#Sleeve Sweater Lounge Wear

[milliond805]

How to style a Terra shirt dress - 5 ways

Introduction:

A terra shirt dress is a must-have for summer and can be styled in many ways. From sophisticated cool to sporty chic,  You know it! Take a look at these five ways you can style your terra shirt dress:

01. Layer It Over:

Adding a layer over your Terra shirt dress is the easiest and most obvious way to style it. A plain t-shirt, tank top, cardigan, or blazer can work when layered with your terra shirt dress.

02. Layer It Under:

When it's hot and humid outside, a simple t-shirt dress looks fantastic when paired with a chic contrasting colored sleeveless shell. Adding an outer layer over your terra shirt dress is a great way to keep you cool during the sticky summer.

03. Wear It On It’s Own:

Pair your terra shirt dress with sneakers, flat sandals, or flip-flops for a casual look. Adding a colorful belt or flashy bib necklace can elevate your look.

04. Wear It Open Over Pants:

Layer your terra shirt dress over skinny jeans, leggings, or printed loose-fit pants, and pair it with your sneakers or flats. A contrasting-colored bib necklace adds the perfect finish.

05. Belt It:

Vintage and new belts can add a special touch to your terra shirt dress. They look amazing when paired with a simple but bold strap, especially if you style your terra shirt dress over leggings or colored skinny jeans.

Conclusion:

There are so many ways to style your Terra shirt dress this summer, so try it. These five ways are perfect for a casual, exciting, and trendy look.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Part Seven

“Hey Buddy, you got dressed.”

“Dessed,” Eddie plucks at the sleeve of the pullover, then rubs his arms, copying what Steve did to show what he meant by cold, Eddie even does a fair approximation of Steve's, ‘brrrrrr,’ sound. “Good?

Steve can see from here that the inside of his closet is a disaster; Eddie must have pulled things down while he was hunting for something to wear. Steve figures he can fix it later.

“Yeah, really good. Come on, lets make a grocery list.”

“Go-ser-eee list?”

“Yeah, all the things you like.”

Eddie follows Steve carefully down the stairs, and Steve is pretty sure he can say good bye to the sweater the second Eddie goes outside; at the very least the bottom part will be dragged along the floor everywhere Eddie goes.

Eddie pulls himself onto a seat at the breakfast nook while Steve gets a pad and a pen, “right. What would you like?”

Eddie leans forward so he can see better as Steve writes – Steve’s already listing stuff like milk and bread and coffee and cereal. “Celery. Cucumber. Peas. Apple. Grape. Pear. Many pear,” he’s watching closely, waiting while Steve writes out each word after Eddie says them.

Eddie leans an arm over the table, pointing at where Steve has just written, ‘pear’, “many,” he insists, “many pear.”

Steve crosses out ‘pear’ and writes ‘many pear’ instead, “that okay?” Steve’s sure Eddie can't read what hes writing, but he does understand the concept of ‘many pear’ being two words and not one, which means he’s grasping this whole thing really, really fast.

“Paper,” Eddie adds.

“Okay, got it. More paper.”

“Okay. Stee go out?”

“Yeah, I need to go to work, and I’ll bring the groceries home with me.”

“Go-ser-ee in work?”

“No...I have to go to work to earn money to buy groceries,” Eddie stares at Steve blankly, “wait here.” Steve comes back with his wallet, and fishes out a few dollar bills and puts them on the table, “So I go to work, and earn money,” Steve slides the dollars closer.

Eddie touches the corner of one of the notes, “one.”

“That’s right Buddy, that’s the number one. This is a one dollar bill.”

“One dollar bill.” Eddie repeats dutifully.

“So I take this,” Steve points to the bill, “to the store, and I can get an apple.”

Eddie frowns at the money, “one dollar bill in work Stee...one dollar bill in store...Stee apple?”

“Yeah, yeah buddy.”

Eddie nods, “Eddidie in work? Eddidie one dollar bill pear.”

Steve snorts a laugh at the thought of Eddie in a Family Video vest, probably shouting, ‘no,’ and, ‘bad,’ at customers who put the tapes back wrong. Steve’s pretty sure the general public could break even Eddie’s spirit.

“No buddy, you have to stay here, where it’s safe.”

“Safe,” Eddie points in the vague direction of down the hall; Steve understands what he means, Steve does the same thing to illustrate to Eddie that he’s going out, “not safe?”

“That’s right.”

“Stee not safe?” Eddie cocks his head, frowning spectacularly.

“Oh boy,” Steve sighs to himself. “Okay. Okay Buddy, out,” Steve points, “safe for me, not safe for you.”

“Why?”

And oh Steve is really starting to loath the ‘why?’

“Because...you’re different buddy,” Steve sticks a leg out and points to it, then points to Eddie’s tail where the end is curled on the floor.

Eddie frowns, but doesn’t push it any further.

Eddie’s inside when Steve gets home, and Steve’s kind of glad, it’s definitely chillier now than it was a couple of weeks ago. Eddie might have his tent, but Steve has no idea what kind of temperatures are tolerable for Eddie; he must be pretty fucking sturdy to live in the Upside Down, but still. Steve has no clue if Eddie’s just mimicking him, because Steve has told Eddie it’s cold. He doesn’t even know if Eddie feels temperature like a human. Still, he probably wouldn't be voluntarily wearing the sweater if it was making him too warm.

Eddie’s laid out on the lounge floor, his book open, surrounded by colored pencils. It looks like he’s making an attempt at drawing some sort of tree, surrounded by grass and sky. It’s not terrible; Steve can even tell pretty much what it’s supposed to be, at least.

Steve's got to tell Dustin that Eddie can definitely see color just fine.

“Hey Buddy, you want to help put your things away?”

“Eddidie help,” Eddie follows Steve into the kitchen, “idge door. Idge. Cold in idge. Pear in. Grape in. Celery in.” Eddie chatters the whole time he unpacks the paper grocery bag, narrating everything he’s doing. He eats a pear when he’s done.

“I got you more notebooks, too.”

“Paper?”

“Yeah Buddy, as much as you want.”

Steve dumps a can of spaghetti into a pot on the stove, then turns as he hears a loud scraping noise; Eddie pushing a chair across the kitchen.

“Hang on,” Steve gets it for him, moving it to the side of the stove. Eddie climbs up, sitting on his tail to make himself tall enough to watch Steve making toast and grating cheese.

“You want to try?” Steve offers the wooden spoon to Eddie.

Eddie frowns at it, “warm?”

“Many warm. Hot. Here,” Steve blows on the spoon for a moment.

Eddie leans forward and licks it. Eddie pulls an assessing face, and then finally volunteers, “good bad.”

“Yeah. I get you buddy.”

Eddie turns on the TV when they go into the lounge, Steve sits on the couch to eat, “I think the kids are coming over tomorrow. They’re coming over to watch movies.” Eddie tilts his head, “TV. The kids are coming to watch TV.”

“Max. El. Dust bin. Lu-cas. Mike. Will.”

“You got it buddy, the kids.”

“Kids. Mongrels.”

Steve laughs so hard his toast nearly slides off his plate.

Mike shoves a bag in Steve’s hands as he passes him in the doorway, “Nancy told me to bring this over for Eddie. It’s all Holly’s old stuff.”

Steve looks inside the bag and finds a couple of kids coloring books; neither of them used at all. A handwriting book, the kind where you trace the letters and numbers before doing it yourself. A very basic math book, probably for really little kids, but on the first page is a picture of four plus four, represented with two groups of four apples. Steve’s confident Eddie will like that. There’s a couple of other things, and Steve’s sure it’ll all be useful. It’s actually a great idea. One of the books has pictures of clocks, and the digital time; Steve really should teach Eddie to tell the time. Maybe he could get him a little battery clock for his tent.

“Thanks Mike.”

“Yeah whatever,” Mike grumbles, already making popcorn and generally just helping himself to Steve’s shit.

Steve sits in the middle of the couch, El to one side of him, deliberately keeping an empty space on the other. All the other kids are sprawled out on the floor, eating red vines and dipping into bowls of popcorn. Eddie’s watching from the kitchen doorway; he’s clearly still uncertain about the kids.

They’re all lying quiet though, engrossed in the film. It’s probably half way through when Eddie finally risks it; Steve pats the couch cushion to encourage Eddie up next to him. Eddie does.

Usually he sits like a person, the end of his tail laid on the floor like feet would be, but tonight he pulls it up and curls it under him, all protected.

El leans forward, whispering over Steve, “hi Eddie.”

Eddie nods, volunteers back an uncertain, “hi El,” and then promptly hides his face in Steve’s shoulder.

As Steve suspected, the front six inches of the yellow pull over are worn and filthy, marred with grass stains.

Steve leaves him there for a little while, and waits until curiosity gets the better of Eddie. Steve offers him some popcorn; it’s buttered and salty, and Steve’s a solid ninety percent sure Eddie won’t like it. He’s right. He watches Eddie chew with his mouth open, a look of absolute disgust on his face, for a solid thirty seconds before Eddie finally swallows.

Steve leaves El with the popcorn and goes and gets them a beer to share, it’s the least he can do.

Eddie’s interest in the film seems to waver, depending on what grabs his attention the most. He seems to be watching the kids for...well. Eddie probably thinks of them as loud and erratic; it wouldn’t surprise Steve if Eddie had interpreted them as danger. Even if Eddie’s getting braver, that feeling clearly hasn’t gone all the way away just yet.

Steve feels him twitch, on high alert, every time one of the kids shifts.

Steve offers him a red vine; Eddie sniffs it but crinkles his nose up in disgust.

They decide to put on another movie; when all the kids get up to forage and grab drinks and go for toilet breaks, Steve thinks for a moment that Eddie might make a break for it. He sinks down further into the couch cushions instead; pressing close to Steve.

He doesn’t leave though, and the kids, mercifully, practically ignore Eddie. Lucas says ‘hi’, and Eddie answers, which Steve takes as a massive win.

One of the kids drops something in the sink; it clatters loudly, Eddie sitting up straight, whole body on high alert and turned towards the doorway, one arm flung back protectively over Steve's chest.

“It’s alright buddy, don’t worry. It’s just the kids. They’re noisy sometimes,” Eddie does lower himself again at that, and when he finally looks at Steve, Steve offers his hand. Eddie takes it. The webbing stops their fingers linking together all the way, but the contact has the desired effect and seems to reassure Eddie that there’s no danger, and he’s more relaxed by the time all the kids come back in.

They start the next movie, Eddie nestled right up against Steve, their joined hands resting on his thigh.

Part Nine

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

lionfish, seahorses, and dolphins, oh my! | f. odair

masterlist

anon's request: noo bc i've been thinking about this for a while (all the time) imagine the reader from district 8 who's with finnick always sewing random fish patterns into his clothes or any cloth-related items bc of his district!!!

warnings: just some cutesy fluff, very very mild suggestive themes

notes: i couldn't not write this request it's so cute. very rushed because i've got another fic in the works ;) stay tuned my beautiful readers <3

word count: 800

Finnick would always invite girlfriend!reader to District Four because this man has major attachment issues, so you practically live at his house and are both attached to the hip. And one day he would find this little lionfish embroidered onto the cuff of his favourite sweater, which oddly resembles the colour of his hair.

His first instinct would be to call out to you. "Sweetheart?"

And you would respond with a "Hm?" from another room in the house, sneakily sewing something onto another item of his clothing. He would be curiously inspecting the little creature that had taken up residence on his shirt as he padded through the house to your whereabouts.

Just as he entered the room you were in, he would begin, "Why is there a—"

He'd cut himself short as he looked up and saw you sitting comfortably in a lounge chair, legs tucked beneath your body, a soft, knitted blanket draped over your lap, and a sewing kit lying on the side table. In your hands were a pair of his pants.

One of his eyebrows raised. "You've got my pants."

You looked up to find him standing in the doorway. "I do," you replied.

He took a step closer. "And you're sewing them."

"I am."

Another step. "And there's a fish sewed onto my sweater..."

You simply smiled at him—an adorable proud little smile. God, you looked so cute he genuinely felt to urge to lean down and pinch your cheeks between his fingers, but then he remembered he was your boyfriend, not your grandmother.

"Not that I'm not in absolute awe of your sewing abilities but—" He chuckled, shaking his head— "why?"

You shrugged, piercing a sewing needle through the waistband of the pants in your lap. "You're from District Four; fishes are kind of your thing, are they not? Plus, it's pretty," you said, then your voice lowered to a soft murmur. "Like you."

His stomach fluttered and he almost giggled like a little girl at your words. Once he got close enough, he kneeled beside the chair you were sitting in, watching as your delicate fingers manoeuvred the needle and yarn into the outline of a seahorse. He smiled to himself.

"Do you think I should start weaving clothes for you? Considering your district's all about making clothes and stuff," he said with a smirk.

"Like a dress made out of netting? It wouldn't leave much to the imagination."

"You won't hear this mouth complaining," Finnick said, the image of you walking around the house clad in a black net dress overcoming his mind.

Your cheeks warmed with a horrible blush and you decided to focus your attention entirely on the seahorse in the effort to overcome the sudden lewd thoughts involving his mouth.

Finnick continued watching in amazement as you managed to turn a few colours of yarn into a beautiful seahorse on the waistband of his pants. He wondered how many other pieces of clothing of his you had managed to infiltrate with various sea creatures. When his eyes caught on a bright blob of colour on the underside of the shirt sleeve he was wearing, he smiled, knowing he had gotten his answer.

His gaze flickered back to you, observing the look of concentration on your face as you sewed—the gentle crinkle of your furrowed brows, the subtle curl of your lips, and every now and then, the small twitch of your nose like that of a bunny, the pink of your blush adding to the image.

He couldn't help but prop his folded arms on the arm of the chair, chin resting on his forearms as he shamelessly and blatantly admired the changes in your facial expressions. He noticed as your eyes began to occasionally flicker toward him, your attention increasingly beginning to drift.

A few minutes later, you exhaled a heavy sigh. "You're so distracting."

"You're so adorable," he replied almost dreamily.

There it was again. The humiliating pink flush of your cheeks.

He grinned, humming a quiet laugh as he rose to his feet to plant a kiss on the top of your head.

"Can I make one request?" he asked.

"Perhaps."

His eyes fell to the lionfish on the shirt in his hands, eyes sparkling with child-like joy. "Sew some of these onto your own clothes so we can match."

A wide smile stretched across your lips.

Within the next week, you and Finnick were a giggling mess, sporting matching sweatshirts embroidered with big blue dolphins, each one's blowhole featuring a small red heart just above.

[amomentsescape]

The shirt headcannon was great, but what if the slashers had matching shirts with their S/O reader? Also if ya in one of the snowy storm states stay safe! ❄ 🧊 ⛸

Slashers React to Couple's T-Shirts

Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Feat. Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, & Stu

You can find the OG T-Shirt request here.

A/N: Such a cute request! And yes, those dealing with the crazy weather, please stay safe! (Also, I couldn't find a better GIF option so I just went with the same one again)

Freddy Krueger

Yep, he wears it over his sweater

Can you expect anything less from Freddy though?

He really enjoys matching with you

He even let out some chuckles when you showed them to him for the first time

"I'm gonna need to make myself a closet if you keep up with this"

He definitely finds the shirts a tad bit cheesy, but he's not complaining

He happily wears the shirt with pride

He becomes a bit upset if you show up not wearing it though

Michael Myers

What even is this?

The first shirt was already bad enough, but this?

He doesn't even like cats

Just gives you a deadpan look

Will let you put yours on, but absolutely refuses to wear his

Barely even wants to touch it to be honest

You quite literally have to force it over his head

And even then, he just complains the whole time

Embrace the moment while you have it, because there's absolutely no way you're going to get that shirt on him again

Jason Voorhees

He smiles wide at these

One of the things he loves is the size difference between you two

It makes him feel like a protector

So you gifting him MATCHING shirts just makes him feel all giddy inside

The fact that they point out the size difference is a plus

He arguably likes this one more than the last (since he actually understands what it means)

He only wears the shirt when you wear yours though

If your washing it or don't have it on, don't expect Jason to be wearing his

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas absolutely fell in love with Beauty and the Beast when you first showed it to him

He didn't think he'd ever find someone like you, but here you were, and that made him relate to the Beast quite a bit

So when you showed him these, he was ecstatic

Immediately puts it on and refuses to take it off for a couple days

Even in the blistering heat of Texas, he wears it

Will always give you a hug when he sees you wearing yours

By the end of the week however, his shirt is noticeably much dirtier than yours

They barely match anymore, but the meaning is still there

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba is all giddy when he sees these

He just thinks the dinosaurs are absolutely adorable

And he honestly gets the joke pretty quickly!

Will insist you both put them on at the exact same time, doing a little spin for each other

He's clapping his hands and bouncing up and down

Will become pretty protective of the garment though

If anyone besides you gets a little too close to him, he puts his arms out as if saying "don't touch the shirt"

He truly finds the shirts a symbol of your relationship, so if any stain or tear occurs, he will literally have a meltdown

Brahms Heelshire

He doesn't find them as funny as you do

But he likes the idea of you matching together, so he allows it

Will try to put your shirt on instead in hopes you don't notice

You do

He thinks you look cute, but he won't admit it

He's still mad that you think you're the boss

I mean, who makes the literal rules around here??

But the moment you baby him and tell him just how good the shirt looks on him, he gives in and accepts his fate

He does wear the cardigan over it, however

Norman Bates

You know Norman isn't one for loud garments

So you thought something simplistic and meaningful would be the best bet

When he first sees the shirts, he smiles and says they look extra comfy for you two

But when he sees your anniversary on the sleeves, he melts

Thinks it's super romantic and gives you a sweet kiss as a thank you

He wears the shirt all the time

Under his button ups, going to bed, lounging around

And you can tell he becomes extra happy when you have yours on too

It's just like having a cute reminder of your love for each other

And Norman is all about that

Billy Loomis

Billy had been talking about getting a new sweatshirt for forever now

So when you came across these, you knew you had to get them

Billy isn't usually one for cheesy things, but he can't stop the small smile that forms on his face

"You're a lifesaver, babe"

Will try it on and practically melt into it

Doesn't specifically ask, but he'll give you a look basically telling you to put yours on too

When he sees you both matching, he can't even lie that he likes it

Will snuggle up with you and thank you

Stu Macher

Stu immediately lets out a big laugh when he sees them

His amusement is quickly deflated when he fully reads the shirts

"Hey!"

You know he's just joking though, since he still has that huge grin on his face

"You're clearly the stupid one, right?"

You just give him a joking slap to the arm

Will make you put yours on with him and pulls out his camera

Takes a million pictures with you and the shirts, finding them hilarious

He definitely insists on wearing them in public since it makes it even more obvious that you're his

He just doesn't want to wear them around Billy

He'll make fun of him

[fadingdaggerr]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write a fluff Melissa x reader, where R is a new teacher and shes got this sick motorcycle and everybody thinks she's super cool and badass, and Mel's absolutely head over heels and gets all nervous when R is around, and when R eventually realizes it she starts doing things on purpose to get Mel all flustered.

With like A LOT of fluff.

You can maybe make it little spicy too, or not.

Idk you do whatever you prefer.

know i’m alive (18+, minors dni)

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: request above! | 5.8k

includes: the dating but not really sort of trope, but of ooc!melissa i’m sorry, partially unedited again im sorry

warnings: sexual innuendo, alcohol consumption (brief), making out/kissing, smut (fingering, oral, mel receiving), body worship?, aftercare

note: the bike referenced is a harley-davidson 1992 daytona, one of my personal fav models. i grew up in a biker family so this was cathartic. also the temperatures referenced in fahrenheit are roughly the 10-20°c range, hope that’s helpful :)

It’s become a sort of routine: get to work, drop your things off, get coffee, make Melissa blush, teach, do prep, watch Melissa try to hide a smile, go home, repeat. You can’t help yourself, getting the woman, who will always be the toughest in any room she’s in, riled up with fluttering lashes. Shocked faces from across the room didn’t help with the ego you were steadily growing with each interaction.

The first day you were at Abbott, she pointedly ignored you, despite constantly having an eye on you. What you once thought was suspicion over a new person near the kids, though sort of true, was more of a curiosity. A new third grade teacher walked into her school, wearing an oversized denim jacket and old Chucks, how was she supposed to feel? Her harsh glares and eagle eyes softened, and you started to see a more bashful side of the woman. It was only until Ava had the balls to say that Melissa’s behavior was very not Melissa, that you noticed that only you could evoke this side of her.

Since day one, the redhead has had an interest in you, not that she would ever verbalize it. Breathlessness has become a common feeling every time you come in with the sleeves of your sweater rolled up and rings adorning your fingers, making her focus shift and half the time she doesn’t hear a word you say, just following the gold bands that catch the light as you speak animatedly. Melissa longs for the day you got close enough and she could pull you in by the necklace you wear, the same that dangles in a taunt when you lean into her space. In the brief moments you’re alone, there’s a sense of calm that comes over both of you. The need to keep up a bravado drops, and you can indulge yourself in her presence. She’s lost count of how many times you casually dropped a gorgeous or beautiful instead of using her name, and how she has to fight turning when you say either in casual conversation, not just to her. All you know is that her wide, surprised eyes are all the motivation you need to keep it up.

—☽—

It’s bitter cold as you walk into Abbott, finding yourself nearly running to the main entrance before your eyes begin to water from the nipping winds. Reprieve comes in the form of the front lobby, leaning against it to catch your breath and shrug off your jacket to let the warmer air rid you of goosebumps. With your belongings dropped off in your classroom, it’s easy to start moving towards the lounge, knowing you saw a silver car that belonged to a certain redhead.

The voice of Jim Gardener is all there is when you enter, Barbara having, no doubt, told them to shut their mouths while her ‘second favorite man’ was speaking, Gerald also ranking number one in his wife’s heart. Grabbing your personal mug from the shelf, you pour a cup of unfortunate coffee as you watch Melissa through your periphery. She used to sit in one of the chairs, no room for someone to place themselves next to her. However, once you started, you noticed she moved to the couch, where no one but you was brave enough to sit.

Walking slowly to your spot, you gently sip the coffee that threatens to spill over the sides before setting it on the table. Lowering yourself, you sit purposefully closer to Melissa than a typical coworker would. Not one shuffle away or look of discomfort comes of it, it almost makes you grin. As the weather comes on, and Jim is no longer on screen, voices start to fill the room. You throw your arm back to the back of the couch as leverage to push yourself forward, leaning into Melissa’s space as the two-week broadcast appears on screen.

Her attention on you is not missed, neither is Barbara’s, who you already know is giving Melissa a look of bewilderment. The dusty pink that paints her cheeks with every interaction between you has quickly become your favorite color. It’s a struggle and a half to keep your eyes on the screen, but the temperatures being in the fifties and sixties starting tomorrow made you so excited that it didn’t even matter. Instantly, your mind is whirling with plans for the second the final bell rings and you can run out the door.

When the news goes to commercial, you sit back, keeping your arm behind Melissa’s shoulders. The warmth radiating off of her has your mind begging for you to shift your arm just a touch closer, to wrap your arm around her, but so far playing it safe has been working in gaining her trust. She can’t help it, green eyes falling onto you as she tries to decipher your move, hoping to catch something in your eyes that tells her what this was between you. All she gets is a little smirk that is half-hidden by a sip of coffee from an orange mug.

Melissa catches on quickly to your happier mood, finding the joy you exuded, that seemingly came from nowhere, to be adorable. She can’t even believe that word dared to enter her vocabulary. Your typical flirty remarks don’t make an appearance, just a serene smile on your face and a wink to Melissa when you catch her eyes scanning over your face. 

As the last kids get into their dad’s truck, you find yourself practically skipping back to your room to quickly gather your things. With the speed in which you move and the utter state of focus you are in, you don’t notice Melissa’s little smile as she sees you move with obvious excitement as you leave the building. She decidedly ignores the little thought that you may be all giddy to see someone else, and maybe she will continue to ignore it with a glass of Merlot.

Marty at the front desk of M&J’s Storage Company gives you a tightlipped smile and a curt nod as you drive past, having gotten used to you stopping by periodically over the winter. Pulling up in front of unit seventy makes your heart race, the second most beautiful thing in the world sat behind that navy metal door. The old lock takes a few tugs to loosen its hold, finally allowing you to release the latch and lift the door.

“Well, hello again,” you mumble as you pull back the cover, eyes scanning over metal. It hadn’t been long since your last little maintenance visit, meaning all you had to do was drive home and get her shined up.

After stopping at the gas station on the way home to fill the tank, you finally park and nearly eat pavement as you jump out of the car. It takes extra effort without the help you usually get from your brother to lower the bike off the trailer, but you manage, though it leaves your arms shaking while you remove the cover again.

Polish turns the piping from grey to silver, the dust off the body goes back to its original tan, and the blue on the design is restored to its proper glory. Despite checking once a month or so, you cross your fingers as you start the engine, hoping that all your hardwork will pay off and nothing will go wrong. The engine does a chg-chg-chg before it turns over and the motorcycle comes to life.

“Yes!” you exclaim, jumping in the air slightly with sheer amount of excitement running through your veins. You let the bike run for a little bit as you take photos to send to your brothers as proof you could, in fact, get it off the trailer without them. 

All you can think about for the next couple hours before bed is the feeling of your riding jacket and the wind blowing against it.

—☽—

The sky is still dark when you open your eyes the next morning, impatience waking before you before your alarm. Once you’ve gained your bearings, you get up and are getting ready as fast as you possibly can. It’s impossible to sit still, you’re almost dancing in place as you brush your teeth and can’t stop yourself from skipping to the closet by the front door. Shoved in the back, next to your sandals, was a pair of black, leather, steel toe boots. After saving every penny your senior year of college, you bought them as a graduation gift for yourself, and you’ll wear them until you can feel the ground through the soles.

Once you had to turn around due to forgetting it from sheer enthusiasm, you borderline ran down the stairs to your garage space. With the garage door open, the warm air creeping in from the outside is invigorating, and the lack of wind for the first time in two weeks gives you hope that your face won’t freeze off on the ride to Abbott. The biggest pain is getting your backpack to sit comfortably over your slightly bulky riding jacket, covered in patches from states and towns you’d visited over the years.

The second the bike begins to move, it feels like all of your problems have disappeared behind you. The low rumbling and revving drives others crazy, but it feels like the calming presence around you. If only the cops around weren’t such sticklers, or you’d have left your helmet off for the fifteen minutes drive. The wind on your face is better than caffeine, but your eyes water so badly, you can’t have anyone thinking you were sobbing on your way to work. That’s a Monday activity, not Thursday.

From the speed in which you got ready to get on your bike, you’re the second person in, Janine always being first. You refrain from sitting by the TV once you’re in the lounge, just leaning against the counter and sipping your coffee until the object of your affection arrives. Gregory and Jacob come in together, talking about the next round of plants for the garden. When Barbara comes in, you can see that she’s holding in laughter, a fast-talking Melissa behind her.

“How are you not freaking out, Barb? That bike is beautiful, and it’s at Abbott, Abbott, of all places,” she almost yells, her hands waving around with disbelief in her friend’s relative disinterest.

“It’s a bicycle, Melissa.”

“Motorcycle, it’s a motorcycle. It doesn’t have a basket and ribbons, unlike yours,” Melissa mumbles that last part, but Barbara stills catches it and gives a gentle smack to her friend’s arm, despite laughing herself. You can’t lie, knowing that Melissa is fascinated by the bike, you want to speak up about it now, but instead, you stay quiet.

The spot next to her by the TV stays vacant, practically having an RSVP with your name on it. When you plop next to her, she peeks at you from the corner of her eye, and she does it a few times again during the commute report. You catch her the fifth time, raising your brows in question to not gain the others’ attention, but she just gives you a shake of the head. She turns back to the TV, but you’re persistent, propping your arm behind you like you’d done yesterday, and poking her shoulder.

Her head whips away from you, and seeing that it was your hand over her shoulder, she turns back to you with a playful scowl.

“What?” she asks with a softer tone than you had expected.

You lean in just a touch to keep your words between the two of you, “you were staring. Was just making sure you’re okay.”

God, you could survive solely off the way her eyes shine, how wide they open at your earnest. Neither of you realize the time between your words and the answer that has yet to come, just looking at each other as a tiny smile plays on your lips. It takes the internal will of ten thousand men to not jump at her emerald eyes dropping briefly to your lips.

“Right… Sure you’re not just flirting? Like a little kid annoying their crush?” she jokes, partially to save her from embarrassment, partially to hide the racing of her heart from your attention.

“Could be. But at least I’m not the one avoiding the question,” you joke back, and when she doesn’t answer again, you push, “nothing to say about that, beautiful?” Her eyes go to her lap as she shakes her head, another poor attempt to hide the clear effect you have on her. For now, you’ll just ignore the feeling of her leaning slightly closer to you and try to still your rapid heartbeat.

—☽—

In a desperate attempt to see who owns this magnificent bike, Melissa stays in the parking lot, loitering by fiddling with her purse to not raise suspicion. She immediately ignores Gregory and Mr. Morton, knowing they’re too stiff to ever consider getting on a motorcycle, let alone this one. As she sits there on her phone, after fifteen minutes of waiting, a familiar hum starts up and the bike is moving out of the lot.

That jacket. Patches cover nearly all visible space, even a little Eagles one next to a custom Abbott patch. Even with the helmet obscuring your face, without the jacket, she’d know you anywhere. Immediately, she starts to move, putting her car in drive as she pulls out of the lot the same way you did, conveniently the same direction she needed to go.

With a stroke of luck, she pulls into a lane next to you at a busy red light, rolling down her passenger side window, “aye! Why did you say shit about you having the bike?”

You push up your visor, yelling over the motor and traffic, “air of mystery!”

“Bullshit!”

“Guessing you want a ride, huh, gorgeous?” You can’t even contain your grin as you watch her eyes widen, flicking to the red light that has still yet to turn. Little do you know her mind is screaming and your cocky little smile isn’t helping one bit.

She swallows the lump in her throat, “follow me to my place.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you say as you flip your visor back down, glad to be able to cover your face as you smile so hard you narrowly avoid missing the light turning green. It doesn’t take long to fall into line behind Melissa, cutting into a tiny space that earns you a deserved honk from the old man behind you.

It’s less than twenty minutes before Melissa’s blinker directs you into her driveway. You walk it slowly next to her car, keeping the engine running as you take off your helmet. Melissa gets out of her car, abandoning her purse in the seat next to her, and stands nervously by the hood as she plays with her sleeves. Suddenly the thought of being one the motorcycle, pressed against your back, sounds so good she’s afraid she’ll ruin it somehow.

Your voice cuts off her brain’s nervous rambling, “I’ve only got the one helmet with me. So, you’ll wear that, and we’ll stick to the side streets.”

“No highway,” she grumbles as she steps closer.

Your nose scrunches as you laugh at her pout, “no highway and nothing over forty, cross my heart.” Holding out your pinky, she begrudgingly takes it while ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. “You’re gonna wanna tie your hair back, low bun, braid, something like that.”

“Ponytail?” she asks, pretending she doesn’t care that your pinkies are still wrapped around one another.

“Nope, it’ll just tangle. And we can’t have anything happening to that beautiful hair,” you subconsciously pull her hand closer and draw her in. Her finger tightens around yours in return. When her neighbor pulls into their driveway, their car door shutting loudly disrupts the quiet between you two, making you both pull away.

Instead of speaking of it, you both fiddle to get ready for a ride around the block or down to the corner store. Melissa faces away from you to tie her hair into a tight low bun, she takes deep breaths to calm herself from the sheer proximity to you. Behind her, you fiddle with the clasps of the helmet to fit her better.

When she turns to face you again, you motion for her to get closer and her eyes almost bulge out her head. Melissa slowly approaches you as her fingers tangle around themselves. You lift the helmet in silent question, and she nods. Carefully, trying to touch her as little as possible, you help get the helmet on without pulling her hair.

You open the visor before you adjust the chin strap, “feel good? Secure?”

“It’s comfier than I thought,” her voice comes out slightly muffled by the guard in front of her lips. Melissa prays you can’t hear her fast breaths, completely overwhelmed by your scent surrounding her.

“Good,” you smile, “I’ll back her up onto the street, then you can hop on.”

Once you’ve got the kickstand down so it’s as stable as possible for her to get on, you offer a hand as support. Melissa slowly places her hand in yours, the squeeze she receives tells her trust me, I won’t let you get hurt. Using the footrest, she gets herself over the seat to straddle it behind you. Manicured hands flex open and close behind your back as she becomes unsure of where to put them.

“There’s handles, slightly behind you, that you can hold onto,” speaking loudly over the motor. You turn over your shoulder to meet your eyes with hers, “or, if you wanna, you can hold onto me. Whatever’s your preference.”

To save face, she rolls her eyes, “just want my hands on you, don’t you now?”

“Can’t call you a liar for that one,” you say with a smug grin, turning back to lean the bike upright and put up the kickstand. The second you start to move, Melissa’s arms go tightly around your waist, white knuckling your jacket.

Feeling her holding you was only so pleasant until you realized it was mostly from fear. Before taking off slowly, you pat her hand where it rests on your abdomen. It only grips tighter in return. Taking your foot off the ground and beginning to move, feeling more careful in every move you make as to not make Melissa more nervous than she was. It was surprising really, that Melissa Schemmenti of all people was nervous on a motorcycle.

Her grip starts to loosen after the third or fourth turn, but her arms don’t move. Melissa almost rests her head against your back, but decides against it in a sudden judgment. When the moment comes where she feels comfortable, she releases one arm from her hold on you to push the visor back up to have an unobstructed view of the Philly streets and your reflection in the mirrors.

When you finally slow down, it’s six blocks over at her favorite corner store, they’ve got the best hoagie options. She uses your shoulders and the hand you placed out for her to get down from the bike, legs numb from the vibrations of the bike and motor against her thighs. You’re quick to get off, helping her get the helmet off and fixing the little strands of hair that stick up from static. Neither of you mention Melissa’s rosy cheeks or your lingering caress along her bangs.

The small shop leaves little room to roam about, and you stay closely pressed to Melissa’s back as you maneuver to the counter to order food to bring back to her house. With the warmth radiating off of you, she now understands how you felt the whole ride. She knows how you feel about her, it’s a mirror of the ache in her chest for you, and feeling you against her has her heart pounding in time with yours.

From around her waist, comes your arm, offering the cashier a twenty dollar bill. Your other hand rests against Melissa’s hip, holding your wallet open for the change. This has to be some sort of revenge for holding you, she thinks to herself.

As you slowly pull into her driveway, there’s an air of unsureness around the two of you. Stepping off the bike again, you fiddle with your fingers, not wanting to invite yourself into her home. Melissa tugs at the ends of her sleeves as she plans her next words.

“Do you wanna come in, have a beer with those hoagies?” Melissa offers with a hopeful tone.

You smile as you grab the helmet from you, clipping over the little strap on the seat. She takes the hint and walks towards the door with you closely behind her. Inside, without the jacket and boots on, Melissa thinks you look soft. Everything about you is so careful with her, even when you wear worn leather with chains, this dressed down version matches the treatment she always receives.

Sitting across from her at the island, you answer all her questions about how you got the bike, how you maintain it, how you learned all the tricks to keep it running.

“Seriously, that thing’s how old and still going that strong?” she asks through a mouthful of capicola.

“It’s thirty now, it’s a 1992. Harleys are just built to last longer than the actual biker at this point, especially the older models,” you take a swig of beer, “the Daytona was too good to pass up. I got it so cheap and the guy barely had miles on it.”

Melissa perks up, “how much?”

“Thirty-five hundred. Stupid cheap, he could’ve easily gotten ten.”

She smirks, “and you just let him trick himself out of the money?”

“Duh,” you say. There’s a beat of silence before you both start to laugh, leaning into one another over the table.

—☽—

The sun set some time between finishing the hoagies and the third episode of The Real Housewives she roped you into watching. She claimed it was only fair considering she willingly got on the motorcycle. What had started with you two on different cushions quickly became you being pressed against each other, your arm taking residence behind her, but never touching her as you always kept it.

In a strange moment of bravado, Melissa leans against the back cushion and your arm dips into the slope, falling gently around your shoulders. You purse your lips in an attempt to keep a straight face, adjusting your arm to have your hand rest on her shoulder. It doesn’t take long before your fingers begin to draw nonsensical patterns over her shirt. Time passes, episodes go on, and Melissa’s weight starts to fall more into you. Every passing second you become more aware that you don’t want to leave this position as long as you live.

The screen turns black, Are you still watching? appears across it, behind the words, a reflection of the two of you. Your gaze dips down, immediately meeting Melissa’s looking up at you. Green eyes flick to your lips, and for the first time, you know for a fact that you are not imagining it. Her tongue pokes out to wet her lips, capturing your attention. Eyes meet and it’s so quick, neither of you can tell who starts it.

Melissa’s lips taste like light beer and strawberry chapstick, and her tongue is dominating and soft. Her hands grip tightly at the base of your neck, keeping you close to her like you would disappear if your lips left hers. Your hands take residence on her waist, like they had hours ago, and the warmth of her skin under her shirt is screaming your name, begging to be touched.

Tongues clash against one another, sticky lips clumsy as air becomes a necessity. Barely taking your lips off her skin, you trail downwards to her jaw, placing wet kisses along it. The hands on her waist push up and make their way beneath her shirt, gently squeezing her warm, supple body. The feeling of your soft hands holding her makes Melissa groan, tugging you back to her wanting lips.

All she’s wanted since the moment she met you, to hold you, kiss you, touch you, it’s all happening and she can barely find it in her to stop. She never wants it to. With your teeth tugging at her bottom lip, a borderline moan escapes her, and she feels you smile against her mouth and it’s all she can think about. Melissa is completely putty in your hands.

Without breaking the distance between you, you pull away from her lips slowly. Heaving breaths escape both of you, lips swollen and pupils dilated from lust. Melissa’s hand traces from the back of your neck to the chain of your necklace dangling in front of her, looping it around her finger to pull you in closer. Your lips graze over hers, but her words fill the space before they can touch.

“What if I asked you to take me upstairs?”

Your thumb brushes over her ribs, “then I would.”

The door handle almost puts a hole in the wall with the way Melissa shoves it open behind her as you walk her backwards towards her room. Her hands drop from your face to the hem of her shirt, beginning to pull it up before your hands take over. As you step away to throw her shirt off to the side, your eyes drop and a soft look comes over your features.

Stepping into her space again, your fingers trace over her skin, “you’re so beautiful.” It’s barely above a whisper, she barely hears it, barely even sure you’re aware you’ve said it.

Melissa’s only response is to kiss you again, pulling you towards her bed until she topples onto it, taking you with her. Your thighs straddle her as you tug off your own shirt, bending down to continue ravishing her. You kiss down from her lips, to her jaw, to the dip at the base of her neck, then trace your tongue back up. Cold hands grab yours, pulling them down to the button of her jeans.

“Are you sure?” you ask from above her, free hand pushing baby hairs from her blushing face. She only nods, not trusting her words. You shake your head lightly, a little smile on your lips, “I’m gonna need a real answer, lovely.”

Lovely, that’s a new one. She feels her face warm under your gaze, arousal pooling. With the strength she can muster, she utters, “please.”

Without a moment to spare, your lips are on hers again, hand at her waist moving to unbutton her pants. As you help push them down, your hand passes her panties, the dark patch of wetness calling to you. It only invigorates you as you let go of her lips, kissing down to her chest. Arching forward, she makes space for your wandering hands to slip behind and unclasp her bra.

A breathless mumble of God leaves your lips, before soft kisses are pressed to her sternum, skim over to her breast. You kiss her skin with a reverence she’s never felt, teeth graze over her hardened nipple before your lips wrap around it, tongue swirling. The unattended breast begs for attention that is quickly given by your hand, rolling the bud between your fingers.

The warm hand at her waist grips down to her thigh, pushing her legs open to make space for you to lie. Your mouth and hand switch, equal, worship-like attention given to each breast. Melissa’s quiet, hidden moans become louder, hips shifting for pressure against yours. Taking the hint, your lips travel lower, licking over her abdomen and gently biting when she tugs at your hair.

One hand wraps around her thigh, the other keeps her in place as a weight against her stomach. Pressing wet kisses to her thigh, you look at her for permission to continue. The image of you between her legs, lips on her wet thighs, eyes shining with want, all she can manage is bucking her hips towards you, a whine escaping her lips.

One last kiss is placed against plush skin, Melissa’s hand tangles with yours, interlocking fingers feeling like they belong there. Your warm, wet tongue glides over her slit, up and down in slow figure-eights, her little gasps only egging you on. Flattening your tongue, you press harder against her, tasting her more fully, groaning against her in satifaction. It makes sense why Eve would so easily give everything for a mere taste of the forbidden fruit. Sweet and warm, divine heaven on your lips.

Melissa hips buck into your face, begging for more and you are more than willing to give. You lick up to her clit, the pearl demanding attention from you. Small, circular motions with your tongue make Melissa groan, slapping a hand over her mouth as she gets closer and closer to her peak.

You lift away from clit, much to her dismay, “don’t do that.” The hand on her stomach moves to pull her hand away from her mouth, “I want to hear you… please.”

Her hand drops to the sheets beside her, and your mouth is back on her. Sucking harder against her, your hand slides down her abdomen and positions in front of her blooming lips. Your middle finger presses into her slick walls, forcing a moan from both of you. With a few gentle pushes and pulls, you slowly ease in your ring finger, making her clench tightly.

Red nails dig into your hair, tugging as Melissa writhes above you. Husky moans and whines fill the room, pleas of faster and yes, yes are burned into your mind, a melody you won’t dare forget.

You pull off of her clit to take a breath and speak, “can you take more, baby?”

“Please,” she says through pants. The hand in your hair tug you up to her lips, “please.” Her desperate grasp is not willing to let you go, claw-like nails digging into your back.

Lips dancing as you shift your hand to put your thumb to her clit, lining your forefinger to her pussy. Melissa’s jaw drops as the third finger stretches her more, the moan that rips through her is felt by your lips on her neck. You keep a steady rhythm of circling her clit and pumping your fingers into her. Her moans turn to pitched whines, walls hugging your fingers, she was so close. You kiss down her neck, sucking little marks that will fade by morning, taking your time on her breasts and lower stomach. Reaching her clit again, suck it into your mouth as you speed your fingers’ pace.

Frantic hips begin to still, a whine leaving her plump lips as she cums around your fingers. Your attention leaves her clit to travel down her lips as you slowly pump your fingers, removing one by one as she comes down. Shaking thighs relax against the bed as you clean her with your tongue, nectar of the goddess being all the reward you need. She pulls lightly at your hand on her thigh, begging for your lips on hers.

Pressing a final kiss to her pearl, then thigh, you capture her lips in a slow kiss, soft and full of the love that had been hiding under every interaction since you’d first met. When you pull away, you bring your fingers to her lips to give her a proper taste of herself. Accepting the offer, her tongue swirls around the digits. You internally scold yourself for being jealous of your own hand, even the string of saliva that connects her heavenly mouth to your fingers.

You shift to cup her cheek, admiring her droopy eyes and blushing cheeks, the sheen of sweat over her forehead. Her own hand mirrors your movement, pulling you down to press a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“You are so- too good at that,” she mumbles against your cheek, feeling the vibration of your laugh.

You press a kiss to her cheek before flopping next to her, “you, you taste too good.”

Her hand comes to cover her face, but you’re quick to catch it, bringing it closer to kiss the back. Melissa chuckles as you nibble on the knuckle of her pinkie, but she frowns as you roll off the bed. Emerald eyes follow you to the ensuite bathroom, and back as you go back between her legs with a warm washcloth. The featherlike touch and soft kisses to her skin only further the blush on her cheeks.

After discarding the rag and tugging off your jeans, you lay down next to her on your side, eyes scanning over her face. Her head turns to you, enjoying the quiet between you, even more so when your pointer finger traces her features and takes special attention to her lips. Lipstick smudged around her chin, surely on your face as well, and messy eyeliner, she’s never been quite so beautiful.

The gentle ministrations and loving attention make Melissa’s eyes grow heavy, sleep grasping at her despite the fight to stay in your presence. Feeling her relaxing into you, you shift to lay on your back, arm out inviting her into your embrace. Lazily rolling into you, her face tucks into your neck, hand searching for yours.

You tangle your fingers together and whisper into the air, “I think it goes without saying, but I’m stupid in love with you. Everything about you. Just thought you should know.”

“Good thing,” she says through a yawn as she shifts more into you, “because I’m stupid in love with you, too.” 

You press a kiss into her hair, “go to sleep, pretty girl. I’ll be here in the morning, if you want.”

“Of course I want,” it’s barely audible, but you can tell she means it.

The scent of sex, sweat, and eucalyptus body wash radiates from her, underneath it all is a smell that’s so uniquely Melissa that you can feel yourself sinking into the mattress. It feels easy, being with her, it makes sense. You find yourself staring at the ceiling, you recount every time you should have spoken up about your feelings. Surely there could have been a time, but none seem to come to mind. It only makes sense that this is how it was supposed to happen. In her bed, on this day, with the taste of lager on her tongue, you were meant to find your way together.

title from beauty school by deftones

one day i’ll write a shorter fic like i planned in my head

feedback appreciated as always <3

[spicyspiders]

i know we will go farther

Miguel O'Hara x male reader smut. Just a little something short for father's day. Warnings for daddy kink (happy father's day to Miguel, and Miguel only) and slight bondage (Miguel ties the reader's wrists up)

Clothed or unclothed, Miguel was always a sight to behold. You could spend hours watching him, memorizing the way what he wore would shift and pull on his body. His suit left little to the imagination and clung tightly to his broad shoulders. 

You never imagined that you would get the opportunity to see underneath his suit. Even after the romp in his bed after a particularly intense mission, you never thought you would have the chance to do it again. 

It kept happening and happening, and each time you found yourself in his bed, you spent all the time you could mapping out his body with your hands and eyes. 

You don’t remember the number of times you had slept with him, too blinded by the intense orgasms he would cause you to have, that it became more permanent than the one-time thing you expected, but it eventually did. 

Miguel’s tired “stay” and the pull of his arm around your body pulls you back into his bed, not knowing that his bed was now yours as well. It’s not talked about the next morning in a conversation that you should have probably had, but you come to accept the new situation. Later into that next day when you opened Miguel’s closet to find your suit as well as the other articles of clothing you wore, it only solidified what was started. 

“Everything else is in the third drawer,” Miguel said after padding into the room, and that was that. 

After your stuff was moved into his room, you never really ended up opening that third drawer. Instead, you opted into wearing whatever of Miguel’s looked comfortable. It was almost obsessive, the way you would only choose clothing that you had seen the other man had worn, but each item was different. 

Short sleeve shirts let you see all of the veins in his arms, whereas long sleeves would cover them up, but how the fabric would cling tightly to his arms would make you wish you had claws of your own so you could tear the fabric away. Sweaters made the man look soft and comfortable, showing a side that Miguel would rarely show. 

You wore your own pants, but the thought always popped into your head of how they would look on Miguel. You always came to a similar conclusion that the pants would of course look good on him. With how perfect Miguel’s ass was, anything could make it look good. 

Miguel could so easily turn you on just from the clothes he wore, and the man knew exactly the effect he could have. It almost felt like each day you were getting riled up to finally find some form of release when Miguel would pull his clothes off at the end of the day. 

By that time, you had trouble keeping your hands to yourself. Miguel had already made a few comments about tying your hands up and see how you would react, but the comment would soon be forgotten after Miguel remembered firsthand how good your hands could make him feel. 

However, days after he had made the comment again, you entered your bedroom to find Miguel lounging on the bed, a red rope held loosely in one hand. 

The rope captivated your attention, your mind stuck on thoughts of what Miguel was possibly going to do with it. With your attention stolen, time passed in a blur, and you only found your focus again when Miguel wrapped the rope around your wrists and tied your hands together. 

Miguel had pulled your clothes as before tying your hands, so when he pushed your down with two of his warm hands on your shoulders, you were left kneeling on the floor between his spread legs, naked and bound. 

You watched with bated breath as Miguel took his clothes off. The articles joined the pile yours made in a corner of the room, the last piece being his underwear. 

Miguel wasted no time guiding you forward between his spread legs so he could feed his cock into your mouth. His cock was still almost entirely soft, but that did not deter you. You weren’t sure if Miguel was aware, but most of the time you preferred his cock to be soft when you took it in your mouth. You already loved sucking his cock, but being able to feel his cock thicken up on your tongue was an added bonus. 

Miguel’s cock was intimidating in size, even when soft, but it sent a thrill through your body knowing how big it would get. With your hands bound, it made you nervous as you felt his cock harden on your tongue. If your hands were free you would pull off his cock and wrap your hand around what couldn’t fit in your mouth, but in the moment, all you could do was pull off. 

You wished at least one of your hands was free so you could wrap your fingers around the base and pull the foreskin down so you could tease the head with your tongue. It always made Miguel softly swear when you would tease the sensitive glands on the head of his cock with your tongue, but now all you could settle for was running your tongue under his foreskin. 

It nearly had the same outcome, and at the sound of Miguel’s low groan, you could feel your cock starting to harden. 

“Want more?” Miguel asked before he wrapped one hand around the base of his cock. Now fully hard, he guided it back into your mouth the second you gave a stiff nod. 

Almost halfway, you tried to stop, but a hand at the back of your neck kept guiding you down. Slowly, Miguel pushed his cock deeper than you had ever taken it, making you gag. 

“C’mon, baby, I know you can take it,” Miguel said. Pulling away, he gave you a moment to breathe while he gave a few pulls to his cock. 

You couldn’t help but squirm around. You had energy that you wanted to use that you weren’t able to because of your bound hands. You wanted to wrap your hands around Miguel’s cock and stroke it for him, but all you could do was pant wetly at his feet. 

Miguel smirked and again wrapped a hand around the base. This time, he led the head of his cock to your lips to smear around the bead of precome that had come out as he tugged at his cock. 

“Want more?” Miguel asked, and when you eagerly nodded, his smirk turned into a toothy grin, his fangs out and gleaming in the light of your bedroom. “Want daddy’s cock?”

You felt a hot wave of lust flow through you at the singular word. You have never called Miguel that before, and weren’t sure if he would even be into that, but hearing the word come from his mouth made you excited. 

You licked your lips, chasing the bitter flavor that was left from his precome, and nodded eagerly again, “yes.”

“Yes what, baby?” Miguel asked back in a low voice. 

Your cock gave a twitch as your mouth formed around the word, “yes, daddy.”

“Good boy,” Miguel responded. 

You felt his praise wash over you as you teased the exposed head of his cock with your tongue. You wished you could put your hands on his thighs and feel the strong muscles twitch under your fingers as you pleasured him with your mouth, but you were happy to watch as the muscles twitched from your doing. 

Miguel’s praise echoed throughout your brain as you took his cock in deeper. You did your best to push through your gag reflex, but when the head of his cock met the back of your throat, you felt it trigger. 

It brought tears to your eyes as your throat struggled to take in the girth of Miguel’s cock. Your tears spilled over when Miguel left your throat with a groan. You opened your eyes that had slipped shut while his cock was in your throat, ready to give him an apology. You were instead taken aback as you watched Miguel wrap a hand around his cock and give a few quick wet pulls. 

You watched in awe as Miguel came with a loud moan. His sweaty chest heaved up and down as his cock spurted white strands that landed messily on your face. A few even managed to land in your half-open mouth, coating your tongue with the taste of Miguel’s spend. The taste reminded you of your own cock, which hung between your legs, dripping strings of precome. 

In a flash, Miguel is leaving his spot on the bed and making his way down on the floor to claw your hands free. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs as maneuvers you until he can make his way between your spread thighs. 

Your hips jump when Miguel wraps a hand around your cock to start a steady rhythm. 

Miguel licks at his come on your face, and pushes his tongue in your open, panting mouth, only when he’s satisfied that he’s cleaned up the mess. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper when Miguel pulls away. 

Miguel’s brows drop to look at you in confusion, “for what?” Miguel questions, still stroking your cock. 

“Couldn’t,” you let out a breathy moan as Miguel’s thumb teased at the wet head of your cock before continuing, “couldn’t take you all the way.”

Miguel presses a wet kiss to your lips before dipping down to nip at the skin of your neck. “You did so well for me, baby,” he says into the sweaty crook of your neck. He kisses a path up to your ear, “did so good for your daddy,” he whispers hotly into your ear. 

His words push you over the edge and you come across his fist, coating the tan skin with your white ropes of come. 

Miguel strokes you through it, and stops when your cock begins to soften in his fist. He gathers you into his arms and the two of you exchange soft kisses as you come down from your orgasm. 

“We can practice again once I buy a new rope,” Miguel says after pulling away from a kiss, only to them initiate another. 

“You should get a blue and a red one next time,” you respond and feel a shiver run through your body at the possessive look that flashes in Miguel’s eye.

[t1red-twilight]

scars

summary: spencer reassures you about your scars.

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, cause of scars not mentioned, allusion to spencer’s addiction, spencer is a jeopardy fan (confirmed)

word count: 0.9k

masterlist

you and spencer had been seeing each other for some time now, only barely making things official. previously, you had only had interactions at work or in work attire. now that you were spending more time together, spencer began to notice a habit of yours.

you were both profilers, and you had not considered that your tendency to only wear long sleeves and long pants would raise any questions whatsoever.

you only wore long sleeves. dress shirts and blazers were one thing, but you only ever wore sweaters, long sleeve lounge shirts, or had jackets on. even in times when the weather was unbelievably hot and humid.

“it’s really hot out here,” spencer noted. you nodded back.

“yeah, i mean i guess so.” you said, shrugging it off. you hadn’t really registered anything. the heat that your extra layers provided had been something that you had gotten used to.

his eyebrows furrowed, but he brushed it off.

there had been no shortage of these one-off comments. mainly just, “are you sure you’re not overheating?” or “do you want me to change the temperature?” the comments never raised any suspicion to you. spencer, however, had only gotten more mystified.

this wasn’t a reason for contention by any means, but it did culminate and have a ‘tipping point.’

you and spencer had just gotten back from a case, and had been lounging on the couch after changing into some more comfortable clothing.

you were laying between his legs and on top of him. his arms were wrapped around your torso. there was a blanket draped across your tangled bodies, and an episode of jeopardy softly played in the background.

spencer had been softly answering every question (correctly, and much faster than the contestants). the darkness of the living room had begun to lull you into a meditative state, bordering on slumber.

“why do you always wear long sleeves?”

blinking at his bluntness, you looked up at him. he was looking down with a look of perplexity on his face. “i just like to, why?”

craning his neck, he met your gaze. “i don’t know. you just always wear them. i wanted to know if there was a reason.”

“well, uh-” you cut yourself off. “actually, it's not a big deal.” you looked away from him; you could feel the blood rush to your cheeks in embarrassment. suddenly, you felt stuffy and flustered. you were acutely aware of the feeling of your clothes.

“if you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. i was just wondering.” his face and voice were flooded with casualty. he continued rubbing circles into your sides with his thumbs.

“um, it’s just that…” you trailed off and he looked down at you again. you melted into him even further, if possible. he placed his chin on top of your head, and you pulled the blanket further over yourself. the soft fleece did little to provide comfort.

“if you don’t want to tell me, it’s perfectly okay,” he kissed the top of your head.

you inhaled sharply. “i just scar easily,” you gulped, “that’s all.” your exhale came out slightly stifled.

“what do you mean?” he craned his neck to look down at you, but you avoided his gaze.

quieter this time, “i have some scars on my arms. i scar pretty easily.” staring at your feet had become much more interesting than looking at spencer’s face.

“oh, okay. i can see why you’d wear long sleeves then,” he responded. “i prefer wearing long sleeves as well. it's a comfort thing for me.”

you nodded, understanding what he meant. “i don’t like the way they look. they're not too appealing.” your statement was followed with a sardonic chuckle.

“what? why would they be unappealing?” he reached over for the tv remote and lowered the volume. soon, his arms returned to their spot around you. the quieter the volume was, the more you could feel your heartbeat in your ears.

“my scars aren’t pretty,” you mumbled this time.

“angel, why wouldn’t they be pretty? they’re a part of you.” his brows furrowed even more, but you couldn’t see it. you were still avoiding his gaze.

“i don’t- i don’t know.” the grip that you had on the blanket tightened almost imperceptibly. “they draw too much attention and i don’t particularly like them, is all. they’re ugly.”

“honey,” he moved his hand to your jaw and gently urged you to look up at him. “i’m sure they're not ugly.”

“you haven’t seen them though.” the look in his eyes was a mix of confusion and maybe even a little worry.

“honey, scars don’t make a person ugly.” he paused, “do you think my scars are ugly?”

“well, no, but-” he cut you off.

“there you go, if they’re not ugly on me, then they’re for sure not ugly on you.” his lips flattened into a little smile and his eyebrows raised from their tensed position. the nerves that you had felt dissipated from your body. “if you don’t want to show them, then by no means do you have to.”

you didn’t respond, minorly flabbergasted. “no part of you could ever be ugly i think, actually,” he said after a moment of silence.

the eye contact remained. you finally smiled back at him. “i don’t think that you could ever be ugly, either.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. you're very pretty, spence.” he snorted in response. you both looked back at the tv.

he whispered, “so are you. very, actually.” he kissed your head again.

you hummed in acknowledgment.

“we’re on the same page then,” he said as he held you tighter, and you leaned further into his body. the aura that the room had held had returned to one of blissful comfort.

[nellielsss]

ɬɧɛ ცơყ ıʂ ɱıŋɛ… ℘ɬ ıı

Summary: A part two to The Boy Is Mine! Due to its massive success (over 400 likes!!), I decided to add two more chars who I thought could fit this trope w/ a yandere reader. I was also inspired to add more because of a lovely commenter on my pt. 1! (@ahoeindeedinneed) Note: I've been seeing sm heian era Sukuna fics and they're all so yummy... still hate Sukuna tho 💋 I also didn't proofread this so it might have a fewwwww grammatical errors Incl: cult leader!Suguru Geto & heian era!Ryomen Sukuna x fem!reader CW: death, reader is a highly flawed person, mentions of sex, stockholm syndrome (esp. with Sukuna)

Sυɠυɾυ Gҽƚσ

╰┈➤ There comes a part in every parent's life when they must let their dear daughter spread their wings and fly out of the nest, so naturally your parents had some fears when they let you fly into the future. To make their fears even worse, you were rather naïve to the intentions of others, and your beauty made you all the more susceptible to the manipulations of other, dangerous people. One of those fears, although quite bizarre, is that their dearest daughter would somehow get wrapped up in a deadly & dangerous cult and end up beyond all salvation.

What they couldn't have predicted, though, was that their daughter would end up enamored with the leader of a cult who went by the name of Suguru Geto.

You still remember the first time you walked into the monk's temple.

You, much like him, were a Jujutsu sorcerer, only you were pretty weak, barely a 3rd-grade sorcerer. Your parents also never allowed you to explore the world of Jujutsu, saying that it only led to pain and suffering. Even the strongest of sorcerers were susceptible to falling victim to these curses. As a 3rd-grade sorcerer, you had enough power to defend yourself from curses that you could potentially encounter in your daily life, so, in their minds, that was all you needed to get by with.

That poor cat--if only it was able to withstand curiosity and go on to live a happy life... some would consider you a cat in this case, and they weren't wrong.

You had heard of a monk by the name of Suguru Geto who had a vast knowledge of curses and all things Jujutsu. So, when your friend had fallen victim to a pretty serious curse that left them in bad shape, and you weren't able to heal her, you set out for the monk's temple that was located just outside of Tokyo, hoping that this mysterious and enigmatic man would be able to help you somehow.

He also remembers the day in which you and him first met. He remembers the door opening and the sight of your frantic, borderline hysterical state of duress, as well as the woman who you were holding up.

"Are you Suguru Geto?!" your honeyed voice asked the moment you were able to catch your breath. He remembers catching a glimpse of your beautiful face for the very first time, and he also remembers the intensity of his heartbeat when he fully took in your appearance.

You were wearing a pink sweater on that day, and a few drops of blood that came from your friend's injuries had stained part of your sleeve.

You were in dire need of some assistance, and who was he to deny a beautiful woman such as yourself what you needed?

"Why yes, I am Suguru Geto," he said, sitting up from where he lounged. "Your friend looks to be in bad shape. Might I ask why you came to me instead of a hospital?"

"I went to a hospital yesterday, but all they could do was patch up her wounds on the outside--she won't stop bleeding!" You said, the panic evident in your normally sweet voice. Tears had already stained your face, and your relaxed eyes were shot open in worry. "A curse attacked her the day before yesterday, but I haven't been able to find anyone who could properly treat her, and I don't know how to treat her wounds with my own power! Please, sir, please just help her! I was told that you could do amazing things to those who were affected by curses, and I'm worried she's not gonna make it!!"

Oh? So you knew about & could see curses? This was perfect for him. A pretty lady who wasn't a filthy monkey... even though you were weak in terms of ability, it was better than nothing.

"Those bastards in jujutsu society were never good for anything, were they?" Geto muttered under his breath. He beckoned you closer with a hand and asked you to come closer. "Please, let me take a look, miss."

With a shaky, weak grip, you brought your friend over to where he laid, and he took a closer look at her. "I haven't eaten much since she was injured, so it took me a while to get up here."

"All that matters is that she's here, no?" he asked, still looking at your friend. "Hm... she is in pretty bad shape. Looks like the doing of a first grade curse... She was lucky to have survived this attack in her current condition."

With shaky hands clasped together, you looked up at him again. "So can you help her?"

"Of course I can, Miss...?"

"(L/N)."

"Of course I can, Miss (L/N). It's nothing a quick technique can't patch up," he said, offering you a reassuring smile. If you weren't in such a panicked state, you would've thought that he was flirting with you. "I can keep her here for a couple of days while she heals. Rest assured that she'll be good as new by the time you return."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, sir!" you exclaimed, a smile returning to your gorgeous features. "I can't thank you enough!"

He gave you a humble smile and nodded. "It's my duty to help those in need."

"So, is there gonna be some kind of payment required or...?"

"Hm?" he hummed. "What kind of a sorcerer would I be if I charged for my services? No, miss, this is free-of-charge."

"Really?!" you asked again, getting excited. "Oh my god, thank you so much! You really are a blessing, Mr. Geto!"

"Well, as a jujutsu sorcerer, it's my duty to ensure that our society is free of pain, and that includes curses." He stood up again, and so did you. While you were wearing heels in that moment, he was quite tall in comparison to you. His long, bountiful hair and the monk robes that he wore only added to his presence, and you couldn't help but feel a little small next to him. "She'll be able to go home within only 3 days time at the latest. You're welcome to stop by and check in on how she's doing in the meanwhile."

You nodded and continued to smile at Geto. "Okay, sounds good. Thank you so much again--she probably would've died without your help."

Because she's a monkey.

"Again, it's no problem," he reassured you kindly. "Have a good afternoon, Miss (L/N)."

"You too," you said, beginning to walk away from the monk.

He didn't know what possessed him to ask you this next question, but he thanks whoever's watching him for making him do so. "Miss (L/N)," he called out to you. "If you don't mind, there is something you could do in return for me."

You stopped in your tracks and looked behind at him. "What can I do for you?"

"You said you didn't have much power in you, correct?" he asked, making your happy expression turn into one of puzzle.

"Um... yeah. Why do you ask?"

He thought about how he could word this without coming across as weird. "How would you like to raise that power of yours?"

"What do you mean?"

"Become my protégé, (L/N)," he said, now extending his arms towards you. "With my help, I can make sure you're equipped to handle any future battles or curses with confidence. I'm told I'm a miracle worker, and I'm sure I could make something strong out of you, miss."

You were both starstruck and confused at the same time. Here you were, asking this man to heal your friend, and now he wanted you to become a student of his? "You wanna... mentor me?"

"Is that not what I asked?" he opened his eyes this time, his dark brown pupils staring right at you. "You have the capacity to do amazing things in the future, Miss (L/N). Although you may not think you do, there's a great power inside of you, and I think that I could help you unlock it. Would you do me the honor of letting me mentor you?"

Words couldn't describe how you were feeling in this very moment. All you've ever wanted was to be a strong, capable woman without the help of others, and your parents never let you do so growing up. In came a strong, handsome, capable & humble man who was asking to help better you? Although every part of you was telling you to leave and to forget about it, the pull you felt towards this charismatic man was trumping the logical part of you, and your feet began to move towards him.

His smile grew once he saw you coming towards you, and he said: "that's it, there we go." Once he had you in arm's reach, he pulled you into his arms and gave you a reassuring embrace.

"You won't regret this, Miss (L/N)."

You didn't expect that choice to make you the lover and right-hand woman of a cult leader, but you were glad you did--the new you was, anyway.

Honestly, you didn't even see the cult part coming. Sure, Geto was a monk who healed people with spiritual abilities (and taught you how to better yours), but by then you didn't even flinch when he told you he was a cult leader. He didn't outright say it until it was time for your initiation, anyway--he said that joining his "group" would only better your abilities.

It's not like you were some low-ranking member; you were actually Suguru's right-hand woman. Well, more like his pet, but he made you believe that you were his equal (even when you were a measly grade 2 & he was a special grade). Suguru made you believe that you were stronger, that you were better than everyone else in this filthy, disgusting, monkey-ridden world.

Like when you had your head in his lap & he was playing with your silky soft hair (one of the perks of being Suguru's girlfriend was you getting access to his incredible hair!). "You have such nice hair, y'know, (Y/N)?" he murmured, running his long fingers through your tresses. "It's so soft, so shiny--probably better than mine, if we're being honest."

"Now you know that that's a lie, Sugu," you prodded him, making him chuckle deeply in his chest.

"It's not a lie--at least, not a lie to me, and we both know that my opinion reigns supreme." Even when the two of you were just playing around, he always managed to slip in some of his ego every now and then. "Better than all those monkeys out there... such dirty, disgusting creatures, most of them probably have the greasiest and filthiest hair imaginable."

"Sugu..." you trailed off. Part of you wanted to defend those monkeys, but the other part of you agreed with him. Maybe it was all the sermons that he preached to his Jujutsu sorcerer followers, or maybe it was the conditioning that he'd put you through all these months, but you couldn't exactly refute his sentiment. While yes, there were some people with nice hair, the majority of the people out there had shitty, unwashed hair. Bleached, dead-ends, greasy strands, all kinds of hair existed in the "regular" world, the one that you were kept safe from by Suguru. What more could you need when you lived in his forest temple & had servants doing all your errands for you? What more could you need when you had the most loving, attentive & handsome boyfriend in the entire world?

"You're such a treat, (Y/N)," he remarked, now scratching your scalp. "I don't know what I'd do without you, not when I have to deal with all these disgusting monkeys praying at my feet & begging me for help. Can't they just learn how to get by on their own? The world would be-"

"Suguru," you said a bit firmly, planting your finger on his lips. "You're rambling again."

His slightly irritated expression softened up a bit & he smiled at you again. "My apologies, sweetheart," he said, reaching down to kiss your forehead. "You know how I get."

He was so grateful to have you there by his side, keeping him calm & grounding him. When he has to deal with so many monkeys, it's no wonder he can get ticked off by the slightest issue.

And those monkeys were no slight issue.

Which is why you deemed it alright to kill so many of his followers.

It's not like you wanted to kill those people... actually, no, you did. It's no secret that Suguru was one of the handsomest, most charismatic people out there. Not only did he possess formidable strength & intellect, but he also blessed with a kind of male beauty & a silver tongue to go along with it. Many of his followers joined his cult just so they could catch a glimpse of the infamous monk's graceful, elegant features and the shiny, silky, midnight hair that seemed to reflect the light of the lamps in his temple.

Not only that, but he was also quite good in bed. He made you feel so seen, so loved, so adored & worshipped like you were the cult leader that he couldn't get enough of. His strong, muscled form contrasted against your soft, squishy one was delicious, and it had you squirming all night long. Everything about him was just incredible!

Except for those stupidly horny followers.

Did they really think that they had a chance with him? That the very same man who called them trash (behind their backs) would tear his eyes from you & look their way?

If only they could all hear just how vile he speaks of them... well, if they did, then he wouldn't have a cult following.

Which is why you, the ever-loyal and ever-present girlfriend, had to do the dirty work for him. Did he ask you to kill them off? No, but it sure felt good to do something for him without needing to be asked.

None of them were memorable enough anyway. If they died or were maimed in a terrible accident, then he wouldn't bat an eyelash; he'd probably crack a smile and say "one less monkey in this world."

But, ugh, even the monkeys had their own beauty... sometimes.

Like the monkey whose beauty was so captivating that the other monkeys looked at her for a second before looking back at Suguru. How dare she disrupt his sermons like that; how dare she be such an annoying nuisance! Did she not know that she was in the presence of the great Suguru Geto?! The monk who they sought out in the first place?!

Monkeys really could be tainted by the most stupid of things. So what if she had red hair and a nice chest? Suguru was infinitely times more beautiful than her--that cretin was lucky to even be here when she should really be in a body bag off a shady highway!

It's not like Suguru even cared about the woman. If she had any cursed energy--which she didn't, then maybe he'd acknowledge her as one of his own, one of the chosen ones. But as long as she was a lowly monkey, none of that shit mattered. No amount of beauty or boobs could change what she was.

A monkey.

A monkey who needed to be disposed of.

As long as Suguru stood by your side, you'd do anything for him. Even if he didn't ask you to, you'd still do what was best for you both. How else was he supposed to recruit people to his great cause?

"Master Geto, that was truly a wonderful service," that redheaded monkey said once she finally had an opening. "I can't express how grateful I am to have become a member of your sect... you truly are a wonderful man--everything you stand for is just amazing!"

"You're just too kind," Geto replied in a fake-sincere tone. You could see the repulsion in his face & his body language, the way he stood slightly off to the side from her like he'd get a disease if he came too close. You were busy polishing a bowl that he used for his ceremonies, and you swore that if it wasn't fine china, you would've broken it into shards minutes ago.

'How dare that cunt come close to the great Suguru Geto--how dare she overstep her boundaries! Doesn't she know her place as a follower of his? A minion? She should speak when spoken to-'

"And you, miss, were also quite nice," the monkey said to you, breaking you out of your thoughts. Your grip on the bowl tightened, and a crack could be seen from where your thumb & index finger gripped it.

"Oh... well, thank you!" You replied in an equally fake tone. You were probably more disgusted at this moment than Geto, and that sure was a remarkable feat.

It was hard not to be disgusted when an ill-natured monkey made obvious advances towards your man.

"She sure is great, isn't she?" Geto said suddenly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "She volunteered to help me with my ceremonies, and who was I to say no? Things couldn't run so smoothly if not for her!"

"What a remarkable act of kindness!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Perhaps one day I'll be so lucky."

No she won't.

"Perhaps..." Geto trailed off, clearly trying to get out of this conversation quicker. The sooner you and him could get to his girls and take them out for crepes, the better--but monkeys like her have the audacity to ruin your planned days.

Maybe... maybe it'd be best to get rid of her today. That way, she wouldn't even have the chance to disrupt your outing.

"Come now, beloved," Geto said to you. "Mimiko and Nanako have been dying to try them out, even more so with their beloved surrogate mother."

"Suguru, don't call me that! We've only been together for a year, I couldn't possibly be their mother!"

"It's much too late for that, sweetheart. Mimi and Nana already view you as such--they're just begging me to make things official already. Would you be so cruel as to deny them what they want?"

You shook your head and leaned into his shoulder, letting him plant a kiss on the top of your head. "Well, they sure are well-behaved girls. Anyone would be lucky to be their mother."

Geto moved his hand to the small of your back and started guiding you out of the room. "Come now, dear, let's change out of these robes and into something more comfortable, hm?"

"Actually, I think I need to do something first. Don't wait up for me, though; I'll catch up with the three of you later."

"Hm? What do you-" for some reason, Geto stopped talking and instead let a knowing look pass over his face. "Alright, then. Don't be too long--the crepes will be eaten up before you know it."

"Okay, I won't! I promise," you giggled, reaching up to plant a kiss on his cheek. You patted his chest and he let you go, walking out of the room while smiling to himself.

Now, it was your turn to smile.

"Oh, miss!" You called out to the monkey before she left the room. "You said you wanted to become a ceremony helper one day, correct?"

Her face lit up with a big smile and she nodded enthusiastically. "I would love to!" You didn't even have to do any convincing, she was just that stupid. Your smiled grew in malice and you waved her over.

"Well, your training starts today," you said, guiding her over to where the bowl was. "Today, you're going to learn how to properly wash a ceremony bowl. Now, these things are quite delicate, and the things we put in them are difficult to wash out, but we must do so in order for the ceremony to be properly carried out."

You grabbed a thing of soap (it was some cheap shit you bought at the Konbini), poured some out into the fine china, and you washed it. It really wasn't difficult--there was nothing to pray for here--but it gave you an opening.

"Do you know what we worship here at this temple, miss?" You asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Of course I do! I.... uh, we worship..."

You sighed, shaking your head and tch-ing your tongue. "Bad little monkey," you said, your voice just dripping with mock sincerity.

"... what did you just call me?"

"Did your monkey ears fail you? I called you a bad little monkey," you spat, no longer feeling the need to put up a front. "I'll tell you what we believe in since we're so stupid: we believe in the eradication of monkeys like YOU!!"

Suddenly, you grabbed the bowl with both hands & smashed it over her head with enough force to make her fall to the floor. "P-Please, someone-" you had already made her cough up blood when she fell to the floor, the red liquid splashing and staining the paper walls.

"Nobody's gonna help you, you stupid chimp," you spat, grabbing her hair and throwing her around the room. "All the other monkeys have gone home, and you're the only one who stayed! Just your luck, huh? Well, this only makes it easier for me to do--less monkeys to kill!!"

She attempted to crawl away, only for you to kick her with your sandal, effectively breaking her nose. "I simply don't get it--why are you so stupid? Master Geto would never let you be in his ceremonies, you're much too disgusting and tainted to be in them. All you monkeys do is slaughter, taint, and ruin everything! At least, that's what Master Geto taught me." You shook your head and watched her crawl away with a sinister smile on her face. She was holding her broken nose with one hand and crawling with the other, the fear etched into her face like a scripture.

"Aren't monkeys supposed to swing and jump around? Why aren't you swinging--are you so weak that you can't even do what you were born to do?" You grabbed her arm and twisted it, making her screech in pain. You could already see the bone sticking out, and that delighted you to no end. You forcefully turned her over and got a good look at her face, the unbridled fear and terror in her gaze like a delicious dessert.

"I'm going to show you what happens when monkeys fly too close to the sun," you said ominously, bending down to her level. "You may be pretty for a monkey, but you're still nothing but an animal, a primitive thing that needs to be eradicated and put in its place. We already have enough of you running around and destroying shit; Master Geto certainly doesn't need you destroying his place."

"Please... I'll..."

"What, do anything?" You let out a cackle, throwing your head back and laughing. "Whatever you're offering, we're not interested. You got that? You got that through your silly little pea brain?" You then grabbed her hair and bent her head back, allowing you access to her neck and chest.

"It's too bad, you couldn't just do as you were told and stay away from him... the only way you'll learn is by an example, so this better be exemplary enough."

You grabbed the bowl shards from the floor and held it up in the air, a sadistic smile the last thing she saw before the porcelain struck her neck. You dug a deep gash into her neck & trailed it all the way down to her neck, the blood spewing everywhere and ruining your kimono. You didn't care, though; you were just having so much fun killing this stupid monkey!

With each stab, each thrust of your makeshift weapon, your smile grew in size & your laughs became more deranged. "Die... die... die, die, die, die, DIE, YOU STUPID MONKEY!!!" You screamed, leaving her body nothing but a bloodied, gash-ridden corpse. She was practically unrecognizable now, and if you continued, her entrails probably would've come out. Once you were sure she was bloodied enough, you stepped back, letting out a relieved sigh.

"One less annoying monkey in this world..."

"My apologies, I seem to have interrupted something," Geto's voice suddenly said from the hallway.

Your heart dropped into your stomach when you realized that he'd just watched you tear apart one of his followers. You were sure that he wouldn't care, that he'd reward you with a kiss and a hug...

... but right now, you were afraid that he'd toss you out as well.

After all, she was his follower, so he should've been the one to kill her. And... and you--you were supposed to be the untainted, pure-hearted girlfriend;

You were supposed to be the loving and motherly mother to his daughters;

You weren't supposed to be the one shedding blood for that was his job, not yours;

You were supposed to know where you stood.

"No... just ignore her, just-" your voice suddenly caught in your throat & you crawled away, a part of you fearing that he'd cast you out once again & leave you to the wolves.

You curled up into a ball and hid your bloodied hands & face from his eyes to see. After all, a man like him shouldn't bear witness to such carnage.

"(Y/N), you really can be quite silly sometimes... although, now you smell a bit." He reached into his pocket and took out monkey repellent, spraying you a little bit.

You looked at him in confusion as he sprayed you, your brow furrowed in how taken aback you were instead of how scared you were.

"Eh?"

"Did you not hear me? I said you smell like a monkey--you have its blood on you, after all." He took off your outer robe and threw it to the side of the room, covering her mangled corpse, further shielding the both of you from the sight of her. "And now we have to burn it... Couldn't you have at least worn something disposable?" the entire time, he was walking you over to the sink in order to rinse you of monkey blood.

You just stood there in silence, looking at him like he had now turned into a gorilla.

"What's with the look, darling?" he asked, "isn't it obvious?"

"... no, not really."

"Oh, my precious angel," he said, cradling you to his chest suddenly. "Don't you know that a being as precious as you shouldn't be so close to monkeys like her, much less touching her? I wouldn't want you to get infected with monkey-disease!" He exclaimed, acting like you had stage 4 brain cancer.

"But... aren't you mad at me for killing one of your followers?"

"Mad?" he scoffed, shaking his head at the notion of getting mad at you over getting rid of a monkey. "The only thing I'm mad about, dearest, is the fact that you felt the need to kill her with your own bare hands. You could've asked me to do it; I could've just killed her with a curse and went on my way."

"So, you're upset at me for touching her when you could've done it yourself."

"Bingo! My, you're such a smart girl," he exclaimed, a smiling returning to his features. "You're a sacred treasure, dear, a gift from whatever being sent you to me." He leaned down, nuzzling his nose against your neck in a display of affection. "I'll be damned if any of those monkeys taint you. From now on, if you ever feel the need to kill a monkey, I want you to come directly to me. No stalling or dilly-dallying; if anyone's going to be infected with monkey disease, I'd want it to be me."

"Suguru..." you burst out into laughter, shaking your head in amusement. "You really are something else!"

"I can't help it that I hate those monkeys."

Rყσɱҽɳ Sυƙυɳα

╰┈➤ Your entire life was filled with pity from the moment you were born, and probably to the moment you'd take your last breath, too. From the older courtesans of the pleasure house that you stayed in since your toddlerhood, to the moment you were taken away from them, everyone looked at you with nothing but pity. Even if people looked at you with disgust, they'd still somehow find a way to pity you.

'It's a pity that she has to resort to being such trash; she doesn't belong in a place like this,' one of the pedestrians of the Shibata Pleasure District said when she saw you posing for the pleasure house in which you resided in.

It truly was a pity how beautiful you looked, all dolled up with pins in your hair... only for some disgusting, wretched man to tear them out of your head & force you to do his bidding in one of the many rooms that the house had to offer. And what's worse is that you'd be forced to do the same task over & over again until you were deemed too old or sold off to some Samurai who'd no doubt make you do more disgusting, vile acts for his pleasure.

Every single day was the same. Every single day you'd wake up, get ready for your work (with one of your "sisters" helping you out), pose for the passersby, let them spend a couple hours making you do whatever lewd activities they were in the mood for, then rinse & repeat.

Every day was like dreaded clockwork. The only thing worse than this was homelessness & starvation which was your future if you ran away from the pleasure house.

Every night was spent dreaming over a handsome, noble Samurai who would swoop in and save you from this hellish nightmare. You knew that honorable noblemen were few and far in between--you'd heard the horrid tales of so-called "sorcerers" who did nothing but kill and maim each other--but was a girl not allowed to dream? Was a girl supposed to repeat this cycle without something to hold onto?

Who you didn't expect to be your savior, though, was the most horrid one of them all.

You still remember the look of pity your fellow courtesans gave you when you were taken, by carriage, to the most notorious warlord's compound for his own entertainment.

You still remember the fear in the eyes of the other girls who were chosen to attend this event.

You still remember the impending sense of doom you felt when you arrived at Ryomen Sukuna's estate.

You didn't remember the names of most of the warlords of your time, but the one that stuck out to you was the man who now had the ability to buy you off. Ryomen Sukuna was especially famous for his unabashed, unadulterated methods of killing. According to legend, the four-eyed, four-armed man would tear the heads of his enemies off their bodies & drink their blood like it was green tea. He had a throne of bones, and he was proud of who he was.

According to your sisters, if a concubine upset or made Sukuna mad, he'd kill them & drink their blood, much like how he treated his opponents on the battlefield. He wasn't a forgiving man, and he didn't pity those who showed signs of weakness.

But he'd be damned if he'd ever change his ways. He was Ryomen Sukuna, after all--who did he take orders from? The Emperor? That man should be lucky that he was even allowed to live.

You remembered the way you shook in fear when you saw the warlord for the very first time. He was as terrifying & menacing as the legends described him, but, you weren't allowed to leave or go home; no, you were expected to sing, dance & entertain the people at his party.

Unfortunately for you, when all four of Sukuna's eyes landed on you, you were now expected to directly entertain him.

He remembered the sense of intrigue he felt when he laid his eyes on you. You weren't one of the Oiran that usually served him--you were a mid-ranking courtesan, but to him, you might as well have been the madame herself.

The way you stood so composed despite the overwhelming sense of fear & nervousness that made you slightly tremble with each step you took; the way your kimono so perfectly complimented your appearance; that deliciously naïve and innocent demeanor of yours...

You were like a flower waiting to be plucked and thrown into a pit of debauchery. He'd be damned if any of his ignorant fellows got to do it first--he had to be the one to savor each drop of you.

It was a pity that you were only a mid-ranking courtesan, where had you been all this time? You should've already been made one of his personal concubines.

"That one," Sukuna's deep, rumbling voice said to Uraume, his right-hand person.

"The one in the red and pink kimono?"

"Yes, her. Bring her over to me at once, Uraume." Uraume was probably the only person he ever addressed by name.

"As you wish, Master Sukuna," they said with a bow. They got up from their seat and walked over to you, and now you could feel the dull feeling of fear expanding into a panicked alarm. The other courtesans there knew that Uraume did whatever Sukuna bid of them, so for them to approach you could only mean one thing: Sukuna had requested you.

Again, they all looked at you in pity as Uraume guided you to where the warlord sat.

The next morning, they watched in pity as the madame delivered the news that Sukuna had purchased you and was requesting you at once. Even the Oirans, the unfeeling, unforgiving bunch that they were, couldn't help but pity you in that moment.

"Please.... no, please--you can't let him take me!!" You screeched inside of your room, already in complete fear of what could potentially happen to you.

"It's too late. Lord Sukuna has already bought off your contract, and he's even paid handsomely so--he paid as much as he would've for an Oiran! I'm sorry, (L/N), but you need to go. The deal is already done."

All the fight left your body once she turned to walk away from you, and you felt the hot, silent tears stream down your face. There was no point in fighting when the deal was finalized, right?

The next morning, all of your sisters helped you pack up your belongings. Out of all 20 courtesans who had gone to the estate, you were the only one personally chosen by him. You were the only one who he felt was captivating enough to become one of his concubines, and you felt like the unluckiest girl in the entire world.

You sobbed the entire time you packed your belongings; you sobbed the entire carriage ride there; and you sobbed when his servants unloaded your things.

You had always dreamed of being rescued from this place, so why did it feel like you were being transferred to maximum security?

It might've been your need to please everyone around you and act as a doormat, and it also might've been the fact that you'd been trapped here for so long that you couldn't remember what life was like, but you were actually starting to like being one of Sukuna's concubines.

No... it wasn't either of the aforementioned reasons; it was the fact that when he looked at you, he didn't see pity. For the first time in your life, you weren't pitied for stuff that was beyond your control. All the other estate workers, the generals, and even Sukuna's righthand person, Uraume, they had all looked upon you in pity, pity that this bloodthirsty barbarian of a warlord had chosen you to be his concubine.

Make no mistake--Sukuna wasn't a nice person at all, nor did he treat you with a normal sense of decency, but he didn't look at you as some pitiful creature that needed saving. No; he looked at you and saw what he could turn your pretty face into: his own personal plaything.

Little by little, Sukuna started breaking you in. He had you dressed in the finest of kimonos, had you and the other girls attend Kabuki theatre shows, and put on the grandest of parties just for the fun of it. Though he only had 5 concubines at a time, you 5 were spoiled and fed more than enough to keep yourselves satisfied.

But there was something about you that made him personally notice you. The other 4 concubines were just toys that were kept around because they were able to take what he dished out, girls that he could just interchange with other girls. He made no effort to remember their names, only calling them by different types of flowers. To him, they were literally property, ornaments to be displayed whenever he had guests. Truth be told, that very same treatment and classification was why he was so feared, especially considering the fact that he didn't care about getting rid of property that didn't suit his needs anymore.

For instance, one of the girls, Suzuran, had been caught sleeping with one of his generals. His solution? Cutting off their heads and feeding them to the wolves, and making sure that the four remaining girls watched the entire spectacle so as to remind you that you were all just as disposable as she was. By next week, he had a replacement already lined up to take her place.

You lived those first few months in his grand estate in nothing but fear, making extra sure that you didn't piss him off enough to end up like Suzuran. Sukuna's estate might've been hell, but you didn't actually wanna go to Hell itself.

But when Sukuna started showing you special treatment, that was when you lived your life with less fear.

"(Y/N)," Uraume, Sukuna's righthand person, called out to you when you were in the garden. You were watching the koi fish when you heard the white-haired person say your name, and you immediately stood up. "Master Sukuna requests your presence at once."

This was bad, you thought. Uraume was only ever sent out when things were important, so for them to do this? It could only spell trouble.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded. "Lead me to Master Sukuna."

With you following close behind, Uraume led you all the way to his living quarters on the other side of his palatial estate, your wooden sandals clicking on the floor. The entire time, you were going through the motions of what could possibly happen to you. Maybe you'd slipped up when you dropped your bowl of soup the other day & embarrassed yourself, or maybe he was just tired of your presence and wanted to get rid of you.

It wouldn't be the first time or the last time.

Finally, Uraume knocked on the grand doors of Sukuna's room, and he ordered for the two of you to enter. Funnily enough, you've never actually been inside of his room, due to the fact that he's never once had sex with you or touched you in any sexual manner. He's never personally called for you like this, either--you didn't know why he chose you to be his concubine if you never made any sort of contact with the man.

"Leave," he said simply, telling whichever concubine was in his lap to go, along with Uraume. His four eyes watched the two of them leave, and as the door shut behind you, you felt as though your fate was sealed.

Sukuna's room was nothing short of grand. There was a huge set of armor set up against one of the paper walls, and there were lanterns all over his room. His silk bedsheets were red and pink, and that color scheme was spread throughout the room as well. There was also a huge painting depicting a rather brutal scene of a town being dragged to hell, one that you had to tear your eyes from.

"Come closer, (Y/N)." Now this was an odd request. He only ever referred to the others by their respective flowers, not by their first names (he didn't see any reason for attaching names to his property).

With a few, shaky steps, you made your way towards him. Even on the huge bed that was personally made for him, he still filled up half the mattress, his immense size commanding authority.

"Sit on the bed," he added to which you did. You felt his four eyes take in the sight of your beautiful form in that pink kimono. You were supposed to be the Chrysanthemum of Sukuna's collection, and as such you and your handmaidens dressed in shades of pink and yellow. "Must you avoid looking at me?"

Your eyes shot up when he asked that, and you, again, swallowed the lump in your throat. "A-Apologies, Master Sukuna," you said nervously, the sweat beading down your face.

He didn't say anything, instead reaching out to caress your hair, the long, silky locks like butter to his calloused hands. "All this time spent in my estate, and you still act as though you're a little fawn," he bemused, his finger now moving to your face. He ran one sharp, black fingernail across your cheek, now taking in your face. After some more silence, he asked: "do you know why I chose you to be my Chrysanthemum, (Y/N)?"

"N-No, Master Sukuna, but I assume it was for a wonderful reason," you replied shakily.

"Indeed it was," he hummed, not saying anything else. "Your performance skills. I took a liking to them," he said, now touching your chin with his fingernails.

"You did?"

"None of those other sad sacks of meat can play the Biwa nor dance as well as you do," he replied with a grin. "To me, they're just flowers I can put on display in pretty little vases until they wither and die. Now, answer me this: do you know why I chose you to be my Chrysanthemum?"

You looked at him in confusion, wondering why he put emphasis on the flower, and you furrowed your brow. "Unfortunately, I do not, Master Sukuna."

"It's because..." his finger trailed down to your neck, "chrysanthemums last the longest." His eyes suddenly flickered up to yours. "And I plan on keeping you here for a very, very long time."

The rest of that encounter was spent with you playing the Biwa for a couple hours before he ordered you to go to dinner. Not once did he ask you for a sexual favor, not once did he defile you; he simply wanted to listen to your playing the Biwa.

Perhaps Sukuna wasn't as bad as the stories made him out to be... perhaps, perhaps he was more than just a bloodthirsty barbarian.

He certainly looked at you as more than a mere flower for display.

As the months flew by and the seasons changed, and the girls were replaced as they withered and died, you remained the only constant thing in the estate outside of its employees. Even then, some of the servants were executed and disposed of. When one of the chefs cooked your fish incorrectly, Sukuna had him gutted like one.

Speaking of, the special treatment that Sukuna gave you increased in frequency. He was always giving you the best kimonos out of all the other girls, the hairpins that you received were made out of the shiniest jewels and silver, and the way he looked at you made you feel like the brightest flower in all the garden.

In exchange for his treatment, you were expected to play the Biwa for him whenever he was bored. Sometimes it'd be several hours during the day, other times it'd be for merely an hour. Usually, those were the days he spent planning attacks or wartime efforts.

In all these months of special treatment, he never once had sex or demanded that you perform any favors for him. It was merely the playing of the Biwa that he wanted. Sometimes, he'd even have you dance for him and a few of his generals.

"Lord Sukuna, I hear that you've never once had her in your bed," one of his drunken generals said to the warlord. "If it's not too much to ask, would you mind if I?-"

"Uraume, dispose of this man at once," Sukuna commanded of them, and they did as they were told. They hauled the man out of there and chopped off his arms before feeding him to the wolves.

A small smile cracked on your features when he performed that little act of kindness for you.

The other girls, the jealous flowers that they were, took note of your special treatment as well. They knew their places, and they knew that all they were good for was for decoration and getting him off, and the fact that you were Sukuna's precious little chrysanthemum pissed them off to no end.

It was never more than petty little squabbles or snide comments behind your back, and as a result you never paid them any mind.

Why would you when you're the only one who hasn't been executed in all the months you've spent time at the estate?

Whenever you walked by them beside Sukuna, you couldn't help the sly little smirk that etched itself onto your normally calm face. It felt so good to be envied after being pitied for so much time.

The downside of this inflated ego of yours was the resentment that the other girls harbored towards you. If they were to be executed so quickly and disposed of within mere months of their arrival, then they might as well act on their anger, right?

It was after the arrival of the newest concubine that things took a turn for the worse. The latest addition to his floral collection, the Orchid was a girl who hailed from the very city of Tokyo itself. She was dubbed the Queen of Pleasure, rumored to have serviced the Emperor himself on numerous occasions.

Rumor also had it that Sukuna was highly interested in her and her ways of pleasure. The other girls were also quite irritated by all the time he spent fucking her brains out in his quarters, meaning that not only did they have to compete with your skills of entertaining and playing the Biwa, but they also had to compete with her bedroom skills.

But, when it came down to picking someone to hate on, they still picked you.

"Well, at least it's not her getting every ounce of his attention. I mean, all we'd really have to do is play some kind of instrument, and then we'd be able to one-up her."

It seemed as though any concubine who set foot in Sukuna's estate was destined to hate you, and this Orchid girl was no different. She knew that nobody else derived the same sexual satisfaction from your beloved warlord that she did, and she made sure to rub it in your face. She didn't even refer to you by your flower name; she called you Biwa for the instrument that you played for Sukuna!

Still, you never let it get to you. Just because she was good in bed doesn't mean that she'd become his prized flower that easily; if he found a girl who was better at pleasuring him than she was, she'd no doubt be cast aside and executed.

Being seen as the flower you were and not a piece of meat was more important anyway, right?

But you couldn't help but worry when the staff, themselves, began to gossip amongst one another. Rumors fluttered about that she was going to become the heir to Sukuna's children, the one who would help carry on his bloodline.

When you heard that, you almost snapped the neck of your Biwa off. You had to get a replacement ordered ASAP.

But all hope wasn't lost, for the next time you ran into the Orchid was the last time you'd ever see her.

It was when you were delivering a bowl of soup to Uraume's room that you ran into her. Uraume had fallen ill, and you personally took it upon yourself to look after them in exchange for all the things they'd done for you in the past. She was with her servant, and the smirk on her face when she saw you meant trouble.

"Oh? What is this: the pure and chaste Chrysanthemum carrying a tray of food? Don't tell me you've been demoted to maidservant that quickly," she sneered, blocking your path.

"I'm no maidservant, you barbaric whore; I'm merely delivering some food to Uraume. They've fallen ill recently, and I wanted to show my gratitude by bringing this soup to them," you replied, turning your nose to her. "A brainless wonder like you wouldn't know the meaning of gratitude, anyway."

"How dare you speak so nastily towards me! I should have your head on a platter," she sneered, pointing a finger at you. Her servant also sneered in similar fashion, but the glare you gave her was enough to put her in her place. "My, if I didn't know any better, I'd assumed you were some sort of harlot meant to entertain one of the generals just by the way you speak."

"It's because I can't stand you, you village slut. Everyone knows that the only reason you're here is because you had oral sex with the Emperor, and everyone also knows that you did so by slipping sleeping medication into his tea."

She didn't know how to talk back to that, so she merely scrunched her nose in anger and seethed where she stood.

"Now, if you don't mind me, this soup's getting cold, and Uraume doesn't like their food cold."

Just as you were about to walk away from her, you felt a harsh push from behind, sending you toppling onto the ground, the soup flying out of the bowl and getting all over your kimono.

"Awww, oopsie! You must've slipped and fallen, how terrible!" the Orchid said with a sneer.

The look on your face was nothing short of diabolical and full of vitriol. How dare you be pushed around by sad sacks of meat, whores that got by using their bodies as forms of payment. Come to think of it... maybe this could be some sort of present for Sukuna, like a favor. Sure, she was pretty, but there were plenty of pretty girls who were only good for having sex; you were willing to bet that you could go into a pleasure district and find girls prettier than her. All she was known for was fucking the emperor, and if anyone could find their way into his estate, then it would've been easy for them to take advantage of him as well. It's not like she'd last in this damned estate anyway--the Emperor certainly wasn't Sukuna in any likeness.

Sad sacks of meat didn't have brains, nor did they have talent. They were just fresh meat that would turn rotten and wither away while the bugs and the maggots infested it.

"Maybe I should speed up the execution process," you muttered, grabbing the metal tray with enough force to turn your knuckles white. Just as the girl turned around to face you, you lunged at her with the bowl of soup in your hand, hitting her square in the jaw with the harsh porcelain. She was stunned for a second, allowing you to grab a nearby katana from the wall and unsheathe it. You then reached for the girl and grabbed her by the hair & threw her to the ground, your vision going red as you raised the blade above your head.

"All that meat's good for is cutting, isn't it?" You asked before sinking the blade into her chest. Her eyes widened, the blade falling right into the valley of her bosom. You raised it again & again, stabbing her with the katana as if you were a samurai on the battlefield. Again & again & again, you slashed the living shit out of that bitch, her face fading from your vision as you destroyed her body. By the time you were done with her, her jugular had been torn out & her breasts were hanging on by a thread. You could see the broken ribs protruding from how intensely you splintered them with the cold silver.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the girl's servant who was standing there frozen in fear from the whole ordeal. When your serpentine gaze landed on her, she broke into a run, trying to go get help, so you grabbed the katana and drove it back into her skull. You didn't know what possessed you, but you lifted her up by the head, ramming her face into the walls repeatedly until her skull was fractured and her face was demolished beyond all recognition. You then grabbed the katana again and sunk it bck into her spine, paralyzing her, and she coughed up blood the entire time you stabbed her.

"Sacks of meat... like you... don't deserve to be in Lord Sukuna's presence!!" you shouted, stabbing her until her spinal cord severed. Once you were sure that the two were dead, you stepped back, looking at the dead bodies of the two girls. The servant was slaughtered beyond all recognition, the only giveaway being the color of her kimono, and the tarnished appearance of the Orchid was like a scene painted straight from the battlefield. You made a huge mess in the middle of the hallway, but the murderous side of you didn't give a shit.

You wouldn't let anyone, much less worthless meat be around your Sukuna for as long as you stayed in this estate.

But just as quickly as you'd killed the two girls, you heard a chuckle from behind you. You whipped your head around, seeing none other than Sukuna himself standing there with his arms crossed over his bulky chest. He studied the scene for a few seconds, taking in the red stains on your pink kimono, and he found the color rather fitting of you.

Even though he was a man of carnage, you couldn't help but feel the tiniest hint of fear coursing through your veins. You knew the consequences of acting out of line, and a beheading was probably the best course of action. You had just destroyed his property, and the ramifications of this act of hatred and malice would be devastating to you. You might as well have sunk the katana into your chest and bled out onto the floor right about now.

Getting onto your knees and bowing before his feet, you pleaded with him to show mercy. "Forgive me, master, for I have made a huge mess. Allow me to... allow me to fix it. I humbly beg of you."

Sukuna stood there silently for a few seconds, his red eyes studying your bowing form still.

"Why would you fix it when you have servants at your disposal?"

Now this question made your head perk up in shock and confusion. Was he seriously not about to kill you? Why wasn't he yelling, why wasn't he dragging you out by the hair to end your life himself?

"Master, I... I don't understand. I laid a hand on your property, and that's unacceptable-"

"Would you be quiet already?" he asked, making you bow your head again in fear. "I must say, (Y/N), I didn't know you had such an act within that pretty head of yours," he remarked, still looking at the dead bodies. "Perhaps you're not so innocent after all. Rise, (Y/N)."

You did as you were told, raising your head to see him. He crouched down to your level, one of his big hands caressing your blood soaked face and your hair as well.

"Just look at you, a little pink Chrysanthemum stained red by the blood of her foes. Quite a fearsome look, (Y/N)," he hummed, still looking at you. Suddenly, a wide grin spread on his face, one that could only spell both trouble and excitement for you.

He had broken you at long last. After so many months of waiting for you to show your true side, to show that you could stand alongside Sukuna, you had finally shown your true potential. Your innocent, pitiful self had been cracked, and in its place stood a dark, evil thing that he couldn't get enough of.

Maybe now he could finally make you his bride, his queen of the dead & the future matriarch of the Sukuna clan.

"How would you like to be my Spider Lily? It's been a while since I've had one."

I suck at writing Sukuna omfg (I hate his ass regardless) also it's not proofread 🤞 I MIGHTTT do a Choso special but IDK how to write him either

© ʙʀᴜɴᴇᴛᴛᴇ-ʙɪᴛᴄʜ77 on tumblr - get your own shit bitches | ca. 7/18/2024

[concreteburialplot]

VIRALITY // 12

12 - Liar, Liar*

pairing: nicholas ruffilo x fem!oc [vallie]

more: chp 11 // masterlist | crossposted: ao3 | word count: 14.7k (strap in)

Summary: Following Noah and Vallie's thrift shop adventure, Vallie faces the consequences of her actions. After the launch of their new music video, Vallie realizes she might not like what she wished for. A pivotal decision reshapes the group's dynamics, leading to a significant change in the connection between a specific pair.

warnings: alcohol, bratty noah, smoking, heartache, yearning, regret, jealousy, unprotected sex, cream pie x2, oral (f receiving), cum eating kinda?, angry nick but also soft nick???, fluffy???, she's just a girl ok, mediocre writing lol, sorry this has taken 500 years, my apology is that it's long as fuck, 18+ MDNI

Disclaimer - This story is AU since it does not follow actual timelines or events. The band here is still fairly small & does things entirely on their own with no other support.

Reminder; Minor band crossovers (greta van fleet / chase atlantic) to supply side characters :)

don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

VALLIE

When Noah and I walk up the gravelly incline to the warehouse, the rest of the band and Bryan are all on their phones lounging on different surfaces - chairs with feet propped on tables, against the brick wall, spread out on the floor. Boredom was an understatement. 

“Well, took you guys long enough.” Grumbles Jolly. “What did you get lost picking out scarves?”

My heart skips a beat at the coincidental wording. “Sorry, we really had to dig to find anything.” I mumble quickly, throwing the plastic shopping bags on the ground.

“Well, did you find anything good?” Jolly asks.

“Oh, we found something good alright.” Noah replies, shoving his hand into a plastic bag to retrieve the cursed fedora.

I roll my eyes and playfully smack his arm, “Shut up.”

“No.” He says matter-of-factly, with a popped hip and a hand on his waist. “It’s your fault, you put it on my head.”

“Yeah whatever.” I laugh and wave off his silliness.

I suddenly feel all eyes in the room on us accompanied by an awkward stillness. Of course they’d be thrown off, we could barely be in a room together before we left, why wouldn’t this be strange?

I glance up for a split second before digging into the bags and find Nicholas’ eyes watching us intently. His brows low and eyes sharp.

In my tummy swirls a feeling so closely reminiscent of guilt, similar to when I was with Kras last night. But neither make any sense. Nicholas and I aren’t anything, it shouldn’t matter. Kras and I are just friends. And Noah and I definitely are not anything. And yet, here he is looking angry and here I am feeling guilty.

After handing out the thrifted clothes and a wardrobe change, the boys come out in their new clothes, and they look perfect. The pieces we chose embody each one of them flawlessly. They fit the direction Noah wants for the music video but they’re rather simple. Folio’s is the most basic in a plain black shirt, black jeans, and his sneakers. Jolly’s is a black long sleeve button down, tight black pants paired with his hefty combat boots. Noah’s outfit was centered around the black peacoat we found as the statement piece with a black turtleneck beneath it, black pants and boots. We even picked up something for Bryan even though he was staying behind the camera - he got a vintage Kodak t-shirt, which he thought was “rad as hell”. 

Since I showed up in last night’s sweats, I figured I’d pick up an outfit as well. I found a grey sundress. It’s something I would normally only wear in casual settings, but I wanted to be comfy and it was the only halfway cute thing in the thrift shop.

The outfit I picked out for Nicholas was the best one, but I may be biased. It’s a thin black sweater with thumb holes atop a black turtleneck paired with baggy, strappy pants and finished off with black leather combat boots.

With the new uniforms, the band and crew seem to have a reinvigorated morale. It did exactly what I needed it to do, it gave them the spark they needed to bring the music video to life. 

We spend our time running the song over and over while Bryan gets shots from all angles. I got some content for posting and even posed the boys for some social media trends, which they all hated except Folio, and Bryan in the background. Since I was done gathering content, I sat at the plastic picnic table on the far side of the warehouse diagonal from the makeshift stage while they continued to shoot slightly different variations.

I plug my phone and camera into my Macbook to import the photos and videos I took to begin editing them and schedule them for posting.

“Vallie.” I hear a voice call amongst mumbling between a take.

I snap up to match the voice to the source: Noah.

“What’s up?” I respond, half expecting to be met with some sort of criticism or snarky remark.

“Were you paying attention to this last take?” He questions, but not in an accusatory way that I’d normally anticipate, just genuine curiosity.

“A little, why?”

“What did you think of the intro?”

A hush blankets the room and the rest of them look between us as if they’d seen a ghost. I’m glad we’re finally kind of getting along but I wish he wouldn’t make it so obvious. Especially in front of Nicholas. The odd feeling in the room dances a chill up my arms leaving goosebumps behind.

“Oh um, I liked it? It was cool.” Truthfully, I’m not sure that I did like it, but I just wanted to move on from being in the spotlight.

He gives me a wide, genuine grin like a kid in the middle of a playground, “Sick, I thought so too.”

I glance over at Bryan, who is slowly but surely becoming my lifeline in these situations. He offers a ‘I don’t know either but just roll with it?’ look with a brow wiggle and a barely noticeable shrug.

Mid-shoot everyone needed some sort of touch up. I somehow had my job description expanded to include wardrobe and makeup.

The one I dreaded the most was Nicholas.

I walk over to him, mute, focusing my eyes straight forward which for me happens to be his chest. I keep my gaze away from his eyes as I fix the collar of his cardigan.

He too keeps his focus off of me.

“Sorry I acted like an ass earlier.” He says sounding partially sincere, partially grumpy. “It was out of line, and I’m sorry.”

I clear my throat. An apology was the last thing I expected and the last thing I deserve. “It’s okay.”

A quiet pause fills the small space between us.

“So, you’re seeing someone?” He questions casually but I can tell it’s anything but casual.

I press my lips together contemplating if I really want to commit this hard to the ruse. But Kras is right, and my gut is right. No matter how much I want to stay entangled with him, it can’t continue. I don’t know how well this action plan is going to work, but I have to try.

“Yes.” I lie with fake confidence. “Kind of.”

He takes a moment to process my response which makes me question how good of a job I did with lying. Finally, he nods, his eyes still locked on something past the opening of the warehouse.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.” I sweeten the lie.

“I guess that’s a good thing then, you know, for our jobs and all.” His voice light, as if he’s purposefully making it seem more nonchalant than it is. I know I hurt him, I can hear it in his voice. Whether it was his heart or his ego that I hurt, I’m not sure but all I know is that we went too far. “It just would’ve been nice to know.”

The painful twist in my chest confirms that I made the right decision to stick to the plan. I'm already so invested in him that it hurts; I can’t imagine how much worse it would be if I let myself fall any deeper.

I swallow the very faint lump in my throat and flatten out the thin material resting on his chest. Spending another night with him was a bigger mistake than I realized because just the warmth of him beneath my fingertips makes me want to melt right into him. I wish I didn’t know what he felt like, what he sounded like, what he tasted like. Suddenly I want to take everything back. I want to unkiss him, unfuck him, unknow him. In the span of knowing them and being on their team, I’ve regretted it about 75% of the time but there, standing in front of him, it is a solid 110%.

I wish I had just heard them on the radio and found myself at a show, 

or met them in passing during industry events,

or maybe bumped into him in a coffee shop where he suggests his favorite latte,

or literally any other scenario that would grant me the luxury of just reaching up and kissing him without feeling confliction or guilt. 

The reality of the whole situation hits me all at once and my entire mood shifts abruptly, in a way I’ve never let happen while I work. I’m normally exceptionally skilled in the art of separating my emotions from most other things but this cuts through all of that. He lowered my walls more than anyone ever had and reached a part of me I’ve never let someone do before. I swallow hard and blink the burning in my eyes away. The last thing I need is for him to see my eyes full of tears. 

So, I do what I think makes the most sense. I yank each edge of my mouth into a tight-lipped smile and step back to hold out an overly professional hand, “Friends?” 

He nearly grimaces at the word and begrudgingly snakes his hand into mine, gripping it firmly and giving it a shake. “Whatever you want, Vallie.” He grumbles sarcastically before walking off back to the set. 

He leaves me with my hand vacant and my eyes blinking at the wall he just stood in front of. I knew he wasn’t happy with me, but I didn’t know we’d end up starting over.

The music video that Noah had fast tracked was finally finished regardless of what the others felt. It was filmed and edited by Bryan with Noah glued to his side the whole time to make sure it followed his “vision” for it perfectly. It was hyper tuned into the details and nuances Noah was looking to cultivate for the prematurely released song.

Two weeks later, I hit post on the music video with the band scattered around the rehearsing studio, celebrating with beers and laughter. I roll my eyes playfully at the happy, excited actions that ensue behind me but bite down on my lip to keep myself from smiling. While it’s not everything they or I wanted, it’s still a damn good video and I’m proud of them for it. 

All entanglements aside, it’s the first time that I’ve felt like I truly helped them achieve something great. Their growth and publicity had been steady but incredibly slow despite all of my best efforts. Their initial boom from the band going viral months ago plateaued. I’ve been chalking it up to the lack of content, but the faint fear of chronic stagnation has been creeping up my ribs every so often. It’s something I warned them from the beginning - “Anyone can go viral, but it won’t last.” I recall telling them at the very start. “Don’t get attached to the numbers.” I told them that it burns bright for a split second then gets snuffed out by the next big thing to come along. But they didn’t listen to me, and I can see the disappointment and fear worsening in Noah’s features with each day that passes. It’s all made me wonder if there was even a place in the scene for them, or if what their label is trying to accomplish is possible. It made me question my ability to execute the task handed to me.

I posted all of the music video promotions across all forms of media and posted some of the pre-filmed short form content onto TikTok and Instagram. “Alright well, your part is done now, I’m just gonna keep working.”

I stand, beginning to gather all the papers scattered over the table. “With all the teasing I posted for the video and all the extra content we filmed, engagement has gone up by about 5%. I estimate it going up by about another 10-15% for the next couple of weeks while the music video gains traction.” I dropped the edges of the paperwork against the table a couple times to align them into a neat stack. “You’ve gained a significant amount of followers as well, at least compared to before the promo content.”

“Aw Vallie,” Bryan throws an arm around my shoulders pulling me into a side hug. “Is this your way of saying we did a good job?” 

A small smile tugs at one edge of my lips, “I’m just saying that the music video is projected to do really well.” I sink my teeth into my lip again, this time to keep from speaking but it fails. “And, I think you guys did a great job.” I rush the words out at the end.

The large grin is nearly identical across the five boys' faces, each one unique in their features, but the glow of finally birthing a new project is potent in all their smiles.

As they mingle about, I return my focus to my screen and sit back down. Likes and comments begin to pour in, faster than expected. The promo posts over the past couple weeks built up a significant amount of anticipation and excitement, I just didn’t expect it to gain momentum so fast. Compared to other clients, this engagement is nothing, a couple hundred comments within the first 30 minutes, but for them, it’s huge. I decide to keep it to myself for now to not get their hopes up too high since the numbers could plateau quickly. 

But before I exit completely, my eyes catch a couple comments that churn my stomach unexpectedly.

nobody told me the singer was so hot !!

damn he’s fine as fuck

oh my god Noah is so !!!!

the whole band is fine wtf 

god that bassist is sooo sexy

My eyes narrow and my teeth involuntarily clench at the last comment. A dull ache throbs in my chest at the words, a feeling I’m not quite sure I’ve ever experienced before. 

My plan to leverage their looks was working. This is exactly what I wanted, what I held meetings for, what I fought for, what I was hired for - so why does it suddenly feel like a loss?

I glance at Nicholas, who’s joking with the others, his face lit up with a carefree smile. My heart aches but, this is exactly what I wanted for him. For them. Yet, the jealousy gnaws at me, sharp and unrelenting. I want to be happy for them, I should be happy for them. But each comment feels like a tiny dagger, reminding me of what I’ve deprived myself of.

I exhale and close the lid to my laptop. I tap along the table just trying to shake my head from whatever confusion is clouding it. I just need to get out.

The group talks amongst themselves as they celebrate, and I inevitably fade into the background. I start gathering all my belongings to throw into my tote bag to hopefully make a quiet exit.

“You liked the music video?” A voice startles me from across the round table. 

I look up to find Noah. I quickly glance to the red solo cup he’s holding carefully in his hand. It makes me wonder what’s in it and if it will lead to the same aftermath I've seen before with a drunken Noah. It’s only when I look around that I realize that each of them has a drink in hand and they’ve put music on. 

“Yeah.” I shrug, “I think you guys did good.” 

“We, you mean.” He corrects.

“We?” 

“Yeah. You helped pick out the outfits and did all the promo stuff, did you not?” He raises a brow. 

“Yeah? I guess I did.” 

Noah rests his arm on a nearby high-top table, taking a sip of his drink. “We made a deal, you and I a while ago, do you remember it?” He questions.

I silently filter through our meetings in my mind. While working together we’ve made many deals, but I land on the one I know he’s talking about and a smile creeps across my lips. “‘I’ll do my job well, if you do yours.’” 

An unexpected wide grin pulls at his mouth, “Well, I think we both did our jobs well here.” 

He was right, we did. Looking back at the meeting just a few months ago seems so juvenile now. Noah was so angry about me being brought on to the crew and while I wouldn’t say he’s necessarily thrilled that I’m here now, I can tell that I’ve grown on him. I proved myself to him, at least a little bit. 

“Yeah, we did.” I nod with a genuine smile, “Proud of us.” 

He wrapped an arm around me and gave me a squeeze, smiling down at me. “Me too.”

I leaned into him and caught a glimpse of Nicholas watching us both. The look on his face was flat and filled with an unreadable expression. 

My eyes flicker down immediately to avoid him then pull away from Noah’s grasp. He then goes on to ramble about music and the album, I’m not quite sure why he’s over here talking to me and not to the rest of them but, here I am. His words fade into the background as I look past him to spot Nick again. This time he’s caught up in some excited conversation between Brian and Folio. His wide smile meets his eyes filling them with such happiness as he laughs. His tattooed fingers interrupt the condensation on a beer bottle and his hair is gathered up into a low bun. He looks breathtaking and it suddenly fills me with a sadness I don’t think I’ll be able to beat here. 

I’ll never have the opportunity to be with him at a party like this, or out to dinner or have a normal, run-of-the-mill relationship. There’s a bit of heartbreak in watching him ensue in an interaction we may never have now that I’ve ruined everything.

But I ruined it for a reason, my brain reminds me.

I catch Nicholas’s eye. His smile falters, and for a moment, I think he senses my unease. I quickly look away, swallowing the lump in my throat.

The ache that makes home in my ribcage does not care for reason; its only concern is pain. It suddenly becomes unbearable, and I need to leave, now. I need to go home, I need to fucking get of out here.

 “I’m sorry, Noah but I have to go.” I hurriedly throw my bag over my shoulder and snatch my keys.

“What? Why? Is everything okay?” Noah asks, concerned.

“Yeah, I just… I need to go,” I say, my voice wavering as I avoid his gaze. “I have an important meeting I have to be home for.” My hand tightens around my keys so hard that the jagged edges dig into the flesh of my palm.

I stand up, the room spinning slightly as I do, despite not having anything to drink. I head for the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. I can feel Nicholas’s eyes on me, but I don’t dare look back.

Pushing through the front door, I take a deep breath of the cool night air, but it does little to calm the storm inside me. I walk quickly to my rental car, fumbling with the keys as tears blur my vision. Finally, I manage to unlock the door and slide into the driver’s seat. 

As I drive home, the tears flow like rivers down my cheeks. The ache in my chest is relentless, a constant reminder of what I’ve given up and the lies I’ve told. I made my choice, and now I have to live with it. But the pain doesn’t care about reason or decisions. It only knows how to hurt.

I don’t stop driving until I reach my Airbnb. I stumble inside, dropping my bag on the floor and collapsing onto the couch. The tears flow freely now as I sink into the furniture, wishing things could be different but knowing they’ll never be. As much as I’d like to, I can’t undo my decision nor change the reasons behind it. As long as I work for them, Nick and I can never be anything more than just friends. Maybe in another life, there’s a him and I that work, but it’s not this one.

It doesn’t matter how much it hurts seeing him at events, or getting comments in videos, or even just being around him. He’s not mine and he can’t be. I’m not what he wants anyway, his career is just taking off the last thing he needs is to be entangled with someone who wants more than just sex. Is that even what I want? I barely even have time to fucking cry in the car, how would I balance a relationship?

Mourning the loss of what could’ve been is hard, but an inevitable breakup would be worse. However, just because I chose the lesser of two evils doesn’t mean it’s easy.

I glance at the time on my watch and scramble when I realize I’m late for my meeting. Unfortunately, I didn’t lie to Noah about that.

Flipping open my laptop, I’m right on time when the zoom call rushes in. I wipe the remnants of my tears and allow myself one more sniffle before answering.

The bright, shining faces of my original clients light up the screen. With drinks and cigars in hand, they greet me with their usual exuberance. They’re getting one last party in before they leave for tour soon. It’s the first tour I haven’t joined them on since working for them. The realization that I’m not going with them mingled with the feelings I just ran away from only worsens the pain in my torso. There’s nothing more I wish to do than to just run off with them to Europe and forget all about this mess with Nick. But I have too much on my plate to be touring with them right now, so I’m working remotely for them temporarily.

Their naturally cheery demeanors lift my spirits, and while it is still a work call, they always seem to make work fun. It makes me wish even more that I was going with them. Working for them has always been easy and enjoyable. The stark contrast between them and Omens is jarring. While we do have a longer history, Greta has always felt comforting, uplifting and loving – like family. I always feel valued and appreciated, and I never have to question my belonging with them.

Omens, on the other hand, has been nothing but complicated, painful, and uncomfortable. Instead of feeling like I’m part of something, I often feel like I’m navigating through a minefield between Noah’s volatility and Nick’s complexity. It’s hard to feel motivated when the environment is so hostile, and it leaves me questioning my place and purpose. Up until recently that is – things seem to be looking up now that Noah and I are getting along.

Comparing the two bands makes me long for the simplicity and warmth of Greta even more. The comfort and camaraderie I immediately feel when answering the zoom only highlights the cold, challenging reality of working with Omens. It’s a reminder of what I’m lacking and a painful acknowledgment of the complication of my current situation. The situation I put myself in.

Yet, Noah’s words ring in my ears, “We did our jobs well.” Perhaps it’s not as bleak as it once was. The memory of our truce plants a seed of hope in my chest. Maybe Bryan was right, that they just need time to come around.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” The bassist, Sam, jokes, pulling me out of my thoughts. The bright white of my screen flashing on my pale face in the darkness of my living room can’t be doing me any favors.

“You need a drink, Val?” Jake, the other long-haired guitarist asks, raising an enticing drink in a short glass.

“Maybe a smoke? You are in California after all.” The shaggy-haired singer, Josh, teases.

I force a smile and shake my head. “I would kill for both of those right now. Just a fucking exhausting day.”

“I know, our girl’s makin’ it big, taking on new bands, new quests.” Jake states in a dramatic, faux-English accent. “On to new horizons.” His arm splays out theatrically to a non-existent skyline.

“Leavin’ us behind!” Sam adds loudly in a whiny tone as he takes a sip of his cocktail.

The last words shoving a sword into my gut. Maybe Nick isn’t the only loss I’m mourning. Working for Greta has consumed my entire life for years, they’re the closest thing to family I’ve got. Perhaps not being engulfed in them constantly has left me lonely.

I roll my eyes lightheartedly and shake my head, “I could never leave you guys, you know that.” Clearing my throat, I change the subject. “How are you guys feeling about the tour?”

Their excitement is infectious, and I find myself relaxing a bit as they talk about their plans and the cities they’ll visit. For a moment, I forget about Nick and the tangled mess of emotions he brings.

“Hey, Val!” Josh shouts, raising a glass snapping me out of my haze. “We’re going to miss you on this one!”

“Yeah, it won’t be the same without you,” The quiet drummer, Danny, chimes in.

I force a smile, trying to push the sadness aside. “I’ll miss you guys too. But I’ll be there in spirit, and we’ll keep in touch. You know I’ll be checking in every day.”

They laugh and raise their glasses in a toast, their contagious energy making it a little easier to breathe.

The boys filter out, saying their goodbyes to entertain the other guests at their party.

“Yeah, I’ll catch up to you guys later. I have to ask Vallie about something.” Sam waves the boys away.

He turns in his chair to face me, a look of concern washed over his face as he tucks a chunk of long hair behind his ear. “Are you okay? You seem a bit off?” He asks softly.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. "I'm fine, Sammy. Just a lot going on."

He looks at me for a long moment, his puppy-dog eyes filled with understanding. "You know you can talk to me, right? If you ever need anything. We're all going to miss you on this tour, but we understand why you can't come."

I nod, "I know. Thanks, Sam," I reply, with a tight smile. "I appreciate it."

Under other circumstances, I would maybe try to talk to them but they’re so excited for Europe, I can’t possibly weigh them down with anything serious.

He gives me a reassuring smile. "Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need to vent or anything, just call. We're all here for you, we love you a lot."

"Thanks," I say again, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I will. I love you guys too."

With one last nod, Sam ends the call, leaving me alone with my thoughts and letting reality crash back in. I close my laptop and lean back in my seat, staring at the other side of the vacant couch. The room feels emptier than before, the silence more suffocating. I can’t shake the feeling of being left behind, both professionally and personally.

I set my laptop on the coffee table and pull a blanket over my body in hopes that it would help me disappear. I curl up in the corner of the couch with my knees up to my chest. I haven’t felt heartache like this since high school and it’s over something that was never even serious. My mind keeps drifting back to Nick, to the hurt and anger in his eyes when I pushed him away. I know it was the right decision, but the pain is parasitic in a way I was never prepared for.

I blink at the blank wall in front of me. I’m not home, I’m not with friends or anyone I know. I work for a band that half hates me most days, I fell for a boy I can’t have and I’m staying in a pay-by-weekly Airbnb. I’m alone in a city I hate, in a home that’s not my own with people who barely like me. That’s when I realize that perhaps heartache isn’t the only pain that sits heavy in my heart – it’s also the weight of loneliness that’s been consuming me, rotting me from the inside out.

Only when I acknowledge the seclusion is when it wraps around me like a suffocating shroud, seeping into my very core and eroding my sense of self.

I close my eyes and let out a long, shaky sigh, trying to steady my racing thoughts. I have to keep moving forward, despite the overwhelming difficulty and the sadness in my bones. There’s a faint flicker of hope buried somewhere beneath the despair, a small, stubborn, workaholic part of me that refuses to give up. For now, I hold on to that glimmer, however faint, and vow to take things one step at a time.

This was the 4th rehearsal in a row that I’ve attended this week, and while it never gets old watching their sets, the content becomes repetitive. So, while the boys are playing and Bryan snaps shots of them, I scroll through Zillow.

I don’t even notice that they’re done until Nicholas is beside me cracking a water bottle open. “What’re you lookin’ at?” He asks. Slowly but surely, we’ve been making our way back up to being friendly, despite the break down I had weeks ago after the music video launch. If I just focus on the work, I can almost stifle down our history. Almost.

“Oh shit, you scared me.” I chuckle but it soon fades with the frustration that’s built up over the past couple days. “Augh, I have to find an apartment or something because this Airbnb is getting so expensive. My other client’s tour just started, and I just took on another band, so I’m stuck here for a while. But I can’t fucking find an apartment building that doesn’t have a waitlist before next fall.”

“Shit sucks around here.” Chimes in Jolly from the corner taking a sip of his Gatorade.

“Here let me see.” Nick swivels my laptop towards him before I have a chance to stop him. He holds his tongue between his lips with his brows furrowed, like he’s focused on some super spy mission. He scrolls for a while, adds some filters, scrolls, takes more filters out, then turns the laptop back to me. “Ta da!” He smiles his signature grin and it’s nice to see it in my direction again.

“Whoa, how the fuck did you find that!” My eyes nearly pop out of my head as I scroll through the listing, it having almost everything I was looking for. “Oh my god, they’re doing a showing for a perfect place right now, I gotta go.” I hastily begin packing my things up, haphazardly throwing all my scattered belongings into my tote.

“Whoa whoa,” Halts Jolly, “You’re not going alone.”

I furrow my brows at him, confused, “What do you mean?”

“Listen, do you know how unsafe it is for a woman to go to realty showings alone?” His voice is so filled with genuine concern and a splash of paranoia.

“You need to stop watching so much true crime dude.” Folio rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, he’s obsessed.” Bryan adds with a pointed thumb towards the long-haired man. 

I blink up at Jolly who’s face is dead serious. “We’re coming with you.”

I normally wouldn’t let men tell me what to do or how to do it, but maybe Jolly is right. Men are dangerous especially around here and I have also heard horror stories about women going to check out a house and it turning out to be a sketchy place with an equally creepy man.

“Okay.” I nod. “Fine.”

Looking over the four of them, I realize that Noah had already disappeared. He’s been cutting out immediately after each rehearsal, so I think nothing of it.

“I got nothing better to do.” Shrugs Nicholas. I don’t look too much at him because if I did, I would notice the strain behind his eyes - one that looks both pained and conflicted. 

Arriving at the open house, I walk around the small loft, letting my fingers trail over the cracked railing of the stairs. The apartment is smaller, dingier and dustier than advertised. When I make it upstairs, the 4 are up there already. I catch them looking unimpressed, almost disgusted at the place but immediately feign impression for my sake.

“It’s…pretty nice, Vallie.” Says Folio, with a forced smile.

“Oh, spare me, it’s a dump.” I sigh, defeated. “The asking price is like double with all the fees and shit. It’s ridiculous.” I rub two fingers into my temple. “I don’t know what I’m gonna fucking do.”

There’s a bit of silence filled with pitiful faces from the group. Nicholas’ eyes look focused but lost in thought. Before any of them could speak, Bryan perks up. 

“My old room in the house is empty since I moved out last year. Why doesn’t she just move in with you guys?” He suggests as if it’s the most obvious answer. 

My mouth nearly falls open at the insane suggestion. The trio’s focus snaps to him with the most shocked and betrayed looks on their faces, brows raised and jaws open. 

“What?” I ask for clarification, because he couldn’t possibly be serious.

Bryan ignores their reactions. “Exactly what I said. It just makes sense? You’re with them all the time.”

“I uh-“ I falter, somewhat overwhelmed with the four of them looking at me. “I mean, it really seems like that’s a group decision…”

“I’m cool with it.” Folio surprisingly speaks up first, “We do have the spare room and we could use the extra rent money. You take a lot of Ubers to get to us anyway, so.”

For once Folio seemed to be cooperative, nice even. Maybe they are warming up to me afterall.

Jolly sighs heavily, “They have good points. It would be convenient but… Noah’s not going to be happy.”

Anxiety wins over the excitement dying to bloom in my stomach as I look over and meet Nick’s gaze. His eyes contain the same pained and confused look as before. He’s conflicted.

“I couldn’t give less of a fuck about what Noah wants. He’s outnumbered 4-1.” Nick snaps. “She needs a place, and we have one.”

I tug at my lip and contemplate my options. This would be the easiest and cheapest path. “Okay fine. Just for now. I’m gonna keep looking so I don’t overstay my welcome.” I meet eyes with each one sternly. “Thank you.”

I’m grateful for the offer but I can’t help but be nervous about being so close to Nicholas all of the time. The room I’d be staying in is the empty room between Noah and Nicholas’ rooms. I’d be between the two I would least like to be around. I contemplate backing out for a brief moment but quickly remember how much the Airbnb is costing me weekly. As much as I value my independence and solitude, it’s just not worth the cost and isn’t sustainable. The last thing I ever want to do is live with them, but it seems to be the only good option right now.

A week later, the boys help carry the last of my boxes up the stairs while I warn them about how if they break anything they’ll be paying for it.

Nick, Jolly, and Folio are all out of breath as they set down my boxes.

“Jesus, how do you have so many boxes of stuff from that tiny Airbnb?” Folio asks, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

I shrug, “I had some of my stuff from home shipped out to me, since I’m staying in Cali longer than I expected.”

Jolly and Folio filter out leaving me alone with Nicholas. I’m immediately on my toes around him. Just being in the house with him is difficult. The only other two times I’ve been here, we’ve slept together - once on the couch downstairs and another in the room beside us now. It’s hard not thinking about having him that way again with those reminders all around me. The memories pack a punch not just in my core but in my heart as well. We’ve just started to get back to normal after our little falling out. But what even is back to normal with us? Were we ever really normal?

“Do you need help unpacking?” He asks though it doesn’t seem forced or ingenuine.

I ponder the offer as I shift on my feet but ultimately shake my head. “Not now. I don’t know if I’m going to fully unpack yet, since I’m still looking for another place.”

He nods, seeming somewhat unhappy about my response. “Okay well, if you need help with anything, let me know.”

“Okay, I will. Thank you.” I scratch my arm anxiously and pause before I speak again. “I feel bad… I know Noah’s unhappy because I’m here.”

Nicholas sucks in a breath. “Yeah, he’s not happy. But I don’t really know what else to say to him. Maybe you should talk to him.”

I let out a laugh. “Yeah fucking right. I’m sure I’m the last person he wants to talk to right now.”

“You never know. It might help.” He steps towards the door to leave. “I think we’re gonna order Chinese for dinner. You cool with that?”

I nod and he reciprocates before leaving the room downstairs. 

I take a deep breath and shake out the nerves from my hands as I walk to Noah’s door. I give it a knock and wait for a response.

“Come in.” He calls and I peek through the cracked door.

He rolls his eyes and glares at me. “Great, it’s you.”

“You know you don’t have to be like that.” I say calmly while I push the door open more and lean against the door frame.

He doesn’t even look at me and keeps his eyes on the TV across from his bed where he lays. His hands are diligently working on a gaming controller. I can’t help but notice how his long-tattooed fingers rapidly and strategically click on the buttons. Something about it creates a slight buzz between my legs.

“You just invited yourself into my home. I think I have some right to talk to you any way I want to.” He retorts.

“I didn’t invite myself; I was invited. By your bandmates, your best friends. But you know that already. You’re just being an asshole.”

“Again, this is my house. I can be an asshole in my house if I want to. This is what you signed up for. But you know that already.” He mocks me with my own words.

I try my best to keep my bubbling anger from spilling. We had been doing so well since the thrift store, but it seems that we’re back to square one all over again.

“I’m not trying to be here forever, alright? This is temporary. Like I want to be here any more than you want me to be. Believe it or not, this isn’t exactly a walk in the park for me either.” I sigh, trying to keep my composure. “I’m just trying to make the best of it while I’m here, okay? Can we agree to just be civil?”

He glares at me, but I know he knows that I’m right. “No promises.”

As I look around my new room, I suddenly feel closed in by the towers of boxes that surround me. I should’ve waited until after I signed some sort of apartment lease before having some of my stuff shipped from New York. I was just homesick for a place of my own again, that I wanted my belongings outside of what fits inside a couple carry-on suitcases. I’ve been living out of suitcases for longer than I’ve ever wanted and so maybe unpacking some of my clothes and things wouldn’t hurt much. Afterall, I could always just repack them. When I stand and find that some of the towers are even taller than me, I recognize that I might need help afterall. 

I find myself in front of Nick’s door and a nervous feeling swirls in my stomach that I try to ignore. 

This is a bad idea, I think to myself.

But it’s too late. My knuckles have already met the door. 

After a couple moments, Nick opens the door with a gaming headset pulled off his ear and a controller in his hand. It’s clear by the way his eyebrows drop that he was expecting anyone but me. The look is enough to make me back out of my own decision. 

“Oh, sorry to bother you, you’re obviously busy, nevermind!” I ramble quickly in a way I rarely do - but I rarely feel the way I do with him. Mid-turn to get back to my room he unexpectedly grasps my wrist, not hard but not soft either, enough to keep me in place. 

“What’s up?” He asks and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or genuinely curious. 

“Oh, um, well, you see,” 

Fucking get it together 

“I was going to ask if I could take you up on your offer? To help me unpack?” I already regret the words before they leave my mouth. “But if you’re busy it’s no big deal!!” 

“I, uh, yeah. Sure. Let me just finish this round and I’ll come help.” He begins pulling his headset back on before I can fully answer.

“Oh, yeah sure. Take your time!” 

He closes his door, and I dart to my room, immediately pacing the small amount of floor I have available.

Why did I fucking do that?

“You okay?” His voice speaks from the doorway where he’s propped up against. 

I nearly jump out of my skin, not expecting him there so soon. It makes me wonder if he had just quit his game instead of finishing it like he said. 

“Oh, yeah yeah.” I wave him off. “I always get nervous with moves.” 

It was a lie. With my job, I’ve had to get used to moving often, so it doesn’t phase me any more. But with the shake in my voice, I know it wasn’t a great sell. 

“Right.” He replies skeptically, pushing himself off the frame. “What did you need help with?”

“I need that box up there.” I point to the box above my head. “And that one.” I gesture to the one right beside it at the same height. “And that one.”

He chuckles at how the boxes seem like skyscrapers to me, “Okay sure.” 

He pulls each one down with ease. 

“Anything else?” He asks. 

I sink down to the floor behind one of the large boxes. “I’m just gonna start unpacking these, if you wanna help.” I shrug up at him. 

Nick looks over at another box, grabbing something before handing it out to me. “I think you might need this.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks at the mistake, “Thank you.” I lift up and take the box cutter from him. 

I thought that would be the limit of his contribution but to my surprise, he sits down across from me. When I give him a confused look he simply jokes, “I’m really interested in what the fuck are in all these boxes.”

I bite down on my bottom lip to keep a grin from spreading across my lips. After our conversation at the music video shoot, this is the last thing I expected him to do. 

I’m still sat on the floor with half empty boxes while Nick acts as the fuel to the operation, putting things wherever I direct him. He slides a chunk of books into a bookshelf that was left behind. Books are always the first thing I like to unpack after the necessities. They're so personal and really give a space a real essence of you. I’m only unpacking my favorites to display for now since I don’t know how long my stay will be.

“You sure do have a lot of books about pirates?” He states quizzically, with an arched brow and a chuckle. 

“Oh,” I laugh, “Yeah, one of my clients really loves them for some reason.” I gesture to the books he just shelved. “I get one of those every Christmas. Those and a box of fancy cigars.”

His eyes look over the spines of the grandiose black leather books. “You’ve been with them a long time.” He observes each one, then looks over at me. “6 Christmases.” 

I blink up at him because there’s no way it’s been 6 years already. Logically, I knew I’ve accumulated a large stack of those books, but it isn’t until now that it clicks. “Wow. You’re right. I hadn’t thought about it like that.” 

“They’re lucky to have you.” He says, crouching down to get more books. “You’ve done so good for us so far, I can’t imagine what your main act gets.” 

The statement feels almost double edged, though it doesn’t seem that he intended it that way. It’s simple and meant to be flattering but it just settles a guilt in my bones. It sounds like he believes that Omens aren’t a priority, which isn’t true. 

“It’s not like that.” I scoff, handing him another set of non-pirate books.

“Oh sure, as if you don’t prioritize Harry Styles over us.” He shoots back playfully.

The Harry bit has gone so far that it makes me wonder if they truly believe it, it would be hilarious if they did. 

“You know I don’t manage him. Wish I did though.” I laugh, shaking my head. I grab another couple books and tug at my lip contemplating whether I should start some lighthearted competition. “You know… Noah guessed my ‘mystery client’.” 

A mischievous smirk blooms on my lips when Nick’s brows raise with an, “Oh did he now?” 

I nod, “Yep! Gonna have to step up your game I guess.” I shrug jokingly.

“Well, I’m either gonna have to go shake him down or,” He points to the room next door with the box cutter then looks at the mess around us. “Or I’m just gonna have to keep unpacking until I figure it out.” 

A giggle escapes me and a warmth blooms in my tummy. I hate that this is how my body reacts to him, but I quickly snuff it out. “I guess so.” 

As he continues to help me, the room overflows with laughter, and I can’t remember ever having fun unpacking. I try not to dwell on the way I feel when I look at him for too long. If I can just push aside the flutter in my chest when he crinkles his nose, or when he smiles wide and sparkles fill his eyes, or when he makes my name sound like music — if I can just move past all of that, then maybe living here won’t be so bad. Perhaps friendship with Nick wouldn’t be so difficult if it looks like this. 

The first week was awkward and uncomfortable and foreign, but the boys acclimated faster than I imagined - which, thinking about it now, made sense. They’d spent the better half of their lives being forced to live with random people for unforeseen periods of time. They just moved around me, and I moved around them, we all were on different schedules and busy doing other things better than paying attention to each other. Outside of rehearsals or meetings, I rarely saw them. The boys have an affinity for the nighttime while I’ve been operating on three different world clocks due to my other clients touring in different countries. 

I found that juggling three bands when I was barely managing two, was becoming quite taxing. I usually pride myself on my work ethic and multi-tasking skills, but it’s wearing on me in ways I’ve never experienced before. My sleep schedule is basically nonexistent, having to be awake for California, Europe, and Australia times simultaneously. I work between cat naps and run off of at least 4 cups of coffee daily. While work has been miserable, it’s definitely helped keep my mind distracted.

After a much-needed shower and a fresh set of button-down pajamas, I follow the smell of pizza downstairs. I find the boys gathered around the kitchen.

“Hey Val.” Folio smiles then falters, “You look fucking exhausted.” He shakes his head apologetically, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just - help yourself, there’s plenty. Noah can put away like three pies on his own.” He chuckles nervously, pushing past me to the living room. 

“Think of it as your belated welcome party.” Jolly says before taking a bite, leaning against the counter. 

“Thanks.” I smile but it doesn’t meet my eyes when I notice Nick remained silent and Noah’s absent.

Jolly nudges my shoulder as he walks out of the kitchen, “Noah’s picking out a movie for us, if you wanna join.” 

“Cool.” I nod, fidgeting with my fingers. As much as I’d love to protest wasting my time, all I need to do right now is sit and turn my brain off for an hour or two. 

“Can’t guarantee it’ll be any good if Noah’s picking.” He calls over his shoulder. 

“Hey!” Shouts Noah from the couch. 

The edges of my lips curl up slightly at the interaction but quickly fall. Even though it's been about a week, this is the first actual night of us all together. It’s only then that it settles in my bones the reality of the move.

I precariously pluck a slice from a half-eaten pie and plop it on a paper plate. “You uh,” I thumb over my shoulder. “Stayin’ for the movie?”

He pushes himself off the granite counter. “I was planning on it, yeah.” He peels another slice from the round and places it on his already full plate. He’s in a dark hoodie for a band I’ve never heard of with the sleeves pulled up to his elbows, showing off all the beautiful ink on his arms. I try not to let my eyes linger too long on the way his fingers fold the slice in half. “You?” 

I steal a water bottle from the fridge and lean against the counter. “Yeah, if he picks a good movie.” I tease. 

He nods and makes his way out of the kitchen. 

I shake my head to wake myself up some more and meet the rest of them in the living room. My feet are the first to freeze when my eyes land on the screen. Noah chose the same indie horror movie that Nick and I had chosen the night he stayed in with me. How he managed to find and decide on the same random movie we did, I’m not sure. What I am sure of is the way my heart feels like it fell into my stomach. My hand grips the plate, and my eyes instinctively search for Nick. His gaze meets mine, the look in his eyes about matches my own before he hardens it. His jaw clenches and he focuses back on finding his place on the couch. 

When I finally make my way over, I find there’s only one seat left between Noah and Nicholas. I take a silent but deep inhale before squeezing between them. The close proximity to Nicholas sends a familiar, anxious thrill through me, but I push it aside, trying to focus on the moment. We’re friends now. Colleagues. I have to keep reminding myself of that. We’ve only ever been colleagues.

“Alright, everyone shut up.” Noah waves a lanky arm around with the remote clutched in his hand. “Movie time!” 

Folio reaches up and flips the lights off to cast an eerie darkness across the room, perfect for the mood of the movie. As the opening credits roll, my heart drops sharply and makes the idea of the pizza on my plate nauseating. The memory hits me like a wave, threatening to pull me under. I can see it so clearly in my head - us sharing two different kinds of chips, Doritos and Cheetos. I can hear the storm that raged that night, the one that kept him from leaving. I remember vividly the conversation we had about having that team-building party. I can hear him promising that the boys would come around. I blink quickly to keep tears from spilling down my cheeks. The last thing I need is to cry in front of them. 

Noah nudges me with his elbow. “You okay? You look a little pale.” He asks with a smirk, teasing me as if I was already scared fifteen minutes into the movie. In the corner of my eye, I can see Nick glance over at us, trying to disguise the fact he’s obviously eavesdropping. 

“Yeah, just... tired.” I half-lie, giving him a weak smile while keeping my eyes on the tv.

“Sure, scaredy cat.” He laughs, returning his focus to the screen.

The movie continues, and I’m transported back to that rainy night. I wasn’t nervous that entire night until we were sitting criss-crossed next to each other watching this specific scene before the first jumpscare. The flutter of nerves didn’t find home in my belly until we both jolted at the perfectly timed jumpscare and our knees ended up pressed together for the rest of the night. I remember the way his hand brushed against mine, the way we laughed and screamed at all the right moments. Sitting here now, with him so close yet so far, is torture. 

As the film progresses, I can’t help but notice Nicholas shifting slightly in his seat. His arm brushes against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through me. I hope no one else notices my reaction. It’s jumpy and juvenile, the way we both try our best not to have any part of our body touching for too long. 

Halfway through the movie, a particularly frightening scene makes everyone scream and laugh at each other’s fear. Nicholas turns to me, and for a brief moment, our eyes meet. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze, something that tells me he remembers too. But then he looks away, and the moment vanishes.

The rest of the movie is a blur. I’m too focused on the memories, the emotions, and the painful reality that the past is just that—the past. When the credits finally roll, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and everything is suffocating and tight. 

Folio reaches up from his seat in the recliner and flicks the light back on. “Jesus fucking christ, Noah.”

“What the fuck.” Echoes Jolly.

Noah grins widely, obviously proud of his peculiar choice. “You’re welcome.” 

“It was great.” I rush the words out and quickly push myself off the couch. “I need to get some air. Excuse me.”

A cackle erupts from Noah, “Musta scared the shit out of her.” 

As I speed to the front door, I hear someone smack him with a pillow and Nick’s voice telling him not to be an ass.

I nearly burst through the front door and find salvation in gripping the porch railing. For a moment I question if I might actually get ill. Never in my adult life have I ever felt such visceral agony over another human being, nonetheless a man. The cool night air brings a welcome relief and finally I feel like I can suck in a full breath.

I squeeze my eyes shut when I hear the door open behind me and my heart races when Nick appears in my peripheral. Fuck. 

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” I reply, my voice almost trembling.

He pulls something from his pocket, flipping the top open and holding out a box of Newports to me. “Want one?” 

I sigh, contemplating it even though I haven't touched a cigarette since college, but god do I need it now. “Thanks.” I pluck a cig from the box and place it between my lips. I cup the end from the wind while he flicks the lighter for me. The second it’s sizzling and lit I take a much-needed deep inhale, letting the nicotine fill every gap in my lungs giving me a split second of reprieve. 

I close my eyes as I exhale, hoping the smoke would take the pain that sits in my chest. For a moment, we stand there in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. The sounds of the night filled the quiet, frogs croaking and far off traffic from the city. 

He steps closer, close enough that I can feel his warmth and the smoke of his cigarette. “I remember that night, you know.”

I pause, swallowing hard. “Me too.”

The ache in my chest is palpable, like it sits between each individual rib. I feel it in my bones, in my veins, in my fucking marrow. 

When I made the decision to distance myself, to hurt him, I thought it was the best decision for us all. I had no idea it would hurt this bad. It hardly seems like a good idea now. 

Every part of my body tenses up like a muscle throbbing in pain. My index and middle fingers involuntarily squish the cigarette, and my fists tighten. I have no reason to feel this way, I did this. 

“Val,” he says, his voice breaking through my turmoil. “We never really… talked.”

I bite my lip hard, the cigarette trembling between my fingers. “What’s there to talk about, Nick?” I can’t bear to look up at him. 

“Us, Vallie.” He says more sternly this time, turning to me fully. “You just shut me out. And I got upset so I walked away, but we didn’t talk about it.” 

Of course, the only man I fall for is the one that actually wants to talk about his feelings. 

“We made a choice, Nick.” I grind my teeth to ward off tears, keeping my gaze focused on a far off tree. 

He shakes his head, stepping even closer. “No, you made a choice. And I went along with it because I thought it was what you wanted. But standing here now like this… I can’t help but wonder if you made a mistake.”

I close my eyes and exhale. All I want to do is give in to him, tell him he’s right, that I did make a mistake. But my reasoning and logic remains the same. 

The words hang in the air, heavier than the smoke around us. I don’t dare look up at him, tears blurring my vision. “Maybe I did. But we can’t. And I told you,” I pause, giving myself one final second to rethink my decision. “I’m seeing someone.”

He snuffs his cigarette out on the wood railing then grasps my shoulder harshly, turning my body to face him. “If you’re going to lie to me, at least do it to my face.”

I drop my own cigarette from the sudden action, and he quickly stomps it out for me. My eyes widen at his words and his shift in demeanor. I blink up at him and shake my head. “I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are.” He takes a step forward causing me to step backwards, closing me into the porch railing. His hand finds my jaw holding it firmly in place, analyzing me with furrowed brows. It runs an ice-cold shiver down my spine. “I can see it in your eyes. I can hear it in your voice.”

My chest rises and falls rapidly. “I am, seeing someone Nick. I’m happy.” I lie through my teeth even though it’s useless. 

“No, you’re not, Vallie.” His words are sharp and intentional. “Look at you.” He gestures over my body. “You’re shaking through a cigarette just because you’re standing next to me.” 

“God.” A tear slips down my cheek and I try to take a breath, but I feel even more suffocated than before. “Fuck, Nick.” I harshly push him away. I look between us and still for a moment before tears prickle my eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t fucking do this.”

I rush past him, through the front door, and don’t stop running until I close my bedroom door behind me. I slump against it, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor. The weight of everything crashes down on me, and I bury my face in my hands.

“FUCK,” I scream, the sound muffled by my palms to not be heard by anyone else. The tears come hard and fast, my shoulders shaking with each sob. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. The pain is unbearable, and all I can do is cry.

Thankfully the boys had already gone to bed the night of me and Nick’s fight, so we didn’t have to answer any uncomfortable questions. I cried, got it out of my system, and isolated the emotions into a little folder I tucked into my heart, just as I did the last time. Although, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t getting more and more difficult. Two weeks later, I’m still avoiding Nick, but I don’t act like a scrambling mouse any time he enters the room. Tensions have calmed down and it’s impressive how much can be hidden behind a mask. 

Today, I’m tearing the kitchen apart looking for a measuring cup, how they’ve made it this far without a measuring cup, I have no idea. 

As I’m bent over into a lower cabinet, I spot Nicholas in my peripheral. Obviously, he’s the one I’d been avoiding the most but the feeling was mutual, us rarely interacting with each other after movie night. We barely spoke to each other during meetings and avoided each other around the house. 

“Looking for something?” He asks with a bit of condescension in his tone. 

The comment immediately irritates me as I’d been hungrily searching for this goddamn utensil for the past half hour and all I fucking want are pancakes on my day off. I bite my tongue in order to not snap at him and back out of the cabinet, standing up. “Would you happen to know where a girl could find a goddamn measuring cup around here?” My irritated tone greatly outweighed Nick’s more subtle one.

His brows raised, shocked that I’d even speak that way, nonetheless to him. His brows didn’t stay up though, they fell rather quickly into thick, straight lines. The way his face turned cold so quickly made me shiver with a fear crawling up my back. “I know you’re not speaking to me that way in my own house.” 

Immediately, I want to rival it but try my best to stifle it down. However, the feeling was too strong. “I know you aren’t talking to me like that, period.” Crossing my arms over my chest and raising a brow at him. 

He steps towards me, “With work? Sure, I can play nice. Outside of work? I can talk to you however I want.” 

My brows furrow at his sudden hostility. Even though we’d been avoiding each other, things have been calm and professional. He’s never spoken to me like this before and while I’m used to dealing with intimidating industry men on my own, the darkness in his tone has my heart thumping in fear. For the sake of my self-respect, I square my shoulders and straighten my back. “Don’t fucking talk to me like that.” 

“Or what?” He provokes, stepping even closer to me. “You work for us, remember? You’re nothing more than a glorified assistant.” 

My jaw practically drops to the floor and red-hot anger rushes through my veins. I hear the smack first, ringing through the kitchen before I feel the static-y stinging in my palm. I gasp and bring my hands to my mouth while I watch him quickly reach for his reddening cheek. I instinctively want to apologize but, he deserved it. 

When his eyes return to mine, they’re the darkest gray I’ve ever seen them and the fearful thumping in my chest returns. He steps forward, backing me into the corner of the cabinets and the air in my lungs vacates when I look up to find his eyes burning holes in my body. My eyes widen at the sudden, unexpected action. “Nick.” I tremble out in the space between us. 

“You think you can just move in and run shit.” He taunts, his voice low and gravelly. “Haven’t even been in the house a month and you’re already acting up.” 

The fight or flight response in my body begs me to cry, to apologize and shove him away but the burning lava in my bloodstream demands otherwise. I clench my jaw matching the intensity of his stare. “I’m an adult Nicholas, I can do whatever the fuck I want in the home I pay to live in.” 

His hands land on the granite countertop at each side of my hips. “You have one hell of a fucking attitude today.”

The energy shifts into something slightly less aggressive and more sensual. As much as it should disgust me after all the shit he just pulled, it has my thighs pressing together. 

I cock my head at him, and in a tone that borders on innocent, I challenge him, “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” 

His hand goes to touch my hip but stops short, stopping himself. We both know the lie I told him, but it seems like he might’ve actually believed it afterall. He lowered to just below my ear. “If I could, I’d make sure the only thing coming out of that bratty little mouth of yours are those pretty noises you make.” He whispers, his voice low and raspy.

His words went straight to my core, filling it with rampant buzzing. The war in my head waged between keeping up with my plan versus just giving into him like I always seem to do. However, it seemed as though the wetness pooling between my legs was winning.

I must’ve taken too long for him, long enough to crack his resolve just a bit. He pressed his forehead against mine, forcing my focus up to him. The look in his eyes had switched to something softer than before, if I didn’t know better, I’d say there was a hint of sadness in his crystal grey eyes. “Can I touch you?” He asks barely above a whisper and when I don’t answer immediately, he begs again. “I need to touch you, Val.” His voice carried what sounded like a deep desperation, and it all yanked at my heart - but guilt was a beast for a different time. 

Truth is, that I feel the same desperation as he does. I nod quickly against him, “Touch me.” I cave into him, like I always do. “Touch me, touch me, touch me.” I repeat softly before his lips clash into mine and his hands finally meet my hips, immediately pulling me onto the counter. As soon as the coolness of the granite meets my thighs, my eyes round at the realization that we’re in the kitchen. I pull away before he has a chance to deepen the kiss, “The others.” I breathe out urgently with wide eyes down at him.

He shakes his head quickly, “They’re out of the city for the day.” 

It could’ve been a bold face lie, but that’s all the reassurance I need to proceed on our poor decision. His tongue swipes across my bottom lip and I oblige faster than I’d like to admit. Our tongues find each other and begin to entwine themselves. He grasps my hips and pulls me to the edge of the counter to press himself against me. I can’t help but let out a tiny moan into his mouth at the feeling of his covered erection pressing into my clothed center. 

His hands trail up my sides to cup my cheeks before parting from me, “You feel what you do to me?” Soft but needy pants through parted lips fall on my own.

My heaving chest and my pathetic excuse for a nod was enough for him to rejoin our lips. I wrap my arms around his neck tugging him even closer. Our tongues fight for dominance but he’s winning, and his thumbs dig into my hip bones in an almost painful way, as if he’s scared I’ll vanish from his grasp. 

My fingers find their way into his hair that’s wrapped up in a loose bun and dig my nails into the roots, letting out a small sigh against his lips. He tastes like cigarettes and coffee in the best way.

I pull away for a moment and let my focus move from his lips back up to his eyes. My hands glide over the waistband of his jeans, dipping two fingers behind the zipper and pulling it towards my body. “I thought you had a lesson to teach me?”

A groan rumbles in the back of his throat as he processes my words. His fingers snap to my thighs, digging harshly into the flesh before spreading them apart as far as they’d allow. Warmth tinted my cheeks at the action, feeling exposed. I’m still clothed but now it’s just the thin fabric of my panties keeping the most intimate part of me covered. It’s not like it’s anything he hasn’t seen before, but it still feels vulnerable. 

“Tell me, what lesson do you think you need to learn?” He asks me while his fingertips urge my lower back to move further to the edge of the counter. 

“Hmm,” I feign thinking hard about the answer. “I think that you think it should be my mouth, but I don’t think that.”

“Oh, no?” He questions, “Is there anything you do that makes you think you deserve a lesson?”

“Nope.” I reply with cheery innocence. 

“That’s interesting, because you’re massively overdue for one.” He tugs my legs so close to him it almost pulls me off the counter. 

He leans down and presses a kiss just below my ear, then trails it down my neck. My heart beats so fast against my ribcage I fear it could burst. 

While his hands roam and grope anywhere they land, he’s buried in my neck sucking marks into it. “I’ve missed you.” He admits, mumbling against my skin and makes my heart rate skip a beat or two. 

I tilt my head back and scrunch my eyes closed. We shouldn’t be doing this in the first place, nonetheless, saying these sorts of things to each other, but it seems neither of us care enough to remember why. 

I tangle my fingers in his hair, giving it a gentle tug and nudging my head against his. “I’ve missed you too, Nicky.” 

He pauses the same way I did but this time he moves back up to rejoin our lips. 

There’s a couple words that linger in the back of my throat - words I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell him. Words that I’m not sure make sense for us or if they’re just the chemicals rushing through me. But I want to say them, and I’m scared that if I go to say anything at all they might tumble out. 

His hands find and tug at my shirt which I quickly pull away and discard it across the room. I take the opportunity to do the same with him. I catch the hem of his shirt, and he stills. I realize in the two times we’ve slept together, I’ve never seen him shirtless. That combined with the way he hesitated when I went to pull it off makes me think he might be uncomfortable. “May I?” 

He hesitates but nods and lets me be the one to pull it off him. He’s tattooed all over his chest just as he is on his arms, and it makes me want to go exploring all over his body. Our lips reunite and our tongues reconnect before I get a chance to compliment his appearance. I work quickly at undoing his jeans while he struggles to pull down my skirt.

Finally, bare to each other, he pulls me taut against him to make sure I can feel just how much he’s missed me. He nestles his thick shaft between my folds, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t missed that part of him too. I let a small whine slip into our kiss at the feeling of him throbbing against my clit. 

He disconnects from me only to press his forehead against mine, “I need to be inside you.” There’s a greater feeling behind his claim, more akin to ‘I need to be as close to you as possible’.

“I need you, please.” I reply, sounding more desperate than I would’ve liked. 

Now, not my brightest moment, letting him push his way inside me without more prep when I haven’t had him in so long. The stretch his girth brings is a delicious but brutal burn. He takes mercy on me by taking it slow and I feel every thick inch of him until he bottoms out, nuzzling the tip of his cock into my cervix.

“Fuck.” I breathe out, resting my head back on the cabinet. 

While it’s painful, it feels just like puzzle pieces reuniting, like he was made for me. He fills me completely, leaving no empty space.

He only stays stagnant for a short bit of time before he begins rutting into me. I remember how good he feels once adjusted to him. His head is tucked into the other side of my neck, littering it with more marks. He lets small grunts and groans tumble into my neck as he drills into me. With every thrust, his cock hits the bundle of nerves deep within my core and makes my skin burn. “God, you take me so fucking good.” He mutters beneath my ear and it makes me grip onto him tighter.

He detaches from my neck and unexpectedly places both hands on my cheeks, directing my gaze onto him. His hips slow but don’t halt as he forces me to focus on his stormy eyes. 

“Tell me it was a lie.” He demands, with a slight melancholic undertone.

I tilt my head a bit at the request, unsure of what he was referring to or why he’s bringing it up now. “What?”

“I know you lied to me, tell me it was a lie.” He pleads again, with more desperation this time. “Tell me there was no one else.” 

As I take a moment to process, he returns to his spot on my throat, pulling the skin of my neck between his teeth and one hand finding my swollen clit, rolling circles into it. My eyes widen at the feeling of both sensations at the same time, rapidly accelerating the proximity of my high. 

“Tell me you lied to me.” He repeats in a mumble beneath my ear. “Tell me there’s no one else. I need to hear it.”

My mind swirls between his words and the pleasure he’s giving me. It’s like some twisted tactic, that if he gets me so overwhelmed, I’d be forced to tell the truth - and it’s working. 

“I-“ I begin, going to ask how he ‘knows’ but I know I’m a terrible liar, especially to him. My peak rushes to where his fingertips meet my bundle of nerves and all I can think about is him. “I lied, Nick, I lied.” My fingernails dig into his back, and I squeeze my eyes shut, letting an ache wash through my chest.

I feel him smile against my skin and his speed picks up, ramming into my sweet spot over and over while working figure-8’s into my clit. 

“There’s only you.” I add, because I have nothing left to lose with the truth being out. “There’s only ever been you.”

He groans at the words and the way my walls involuntarily pulse around him. “Fuck.“ He grunts against my neck, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Fuck, I’m close. Cum with me?” 

I nod quickly as I’m on the precipice of my own high as well and ready to reach it with him. 

His thumb speeds up with the rolls of his hips pushing me over the edge. “Fuck I’m gonna, fuck,” Buzzing euphoria washes over me and blinds my vision as the coil in my belly snaps. It spreads burning heat across my body and only intensifies when I feel his cock twitch, spilling his hot release into the deepest part of me.

Our chests rise and fall quickly in time with each other and his breath brushes past my shoulder in short bursts. It feels so good to be so full of him.

Unexpectedly, he pulls back only to hold my face and pull me in for another kiss. This time, it’s sweet and soft and full of an emotion we haven’t spoken. Our tongues dance together but it’s slow and tender, the sort of kiss that bonds you and makes you feel safe. 

Once he detaches from me, his forehead presses into mine once more, meeting my eyes with his silver ones, this time having a faint blue hue. His thumbs brush along my cheekbones and his eyes dart across my face, “I don’t want to stop doing this, Vallie.” He whispers and it twists a knife in my chest.

I don’t want to stop either, I want to say. 

I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck pulling him closer. “Nick, we-”

“I know.” He says sadly, but with a slightly hopeful pitch. “The guys are coming around, nobody has to know but us five. I can wait, Val.” His voice pleads. “I can wait, I can wait until you’re ready, until we can. There’s something here, I know you feel it too, I can feel it. I just can’t do this anymore, it’s torture being around you.” His words accelerate as he speaks. “It takes everything in me not to touch you. I can’t be around you, let alone live with you and pretend that I don’t love you.” His eyes widen a bit at what he just blurted out. 

My own eyes round wide at him and my heart feels so full it could pop. “You… what?”

He closes his eyes, “I know that I shouldn’t.” His voice strained before meeting my gaze again. “But I do.” 

I blink up at him as he confirms the same words that have been swirling on the tip of my tongue. My hands slide down to hold his face. “I love you too, Nicholas.” I whisper in the space between us. 

“You do?” He asks, almost surprised though I can’t tell if it’s because I said it or because I mean it, maybe both.

“Yes. I love you, I love you,” My hands pull him closer as I repeat the words like a prayer; now that I’ve said them, I can’t stop. “I love you, I love you,” Before I can get to the fifth ‘I love you’ he wraps my legs around his hips and lifts me off the counter with him still inside me. He carries me into the living room and before I can question anything, we reach his intended destination. 

He lays me down on the couch - the same couch we got high on and ate Jolly Ranchers and ice cream. The couch where we first experienced each other’s bodies. It's not the couch where our love began but it is where it bloomed. 

Our lips rejoin immediately, getting swept up in our newly confessed love. I felt him hardening inside me again before we even left the kitchen. My arms wrap around his neck and my legs close in around his hips, trying to get him as close as possible.  

His hips begin to rut into me, gliding easily with his previous release still inside. It begins tender and slow but as with anything with Nick, it heats up quickly. He uses one hand to hook behind my knee pulling my hips up and closer to him and I let out a gasp at the new, deeper angle. His lips find my neck again, placing needy but tender open mouth kisses there. “I need you to feel how much I love you.”

My nails dig into his back at his words, “Fuck.” I moan out as his tip hits my g-spot directly in rapid succession with no reprieve. “Fuck, I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He says softly against my neck, pressing a gentle kiss there. “God, you feel fucking amazing.” It was like once we gave in and admitted to our feelings, it amplified the sex tenfold.

My head feels like it’s spinning when I nod in agreeance, desperately, “You fill me up so good, baby.” I let the name slip in the cloud of pleasure.

“Fuck, call me that again.” He nearly growls and lands one hard thrust flush against my hips.

It made my heart swell, thankful that he liked it, then had my walls pulsing around him in the realization that he really liked it.

“I love your fucking cock, baby.” I repeat the petname.

“Yeah?” He smirks, against my skin, “You like the way I stretch you out, angel?”

I flutter my eyes closed, feeling so complete in our surrender to one another, like this was how we were meant to be with each other from the beginning. It’s overwhelming how all of our suppressed words and feelings were all crashing into us at once. We broke open the floodgates and we were drowning in each other.

“God yes.” I dig my nails deeper into his flesh, feeling the daunting size of him trying to split me in two.

“Fuck, you take me so fucking good.” He mumbles in a low voice, and I feel myself clench as much as I can around his girth like I need to keep him there forever. He groans at the feeling, “Oh, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep that up.” His hand frantically finds my clit again, beginning tight circles into it.

My breath hitches in my throat and my eyes widen, that being the only thing I needed to send me into my second orgasm. He’s not far behind with hard, staggered thrusts chasing his own high.

Our climaxes arrive rapidly with the passionate expression of our love. For the second time that day, we hit our peaks together in unison, letting the confessions of our love fill the room. 

He practically falls and melts into me as our chests heave in time with each other. After a bit his eyes look down at me, still hazy with lust, now mixed with love. “It’s not enough.” He says hastily.

My brows furrow at his words, lifting myself up to my elbows as he slowly makes his way down my body. “What do you mean?”

He lands at my hips, spreading my legs apart. “I said that I need you to feel how much I love you. Fucking you with my cock isn’t enough.”

Before I can protest or inquire, his head is dipped between my thighs and his tongue is latched to my already-overstimulated clit.

“Oh, no, no, no.” My hand flies into his hair as I shake my head quickly. “No, Nick, I can’t – oh – not again,” I hiss at his blatant disregard and try to squirm away. “Fuck – It’s too much.”

He groans against me and his hand grip onto my hips stiffly, keeping me locked in place. “Stay fucking still.” He growls the demand without pulling his mouth away, every word sending a vibration through my body.

Every move of his tongue is intentional in a specific pattern, if I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if he was actually spelling out ‘I love you’. Regardless of that being factual or not, it doesn’t matter because it feels like he was writing loveletters with his tongue.

Every flick and swirl, sends a jolt through my entire being. My movements beneath his mouth can only be described as thrashing as my center is flooded with stimulation it wasn’t ready to receive again. It’s heavenly but almost painful at the same time. “Slower, please.” I beg but it’s futile; once Nick’s determined on something, its hard to convince him otherwise.

I tug at the roots of his hair and wriggle as much as I can with him keeping me in place. I’d felt my high creeping up, but I didn’t expect it to crash into me out of nowhere. It hits me all at once, my hips buck into him and my grip on his hair must be painful, but he doesn’t falter, not for a second. Silent screams ghost my throat as pleasure rips through me, violently. His tongue continues to roll at the perfect speed in all the right patterns, dragging out my high into the longest one I’ve ever had.

He finally tapers off of me and looks up at me through my parted legs. “I could do that all fucking day.”

I deflate into the cushions with a sigh, my ears still ringing from the overwhelming pleasure that just possessed my entire being. He kisses up my body, reaching up and planting a chaste kiss to the side of my mouth. “Was that too much?” He questions in a whisper.

I shake my head lazily, out of breath. “Perfect.” Is all I can get out.

The edge of his lips curl into a smirk. “I knew it would be.” And places a prideful kiss to my shoulder.

Once cleaned up, we laid on the couch together with me cuddled into his side and my head on his chest. The silence around us is both comforting and nerve wracking. The air is thick with fragility, like if one of us moves or speaks our bubble will burst. 

As we lie there, the quiet moments stretch out, and I can feel his heartbeat steady under my ear. It’s a rhythm that grounds me, making everything else fade away. His fingers trace gentle patterns on my arm, and I close my eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch. There’s a comforting sense of relief in surrendering completely to each other, finally. I’m not sure what this all means for us, but it feels good to finally admit it outloud. 

We stay like that for the rest of the night, enveloped in a bubble of shared intimacy. The outside world, with all its complications and uncertainties, feels distant and unimportant. Right now, we are just two people who have found comfort in each other’s arms. The complex reality and fragile hope for what might come next hangs in the air, but for now, they don’t need to be addressed. The uncertainty still lingers, but it’s softened by the honesty we’ve shared today. Tomorrow will bring its own set of challenges and questions, but in this moment, I allow myself to simply be with him, wholly. All that matters is the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the soft whisper of our breaths mingling in the quiet room. It’s enough to simply be together, a luxury we’ve denied ourselves of for so long—to find solace in the closeness and love that has always been there, begging to be acknowledged from the beginning.

Taglist; @ladyveronikawrites @persuasivus @kingdomof-omens @strawberryruffilo @the-hell-i-overcame @cncohshit @dominuslunae @thebadchic @to-be-written @myownthoughts12 @measuredingold [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

A/N; The love for this story is something I never expected and I am truly grateful for it. Sorry that this took so long or if it's not up to par. I would love to hear your thoughts and predictions 👀 Thank you SO much for reading 💗

[milliond805]

Comfort and style are sketching new fashion trends - Sleeve Sweater Lounge Wear

The new theory of comfort with style entered in 2020. Sleeve Sweater Lounge Wear conveys the message to dress up smartly wherever you are. You could be walking in a lounge area, working in the kitchen, doing work on a computer or hanging with friends, this lounge suits all occasions at best. The combination of 65% Merlin wool and 35% acrylic makes it comfortable for long hours. The round necklines kill the need to wear any neck chain. Pairing it with sneakers or sports shoes is your decision.

Protecting your body has to combine with a stylish look. You can wear inner wear and add a new layer of warmth with this simple-looking sleeve sweater. Pairing it with your jeans would offer you a professional look and a pajama with it would motivate you to go for walk. We understand that our pretty women have gone far from wearing knitted dresses. You can use it as a comfy top with your denim pant. There are few dresses that offer such multiple choices as Sleeve Sweater Lounge Wear offering to you. 

[slyvester101]

Tucker was starting to drive Wash crazy. And not in the “Stop sleeping naked, Tucker” or “Stop flirting with the adult recruits, Tucker” or even a “Stop being an idiot out in the field so I don’t have to worry my head off wondering if you’re going to come out alive” way.

No, Wash could handle that kind of crazy.

This. This was way worse.

Tucker was currently chatting with Grif and Donut, animatedly complaining about the training he had to do that morning with Wash. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Except Tucker was wearing one of Wash’s sweatshirts, the fact emphasizes everytime he moved his arms, showing off the way the sleeves swallowed up his hands. 

Wash had known that Tucker was a chronic clothes thief. Had seen him in Caboose���s massive blue sweaters, had seen him flaunt about in Church’s old shirts, had seen him wearing Simons’ fancy compression braces over his knees and elbows before putting his armor on, had watched him lounge in Sarge’s never ending supply of tank tops and Donut’s bright pink and super fluffy socks and some of the high quality bonnets he’d steal off Grif. Hell, Wash had seen him in some of Carolina’s sweatpants at one point. 

But seeing Tucker wrapped up in his shirts, seeing him cuddled up in the familiar faded colors of his old sweatshirts. Well, it certainly brings up some strong feelings. Feelings that tend to stray a bit lower than Wash is comfortable with. 

It certainly didn’t help that he tended to wear fuck else whenever he was wearing Wash’s stuff, always picking his shortest, tightest shorts to wear underneath. And then the hem would fall over the length of them and make it look like he really wasn’t wearing anything else underneath. 

Wash always had to do a double take at the sight, freezing up at the sight of Tucker’s long, strong, thick legs being out for all to see without the cover of pants or armor in the way. Of the sight of him looking like he’d just come fresh out of Wash’s room like they were- like they had- 

It made Wash feel a certain way. And Tucker fucking knew it too.

If he sensed Wash watching him, his hips would sway a little bit more or cock it to the side in a way that made his shirt slip up a bit more to show off the curve of his ass. He reached his arms up like he was showing off his apparel for everyone to see, unashamed of what connotations come with wearing Wash’s clothes like that. 

And then he’d swerve his head behind him, looking every bit of a fucking model that Tucker knows he is, and smirk at catching Wash watching him. Again. And keep on having a normal conversation like he wasn’t doing all that. Like he wasn’t actively driving Wash up the wall. 

God, Wash wanted to fuck hi- fucking kill him. He wanted to kill him. Because he was driving Wash crazy and honestly being so inappropriate, they were in a war zone for fuck’s sake, why was he half naked all the time? Showing off all his glowing skin that looked unfairly soft even with all the scars criss-crossing over dark skin leading down to his actual glowing fucking scars across his stomach– fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Something wrong, Wash?”

Wash looks up to see the smug look on Tucker’s face, head tilted oh so innocently as he looks over Wash with this glint in his eyes that sends a jolt down Wash’s spine. 

“I’m fi-” Wash coughs over the break in his voice before trying again. “I’m fine, Tucker.”

Tucker’s smile only grows as catches Wash’s eye. “Really? Because you look a little red.”

Damnit. 

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Tucker hums in response, low and long as he looks over Wash and then the paperwork Wash had completely forgotten about while he stared at Tucker’s ass– while he observed Tucker’s conversation with the red team. 

“You need help with that? Looks like you’re having a hard time. Bow chicka bow wow.”

Wash rolls his eyes before finally looking away from Tucker. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“You sure? I don’t mind helping you out.” Tucker crowds into Wash’s space, hovering over his shoulder and basically whispering in his ear.

Wash coughs again and ducks his head down to hide the blush he feels spreading down his neck. “Yeah, I’m almost finished anyways.”

Tucker wrapped his hand carefully over the back of Wash’s neck, rubbing circles into the side of his jaw with his thumb. Wash’s head goes completely blank at the motion, unconsciously tilting his head back into the pressure. Tucker lets out another hum, whispering over the shell of Wash’s ear. “I could help you finish faster. It’d be more enjoyable if it was the two of us working at it too, don’t you think?”

“Oh my god, get a fucking room!” Wash startles, suddenly remembering the presence of the other two captains. 

Donut smacks Grif on the arm, earning a yelp from the larger man. “Shh! It was getting good!”

“It’s unbearable, Donut.”

Tucker scoffs at that, gently pulling away to fold his arms across his chest. “Oh, like you and Simons are any better.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tucker.”

“Make me, bitch.”

“And I’ll take that as my cue to leave.” Wash gathers up the papers and tablets he has scattered over the table, fully prepared to book it the moment any kind of chaos comes anywhere near his work. He’s already spent too much time on them to start over again.

“Wait, I can-” Tucker whips back around to Wash to slow down his leave, but Wash is already half out the door before he can properly stop him. “Goodbye, Captains.”

Wash is not running away from... whatever the fuck that was. He's making a tactical retreat because he's honestly a little frazzled at how easily he fell into Tucker's hands and how he's definitely half hard under his codpiece with half a mind to turn back around and ask Tucker to do something about it.

Yeah, tactical retreat.

Definitely not embarrassed. Or overwhelmed. Or head over heels for that stubborn, overly horny, sarcastic, gorgeous piece of shit he left back in the other room.

Definitely not.

Not at all.

"So, who's the guy that's got you blushing like that?"

"Don't even, Carolina."

[pouringmyheartoutforpaper]

bella...

✦wearing steve's clothes because you know it riles him up to the point where you're lounging around in his living room and he can't help himself but press your face into the couch before bunching whatever sweater of shirt which is far too big on you to your waist and moving your underwear to the side and just slipping in. fucking you harshly and grabbing two fist fulls of the material on your back to pull you back against his thrusts, all while you're biting and drooling over the sleeve of his sweater

AHHHHH this is so 🥴

i got very carried away with this so it is slightly, absolutely filthy. my apologies 😔.

cw: smut (mdni), fluffy and sweet sex, boyfriend!steve, daddy kink, praise kink, squirting, slight breeding, very much not proofread writing 😀

the yellow sweater ☹️ you come home and immediately strip and put it on. plopping yourself on the couch on your tummy and waiting for him to get out of the shower. hes coming down the stairs with condensation stuck to his bare chest, leading all the way down to the little trail of hair above his sweatpants. his pupils dilate at the sight of you. laid on his couch in his sweater, breathing softly and steadily. the white cotton panties on full display for him. the outline of your pretty, soft cunt inviting him in. he leans over the couch to hover over you, running his big hands up your torso and kissing up your neck. eliciting a soft whine from your parted lips.

“youre so fucking beautiful, baby. y’ drive me crazy. can i make love to you sweetheart? would you like that?” he inquires. chuckling at the whine that falls from your lips and the way your hips lift to press on his cock. hard and throbbing for you. he kisses up your neck sweetly before whispering in your ear, his hands on your hips. “i need words sweetheart”

“yes steve, please. please. fuck me.” your brain already turning off a little, knowing that steve was there to take care of you. knowing that you could trust him completely.

“thats my good girl. you tell me if you need something babydoll. ‘ve got you sweetheart.” his hand moves to your cunt. rubbing your clit while his thumb moves against your hole. watching the wet spot on your panties spread before hooking his index finger around the crotch of your pretty panties and pulling them to the side. rubbing a few more tight circles to your clit before pushing two fingers in your cunt. all while you moan into the sleeve of his sweater. drooling and mouthing on it in a way that made his cock twitch in his sweatpants.

“daddy”

the nickname made his heart flutter and swell. leaning down so he can look into your eyes.

“yeah baby? what do you need from me sweet girl?”

“fuck me, please fuck me, please.”

he swears his head starts spinning. “oh i can do that for you sweetheart. such a good girl, using your words.” as he takes his cock out. the tip leaking precum and begging for your pussy around him. making his head fuzzy.

he savors the moans and chants of his name when he pushes his cock inside of you. his own moans breaking with little curses. voice wavering while he bunches the sweater up your torso. giving him more access to your bare skin.

“daddy,” his head immediately perks up to bring all his attention towards your voice and wants, “don’ be gentle with me. want it hard, please.” your cheeks feel hot with your admission. but you trust steve enough to let him be rough with you. let him manhandle you and use you.

his cock twitches inside of you. his cheeks turn red and his head gets even more foggy. unable to focus on anything but you. “fuck-, i can do that baby, i can do that,” he places his hand on your head to guide it down to the arm of his sweater. your back arched slightly with your head pressed against the couch. your hips and pussy in the air for him. he grips your hair firmly and comfortingly, coming back down to speak to you, “be a good girl for me, yeah? gonna fuck you real good, just how you need it, okay? you know what to do if you need anything. ill give you anything. i love you so fucking much.” placing a kiss to the top of your head before gripping onto the sweater and thrusting inside you. setting a pace that worked for both of you. watching you drool and scream as your eyes roll back a little bit.

once he finds the pace, he fucks himself into your pretty cunt mindlessly. babbling about how good you are for him. how good your cunt feels around him. how beautiful you are. his thrusts are unforgiving and so fucking good. he reaches down to rub your clit. watching you bite down on his sweater and whine. fucking you a little harder and faster with this. he could smell your cunt and his own arousal in a way that messed with his brain. your scent intoxicating. and he could tell he had the same effect on you as well. watching you press your face into him at any moment you could, always wearing something of his, sleeping with his clothes whenever he’s away. knowing he has that effect on you elates him. knowing that you also have the weird primal need for him as he does for you.

he moans with his thrusts. little grunts and whines falling from his lips with the rhythm of your hips. watching your ass move in a mesmerizing way every time he pulls your body back to his cock.

“fuck baby. so fucking good. fuck- jesus christ, fuck- you take me so good baby. such a tight little cunt for me. gripping down on my cock like this. yeah? you feel that? good girl. good fucking girl. god, you’re soaking me babydoll” his thighs becoming sticky with your arousal. so wet and filthy. the sounds of skin slapping and squelching along with the circles hes still rubbing on your clit pushing your climax closer.

“daddy, daddy, daddy. ‘m gonna cum. please, please daddy. can i cum? please? m close, please steve please.” you beg. your lips and cheeks blushing. your eyes rolling back while you bite and suck on his sweater. drooling all over the fabric. he thanks god that hes going to make you cum, because he wouldnt be able to stop himself from breeding you full soon.

“awe, you pretty thing. such a good girl, my good girl. ‘love of my fucking life baby… cum on daddys cock. go ahead sweetheart, cum on my cock. oh god- fuck, good girl.” youre already orgasming around him. squirting all over his thighs and stomach. your body racked with euphoria and white hot pleasure. screaming and whimpering his name while he continues rubbing your clit and helping you through it. thrusting into you sporadically before moaning your name loud enough for the neighbors to hear and cumming in your pussy. filling you up with his load. fucking himself into the wetness you both had made as he rode out his high.

as your breathing slowed, he leaned back down and straightened your back, allowing him to lay atop of you like a weighted blanket to soothe you. “good job sweetheart. did so good for me. so beautiful, baby. always so proud of you.” kissing your neck and your cheeks while you come back from the fuzzy space your brain has found itself in.

“looks like youre gonna need a bath, huh?” motioning down at the mess you had made on his chest, and the wetness dripping down your legs. making your face turn red, hiding from him in his own sweater.

“steeveeeee”

“jus teasing you sweetheart, you know i love it when you do that.”

[agtartzz]

Ok, honestly curious because everyone has different headcanons about Zim’s fashion sense.

What style does he lean towards?

What about Voss?

Do the two ever do matching fits for fun or when they go out?

SORRY I HAVENT ANSWERED THIS SOONER I WAS PLANNING ON DRAWING IT OUT BUT DIDNT GET THE CHANCE. PREPARE FOR A LONG POST!!!! WITH ZERO CAPITALIZATION OR PROPER GRAMMAR for zim it really depends on his mood and the occasion. he won't put effort in an outfit if he's not feeling it. he'll just wear athletic-type spandex bodysuits, usually black. they're quick, seamless, and comfortable. but if he IS feeling fun and explorative, he has a few styles he likes! it's invader zim after all, a staple in emo and scene culture, so i felt that it would be fitting that zim would really lean emo in his style. but not always!!!! the medium-length black wig is perfect because it goes with everything! i like to think he likes loose-fitting clothes, because they're comfortable. loose long sleeved shirts, layers, leg warmers/stockings, thigh-high or knee-high boots, he LOVES. it gets cold in detroit, and he's cold-blooded, he needs layers!!!! (i usually use pinterest to find inspiration for outfits, so all of these images are from pinterest)

stuff like this! very flowy and twee he will always wear shoes that enhance height in some way, no matter what. these almost always include platforms or heels. his boots? platform. his uggs? platform. EVERYTHING IS PLATFORMED because he wants to feel tall in terms of colors? for basics, he'll choose black over white most of the time. his favorite color is purple, and he looks really good in pink/red/magenta, so he'll always gravitate towards those colors. he usually avoids green clothes because they clash with his skin-tone. he also looks really nice in yellow or blue but it depends on the shade! here are some examples of fits i think he would like. avril lavigne's wardrobe is zim's dream wardrobe honestly

i think zim's fashion sense is a weird blend of emo, scene, visual kei, rokku-gyaru, other j-fashion staples, and then grunge, 2000s coquette, twee, and other more "dainty" styles. he just wears what he likes. that's his fashion philosophy. if he likes it, he'll wear it. he doesn't care for human constructs of gender or public perception. he KNOWS he's beautiful and he's gonna flaunt it. it's one of the ways zim engages with "earth culture" once he officially defects from the irken empire. now VOSS is a little simpler. he's a nomad, and values comfort in his clothing. like zim, he'll usually lounge around in athletic wear. but, he is also a romantic. he usually likes wearing tailored blazers or coats, sweaters, or turtlenecks. (the turtlenecks help because zim likes to bite. who said that) he likes muted, timeless colors like navy, charcoal, and earth tones, paired with softer, romantic hues like dusty rose, deep burgundy, or soft lavender. but he's usually seen wearing his standard dark olive-green blazer. zim and voss haven't figured out the whole "matching outfit" thing, having to wear their uniforms 24/7 kinda killed the novelty/cuteness of it. but occasionally they do coordinate! if voss is wearing muted earth tones, zim will wear muted earth tones. if voss is wearing black, zim will wear black. conversely, if zim's feeling dainty, voss will wear something dainty (like a blouse with lace accents, or somethin)

i LOVE talking about characters and fashion so this was super fun! im gonna go to bed now. let me know what y'all think!!

[thehistoriangirl]

Not Just a Summer Affair [1/3]

I’m alive  👍 (a bit at least)

Important: Part 2 and 3 will be NSFW. Sooo... you know, do as you wish with that.

Viktor x Fem!Reader-----------2.6K----------SFW

> Second Part [NSFW] > Final Part  [NSFW]

Summary: Assisting to this planned vacation by the beach wasn’t the best idea Viktor has had, but at least he can have an excuse to spend time with you. Hoping that, maybe, he can gather the courage to confess the feelings he’s been trying so hard to bury. 

Tags: Longing| Denial of Feelings| Beach AU-- is that a thing?| Crushes| Friends to Lovers| Eventual [redacted]| Fluff| 

Viktor wasn’t so sure it was a good idea to have come on this trip, but it was too late to back away, now surrounded by sand and waves and an unforgiving sun that was just as restless as his mind.

He had tried to rationalize the reason behind his assistance, only to find himself empty-handed for the answer he wished to have. A normal answer; to take a rest for the tight schedule he had wriggled into, to gaze at the sea after all these years not to. Sure, he enjoyed swimming, his body limp as it was lulled by the swinging currents, but the heat and the sunburn weren’t worthy enough to be the sole reasons for his stay.

“Viktor?” he heard, the familiar voice tugging at his calm heartbeat. The real reason why he was here, no matter how much he tried to deny it. His golden eyes peeked from over his book, right leg tingling with upcoming cramps when he settled it in on the warm sand, sitting on the lounging chair.

Viktor called back your name, a bare mutter that you couldn’t hear, but it was all that remained of his breath after taking you in. A stunning sight, with the sun sending hues around your hair, the light dress twirling around your legs when you waddled through the sand, where he could peek in the form of your bikini underneath.

He couldn’t help the blush that settled on his cheeks, his mind only used to see you and imagine you in the formal academic uniform you wear every day for work. Here where coats and long-sleeved sweaters were replaced by skirts that let his eyes follow the soft outlines of your thighs, halters, and strapless shirts and dresses that showed the curves of your shoulders he was used to patting amicably.

Part of him thanked the dressing code back at the Academy because otherwise he’d get distracted very easily. Like right now.

“Hello. Eh, excuse me, did you say something?”

Your step halted, eyes blinking in confusion for a moment. “Oh, no, no! I just thought you were napping.”

There had only been four days since you four had settled into the rented house with two master bedrooms and a backyard pool next to the beach. And despite his attempts to avoid you, he had started noticing little details that would make his silly fantasies more solid, when his mind slipped at night at the thought of you.

Thinking about how your clothes would feel against his bare chest if he dared to hug you while lounging at the beach; if your hair would feel as soft as it looked when it fell on locks around your shoulders. If you would like him to stay next to yours when you liked to stargaze, admiring the myriad of lights flicking shyly that couldn’t be seen in the city.

By then, Viktor would be cleaning the dishes on another slow night when Mel and Jayce were on one of their romantic getaways, looking at you slip out your dress to lounge in the pool while he pretended that the backyard door wasn’t all made of glass, that part of him wished to be bold enough to join you in there.

The summer breeze sent the sweet and citric aroma of your hair that felt to him as familiar as the smell of his detergent, and for a moment he pondered to ask you if the essence you left behind was your shampoo or a lotion.

“Jayce told me to give you this,” you said once you were in front of him, pulling him out of his thoughts with a bottle of sunscreen in one of your hands. Your face was flustered from the heat, cheeks round with a friendly smile like the myriads he’d seen at the lab during lunchtime when one of his quips was funny enough to make you laugh. “And I brought you some sliced coconut while the meal is done cooking.”

You offered him the plate of cold porcelain, fingers brushing slightly. “Uh, thank you. That’s… eh, very thoughtful of you.” Viktor wished to say something more, perhaps to say that he liked the way the purple dress looked on you—but then he had to admit to himself that he had been stealing glances at you every time his mind registered your presence in the vicinity. “Have they left already?”

Because yesterday Jayce told you they had a date at a fancy restaurant, so the house will be all yours until very late at night.

You nodded. “Yes. I’m just putting on the stove what Jayce helped me prepare for lunch today. I think it may be ready in an hour… but I’ll call you once is done just to be sure,” you said softly, already backing away as if his presence made you wary.

And he only got himself to blame for that.

Ever since arriving, Viktor got into a routine that consisted in going out of the house, swimming, or reading in one of the three lounging chairs in the backyard, while you stayed at the shoreline or to swim in the pool all by yourself.

The second day, Jayce and Mel had returned before planned, finding the depressing scene of you, half-asleep on the pool, with Viktor’s figure dipping in and out of the water while he practiced snorkel.

“I didn’t invite her here for you to ignore her, Vik!” Jayce had nagged at him when he joined him in the open sea, the waves muffling the sound of his voice to be heard from too far. “I thought you wanted to spend more time with her. What happened? Did you fight?”

It wasn’t that. Perhaps if Jayce had chosen another destination, he could be normal about it. One in which you weren’t wet and flustered half the time, maybe.

“It’s fine,” he simply said. “We prefer to be alone.”

He took the sunscreen, brushing his palms together before starting to apply it on his face which must be looking as red as a shrimp.

“You missed a spot,” you said, chuckling, your index brushing against the inner curve of his jaw up his left cheekbone.

Viktor blinked, his back stiffened in surprise. You waved him goodbye soon afterward, with Viktor closing his eyes when you walked away, jumping around the sand  up toward the house, the marine breeze erasing your essence from the air too quickly for his liking.

He looked down the shoreline when he had seen you sat for hours, just looking longingly at the sea, hands busied in building fickle sandcastles erased by each upcoming tide, aligning seashells that ended up back in the sea once your design was over.

What a curious activity, one that Viktor was too afraid of interfering with. For all he could know, maybe you were avoiding swimming with him, preferring to settle with staying on the shore, or in the boring pool.

That's why Viktor couldn't bring himself to confess to you, not only dreading the mockery of rejection but also fearing losing one of his few friends. Even when you were difficult to come by, unluckily for him, because he wished to seek you out to have lunch together—which was all confirmation Jayce needed to know about how important you had become for Viktor. Despite being Jayce's hired assistant to help him fulfill his role as a counselor, you didn't visit the lab as much as Viktor would like you to.

And yet, he always slipped some candy from his secret compartment toward you when you were about to leave.

He had memorized the rhythm of your heels echoing on the marble floor, welcoming in the sound of your voice breaking the silence of the lab as you settled packages of food on his desk, greeting him with a pat on the shoulder before leaving a pile of paperwork in Jayce’s.

“Have you eaten lunch yet?” Viktor would hear himself saying over his frantic heartbeat. “Maybe we can visit the cafeteria two blocks from the Academy? I’ve heard today’s special is chicken and dumplings.”

You’d smile, telling him that you couldn’t bring yourself to say no to seeing him out the lab for once; and then he would keep a stupid smile for the rest of the day. One very obvious to notice if you knew where to look at.

“You should ask her out someday, Vik.” He had heard Jayce tell him a dozen times after you were gone, all the new memories carefully tucked inside Viktor’s heart, his cheek still tingling in the exact spot where you had kissed him goodbye.  

Viktor couldn’t, all gathered courage flowed out of his grasp when you entered the lab the next day, your steps cornering Jayce to throw him dates for meetings and invitations to public events that Viktor always declined to assist, because you usually weren’t there either.

And now you both felt so close and so far from his reach, with you sitting all alone on the coast, with Viktor observing you every time he turned a page of his current reading. He promised himself that he will go toward you when he reached page 150 of this book, perhaps page 200. Then the book was done, dusk already settling, and you were busy in the kitchen. Another lost day.

He could postpone it all his life if he wished to. But the thought of just sitting idle and seeing you go in and out of his life until you were no more brought a sour taste to his mouth.

You called him for lunch then, probably the first one where you couldn’t have it on a makeshift table looking at the beach from the lounging chairs, a drizzle tinting the sky lead grey, painting the fabric of your dress a deeper purple when you accompanied him back to the house, hair dripping.

You two had eaten in silence, relishing in the sound of the rain tapping against the roofed pool, echoing in the empty house.

“Did you like it?” you said, cleaning your lips from any remaining crumbs. “I helped Jayce to put together the chicken salad.”

You stood out of your seat, your feet muffled in the cold mosaic floor when you opened the fridge, producing a new lemon ice cream bucket. “Do you want dessert?”

He couldn’t say no to you, even if he preferred milk-based ice cream.

While eating the ice cream, Viktor caught you watching at the seascape outside the backyard door, the lamp hung over the table reflected in your eyes, soaking in the relaxing sight of the waves lazily lapping at the shore, their rhythm lulling you at night while he remained restless, thinking that having you sleeping in the same room as him was the contrary of a ‘relaxing vacation stay’, as Jayce liked to put it.

“Eh,” he muttered, which made your attention snap back at him. For a moment, he imagined himself not saying anything, or improvising to say something about the weather. His hand grasped the empty spoon too forcefully. “I wanted to ask you something.”

You blinked, the corners of your mouth curving upwards. “Sure, what is it?”

Here it was, his opportunity to at least spend time with you, even if Viktor decided to let his fear stunt him, to keep his feelings buried.

She’s your friend, he thought, obliging his heartbeat to calm down. This is what friends do.

“Would you like to go swimming with me?” he said softly, his golden eyes focused on the finger that was playing with one lock of your hair. “I mean, when it stops raining, of course.”

You looked at him, eyes wide with sudden surprise. “Ah,” you stutter, feeling your face growing hot. “Well, I don’t… I haven’t swum in a long time. I probably don’t remember how to do it correctly.” Despite your embarrassment, you smiled. “I wouldn’t like to slow you down. You can go though, don’t worry about me.”

“Uh… alright…” he mumbled, his voice low from disappointment. Of course, he had to see it coming. “Well, then… perhaps I can join you in the pool?” Viktor said, the new idea popping into his mouth before he could lock it inside his mind forever.

What if you just rejected him because you didn’t wish to be in his company now that you weren’t obligated to, contrary to what you were back at the Academy.

You licked the spoon of ice cream clean, and Viktor had to remind himself it was rude to stare. “Really? Wouldn’t that be too boring for you?”

He shrugged, playing with the handle of his cane. “I can doze off on the pool without fearing the waves will adrift me away.” And without sunburn, too. “But it’s fine if you prefer to be alone.”

“Hmm,” you muttered, your words making his heart pick up speed. “Perhaps you’d like to go soak in the pool now? You can tell me about that book you were reading earlier, too.”

Viktor smiled. "Of course, I just finished it. Though maybe it's a bit boring…" he muttered, because it was some research about bioengineering, and he was already planning all how he could apply such knowledge to Hextech.

“Working during vacation? I’m not as surprised as I should be,” you told him, which made him laugh. “I don’t think there’s something that could be boring if you’re saying it,” you added, the strange, charged silence settling between you two making you jump out of your seat to wash the dishes.

He gulped all the remaining ice cream down, hoping the sudden cold would conceal his growing blush. “Why don’t you clean the table?” you told him, pretending to ignore the pink hue dusting his cheeks down his neck when he nodded.

Around twenty minutes later, with the table spotless and the dishes all cleaned and dried, Viktor slid inside the pool, warm water soaking his swimsuit. The only thing he disliked about pools was that the calm, clear water let him see the fabric of his shorts float around like balloons, that his eyes seemed to be drawn to your figure that was also clear between the ripples of your movements along the pool as you moved toward the deeper end.

He sat in the shallow part, where the water reached around his stomach, watching you tiptoeing in the deeper section, looking at the rain sieging the sea, Viktor’s brows slightly pinched when he noticed that you preferred to waddle around instead of swimming.

Viktor called you, your head dipping underwater to soak in your hair. “Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?” he said, and you moved toward him until the water was around your chest. By then, the wind had started blowing, moving the nearby palms as your arms got covered in goosebumps.

You nodded, sitting next to him to refuge against the cold air.

“Would you like to swim again?” Viktor asked, lowering his gaze when you sat next to him, maybe too close, with how some locks of hair were brushing his shoulders. “If you’re too afraid to do it alone, I can accompany you. And we can start practicing in the pool. Of course, you can say no—I just noticed that you like the water, so perhaps you’ll enjoy this vacation more if you start swimming rather than staying at the shore.” Despite the cold breeze of the afternoon, he felt his cheeks hot. It was the bolder thing he ever thought he’d say to you.

But it was the perfect plan to spend time with you, and part of him hoped that if he dared to offer you help to swim, he could be able to ask you out on a date before you return to the city, to the routine that Viktor seemed incapable to break.

You chuckled, and the sound made his stomach flutter. “I would like that very much, yes.”

[arsensonfire]

𝒏𝒐 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 ?

𝒏𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒎 !

🪓 ๋࣭ ⭑

ꕀ stu macher x reader

TWs: mental hospitals, abuse, car accidents, stalking implied(?)

you stood sheepishly at the entrance of the woodsboro mental hospital, your bag of belongings held in both your hands in front of you. craning your head around the side of the building, you searched anxiously for stu's car.

you spoke with him yesterday, shocked that he was able to find your number. it was three days after the incident and your second day in the only inpatient hospital that woodsboro happened to offer.

during your scheduled call time, though you were not expecting one from anyone, one of the nurses insisted it was for you when you told them. you took it into your hands and mumbled, ‘hello?’

“hey, (y/n)! heard you got thrown in the nuthouse after what happened to your boyfriend,” stu macher, you recognized his voice instantly.

from who? was your first thought but it was hard to deny that the news of your rumored to be abusive boyfriend was fatally injured in a car accident spread like wildfire.

you gulped and began stuttering when you tried to speak again, “t-thanks, i, uh... appreciate the condolences. why'd you call?” your eyes flickering over to the staff just next to you on the other side of the sheilded desk bar.

"well, that's not very appreciative of you, (y/n)," his tone sarcastically hurt, “i just wanted to see how you were doing. knew things were bad with him but it just ended so poorly, dontcha think?” stu's voice bent, being both taunting and coi with his words.

your chest began to cave, losing control of your breathing pace. “yes,” you insisted, becoming frustrated with the looming psychological torment. “is that all?” voice subtly urging the end of the conversation.

“easy, easy, okay? i just wanted to offer you a ride back home if you needed it.” an audible smile beamed through his clearly honeyed words.

“thanks, but-” the reminder that your parents would still be working flashed across your mind as you started to answer. and you did not about to take the bus back.

“...that would be fine. thank you.” appreciation all too genuine as you cast your eyes down to the floor and looped the cord around your finger. stu was brimming with excitement by the news of his untimely passing, you bet.

it was no question that he was obsessed with you, and while it was suffocating at times, you allowed it most of the time.

having few friends, it was not like you were ever to busy not to fall for his frequent attempts to get you to himself anyway he could. “i leave at two tomorrow.”

“great! tomorrow at two," stu punctuated, all chipper. you prepared for this painstakingly paced conversstion to end already.

"and besides,” he added just after you suspired. “me, personally? i think the fuck had it coming. see ya'then!”

a loud click followed by a continuous beep after left you feeling like stu was keeping a secret, still unable to decipher if he knew what you thought he knew or not.

after what felt like a lifetime, stu arrived in his beige chevrolet caprice, speeding up right beside the curb and halting right in front of you.

he was dressed in his usual attire of an undershirt and a short-sleeve button up, peeling the glasses he was wearing off and smacking gum with a smug expression.

“looking good~” you were already getting in the car, doing your best to keep your eyes forward, looking over at him finally with a polite smile and back ahead again. “don't look,” you begged.

the outfit that you turned yourself in was your lounge wear of a sweater and sweatpants (and they hardly matched, at their wornout and worst). the car pulled forward again, gravitating you towards into the seat from velocity.

“telling me where to put my eyes now?” stu smirked, looking back over at you again. taking in the world from the semi-safer bubble of the hospital, you were taking in the flow of traffic and the sun out the window.

you smiled a bit to yourself, even from your peripheral you could see his baby blues peering out at you. his soft scoffs and titter to himself made you roll your eyes, aware of his annoyance with being ignored.

stu put both hands on the steering wheel, looking back over at you one more time. “sooo, now that you're single...”

[boowritess]

141 + Los Vaquero's and y/n who likes bigger clothes:

141 raising their eyebrows a few times when they notice the collection of bigger hoodies/shirts you would wear. wondering if they belonged to your partner.

no seriously.

they were lowkey kinda jealous.

that a.) it wasn't their clothes you were wearing and b.) how comfy you looked.

you showing up to training with sweatpants a couple sizes bigger than you, wearing a pair of loose jeans and over-sized sweater at a briefing.

would try to be slick about asking if they belonged to your partner.

as soon as you establish that it is infact not your partners but yours you start to notice some things.

your baggy clothes- gone.

141 are wearing very familar clothes...

"price are those my cargo pants?" "...yes, very comfy, a little tight but-"

you could be lounging in the common area and then soap and gaz walk in. soap wearing a sweater, filling it out. gaz wearing a t-shirt, a little looser on him. without a doubt you know full well that they belong to you.

walking into the kitchen to see the back of someone wearing an oh so familar hoodie.

oh my gosh if it was a hoodie you got from a concert that you know damn well the 141 wouldn't of had attended.

"oh so you went to see *your favorite artist* too?" the person freezes and whips around. it's ghost. clad in his balaclava, holding a mug of tea.

from then on, it became a thing for the 141 to pinch a peice of clothing from your room everynow and then. something you didn't really mind.

only another thing you took note of, is when you asked for your clothes back, you find yourself having twice as much clothes.

a dark green hoodie with bold white letters on the back spelling, 'MACTAVISH'.

a dark grey shirt that doesn't smell like your other clothes.

grey sweatpants you thought was yours but there was a little embrodied intials on it, 'K.G.'

a button up that smells a little of cigars.

even a black long sleeved shirt.

after working with the los vaquro's, and getting closer you notice Alejandro and Rodolfo starting to do the same as the others.

a grey hoodie that was ever so slightly smaller than your other hoodies.

a bigger black shirt.

i wholeheartedly believe that they would steal your pants alot- especially when everyone is going out.

or even when everyone is just getting together for drinks.

your clothes are just so nice :))

walking into the common area, the smell of food was thick in the air, making your stomach rumble. now what you expected to see was a table stacked with food- which very much was true. maybe you expected to see a couple of the men wearing one of your clothing items.

not all of them.

"are those my jeans?" you asked soap who had fit his ass into your jeans that were usually too big for you.

he went over to you pulling you further into the room, "yup!" you eyed the t-shirt he was wearing, knowing that it was Alejandro's. seeing your stare, "yeah I pinched your shirt too."

gaz was wearing a grey hoodie, that fit his frame well, Rodolfo's, along with jeans that looked like his. but wasn't upon further investigation. and was one of yours. he just smiled at you as you were seated next to him. throwing an arm over your shoulder.

standing at the oven was Price and across from him was Alejandro. Alejandro wore a dark green sweater, underneath a jacket. Price wore one of your darker jeans, and a long black sleeved top that was a little loose on him.

when ghost came in, you rolled your eyes noticing he wore the same hoodie you had caught him wearing a few nights ago. but had on black pants that you were pretty sure was Alejandro's.

when everyone had settled, food being past around, "y'know..." you started, raising a glass to your lips, "you guys really like my clothes." there was a flash of fear through some of their eyes.

"have we crossed a boundry, love?" price asked. worry crossing his features as everyone else's faces matched.

you laughed, "no i don't mind! my clothes get washed when returned and sometimes I get more stuff- but you do realize, most of you's are just wearing eachothers clothes."

"huh?" after dinner and more drinks, people were playing, 'who's the orginal owner.' it caused alot of blushing and flirty remarks. surprisingly Price had blushed the hardest when he realized he was wearing Ghost's shirt.

a/n: can be read as platonic or romantic relationship with reader. just a lil something random, hope ya'll are well ♡