spent more in the snack aisle than on actual food….”

“I live off sugar and love. You know this.”

You roll your eyes, laughing under your breath as you slide into the driver’s seat. But as you buckle your seatbelt and glance down at the grocery list again, your heart sinks a little.

Did you…? Fuck.

You forgot the soy sauce.

Exhaling slowly, your gaze drifts over to Satoru in the passenger seat—slouched comfortably, eyes closed, perfectly content. The fading sun glows across his face, catching the edges of his smile.

“Y’know… I was gonna make your favorite tonight.”

His eyes open slowly. “Oh yeah?”

You nod. “But… we forgot the soy sauce.”

"...oh." He grimaces, genuinely. “Shit… I really thought I grabbed it,” he scratches the back of his head. “Want me to run back in real quick?”

You pause, then look at your daughter sleeping in the rearview mirror. Her gentle snore. The quiet hum of the car. The warmth in the air.

“No…” you murmur. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

You look at him again, and it hits you—not the ice cream, not the dinner. Little things like… this. Him. Her. This whole imperfect evening.

“Yeah… let’s get takeout,” you say, shifting the car into reverse. “We'll cuddle in bed. Split some ice cream.”

He smiles again, slow and warm.

“Deal.”

[rawme-price]

A part 3 to reader and the ideal man :]

Its been weeks since you saw ur white whale at the super market and ur still not over it. You think about what pretty curls he had, what kind of tattoos were on his sleeve, the story behind his scars...

It happens by accident, the next time you see him. There's a new barista at ur normal coffee shop, she messes up your order so you have to wait for them to remake it. You had been hanging out by the back, not all that stress bc mistakes happen and u dont think price will care if ur late. Then you see it. Impossibly large figure, blonde hair tucked beneath a baseball cap, scars peaking out from the surgical mask. Ur white whale, ur angel, ur boyfriend who doesnt realize it yet.

You want to go talk to him, maybe chat him up while his drink is being made, but it seems hes picking up an online order. Whatever plans you had are quickly overridden by pure joy when he tugs his mask down to sip the drink and oh my god-

Hes got the face of pure devotion, the kind of pretty that would have you doing horrible things for a taste of. Hes got a scar dashed over his bottom and through his top lip, always showing a bit of teeth. Pink and rosy cheeks, a bit of stuble. If you weren't obsessed before, you certainly are now. Ur so caught up in appreciation you miss him ducking out of the store, only snapping to awareness when the shy barista calls your name. You thank them, give her a generous tip, then set out at a jog when you realize ur gonna be late.

Once again, soap and gaz are victims to what they have dubbed ur "moby-dick rants". Though the rest of the team is at the table as well, "you should have seen him, face of a god. Hes got this sort of lip scar that sets his lip in a delicious curve, a bit of teeth, wonder what itd be like to kiss him-" Ghost whips his head around from where he was scrolling on his phone, but ur too focused on ur rant.

"And I swear I saw a tongue piercing! Dude it took all of my strength not to walk up and offer head then and there. I wouldve hit that in front of the other patrons dude-" you gesticulate as you talk, making a wildly inappropriate gesture. Ghost chokes where hes sat, and soap sympathetically thumps him on the back.

Price looks between you and ghost, looking at his lieutenant with a raised brow as if to say really? You gonna do something about this? But ghost just blushes and looks away, struggling not to pop a boner in the middle of the mess hall lol.

[hausofwoo]

graphic | mark lee

pairing: mark lee x afab reader

word count: 6.6K

summary: stuck in the monotony of your job at the mall, every day feels the same: opening the store, sitting behind the register, and counting the hours til close. you've even memorized the routines of the stores around you. but when a new guy starts at the comic book store across the way, you realize your predictable days may soon change.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, comic book store employee!mark, retail employee!reader, really cute and fluffy until it's not, public sex (public space but no one is there), unprotected piv (DONT DO THIS), mark throws u around like a lil play thing, oral (fem recieving), fingering, use of a petname (baby), lmk if i forgot anything!

author's note: this one took forever yall i know its been a while! been going thru some shit irl but things are settling and i was deadset on finishing this bc it's so cute :'-) thank u to T and @hausofmingi for being my beta readers ( ˘ ³˘)♡

working at a mall can be really tiring, but it’s not so bad when you have a crush.

you’ve been working at a retail store at your local mall for a few months now. it’s boring, there’s too many people on the weekends, and you have the worst hours. you found yourself working open to close for far too many shifts. but at the end of the day, at least it keeps the bills paid.

on slow days during the week, you’re always sat at the register, scrolling through your phone or twiddling your thumbs, counting down the seconds til closing time. sometimes you would even stare off into space, watching people pass by all day long.

you went to work always knowing exactly how the day would go; set up shop, maybe help some customers, and do fucking nothing for 8 to 10 hours. maybe a wave to the employees at the stores surrounding you, but sadly, that was usually the most interesting part of your day. you became accustomed to the monotony though, watching the same employees open up their shops next to yours.

the store directly across from yours is a comic book store. you know the few people that worked there, usually just saying “good morning” and going on with your day. you swear, you have this store memorized, knowing when the employees take their breaks, who’s working, what they’re working on that day. you didn’t really mean to, but when all you have to do is daydream, you kinda picked up on the routine there.

so when you arrive in the morning for yet another brutal open-to-close shift, you expect to just roll up the security shutters and sit back at the register all day. but there’s something different today; or rather, someone different.

sitting at the register at the comic book store is a man you’ve never seen before. his hair is perfectly messy and his glasses framed his eyes, which are focused on reading a comic. he’s working all by himself, which is surprising to you since you’re certain he’s new. you catch yourself staring and try to brush it off. he’s a new guy, so what?

you try your best to go about your day as normal, but you can’t help stealing glances over at the man at the store across from you. he has a captivating energy, and it makes you want to know more about him. he seems charismatic, being friendly with customers and earning smiles, then resuming his doodling once they leave. you notice that when he looks really focused, he bites the corner of his lip gently.

you gotta stop staring, or he will definitely notice. you decide to actually work on something for once, organizing the stock and straightening the shelves. soon enough, closing time creeps up on you. you do all of your closing duties and grab your things from the back. you close the security shutters, looking behind you quickly to see that the man is doing the same. he notices your gaze, so you kindly wave at him. instead of a wave back, blush forms on his face with a shy smile. and with that, he walks away.

the interaction was unreadable. he seemed to be so extroverted with customers, having no issue having casual conversations with them. why is he getting all shy now?

you started to pick up on the new routine at the comic book store. from what you could tell, the man worked similar hours to you, often opening and closing too. he rarely worked with anyone else, so the majority of the time you glanced over, he was reading comics, manga, or doodling in his notepad.

you never really got into comic books like that, and only dabbled with reading manga, but the growing interest in this man made you curious about learning more on what he was reading. maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check out the selection? perhaps get some recommendations? you just finished a short shift today so now was the perfect opportunity.

after grabbing your things and saying goodbye to your coworker, you make your way over to the comic book store. you approach the man, who’s sitting at the register as usual, reading. you see his name tag on his chest; a cute red pin with a spider-man drawing next to his name, “mark.”

“hi,” you say, pulling his attention away from reading.

“oh, hi,” he says, placing his comic down. “sorry, i didn’t see you come in.”

“it’s okay,” you reply, looking around at the goodies at the register. “i was wondering if you have any recommendations for a beginner at reading comics?”

“oh for sure,” he says, eyes lighting up. “marvel has tons of great ones. you could start with an ironman one, or maybe captain america? i personally like spider-man, but i’m definitely biased.”

“i’ll try spider-man,” you say after a beat.

mark gives you a nod with a warm smile before leaving the register to grab your comic. he searches through the spider-man section until he finds the first issue. he returns to the register, ringing you up.

“i think you’ll like it, it’s really good,” mark says, handing your receipt to you.

“i’m definitely looking forward to see what all the hype is about,” you chuckle. the conversation pauses for moment, clearly indicating that the interaction is pretty much over with. but you don’t want the conversation to end there, so you find something to keep talking about. “you’re new here, aren’t you? like you just started working here?”

“yeah, sort of,” he says, sitting back in his seat at the register. “i used to work here a while ago and i just came back ‘cause they needed someone.”

“oh nice,” you reply. “welcome back i guess?”

“haha, i guess,” he smiles, rubbing his hand on his neck. “it’s chill here, but it gets kinda boring.”

“tell me about it,” you chuckle. “it’s so slow during the week. i usually have nothing to do.”

“yeah, i just read or draw to pass the time,” mark says, pointing at his notepad on the counter.

“you like to draw?” you ask, curious.

“yeah,” he places a hand on the notepad, grabbing it. you can tell he’s getting shy again. “it’s just doodles.”

“you’ll have to show me some of those ‘doodles’ sometime,” you say with a sweet smile. you check your phone for the time. it’s getting closer to dinnertime and you’re starved. “i guess i’ll get out of here.”

“okay,” he stands again. “well, let me know what you think of the comic.”

“i will,” you say, turning to leave, then flipping back to look at him. “mark, right?”

he nods, asking for your name as well. he beams at you. “it’s nice to meet you. see you tomorrow?”

“see you tomorrow,” you say with a wave, walking out.

for the next week, you find yourself aching to talk to mark again. you read the comic he gave you, and it provided a little bit of insight into him… that he’s a bit of a nerd. definitely not a bad thing. it’s actually really endearing to you, knowing his life basically revolves around superheroes, free time and work alike. that he probably draws little comics in his notepad, and has sweet dreams about being superhuman. why is that so fucking cute?

you have a reason to talk to him again, of course: the next issue of spider-man. the problem is building up the courage again, which is ridiculous because he’s just a guy. a nerdy one at that, and you know that he would be putty in your hands if you really wanted him to be. but the longing you developed for him during those long hours of your shift, seeing him across the way, looking so cute in his round glasses… it’s making you nervous in a way that is difficult to explain.

you’ve been putting off going back to his store at this point. wouldn’t someone that wanted to get into superhero comics come back for the next edition? why aren’t you using your excuse to talk to him? not only that, but he even said he wanted you to come tell him what you thought of the comic. you’re just overthinking things.

you have another short shift one day, and decide today is the day. you gather your things and walk to the neighboring store, feeling the familiar butterflies you felt the first time you approached mark at the register. he’s drawing this time, crouched down and focused. he hears you walk in, lifting his head to meet your eyes. maybe you’re crazy, but it looks like his eyes light up.

“hey,” he says, closing the notepad in front of him. you present the spider-man comic to him, and he flashes a smile at you. “what’d you think?”

you chuckle, holding the comic close to your chest. “it was good, but too short. there’s another issue, right?” you joke, hoping it lands.

he lets out a giggle, “yeah, there definitely is. i’ll grab the next one for you.”

he walks over to a section near the front of the store, flipping through the excess of papers before he finds the 2nd issue. “if you liked that one, you’ll like this one even more.” he returns to the register with the issue, placing it on the counter for you.

“duel to the death with the vulture?” you read from the page. “i haven’t seen any of the movies recently so correct me if i’m wrong, but i don’t remember there being a vulture.”

“oh yeah, he’s in one of the later movies actually,” mark starts. “but you got a long way to go til you finally meet one of the iconic villians like the green goblin, or even the love interests gwen stacy or mary jane. it’ll be so worth the wait though.”

“how much do i owe you?” you ask, already pulling out your wallet.

“you can borrow it if you want,” he says.

“but this one belongs to the store, won’t you get in trouble?” you ask.

“just bring it back and it’s like it never happened,” he whispers, faking a shhh at you. “let’s just say it’s mall employee perk.”

you smile and accept it.

your new routine feels like a nice change of pace. every second of every day used to drag by, and yet at the same time, when you got home, everything that happened was so unbelievably boring that it all felt like a blur. nothing really significant happened to you. but something about trying something new, learning about a brand new niche interest, and even developing a crush… it’s finally something exciting.

you looked forward to the next time you got a new issue. not just that, but the next time you got to talk to mark. he has this charm about him that piqued your interest. it feels so easy to talk to him, as if you’ve already known each other for a long time and it isn’t just a budding friendship. you’d find yourself stopping by the comic book store a few times a week, anticipating the next comic and the underlying tension between you and mark.

like today, when you finally got off of work after a long shift. you were able to close up shop quickly and now you’re walking over to the comic book store, attempting to run in before mark locked up.

“hey, is it cool if i get the next issue real quick?” you ask, popping your head in the store.

“yeah, one sec,” he says, looking up from counting the cash in the register. “lemme just finish closing up the register.”

“are you implying that you’re gonna let me borrow another comic?” you ask, a flirty tone floating beneath.

“well of course,” he says, swiftly closing the cash drawer. “unless you want to start collecting, which by the way, SUPER expensive.”

“i think i’ll stick to being a casual reader for now,” you joke, approaching mark at the register.

“i don’t know, you might change your mind after this one,” he says, grabbing a comic from his bag. he holds it out to you, you grabbing it with your fingers briefly brushing past his. the motion makes you feel a little dizzy, and you can feel heat rising to your cheeks.

you shake your head, realizing this one doesn’t belong to the store. “wait, is this your own personal comic?”

“yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” he says, half focusing as he’s writing something on a sticky note at the counter. “i brought it in so you can borrow it.” you can see the corner of his mouth turning up, as if he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“you didn’t have to do that—”

“i wanted to,” he says, lifting his head up to hand you the sticky note he was writing on. “just treat it with care.”

you take the note, which is pale blue with a cartoon spider-man in the corner. in the middle of the note is a scrawled out phone number. you look up to see mark rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“if you want to tell me what you think?” he says, almost like a question.

“or maybe when i get bored during my shift?” you ask, chuckling.

“i’d like that a lot actually,” he smiles, his previous nervousness quickly washing away.

“you’ll regret it though,” you say, sticking the note on the front page of the comic. “because i get bored here a lot.”

“don’t worry,” mark laughs, shaking his head. “i don’t think i’ll get sick of you anytime soon.”

you finally reached issue #14 of spider-man, the one mark is lending to you. you grab it out of your bag at the beginning of your shift, sitting back in your chair behind the register and getting comfortable. you realize what it’s about and immediately text mark.

sent 10:17 am omg wait i didn’t realize this issue is the first appearance of the green goblin

you look across the way, seeing mark pick up his phone and smiling.

sent 10:18 am mark: oh yeah, he’s fuckin sick mark: you’re gonna love it

you click your phone off with a soft sigh, flipping back to your comic. you go about your shift switching from helping customers and checking them out, and reading. every once and a while, you’ll message mark with your comments and he would always reply with enthusiasm.

the end of your shift approaches quickly, and soon enough you’re closing the security shutters. you look behind you to see mark locking the doors and then doing the same. he must’ve felt your eyes on him, because he turns and flashes his famous smile to you. you walk over to him with the comic in hand.

“you were right,” you say, handing it him. “green goblin is super sick.”

“i told you,” he says, reaching for it, and your hands momentarily touching like last time. he gets flustered. “uh, i can give you the next one tomorrow if you’re working.”

“i am, yeah,” you reply, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “i am so curious though—when the hell does gwen stacy show up?”

“oh,” he giggles to himself. “you’re like, halfway there to finally seeing her.”

“i didn’t realize how extensive this series is,” you chuckle. “not that i’m complaining. i’m actually surprised by how much i like it.”

“i’m glad,” he says sweetly. “well, just come by tomorrow and i’ll give you the next issue.”

“i will.”

the following weeks, you became overtaken by superhero comics and stupid-fucking-adorable mark. you would read an issue of spider-man at work, and text mark with your reactions to certain scenes. at first you thought it might be annoying to him, but he actually seemed to encourage it, asking for your opinions on the characters and storyline.

it doesn’t help that every time you see mark, you get butterflies in your stomach. and it seemed to only be getting worse; you keep finding yourself smiling when his name pops up on your phone. you wake up excited to go to work, because you know you’ll probably have another interaction with him. sometimes, mark would even catch you staring at him and give a little nod with a smile. but what made things exponentially worse was when you catch him gazing at you too, catching you off guard but making a smile spread across your lips. you are smitten, and if anyone else was concerned, mark is probably smitten too. the issue is getting him to finally take the hint and making a real move on you.

he may get a little flustered around you, but he’s not exactly shy. after all, he did give you his number unprompted. but after weeks of going back and forth strictly talking about comics and work, you started to lose hope. you just want him. he must want you back just as bad.

after another closing shift, you watch the mall-goers pass by and file out of the building. the mall is basically empty now, most of the neighboring stores already closed and employees leaving for the day. you had to stay a little bit late, cleaning up a huge mess in the store from some rude customers. you thought you would have time to stop by to see mark, but with the amount of things you have to put away, your chances are looking slim.

you shuffle around the store, placing items back on the shelves and organizing the tables of merchandise. you eyes shift over to the comic book store, expecting to see it dark and locked up. but it isn’t; mark is still in there, half the lights still on, with him unboxing comics from their latest shipment. you already knew it was restock day for them (god you have way too much free time), but you didn’t realize how many boxes they got in.

you open the front door of your store, whisper-yelling through the security shutters. “mark!”

mark’s head turns to look at you and flashes a grin at you. “yo, you’re still here too?”

you nod, leaning on the glass door. you hold up a few of the displaced items in your hands. “go-backs,” you shrug.

he points at the pile of boxes in front of him, “restock. we got a lot of shit in early for christmas.”

“don’t say christmas please, i don’t want to think about it yet,” you say with a laugh.

you turn away to get back to work, putting all the merchandise back to their assigned spots. you don’t know what the hell got into people today; messing up all your organization you’ve done and putting things in all the wrong places. it didn’t help that you had to deal with some assholes with returns today too. you always theorize it’s from a full moon or mercury retrograde or something; those things must be the reason people start acting up.

after about an hour of cleaning, you finish up and can finally call it a day. you close up shop and turn to see mark still working on stocking at his store. you approach the security gate of the store, with its front door still propped open.

“i still need my next issue by the way,” you say to mark, who stands from his crouching position in front of an open box. he walks up to the gate and pushes it up, just enough for you to come through. you look hesitant.

“come in, it’s okay,” he says, motioning you in. you duck under the security gate, slipping into the store. “how was your day? looks like you had a lot to do.”

“yeah, the store was a mess,” you say, following him to the register. “i’ve never had to stay so late after close.”

“it’s only gonna get worse the closer it gets to christmas,” mark says while weaving around the boxes with you.

“what did i say about christmas?” you joke, nudging his shoulder softly.

“sorry, sorry,” he laugh, putting his hands up. you wait patiently for him as he kneels behind the register, looking for your comic. he pops back up with a stumped look on his face. “i swear i thought i put it up here to give to you but i can’t find it. i’m gonna go check the back.”

he starts walking to the back room, and looks back at you. “feel free to sit if you want. our stockroom is a wreck, this might take a sec.”

you nod to him, squeezing past the tower of boxes to sit in the chair at the register. it feels kinda funny to sit back here, like you’re seeing the store from a different perspective, from mark’s perspective. you look around behind the counter, seeing the little notes and cute super-hero knick knacks gathered around.

there’s a mini batman funko pop positioned in the corner, with a sticky note placed under his feet reading “no drinks at the register.” you look over to see a large iced coffee with mark’s name in sharpie. well, we all bend the rules a bit. his name tag is placed on the counter by a stack of comics. you grab it to take a closer look. it’s a plastic red pin with a white pop-art bubble. in the corner is a small piece of paper stuck on it, attached with office tape. on the paper is a spider-man doodle, made with red and blue marker and pen ink.

you’re sure this must’ve been drawn by mark. you have yet to see any of his drawings (despite your prying), so maybe seeing this one up close will give you a sneak peek into his style. it’s a little messy, with scratchy lines and colors bleeding outside the borders. despite that, it has a distinct style that you’re fond of. it’s not perfect, let alone does it look like the super-heroes you’ve been reading in your comics. but it has a quality to it that feels less polished and flat. it has character. the messiness makes it feel more… real.

you set his name tag down, placing it back next to the large stack of comics. these must be his go-backs. he’s been so wrapped up with his shipment he probably hasn’t had time to put them away. you think maybe it would be nice to help a bit. he’s been nice enough to let you borrow comics from the store, and you’re just waiting around after all.

you pick up the stack of comics, situating them into your arms, when you look down and see that under the stack is mark’s notepad. it’s not closed like you’re used to seeing it, opened to a clean white page with a drawing covering up a majority of it. it’s in a comic book style, you’re not surprised. but it has the same quality that his name tag doodle does; scrawly and messy, with no real precise lines. the colors are splashed across the page, with blotches of scribbled colored marker decorating it. then realize what it is—who it is.

it’s you.

the whole image captures you and a little bit of your surroundings. positioned at your normal spot at the register, you’re looking down at a comic with your fingers playing with the ends of your hair. but it has a dream-like feel to it, with the pages of the comic illuminating your face as if a source of power is emanating from it. and then the best part: the wings. placed behind your shoulders are pair of feathered wings, outstretched in a sketched black ink. it’s beautiful.

it’s beautiful and it’s you. mark drew you.

“yo, sorry that took so long,” mark says while emerging from the back, eyes still focused on the comic in his hands. “i finally found it, but dude i had to do some digging—”

mark’s words are cut short when he notices you holding his notepad, comics that were placed atop abandoned on the counter by you. he visibly gulps.

“mark…” you start, not moving your eyes from the drawing. “what’s this?” without a response for a few moments, you tear your eyes away to see mark with blush on his cheeks, mouth open but unable to let any words out. “did you… did you draw me?”

“look, it gets really slow during the day, i just did a little sketch to pass time—”

“mark, this isn’t just a sketch,” you say, looking back down at the notepad. “this is amazing.”

“y-you like it?” mark says, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“of course i like it,” you say.

“you don’t think it’s weird that i drew you without telling you?” mark asks, nervousness radiating from him.

“i don’t think it’s weird at all,” you say. “i actually love it. i like that you drew me as a superhero too, and one with wings at that.”

mark stays quiet, looking at his feet and probably overthinking everything right now. you look back up at him, tension building in your stomach as you ask what you already know the answer to. “you like me, don’t you?”

mark lifts his head to meet your eyes. he bites his lip anxiously as he nods slowly.

a streak of courage overtakes you as you grab his arm to pull him closer, him tripping over his own feet and crashing into your chest. you’re leaned against the counter, with mark’s arm behind you and hand placed flat on the surface. your faces are close, and you can feel his breath. his eyes are glued onto your lips, and he swallows thickly.

“mark, just kiss me,” you mumble, aching for him.

he wastes no time, leaning in to slot his lips between yours. he snakes an arm around your waist, holding you as close as he can. you melt into him, goosebumps floating across your skin in all-consuming desire. you move your hand to hold his cheek, thumb swiping on his smooth skin and fingers tangled in his soft, messy hair.

he pulls away, breath still shaky. “i’ve been wanting to kiss you for so long…” he trails off before leaning in and kissing you again, this time with more passion. he swipes his tongue between your lips, with you willingly accepting him. his hands trail up and down your sides, then finally places a firm grip on your waist and lifting you to sit on the counter. he slots between your legs, his body pressed close to yours. your fingers card through his hair, earning a sweet hum from him.

his hands trail down to your ass, pushing you closer against him to where you feel the bulge forming in his jeans. he can’t even hold back his moan, it being muffled by your lips. he pulls away again, this time kissing from your cheek down to your neck. he sucks at the expanse of skin while he caresses the other side of your throat. you let out a soft hum in pleasure, savoring every bite and lick—

“fuck, you sound so hot too,” he says in between kisses. he moves a hand down to your breast, kneading it roughly. you throw your head back, soaking in the pleasure from just his hands alone. his beautiful fucking hands, the ones that drew you. his lips feel so good on you, but his hands feel even better. it’s as if he’s been waiting for this moment for eternity and he doesn’t want to let you go. almost as if holding you, touching you is the only thing keeping him grounded in reality. it doesn’t feel real to you either; that mark, the cute boy you’ve had a crush on for weeks and weeks is kissing you, holding you, and yearning for you all the same.

you feel so wrapped up in the moment that you almost forget that you’re in public. sure, there’s no one left in the mall and the only people left are probably mall security, but the risk of being seen is still there. it just feels too good to stop.

“mark,” you say, giving in to the anxiety. “are we really doing this? right here, right now?”

he pulls back to look at you, still holding you close. “it’s just us here, and if it’s okay with you, i don’t think i can wait any longer.”

“i don’t think i can either,” you respond.

suddenly mark is ripping your clothes off, all while pulling you both behind one of the comic display cases. it’s your turn to take his clothes off, and you’re yanking his jacket off and pulling up his graphic tee and discarding them both on the floor. the exchange is a jumbled mess of constant touching of skin and clothes flying in every direction, a true testament to how desperate you both want each other. he’s kissing you all the while, taking every opportunity to peck at you between the tugging of clothes.

he leans you against the display bookshelf full of comics, completely unbothered when an issue or two falls off. your hand travels down into this jeans, feeling him hard and pulsing against your palm. you stroke his length slowly, focusing most of the stimulation on his dripping head. he lifts one of your legs slightly to get better access to you under your skirt, then looks at you as if he’s asking for permission.

you nod your head profusely before leaning in to kiss him deeply. it doesn’t last long, because suddenly he’s pushing inside you and you’re gasping at the stretch—

“you’re so—fuck—so fucking tight,” he hisses, attempting to push in as slowly as he can. your mouth is fully agape in bliss as he finally bottoms out, reaching deep inside of you. he catches your eyes, lust filled in his own as he slowly starts to move.

he’s slow at first, knowing that his size is stretching you out to the point where it’s nearly painful. but it feels so fucking good, his cock dragging in and out of your tight walls. you can tell he wants to pick up the pace, with his breath shuddering with each stroke. you take the opportunity to kiss him again, wanting to taste his soft lips as he gradually begins to pound into you.

he’s groaning against your lips, and your moans are muffled against his. you’re trying to salvage any sort of public decency by holding back your sounds the best you can. it’s when he grabs your legs and lifts you to press you against the display shelf that you realize that that shred of awareness of your surroundings is about to be long fucking gone.

he’s holding you up by gripping your ass, pistoning into you at a pace that you can only describe as brutal. it’s no use trying to stifle your moans anymore, with him hitting your cervix over and over and making you see stars at each stroke—

“mark, it feels so fucking good,” you can only whine out to him, wrapping your arms around his neck tighter, tugging at his hair—

“you feel so fucking good, jesus,” he groans against your neck, heaving breaths tickling at your throat.

his pace is wild, but the force in which he’s pounding into you begins to cause the comic books around you to tumble off the shelves, creating a pile at mark’s feet. he doesn’t seem to care though. that is, until a comic book falls from a shelf above you and hits him on the head.

“ah!” he exclaims, realizing what happened. he stops his movements to look at you, holding back a smile.

you can’t hold back your laugh, giggling profusely at the ridiculousness of the situation. he laughs too, shaking his head and letting out a sigh.

“this is crazy,” he says, resting his forehead on yours.

“i know,” you reply, still giggling. with one last laugh, he leans in and kisses you tenderly, smile still formed on his lips. you melt into him, ruffling your fingers through his hair as he begins to pick back up the roll of his hips into you.

it feels like a sweet moment, the fact that you can be doing such a scandalous act and still giggle with him. the tenderness doesn’t last for long, however, when he hits that perfect spot inside you that forces you to release a sharp moan.

“mark, oh my god,” you whimper, attempting to roll your hips down onto him. “keep doing that, please—”

“fuuuck,” he groans, feeling your core clenching around his length. “you take me so well, baby.”

all you can do now is nod, whimpering and whining on him. you can’t believe that this man that has always been so endearing, so kind and lovable has this completely different side to him that you’re only now getting to experience. it brings a different sort of intrigue to him; that he’s more than just a cute boy that works at a mall. he’s complex. he’s a fucking man. he’s a fucking. sex. god.

his breathing starts to become irregular, and his pace is back to merciless. his groans, fuck, his moaning. he’s bouncing you on his cock in the perfect way to where your moans are matching his. you can feel his dick pulsing inside you—

“i’m gonna cum,” he can only breathe out, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “can i?”

“yes mark, please,” you whine, tugging at the ends of his hair. all the while you’re clenching around his cock, bringing him closer and closer to his release.

with a low groan, his hips stutter and you feel his seed spilling into you, completely filling you up. the rocking of his hips stall, and he’s finally letting you down and kissing you sweetly, caressing your cheek with his hand.

“god, you are fucking perfect,” he whispers to you. you let out a giggle, leaning your forehead against his. “hey, i’m not done with you yet.”

he quickly moves you to the glass display counter, lifting you to sit you on it. he pushes your thighs open, lifting your skirt up to get a better look at you. he looks enamored, like he’s starving and the only thing to appease his hunger is by having you on his mouth.

he dives in, licking a stripe up your core with a groan. he repeats this action, as if he’s savoring every drop of your essence mixed with his release that’s slowly dripping out of you—

“so fucking hot,” he hums, releasing a hand from your thigh to tease at your entrance.

“mark, please,” you beg. “stop teasing—”

he attaches his mouth to your clit, swirling his tongue around in smooth, controlled circles. your hands fly to his head, body already twitching from stimulation. his finger is still prodding at your hole, wanting to enter but not just yet. he instead continues to ravage at your sensitive bud, intentional movements making your head spin. he knows what he’s doing and he knows he’s good, especially with the shaking of your thighs and high pitched moans escaping your lips egging him on.

he looks up at you, flattening his tongue out and doing long, drawn out licks. the eye contact is insane, the lust filled in them only making it that much hotter. he’s enjoying every second of this, seeing you shake and begging him to keep going. he loves the taste of you too, so sweet and almost addictive. he could die like this.

his teasing finger finally starts to deepen inside you, slowly at first. he can feel every pulse of your core around his finger, and it’s so hot that he can feel himself getting hard again. and you’re so wet, oh my god, so fucking wet. your arousal is dripping down his chin and his hand, making a sticky mess. when you start to roll your hips onto his face, he swears he’s in heaven.

he inserts another finger, feeling that tightness grip around them. it’s only getting more erratic now, clenching around him with each grind of your hips. he curls his fingers to prod at that sensitive spot, causing you to moan out his name—

“mark, don’t stop,” you whine, looking down at him basically making out with your pussy.

he continues the same movements, repeatedly hitting your g spot and swirling his dripping tongue on your clit. your back arches and legs unintentionally close around his head, making him push them back open with his free hand.

and then he starts humming against you. the vibrations send a shock wave through your body, that mixed with his fingers, his tongue, his hand gripping tightly against your thigh… it feels so intense and so so good. you cum on his tongue, with him desperately holding your hips down and he helps you ride out your high. he doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, and you have to grab his head and lift it.

“oh my god,” you gasp, slowly coming down.

he smirks up at you with arousal-coated lips. “yeah, oh my god.” he stands up, immediately going to kiss you and you accepting him, wrapping your arms around him. he pulls away and leans his head against yours.

“i can’t believe we just did that,” he says, sighing out an exasperated laugh.

“i know, what the fuck, right?” you giggle.

“are you- are you doing anything right now?” he asks. “like, do you wanna get food or something?”

“are you asking me on a date?” you ask teasingly.

“don’t tell me you decided you’re creeped out by the drawing now,” he laughs.

“yeah. suuuper creeped out,” you joke, leaning in for another kiss. you hear a noise behind you, and look out through the security shutters to see a mall security guard passing by, scrolling through his phone.

“looks like he just missed the show,” mark says, causing you both to try and hold back your fit of giggles.

a/n: thank u guys for reading! i rly enjoyed this one hehe :-) please leave feedback as i'm new to writing, and reblog to support me! it motivates me to write more!

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[suuuupernovaaa]

what if

summary: joel lives and is HAPPY damnit

warnings: just watched ep2 (&3)and im so unbelievably sad and mad so im making a happy ending to cope - smut, 18+, FMC in her 30s, dirty joel, a hot gf who GETS THERE IN TIME

MASTERLIST

Hand on the doorknob, Ellie looks back to you, and you shake your head. Not yet, you want to tell her. Just listen. Just be quiet and assess what’s happening in the room.

You hear a shout inside, and you know it’s him. You know his voice as well as you know your own.

There’s multiple other voices, male and female, impossible to say how many are in there. Joel shouts again, and your body tenses up, your stomach churning.

While she turns the door knob, you press your back against the door, out of sight.

It’s a mess of action once she opens the door. Her gun fires, but it takes only moments before two men are on her, pinning her to the floor, though she does get a good swipe with her knife at one before she goes down.

You peer around the corner, just for a whisper, to take in the scene. Joel, with a bloody knee. A girl before him, hair braided, holding a golf club.

Two men holding Ellie down. At least two other women in the room, and Dina, on the floor. You don’t know from the doorway if she’s breathing or not.

They don’t know you’re there. They’re too stupid to have checked. So, you enter.

You fire a shot, straight through the neck of one of the men holding Ellie down, and the other falls away.

She’s up then, and fast, her gun back in her hand, or maybe it’s someone else’s gun. There’s screaming, so much screaming, but you can’t hear it. You can’t hear anything besides Joel yelling your names. His woman. His daughter.

Ellie’s shot two more, they’re on the floor, both men.

Two women in the room - one bald and one with curly hair - back away, their arms up, their weapons on the floor, Ellie aimed at them.

That leaves the golfer. You turn to her, weapon raised, and she steps closer to Joel.

“Not another fucking step,” you whisper, finger on the trigger. “I will blow your head off.”

She has the nerve to look angry instead of scared, but she’s smart enough to drop the golf club. You kick it away, never taking your eyes off her.

“Who are you? What the fuck are you doing?”

Her lips are pursed, her eyes red with tears and rage. She looks so normal, someone you wouldn’t recognize or remember.

“Joel?” you ask.

“I’m okay. I… killed her dad.”

“Salt Lake?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You fire. One bullet, to her heart. She drops down, and you step over her to Joel.

TWO MONTHS LATER

The ground is thawed out enough for burials to take place now. They’re burying dozens of dead. The wall is secured again, but people stare at it warily now.

They’ve seen it come down. They wonder if it will happen again.

You wake up in the middle of the night, when the moon is still high, with a scream in your throat and a sheen of sweat covering your body.

“Baby, baby,” Joel is whispering next to you. You sit up, heart pounding. Joel reaches to his side of the bed for the water he keeps on his night stand, and hands it to you. You take a long drink, blinking the nightmare away.

“I’m here. I’m alive,” he reminds you.

The what if disturbs you sometimes. What if you and Ellie had been 5 minutes later. What if you had not come at all. What if, what if, what if Joel was dead.

He takes the empty water glass from your hands, and you’re on him when he turns back to you, kissing him with all the desperation you feel whenever you think of those what if’s.

What if the best thing you’d ever had was taken from you? What if Ellie’s dad had died before they could reconcile? What if, what if, what if.

“I’m right here, baby, I’m okay,” Joel mutters against your lips, and you’re pushing him down onto his back, climbing on top of him.

“I need to feel you, Joel,” you say desperately. “I need to feel that you’re here.”

His hands run up your back, under your tank top, his calloused hands on your hot skin, and you grind into him, making him moan.

“Whatever you need, sweetheart,” he says, and you reach down for him. He’s hard, always so hard for you, and you can feel you’re dripping wet, desperate to be filled by him.

It takes no time to remove your clothes, and you run your wet cunt up and down his hard length.

“God, Joel,” you moan, kissing his neck as he squeezes your ass.

“I’m here, baby,” he breathes, and slides into you.

It feels so full, so real, so fucking good. You place your hands on his chest, and look down at him as you begin to move, up and down. He never closes his eyes, always stares at you, always watches you when you ride him like this.

His fingers find your clit, moving over it expertly, and you cry out.

“Take what you need, baby,” he says, his voice dripping with need. “Take whatever you need.”

You just need him, to be sure he’s real and here with you. To feel him pulsing inside you, to bring you coffee in the morning, to be grumpy with you when he’s sore or tired. You just need Joel.

He brings you to an orgasm that makes you see stars, and finds his own release just seconds after, and you collapse on his chest.

He holds you then, tracing patterns on your bare back, both of you breathing so heavily with your eyes closed.

The what ifs always disappear in these moments when you are so connected to Joel. He’s here. He’s real. He’s not leaving you.

You won’t let anyone take him.