#I’m too tired to add the rest of the tags

[hypnoneghoul]

Symbol on the Surface Chapter 4

WC: 2,1k

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: Transmasc Swiss, Pregnancy, Food Repulsion, Fluff, Tickling, Panic Attack, Pregnancy Announcement, More Fluff

“Say what?” Mountain asks, confused. “That you are going to be an amazing father.” “I am going to be an amazing father.”

Notes: Tysm to @jimothybarnes for beta reading :3

Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 4 under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss and Mountain leave for their cabin in the woods the next morning. 

The earth ghoul insists on carrying all of their stuff himself, only letting Swiss drag a lightweight cart with food. He may be barely two months pregnant, but Mountain is not willing to risk putting him in any kind of physical distress.

The cabin is quite deep in the forest, but it’s not a terribly long walk. They’re both still tired so it takes them a little longer than usual, but soon enough they make it.

Mountain makes Swiss lay down and do…well, absolutely nothing for most of the day, claiming that the walk itself was enough physical activity for the day. Swiss giggles at his overprotectiveness, but obliges. In the meantime the earth ghoul cleans up a little and then moves on to making dinner for them when it’s starting to get late.

It smells and looks absolutely delicious, but when Mountain sets the plate before his mate, Swiss’ stomach turns unpleasantly.

“Sorry, my love,” Swiss mumbles, “it looks great, but I just…I can’t eat, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Mountain smiles softly and comes up to cup his mate’s cheek with his hand. “It’s probably all the stress, it’s okay.”

Swiss leans into his touch and closes his eyes. The earth ghoul crouches down to embrace him fully, but gets a better idea after a second. He worms one of his arms under Swiss’ ass and picks him up; he yelps as Mountain stands up and turns to the bed.

“What about your food?” Swiss whines dramatically, stretching the last word out. Mountain gently puts him on the bed on his back and fluffs up the pile of pillows around him.

“I’ll heat it up later,” he shrugs. For a moment the multi ghoul thinks his mate is trying to eat something else—which he would decline this time, not being in the mood—but Mountain moves further and further down until he’s off the bed entirely, kneeling at the foot of it. He takes the fluffy socks Swiss’ is sporting off,  wraps his long fingers around his feet and digs his thumbs in.

“What are you doing?” he giggles as Mountain leans down to kiss the arch of his left foot while massaging it.

“Giving you a foot rub,” he explains bluntly. 

“I can see that, but why? I’m not that pregnant yet.”

“Are you telling me I can’t dote on my mate whenever I feel like it?” The earth ghoul looks up at him with one eyebrow raised comically high, making Swiss snort.

“You look ridiculous!” he laughs. “Like that–that one emoji!”

Mountain can’t hold out for longer and bursts out laughing too. He drops his head and the sight of Swiss’ feet right in front of his face gives him an idea. He changes the heavy rubbing of his thumbs to lighter touches that immediately make the multi ghoul start squirming and squealing.

“No, oh my–no, Mountain, don’t–don’t tickle me!” he yells in between breathy giggles, but Mountain knows he isn’t actually asking him to stop. He knows when to do so; it’s when Swiss’ breathing starts to get a little wheezy and his toes curl.

The earth ghoul crawls up the bed, then, to hover over Swiss and only leans down to kiss him on the tip of his nose. He pulls him down and Mountain falls into the plush bedding right next to him.

They’re quiet for a moment, before Swiss speaks again, “My brain just provided me with an image of you playing with our kits like this.”

Mountain’s chest warms.

“I can’t wait,” he sighs.

“Me neither,” Swiss adds.

After five days in the woods, Mountain and Swiss decide they have rested enough and are ready to go back to the Abbey. They make their way back around midday, spend some time in their room, and then move to the kitchen.

Mountain texted the band’s new group chat earlier, saying that he and Swiss are making dinner this evening and that everyone—including Copia—is invited because there is also going to be an important announcement made.

Cooking side by side effectively took the expecting parents’ minds off of the conversation they are going to have soon, and now as they’re eating with their family they both think—unknowingly—about the same thing.

How these kits couldn’t have been sent into a better pack.

Swiss still doesn’t eat much (they have been told by Omega that food repulsion is common at this stage, so they’re not worried), but enjoys the light conversation with Rain on his left. Meanwhile Mountain, sitting on his right, is talking with Dewdrop over something they both seem quite passionate about.

But soon enough the table is cleared and it’s time for the announcement to be made.

“Okay, uh–so…” Swiss starts, clearing his throat, as he stands up. Mountain does, too, and he puts a hand on the multi ghoul’s waist in a protective and supportive gesture. “There’s something important—but not bad—that we need to tell you because, uhm…well, because you all are our family—you too, Papa—and we want you to know first.”

Some mutters of ‘we appreciate it’ and ‘we’re honored’ can be heard around the table, as well as some content chirps and trills. Swiss opens his mouth again to finally let the words tumble out, but they…don’t.

He looks up at Mountain with pleading eyes and his mate nods, understanding. He takes a deep breath before turning back to his pack and speaking for them both, “Swiss is pregnant, we are going to have kits.”

Jaws drop and it’s dead silent for a moment.

But then it explodes.

Everyone is asking questions, someone is already congratulating them, someone is squealing and then there’s a hand on Swiss’ shoulder and he–he can’t.

Suddenly painfully overwhelmed, he turns with a whine and hides against Mountain’s chest, hands over his ears. His mate wraps his arms around him and growls loud enough to make the whole room shut up.

“Sorry,” Aurora is the one to speak up and apologize for them all.

“One at a time, please,” Mountain asks them before sitting back down with Swiss in his lap. He’s already calming down from the initial panic and he just realizes how…skittish he’s been lately. Probably another pregnant ghoul instinct thing.

Nobody speaks, though, until Papa raises his hand. It’s a little silly, but both Mountain and Swiss appreciate it.

“How far along are you?” Copia asks.

“Around eleven, maybe twelve, weeks,” Swiss answers and the human nods with a light smile.

Rain goes next, “You said kits, as in…multiple?”

“Yeah, there’s three cooking in there,” the multi ghoul chuckles, poking his stomach.

“Woah,” Dewdrop and Sunshine whisper in unison, making a few others laugh.

“When are they gonna come out?” Aeon asks with a curious tilt of his head.

“Omega thinks sometime in February,” Mountain is the one to answer this time.

Cirrus perks up next. “Do you know their elements already?”

“No,” Swiss says, “with a mixture like us two we’re not going to know until they’re born.”

“Will you let me make some cute clothes for them?” Cumulus all but pleads, already so excited at the prospect of making teeny tiny kit clothes.

“Duh,” the multi ghoul laughs. There’s more questions and congratulations and promises of support. A specific one makes the room fall silent again.

“Omega said it’s, uhm…that it’s possible they won’t live,” Swiss admits despite wishing he wouldn’t have to say such a thing.

“That’s why we are only telling you for now,” Mountain adds, “and we don’t want anyone else to know yet.”

The pack nods and promises to keep it between them.

The atmosphere is nice, but a little overwhelming, so Swiss and Mountain decide to say their goodbyes and go to bed early—both exhausted. They skip the shower and jump straight into their nest to curl around each other and fall asleep while purring loudly.

Some time after he’s fallen asleep, Mountain’s eyes snap open.

He sees nothing but darkness.

He looks around frantically and blindly slaps around his bedside table, hoping to light his phone up. It does; it’s three in the morning.

The earth ghoul uses its gentle light to look over at his mate sleeping beside him—curled up a little with his arms around his stomach; a protective position a pregnant ghoul would usually take in the Pit. It’s actually amazing how their hellish instincts surface in moments like these.

Mountain wants to smile, but instead something unpleasant makes his stomach turn and suddenly he remembers why he woke up. It was some strange dream, he doesn’t remember any details, but it left him shaking with anxiety.

He feels a panic attack incoming and crawls out of bed not to disturb Swiss. The earth ghoul leaves their bedroom and makes his way to the common room to get some cold water. 

Mountain doesn’t even bother to turn on the light, operating on autopilot until he’s leaning against the counter with a glass of water in hand. He sips it slowly and breathes deeply in between, trying to push away the panic that’s beginning to swallow him whole. The earth ghoul slides down to sit on the ground and puts his head in between his knees, still breathing in and out.

“Mount?”

The earth ghoul jumps, dropping his glass on the floor. Thankfully it’s empty already and the distance from his hand to the ground isn’t especially big. “Lucifer, you scared me!” 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to,” Aether chuckles. He must be coming back or leaving for his infirmary shift—Mountain isn’t sure which. “What are you even doing here at this hour, are you okay?”

“Woke up and needed to get some water,” the earth ghoul shrugs, but his thoughts do not stop spiraling. Aether will sense that soon enough. “Had a…uh, a dream.”

“Not a good one, I assume?”

Mountain shakes his head. “I–this is so scary, I’m–I’m not cut out to be a–a father. A father, Aether!”

“But you always wanted to have kits,” the quintessence ghoul reminds him, “and I’ve known you for long enough—and have seen you interact with the Siblings’ children—to be absolutely sure you will be a great dad.”

Mountain grimaces and drops his head between his knees again. “But what if I won’t? What about Swiss, then? What about the kits? There’s going to be three.”

Aether doesn’t reply—he only sighs and comes over to sit next to the other.

“If they even survive…” the earth ghoul adds in a quiet voice.

“Hey, no,” Aether stops him right away, “don’t go there. They’ll be fine. You will be fine. I can only imagine how scary that is, but I know that this is a dream come true for you, Mount.”

“Well…yeah,” he admits, “it is.”

“Exactly! Stress is valid, but you can’t doubt yourself or your mate right now. I’ve already told you, you are going to be amazing parents.”

Mountain lets out a shaky breath and nods, acknowledging Aether’s words. He’s right and it’s not only a dream come true, but also a quite literal miracle. A miracle granted just to Swiss and Mountain.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “Okay, I’m–I’m good. Thank you, Aether.”

The other pats him on the back before standing up and extending a hand to hoist him up, too. “Anytime. And I mean it. We’re a pack and you are definitely going to need all the help you can get once these three little demons pop out of Swiss.”

Mountain chuckles despite the…slightly worrying implication, “Yeah, we will.”

“Alright, now, go back to your mate,” Aether tells him. “Don’t let him doubt your decision.”

“I won’t.” The earth ghoul puts away his glass and turns to the door.

“Now say it for me.”

“Say what?” he asks, confused.

“That you are going to be an amazing father.” Aether grins.

Mountain shakes his head with a light laugh, “I am going to be an amazing father.”

“Atta boy,” Aether praises and leaves. The other switches off the light, that he hasn’t even noticed was on now, and follows, albeit in a different direction.

As he gets back to their room and snuggles against Swiss again, he mutters the words to himself one more time “I am going to be an amazing father.”

Taglist: @arkeusruin @skele-bunny @everybodyshusband @ratsummer @jazz-bazz @mac-and-thefox @karmicbias @wine-irytatus

[spidcrhunni]

sleepover

hobie brown/reader

summary: you let your boyfriend stay over for the night after he’s been away on patrols for a while.

tags: sleepovers, cuddles, fluff, sweet! hobie, sleepy! hobie, sharing a bed, reader knows he’s spider-punk btw, he’s so cute i want to bite him (affectionately), short fic!

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [spidcrhunni!!] ࿐ྂ

hobie yawns, his eyelids closing lazily; staying shut for a few seconds before finally opening again. “if you’re tired you can go to bed.” you tell him, scrolling through social media’s idly on your phone. “nah, i promised you i would stay up with you.” your boyfriend mumbles, trying to occupy himself with something on his own phone before getting bored and turning it off. “go to sleep, bart. you need it.” you let your spare hand rub his back. hobie presses his face to your collarbone. “wanna stay up with you. i haven’t seen you in ages.” hobie whines, voice vibrating against your shirt. “that’s because you’re a busy guy now, you have stuff to do; and i couldn’t be more proud. you don’t have to exhaust yourself. i’m fine like this.”

hobie frowns, letting his ear rest on your chest. “nah. i can stay up-“ a yawn cuts him off. “a while longer..” he finishes his sentence, you laugh softly. “go to sleep.” you tell him, ignoring how his hair tickled your neck and jaw. hobie groans in protest, yet can’t find any words to respond with as he yawns again. your hand slowly stops massaging his back, resting idly as you focus on your phone. eventually, hobie shuffles, moving from where he was lay on top of you to settle beside you instead; lanky arms curling around you. rolling over, you hug him back, letting him bury his face into your chest once more as well as use your arm as a pillow. “how’s your week been?” hobie asks, blinking lazily up at you. “good! i passed that chem test.” you respond, humouring his loving gaze with a small kiss to his forehead. “good. i knew you could do it.”

you hum softly, a smile on your lips. “how’s your week been?” you reply, listening as he groans. “boring..! nothin’s happening on patrols anymore. i want a thrill!” he sighs, arms squeezing you a bit tighter as he adds on a quick: “and i missed you.” you laugh softly, rubbing his back gently. “i missed you too.” you reply, putting your phone down. “m’glad.” hobie mutters, eyes finally closing as he struggles to keep them open due to his exhaustion. you chuckle. “goodnight, bart.” you tell him, gently kissing his lips. “night, babe.” he mumbles, voice quiet.

[zepskies]

Wanderlust

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: Your wandering hands are keeping Ben up at night.

AN: My nightly daydreams led me to Soldier Boy this time. 😂

I was imagining the Break Me Down-verse for this one (shortly after Checkerboard), but it can also be general Soldier Boy x Reader.

Word Count: 650

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Fluff, innuendo, Sleepy Ben, implied smut.

You traced down his back with light, trailing fingers.

Lying next to him in bed, with scraps of moonlight filtering through the closed blinds in the window as your only guide, your mind was still drifting even though you should’ve been sleeping.

You couldn’t help yourself.  

You drew invisible patterns across his bare skin. Ben was warm, always warm, even though the AC was making the room almost frigid. You knew it was the ever-present radiator in his chest that made him your own personal heater.

You propped your head up better with an elbow on your pillow as you laid on your side. You then let your hand drift over every dip of muscle between his shoulders, every small freckle you knew just from memory, then down and down his spine.

You flirted with the idea of inching down the sheets, where his bare ass would greet you. From there, you supposed you'd decide what wandering direction your hand took next.

“If you don’t go to sleep,” his deep voice rumbled, “I’m gonna wake up and fuck you again.”

You bit your lip against a giggle, but you didn’t quite succeed.

“It sounds like you’re already awake,” you remarked.

Ben grumbled incoherently in response. He was tired, you knew. He’d just come back from a week-long mission with Butcher and Co. for Supe Affairs. Hence the long night you two spent catching up.

If you were honest, you were still tingling between your legs. Your thighs and ass were a little sore too. Likely they’d be sporting a few fingerprints tomorrow.

You didn't mind it so much though. You two now had a safe word for that kind of thing.

You smirked, sifting your fingers through his hair. It was getting long again. Maybe you’d trim it for him tomorrow, since you both had the weekend off.  

Your hand meandered down the back of his neck, just to begin dragging your nails up and down the slope of his back.

“What does that feel like to you?” you asked curiously. You often wondered how much his invulnerability affected the way he felt things, especially the way you touched him.

“Like a tease,” he muttered.

You applied some more pressure with your nails. Not the way you’d scored his back about an hour ago, when he’d had his sinful mouth all over your body, but enough to be more than a tease. Enough that it would’ve left an angry, red trail on your own “fragile” human skin.

Still, you weren’t able to leave any marks on him. Just a faint whiteness of pressure against his skin that soon returned to normal when you moved your hand away.

“How about that?” you asked.

“Like you’re playing with fucking fire,” Ben said, though you heard the smirk in his voice. “Go to sleep.”

You smiled too.

“We'll pick this up in the morning,” he made sure to add, though he was already halfway back to slumber, from the sound of it.

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, laughing lightly. You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss against his shoulder. “G’night, babe.”

“Mhmm,” he responded.

He groaned deep in his throat and turned over onto his back. Your smile remained as your body tensed in anticipation, but all he did was slide an arm under your waist and curl you towards him, trapping you against his chest. His hand splayed against your lower back, heavy and warm.

His lips brushed your hair away from your forehead and lingered there. He closed his eyes and let out a deep exhale. You did the same, relaxing against him. Your hand came to rest against the steady thrum of his heart.

Moments like this with him still managed to surprise you…but admittedly, less and less the longer you lived and shared together.

A girl could get used to it though.

AN: Lol should she have pressed her luck? Let me know what you think of this one! 😉💚

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Next we have a fun, fluffy, angsty, smutty Christmas special, Love Actually:

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.

▶️ Next Story: Love Actually

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

Including the BMD tag list on this, since that's what my heart was imagining. 😂

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@mrsjenniferwinchester @lyarr24 @xoxovienna @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28

@nancymcl @ashbatz @vavafaure1994 @kristophalis @wonderland2022

@emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky

@kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun

@lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420

@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx

[sincerelyneo]

promiscuous | l.jn

“i’m all yours, what you waiting for?”

💿now playing: promiscuous by nelly furtado, timbaland

❯ summary: Jeno’s more turned on than angry he thinks - it’s not everyday he finds out his girlfriend used to be a stripper and now all he wants from you is a lap dance. Right now. In his car.

❯ pairings: jeno x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut

❯ words: 3.7k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, mentions of drinking, lap dancing, stripping, car sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), dirty talk, thigh riding, semi-public sex, hair pulling, mentions of groping and shitty men, karina is reader's bsf, reader uses she/her pronouns, just jeno being smitten and in awe over his stripper gf.

“Did you see the look on his face when you said you had a boyfriend?” Karina chuckles from the backseat of Jeno’s car.

The joke isn't particularly funny, but it's the combination of alcohol buzzing through her system and the late hour that has her snickering and laughing as if she's a comedian. Jeno can’t help but crack a smile either, not because he finds her humorous; but because his heart swells with pride knowing you turned down another guy because you’re his girlfriend. 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of saying that. 

“I know, he looked like he was about to piss his pants when he started apologising,” you add with your own cackle of laughter. “Priceless really, like a little dear in the headlights.”

Karina grins, leaning back into the middle seat. "I almost wanna feel bad for him, but then I remember he wouldn't take no for an answer until you mentioned Jeno."

You roll your eyes with a shake of your head, “That’s men for you.”

“Ugh! Tell me about it,” she rolls her eyes, “Men are so gross.”

Jeno looks through the rearview mirror and sees her scrunch her nose as a shiver runs through her body. “Hey now, I’m not gross.”

“Oh I know, Y/N tells us all about how cute the two of you are,” she sighs, “She’s managed to find one of the good ones, lucky bitch.”

You look over at Jeno when she says it, a smile on your face because she’s right. Lee Jeno’s the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. Just the right balance of sweet and smitten and passionate and protective. Even now, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other gently resting on your exposed thigh beneath your short dress, he had insisted on picking you up from the club even if it meant waiting up into the early hours of the morning. He just didn’t like the idea of you and your friend getting in a cab alone, drunk. Granted, you’re not that drunk, but Karina is. 

He is one of the good ones.

“You’ll find a good one too, Rina. You deserve it,” you assure her looking back to see her sitting with her arms folded across her chest. 

“Well wherever he is he needs to hurry up, honestly, I don’t know how much more I can take of shitty men chatting me up at the bar and trying to grope me. It’s nauseating.”

“They do that to you?” Jeno asks. You pull up to a red light and his eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“Sometimes,” she shrugs, “Honestly Y/N, I don’t know how you used to put up with it when you used to strip…” 

Karina's words trail off as she realises her mistake, her eyes widening in alarm. You go stiff in the passenger seat because you haven’t told Jeno about that. 

The jovial atmosphere in the car suddenly shifts, the air growing thick with tension as Karina's slip of the tongue hangs in the air like a heavy cloud. Jeno's grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. His eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, catching Karina's wide-eyed expression, and there’s a silent plea for forgiveness in her gaze.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and a rush of panic floods through you. For a moment, the only sound in the car is the dull hum of the engine and the distant echo of traffic outside. Jeno's jaw clenches, but it’s not out of anger, you’ve seen him angry and this isn’t it. If anything you haven’t ever seen him like this, expression unreadable, and you don’t know whether that’s worse.

"You... used to strip?" His voice finally cuts through the heavy silence. 

Your breath catches in your throat, as you struggle to find the right words to explain yourself. You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. There’s a weight of guilt and fear pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

Karina shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her earlier confidence replaced by a palpable sense of regret. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out for her either. Her gaze darts between Jeno and you with a mixture of guilt and apprehension.

The remainder of the car ride was suffocatingly silent until the car pulls up in front of Karina's building, the engine cutting off with a final sputter. She hesitates for a moment, her hand lingering on the door handle as she glances between you and Jeno, unsure of what to say.

Eventually, she opens the door and lets herself out, but not before standing at the passenger window to mouth a small and apologetic. "I’m sorry.”

You manage a weak smile and shake your head, mouthing back a simple, “It’s okay.”

She nods, and she stumbles her way up to her apartment. Jeno waits until she’s safe inside and the door closes behind her before he starts driving off again. You can’t help but shift uncomfortably in your seat, stealing glances at him out of the corner of your eye. 

You can’t shake the feeling that he’s angry, furious even, at the revelation of your past. Guilt gnaws at your insides, twisting and turning as the car is quiet and his gaze stays fixed on the road ahead. 

You can’t bear the silence any longer, the weight of it pressing down on you. "Jeno, are you... mad?" you tread lightly, voice barely above a whisper.

Jeno's head snaps to the side until his eyes meet yours. They’re dark and intense but filled with more surprise than anger. And you’re caught off guard; because you could have sworn from the way he’s gripping the steering wheel, hard enough to cause a fire, he would have been at least a little annoyed.

A slow smirk starts to spread across his lips, gaze now burning and it sends shivers down your spine. "Mad?" he echoes, "No, Y/N... not mad."

A wave of confusion washes over you, your mind reeling at the unexpected response. But before you can process his words, he’s pulling over at some random side of the road to lean in close to your ear. His breath is hot, and he whispers, "Actually, I'm pretty turned on."

You move away from him, back hitting the car door, “Really? You’re not upset…?”

“Well…” he shrugs, “I’m upset that you didn’t tell me—”

“I didn’t want you to look down on me, or be embarrassed of me,” you cut him off, the urge to guard yourself getting the best of you.

Jeno sighs, and he notices the way your voice shakes as you defend yourself. He doesn’t understand why you’re even doing that – you don’t have to prove anything about yourself to him – he loves you as you are, past and future included. 

“You didn’t let me finish,” his fingertips grip your chin, “I’m upset I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me to tell me that.”

“I just didn’t want you to judge me is all,” you look down, voice going quiet. 

“That what you think I’d do?” He asks, planting a kiss on your cheek, and to his pleasure, it snaps your eyes up to him. “I’d never fucking judge you, baby, I already think you’re perfect… and I suppose knowing you used to strip is kind of a bonus.”

You laugh, shaking his hand from your chin, “Shut up.”

“I’m serious, do you know how hot it is knowing my girlfriend used to be a stripper?”

His tone is too calm for your liking. You had often imagined how Jeno might react about learning of your past as a stripper, and you don’t know why, but you had always prepared for him to be angry. You weren’t expecting this, him being so touchy and needy and – well – horny. 

“I’m serious, Y/N.” He scrapes his teeth across his bottom lip as he flicks a glance up to the roof of his car. When his eyes fall down to yours, they’re dangerous. “I’m getting hard just thinking about it.” 

You push at his chest playfully, “Stop it Jeno.” 

“Were you any good at it?” he asks tensely.

“We’re not doing this,” you laugh, shaking your head. 

He groans - it’s more of a whine. “Come on humour me, please baby.” 

You jut your jaw and roll your eyes. “Fine, I suppose I was pretty good.”

He lets out a dark huff of breath. Leaning back in his seat, he strokes his chin and runs a slow, all-seeing eye up your thigh and then over your chest. By the time it rests on your face, all of your nerve endings are on fire, lungs unable to keep up with your tense breaths.

“Show me.”

Your eyes widen, “What?” 

“Show. Me.” He repeats, expressionless.

There’s a chill that drifts through you. His face is completely void of humour, but there’s no way he can be serious…right? 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you straighten your spine, mustering your best look of indifference as you fix him with a piercing stare. “We’re in public.”

“We’re in my car, and it’s dark.” 

You swallow, “You want me to strip here?” 

He nods. 

“There’s no room.”

He reaches down beside his seat, and with a soft touch, it reclines, creating a large space between his knees and the steering wheel. He always has an answer to everything. You let out a ragged breath, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

"Jeno, I can't just strip for you—" you begin, your voice trailing off as he interrupts you.

"Oh, so you'll strip for random men, but when I ask, it's a problem?" 

You bite the inside of your cheek, meeting his intense gaze. "You're serious?"

"Deadly.”

"Fine."

The click of your seatbelt echoes in the quiet car as you rise, sliding into the gap in front of him, facing the windshield. He lets out a low groan, his hand finding purchase on your waist, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins.

As you slowly lower your body, the denim of his jeans rustles against the backs of your thighs. You shift your ass forward to his knees and arch your back. Your hands tremble, partially because you haven’t done this for years but also from the heat of his impatient gaze on your skin as you tease the straps of your dress down your shoulders.

With deliberate movements, you shift your hips, slowly, sensually. Your body sways in time to an invisible rhythm and you feel your lust and adrenaline rise.

His fingers glide along the contours of your back, and suddenly, an irresistible urge seizes you – to see the expression etched onto his face. It's a novel sensation, one that contrasts sharply with your previous experiences. In the past, when you danced, you avoided eye contact with patrons, but this is different; this is Jeno, your Jeno.

You decide to peer over your shoulder, and when you do you don't break eye contact with him. Taking a deep breath you slide the dress over your body, his gaze follows your every movement. From your ankles to the strip of your black underwear, his eyes trace your curves with a hunger that has your core setting a light. There is not a single trace of sweet Jeno left in his irises - the man looking back at you is hungry, needy.

Letting the fabric fall to the pedals, you lower yourself back onto his lap. The warmth of his thighs against your bare skin sends a delicious shiver down your spine, and you can't help but arch your back as you roll your hips, feeling the heat building between you. Soft fabric brushes over your clothed cunt and it makes your mouth water.

Holding onto the steering wheel, you arch your back and roll your ass into the direction of his groin. The guttural sound of his grunt is so animalistic it sends a shock of pleasure straight to your clit. You push further, sliding back until the tip of his swollen cock brushes against your ass. The realization of just how hard he is through his jeans sends a thrill coursing through your veins that triggers a wet heat to pool in your panties. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you move, each roll of your hips driving you closer to the edge from the brush of his growing erection. His ragged breathing fills the car, and when his rough fingers slide beneath your panties, the snap of elastic meeting skin elicits a moan from your lips.

"Can't believe you'd wear panties like this, in that dress, when I wasn't there," he grunts, his voice thick with desire.

Gasping for air, you tilt your head back, your breaths coming in short gasps. "Shut up," you manage, but your voice still trembles with need.

He laughs, before returning his hands to your waist. "Turn around for me, baby. I want to see your face."

Too breathless to refuse, you rise on shaky legs and turn to face him. And when you meet his gaze, you're unprepared for the intensity you find there. It's a stare so intense it's almost violent, burning as it trails over your body over your thighs and stomach. You’ve had plenty of sex with Jeno and the way he studies your body so carefully will never not leave you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“Prettiest fucking girl in the world,” he mutters the words more to himself than to you, but still, you shudder beneath the weight of them.

You grip the back of his headrest and slowly lower yourself onto his lap. Jeno leans forward to meet you. His hands, hot and greedy, slide behind your back to steady you. A smile tugs on your lips as you roll your hips against his throbbing cock just enough to wake up your clit — not that you needed to. Then, his fingers slide underneath the band of your bra and he looks up at you through his thick lashes. 

The snap as he drags his thumb out from underneath the band sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your pussy, and you can't help but arch your back in response. His eyes roam over your body, tracing the line of your throat before settling on your lips.

"I want to take this off," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

"That's not how lap dances work, silly," you giggle, a smile playing on your lips.

Another animalistic groan comes from him forcing your pussy to clench around nothing. Your fingers dig into his headrest, and his raspy breaths tickle the dip of your chest. You rake your teeth over your bottom lip as his fingers find the base of your hair to yank your head back.

"You take it off then," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "I just want it gone. Now."

With a mischievous grin, you slide your bra off, tossing it in his direction. As it lands on his face, you see a slow breath escape his parted lips, tension tightening the line of his shoulders as his hungry eyes take in the sight of your bare breasts. His eyes trail over your curves, the hunger in his gaze almost palpable as he flexes his biceps, adjusting his hands behind his head.

"Don’t let me stop you," he murmurs cockily.

Your pussy throbs with anticipation as you lean back, gripping his knees as you rock your hips forward once more. One particularly hard roll of your hips elicits a moan from deep within you, the friction building with every movement.

"You're so wet, baby. I can see you soaking through your panties," he whispers

Flustered, you whimper in response, his gaze sliding down to where your panties meet his jeans.

"Can I pull them to the side?" 

You're too lost in the moment to argue, too caught up in the pleasure and the heat between your thighs. So you nod, permitting him to slide your panties to the side as you grind hopelessly against his leg. Your body is flush and sweaty yearning for him, craving more pressure every time your clit brushes against his bulge. 

“Fuck,” he whispers close to your ear. 

Your hands slide between his bent elbows and your fingers lock behind his headrest; allowing you to have a better position to grind down on his body with even more fervour.

“You’re gonna cum on my thigh aren’t you?”

You're consumed by heat and desire, completely hot and desperate, and the windshield is now fully fogged up as a result. Lost in the throes of pleasure, you're unable to respond to him, but words are unnecessary. He can see the way your eyes clench shut with each roll of your hips, an expression of pure ecstasy. It's all the encouragement he needs to take action, flexing his thigh beneath you.

The sensation overwhelms you, causing you to buckle under the pressure against your clit. Unable to contain yourself, you sink your teeth into Jeno's bicep and he hisses. But you can't help it because waves of pleasure wash over you as you ride out the orgasm that courses through your body.

After what feels like an eternity of bliss, your high begins to ebb, and you find yourself melting into his chest, spent and content.

It's only when the intensity of your climax subsides that you snap back to reality. Neither one of you has moved – you’re just attached to eachother, panting heavily that you might as well share the same breath.  The sensation of Jeno’s cock poking your ass is still tangible, and even though you are practically exhausted from the intensity of the orgasm he just gave you, you figure it’s only fair to return the favour.

Your gaze remains fixed on his as you reach down to fumble with the buckle of his jeans. He offers no assistance, his eyes entirely focused on you. After all, this is your show, and you get to call the shots. 

You free his cock from his boxers, skipping the rest of his clothes in your eagerness to please him. His hands find your waist as yours find his shoulders, and you revel in the satisfaction of his eyes fluttering shut as you sink down onto the entirety of his length. 

He hisses in pleasure, unable to resist a teasing remark. "You know, for someone who was so hesitant to strip in public, you sure don't mind taking my cock in public."

"It's dark, and we're in your car," you retort, satisfied with your quick comeback. 

But before you can say more, he thrusts his hips, driving his cock deep inside you, where he belongs.

You feel every edge of him as he pounds into you, knotting your stomach and causing you to tighten your grip on his shoulder. The force of his thrusts threatens to push you back against the steering wheel, but you manage to hold on, whining in pleasure as he mutters curses under his breath.

"You always feel so good for me, baby," he coaxes, his hand tangling in your hair and pulling it back to expose your neck.

You hum in agreement, shamelessly lost in pleasure as he peppers your skin with wet, open-mouthed kisses. You pant like there is no oxygen left in the car as his thrusts become sharper and more reckless.

“Fuck Jeno.” 

You gasp, feeling his grip on your waist tighten in sync with the coil of pleasure in your stomach. He pushes you down to nuzzle into his neck, eliciting a cry from you at the angle. He takes your hands from his shoulders and locks them behind your back, giving him full control to drive every inch of him deep inside your pussy.

“Shit..” you whimper into his neck. You can feel his lips against your jaw, nicking it with his teeth. 

“Take it, baby.”

The restriction of your hands paired with his powerful thrusts have you completely submissive to him - which is funny considering you were supposed to be putting on a show for him. He uses his hold on your arms to pull you back and forces you to look at him. 

“Wanna see your face when you cum pretty girl.”

He knows your body so well because you’re at the beginning of your second round of bliss. His forehead falls lazily to your collarbone as he kisses the skin, sending trembles down your body and causing your mouth to fall open as you meet the edge. 

And your whimpers only spur Jeno on, as he rocks you through your orgasm, his own release not far behind. He shakily moans out your name with heavy breaths, his pace staggering as you both climax together. Both your stomachs jitter from the stimulation and your chests huff until your bodies shake with the intensity of the pleasure.

As you come down from your high, you feel Jeno's final thrusts, his eyes squeezed shut and sweat glistening on his brow. The collar of his shirt is damp with exertion, and his tongue pokes out at the side of his mouth as he catches his breath.

You’re like a limp puddle too, but Jeno stays clung to you, your sweaty bodies tangled in one other. Then, you slip off of him and drop into the passenger seat, tugging on your bra and dress that were previously disregarded on the car’s floor.

Jeno fixes his jeans as you dress. Then he starts toying with the car’s keys and revs the engine. As the car comes to life, the headlights glow yellow and the radio picks up. His warm, firm hand finds your thigh as you fasten your seat belt and glance up at him.

"From now on, every time we have sex, you owe me a lap dance."

 "Shut up," you say with a scoff of laughter.

“I'm serious," he insists, " We gotta make up for lost time since you kept the fact you're a sexy ass stripper hidden from me."

[amyminhminh]

⋆*･ﾟ You ⋆ ☾*･ﾟ:

Tags: Wanderer x reader, gn!reader

Summary: Wanderer misses your presence while you are away and fortunately, you come back home.

──────────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────────────

Wanderer flipped the pages begrudgingly, his tired eyes drooping under the dim light.

Kusanali had made him write more theses more often lately, and not to mention his additional work of helping the young god around Sumeru. Everything was taking a toll on him and he didn’t like it one bit.

His beloved was out at that time. He missed your presence. Your sweet scent. Your voice… Your everything. He just wanted to see your small form slipping through the door of your shared home, tip-toeing on the floor boards to surprise him. He craved to feel your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he finally relaxed in your embrace. That way, he wouldn’t have to worry about anything else.

“Hah…”

Puppets like him don’t experience exhaustion, yet his eyes threatened to close at any given moment. He didn’t want to write theses anymore. The only thing he wanted then was you. And you alone.

He was in a trance, thinking of you. He could feel the presence of your arms snaking their way on his tensed shoulder blades, hugging him from behind. Your intoxicatingly sweet smell tickled his senses. He breathed out in a huff.

“Boo.”

His eyes snapped open as he tensed up. He let his guard down. He would and had never let his guard down like that. But he did.

A head appeared in view and he froze like a statue. He would have activated his vision and attacked at that moment, but his body refused to move.

The thought went away as soon as he recognized the face that he had been yearning for.

“What’s got you so tense? Missed me so much?”

Your eyelashes fluttered at the sight of him working on his theses. He hated writing them but he just couldn’t bring himself to reject Lesser Lord Kusanali. Everytime complaints escaped from his lips, you would always ruffle his hair, treating him like a little kid throwing a tantrum over spilled ice cream. But what a sweetheart you were. You would often offer help if you had time, and he appreciated that.

You were always so kind, so understanding… to everyone. Even to strangers. It made him worry about your safety whenever you had the need to go outside without him. And having been betrayed three times in his life, he wanted you to show your kindness towards only him.

Sometimes he just wanted to lock you up in the house to protect you. To love you. To have all your affection for himself.

“Wanderer? Whatcha thinking about?”

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Slapping himself internally, he sighed at the overflowing thoughts circling around his artificial mind. He needed to stop with his possessiveness. It reminded him of…

Nevermind. It seemed like he stayed silent for too long.

“Nothing. Just brainstorming some ideas for theses.”

On your plump lips plastered a smile. The same smile he had adored from the first time he met you.

“You seem tired. You should take a rest. And don’t pull the ‘I’m a puppet, I don’t feel tired!’ on me. You sound like that adeptus from Liyue I know.”

Liyue? Adeptus? There you went, going around all places and meeting new people. Not like he could stop you. But he just couldn’t help the jealousy bubbling up inside his body, urging him to take action. Though he wouldn’t do things like those characters in novels. Yanderes… if he recalled correctly. The novel he had read was published by the Yae Publishing House. Yeah, Inazuma. He knew. But he had to admit the writing style was quite… enthralling to say the least. And a bit provocative, he had to add. All of the phrasing in the book made his mind wander to a certain fox…

Back to the point, all of the yandere’s actions were what his Fatui self would do. He as Wanderer would not cage you inside and punish you for being too close to others.

Or would he?

“Hey, you seem out of it today. What’s wrong? Are the theses’ topics too hard to work on? You know what, I’m taking these. You need rest and I, myself will guard by your side so you can have your beauty sleep!”

Your lips touched the tip of his ear like gentle sakura petals fluttering down in the start of spring. The soft breathing of yours sent pleasant vibrations to his body.

“And I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer!”

For a moment, your lips fluttered against his forehead, then his nose, then his cheek. You kissed everywhere on his pale porcelain face. Your kisses were coaxing him to sleep. But you left his lips alone. As if you were teasing him, you didn’t even bother eyeing them.

“Alright. I will freshen up and join you in bed.”

Wait. No kiss?

He could not believe it. His hand rushed to take hold of your wrist and twirled you around to meet his face. Time seemed to slow down as he smashed his lips onto yours, feeling your breath hitch among light gasps.

Two bodies squished up to one another on the sofa. The house was only brightened up by small lamps, competing with the twinkling of the stars in the vast dark sky he once called fake. Beautiful as it was, it could not compare to the sight of you leaning onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck, head leaning back as he peppered featherlight kisses on your neck.

He was suppressing his desire to just throw you on the soft sheets and bury his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent that had his mind go hazy. He could not deny that the presence of you being there had boosted his energy somewhat. The strange grogginess had disappeared the second you came in. He wanted you so badly that it was hurting. But he needed to consider the fact that you had just come home, your rest was necessary. Perhaps he would have to wait until the next sun rose up…

“Wanderer…”

Lifting his head to look into your eyes, he gazed at you as if you were the most enchanting thing in the world. And you are.

“I love you.”

“So much.”

“What’s with the sudden affection?”

A chuckle rose from your throat as his eyes bore into yours, twinkling in the warm light.

“I love you, too. Now, come on… don’t you want me to freshen up? Let go, you big man baby… Actually, minus the big part-”

Before he could react, your frame sprung up from the couch and you sped to the bathroom, not forgetting to stick your tongue out at his face.

“I’m going to get you back for this…”

He huffed out with a sigh. Without noticing, the corners of his lips curled up into a slight smile. This was what he had always wanted. To love you.

And to be loved by you.

──────────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────────────

Word count: 1162 words

[bellaxgiornata]

A Favor from the Devil |Chapter Four|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Mom!Reader Word Count: 4.1k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; Domestic abuse, depictions/mentions of sexual assault, struggles with past trauma, canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut (possibly more warnings to come)

a/n: Saint Matthew strikes again in this fluffy-ish(?) chapter that has been my favorite to write so far. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @kee-0-kee @dethspllz @a-half-empty-g1rl @senjoritanana @kezibear @sleepysleepymom @danzer8705 @scriptedmoon @flowher @wanda-maxamommy @guccicloudz @loves0phelia @withasideofmeg @mattmurdock-wife24 @sarraa-26 @mylastarrival @mdanon027 @kmc1989 @abiisscared

“Dinner?”

“We'll see what we've got, cricket.”

The sound of voices in the hallway broke through Matt’s sleeping mind, pulling him back to consciousness. Groggily stirring on his couch, Matt tried to focus his senses around him as he rubbed a hand across his forehead. Waking from sleep always left him a bit disoriented, especially the rare times he allowed himself a short nap.

“Chicken nuggets?”

“You know I'm–I'm not too sure if we have any left, but we can look when we get inside.”

Pushing himself slowly upright on the couch with a hand, the leather groaned beneath his weight. As he continued to listen to the voices outside of his apartment, Matt quickly realized he was overhearing you and your daughter in the hallway. Leaning forward and resting his elbows along his thighs, he tilted his head towards the wall where the pair of you were now standing in front of your own apartment door.

“I’m hungry.”

“I’m sure we have something I can make for dinner tonight, Evie.”

A frown settled on Matt’s mouth, his tired eyes narrowing as he focused closer on your body out in the hall. It sounded sluggish, as if you were exhausted and low on energy, and if he concentrated really hard, he could hear the faint rumblings of your stomach. You were both hungry. And with the hesitant way you’d just responded to your daughter along with the burst of anxiety inside of you at your last statement, he’d begun to wonder how true it actually had been.

Shifting on the couch, Matt did what he’d told himself he wouldn’t continue to do. He focused on you as you made your way into your apartment. He found it odd how your young daughter didn’t seem to say much, even now when it was just the pair of you alone in your own place. Something about that unsettled him. A child so young shouldn’t constantly be so timid and quiet.

He heard you set something down on your kitchen counter–a purse most likely. He listened as you took four steps before you opened what sounded like your refrigerator door. There was a soft, quiet sigh that even he’d barely caught as you closed that door seconds later and opened the other. A few items faintly shifted around on the shelf as you clearly searched for something in your fridge. 

“Sorry, cricket, there’s no chicken nuggets. I’ll have to add them to the grocery list for this weekend. But I can make us peanut butter and jelly for dinner. How does that sound?”

“No bread.”

“Oh,” Matt heard you reply, your cheerful tone instantly shifting to something disheartened. “You’re right. I uhm, I guess we might need to–to make a trip to the store before dinner then. Maybe we can find something to make for tonight.”

Your heart rate had accelerated as you spoke, the sound piquing Matt’s curiosity. Why had you suddenly become so nervous at the prospect of going shopping? But then he heard you picking up the object you’d set on your counter, the soft noise of a zipper confirming that it had indeed been your purse. That’s when he understood–you were looking for your wallet. Probably to see what cash you had on you in order to find groceries for tonight. You were probably nervous because you knew how little you’d find to help you.

Eyes closing, Matt blew out a deep breath as he buried his face in his hands. So his suspicions had been correct, you were struggling financially. Even with being able to afford to feed your daughter. He felt sick to his stomach listening to your growing panic in the apartment across the hall in what was clearly a very vulnerable moment for you.

Desperately Matt wished he could head over to your place right now, knock on your door, and offer you that job that Foggy and Karen had agreed upon letting you have earlier this week. Except there was absolutely no way Matt could realistically do that without making you entirely uncomfortable and possibly scaring you further away from him. Because he’d barely ever spoken to you, there was no realistic reason that he should’ve known about the situation you’d found yourself in or for him to offer you a job. 

But he also couldn’t just sit here in his apartment and let you both continue to go hungry. 

Pressing the heels of his hands into his closed eyes, he tried hard to think of how he could help you. Chewing the inside of his cheek, his mind ran over countless different ideas before it finally settled on one realistic one. Lowering his hands from his face, a small smile slipped onto his mouth. While he may not have had an excuse to go over to your place and offer you that part-time position just yet, there was something else he could do to immediately help the pair of you and possibly open the door to communication between you both.

Getting up from his couch, Matt began to make his way into the kitchen and over towards his fridge. Mentally he was already trying to prepare himself for what he would say to you when you opened the door for him because he needed to make this interaction count. He couldn’t afford to have you slam the door on his face–or worse, completely refuse to answer.

“Thank you, Mrs. Amato,” he whispered under his breath as he pulled a dish out of his fridge.

Pulling your wallet out of your purse, you tried to calm the sick feeling in your stomach. You already knew how much cash you had in there. A single twenty dollar bill. And that was all you had until you got paid again next Friday.

Plastering a smile onto your face, you glanced up at Evie. She was standing at the edge of the kitchen, the glaringly empty living room behind her only cementing your feelings of inadequacy. But now wasn’t the time for focusing on that–you needed to find a way to stretch twenty dollars and fast.

“Hey, how about you go put your backpack away in your room while I try to figure something out for dinner?” you suggested. 

Silently Evie turned and headed over to her bedroom. Pressing your lips together, you watched her until she disappeared from your sight. Once she had, you focused back down on the wallet in your hands, spotting the lone twenty dollar bill sitting in your otherwise empty wallet. Shoulders dropping in defeat, you weren’t sure how you were going to make it last all of next week now.

Two soft knocks came from the door behind you, the unexpected sound startling you so much that you dropped your wallet back inside of your purse. Your heart jumped into your throat just as Evie poked her head out of her bedroom, her eyes growing wide and terrified. Yet again you did your best to plaster a calm smile on your face, not wanting to worry her further. Because while you didn’t know who was at your door, and while you were almost positive it wasn’t your ex-fiance, your fear had still sky-rocketted at the sound. The fact that someone was here when you didn't expect company was enough to put you on edge.

“It’s alright, I got it, cricket,” you told her.

Mouth going dry, you stepped out of your kitchen and nervously made your way towards the door. You weren't sure who you’d find on the other side because it had barely been a week since you'd moved in. You'd intentionally gone out of your way not to speak to anyone in the building, so there was no reason someone should've been trying to visit you right now.

Placing both of your hands very carefully against the door, you leaned forward and peered through the peephole. Sucking in a sharp breath, you were shocked to see your neighbor standing in the hallway. The same man from across the hall who you just couldn’t seem to get away from this week. You were about to lock the deadbolt and tell him to leave until he shifted his weight on his feet and you caught sight of what looked like a glass dish covered in tinfoil in his hands.

Was he bringing you food? Because that was…odd. You were in the middle of New York City, why the hell would your neighbor be bringing you food? Even where you’d lived previously just outside of the city, no one had been that friendly. Had he somehow overheard you and Evelyn talking about dinner in the hall? But even then, as you replayed the short conversation in your mind, nothing you’d said had implied that you were both in need of anything.

You’d truly contemplated telling this man to go away as you stood there watching him through the peephole. It was strange that he kept randomly appearing around you this week. But as you stood there chewing your bottom lip, you knew that if he was bringing you food–for whatever reason that he was–you weren’t entirely in the position to turn it down. Because a stranger’s kindness, however unexplainable, would certainly help you make it to your next paycheck.

Inhaling a deep breath, you tried hard to calm your nerves as you began to unlock your door. After all, he was only carrying a dish of food, not some sort of weapon, and when you’d very briefly encountered him on the roof a few nights ago he’d sounded friendly at least. Though there was still a part of you that internally screamed danger whenever you saw him, and you’d yet to put your finger on why.

Opening your door only halfway, your trembling right hand still gripping it in case you needed to slam it shut, you took in the sight of your neighbor. He was standing there in a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a crumpled olive green tee-shirt–a vast difference from the nicer suit you’d first spotted him in at the beginning of the week. There was a bright smile on his face beneath the red-tinted glasses sitting atop his nose. Your eyes didn’t fail to miss the small cut along his chin behind his stubble though, your gaze lingering along it as you nervously licked your lips.

“Can I help you?” you asked after a moment.

“Hey, I’m your neighbor across the hall,” the man greeted, his voice like honey to your ears as he spoke. “6A?” 

One of his hands briefly released the bottom of the dish he was holding to gesture at the door behind himself. Your eyes followed the movement before coming back to land on the dish in his hands. It looked like a glass dish filled with lasagna and your stomach gave a faint rumble. Your hand nervously gripped your door tighter, hoping he hadn’t caught the sound as your attention returned to his smiling face.

“Hi,” you replied awkwardly. 

“I just wanted to introduce myself,” he continued, clearly unphased by the tone of your voice. “My name is Matthew Murdock. I’m a lawyer over at Nelson, Murdock, and Page. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of us before, but we're known for helping out many folks in the Hell’s Kitchen area.”

“I haven’t,” you stated simply.

The man’s smile wavered for the briefest of seconds, but it didn’t completely disappear from his face. It was true, though. You hadn’t been in the city long enough to have become familiar with much in it yet. While you’d been at Hope Haven, you’d been more focused on getting you and Evie set up to make a life in Hell’s Kitchen. You didn’t exactly have a need to go searching for lawyers–not unless Daniel found you. But even then, you weren’t sure there was a single lawyer that you could afford who could save you and Evelyn from him.

“Well, we often tend to do a lot of pro bono work for clients in the area who understandably can’t afford a lawyer,” he continued, almost as if he’d read your mind. “And they tend to show their appreciation for our help with meals and baked goods–and sometimes far too much fruit.” 

He chuckled good-naturedly as he held up the lasagna in his hands. Your eyes once more dropped down to the dish and you swore you could smell the delicious red sauce through the tinfoil. 

“I just thought I’d bring over some food to welcome you to the building,” Matthew continued. “I know with a big move sometimes it's hard to find the time to cook or even pick up groceries, so I thought this might help give you a little break this week.” His charming smile grew even wider, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes behind his red lenses. “But I’ll be honest and admit upfront that I did not make this lasagna, so I can't exactly take credit for it. One of our clients made it as a thank you for dealing with some issues with her landlord.”

You eyed Matthew curiously as he stood in the hallway just in front of your door, examining his friendly and charming smile beneath those red glasses. While there was a part of you that still felt an unexplainable sense of danger from him–the hair on your forearm having prickled beneath his unseeing gaze–there was a smaller part of you that felt his sincerity. After all, how often did you hear about lawyers who handled pro bono cases happily getting paid in lasagna and fruit? 

Still, you found him incredibly strange and you planned to remain on your guard with him. 

“And why exactly is it that you're giving away a lasagna to a neighbor you don’t even know?” you asked cautiously.

He shrugged lightly in response. “I certainly don’t need an entire lasagna for myself. I’m just one man, there’s only so much I can eat.” He paused, a soft, disarming chuckle falling past his lips again. “I’m still trying to make my way through the soup I was generously gifted the other day. But if I’m also being honest–”

He leaned forward towards you but the unexpected proximity had you startle backwards a step, your hand squeezing your door in response. Strangely it almost seemed like he’d hesitated, as if he’d somehow known you’d moved despite being unable to see you.

“I don’t want the food to go to waste and I’d much prefer to drop it by your place than over at Mrs. Henderson’s in 6C,” he finished conspiratorially. “She frightens me a little. Very big flirt, that one. Doesn’t matter if she’s in her late sixties and widowed.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly as he leaned away from you once more. Curiously you thought you saw him even shuffle a step backwards into the hallway.

“Right,” you said, uncertain how to respond to that.

“But I’m sure you’re busy this evening and I'd hate to take up any more of your time,” Matthew continued, extending the lasagna out towards you. “I was told the instructions to heat this up were on a post-it note on top, but considering that I can’t see it, I’m certainly hoping that’s true.”

You glanced down at the yellow post-it note on the tinfoil. It did in fact have the reheating instructions noted. But instead of reaching out and taking the dish from him, you awkwardly stood there, your right hand still firmly grasping your door. Matthew’s smile finally fell at your hesitation.

“I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable in any way. I can leave,” he said. “I was hoping this would be a friendly gesture. I just wanted to introduce myself and let you know that if you ever needed something, I’m just across the hall.”

“Why?” you blurted.

His dark brows furrowed beneath his glasses, his head tilting just a bit to the side. “Why what?” he asked.

“Why’re you coming across the hall to welcome a neighbor to the building?” you questioned. “That seems quite uncharacteristic of someone in the city. At least, from the time I’ve been here so far. People are not generally this friendly unless they want something in return. And I'm not looking to owe anyone any favors.”

The charming smile returned to his mouth as he shrugged once more. “Maybe it’s my Catholic upbringing,” he told you, “but I prefer to be kind whenever the opportunity presents itself. But I assure you that I absolutely do not want anything in return. I promise.”

Your eyes dropped back down to the dish in his extended hands. You did, in fact, want to accept it, but you still felt uncomfortable at the idea of it. 

“I…don't really know what to say,” you awkwardly confessed. 

“You don't need to say anything at all,” he assured you.

Cautiously releasing the firm hold you had on your door, you slowly reached out and accepted the dish from his outstretched hands. You eyed him curiously as the smile on his face somehow grew wider when you did.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

“You're welcome,” he replied. “I hope you and your daughter enjoy it. And if you're a fan of baked goods, I know for a fact that we're receiving far too many peanut butter cookies on Monday. I'd be happy to drop some off because I certainly don't need them all.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, clutching the heavy glass dish in your hands, “that's alright. Really. We don't–”

You stopped short when something tugged at your dress slacks. Glancing down beside your leg you spotted Evie with one of her small fists curled around the dark fabric. She looked up at you and then over at your neighbor.

“Cookies?” she asked.

Matthew's head turned towards the sound of your daughter’s voice. The softening of his expression somehow almost completely eased that feeling of danger you often felt around him with the way he was now smiling down at Evie. He almost looked trustworthy. Safe.

Almost . Which made you even further suspicious of him.

“Hello there,” he greeted gently. “I'm–”

“Mr. Murdock,” Evie said. 

Shifting the heavy casserole dish over to your left arm and cradling it against your chest, your other hand landed protectively along her back and held her close to you. You were surprised she'd even come over and spoken to him because she usually disliked strangers and kept quiet. She must have sensed something else in him than you initially had.

“That’s right,” he said, still warmly smiling in her direction. “We're always getting sent so many baked goods. And it's up to your mother, but I could certainly bring you some cookies next Monday after work if you'd like?”

Evie's attention shifted to you, her wide hopeful eyes silently pleading with you. She didn't often get sweets anymore because they weren't a priority when you were budgeting groceries for the week, so you knew exactly what that look meant. She wanted you to accept the offer of cookies. But that also meant another inevitable interaction with your neighbor and this one was already one too many for your liking. 

But it was Evie and you’d do just about anything to make her happy.

With a sigh, you nodded at her before focusing back on Matthew. “If it's not too much trouble, I think Evie would like that,” you told him. “Thank you.”

“No trouble at all Ms….?”

Your lips pressed together for a moment, your initial instincts fighting you to give away your name and briefly causing you to hold your tongue. Though you had just given him Evie’s name and he already knew where you lived. What more harm was there if he knew your name, too?

Quietly you gave it to him, your stomach twisting into nervous knots. He repeated it softly, somehow the sound further calming you as he did. 

“It was nice meeting you,” he said, already taking a step backwards towards his door. “And I meant what I said. If you ever need anything, I'm just across the hall.”

A tight smile settled onto your lips even though you knew he couldn't see it as you nodded. “Thank you,” you replied, full well planning not to ask him for anything more. “I'll keep that in mind.”

You watched as he finally turned before you shut the door one-handed, the dish of lasagna still cradled against your chest. As weird as that whole interaction had been, at least you didn't have to worry about dinner for the next few nights. 

“I guess we're having lasagna tonight, cricket,” you said, carrying the dish over to your kitchen counter. “Sound good?”

Glancing over your shoulder at Evie, you saw the expression brighten her face. She nodded enthusiastically in response and the sight managed to put a smile on your own face.

Whoever that Mr. Murdock was, he'd at least put a smile on your daughter’s face tonight with his kindness.

“Mama!!”

Eyes flying wide open at the unexpected scream that ripped you from a dead sleep, you felt your heart nearly jolt out of your chest. By the time you heard your daughter shout for you a second time, you were already scrambling out of your blanket and rising to your feet.

“I'm coming, Evie!” you yelled back.

This was why you slept in front of your daughter’s door. Because it took you a matter of seconds to throw it wide open. 

Rushing inside her bedroom, you found Evie out of her sleeping bag and standing by the window across the room. You dropped down to your knees once you reached her, immediately beginning to inspect her with your hands for any sign of injury.

“What is it?” you asked her in a panic. “What's wrong? Are you okay?”

She nodded her head, your eyes drawn back up to her face. Despite her having shouted for you, she didn't look terrified. She appeared startled and a little surprised, but not scared.

“I saw him,” she told you.

Hands making their way back up to her shoulders, your brows furrowed at her words. “Who?” you asked her slowly. “You saw who?”

“The man,” she answered, turning at the waist and pointing to her window. “Outside.”

Your eyes flew to the window, scanning the rooftops beyond the fire escape outside of her room. There was nothing to see though. And with how bright the billboard across the street was, you would have been able to see if someone was there. 

This wasn't the first time this week Evie had told you she'd been seeing a masked man outside her window out on the rooftops. At first when she had told you about seeing someone, you'd let your fear take hold of you, worried it was somehow Daniel out there trying to torment you. But then when she hadn't been afraid of the man, you'd begun to worry that her fear of her father had led her to conjure up some masked imaginary figure that she kept seeing at nighttime when she was supposed to be asleep. 

“Cricket,” you said softly, your attention returning to her, “I've told you already. There's no masked man on the roof.” You reached a hand up, gently cupping her cheek. “Sweetheart, you're just dreaming. Okay? No one is out there. We're safe here, remember?”

“ He keeps us safe.”

Her strange comment gave you pause, your lips parting as you wondered what that even meant. Shaking your head a second later, you rose back up to your feet. At least this masked man wasn't giving her nightmares. 

“Let's get you back to bed, alright?” you suggested.

With a hand on her shoulder, you guided her across the room and back over to her sleeping bag. Despite being grateful that everything was alright after how terrified her screaming had made you, you really weren't a fan of her constantly waking at night because of this imaginary man. 

“He is real,” she whispered.

Expelling a soft sigh, you helped your daughter get back into her sleeping bag, tucking her in as you smiled down at her. If she wanted to believe some man on the roof was keeping you safe, you weren’t about to tell her that she was wrong.

“Alright, Evie,” you replied. “But it's late. You should get back to sleep. You can tell me all about it in the morning. Okay?”

You leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek before gently smoothing her hair. Telling her goodnight one more time, you got up and made your way back out of the room. But before you shut the door after yourself, you caught her quiet voice once more behind you. 

“He is real.”

[dorims]

I like the way you make me feel (about you, baby).

gif creds @/cassandrahoward

pairing. roman roy x reader

wc. ~700

genre. fluff

just a morning before work with roman roy

tags. NO beta, english isn't my first language // established relationship, roman's low self-esteem makes a very subtle appearance, suggestive (one line), mentions of roman's slutty waist (literally)

a/n. i love him your honor, thats it. i was also gonna add that for some reason i seem to be keen of writing intimate scenes inside bathrooms but that come outs...weirder than it is lol ANYWAY i hope u enjoy !!

“I have a what?”

You could see the furrow of his brows through the mirror. It made you bite back a giggle, hiding the cheeky smile on your lips behind his shoulder.

“A slutty waist.” you mumbled against his work shirt, pulling him tighter against you. It was impossible not to interrupt his morning routine when he wore those shirts and those pants and when he looked way too good for your own good. Which, to be fair, was more often than not. Regardless, there was something about him in the mornings, when his tie laid over his shoulders unknotted and his hair fell over his forehead free of gel. 

“Uh…thanks?” He looked baffled while making eye contact, and you only broke it when he shook his head, your eyes teetering upwards to see his profile. “Between the two of us, I always thought you were the slut but oh well-“

“That's not how it works!” You laughed, slapping his shoulder lightly. He pulled your arms tighter around him gently, missing the pressure around his body when you stepped backwards. 

It felt good for you too. Feeling the warmth of him after fighting your way out under the comforter made up for being woken up at 6 in the morning by his alarm. 

“Well,” interrupting himself as his fingers fought the silk of his tie into a knot. “I don’t want to be the only one that's getting slut-shamed.”

“I didn’t call you a slut, I called your waist slutty.” 

“Oh, so you’re slut-shaming my waist, same difference.” He scoffed, basking in the way you rolled your eyes as you turned his body to face you. 

He wanted to complain as your arms snaked away from his waist but held back once he felt your fingers pick up both ends of his tie. At this point, he wasn’t sure if it was some sort of weaponized incompetence or actual incompetence that didn’t allow him to tie it properly by himself. A mix of both, probably, but you always did it better than him. 

Plus, if he had to access some weird part of his brain, then he’d have to admit he quite liked it when you let it get tighter than usual before loosening it up.

“You say that as if you’ve never slut-shamed me.” You joked, pretending not to notice how he shivered when your fingers grazed his neck as you flipped the collar. 

“I don't slut-shame you, I slut-praise you.” Smirking as if trying to hide the effect you had on him, he quipped back. His attempt fell flat though. He swallowed down hard when you finished the loop of the tie with a gentle yet firm tug before smoothing it out.

“In that case, I’m praising your slutty waist too.” You let your hands trail down his chest until your grip rested on his hips. Gentle as always, your touch felt all too warm. The mushiness of being tired, you supposed. He thought so too as you pulled him closer, “And I’ll keep doing so because I think you’re,” and placed a gentle kiss against his and then hovering, intertwining each word with another. “beautiful and hot and gorgeous and breathtakingly stunning—“

“Oh fuck off, get out of here.” He broke into a bashful smile, cheeks tinted pink as you punctuated your affection with a kiss on his cheek.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” You sighed, pushing yourself off him to let him get ready, though not before lingering against the door frame. “I’m gonna make coffee, you want some?”

He chuckled, “You know we have people to do that, right?”

“I know,” you shrugged, “but I enjoy making some for you.”

You didn’t need verbal confirmation from him. Knowing the answer had grown into a pleasant habit, the same way picking the coffee he liked and using the same brand of low-fat milk had. 

You closed the door with a lovesickness unlike any dripping from a smile of your own. And if he had to access an even darker, twisted and weirder part of his brain, as he had done before, he would struggle to admit that the way you cared made him feel awfully warm, like hinting to the despair that gnawed at the back of his head that he wasn’t as unlovable as he thought. 

[nevadancitizen]

do you think you could write something where könig and/or ghost (separate) were nearby or watched reader try to participate in a conversation but constantly got ignored or talked over to the point where they just kinda go silent and walk away? they end up comforting the reader and just trying to be a shoulder to cry on while they talk about their frustrations because this is something that always happens to them <\3

it doesn’t have to be too long and you don’t have to worry about getting to this request too quickly!! thank u for reading anyways :3

-> THE SOCIAL WEAK LINK

synopsis: rookies and debriefings are pains in both you and ghost's asses. rich people fail the turing test while interacting with you and könig.

word count: 2.2k (~1.1k each)

characters: ghost, könig, awkward! reader (lol)

notes: (rings dinner bell) hey friend.. this req has been sitting since september.. im so sorry (ಥ﹏ಥ)

-> GHOST:

Debriefings were always boring. Everyone was tired, sweaty, and just wanted a cold shower and a warm bed. But what else encompasses the military so eloquently except unnecessary misery?

And to add to the misery, some rookies had tagged along to the mission. “On-the-job training,” Price had prattled off as he read the mission statement. He had given you and the rest of the 141 an exaggerated look that screamed If these rookies compromise the mission I’m going to tear the Lieutenant Colonel a new one.

The rookies (with callsigns Quest and Cable) were nice enough. They weren’t given the opportunity to burn off their energy on the mission like the 141 – they’d stayed behind as backup while the 141 went in to deal with the bad guys. As a consequence, now they’re in the debriefing room, chattering away like parrots.

Ghost could fall asleep in the chair he was in, if Cable and Quest were a little quieter. He looks at the next spinny chair over, where you’re sitting. You’ve got your knees tucked to your chin and are silently tracing the patterns in the wood table with a fingernail. Every now and again, you glance at the rookies, but ultimately turn your eyes away.

You were always just a bit too awkward to fit in with the rest of the military. Either too quiet or too loud; you rambled too often and your voice cracked when you did. You slipped through the cracks, into the quiet background with Laswell and Shepherd. You’re one of the powerful hands that move the pieces on the chessboard, but not a well-recognized one. Well-recognized within the 141, yes, but not on a wider scale. 

Ghost can tell how you’re feeling by the obvious emotion on your face. It’s yearning – an emotion Ghost knows well.

His eyes sweep the rest of the table. Gaz is fucking around on his phone, probably making a new Pinterest board, while Soap leans over his shoulder and watches him. Price is in another room, talking to someone important. Ghost couldn’t really bring himself to care about who. 

The entire room is bogged down with an unmistakable tiredness that goes right over Quest and Cable’s heads. Really, the only sound in the room is their voices and, intermittently, yours as you try to inject yourself into their conversation. Each attempt is met with pursed lips that barely count as smiles and something along the lines of “Yeah. Anyway…”

Eventually, Price pops in, leaning his head on the doorframe. The brim of his hat crinkles and his nose wrinkles up in disdain. He sighs. “Everyone out. Lieutenant Colonel wants this meeting room for herself. We’ll debrief later.”

Quest and Cable pop up like excited teenagers and head for the door, continuing to talk. “I’m soooo goddamn hungry. Hopefully the mess hall has something good…”

“Hey!” You practically jump from your chair, your eyes on the rookies. “Um, I heard that they just restocked the vending machines? Do you wanna maybe chick – I mean, check – them out with me? They’re just down the hall.”

They both tense, and Quest looks over their shoulder. They smile awkwardly and exchange a look with Cable. “Uh… maybe another time?”

You visibly deflate and rock back on your heels. “Yeah, totally. See you later.”

They both nod tersely and exit. You take a deep breath and let out a long sigh. You sit back in the spinny chair and it wheels backwards from the force.

Gaz shuts his phone off and groans while Soap sucks air through his teeth. 

“Not your best effort,” Gaz says. 

“I know,” you say. 

“Maybe you’re not just compatible with rookies?” Soap tries.

You roll your head back against the back of the chair and stare at the ceiling. “I know.” 

You sink further into the chair, then stand. “Whatever. Let’s clear out. Price will have our heads if we don’t.”

Ghost tails you out the door. You don’t acknowledge him, but you know he’s there (even if his footsteps are extraordinarily light for a man of his stature). 

“Pompous pricks, ay?” Ghost says. 

You stick your hands in your pockets, hiking your shoulders up by your ears. “Wish they were a little more personable. Wish I was a little more personable.”

“Why, you’re plenty personable.” Ghost laughs gruffly at his own joke as he nudges your shoulder with his. 

“Asking to go ‘chick out’ the vending machines is a personable interaction?” You relax your arms and knock your elbow against Ghost’s. 

“I thought it was funny,” Ghost says. “Even if it was just a slip-up.”

You sigh, but keep up with Ghost as he walks. “If it was funny, then why didn’t they laugh?”

Ghost thinks for a second. “Maybe they just don’t have a sense of humor?”

“You don’t have a sense of humor,” you jab.

Ghost scoffs. “Of course I do.”

“Then make me laugh,” you say. “Make me laugh right now.”

Ghost breathes in and exhales slowly through the fabric of his mask. “Well… do you know why the Cold War was called the Cold War?”

“The supernations fought using proxy wars,” you say. “America and the USSR never really went head-to-head.”

Ghost sighs pointedly. “Yes,” he says, “but also because of the icy-BMs.”

“The what?”

“The Cold War?” Ghost repeats. “Icy?”

“ICBM stands for Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles.” You stop midstep, looking at Ghost with a disbelieving smile. “Ghost, don’t tell me you don’t know what ICBM stands for?”

“No, it –” Ghost sighs. “Icy sounds like IC? Icy-BMs?”

You burst out laughing, waving Ghost away like he was some form of stupid. “Ghost, seriously? You don’t – oh my God!”

“I’m not a fucking knob, I know what…” 

Ghost can’t bring himself to correct you as he watches you laugh like that. It’s a bit too loud and there’s a snort in there somewhere, but it rings true and warms Ghost’s heart. He doesn’t mind being seen as dumb for a minute if you’re able to warm his heart with a sound as nice as that. 

-> KöNIG: 

König nearly always hates going undercover. 

More often than not, the higher-ups stick him in some ill-tailored enemy armor and send him in with nothing but a less-than-encouraging slap on the ass. They know he’ll make it out alive.

On this mission, he feels a little more comfortable. It’s more than obvious you’re not. 

You and König are camped out on the edge of a ballroom, sitting together at a small table. You’re dressed in a fancy outfit that just screams decadence, and it fits your role well – the adult child of some rich, cigar-chomping tech baron. König is playing the role of your bodyguard, dressed down from his usual military garb in a plain black suit (with kevlar padding) and a balaclava.

You cross one leg over the other at the knee and look down at your flute of champagne as you swirl it. The bubbles rise to the surface and pop as the pale liquid settles. 

“I hate this,” you say under your breath, just loud enough for König to hear. 

He nods along, but straightens up when a small group of people approach the table. There’s an older woman, a middle-aged man, and a girl, maybe fifteen. 

“Hi, sweetheart!” An older woman croons at you. “You’re Bohumil Silvester’s youngest, right?”

“Oh!” You sit up straighter and put the champagne flute on the table. “Yes, I am. And, um – and who might you be?”

“I’m Laila Matthews.” Laila checks over her shoulder at the people accompanying her. “This is my daughter, Adine, and this is my husband, Keaton.”

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You smile politely, but König can scope out of the corner of his eye that you’re gripping a bit of the fabric of your too-fancy outfit like you’re meaning to rip it off. You spout your fake name to Laila with a cheeky “But you know that already, right, ma’am?”

Laila is utterly delighted with your carefully constructed persona. She throws her head back and laughs, one hand on her chest and the other finding Keaton’s shoulder. “Oh, Lord. Aren’t you just your father’s child?”

You nod and, once again, smile politely while exchanging side-eye glances with König. He’s just as confused as you are. 

As soon as Laila recovers, she’s talking again. She gestures vaguely in König’s direction. “And who is this? Security, for this casual meeting?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” you say. “You can never be too careful these days, with all the laws about concealed carry and everything.”

“Well, I’m 57, and I’ve only had security for a few occasions,” Laila says. 

“You’re 57?” You bark, a little too loud. You can feel a few heads turn your way and Laila’s stare turns withering. König’s shoulders shake as he coughs into his fist.

“I mean, um, you’re 57?” You try again, quieter. “Because you don’t look it. Like, at all. Ma’am.”

Laila’s tone is flat when she speaks. “Right.”

“I meant, um, you look younger? Uh, anyway.” You smile nervously, then pick up your champagne flute and take a sip. “I love your family’s outfits! And the, uh, the way they match.”

Keaton leans in and grabs a hold of Laila’s shoulder. He gets up on his toes to whisper something in Laila’s ear. It’s hard to hear over the ambient noise of the ballroom. Laila nods and Keaton continues to whisper.

“Um, Laila? Mrs. Matthews?” You try to get her attention, to no avail. She keeps nodding to Keaton’s words like you’re not even there.

You stand and turn to Adine. “Adine, right? Tell your mother it was nice speaking to her.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Adine nods absently, her eyes somewhere else on the ballroom floor. 

You toss the rest of the champagne in the flute down like it’s a shot and stand from the table. You make eye contact with König and nod towards the French doors that lead towards the balcony. 

People don’t notice as you and König step out. The sky is clear, yet the night is still young enough to be starless. 

“Christ, I hate rich people,” you mutter under your breath. 

König moves and leans his back against the wrought iron of the railing. His eyes sweep across the small area, then he nods. “Yes. That interaction was less than pleasant.”

You lean against the railing next to him. “Why was she even talking to me? And what did she mean, ‘Aren’t you just your father’s child?’ Like, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I am… not sure,” König says. “Maybe it’s part of rich people code?”

“Yeah, maybe.” You huff out a laugh, then sigh. “I really wasn’t the best pick for this mission.”

“What do you mean?” König asks. “You are perfectly capable of fighting.”

“No, the, like…” you sigh again. “The talking part? I’m not fit for that. Never been a good conversationalist, never will be.”

“You are conversing with me right now, no?” König gestures between you and him. “This is a conversation. You are doing fine.”

“Yes, but…” you trail off. “You saw me. I shouted her age out in front of everyone.”

König hums. “To be fair, it was a bit of a shock.”

You glance up at him and laugh, a pretty smile gracing your features. “Shut up.”

“But it was!” König insists. The fabric of his balaclava puffs out as he laughs. “I had to cough to cover up my laugh. I nearly had to excuse myself.”

“Yeah, sure.” You shove his shoulder half-heartedly as you turn and look out over the railing, at the courtyard. König follows your gaze.

The courtyard is illuminated by ambient lamps. Paths are laid with bricks, with neatly trimmed grass in between each one. Exotic plants from every corner of the globe line the pathways, some of their flowers closed for the night. A fountain is in the middle, with water spouting out of the trumpet of a cherub statue. A few people surround the fountain, talking quietly with drinks in their hands in the low light. 

You lean close to König and point at one of the people – a man in a navy suit. “That’s the target. Mister T. Kilgore.”

“So he is,” König says. He pats under his armpit, checking his sidearm. “We need to get moving. I do not like the way Laila’s husband was talking to her. Suspicious.”

You nod and send König a small smile. “We’re still going with the plan, right? I’m going in and playing drunk?”

“Of course.” König mirrors your smile even though you can’t see it. “Besides, it’ll give you an opportunity to practice your conversation skills.”

You scoff, but you’re still smiling. “Yeah, if I’m planning on interacting with everybody as a drunk idiot for the rest of my life.”

“I’m serious!” König insists. “More likely than not, you’ll never see these people again.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re right.” You knock your elbow against König’s. “Let’s give them a show.”

[negans-lucille-tblr]

The Luckiest | JDM x Reader | Oneshot

Summary: A premier leaves Y/N feeling insecure, but luckily her husband knows how to help. 

Rating: 18+ (Smut)

Pairing: Jeffrey Dean Morgan x Reader (Reader is about Jensen’s age)

Tags: Daddy kink, insecure!reader, insecurities, minor angst, oral sex (fem rec), p in v, praise kink, validation, fluff

WC: ± 2.7K

A/Ns: Commissioned by the lovely Tina. Hope you love this <3

JDM Masterlist || Find out how to get your own commission here!

“Wow, Danneel looks incredible,” you sigh, your eyes landing on the dress that looks like it was handmade for Dee’s exact figure. Her hair and makeup are just as flawless as the rest of her, and she poses with her husband effortlessly as you shuffle awkwardly next to your own husband. 

“She looks nice,” your husband agrees, “but you look better.” 

You scoff at him, shaking your head in disagreement. Even though you and Dee are nearly the same age, you feel like your days of looking anywhere close to as glamorous as she is are past you. She’s even managed to have three kids and still look that good, and that just doesn’t seem fair. 

You glance back at your husband to see him rolling his eyes. 

“What?”

“You,” he chuckles softly. “I can practically hear your thoughts.” 

“Oh yeah, and what am I thinking then?” You prompt, raising an eyebrow. 

“You’re thinking that you’re not as pretty as her, and that you’ll never be that pretty, but you’re wrong,” he insists with a nonchalant shrug. He pauses when the organiser you’re standing beside ushers you onto the photo line. “Because I think you’re the most beautiful, perfect girl here,” he adds casually, stepping out to begin posing for the cameras. 

You feel a little flustered for a second, just staring after him as the flashes illuminate him. He looks so perfect tonight in his suit without a tie. He looks over at you, a smirk gracing his lips as he lifts his hand and beckons you over with a flick of two fingers. You immediately obey, sliding up to his side where you feel totally safe, and pay the cameras no mind, finally putting the thought of your comparison to Dee out of your mind for a moment as you ride the high of Jeff’s recent words.

You giggle when he leans down to kiss your cheek and then he presses his mouth to your ear and breathes hot breath against your skin.  

“Fucking gorgeous, baby girl,” he growls softly, making your insides flutter. 

*

“Can we go soon?” you plead with your husband once all the formalities are over with and there’s just alcohol and mingling left. “I’m tired and my feet are killing me,” you complain, shuffling around in your uncomfortable heels. 

Jeff chuckles softly, glancing down at the floor to your shoes, before looking back up and into your eyes. 

“Five more minutes? I promised Jared I’d have a scotch with him,” Jeff explains softly, and you whine quietly under your breath but don’t protest too loudly, afraid of offending someone around you. “Don’t worry, princess, I’ll make it worth the wait,” he smirks devilishly, and then slips away, off to find Jared, you presume, and you wonder just what he means by making it worth the wait. 

Your mind at first thinks of something sexual, because after that smirk, you’re pretty sure he was coming onto you, but you can’t think of anything worse right now. You’ve spent the night surrounded by women far prettier and slimmer and better than you in every single way, and all you want to do is curl up in a ball of self pity and sleep this whole evening off. You’re not sure what’s really gotten into you lately, but you’ve never felt this badly about yourself before. You’ve never loved yourself, but your insecurities have never gotten this bad. But then you suppose you and Jeff have been married a short while now, and the ‘honeymoon’ phase died off a little while ago. He used to barely keep his hands off of you, and while he still says the right things and calls you beautiful and makes you feel loved, it’s been a while since you’ve been made to feel sexy. 

When Jeff finally pries himself away from the boys, he finds you once again, and wraps his arm around your waist, finally putting you out of your misery and telling you you can go home. He leads you out to the limo quietly, and opens the door for you to climb in, getting in alongside you. The driver takes you home, and you sit in silence with your husband in the back for a short while, just looking out of the window until you feel his hand on your thigh. Turning your head you catch his eye, and offer him a weak smile at best, feeling truly exhausted and ready to get out of your stupid dress, feeling like you’re trying too hard. 

Jeff doesn’t say anything, and his eyes leave yours as he glances towards the driver, the partian most of the way up, so he reaches over to the switch and closes it completely. That’s when his hand slips down your thigh, to the hem of your dress, and then under it, moving back up to where it was, only this time, on your bare skin. 

“What’re you doing?” you whisper, even though you know the driver won’t hear you through the privacy screen. 

“I’ve tried to keep my hands off of you as long as I could, but I don’t think I can resist any longer,” he states matter-of-factly. 

You scoff and shake your head, wondering if he’s just saying and doing all this to make you feel better. He’s not acted like this since you were dating. 

“Jeff, c’mon,” you sigh, pushing his hand away. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, blinking. 

“I’m not in the mood, okay?” you insist, feeling tears begin to press at the backs of your eyes as you look out the window again. 

“Is this about Dee?” he asks, his hand once again on your thigh, but this time it’s lower down, over your dress, and he squeezes it lovingly. 

“No… yes… maybe… I don’t know, Jeff, I’m just tired, and I feel shitty,” you finally conclude. 

Jeff sighs heavily, his thumb brushing back and forth along your leg. “Alright,” he finally relents, and much to your disappointment he lets go. 

For a moment, you feel annoyed that he hadn’t tried harder to cheer you up, wondering if he too thinks that Dee is more attractive than you, and when you glance over at him to wonder what he’s thinking, his eyes are fixed on his own window, and stay that way for the rest of the ride home. 

It’s even quieter between you as you get through your front door, and you’re even more determined to get into comfortable clothes and go straight to bed, but before you can make your way to the stairs, you feel Jeff’s hand wrap around your wrist and tug you backwards, bringing you towards him. 

“Jeff, please,” you whine, but when you finally look up at him and see the darkness in his eyes, you pause your protests. 

“Jeff?” he questions, “have you forgotten your manners, young lady?” 

“No, Daddy,” you reply, almost so quickly it’s embarrassing.  

“That’s better,” he nods, and a tiny smirk dances along his lips. “Now, do you really want to go to bed, or do you want Daddy to remind you just how perfect he thinks you are?” 

Jeff hadn’t pulled out the ‘daddy’ card in a long time, and instantly you remember back to the days spent between sheets when you first started dating, and how he would be so perfect at taking control, but there was always something so soft and caring with everything he did. You were his, you belonged to him, he could make you do anything he wanted, but in return he made you feel safe and protected, and like the most special thing in his world. And that’s when it hits you. This is what you’d been missing, this is what made you feel good about yourself before, and since it stopped, it’s like you felt like part of you had been taken away. And, of course, Jeff is just utterly perfect and can somehow read your mind and know you better than you know yourself. So of course, he knows exactly what he’s doing right now. 

“I think I need a reminder,” you finally tell him, your voice quiet and soft. 

“I think you’re right,” Jeff nods in agreement, pulling you tight against him, reaching up to caress the side of your face lovingly. “Because I don’t like the way you talked about my baby girl tonight.” 

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you whimper, feeling like you’ve let him down somehow. 

“That’s okay. It’s my fault, I forget to remind her how she drives me crazy. I stopped telling her how often I find myself watching her, wishing I could be inside her all day every day. I guess she doesn’t realise how often I find myself thinking about fucking her.” 

You whimper at his words, your legs becoming wobbly for a reason other than your heels, now. Your aching feet are the last thing on your mind as your pussy begins to drip in your panties, and you rub your thighs together for friction. 

“I just wish she’d believe me whenever I do tell her these things. Because I really couldn’t wait to get her home tonight, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on her skin, couldn’t wait to rip this dress off and leave it on the floor. She was the only one that could steal my attention tonight.” 

“Is that why you had a scotch with Jared?” you bravely sass, and Jeff chuckles, a little darker than usual which only makes your insides flutter. 

“If I remember rightly, teasing is one of your favourite forms of foreplay,” he smirks, and you pout your lips, hating that he’s right and he knows you that well. “Now if you don’t mind, baby girl, I think I’ve been patient enough tonight,” he growls lowly, bringing his lips to within millimeters of yours. “I wanted to spend the car ride there with my mouth between your legs, but I didn’t wanna ruin your outfit.” 

“Well you can ruin it now,” you breathe out, “Daddy,” you quickly add when you remember. 

“Good,” Jeff growls, his hand twisting into your hair as he closes the gap between you and kisses you fervently. 

You expect him to move it towards the stairs, or maybe even lift you and carry you to your bedroom, but Jeff does no such thing, and after a few moments of making out in the hallway, he begins to guide you backwards, towards the couch in the living room, pushing your back against the tall arm. You're just tall enough to slide your ass onto it, and Jeff’s lips leave yours as they drop to your thighs, and he eagerly pushes your dress up your legs and pulls your panties to one side, placing sloppy, wet kisses up the inside of your thigh, pushing your legs apart. 

“Fuck, Daddy, please,” you whine, pushing your fingers through his hair and making him chuckle against your skin. 

“I’ve missed that word on your lips,” he groans, biting down on your skin playfully. 

“I’ve missed it too,” you admit, your eyes fluttering closed in anticipation. 

“Fuck, baby girl, you’re fucking perfect, look at you. How did I get so lucky, hm?” he hums, and then licks a stripe through your slick, only moaning louder as the taste hits his tongue. 

“Oh shit,” you gasp, throwing your head back in the ripple of pleasure that washes over you at the first sensation between your legs. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he praises, licking another stipe, and another, before sucking your clit between his lips. 

*

He dines on your pussy for what might be hours, and your legs tremble and shake around him when you release your third orgasm onto his tongue, panting heavily as you start to come down from your high, only to feel Jeff’s mouth build it back up once again. 

“Please, Daddy, want your cock so bad, please,” you beg, wearily. 

“How can I resist when you beg so fucking pretty?” he groans, finally standing at full height, unzipping his slacks and fisting out his rock hard cock. You moan at the sight which makes him chuckle, and instinctively your legs widen further as if to invite him in. “Jesus Christ, baby girl,” Jeff growls, his lips and beard still glistening with your slick. “I could make myself cum just watching you like this,” he smirks, his fist slowly moving up and down his shaft. 

“No,” you whine needily, wanting him inside you before he even thinks about ending this. “Want your cock, Daddy, please,” you beg. 

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, stepping forward. He reaches up and softly wraps his hand around your neck, forcing you to look right at him, his cock teasing your entrance. “Do you wanna know what me and the boys talked about tonight?” he asks, and you instantly nod your head, wanting to know absolutely anything he is willing to tell you right now. “I told them how I couldn’t wait to get you home, how lucky I was that out of all the girls there tonight, you were the one I married… I told them how hard you made my cock the second I saw you in this dress this evening,” he tells you. “And d’you know what Jensen said?”

You shake your head, your heart thudding in your chest. “No,” you whine, still desperate for Jeff to stop teasing and push his cock inside you already. 

“He told me he couldn’t blame me, told me I was a lucky guy,” Jeff confirms, a smirk spreading over his mouth. “I couldn’t agree more.” 

The fact that someone else thinks that you’re attractive – someone who is married to someone as perfect as Danneel, no less – seems to do wonders for your confidence, and if you hadn’t already started to lift out of your funk thanks to Jeff’s words tonight, this would’ve certainly done it alone. Jeff seems to choose that exact moment to sink into you, and your eyes roll in pleasure as he hums and whispers about how perfect you feel, and how he never wants to fuck another pussy, how yours is the only one he ever wants wrapped around his cock again. 

His constant praises and brutal thrusts are enough to keep your climaxes coming, over and over again as you desperately try to hold onto your last remaining shred of sanity, but by the time Jeff’s through with you, you’re barely able to move, and your whole body trembles in his hold when he finally pulls you into his lap and strokes your hair as you both recover on the couch together. You smile happily to yourself, feeling so much better than you had been earlier this evening, and maybe it’s the countless orgasms he ripped from your body, but you feel like maybe you could believe at least some of the things Jeff had told you. 

“You were lying weren’t you?” you finally ask, looking up at him. 

“I don’t lie to you, baby girl,” Jeff insists, with no room for an argument in his voice. 

“Jensen didn’t say that,” you tell him, adamantly. 

“He did, actually,” Jeff chuckles. “Actually made me a little jealous,” he admits. “I urm… I know I’m not as attractive as him, and he’s younger, could probably keep up with you better,” he blushes. 

You scoff, sitting up to shake your head at him. “Are you kidding? I was the luckiest girl there tonight.” 

Jeff shakes his head, and you quickly realise that you’re not the only insecure one in your relationship, and you wonder if this is how you make Jeff feel when you say similar things about yourself. 

“Okay, here’s the deal,” you announce. “I’ll start believing you if you start believing me.” 

“Alright, deal,” Jeff nods, smiling softly. “But on one condition,” he adds, which makes you frown slightly. “We bring that Daddy thing back because fuck, that was hot.” 

You laugh and nod your head. “Yeah, I guess I’m okay with that,” you smirk. 

Please let me know what you think of this fic! Feedback is the fuel to writers' fires! My anon is on if you'd prefer to leave feedback anonymously!

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[vmpiires]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ❛ THE BLOOD PAINTER — 画家 , CHOSO KAMO

·.⌇ 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓. art; it’s a beautiful thing…when you know what you’re doing...and when the cute artsy guy who’s now your class partner is smart. wc, 2.47K. dark mode recommended.

note. i love this story ya. i was thinking about it alll day. i’m glad ya like it too. hope ya enjoy :D reblog to support meeee and lmk if you wanna be tagged in the next part

tags. artist!choso, college AU, possible nsfw, female anatomy, smoking, etc. lmk if i missed anything

misc. masterlist AO3 PART ONE

your chest tightened once you heard the words ‘get with your partners’. you reacted never positively with that statement. you dreaded working with other students in your class. the art professor had everyone paired up with a random student, to which they’d let it be known that the two of you would be partners for the rest of the semester. you had been lucky enough to be tied down with the smartass of the class…choso kamo.

you had a confused expression on your face while you seen him in complete awe at the art pieces that flashed on the terribly detailed and wordy powerpoint. you were surprised you hadn’t slammed your head against the table trying not to fall asleep.

reluctantly pulling out the cute and compact pencil case you bought last minute from shein, you grab the simple navy blue mechanical pencil out that you had been given by choso. you were trying to give it back to him previously but he insisted that you kept it, assuming that you might need it later on down the road.

you didn’t expect any less from the smartest guy in your class when you saw him already halfway done with his assignment. maybe you were exaggerating at the moment because these were basic questions just to see if you were paying attention to the powerpoint—which you barely were.

“ah, sorry, i forgot we were working together.” choso’s deep voice echos through your brain as he speaks to you, stopping his quick paced writing to let you catch up. you noticed how shy he seemed, despite his pure confidence when answering questions. choso pushed his paper in your direction and looked away, giving you time to work.

as you write, giving the male a friendly smile so he didn’t feel intimidated by your bored expression because of how tired you were, you couldn’t help but notice how his silver rings gently tapped against the wooden table. the bandaids that decorated his slender fingers on the digits that didn’t have rings. the bandage over his nose along with one stuck to his cheek. the one that covered one specific part on his wrist.

what the hell did have have so many bandages for? was he that reckless of a person that he was always getting hurt…or was this all a fashion statement? you wouldn’t be shocked if it was just for fashion. a lot of people do that, so you couldn’t judge. you’d watch as he’d adjust the nose piercing in his nose and then guide his palm into his hair, lightly scratching his head.

“here,” you push his paper back in his direction and thank him for showing the answers. the two of you finally get on track and finish your work and turn your papers into the box that reads ‘homework’ in black sharpie.

since you and choso would be partners for the rest of the semester, it was a good opportunity to get to know him as time passed….and it was also because your professor suggested that you do so.

placing your elbow on the table and your chin in your palm, you’d face your attention over to the artsy boy, who now had a small sketchbook in his possession, lightly marking the paper with his pencil, only to finally add details slightly darker.

“um…so, choso, right?” you start. the tip of his pencil snaps as he flinched upon hearing his own name. the male turned to you as his thumb lightly punched the end of his pencil to replace the broken lead.

“yeah…that’s me.” he finally replies, his eyes averting another way. he seemed to have a hard time making eye contact with you. his expression was calm and stoic. something you never seen before. “did you need something?”

“well, you know we’re partners for the semester so…what’s your hobbies?” you were damn near dying of cringe at the moment. it wasn’t the fact that you were talking to this super smart and creative guy. it was because you hardly knew how to start conversations. mentally, you curse your inability to normally interact in public.

“um..well, i’m kind of an artist. i mean, i consider myself one. i like taking pictures on the polaroid i got for christmas one year…and uh—i read a lot.” choso explains. he seemed like the typical smart guy with creative qualities and a bit shy.

“oh, that’s cool. that explains why you’re in this class.” you say. you noticed that choso would give you a faint smile, something different from his stoic demeanor.

“mhm…well, what about you?” choso queries. you bite your lip. you knew the question would come soon but not that soon. you were thinking that he’d elaborate on how much he loved his hobbies, giving you time to think of what you were gonna say yourself.

you take a breath before finally introducing yourself properly. you quietly say your name, followed by your interests and some other unnecessary details that no one asked for but you were nervous. nothing wrong with that.

choso seemed pretty attentive when you were nervously rambling about whatever came to your head. giving his input on some of the things you mentioned also. you seen choso’s eyebrows raise up when you mentioned the concept of being interested in painting, though he didn’t say anything else about it.

it was time for photography class now and choso’s first project was coming up. that wasn’t an issue for him since this was something he was heavily interested in.

reading the instructions on the paper in his mind, the little voice in his head speaking for him, he saw that he had to make a scrapbook with brand new pictures that reveal something about him.

something like a self portrait but without the drawing and the excessive erasing whenever something turns out ugly.

“that sounds like a cool project. hey, take a pic of me right now,” yuji smiled, posing into the camera. but choso shook his head.

“i’ll come by this weekend and we’ll take some pictures. i want you to be clear and in front of the camera. not goofy and pixelated.” the male replied, making yuji laugh.

“i won’t be pixelated—maybe your wifi sucks.”

“i will admit, my internet does go in and out sometimes. it’s very frustrating…but i get around.” choso leaned his back against the pillow, his head gently resting against the wall behind the bed.

“how are the others? are they well?”

“eso and kechizu are outside,” yuji would back away from the camera to look out of the window, which gave him a view of the front yard and the surrounding houses.

“they’re playing with the frisbee.”

“i’m glad they’re doing fine. have you three eaten anything?”

yuji hummed, “i wanted to try cooking but i didn’t wanna burn the place down so we’re getting takeout at that buffet you took us to back in the summer.”

“don’t touch the stove unless i’m there. i really don’t want you hurting yourself or anyone else for that matter.”

as choso and yuji’s conversation prolonged, choso began working on some homework that he had from his english and math class. yellow tinted lights surrounded choso as he used a small remote and flick on his fairy lights and his attention was focused back onto the paper, his pencil scratching lightly against it while he used his binder for support.

the next day was an off day so choso decided that he’d take a walk to the cafeteria and get breakfast. holding his backpack firmly against his back, he’d walk into the large area. the male was being casual and chose to wear a grey sweatshirt and a pair of joggers with his hair tied back into a ponytail, leaving some of his hair hanging down in the back and in his face as usual.

sneakers lightly clicking against the tiled flooring of the cafeteria, choso would grab some plasticware and a plate and he’d pick out what he wanted to eat, which were two fluffy pancakes, eggs, and two sausages. he was slightly disappointed that there weren’t any bacon that day but there was always next time.

choso wasn’t really a coffee guy but it was that or be stuck with drinking tea or water—out of everything he preferred water but he was getting older and it was about time he’d try something new.

the male was in his own world, finishing some work that he fell asleep doing the night before and reluctantly sipping the coffee. he already knew his stomach would be gurgling the entire day because of it. or because of the fact that he hated the taste so bad that he was able to force his body to reject it.

soon enough, he saw a figure situate themselves beside him. pausing his music to see who had been sitting near him, his heart nearly bursted out of his chest when he found you. a lump in his throat formed when you gave a gentle smile and waved at him.

“hey, how come you’re sitting by yourself?” you ask him as you began to eat your breakfast. you had the same items on your plate but what was different was the fact that you had some chocolate milk with you. not the drinks that the school offered. it was making him wonder where you got the carton of milk from.

“ah, i just needed time to myself. i have so much stuff to catch up on. i have to schedule a train back home to visit my brothers this weekend and my photography class is starting a project so i have to start that. i also need to be preparing for my chemistry and algebra tests.” choso explained to you in a frenzied tone. you wanted to giggle at how quick he was speaking. not to insult him but you thought it was funny how panicked he sounded.

“shit, you already have tests? your teachers must be pretty serious about their work—or they just wanna get the topics out of the way.” you take a sip of your milk. choso nods, wrapping his index finger around one of the loose strands of his ink colored hair.

“you don’t? no fair.” choso chuckled. “well, you might’ve picked some easier classes than i had. you don’t strike me as a girl that enjoys the concept of extended education.”

the comment caught you off guard but he was right. you didn’t look like the typical college girl, nor did you look like you particularly enjoyed coming to class. you were just there because you were told to go. you were just happy to find something that made you happy.

“i didn’t wanna be here at first but i got used to it.” you’d take a bite of your sausage and quickly chew it before speaking again. “my parents were insistent on me coming to college. even after i said that i didn’t wanna go, they forced me anyway. back in high school i found myself signing up for FAFSAs and all that fun stuff.”

“oh, so you don’t actually pay out pocket to come here?” he queried. “that’s good, you won’t be in debt and you won’t have to pay anything back.”

“what about you?”

“no, i’m in the same situation as you. i’ve just become keen to people not making the best choices when it came to schooling.” choso replied as he’d close his laptop, finally finishing the study guide that he was given from his chemistry class.

he spoke so proper and sophisticated. talking to him made you think you were talking to a counselor. his voice was deep but smooth like butter. somehow, he made you feel safe even though you didn’t know him very well.

you noticed how simple his clothes were compared to when he came to class or when you saw him leaving school grounds to head back into the city for who knows what. he was always well kept. even in his lazy clothes.

the cologne he wore had a smell that you knew would stick in your mind and in the memory of your nostrils for a long while. if you ever smelled it somewhere else, it’ll instantly remind you of him.

when the two of you finished your breakfast, you were about to get up and throw your plate out when choso gently took it from your hands.

“i’ll take it,” he said softly, taking the plate and stacking it on top of his. your cheeks flushed a bit when you felt his large hand brush against yours.

his skin was soft as if he exfoliated himself everyday and it had a warm, comforting sense to it. when he walked away, you started to wish he stayed there and just held onto your hand for an extra moment.

the weekend came around and choso was making his was off of the train and heading back home. once he arrived, he was barraged with greetings and yuji throwing himself into choso’s chest.

“how’s your classes?” eso queries.

“it’s—hm…well i can’t say they’re boring because i love my classes. but some can be tedious or annoying. like math. the moment i get the hang of one topic, we’re already moving on to the next. then i’ll have something new to learn.” choso replied. “and you three?”

“me and megumi hung out.” yuji said excitedly. “and then gojo sensei took us to this movie. it was so cool but megumi didn’t like it. he said it was stupid.”

“your idea of “cool” is definitely interesting.” eso chimed in.

“was it another worm movie?” choso slipped his shoes off and gently placed them on the shoe rack. yuji twisted his lips upward.

“it was not….it was a bug movie. it was about this roach that wanted to be as big as a spider. and guess what? huge spoiler; the roach got big. and i mean huge.”

“very interesting, itadori.” choso chuckled, seeming a bit amused by yuji’s odd adventures. “i’m sure the movie was good—maybe. i don’t know. your choice of movies are actually weird.”

“my choices are not weird.” yuji pouted. “you watch probably romance movies all the time…um—not that that’s a bad thing. but you still probably do.”

“if you knew me, you’d know that i’m not interested in those. they’re kinda cheesy. i’ll settle for romcoms. other than that, i watch horror and mystery.”

“yeah, you’re totally an old man.”

“i’m only nineteen….”

ending notes. IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONGGGG i’ve made like six apologies about this but yk i just don’t want ya thinking i’m neglecting this story cuz i like this more than anything i’ve ever made. headcanons are next and MAYBE street racer choso because it just popped in my head this morning. excuse any mistakes if i’ve made any. i apologizeeee. remember, comments and reblogs are much appreciated and thank you for reading.

© EXORSIIAN | © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[amywritesthings]

a silver truce in snow. / a levi holiday ficlet

pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) word count: 1.8k summary: Snow is a mythical thing in the Underground City. Now, on a Scout mission, you get to experience the real deal. Naturally that means starting a snowball fight with Levi Ackerman - but make it horny. tags: 18+ MINORS DNI! pre-aot, explicit language, snowball fight, secret relationship, kisses, power/authority kinks, sexual tension, implied sexual content, touch-starved idiots, friends to lovers, fluff w/a little slutty note: set in the universe of silver underground credit: dividers by @saradika

welcome to the fourth day of the twelve days of amymas 2023 !!

Snow was such a bitch.

Beautiful, something people in the Underground City would never get to see in the flesh, but such a bitch.

Carrying the last of the supplies up the mountain yourself towards the rendezvous cabin had been one hell of a choice.

Captain Levi was explicit about trudging on foot and leaving the horses behind, so it was up to the team to meet with the rest of the Scouts waiting with Erwin.

It's not a competition to get there, but of course it's a competition to get there before Oluo — not that beating him is hard to do.

Petra and the others are eons ahead, likely already nestled inside tonight's shelter. You move slower, somewhere between a purposeful and accidental pace.

Because it's snow. Real, tangible snow.

At first you were excited to see the flurry, experience the cold, for yourself — snow was just a fairytale in smuggled books for the kids in the Underground City.

Now?

Now you’re sinking one foot into another pile of snow, and you’re really over the novelty.

(You can’t remember the last time you felt your fingers in these mittens.)

“Tired already?”

A voice calls to you from the top of the hill, and the snow beneath your feet illuminates.

Your cold-worn chin lifts to the sudden array of light: Levi Ackerman stands over you, nose pink from the chill and brow quirked with interest.

The fire from the lanterns illuminating the cabin create a halo effect behind his emerald Scout hood.

His words are meant to be a jab, but you know what he’s really saying:

Sorry I couldn’t help.

Helping signals favoritism.

Favoritism would sell you out — to Erwin, to Hange, to the team — in five seconds flat.

(You could — and have — argued that most of the squad already has an idea. Forever bound to the cards held to his chest, Levi insists keeping your secrets to yourselves.)

“And you’re not?” you ask in an exhausted huff.

“I can carry supplies double my weight,” he replies in that playful monotone, “unlike someone I know.”

“Oh?” You exhale again. “You calling me weak, Ackerman?”

“I’m not the one out of breath, am I?”

Levi retorts in jest, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Well, then — if that’s how he’s going to be.

“You might wanna check on Oluo,” you add, taking one last step to land on flatter earth. You wipe the sweat off of your forehead with the back of your mitten and drop the supply bag to the ground. “I think I lost him down the hill.”

“He’ll make it up the mountain eventually,” Levi reassures, relieving the second sack off of your hands.

You relent, not willing to spoil the moment by pointing out that this can be considered helping.

“He’s all the way down the hill?”

He tosses the sack to the cabin’s stoop, then bends to remove the first supply bag from the snow. He tosses that, too, and fully turns to greet you.

His cheeks are equally pink from the cold, and you can't stop staring.

(It's adorable. He'd hate being called adorable.)

"Yeah," you nod.

Levi trudges through the snow towards you.

“All the way?”

"Yeah, why?" you repeat with confusion.

You see where it’s going as soon as he crosses the threshold into your orbit.

"And, Lieutenant, in your best estimation," Levi continues, feigning professionalism, "it will take at least ten minutes for Oluo to reach the Scout cabin?" 

A smile grows on your face, careful yet delighted.

“Fifteen minutes, Captain, at the very least.”

Your body is compelled forward when Levi loops an arm around your waist, dragging you to him.

The laugh on the tip of your tongue dies when he presses a freezing kiss to your lips.

It's risky, but you're so glad he's willing to take it.

When it comes to expeditions, your lives are a simple mosaic of stolen kisses and phantom touches. Alone time is impossible when you’re traveling on the road.

(Except it's just usually you who makes the first move.)

The dark-haired man sighs, breath hot in comparison to his lips, when you return the kiss with equal passion.

He turns his head to deepen the stolen kiss, eager for a moment — only a moment — where he can have you.

Everything feels warmer in this small pocket of two.

Emboldened by his spontaneity, you flick his lower lip with your tongue.

Without fail, Levi makes a noise of want.

His fingers under his gloves squeeze your side for foundation.

( Maybe tonight, if you’re quiet.)

Except you had your own plans.

Surely he'll veto a midnight tryst at your childish desires, but what you're about to do to ruin the moment was decided upon well before this surprise kiss.

Somewhere around the time of Levi leaving everyone else in the snowy dust and now, Gunther had taught you about things kids on the surface did when it snowed.

Build snowmen.

Make snow angels.

Snowballs, though... a packed little ball of snow, ready to launch at a moment's notice.

A fight.

Levi Ackerman was so focused on the two bags over your right shoulder that he never saw the traveling ball you'd made while climbing the mountain.

A sizeable weapon, not wholly round but resembling enough of what Gunther showed you on the road.

And now he's focused on the kiss that he doesn’t see your arm rise—

Slowly, without detection—

Abruptly you pull away, sliding back to create space.

His eyes belated flutter open, lips pursed in warmth by the kiss — then explode wide when he sees a glob of white.

Bam.

It's a successful first throw.

Levi stumbles, sputtering and wiping his cheeks and chin with gusto.

"James—!"

You back up with a laugh to the gray sky, all too proud of your accomplishment.

It’s a full belly laugh, giddy with childlike excitement that you managed to pull that off.

"That's what you get for going way ahead of the rest of us, Ackerman."

The hair framing his face is dipping with water, pout palpable.

He looks like a human-sized cat, sopping and annoyed.

“You little shit,” he growls, but it’s not out of anger.

It's determination.

He bends at the knees to gather snow into his gloves with quick precision, leaving you little time to run backwards.

“Where’re you going?” he calls. "What, you thought you'd get one hit and win?"

"Levi!" you shriek when he throws the first snowball.

Humanity’s Strongest doesn’t miss.

His snowball lands against your white trousers, wetting the fabric.

You use the hem of your cloak to try and protect yourself from the inevitable war you’ve started.

“I’m sorry!” you exclaim, unable to stop laughing.

(Clearly not sorry enough, since you reach down to start making up a sphere in retaliation.)

“Uh-huh,” he huffs, doing the same. “Should’ve thought that one through before you threw snow in my face.”

“You had us walk up a hill!” you call to him, and he holds up another snowball as a threat.

You continue sliding backwards, doing your best to quickly compact a ball.

You fail, miserably.

“So now my Lieutenant complains?” Levi asks, and a fire ignites in your belly.

You’ll never get over him calling you his. 

(Mine, he whispers in your ear at night when your wrists are pinned over your head, one crossed over another, as his other hand holds your chin in place. Levi has to make sure your eyes are on him and only him when he enters you, slow and deliberate, to witness your eyes flutter from the stretch. You’re mine.)

He throws another.

It hits you square in the chest.

Every time you throw another pathetic little snowball back at him, the dark-haired man easily dodges the attack.

He’s agile, focused, as he steps closer and closer.

You yelp again when you manage to finally dodge a fluffy puck coming right for your face.

Your hands shoot high, parallel to your head, to surrender.

“Truce!”

Levi squints, making up another snowball.

“A truce? I don’t think you get to call one.”

You take a leap of faith, dropping to your knees in the heavy snowfall.

Your clothes are going to be soaked right through, but you don’t care.

The look in Levi’s eyes when he realizes you’re giving up in this fashion is enough to make the chill running up your body worth it.

He nears, snowball in hand.

You lift your chin, your gaze meeting stern gray eyes.

You have to pray those cabin windows are as frosted on the inside as they look on the outside, but Levi blocks you from view as he stands directly in front of you.

“What are your terms and conditions, Lieutenant?” he asks, voice heady.

He rips the mitten off by his teeth, ripping it clear off of his free hand.

A pale hand reaches for your chin, thumb pressed against the center of your lower lip.

You don’t move, hot in the face from sudden arousal.

“I—”

His thumb glides along your frozen mouth, back and forth, allowing you time to contemplate your answer.

Nothing comes to mind.

You’re too focused by how warm the digit feels against your weather-worn skin.

“Speechless?” he mocks. “That’s unlike you.”

When you fail to speak again, Levi leans down to whisper in your ear.

“We can call a truce for now, but this? Isn’t over.”

All the air escapes your lungs when his lips press a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to your earlobe.

“Meet me at midnight, my door. We'll draw up a peace treaty, but on my terms."

That kiss turns into a nibble, and you make a small nose of desire.

Levi's voice is an octave deeper.

"Is that understood?”

If it wasn't so cold, you'd fuck him in this damn snow storm.

Unable to help yourself, you turn your chin and give a kitten lick to his jawline.

“Yes, sir,” you mock in return.

You’ve only ever called him sir to grate his nerves.

Now isn’t any different.

He pulls away.

"Good."

Opening his other gloved palm, Levi makes a point to show the readied snowball — only to drop it back to the pillowy earth below.

"I won't tolerate lateness."

Before he turns, you see it:

A grin, gone as fast as it appears, on his lips.

You can't help but grin yourself, heart racing at the night that lay ahead.

Yeah.

This fight isn't over.

And you'll gladly take the punishment that fits the crime.

.

[bidisasterevankinard]

Tease tidbit Tuesaday

I remembered how my youngest nephew were suffering from teething since he was 2 months so I decided to put it in a fic with bucktommy and platonic buddie and their baby :

Both dads look at each other’s red wet eyes with lost and scared faces.

Tommy decides to intervene and help. His family definitely needs some new composed person to let them rest and calm down.

“Can I see her first? Maybe I can find a way to calm her?” Tommy holds his hands to Izi, carefully, getting closer to Evan, who looks at Eddie.

Eddie erratically nods, “we are tired as hell and anxious so hard I’m hyperventilating. Tommy is at least calm and it can help her.”

Evan nods too and weakly smiles at him, but it barely touches his blue tired and red from tears eyes. His boyfriend passes his daughter to him and Izi looks at him with tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. Tommy’s heart breaks. Especially when after some silent seconds she starts crying again. 

Her face is red and she’s warmer than Tommy would like to so he decides to check one thing he knows not many people expect their baby would suffer from at such a young age. So it is possible Evan and Eddie weren't thinking to do it.

Tommy puts his finger in her mouth, carefully touching her gums and cooing at his sweet baby when he feels how warm and swollen they are.

“Oh, my sweet princess, I’m so sorry,” he continues stroking her gums, allowing the baby to gnaw his finger with toothless gums. Her crying subsides more and more till it just little hiccups and some little happy noises.

“Yeah, how I thought, she's teething,” he says to two blinking and smiling at him, as if he’s God himself, men.

“Tommy, I can kiss you right now,” Eddie says and comes to him, smiling at his daughter who carefully smiles at him too, but keeps munching on his finger. “Platonically!!! Absolutely platonically,” he adds to Evan, smirking at his friend.

Evan just shakes his hand exasperatedly at him, frowning when he gets to him, hugging him behind, leaving a little kiss on his neck and flipping Eddie off.

It makes him and Eddie laugh, but not Evan. 

“But-but she's only two months old. Why is she teething so early?”

I was tagged by @diazsdimples @hippolotamus 💙

NP tagging @queerbuck @queerdiaz @wikiangela @bewilderedbuckley @devirnis @watchyourbuck @repressedqueen @rainbow-nerdss @racerchix21 @theotherbuckley @epiphainie @ebdaydreamer @evnnkinard @evansboyfriend @evanbi-ckley @eddiestummy @eddiestommy @underwaterninja13 @kinard-buckley @lavenderleahy @loveyouanyway @lonelychicago @pirrusstuff @aspecbuddie @saybiwithme @shortsighted-owl @steadfastsaturnsrings @diazheartsbuckley @honestlydarkprincess @monsterrae1 @cal-daisies-and-briars @buckera @bigfootsmom @bi-buckrights @bekkachaos and anyone who wants to

[lam-ila]

Baseball and Love || Dawson Mercer

Summary: Four times you watched baseball at home and one time you watched in person.

Word Count: 1,905

Warnings: one scene occurring during quarantine (please let me know if you find any more that i should add)

NHL Masterlist

a/n: here’s my 2024 summer fic exchange for @hischier-papaya! i hope you like it! as always, huge thank you and shout out to @wyattjohnston for hosting the fic exchange! you’re amazing!!

this is gender neutral. hope you enjoy this! feedback is appreciated

LIKES ARE GREAT, REBLOGS ARE BETTER ♡

—————

1. The First Time

Every summer, since before you were born, your parents hosted a summer barbecue at your house. Eight year old you was running around with other kids your age, screaming with joy as you played tag. Early on into your second round of tag, you were plucked out of the game by your parents to meet a new friend.

“Sweetheart, this is Dawson.” One of your parents explained to you. Your eyes were wide with intrigue as your mouth twitched into a small smile at the sight of a new friend, so weren’t sure which one of your parents was talking to you.

“Hi.” You said to him. You looked over your shoulder to the game of tag still going on behind you. Looking back at Dawson, you continued “Do you wanna join our game?”

“Yeah!” Dawson exclaimed, looking up at his parents for a nod of approval before running off after you.

After many rounds of tag and a few other games, you and your new friend were completely tired out. Luckily for you, it was perfect timing as the Reds game was just staring to begin. You plopped yourself down on the floor in front of the tv where the game was playing. Since Dawson wasn’t introduced to anyone besides you, he followed you to the tv and sat down right next to you.

“Who are you rooting for?” Dawson asked, looking at you looking at the tv.

“The Reds.” You answered, still looking at the tv. “My dad and grandpa like them, so I do too.”

“Cool.” Dawson followed your eyes back to the tv, staying silent for a bit before asking “Do you want some lemonade? I’m gonna get some for myself.”

—————

2. The Time at a Sleepover

Sleepovers with Dawson were a common occurrence and at these sleepovers, baseball was watched whenever the Reds were playing. After dinner, you and Dawson spent the hour before the game begun reassembling the tv room and turning it into a fort. Blankets were laid across and above chairs borrowed from the dining room and pillows were placed on the carpet beneath the temporary shelter.

“I heard there’s a rumour going around that we’re dating.” Dawson casually mentioned while snacking on the bowl of popcorn resting in between you two.

“Ew that’s gross, Daws.” You exclaimed, scrunching your face in disgust. “We’ve known each other since we were eight. That’s like, five years.”

“Yeah…” Dawson trailed off, looking at you while your eyes were glued to the game. “That’s gross.” He slightly shook his head, mentally shoving his ever growing crush on you deeper in his mind.

—————

3. The Time Before He Got Drafted

Quarantine sucked. Everyone knew that. Your last year of high school was cut short, the NHL season was paused until further notice, and worst of all, you couldn’t see Dawson. However, despite not being able to see each other in person, you and Dawson were constantly on the on a call together. One night, a little over a week away from the 2020 NHL draft, you and Dawson were on a call together, as per usual, and both watching the Reds game on either side of the call.

Your conversation consisted mostly of comments about the game, until Dawson spoke up.

“The NHL draft is coming up. Would you wanna join my family’s bubble to be at my place with me during it?” Dawson wondered.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I am a little nervous though. What if I don’t get drafted?” You immediately answered without question.

“Dawson Mercer,” you started, lowering the volume of your tv so there wasn’t much background noise. “Listen to me when I say this: you are going to get drafted. You’re such a crazy talented player that it’s impossible for you to go undrafted. Any team who doesn't see that is simply stupid.”

“Thanks, it really means a lot.” He breathed as he felt a rush of warmth flush to his cheeks. He giddily smiled as he thought about how sweet your affirmation was.

“Also, I’m totally buying all of the merch of whatever team you’re getting drafted to.” Your statement broke Dawson’s train of thought as he laughed. “I’m gonna be so broke, but I’ll take being broke if it means supporting you.”

—————

4. The Time You Surprised Him

About half of Dawson’s third NHL season passed by without you being able to go to one of his games due to your schedule. You felt awful for it, but Dawson reassured you over and over again that it was okay, but you could tell he was still a little upset that you had yet to make it. Unbeknownst to him, you were flying over to New Jersey to watch him play and to spend a few days with him.

You planned everything with Jesper and Nicole, having them pick you up from the airport and driving you over to the game, keeping your bag in their car, so Dawson wouldn’t suspect a thing.

You went over to the Prudential Center and waited with Nicole and the other WAGS for the team to see everyone before the game started. It felt weird, but yet nice, for you to be waiting with the WAGS since you and Dawson weren’t together, but you pushed that aside, anticipating for Dawson’s excitement over seeing you for the first time in a while.

You straightened as the team began to come out, eyes widening as you spotted Dawson talking to Jesper. You began to smile as you watched the two of them walk towards you and Nicole.

“Hey Nicole, how are you do-” Dawson began before his jaw dropped at the sight of you standing next to Nicole. “What are you- how are you- hi.” He engulfed you in a breathtakingly tight hug.

“Hi Daws.” You greeted him back, still holding each other.

“I didn’t know you were coming.” He stated after pulling away.

“That’s because we planned to surprise you.” You briefly motioned over to Jesper and Nicole. “So, uh, surprise?”

Dawson turned over to face his teammate saying “You were in on this?” before bringing him into a bro-hug. “Thank you for bringing my best friend here.”

“Of course man.” Jesper smiled at the sight of Dawson being over the moon excited that you were standing in front of him.

The game ended with the Devils winning and Dawson scoring one of the goals, pointing up to were you were sitting with the WAGS as his celly, showing you that he dedicated his goal to you.

Once you saw Dawson after the game, you grabbed him into another hug whispering “I’m so so proud of you” into his hair.

You walked over to Jesper and Nicole’s car, grabbing your bag out of the trunk and placing it into Dawson’s trunk before following him into his car and making your way to his apartment.

After settling into his apartment, you watched as Dawson crashed onto his bed, turning on the tv in the process to the Reds game still going on. They were in Los Angeles to play the Dodgers meaning about half of the game was still left to play. You turned your head to the tv, smiling at his urgency to put on your favourite baseball team’s game. Looking back at Dawson, you saw him meet your eyes and extend his arms towards you while doing grabby hands, making you laugh.

“You know, you really do act like a child sometimes.” You teased.

“Oh, just get in my arms. I want cuddles.” He demanded, making you laugh.

You laid in his arms while watching the game for about an inning and a half before you start to feel the effects of travelling, going to Dawson's hockey game, and staying up late to watch a baseball game all in one day. You’re fighting the heaviness of your eyelids as your head lulled to the side, making you look away from the game on the tv.

Dawson lowered the volume and pressed a tentative kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as he whispered “Goodnight”.

You nuzzled your face further into his body, finding yourself placing a kiss to the bottom of his neck, close to his collarbone.

“Night Daws.” You mumble before accepting the sleep your body so desperately needs.

—————

+1. The Time He Surprised You

Despite being a big Reds fan, you had never been to a Reds game. That was something Dawson planned to change as he bought two tickets to a game for you two to go to during his offseason.

“Dawson, can you please tell me where you’re going?” You pestered in the passenger seat of Dawson’s car as he drove you to an unknown location.

“Nope.” Dawson smirked while responding. “You’ll see when we get there.”

“Ugh, fine.” You rolled your head back against your seat’s head rest. “Wait, is that the Reds’ stadium?” You perked up, your face pressed up to the window.

“Mhm.” Dawson confirmed. “And we have two tickets to their game today.”

“Really?” You exclaimed. “Oh my gosh, thank you Dawson! I am so going to hug you when we get there.”

And you kept your promise, quickly unbuckling your seatbelt when the car was parked and rushing to the driver’s side of the car to give him the biggest and tightest hug you’ve ever given him.

Once inside the stadium, you found your seats and admired the very close up view, taking some pictures to send to your parents. You and Dawson then decided to get food before the game started, so you made your way to one of the food stands, hand in hand to avoid getting separated.

"Hey Daws?” You asked once standing in line, still hand in hand with him. “How much were the tickets?"

"That’s nothing of your concern." He asserted.

"But I want to pay you back."

"Not gonna happen."

"Okay, well I'll pay for food."

"You could pay me back by being my partner." Dawson started the sentence confidently and very quietly mumbled the last three words.

“Hm?” You hummed, hinting at him to repeat what he said.

“Oh, uh…” He let go of your hand, using his now empty hand to awkwardly scratch at his head. “Sure, you can pay for food.”

After eating, you two sat at your seats, waiting for the game to start.

“Thanks for bringing me here.” You said, your body twisted so that you were facing Dawson.

“Ah, no need to thank me.” Dawson waved your appreciation off. “It was about time I brought you to a Reds game.”

“But why’d you do it?” You asked, intrigued by what his answer would be.

“ ‘Cause you’re my best friend.”

“Yeah sure, everyone gets their best friend front row seats to their favourite baseball team.” You sarcastically remarked.

“Okay, you want the full answer?” You nodded in response, all your attention focused on him. “I like you, as in, romantically. I have since we were twelve.” Dawson stated in a matter of fact tone.

“You do?”

“Yeah, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. Nothing has to change.”

“Nah, I’d like for things to change because I like you too.” You laughed slightly as his reaction to you saying that, his face visibly brightening with excitement.

“Good because I’m going to kiss you now.”

You and Dawson leaned into each other, meeting in the middle and pressing a kiss to each other’s lips that expressed everything that’s been unsaid since you first met.

——————————

NHL Taglist: @readyfreddy @jostystyles @jimothystu @typical-simplelove @2manytabsopen @11livpangburn @matthewkniesys @lifeofpriya @fallinallincurls @jimmystrudel

join my taglist here

[stars-and-inkpots]

Could you possibly write more soft Gale fics? He just deserves so much love and healing. I really liked how you wrote Reverence. Sorry I don’t have a more specific ask, I’m not very good when it comes to fic ideas.

Absolutely I can, I love writing for Gale so much, and he really does deserve the world. Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy!

Late Night Book Club | Gale x Reader

No matter what you try, you just can't seem to sleep. Between nightmares and insomnia, you start to think you might never get a good night's rest again.

Gale seems to share the same issue.

While you might not be able to completely solve your problems, at least the two of you aren't alone in them anymore.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Cuddling, Insomnia, Nightmares, Comfort, Fluff, First Kiss, Love Confessions (kinda)

Notes: choosing a name for this was the hardest part about writing it

Ao3 Link: Late Night Book Club

Word Count: 2,150

For whatever reason, you find yourself awake far later than everyone else. This shouldn’t be too much of a problem, if it wasn’t for the fact that this was the second night in a row where sleep eluded you to the point of exhaustion. The little amount of sleep you did manage to get was plagued with uncomfortable dreams that teetered on the edge of nightmares, making sure the rest was fitful. You knew you had to sleep; you couldn’t hope to lead the group if you were barely able to stand tomorrow. It’s frustrating. It isn’t like you aren’t trying to sleep either; you laid there for hours before finally giving up and leaving your tent to tend to the fire that has steadily burnt down to the last embers. It’s here where Gale finds you. 

The look on your face only adds to his concern at seeing you up so late. You don’t notice his approach, another thing that makes Gale think something must be wrong. 

“Is everything alright?” He asks softly, though the sudden noise still startles you. He watches you turn and immediately relax when you realise it’s only him. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry,” you apologise, but you aren’t exactly sure what you're apologising for. Perhaps it's for letting all of them down with your inability to sleep, knowing you’ll hold them back tomorrow. Then you notice that Gale looks just as tired. 

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks. 

You’re sure your exhaustion is evident enough, you can feel the weight under your eyes. A part of you hates feeling like you need to be taken care of. You don’t want to acknowledge that help would be both welcome and useful, but you know these feelings are simply a byproduct of the exhaustion that weighs on your shoulders. You can’t fault Gale for wanting to help. 

“No, it’s alright. You need your own rest.” The day had been tough on all of you. Gale, though talented when it came to magic, was pushed to his own limits today. 

“Very well. Would you at least allow me to sit with you for a few moments then?” Gale asks. 

You only nod, and Gale sits beside you on the ground. You’ve managed to get the fire going a little stronger again, and the warmth is appreciated by both of you. You’re suddenly aware of just how close you are, knees almost touching. You blame the warmth in your cheeks on the fire. 

“If there is something bothering you, I am more than happy to listen.” There is genuine care in his words. He is worried about you. As much as you don’t want to burden your companions with your troubles, he seems adamant that he wants to hear them. 

“I can’t sleep is all,” you admit. “It’s nothing serious. Just can’t sleep, and then when I do my dreams end up waking me up again.” It feels childish to say that your dreams are the primary culprit of your lack of sleep. You’ve been through so much in the past weeks, but it’s nightmares of all things that finally get to you. 

But Gale doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease you. Instead, he looks at you with only sympathy and understanding. He doesn’t pry any further, and you’re thankful. 

“What about you? Why are you still up? If you want to share, of course,” you’re quick to add. You don’t want him to feel like he has to tell you his own troubles just because you told him yours. 

“We have similar problems it seems,” is all Gale answers. You return his earlier kindness by not pressing him to elaborate either. 

The two of you sit there in comfortable silence again. 

“I understand if you wish to remain alone, but if you ever wish for company when you cannot sleep, you are always most welcome to visit me.” He says it so quietly, hesitantly, but not unsure. Knowing you don’t need to spend the nights awake alone, at least, is a comfort, and the thought of spending the time talking with Gale is pleasant; even if that time is simply spent sitting near to one another. 

You smile. “I might take you up on that offer.” 

Gale gives you a fond look. The golden light of the fire makes him look soft and at ease, though, maybe that’s only because he’s with you. 

“I think I’ll try to sleep again. Thank you for this, Gale.” You stand, and he does the same. 

“Anytime.” 

Sleep still doesn’t come easy when you return to your tent, but eventually you’re able to get, at least, a little bit of dreamless sleep before you’re awoken again. The gaps between sleep and consciousness are still more frequent than you want, but it’s better than nothing. 

---

The next day is rough. Gale doesn’t look like he had much luck with sleep either, and you’re almost thankful because he is more inclined to ask the group to slow down than you are. Maybe the others can tell that you’re also struggling, because no one complains when the steady pace is interrupted. 

Perhaps some god out there is looking out for you, because the day’s travel is mercifully uneventful. 

Setting up camp again is a chore. You do your best to help where you can, but you can barely stand as it is. 

“Get some rest, soldier. We’ve got it from here,” Karlach says to you, voice quiet. You know she’s trying to be nice, but it feels like pity and you hate it. You swallow your pride and thank her before returning to your tent. 

Even though your body aches and your head is starting to hurt, when you lay down, you only end up staring at the roof of the tent. You suddenly just aren’t tired. You know you’re tired, because your body feels tired, but at the same time you aren’t , and it’s only partly caused by fear of the dreams you know await you. It’s frustrating to no end. 

After another few minutes of laying there with your eyes closed, you finally give in. 

Only a few of the others are still awake, sitting and talking with each other around the fire. They don’t notice you skirting around the edge of camp towards Gale’s tent. It’s not that you feel like you need to keep this a secret, you just don’t think you have the energy to talk to anyone besides the wizard right now. 

“Gale? Can I come in?” You ask softly outside the tent. You know he’s awake; you can see shadows that dance across the walls. 

“Of course,” Gale answers. Before you can move to open the tent flap, he waves a hand and it opens for you. 

“What a gentleman,” you tease, but even you can hear how tired you sound. 

“Always for you,” he returns with a smile, but there’s a truth in his words that brings a warmth to your face. 

You finally notice how cosy his tent is. There are several books, all of them stacked in piles that must be organised in a way you can’t discern. The ground is covered in plush blankets and pillows. Fluttering around the top of the tent are small, almost iridescent orbs of light, some purple and others blue. They give enough light for Gale to read, but keep the tent dim enough to be pleasant. 

“Please, sit down, make yourself comfortable.” 

You sit beside him; closer than you were last night, leaning against his side slightly. You peer over at the book in his hands, surprised to find it isn’t some arcane tome. As far as you can tell, it’s just a normal adventure novel. 

“Don’t let me interrupt you, you can keep reading.” Even just sitting here beside him is enough of a comfort; the tension already starting to seep out of your shoulders. You don’t want to talk about anything yet, and you figure that Gale shares the same sentiment. 

“Do you want me to read to you?” Gale asks, and though you almost think he’s joking, you realise he really means it. 

“That would be nice.” 

And it is. You’ve always enjoyed listening to him talk; Gale has a lovely voice. He picks up where he left off when you got there. He wasn’t too far into the book yet, but he still pauses occasionally to explain something. Eventually you close your eyes, focused only on his voice, the details of his words getting blurry. 

“Can we lay down?” You mumble tiredly. 

“That’s a good idea,” Gale says with a smile, having already noticed the way your head has begun to dip forward as sleep begins to pull at you. 

It takes a bit of coordination, but eventually you’re both underneath the thick blanket that Gale pulls tighter around the two of you. You move closer to him, your head underneath his chin, and he wraps an arm around you. He’s warm, and you feel safer than you have in weeks. He starts reading again, fingers playing idly with your hair. Within another minute, your breathing has evened out and you’re fast asleep. 

Gale folds the corner of the page to mark where you two left off and closes the book before he sets it aside with the countless others. Eventually, he manages to fall asleep too. 

Both of you still wake up a few times in the middle of the night. You didn’t expect this to be some miracle cure for your sleep problems, but having Gale there holding you when you wake up makes getting back to sleep a little easier. The same can be said for Gale who wakes up several times, only to be calmed down once he feels your arms around him. The two of you are able to get a good rest, and when you wake up in the morning you don’t feel the same ache in your bones as you did the past few mornings. 

It becomes a sort of routine between you. In the evenings, after everyone leaves for their tents, you follow Gale to his or he follows you to yours. Then he reads to you, and sometimes you read to him, and you both let sleep find you in each other's arms. The nightmares are getting more bearable, and even on the worst nights when neither of you can sleep no matter how much you try, at least you’re there together. 

---

It’s been a week since you started this arrangement. The book is nearly finished. Gale had promised to let you pick out the next one. 

He brushes through your hair with one hand, the book held open in the other. You listen while he starts reading the last few pages. The hero who’s story you’ve been following through the novel culminates in one final battle against evil. It’s cliché, you think to yourself, and then smile because isn’t this exactly your own life now? And what hero story is complete without a lover to kiss them at the end, which is precisely what happens. Good prevails, and the hero gets their true love. 

Gale feels your smile against his neck and, for reasons he understands but doesn’t want to admit yet, feels a warmth flood his cheeks. 

“The End,” he announces, snapping the book closed with a flourish, earning a laugh from you. “What did you think?” 

“It was nice. It felt more like a romance novel at the end.” 

Gale hums in agreement. “Yes, but I think that's what I enjoyed most.” He puts the book down then returns to hugging you close to him. 

“I agree, it felt natural.” You hope Gale understands what you mean. 

He does. 

The two of you have been dancing around this for a while now, neither one of you ready to acknowledge it. But there’s something about tonight that feels different. 

You lean back to look at Gale’s face, bringing a hand up to guide a strand of greying brown hair behind his ear. Your hand lingers on his cheek, thumb brushing gently across his skin. He puts his own hand over yours, moving it to kiss your palm. It’s a careful gesture, tender and nervous all at the same time. 

When you move to kiss him, he meets you halfway. It’s a soft kiss; a testament to these nights you’ve spent together. When you part, you rest your forehead against his. The way he looks at you makes your heart swell: like you mean everything to him. 

He kisses you once more before you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. He holds you like he’s scared you’ll disappear, and you tighten your arms around him as if to answer: 'I could never.'

You both sleep the best you have in weeks, still there for each other each time you wake. 

[bullet-prooflove]

The Circuit: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: Tagging: @kmc1989 @pear-1206 @keyweegirlie @nu1freakshow

You are the only woman that Travis has eyes for. He makes that abundantly clear during his most recent rodeo circuit. He’s a rockstar at these things, pulling in accolades, showcasing his best horses, it’s the reason John Dutton brought him on board. Travis is a money maker and the Duttons want in.

Unfortunately all of this brings the buckle bunnies.

Travis has been around the block with a few of them. He has a reputation, you know that and so does he, he’s been working hard to rid himself of it over the past year but it sticks like mud. He’s hopes news has gotten around that he has a girl but belt bunnies, they’re bold.

“I’m with someone.” He tells Lanelle when she tries to climb into his lap.

She’s a blond firecracker from Georgia with measurements that belong in a Playboy Magazine. The two of them have tussled a few times, she always seeks him out at events like this.

“But she ain’t here Sugar.” She says in that sweet Southern tone of hers as she rearranges her top to highlight her assets. “But I am.”

“Not my thing anymore.” He tells her, his voice tinged with disinterest and she pours her beer right into his lap. He has to say he half expected it. Lanelle doesn’t like not getting what she wants, in the past he appreciated that feistiness, now…

It’s gotten old.

She spends the rest of the night, writhing on the knee of some young gun coming up on the Bronco circuit and Travis could not give less of a fuck.

He slips away early, disappearing from the bar and heading towards his trailer. He usually goes to the break of dawn at these things before climbing back on his horse and winning his next bout but the truth is he’s getting tired.

The doctor tells him he has a good few years left in him if he takes care of himself, cuts down on the booze. Too much partying is starting to catch up with him, his liver isn’t functioning the way it should do.

You’re the only one he’s told about that, you and his Mama. His doctor says if he doesn’t slow down, he’ll be looking for a new liver in the next five years. Before you that wouldn’t have deterred him. He lived hard, he played hard, he would have died on that hill. But then you’d come into his life, a vision in a white cowboy hat and worn out plaid and he  realised he wanted to stick around as long as possible.

He’s never through of himself as an alcoholic, he’s always been a good time guy but the damage adds up and now he’s careful about what he drinks, what he eats because he know he doesn’t have a hope on the transplant list. Even if he did have the surgery it would put him out of action for over six months and he can’t imagine going that long without riding.

He's sitting on the edge of his bed when he calls you. He’s been missing you more and more lately, your smile, your laugh, the press of your soft body against his as you lie tangled up together. You’ve been together almost two years now and it’s getting harder to leave.

“I saw you on TV.” You say when you pick up the phone. “You looked good.”

“Yea.” He says pinching his brow to ward off the headache that’s starting to gnaw at his temples. “We made some real money today.”

“You sound tired.” You say softly and it still amazes him how attuned you are to him even over this distance.

“I’m missing you a little.” He admits as he lies back on the mattress, his gaze coming to rest on the ceiling. “Actually, I’m missing you a lot.”

Love Travis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[creative-crybaby]

A Show of Gratitude

PAIRING: timeskip!Miya Osamu x fem!reader

GENRE: wee bit of angst/comfort | smut (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: nipple play, light manhandling, masturbation (m and f), fingering, oral (f receiving), cum eating, praise kink, size kink (kind of)

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 7.1k

SUMMARY: As a thank you for shining a spotlight on Onigiri Miya, Osamu invites you over for dinner (and dessert). All characters are 18+

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

Osamu raises a brow at you, though more out of amusement than cynicism. It suits him even, the somewhat teasing lift complimenting the blank expression he usually carries. His lips form a subtle pout—it’s cute, you think. It sends heat to your face, and you clear your throat before smoothing down your skirt. Who knew someone with a large build and resting neutral face could juxtapose all of that with a miniature shift in expression—

It’s been quiet for too long, you realize. 

“I’ve only tried a handful of things on your menu,” you begin with a stammer, “but I still plan on trying some of the other stuff to add some suggestions for the readers. Plus, if you don’t mind, I could interview you. I’m sure you’re busy with getting everything in line, so whenever works for you works for me. You’ve only recently opened up your shop, so I’m sure me writing a piece on it could gain some attention, and—”

“Sure,” Osamu says, adjusting his cap. Your mouth snaps shut, the warmth returning, setting fire to your face as you wish nothing more than for the ceiling to crash down on you. “I already figured it’d help the shop, but I’m not too sure when I’ll be available for an interview.” He pulls his phone out from his back pocket and holds it toward you. “If yer fine with giving me yer number, I can message ya when I’m free.”

Your focus seems to care more about his Kansai dialect than his words, and you blink that pulling magnet away.

“Right, yes,” you reply as you hastily take his phone and add your number to his contacts. Your hands find each other as soon as you return the device to the handsome shop owner, twiddling thumbs dancing an anxiety-induced tango. 

“Great,” Osamu nods curtly. It doesn’t help when he glances down at his screen, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. His hooded eyes meeting yours seem to glue your feet to the ground as your knees threaten to buckle. “Ya should hear from me soon. Thanks, (L/N).”

With a mix between a nod and a bow, you leave in a hurry, teeth digging into your bottom lip to block the embarrassed squeal trying to come out. 

Most would know to introduce themselves first, regardless of their profession (or lack thereof). You know this. You have done so before. But not every potential interviewee you’ve met has broad shoulders to dig your nails into or large biceps that you wouldn’t mind holding you in a chokehold or pecs that could replace both of your pillows or a slutty little waist—

Professional, you call yourself. Bullshit.

But it’s a little too late to go back and delete your contact information from his phone. Your blog, a little something you do on the side, consists of new spots in your area you’d recommend your viewers to check out. Onigiri Miya opened not that long ago, and after finishing your umeboshi (and then ordering the tenmusu, katsuobushi, tarako—you get it), your stomach achingly sent your brain the message that the shop needed more recognition. 

You only caught sight of him after you asked one of the very few employees to fetch you the owner. Tired of making you more food than your wallet would appreciate, they offered a nod before heading to the back and returning with a towering figure dressed in all black, the uniform tee doing its best to remain in one piece as it hugs his body.

You didn’t notice the rice grains stuck to your cheek until he casually pointed it out. The exchange between you two after that involved more ogling than conversing on your end. And you didn’t give him your name until he gave you his phone. 

Dumbass.

All of this replays in your head as you attempt to come up with questions for him. And if you manage to shake the embarrassment away, you wonder if you’ll be able to avoid making a fool out of yourself when you interview him. 

Your eyes trail down to your phone on your desk. You could apologize for your behaviour, telling the ravenette something about having a lot on your plate that wasn’t his food. Maybe you should make up some excuse to back out before leaving the country with a completely new identity. 

These anxieties disappear like a popped bubble when the soft vibrating of your phone interrupts your spiralling thoughts. Fumbling to grab the device, you turn it on to see you’ve gotten a text from an unknown number.

Unknown until the message lets you know it’s the handsome shop owner from earlier that day (not verbatim, of course). With your heart in your stomach and throat at once, your thumbs do a jig above the keypad as you try to come up with an answer. You didn’t have to, at least not yet, as the ellipses appear on his end, and he gives you a time and day to interview him. 

After agreeing with him (and using too many exclamation points), you exchange your goodbyes. 

Those interview questions can wait: you need to scream into the void. A pillow will do, you suppose.

“For the love of God, do not make a fool out of yourself.”

You stand before Onigiri Miya’s entrance, muttering and clutching your notepad for dear life. Convincing yourself that being several minutes early was necessary resulted in you showing up about half an hour before the planned meetup. Waiting outside with your eyes glued to what’s visible of its interior makes you feel like a stalker. Truth be told, you want to see him again, catch his accent again, taste his food again, have his eyes bore into your nervous frame again—

“Yer early.”

A shriek almost escapes your throat at the voice, and your head snaps to follow the familiar sound. Osamu pokes his top half from around the shop's corner, lips pursed and brows slightly raised in curiosity.

“Ah, Miya!” You stammer, straightening your posture and adjusting your notepad. “Hi! I–uh, I know I’m sort of early. I guess I thought I’d take more time getting ready this morning than I actually did.”

The smile you offer him is supposed to be an easy-going one. Though, it’s difficult being convincing when your bottom lip occasionally wobbles and the corners of your mouth twitch at every pause. Some excuse, really: he probably doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe you. 

Regardless, he nods. “Sorry for scarin’ ya. I was just takin’ care of some stuff out back. Feel free to come in. Might as well start early, if yer fine with it.”

You mumble a soft verbal agreement, too afraid your voice will betray you should you say anything more. Osamu approaches the entrance to his shop, waiting for you to enter first. With a deep breath, you do so, the owner following you soon after. 

It seems that the gods were on your side, even if momentarily. The interview went as well as any other one, with the exception of your not-so-subtle ogling. He’d tell you about his love for food and how he realized his passion for it over volleyball, as well as his relationship with his twin. Every bit of information you’d get, you’d fit perfectly into a mental draft, ready to type it all once you got home. Even so, your genuine curiosity didn’t shy away as he shared his story, admiring his dedication and pleased to hear about the support he received. 

When everything is finished, you exchange your thanks and let him know when the piece should be ready. 

“Feel free to message me if you have any questions,” you tell him as you both make your way to the exit. 

Osamu nods, offering you a half-smile that’s still enough to fluster you. “Will do. Thanks again, this could really help ma shop.”

You returning his expression with an even wider grin is only natural with the flattery he throws your way. While one of your hands subconsciously picks at the strap of your bag, the other waves him off. “Well, let me publish the piece before you go saying all of that.”

“Nah,” he hums, adjusting his cap. “I read some of yer work to see what I was gettin’ m’self into. Yer gonna do this place proud, no doubt.”

Your shoes become your source of interest. You can’t let the ravenette see how his words affect you: not unless you want the poor man to call the ambulance. Two sentences had your heart trying desperately to claw its way out of your chest, pounding in your ears and face melting from the heat. 

Still, when you straighten your back and look at him, you give him a smile and a nod. “That means a lot, thank you.”

Oh, look at that: you’re getting better at this. 

Osamu copies your actions. “Yer blog just got a new fan. Keep up the good work.”

Nevermind. You need to leave. Like, now.

The next time you show up to Onigiri Miya is about a week after you publish your piece on it. 

After doing everything in your power to not embarrass yourself, you found the writing process to be the easiest part of the entire process. Not only because you had more than enough information at your disposal, but you also got to isolate yourself in your apartment, free from distractions and attractive shop owners. Being honest about the well-prepared food and best recommendation depending on one’s tastes came easy when you tried a good portion of the menu; of course, you would do the place justice. (And, of course, you made sure you weren’t kissing too much ass in your piece during your editing process.)

Despite the shop being far busier than when you first arrived, your eye catches its owner before anything else. Behind the counter, Osamu sports Onigiri Miya’s uniform as he prepares an order, large hands moulding rice into a triangular shape with precision that shows his experience. It’s a silly detail to catch, but after the interview (and the countless ones before that), you know better than to dismiss their work as “just food.”

Your feet carry you to where the ravenette works his magic, and you’re about halfway there when he notices you. 

“Ah, (L/N),” he greets, offering a half-smile as you settle onto a stool. 

“You seem busy,” you quip lightly, trying to return his energy. At the very least, you deserve points for eye contact and not letting your voice waver. 

Osamu’s smile morphs into a smirk as he momentarily looks away to wrap the nori around the neatly-shaped rice ball. “All thanks t’ya.”

His words have you taking in your surroundings, barely having done so when you entered the shop. It’s more or less packed, for sure, the stool you’re sitting on being one of, if not the only vacant spot for you to take. A variety of customers flood the interior, with some more peeking in from the outside: a group of high school girls seated in the corner, giggling about god knows what, a mother and her son sitting only a few seats away from your spot, a few men in suits sitting by the windows seemingly gaining energy from their food. Not a lot of people you would assume to read your blog, though you wouldn’t exactly say you had a target audience in mind based on age or gender. Regardless, the compliment feels far-fetched, somewhat undeserving. 

You turn back to face him. “You’re too nice.”

“I dis’gree,” he counters nonchalantly. “I read yer work. You did this place proud.”

Heat returns to your face; if you didn’t know better, you’d assume you were getting sick. 

“My blog is just a little something I do on the side for fun,” you explain. “It’s not famous or anything. Besides, you’re the one making the food here. Give yourself some credit.”

Osamu finishes the last rice ball before placing it on a rectangular plate, and an employee–a new one, you presume–takes it to bring it to a young couple sitting near the entrance. 

“I do make some pretty good food,” he muses, removing his cap to wipe his forehead with his forearm.

“That’s what I’m saying,” you chuckle. “If I’m not careful, my diet might solely consist of your onigiri.”

The ravenette huffs a laugh, wiping his hands with the white cloth on his shoulder before resting his arms on the counter and leaning closer to you. “I’m not just talking about rice balls.”

An innocent correction, really. But with the small distance between you two and how his voice dropped an octave, your palms growing clammy as you gulp deeply is beyond your control. 

Your fingers instinctively return to fiddle with the hem of your shirt as you attempt to find your composure. “I don’t doubt it.”

The former wing spiker pulls away with a satisfied smirk. “Great. I’ll cook for ya.”

You blink in confusion, brows slightly furrowed. “Huh?”

“Consider it a thanks for writin’ about ma shop,” Osamu explains as he gets back to working on another order. “Lemme make ya a nice meal. Not sure when it won’t be busy in the upcomin’ week, but I’ll let ya know and plan ahead.”

You don’t fully process his offer until he draws his attention to a customer. The scream that threatens to explode from your throat gets swallowed in time before you make a fool of yourself. He’s just returning the favour… to your favour… which isn’t how it works, but you’re certain he’s just being friendly. He loves food, and from what he’s seen from your blog, he knows you’re in the same boat as him. And with the soft yet genuine smile he gives to each customer he greets as they enter or as he prepares their orders, it’s tough to convince yourself his offer is anything more than one out of kindness. A tad disappointing, but it should ease your nerves for when the time comes. 

“All right,” you grin shyly. “I’ll take you up for it.”

Osamu pauses from wrapping the rice around the pickled plums to face you. He beams, quickly finishing his current rice ball to place away before returning to you. 

“Perfect,” he almost chirps before checking on the rice cooker next to him. “How ‘bout I make ya somethin now? Ya liked the tenmusu best, yeah?” Surprised he remembered your favourite, probably from your blog, you nod bashfully. “Great, it’s on the house.”

He winks at you before drawing his focus to your order. If you weren’t sitting down, your knees would’ve failed you.

Oh, you think, subconsciously smoothing down the skirt of your dress. You’re doing this. 

Indeed, you are. And you showed up at a reasonable time (by that, you actually got there early and decided to drive around the neighbourhood for a bit until it was appropriate to park and enter the apartment complex). 

It took a few days before Osamu finally texted you, letting you know when he’d be able to close up shop early to have you over. Since then, you’d keep your phone on you or nearby more often than usual, every single notification catching your attention. You almost don’t care how quickly you responded, letting him know the time and day would work for you without even checking your own schedule to confirm. (You did so afterwards: you’re good, honey.)

Getting ready seemed to surpass all that on an anxiety-inducing level, you’re pretty sure. Dinner at his place sounds like a date, yes. But he never said it was a date. You can only interpret so many social cues, and trying to recall his body language and tone as you raid your closet for something appropriate to wear does no good to your sanity. You settled for a floral summer dress in the end; not the best for the nearing autumn weather, though it’s nothing a jacket can’t fix. Words of encouragement don’t do much convincing on your end as you do your makeup and assure your reflection that it’s not too much, but it gives you something to focus on. 

Those same words of encouragement, while they do make you knock on his apartment door, don’t fill the action with the enthusiasm you desperately need. Though, before you can redo it for something louder, the door opens, and there stands Osamu at his entrance. 

“Hey,” he greets, a subtle upbeat in his tone. You’re not used to seeing him out of his uniform: the simple baby-blue button-down with rolled-up sleeves and black slacks combo on him does a number on you. Not a complete 180; he still appears in his element regarding comfort and accessibility for cooking. It doesn’t hurt that it hugs his torso and arms deliciously. And without his cap, you get a clearer view of his face. A full head of dark hair swept to his left, and his eyes, while a greyish colour, still carry an enticing glimmer you struggle to look away from. “Yer just in time. Food’s gonna be ready in a few minutes.”

Osamu moves aside to let you in. His home seems cozy, you think upon entering. Maybe less clean and more empty; a couple of couches and a coffee table with nothing but a tissue box on it, plus a dining table with four chairs. The kitchen seems to have most of the attention, not that it surprises you. It all makes sense for someone living by himself. He probably lives at his shop, you figure. This place is just a backup.

You thank him when he offers to take your jacket after you remove your heels.

“Ya look lovely, by the way.” His tone remains its usual steady tone, and you almost think he’s telling you what’s on TV. He’s glancing over his shoulder and placing your jacket in his closet as he tells you this, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and adding sincerity to his otherwise flat manner. 

“Oh,” your eyes struggle to meet his in fear of showing how much his words affected you. “Thank you. You look handsome as well.”

You don’t get to scold yourself for sounding ridiculous because Osamu tells you to follow him to sit at the table. A deep breath: calm down, enjoy yourself, don’t stare at his ass–not even a glance, damn it!–and follow him.

The table seems mostly ready, with dishes splayed across it carrying a variety of fresh food. A traditional Japanese dinner: nothing fancy, though with the intimacy of having dinner with a handsome acquaintance (client? Either way, handsome), you’re not complaining. 

“Hope this is all right with ya,” Osamu says from the kitchen. “Wanted to surprise ya with something ya’d like, but from yer writings, ya don’t seem like much of a picky eater.”

You shake your head, only to stop when you remember his back is to you. “It looks great, really. If it’s you making it, I’ll gladly eat all of it.”

He turns around with the last couple of dishes in his hands, a smile plastered on his face. 

“Means a lot t’hear that,” he hums, placing the teriyaki salmon with the rest of the bowls. Once he’s settled in his spot, you both give your thanks for the meal and dig in. You don’t hesitate to grab whatever your chopsticks soar towards, from the goma-ae to a generous chunk of salmon. Only when your mouth is full do you remember you aren’t alone, and your eyes slowly trail up to meet a grey pair. Osamu’s in no better condition than you, his bowl of rice half done with a couple of drops of soy sauce stuck near the corner of his lips. Even with his natural resting face, the stark contrast between his cheeks full of food with the hint of amusement in his gaze is nothing short of adorable. “Keep eatin’ like that an’ yer gonna choke.”

You swallow in one large gulp, much to your esophagus’ dismay. “Not my fault you make good food.”

Osamu chuckles. “Gonna add my home cooking to yer blog?”

You immediately shake your head. “I’m keeping this for myself, thank you.”

“Oh, so you want me to make you food more often?”

Your eyes gradually widen at his words, your hand mindlessly twiddling with your chopsticks. Your gaze switches from the dishes on the table to your date, who doesn’t keep his eyes off you as he continues eating his food. Even with his cheeks stuffed with food, he sports a smirk, one you don’t miss. 

You clear your throat before offering a nervous laugh. “Don’t put words into my mouth.”

He swallows down his bite. “So, no dessert afterwards, then?”

“I never said that,” you pout. “You’re enjoying teasing me a little too much, Miya.”

“Osamu.”

You stop yourself from bringing your glass to your lips, giving him a puzzled expression. “Hm?”

“I invited ya to ma home for dinner,” he states in between a large bite of the salmon. “No need ta be so formal with me.”

Several moments of silence are followed by you sounding out each syllable of his name to yourself. You suppose he makes a good point, though the intimacy that replaces the formality makes you fidget in your seat. If Osamu notices, he doesn’t comment. 

You meet his gaze. “You do the same for me, then.”

He smiles. “Deal.”

A natural conversation flows from thereon, from you explaining how your blog came to be to him sharing embarrassing stories about his twin. Even with each tale carrying a complaint about his brother’s behaviour, you don’t miss the fondness in the ravenette’s tone as he recalls the memories. He’s seemingly the calmer one of the two, yet he doesn’t fail to make you giggle at the expense of his counterpart. (“Don’t worry, ya can laugh,” he tells you when he catches you biting your lip.) The laughter soon evolves to commentary and jokes and entertaining stories of your own, and you don’t even realize how much more relaxed you are until you’ve both finished everything from your bowls. 

You exhale in satisfaction, placing a hand on your belly. “If I were rich, I’d hire you as my personal chef.”

Osamu smiles, picking up some of the bowls and motioning for you to sit back down when you move to follow his actions. “I’d gladly take the job.”

You feel guilty as you watch him move back and forth to clean up, but with every shake of his head, you find yourself obeying and keeping yourself glued to your chair.

“Because I’m your favourite customer, right?” you quip as a distraction. 

“That,” he takes both your cups, “and ‘cause ya’d be rich.”

Your date peeks over his shoulder to find you fidgeting with your fingers under the table. He hears you nervously chuckle when he returns to focus on cleaning the dishes. 

“So, does your brother know you use him to impress your dates?” The inquiry was more of a joke than anything else, but Osamu catches a detail you don’t seem to realize you added. 

“We’re on a date now, are we?” he muses.

Silence; it puts a smirk on his face. Seeing your reaction is more than tempting, but so is dragging out the tension. The former wing spiker doesn’t remember the last time he enjoyed teasing someone like this (aside from his brother, but that’s more taunting than anything else).

He only glances over his shoulder once more when he hears you pull your chair back. You stand next to the table, seemingly wondering if you should approach him or not. Osamu has to hold back his grin. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” you state, glad your voice doesn’t wobble. 

“Ya didn’t answer mine,” he counters not a moment later, though the humour in his tone is evident enough. Your date turns off the faucet before removing the rubber gloves from his hands, plopping them onto the kitchen counter before striding towards you. He catches you clench your jaw, but you don’t budge. “Got a pretty sharp tongue on ya for someone so nervous not that long ago.”

You subconsciously straighten your posture as you inhale sharply. “Not gonna finish cleaning up? You were pretty insistent on taking care of things by yourself.”

He stops a foot away from you. “Nothing I can’t deal with later.”

His dark eyes bore into yours, though you’d hardly call it a staring contest. Not when your gaze would occasionally flicker down to his lips. Of course, nothing he misses. 

Another step forward. He places his index finger under your chin. 

Another step forward. He tilts your head up ever so slightly. 

Another step forward. He leans in, stopping mere inches away from your face.

No more steps for him to take. You barely catch the sound of the faucet dripping the occasional water droplet over your heart echoing in your ears. Can he hear it, too?

None of that matters as he takes your statuesque frame as a sign to pull away. You panic; grabbing onto his shirt, you yank him towards you to meet your mouth with his.

The subtle taste of dinner lingers on his tongue, not that you can complain. Your hands find their place on his cheeks while his own wander down to your waist. A lazy hum of satisfaction buzzes out from his throat, leaving a light tingle on your lips and causing your heart to pound in your ears. 

You pull away for air and from the shock of what just happened, your wide eyes meeting a droopy, lust-filled grey pair. 

“Look at ya,” Osamu pants, one of his hands sliding down to your thigh. “Yer real cute, ya know that? Couldn’t stop thinking about kissin’ ya for days now.”

Your lids fall to match his expression while your thumb mindlessly caresses his face. Your mind speaks before you can stop it. “Just kissing?”

That familiar glimmer returns in his gaze, and he gently squeezes your thigh. There’s a pull coming from his hold; nothing forceful, just light enough to give you a chance to withdraw. With little-to-no room left between you, you can only press your chest against his. 

“I’ve got a few other things in mind,” he hums as if pondering. “Wanna give 'em a try?”

You nod absentmindedly, your hands sliding down to wrap around his neck and play with his hair. “Please.”

His lips curl into a satisfied smirk before they reattach themselves to yours. He’s got you mewling in a matter of seconds, your fingers swirling around his locks and occasionally tugging them. Osamu groans, lightly grinding against you and making you gasp. 

The hand on your thigh disappears to slide your dress straps off your shoulders, and the ravenette pulls away to tug the top of your number down to expose your breasts. His mouth attaches itself to one of your nipples while his fingers tweak at the other bud, further drenching your underwear while your grip on his hair tightens. Your body feels hot, your hips rubbing against his bulge in desperation. You draw a blank, wanting to enjoy every second, but being all over the place. And you’ve only started. 

It’s when he eventually pulls away to remove your dress do you realize this is actually happening. The fabric drops to your feet, leaving you in ruined panties, and the cool air does little to fight the heat you feel all over. Large hands, roughened from years of volleyball, carefully hold you up to place you on the table, taking their time moving away from your exposed body. Those same eyes that seemingly hang in a drooping shape with indifference now do so in a hunger that has you subconsciously clenching your thighs. 

“Fuck,” Osamu rasps deeply, eyes never leaving your frame as he hurriedly unbuttons his shirt and throws it aside. You’re blessed with the sight of ripples and valleys of soft skin over hard muscles with small clans of stretch marks highlighting his upper arms and what little you can see of his hips. His belt disbands with a clink, and he’s panting when he removes his slacks. “D’ya have any idea whatcha’ do ta me?”

The Kansai in him seems to shine through when he gets needy; that thought flies through your head, barely giving you time to process it. You don’t care to, not when your date approaches you once more to hook his fingers past the waistband of your underwear. His gaze peers up at you, starving, but patient enough to check on you. Your response is the rising of your hips, allowing him to slide the flimsy material down your trembling legs. 

Why are they doing that? Nothing you haven’t done before. Not something you do often, either. The last time you had sex was in… college? Last year of college. Yeah, with some guy in one of your classes. His pace wasn’t all that different from this one right now. You refrain from showing your displeasure when you recall how he thought penetration alone was enough to get the job done. (It was, just not for you.)

Why these memories are choosing to return, you don’t know. Maybe you feel out of practice, or because it’ll all be over before you know it, and the handsome shop owner who made the best onigiri you’ve ever tasted will probably just be that and nothing more after this. That latter possibility makes your stomach plummet, and you bite your lip. It’s just dinner. Dinner with a crush. Most of what you know about him came from an interview. 

You catch yourself looking at him when you realize he has yet to make a move. 

At first, you feared it was due to disgust. It isn’t until you find him zeroing in on your dripping cunt like a man starved does your body relax a bit. His calloused hands grab hold of your thighs, lightly squeezing their fat as he drops to his knees. 

“Gonna take care of ya,” Osamu mutters, seemingly more to himself than you, before swiping his tongue across his bottom lip and leaning in. “Gonna take real good care of ya.”

Settling your thighs onto his broad shoulder, the ravenette then licks a long, slow stripe up your cunt, tasting your essence and flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit. You exhale shakily, which is enough encouragement for your date to proceed with his ministrations. 

“‘Samu,” you whisper, your fingers returning to his charcoal locks as his tongue’s movements against your clit increase in speed. You’re rewarded with a groan as you buck your hips into his face, and his hold on your upper thighs grows stronger to keep you grounded. With the added stability, you bring one of your hands to tweak at your nipple, adding to the pleasure and making you mewl. 

Your eyes are fluttering closed until you feel Osamu’s tongue move to thrust into your cunt. You squirm in your spot with a gasp, eyes snapping open before your head drops to face the culprit. Pools of lust for irises greet you in a hazy connection, having been zeroed in on your expressions since their owner got his first taste of your essence. You’re already hot all over, head to toe, but the gaze you can’t look away from sets your face on fire—though that’s nothing new, now is it?

“Better than any meal I’ve ever had,” he mumbles against you before wrapping his lips around your puffy clit and suckling hard. Your head draws back as you wail, your hips failing to escape his grip no matter how much they writhe. That familiar build-up in your lower stomach makes itself known, causing you to whisper pleas and your date’s name repeatedly. He’s pressing his face further into your cunt, his mouth working overtime on your clit as your orgasm only hangs on by a thread.

And then, it’s gone. 

Your eyes–which were apparently closed–blink open as your brows knit together. Peering down, you see Osamu slip out from your hold on his hair, that same unbothered expression back on his handsome face (save for your slick coating his lips and chin, of course). 

“‘Samu!” you whine in frustration as you watch the ravenette stand up and brush the invisible dust off his knees. You don’t let his (very) noticeable bulge distract you from your stolen reward. “I was so close! What’re—”

He removes his boxers in one motion, letting them drop to the floor and wipe your brain clean of whatever you were about to ask him. Osamu observes you freeze from the sight of his girth, his face in its usual neutral stature while his gaze grows even heavier with lust and his chest and ego swelling with pride.

“Wanna make ya cum on ma cock,” he answers a little too casually, regardless of whether or not it actually answers your unspoken question. With his hand wrapped around his shaft, he swipes some of his precum, using it as lube as his focus lays on your naked form. “That all right with ya, princess?”

You nod mindlessly, your eyes never leaving his thick cock. Watching him touch himself, because of you no less, makes your hand wander south, gathering your essence and his spit before sliding a finger into your weeping hole. You shakily exhale as you catch his dick twitch, and it’s not long until you add another digit to massage your insides. 

It’s also not long until a much larger hand grabs your wrist to make you pull your fingers out. Being so focused on his lower half, you didn’t realize Osamu approached you once you started pleasuring yourself. He brings your hand, wet with your slick cascading down your palm, to his mouth, languidly licking up the mess while his eyes burn a hole into your very being. 

“As much as I enjoy the show,” he drawls, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, “I made ma intentions pretty clear. Unless ya suddenly changed yer mind, yer cumming on ma cock, doll.”

With that, he gently pushes your shoulder, making you lie on the table. Not exactly comfortable, but you consider it worth it as you watch Osamu position himself between your legs with his cock aimed at your entrance.

Time flies when you’re having fun, and while you were worried about this night ending far too soon, you can’t say the feelings are still there as the painful stretch consumes your body. You appreciate him taking his time for you, though it only makes the process all the more apparent: every ridge and vein making itself known as they leave their mark inside you. It isn’t until his hips meet yours do you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. 

He says your name, and you peer up at him while slowly propping yourself on your forearms. With gentle hands resting on the apex of your thighs, your date leans down you plant a kiss on your lips. You return the affection, feeling yourself relax a bit and noticing the subtle taste of you on his tongue. 

You find your head following his when he pulls away, earning you a chuckle before bringing one of his hands to your crotch. Collecting your slick, he then rubs slow, tight circles on your clit. Your hips buck, and you sigh, whimpering his name in gratitude. 

“You can move,” you utter. “Doesn’t hurt as much now.”

With a curt nod, Osamu grabs hold of your legs to wrap them around the small of his back. He thrusts gently, allowing you to accommodate and testing the waters to see what you like. You hum contently, though your eyes don’t seem to know where to look. Part of you wants to admire his face, but you worry about the intimacy behind the action. Marvelling at his physique, as fun as that would be, would probably make you drool; sex or no sex, you’d like to avoid that. Or, stare at where you two connect, but you’re certain you’d cum on the spot. You can’t do that. Was this always so difficult?

“Hey.” The ravenette glides his hands up and down your torso before finding their place on your breasts. “Easy. Want yer eyes on me, ‘kay? Wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your gaze shyly makes its way up to meet Osamu’s, his eyes soft while he smiles down at you. With a deep breath, you let him know he can pick up his pace. That smile of his widens as he complies, morphing your insides into the shape of his cock as he reaches deeper. The air is knocked out of your lungs, your voice choking up as you cry his name like a mantra. 

“‘Samu!” you wail, tightening your hold on his lower back. “Feels good! Feels so f-ucking good! Don’t stop!”

That glimmer flashes in his eyes as you beg for him, and Osamu swoops down to crash his lips onto yours. This kiss was more tongue than anything else, and you moan wantonly as you messily taste him. 

You’re hot. Everything is like touching a sizzling stove. The makeout session, the cock splitting you in half, the squelching from between your legs. There’s fog between your ears, far from clearing and presenting any sort of rationality as your date finds your sweet spot.

“There!” you pull away from him to shriek. “Keep fucking me like that! More, more!”

He can’t deny you when you plea like that, and he holds you in that position to ram into you the way you need him to. Your throat hurts from whatever noises claw out of it, though it doesn’t stop you from slurring “moremoremoremoremore” as your orgasm bubbles in your lower stomach. Or maybe all that begging is playing on a loop in your head? You don’t hear yourself; all you know of is the ecstasy between your thighs and Osamu stalking through the windows of your soul. Open for him in more ways than one. 

“‘M close,” he grunts, his movements becoming sloppy. “Ya cummin’, princess? Can ya do that for me? Make a mess on ma cock like a good girl?”

You nod before processing, but you consider it the right choice when he breathes out a laugh and changes his position to lean on his forearms. There are barely a few inches between you two, and he’s quick to fix that problem by kissing you once again. 

You’re squealing against his mouth when your orgasm finally hits you, your body stiff as you clamp down on his shaft. You feel heavy, rigid as your senses kick into overdrive, and you’re floating, vision grows spotty. Your head is thrown back out of necessity, your lungs in desperate need of oxygen, and Osamu’s presence alone is dizzying.

He’s still messily pounding into you once you’ve calmed down, and your legs shake against him from overstimulation. 

“Too much,” you whine, “too much! ‘Samu—”

“I know, doll,” he grunts. “I’ll be done soon. Promise, I’ll—”

He cuts himself off with a curse before hastily pulling out, wrapping a large hand around his cock and pumping until he cums on your stomach with a drawn-out groan. Through hazy vision and a complimenting puddle for a brain, you watch in awe as his jaw goes slack and eyes flutter shut with furrowed brows; he almost looks soft.

Now, you’re both spent, breathing matching in rhythm as you recall your surroundings. The first thing you notice is the pain in your lower back: sex on a wooden table will do that to you, you suppose. Worth it.

Then, you’re being picked up, your body limp like a ragdoll as you yelp from the sudden movement. “‘Samu!” 

The ravenette hums. “I’ve gotcha.”

Your arms, weak from carrying your weight, reach to wrap around his neck. All he does is sit on his chair with you on his lap, and he exhales.

“Is this what you meant by ‘dessert’?” you quip tiredly, leaning against him.

“Nah,” Osamu buzzes, rubbing your back soothingly. “I got somethin’ ready for after dinner, but this works, too.” You snicker weakly at his humorous tone at the end until it fades into a heavy silence. Not awkward, no, but relaxing doesn’t seem to quite fit the description, either. “It’s a date.”

You sit up too quickly, and you wince from soreness. Not that you could help yourself, what with his sudden comment. “Huh?”

“Tonight,” he clarifies, “I planned on it bein’ a date, since I think yer cute and ya helped me with ma shop—and don’t try ta argue otherwise. But with ya being so shy, I figured I’d let you decide, or maybe play into it if I thought ya were interested.” He pauses as if he were wondering what to say next. “All good if you weren’t lookin’ for that.”

You’ve never seen him blush before, and yet you find yourself regaining some energy when you catch the pink tint on his cheeks.

You giggle. “I think it’s a little late for that now.”

Osamu pulls you back into his embrace, burying his face into your neck. He tries to ignore the mess on your stomach pressed against his, though he couldn’t stop from wincing. “Guess so.”

More silence, though on the scale of comfort, it leans closer to a sense of ease.

“So,” you hum, “do you sleep with all your loyal customers or just the ones that’ll promote your business?”

Your date snorts, making the corners of your lips twitch upwards.

“Nobody else… yet.” He then pauses, pursing his lips as if to ponder. “Though ya just gave me a pretty good idea. Might help the business.”

You lightly slap his arm, earning a laugh from both of you. You try to sit up again, this time more slowly, and stretch. 

“We should probably clean up,” you remark, turning to look back at where you laid back and got your guts rearranged; it makes you shiver.

“I can deal with that later,” Osamu shrugs, shifting in his seat and looking down at the creamy white now on both of your torsos. “Let’s get ya cleaned up first.”

Your heart flutters as his tone softens, and when you look back at him, his eyes carry adoration. 

“And then dessert?” You ask sheepishly.

He smiles warmly. “And then dessert.”

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