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[digitalshree]

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[bunny584]

OBSESSED: YUTA

A/N: Sweet, innocent, puppy-eyed boy who is no better than the frat boys you detest 🤭 (this is for anon who requested a lil crazy special grade sorcerer doing ungodly things!! Shoko feat The Boys ™️ is up next, then I SWEAR I’m done and back to AO3)

C/W: Aged up characters, College AU. Masturbation. Mature, 18+

“YUUTA?! Are you kidding me?”

You stop time.

Heads turn in his direction. But Yuuta doesn’t register any it because of your smile.

The 1000-kilowatt smile that the locker room rumors about. The smile that stops traffic. The one that obliterates his train of thought.

365 days since he’s seen it in person.

And suddently the year in Morocco for his University degree feels frivolous.

Yuuta places two bottles of disgustingly expensive champagne (courtesy of Satoru Gojo) in between the half filled red solo cups.

He’s doing his best to keep his eyes above your delicate, sharp collarbones.

He’s doing his best not to follow the Barbie pink hair string around your neck.

The Barbie pink string connected to the triangular bikini that is defying the laws of gravity, Mother Nature, AND physics to keep your busty, perky chest supported.

Not to mention the sheer netted tissue thin excuse for a cover up. Draped around the curve of your hips. It warms him hotter than the Moroccan sun.

You wire yourself through the crowded sorority house kitchen. And Yuuta gnaws on his inner cheeks. The predatory stares from from the frat drones scattered about ignites a guttural flame.

But he’ll deal with that later.

Because Aphrodite is barreling toward him and he is not worthy.

“I can’t believe you made it!” You launch yourself into him.

“I wouldn’t miss it. Happy 21st birthday, gorgeous.”

One of his arms is more than sufficient enough to wrap around your baby doll frame. Other hand in his pocket, while he easily lifts and spins you around twice.

Airy giggles spill from your lips. So clearly surprised by how strong he has grown. He’s bulkier. More toned. Hell of a lot more confident too.

Is he showing of a little? Of course he is.

“You’re here. You’re really here.” You stare up at him with stars in your eyes. Still in utter disbelief.

Your tiny, warm hands cup his face. Yuuta subconsciously melts into them. You always did strum his body like a harp.

“Yuuta, you must be so tired. Your bedroom eyes are even more…bedroom-y.” You tease.

Yuuta laughs to choke down a groan. He doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s stained mulberry right now.

Because why would you mention a bedroom while you are wearing a bikini he could snap with his eyes?

“Hey, be nice! You know there’s no amount of caffeine that can fix the bags.” Good, fucking save.

He swallows thickly and averts his gaze. If he keeps looking at you, he’d drown. Like how he drowned freshman, sophomore and junior year.

A continent, couple oceans and a sea away from you couldn’t keep him afloat.

A palpable silence drapes over the two of you. There’s so much he wants to say.

“Who’s is the hot guy birthday girl is talking to?”

“Okkotsu, I think.”

“No WAY. If she doesn’t fuck him i—“

“OKAY!!!” You exclaim loudly, prompting giggles from your sorority sisters behind you.

Your cheeks are now matching his. You both burst into incredulous laughter, letting some of the pressure out of the proverbial valve.

“Give me a tour, birthday girl.” Yuuta grazes his fingers over your bare shoulders because he can’t not touch you.

Your hand magnets to his wrist and you both beeline up the stairs. He knows, you know, -you both know- you are heading straight to your bedroom.

Yuuta’s heart is throbbing so hard his whole rib cage is vibrating. Cotton lines every corner of his mouth and he’s suddenly forgotten how to swallow.

Forgotten how to breathe apparently too, because he chokes on air when you pull him to the front of your room door.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you muse playfully.

And now his cock is at full staff. The measly silver zipper is definitely not strong enough for this.

“I-Im sorry?” Yuuta gurgles through the saliva pooled in his mouth like a hungry puppy.

“It’s a pool party, silly. C’mon, you can use my bathroom to change.”

Yuuta makes the mistake of letting his eyes drop down the dip of your pretty spine. Tracing all the way down to your matching bikini bottom. That’s a thong. Lining between your perfect, plump ass.

God.

No.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

He follows behind you, nails digging into his dark jeans.

“Bathroom’s through the closet, be quick.” You flash him another pristine grin and…and..

..what is his name again…?

Yuuta returns your smile with a lopsided one of his own. The walk to the bathroom is 13 miles long. There’s no way. No way he’s going to be able to hide his unreasonable, rock hard length through his weightless swim trunks.

He halts. Suddenly enchanted by your hanging clothes. Like a Venus fly trap. You’re everywhere.

Your clothes. Your delicious scent. Your jewelry. Your shoes.

Yuuta is in the eye of your vortex.

A long, silky sleeve tickles his cheek. So soft. Electric currents surge through every engorged vessel in his cock. He takes in a long drag of the faint cherry vanilla notes etched into your clothes.

An addict. A hopeless, pathetic addict in a field of his vices.

His fingers earthquake against his buckle. Clumsily stepping out of his jeans.

Just a quick touch. It’ll help him relax. Just really fast, you won’t know.

Yuuta whips around to bury himself in your silk shirt. Heart thundering in his ears. Fingers tickling the hem of his trunks. Shaft fully tented from nothing.

“Yuuta? Did you get lost in there?” Your dulcet voice knock Yuuta’s lust-drunk thoughts loose.

“Ha-N-no! I’m c-coming!”

Yuuta shakily unbuttons his white linen shirt, exposing his lean but chisled core. His cock is diamond hard. Any slight movement and his blunt, leaky tip will peek over the hem.

He strategically folds his pants over the indecent bulge. He just has to count backwards from 500 then he’ll soften and leave the jeans behind.

“Come out!! I won’t bite!” You coax again.

The second Yuuta re-emerges from your closet, he digs the heel of his palm into his crotch. Trying to will his erection down by sheer force because counting just won’t do.

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, leaning against your palms flat on the duvet.

Your bikini has grown smaller.

It has to have.

Because the way your supple tits spill around the cruel joke that is that top fucks his brain to mush.

Soft curvy lines of your breasts. Feminine pretty lines of your tummy. The swell of your thighs just begging for Yuuta’s lips, his hands…his dick. He could drop to his knees and worship at your alter this second.

“Oh my god!” You giggle again, waving him over to the bed.

“You’re so, big, now.” Your hand lingers on his tensed bicep, currently losing the war against his cock angrily thrashing around in his pants.

“Am I?” Yuuta asks stupidly. Long sentences are off the table.

“Mmhm,” he watches your eyes lazily drink in his face. He must be an embarrassing shade of violet at this point.

Your hand makes its way into his hair and Yuuta just couldn’t choke down the “ohh,” that bubbles out of him.

“God, I’ve missed you, Yuuta.” Your face is so soft. So earnest.

And Yuuta is there with you, he swears he is. It’s just, you’re speaking directly to his cock right now and all the blood has drained from his head to his head.

“I mi-missed you. More.” He manages to grunt out, precum pooling on his thigh.

Hold it together. Fucking hold it together.

You turn your body and scoot closer to him. The peaks and valley of your cleavage, tantalizing him into a mindless fool who can only think about fucking his fist.

“Guys here suck. But not you. You’ve always been amazing,” you murmur, circling feather light shapes against Yuuta’s scalp.

He shudders under your touch. Biting his cheeks so his jaw doesn’t hang open. Drool already threatening to leak from his lips.

“So kind and sweet.” Your eyes drop to his lips at the same that your hand falls to his tensed abs.

And Yuuta is caught in your quick sand. His limbs loosen. Hand on his crotch melts away. Allowing his member to spring upward with all the blood he has in his body. The sudden movement causes his jeans to slide to the floor.

His ears and cheeks burn at his indecency. But he can’t move. He is at your complete mercy. His cock rhythmically pumping out his precum now.

“I..” Yuuta croaks, but in one dizzying motion you dive your lips onto his.

He snaps.

Yuuta’s left hand flies to his neglected, weapy shaft. The friction through his thin trunks evoke a deep moan into your mouth. His other hand grips the back of your head, pressing you forward onto his tongue. He didn’t ask for entry into your lips like he normally would. It’s too dire. He’s too needy.

His hand pumps his length while his tongue maps every corner of your warm mouth. You let out soft, high pitched sighs. Which nearly bring him to finish instantly.

“Oh, Yuuta.” You moan his name. And Yuuta’s hips rut harder into his hands.

He’s hoping, praying you’re too distracted by the bruising kiss to notice the pitiful way he’s bucking his hips. Humping his hand. He’s no better than the guys you were talking about. No better.

“OH BIRTHDAY GIRL!!!!!!” Shrill voices from just outside your door rip you two a mile apart.

Yuuta scrambles to his feet, his arm unsuccessfully covering his crotch. You are panting, thumb stroking your bottom lip. Both of you still brimming with your electric chemistry.

“Enough birthday sex!!! Time for TEQUILA!” Your sorority sisters babble and laugh, about 2 seconds away from opening the door.

You grip the handle. Face and body flushed warm rose.

“I-I-uh I have to-“

“Ye—yeah of course, I’ll meet you, down. I’ll meet you down there.”

Both of your voices nervously collide. Looking everywhere but each other’s eyes. You flutter out in haste. Leaving Yuuta in the middle of your room rock hard and a pre cum covered mess.

Like leaving a fiend with an array of illicit substances.

Yuuta turns on his heel and disappears into your closet. He’s not thinking. Logical thought has long ceased to exist. All he can think about is how much his balls ache for you. How drunk he is off your touch. Your taste. Your smell.

His eyes laser down to a crumpled pair of lace panties just a few paces away from your hamper.

Yuuta’s gaze could burn it through the floor.

Stop, Yuuta. Don’t you dare.

He scolds himself. Even though his hands do the opposite. He drops to his knees and pulls his heavy cock free from its barrier. The other hand toying with your worn panties.

He’s filthy. A dirty, nasty scumbag.

Yuuta tugs his cock, aggressively. Jaw hanging open. Short desperate huffs of air escaping his lips.

No, don’t. Stop. “Nnhhgh s-top…fuck..n-no.” His jagged thoughts and jagged words intertwine. Squelching noises from his arousal pierce through his groans.

Yuuta brings your panties to his nose, and nearly blacks out. Your scent. So fucking delicious. So perfect.

He needs to taste.

His groans become garbled when he stuffs your panties into his mouth. Every single nerve ending in his body ruptures.

Yuuta pumps his cock with both hands. Feverish. Sloppy thrusts of his hips colliding with his white knuckled fists. The world around him dampens. Blurs.

“Nnnghh..uhhgh..f-FUCK,”

Your spit-drenched underwear rolls out of his mouth onto his sensitive tip. Ropes, and ropes and ropes of his cum fill your soft négligée.

Yuuta hangs his head back, leaning against his calves. His dick still twitching through his nirvana.

After a few moments, the fog slowly lifts from his mind. His vision returns. Yuuta wipes the remnants of his arousal off his cock with your panties. Before tucking them into his pocket.

Unable to look himself in the eye, he quickly rinses his hands, intending to rejoin your party at once.

But, when his hand connects with the cold knob, a voice in the back of his mind pipes up.

Take another one.

And in a trance-like state, Yuuta rushes back to your closet hamper to find another pair of your panties.

A pretty, delicate red number catches his eyes and he stuffs it into a free pocket before scurrying out of your room.

He’s no better than them.

He’s worse.

PART II

[drinksondaph]

.ೃ࿐𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 » S.H

.ೃ࿐ PAIRING– Steve Harrington X fem!reader

.ೃ࿐WARNINGS– enemies to “lovers”, name calling, slight degradation, choking, finger stuff, nicknames, sexual acts in a public setting, sweaty men mention 18+

.ೃ࿐A/N – uhmmmmm first writing on this account, I've written on here before but wanted to start something new, request if you would like, I'm in a writing mood anddd lmk who else I should write for. Enjoyyyyyy mwah.

Steve Harrington is a pain in the ass

For 1,248 days he has done nothing but torment you, say slick shit behind your back, to your face, and on your fucking locker, how childish!

But for 1,248 days you've done nothing but fight back, called his phone and told him he won a life supply of Farrah Faucet spray (which he didn't) and you dropped off an empty pizza box to his house. Two ways to break a mans heart.

You hated Steve and Steve hated you that as that. It will always be that. Right?

There were twenty minutes until the last basketball game of the season, the last basketball game of Steve's entire high school career before he went off and graduated, doing who knows what after. He was gonna miss his friends, his status, how your legs looked in those knee high socks you always wore—Steve shook his head, fuck, he couldn't go in the game with a hard-on, he splashed cold water on his face, trying to remove the thought of you, you you you

You groaned as Nancy dragged you into the gym—hundreds of your peers crowding the bleachers, she continued to tug on your arm despite your protest, “Nancy, this is so fucking stupid, I don't want to see a bunch of guys running and sweating everywhere” you whined

Nancy gasped, “Are you insane?! Who doesn't want to see sweaty guys running around” she giggled and finally she pulled you into a seat

You can't believe you were here, you don't do basketball games you don't do school sports, especially if those sports consist of a big haired boy with an inflating ego

Just as the game was gonna start there was a commotion behind you, six smaller heads rushing into the seat, Nancy turned around to see her brother and his friends sitting content on the wooden bleachers “Mike! What the hell are you doing here?”

The boy in question scoffed, rolling his eyes, “We came to watch the game Nancy, don't flatter yourself”

You muffled your laughs with your hand as the siblings continued to squabble but soon after an obnoxious buzz interrupted the moment and Hawkins High's very own basketball team ran out to the court

Sighing, you prepared to be in your own personal hell for the next two hours

...

The game got fairly interesting, score coming down to 12-10 by the second quarter. You've made eye contact with Steve a few times each time ending with a sneer, you were mad, mad at yourself for eying Steve's arms as they flexed, the sweat on his skin shining under the reflection of the gym lights

The buzzer did what it does best and buzzed, signaling half time, you rolled your eyes and tapped on Nancy's shoulder, “Hey, I'm gonna go use the bathroom”

she nodded at you, giving you a thumbs up before you slipped out the bleachers, various bodies crowding the hallway, you just made your way to the restroom when you saw a big line forming out the door and along the bricked walls a sigh rolled through your lips before you eyed your surroundings until you you spotted the staff bathroom

scanning your eyes through the crowd, you slipped into the secluded restroom, quickly hopping from foot to foot until you reached the stall, you actually had to piss really bad and you wanted to grab a snack

quickly pulling down your skirt as you hovered over the toilet, finally getting the relief you needed, better than a fucking orgasm

Suddenly the bathroom handle started to jerk, nearly making you fall into the the toilet. Nervously you looked around realizing an actual staff member could come in, there was one stall. You were Fucked.

instinctively you deepened your voice, calling out “Uhm, occupied!”

that's when you heard a deep chuckle that came from a man causing you to panic a bit more—you yanked the skirt back over your hips, was your adult voice slightly convincing? Hell no

You decided to peek through the crack, trying to see how bad the damage would be when you glimpsed at a pair of slender legs clad in miniscule shorts, the ones the basketball team wore, you rolled your eyes realizing who the legs belonged to, “Fuckin' hell, Steven”

you let out a sigh, one you didn't know you've been holding in, you nimbly unlatched the stall lock, not paying attention to the smug boy who pushed himself off the wall, following you to the sink

“I'm honored you recognize me so easily sweetheart, truly”

You scoffed at his faux sincerity “Yeah well, your smell was telltale sign”

“I smell wonderous, thank you very much” Harrington bought his hand up to his chest faking offense once again

“Why the fuck are you here!?” your eyebrows furrowed as you glanced at him through the mirror

Truth be told he didn't know why he was here. He may or may not have seen you slip into the bathroom over the crowd, he can accidentally always notice when you would walk into, and out of a room, even if it was filled with tons of people

“The real question is what are you doing here?” he crossed his arms, leaning on the sink next to you, watching the warm water cascade through your fingers

“I was obviously taking a piss before you came prancing in here with t-those, booty shorts!”

Steve practically shrieked an amused, yet bewildered look on his face as he stared a you “you wish I was in booty shorts!”

you scoffed, the rough paper towel scratching at your hand as you murmured “slut”

Steve audibly gasped—the nerve of you

“you're one to talk”

“I know you're not calling me a slut–spell it!”

You don't know how but suddenly Steve's chest was pressed against yours as your back was pushed into the sink, the both of your breathing got heavier as his brown eyes gazed into yours

That's when he attached his lips to yours and brought you into a heated kiss, his tongue slipping through the small opening of your lips causing you to snap back into reality and push at Steve's chest

“You're a fucking asshole”

He pulled you to his lips again, his hold on your jaw never faltering, his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, collecting the remainder of your chapstick from the plump skin, right before he pulled away, “Don't think I never notice the way you check me out huh?”

His voice, laced in lust, causing you to squeeze your thighs together, attempting to relive the ache between your legs “you're delusional”

Steve brought his hand up to your neck, you attempted to keep an unfaltering composure as he applied slight pressure, but your eyes betrayed you as they began to roll back

He let out a light chuckle “So if I were to reach into your panties right now, you wouldn't be soaking wet?”

You frantically shook your head, not trusting yourself to utter a single word

Steve lifted your skirt and flowingly slipped two fingers into your undergarments, swiping through your folds and collecting your wetness in the process

Fuck you bitch you mentally spoke to your pussy

The pads of his fingers began to circle your clit and his grip on your neck got tighter, the sound of your slick and moans caused Steve's dick to stir in his pants

“You know you never were a good liar sweetheart” he rasped into your ear, pushing his middle finger inside of you while his thumb continued to rub circles on your bud

“M-more, please Steve I need more” your legs started to grow weak as his fingers reached deep parts of you that you've never even touched before

He easily slipped his pointer in next and began to make rapid movements in your pussy

“ Yeah? And you called me the slut earlier, yet look at you,” The sensation he caused in between your legs and the pressure he applied to your throat made you dizzy “Tell me who the real slut is baby, hmm?”

Your wetness coated your thighs as you felt Steve's hard on nudge your leg, you wish you were able to focus so you could pull it out right then and there and have his cum coat multiple parts of your body

“Fuck! I'm the slut baby, I'm the slut”

Damn it.

A smug look danced on his face as your low eyes bet his “Atta girl, I bet that's what the school would think too if they knew you were begging for little ole me”

Steve curled his fingers inside you and sped the movement on your clit up, the knot in your stomach tightened as he continued to whisper dirty words in your ear

“Yeah baby cum alll on my fingers, there you go”

“I can cum from just hearing your sweet sounds”

“You feel what you do to me?”

“Let everyone who's slut you are, go ahead”

“Fuck Steve, I'm cumming” your tongue started to go numb as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your pussy clenched around his fingers causing his movements to still

You snapped back to reality, your breathing heavy as Steve removed his fingers from you, you feeling significantly empty compared to when he was deep inside you, you watched as he licked his fingers clean of your wetness, a moan leaving his lips as he sucked on the tips of his fingers

“Wow”

You rolled your eyes straightening your skirt as you tried to steady yourself on your feet, still trying to catch your breath, you ignored Steve's eyes on you

“Knew some day I'd have begging for me sweetheart”

You huffed, “Don't you have a game to get to Steven?”

Steve's eyes widen as he stood up straight “Oh shit!”

[catcze]

Boxer wriothesley making out with you after a fight

16+ !! Suggestive content !!

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 FEAT : 」 Wriothesley x GN! reader

「 ### : 」 Fluff, some suggestive content & mentions of sex but nothing actually 18+. Modern au !!

「 CWS : 」 Written pre release so potentially ooc !! Light mentions of injuries. making out 🥴. established relationship. Hand holding & hair pulling. Wriothesley lifts you up at one point and is so down bad. Wriothesley calls the reader sweetheart and baby. Reader wears perfume. Author knows jack shit about boxing and has never watched a boxing match so please excuse any and all inaccuracies

I got this ask and blacked out i saw red i was caught in a whole TRANCE do not perceive me i lost my sanity as i wrote this because the feelings that overcame me at the thought of shirtless, post-fight Wriothesley who shines w/ sweat and is full of post-match adrenaline was too much for my mental capacity to bear

The route to Wriothesley's locker room is one that you can navigate with your eyes closed— a confidence born from familiarity. Every time after a match, whether he wins or he loses, you always find your way from your front row seat to the door you stand before now. The first few times, he had instructed his managers to come pluck you up from your front row seat and escort you, but now the staff just bring you as far as the backstage security clearance, leaving you to find your own way.

You knock on the hard door twice, giving it a moment, then enter—

— and you're immediately swept up into Wriothesley's arms, a startled yelp escaping you as you clutch his shoulders on instinct.

"Hey, sweetheart," Wriothesley murmurs, pressing his nose to your neck while he holds you aloft, your legs tightly around his bare torso. He breathes your perfume in once, twice, like he can't get enough of it. "You enjoy the show?"

"Wriothesley!" you gasp, trying to tug free of his hold, gripping his hair and trying to pull him off of you to no avail. He stubbornly melts even more against you, pushing your back further against the door you came in through. "Put me down! You should be resting right now, not-"

"Not enjoying the fruit of my victory?" he teases against your neck, his tongue licking up the skin, making heat pool in your belly. Your shiver does not go unnoticed, and you can feel the quirk of his lips where they're pressed up against your neck. "'m fine, baby. Already got checked out and everything. Just need to go home and get some ice, that's all," he reassures you, pressing kisses to your neck and the side of your face, his hands squeezing your thighs appreciatively as he keeps you pinned up against the door.

You relax against him then, glad that he's mostly fine. The match had been over quick, anyways— it hadn't dragged out long enough for him to get hurt too badly. He had definitely walked away in much better shape than his opponent, at least.

The hand in his hair stops trying to tug him away, instead pulling him closer. You scratch his scalp and untangle little knots in his hair while he takes his fill of lathering attention onto your skin, making him purr delightedly in between leaving marks and bites wherever his mouth can reach.

When he adjusts his hold on you to free one hand (there's a zing in your veins when he effortlessly holds you up with ease) so it can play with the edge of your shirt, you reach down to pull it away, weaving your fingers together instead.

"We can't fuck in your locker room," you tell him resolutely, a frown on your face. "You have an interview when you go out and your managers will have your head and mine if you go on air looking like you just smashed."

He sighs but acquesces, pulling away from your neck to level his face just a few inches from yours. "Just a kiss, then. That okay?"

You nod and he's on you in an instant. With the short time you both have, Wriothesley hardly dawdles as his tongue traces along the seam of your mouth, instantly dipping in when you grant him entrance. There's a sigh from you and a low groan from him when his tongue meets your own, and he squeezes your hand that's still connected to his.

Wriothesley bites down on your bottom lip, making you gasp and pull him harder against you by his hair. You can feel his heartbeat where his chest is pressed against yours, the sweat on him making him stick to you. Fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, his thumb drawing shapes you can't make out in your kiss-fueled haze.

His tongue licks the inside of your mouth, sighs of bliss transferring from his mouth into yours. "You're so good to me, baby," Wriothesley mumbles against your lips, eyes half lidded and something hungering behind them.

You can't even bring it in yourself to speak, tugging him closer once again because in that moment he is focusing too much on speaking and not enough on kissing you. He chuckles at your desperation, but gives in to you as he always does, letting himself be dragged further into your embrace.

Fuck it, the words are on the tip of your tongue. Fuck the interview. Put your hands under my shirt kiss me somewhere else—

Knock knock.

Like a gunshot, your eyes fly open at the interruption and you hand jolts, accidentally pulling on his hair too hard and making him hiss when he detaches from you. "Sorry, sorry," you murmur to him, pressing a fleeting peck to his lips. Now, it is your turn to bury your nose into his neck.

"You good in there?" The voice of his manager comes floating through the door, muffled. "The interviewer's been waiting a while by now, you know."

"Right, right. Be out in a bit." He hopes his manager doesn't realize that his voice is far too close to the door than it normally should be.

Wriothesley has to stifle a dissatisfied sound, maneuvering you off the door and gently placing you down on the bench in the room, mindful of the way your legs shake. A gentle kiss is placed to the crown of your head, then to the back of the hand he holds before he lets go.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says in a low rumble, voice deepened from the makeout. His lips are swollen from all the kissing— you hope people attribute it to his fight instead of a post-fight makeout. "Sit tight here, I'll come back for you when I'm done."

Then that hunger reappears in his eyes and his smile gets the slightest bit sharper. "We'll go home and continue where we left off. I promise."

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter One

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: Chapter is T, overall fic is E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Unrequited crushes, yearning, questionable science

Summary: Two weeks after the Rift appears, Marcus Pike and the Art Crimes team have been inundated by black market artifacts, and Marcus is more than happy to use this as an excuse to get closer to the curator who is helping them identify the items. Meanwhile, the perpetrators enlist a supervillain to cause a blackout around the Rift in order to steal even more. Hopefully that doesn't cause anything bad to happen!

A/N: We're building toward something big! One thing that I am doing in this fic, for my sanity and for yours, is identify the POV character whenever it changes. I don't usually do this, preferring to rely on narrative, but when three of your characters share the same name, this gets complicated.

Masterlist | Prologue | Next Chapter>>

(Pike)

Marcus Pike takes the steps to the National Gallery of Art two at a time. At the top, he catches his reflection in one of the large font windows and pauses to attempt to flatten his windswept hair before dashing through the revolving doors. He flashes a smile–and his badge–at the security guard, who recognizes him and nods. Rather than funnel through the ticketing counter with the rest of the guests, Marcus instead ducks through a door labeled ‘MUSEUM STAFF ONLY,’ hops down the stairs–three at a time, this time–and opens another door to the curation department, making a beeline for the now-familiar office.

“I’ve got another one for you,” he announces breathlessly, forgetting to knock.

The occupant startles, sending a novelty coffee mug full of pens and highlighters scattering across the floor. 

“Marcus,” you hiss, pressing one hand over your pounding heart. “Oh my God, you can’t keep doing that!”

“Sorry,” he grimaces. “I, uh, guess I got a little excited.”

“Two thousand year-old artifacts will do that to a man, I guess.” You take in his heaving chest, askew tie, and mussed hair. “Did you… run here?”

Marcus feels heat flush to his cheeks, and he grins sheepishly. Oh, if only he could say that it’s 

not just the startlingly well-preserved bronze comb now sitting in the evidence locker right next to the carefully cataloged Roman coins, ceramic glazed urn, ceremonial dagger, and a scroll of papyrus, all in pristine condition. No, it’s not just the flood of bizarre artifacts suddenly entering the black market that has Marcus’s heart pumping with excitement.

It’s the far-too-cute-for-her-own-good Museum Curator at the National Gallery of Art that has been indispensable in these cases, identifying and verifying the authenticity of each new artifact recovered by him and his team.

“Like you said, ancient artifacts really get the blood flowing,” Marcus grins, daring to chance a wink in your direction. “I dunno if you can really call them ‘artifacts,’ though. Or even ‘ancient.’ Weird times we’re in, right now.”

His thoughts drift to the Rift again–common knowledge, not just in DC but throughout the entire globe now, still less than a month into its existence. Heavily guarded, of course, and entrance is strictly prohibited. Hell, even loitering in the vicinity of the Rift earned Marcus a stern telling-off that even his FBI credentials couldn’t override. He couldn’t get the sight of it out of his mind, though. It was as though the empty space around the Rift simply… broke. Like the universe as he knew it was, and then suddenly was not in the space of around ten feet wide. He tried to look through the hole, through the bit that ‘was not,’ but it was like looking through warped glass. The air itself bent and swirled, and through it he swore he could hear the sound of hooves on cobblestone, snippets of language he had read his fair share of in graduate school but had never heard spoken aloud.

“So you uh… want me to come take a look?” you ask, sounding almost shy.

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

“I’m not running, though, so don’t even try.”

Marcus laughs joyfully. He can’t seem to stop smiling whenever he’s lucky enough to be in your presence, and of late, that means he’s smiling a lot. 

“Walking sounds perfect,” he agrees. “Plus, that was enough cardio for me for the whole week, I think.”

You grin back, and Marcus wonders if you can feel the electricity that seems to descend whenever the two of you banter, or if it’s only him that’s affected. Sounds about right, he muses ruefully to himself. You old sap. Still, the silence stretches out just a beat too long, and it sends his imagination whirling. Coffee dates, long walks through the city, cozy drinks on his sofa oh shit how do you even ask someone out in the age of Tinder–

“Lead the way, Agent,” you smirk, and Marcus feels himself melt.

You click your tongue thoughtfully as you examine the comb. “Bronze, Imperial, I’m gonna guess somewhere around… 500 BCE?”

Marcus whistles through his teeth, impressed. “How do you know that?” 

You pick up one of the coins. “Numismatics. Anyone with a working knowledge of Roman history can place one of these babies within a few decades or so.” You flip it over, revealing the stark profile of the Emperor. “This was around the height of his rule and he died in 504 BCE. Knowing that, the coins are from around 510-ish, so everything else that comes out of the Rift, well…”

“You think all of it’s from around the same time,” Marcus offers. 

You shrug. “They’re all coming from the same hole in space and time.”

“What I don’t understand,” Marcus mumbles, more to himself than to you, “is how the hell people are getting in and out of the damn thing, it’s so heavily guarded.”

“I’ll say,” you comment wistfully. “They’ve got that whole perimeter set up now, you can’t go within a quarter of a mile. Wish I could see it… I mean, talk about a curator’s dream, right?”

“It’s incredible,” he says softly. 

“Wait. You’ve seen it? How?”

Marcus smiles and holds out his hands, feeling slightly guilty. “Managed to hoodwink a few people with my credentials, but I barely got within eyesight before I was politely asked to leave.”

“By politely, I’m assuming you mean ‘with an assault rifle.’”

“Maybe a little.”

“Okay, now I’m pissed at you. And don’t flash those big brown puppy dog eyes at me,” you snap, right as Marcus begins to do exactly that. “Throwing your FBI Agent weight around, and you couldn’t even bring along your consultant.”

“Oh yeah, because I really wanted to put you at the end of some Heroic bigwig’s assault rifle as well,” Marcus laughs. “It was stupid, I let curiosity get the better of me. What can I say?”

“You can say you’re sorry by buying me a coffee. Not the swill they’ve got here, a proper latte. And while I drink it nice and slow-like, you have to tell me everything.”

Marcus can’t think of a single better way to spend the rest of his afternoon. 

Electricity crackled at his fingertips. Even if the paycheck hadn’t been enough to convince him, the ultimate test of his powers was enough for him to agree to something so petty as theft. For that’s what it was, when you took away all the other factors. The Rift was simply a complication. A variable. 

A challenge. 

Giving things power had always been his strong suit. Taking it away was another thing entirely, like flexing an unfamiliar muscle, or wiggling your ears. His biggest undertaking before now had been to shut down electricity to one wing of a building, but a whole city block?

Intriguing. 

Lurking in the shadows, at a safe distance from any of the Heroics security, the man known only as Voltage flared his nostrils, drawing the electricity back up into his body, and then… he pulled. Extracting the electrons from the world around him, his fingers flexed and strained as the current flowed backward, like forcing a waterfall to run in reverse. All the lights within a four block radius from the Rift–from cars, streetlights, personal flashlights, mobile phones, and screens–cracked and popped ominously before shattering and bathing the entire area in darkness. 

(Pike)

Not two miles away, the fluorescent light above Marcus Pike flickers, the unpleasant sound of electricity causing the hairs to rise on the back of his neck. Pulling a face, he rubs at the sore muscle with one hand, sits back in the uncomfortable metal chairs of the evidence room, and yawns loudly. 

“What I find interesting is that there doesn’t seem to be any residue on any of the items,” his partner remarks, seemingly ignoring the yawn.

“What kind of residue?” Marcus asks, curious.

“I dunno, like… time residue?”

The Agent laughs good-naturedly. “Time residue, huh? What the hell is that?”

“Haven’t you ever seen any SciFi movies?”

Marcus shoots the other Agent a skeptical look. “Last time I checked, this wasn’t a movie.”

“Exactly. So we have no idea what kind of thing we’re dealing with. I mean, come on. Black hole guns? Holes in space-time? And you’re drawing the line at residue?”

Marcus laughs again, shutting his laptop with a sigh. “Jesus, I had no idea how late it had gotten. Let’s take a break and start again in the morning, yeah?”

“D’you think anything else has come out of the Rift?” his partner suddenly asks.

“Other than the artifacts they���re smuggling? Dunno,” Marcus answers. “They’ve got that place locked down pretty tight. I’ve been wondering how the hell they’ve been getting this stuff out of there,” he remarks, repeating what he had said to you earlier that day. 

“If a bunch of coins are able to get out, it’s only a matter of time before… other stuff does, too.”

Marcus pauses, one hand reaching toward the door. The statement troubles him more than he cares to admit.

“Above my pay grade,” he tries to joke, but it doesn’t land. “Those Heroics guys have to have a handle on things.”

[waklman]

Pool Rules

summary: you get yourself into trouble trying to surprise your boyfriend during swim practice.

pairing: bob floyd x female reader.

warnings: no use of y/n. fluff, like one suggestive joke. 18+ blog in general.

olympic swimmer au

the last lap masterlist.

“Floyd, security detained your girl again,” Jake flatly announces, stalking into the locker-room with his very own girlfriend in tow, leading her inside with their hands entwined.

“Again?” Bob pivots on his damp feet, zipping up his arena jacket back up out of courtesy. 

Really, it should alarm him more that you’ve been snagged by pool staff, but this was the third time it’s happened, this week.

“It was so mean!” Jake’s girlfriend chimes in, microfiber towel thrown over her head. Not bothered enough to ask if Bob’s decent, she rips the cotton draped over her eyes and Jake grits, wrestling to get it back on. “They just—they grabbed her thinking she’s some random fan that snuck in! Isn’t that horrible?”

“Would you just—get out of here Floyd.” Jake redirects the scolding to his teammate, still fighting against his girlfriend as she erupts into a bout of giggles at Jake’s struggle to keep the towel in place. 

Understanding that Jake’s frustration isn’t fully targeted towards him, Bob nods and steers his body towards the exit, leaving his pile of dry clothes behind on the bench.

Assuming you’ve been stuck into that detainment room, Bob makes his way up there, swim tights still dripping wet.

Nearing you in his climb up the stairs, he sighs remorsefully, turning the corner. They probably stuck you in the grubby plastic chair that you swore flattened out your butt. And despite his tireless efforts to convince you otherwise, you were fully set on the fact that your rear quite literally sunk.

With a gentle knock to the door, the athlete cuts through his own stream of thoughts. And in getting no answer to the polite gesture, Bob pauses, waiting out a few more seconds before cautiously letting himself inside.

He’s not the least bit surprised to find you sitting in that very chair you hated so much, pouty face painted in streaky lines of red white and blue. As usual, you look like you’re ready to cheer on the U.S team at any given moment. 

Wordlessly coming to a stop in front of you, Bob lets you stain his white nylon jacket with your patriotic face paint as you slump forward, landing flat on his stomach. In all fairness, his bare legs do wet the front of your shirt in return, but it doesn’t seem like you care all that much when you whine and curl your hands behind his thighs to pull him closer.

“Hi there, pretty girl,” he looks down at you, his shriveled hand petting the back of your head. All it takes is the feeling of you leaning into his palm, for the tight wounds of Bob’s muscles to finally loosen, despite his wearied efforts to alleviate the strain post-practice. 

“They still didn’t recognize me from last time,” you dejectedly share, ignoring his greeting. “The guys that put me in here didn’t even believe Seresin when he tried telling them I was your girlfriend.”

Doing a quick scan of the dusty room, Bob notices that they’ve left you unsupervised this time. From a technical standpoint, the athlete can’t exactly blame them for not realizing who you actually were. Because everytime you did pay Bob a visit, you wore bizarre USA themed outfits to cheer him on—that altered your appearance each time. 

He hated to admit it but, Bob was impressed that Jake could even manage to tell you apart from one of the crazed fans camping outside the training center.

But, even if you were one of them, Bob knows there’s a partially pathetic side of him that would still forget how to expel a breath if he saw a girl as cute as you choosing to root for him, instead of one of his teammates. 

“You know why? It’s ‘cause you get prettier each time you show up looking for me. They can't believe how I got so lucky with you," he finally suggests with a small smile, coaxing you to stand up.

“Let me see what you got on today, Champ,” he reaches for your limp hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before lifting it above your head, to twirl you around.

A shy giggle bubbles out your chest when your boyfriend spins you, whispering about how pretty you looked as he runs his eyes over you. 

Not wanting to make you dizzy, Bob slows down the movement, his hands moving to your hips to steady your balance. “Where’d you get this from? It’s cute,” he leans back slightly, chuckling when you proudly puff your chest at him. 

Pulled up on each of your legs are knee high socks, one blue and one red with white stripes lined at the hem. And stretched across your t-shirt is a saturated Getty image of your boyfriend, gold medal between his teeth.

Lifting yourself on your tippy toes, you glide your fingers through his damp strands, pushing it out of his face. “Would you believe me if I said I had it made? I think it’s my favorite picture of you,” you confess.

A surge of butterflies suddenly flutters in your stomach, when your eyes slowly drift down to his flushed chest, that just barely peeks through the small gap of his unzipped jacket. You swallow, spotting a droplet of water still clung to his skin that runs down the line of his torso.

“Oh yeah?” He teases, pulling your attention back to his face. Though Bob’s trying to act coy, a rare side of him that had his coach choking on his sandwich the first time he witnessed it—there’s a matching tint of pink on his cheeks that gives him away. 

Lightly tugging on the roots of his hair, a mischievous look washes over your features. 

“Mhm, I just love having you on me honey,” you playfully bite back. And there goes the controlled breathing practice Bob spent half his life perfecting.

“Okay, that was—that really wasn’t fair,” he falters, feeling another wave of heat settling into his already flushed skin.

"Oh I'm sorry, didn't know we were playing fair now," you egg on, watching your giant boyfriend grow shy.

Bob only pokes his cheek with his tongue, until he takes in the fact that you’re wearing a shirt with his face on it. And he couldn’t see it any earlier because you’ve been trapped up here the whole time.

“I don’t know why they keep doing this to you, I’m sorry Champ,” he feels the need to apologize, drawing you in for a hug.

Bob considered himself a fairly polite guy, but when his girlfriend’s been given a hard time repeatedly—he feels less inclined to be so nice in his next run-in with security. 

But instead of showing his sudden wear in patience, he relaxes completely—finding it nearly impossible to retain any tension in his body when you gently scratch at his scalp.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, twirling a piece of hair around your finger. “You found me anyway.”

“They made you sit in that chair though.” 

“My butt is probably so flat,” you let out groan at the reminder, pressing your feet to the ground. 

Not a second later, Bob goes to squeeze your butt. “Not, really,” he decides, seriously. "Even if it was, I don't think I'd care."

“Don’t you lie to me,” you scold, brows pinched together.

“M’ not. Did you want me to check again?”

Before you can anything, a uniformed man stands under the door frame, lifting his eyes off his clipboard. Almost in sync with eachother, you both stiffen hearing the noise.

“Alright young lady, I cleared things up with—Oh..”

note: swimmer bob swimmer bob swimmer bob!! as always thank you for reading, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @Genius2050 @eli2447 @s-u-t @averyhotchner @et-homephone @olymosity @wkndwlff @cruelmissdior @eternallyvenus @queerqueenlynn @sushiwriterhere @ravenhood2792 @Natdrunk @goosterroose

[picksnrolls]

Iowa CC getting feisty and bossy and Kate fucking the attitude out of her... She's her captain after all

Sorry it took me so long to get this out Anon but I hope this it to your liking. And anyone else's.

Halftime Adjustments

Warnings- 18+ Smut

The buzzer sounded alerting the end of the first half. Hawkeyes were down 19 to an unranked non conference team. CC had gone 1 for 8 in the second quarter and missed 3 free throws in a row. To make matters even worse she was yelling at the refs and barely passing to any open players except for Stuelke who was having her own nightmare defensive matchup. 

Kate had to talk her teammates down 3 times already and try to keep Caitlin from launching her water bottle at the coaching staff during a timeout near the end of the first quarter. 

The whole team was having an off game but 22’s antics were wearing everybody's nerves thin. Monika did all she could to keep the players on the court focused and let Kate try to work her usual magic with their star point guard but there was only so much she could really say or do in a public setting and stage. 

Kate gripped Caitlin's wrist as they jogged back to the guest locker room, the latter trying to tug away but only felt the hold become tighter. 

“Let fucking go of me!" Caitlin hissed out. 

When the hold didn't drop she ripped her arm away only to have her whole body directed into one of the offices in the back with the blinds pulled tight on both the window and door.  

" What the fuck are you doing right now, Kate?!” 

Kate’s face remained neutral until the door shut, her eyes blazed and narrowed, brows pinched together with heavy annoyance. She had Caitlin pressed face down over the old metal desk, legs kicked apart, ass a little higher in the air than expected. She had roughly 20 lbs on her but once Caitlin was in rage mode her strength really knew no limits. The movements were happening so fast Kate had taken her teammate off guard, allowing her to grab a hold of her shorts and sport briefs and rip them as far down as they'd go.

" You wanna throw tantrums on the court and yell in people's faces huh? Boss everyone around and act like you're in control hmmm?" Kate plunged two fingers deep inside Caitlin’s surprisingly wet center as she growled in her ear. The office wasn't that far away from where the rest of the team was and she knew she had maybe 3 to 4 more minutes before the coach would be expecting them to be sat with everyone. 

Caitlin was trying to pull her shorts back up and knock Kate back when her arm was trapped behind her forcing her back down face first. The force with which Kate pumped into her had her confused at first and then aroused which led to her stopping fighting it. She was drenched from sweat and now her own slick coating her inner thighs and Kate's hand.

Kate pulled out, wrapped her arm around the girl beneath her and went to work on her clit, rubbing tight fast circles. It took barely a  minute and she had her shaking and whimpering and blinking back the white spots from her vision. She fisted her ponytail, yanking her head back far enough so she could look her in the eye while demanding entrance into her mouth with her cum soaked fingers. 

Caitlin cleaned them as much as she could while trying to catch her breath and process what exactly had happened and how quickly. They enjoyed the occasional quickie here and there but never in the middle of a game and never like this.

“Now as your captain and leader I expect your attitude to be adjusted. Pull yourself together, fix your hair and be back out at your spot immediately after. Understood?”

Caitlin nodded while still remaining slumped across the desk, she was just regaining control of her breathing.  

Barely a minute later Caitlin sat down at her locker, jersey tucked back into her shorts and hair fixed, with no signs of it having been pulled from its normal pony. She mumbled a soft sorry to the group without making eye contact with anyone.

The team went on to win the game with a late 3rd quarter push, 22 leading the way with 21 2nd half points and 7 assists, 4 to her teammate, captain, and girlfriend. 

[strawberriianime]

Perform For Me

♡ Toji Fushiguro x Stripper! Reader

♡ You work in a strip club and a guest request for a private room with you

♡ cw: 18+ descriptions of sex and sexual acts, mild degradation, slight embarrassment if you squint, exhibition, dirty talk, masturbation, strip club environment, protected sex, squirting. enjoy!

Slamming your locker you looked into the mirror one last time before deciding you looked ready to work. You made sure your lips were glossed looking really plump and juicy, your hair was done to perfection, and you knew you were going to make bank tonight. Your pleasers were shined, and your black lacy thong and bra showed under the revealing net dress you wore as an “outfit”. Snapping a couple of pictures you made your way to the bar to get your daily (as you like to call it) shot for confidence. Ordering your signature shot, you were quick to throw it back watching the current dancer on stage the crowd watching deeply throwing money in the air. Looking around you saw an array of people some enjoying food, some getting dances, some taking to the girls.

You left the bar to go meet with the DJ requesting the song you wanted to dance to, then made your way backstage to prepare for your set once the current dancer finished. A couple minutes passed and you knew it was your time to go as soon as you heard the familiar beat of your song. Putting on your best seductive face, you pushed open the curtains as the crowd cheered some even whistling. You pranced to the center of the stage gripping the pole and walking around it slowly. You made eye contact with some of the guys in the crowd causing them to throw more money. You started moving your body seductively to the beat, hands caressing each part of your body causing the netted dress to roll up slightly. As the song picked up, you began climbing up the pole and just as the beat dropped you came down in an iconic twerk split. Cash began dropping from left and right, overflowing lol the stage. Good thing the staff were there to rake the money for you and put it to the side. The song came to an end meaning your time on stage was up for now, walked off stage with a big sigh. Just as you were making your way to the bar to get another shot you were stopped. “You need to get to room 7 stat! There’s a client who requested a private dance from you!” your dance mom was quick moving quickly past you.

You hurried to get another shot, downing it quickly, and made your way to room 7. Adjusting your dress, and taking a deep breath you pushed the door open. When you walked inside there was a man, an older-looking man maybe in his mid to late 30s. His eyes quickly met your causing your legs to suddenly get wobbly. He was handsome, his hair was short and perfectly framed his face, and his body was buff the perfect build. There was a small scar on the side of his lip, his expression was completely unreadable. Never had you been nervous like this before, something about his aura made you timid.

You made your way to the small steps to get yourself onto the platform. Music had already been playing, and you began swaying your body once more. Private room rules were a bit different, and you had done a couple of privates but this one felt different. He leaned back into the chair manspreading tone muscles pulsing through the tight shirt. Gripping the end of your dress you began pulling it up stripping your body of everything but the lacy bra and thing set you were wearing underneath. His eyes watched you closely following your every move and he watched as your ass clapped to the beat causing him to grip the couch. You hit a split bouncing your ass up and down his eyes following. Pulling your legs together you got on your knees arching your back and made your way down to him. Crawling slowly you stopped at your feet, popping up to bring yourself onto his lap.

With each one of your legs on his side, you rolled your hips along his slightly grinding down onto him. You brought your hand to the clasp behind your back pulling at it allowing the lace bra to fall freely. Grabbing the bra, you threw it to a corner and brought your attention back to the man. “What’s your name handsome?” you asked him your hands coming up to caress your breast. “Toji” he was quick. “Are you enjoying yourself Toji?” you asked him body rolling to the beat using his toned body for balance. “It’s alright.” he said smugly smirking to himself. “Just alright? How could I make it better?” standing up turning to face him. “Put on a show for me.” he smirked. You knew what he wanted and you know what he meant. You needed the money, and not only he was attractive and it’s been so long since you felt the touch of a man. You smirked to yourself, hands meeting the thin fabric of the thong the only thing keeping you from being completely naked. You rolled it down your legs, leaving all your intimate parts for his eyes. “The heels stay on. Touch yourself” he spoke suddenly.

Honestly, you weren’t supposed to go this far but hey! You rubbed your hands along your side caressing each curve before bringing them up to your breast. You teased at each bud pulling at them slightly, rolling them along your fingers. He watched you eagerly as your right hand made its way down your bottom following plopping yourself on the hard, cold platform. Spreading your legs, two of your fingers teased at your slit collecting the wetness that had formed. Stroking the pearl, your back arched slightly as you rubbed semi rough circles pinching your nipples in the process. Toji watched closely, a bulge forming in his pants clearly enjoying the show.

Before he knew it, you pushed two of your fingers in causing him to snap out of his trance. "Get over here" he muttered. You crawled over once more watching as his eyes never left yours. Grabbing you by your forearm he was quick to pull you up to him straddling him once more. He could feel how wet you were, he could feel your juices leaking through his pants and even boxers. Rolling your hips once more he held your hips to stop. "I want you to ride me." Now this is completely against club rules, being a stripper was already enough but having sex with clients is typically a no-go, let's just say this rule gets broken pretty often. "I never fucked a client before this would be the first" you responded watching as he fiddled in his pocket pulling out the thin packet. "Guess I feel pretty special." he ripped the packet open with his teeth shuffling you down allowing his hardened member to spring free. You've seen an abnormal number of dicks but his is definitely the biggest. He was a good 7.5 inches, veiny in the right ways, and he definitely was thick. Once the condom was on snug and tight you balanced yourself slowly lowering yourself onto him.

Gripping his shoulders, you threw your head back moaning as he stretched you out his dick touching every inch you had inside of you. You've never been with anyone who's been this deep before. Groaning you began moving slowly up and down your hips rolling to create a steady rhythm. You felt something wet move along your chest causing you to moan at the feeling of your right breast being coated with his saliva. Toji sucked greedily at the bud rolling it around his tongue, taking slight nips at it here and there. He placed his left hand on your back, right on your hip to push you into him more allowing him to go even deeper. The room filled with your soft moans followed by the constant squelching of your heat meeting his dick. He began moving his hips to follow along with your rhythm creating a newfound sensation. "Ahh!" before you could react you felt your pussy pulsating heavily, a feeling you never felt before. "You nasty bitch you squirted on me." You felt his chest rumble. Based on the glistening on his lower body your slick juices coating his shirt. "I didn't even get to cum yet you sneaky bitch" Before you knew it he pushed you off of him causing you to fall onto the floor.

"Stand up, spread your legs, and grab your ankles." You followed his directions almost questioning the weird position. Pulling you out of your thoughts, you felt the familiar painful yet satisfying stretch of Toji's dick making its way inside of you. His hands found your hips as he began thrusting at an accelerated pace. Your pussy was still overly sensitive so it didn't take long for your juices to start flowing once more this time running down your legs slowly. "You're making a mess on my dick" he chuckled causing you to clamp down on him even harder. "Shit if you keep this up I'll cum in no time" You bit your lip biting back the moans that were begging to slip through. Your legs were getting weak, knees constantly buckling with each thrust barely keeping your balance in the heels. Toji took his right hand, yanking you up by your hair taking that same hand to place a tight grip on our throat. Your body was pressed tightly against his making your eyes roll at the newly found deepness he achieved. Keeping that tight grip, his left hand made its way to your folds collecting some of your juices to rub at your needy clit. The sensation made your jolt causing you to clench around Toji once more. As if on cue, his thrust picked up just as the movement on your clit did. The amount of pleasure was overwhelming your back was arched and a quick slip of slob escaped your lips. You heard Toji grunt behind you signaling he was about to cum. With a couple more thrusts you felt that familiar feeling from earlier, your legs getting weak once more. "Fuck" and with that, you felt the warm spill of his cum filling the condom meeting your own orgasm in the process with a broken moan.

The room fell quiet with the only sounds being slight panting from you and a hard sigh from Toji. "You were a good cheap fuck." He was quick to put his clothes back on, throwing a handful of cash in your direction. He was quick to leave the room leaving you there naked. Just like that, you were brought back to reality with the cold aspect of your job. Hopefully one day, you will save enough and leave this place for good.

[sunlightmurdock]

Blow by Blow | 0.7 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader au

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big. Boxing au.

Warnings: unspecified age gap, violence, probs boxing inaccuracies somewhere along the line, blood and injuries throughout the fic but will be specified in the warnings of the chapter. Smut and other 18+ content, minors dni

…

“If you don’t think that I’m good enough to do it, Bradley, then just say—“

“I don’t think you’re good enough to do it.” He answers back, deadpan. Your face falls instantly. He sits forwards and leans his elbows on his knees, “I’m not even sure you know how a real boxing match works, Bambi.”

Maybe it was a little harsh, but he’s right. He’s not going to pretend that you’re ready for a fight and watch you get your ass kicked. It’s nice that everyone around here is so nice to you, but as far as he’s concerned, someone should probably be a little realistic too.

It’s been a week since that argument in your apartment. You’ve been avoiding him since then. You’ve also been training like you’re Rocky Balboa — Nat’s stayed late at the gym every night this week to help you. Everyone’s on your side about this, telling you that you’ve got it and that you’re going to do great.

Rooster had been annoyed about it at first — you thinking that you know better than him. Walking around here in your cute gym sets, grinning with Javy and Mickey as they work through speed bag relays with you. Sitting in Mav’s office, blowing his mind with every idea you have. Yeah, everyone has noticed that Rooster’s been a little bit tense this week.

Bob winces, closing his eyes and pursing his lips. At his side, Rooster rants about the women’s locker room not being cleaned again. Another complaint, another canceled subscription.

“I cleaned it last night like the rota said, it’s not my fault it got dirty during the day! — Almost all of our staff are guys.” Bob complains, adjusting the cap on his head and then pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The women’s locker room is usually just cleaned after hours, since the guys can’t go in there during the day.

The duty falls on Nat if there’s something during the day.

Rooster pushes away from the counter and rounds the corner into the gym. Natasha’s in the middle of the ring, gloves on her hands, her head thrown back in laughter. You’re leaning into her, doubled over, laughing your ass off. Your inside jokes are only growing, and Natasha’s coming out for drinks with you and your friends tonight — the pair of you are just getting closer and closer.

“Hey, Nat!” Rooster barks, face stern and thick arms folded over his chest.

Your laughter fades and Natasha groans as she turns and leans on the ropes, raising her eyebrows expectantly at him. It’s unclear as to whether Rooster’s upset that his spot as her best friend has been taken by someone else, or if he’s just in the mood to be an asshole today. It’s a little bit of both.

“You feel like doing what we pay you to do today, or do you wanna keep fucking around up there?”

You follow Natasha down from the ring, biting the Velcro around the gloves and pulling them off of your hands. Acutely aware that this is all your fault. Taking time away from the work she should be doing. You have work that you should probably do too.

Natasha squints as she walks over to her lifelong best friend, standing before him and looking up, deadly serious. “I’m going to let that go because I know you’re freaking out about this fight with Nico, but if you talk to me like that again, I’m going to treat your balls like a heavy bag.”

A quick glance over the top of his friend’s head and Rooster finds you staring at the two of them, lips quirked, having just heard everything.

“Sorry.” He mumbles dejectedly. Nat nods, patting his shoulder as she walks past him. As she walks further away, it’s just the two of you. You, staring at him, him staring back at you. Each of you waiting for the other to speak first. Neither of you do.

You look down sheepishly and grab your bag from beside the ring, turning and heading for Mav’s office. Mav lets you do your work in there on the days he isn’t in. He seems proud of your plans for this place. There’s a charity fight this weekend that Payback, Phoenix and Hangman are going to participate in — you’ve organized for a couple of small time journalists from local papers to come and interview them. Getting their names out there will help get people in the door.

Even the work that you’ve done so far has picked up business a little. You’re getting a lot of engagement, Bob said there has been tonnes of enquiries, but only a couple of sign-ups so far. Progress is progress.

You finish off your afternoon in the office, Tank and Bob join you for a little while, Fanboy after that while he’s on his fifteen minute break. After five, Jake kicks you out of the seat behind the desk so that he can sort through the expenses for the week, so you sit opposite the desk and finish up your edits to the website.

“Which profile picture do you think would be best? — For the instagram and twitter accounts.” You spin your laptop around on your lap and flick through three icons. Vaguely similar but still noticeably different.

He frowns, “Kid, none of those are of me.”

Your brows scrunch slightly as you glance back down at them. “Yeah… It’s Mav, back in his glory days. I think he’d like it.”

“I think that we’d do better if I was the face of Bradshaw’s.” He winks at you across the desk, but you know that he’s only half joking. You’ve noticed the way his eyes linger on the mirror when he’s with a client, silently checking himself out. It’s amusing and almost inspiring, in an odd way, the confidence he has built for himself.

“Shouldn’t it be Rooster?” You ask, also half-playfully.

Jake scoffs at the idea. “Then they come in looking for the guy in the picture and there’s a fifty percent chance he decides to be a dick, and we lost a customer. I vote myself for the profile picture. I can send you some options.”

And he does. You roll your eyes amusedly as your phone pings with pictures whilst you’re making yourself dinner that evening. Finishing up with instead promoting the charity fight a little, figuring out the placement of some flyers that you’re going to make the guys help you hand out, you abandon work late that night. But it doesn’t feel much like a job anyway.

TV, a bath, and then you’re curled up in bed with your laptop in front of you.

You wince as the grown man spins, his eyes roll back and he falls to the canvas. Video after video, clips that Javy has sent you, the best of the best, getting clocked in the jaw and tumbling down, one by one. If this was supposed to be encouraging, it’s not — all that it proves is that you can be as great at the sport as these guys are, and still get your face broken.

Tank stirs, stretching out along the bottom of the bed, nuzzling his head against where your feet rest under the duvet. Instinctively, you lower the sound. Your room, lit up by the LED illumination of the laptop screen and the new, soft lights tangled around the metal frame of this rickety, old bed.

It’s never quiet around here, but you’re growing used to the backfiring cars, screeching tires and the drunken arguments that happen in the alley behind the gym. It’s quiet enough on this evening. Quiet enough that you hear the shoes on the steps outside before there’s a key fumbling in the lock to your apartment, heavy boots on the metal framed stairs, stumbling and uneaven sounding.

“Stay here, baby.” You murmur softly, smoothing your fingers over Tank’s ears. He lifts his head at the noise, blinking tiredly as he considers getting up to investigate. You kiss his nose and tell him to wait.

Rooster stretches his sore neck from side to side as he shuts the door and locks it behind him, flicking on the kitchen light, kicking his boots off. He does it all so naturally, like he lives here. It’s hard to fall out of the habit, this has been his second home since he got a key when he was fourteen. This place is within walking distance of the downtown bars, whereas his actual apartment is further, through sketchier neighborhoods that Rooster is not welcome in.

“What are you doing?”

It’s all unintentional to a certain degree, sometimes it really does slip his mind that you’ve moved in up here. When he turns, finding new soft furnishings, throw pillows and pictures on the walls, new curtains hung on the windows, it’s all there in the front of his mind again. But, then his gaze, as blurry as it might be, lands on you. Standing before him in an old t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, he remembers that maybe coming here wasn’t an accident at all.

“Mm, sorry, Bambi,” His ‘s’ sounds slur as he plants his palm on the counter, feet lagging, making him stumble. He blinks slowly and turns his head towards you, lips toying at a soft smile, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your brows scrunch disapprovingly, watching the way his eyes trail, the way that his head tilts slightly to the left as he looks you over and then squints to steady his vision. You can practically see the cogs in his head turning, he might as well be thinking out loud.

“You didn’t,” You answer. There’s a slight bite to your tone, annoyance and disapproval all in one. Even as drunk as he is, he gets the picture, he just has no intention of apologising. “But what’s going on? — What are you doing here?”

Like you don’t already know. Still, Rooster plays along, dancing around the question just like you are. His hand finds his belt, brown leather tucked through blue denim loops, eyes on you as he slowly but certainly unbuckles it. “Too drunk to drive. Just gonna sleep it off.”

He’s not asking your permission, staring you right in the eye, waiting for you to finally snap and just say what you’ve been thinking all week. He can’t stand more of these irritated glares, he wants to clear the air before it poisons his upcoming week. You stand firm, folding your arms over your chest.

“I’ll order you an Uber.”

Rooster abandons his now unbuckled belt, shrugging the unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt back off of his thick shoulders, letting it fall to the floor right there in the entryway. “I’ll be fine here.”

“I think it would be best if you didn’t.” You say softly. He remains unfazed, almost tripping over his boots as he takes a step towards you. Into the centre of the apartment, away from the safe purchase of the counter that he has been leaning on.

“Why?” You didn’t defend yourself to him last week. You just let him tell you that you weren’t good enough and you’ve been sulking about it ever since. He presses forwards unsteadily.

“Because.” You answer sternly. Rooster grabs the hem of his t-shirt, shrugging his shoulders as he peels it up and over his head, dropping it to the ground. His clothes aren’t even in a pile, they’re just scattered across the floor, a mess in his wake. He takes a step away from them and towards you.

“That’s not an answer.” He replies, going for his belt again.

“Stop taking your clothes off!” You demand, furrowing your eyebrows at him as your grip tightens around your door handle like you’re about to retreat. The option of fleeing into your room doesn’t sound so bad, shutting him out and leaving him and his stupid muscles and bad ideas out here alone. He’s close enough now that he could touch you if he wanted, and it wouldn’t be too difficult for you to lean forwards and touch him too.

Rooster stops, his hands on the waistband of his jeans, button popped open and zipper tugged all the way down. He frowns at you, swaying slightly from the amount of alcohol in his system. “I’m not gonna sleep in my jeans.”

There’s a pause. For a second, you think that he must be sober and just fucking with you. Then, he hooks his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and starts to push them down.

“You’re not going to sleep here at all, you weirdo!” You step forwards, planting both hands firmly on the solid warmth of his chest, shoving him. Rooster stumbles and catches his jeans so that they don’t fall around his ankles and trip him. With his free hand, he catches one of your wrists and frowns at you.

With his grip on your wrist, he tugs you forwards, away from the safety of your room and out into the open with him. You bump into his chest and sigh, starting to pull back.

“You’re avoiding me.” He points out, releasing your wrist, instead trailing his touch downwards and weaving his fingers through yours. You roll your eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. “You’re mad at me for what I said.”

It’s unclear whether that’s a question or not. It might be, but he doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead he steps back and leans a fraction of his weight into you. “I didn’t say it to be an asshole, Bambi.”

You lift your head and look him in the eye finally. He softens, hands finding your hips, pressing you back into the doorframe as he steps closer to you. Drunk or not, you’ve got a feeling that he’s here for more than just a place to crash.

“I don’t need you looking out for me,” You reply calmly, finally giving in to your desire to touch him. You skim your fingers gently along the ridges of his abdomen, watching your fingertips move rather than looking him in the eye. “I’m not even sure I like you.”

Rooster’s fingers curl into the fabric of his old baseball t-shirt over your hips, nodding his head. He can’t blame you for being torn. Still, he bumps his hips forwards, his stomach brushing yours before he straightens up, still swaying from the alcohol. “You kissed me, though.”

He doesn’t need to remind you of what else you did for him, he’s certain that you’d remember that.

“I’ve kissed worse guys than you.” You remind him.

One of his hands leaves your waist, trailing up along your side, over your clavicle, until he can tip your chin back. He leans closer and presses his mouth to yours. It’s slow, it’s relief, it’s him melting into you all at once. He pulls back and kisses the corner of your lips tenderly. “You’re gonna get your ass kicked if you do that fight.”

You push your hips forwards into his, chasing his lips and kissing him again, this time catching hold of the nape of his neck to keep him with you. Rooster’s fingers tighten in the material of the shirt as he tugs you even closer to him.

“So, help me train.” You groan softly. You feel him smile amusedly against your skin, his nose nudging your jaw back further as his mouth seeks out that sweet spot just under your ear. You hum as he finds it, sucking tenderly at the sensitive skin.

“No.” He murmurs, fingers curling tighter in the fabric of your shirt as he leans his weight into you, mouth working expert patterns of open-mouthed kisses along your throat. Fuck, he’s good at that.

You frown and push at his hips until he gives in and pulls back to look at you. “Why not?”

“I think it’s a dumb idea and you’re gonna get yourself hurt,” He replies calmly, brushing a strand of loose hair back from your forehead. It’s tender, almost too gentle of an interaction, almost too intimate. He kisses your temple, your cheek, then your jaw. You lean your head back for him to access your neck again. “It’s not the same as playing around with Nix.”

“I’m gonna do it whether you want me to or not,” You answer back, heartbeat simultaneously thudding in your chest and also between your legs as his moustache tickles your throat. You swallow, “So, you might as well help me, right?”

Rooster shakes his head, balling the hem of the shirt under his fist and glancing down. Even in the dim light of the apartment, the shitty warm yellow glow of that fading light bulb over your heads, he can see the cute little butterflies on your panties.

“If I thought it might help, maybe.” You can’t fault his honesty, even if it makes you want to smack him in his stupid, pretty head. Rooster strokes his thumb over the purple and blue butterfly pattern that covers your hip, then turns his attention back towards you. When he does, you’re already looking at his face. He’s such an asshole.

He closes the gap between the two of you and kisses you softly, fingers curling around the nape of your neck to keep you with him. Your fingers skim along his sides, ridges of warm skin under your touch.

His tongue grazes over the seam of your lips. Delighted by how obediently you part them for him, he presses a fraction of his weight into you, sending you stumbling backwards. No thoughts of danger cross your mind. He finds leverage on the wall behind you immediately, bracing his hand against it, keeping you against him.

His free hand slips south from your hip, moving towards the apex of your thighs. Immediately, your legs press together, bracketing his denim covered thigh. His fingers settle back around your hips, pulling you flush against him, slotting one of his thighs between yours.

Groaning softly into your mouth as he rocks himself against your hip, his denim clad thigh rocking back and forth against your core through the thin barrier of your sleep shorts.

Maybe it’s the tequila on his tongue, maybe it’s the fact that he’s so ridiculously honest with you, or perhaps the fact that he’s got a worsening habit of stripping for you, but there’s something so intoxicating about him. Kissing him, touching him, being in his arms.

Pacing along the side of that road after leaving Jett, thinking of the pain and the torment, the bad sex and that intoxicating feeling in the beginning, you’d sworn to be more careful with yourself. Going down on Rooster was probably a bad decision, but not one that you regret. However, letting him touch you is a line that, once crossed, can only make things worse.

Brought back to reality by his hands skimming up your sides, wandering, roaming towards your chest, you pull back so quickly that you bump into the doorframe behind you. He doesn’t miss a beat in going back to what he was saying.

“I don’t get why you want to get your ass kicked so badly, anyway.” He murmurs, shaking his head at you as he twirls a strand of your hair around his finger loosely.

Dead serious and scowling at him through those pretty lashes. He smiles softly. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, then you sigh, realising that he isn’t going to give in.

Your palm rests open against his abdomen as you push him back enough for you to slip under his arm and finally put some distance between the two of you. Rooster watches you pace away from him, his eyes on the curve of your ass under those sleep shorts.

“Did I do something to upset you?” Finally far enough away that you won’t be tempted to lean into that muscled frame and let him kiss you all over, you fold your arms over your chest and frown. Rooster’s brows scrunch.

“Huh?” He was just kissing you, he doesn’t understand now where this came from. The thought crosses his mind that he may have just heard you wrong.

“You‘re the one who wanted me to try boxing, and then everytime I’ve brought it up to you since, you’ve been mean to me.”

“Because it was just for fun! — Wouldn’t it be worse of me to let you get your nose broken in some amateur fight that doesn’t mean shit anyway?” Rooster argues back. A minute ago he had your chest pressed up against his, his mouth on yours — and now you’re arguing with him. Nothing is straightforward with you.

“It’s not your decision whether I do or don’t, so the least you could do is stop being so negative about it.”

“What do you want me to do? — Pretend that I think you’re going to win?”

“I want you to shut up.” You rush out. It’s quick and stern, and he can tell that you really mean it. A coldness in those soft eyes, a bite in your usually gentle tone. Forgetting that you’re supposed to be polite once again. He notices your reaction to your words first.

You take a cautious step back. Your throat constricts, mouth drying out as you swallow. His lack of reaction has your heartbeat in your ears and your hair standing on edge. You’ve been in more trouble with a weaker man for much less.

“Alright.” Rooster nods his head calmly. He lifts his hand, makes a zipping motion across his lips and pretends to throw away the key. You soften before him, the sound of his voice breaking through the thudding beat in your ears.

“Fine. What do I know, anyway? — Not like I’ve been doing this my whole life,” He shrugs playfully, lips quirking at the edges as he raises his palms in mock defence. He holds his hand out for you to come back to him, “I think you’re going to lose, and we’ll leave it at that.”

You stare at him, inhaling slowly and then squinting your eyes. “Fine. We’ll leave it at that.”

Rooster nods and steps towards you. You step quickly around him, brushing your shoulder against his, heading for your room. Willing yourself not to look back, fingers curling around the cold door handle, you shrug calmly, “There are blankets in the basket by the couch.”

As quickly as it opens, your door swings shut behind you. Rooster stares at the wood, humming softly and running a hand over his bare stomach. He flicks the light off and pushes at his jeans, shaking his head softly. Flopping onto the couch, grabbing a blanket, he tucks an arm behind his head and stares at the ceiling.

He’s glad that you’ve found friends here. He just lays awake for a while and wonders how great your new friends can really be if they’re going to let you get your ass kicked for a max payout of three hundred. If it was up to him, you’d listen and stick to running speed bag drills with Fanboy downstairs. If it was up to him, you’d wear those cute pyjama shorts more often too.

…

[drabbles-mc]

So Serious

Sydney Adamu x GN!Reader

Warnings: 18+, canon-typical arguing/light angst, language, mentions of smoking, pining

30 Fic Challenge with prompts from This List: aspectabund- letting emotion show easily through the face or eyes

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: my first Syd/Reader fic! i love her! that's all!

The tension in the kitchen was suffocating, had been for weeks. Everyone knew it and no one was saying anything about it. Tendrils of it managed to slip out to the front of the house every now and then, weaseling its way out as staff filtered back and forth between the two halves of the restaurant. Most of the time it dissipated before it landed at a table full of customers, but sometimes the cloud of it was thick enough to cover them in it too.

In every restaurant you’d worked in, there had always been some level of chaos. It seemed unavoidable in a way, the way that most chefs were wired. Short fuses abound. The Bear wasn’t any different in that regard, but there was a weariness permeating the restaurant that you weren’t quite used to. You felt like you were supposed to be doing something about it, but there was nothing to be done. Like most things, the issues themselves were far above your paygrade. You focused on treading carefully and running plates—those were the things that you had control over.

Once the last table of customers had left, once the cleanup in the front of the house was done, most of the waitstaff scampered right on out the door. You didn’t blame them for that, and neither did Richie, judging by the tired, dejected look on his face. The two of you weren’t exactly close, but he also had a way of making people feel like they were a friend of sorts, or a frenemy if nothing else. You enjoyed that about him most of the time, but you noticed that even he was starting to lose that spark.

“Need anything?” you asked as he idly messed with the forks and napkins on one of the two-tops.

He didn’t look at you as he shook his head. “I’m all good. You can,” he sighed and finally forced his eyes off the table and over to yours, “you can go home.”

You wanted to offer again, press a little harder about it, but you didn’t. You’d been successful at staying out of the line of fire so far, and you wanted to keep it that way. “Okay,” you conceded with a nod. “I’m just gonna toss my stuff in the back and take off, then.”

His attention as already redirecting elsewhere as he nodded. “Night.”

“Night—see you tomorrow.”

You walked away, looking back at him over your shoulder just long enough to see that even though he was staring at the table in front of him, his mind was miles and miles away. The frown on your face appeared like a reflex. Still, you forced yourself to keep walking until you reached the door that led back to the kitchen.

The second you pushed the door open you were hammered with the sound of Carmy and Syd going back and forth. You had grown used to the tension, the pockets of yelling that broke out between Carmy and Richie, between Carmy and Natalie too. It wasn’t even the first time you’d heard Carmy yell at Sydney.

It was the first time, though, that you heard Sydney sound like she was about to start yelling back. You saw the way that they were standing on either side of the main station in the center of the kitchen. Carmy had his palms flat against the countertop—you could tell how harshly he was pressing down into it by the tension in his arms. Sydney, on the other hand, had her arms folded across her chest, instead holding all of her tightness in her jaw as she waited for Carmy to finish his piece. Gearing up to volley the argument right back to him. Round and round again.

You were just trying to slink past them to the very back of house, towards the office and the lockers. You kept your chin tucked and your eyes aimed at the floor as you went. You knew that you were going to have to go around one of them to get to where you needed to go. There wasn’t a good option and for a moment you wondered if it would be worth it to just catch an Uber home rather than getting your car keys—you were just going to be back tomorrow anyway.

As you went by Sydney, you mumbled an extremely quiet, “Behind,” out of habit. You regretted it even as you were saying it as it felt like you were inadvertently adding yourself to the conversation, but the action was so ingrained in you now that you couldn’t help it.

The same reflex had her shifting slightly to give you more room before she fully realized what was happening. “Sorry,” she muttered, louder than you’d been but not by much. Then she looked over her shoulder and saw it was you and the features of her face softened just a touch. Her eyes went from annoyed to genuinely apologetic, her lips tugging into a small frown for a moment as she repeated herself, this time with more earnestness in her voice. “Sorry, Chef.”

You knew that she was apologizing for more than the few seconds that had just passed. You also knew that the things that she was really saying sorry for, weren’t really hers to take ownership of that way. But you’d get a hundred apologies from Sydney before you got a single one from the man who was currently scrutinizing the two of you.

“It’s okay,” you said, giving her a quick nod before walking as fast as you could without breaking into a run to get to the back.

You let out a sigh of relief when the lockers came into your field of view, the feeling in your lungs telling you that at some point you’d begun holding your breath. The strides that carried you over to your locker felt much more fluid than the ones that had gotten you through the main drag of the kitchen.

The latch on your locker door let out its signature metallic clank as you lifted it, a sound that seemed so loud in the silence of the back area. You went to pull the door open, and the creaking of it was immediately drowned out by Carmy’s yelling. You winced at the sound, glad that you didn’t have to spend your whole shift listening to it.

Then you heard Sydney starting to yell right back. “No, what I’m asking for is that you listen to me and maybe even, oh I don’t know, talk to me instead of just making all of these decisions alone. We’re supposed to be part—”

“Well you still haven’t signed the fucking agreement so I guess we’re not.”

Neither of them had noticed that you were lingering just within viewing range of them again. You’d lasted until you heard the scathing sarcasm dripping from Syd’s tone when she said ‘asking for’ before going back again.

The business side of things was well outside your jurisdiction—you knew that. But even so, you knew that what Carmy had just said was a low-blow. Syd’s eyes widened, her head tilting just slightly for a moment. You were holding your breath again, wondering if she was going to lunge across the counter at him—you wouldn’t have blamed her for it. You probably wouldn’t have tried to stop her either.

“If that’s what you need,” she was making short, angry gestures with her hands now, rage written all over her face, “to take me seriously, to take me opinions and feelings into consideration—”

“This, this isn’t about your fuckin’ feelings, Syd!”

The short laugh she let out was a cruel one. “No? Because it definitely seems to be all about yours!”

He was shaking his head, suddenly unable to look at her again. “I, I don’t, I don’t need this.” He pushed himself back and away from the counter.

Syd rolled her eyes as he started to walk away, and you were too busy watching her to register the fact that Carmy was walking towards you. “Wow, yeah, alright. Good talk, Chef. Glad we got all that sorted out.” She was shaking her head as she turned to follow him with her gaze, more snarky commentary on the tip of her tongue until she saw it was you standing there and not Carmy. Her expression faltered. “Shit, I’m, uh, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to listen—”

“It’s fine,” you told her with a small shake of your head. Then you caught yourself and let out an awkward laugh as you tried to recover. “I mean, it’s not—you know…”

She quiet chuckle she let out had a weariness to it, but you still took it as a bit of a win. “I know.”

She took a breath to say something else but before she could, the sound of Carmy slamming his locker shut echoed throughout the kitchen. She tilted her head back and stared up at the ceiling like she was about to start praying for answers. She watched as Carmy came tearing back through, his jacket only half-on. The exasperation was weighing on every single feature of her face as she tried to call after him only to get ignored. You went from staring at her to staring at the floor. Both of you vaguely heard Richie calling after him, having no greater success than Sydney had.

Seconds later Richie came striding into the kitchen, pointing his thumb back over his shoulder in the direction of the front door to the restaurant. “Yo, Syd, what the fuck did you say to that little jagoff?”

She shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment. “Oh, you didn’t hear?”

He scoffed, then shrugged. “No, I mean, I heard. I just figured it was the professional thing to do to pretend I didn’t. What—” He paused when he saw you standing there, looking as awkward as he’d ever seen you. “What the hell are you still doing here? Thought you were heading home?”

Syd answered for you. “Got caught up being a material witness to an attempted murder.”

That got a chuckle out of all three of you but it was Richie who spoke up first as he looked at Sydney. “You woulda beat Carmy’s ass.”

She laughed. “Well, yeah. No question.” Taking a deep breath, she looked over at Richie. “You should head out, get some rest.”

He nodded, not looking for an argument on that. “You too.”

She nodded right back but made no move to leave. “I will.”

You should’ve counted the seconds that passed with the three of you standing there in silence all waiting for one of the others to start heading out first. You still didn’t even have your backpack. The quiet continued and suddenly the mantra of every second counts felt more like a threat than anything else.

Richie caved first, digging out his car keys from his pocket. “Right, well, I’ll see you guys tomorrow then.”

“Goodnight, Richie,” Syd said with a nod, crossing her arms once more.

You and Richie exchanged another brief goodbye before he was turning on his heel and leaving. Sydney watched him until he disappeared out the front door and you found yourself doing the same. Once he was gone, Syd was staring at the empty dining room and you were staring at her.

“He’s right,” you finally said, still looking at her. You waited until she turned to face you. “You should get some rest too.”

She sighed as she nodded. “I know.”

You cocked your head to the side. “You heading out, then?”

Dragging her hands down her face, she nodded. “I guess so, yeah.”

You chuckled and nodded. “C’mon, I’ll walk out with you."

The two of you walked back towards the lockers. You had to actually grab your things for real this time and Syd needed to swap out and collect hers as well. You could feel it in the air between you that there was something more she wanted to say, another apology or some kind of explanation. Not that you needed one from her.

Yours was the only locker door that was open, betraying how you’d abandoned your mission to leave earlier. The sight of it got a soft chuckle out of Syd. You were shaking your head, knowing what she was thinking without her even saying it.

“I’m nosey,” you said with a laugh as you went and grabbed your backpack off the hook, your jacket too. “Sue me.”

Syd was still smiling and shaking her head as she opened up her own locker. “I’m sure you could’ve heard us even if you didn’t come back out there.” She slipped on her coat and grabbed her tote bag before looking at you again. “I am sorry about that. Really."

You shrugged as you shut your locker. “It’s fine—I know how it goes."

She looked pensive for a moment before she asked, “The other spots you worked in…they were like this?”

You huffed out a tired laugh as you put one strap of your backpack on your shoulder. “Well, not exactly like this.”

Syd’s smile was a half-hearted one as she said, “It’s that bad?”

You immediately shook your head. “No. I mean, well,” you laughed as the two of you started to make your way back to the main part of the kitchen, “it's different here. I’ve never…” You trailed off, wanting to make sure you chose your words carefully. “I’ve never worked at a spot this new.” You shrugged as you crossed the threshold into the dining room, watching Syd flick off the lights on her way. “You guys are still figuring it out.”

“Carmy’s figuring it out,” Syd corrected under her breath, the bitterness in her tone not directed at you.

You gave her a sympathetic smile. “So I heard.”

“Sor—”

You waved her off. “Richie talks shit about him to me too. What’d he say that one time…” You paused as you wracked your brain for the right words. It took a moment but your face lit up with recognition. “He said Carmy was going ‘all fuckin’ cowboy with this shit', which was hilarious for a lot of reasons.”

Must’ve been to her, too, because she was laughing as the two of you reached the main door. There was a split second after she turned off the lights when you couldn’t see her but you could hear her laughter. Then she opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk, the streetlamps of Chicago illuminating her once more.

“He hears Richie say that,” she said as she turned to lock up, “and he’ll come in wearing a sheriff’s badge.”

“Yeehaw,” you said, your tone flat and pseudo-serious enough to get both of you breaking down into laughter again. It was good to hear it—it was good to hear her like that.

“God,” she shook her head as she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat.

“It’ll be fine.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Promise?”

You chuckled, making a big show of looking anywhere but at her. “Ah, shit, you know, I really gotta…gotta get going…” you trailed off as you started to laugh again. When the moment quieted again you said, “Try not to let it eat you alive.”

“Too late,” she joked. “Ask my medicine cabinet full of Pepto."

You smiled. “Ulcers are a bitch, huh?” You adjusted the backpack on your shoulder. “Still better than smoking though. That shit takes forever to quit.”

“I’m about to tell Carmy to pick it up again. That gum is not it for him,” she punctuated her statement with a laugh.

“Know what I do instead now?”

“Eavesdrop on everyone’s conversations?”

You waved her off good-naturedly before bringing your bag so that it was in front of you. “I did that shit while I was still smoking too.”

You unzipped the small pocket of your backpack and stuck your hand in. All that could be heard for a moment was the crinkling of wrappers and the confusion mixed with curiosity on Sydney’s face was priceless. You held your hand out to her, a few small candies in your palm.

She laughed. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “So serious.” You moved your hand a little closer to her. “Want one?”

She thought about it for all of a second before she reached and gingerly took one from your hand. She pulled on the ends of the butterscotch wrapper to open it. You mirrored her actions as she popped it into her mouth.

“So,” she started, speaking around the candy now tucked in her cheek, “you combat lung cancer and stomach ulcers with…granny candy?”

You burst out laughing at that, shoving your candy wrapper back into the pocket of your bag before slinging it back onto your shoulder. You pulled the other strap on as well as you nodded. “Hey, it works. Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“Yeah,” you watched as she moved the candy from one side of her mouth to the other, “we'll see.”

There was a pause, one that dragged on just a little too long. Goodbyes were in order but neither of you were looking to be the first one to say it. It was stupid, really—you’d be back here in less than twenty-four hours.

“I should—”

“You need—”

You both started and stopped at the same time, laughing softly at the stumbled words. Sydney gestured for you to go first, so you did.

“You need a lift home?”

She shook her head immediately, slight, determined frown on her face. “No, no, that’s okay.”

“You sure?” You pulled your car keys from your jacket pocket. “It’s not a problem.”

“I’m fine, really. Besides,” she offered a small smile, “if you see the matchbox I now call my home, I’m afraid you might lose all the respect you have for me.”

You rolled your eyes, a warm smile on your face that paled in comparison to the heat warming your cheeks as you said, “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

There was a smile tugging at her lips, one that she fought to keep under control. She wished she could blame the wave of jitters on a sugar rush but she’d need to steal just about your entire stash for that to be a good enough excuse.

“You’re sure it’s not a problem?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. Just, you know,” you shrugged as you started walking towards the car, “don’t let me get lost.”

“Lucky for you I was gifted with a great sense of direction.”

You smiled as you looked over at her, her strides matching yours almost perfectly in-sync. “That feels like sarcasm but I hope it’s not—I don’t really feel like exploring new sides of Chicago in the middle of the night.”

Syd chuckled. “No faith.”

You stopped next to your car and it was only then that you realized Syd had never seen it before. If she had, she wouldn’t have nearly kept walking right on by it. You smiled as you cleared your throat to get her attention. She stopped and turned to face you, eyes growing just a little wider as you leaned against the driver’s side of your car.

“Just let me clear off the seat real quick.”

There wasn’t much there. An old sweatshirt you kept on hand just in case, a handful of large straws that you took from the fast-food place at the end of the block by your apartment because they had big straws and for some reason the coffee shop always gave you small ones even though you ordered a large iced coffee every morning. Syd didn’t seem to bat an eye at any of it, or the random items that were currently cluttering your back seat.

She plopped down in the passenger seat and set about buckling in, her tote bag placed nicely on the floor between her feet. You watched her out of the corner of your eye as you buckled in yourself. You tried not to think too much about any of it, about the butterflies in your stomach or the way that the outside of Syd’s arm was pressed against yours on the console. You were going to reach to turn the volume up on the radio but now you just didn’t want to break the contact.

“So,” you turned and looked at her, knowing that there was no hiding all the different emotions on your face, but you tried in vain anyway, “where am I taking you?”

“Home, hopefully,” she joked. She looked back and forth between your eyes, and both of you pretended, for the sake of your sanity, not to notice when her gaze flicked down to your lips for the briefest moment. She cleared her throat, nodding towards the road in front of you. “You can just, uh, take a left at the end of the block here.”

You nodded. “Got it.”

You had to move your arm to put the car in drive, not that you wanted to. There was something that should’ve felt daunting about her sitting in the shotgun seat, but it wasn’t weighing on you the way you thought it would. It was a relief, really, when you put your arm back on the console and hers was still there, pressed right up against yours again. You smiled as you watched the road, and pretended not to notice the way that Syd was smiling at you.

(divider by @silkholland 💕)

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[fandomwritingbit]

Battered and Bruised pt.2

William Afton x (fem) employee reader

synop: It's your first shift back after the clusterfuck that was last time, but it's not ever going to be smooth sailing.

warnings: bad language, inappropriate relationships, violence, and the joys of customer service.

link to pt.1 - here.

Henry pulled some strings for you, moved your rota around so that you had a few days off post the ‘incident’, which you are thankful for. You kept yourself in your flat, only leaving to do a food shop which was bad enough with all the looks you received. The bruising on your face seemed to be taking it's time in clearing up and your arm was no where near fixed, though at least you can hide that.

It's an odd feeling to be off work knowing the trouble you caused, but still, when you’re putting your work uniform on an odd sense of relief washes over you. Finally, some normality and some delicious social interaction, both of which you’re in dire need of. 

...

The walk to work was nicely familiar and by the time you’re breezing through the back door to the club you’re whistling under your breath. You make it to the staff area, after having said hello to nearly everyone on shift, and chuck your bag in your locker, turning the lock and sliding the key into your pocket. Then you head for the offices to find your manager and your role for the night. A large part of you is hoping it's William you’ll catch first though you don’t really know why. Maybe you want to apologise, maybe you just want to see if he looks more banged up than you. It isn’t though, rather it’s Henry that you meet the moment you enter the corridor. 

“Hiya, Henry.” You greet him chipper enough, but that same part of you is a little disappointed. 

He smiles at you and runs his eyes over your form in the sleazy way he normally does. “Hey, sweetheart. You’re looking much better since the last time I saw you. You feeling better?” He’s standing next to you in a heartbeat, a little too close to be appropriate and it pulls your lips into a small smile. 

You narrow your brows at the question, you weren’t exactly off sick, you just had some scrapes, so you’re pretty much feeling exactly the fucking same. Despite that thought, you keep your words pleasant, “Yeah, thanks. Glad to be back if I’m honest.” 

Your boss looks more than a bit surprised by that, no one is ever glad to be here. “Good good.” He says, like you keeping his true thoughts to himself. “Now, I was hoping to try you on the door tonight… but if you’re not up for it that’s okay.” 

Your eyes go wide with hesitation but sensing that you don’t really have a choice you go for, “No, I’m happy to give it a go.”

… 

Now, when you said that you did assume that you’d have a buddy with you. Preferably one of the big scary guys, but no. No, you’re standing at the entrance to the club on your lonesome, with a tin of pepper spray on your hip and a metal detecting wand in your hands. To Henry’s credit, he did give you some instructions before pissing off, something along the lines of ‘Scan them, if they have anything that can hurt someone; bag it and tag it. ID people who look under 25. If they give you lip, send them away.” It sounds alright, it’s relatively inside your skill set but like all customer service roles it’s never going to be as simple as it sounds. 

To be fair, most people were decent, happy enough to let you scan them, telling you that the beeping is their belt or a risque piercing, whichever applies. You had some kiddos mouthing off when you ask for ID, half the group is just 18 and one of them has the shoddiest fake ID you’ve ever seen, so you send the lot of them packing. Apart from that, the shift was going well… until it wasn’t.

It wasn’t overly busy after midnight, it tends to be a quiet spell until 1 or 2am when people flock from other establishments, so you’re enjoying the break. The only thing you’d change was having your cigarettes in your pocket rather than languishing in your locker. It’s as you’re thinking about how nice a smoke would be right now that a couple walks over to you. Mid twenties you’d guess; a lady looking brilliant in a figure-hugging white dress and a bloke wearing an armani shirt you’ve seen at least four times tonight already. Something about the swagger of that man told you he was going to be a twat long before he stood in front of you. 

“Hi, you alright?” You greet the two, pleasant but firm as you’ve learnt tends to work best here. 

The lad nods in acknowledgement and the woman smiles, there’s a restlessness in her stance that shows how eager she is to get inside and have a good time. 

“Right, if it’s okay, I’m going to give yous a quick scan. Just for security, you know.” You explain whilst gesturing with the wand, the words are becoming very natural off your tongue after saying them for the umpteenth time. “If you’ve got anything metal in your pockets you can pop it on the side.” Spiel over, you gesture to the metallic slab beside you and the woman puts her handbag on there, the man sighs before overdramatically reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet, phone and rather disturbingly, a swiss army knife, all placed noisily on the surface. 

You frown automatically, here we go. Not commencing with the scan, you address the gentleman, “Right. Unfortunately, I can’t let you go in with the uh knife. But I’m happy to put it in a bag for you and take your name so you can grab it on the way out?” 

You expected this guy to complain, maybe make a bit of a fuss but eventually agree or simply piss off out your sight. Instead the man scoffed before bluntly saying, “It’s not a knife.” 

It’s this moment William chooses to step outside for a fag, well, that’s what he told Henry. Truth be told he nearly hit the ceiling when he was told you’re on door duty, on your own, with no fucking training. So he was popping out for a look, to see how you’re getting on. What he wanted to see was this couple going inside after a moment’s chat, instead he seems to be witnessing some kind of standoff. 

Visibally buffering, you try to understand what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, ‘It’s not a knife’, you blink uncertainly before taking it upon yourself to explain again. You point at the weapon, “You can’t take the knife inside.” 

Rolling his eyes, the man snatches the object from the surface, flicking it open with angry theatrics. It’s enough for William to come over, face instantly stern. “It’s not a fucking knife. It’s a comb and nail file for fuck’s sake.” The man says, the complaint spat at you and you stare dumbfounded. Yes, there is a comb and file on it. But this prick neglects to mention the fuck-off blade glinting in the low light. You glance at your boss ,then at the woman, as if to say, ‘are yous hearing this?’ The latter looks increasingly mortified and your boss looks irritated.  

“Listen, mate.” You try to be cordial but a disbelieving chuckle escapes you, “I’m not worried you’re going to go in there and open a fucking beauticians, okay? That is a weapon and they are prohibited from this club.” How many times does this guy need to hear the same thing, you internally question, hoping that the tall imposing presence of your boss would let the words sink in his thick skull. 

The bloke flicks his eyes to the new presence, the grave expression on William’s face is seemingly enough to make him resign. He shoves the knife in his pocket again, before grabbing the rest of his belongings on the surface. Muttering under his breath the whole time, “Fucking ridiculous. Stupid fucking-” He gives you a venemous look, forcing you to hold back the amusement that was tugging at your lips, before turning to his date, “Don’t just stand there, come on then, we’ll go somewhere else.” 

The woman frowns at being snapped at, and that’s enough for you to want to ruin this bastard’s night completely. So you put your attention on the lady, “You don’t have to go, love.” You grin at the way the man freezes in your peripheral vision, doubling down on your plan. “There's a good crowd in there, good music tonight… In fact, to make up for all this trouble, why don’t you go in there and tell Carlo on the bar that I sent you, get your first drink on me.” 

At the word ‘trouble’ you nod towards her date and it makes the lady smile. She takes a moment to think about it, before glancing at the man and simply saying, “Sorry, Jay. I can’t refuse that.” You step back and grab the door for the lady to go inside, she thanks you under her breath and you hope you’ve saved her a night of pain. 

You flash the guy a somewhat mean smirk, and send him on his way with, “Have a good night, mate.” He lingers for a second taut with indignation before walking away in a huff. 

When he’s a great distance away you turn to William with raised eyebrows. “As if it took you here for him to get the message, ridiculous.” 

Your boss sniggers, finally getting about lighting the cigarette he came out here for. He can’t stop himself from smirking a fair bit, there’s something about you that is inherently funny, a true lack of giving a shit that drips off all your actions. Still snickering he says, “You make a habit of stealing people’s girls?”

That has you smiling, “Only when they’re complete arseholes. I’d take her home to prove the point.” You look at him nonchalantly, a glint in your eye suggesting that you're only half joking. 

Though he’s amused, something about the casual delivery of that makes arousal lay her hot hands on him. It’s inappropriate and he lightly chides himself for it, but the internal disapproval is outweighed by wondering why the image of you and that lass together has almost instantly given him a semi. He’s not complaining, but it’s odd.

The silence is short but unable to sit in it you pipe up. ���Are you out here checking I haven't started another fight, then?” You watch the man to see if any trace of that handsome smirk remains, but his face is unreadable as he takes a drag of his cigarette. The exhaled smoke in front of you has your fingers tapping against your side, that stalemate must’ve stressed you out more than you initially thought. 

“Pretty much.” He says stoically, the dryness of the words making your grin freeze awkwardly on your face. He must register that because he continues, the words more mumbled than before, “Henry having you out here on your own makes a certain word spring to mind, one of my least favourite fucking words.” 

Okay, you’ll bite. “And what’s that?” 

William can’t help the crooked smile that spreads, unwanted, across his face. “Negligence.” 

You're glad of your blameless status in that, but can’t resist standing up for yourself and your other boss. Or more likely, you can’t resist poking a little more. “Maybe he just thinks I’m capable.” 

Smoke leaves him as he snickers, “Capable or not doesn’t matter. Daft fuck has no idea what it’s like to stand out here talking to angry pissheads all night.”

You smile, fingers still rhythmic and frequent against your thigh. That confirms one of your suspicions, your employers are like chalk and cheese and one of them definitely only seems to be concerned with the lighthearted side of running a club. The other seems to be a bit too wrapped up in the heavy side of it though. The two owners’ dynamic is all the talk of the lowly employees like you and you must admit, it’s entertaining as hell. 

A silence comes over the two of you and you struggle to think of anything to say to fill it over your growing need for a smoke, stoked beyond belief by the man beside you. He notices your agitation and the restless movement of your hands, his attention fully on your body language, searching for any inclination as to why you’re on edge. 

Feeling his gaze, you’re pushed to explain yourself, “I wasn’t going to ask but uh- is there any chance I can borrow a cig?” All blasé-ness is dropped and you ask honestly. 

William raises his eyebrows at you and for a brief moment you feel stupid for even having the nerve to ask. How unprofessional. But he puts you at rest. “Yeah, alright.” He reaches for his pocket where a box of fags must be stowed away, and you smile, remembering the old adage of don’t ask don’t get, you’ve been quoted at since you were a kid. 

The box is crumpled with use, the fold dog-eared, clearly always in and out the man’s pocket, your own look very similar. He hands you the cigarette through a pinched finger and thumb and you’re more than glad to take it. 

“Thanks, William. Really thanks.” You flash a self-deprecating smile, quickly putting the instrument between your lips, leaving your hand open for the lighter you assume he’s going to pass you. Instead, your boss brings the lighter to you, opting to light it for you. It forces you to step a little closer to him to meet him halfway, it’s a bit personal and it pushes your mind back to the last time you were in his space, the lack of pain on his face when you cleaned up his injuries making your core tense. 

He catches a flame on the first flick of the rollerball, something you can never bloody do, and you thank him again as the end flickers into life. They’re cheap cigs but it’s exactly what you need. William watches you draw on the cigarette, you make it look good, too good really; god there’s something wrong with him tonight.   

So to distract himself he asks, “How’s your arm?”

“Same as my face.” You grin, “Fading but still there.” Your delivery is riddled with self-consciousness,  but at least you’re still smiling, that’s all you can do after all.

The cigarette sits between your lips as you roll your sleeve up to show your boss the damage. Not nearly as bad as it was the day of, but the wicked scratches still make him frown, what a wanker that guy was, he hopes the man is still bed-bound. That’s the thing about fighting, even if you’re relatively okay, the evidence of it is written on your skin and the shame is often enough to keep you away from others. William is still wearing the proof of his role now, but at least he doesn’t have to explain it to his ex-wife anymore.

“It looks much better.” Your boss pulls his gaze off your arm to see that mischievous look on your face. 

“Yeah.” You pause for a second, weighing up if you’re really about to say the thought banging around in your head, you shouldn’t but yeah, yeah you’re going to. You gesture to the injuries on his face, the dulling bruises and the scabbed over split brow fighting for dominance, “You’re looking better too… maybe don’t hang around here though, you’ll be scaring people away.” 

Your risk pays off because his facade cracks, “Charming.” A small smile finds its way on his face and he shakes his head, he must be going soft because if anyone else had said that to him he certainly wouldn’t be smiling. 

Unable to resist explaining yourself, you continue, “I’m only kidding, you know you wear it well.” You probably shouldn’t have said that, you’re all but saying that you think he’s fit, and true or not it’s not really a good thing to say to your boss. This is proved by him catching your gaze, a stern look back on his face which makes your body go rigid, yep you should not have said that. 

A heavy beat of silence washes over the two of you, his poker face is too good, you’ve no idea if you’ve pissed him off or not so you just bite your tongue. 

Which was probably for the best, if you’d continued down that line, he has no idea what he’d have done.

William eventually puts an end to the awkwardness, flicking his dog-end down on the floor, snuffing it out with his shoe. "I'm going to get someone out here with you, hopefully it'll keep the knobheads in check."

You give him a wry smile, "Yeah, that's probably for the best."

He nods in response, already moving past you to go through the main entrance, a sudden urge seizes hold of you and you stick your hand out to catch the crook of his arm. Your boss's head flicks around quick, judgement heavy in the way he's looking at you.

"Here." You take a moment to really think about your phrasing here, you want to reflect how genuine you really are. "I just want to make sure that you know I'm grateful for you stepping in the other night."

His brows raise briefly, "I know. You said thank you. A lot." His words are so dry you have no idea if he's happy or angry about what happens. You just can't get an accurate reading.

You laugh uncertainly, muttering, "Yeah but you haven't said if I'm welcome to it or not."

He hears, and before slipping inside tilts his head down a little. "I haven't decided if you are yet."

[jimblejamblewritings]

riddle means misery |part 11.

Summary: Y/N Riddle. Not much more has to be said. Everyone hates her. She’s evil... she has to be.

Warnings for the Series: 18+, this series is dark. Manipulation, dubcon verging on noncon, abuse of power, violence, ed mentions, death, blood

Pairing: Bill Weasley x black!reader (semi-slowburn)

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I was thinking about ending it here because I’m genuinely not sure if I have anything else but I also want to explore the relationship so idk 

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist) 

Charlie blinked three times. When his older brother asked him to have lunch at The Leaky Cauldron, nothing could have prepared him for what Bill wanted to say. He hadn’t seen anyone in their flat for a while now— be it witch or muggle— but he thought it was just Bill taking a break from the dating scene. He wasn’t expecting the answer to be because he was starting to fall in love with you. 

He grimaced as he plainly spoke his mind. “Bill, she probably sees you as a kid.”

“It’s only ten years, barely, considering my birthday is well before hers. She’s not even close to Mum and Dad’s age. They didn’t even cross paths at Hogwarts once.” 

Charlie sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant look at you, no offense. Y/N’s been through so much. She probably wants to settle down right away and put anything exciting behind her. Do you really think you can give her boring and stable?” 

“I could try.”

“That wouldn’t be you though.”

“Then what do I do, Charlie?”

Both men ordered another round of drinks to discuss. Charlie found his worry for his brother lessening and growing at the same time. He was more on board with Bill asking you out. He was still concerned that you would either say no or not work out— either way, breaking his brother’s heart. Bill wanted to go for it. He didn’t always fall hard for someone. But he remembered those few serious relationships always being pleasant. Usually they only parted ways because of differences in lifestyles or ideas. 

Charlie set down his drink. “I just thought of a potential issue.”

“What?” 

“You’d be her first relationship. That could be terrifying on top of all the other differences with you two. She’s still trying to accept that she has friends now.” 

“So I should just forget about it then?”

“I think you should be prepared for her to say no.” 

Bill nodded. That was a possibility with anybody he asked out. He should go for it anyway. He was already trying to think of ways to ask you out. Charlie was right. If you said yes, he would be your first relationship. The things he saw in your trial couldn’t be unseen. There were no moments of tenderness but he was determined to change that. 

You weren’t at the flat when they got back. You had been using your newfound freedom of not asking permission to leave the house anymore to go anywhere. Quite often, people received little packages on their desks with souvenirs of wherever you had been— Marlene got them in her locker. Both Weasley men assumed you wouldn’t be back until dinner because Gallyrogue was nowhere to be found. That thought was immediately ruined by the sound of something in the cabinet. Charlie opened it to see Gallyrogue looking at his reflection in a shiny pot. You came back, leaving your shoes at the door. Bill immediately moved to help you with your things that were overflowing in your arms. He decided tonight wasn’t the night to ask you out. He’d wait a little bit. 

That waiting a few days turned into waiting the entire summer. He never asked you out but he spent more time with you than ever before. He was even with you at Platform 9 and ¾ when it was time for the new school year. You had only ridden the train once in your first year and couldn’t remember anything about it. So you volunteered to be one of the staff members that helped monitor the train. 

You were letting Remus have his position back as Charms professor and taking the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. It was pretty obvious to everyone why that would happen. No one else alive knew more about Dark Arts and how to stop that than you. Bill held on tight when you gave him a hug before leaving his arms and waving from the train. You’d see him tomorrow night, agreeing to stay at Hogwarts overnight for two days out of the week and every other weekend. The same as lots of staff members that had family that didn’t work at the school— McGonagall, Dumbledore, as well as Sirius and Remus were some of the few exceptions that stayed overnight for the entire school year. 

You weren’t left alone when you got into your train compartment. All of the Marauders’ kids piled into the compartment. Then the Weasleys found them and soon it was another family affair in a compartment way too small to hold everyone. And then their friends came in. Ginny and Reggie Lupin were practically all over you, the same way they had been all summer. They were mildly obsessed with potions. They were your little foraging buddies. Reggie also liked to pet Gallyrogue, officially annoying his dads with questions about getting a niffler as a pet despite the fact that he and his siblings already had individual pets. 

The kids finally left you alone when you arrived at the castle. You left dinner a little early to prepare your classroom and sleeping chamber. Gallyrogue took the time to observe his new stomping ground for the school days. You had been asked to move down to a classroom on the ground floor so the niffler could leave to be outside whenever— Gallyrogue knew how to open the window. You also had a fireplace in the classroom. Partially for warmth and partially for you to use it for the Floo Network.  

Your first class of the day were the sixth years. You wished it was the first years because you would have just taken them down to the Chamber for the first day. It had been such a success last year that every student asked you and Remus if they could go down there and get a basilisk fang. You thought about making it a ‘Welcome to Hogwarts’ tradition for the first years to get old basilisk fangs and a trip to the not so secret anymore Chamber. 

You weren’t sure if you were comforted by the fact that none of your friends’ children were in sixth years. At least you could have looked at them while teaching if you got nervous. It would be your first class ever. What if you weren’t good at teaching children? 

Remus was kind enough to leave his old notes telling you where each year had left off in lessons. The children liked your class so far. You were doing alright, certainly better than Quirrel. It was hard for you at first to get used to everyone’s eyes on you. You turned to write something new on the board. 

James was walking by, having no classes first period. He was picking up supplies for McGonagall from Hogsmeade and finally making his way back. Did he decide to take the long way around to see how you were doing? Maybe. James was glad that he did. 

He made it to your classroom just as the chalk dropped from your shaking hand and you crouched down to hug yourself. He shooed all the students away from where they were starting to leave their desk to see if you were all right. You nearly jumped out of your skin and wanted to scramble backwards when James’ hand landed on your shoulder. He gently grabbed the sides of your face. You started shaking your head. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No, Y/N, you’re fine. There’s nothing wrong.” 

“I don’t do dark arts. I’m not bad, I’m not bad.” 

“I know, we all know. Trust me.” James looked at the board. Letting you take this position was a bad idea.  

Your class was dismissed and an emergency staff meeting was called. You slowly entered, wringing your hands the entire time. They tried to look away from your bloodshot eyes. The Marauders had already seen on the map that you had been in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom— it was safe to assume you were crying. You sniffled twice and stood in front of everyone.  

“I promise I’ll do better.” Your words were measured and deliberate. 

Dumbledore shook his head. “It was inappropriate of me to ask you to switch positions in the first place. Considering your situation we should have been more careful and let you keep your position.” 

“But I can’t do Charms.”

Severus raised his hand. “I’ll take her spot. Y/N is a brilliant potion master too, there’s no need to make this a big hassle.”

The switch was finished before lunch with no problem. You kept your classroom but Severus and the house-elves had helped move everything from his potions rooms and closet up to your space. The felix felicis had to be put up on a high shelf to avoid Gallyrogue’s clutches. 

Potions was a lot calmer for you. It was better to be teaching something rather calming. You still agreed to take the first years to get basilisk fangs. Other professors tried not to make their presence known as they walked by your classroom every now and then to check up on you. A smile came to McGonagall’s face as she saw you pass out supplies to your first year class with some Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. 

“I want everyone to look at these ingredients and pick your favorite one by the end of the week. I promise to teach each group all the potions that can be made with their favorite ingredient… everything that isn’t dangerous.” 

Dinner was buzzing with students talking about your class. The Marauders smiled at you as you walked into the hall with an interesting sort of scurry. James and Sirius snorted while Remus sighed. Your niffler was running behind you. One of your shoes was in Gallyrogue’s mouth and they could only assume that the other one was in his pouch. You dropped a bunch of stuff on the staff dining table, including a very large object. 

“I found a drag— Oh, thank you Gallyrogue.” You stopped to put on the shoes he gave you. “I found a dragon egg! The poor baby was abandoned in the forest. I’m going to give it to Charlie.” 

“She’s worse than Hagrid,” Sirius whispered to the other two men. 

“Y/N,” Remus started. “How about we give him the egg after dinner? Aren’t you hungry?” 

“Oh, Bill wants to have dinner together. I’m meeting him there.” 

“You’re going to dinner with Bill?”

“We’re going to France. I dressed up.”

“You’re going to France?” 

“I just said that.” 

“Yeah, she just said that, Honey,” Sirius said, highly amused. “Let her go before she’s late.”

You gathered your stuff, handing it to Gallyrogue who gladly pocketed all of it. The men watched you walk off to your date that you obviously didn’t know was a date. Most of their dinner conversation turned to talking about you and Bill. They didn’t even know he was into you. James was immediately for the notion of you two as a couple. 

You were excited to go out for dinner. Bill had told you the restaurant was really nice. It was on a beach in France. You had only been to France once— staying for a month to learn variations of the Cruciatus Curse when you were nine. It would be nice to go under different circumstances. You met Bill at the Public Floo Network near the restaurant. He was dressed nicely, hair even pulled back. 

“You look lovely,” he said, a bit breathless.

“Thank you.” 

“Can I escort you?” Bill held out an arm. 

You took it with no problem. Bill felt like his heart was pounding out of his chest. He was going to do it. He was finally going to ask you out like he had been planning all summer. Everything was perfect. He had planned for it. You guys were sitting on the outer deck to look at the beach. The sun was setting and the glass jars had fire in them to keep guests warm and give light. You were ordering good food and talking like you had been ever since coming to stay with him and Charlie. A waiter brought out the bouquet that had been planned and Bill was going to spill his guts. 

“I have really enjoyed having you around.” 

“I have too.”

“No, Y/N, not in that way. I have enjoyed having you around, past just liking your presence. You are so strange sometimes and I love it. Your scurries, the way you get excited about potions stuff, your determination to make every single recipe in that muggle cookbook even though we both hate asparagus and it’s in a surprisingly large amount of dishes, I love all of it. I don’t just want to love the things you do or the things about you. I want to love you. I want to get rid of that stupid wall between our rooms and stay with you. And I know I’m a bit younger than you but I’m serious. I’m serious and I’m ready for a future with you. I would like to date you. Would you be my girlfriend?”

“No thank you.”

Bill looked defeated. He still handed you the bouquet. It was always a possibility. He knew that when he talked with Charlie about it. As far as Bill was concerned, ten years wasn’t that ridiculous— not when you both met each other as full grown adults. But he always knew that you might’ve not felt the same way. He didn’t expect the rejection to hurt so much considering he wasn’t always successful with dating. Maybe it was because you had said so sweetly and shortly. Maybe it was because he saw your patronus that he swore was his. 

“Is it okay if I ask why?” 

“You’ll leave me,” you said simply. 

“What?”

It was simple to you. Everyone else had left in the past so why wouldn’t Bill? It made complete sense to you. What about the man in front of you was any different than everybody you had ever met. It kind of pained you to say it but only three people had ever been on your side with no conditions or out of guilt/remorse. Your parents and Lucius Malfoy. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Bill but somewhere in the back of your mind you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Bill nodded. “Thank you for telling me. I do promise I won’t leave you. Even after my embarrassing confession, I hope this doesn’t change things between us. I’ll always be here for you.” 

“I… believe you.”

Bill smirked. “No you don’t.”

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. You know if we leave now we can get gelato in Italy before all the shops close.”

“Won’t we have to spend more money on the Floo?”

“It’s only a couple knuts for the extra trip.”

You thought about it for a few seconds before agreeing to go. You and Bill walked shoulder to shoulder eating gelato until it was finished and it was time to go home. True to like he said, nothing changed between the two of you. It created a weird dynamic when it came to everyone else though. As far as the Marauders were concerned, Bill showing up to the school everyday with your lunch was a very boyfriend thing to do. He had made it clear that he knew where the two of you stood which made it all the more confusing. 

You were very comfortable with what had been established between the two of you. You liked Bill. You would never admit it to Charlie but Bill was slightly higher than the other Weasley. You liked how Bill refused to cast ‘muffliato’ on your room so he could actually help you with nightmares whenever you woke up screaming. You liked how he embraced your weirdness. 

Bill was at Hogwarts, giving you your lunch as normal. This time he brought his own because you asked him to stay. You wanted to check on his scars from Fenrir with all of your equipment that was at the school. It was important that nothing was happening beneath the surface of the scars that could harm him. Bill laughed when you started to get your potions ready before scrambling to close the curtains so none of your students would see a shirtless man. 

“Are we all good?” he asked as you moved to check the scars on his face. 

“Your chest is fine and…” You pulled down the bottom lid of his eye. “Your face is perfect. And you don’t feel any symptoms like Remus, right?”

“Nothing past the same ones as last time.” 

You nodded. “Those might be permanent then. You can stop taking the wolfsbane if you want.” 

“Sounds great. You ready to eat?” 

The two of you sat on your desk and set up lunch in between you guys. This time Bill made soup to go with the asparagus meal because both of you really couldn’t stand it. He laughed as you made a face. 

“Why can’t we just skip these meals?”

“We’re finishing the cookbook.” 

“Alright, alright. Gally, come here.” 

You watched Bill feed all of the asparagus to the niffler. His smile made you smile a bit. Some of his hair fell in front of his face. You started to push some of it behind his ears for him. Your fingers paused, still holding his hair.   

“Okay.”

Bill sat up straight. “Okay what?” 

“I want to date you, if you still want me.”

He choked on his drink. “For real? This isn’t because of anything I’ve said, is it? If you need space ju—”

“I want to date you. I think. You were right, you haven’t left yet. No one has. I’m always afraid of everything, real or not, so maybe I can try not to be. Maybe you will be a good thing. I won’t know if I’m still scared of everything. I don’t want to be scared of you— of who you might be.” 

“Can I hold your hand?” 

Bill laced his fingers through yours, holding your hand up to his lips with a pause until you nodded that it was alright to kiss it. His thumb rubbed over your skin in a slow, comforting manner. Bill waited until you met his eyes again. His face held the utmost seriousness. 

“I will never give you a reason to be scared. I know your past was awful and you’re new to all of this. We’ll go slow, okay? Your pace for it all. I can’t promise I’ll get everything right, I’ve never been with anyone in your position before. But I promise you, Y/N, I won’t ever give you a reason to be scared of me. I’ll be the place you can go if you feel scared. Does that sound good?” 

“I’d like that.” 

“Brilliant.”

(part 12)

FIC TAGLIST:

@thirsty4nonlivingmen @0collectiveworld0​ @motomamita​ @queen-stars2​​

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@venomsvl @peaches-n-sunscreen @summerellaz @supernaturallover2002 @sambucky8 @9daykrisr @thebitchinleo @23victoria @scarlets-widow @pagetpagetpagetpaget @lovexnatasha @awesomebooklover17 @1234-angelika @imatrisk @blackreaderatrisk @princess-jules47 @alexloveskili @a-marie-a @siriuslysirius1107

[beedlemania]

In the episode when Davy’s grandfather comes to visit, Davy is referred to as a minor.  The guy who said this could have just been saying this because of Davy’s size and he looked young.  But imagine Davy being in America and living with the guys and also being required to go to high school because he’s under 18.

Poor Davy, I could see him getting picked on because of his height and maybe getting shoved into/against lockers.  At first, he’d act like he’s a really cool guy and likes school whenever the guys ask him but eventually, he would reach his breaking point.  He would slowly get less enthusiastic about school and stops talking about it to the guys.  Whenever Mike or one of the others asks how school was Davy will just say “fine” or say nothing exciting happened. 

One day he might even come home with bruises and a black eye and when asked, Davy just says he’s not good at sports and got hurt in gym. 

Then he might try to avoid school by saying he doesn’t feel well and even pulls a few tricks to make Mike believe he’s sick (like tamper with the thermometer so it reads higher than it really is or making himself get really hot so it feels like he has a temperature).  Mike knows Davy though and it doesn’t take long to catch on to his plan of faking sick.  At first Davy denies he’s faking but he eventually confesses to Mike and says he hates school and the other kids are mean to him and bully him and push him into lockers and make fun of him for his height and accent.  Of course, Mama Mike will not tolerate this and demands to know who all these kids are.  Davy says he doesn’t want to make things worse and begs Mike to not make him go to school.  Mike is angry but doesn’t want to make Davy more upset and instead just gives him cuddles and says they’ll figure something out.

They somehow work something out and Davy can do his work from home.

Yes!! They tried to get away with Davy not attending school since he technically didnt have the right paperwork to be in the country but through a series of events that probably involved Mr Babbitt and the rent, the cops showed up and enrolled poor Davy in high school. So not only was he picked on for his height and accent but he also joined the school halfway through the year and gets picked up in a bright red car with some weird ass guys some days.

Davy breezes by at first because he takes a lot of insults as good natured teasing/sarcasm. Until he makes a sarcastic remark back and gets beaten up and then he cops on to the fact he was getting made fun of the entire time. He sees the inside of a lot of lockers and toilet bowls after that but manages to keep it all from the guys for a good few months. When asked about his day he’ll either make stuff up or just give one worded answers because he has too much pride to admit he can’t hold his own against these guys.

Davy never ever has his homework done due to the Monkees get into so many shenanigans and general lack of interest, so the teachers start picking on him too. He had to take history since he had to take whatever classes were left and so he’s very lost because England and American history is different so he only knows the bare basics of american history. Because of this he’s failing history which he also refuses to admit to the guys.

On a similar note, Davy’s close to failing all his classes because he didnt realise American grades are continuous assessment and not an end of year exam so he put in no effort. He’s failing everything but wont tell anyone but is also panicking about having to do the year all over again. Hes so worked up emotionally and paired with the physical bullying he just breaks down completely one day. He walks though the door, Micky asks him how school was, and Davy just falls to his knees sobbing.

When the guys eventually get told about how much Davy’s struggling, Mike goes into the school himself and the staff have no idea what to do with the random 21 year old Texan guy that’s ranting and raving about some English kid. They dont know how to deal with him so they just accept what he has to say and they work something out for Davy.

Peters not the brightest in most situations but he was actually very clever in school and he’s a very patient teacher so Davy finally works up the courage to ask for help and Peter starts tutoring him. Davy just makes it by and graduates high school with the help of his friends :3

[kenzumekodma]

18+, minors & ageless blogs dni

pairing: kotaro bokuto x fem!reader

wc: 1216

warnings: hickies, semi-public sex, bokuto calls you ‘sweetheart’, bokuto picks you up and puts you on the counter (he’s big and strong and finds it easy no matter what size you are), oral sex (fem receiving), semi-clothed sex

find the rest of my kinktober masterlist here!

You walk into the MSBY practice gym, scarf huddled close to your neck even though the bite of autumn air hasn’t quite set in yet. The team would notice sooner or later, but this’ll buy you a little time. Bruises litter the soft skin of your neck, badly covered by your rush job concealer from when you noticed them on your way out the door. You’re lost in your own world, fretting about something that really shouldn’t be a big deal. We’re not teenagers anymore, no one will care, you try to convince yourself when a voice pierces through your bubble.

“Ooooo y/n’s got a boyfriend!” Atsumu Miya announces in a sing-songy voice.

“‘Tsumu!” you yelp. The blond man tugs at your scarf and it falls to the gym floor.

“Hey, she might not be ready to talk about him yet! It must be a new thing. You haven’t spoken about him before, have you?” Shoyo Hinata chimes in.

“No, no. It’s, uh, it’s nothing,” you say resolutely. Your eyes flicker across the court, assessing the reaction of one player in particular, but you can’t read him. Bokuto looks as jovial as ever.

“Gentlemen, back to practice. You can gawk at the staff later,” shouts the coach. The players jog in unison back to their positions.

As practice plays on, you find yourself scanning Bokuto’s form. For statistics, sure, but it doesn’t hurt to be a little self indulgent, does it? The way his bicep flexes as he winds up to spike the ball, to the surge that runs through his thigh muscles as he lands from his jump, to the way he catches your eye and smirks ever so discreetly at you to let you know he knows you’re looking at him, that he knows you’re thinking about him. It sends a rush of blood to your cheeks and you squirm in your seat.

“Ugh, I know, the benches are so uncomfortable,” says another MSBY team staffer.

“Y-yeah, yeah, they are,” you mumble. Time passes in a snap with your distraction, and before you know it, the team and staff are walking out together and saying their goodbyes.

“Hey, y/n! Over here!” Bokuto’s voice rings from over by the change rooms. Without a thought, you follow his sound.

“What’s the matter?”

“Why’d you cover them up?” he pouts.

“What, the hickies? Because I’m a grown woman, Ko, it looks unprofessional to have them out in the open,” you sigh, your attempted confidence in them deflating.

“But I worked so hard to put them there!”

“Sorry, Ko,” you rest your hand on his shoulder. He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it gently.

“What if I put them somewhere else, then? Somewhere ‘Tsumu and Hinata won’t ever see?”

“Where do you mean?”

“Come with me, y/n”, he says quietly. Within moments you’re in the MSBY locker room and Bokuto has you sitting on the counter by the sink. “Lean back on your arms for me, sweetheart,” he coos, and you obediently follow his directions. He slides his fingers under the waistband of your leggings and shimmies them down, over the curve of your ass and your hips, down your thighs, past your knees, until they’re on the floor beside him.

Bokuto lines a trail of kisses from your knee to the flesh of your inner thigh. He lets out a soft moan. “I like it when you watch me in practice,” he murmurs. “Look at me now, too,” he insists. It’s not like you couldn’t comply. All he has to do is ask you in that honey-sweet voice of his and you’re putty in his hands. You stifle a whimper as his teeth sink into your skin. Not hard enough to break it or draw blood, but enough for you to feel it. He sucks the flesh caught between his teeth, roving his tongue over it back and forth until he hears your groan, to which he hums in delight. He makes his way back and forth between your thighs until seven or eight bruises pepper your inner thighs to match your neck.

“O-okay, Ko, you’ve proven your point,” you whine, guiding him up to your level by his hair. You capture his lips in a deep kiss, letting him feel everything you’ve pent up since your last night together. “Let me put my pants back on before we get caught.”

“‘M not done with you yet,” Bokuto says resolutely. And you know that once he’s made up his mind, he’s not easily swayed. His fingers trace nonsensical patterns across the marks he’s just made until they come to rest on your apex, still covered by the thin lace of your panties.

He gives you a quick peck, devilish grin barely forming in time to be hidden by your cunt. Once again, he kisses you, this time an open mouthed kiss to your covered pussy. Lazy tongue circles have you realizing just how turned on he has you. You squirm, desperate for more friction but finding little as you slip and slide against yourself. Bokuto chuckles against your body, biting down just enough for you to feel the pressure against your clit.

“P-please, lemme feel you, Ko,” you whine. “‘S not enough!”

Wordlessly, he obliges. You shudder as he licks and sucks your bud in earnest now, your panties hooked around his finger and pulled to the side. With his other hand, he slowly teases your opening with one finger, inserting it with an excruciatingly leisurely pace. You can’t help yourself from thrusting yourself forward, unable to form the words to beg him for what you want. He understands, though, and slides a second finger in, curling them and a steady pace. His gaze flicks up to you and he smiles, tongue never stopping, as he sees the sheen of sweat glaze your forehead and your cheeks flushed dark. He thinks this is the most beautiful he’s ever seen you, but he’ll have to remember to tell you that later instead. Your eyes roll back and your features scrunch together, he knows that look well. He knows you’re close. He can’t stop now.

“P-please Ko, don’t, don’t stop, keep going, please please please,” you whimper for him like it’s a prayer. “K-Ko, ‘m so close, so close,” your voice trails off. He knows, he can feel you clenching around his fingers.

You feel the taut string of desire tensed in your core snap and you cry out for him again and again. He places a soft kiss between your legs before gently guiding your panties back in place. You’ve barely registered that your legs are shaking when he stands up and holds you close to him, but you can feel his cock straining in his shorts being pressed up against you.

“Why don’t you take a little while to rest? I’ll take you home and take care of you properly,” he promises.

You nod, in a dreamy daze. Bokuto helps you back into your clothing. Before leaving the gym building, he gives you one last kiss on the forehead, for good luck. For him, for you, he’s not sure, but he wants it just in case. You smile at him as you take him by the hand and lead him outside.

[lunathegalacticwolf]

Here's the school rules in my Baldi AU.

Warning: Unsettling stuff, a lot of words

1. Always knock 3 times before entering Baldi's office. If someone knocks back, it's not Baldi, it's the kidnapper.

2. If the kidnapper is in Baldi's office, don't enter the office. This was the mistake the principal made and we still haven't found his eyes.

3. If Chalkles is on a chalkboard, but his face is turned upside down, tell the principal and he'll burn the chalkboard. It's not really Chalkles, it's a trap.

4. If you enter a classroom and any furniture was turned upside down, grab the notebook and never enter that room again.

5. ALWAYS get the map from Johnny's store. If you can't afford it, stay near Baldi. If you have the map and you find a room that's not on the map, NEVER enter the room.

6. If you hear Dr. Reflex crying in a room, knock on the door 3 times. If you hear a voice tell you to come in, do not enter. Only enter if the sobs continue with no verbal response.

7. Never, EVER look at the ceiling. The ceiling might look back at you.

9. Sometimes Johnny will be missing. If you go to Johnny's shop and he isn't there, leave the shop immediately. It is a trap.

8. If Mrs. Pomp tells you to come to her class, only go if she gives a specific time limit. If she doesn't give a specific time limit, it's a trap created by the kidnapper.

10. Mrs. Pomp always makes stomping noises when she's in her classroom. If it seems eerily quiet, do not enter the classroom.

11. If you need to go to the bathroom, ask Baldi, Mrs. Pomp, Gotta Sweep, Principal, or Dr. Reflex to take you there. If they take you to one that's far away from Baldi's office, run away and hide in a locker until the voices stop.

12: If the lights within the school seem to be flickering rapidly, stay as close as possible to Baldi until the lights stop flickering.

13. If you see a pitchfork in the wall or in the ground, pull out your walkie talkie and call Baldi, Dr. Reflex, or the principal immediately. Something is trying to cull you into a trap... and it's NOT the kidnapper. What is this creature? Well... that's for rule 14.

14. If you hear anyone's voice in the shadows, DO NOT go there. That is a creature of nightmares; the CopyCat. It's a trap to lure in its deadly clutches and it can use anyone's voice... including your own voice...

15. If you hear breathing inside of a classroom, but no one is in there, leave the room immediately. Do not return unless Dr. Reflex is with you.

16. If you see a locker that is open for no good reason, calmly close it and leave the hallway immediately. Do not return to that hallway unless a staff member is with you and no matter how much you want to, NEVER look inside of it.

17. If Baldi tells you to go to the library, ask him to go with you. If he accepts, go to the library. However, if he declines, do NOT under any circumstances go to the library.

18. If you're sick and need medicine, ask Dr. Reflex to get it for you. If he gives it to you right then and there, do NOT accept it. It is the kidnapper trying to trick you. Only accept the medicine if he takes you to the infirmary first.

19. If the chalkboard Chalkles is on is sideways, calmly flip his chalkboard back to normal. If he comes off the chalkboard and starts pressing his face against you and giggling, let him do it. However, if he comes off and stares at you without moving, leave the classroom immediately. This is a trap set by the kidnapper.

20. Be mindful of trapped elevators. Always look down before entering an elevator. If you see a tripwire, do not enter that elevator and find another one.

21. If you enter a room and it begins to glitch or distort, do not panic. Grab the notebook, calmly leave, and find Baldi immediately. Null is trying to warn you about something non-verbally and you can't answer his warning directly.

22: If you hear the words "150 Points." coming from deep within the school halls, calmly ask Baldi to confirm the number of points you have. If he says you do NOT have 150 points or if he cannot be found, go hide in a locker ASAP.

23. Sometimes a classroom will be locked. Do not try to pick the lock under any circumstances. Dr. Reflex has the only key to the classroom.

24. In the event of a power outage, use your walkie talkie to contact Baldi for help. If you hear Baldi's voice, make your way safely to his office. If you hear Principal of the Thing's voice, do NOT go there. It is the CopyCat mimicking his voice.

25. If you hear a calm voice that's not anyone you recognize, don't panic and follow its instructions. While this entity doesn't really exist, it is trying to help you.

26. If you walk down a hallway and it never seems to end, do not turn back or continue walking. Calmly pull out your walkie talkie and call one of the staff members.

27. If you go to the bathroom, do NOT look in the mirror. It will not be your reflection staring back at you.

28. If a staff member's voice sounds unusually forced or strained, tell another staff member immediately. It is not who it seems to be...

29. If a chalkboard says that Baldi is gone, call Baldi immediately. If he tells you he's okay, leave the classroom immediately and never return to it. If there's no answer, run and find the principal. You can find Baldi together.

30. Do not under any circumstances try to enter the principal's office. There's a reason you always went to Baldi's office instead...

31. You may come across a computer room. Do NOT mess with the computers under any circumstances.

32. If Mrs. Pomp is being eerily quiet and following you, run away and find the principal. That is not who it seems...

33. If you find a notebook with your name written in it, do NOT turn the page. Find Gotta Sweep and he'll dispose of it.

34. If the phone in Baldi's office rings, do NOT answer the phone. Ask Baldi to do it instead. If he doesn't answer it and he seems eerily worried, then stay near him. It means something is out there...

35. Never help anyone that looks exactly like you, no matter how much they plead. It's always a trap.

36. Never answer a voice whispering "Wanna play?" It's not Playtime, she only talks at a normal volume. If you hear the whispers, ignore them and act as if you don't hear them.

37. If you see what looks like one of the staff members in a random hallway, but they are not moving, do NOT approach them. Hide in a locker until you see them leave the hallway.

38. If the lights turn off while you're in the bathroom, call Baldi immediately and stay in the bathroom until he arrives to get you.

39. If a bell rings seemingly with no source, stay near Baldi until the ringing stops.

40. If you hear footsteps behind you, don't turn around or run. Calmly keep walking and ignore it. If you find a staff member, stay close to them until the footsteps stop.

41. If you hear a door slowly creak open while you're in a bathroom stall, do not look under the door and stay quiet. Stay right where you are until a staff member comes to check on you. Don't get impatient and don't take an unnecessary risk.

42. If you hear an eerily cheerful voice calling your name over the intercom, do not respond to it no matter how innocent it sounds.

43. If you hear Dr. Reflex singing to himself, remain calm and listen closely to his words. If he says "look behind you" or anything similar, do NOT look behind you and leave the hallway immediately. It isn't who it seems...

44. If an unexplainable black puddle underneath a locker, do NOT go near that locker and stay close to Baldi until Gotta Sweep is able to clean it.

45. The vending machine will restock itself. We don't know why.

46: If your vision starts to distort or change rapidly, calmly tell Dr. Reflex. If he is unable to explain why you're like that, stay near him and stay calm. Do NOT panic. That's what the CopyCat wants...

47. If a staff member appears to be talking to nobody, do not approach them and do not listen to the "conversation."

48. If you see a dark figure staring at you from a classroom window, do not look at the figure. Proceed to hide somewhere.

49. If a staff member's face disappears or melts, stay away from them, but keep them in your line of sight. Go find Baldi as fast as possible, but keep watching the said faceless staff member.

50. If you see a strange skeletal-like hand, stay away from it. It is an extremely dangerous creature feared by everyone, including the kidnapper and even... the CopyCat.

51. If you see a red and white doll with button eyes in a room, no matter how much you want to, NEVER approach her. She will get angry.

52. You may get a sense of deja vu or a feeling that you've been in this school before. That could be because you have...

53. If you see a mirror in a classroom, look at it and count how many reflections there are. If you remember entering the room alone, the answer should be only one... Leave the room immediately if that isn't the case.

54. If you see a room with boarded windows, do NOT enter that room alone. It targets its victims only if they're alone...

55. Sometimes, a classroom will suddenly lose power, becoming pitch black. Do not enter this classroom.

56. If you hear a faint, yet echoing sound of someone laughing, do not respond to it. It's not a staff member.

57. If you are alone and encounter the CopyCat, stay calm and find Principal Of The Thing.

58. If you hear a faint sound of a toy duck quacking, go back the way you came.

59. If you hear random voices mumbling at different frequencies, try to cover your ears and find Baldi.

60. If a beaker of a green substance starts to bubble in the science room, leave the room immediately and tell Dr. Reflex.

61. If you hear a strange banging sound coming from a locker, do NOT investigate the locker to see what the cause of this sound is.

62. If you suddenly feel a sense of dizziness or lightheadedness, rest your head on a wall and calm down until your head feels normal again. If the dizziness persists, seek help from one of the staff members.

63. If you see a child's drawing of a clown on the wall, back away slowly and find the nearest classroom.

64. If you walk into Johnny's store, but his skin is nearly pitch white, leave the store immediately. That is a trap.

65. If you walk into a classroom and there is a candle that's been lit, leave the room and never go back.

66. If you see an entity that you think might be the CopyCat, but you see a skeletal hand on the ground, it is... the Corrupted Entity. The CopyCat never gets down on all fours other than to study his prey or to rest...

67. If the principal speaks to you, but his dialogue is backwards, run, hide, and quietly call any of the staff members. That is NOT who it seems to be. That is Johnston (aka the Corrupted Entity).

68. If you hear a piano playing from far away, do not search the halls for its exact source of origin. Stay in a classroom, lock the door and keep your ears covered.

69. If you see a clock suddenly stop ticking, leave the room immediately and find Baldi.

70. If you hear a sudden high-pitched ring in your ear, do not panic and cover your ears. It will subside after awhile.

71. If you spot a small, white shape moving fast in a classroom, do not look at it. It's not Skribblez or Squiglez, it's a trap.

72. If you see footsteps that lead to a dark hallway, but have no footprints leading out, do not follow the footsteps.

73. If you enter the library and everything is silent except for a cold breeze, leave and find Baldi.

74. If you start to feel something breathing on your neck at random times, find Baldi.

75. If you see a classroom with a blackboard that has a phrase on it that constantly replays, don't go into that classroom ever again.

76. If you're in a classroom and you hear knocking on the door, do not answer the door. Keep yourself hidden under a desk in the back of the room. None of the staff members knock, so it's not them...

77. If you hear a faint sound of a child saying "Mama" from the girls' bathroom, stay away from that bathroom at all costs.

78. If you hear a student mumbling to themselves in a classroom when there are no other students in the classroom, do not investigate. That is Johnston.

79. If you see a classroom with a single black desk in the middle of the room, leave the room immediately and don't return ever again.

80. If the entire school suddenly feels extremely cold, but the heater is still on, stay calm and find Gotta Sweep. He'll deal with it.

81. If you hear a high-pitched screech out in the halls, run back to a classroom and cover your ears.

82. If you see a student running around all by themselves, do not try to interact with them. It's likely one of the ghosts of the school, and it's best to leave them be.

83. If you see a student walking into a classroom that you do not recognize, do not follow the student into the classroom. Avoid that classroom entirely.

84. If you see blood on the floor, avoid going into that hallway. It's another trap.

85. If you hear whispering coming from the other side of a door, do not open the door or listen in on what the voices are saying.

86. you hear multiple desks scraping against the floor at the same time, find somewhere to hide and try to stay as quiet as you can.

87. If you hear a distant phone ringing within the halls, do not search for the source of the ringing.

88. If you see a chair suddenly tipping over in the distance, stay still and see if anything else happens, and keep an eye on the chair.

89. If you hear multiple voices whispering "I know what you did," find somewhere to hide, and stay hidden until the voices stop.

90. If you walk into a dark hallway and see a bright light at the end of it, do not approach the light.

91. If you see multiple chairs and desks floating in the air in a classroom, go to the previous classroom immediately and close the door behind you. Do not investigate the source.

92. If you see a shadow of a child suddenly running away behind you, avoid looking behind to see who it is.

93. If you hear a child laughing coming from an open door, don't look into the room. Ignore the laughter and keep moving.

94. If you see a painting on a wall of a child smiling, don't look at it for too long.

95. If you see a classroom that has glowing red eyes in the dark, avoid that classroom at all costs, and do not go near it.

96. If you hear whispering that gets louder and closer to you, hide in a classroom until the whispering is no longer heard.

97. If you see a door with a bloody handprint on the handle, do not open the door and stay as far away from it as you can.

98. If you hear a sudden high-pitched laughing ringing in your ears, cover your ears and keep moving.

99. If you hear faint footsteps coming from above the ceiling, go to Baldi's classroom as fast as you can.

100. If you see a small pile of broken pencils on a floor, DO NOT touch them no matter what.

I know there's a lot, but I think it's sinister.

[captainpoopweinersoldier]

With Compliments | Jake x FReader

18+ Only; Smut; Quickie both literally and figuratively. Holidays do me in so here’s a thing in which a certain hot bartender helps you cope; Established relationship.

Words: 2.3k

Link to AO3

In retrospect, if there was one silver lining to the evening, at least it was discovering this new brand of coping mechanism. Even if a total lapse in rationale could be blamed; patience all but out the window mere moments after arriving at the restaurant on a goddamn holiday. Your family was unbearable, constantly bickering, superficial. So passive aggressively judgemental that you’d gone as far as keeping them in the dark over the fact that you actually waitressed here. 

What luck they decided to splurge on an outing to the fine dining location on your one rare day off rather than settle for the traditional turkey dinner at home on Long Island.

The rapid rise in volume between patrons and the inlaws and the cousins and their children - made you wince, and the second glass of wine was barely doing much to help.

Yet just as you take the last sip, a third drink is set in front of you. You raise a brow at the flaming old fashioned and glance up to see Will with his usual boyish smile. 

“With compliments.”

All the staff know the truth of course. Thankfully they keep the secret quiet, even if the bartender is a little less subtle.

Ignoring your family’s dramatic remarks, you eye him across the large expanse of the room, finding his equally frustrating and endearing smug smirk as you set your palm on the glass to put out the flame.

Naturally, that’s about all it takes for you where Jake is concerned. The light’s a touch too dim and the bar a foot too far away to see him perfectly clear amid the crowd, but the effect is still there in those narrowed up-to-no-good blue eyes, the amused purse of his lips as he gazes steadily back.

You take an all too unceremonious swig of your drink, its burn barely registering as you rise from the table in the next fluid motion. Without explanation or sensibility, you're crossing the floor. Shooting him a look so pointed that - were it any other day, any other circumstance where you weren't so clearly tense with angst - maybe he'd show a little more restraint. Instead he tells Nicky to cover him and keeps an inconspicuous distance as he follows you to the second floor.

Said circumstance is far from your mind a moment later. Jake's body a welcome distraction as he keeps your back pinned to a shelving unit, kissing you until your lungs gasp for air and you feel weak in the knees.

You're in a storage room somewhere between the lockers and Howard's office. Some boxes and Tupperware clatter to the floor amid the heated exchange, but all that really matters is that there's a lock on the door granting you this moment of privacy.

His chuckle rumbles at your jaw as you all but snatch at his apron, the noise low and reverberating through his chest in a way that spurs goosebumps on the nape of your neck. 

"Seriously?" he prods dryly. And while sex in the workplace isn't something you ever considered, his reputation proceeds him and you figure it's a safe assumption he's done this before.

You try to mask the neediness in your voice, a fruitless attempt from the way his apron is flung aside, fingers hurrying as they latch onto his belt next. "Are you turning me down?" 

His gaze finds yours and you're thankful the lights are switched on, able to see him clearly, his eyes shades darker as he looks down at you with cuts of breath rasping through his flushed pink lips. 

"No," he says firmly. He brushes your tangled hair back, his hands trail down your ribcage, then his lips part suggestively and he grabs your ass. "Just don’t like having to rush with you.” He easily hoists you off your feet and the feel of his trim figure nestling between your thighs is relief enough to make your contented sigh sound more like a choked sob. 

You’re considerate of his shirt, not wanting to muss or wrinkle the stripes while he’s only halfway through his shift. Instead you settle for his hair, fingertips nestling into the black mess of it as his mouth finds yours in another kiss so bruising that you find it lucky you opted against lipstick for the outing. Jake tastes good, leaves a trace of lemon on your lips, and you moan around his tongue as it licks into your mouth.

Luckier still is the outfit you’re wearing. The tunic blouse makes for easy access. Jake’s hands roam, cool on your stomach, forceful when one shoves beneath a cup of your bra, clenching roughly around your nipple till you’re squealing.

You break away gasping, urging him on faster, rapidly growing more and more impatient. Only to swoon at his look of determination, a pinch set between his brows as he moves just as briskly to yank at your leggings with his free hand. The fabric is just stretchy and malleable enough that he can tug them past your ass to mid-thigh and still keep you parted for him; the audible strained tear of panties follows shortly after.

Strapped for time, any chance of foreplay ends there. Jake presses against you impossibly closer, finishing the job of undoing his belt, and it’s a combined effort that has you untucking his shirt as he rucks down his pants. 

“Jake, please,” you urge again breathlessly. And for a second he dares to tease you; slicks his swelled head along your aching heat, and the effect is instant. Your hips lurch and your back arches, a shelf digs into your shoulders eliciting a hissed curse while Jake keeps you steady. A quiet shush tickles your skin, but when he fills you with his cock, it takes your all not to shake the room with your voice. 

He readjusts, lithe hands glued to your thighs, and the next thrust has strength enough to make your jaw clatter. “Quiet, quiet,” he murmurs at your throat, voice deep and thick, a groan seeping into his words as he sets a haste pace. The abrupt, delectable pain evens into something that shoots sparks behind your eyelids; it’s a harder feat now, keeping from tearing at his shirt, and you settle for wrangling the knot of his tie. “Feels good? Better?” 

“Let’s see how far you get first,” you manage to sass, though the slur of your tongue gives you away. Really, all you can think is finally. Having what you were suddenly so desperate for - Jake providing distraction and solace in equal measure to the deeper feelings you already have for him. 

For a moment your eyes meet and there’s the glint of adoration alight in his gaze, and you both barely manage to share a laugh with each other when Jake’s mouth crashes on yours again. Hungry and devouring, with little finesse but enough to swallow the pathetic sounds you make. 

It hardly even lasts - quickly reverts to harsh panting as he fucks you harder. The shelving at your back rattles unsteadily, something else falls to the floor. But where typically you might fret over it, now your mind is only fervent bliss, reeling each time he fills you completely with a satisfying stretch. He knows how to hit just right and it shows in the quake of your thighs, the steady rise of pleasure blooming in the depths of your gut. You think he can make you come like this alone, tell him as much with a begging whisper at his lips. 

He moves then - your own resolve keeps your thighs locked around his waist - lifting a hand to clasp your jaw with his thumb toying at your lips. The other joins it with altogether different purpose - his middle and index fingers prod at the seam and you open. Let the digits slip along your tongue. His eyes narrow at the sight, and when your hollowed cheeks eagerly suck, his breath hitches in his throat. His hips stutter sharply and off rhythm, as if the supple motion nearly finishes him on the spot.

Quickly he withdraws, and the hand disappears between your bodies. Slinks through the tangled mess of bunched fabric where those long fingers deftly find your clit. 

“Jake, Jake -”

“I said - quiet,” he says slowly. And though there’s a shaky edge to his voice, that low vibrato that sends you about as much as his body does, there’s a playful upturn to the corner of his mouth. Watching you fall apart as he rolls your clit between the pads of his fingers in perfect harmony with his unyielding thrusts. The caustic coil lashes at you inside; bursts and trickles through your limbs and you almost can’t hold back the loud moan threatening your lungs. 

Jake can feel it as you come undone, revels in your hoarse cry. His face burrows into the crook of your neck to stifle his own noise as your cunt throbs and shudders around him. He tears at the neck of your blouse, his teeth find your bared shoulder and he clamps down as he follows. Tensing with a final snap of his hips, unmoving with his cock pulsing and buried deep, and finally he melts. Spills himself into your tight heat with a guttural exhale.

Break time is most assuredly over, cutting short the much preferred option of drinking in the moment to stay wrapped up in Jake just a second longer. Instead, it’s back to business as you both gather yourselves and right your clothes. The panties are a lost cause and you think that the trembling in your hands will stop by the time you get back to the table. But other than that, there's hopefully no other evidence as to what you’ve been up to.

“You always act out when they’re in town?” Jake teases eventually. He’s still catching his breath and you try not to focus on the way his chest heaves in his snug shirt as he fixes his tie. 

“And to think I almost forgot they were here…” you tell him dryly. 

“Guess I’ll have to try harder.” He moves close again after collecting his apron, slides his hand over the curve of your neck. But it’d likely make things easier if he didn’t touch you at all. The small gesture is enough to make you want to be smothered by him, and there’s too many hours to go before he’s off work and you’re unburdened of relatives. 

“I think I like it when you use me,” he adds, and you try not to combust. He leans in for a kiss, but you stop him just before it lands and his brows furrow in question.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it? That they don’t know about you?”

“Well then that’d make things serious.” His eyes briefly widen as he enunciates the word.

“Jake.”

He sobers up and considers it. With a deep breath, sets his forehead on yours, running his knuckles across your skin. “It doesn’t bother me. I can stay the fuck out of it until you say so.” 

It wasn’t intentional, not like the secret of your current place of employment. But it was nice to feel like Jake was just - yours. And not to be inspected under a microscope like some sort of science project. 

“I gotta go,” Jake says, and kisses you like he intended. Short but sweet, those soft lips make your eyelids flutter. “You look nice. Walk me home later?” 

You smile fully for the first time that night. “Of course.”

~

It’s late by the time you make it back to the restaurant. Shift drinks well underway, and while it’s half-tempting to join in, you don’t exactly have the stamina. So you hover by the side door near the bar, opting to wait outside in the cityscape of neon lights and wet sidewalk busied with passerby. It always seemed a little weird how night life thrived for Thanksgiving, of all things… 

Ari spots you first as you peer in - cigarette in one hand, drink in the other and makes a show of it in a bid to get you inside. Soon enough, the others take notice and it becomes an absurd raucous group effort that makes your face grow hot with mortification, just knowing they’ll bust your balls after serving your family.

You’re about to step back - wait at a smidge further distance when the door flies open and Jake swarms your vision.

He’s out of uniform now, donned in jeans and a leather jacket and even if the stripes don’t look half bad on him, this is a much more welcome view.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” It comes out playfully, but honestly, all you want to do is paw at him.

Jake takes your hand and you just manage to catch the blush land on his cheeks when he holds up a large takeaway cup. 

“I made you something.”

You eye it warily, but you take it from him and have a sip from the straw. 

Its chill hits a little harder in the cold air, but it’s bubbly, and just the right amount of sweet, with something rich in it that immediately heats your belly. It’s delicious. And you can’t help but feel a little sheepish over licking your lips while Jake stares intently.

“What is that?” 

With a small tug, he leads you down the sidewalk and in the direction of his apartment. “Champagne.. A little raspberry. And gin.” 

“Oh, so we’re getting fucked up tonight.”

You almost pout when he lets go of your hand, but it’s only so he can drape his arm over your shoulders; keep you snug and tight against his warmth as you take a few more sips. “How else am I gonna take advantage of you?”

“It’s yummy.”

“You’re yummy.”

“Shut up.”