#Shop funny drinking t-shirt

[grannyandgrandpascreations]

I Only Drink Hamms 3 Days A Week Yesterday Today and Tomorrow T-Shirt

Hamms Beer I Only Drink Hamms 3 Days A Week Yesterday Today and Tomorrow designed T-Shirt is perfect for the Hamm’s Beer Lover or the Hamm’s Beer Collector! This t-shirt makes a perfect Hamm's Beer and Bear Collector Gift!

Get comfortable with our 100% cotton crew neck t-shirts. Made of 100% soft cotton for a smooth, breathable fit. Pre-shrunk cotton tees are perfect for layering or wearing alone. Lightweight fabric keeps you cool and dry so you can look great and feel great all day.

The perfect tee shirt for a modern casual look. Not too long so you can wear these untucked with a pair of jeans or chinos. Looks great under a casual blazer and jeans for a relaxed Friday style. Stylish and versatile everyday crew neck tees are a wardrobe staple.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different picture lighting settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

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Hamms Beer I Only Drink Hamms 3 Days A Week Yesterday Today and Tomorrow designed T-Shirt is perfect for the Hamm’s Beer Lover or the Hamm’s Beer Collector! This t-shirt makes a perfect Hamm's Beer and Bear Collector Gift!

Get comfortable with our 100% cotton crew neck t-shirts. Made of 100% soft cotton for a smooth, breathable fit. Pre-shrunk cotton tees are perfect for layering or wearing alone. Lightweight fabric keeps you cool and dry so you can look great and feel great all day.

The perfect tee shirt for a modern casual look. Not too long so you can wear these untucked with a pair of jeans or chinos. Looks great under a casual blazer and jeans for a relaxed Friday style. Stylish and versatile everyday crew neck tees are a wardrobe staple.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different picture lighting settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

LET’S GET SOCIAL & BE FRIENDS! Like, Tag & Follow us for Our new Creations, Inspiration & Giveaways!

website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop

facebook.com/ https://www.facebook.com/GrandpaHandmadecreations/

instagram.com/ https://www.instagram.com/grannyandgrandpacustomcreation/

goimagine.com/ https://goimagine.com/granny-and-grandpas-custom-creations/

#grannygrandpascustomcreations

[discotitsposts]

meant to be

Spencer trying and failing to flirt with you because you are oblivious to his attempts.

spencer reid x reader

i picture this as later seasons spencer maybe sometime around 12-14?

some mature themes mentions of sex at the end so 18+

writing this because i saw something about people who are bad at flirting and that’s literally me. (i hope ppl get the reference w the nickname)

Spencer had tried every day to get your attention romantically. It didn’t work. Nothing did. You were so oblivious to all of his flirting attempts. He figured maybe you had trouble understanding so he worked harder to make you think of him as more than a friend. He tried everything his genius brain could come up with.

He even made up a nickname for you, Bean, because you always had a coffee in your hand, and because he was taller than you.

Today you were getting coffee with him as usual. At your favorite coffee shop and library. You didn’t work at the BAU so you would eventually have to go to your own job so Spencer decided to try again.

Since you lived in the same building, neighbors in the same hall, he picked you up every morning. Drove you to get coffee and you each picked a book for each other and then he drove you to work.

He knocks on your door awaiting anxiously. You come out in your outfit, just a t shirt and jeans. you didn’t have a dress code at your job, you were an author and usually went into a nice office that the publishing company provided to write since you had a hard time focusing in your apartment. Too many distractions.

In Spencer’s car you make small talk as he tries to think of a way to flirt with you. Normally he’d call Morgan but his son was a toddler now so he was busy. He gets so lost in his head he doesn’t realize he just ran a stop sign on accident and almost hit someone.

He hears you yell “Spencer what the fuck!” and slams the brakes. The other car honks and his heart is pounding in his brain. He pulls to the side of the road and stops.

“Spencer. Breathe. It’s ok.” You worry tracing your face at the sight of his extremely fast breathing and you rub his back reassuringly.

“Holy shit.” He barely chokes out. His face is beet red and he looks like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“Switch.” You tell him. He looks at you and feels comforted immediately by your face. “Let’s go, switch.” You get out of the car and switch sides.

‘So much for flirting’ he thinks. Then it hits him. When he picks your book for the day, he’ll give you a romantic story. Something that says ‘I really like you but I’m an idiot so I don’t know how to tell you but i’m not actually an idiot because im technically a genius but my fucked up life has ruined romance for me but i’d love to try it with you if you are okay with that.’

When you take over driving you don’t talk. You just focus on the road. You had even turned the music off. He hopes you’re not upset with him. That thought quickly dissipates when you pull into the parking lot and your face is beaming. You both race to the entrance and he gets there first and opens the door for you. You stick your tongue out at him and he smirks.

You order your usual drinks and he gets himself a breakfast bagel and you get a croissant. He puts the food at a table and you both get up to grab each other a book. You had yours picked since last night, The Godfather. It’s only a little over 400 pages so he’ll probably finish it by lunch time but at least it will be fun for him since it will make him think of you. At least you hope it does.

You have a habit of making funny commentary during movie nights. When you watched ‘The Godfather’ trilogy with Spencer he had laughed so hard he cried.

Meanwhile Spencer is searching rows of books looking for the right one. He moves to poetry but nothing feels right. He feels slightly frustrated so he moves back to classics and picks ‘A Little Princess’ instead. A favorite of yours you had read in elementary school. Not romantic but shows he knows you well.

When he makes his way back to the register to check the book out, you’re already seated munching your croissant. He makes his way to you and hides the book behind his back. You discreetly pull yours out of your bag and hide it the same way.

“1,2,3!” You both count at the same time and then reveal your books. Spencer cracks up when he sees the book you had picked. He had read this before but he enjoyed it because it reminded him of you. You both eat and finish your coffees. You look at each other.

“More?” Spencer asks.

“Obviously.” You answer. You both stand up and order more coffee.

Back in Spencer’s car you open the book and start reading. He’s about to put the key in the ignition when sudden confidence hits him. He doesn’t know if it’s the caffeine but he doesn’t care. He should kiss you right now. He stares at you until you look up.

“You’re going to be late for work if you don’t start that engine up soon Mr. Chauffeur.” You tease him.

He leans closer and puckers his lips slightly. He’s so filled with lust he just can’t wait anymore.

You look at him strangely. Was he trying to kiss you right now? Probably not. Truth was you were always so filled with doubt whenever you liked someone. Especially Spencer. He was just too handsome and sweet and perfect.

He leans in even closer to you and tilts his head. You, however, had gone back to your book and weren’t even looking at him.

“Does this make you uncomfortable” Spencer leans in closer. He closes his eyes and you lean down to reach for something from your bag. He doesn’t feel your soft lips on his and thinks he may have missed your face. He opens his eyes.

“Everything does. I have anxiety Spencer. All the time anywhere day and night. ” You reply while eating a yogurt you had found in your tote.

Spencer pulls away and smacks his forehead. He starts the car and drops you at your work and drives to the BAU feeling defeated. What would it take for you to realize how bad he wants you.

That night he decides to drop by your apartment. You had gotten a ride home from work by a friend tonight. He opens his door and walks the short distance to yours.

When his hand knocks on your door he feels nervous. You open the door and greet him.

“Hi!” You cheer.

“Hey, I was gonna order a pizza. You want?” He lies. He actually wasn’t the biggest fan of pizza. He didn’t eat it too often but it was your favorite food so why not.

“That would be great. I’m starving.” You clutch your belly dramatically. Which makes Spencer laugh.

He picks up the phone, “What would you like on the pizza m’lady.”

You tap your chin and think. “Sausage.” You reply. Spencer thinks of a way to flirt. Kind of.

“How much sausage would you like?” He asks smirking.

“Uhh, 5? I don’t know dude. The normal amount that goes on a pizza?” You answer sarcastically, going to your dvd rack to pick a movie. Spencer sighs. He calls and places the order and helps you pick a movie.

“How about ‘How To Be A Serial Killer?’ That’s a good one. I love Matthew Gray Gubler in this one so much.” You fan girl a little.

“Who the fuck is Matthew Gray Gubler? Also, no, not with my line of work. I need a break from that.” Spencer asks with a hint of jealousy in his voice. You clasp your hand over your heart dramatically.

“Ok, fine. how about a Disney Classic? Sleeping Beauty is my favorite.” You ask. Spencer nods. You put the movie on and grab two root beers from your fridge. Spencer thanks you when you hand him one and you lay a big fluffy blanket over you both. Not far into the movie the pizza arrives and you cheers Spencer with your pizza slice.

After you both eat and are full the movie is still on. You’re starting to feel sleepier by the second. Spencer offers you to lay with him and you take him up on it. He’s basically a giant teddy bear. He’s so warm and comfortable.

“I’ve got a real life sleeping beauty right here.” He whispers to you. You smile with your eyes closed. Too sleepy to open. He gets out from under you, to your dismay. He cleans up the trash from eating. He even washes some dishes you had left sitting. When he comes back, you’re still half awake. He sees you sneak an eye open to look at him and your smile after.

“It seems there’s a fair maiden who has fallen asleep. However can we wake her? What if she sleeps for a hundred years?!” He exclaims. You start giggling softly. He leans closer to observe you.

“I don’t believe it! She’s laughing in her sleep! Must be quite a funny dream. Wonder what it is. Only one way to find out.” He gently leans down and kisses your lips softly. This action puts you in shock and you’re blushing. He starts to pull away because doubts fill his mind. You grab his hair and pull him back in.

You both pull back and he starts to ask you,

“Were you ok with that?”

You cut him off, “Yes.” Then you rip your shirt off. Spencer’s in shock. He follows your lead and starts undressing. He picks you up and carries you to your bedroom. The kiss you’re sharing is deepening by the second.

“Fuck why is it so hot in here.” You complain.

“I can think of a few reasons.” Spencer had been kissing you on your neck sucking the skin softly. He lays you back on the bed. He makes you comfortable. He goes down on you and then fucks you like you’ve never been fucked before.

The next morning you woke up naked next to him flashes of last night replaying. You couldn’t believe it. Spencer was so passionate! You didn’t even imagine he liked you like that.

He groans next to you and turns over. You get up and put on some coffee. When you come back into the bedroom he’s awake and looking for you.

“Hey, coffee’s ready.” You lean over and kiss him. He groans too tired to give an answer. He pulls you into the bed and holds you longer.

With him, this felt so easy and realistic.

Then you realize something.

This was meant to be.

the end ♡

to anyone who read this far: hope u enjoyed reading!! please let me know if u enjoyed! xoxo

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff drabble no2. making it up to you

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ drabble summary. after a pretty angsty period between you two, gojo tries to make it up to you with flowers & a kitten he finds on the side of the road. (note: for new readers, this is in continuation of my long fic gojo x reader series “kickoff”!! masterlist is linked below) ᰔ main storyline summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. drabble #2

ᰔ words. 2.2k

a/n. ahhh in the original ver of ch10, i actually wrote these scenes from reader’s pov, but cut them out and condensed them bc the word count was already super high haha. so it’s nice i have a chance to include them like this!! although this is written from gojo’s side of the events :”) hope you enjoy <3

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

Gojo finds himself crouched down on the sidewalk outside of your apartment complex as he plucks thorns off of roses one by one, flicking them off of his finger and almost straight into his eyeball with how closely he’s inspecting the stems for any pointed edges.

Are roses poisonous? It’d be bad if they were, since he got pricked in about five different places when he rummaged through bushes at the city park to pluck them for you, walking straight into spring foliage and the no trespassing sign wasn’t going to stop him if it meant he could get the dopamine rush of seeing a smile on your face. But he couldn’t have you getting pricked the way he did. Just in case they were poisonous. And also because he’s not too keen on hurting you anymore than he already has.

“Hm?” he hums as he turns one of the roses in his hands, ankles starting to strain from holding his body weight up on them for so long, something Coach Yaga would make him run laps for, given he skips warm-up stretches at the top of every practice and his lack of flexibility was starting to show. Then he’s wondering if you were any flexible, and the thought threatens to make him horny at 6:17am.

There’s a ladybug creeping up the stem of a soft petalled red rose, missing the opportunity of seamlessly blending into the pigment since it just crawls onto one of the green leaves instead. Absolutely abysmal survival instincts, Gojo thinks to himself. He lets it be, regardless.

Well the flowers didn’t really put a smile on your face, turns out you don’t enjoy having to answer to a doorbell at the crack of dawn on the one day of the week you got to sleep in. He used all the people-reading skills he could possibly muster, and got the vibe that you were annoyed by the gesture. Maybe he could’ve chosen better flowers? He doesn’t know anything about flowers, although he probably should, since his mother used to run a florist shop before she traded it in to run a KFC downtown, near the city’s high school. Better business than selling shriveled up tulips, was how she defended her decision. But maybe if she’d kept it, she could have shown him what arrangement of flowers he should make for a girl he’s trying to apologize to.

You’re rubbing your eye, standing in an oversized stained old T-shirt and some shorts underneath that barely reveal themselves under the hem of the shirt. Cute, so fucking cute. Unbearably, really, but you deny it when he says it.

“You woke me up. And I look like bigfoot standing in front of you,” you say, still rubbing at your eye with a pout on your face.

“I still think you look pretty,” he says and now you’re scratching the top of your head where your hair piles up with coils that look like cotton candy.

“What are you doing here?” you ask through a sleepy voice that sounds a little grumpy.

“I got these for you,” he says, leaning against the doorframe of the entryway and holding out the arrangement of flowers he jumped over a fence to steal. In his defense, none of the supermarkets on the way were open at this hour, but the desperation and urge he had to see you today was so overwhelmingly strong, so he had to find an excuse.

You take the flowers from him, which have been sparsely held together by the newspaper he took from someone’s driveway, and you blink up at him. Your face was a little puffy with sleep, and he can’t help the pursed grin that makes its way onto his face. In very much contrast to your stone face.

“Did you pluck these for me??” you ask, peering into the bouquet.

“Uh-huh,” he affirms.

“From where?”

“The,” he points over his shoulder, “the city park.”

Apparently pilfering flowers from an area of no trespassing was not the romantic gesture he thought it would be, or possibly waking you up just to give them to you was the crime, since you mumbled something about wanting to go back to sleep and then shoo’d him away before he had the chance to ask you what you were doing this weekend. But that’s fine, maybe he’ll get another chance.

Divine intervention came the very next day. Why Gojo considers a kitten he finds in the bushes as an order from God to go talk to you again is a mystery even his good conscience wouldn’t understand, but he’s on a mission to make it up to you. It’s the only thing he wants to do.

He was taking a two minute break during his morning run, pacing down sidewalk panting slightly underneath spring heat, when he heard something crying deep within the bushes. Without a second thought, he’s pushing his way through branches that were a lot more spiky than anticipated, one tearing straight through the fabric of his shirt, but he finally spotted it—

A tiny little soot sprite sitting curled up in a ball between dead leaves and spiky twigs, the round of its form rising and falling fast with its heavy breathing just like Gojo is right now. It lifts his head up, triangular ears dropping then raising, dropping then raising, as it makes sense of its surroundings and eventually it cocks its head all the way up to look Gojo straight in the eye.

A kitten?

With paws rustling the leaves underneath it, it tilts its head and resumes its cries. Loud and sounding so hoarse from exhaustion in its throat that it sounds like a kazoo. All left alone and abandoned.

Gojo picks it up slowly, noticing it’s smaller than the size of his hand, and he holds it up into the air to inspect it. How does he know if it’s a girl or a boy? He pulls his phone out and types it into Google. Okay, in male kittens, the genital shape resembles a colon punctuation mark (:). He looks back at the kitten with no preservation of its genital honor. Yup, it’s a boy.

He has nothing against cats, he’s just not really used to them. His family had a dog growing up, a stunning Mongolian mastiff he could fight and wrestle with like a bear for as long as he could remember through to his teens, but because of that, he has no clue how to be gentle with an animal. And this little kitten seemed like it needed a whole lot of gentle from the way it shivers as he holds it in his arms.

He knows someone gentle.

In hindsight, he should’ve taken a glance in someone’s car door window to inspect for twigs and leaves in his hair before showing up at your front door, and he also should’ve felt weary over the ripped up condition of his shirt, but he didn’t think of those things until he was already standing at your front door. He briefly considered going shirtless, but then the idea of him showing up shirtless to your front door with no notice at an hour that wasn’t much better than the hour he visited you yesterday was something his gut was telling him wouldn’t be a wise thing to do. Although showing up shirtless most places has hardly ever failed him, he just had the feeling that you’d be different.

The kitten he holds in the curled palm of his hand trembles as it claws at Gojo’s shirt, calming down when it feels the warmth of his torso, and Gojo starts to find it cute. Then the door of your apartment flings open.

You stand there, looking neater than yesterday with your hair kept and you’re in some jeans with a light pink University of Tokyo T-shirt tucked into them. Your tote bag was slung around your shoulder, like you were just about to leave.

“S-Satoru?” you squeak out after jumping a little where you stand.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the doorframe again since you seem to never allow him inside your apartment. Apparently the doorframe is as far as he’ll get.

“What are you doing here?” you ask in the same way you asked it yesterday, and you tuck strands of hair behind your ear. His heart beats faster at the sight, and the kitten probably feels it from the way it starts purring with a nuzzling head under his ribcage.

He pulls the tiny thing from his front and extends his arm out to you, as it sits dazzled and confused in the palm of his hand from the sudden loss of surrounding heat, and then it looks at you. And you look at it. “I brought you a cat.”

“Wha—” you stutter, and your face entirely softens, lower lip jutting out slightly in a pout as you use both hands to pick it up off of his hand, it’s tiny white paws dangling in the air before you settle it snug in your arms, and it chirps a mew before pushing its little face against the pillows of your breasts. Lucky bastard. “But why???”

He shrugs, crossing his arms now as an easy smile makes way onto his face. “I don’t know. I thought you’d think it’s cute and you’d want to keep it.”

“But I can’t,” you whine, your fingers scratching the top of its head and its purrs become louder. “I can’t keep cats in my apartment.” You lift the fluff ball up into the air, its tiny stubby tail now slightly wagging from side to side like it’s a puppy. He makes note that you are a person who has the ability to turn kittens into puppies.

“Keep it anyway,” he tells you, “you wouldn’t be the first college student to unlawfully keep a cat in their apartment.”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand,” you say, cradling the kitten in the nook of your elbow again. “I really can’t.” And your lips turn downwards into a frown, “this complex checks on tenants often. The people who rented this apartment before us couldn’t renew their lease because they got caught having a cat in the unit.”

His eyes widen. “Oh…that—…that sucks.”

“I can’t keep him,” you say, voice trembling slightly as you look down at it. It looked like it had fallen asleep in your arms. “I really want to, but I can’t. And he’s so cuuute, and tiny and sweet and—” He sees tears start to sheen in your eyes.

Uh.

Uh-oh.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

This was not going how he thought it would in his head.

He wasn’t supposed to make you CRY.

That was the last fucking thing he was supposed to do.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he tries to comfort you when he hears you sniffle and sees your lower lip tremble. He holds your shoulders to get you to look at him, and his heart physically hurts at the sight of seeing you so sad. For fuck’s sake, you were going to ruin him. “I’m sorry, I—…I didn’t know that, I shouldn’t have brought it here without knowing that first, it was stupid and—”

“Yes, it was,” you say with a broken voice, shrugging his hold off you and using the back of your hand to wipe at a tear rolling down your cheek.

He pulls you into him now, holding you in his arms against your resistance but you eventually tuck your head into his chest to continue your sniffling as he rests his chin on top of your head and rubs a soothing thumb over your arm. The kitten is sandwiched between you two now, and is probably in the most amount of bliss it’s ever had in its extremely short life so far from the amount of warmth it's being surrounded by right now.

He feels the cool dampness of your tears soaking through his shirt, and he holds you tighter. “I’m sorry. Really, I am.” It feels like he’s apologizing for a lot more than the kitten right now.

You pull one of your arms out, the one that wasn’t holding the kitten, from between the two of you and hold onto his shirt tightly, the places where it’s ripped tearing open even more. “You just don’t think sometimes and it really hurts,” you say, muffled.

He lets out a deep sigh, lips brushing against the top of your head and you two stand still here in the imaginary forcefield of your apartment’s doorframe. “I’ll be better. I promise.”

“Don’t be sweet right now,” you say, voice cracking again, “that hurts even more.”

He’s really confused, in all honesty, but he masks it and can only hope out of the ten things he does wrong, he can do at least one right. “Okay.”

You push yourself out of his hold and hand him back the kitten, all in a rush, and he notices you refuse to look at the soot sprite anymore, like you’re trying not to get attached. “Take him, and leave,” you say, hoisting your totebag higher up onto your shoulder.

“But—” he tries to protest but you push him a few paces backwards by palms against his chest until he’s standing outside into the hallway. There’s a slight scrunch to your brow from your irritation of him, and maybe his problem is that he just finds it cute. And then you shut the door on him.

After a moment of stunned silence, he hears the kitten meow incessantly in his palm.

The little shit’s mocking me, he thinks.

.

.

.

[end]

a/n. thanks for reading!! this was silly to write haha. tbh i think reader was on her period during this scene which is why she became very emotional. i may be projecting bc i sob like a little bitch over cute animals when im on my period LOL. and gojo is trying his best u guys he’s just a little dumb ok ✋🏼😔 his looks have got him this far we have to have patience w a pretty privilege victim okay!!!!

thanks so much for reading!! also i really want to write a drabble of gojo becoming a cat dad now aaaaa

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[angel5ofp0rn]

just a thought ! will prob delete 🫡

bodyguard!ghost x f!reader

(the beach episode)

It’s your annual family trip to Bora-Bora. Normally your boyfriend and his family comes along, but for some reason that you don't actually care about, they're not coming.

It's just you, your parents and Ghost the bodyguard.

While at the airport for a layover, you’re at some little airport gift shop with the bodyguard behind you, as your parents wait in the exclusive airport lounge.

Ghost is currently behind you, watching over you as you peruse the store. He's just standing there in silence, keeping a close eye on you.

Every now and then he keeps glancing over at you, his eyes taking every inch of you in as you look around.

You give him a little smirk before turning back to what you were looking at.

You’re excited to get to our destination; your parents don't really do anything as a family, it's mostly a vacation for themselves. That just means Ghost and you will have a lot of free time together...

You grab two little pink and purple string bracelets and pay for them with your dad's credit card. When Ghost and you step out of the gift shop you hand him one. "Here."

"Hm?" He looks down at the bracelet and examines it. "What's this for?" he asks as he looks back up at you.

"They’re friendship bracelets." You shrug, putting yours on. You just think it's funny to have matching friendship bracelets with a big, scary bodyguard.

He gives you a roll of his eyes at this. “Do we really ‘ave the sor’ of relationship where we can call each other ‘friends’?" he asks, stuffing the bracelet into his pocket.

"Fine... They're matching bodyguard-client fuck-buddy bracelets." you shrug as if it makes no difference to you.

"Bloody hell..." He grumbles.

About 5 hours later, Ghost and you are lying on the beach at the resort.

You’re in a little white bikini, your belly button piercing visible even if Ghost is blatantly avoiding looking at it.

The bodyguard currently lying on your oversized beach blanket next to you, with his legs bent and his hands behind his head as he watches the water.

He's in his usual attire of a black t-shirt, jeans and his balaclava.

While he's relaxing and everything, his eyes still keep glancing over at you here and there in the corner of his eye so that you don’t notice.

"I can't believe you're wearing jeans at the beach." you mumble, your eyes closed behind your sunglasses.

"I'm always on duty..." He responds. “Can't exactly wear a speedo f’r my work attire.”

"Your giant Johnson wouldn't even fit in a speedo."

The second you say that, his cheeks burn at the mention of his big dick.

"I'm gonna get you some trunks from the gift shop." You announce as you stand up. "Watch my stuff."

You’re already walking away before he can protest.

You return with a pair of black trunks and two cold beers.

"Here ya go." You grin as you hand him one of the bottles and the shorts.

Ghost shakes his head, but does accept the drink.

"Get those trunks on." You urge him after taking a small sip of your own beer. "And lose the mask, too."

"Christ,” He groans. “Why?”

"So you can finally get some color." You tease him with a little grin.

"I'm fine with th’ way I look..." he mumbles.

"C'mon." You whine a little, your lips pouting. "You don't have to be on duty right now. You can just be on vacation... With me."

He takes another small sip of his beer before finishing up his thoughts. He can't seem to find the words to say in protest. Eventually he sighs. "Fine..."

You smile triumphantly as Ghost stands up and walks towards one of the little changing booths along the beach. He comes back a while later with his jacked upper body visible now that he's wearing the trunks.

"There... happy?" he says with a roll of his eyes as he returns to his spot next to you.

He sits down beside you again and sips on his beer again.

You sit up and straddle his lap, facing him. "I wanna see you." You slowly lift up his balaclava, revealing his whole face, scars and all, when you toss it towards your beach bag.

His cheeks grow quite a bit red as he looks over towards you, and as you remove his balaclava, he seems a bit breathless as you keep his full face exposed like this.

You cup his face and plant a kiss on his now-exposed cheek, unfazed by his features since you’ve been privileged enough to see them from time to time already.

He lets out another small groan as you plant a kiss on his face, and he wraps his hands around your waist as he dodges your attempt for a kiss on the lips.

He keeps a hold of your waist as you sit on his lap, though. His eyes just staring up at you, watching you carefully.

"You know better." He finally speaks, his voice dark and husky.

"Still worth a shot." You grin cheekily.

He’s meant to protect you, not be intimate with you. You just make it hard to resist.

But right now, to anyone else on the beach, you’re just a regular couple enjoying vacation together.

After a bit you get off of his lap and lay out on the beach blanket so you can get a tan.

He seems to be observing you as you apply tanning oil and lay out again, and he doesn't seem to realize that you can see him just looking out at your body as you relax.

"I'm so glad that Corey's family decided not to come this year." You yawn a bit.

His gaze just continues to wander over your body, from your thighs to your hips to your bellybutton piercing and finally your nipple piercings that are visible beneath your triangle-shaped bikini top.

"I think he's cheating on me." You mention casually. Boredly. "Or planning on dumping me."

His gaze stops moving over you once you mention that, and he seems confused by you mentioning that.

"Huh?" he murmurrs, finally speaking back up. “Wha’ makes you say tha’?”

"Well, he's not here." You state like that was an obvious factor.

"..." he sighs. "And you immediately jus’ assume he's cheating or is going to dump you because of this?"

"Well, yeah." You shrug. “Plus we didn’t have sex last time we were together.”

"Wha’ if he jus’ wasn't in the mood?" Ghost snorts.

"He's a twenty five year old guy. He's always in the mood."

"... Fair point." He mumbles as a response.

"Plus, he always flirts with other girls..." You sit up and take a sip of your beer. "Not like I care."

"You don’ care that your boyfriend flirts with other girls?" He sounds somewhat curious about your reasoning when he asks this.

"Well, I'm fucking my bodyguard."

He lets out a heavy sigh when you say this, as he puts the beer up to his mouth to sip on it. He's... not sure how he expected you to answer, but this answer definitely wasn't it.

"You’ve gotta stop blurtin’ it out like that." he finally responds after taking a small sip of his beer again.

You just shrug with a small smirk.

"Such a fuckin’ brat.” He takes another sip of his bottle of beer, but he does keep a hand on your thigh during this.

"You're gonna give me a weird tan line." You frown, swatting his hand away.

"I can't help it..." he mumbles back, before quickly grabbing your hand before your swatted hand can go too far away.

He lets go of your hand and puts his own hand back on your plushy thigh, squeezing it a bit.

You sit up and swat some sand at him.

Ghost simply sighs as some of the sand hits him, and he lets go of your thigh for a moment in order to cover his eyes with his hand.

"Stop that." He warns you as some of the sand falls down from his fingers.

"Or what?" You tilt your head to the side in mock-oblivion.

You squeal when he swats sand back at you. "Hey! I’m so going to get you back-“

"Or, I could always just do this." He says, before putting his hands back around your waist once more, and using his other hand to grab your thigh again as he pulls you back so that you're sitting back in his lap. “There... much better."

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his jawline.

Ghost lets out a soft groan as he keeps you in his arms, his hands feeling up your thick thighs as if he's just re-affirming the fact that he has you on his lap now.

His hands slowly start moving up your thighs again, getting closer to your ass, just barely giving you a squeeze.

"Y’r so fuckin’ gorgeous..." he finally mumbles under his breath. “Your boyfriend doesn’t deserve you anyway…”

"Hmm... the nose job helped." You murmur, rubbing your hands over the front of his chest and his shoulders.

He lets out a soft groan as you run your hands over his chest, but he still just lets you do it. "Nose job?"

"Mhmm." You nod.

"Price let you get a nose job?" he asks, still sounding surprised as he stares at you.

“Daddy paid for my nose job.” You confirm with a nod.

Ghost snorts; it makes sense. Your father, John Price, has always spoilt you and would bend over backwards to make you happy.

He then raises one of his eyebrows as he speaks again. "Did it hurt getting it done?"

"Soo much." You pout your lips. "Kiss it better."

He smirks before he leans in, giving the tip of your nose gentle little kisses. “Better?"

"Mm... I might need a few more."

Surprisingly to you, Ghost actually chuckles a little bit. He leans in once more. "Well... I can't deny a pretty girl's request..." he says with another smirk, before he proceeds to go right back to kissing on your nose, then your cheek, then your neck.

It's so different, being with Ghost instead of Corey...

Your boyfriend comes off as a nice, well-mannered, well off guy, that your dad would be proud to call his future son-in-law… But in reality he's just a spoiled, rich fuck boy.

Ghost seems like this big, scary, rugged tough guy... and he is, but when it's just him and you…

Everything feels right, despite how wrong it really is.

[featherandferns]

daylight - two

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 2 of the daylight series | read part 1 here

content warnings: drinking, mentions of sex

word count: 3k.

blurb: you join jj's friends at the chateau and find yourself playing hot seat.

“No.”

“Come on! It’s cute!”

“I mean this with all due respect: burn that top.”

Rolling your eyes, you look down at your t-shirt. You’d thrifted it from a shop near the harbour. Born to fish, made to work. You thought it was hilarious, and it was washed and worn-down into comfort. Stretched at the collar and slightly big on your frame, you fell in love. Mimsy? Not so much. 

“It’s funny. I think it’ll go down well,” you tell her, keeping it on. You tuck the front into your pair of shorts before sitting down at your desk. Grabbing your hair brush, you begin taming your hair. 

“This is the first time you’re meeting hot-mechanic-man’s friends and that’s what you’re wearing?” Mimsy says, disapproval heavy in her voice. “God, you really are lost without me.”

Mimsy had dubbed JJ ‘hot-mechanic-man’ after you recounted the story from two nights ago, when your car decided to call it quits on some random country road. All you’d done was tell her his name and that he was from the Cut, and she’d stalker master-minded her way to his Instagram. It was just as you had pictured it to be. Snaps of him surfing, some shirtless (score), and photos of him smoking. His friends were on there too. You’d counted it as homework for tonight in your sleuthing. John B with a head of brown-ish hair, curled and fairly long; Kiara with a brimming smile and ‘save the turtles’ branded backpack; Pope with his awkward grin which did not match his well-toned body. They seemed fun from the photos.

There was a video on his Instagram which you think Mimsy might have watched fifteen or so times. It was of JJ shot-gunning a beer with John B, stood in a yard beside a campfire. You’d watched it too, eyes fixated on his bobbing Adam’s apple, and promptly clicked out of the video. So, despite your teasing, you were grateful for Mimsy’s talents. 

“How’re you getting there? Parents giving you a ride?”

“I’ll skate,” you say. 

Mimsy nods. “Is it a good skate scene out there?”

“S’alright,” you shrug. Flashing her a smile through the camera, you say, “would be better if you were here.”

“Yeah, well, most things are,” she jokingly returns. The smile that follows is solemn. The two of you missed each other like crazy. 

Mimsy looks past the camera into a mirror and continues working glitter onto her eyelid. It sparkles against her tanned skin. She's going out tonight to your usual haunt. Fake IDs got you into a social-club style bar in your local area, where most of your friends went. You missed the smell of liquor that clung to the walls and that uncomfortable tackiness of the floors. 

“You nervous about meeting his friends, then?”

“I guess,” you say. “Kinda nervous about meeting him again.”

“Yeah, hot guys will have that effect on you,” Mimsy returns with a cheeky grin. 

Rolling your eyes, you go to fire something back but get interrupted by a crackled yell through the speaker. Mimsy turns around in her chair, towards her door, and hollers back to her mother in Spanish. 

“Pol el amor de Dios,” she mumbles as she turns back to the camera. “Sorry, babes. Gotta go.”

“Have fun!” you grin. 

“Oh, you too,” she returns with a telling wink. Then she clicks off the screen. Your room is unnaturally quiet without her voice and company.

Checking the time, you get to your feet, pull on a pair of beat-up Reboks, and grab your bag and penny board. Jogging down the stairs of the two-story home, you call out to your parents. Your dad mumbles his reply just as you slip out the door. You take off down the street and head towards the address JJ text you. Your backpack is heavy with beer cans and unopened chips, and your cased digital camera. It felt wrong to leave your house without some form of camera: polaroid, digital, disposable. You were attached like a child to a safety blanket. 

As you pull onto the road which supposedly leads up to John B’s house, the amount of tarmac depletes. Making the rest of the way on foot, you’re only semi-cautious as you start down a dirt trail to an old fish shack that’s only just visible through overgrown shrubs and trees. The echo of energetic chatter which carries to you calms your worry. You round the corner to find JJ stood on top of a tree stump, arms expanded as he tells a story. When his eyes catch yours, he stops mid-sentence and jumps down. 

“Yo! You made it!”

The rest of the gang turns as JJ bounds over to you. He grabs you by the shoulders and coaxes you into the gathering. 

“This is the girl I was telling you guys about,” he says to his friends. 

They nod, wave and smile their greetings. JJ stands behind you, hands planted on your shoulders, and announces your name like you’re visiting royalty. 

“That’s John B, Kiara and Pope,” he introduces. You think you do a good job acting like you’ve never seen any of them before. 

"You're the damsel in distress JJ's been telling us about?" Kiara asks.

Laughing, you say, "that's not how I'd describe myself but sure."

The group smiles. John B nods down at the penny board you’re carrying. “You skate?”

“No, no, I just carry it around for street cred,” you dryly return. Pope sniggers. 

“See! Told you she was funny!” JJ says. He makes his way to the beer cooler. “Beer or seltzer?”

“Beer,” you reply.

He tosses a can to you like he did at the garage. You catch and crack it open, and then take the empty lawn chair beside Kiara. She’s sitting crossed legged, nursing a bottle. The only lighting comes from the porch behind you. Everyone is sat in a wonky circle, lounging in their various seats. JJ has claimed the hammock. Chickens coo in a run not far from the group. The marsh water near John B’s home soothingly laps at the land. Crickets and owls accompany the quiet hum of music playing from a beat-up Bluetooth speaker. 

“You came at the perfect time,” Kiara tells you. “JJ was just telling us a very interesting story.”

“Thank you, for that,” he replies, gliding past the almost-insult. “As I was saying, Priss snuck outta the party and nobody knows where she's at, right? Then, I'm heading out and guess who I fuckin' see her mackin' on? Fuckin' Bradley G.”

"You're so full of shit," John B snorts, shaking his head.

"I swear on my life! I swear on my God blessed grave, Priss and Brad G hooked up at that keggar the other night!"

You glance at JJ's friends and nobody seems very convinced.

"You're not allowed to go to parties unsupervised anymore," Pope says in a matter-of-fact manner.

"Shut up, Pope. Like you ever go to parties anyway," JJ mutters before taking a hefty swig of his drink.

Rolling her eyes, Kie looks to you. “Anyway. JJ says you’re new to Kildare?”

“Yep,” you reply. 

“Where abouts you living? On the Cut?”

“Yeah, about ten minutes from here, actually,” you say. “Thanks for letting me hang with you guys by the way.”

“Course,” she smiles. 

“Oh!” You suddenly remember your bag. Delving in, you produce two large bags of chips. “I brought snacks and drinks too.”

John B gets up and gladly takes the beers from you, placing them in the cooler with thanks. Kie tosses a bag of chips to JJ before opening the other, offering it around.

For a while there’s little chatter as you all relax. Kie hums along to the Bob Marley song that plays and Pope reads. John B’s head is reclined back, eyes shut, and a cloud of smoke sometimes billows out from the hammock cocoon JJ’s placed himself in. It’s reminiscent of how your friends used to be back in Vancouver. Chilled and cool, no pressure. 

JJ breaks the quiet with a groan, shifting to sit up. “A'right. I’m bored. Let’s play a game or something.”

“Not strip poker again,” Pope demands. 

“Oh come on! Why not!?” JJ protests. 

Kie rolls her eyes. “Because you’re a card shark.”

“And because you always end up getting your dick out,” John B tags on. You snort into your can. 

“Alright, alright, what then? I can’t be arsed setting up beer pong,” JJ grumbles, plopping himself down in a seat just opposite you. 

“What about hot seat?” you offer. The group looks to you. 

“Hot seat?”

“Yeah, it’s when someone sits down in a chair and they’re grilled for five minutes by the group. Any questions, no rules. If they don’t wanna answer, they drink,” you explain. “It’s fun.”

“I’m down,” Kie shrugs. 

“Me too,” Pope agrees. John B nods. 

JJ gets up, grabbing another abandoned seat (I mean, are these things multiplying?) and placing it in view of everyone, mimicking that of a courtroom layout. 

“Alright, who’s first?” he asks. After a round of highest-lowest, Pope winds up in the hot seat. He shifts nervously as Kie readies her timer. 

“Ready? Go!”

With that, an influx of questions follow. They range in severity: some joking and trivial and others bordering on existential. Pope drinks only once when asked if he’s into anybody, and before more prying can follow, the timer goes off. 

“Now you get to choose who goes next,” you explain, somewhat giddy with the others. 

“John B, you’re up,” Pope prompts. They swap seats and the group eggs the brunette on as he steels himself for questioning. The timer starts and the questions begin. 

“Blow job or hand job?”

“Blow job,” John B answers JJ. 

“Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs.”

“Do you think the Royal Merchant is real?”

“Damn straight,” John B replies. You frown. Royal Merchant? 

“Hottest girl in the county?”

John B deliberates. When he seemingly can’t decide, he takes a drink. More silly questions follow, most of which stem from JJ, and the group starts to crack up. The alcohol helps, easing everyone out of any boundaries. When John B’s round finishes, it’s followed by Kiara. She takes a joking bow before hopping into the seat. She’s calm and collected under their scrutiny. Rolls her eyes at JJ’s prying queries and entertains your own curious questions. From the way the group answers, and what they answer, you gain a better sense of their personalities. JJ is the next one up. He throws his hands up as he walks over, as if he’s heading into a boxing ring. He then man-spreads in the seat, shorts hitching up his muscular quads, and vapes as Kiara resets the timer. As your eyes skim up and down his body, they return to his face to find him watching you, amused. 

“Timer’s going,” Kiara says. You snap your eyes away from his.

“Favourite sex position?” John B asks. 

“Damn, that’s a tough one,” JJ replies. His finger swipes his lip almost tauntingly as he deliberates. You’re shamelessly intrigued. “Toss up between doggy and missionary.”

“Weed or beer?”

“What!? That’s evil!” JJ argues. “Weed, I guess.”

“Surfing or fishing?”

“Surfing. No! Fishing. No, no, wait…Can I choose both?”

You chorus with the others: “drink!”

He does as he’s told, swigging back his can. Nods when he’s done to prompt another question. 

“If you could travel somewhere in the world, where would you go?” you ask.

JJ looks to you. His answer comes quick. “Anywhere. Fuck it - everywhere! I’d go to Mexico, and then Brazil, and then Argentina, and then I’d go to the Caribbean islands to see what’s happening there. And then Japan and China and all those places, and then a little backpacking stint around Europe and stuff. Finish off in Africa with the elephants and shit.”

The group hums their approval. As you glance around, you get the sense none of them have been very far. Neither had you. The farthest you’d ever been was North Carolina. Your family had never ventured out of Vancouver before; the only reason your parents had settled on North Carolina was because of your dad’s ties. He was born here and grew up not far from Kildare, in Wilmington. You think he might have been chasing nostalgia when he announced that you were all moving to Kildare. 

“You into anyone right now?” Pope asks. 

“Why? You offering yourself up?” JJ teases. Pope rolls his eyes, mumbling jerk under breath. “Yeah, I am.”

“Who?” Kie prompts, curious. 

JJ’s eyes flash back to you and a telling smirk sneaks onto his face. “She already knows who she is.”

The group’s low whistles and ‘oo’s aren’t the only cause for your flushing. JJ’s stare is too. It flits down your figure tactfully before returning to your eyes, smirk only wider. You clear your throat, press your legs together and sip your beer. The timer goes off. 

“Who’s up?” John B asks JJ.

“New girl,” JJ replies, clearing the seat for you to take his place. You gladly do so, laughing at the applause and whoops that come from the others. 

“Do your worst,” you grin, squiffy from the beers.

Kiara starts the timer and the gang comply with your request. 

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” 

You bark out a laugh at Pope’s question. “Shit, starting off heavy. Um…Crashed my friend’s bike.”

“As in push-bike?”

“As in dirt bike,” you cringe. “Brand new dirt bike.”

“Damn, that is rough,” John B chuckles. 

“Thing you like the most about yourself?”

“We talking physically or...?”

“Intellectually,” Kiara clarifies. 

“And physically,” JJ happily tags on. 

“Physically? My wrists, I guess. Don’t ask, I know that’s weird,” you laugh. “And intellectually…” Your eyes downfall to the grass ahead as you ponder. “Maybe my faith in others? I always try and see the best in people.”

Kiara nods, content with your response. 

“What about the thing you dislike most about yourself? Intellectually, that is,” Pope wonders. 

Your smile twists. “My faith in others.”

It was a double edged sword: you’d learnt that the hard way. You wash down the memories with a swig of beer. 

“Body count?”

The sudden change in tone makes you laugh.

“You can’t just ask a girl her body count!” you exclaim through your giggles. JJ exaggerates his shrug. 

“Why the hell not!? Anything goes right?”

You shake your head with a smile. As you sip your drink, you stare JJ down. 

“Alright, favourite sex position then,” Kie says.

You comply with that question. Grinning, you say, “cowgirl. Or reverse cowgirl. Either, really.”

John B whistles as Kiara teases, "okay, girl, okay."

“If you had to hook-up with anyone here, who would it be?” JJ asks. 

Laughing, you look to the sky as you toss back your head. “I met most of you guys like two hours ago!”

“Going off first-impressions, then,” JJ says. You can hear the grin in his voice. 

There’s an obvious answer, at least to you. It’s the blonde who you’ve spent the whole night trying not to stare at. His rugged handsomeness and bedroom eyes mixed with the sheen of daytime sweat and sunscreen that settled on his skin, bathing him in beauty...Fuck, it’s not fair people like that exist. You want to know the recipe God used to make him. Want to keep it to yourself so he can’t make it anymore.

Fixing your posture, you train your eyes on JJ. Then, you take a long, long sip of your drink. Kiara laughs under her breath with John B. You swear you see JJ’s demeanour darken. It’s like a game of who can break first. In the end, it’s you, thanks to the surprise of the timer. 

“That’s time…”

“John B. Get your butt back in this chair,” you say, getting to your feet.

He does as asked whilst you return to your old spot. When you glance up, you find JJ watching you. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips and a barely-there expression on his face, but you can’t decipher what either means. There’s something uncomfortably familiar about it though. Reminds you of the same type of smile you saw almost a year ago, back in Vancouver, on a different guy's features. You look away and wash it down with your drink.

The game eventually dies down after two more rounds, without you or JJ returning to the hot seat. By now everyone is bordering on drunk.

The energy has amped up and the atmosphere is upbeat. As Kie, Pope and John B fall into a loud debate about something or other, JJ finds the spot next to you. He nudges your leg with his. 

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you smile. “Thanks for inviting me along tonight.”

“Course. You thinking you might a Pogue?”

“Maybe, maybe,” you reply non-committedly. You take another sip of your beer. 

“Look, uh, I’m sorry if I weirded you out at all tonight, with all the hot-seat things,” JJ randomly says. 

Frowning, you look at him. “It didn’t weird me out. I told you that at the garage, didn’t I? That it doesn't bother me?”

“Yeah, but, after tonight…Just don’t want to make you feel weirded out around me,” he replies. 

It’s sweet that he cares about that. JJ seems the kind who talks first and apologies later. Whilst you know half of it's joking, you appreciate him checking that you’re comfortable with it. You’d had flirty guy friends before. Hell, you had flirty girl friends too. Mimsy, to name one. Maybe the different thing here was that you wouldn’t exactly turn JJ down. It wasn’t him that was keeping you at bay.

“Nah, you’re good,” you say. Glancing down, you watch your sneakers fidget in the grass. “I just, uh…I just have a lot going on right now and I don’t wanna jump into anything. Even if it’s casual, you know? At least not until I figure things out a bit more and get settled.”

It’s only half of the truth. There was something deeper holding you back. You could feel it now, creeping up behind you, always looming since December.

But you just met JJ. He didn’t owe you anything the same way you didn’t owe him. And trauma dumping isn’t the most certifiable way to make friends. 

“Nah, I get it,” JJ hums, nodding. “Sides, if you’re gonna be one of us, we have rules.”

“I’m sorry, you have rules?” you snigger, looking to him. 

JJ laughs. “Alright, alright, I know it sounds intense but hear me out! They’re to keep the peace and stuff. Keep us together.”

“That’s sweet. I, too, often trap people into friendships with rules,” you sardonically return. JJ nudges your leg away in joking disapproval. You laugh. “Go on, then. What are these rules? Should I get a notebook or…?”

“Alright, rule number one: no pogue on pogue macking.”

“Macking?”

“Kissing. Hooking up. That sorta thing,” he explains. 

Pursing your lips, you nod. “Guessing that came about after your collective balls dropped and you realised Kiara’s hot?”

JJ doesn’t speak but his silence is answer enough. You laugh. A particular outburst from Pope catches your joint attention. John B and Kiara fall into hysterics and you smile at their joy. It distracts JJ from further rule-telling. Reaching down into your backpack that’s nestled under your seat, you fish out your camera and settle it on the trio. You snap a few shots. They’ll look perfect with a black and white filter. JJ watches you flick through them. 

“You a photographer or something?”

“Kinda,” you reply. “I do it for fun, mostly.”

“Wanna take one of me?” It seems a rhetorical question.

Chuckling, you lift the camera and snap a shot of a grinning JJ. In one hand he holds up his drink and in the other he makes a surfer symbol. It’s cute. Shows his dimples and crowsfeet by his eyes. It reminds you why you were so infatuated by him at the kegger. The way the camera paints him is like a Monet. Before you can protest, JJ takes the camera from you and turns it. You complain as he snaps a shot: it feels unnatural being on this side of the lens. You snatch it back. 

“Dickhead.”

“What? You look cute! Especially in that shirt - I fucking love that.”

You try to hide your fluster by placing your camera back. JJ gets to his feet. Offering out a hand with a smile, he helps you up. The casual touch somehow feels like you're shaking on something. An agreement, to be simply friends, at least for now. So, passing a smile and naturally retracting your hand from his, you follow him to the others.

“What we talking about?” JJ asks.

“Oh, shit! You guys have got to hear this story!” Kiara struggles out.

They all shuffle to make space for you and JJ. John B wordlessly offers you another can whilst Pope recounts his tale. As you settle into laughter with the others, cracking up at JJ’s teasing of his awkward friend, you find yourself happy with the thought of becoming a Pogue.

read part three here!

taglist:

@princessuki21 | @psyches-reid

[woso-dreamzzz]

Rival IV

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your Aunt Stina and Aunt Lina babysit

Your Leah Williamson jersey ends up getting framed. Like when you receive any new jersey, you pose for a picture against the wall and, after that, Momma takes you to a shop to get a big frame to put it in.

It hangs up on the wall over your bed (somewhere that no matter what happens in the future and wherever you move, it always ends up) and you spend a lot of your time (and slightly limited attention span) looking up at it.

Leah's a defender like Morsa but she's so much more cool because she plays for Arsenal. It sends Momma into a round of laughter when you tell Morsa exactly that. You think it's pretty funny too up until Morsa picks you up and tickles your tummy until you've got tears of laughter running down your cheeks.

You kind of wish that your Leah shirt wasn't framed when you come running down the stairs to meet with Aunt Stina and Aunt Lina.

It's not often that you get left with other people for the day, especially people who aren't on the Not-Wolfsburg team.

Momma, Morsa and the the rest of the girls are doing something today that you can't be around for so you're left with Aunt Stina and Aunt Lina.

"Alright," Momma says as she zips up your coat and sorts out your hair while Morsa talks to your aunties," You be good, okay? I don't know what Stina and Lina are planning to do but they've got a match in a few hours so you have to be good like you are for our matches, alright?"

You nod. "Uh-huh."

"I mean it," Momma says, lacing up your shoes and pressing a kiss to your crown. She helps you put on your backpack. "Be good. Be polite and make sure to boss your aunties around."

You smile. "I will!"

You crash into Morsa's legs and hug them tight as her hand comes down to rest on your head. "You're in charge, princesse," She says to you," Make sure you keep these troublemakers in line."

"Promise!"

Your day with Stina and Lina starts well, especially when they take you to the McDonald's drive-through and let you order whatever you want. It gets even better when they drive you to the stadium for their game and even, even better when Auntie Stina pulls out a little 'Hurtig' Arsenal shirt for you to wear.

"You can't tell Magda," Lina says as she helps you into her shirt, tucking it into your trousers and zipping your coat back up over it," Okay?"

"Okay." You nod with a smile.

Morsa refuses to buy you an Arsenal shirt in your size even though you've got so many of her Not-Wolfsburg jerseys that you never wear. You've got a lot of Momma's Wolfsburg shirts too but you always wear them so it doesn't really count.

Either way, you're very happy with your Lina Arsenal jersey and make sure to give her a big kiss and cuddle in thanks. She gives you one back before leading you into the dressing room, swinging you up to sit in her cubby as she changes.

"Well, well, well, look who it is."

You recognise the voice as Katie's and beam up at her.

"Your mams finally let you come to a proper game, huh?"

You nod. "I'm wearing an Auntie Lina jersey." You clumsily tug off your coat to show her.

Katie grins. "We'll make a Gooner of you yet, kiddo." She ruffles your hair, moving so she can fully kneel in front of you, tying your laces again from where they've come undone. "Do you know the song?"

You cock your head to the side. "What song?"

"You don't know the song?" She gasps at you. "Oi! Caitlin! Put on North London Forever!" She turns to you and adjusts your jersey so it's lying properly on your shoulders. "This is the Arsenal song. Every Gooner should know it."

The song plays in the changing room for a while as you munch on snacks and take large gulps of the sugary drink Aunt Stina let you get at the drive-through.

It gets stuck in your head and you hum it to yourself as Stina helps you hang your bag up and takes you for one last toilet break before the game starts.

You hang out with some of the coaching staff as the team go through their warmups.

"Are you happy to stay on the bench with the team?" Coach Jonas asks you. He's not quite what you're used to with Coach Emma but he's very nice and personally helps you when you can't quite open the lid to your water bottle.

"Uh-huh," You say, nodding your head," Momma and Morsa let me sit on the bench when they play too."

He smiles at you just as Auntie Lina comes to scoop you up in her arms, placing you easily on her hip as she heads towards the tunnel to the lineup.

"You're going to be my mascot for the day," She tells you," Is that cool with you?"

You nod. Auntie Lina is so cool. Morsa would never have let you be an Arsenal mascot ever so it's extra special that you get to do this.

"Oh, man," Auntie Stina says dramatically as she jogs over," You got her first? I wanted her to be my mascot!"

Auntie Lina laughs. "She's wearing my shirt. You snooze, you lose."

"I can be your mascot next time, Auntie Stina!" You say," But you have to get me your jersey 'cause Morsa doesn't like Arsenal shirts in the house."

Auntie Stina smiles at you and winks. "I'll see what I can do."

You still end up walking out with Auntie Lina and, when the match is about to start, she walks you over to the bench and sets you up between Lotte and Lia. You say polite hellos to both but keep your focus solely on the game.

It's different to a Not-Wolfsburg game but much more enjoyable. Lotte even lets you use her shoulder as support as you stand up so you can see better.

It ends up with a win for Arsenal (of course) and you go around the locker room to give the girls hugs in victory before you're shipped off back into Auntie Stina's car.

Auntie Lina makes her go through the drive-through again to get dinner and you munch on your chips as the front door swings open.

You completely bypass Morsa to crash onto the sofa where Momma's waiting with open arms.

"Hi, princesse," She says, cuddling you close before moving to unlace your shoes for you.

"Hi!"

"Did you have fun with your aunties?"

"So much fun!"

She pulls your shoes off.

"I'm glad."

"North London forever!" You sing as Momma begins to help you out of your coat," Whatever the weather! These streets are our own!"

Morsa groans loudly as your aunties snicker by the door. "Did you have to teach her that?"

"Katie taught her!" Auntie Lina laughs," We had nothing to do with it!"

"But, I gather you had something to do with this?" Momma teases.

For the first time since your coat came off, Morsa turns around to look, finally spotting the Arsenal jersey you spot.

"You didn't," She says through gritted teeth," You got my kid an Arsenal shirt?!"

Auntie Stina throws her hands up in defence. "She already has Leah's shirt!"

"Yeah, a Williamson-sized shirt! We're never going to get her out of this!"

As Morsa scolds your aunties, you lace your fingers with Momma's and swing your joined hands back and forth as you burst into another line of the song.

[alicerosejensen]

Something about sin. Pt 2.

Warning: Older!Leon; younger reader; fem/reader; age difference; reader is the daughter of another DSO agent; Mention of erotica but it is not here; Anxiety; Relationship with Ada mentioned; Mentioning the conflict.

Synopsis: It's becoming increasingly difficult for Leon to be only your father's friend. Day by day you awaken more and more sinful feelings in him.

Tags: @ourfinalisation

Part 1

He's just a friend of your dad's.

A friend of your father's who happened to meet you in a downpour, frozen, under the awning of some small shop that was probably closed, and you were already shivering like a kitten in a wet box that no one wanted to take in. Of course, he immediately took you to a warm place - his apartment. Do not think that he had any plans; apart from your well-being, he did not have a single sinful thought in his head, and you calmly trusted him. You bet! However, there were no sinful thoughts during the trip. But as soon as Leon opened the door of his apartment and let you in as his guest, he wanted to immediately take off all these soaking wet clothes, wrap your little body in a warm towel or bathrobe and put you in his bed. No sex, seriously, but that doesn't mean he couldn't imagine you sleeping in his bed, lying on his chest… A couple of days ago, he even woke up with another girl and thought for a few minutes that it was you, but reality hit him hard in the ribs. Instead of a shower, Leon offered only a towel, as well as his T-shirt and shorts to wait for your clothes to dry. Yes, the size is big, and, roughly speaking, the shorts were useless because it were too wide.

He honestly tried not to think about you. And on the other hand, couldn't help but fantasize about what would happen if you were entirely his. When you come out of the bath dressed only in his clothes, laying out your things on the dryer to dry, Leon wants to go up to you and put you on his lap by taking off those shorts. And it's even better to soak in the tub with you while you play with foam like a little girl. Shaking his head, driving away from himself again a series of vicious desires, he does not immediately realize that you are already sitting in front of him at the table waiting for a hot mug of tea to keep warm.

"I'm sorry, I was thinking, so what did you just say?

You smile at him again with your innocent smile, taking a sip, stuffing your mouth with more tea, after which your cheeks swell like a hamster for a couple of seconds. It's a funny sight. Leon knows that you only do this when you're drinking tea alone or with someone you're comfortable with. With whom who will not say that you are behaving inappropriately. He's definitely never going to tell you that.

"I said that Dad is absent now and mom has gone to my aunt for a couple of days. And that rain was not promised in today's weather forecast," You're lying, but no. There's no point in lying, Leon knows you're not going to seduce him. And you're not doing anything because he wants to love his friend's daughter… life really sucks.

He should have fallen in love with a woman his age or continued dating Ada. And you're worse than a zombie…stuck to him like a burr.

"Take a break now. You can watch TV, and to be honest, it's a long way to your house. I can call a taxi, but if you want, can you stay with me until morning? Sleep on the couch"

This is a risky question. Regret takes hold immediately after these words have been spoken out loud. What does he even hope for? That at nightfall you will come to his bed and say "I love you"? Cute, but unreal. Although Leon admits to himself that in this scenario he would be a gentle lover. There's no other way with you. In addition to the gun, he has condoms and lubricant on his bedside table, besides he does not skimp on preparation. But watching your face and how you feel indebted to him, Leon realizes that none of this is going to happen. You don't look at old people like him.

On the other hand, the taxi driver will charge you a considerable amount. Although who is he kidding? he is ready to pay for the trip to your home himself.

"Oh, princess, don't look at me with those puppy dog eyes…" he wants to say, but instead he says it to justify himself: "I'm just worried that the driver might offend you. Your father will twist my head off if anything happens to you."

Although he'll be the first to wring his own neck if someone hurts you.

"I wanted to spend the night with a friend, but at her house… a date with a guy. I don't like being alone," you admitted, shyly lowering your eyes, stroking his mug with both hands.

"Then stay," he had to make an effort to make his voice sound the same, but his smile betrayed him. "Let's order something for dinner, watch a movie and tell me about your TV shows that you love so much…"

"Do you know?!" You were surprised, but you smiled again. Of course he knows.

"Your father said that you watch them all the time."

It was wonderful when you agreed, and Leon let you choose whatever you wanted. don't worry about the money, the last expensive purchase he made was at the bike parts store, and well, the bottle is in the top cabinet in the kitchen. You order spicy pizza, pasta and something else, Leon doesn't even look at what exactly, because he doesn't care. The only thing that pisses him off is that you thank him and then fall asleep soundly on his couch after a little night of fun with food and TV.

He's a son of a bitch.

He's your father's friend, he's old, he's… It just doesn't suit you. Leon knows that you trust him, otherwise you would have run away as soon as the opportunity presented itself, and his brain suggests to him the idea of pulling off your T-shirt, exposing your small breasts, and squeezing you in his arms. You have a stupid habit of biting your lips, but you're not doing it because it's sexy (because it's never sexy), but because it's a fucking habit, not flirting.

The point is, he's not trying to justify himself like the rest of the bastards, saying it's your fault that he wants you. It's NOT your fault. You're NOT flirting with him.

And Leon understands that. When the movie ends, he brings you a blanket and a pillow, saying that you can still watch TV, but he is too old and will go to sleep. And all this in order to take the burden of guilt off his shoulders a little. And you're still innocently wishing him sweet dreams.

Yeah, indeed, his little princess, whom he should not defame. Eventually, you'll find yourself a guy your own age, graduate from college, and from time to time remember the day your dad's crappy friend sheltered you for one night.

A couple of weeks have passed since that day. All Leon can offer his few girls for one night is coffee in the morning and a sandwich made from the remains of what he has not yet rotted in the refrigerator. When Ada comes, everything is even simpler here, because she doesn’t need to offer anything, she’s like a cat: she comes and goes when she wants. You're not like that.

For some reason, Leon is sure he would have ordered you breakfast. Not always, of course, but things would really be different with you. There could be good moments in his life that are overshadowed by only one thing - his own conscience, which screams to stay away from you. You didn't tell your father anything about spending the night in his apartment. Leon guessed only because no one attacked him with pretensions, and in general, what kind of father would want his daughter to spend the night at his friend's house? Even if nothing happened between you, it will still remain a secret between the two of you.

He still cares about you, like your dad's friend, he can pat you on the back as support or even hug you at some holiday, but soon Leon is surprised to notice that the hugs from you are becoming longer and stronger.

It's nice.

Maybe he just imagined it and you're still chatting sweetly with him, and that hug gesture was just in his head. You have a nice floral perfume that suits you and Leon likes it when you sit next to him at the table offering this or that dish cooked by your mother. You take care of him, although not with the context he wants.

In fact, Leon is not a fool and understands why you don't give a damn about someone like him. At one point, he was ready to openly flirt, but damn it, if that happened, you would run away to complain to your father and do the right thing, but here he is sitting in your family's house, drinking beer with your father, discussing life and at some point realizes that your father really looks like him, but he has a family. He spends all the money he earned in the DSO on you and your mother, that's why you've been a little spoiled since childhood, but who's going to blame the old man for that? If Leon had a family, he would also spend every last cent to please his loved ones, and therefore the last woman he gave an expensive gift to was you.

However, Leon would have given you his card without any problems so that you could buy whatever you want. Dad loves you and he loves you too, but not as a friend, although he carefully hides it.

It's not funny. Leon would like to find at least one couple with a large age difference who has a healthy, loving relationship, but he himself understands perfectly well that he behaves like a boy who believes in fairy tales to the last. Well, at least he smiles when you are visiting him and you managed to start talking to him about this topic, telling him that there were such couples... several hundred years ago, when girls were forced into marriage. Your argument was that “They fell in love with each other later anyway,” supported by beautiful films about love of that era and romance novels marked “not for children,” with Leon himself reluctantly admitting the truth.

“Sunny, this is just literature designed to arouse interest among girls like you and earn money. Grown-up guys like cute girls like you for a completely different reason."

You didn't like the answer. You discussed with him for some time without crossing the line, but more and more Leon noticed the sadness on your face. The way you clenched your jaw and involuntarily puffed out your cheeks again made him want to comfort you. And then you mentioned that you know a couple who have many children and have a significant age difference.

"Why are you trying to convince me?" He smiled when he saw how frightened his desired, but unattainable angel was, and came up with excuses, saying that he was destroying your illusions that “they lived happily ever after” and “all ages are submissive to love.”

Well what can say? With this conversation, you made him doubt that he was not the only one with sinful thoughts in his head. You still don't have a boyfriend...

At least Leon hopes you weren't seduced by some old bastard, but you're a smart girl and know how to run away from creepy guys.

You're still laughing at his jokes, smiling, and Leon really wants to find the answer to why Ada left his heart so easily and you took over it so easily. But he has a bad habit of loving those women who don't need his attention. In any case, when Ada visits him again, pride does not allow this woman to go to bed with a man who has another on his mind. And Leon himself, however, no longer has any desire, as well as needs.

The costs of the profession.

Maybe because he is still ashamed that he called his last girl by your name and kissed her in his sleep.

Leon really thinks he's such a bastard when he sits in front of Ada and doesn't know what to say to her. She is a part of him, but one that he no longer wants to touch.

"I am not angry"

Leon simply nods, running his hand over his face, not at all surprised by this woman's reaction. Ada Wong isn't one to throw a fit because her partner has found another love interest. An interest that could be mutual and healthy, unlike what had happened between the two of them over the years.

and all that Leon says to her in response is:

"I know"

"You shouldn't blame yourself for wanting stability somewhere. Feelings can disappear after 20 years of marriage, and you and I have separate ways… I will not fulfill your cherished dream of a typical American family, where you return home and there your wife is waiting for you with a hot dinner and two, maybe three Kennedy kids who will immediately jump on your neck with happiness that dad has returned home"

Anyone who knows Ada even a little bit will say that she is right. It seems to Leon that he knew this even at the first meeting when she identified herself as an FBI agent showing him a fake badge. But then he was a young, scared rookie cop with a great sense of justice who, despite his fear, wanted to save at least one living soul in the Raccoon City… So many years have passed and Ada is right, he has hardly changed.

They didn't even have love. The status of "Everything is difficult" turned into "Everything has become much more difficult" because you fit into this status and Leon is completely confused, preferring to just stay away from everyone and suppress all the feelings inside. And you keep climbing and climbing into his head against his will that one day he really got angry and snapped at you when you accidentally dropped one of the old parts in his garage.

To tell the truth, this useless spare part should have been thrown in the trash a long time ago, Leon doesn't know what the hell it was lying there, maybe he just forgot to throw it away, but the way you lowered your head and apologized, biting your lip so as not to cry in front of everyone, well, it makes him feel like a son of a bitch even more. My God, he would immediately fall at your feet and beg for forgiveness for raising his voice at you at all. After that, even when he came to visit your father and stayed for dinner with the family, you didn't even show up in his eyes. Your mom kept saying that you weren't feeling well and decided to get some sleep, then you were too busy (but didn't say what), then you were supposedly not at home, but one day you accidentally got caught when you sneaked into the kitchen for dinner, putting a bigger portion on your plate. Leon wanted to call out to you but looked away pretending not to notice.

This could be the end.

He would have just waited a little longer before apologizing to you for yelling at you over nothing. I would have given you time to calm down, but I was really scared when I received the stupidest message from you.

"I want to pay for the thing I broke. I really didn't want to break anything, so just tell me how much it cost."

At that moment, he wanted to yell at you even more. Do you really think that he is so petty that he will charge you money for just dropping an already broken part?! After that, he felt even more disgusted with himself. Because he acted like a bastard and now you think he's a real brute.

Of course he didn't charge you. However, unsubscribed the same way as you: SMS.

A conflict that essentially grew out of nothing. When your mom finally made you show up and greet him out of politeness having dinner together, you were now sitting as far away from him as possible without saying anything or offering, constantly looking at the clock waiting to escape from the table. Then it was decided that it was time to end it. After your awkward escape, Leon tried to find you in the backyard of the house and he was almost right, however, he spotted the exact location by following your sobs when you were sitting in the barn and sorting through some old things without noticing someone else's presence.

If you were his… No, he still quickly ran up to you with the idea that something had happened to you, you couldn't just sit and cry like that, and if you could, then at least give the old man hope that it wasn't because of him. Leon didn't want you to cry because of him.

Mr. Kennedy, as you used to call him, has no right to kiss you even if he really wants to. Even if you're a forbidden fruit that you can't eat, but you really want to, so you just don't have any strength anymore. You just can't. However, you look at him with those tear-stained eyes, allowing him to take your palm in his hand and squeeze it slightly, dropping down in front of you to listen to stupid apologies. Leon doesn't know how to apologize a damn thing, but he tries. He really tries when he wipes your tears from your cheeks while maintaining eye contact and doesn't know what to feel when you press your cheek against his palm.

An accident or a hint?

Leon thinks the former, although he secretly hopes for the other. He may be the perfect government weapon, the perfect soldier, a good man, but he knows that he is an ordinary scumbag who kisses his best friend's daughter and is bursting with happiness when an awkward kiss gets timid reciprocation.

Even if you are already of age, even if you dreamed about it yourself, Leon Scott Kennedy will always feel like a guilty scoundrel.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 14 all chapters

warnings: The Author is choosing not to spoil the chapters with super specific warnings, (honestly they annoy me, sry). From here on out, expect sexual content. This is a yandere fic. If you have squicks, you probably shouldn't be reading this. Ye've been warned. I love you all. Carry on. 😘

-However, when you get back to your hostel, you find the doors are locked. It’s not even that late, and they actually fucking locked you out. Only then do you see the sign outside that proclaims they in fact will do this at the ridiculously early hour of ten o’clock.

“Shit.”

Seemingly calmer now, John slings an arm around your shoulders against the night’s chill. “I’ll get you a room in my hotel;” he promises. “It’s my fault I kept you out so late.”

You would be a liar if you pretended you did not consider the possibilities of this arrangement.

John is staying in a beautiful old boutique hotel with an ornate carved stone façade and wrought iron balconies. As it turns out the room directly next to his is vacant. A miracle, considering it’s the height of the season. He takes you up to get you settled, and brings you one of his t-shirts to sleep in.

Somewhere along the way he’s lost his suit jacket and tie, and you are hypnotized by the sight of him in just his shirt, his trim waist on display.

“Will you help me with my zipper?” you ask. You’re not being completely conniving. A kind comrade at the hostel did assist you in getting dressed in your dorm room.

He helps you like a gentleman with no real funny business, pulling the fine fastening down. You know he can’t help but brush the bare skin of your spine a little with his fingertips, but it is a fight not to squirm with the desire that small touch ignites within you again, moist heat pooling between your thighs. When he finishes the gesture with a seemingly innocent caress of the tops of your shoulders, you burn.

You turn in his arms, feeling the dress falling down your shoulders as you do, and stand on tiptoe to press your lips to his. He freezes for a single moment before his arms wrap around you in answer, holding you so hard you fear your bodies might fuse. He kisses you like he intends to eat you, his tongue sweeping your mouth and warring with yours, his teeth grazing the swell of your lower lip.

A part of you wonders how long its been, since he’s touched a woman. Since his wife passed? Is that why his hands shake as they slide into your hair, pulling just hard enough to get your attention? His mouth finds the line of your neck, branding you with kisses on your sensitive skin. Somehow, your hands work just enough to undo the first three buttons of his shirt, before he catches your mitts in his.

“Wait…” It is hard to tell if it is a request or an order, caught between a pant and a growl. He kisses you again, bending you over backwards and stealing your breath away. “You have had a lot to drink, and I am trying to do this the right way, and I am barely holding on. Please, y/n.” He presses his forehead to yours, as though he can will you to understand what is going on in that mysterious mind by osmosis alone.

“It’s ok,” you try to soothe him, hardly recognizing your own voice. “I want you. I want you so much, and for so long…” If he thinks this all was just a whim of yours brought on by too much alcohol, boy is he mistaken.  

A yip of surprise escapes you as suddenly he lifts you in his arms, as though you weigh nothing at all, carrying you to the bed and pressing you down into the soft mattress with hands on your shoulders, breathing heavily. You reach for him again, starving little thing that you are, but he catches your hands in his. “Stop.”

Thoroughly chastised, you freeze. Again, there’s that steely tone. Wide eyed, you look up at him, his hair a wavy mess from your fingers, his shirt half undone. He is beautiful, and there is something wild in his eyes that takes your breath away.

You are so confused. What did you do wrong?

He lets out a ragged sigh as he straightens, running his fingers through his hair.  

You are soothed a little, when he touches your lifted knee lightly, running fingertips down the blade of your bare shin. With precise fingers he unties the bows of your shoes at your ankles, removing them from your feet and setting them on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The moment his hands are absent from your skin you whine, knowing you sound like a cat in heat, but absolutely too drunk on desire as much as booze to care.  

“Shh,” he says, gentler this time. “We can talk about this in the morning. Right now, you need to get some rest.”

He touches your bare foot, tracing the arch, dwarfing it in his big hands, before turning to go. You sense you really are about to lose him for the night, and in your desperation you play your last card, not knowing where you get the cheek or the bravery to do so.

“But Mr. Wick…” you whine, and he freezes in his tracks. You can see the tension thrumming between his powerful shoulders, fighting with the decision to stay or to go. “Sir, haven’t I been a good girl?”

He turns back to you then, those burning dark eyes narrowed down at you. Just that single look floods you with a searing wave of heat, and you soak through your panties for the umpteenth time that evening. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the agonizing ache this man inspires between your legs.

You’ve never actually done this before with a man, but some woman’s intuition in you knows that at last, you’ve got him in the bag.  

“Young lady, do you know what game you’re playing?” he warns, taking a step closer to the bed.

Maybe he’s right to caution you, but you’ve come too far now to care. “I need you.”

At least that much is true.  

He lets out a shuddering sigh, taking the remaining step to bring him back to you. You reach for him as he bends down, but he catches your hands again with a tut-tutting sound. You are beginning to think he doesn’t want you to see what’s beneath his shirt—which seems absurd, because from what you felt he’s fucking gorgeous and frankly, way fitter than you.

“These stay here,” he directs, pressing your hands above your head. His tone is not harsh this time, but low, still unyielding as stone. You reckon he’s a man who is used to being obeyed. It’s not your strong suit, but there is something buried in you that finds this new game unusually titillating.

“Or what?”

This wins you a dark little chuckle that lifts the hairs all over your body.

“Or, else.”

Something in that last word makes you squirm, and again you press your thighs, the ache you feel there bordering on pain. “Okay,” you agree breathily, too crazed by lust to care how ridiculous you must sound.

Finally, his lips are on yours again, a soft kiss with the barest slide of tongue that only leaves you wanting more, your nipples drawn to painful peaks. You whimper as he withdraws to kiss your throat, then lower on your chest.

“Shh, you needy thing,” he admonishes softly. “Good girls don’t whine.”

Somehow you manage to catch your next little sound in your throat, though it still comes out a strangled peep. You feel him smile over your breast, before he gives the bodice of your dress the slightest tug. In your current state it’s all it takes to bare your pebble-hard nipple to him, which he kisses with tenderest care, flicking his tongue over the bud. It sends spears of pleasure straight to your loins, and in that moment you think you really might die from wanting this man. You writhe beneath him, and without thinking your fingers find their way to his hair, grabbing soft fistfuls of dark curls in your desperation.

Immediately, he stops.

“What did I say about those?”

Suddenly you are on the edge of tears.

“I can’t….”

He stands, and you watch with fascination as those sure fingers flick open the silver buckle of his belt. He whips the leather from the loops with a crack. The sound startles you, your heart skipping a beat in your chest. The tent in his pants is more than impressive, but there is a sharp glint in his eye, and you can’t help but worry a little about what he intends to do with that belt.

With the leather doubled in his hand he caresses the line of your shins. You cannot help but part your legs a little, and he smiles. It’s almost a cruel curl of lips, but you are a broken thing, and all you can manage is anticipation mixed with the slightest bit of fear for what he has planned for that designer strip of leather.

“You will,” he corrects you, looping the belt around your wrists and making a knot. It doesn’t hurt, but…you are genuinely trapped. “Where do these go?”

With a sigh you return them above your head.

“What was that?”

“Here, Sir.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Those four words utterly wreck you.

He returns his attention to your bent legs, his fingertips ghosting up your thighs, higher and higher to disappear under the lace of your skirt. You sigh with relief when his fingers hook in the sides of your silk panties, slowly drawing them down your hips. He smiles wickedly at the damp little bundle in his big hand.

“These are ruined.” He sounds so very pleased about it as he slides them into his pocket.

“Before we even went to dinner,” you confess, and it’s absolutely true. The sharp look he pays you is a breathtaking mix of awe and hunger.

“You really want me so much?” There is an incongruous vulnerability in this question that tugs at your heartstrings, as though he can hardly believe it.

At this point, you might as well go for broke. Maybe he’ll feel less like he’s taking advantage of you if you admit, “I’ve missed you. From the moment I left I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

  A pained sound escapes from low in his throat at hearing it, and he sits on the bed beside your feet, his touch agonizingly light upon the backs of your calves. He meets your eyes unwaveringly as he pushes your legs apart, gentle but exacting.

You are putty in his hands.

He ducks to kiss just the inside of your knee, lingering there as he looks down upon you completely bared to him. You are sure he can see your folds glistening and swollen, needing him with every iota of your being.

Yet he sits completely still, and the next sound you make more resembles a frustrated little snarl.

“Did you just growl at me?” You can tell by his voice that he is inwardly laughing at you.

Wondering what punishment that would entail, you hold your breath to stay silent.

He ducks lower then, nipping at the inside of your thigh with a harsh little suck, and you know there will be a bruise there in the morning.

“You’re like a fierce little kitten with her claws out. Big eyed and soft and so fucking adorable.”

You’re not sure if you like this or not, but his mouth continues downward, and as he nears the apex of your thighs you forget all about it. When his tongue touches your clit you make a sound like a sob; you’ve never felt anything so good in your life. He circles you slowly, paired with hard laps of the flat of his tongue, and you cannot help but arch into him. The sliding pressure of one of his long fingers inside you is heaven, and yet somehow, not enough.

“God, I want you,” you plead as you writhe against his skilled ministrations. “Let me cum on your big cock buried inside me?”

He makes a low sound deep in his throat in answer, the vibrations themselves are nearly enough to push you over the edge. You feel him shake his head no slowly in answer, his tongue a menace and a marvel as it kneads your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Please?”

You forget everything in the throes of your desire for him, maybe even your own fucking name, and that is when you make the mistake of moving your hands again, touching his soft hair with your fingertips to get his attention.

He looks up at you then, and you’re not sure how just the lift of an eyebrow can communicate such volumes, but as his eyes meet yours you know you fucked up.

He abandons you in your need, standing beside the bed again. You are too astonished to say anything, just watching him in pure agony. His eyes flick to your wrists, as though he’s considering leaving you trussed like a Christmas goose, before he releases the belt with two sharp tugs.

“We can try this again tomorrow.”

“John…” you’re finally able to protest, hating the broken sound of your voice, your every nerve at painful attention. “Mr. Wick…”

He doesn’t look back until he reaches the door, turning to look over his shoulder with his hand on the handle. He brings his index finger to his mouth, licking the juices you left there, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Don’t even think about touching yourself. That sweet little pussy is mine.”

Shocked and dumbfounded, you watch as he makes his exit through the adjoining door, and locks it behind him. You hear the click, and in all your frustration you throw a pillow across the room, certain he can hear your enraged little shriek.

He makes no answer, letting you stew in the anguish of your unfulfilled desire.

[essentiallyleaf]

day 22. daddy kink. with. sakura.

758 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, futa!idol x female reader, daddy kink, cockhungry reader, somewhat rough sex, i’m not feeling very funny tonight.

notes.

they just keep getting shorter! i swear it’s not because i’m procrastinating writing until 12 a.m. though. exhaustedly, leaf.

You met the girl in a mall, she was reading Kafka with the most peaceful, relaxed air, like there was a desert around her, when in reality it was so crowded and loud that you couldn’t hear your friend talk to you from across the table at the coffee shop. She later told you she likes to hear the sound of the artificial waterfall beside the escalator while she reads; you told her, go to the river; she told you, it’s not the same, people go to the river to relax, I don’t read to relax; you asked her, what do you read for?; she answered you, I read to understand what the writer is like in bed. Anyway, you went up to her and asked whether she knew if there was a library in the mall - you knew there was one right around the corner, but pick-up lines aren’t your forte; whose forte are they, if truth be told? - and if she had a book to recommend. “Well, it depends, what do you like?” It’s very easy to make conversation, if you think about it: you can start anywhere you want, and it’s like tributary streams, at some point you always end up channeling into your common interests.

It’s just following the course of the river that leads to her writing down her number on the paper towel you’d gotten with your coffee - “It’s Sakura, by the way, but you can call me Kkura,” she said with a warm smile, like she loved her name, like she had chosen it herself - to the two of you meeting again (neither of you used the word date, but in retrospect, well, yeah) in a bar downtown. They didn’t call themselves a gay bar, but the place had queer written all over it; I mean, Monthly Murder Mystery Monday? Really? To the two of you seeing each other four times in the next week, to her asking if you wanted to come to her house to have a drink after the fourth, cause she wanted to show you her wild animal plushie collection. One thing that surely was wild was the sex, that night. Kkura was plunging into your pussy from the back as you were bent over her bed, ass in the air, and she felt huge inside you. Your face was sunk into the soft light gray-brown fur of the sloth when it escaped your mouth.

“Ngh- ahaadhd- …addy!”

“What did you just say?”

“I- Nothing, I’msor-”

“Again.”

The thing about a river’s delta is, it splits very gradually, just one extra fork at a time, so you don’t really notice how wide it has spread until you’re already deep into it. You start calling her daddy every time you’re hungry for her cock, and she feeds you (the unholy sound of your slurps fills the room like there’s three girls sucking it at the same time, but no, it’s just little old you), then every time you’re hungry. She’s the sweetest girlfriend, you know she’d always get you whatever you’re craving if you asked nicely. You call her daddy when it’s just the two of you, then if there’s close friends around. They still smile jokingly when it happens, but they understand, they know what it’s like; not to be with a girl whose rod that can rearrange your insides, but to be lucky enough to be next to someone that you love and to not be afraid to show it. You almost have a slip up the first time you meet her parents: “Dad- Da… Dadaism was, pretty… wacky, wasn’t it? Duchamp, what an eccentric soul, haha!” Even the save is embarrassing, but it’ll be a great story to tell your kids; ok, maybe not your kids, maybe your friends.

She’s your daddy when you sit on her lap and start grinding on it while she’s having breakfast, when you lay your head on her shoulder and she gropes your tits, only covered by a thin beige t-shirt, while you’re watching Worlds, when she fucks you missionary and slaps your thighs until they become red like your cheeks at her parents’ house, and her fingers gently wrap around your throat, and she kisses you like her throat is burning and only you can help relieve it. You can’t separate freshwater and salt, once you’re out in the sea. It’s all mixed together, as one. And it’s not good or bad, it’s all just part of a natural cycle. Sakura, Kkura, daddy; any name, any place, any time.

-

footnotes.

my favorite shirt from Raygun is the one that says ‘Iowa: flee to flourish’. friedly, leaf.

[grannyandgrandpascreations]

Drink Til You Want Me or I Can't Drink That Much T-Shirts

Shop "Drink Til You Want Me" or “I Can’t Drink That Much” t-shirt is a great gift and a perfect tee for any Couples! High quality, affordable, just your everyday comfy tee to impress friends and family.

Get comfortable with our 100% cotton crew neck t-shirts. Made of 100% soft cotton for a smooth, breathable fit. Pre-shrunk cotton tees are perfect for layering or wearing alone. Lightweight fabric keeps you cool and dry so you can look great and feel great all day. The perfect tee shirt for a modern casual look. Not too long so you can wear these untucked with a pair of jeans or chinos. Looks great under a casual blazer and jeans for a relaxed Friday style. Stylish and versatile everyday crew neck tees are a wardrobe staple.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

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Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

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Shop "Drink Til You Want Me" or “I Can’t Drink That Much” t-shirt is a great gift and a perfect tee for any Couples! High quality, affordable, just your everyday comfy tee to impress friends and family.

Get comfortable with our 100% cotton crew neck t-shirts. Made of 100% soft cotton for a smooth, breathable fit. Pre-shrunk cotton tees are perfect for layering or wearing alone. Lightweight fabric keeps you cool and dry so you can look great and feel great all day. The perfect tee shirt for a modern casual look. Not too long so you can wear these untucked with a pair of jeans or chinos. Looks great under a casual blazer and jeans for a relaxed Friday style. Stylish and versatile everyday crew neck tees are a wardrobe staple.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

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#grannygrandpascustomcreations

© 2018 All photography is intellectual property of Granny and Grandpa's Custom Creations © and may not be used without express written permission from Granny and Grandpa's Custom Creations.

[formulaforza]

furniture-- c.leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader word count: 750 a/n: thank u dani for snapping my writers block. art imitates life fr fr here

Are you busy? You texted him, tossed your phone onto the ground next to you and assessed the situation in front of you for the hundredth time. Pieces of wood everywhere, harware everywhere, a cordless drill your dad had given you when you moved out years ago–one he didn’t show you how to use. 

What had started as a simple Friday evening project, rearranging your apartment living room, had transformed into an all-consuming weekend of furniture and clutter shopping. The Ikea box–boxes–sit torn apart on the floor and the instruction pamphlet is disheveled amongst the mess somewhere. 

Never for you, he replies, you roll your eyes. 

You reach for your phone, quickly type out your response. Come over? You text, and immediately follow it up. Not for the reason you think.

He’s knocking on your door twenty-five minutes later, three knocks, pause, and then another. Just like always. You try to manuver your way out of the maze of wooden boards and dowels and hardware and the dreadful drill to get to the door. He’s on his phone when you open it, quickly shuts it off and shoves it in his pocket and smiles at you like an idiot. “Hi.”

“Help.” You say, straight-faced and serious because you’re in so over your head it’s not even funny. He laughs, you swing open the door nad mumble out a preemptive apology. 

He chokes your name out through a laugh as soon as he sees the mess. “What have you done?” 

“Can you help me?” You say over his shoulder, over his shaking head. Disbelief, amazement, fear, probably all of the above because you’ve truly created a monster.

“Cherie, what am I looking at, even?” He scratches the back of his head, his neck, just inside the collar of his t-shirt. 

“Entertainment center.”

He tries not to laugh. Fails miserably. “Are you sure?”

“I think.”

“Oh, mamma mia.” He shakes his head, looks at you and reflects your pout. “You’re so cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you going to help me, or not?” You are so far beyond help, mon amour, he sighed, told you to get something to drink and that he would figure out how to undo whatever you’d done and build the furniture the way it was originally intended to be built. “You don’t want my help?”

“I am scared of your help.” You would be offended if everything you’d managed to put together looked even a little bit like what the end goal was, but, he was probably right to be scared by what you could do. You were a little scared by how badly you’d managed to screw it up. It felt like maybe someone should take away your rights to adult if you couldn’t built a simple peice of furniture. “If I teach you, you won’t have to ask for my help next time.”

“This is truly an enlightening experience,” you say, pop another piece of fruit into your mouth. “Dinner and a show.” Who knew watching your guy-who-isn’t-your-guy play with high stakes Swedish legos could be so attractive. It’s just furniture, you’d try to remind yourself, and then he'd use your drill like his dad taught him how to use one instead of just giving him one as a gift. 

“Who gave this to you?” He asked about the drill the first time he picked it up. “I don’t think they liked you much.”

You laughed. He laughed at your laugh. “My dad,” you answered, and he shrugged his shoulders, didn’t confirm or deny his previous claim. You don’t know if he plays it safe because you’ve told him too much–or too little–information.

Despite a few of the screws angled just a bit awkwardly, the only real victim of the entertainment center debacle of 2023 is a single wooden dowel that snapped clean in half. “Do you have super glue?” He asked when the two of you finally stopped laughing about it. I have nail glue, you told him, and only time will tell if the cosmetic solution actually worked. 

“My hero!” You joked, stood up on your tip-toes to throw an arm around him, admired your–his–work now that the console had been set in it’s forever home. “I could not have done it without you.”

“You would’ve figured it out.” He says, smiles down at you like he isn’t a liar. “It just would have been…”

“A disaster?”

He chuckles. “Abstract.”

“Oh.” You laugh, kiss him because how can you not? “You’re sweet.”

[carlsdarling]

plss submissive carl ;( i want to make that boy whine and whimper sooo bad

Shut up and drive

Y/N and Carl are going on a supply run alone. Y/N is very upset with Carl's behavior and has to discipline him. Bit more of a plot, then sex. (I love it, it was so funny writing the sequence in the car haha). Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, sub!Carl, unprotected sex

You waited impatiently for Carl to close the trunk and get in. The place where you had parked - the parking lot of a large shopping mall - was not making you feel comfortable. Today, unlike usual, you had gone out just the two of you to get supplies. Rick hadn't been thrilled at first, but Judith's baby food and her diapers were running low, so he had agreed. You and Carl were good friends, but nothing more had ever happened between you, although you thought he was adorable.

At the mall you had found lots of kid stuff, including new clothes for Judith, and now the trunk was pretty full. You had only run into three walkers; it had been no problem to finish them off. Now you were on your way home, down a dusty country road, when Carl suddenly slowed down and pointed to a gas station on the right side of the road. Right next to it was a small store. "Liquors, beverages, wines, spirits," the sign read. "Do you think they have Coke?" he asked. There hadn't been any Coke in Alexandria for weeks, and the supply squads hadn't found any either.

"I doubt it," you said, but Carl was already steering the car into the gas station area.

"Let's go see," he decided.

Reluctantly, you got out. It was blisteringly hot, and you noticed that Carl's blue t-shirt was already sweaty all the way down his back, so that his slender muscles showed clearly when he moved. You would have liked to stroke him. To be on the safe side, you put your hands in your pants pockets. It was cool in the store, even freezing in the basement, and sure enough, there were three boxes of Coca-Cola. "Wow," Carl exclaimed delightedly. "Cold Coke!" He immediately began hauling the boxes upstairs and stowing them in the car while you collected bags of chips and beef jerky.

By the time you returned to the car with several bags of jelly beans in your hands, Carl had already gotten back behind the steering wheel. He was greedily drinking from a bottle of Coke. "Nice of you to wait for me," you said snipily. "I'm thirsty, too, you know." Carl looked at you with guilt and handed you the bottle.

"Great, after you almost drank it all," you pouted.

"I'll get you another one," he said hastily, fumbling with his bandage, and was about to exit the car, but you were faster than him, opening the trunk and taking out a bottle. When you got back in your seat, the straps of your top and bra slipped down, exposing the top of your breasts. Your left nipple peeked out, but you were so thirsty that you didn't care. You unscrewed the bottle and drank in great gulps, some Coke running from the corner of your mouth and dripping foamily down your cleavage.

"What is it?" you then asked indignantly, because Carl was looking at you blankly with a strange expression.

He shook his head, caught. "Nnn... nothing," he asserted.

You looked down, and suddenly it was all clear to you. You grinned. "You're staring at my breasts, and it's turning you on," you said teasingly.

"No, that's not true," Carl denied, blushing.

"Yes, it is true," you insisted. Now you also noticed that he had a visible bulge in his jeans - even though he was desperately trying to hide it. You had to laugh. "Little Carl is all horny just because he saw a nipple?" you teased him.

His mouth opened and closed in embarrassment. "Well... it's not like that, I..."

"All right, if you say so. I thought you might want to fuck me. After all, we're all alone, so the chance would be perfect. But if not, fine, we'll just go home. So shut up and drive."

Carl didn't know what to say. "I... well, if you ask like that... I'd like to..."

"What exactly would you like, Carl?" you asked dumbly.

"You... um, fuck you." He cleared his throat.

"I don't know if you deserve it," you chided him. "After that thing with the Coke, and after you stared at me so brazenly."

"I'm sorry," Carl said with a lowered gaze. "Couldn't we... just have sex anyway?"

"I don't know," you made him squirm, teasingly stroking his right knee. You hadn't missed the wet stain forming on the fabric of his jeans. "Are you horny or not?"

"Yes," Carl admitted sheepishly. "Please, can you..." You touched his lips gentle with yours, and for a while you were just kissing, but Carl pressed impatiently against you, letting his hands wander over your curves, caressing. His body was all hot, his breath went frantically.

"Not so fast," you scolded him, even though your pussy was throbbing with want. "And somehow it's too uncomfortable here anyway. I don't want to make out in the car, so we'd better not."

Carl looked utterly desperate. "Over there," he said, pointing to a meadow where there was a big tree. "We can get the blanket out of the trunk." He didn't wait for your reaction, but exited immediately. It amused you how needy and submissive he was, so you followed him to the tree where he spread the blanket in the grass and took off his t-shirt and threw it aside. You lay down next to each other on the blanket and shared caresses and kisses for a while. Carl became more and more aroused and began to moan and whimper softly, clinging to you, so you finally undid his belt and stripped him of his jeans and boxers.

His cock was pretty, hard as a rod, the tip glistening with moisture. "Please, Y/N," Carl begged whiney, sprawled on the blanket. "Please, undress, too." Deliberately slowly, you removed your top and bra, then your skirt and panties. You spread your legs slightly and showed Carl your pussy, which was already all wet and reddish, its lips slightly swollen. The sight of it made that a large amount of precum leaked out of Carl's cock. His eyes were all glazed over, his cheeks red from desire. He looked beautiful; he was so damn cute. "Please come here," he whimpered again, but you didn't think to give him what he wanted so much just yet. Again and again you stroked him, kissed him, gave his cock little licks and rubbed against him, but each time Carl tried to lay on top of you and to penetrate you, you withdrew from him and pushed him away. Finally, he held you tightly. "Please, please, Y/N," he murmured in your ear, raking his hand through your hair, "let me fuck you now. I promise you'll like it."

You decided you'd tormented him long enough, besides, you couldn't wait to be railed by him yourself; if it didn't happen soon, you'd cum before you even really got started. Carl positioned himself between your spread legs and you let him slip inside you. You took a sharp breath, he was so hard, he filled you completely and it felt wonderful. "Fuck, Y/N, you're so wet," he moaned and immediately started thrusting.

It didn't take long for you to cum and arch up under him, clawing your fingernails into his back. "Oh God, Carl," you sighed, wrapping your legs around his hips as he increased his pace. "Fuck me harder," you commanded, whereupon he lifted himself up and thrust hard into you, over and over, bringing you to multiple orgasms before he ejaculated into you with a scream, rode out his own orgasm and remained on top of you, breathing heavily. Sticky and sweaty, you were resting in the shade of the tree. Carl's cock went limp and slipped out of you, and you lay side by side looking at each other and kissing.

"I told you you'd like it," Carl murmured sleepily. The summer wind was brushing over you.

"I had to punish you for the Coke," you emphasized, kissing him on the forehead and the tip of his nose.

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 7 - School

Chapter Summary: Natasha tricks Cat into going to school. Apparently she's some kind of genius.

Chapter Warnings: Talks about kidnapping.

Notes: Thanks for all the support on this story! Please continue to like/reblog/comment (I feel like a Youtuber). Also if there is anything you're interested in seeing in the story, let me know and I'll try to incorporate it!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Once they arrived at Natasha's apartment, Cat had to try hard to pretend not to be too impressed.

It had to be three times as large as Trevor's place. It was impeccably furnished and decorated, with lush sofas and pristine countertops. To Cat's delight, there were two fancy espresso machines— if you felt like making two cups at the same time, she guessed. The apartment was located in the richer part of the neighborhood. There was a sprawl of shops and diners across the street. It was clear that being an Avenger paid well.

The house had that fresh, new-house smell. She noticed there were no framed pictures in the apartment, or anything that could have revealed who the owner was. There were three bedrooms. In contrast to the rest of the apartment, the bedrooms were furnished very little. One of them was completely empty. The other two only had beds and drawers. One of them had a desk. There was barely anything in the fridge. Natasha only had plastic cups and utensils.

"I only stay here when I'm in the neighborhood," Natasha explained. "It's more of a safehouse. That's why it's so empty."

Cat was okay with the space. She liked having room to move. It was vastly different from Trevor's apartment, which had been cluttered with so many beer bottles that she could hardly walk from one side of a room to the other without stumbling over something.

Natasha gave her a key to the apartment, and told her, "If you lose it, you aren't getting another one."

Cat was allowed to choose a room; she chose the one with the desk. It took her roughly five minutes to unpack. The only things she still carried with her were basic living necessities and her stuffed rabbit, Rufus. She had a diverse collection of clothes, taken from homeless shelters and traded on the street. They fit her oddly, either oversized or undersized, and most of them were ripped or had holes in them.

The ill-fitting clothes didn't escape Natasha's notice. The second day, Cat woke up to find the closet bursting with a plethora of clothes. Leggings, T-shirts, tops, jeans, jackets, coats. She had no idea how Natasha had gotten her size, but all of them fit her perfectly. She was suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of gratitude. She didn't know if she could put it into words. But Natasha didn't bring it up, so neither did she.

As the days went by, Cat noticed new additions to the apartment. New pens and books appeared in her room. Chew toys and dog beds for Taco manifested in the living room. The fridge was always full. Sometimes Taco Bell would be waiting on the table when Cat got back. A couple of those cheesy mugs with funny one-liners sat next to the expensive wine bottles in the cupboards. And lastly, about five different brands of cereal in the pantry, including Fruit Loops. Yet, Natasha never said a word about it.

Despite what Natasha had said about only living there when she was in the neighborhood, she seemed to be at the apartment quite a lot. She was nearly always at the table in the morning, awake before the sun. She would be reading a book or scrolling through her phone, a pot of coffee steaming next to her. She always glared when Cat stole it to pour herself two mugfuls of coffee, muttering something about grubby coffee-addicted children.

Cat appreciated the tranquil peacefulness of the mornings. Back when she lived at Trevor's, mornings were the only time she had to herself. She'd never been great at the whole sleeping thing, either. It wasn't uncommon for her to be up at 3AM drinking coffee. When she'd been homeless, her sleep schedule had been all over the place.

However, Natasha's sleeping schedule seemed even more irregular. She often came back to the apartment at odd hours, or got up at midnight for a jog. Sometimes, they caught each other in the kitchen in the early hours and talked about nothing in particular. Natasha never asked her why she was up so late, or told her to go back to sleep. She did, however, make many comments that hinted at Cat's unhealthy sleeping habits, which Cat was content to ignore. Their conversations had a fair amount of rolling eyes and bickering.

Still, some days Cat walked into the kitchen in the morning and Natasha wasn't there. The woman never left a note or mentioned leaving. She'd come back after a few days. The most she'd been away was two weeks. Cat guessed that she was on some Avenger-related mission. She'd always come back looking a little tired, with bandages over fresh cuts and bruises.

Cat was good on her own. Cash was kept in a hidden drawer in the kitchen. Natasha had shown it to her the first week. She could get in and out of the apartment with her key. Over the next few weeks, she fell into a routine. She spent the days walking around the city, exploring new streets and shops. She took Taco to the park, went to the library to read, and was free to do whatever she pleased.

Overall, life was good. So good, that Cat had to routinely keep reminding herself to not get too comfortable. Still, it was hard when she had all the Fruit Loops and coffee she could ever want, a warm place to sleep, and the constant hunger in her stomach no longer intensified day by day.

But what if this whole plan didn't work out? Cat knew better than to think this was anything but a temporary arrangement. She had learned from making this mistake in various foster homes. One second, things were fine— then all of the sudden, BAM! She was back in the system because they decided she was too troublesome, too mouthy, too much to deal with. She got into too many fights, she was too hyper, she was mean to the other kids— Cat had heard it all. What if the same thing happened with Natasha? The questions lingered in her mind.

The first time Natasha had left for a mission, Cat had explored the entire apartment fully. She'd discovered not one but twenty-three different hiding places loaded with weapons, cash, fake passports, and random assortments. Cat didn't know why she was so surprised when she saw the guns. Of course the Black Widow would want to be protected in her own house. But the guns gave her an idea.

Just in case she had to live on the streets again, she needed something that would protect her. Cat took a gun from one of the hiding places and stashed it in her pillowcase. She'd read about that type of gun in the library and had studied the different diagrams. At night, she practiced taking it apart and putting it back together, then practiced turning the safety on and off. Sometimes she would aim it at nothing in particular, imagining those muggers who'd attacked her on the other end of it. She was reminded of how helpless she felt, how weak.

Briefly, that took her back to Trevor. She shut the memory down quick— she was getting better at that. Gripping the gun tightly, she decided that she never wanted to feel that helpless again.

But simply knowing how to hold the gun wasn't enough. One day, she confronted Natasha at breakfast.

"Teach me how to fight."

Natasha set down her fork. Her expression, as always, was unreadable. "Why?"

"Because I want to know how."

"Why do you want to know how?"

Cat didn't want to tell her the real reason why. She was quiet for a long time. "I just do."

Natasha was silent for a long moment. She seemed to see right through her. Cat shifted nervously.

"Okay."

Cat beamed, nearly springing out of her chair in glee. "Really?"

"However, I have two conditions."

Cat sat back down and crossed her arms, not liking the sound of that. "What are they?"

"One, stop stealing my guns."

Cat's heart stuttered in her chest. How the hell did she notice it was gone? There must've been at least thirty guns hidden around the apartment.

"I… don't know what you're talking about," she tried.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Please. You're not as sneaky as you think you are. The walls are paper-thin. And I'm familiar with what assembling and disassembling a semi-automatic pistol sounds like."

"Okay, fine. Stealing guns— not an option. What about the knives?"

Natasha glared.

"Okay, fine. No knives either." Cat leaned back in the chair. "So what's the second condition?"

A gleam in Natasha's eye made Cat feel wary. "The second condition: If I teach you how to fight, you have to go to school."

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

And that was how Cat found herself waiting in front of the principal's office at a brand-new school, smack in the middle of the school year, waiting to be admitted into her first class.

Fun.

Natasha only agreed to teaching Cat how to fight after she completed her first day of school. It would be worth it, Cat reminded herself, when she was being taught how to punch a mugger in the face by the Black Widow herself.

When Cat saw the new backpack Natasha had chosen for her, she'd gotten second thoughts. Currenting lying next to her feet, it was no less hideous than her old one. This one was My Little Pony merchandise, a mortifying pink covered in sparkly bright pony decorations. Cat had an inkling that Natasha had done it on purpose— oh, who was she kidding? She'd definitely done it on purpose.

The room was painted a mild and disgusting shade of yellow. The walls were covered in posters with words. Cat amused herself by reading through them. NO BULLYING. Think big! Your only limit is your mind. One was covered with words like responsibility and respectful and happiness. Barf.

The secretaries' desk sat in front of the principal's office. There were two of them. One looked like she should've retired two decades ago. She moved with an agitating slowness only rivaled by the laziest sloth in the rainforest. She was squinting at her computer, frowning and muttering to herself. Cat was almost certain she was playing solitaire. The other secretary was gossiping on the phone to someone about Terry's latest squash patch and how they all looked like a bunch of deformed potatoes.

Taco hadn't been allowed on campus. She was so used to having her beagle around that without her, Cat felt like some part of her was missing. That, coupled with having to sit still at the chair made her antsy. Cat had never been a patient person. She checked the time on the clock for the second time that same minute. How was it possible that she'd only been waiting seven and a half minutes?

Cat was saved from her boredom by the door beside her chair swinging open. A dark haired boy sauntered in. Cat caught a glimpse of a self-satisfied expression on his face as he made his way to the secretaries' desk and slammed a pink slip of paper down on it with an unnecessary amount of force.

"Jesus!" the gossiping secretary cried.

The secretary playing solitaire showed no sign of acknowledging that anything had happened. She frowned and muttered to herself some more, clicking her mouse.

"Hi, Julie," the boy said.

"Please stop calling me Julie, Lance. I'm Mrs. Schroder."

"But it's your name. Can't I call you by your name?"

"Well it's unprofessional—"

"But I'm not a professional. I'm only a kid."

"That's not the point, Lance. Let me see that." She took the pink paper slip from him. "What've you done this time?" She read it and shook her head. "Take a seat next to Catalina, Lance."

Lance turned around and plopped down next to Cat. He looked at her. His eyes were weirdly bright and blue, a steep contrast to his dark hair.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," Cat whispered back, unsure of why they were whispering.

"I haven't seen you before. You must be new."

Cat raised her eyebrows. "Just because you haven't seen me before doesn't mean I'm new. There are loads of people at this school."

"I know everyone here. I've been going here since kindergarten."

"Good for you."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "But you are new, right?"

"Yes," Cat admitted.

"I knew it!"

"There's no need to sound so pleased with yourself. It's not like you made a groundbreaking discovery."

"I'm Lance, by the way. I'm in fourth grade." He reached his right hand over. Cat shifted in her seat, awkwardly positioning herself so she could shake his hand. "You're Catalina, right?"

"Just Cat for short. I'm also in fourth grade. Your hand's really cold."

He released her hand, looking a little embarrassed. "They're always that way. I have bad cir-cu-la-tion" he said, sounding the word out slowly. "But my mom always says I should shake people's hands when I meet them. She's weird."

My mom's dead, Cat nearly said, but deemed it a little too heavy for fourth grader conversational topics.

"So why do you listen to her?" she asked instead.

"I don't know. 'Cause she's my mom, I guess." His eyes moved down to the My Little Pony monstrosity. "Nice backpack."

"Not really. I know it's ugly. I didn't choose it."

"Did your mom choose it for you?"

"No," she said shortly. Before he could ask about it, Cat switched tracks quickly. "How'd you get in trouble?"

He grinned mischievously. "I dumped a bucket of paint over Chelsea's head. It got all over her hair. You should've seen her face." He crowed delightfully. "Mrs. Reynolds totally freaked out. It was hilarious."

She huffed, turning away from him. "Jerk."

"Hey," he protested. "I'm not a jerk!"

"Says the guy who poured a bucket of paint over some girl's head for no reason."

"First of all, it was Chelsea Manchester. If you knew that witch, you'd want to pour a bucket of paint over her head too. And it wasn't for no reason!"

"I bet it was for a stupid reason, then."

"It wasn't!"

"Was!"

"Wasn't!"

"Was!"

"Wasn't!"

Their argument had risen in volume so that the secretary on the phone snapped, "HEY! You two! Quiet!"

Cat crossed her arms, throwing a skeptical look at him. "What was the reason, then?" she asked, quieter.

"She bet me I wouldn't," Lance said proudly.

Cat rolled her eyes. "See? Stupid reason."

Before Lance could retaliate, the principal's door swung open. He was an unsightly, pudgy man with no neck and squinty eyes, decked out in a full suit that probably didn't fit him as well as he hoped it would.

"Catalina?" he called.

"She likes being called Cat," Lance interjected. "I know that because I talked to her, Mr. Tater Tot."

"Wow," Cat said. "Is your name actually Mr. Tater Tot?"

"No," Mr. Tater Tot said crossly. "It's Mr. Tate. Lance, if you could refrain from passing your bad influence on our new students, I will be with you in a second. Catalina, come on in."

"It's Cat!" Lance called from his seat as Cat followed Mr. Tater Tot inside his office.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

This is a way better punishment than skipping recess," Lance said later, as he was pointing out the bathrooms to her.

Mr. Tater Tot had told Lance that being the welcome wagon for Cat was his punishment for pouring paint over Chelsea Manchester. He also had to write the girl a formal apology letter.

"But it doesn't actually have to be an apology letter," Lance told Cat. "Mr. Tater Tot never actually reads the thing, 'cause he's so busy and all. Supposedly. So basically you can write stuff like I hope you find a dead rat in your cubby the next time we have recess and you're good to go."

"Oh, here's Mrs. Reynold's class," he said, leading her through a door.

The classroom was colorful and full of the same gag-worthy posters she'd seen in the principal's office. Desks were pushed together to create table groups. Mrs. Reynolds was a young twenty-something woman who didn't seem awful at doing her job. Only, she made Cat introduce herself in front of the entire class like they were in kindergarten.

"Say your name and your favorite color," Mrs. Reynolds encouraged her.

Cat told everyone her favorite color was gray. It wasn't, but she thought it was funny because who the hell liked gray, of all colors?

Mrs. Reynolds placed her in the same group as Lance, a boy wearing rectangular glasses, and a seething girl who looked like she'd taken a shower with all her clothes on. Her hair was dripping over the carpet and her skin was tinged blue. She had a delicate face and would've been pretty if she hadn't looked like a Smurf. Cat presumed this was Chelsea Manchester.

The boy wearing glasses looked relieved when Lance and Cat came over. "Oh good, you're back. She's been going on and on."

"You! Look what you did to me!" Chelsea shrieked at Lance. "Mrs. Reynolds! I don't want to sit near him!"

"Get along, you two," Mrs. Reynolds said airily, passing worksheets to everyone.

"That's T.J.," Lance introduced, pointing at the boy with the glasses, "and that's the wicked witch herself."

T.J. waved. "Hi."

"Do not listen to anything he tells you. Lance is a huge loser." Chelsea turned to Lance, shoving the blue sleeve of her white fluffy coat. "This was a beautiful titanium white before! Look what color it is now!"

"Now it's a nice titanium blue," Cat offered.

Chelsea frowned at her. "That doesn't even make sense!"

Mrs. Reynolds hurried over. "Catalina—"

"It's Cat," Lance corrected.

"Right— Cat, would you come over here?" Mrs. Reynolds beckoned her towards a sole desk isolated from the rest of the class, in the farthest corner. There was a small packet sitting on it, as well as a pencil and eraser. "This is just a standard test. You'll be quizzed on math or English. Don't worry if you haven't prepared for it. It's not graded, it's just for me to see where you're at academically. Try to get through as many problems as you can. I'm not expecting you to complete the whole thing, just try your best…"

Cat didn't think she'd have any problem with the test. She had studied to a high school level in the library. Math came easy to her. All it was was memorizing a bunch of rules and applying it to numbers. English was a little harder, but it was similar to math in the sense that it also had a set of rules to memorize.

After Mrs. Reynolds left her to teach the class, Cat quickly scanned the problems on the first page. Sure enough, all the problems on the first page were easy enough that she could do in her head. She flew through them, circling the correct answers. The second page was much of the same.

Cat flipped through the third, the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth pages with little to no difficulty. Surely it couldn't be this easy! She had spent so much time at the library, away from school, she'd forgotten how easy all the elementary school material was. By the time she reached the last page, Mrs. Reynolds still hadn't come to get her.

Cat sneaked a look up. The class was bent over their desks, scribbling on paper. The only sound was the occasional mutter from a student, immediately silenced by Mrs. Reynolds. Was Cat supposed to just… sit there? She flipped through the pages of the test packet again, making sure that she hadn't missed anything important that should have been consuming her time.

But she'd finished every single problem. She didn't bother checking her work; she knew she'd done it all correctly. When it came to math, she was like a calculator.

Unsure of what else to do, Cat settled for doodling on the margins of the test. She drew a spider, a pumpkin, a pumpkin eating a spider… She was so focused, she jumped when she heard Mrs. Reynold's voice next to her ear.

"I'm sorry, Cat. I'm so silly— I just realized I gave you the wrong test. That's the middle school curriculum. You must've been so confused!" Mrs. Reynolds took the packet from Cat and frowned. Eyebrows climbing up on her forehead, she flipped through the pages and looked back up at Cat again. Then back down at the test. Then—

"Have you finished the packet already?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't show your work," she observed.

"I did it in my head," Cat explained.

Mrs. Reynolds looked at Cat thoughtfully. "Hmm."

She hurried away with Cat's test, telling the class she was leaving for a little bit and to behave. Cat sat there for a long time, not knowing what to do and feeling like she did something wrong. The class was beginning to finish whatever it was they were working on. Quiet chatter turned into a clamor of voices.

Mrs. Reynolds burst into the classroom again, the chatter immediately calmed. She told T.J. to pass out another round of worksheets, causing the class to collectively groan. She returned to Cat's isolated corner desk and slid another packet to her and asked her to complete it.

This time, Mrs. Reynolds dragged a chair over and watched as Cat completed the test. Cat found it a little creepy. The test was a little harder than the previous one, but she was still able to finish it without any trouble. After she finished, Mrs. Reynolds left the classroom again and came back. Cat had no idea why Mrs. Reynolds looked so amazed and confused. Teachers were weird.

"Cat, this is incredible," Mrs. Reynolds whispered to her. "You completed a seventh grade level and an eighth grade level standardized test, and you passed both with flying colors."

Oh. No wonder it was so easy. Cat stared blankly at Mrs. Reynolds, who seemed to be waiting for a reaction. What was the big deal? "Um… cool," she said.

"Okay," Mrs. Reynolds said, still looking like she couldn't believe what she was saying. "You can go back to your table group now."

"Don't worry about the test," T.J. told her when she came back. "Everyone did horrible on it."

"Not me," Chelsea sniffed. "I did spectacularly. Mrs. Reynolds told my parents herself."

Lance snorted. "I suppose your parents were the ones who told you that?"

"Why does it matter?" Chelsea asked indignantly.

Lance rolled his eyes.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"How was school?" Natasha called as Cat unlocked the apartment and stormed in. Taco sprung up from the couch and charged into her.

"Horrible. Not you, Taco," Cat mumbled into Taco's fur. "You're wonderful."

Natasha came into the living room, holding the landline. "That's not what your teacher said. She called— apparently you're some kind of genius."

Cat had reached into a box of Fruit Loops and stuffed a handful in her mouth. It took her a long time to chew and swallow. "Well, obviously. I didn't need her to tell me that."

"She says you could take some classes at the high school if you're interested." Natasha waited for an answer. When none came, she pressed, "Well? Are you interested?"

Cat set the box of Fruit Loops down, not liking the steely glint in Natasha's eyes. "If I say I'm not, are you going to refuse to teach me how to fight?"

"The chances of me using that as leverage against you… are very high."

Cat clenched her jaw. "You're evil. And manipulative."

Natasha smirked. "So you're on board?"

"I'm going to be bullied. Relentlessly."

"You are not. High schoolers love ten year old know-it-all geniuses."

"They do not."

"Then it's a good thing you're going to know how to beat some high schoolers up after you learn from the best. Isn't that what you want?"

Cat sighed theatrically, long and drawn-out. "Fiiiiine.”

"Great!" Natasha chirped with uncharacteristic cheer. "I was going to sign you up regardless of your answer."

"Thanks so much for bothering to ask me at all," Cat said sarcastically. She grabbed Taco's leash. "Taco and I are going on a walk. See you never."

"Midtown High!" Natasha called after her retreating form. "You're going to be learning amongst the best and brightest!"

Cat shouted back a not very nice thing. She could hear Natasha's low laugh echo before the door swung shut.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Notes: Hmm, who goes to midtown high that we know? Let me know what you think and if you like Cat's friends! See you on thursday!

[jhkfan123]

enchanted-tom blyth | ch. 5

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

✦v.

coffee. with tom. it has to mean something. he asked to "catch up" as if the two of you hadn't talked for hours last night. it was nerve-racking, this feeling. you didn't like it. this feeling that you hadn't felt in such a long time. this feeling that you had to thoroughly pick out your outfit for coffee with a man. this feeling that you had to look your best. your mother had taught you that if a man truly cared about you, he wouldn't mind if you showed up in a t-shirt, or sweats, or both for that matter. if you wanted to dress up, you dressed up for you. that's what she taught you. after giving yourself that silent pep-talk, you felt much more confident as you parked and walked to the coffee shop. the parking in la was brutal, so it was quite a walk to actually make it to the coffee counter. 

when you did, it was no shocker that tom was already there.  he greeted you warmly, getting up to pull out your chair. you made your way out of the line to the table he had held. when you sat down with him, you decided today was not about talking, and more about listening. earlier this morning, you had truly realized how much he asks the questions, and you just answer. today, you were going to ask the questions. 

"so, should we get some coffee?" you asked. he nodded, but stopped you before you could get up. 

"i'll go get it. besides, if we both leave this table, it will be taken in the blink of an eye." you chuckled, and a smile appeared on his face. "anyways, what's your order?" you smiled at his generosity.

"oat milk latte, please." you watched his face become surprised. 

"no way, that's my order!" he explained. you smiled up at him, as he was already standing up, preparing to get in line. "that's crazy. but yes, oat milk latte, coming right up." and he was off. he got into the extensive line, which allowed you time to think. while the coincidence of you two having the same drink was sweet,  and it put a smile on your face, it also got you thinking. this entire time he had asked you the questions. maybe you had more in common with him, but you just didn't know yet, because he hadn't talked about himself. this made it even more obvious that you had to start asking the questions. if you were going to make this work, you had to know him, like, truly know him.  you decided to open up your notes app, and open your 'conversation starters' doc. you had made it so long ago, but it turned out to be useful. they were funny, and really did spark conversation. you had made it in college with your dorm mates, who contributed most of them. 

looking at them, you decided one one that you thought would be good: 'whats the drunkest you've ever been?' you glanced up again, seeing that tom was almost at the front. you adjusted your hair and scrolled on instagram until he finally got back to the table. 

"this better be the best coffee i've ever had for that wait." he said, as he plopped your drink down in front of you. you took a sip of it immediately, burning your tongue.

"ow!" you winced. you saw him get very concerned. 

"what? what?" he looked around. 

"i burned my tongue, dude." you responded. you could not feel your tongue at this point. you aren't sure why you decided to take a drink of the freshly brewed hot coffee, but then again, you weren't totally focused on the coffee. 

"yeah, why did you take a sip when it was just made three seconds ago? also, good to know. i'll let that sit for a while." he placed his cup down on his side. 

"shut up." you responded. you opened the lid to your coffee slightly, so that it would cool any faster. "anyways, i have this list of conversation starters and i've decided to test one out on you." you declared. he seemed to straighten his posture. 

"i feel like i should be scared, but go ahead." he cleared his throat and focused. 

"ok, the first one is: what's the drunkest you've ever been?" you asked. he ponded on it for a moment, most likely recalling all the parties and afterparties he'd been too. 

"ok, so there was this party when i was at college, and i swear the only thing i can tell you about it, was that police did in fact show up, and that's all i can remember, if you understand where I'm going." he answered. you laughed quietly. now it was your turn. your college years weren't really full of 'ragers'. besides, at that point you were multitasking college and an acting career. you really only had graduated two years ago. 

"let me see. the most drunk i've ever been...." you continued to think, and then tom suggested an idea. 

"the afterparty? at the la premier? from the looks of it, that was the drunkest you had ever been." he laughed at himself. but he was right, you weren't prone to passing out. you nodded. 

"that sounds about right." 

"i mean, when you passed out, no one could get you up. I mean, the party ended at like two in the morning, and you still weren't up again. rachel had already left, i was with josh, and we were just like 'what do we even do with you.' we tried to wake you up so you could uber home or something, but you were out." he kept explaining the details of what had gone on that night. people throwing up, the details of the karaoke, and everything you missed, which really was a shame. the party sounded really fun. 

"oh, so you and josh had a part in me waking up in a completely different vicinity than where i started out." you joked. he looked down into his lap, and smiled. 

"i would say i had more than just a part." he said, much quieter, and kind of to himself. 

"what do you mean?" you attempted to clarify. he looked up again, thought for a moment, and slouched back again. 

"who do you think managed to get you all the way home?" he said, a smile still on his face. you felt sick. you couldn't tell if it was a good feeling or a bad one. this man had gotten you into his car somehow, drove to your hotel, managed to find your room key, get you inside, lay you down on the couch, and provide food and water for you? it made you feel so, you weren't sure. no normal person would do that, but a friend would, but a lover would. which is why you couldn't decide what he intended by that. any ride or die friend would do that for you, but is that what you were? no, no it had to be the other option, but you weren't sure. and you definitely did not want to assume one or the other.

"are you joking? that was all..?" 

"yep. someone had to do it. also, you are surprisingly light." oh god. you felt like you were going to throw up. the butterflies in your stomach were worse than ever. 

"are you telling me that you carried me all the way to your car, then to my hotel room?"  you weren't sure what was even going on right now. it was so strange how much he had done for you, yet had barely ever dropped any hints. it was the cutest thing you had ever seen, but you felt insecure in deciding whether or not to assume he liked you, due to the lack of hints. 

you had never felt this mixed in your life. tom nodded in response to your question. 

"i can't believe this. um,  thank you. so much. i don't think anyone else at that party would have done that for me. " you decided to make sure he knew how you felt. 

"yeah. no one else had, like i said. it was me and josh. most people had gone home already." he confirmed. "speaking of parties, i am throwing one in a few days, and i want you there. I'm inviting some people that i think you will like. but just be warned that it's not going to be as formal as rachels." he asked. you didn't want to seem too excited, but you definitely said yes to fast. he then confirmed your invite. 

"so, is rachel going then?" you asked. he had brought up rachel's party, so it seemed appropriate  to ask. to your surprise, he shook his head. 

"no, its not really her thing. just you." he stated. jesus. 

"oh, ok. well, how do you know its my thing?" you made the snarky comment with joking intentions. he smiled.

"i guess we will just have to see." 

[squiddy-god]

Task force T4T

Simon "ghost" Riley

hehehe giggling and kicking my legs thinking of this <3 anyway this is t4t ghost hcs so both ghost and reader are ftm trans men! I don't care if fem aligned people read or interact but please remember that this isn't for you this is for trans men. I'd also like to say I've never read the comics so my knowledge on that is a little limited (if someone who has read the comics wants to educate me I have questions!) 

Tw: tooth rotting fluff, NSFW undercut, masc! Reader, ftm ghost and reader, mentions and descriptions of dysphoria/trama, very self indulgent, allusions to ghosts backstory, period talk, pre bottom surgery reader and Simon. 

Hnggggg where do I even start 

“Task force t4t”- Simons favorite joke (he's not funny) 

There are a few ways y'all could meet honestly 

My favorite two being these : 

1) You meet at a pub, Johnny is bragging and playfully asking Simon why he doesn't get any 

Simon gives him the look™ and soap makes it his mission to get his best bud a date- or at least some ass 

So Johnny scans the bar and is pointing out various people, all of which Simon is… reluctant to Comment on

He's not had a good experience with life in general, much less with relationships 

But then Johnny has to go and point to you, And Simon stares. 

You're a bloody handsome man, you look nervous, like you were dragged out here to this pub. You seem to like layers, black long sleeves with a worn out slipknot T-shirt over top, gloves tucked into your pocket and nails painted black. black eyeliner and the feint growth of a thin patchy mustache and chin stubble.

You've got a few pins, most he thinks are band pins, but one catches his eyes a little blue pink and white flag 

He turns around on the bar stool and mutters while he takes a swig of his Bourbon. 

He can't stop thinking about you for the next few days, hell he goes on a mission and is out drinking after a week. 

Then he sees you again, dressed similar to the first night he saw you. 

Your sitting on a bar stool chatting with your friends, they walk off to get a booth while you call over the bartender and order. 

He can believe he's really gonna shoot his shot. Johnny would be laughing his stupid Scottish head off. 

Your startled when this huge man sits next to you, you aren't nessesarily small by any means but it's not hard to be smaller then Simon when he's 6’4 and beefed up. 

He doesn't look at you, eyes dead forward and half glazed over while he fumbles in his head to think of something to say. 

He doesn't wanna scare you off, hard to do when the skull balaclava and hood aren't doing him Any good. 

“I like your pin mate” he says, voice deep and gruff. Really all he could muster without makeing a fool out of himself. Your eyes scan him, gears in your head turning in realisation. “Thanks- cool mask ya got on there” silence settles but it's not as awkward as Simon would think. “I don't suppose your uh-” you dance around the subject, terrified of being wrong, of offending this bear of a man who could absolutely beat you bloddy. Simon laughs “that's right lovie” his voice is warm like a campfire with a tone like honey. Makes you melt. “‘spose you'd let me Buy you a drink?” You ask turning to face him. “only if I can buy you one too” you chuckle an call the bar tender over, ordering something fruity but not too sweet, he gets Bourbon. “Oh ho a good ‘ole boy are ya?” He chuckles “the best” 

Your friends come back over and are so shocked to see you absolutely smitten with this man. 

Eventually the night passes with you and Simon chatting, eventually exchanging numbers and heading out. 

Meeting number two! Is soap to the rescue tbh

You work at a little coffee shop, soap comes in and orders the same 4 drinks any time he's in. Only place near base (or in general) that has a blend of black tea Simon likes. Johnny is chatty at the counter while he waits, it's never bussy when he comes in- He talks about his friend Simon a lot, 

Reminds you of a mother trying to talk up her son 💀 

Eventually he suggests you go on a date with his buddy, and he suggests to Simon that he go on a date with the cute lad at the Coffey shop. 

You try to tell him that it probably won't work out- asking if his mate would be ok with the hole you being trans thing and Johnny gets the biggest grin, patting your shoulder “aye thats the best part laddie! yer both in the same boat” 

So you agree, and Simon agrees. Johnny is just happy his L.T is shooting his shot! 

Anyway! regardless of how you meet Simon is nervous but a great boyfriend! 

Trans! Simon who where's the mask when he's feeling Dysphoric whitch is often 

He wakes up and doesn't see himself, the PTSD definitely isn't helping but some days the mask helps a lot

Always helps you through your dysphoria, holds you close and assures you that you're a real boy, reminds you that if you're asking “am I fakeing it?” You aren't. 

He has the worst periods smh, horrible cramps, heavy flow and they always seem to last so long. 

Has deadass threatened to throw a tampon at soap. Soap did NOT think that was funny 

He always knows what pads/tampons to get, and once your cycles sync up he's done for, he is irritable and just wants to come home and cuddle you 😤 

Rubs your back when cramps get too bad 

Absolutely melts into a big puddle when you rub his shoulders when he's back home. 

Has beaten up transphobes and will continue to do so<3 his favorite activity tbh 

Works out at home and oh boy is it a ✨sight✨ his top surgery scars are pretty prominent. They come up under where his (now) peck is and they are a bit on the jaged side 

Tossing around the idea of Simon who got either a cool jaged outline over his scars to highlight then, or got smth like barbed wire over them. 

He's proud of his top surgery scars, they're the only scars that HE chose, that he wanted. 

If you still bind he gets you a skull print binder (the dork) 

Matching packers so you both feel less dysphoria! 

Simon “nothing more romantic then helping your s/o take their T-shot” riley. He takes his every morning and if you're comfortable he helps you take yours, especially if you get freaked out by the needles 

Simon is hairall over but complains that the Testosterone goes mostly to his ass 

Que hilarious ass smack 

✨trama bonding✨ Simon has crawled his way out of hell (almost literally) so it feels nice to know that he can confide in you and really have you understand this aspect of him. In a way it makes it easier to open up about the other things he's experienced 

Simon “my dick is huge”/ “my dick is bigger than yours” riley

His idea of real romance is letting you shave down his hair before each deployment. 

If you ever feel Dysphoric and want your hair GONE he shaves your head for you, and lest you shave his head so you match

His pronouns are he/him obviously but he also sometimes uses it/it's when he's feeling like it 

Big star Wars nerd, builds legos but really likes miniatures in general. Will spend hours on making those 3 wooden puzzle things. 

NSFW //

It takes a while for Simon to be comfortable with sex, he has a lot of issues to work through, and a lot of insecuritys 

He doesn't like his body too much, especially not from the waist down, so he can't imagine you like it either

But once he realize that yes, you love his body, that he's safe, that your safe? 

He's a horn dog good Lord he needs a cold shower

Loves giving you head- Simon riley is a munch send tweet 

Can't decide between eating you out like he's trying to drink you or sucking your T-dick like his life depends on it- so he does both 

Oh you accidentally had your binder on to long? Your breasts are tender? He can help- he swears he can make it better lovie just let him massage your boobs so they don't hurt! 

Simon riley is a switch who prefers to top because he likes the control it let's him have and makes him more comfortable 

He can be rough but most of the time he's just so sweet and intimate, I wouldn't nessesarily call it gentle, but its definitely not rough

Strap game is on point so have fun getting that back blown out (or blowing his back out) 

Simon “sweetheart come here, I wanna play with your dick” riley, honestly he's obsessed with it. Playing with your pussy and T-dick while he watches the footie 

Wet dream/fantasys about bottom surgery, he wants a dick, always has, but the thought of being able to really fuck you on HIS dick? Have you choke on his actual cock and not some silicon junk? 

Someone muzzle him fr 

Speaking of muzzling him- he can and WILL leave the WORST hickeys on you everywhere

Looks like you lost a fight to a gang of industrial vacuum cleaners, like dawg calm down nobody is trying to take you away-

Deep deep dark purple with a bit of reddish yellowing around it. 

And boy you are absolutely covered in them. Looks like you where on the receiving end of a paintball firing squad.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

I have a prompt for gentle giant Jason: the reader yelling at someone who's not taking her seriously then Jason standing behind them and scaring the shit out of them

"I said you've had enough," you say levelly, staring at the drunk man who'd been attempting to pitch cherry pits and bits of straw wrapper down your shirt.

"Fuckin' bitch," he growled.

"Enough!" you say, cracking the metal t-ball bat from under the bar against the counter.

"You ain't gonna do-"

"Like hell I won't!" you shout back, stancing up. If Charlie had taught you anything, he taught you how to swing a bat.

He lunged going to snatch the bat and in the same moment you started to swing, to pin his hand and break his knuckles, a massive hand shot out and took the bat. And quicker than you could blink took aim at his head, sending the man sprawling onto the checkered floor.

"The lady," a deep voice purred, "said you were done."

"O-okay man, fuck. I was just joking around-" he sputtered, scuttling backward.

"You forgot to leave a tip," he said, unbothered, jumping over the counter and scooping up his wallet. Helping himself to the stack of cash he'd seen the man steal from one of his guys in the Narrows.

"Fuck- I'm sorry man. Just- just put the bat down-"

"It's cute that you think I need the bat to beat you to a pulp for putting hands on my girl," he said, grinning as he hauled the man to his feet. "And funny even that you think anyone would give a shit if you went missing."

"Okay- Okay I'm sorry-"

"What'chu apologizing to me for, uh?" he growled, "Tell the Lady you're sorry. She's a sweetheart. If you make her believe it she might even let you drink here again."

"I'm sorry," he sputtered, "Fuck-"

"That's a piss poor apology," Jason scoffed.

"Ma'am I'm sorry," he whimpered.

"I think he learned his lesson, Jay," you tell him, picking another cherry pit and a couple bits of paper out of your bra and letting it fall to the floor.

"Pity," Jason snorted, tossing him towards the door before helping himself to a stool and accepting the shot you poured him. "Got downgraded to a bat, huh?" he chuckled, "Broadsword in the shop?"

"Charlie said I can't have it anymore," you sigh, grumbling at the paper and cherry pits of your floor.