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attapullman · 7 months

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Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head.

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action.

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?"

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester.

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed.

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg.

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse.

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily.

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester.

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!”

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch.

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house.

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare?

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face.

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats.

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest.

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe.

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?”

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them.

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself.

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher.

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder.

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.”

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you.

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent.

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good.

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind.

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right.

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands.

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses.

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out.

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light.

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 15 days

Text

Wife Girlfriend Training (Tengen x Black!Self-Insert!reader 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL]

Synopsis: When Tengen puts in a big order to your bakery and you're short-staffed, you deliver it yourself only to find Uzui home alone. To repay you for the trip, he invites you in for dinner where things take a major turn when he finally admits his and his wives’ attraction to you. You’ve never been in a poly relationship before, so Tengen gives you an introduction to what it would be like to be his 4th girl...including some “training” of his own.

Tags: Smutty Smut; 18+; Self-Insert!Reader; Plus-Sized!Reader; Poly Relationship; Sister Wives; Highkey Flirting; Strangers to Lovers; Daddy Kink; Spanking; Tengen Has A Big Dick; Multiple Positions; Oral (Giving & Receiving); Deepthroating; Mutual Masturbation; Big Dick Training; Dirty Talk; Choking; Dom!Tengen/sub!Reader; mild BDSM; Creampie; Reader Cums 3x

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: My very first Tengen fic!! I love me ALL of him & his big ass arms. I’ve thought about him bending me over MANY TIMES. His wives too. We all married. Anyways, a special thank you as always to @curiouscutie143 aka Tengen’s 5th wife (I’m his 4th) for trusting me to bring her fantasies to life & paying me to do it ❤️ I hope you all enjoy! -Jazz

*******

When the bell hanging above the door to your bakery tinkles, you look up so fast that you nearly get whiplash.

You expect to see a familiar, tall hunk with braided, silver locks or one of his gorgeous, black-haired beauties in the doorway of your business place, but your heart droops in disappointment when all you see is an old woman with her support dog—a regular. Not the regulars you want to see.

The small, white-haired woman waves at you and you wave back, putting a smile on your face. As she takes a seat at her regular booth, one of your employees goes to take her order.

You busy yourself cleaning off the counters and display cases of your baked goods when your friend and coworker comes walking out of the kitchen doors with a tray of cookies. “Got the batch of chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin ready for you.”

She sets the tray down and wipes her hands off on her apron. You’re wearing your own which is coated in flour from this morning’s batch of homemade cake batter that you stored in the freezer for future cake orders. “Thank you. I just need to decorate them now.” With a huff and an “oof”, you bend down to get some colored frosting out of the mini freezer under the counter.

You work quickly, squeezing tiny designs and flowers on the cookies in time for the lunch rush. Right now, it is the morning, so the usual customers you receive are just for coffee. While you work, your friend fills in an online order for a pastry and a lavender latte. You can tell from the way she’s looking at you from the corner of your eye that she’s about to make a joke.

“What, your boyfriend ain’t visit you yet?” She asks, looking at the front door. “Will he bring your girlfriends too?” You turn around and point the frost baster at her. She jumps back, laughing. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you growl. “Now stop saying that if you value your clothes.”

You abruptly turn around and continue your work, ignoring the way your body hums at the thought of your anticipated visitors. “Well, he sure seems to think so,” your friend giggles as she places the flaky pastry in a paper bag. “Every time he’s in here, he always looks like he wants to take you home with his girls, rip off your apron, and—“

The sound of the bell on your door ringing, fortunately, stops her, but it isn’t your so-called “boyfriend” or “girlfriends”. It’s just a businessman coming in for his morning coffee. You sigh and shoot a sharp look at your knowing friend who skips off to make a latte. You try to distract yourself from your thoughts by working, but your fingers feel numb and you can’t seem to focus so much on the cookies.

All because of that damn Hashira hunk and his three beautiful wives. Dammit. You almost wish Tengen Uzui never entered your bakery five months ago, but then again, it’s brought in a lot of business. To have a popular Demon Slayer Corp and his crew come in to indulge in your bakery has upped your sales and given you new customers. Tengen is one of them. He and his wives have become regulars of yours since Tengen stumbled into your bakery all those months ago.

And he literally stumbled. One of his wives, with her twinkling indigo eyes and shoulder-length black locks, dragged him into your bakery. Her blue kimono was short enough to draw eyes to her thighs and impressive rack. “In here, in here, Tengen-sama!” She excitedly shouted. “Look-it! They have the cutest cakes here!”

You had turned around with a welcoming smile, expecting it to be a dad and his daughter, but you were mistaken when you caught the glimpse of the gorgeous woman and her equally gorgeous man getting yanked on by the arm.

He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen in your life. About six-foot-something, he towered over Suma and was built like a goddamn tank. Your eyes didn’t know what to land and stay on. His silver locks of hair? His handsome face? His gorgeous crimson eye? His charming smile? His big ass arms?

He was big in all of the right places, his body impressively huge and toned, and seemed to make your bakery look like a dollhouse. An eyepatch adorned with three crystals covered his right eye while the other looked right at you from behind the counter. The smile that crossed his lips nearly made you shiver in delight.

Behind him were his two other wives, one with orange and black hair and a red kimono—Maiko—and one with long black hair tied into a ponytail, violet eyes, and an endearing mole on her right cheek—Hinatsuru. Each wife was beautiful, toned, and had racks you unconsciously stared at. Quickly, you looked away, feeling like a pervert. You hated being bi sometimes. Why must God punish you with hot guys and girls while at work?

“Suma, c’mon now, really!” Maiko scoffed, her hands on her hips and a scowl on her pretty face. “You can’t just run off with Tengen-sama like that! You know how he feels about us getting separated!”

Suma pouted, playing with her black locks. “But I just wanted to look at the cakes,” she murmured, staring longingly at the display of cakes and tarts by you at the front desk. Tengen chuckled, the deep rumble of his chuckle making your insides turn. “I think that she can explain more about ‘em to you, darling,” he gently said. “Hello, miss. Is this your bakery?”

All three of his wives looked at you as if they just realized you were standing there. They must have because Hinatsuru immediately gasps, horrified. “Oh, miss, we’re so sorry! We didn’t even notice you there!” She bowed respectfully. “Please forgive us for our rudeness.”

Maiko did the same and forced Suma to bend forward as well in an apologetic bow. Tengen did the same with ease. “No, no, it’s fine!” You protested, suddenly sweating under your apron and despite the AC pumping cool air around you. “You were too focused on the cakes and I don’t blame you. I made them last night if you four would like a sample.”

Suma popped up and gasped like an excited kid. “Really?! Oh, my gosh, thank you so, so much, Ms…er….” She stopped and squinted curiously at you, looking around your body for a name tag. Maiko rolled her eyes while Hinatmusu giggled into her dainty hand.

“V,” you answered. “I’m the owner of this bakery.” Tengen laughed at his wife and offered his big hand across the counter. “Tengen Uzui, 8th Demon Slayer Corp member,” he said in his deep, luscious voice. “Pleasure to meet you. These are my wives, Suma, Maiko, and Hinatsuru.”

“Please, just call me Hina,” Hinatsuru replied with a kind smile that made you think of blossoming flowers. Suma gave you a cute wave while Maiko seemed to not know what to do and just blushed despite her standoffish attitude. You took Tengen’s hand and shook it, noticing the rings adorning his fingers and the bracelets jingling against his wrist. He was so…flashy.

You were so focused on his jewelry that you almost missed that he said “wives” and “eighth Demon Corp member”. You kept a smile on your face as you shook his hand, ignoring the way your hand tingled as his calloused fingers clasped your smaller palm. But inside, you were gobsmacked. This was THE Tengen Uzui, one of the most prominent demon slayers in all the land. And here he was in your tiny bakery with his three gorgeous ass wives!

“V-Very nice to meet you,” you damn near exhaled. Uzui seemed to realize the power he had on you from the simple touch because his kind smile turned into a flirty smirk. “This is a cute lil’ place you got here,” he said as he stuck his hand in his pocket that was once in yours. “We couldn’t help but come in to check out what you had, right, ladies?”

“Mmm-hmm!” Suma answered with an eager nod. “We love all kinds of sweets, especially Maiko! She loves eating cakes and cookies late at night when she thinks no one is paying attention.”

Maiko gaped at her sister-wife, flames nearly coming out of her reddened face. “Hey!” She barked. “That’s not true!” Uzui wagged a finger at her, tutting. “Lying is a sin, don’t you know, my Maiko?” He teasingly asked in that silky voice. You melted just like Maiko did, a slight whimper exciting her lips at the pet name.

Hinatsuru suddenly appeared at the counter, that kind, genuine smile still on her lovely face. “You mustn’t mind us,” she giggled. “We have our different personalities, but we really do work great as a team. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.” She turned to look at them, an adoring look in her eyes.

It was a look that you were envious of. You’ve never interacted with a poly couple before, but you knew right then that it was something you’d never knock until you experienced it firsthand for yourself. Seeing all of the love in Hinatsuru’s eyes made you want to try it out for yourself to see if you, too, could experience that kind of feeling.

But alas: these are just fantasies right now. Your partners are your business and baking right now. You’re so dedicated to your relationship and passion that you wake up at the ass crack of dawn to bake and you don’t leave until almost eleven at night sometimes because you’re busy preparing for events and business hours. It becomes tiring, yes, but it’s all worth it. You love your little bakery to death and you want to see it continue to blossom like you know it can.

So, like any good baker and businesswoman, you gave Uzui and his wives a sample of your cakes: fruit tart with glazed fruit and lemon custard, vanilla coconut with coconut flakes, tiramisu, and chocolate mousse with dark chocolate powder dusting the top. You watched joyously as the four chomped down on your delicacies, each one wearing expressions of wonder and satisfaction.

Suma made a very lewd-sounding moan as she chomped down on the chocolate cake, frosting all over her mouth. “Wow!” She sighed. “These are absolutely amazing! And you baked all of these yourself?”

You flushed at the twinkle in her eyes. ”Yeah,” you bashfully replied. “I’m so glad you like them.” You turned to Uzui who swallowed his sample in one gulp and rubbed his toned stomach. “Oh, more than like, Ms. V,” he said. “We love these little cakes. And this little place of yours is so cute and…flashy.” He looked around the quaint and small bakery, smiling fondly. “It’s adorable! How long have you had it for?”

He seemed so interested in this that you almost didn't know what to say. It had been forever since someone actually seemed like they wanted to know all about you without having ulterior motives aka wanting to sleep with you. Another reason why you barely dated. You nervously laughed, taken aback by his genuine interest. “About two years now since I got my license, but I’ve been baking literally my entire life.”

Uzui whistled, looking like he approved of this information. “That takes so much skill!” He praised, leaning against the counter with one huge arm slung across it. “So you’re a businesswoman, a skilled baker, and beautiful? I’m sure you’ve got the fellas linin’ up outside your door.”

The smile that crossed his lips was flirtatious and playful. It would turn you off if it came from some other guy you barely know, but there was something about him that made you not mind. And it had nothing to do with his status. Uzui came off to you like he was a big flirt, yes, but also very laid back and easy-going. It relaxed you even when you barely knew anything about him. He had a very blasé attitude to him that didn’t match his flash jewelry and painted fingernails that you were absolutely attracted to, picturing them somewhere on your body. You understood then why his wives were so fond of him.

“You mustn’t embarrass her, Tengen-sama!” Hina critically said, grabbing Uzui’s arm. “Pardon me for saying so, but you are very beautiful, Ms. Y/N.” A pink blush spread across her cheeks, making her look even more gorgeous. You were breathless, unable to speak. A woman as gorgeous as her complimenting your looks was like an award in gold. “Isn’t she?!” Suma squealed. “I was staring at her the whole time wondering how she got her hair like that! Oh, and her skin is so pretty and glowy! Don’t you think so, Maiko?”

All of you turned to Maiko who was busy nibbling on her tiramisu. She blushed at the eyes on her and tucked into herself. ”I-I guess,” she mumbled and continued eating. Uzui smirked at you, a playful twinkle in his eye. “She’s a shy girl,” he whispered. “Don’t let her turn ya off.”

You didn’t tell either of them that you were turned on beyond belief. Fortunately, their desire to put in an order made you forget all about how much you were throbbing and how weak in the knees you felt. Uzui boastfully ordered a dozen cakes for his wives and his team, resulting in you filling two boxes with twelve of your cakes each. Uzui carried the two boxes and gave you a thankful smile as he and Hina exited your bakery.

Suma practically skipped after them. “Thank you for the cakes!” She called as she waved from the door. Maiko stayed behind and passed you a crisp $100 bill. “From Tengen-sama,” she explained. “He said keep the change.” She paused, her face ablaze. “A-and you do have…really pretty hair,” she muttered. She didn’t stick around long enough to wait for you to thank her.

You watched her go, somehow already missing their presence and hoping to see them again. They brought a light to your bakery the way no other customer has. But as you were processing the money, the door opened again, and in walked Uzui. “Oh, did you forget something?” you curiously ask, cocking your head to the side.

He didn’t answer you as he strode up to you in five long strides, his boots thudding across the floor. Your heart leaped at his strange frown, wondering what could be wrong. Did he not like the cakes after all? He suddenly threw an elbow over the counter and leaned in like he was about to tell you a secret. “You’ve got a card or somethin’?” he whispered. Because I have a whole lot of sweet-toothed people who would love to come here for their fix.” He smirked at you, goofily so.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatic personality. Reaching down where the cash register was, you plucked a business card from beside it and handed it to Uzui. He gave you a smile and a wink as he pocketed your card. “It was nice meeting you, V,” he said. “We’ll be back.”

And that they were back. The Hashira and his three wives came back again and again, buying sugary, caffeinated drinks and sweets. They came mostly on the weekends and sometimes during the week on random, but like clockwork, they were here. Uzui never came alone, always having his girls with him and spending all kinds of coin on whatever they wanted.

As time passed, you found yourself looking forward to them showing up. You enjoyed their presence and they seemed to make your little bakery that much brighter and sweeter when they were here. It didn’t take long for your days to be filled with daydreams and nights to be haunted by fantasies of being with them as intimately as they are with each other—holding hands, touching lips, whispering sweet nothings…

Especially with Uzui. How could you not? The man is a walking wet dream! Every time he slid you some game and flirted with you so openly in front of the girls and in private, you could feel yourself folding. But how are his wives so okay with him flirting with another woman in front of them? Is this just their relationship? Did you really want to understand? Maybe…join them?

‘No, you horny bitch,’ you firmly think to yourself as you finish frosting the cookies. ‘No dating right now. Just business. Keep your head on straight.’

No matter how much Uzui’s flirting turns you on and piques your curiosity. Besides, how can he possibly be interested in you? He already has three women on his arm that would put any supermodel to shame. With his status and looks, he couldn’t possibly want you.

You manage to distract yourself with some customers for a while until you get a particular call that you are not expecting. You answer it as normal, thinking it’s just another order for some catering or something. “V’s Sweets,” you brightly say into the phone.

“Hi there, Ms. V,” a familiar, silky voice replies in your ear. Your brain damn near short circuits. “Your voice first thing in the morning is definitely better than these goddamn birds on my roof. How are you this morning?”

It takes a minute for you to find your voice as his washes over you. You look around the bakery to make sure no one is watching you slowly combust behind the counter. “Uzui,” you exhale. “Um…m’fine!” You clear your throat, quickly recovering. “Good, thanks. How are you?”

“Perfect now,” he answers without missing a beat. Goddamn him and his game! You can hear him smile on the other line and briefly imagine how fine he looks. “Listen, as much as I’d love to stay on the phone and hear you talk, I’ll admit that I’m in a time crunch with training. But I need your help with somethin’ big.”

The gears in your head immediately start turning. What could it be, you wonder? A big event for the Demon Corps he wants catering for? “Oh…okay,” you hesitantly say. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to put in an order for my girls,” he explains. You don’t know why, but hearing him call his wives “my girls” makes your heart flutter.

‘Maybe because you want to be his girl too.’

You see, they’re off traveling to the mountains for a training session,” he continues. “They’ve been gone since last Monday and are returning Saturday night. I wanted to surprise them with a cake to welcome them home, but I need it ready by tomorrow. I know it’s last minute and I’ll pay as much as you want.”

You instantly begin to schedule the cake order in your head’s calendar. Today is Friday which means you have at least the next 24 hours to fix this cake. Thank God you have a leftover batch of batter in the freezer you can use. “It’s no problem, Uzui,” you giggle. “That’s so sweet of you! Just tell me what flavor they like and other details for the cake. I promise I’ll have it ready by tomorrow.”

Uzui sounds relieved. “You’re a fucking doll,” he sighs. “I’ll send you the money once we’re off the phone. Just work your flashy magic like I know you can, V. My girls are gonna be so excited when they get home!” You smile proudly, glad to know he trusts you so strongly when it comes to baking.

You learn that he’d like a single-layered cake with buttercream frosting, candied flowers, and three flavors: vanilla for Hina, strawberry for Maiko, and chocolate for Suma. You write it all down and once you get that Cash App deposit, you get to work.

For the rest of Friday into the night, you spend your hours mixing, baking, and sweating hard in the kitchen while your wonderful employees graciously take over for the customers. Even when they leave that night at 9 PM, you’re still there, flour on your face and food coloring on your apron.

You are tired and in need of a hot shower, but once you finish the cake, you step back and admire your handiwork. It is a beauty—buttercream frosting swirls decorate the top of the cake along with candied flowers surrounding the words written in the middle: “Welcome Home, Girls!” You made sure to make the insides a swirl of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, coloring it just right.

You almost want to call Uzui and send him a photo, but you decide to surprise him. So you carefully wrap the cake in plastic, place it in the fridge, and lock up your bakery before going home to sleep, walking on cloud nine. You think that nothing can go wrong with this order…Until the next night, that is.

Everything that could ever go wrong goes wrong for you. For one, it’s because the cake can’t be delivered to Uzui until he gets home that night because he’s training a class. “I won’t be home till at least eight,” he explains that morning, sounding apologetic. “If someone can drop it off then, I’ll be home to get it personally and pay extra.”

Number two, you’re extremely short-staffed. Not only is it Saturday and most people don’t work on weekends (except for you), but it’s also raining. The plans for the weather are downpours all weekend which means you definitely aren’t going to be able to find a deliverer. When you realize your dilemma, you sigh into your mug of much-needed coffee with two shots of espresso. “Shit,” you mutter, quiet enough to not alarm customers. Now it’s up to you to handle this.

That night, while the handful of employees you have are cleaning your bakery before closing, you take the cake and put it in the trunk of your cute little Sedan. It is only drizzling right now, so you hurry into your car and punch Uzui’s address into Apple Maps. Once the route shows up, you take off but drive slowly due to the slick roads and the cake in the trunk.

You’ve personally delivered orders before, especially to big events, such as parties and weddings. Delivering to someone’s house isn’t any different for you…except for the fact that this delivery is for a man that you’re severely feeling.

Uzui’s place is about twenty minutes outside the city where the Demon Corps compound is located. His little home, purchased for his wives, is ten minutes away from the compound down a dirt road. You manage to make it there before the rain starts coming down like a waterfall in the Amazon rainforest.

Raindrops pound against your car like tiny mallets as you race out of your car to toss open the trunk and get the cake. Even in your raincoat, you feel like you’re soaked to the bone. The dirt road has become wet and mushy like quicksand, making it hard to move in your boots. “God,” you groan, gripping the cake tight as you quickly move through the thick sheet of rain.

You manage to make it to Uzui’s front door and rapidly knock with one hand. “Yes?” you hear him call, stern and unsure. Fuck, you forgot to call him first! “It’s V!” you shout through the door. “From the bakery? I’ve got your cake order here!”

There’s a beat of silence before you hear the lock on the door click. The door opens, revealing a cozy home and a very wet, very shirtless man towering over you. Uzui stands barefoot in some sweats that are dangerously low on his narrow hips, giving you a peek of his well-defined V-line slick with water. His hair is stringy and wet and a towel is wrapped around his neck which means he must gotten out of the shower. You nearly drop the cake at the sight of him.

“Hey,” he sighs. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, V. I tried to call, but reception is so bad ‘cause of the rain.”

Your eyes tick up to look at his guilty expression instead of his body and sweatpants where you were definitely not hoping to see a dick print. “Oh…why?” you carefully ask. “Did you not want the cake anymore?”

Uzui bursts into laughter. “Hell no, are you kiddin’? Of course, I want this beauty!” He smiles adoringly at the cake in your hands. “But the girls told me that they won’t be home until tomorrow because of the storm. That’s why they aren’t here. It’s just me.”

It’s just me. “Oh,” you reply. “Well, that’s okay! I can still just drop it off and it’ll be good by tomorrow.” You hold the cake out for him to take. He does so, his big, calloused hands brushing yours. You clear your throat, awkward and ignoring the spark you feel when you touch. You snatch your hands away and put them in your pocket. “W-Well, I should probably—“

“You’re leaving?” he asks, sounding shocked. “In this weather? Wouldn’t you wanna wait this out for a while? I feel bad enough that you even came all this way here just to drop it off.” That’s an idea. A very bad idea. “No, no, it’s fine! It’s my job anyways, so—“

“Job or not, it’s still very generous of you,” Uzui interrupts you. “Can I fix you somethin’ before you go? Did you eat?” It’s just me. His words come back to you, haunting. Being in a room alone with a man you’re very attracted to and so happens to be married is a recipe for fucking disaster. “Uh…no, I’m really not hungry.”

Grrrrooooowl. Your stomach rumbles, giving you away. All you had for lunch was coffee and a piece of apple strudel. Uzui smirks knowingly at you while you think about killing yourself. “Uh-uh,” he chuckles. “C’mon, I just fixed some rice and grilled chicken if you want some. The rain doesn’t stop till nine, so you can head out then. Cute car, by the way.”

“Well…” You turn to look at your Sedan, contemplating your decision. What if this is a trap? What if you walk in there and never come back out? What if he’s really a cult leader, his wives are his members, and he’s trying to indoctrinate you or something?

And what if maybe he truly is just being nice? Finally, you sigh and pat the pocket of your jeans to make sure your phone, keys, and pepper spray are, in fact, there. “Alright, but only until the rain stops,” you say, softly yet firmly. Uzui nods and opens the door wider for you. “Make yourself at home and I’ll getcha a plate. Lemme take your coat.”

He stands behind you as he helps you out of your raincoat, making your heart pound ten times faster. He’s so big. He practically hits the ceiling above with how tall he is. You know he’d just about cover your body if he was on top of you. Once your coat is off, he hangs it up near the door and coaxes you to sit and decompress.

While he takes the cake to the small yet homely kitchen and begins posting around in it, you take a seat on the love sofa that you know he and his girls have cuddled and fucked many times on. You left your boots by the door to dry so you stretch out your toes and shiver at the warmth curling throughout the house. Uzui’s home is so cozy with its splash of color, small rooms, wooden furnishings, and framed photos.

Many, many framed photos. You stare at one next to you of Uzui in a suit in front of a backdrop of cherry blossoms. Hina, Suma, and Maiko stand in front of him, shoulder to shoulder, each holding a bouquet of flowers in gorgeous white dresses. “That’s from our wedding day with Suma,” he suddenly explains.

You startle, finding him standing above you with two steaming plates of white rice, grilled chicken with parsley, and a side of steamed vegetables. “That was taken three years ago,” he says, sitting down beside you. “We’ve been together for a long while now, all of us.” You smile despite yourself as he passes you your plate. “That’s a beautiful thing, to be with someone for so long and stand the test of time. Especially three other people.”

He nods, agreeing with you. “We’ve had our ups and downs, but I wouldn’t give ‘em up for anything. They’re my everything.” The hint of an adoring smile on his face makes something tighten inside of you. Jealousy? Disappointment that you haven’t found that yet? All yes.

For a while, you eat in silence that is only filled by the sound of the rain pitter-pattering outside. When you feel that some time has passed, you speak. “I envy you,” you sigh as you finish chewing on your piece of chicken. The explosion of herbs and spices nearly makes you moan in delight. And he can cook too?! “The dating pool is in Hell, so I haven’t done much of it.”

“Oh, I believe it,” Uzui chuckles. “To be a woman as independent and beautiful as you…some men are intimidated by that. Believe it or not, no one wanted to court my wives because of their fighting skills and independence. It turns a lot of guys off.” He makes a disapproving face at the idea that makes you laugh.

“Well, all it takes is that right guy to make any independent woman his,” you blurt. Fuck. Now that the words are out there and he’s looking at you so cluelessly, you have to explain. “Y’know,” you say, slowly chewing on your rice. “Like she’ll submit to you because you treat her so well. You make her feel safe.”

Uzui nods in understanding, his plate completely clean. “Ah…is that what you look for in a partner?” You nearly get a piece of steamed broccoli stuck in your throat by the sudden pivot of a conversation topic. “Um…w-well, yeah, I guess, if I dated.”

Uzui raised a confused eyebrow. “You don’t date?” Slowly, you shake your head. “I haven’t had much of a good swim in the dating pool, so I’ve just been focusing on my business. It gets lonely, yes, but I’m just not up for the bullshit and games.” You shovel more food into your mouth to silence yourself, realizing how easy it is to open up to Uzui.

The Hashira continues to stare at you, his eye almost like a laser beam burning into you. You’re so focused on your food and the rain that you nearly miss his next words: “Well, I know for a fact that me and my girls wouldn’t dare bullshit or play games with you…if you let us show you.”

You place your fork down on the plate, your appetite suddenly gone. Everything sounds louder now: the rain, your labored breathing, the blood pumping in your ears. You turn to Uzui and find him staring at you, his one eye blazing with intensity. “Why are you telling me this?” You ask above a whisper.

Uzui lowers his plate to the table and does the same to yours. He doesn’t touch you, but his gaze on you makes you feel as if he’s touching every single part of you. “I was tryin’ hard to keep this to myself, but now that you’re here and we’re finally alone…I can finally tell you how I really feel.”

In that moment, something in you ignites and you stand from the couch like something lit your ass on fire. “A-Actually, I need to go,” you stammer as you head to the door. “I need to feed my, um…cat.” Even though you don’t have a cat.

But as you attempt to race to get your coat and boots, Uzui stops you by simply saying your name. “V,” he says, his voice almost pleading. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Slowly, you turn your body to him, but you don’t look at him. You keep your eyes locked on the floor. “This feels like a trap,” you admit with an awkward laugh.

“It’s not,” he protests, sounding hurt by the assumption. “I promise you, V, it isn’t. I had wanted to invite you over when the girls finally came home to tell you all of this, but with you being here…shit, I just couldn’t resist not sayin’ nothin’ to you after so long.” When you finally do look at him, his face is filled with so much longing that it nearly makes your knees buckle.

“I need to act on my advances somehow,” he continues. “Did you notice any of ‘em? Ever?” You put your hands in your pockets, unsure of what to do. The room suddenly feels too small for your size. “Um…yes, but I’ll admit that I ignored them because of work. I needed to focus on my bakery.”

“I don’t blame you for that,” he replies. “And I don’t blame you for bein’ wary of this, V, but you don’t have to be that way with me. My feelings for you are real.” The soft lamplight illuminates his handsome face. “My attraction for you is real.”

You grip your keys in your back pocket. This is getting too hot and too personal. It’s too much. You should turn and leave to avoid falling even deeper into this dangerous situation. But instead, you stand there and face your fears. “I…I feel the same,” you softly confess, so soft that the rain nearly swallows up your voice.

But Uzui hears you nonetheless. His body relaxes, the tension in his muscles melting away. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he wonders and you look at him like he’s deadass serious. “Tengen, you’re married,” you scoff. “You have three women that you’re committed to!”

He nods, biting his lip. “Okay, yeah. That was a stupid question.”

“So what about your girls?” you demand. “Is this going to ruin your marriage?” Immediately, he shakes his head. “Not at all. I was waiting till they returned so they could tell this to you in person, but they’re just as attracted to you as I am. They’ve wanted you to join our little family since we met.”

Your eyes widen as your blood pressure rises. “Family?!” you parrot. “Tengen, I can’t marry you!”

Uzui blinks in confusion and then realization like flickering lightbulb appears in his eyes. “No, no, no!” he protests with a laugh. “You’ve got it wrong, darling. I don’t mean join our marriage. I mean join our relationship—that is, you’d be dating all four of us…if that’s somethin’ you’d want to do.”

You bite your lip, contemplating this. Yes, you’ve thought about being with them. Many of your nights have been filled with hot dreams of you between them, your bedroom filled with moans from all of you. But it’s different from actually doing it. “I’m attracted to you all too,” you admit, “but I’ve never been in a poly relationship before. I’ve never even been with more than one partner in the bedroom.”

Uzui’s gaze is soft and sweet, making your stomach flutter with butterflies. “Nothin’ wrong with that,” he says, taking a step closer. You allow it, not moving even as he gets closer to you. “It’s your decision, V, but I can promise you that if you say yes, not a day would go by where we wouldn’t show you how right you were in picking us to be your partners.”

When he is finally near you and towering over you, he takes your hands in his. “For however long you want us.” You stare up into his eye, falling deeper and deeper into whatever “trap” he has set for you. “Say that I did say yes,” you say, breathless from the magic he is working on you. “What would happen if I was your fourth girl?”

His brows raise in surprise and a smirk stretches across his lips. “Oh,” he replies. “You want a teaser?” You jerkingly nod, afraid to speak. He turns his hands over so they are underneath yours and rubs his thumbs along your knuckles. You inhale and unfortunately catch a whiff of the fruity soap and cologne on his skin.

“Well, for one,” he starts in his silky, dreamy voice, “I’d treat you the same way I treat my wives: with love, adoration, and respect…in and out of the bedroom, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.” His eye pierces into yours, filled with heat and a sinful promise that makes you want to fall into his big arms that are the size of your entire body. “And I make sure all of my girls are taken care of.”

Something in the way he says that also tells you that ain’t just words—they’re a fucking promise. Finally, temptation gets the best of you and you toss yourself at him to kiss him. He makes a noise of surprise as you leap into his body, but once your body and lips melt into his, he moans in pleasure and satisfaction at finally having you here. Against him. Wrapped in his arms.

His lips are soft and taste faintly of wine. They pull you in deeper and deeper, causing you to push your plump body against his. Uzui welcomes you, his toned arms hugging you tight and inviting you to indulge in his biceps and pecs. The more you touch, the wetter you get. You can feel your pussy clenching in your panties, excited by the many sights, scents, and sensations you’re experiencing.

Finally, you pull away and you’re both panting, only an inch away from each other’s lips. “I take it you like that idea?” he murmurs against your lips. Slowly, you nod, speechless. “So you wanna give this a shot? Remember, baby, you call the shots here.”

He gently strokes your back, not cringing at all at your rolls and love handles. It makes you feel especially sexy. You bite your lip, thoughtfully stroking his chest. “I’m thinking about it, but I think I need more…” One of your hands slides down to play idly with the tie of his sweats. “Persuasion,” you sigh.

A big, happy smile crosses Uzui’s lips and he plants another passionate kiss on your lips. “I can do that, no problem.” Another hot kissing session begins that sweeps you off your feet and makes your pussy gush. The more you push against Uzui, he pushes back just as much, his hands roaming over your back, legs, and plump ass in your jeans.

He wedges one of his muscular thighs in between your soft, plushy ones and you gasp at the hard sensation you feel pushing against his sweats. “Can you feel me?” he asks, peppering your neck in kisses. “That’s what you do to me. What you’ve been doin’ to me since I met you.”

Your mouth stays agape, processing what you’re feeling. The pleasure is immense. His bulge slides against the heat between your thighs, right up against your fabric-covered pussy. “Of course, you’d need a bit of training with me though,” he adds, deciding to kiss your shoulder now.

You tilt your head back, enjoying his ministrations. “You mean, like, fighting?” you ask. “Like your wives do?” He pulls away and a sheepish smile is on his lips. “Well, yes, but I meant a “different” type of training,” he chuckles. “I’m, uh…kinda big.”

You stare at him blankly, confused. Instead of clarifying, he takes your hand and places your hand on his abs. “Go ahead; touch me, baby.” His eye twinkles with mirth and lust that excites you. Your hand cascades down his washboard abs to his V-line until you meet his very big, very hard, very thick bulge. Kinda? That thing is like a third arm!

At your gobsmacked expression, he frowns. “Is this making you uncomfortable?” he worriedly asks. You flush, biting your lip to curb some of the horiness that has taken hold of you so you can’t even think straight. “Uh…uncomfortable ain’t the word I’d use.”

Interest crosses Uzui’s handsome face and he yanks you closer to him. “Oh, yeah?” he teases. “I’m gettin’ to you, hm? Lemme see then.” His hands move off of you to move down to his sweats, his fingers gliding against the ties holding them up. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Quickly, you take off your sweater, jeans, and bra along with your socks while Uzui takes his sweats and briefs off it one sweep. Suddenly, you both stand naked in his living room, your eyes drinking each other in. Uzui hungrily stares at your plump, soft, curvaceous body in the lamplight.

Even though you’re clearly bigger than his wives, he still looks at you like you’re a dessert plate. If it wasn’t for how damn good he looked, you’d be embarrassed, but you’re too busy staring at his beautiful body, pierced nipples, and that big cock hanging between his three-trunk thighs. “Oh, wow,” you gasp. “Y-You’re really….big.”

Uzui smiles, flashing you his pearly whites. “I’m on the thicker side too,” he says pridefully. “I thought it’d scare my wives, but they love it, even without penetration.”

You can definitely see why. Your mouth salivates and your pussy aches for him. He steps to you, his chest and nipple rings now eye level with you.

“So I’d train you to take my big dick,” he purrs. “Is that somethin’ you’re interested in tonight? Maybe a trial run?”

A night of orgasms with the Hashira himself? How could you say no? “Yes,” you whisper. “But can I choose the positions?” He smiles, overjoyed with your agreement and gently kisses your lips. “Whatever you want, baby. But let’s take this to the bed.”

As soon as Uzui leads you through the house to the last room—his and his wives’ bedroom—, he and you immediately hit the king-size bed big enough for six people and begin your highly anticipated “trial run”. After a serious of tongue kisses, touches, and licks, you’re suddenly in the most compromising position you’ve been in in a long time.

You sit against the pillows with your legs spread and your panties discarded on the floor after Uzui pulled them down your thighs with his teeth. His thick fingers rub your cunt while your hand is wrapped around his dick coated in spit and flavored lube from his nightstand.

Uzui stares at you adoringly while you jerk him off, pushing his hips farther into your hand. “That’s it, mama,” he coos. “Stroke that dick like a good girl. Get a feel of it.”

You whimper at his praise-fille words, your pleasure only fueled by his thick fingers rubbing your clit in small, slow circles and the wet, lewd sounds of your hand sliding along his slick cock. You get to know each other and your bodies, focusing on what you respond well to and what you may not. So far, your body is responding extremely nicely to everything Uzui does. Your nipples are hard, your heart is pounding, and your pussy is gushing on his fingers as he continues to rub you.

“Isn’t it so nice?” he asks, his voice husky and soft from your little hand stroking his big, thick dick. “Havin’ a big cock in your hand while you get that pussy rubbed?” He looks down at his slick fingers, hardening at the sight of your glistening holds. “She’s so wet for me. It’s been a while since someone has treated her well, hasn’t it?”

He retracts his fingers and holds them to your mouth where you part your lips and begin to suck on them. He moans as he feels your soft lips wrap around his thick digits before he slides them out and places them back on your cunt. His cock grows hard, throbbing in your hand. “U-Uzi,” you moan. “I want you in my mouth.”

He smirks down at you, ever the tease. With one of his other big hands, he wraps it around your throat and squeezes. “What’s the magic word?” He presses a bit harder against your clit, making you gasp. “Please,” you exhale, your eyes fluttering at the pleasure. Uzui places a soft smack on your cunt, making you jump. “Louder,” he demands.

“Please!” You whine, the word escaping you. He presses an awarding kiss against your soft lips as his hand replaces yours wrapped around his cock. “Good girl. Now open up.” Once again, you part your lips and he slowly slides his shaft into your mouth, allowing you time to get used to him.

He is as big and as thick as he looks with a throbbing vein trailing from his tip dribbling in pre-cum to his heavy balls that lightly tap your chin as he sinks in deeper, deeper, deeper.

You taste the salty pre on your tongue as his head slides across it, the taste tantalizing your tastebuds. He is so warm and thick, stretching out your mouth with every inch.

He lets you settle into it for a few minutes before he begins to rock his hips and fuck your mouth. Your eyes sting with tears and your jaw aches from it being open slack, but you induce it. The pleasure of pleasing Uzui and having his big cock in your throat is too good to pass up. Uzui groans, his hand tangled in your hair. “Yes,” he hisses. “That’s it, take me deeper. Fuckin’ hell, V, you’re so good at this.”

Hearing his husky, silky voice sound so thick with pleasure makes you oh-so wet. You begin to gag on his cock as you move your head up and down, bobbing along his shaft. You lick along him like he’s a lollipop, causing spit to drip down your lips and his balls. You’ve never felt so sloppy and slutty, but you enjoy it immensely. Is this how his wives every time they blow him?

Suddenly, Uzui pulls himself out of your heavenly mouth and lays on his back. Before you can ask what he’s doing, his hands wrap around your waist and pull you on top of him towards his face. “Wait, wait,” you gasp. “What are you doing?” You look back at him, perturbed. He just gives you a dashing smile and lays a smack on your ass. “Putting this gorgeous ass on my face where it belongs. Don’t worry, I can handle you, mama. You just worry about gaggin’ on my cock, okay?”

Seeing the gentleness and lust for you in his twinkling eye buries all of your doubts about sitting on his face. “Yes, Daddy,” you blurt, not even realizing what you said until you say it. You flush with embarrassment, but Uzui’s cock stirs like you just said the magic word. “Fuck, I can’t wait to have you,” he exhales, shuddering at your obedient reply.

He coaxes you to park your pussy on his face which you do, bracing your hands on his thighs just as his tongue begins to caress every part of your slippery, soft, wet cunt. Your whimpers and moans are muffled as you begin to throat his cock once more, bobbing up and down, your tongue swirling around the heat while you stroke the rest of which you can’t swallow.

Uzui is so unbelievably good at eating pussy, but you wouldn’t think he wasn’t. He uses his fingers where his tongue isn’t, rubbing your clit while his tongue explores your folds, his moans causing vibrations to travel up to your hardening, tingling nipples. You begin to suck on him eagerly, sinking your throat deeper onto his shaft.

He groans underneath you, pulsing his hips up to fuck your face. “So greedy. I’m scared you won’t wanna share me once I get my girls in here.” Smack! He gives your ass another smack that makes your pussy quiver. “Ya think you could be a good girl and share my cock, baby girl?”

You pick your head up from his cock and take a breath of fresh air. “Y-Yes,” you softly whine. His fingers slowly sink into your pussy, making your moans grow louder. “Do you mean that?” he asks, his voice dipping below an octave. You whimper as he curls his digits up, making you rock your hips back in pleasure.

That knot in your stomach tightens until it finally snaps and you open your mouth to gasp as your orgasm approaches. “Oh, my God, Uzui…I’m gonna…oh, shit, I’m cumming!” Your orgasm ripples through you as Uzui begins to gently suck on your clit while he finger-fucks you, taking you through your nut.

It’s a powerful, intense orgasm that makes your eyes flutter closed and your body feel like it’s soaring. It’s an orgasm intensified by the fact that it’s a sexy ass man causing it. That only makes it better. When it finally fades, you shudder with delight and a dopey smile appears on your lips.

Uzui hums in disapproval as if you’ve proven that you’re lying, sliding his fingers out of you. “Guess it can’t be helped, but we’ve still got some training to do.”

He plants a kiss on your asscheek and on your pussy. “Now be a good girl and take this dick the way you need to,” he purrs, giving you the go to use his dick as a personal dildo for your enjoyment. After all, you still need to undergo the rest of your trial run.

You choose cowgirl first because it allows you to take control over the tempo and pressure. Uzui allows it, personally loving how you look bouncing on his cock. He lays back against a pillow with his arms comfortably behind his head as he ogles at the way your ass jiggles and juicy tits bounce every time you sink down onto his cock.

“God, Uzui, yes!” You shout. “Yes, yes, keep going! Don’t fucking stop!” You’re losing your mind on it, practically seeing stars as you rock your hips, your hands gripping his pecs and your knees on the bed.

Uzui smirks up at you, loving this movie. “I’m not even doin’ anything, baby,” he chuckles. “That’s all you. Just look at this ass bouncin’ on my cock.” He gives your ass a sharp smack, loving the way you loudly whine as he does it. “Such a little cock slut you’ve become.” He tuts, licking his fingers before rubbing your clit. “You’re worse than my wives.”

Just as quickly as it happened, he takes his fingers away and sucks on them. “But if you insist on me doin’ something to you…” He suddenly sits up and grabs you before thrusting his hips up to meet yours, plunging his cock deeper inside of you. Your mouth falls slack and you grip his shoulders, sinking your nails into his skin.

“How’s this, hm?” He grunts. “Is this enough for my girl, huh?” You can’t even begin to voice the amount of pleasure you feel as he fucks you stupid, bouncing you in his lap. “Fuck, Daddy, yes!” You moan. “Oh, my God, fuck!”

The pleasure only reaches new heights for you both as he suddenly lays you down onto the bed, hikes you legs up over his shoulders, and begins to fuck you missionary style. He mounts you, rides you, plants that big body on top of you as he puts you into his mattress. You wrap your arms and legs around him like a koala bear, enjoying the ride he takes you on.

He smiles down at you, enjoying it too. “Such a flashy expression you’ve got there, baby,” he huffs. “Is this dick that good, hm? You enjoyin’ this trial run so far?” You weakly nod, too busy moaning to form coherent sentences. “Aw, c’mon, mama,” he coos, reaching down to squeeze your throat. “Give Daddy some words.”

You don’t know what feels better: his big hand replacing a necklace around your throat or his cock buried inside of you. Desperation to keep this feeling fills you, giving you that kick to speak. “Uzui,” you moan. “Keep going. Fuck me please!”

Uzui, with his face flushed and his hair falling in his face, smiles down at you the way a wolf would his prey. “Oh, sweetie, you haven’t been fucked yet.”

After pressing a kiss to your bare foot, he bends your knees so he can press his pelvis against yours, your ass cushioning his thighs, and begins to piston his hips against yours. With every thrust and brush of his pelvis against your needy, throbbing clit, you grow wetter. So wet that it drips down your asscrack onto the sheets that you’re currently gripping for dear life.

Fortunately for the both of you, your wetness increases the lubrication, making it easier to Uzui pound your pussy into the bed that rocks and creaks below you. Your moans and swears mingle with one another, creating a chorus of pleasure that echoes throughout the empty house.

It doesn’t take long for that pleasure to build and spill over into your second orgasm of the night. “Cumming!” You sob. “I’m cumming!” Uzui talks you through it with that soft, sexy voice of his, still drilling your shit as if his life depends on it. “Cum for me, baby. Give me another, c’mon.”

He presses himself against you, his nose buried in your hair, and gives you a few more determined, deep strokes that send you over the edge. With a loud sob-like moan, you cum again, gushing all over the thick cock buried inside of your cunt.

Uzui groans as he feels your walls clench around him, threatening to make him cum too…but not yet. He still needs to show you more. When he finally feels you go slack underneath him, he gently unwinds your arms and legs from him. “That’s better,” he sighs with a smile. “Now it’s time to get my nut too.”

Slowly, he pulls out and turns you over without warning. With a gasp of surprise, you feel him grab your hips and lift your ass up before sliding himself back home inside of you. Taking control over you and your body, he begins to slam himself into you, burying his cock deeper and deeper into the wet, quivering folds of your pussy.

“That better?” He bellows from behind you. “You like gettin’ fucked like this?” You whine and moan in response, your face buried in the mattress. He fucks you like you’re his own personal fleshlight, using you for his own pleasure while also giving you yours too. Your pussy, still sensitive from your last two orgasms, squelches and throbs around him, pulling the cum out of him.

Uzui leans down to whisper in your ear, his big body covering yours once more. “And just think: you can get this every day. Every night. Any time you want.” He reaches between your thighs to rub your clit, stimulating you. “You can get it fast and rough or slow and gentle. You can have this whenever you want it, baby. All you have to do is say yes.”

You want to say yes. You’ve never wanted anything more. Your brain is fogged by pleasure and your third orgasm quickly approaching. You can’t believe that you can have endless nights of endless orgasms and hot sex with not only him but his three gorgeous wives too. Who wouldn’t say yes to that?

“Oh, fuck!” You sob into the bed, fisting the sheets. “Too much! I can’t—“

“Uh-uh,” he interrupts you in a voice so demanding and stern that it silences you. “Don’t tell me you can’t take it. You can, baby. You can do whatever you set your mind to.”

He presses your ass down onto the bed and proceeds to fuck you pronebone style, drawing his hips down against your soft, plump ass.

“So you’d better set it on this cock,” he whispers. “If you wanna be mine, you have to.”

You weakly turn your head to the side to look at him, finding his face already within reach. He plants a hot, wet kiss on your lips, sharing his breath with yours. “Don’t you wanna be my girl, mama?” He whispers against your mouth. “Don’t you wanna be mine?”

Yes. Everything in your mind and body is screaming the word: Yes, yes, yes. Finally, you swallow your pride and let your need and the hot sex talk for you. “Uzui!” You sob. “Fuck, fuck, fuck yes!”

You want to be his and you want him to be yours. His wives, too. You want everything they could ever offer you. You want it all.

You can hear the smile in Uzui’s voice as he speaks, still pounding your cunt into the bed and bringing you to the brink of no return. “Give me another one, baby. Fuckin’ give it to me now. I’m gonna cum too!”

There is no more talking as your orgasms take over, the pleasure rising and expanding until it finally explodes. With a gasp, you orgasm for the third time that night, clenching around Uzui’s magical, beautiful cock. The Hashira cums with you, letting out a loud moan as he fills you to the brim with his cum.

You weakly whimper at the feeling of his warm seed gushing out and filling you up. There is so much! So much that it drips out of you and dribbles down your asscrack. He keeps himself buried inside of you, gripping your body to him as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear from his bed if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

You let him, loving how big and strong he is. He feels like a weighted sweatshirt on top of you, warm and cozy yet hard and slick with sweat. You inhale, breathing in his scent, falling more in love with it the more you breathe him in. He’s perfect.

Finally, after what seems like a lifetime, Uzui gently pries himself away from your body. But he doesn’t roll off of you. For a moment, he takes a minute to stare down at your body, looking at you like you’re a Goddess who has blessed his bedroom.

The way he gazes down at you makes you flush with embarrassment and shyness despite the act you just did together. ‘You’re perfect too,’ he says without opening his mouth.

After sharing a kiss, he finally pulls out of you. “You okay?” He softly asks. Weakly, you nod, unable to lift your head up due to exhaustion. “Here, let me fetch ya a towel.”

You feel the bed move as he gets up and hurries to the bathroom. When he returns, he has a towel and a bottle of massage oil. He begins to wipe you down with the towel, gently wiping the cum off of your thighs and ass. You let him, your limbs feeling like jelly.

“All clean,” he finally announces. “Now hold still for me. You might be a little sore, but it ain’t nothin’ I can’t fix.” You feel him straddle you, his powerful thighs on either side of your hips. He squirts some of the massage oil into his palms and vigorously rubs them together before massaging the slick oil into your back, shoulders, ass, thighs, and calves.

You softly hum at the feeling of his hands massaging your sore muscles, his fingers kneading the aches, kinks, and tight knots. He ebbs away the soreness from the sex, causing you to relax into the mattress.

After doing your back, he moves off of you and helps you flip over onto your back. He pecks you on the lips before massaging your neck, breasts, stomach, inner thighs, and legs. The scent of lavender and vanilla hangs in the air from the oil, sending you on a trip to a field of it.

He is so careful with your legs, lifting each one with a gentleness that makes your heart melt. His fingers knead your inner thighs and calves, caressing down to your ankles and toes. You can’t help but feel that it is more intimate that the sex. “You sure know how to treat a girl,” you sigh.

He chuckles as his hands stroke up and down your ankle. “I try. You did so well for me that you deserve a reward.” You flush at the praise and close your eyes, completely and utterly ready to toss in the towel and be his.

Oh. That’s right. You already did say yes…but that was when he was fucking you stupid. It was during sex. You don’t know his perspective on talking shit during sex, but does he consider your answer truthful or valid? Can he tell that you meant it?

Because you did. You want to be his and his wives’ so badly. Things would have to go slow for a while so you can get used to dating four people at the same time, but you also know that they would be patient and happy to give you all the time you need.

Something in you tells you that they would prove to be the best partners you’ve ever had.

Biting your lip, you open your eyes to stare at the beautiful man still massaging your leg. “Uzui?” You whisper. Immediately, he pauses and questionably looks at you. “I meant what I said earlier…about wanting to be yours.”

Realization lights up in his eye and he gently lowers your leg on the bed. “So you mean…you want us?” He expectantly asks. “My wives and me? You actually mean it?”

Slowly, you sit up onto your elbows and place a hand on his. A slow nod and a smile are all Uzui needs for his answers. He scoops you up into his lap and hugs you close, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips that makes you swoon. “Thank you, V,” he whispers, joy evident in his tone. “I promise you that we’ll make you so, so happy. We can take it as slow as you need us to and we can—“

His words are cut off by his cell phone ringing in the living room. “Damn,” he sighs. “Hang on a sec.”

He gently pushes you off of him and rises from the bed to head to the living room, leaving you alone to your thoughts for a moment. You laugh to yourself, in disbelief that you’re actually doing this. But you also find that you’re not regretful. If anything, you’re excited. You’re intrigued. You’re attracted to the idea of being with these four magnetic, attractive individuals and you want to get to know them even better.

Uzui finally returns after a couple of minutes, still naked and looking good enough to lick. He wears a secretive smile on his face as he comes to sit on the bed again. “What?” You ask, raising a brow.

“Well, that was Hinatsuru callin’ me,” he explains. “She said she and the girls will be home early…tonight, actually.” You gape at him, making him laugh. “They decided they wanted to test the storm and realized it was easy to travel in. Plus, they missed me too much. They’ll be home in about two hours.”

Your heart skips a beat as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you down to lie with him on the bed. “So now we have two things to celebrate tonight,” he whispers. “And we can do it properly. Does that sound good to you, darling?”

You smile into his chest, your body melting into his. You’ve never thought anything sounded better.

THE END.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #my one shots #demon slayer smut #tengen uzui #tengen x reader #uzui x reader #plus sized reader #bisexual reader #poly love

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whichcouldmeannothing · 10 months

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big big marvey fic rec list

marvey is currently my most bookmarked ship, so trust me when i say i've been around the bend for marvey content. i have dug through a lot of it the past few months, so trust that these fics have been highly rated!

fics are loosely grouped, with the summary and my thoughts under the cut :3 no spoilers ofc bc i love you

MY PERSONAL FAVOURITES

A Specter-Ross Affair by @frivoloussuits (15k+, au)

“You ordered an ‘extra-hot, extra-wet cappuccino, single-origin, properly layered, to-go and ready five minutes ago to make up for your service speed or lack thereof.’” In which Mike is a barista, Rachel is a lawyer, and Harvey is paid excessive amounts of money to plan their joyous Christmas wedding.

"Love is just a particularly socially accepted form of fraud. It's a series of increasingly complex and fragile deceptions between two or more people, and, more alarmingly, between each participant and their own deluded subconscious."

i literally cannot recommend this fic enough. this might be my favourite read of the entire year, dead serious. this sounds fluffy but trust me, the pining and the angst go well like salt on a chocolate chip cookie: extremely decadent. everything about this fic goes insane and this should be your gateway drug into marvey, im so serious about this. READ IT. (weddingplanner!harvey)

of all the gin joints by @frivoloussuits (10k+, au)

Hanging around a neighborhood bar one night, Harvey befriends a guy named Mike after realizing they can both quote The Princess Bride on demand. In the law offices of Rand, Kaldor, Zane and Pearson, senior partner Harvey Specter takes on an unusual case, representing his managing partner's daughter as she divorces a Michael James Ross. Harvey sees no connection until it's far too late.

"They’re playing a virtuosic duet with inhuman ease, as if the intoxication has broken their boundaries and blurred them into a single entity."

this. obsessed with fics that really use the law in their plots, and this is a prime example. a lot of chemistry in this one that is described in a way that makes you jealous of the bond they share and there are still lines in this fic that i think about almost everyday but honestly, such a top-tier read. PLEASE PLEASE IF YOU LIKE SUFFERING ANF REALLY REALLY GOOD CHEMISTRY PLEASE

5U175 by Closer (26k, canon-adjacent)

Harvey sometimes moonlights as a Star Trek BNF. Mike might have an attitude problem on the internet. TiberiusGhost is strangely compelling, for a recluse who never goes to meetups, and Harvey's finding this kid Photohead vaguely familiar…

i know that the terminology in this one is hella old-school but trust me. as someone who doesnt read a lot of fandom fics, this fic has changed it all for me (also bc the author replied to my comment hehehe) stick with this fic because the way fandom weaves with the character development is absolutely delicious, i remember saying this in my og comment but this fic was written with love for fandom and you should definitely read it too!!! you'd absolutely love it! (also ben stans rise up ^^)

fics to sink your teeth into (20k+)

needs must by @melthemagpie (98k+, au)

When Grammy needs an upgrade in care, Mike knows that the usual one-off gig as a paid submissive won't be enough. He takes a job he's been refusing for a while - a long-term, full-time contract. He expects his client to be a sadistic asshole. He expects not to like it. He's wrong on both counts.

this is a fandom classic, every fic rec has this on the list (cw for dom/sub and prostitution, so if you're uncomfy please dont read) but i swear there are so many romantic moments in this one that make me swoon and the smut is very good, i usually tap out in long fics really quickly but this hooked me the whole way through twice. thats my ringing endorsement, READ THIS

Lobster and Other Catastrophes by @andthetardis (21k, canon-compliant)

After months of silence, Mike starts texting Harvey again out of the blue. Funny thing to do on his honeymoon, really.

BRO PLEASE. this was so good. angsty and pining-y enough even though it's mostly a text fic. text fics to me are more like comedic, but this one had substance and heart (and funny and enjoyable btw). pulls you in and really makes you want to stick it out and get to the beautiful ending <333 (harvey being soft is probably a category on its own :3)

The Game by @frivoloussuits (27k, hunger games au)

Harvey Specter and Donna Paulsen are efficient and elegant killers. They have trained since childhood, mentored personally by Jessica Pearson and marked for years as District 1's Tributes for the Hunger Games. Mike Ross is an orphan from District 12, a drug dealer, and an underage gambler. After years of scrutinizing the Hunger Games on TV to make savvy bets, he finds himself on the wrong side of the camera, now playing the odds just to survive. Harvey and Mike cannot, should not trust each other. Still, they strike a backroom deal.

"Because he’s clever and quick-thinking and he’s learned her main lesson well– don’t love anyone you wouldn’t be willing to see dead. Ideally, don’t love anyone at all."

I READ THIS WHEN I WAS REVISITING HUNGER GAMES AND OHHHHH THIS HAS THE ANGST. absolutely riveting. ths is the third fic im reccing from them bc i love frivoloussuits. i would die for them HHFSHFHKSDGDHFG i love the angst and the life-threatening situations that the hunger games provide and harvey as a career is correct. its just correct. everything here grips my soul

Disaster Stories by agatestones (22k, canon-compliant)

"Hold on," Mike asked, "you made Donna come into work in the middle of a blizzard?" "I don't make Donna do anything. Haven't you learned by now?" Harvey gave Mike a mean little smile, but under that was relief for anyone to see. "You, I can make come into the office in a blizzard."

reads like a novella to me, and it's really good!!! very episodic and you really feel like these are things that have happened in universe. its very slice of lifey and i reread it a lot as a comfort read, its like a big hug to me

Pizza and a Movie by Closer (30k+, au)

In an alternate universe, Harvey's still a lawyer but Mike's not a pot runner -- he's a deliveryman for Rollo's Pizza and Ribs, which happens to be Harvey's favorite pizza place. Once Harvey finds out his pizza guy is a genius, Mike's life takes a few turns he would not have expected...

i swear this is the most rom-commy fic marvey has to offer. i like aus that slap me in the face more with the alternate universe, but this is such a rom-com plot. fandom classic as well and it really reads like a hugh grant 90s movie and if thats not enough to pull you in idk what will tbh

Imprimatur by Closer (22k, au)

Mike was raised to believe Imprint was a life-changing event for those few lucky enough to experience it. Harvey was raised to believe it was a form of mental illness. When it actually happened, neither of them noticed.

this goes absolutely crazy. one of those fics where you read it and you almost want to throw your phone at the wall because the characters could make it so easy if they werent so stupid (but in a good way of course) but the way it was written, you feel the depth of the soulmate bond and why its so important (which a lot of soulmate aus forget to do loll) but goes down like an expensive and delicious dinner :)

afternoon reads (10k+)

Sony SRF-39FP by @frivoloussuits (11k+, canon-adjacent)

Anita Gibbs won’t settle for Mike, not when there are name partners within her reach. She offers only one deal– two years, no other charges against anyone else in the firm, as long as Harvey Specter turns himself in. And even as Donna and Jessica and Louis and Mike beg him not to, he jumps on the grenade. “Time to get busy living or get busy dying,” he remarks, and Mike gives a small chuckle. Then Harvey smirks, straightens his suit jacket, and strides into FCI Danbury.

“I can’t believe they’re trying to lock you in a box and forget about you,” Mike sighs as he leaves.

“Well, as long as you don’t forget me, I figure I’ll survive.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but forgetting’s never been my strong suit.

cw for depersonalization and desc of solitary confinement, very very heavy but the way mike is there throughout everything makes my heart twinge. i really dont know how to describe this fic at all but its really good. it makes me cry a lot. also made me start listening to jazz which- uh

Here at the end of all things by @tattooedsiren (10k, au)

When he arrives at the Pearson Hardman building the lights are dimmed and the floor is deserted. His feet carry him to Harvey's office even though he expects it to be empty. Because Harvey probably fled the city via helicopter or teleporter or sheer force of will. But when he approaches the office he can see that Harvey is there. He has moved the couch so that it now faces the floor to ceiling windows and Mike silently sits beside Harvey, joins him in looking down at the chaos engulfing the city below. [Apocalypse AU]

I LOVE APOCALYPSE FICS UP UP UP badass!harvey makes me bark, but im a really big fan of people who find happiness in the worst circumstances and this fic does it so so so well. reminds me a lot of tlou episode like 2? the one with the strawberries. please this is what i revisit when i miss marvey and i dont have a lot of time because the world and the characters are jsut so delicious!!!

quick reads (1k+)

This Love is Silent by kim47 (8k, canon-compliant)

She should have known. She had known, that something was off, at least. She knew he was hiding something. She just never imagined it could be this. Despite Harvey's warnings, Mike tells Rachel the truth about everything. She's shocked, naturally, and more than a little angry, but she agrees to keep his secret, and even to date him. So when they break up, Harvey goes into damage-control mode.

RACHEL!! HELLO RACHEL!! im always up for smart and discerning rachel (this shows up in of all the gin joints too btw!!!) this runs realistic to me because it shows that rachelxmike arent some hopelessly wrong for each other couple, they have good and bad times. this feels more real to me than other fics bc its not like the world conspires for marvey to be apart, its just life. i know this makes it sound so sad, and it is, but trust me: this is really really really good i love this so much

an archive of harvey specter's expressions by @frivoloussuits (2k, canon-compliant)

Five old expressions that Mike rediscovers in new contexts once he and Harvey are (finally) together, and one that he sees for the first time. Alternatively titled “An Ode to Gabriel Macht’s Face.”

this was written for me. this is literally me. writing fic because gabriel macht is too pretty, like this fic is literally for me. a lot of peering at him to get this fic as masterfully written as it is, and i thank you author everyday for it. to me, this reads like it's been written with love and care and true adoration (Truly, like Mike)

Coffee-Cart Client Privilege by @frivoloussuits (7k, au)

Mike runs a coffee cart. The coffee cart.

"Why not? They're too big and dense to be a snack." So are you, Mike thinks, and yet.

IM SORRY I KEEP RECCING FRIVOLOUS SUITS THEYRE MY FAVOURITE WRITER IN THIS FANDOM HFBKABFDKHFBHKDSA this has the hand-wavy logic the show has itself but mike's internal monologue in this one is one of the best ive ever read and the way mike's integrated in the offices is just so well-done ahhhh

Objection by yeah its frivoloussuits again i feel bad tagging them like 7 times (2k, canon-adjacent)

When Mike announces he’s leaving, Harvey plans to hide the jagged pieces of his broken heart deep inside, where no one will ever find them. His heart would like to object.

BIGG fan of physical hurt/comfort!!!! also big fan of people absolutely freaking out in the hospital in fics, it makes me bounce of the wall!! very short but the angst and love really hits you quick and leaves you on the floor gasping for air. very good (also cant prove this but im very sure this is a scrubs reference.t hanks)

Excerpts From The Gospel of Harvey Specter, edited by Michael "Forever Awesome" Ross, 2011, 1st Ed, by @rcmclachlan (7k, canon compliant)

Mike can totally read people. Well, most people. Some people. Or maybe just Harvey, who's pretty much an open book.

this one's really funny! it doesent follow direct prose and instead plays a lot with the setting its in (where mike's a documenter of harvey) and its just so funny and adorable. has a lot of heart too, it isn't just crack or anything but you really feel everything mike does as he writes all this, read this!!1

One More Sleepless Night by @sal_si_puedes (9k, au)

Soul Bonds are one-sided – there’s usually mutual affection, but only one party feels the crippling need to be together as often as possible. If separated at length from their love, that party becomes crushed by longing, panic, and sheer hopelessness, and so it is illegal to forcibly keep Soulmates apart. Some days, Harvey Specter hates the Bond that skews his judgement and weakens his resolve, and he fears what would happen if anyone in his world ever discovers he is so compromised. He certainly never planned to disclose the Bond for the first time in the middle of Anita Gibbs’ office, in a last-ditch attempt to invalidate the deal sending Mike to prison.

HSDGFHSDKGHRLKGHK THIS FIC. i love fics that use more than just prose to tell their stories (see above fic) and this does my favourite thing that soulmate aus do, which is where they integrate in-universe explanations for the phenomenon. the amount of work and dedication put into this fic makes it absolutely sing and was absolutely lovely!!

also pspspsps

golden like the daffodils by @mini-mart (2k, canon-compliant)

Poetry holds meaning, for anyone who reads it. It obscures and dances around the literal and metaphorical, because it’s imbued with so much of something that it overflows out of any definition. It can make someone mad, or lovesick, or aroused, and the reactions would be absolutely warranted. Mike is poetry, to Harvey. - Harvey Specter could be a good politician, as he believes in pragmatism over poetry. He won't let his progress fall apart, won't let someone knock it down. And then someone unceremoniously cracks open a suitcase at his feet. Or: Harvey, pretty boys and poetry.

yeah yeah i wrote this yeah yeah self promo smth smth

there's a lot more that isn't here but i'll probably write a new one when i go for a deep dive through the ship tags again :3

^^ ao3 etiqutte applies! if you like the fic, kudos and comment and bookmark!! show your love! happy reading marveys! my gift to u :3

#marvey #suits tv #suits #mike ross #harvey specter #marvey fic recs #marvey fic #ao3 #fic rec list #fic recs #tbr #fanfiction #103 #GUYS PLEASE READ THIS #mikexharvey #read this

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soiwj · 3 months

Text

Tasty Treat

Arlecchino x fem!baker!reader

Link to part 2

Very ooc arlecchino

(i dont know her character wel but she's hot, so i thought I'd give it a shot)

Planning on doing research on her though!!

Fuckk i love women omg

Second mini-fic ever how exciting!!

Please request stuff here!! It's hard to come up with prompts ;-;

I wrote this at 3 am so excuse the lack of structure

You start your usual routine of setting everything up for the day, although today is a bit special. Your bakery doesn't have many customers, considering the place it's in is quite remote. A peaceful forrest that's still in fontaine borders yet far away from any other buildings or people.

You chose this place because you appreciate the beauty and peace that nature brings you. The birds whisteling in the morning, the foxes chittering, the sound of tree leaves rustling. Yet that peace comes with quite a heft price. Loneliness. Besides the old lady that lives in a small village near the forrest, you don't get much human interaction. Even though your bakery is quite big and fits lots of people, you don't really have a lot of customers to share it with.

A week ago, you received a business offer from the house of the hearth. Since the bakery near the orphanage closed down, they don't have any establishments providing them things like breakfast treats and pastries. That's why they're employing you. The contract has you preparing and delivering the food to the hearth.

Even though this seemed like quite a lot of work, you accepted. I mean, how could you not? You get to make pasteries for adorable kids, making them smile, AND you get paid? This is a dream come true. After years of sulking alone in the damp forest serving a customer here and there, you get the privilege of a constant source of profit.

After hours of baking, your tired eyes look at the required amount of food stated in the order, and you realize that this is only enough for the kids. How strange that the boss herself did not order anything. Does she eat breakfast somewhere else? Nevertheless, you decide to make something anyway.

After packing up the orders, you start walking towards the orphanage, barely holding on to the several boxes stacked on top of eachother.

As you arrive, you set the boxes down and ring the orphanage's doorbell. An earie ring echoes from inside.

A tall woman opens the door. Her snow white hair with the occasional black streak looks down at you from the doorframe. Her brows furrow slightly at the sight of you, and the boxes.

"Are you alone?" She asks, you're confused, to say the least. "...yes?" You mutter. "How come you've managed to carry all those boxes on your lonesome?" Her sultry voice sounds out as she crosses her arms in amusement, holding back a grin. Before you can answer, you hear who you assume are the kids, walking slowly towards the persumed dining room.

"I'll help you with these," Arlecchino says curtly as she picks up a few boxes to bring to the kitchen. You pick up the last remaining boxes as you tail behind her.

As you and Arlecchino start unpacking and putting the treats on plates, you can't help but think of how different you expected Arlecchino to be. Clearly, her reputation precedes her. All the while your mind is drifting off to several different subjects, you don't notice the red-crossed eyes staring your way.

After the children finish eating, you stay a while, wanting to hear their opinion on the treats. As you basically survey them, you take the time to get to know some of them. Playing games with them and answering their unending questions.

As you realise you've overstayed your welcome, you say goodbye to the kids and quickly leave the orphanage. On your way back, you reach your hand into your purse, trying to take out your cherry flavored gum. You eventually find it but with it a little pink box brushes your hand. The cookie, you forgot to give it to Arlecchino.

Sat in her office, Arlecchino can't stop thinking about the kind-hearted baker she employed. Just looking at her interacting with the kids made something burn up inside of her. A little warmth that warms her cold, unfeeling heart. She looks out the window, hoping to have some reprieve from this strange feeling. Yet it seems the archons are against her wishes as she sees a certain baker running towards the orphanage. Almost tripping on her way. Even though it is foolish to entertain feelings for such a seemingly simple creature, Arlecchino can't help but grin at another interaction with her. Usually, she doesn't like to play with her food. But this time, she might make you an exception.

You stumble into the building as one of the kids, whom you now know is called Tealus, opens the door for you. With the pink box in hand, you stride through the halls looking for Arlecchino's office. As you ask one of the children, they point to the dark, long hallway without windows. How fitting. Your heels clicking softly as you walk over to her black office double doors. This place seems more like a villain's lair than an orphanage to you now, but you digress.

You knock 5 times in a specific pattern you were used to as a child when you hear a stern "Come in." You pull the golden doorhandle as the office window light starts flooding the hallway. You quickly close the door behind you as you step closer to her desk.

She does not look up from the paperwork on her desk as she multitasks without problem. "Why are you still here, baker." Just because she approves of your bond with the kids does not mean she will treat you differently from other people. "I saw there was nothing for you on the order list, so I made you something." You say proudly. You start rambling as you explain how you forgot to give it to her during breakfast.

She interrupts you as she reaches out her hand. "Can I see it?" You're flustered as you quickly hand her the box. She places it down gently on her desk as she lifts the packaging. Facing Arlecchino is a cookie with a white base, decorated with a black and red spider on top. "How adorable," Arlecchino mutters softly. Your soft 'huh' drives her back to reality as she responds. "I'm not very fond of sweet treats. I prefer savory things." She almost chuckles at the sight of your worried eyes locking with hers. "I can make you something else if you'd like? Hmm, although I can't think of many savory pasteries..." As you start naming some options, you reach for the cookie, trying to throw it away, but Arlecchino's quick reflexes hold your wrist before you can get close. "I thought you didn't like it?" Your confusion radiating off of you. "I never said such a thing. I merely said I prefer savory treats." She softly lets your wrist go as she stores the cookie on a desk extension behind her.

From then on, this has become routine, although some things have changed throughout the weeks. Instead of delivering the food alone, Arlecchino stops by early in the morning to help you carry them. Sometimes, it results in small talk when you haven't finished packing the orders yet.

Usually, she doesn't speak much and lets you do all the talking. You fear she's getting annoyed from your constant ramblings, but unbeknownst to you, she loves it when you talk about your interests and things you love.

This was a bit short, but if you wanna see a specific trope with this situation, you can req anything you wantt!!

Might do a part 2 of this idk yet

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #x reader #arlecchino #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino x reader #wlw post #wlw #i love arlecchino #i want to kiss her mouth as i sit on her lap

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iichaeyj · 3 months

Text

CAFÉ SUNSHINE

the barista working at your favorite café draws hearts onto your coffee cup, calls you her sunshine, and calls you the prettiest thing she’s ever seen—platonically, of course.

PAIRING: barista!sohyun x f!reader GENRE: fluff, lots of fluff WARNINGS: y/n is a little oblivious but she's trying her best, like one kms joke, one sort of suggestive joke ? WORD COUNT: 4.0k A/N: ik nobody asked for this but i saw no sohyun fics so i had to do it myself!!!!!

The lingering smell of fresh coffee hits your nose as you walk into the quaint, familiar café you’ve been visiting for months now, the bell at the top of the door ringing to signal your arrival. A small display on the counter shows you little cupcakes, cookies, and bagels you’ve all tried. Next to it, a small menu resides that shows off the various coffees and drinks the café serves its customers. You approach the counter, your eyes drifting to the only sound in the café besides the calming music in the background.

The sound of the espresso machine rings throughout the area, the shot of concentrated coffee flowing down into a little white cup made by the girl standing in front of the machine. Her long, dark hair flows behind her as she works. She’s dressed in a simple outfit suited for a barista, the white sleeves of her blouse rolled up as she concentrates on grinding coffee beans. Her apron is slightly messy with hints of coffee and whipped cream smeared onto the brown fabric, but she shows no sign of care on her face as she focuses on her current task. The veins in her hands become visible as she works, and her forearm muscles tighten as she finishes. She tilts her head down as she notices her messy hands, her side profile highlighting her jawline and the soft curve of her nose. The gold writing flashes as the sunlight reflects off her name tag, the bold letters spelling out “Sohyun” against the black background.

Sohyun turns towards you, her eyes looking up from the ground as she makes eye contact. Her lips part in surprise as she finally notices a customer, curling up at the ends when she sees that it’s not just any customer, but you. She brushes her hands off diligently on a clean towel before walking up to the register, flashing you a friendly smile. “Hey, sunshine,” Sohyun greets you, using the familiar nickname she applies only to you as she leans down against the counter with her arms crossed against the cool surface. She looks up at you as she tilts her head, staring for a moment as if to take in your appearance while she smiles brighter at the sight. “What can I get for you today?” she asks you, her sultry and smooth voice causing you to look away shyly.

“I don’t know,” you hum, glancing at the menu next to the register. “What do you suggest?” you ask, meeting her gaze again despite every part of your body struggling to hide the rosy blush currently creeping onto your cheeks.

“Why don’t you get something as sweet as yourself?” Sohyun says, grinning when she notices the soft blush becoming more prominent from her flirtatious words. “Maybe a blue lemonade?” she suggests, standing back up properly from her position leaning down on the counter.

“A blue lemonade?” you say, scanning the menu that offers no such option. “Since when did you start making that?” you ask her curiously.

“Since I noticed you beginning to crave sweeter and cooler things the hotter it gets,” Sohyun tells you with a small chuckle, gathering the ingredients from the cabinets.

You flush in embarrassment as she picks up on a habit you didn’t even know you had, wondering if you were easy to read or if she was just smart enough to figure you out. “Well as long as you make it, I’m sure I’ll like it,” you say sweetly, trying to flatter her while also avoiding processing the fact that Sohyun remembered something about you so easily.

Sohyun’s hand twitches slightly at your words, her back towards you as she begins working on your blue lemonade. “What if I accidentally make it really horrible? My job mainly requires me to handle shots of espresso, you know,” she jokes, preparing the sparkly blue drink.

“I trust you,” you tell her, smiling at her joke. “Ever since I started coming here, you’ve never given me anything bad,” you say happily.

You shiver as you walk down the streets of your neighborhood, the jacket around you doing little to nothing to prevent the cold air from attacking your skin. After walking downtown thinking you’d be fine, you regretted your choice as you walked back up the familiar streets in the freezing cold. Just as you begin thinking nothing could get worse than the 32 Fahrenheit weather you were currently trapped in, snowflakes suddenly begin floating down from the sky.

Letting out an exasperated sigh as the snow falls onto your hair, you look around the empty street. Although you lived nearby, you really didn’t want to be out in the cold after walking all the way here. You could practically feel your legs aching at the thought of climbing up these next few streets to get home. You notice a bright light coming from inside a small store, curious about the store you hadn’t seen previously. You sigh as the snow only begins getting heavier, shivering as you make your way towards the light that would surely offer you some comfort from the snowy weather.

You walk into the small store, looking around at the small plants placed around the space and the pieces of art that still have the price tags on them if you look closely enough. You notice the freshly dried paint on the walls and the lack of actual food or products on display, hinting at the place's newly opened status. The place was generally filled with the colors of white and brown, typical colors for a modern café. However, something about the cute, small café offered you space that differed from the world outside. The warm, golden lights shined down on you and almost instantly melted the snow on your hair, leaving you feeling much better than before. The area felt warm and comfortable, offering a safe space from the harsh weather outside.

As you look around, you fail to notice the barista behind the counter that was looking at you. Her eyes looked you up and down, bundled up in a warm jacket and a scarf that was too big on you. She smiled slightly at the sight of you, taking in your rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes as you looked around curiously.

“Can I help you?” the barista asks you, causing your head to snap up to stare at the girl. Her voice was low and raspy, causing you to unknowingly blush at the mere sound. As you try and calm yourself down, feeling stupid from being so easily embarrassed, your jaw nearly falls open as you take her in. She smiles kindly at you, looking into your eyes. Her eyes glisten with interest as she looks at you, clearly intrigued by your presence. Her hair is tied up behind her, allowing you to look over her sharp features. Her lips are shaped like hearts as they curl into a smile for you, which in turn highlights the pink on her prominent cheekbones. She had a mole on the bottom of her left eye and on her nose, adding to her already incredible features to make her look sophisticated.

She looked ethereal.

She was unlike anybody you’ve ever seen before. After you walked through the cold weather on streets covered by white snow with the gray sky looming overhead, the girl seemed like an otherworldly being with the way she captivated you with her warm smile and raspy voice. Her eyes crinkled up at the ends as she smiled, making you nearly fall over after noticing the small detail if it wasn't for the sound of her voice interrupting your thoughts.

“Hello?” she asks you, chuckling as she continues to stare at you kindly. You felt your legs wobble at her words. Hearing her low voice and her gentle laugh only made your attraction to her worse, a red tint coating your cheeks at the realization.

“Hi,” you say meekly, trying to offer her a smile you hoped wasn’t painfully awkward. “I was just trying to find shelter from the cold,” you tell her, struggling to meet her gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.

“So you didn’t mean to come here?” she asks you, a soft smile on her lips as she glances at your blushing cheeks.

You flush bright red in embarrassment, shaking your head quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you tell her quickly. “I’ve just never been here,” you explain shyly. “I live in this neighborhood, so I wanted to check this place out.”

“This place is a new café I'm getting set up,” she explains. “It may not look like much right now, but it'll get there,” she tells you, giving you a small wink.

You felt something awaken at the sight.

“You own this place?” you ask in surprise, staring at her as you take in her young appearance. Surely, she couldn't be more than a year older than you, if that.

“Yeah. I worked for it,” she shrugs, rubbing the back of her neck as she smiles bashfully. And if she noticed the way your eyes glanced at her exposed neck, she didn’t mention it.

“That’s cool!” you tell her earnestly, your eyes wide in surprise.

She glances at you, an amused smile playing on her lips as she notices your genuine enthusiasm for a person you had just met. “It’s nothing crazy,” she tells you, chuckling again which causes your heart to race. “Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll make something for you,” she tells you, nodding towards a seat nearby as she disappears off to the back.

As you take a seat, you hear her work in the back. You can hear lots of noises as she moves around, clearly struggling to find the right ingredients as you see flashes of her running back and forth in the back through the doorway. You smile slightly as you wait for her, feeling oddly flustered knowing that she was going through all this trouble just to make you something. You sigh and shake your head, trying to calm down the butterflies in your stomach that suddenly appeared as soon as you looked at the pretty barista. It wasn't like you to swoon over a person just because they're attractive, but as you see her eyebrows furrowing in concentration as you catch a glimpse of her searching for something, you feel your face heat up once again.

After a few moments, the girl walks back into the front of the café while holding a steaming coffee cup. “I made you some hot chocolate,” she tells you, smiling as she sets the cup down in front of you on your table.

You look at the mug in surprise, smiling at the sight of the drink she clearly worked hard to make. “You really didn’t have to,” you say shyly.

“I wanted to. It’s on the house,” she reassures you, smiling as she casually sits down across the table from you. “I hope you don’t mind if I take a seat. Considering the weather, I don’t think any more customers are gonna be arriving soon,” she says, glancing at the window where she could see the snowstorm only getting worse.

“I don’t mind at all,” you tell her a little too quickly, looking down at the coffee cup. “But what’s this?” you ask her, pointing to something on the cup.

“That? It’s a sun, of course,” she tells you, looking at the little sun outlined in sharpie on your cup. The sun is a sharp contrast to the otherwise modern and sleek design of the cup and logo of the café.

“Do you draw suns on most of your coffee cups?” you ask her curiously, taking a sip of the hot chocolate that warms your insides. The sweet taste coats your tongue as you swallow the drink, the soft marshmallow melting on your tongue.

“Nope,” she tells you, shaking her head. “I just thought it suited you, sunshine,” she says casually, smiling at the sight of you enjoying the drink she’s made for you.

You freeze at the sound of the nickname rolling off her tongue, hoping your face isn’t as red as it seemed. “‘Sunshine?’” you question quietly, glancing up at her from your drink.

“Well, I don’t know your name, and ‘sunshine’ seems to suit you,” she shrugs, smiling as she confidently meets your eyes. “You’re a warming presence, especially considering the state we’re in right now,” she hums, motioning toward the outside weather. “But if you don’t mind me asking, what is your name?” she asks you.

“My name’s Y/n,” you tell her shyly, your mind still reeling from her words. “What’s yours?”

“My name is Sohyun.”

“Yeah well, I wouldn’t wanna give my favorite customer a bad drink,” Sohyun says, smiling fondly at the memory of seeing you for the first time. Ever since then, you’ve been coming to her café multiple days throughout the week.

“So I’m your favorite?” you ask, teasing her as you lean over the counter to watch her make the drink.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she retorts back, turning her head to smile at you before continuing to make your drink. You two had gotten quite close in the past few months of seeing each other, making you comfortable enough around her to joke around and tease her, but you still couldn’t help the way you nearly folded just from seeing her throw you a smile.

“Well if it helps, you’re my favorite barista,” you tell her, trying to maintain a cool demeanor.

“I’d hope so,” Sohyun tells you, her voice low and calming as she mixes your drink for you. “I’d get a little jealous if I found out otherwise,” she mumbles out, causing your knees to buckle and your cheeks to flush yet again in her presence.

It’s words like these that affect you. From the way she calmly addresses you like you could be her lover to the way she smiles with her pretty lips, you can feel your crush on her growing worse and your heart growing heavier in your chest. In moments like this, it seemed like you hadn't changed at all from the first meeting where you had met Sohyun. However, no matter how wonderful she might make you feel, figuring out what she might really mean always drove you insane.

“I don’t even know if she likes girls!” you cry out for the millionth time, flopping onto your best friend’s bed.

“And for the last time, just ask her!” Xinyu groans, throwing a pillow at you.

You groan as you easily catch the pillow, staring up at her ceiling. “It’s not that simple,” you sigh, already blushing as you picture Sohyun’s face on the clear canvas of Xinyu’s ceiling.

Xinyu sighs, helping you sit up as she takes a seat next to you on her bed. “Okay, picture this,” she says, grabbing onto your shoulders for dramatic effect. “Imagine you’re walking into that café,” she says, painting a vision for you. “You’re wearing something pretty and you look smoking hot, and everybody is looking at you,” she says dramatically while ignoring the disgusted look you give her. “You stroll in and say to the cute barista girl ‘Are you gay? If you aren’t sure, wanna come over to my place and find out?’” she suggests, winking at you.

Xinyu groans as she gets pushed away, frowning at your disapproving look. She huffs as she straightens up, holding her hands up to show she’s just joking. “Okay, okay,” she sighs. “But honestly, it sounds like she does like you. I mean, what straight girl looks you dead in the eyes and refers to you as her ‘sunshine?’” she deadpans.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “But as much as it may seem like she’s flirting, how do I know she’s being serious? She may call me sweet things and tell me I’m pretty, but she’s never asked for my number or anything like that,” you tell her.

“Maybe she’s waiting for you to make the first move,” Xinyu tells you, shrugging casually. “It sounds like she’s consistently doing things for you ever since the two of you first met. Maybe she’s just waiting for you to initiate something for once,” she suggests, her eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Why can’t she just do it?” you whine, placing your head in your hands.

Xinyu snorts at your words, smiling at your hunched-over figure. “No offense girl, but you’re not exactly a walking pride flag,” she sighs, patting your back to comfort you. “She probably has no idea if you’re gay or not. You just gotta ask her to find out.”

“What if she punches me in the face and tells me to kill myself,” you mumble out, visibly distressed.

Xinyu rolls her eyes, groaning loudly. “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you two get married and I include this in my maid of honor speech,” she chuckles out, sighing as she looks around her room aimlessly.

She raises an eyebrow when she sees the now empty coffee cup you had just gotten from visiting Sohyun at her café. She picks up the cup, looking at the scribbled writing on the side before she throws it down and turns to you dramatically. “I swear to god if you don’t just ask for her number already,” she groans as she throws another pillow at you, the cup rolling around on the ground with the words ‘for the prettiest girl i know’ written on its side.

Sohyun turns back around as she finishes making your drink, smiling at you once again. “Here, try it,” she tells you, handing you your blue lemonade. You swear you feel the electricity flowing between you two as her fingers brush against yours.

As you put your lips on the edge of the cup, her eyes flicker between you and your lips as she watches you swallow the smooth drink. “Is it good?” she asks you curiously.

“Yeah, it’s really good,” you tell her happily, the smooth liquid running down your throat. The blue lemonade is refreshing and light for your taste buds, offering you a cool refreshment fitting for the hot weather.

Sohyun smiles brightly at your words, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. Her cheekbones become more visible as her lips curl up, a soft blush painting her face at your compliment. “I’m glad,” she mumbles shyly, clearing her throat as she glances between you and the drink in your hand.

Her eyes flicker as she stares at the cup, suddenly realizing something as she hastily grabs the sharpie nearby. “Wait, let me see that,” she says, reaching for the cup that you willingly hand to her.

“What is it?” you ask curiously, staring at her as she sets the cup down on the counter and leans down again.

“I forgot your sun,” she mumbles out, focusing on the cup as she draws on it. Her fingers move carefully, taking longer than normal as the black ink stains the side of your cup. She turns it back to you after she’s done, standing back up as she hands you your drink back with a satisfied smile.

You smile at the signature sun gracing the side of your drink, turning the drink when you notice another drawing on the other side. “What’s this?” you ask curiously as you point to the new, small drawing of a heart. “You don’t normally do this,” you mumble out, gently touching the little detail.

“It’s my heart,” Sohyun says quietly, smiling shyly as she glances at the drawing before looking at you. “I guess you could say I’m giving my heart to you,” she chuckles out, trying to hide her blush under her joking tone. Normally, you'd laugh it off with her or try and hope your heart wasn't beating loud enough for her to hear, but as you notice her expectant gaze, you feel your heart racing in a way it hasn't ever done before.

You stare down at the little heart carefully drawn onto your drink, thinking about everything Sohyun has done for you in the past. From the times she’s given you free drinks and desserts to the little discreet touches of her hands against yours, you feel your cheeks heat up at the memories. You could practically hear Xinyu screaming at you to get it together and say some cheesy pickup line to the girl standing in front of you.

“Do you really think I’m the prettiest girl you know?” you ask her quietly, looking up from the cup to look into her eyes.

Sohyun’s eyes widen at your words, her breath hitching as she recalls the note she once wrote for you. Her eyes stare into yours, the blush on her cheeks matching yours as she fumbles with the sharpie still in her hand. She stares at you intensely, her glimmering eyes darting from your eyes and your expectant gaze to your parted lips coated with a pretty gloss. She stares at the drink in your hand that she had spent days working on to make sure it would match your taste and include only high-quality ingredients.

Slowly, she nods her head. “The prettiest in the world, actually,” she mumbles out.

Your cheeks heat up at her words, fumbling with the drink as you quickly set it down on the counter to avoid spilling it. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your mind going blank as you think of what to say.

“Are you gay?” you blurt out, staring at her as you feel your cheeks flush in embarrassment. “If you aren’t sure, wanna come over to my place and find out?” you stammer out before you can stop yourself.

You feel your face burn hot and your hands tremble as you stare at her, suddenly feeling like you shouldn’t come back to this café ever again. You try to think of an excuse, anything to get you out of this situation. However, you suddenly hear Sohyun burst into laughter.

Sohyun throws her head back, laughing loudly as her eyes turn into crescents and her cheeks puff out from how hard she’s smiling. Her lips part as she laughs, struggling to contain her fits of laughter as she smiles brightly at you. “Shouldn’t you be inviting me out to dinner first?” she asks between the angelic sounds of her laughter.

You nod quickly, trying to save face as you play with the pendant on the necklace around your neck. “That would probably be better,” you mumble out, shyly glancing at her smiling face.

Sohyun smiles fondly at your obvious embarrassment, grabbing your drink as she writes her number on it. She hands your drink back to you after doing so, writing it boldly so that you can’t miss it. Her fingers touch yours firmly this time, lingering for a moment before pulling away. “But maybe I’ll take you up on that offer after a few dates?” she suggests, grinning when she sees your face heat up more at her simple words.

As you hold onto the drink tightly, you glance at her number before looking back up at her. “Maybe,” you mumble out sheepishly, struggling to think properly. “I’ll text you,” you tell her, dying to get out of here before you can embarrass yourself anymore.

Sohyun watches as you walk away from her, glancing at your ears that are bright red from the lingering embarrassment. She smiles as she admires you, calling out to you before you go. “Be careful with my heart,” she calls out as you leave, her gaze never leaving your back as you hurry out of the café.

You stare down at the cup as you walk out of the café, your thumb gently caressing the heart Sohyun drew on the coffee cup as you go about your day with a smile on your face.

taglist: @thaaiss89 @wccycc @enhacolor @raikea10 @acciomylove @lyric23 @luv4dream @duolingofanaccount @kenqki @kpoprhia

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guiltyasdave · 9 months

Text

it’s the season

part of the space sisters secret santa 2023 - for @pascalispretty, merry christmas sophie! 🫶🏻

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: ~ 1.8k

summary: Joel had promised his daughters that they would bake Christmas cookies this weekend - which turns out to be more complicated than he had anticipated. Fortunately, their new neighbor next door can help.

tags: AU! no outbreak, Joel has both of his daughters, FLUFF, hints at reader’s sad backstory but nothing specific, mentions of alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, I think that’s it? Let me know if I missed something <3

dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🫶🏻

full masterlist here

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs and turn on notifications for fic updates

shoutout to @reddedmiller for holding my hand while writing this and convincing me that it’s not trash, i love you bby <3

It’s Sunday, one week until Christmas, and Joel Miller is beginning to lose his mind.

His daughters had been bugging him about baking Christmas cookies with them for weeks, and he wants nothing more than to make them happy, but while Joel is many things, he’s certainly not a baker.

Work has been hectic lately, which apparently led to him forgetting to buy the ingredients that the girls swear up and down they had requested several times.

He’s had to sent Sarah to ask one of their neighbors to lend them something twice now and by the looks of it, he’s gonna have to do it a third time. She groans and insists to take Ellie with her this time, complaining about how this is “sooooo embarrassing, Dad!”

You furrow your brow when your doorbell rings for the third time in half an hour, a slightly disbelieving look on your face when you open the door and once again reveal the young girl from next door standing on your porch, this time accompanied by who you think is her younger sister.

You only moved into the house a month ago and don’t really know any of your neighbors, except for the elderly couple that lives a few houses over. They had introduced themselves hours after you moved in and have tried to invite you to come to Sunday church with them several times, an invitation that you consistently decline.

You know the girls though, you often see them through your windows, constantly pestering their father, who constantly fends them off in a kind of gruffy but clearly loving manner.

The girl who had introduced herself as “Sarah” when she first came by thirty minutes ago to ask for baking powder smiles at you apologetically.

“Hi… again. I’m so sorry, do you by any chance have cinnamon as well?”

You can't help but laugh this time. “What are you guys even doing over there? I think I do, why don’t you come in while I go check?” They nod and follow you into your kitchen where you start digging through your supply of baking ingredients.

“Our Dad said he’d bake Christmas cookies with us today, but he forgot to get the groceries for it,” the other girl explains. “I’m Ellie, by the way.” You smile and tell her your name, then hand over the cinnamon to them.

“That’s very sweet of your Dad,” you remark, “I’m sure he’s trying his best.”

Ellie’s eyes fly over your neatly organized collection of ingredients and baking utensils, then her face lights up with an idea.

“Hey! You look like you’re a good baker and our Dad is really struggling to be honest. Do you want to come over and join us?”

“Ellie,” Sarah argues, “you can’t just invite people like that, I’m sure she has plans already.”

You don’t, to be fair, but you’ve never spoken to their father before, who’s rather giving the impression that he likes to keep to himself.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude…” you begin, when Sarah looks around herself and notices that you don’t have any Christmas decorations up around your house.

“Or do you not celebrate Christmas?” she asks, “You obviously don’t have to come if that’s not…”

Your heart warms at how considerate the young girl is trying to be. “No I do, I just didn’t…” you trail off, not sure how to explain that it feels pointless putting up decorations just for yourself and that you don’t want the reminders that it will be the first Christmas in your life that you’ll be spending completely alone. You shake your head and plaster a smile on your face. You do like baking and maybe this will help getting you into the spirit.

“You know what? Okay, if it’s alright with your Dad, I’ll come over and see how I can help.”

Both girls beam at you and you follow them over to their house, where you find their Dad elbows deep in a mixing bowl with dough sticking to his fingers and swearing to himself under his breath. You feel awkward and definitely like an intruder but the girls’ mouths are going a mile a minute, explaining how you had soooo many baking supplies and that you had agreed to help them.

Their Dad introduces himself as “Joel” and you feel your cheeks heating when you notice how attractive he is up close. You had already thought that when you’ve seen him from afar, but now that you’re standing in his kitchen, it really hits you. Trying to snap out of it, you take a closer look at the dough that he’s fighting with.

“This needs more flour, then it’ll be less sticky,” you mutter, suddenly feeling a bit shy, and go to add it to the mix in his bowl. He huffs a “Thanks” and you smile, still fighting the heat in your cheeks but also feeling excitement buzz through you as your hand brushes against his when you pull back.

The girls kick back into action then, throwing several recipes at you that they want to try and you do your best to coordinate it all, running back to your place for ingredients several times, accompanied by an apologetic look from Joel every time, but you honestly don’t mind. His daughters are adorable and you’re having more fun than you’ve had in months.

Sarah turns on the radio and Christmas songs sound through the kitchen. With the music in your ear and the smell of freshly baked cookies in your nose, you feel at ease, comfortable.

When all the cookies are baked and thoroughly taste tested, the girls retreat to their rooms on the upper floor, leaving you and Joel alone in the kitchen. You find that you don’t want to leave, don’t want to go back to that big empty house where it’s just you, not now that you’ve basked in the warmth of this family home right next to yours all day. And just maybe, you want to spend more time with Joel.

“I have a bottle of pretty good red wine, shall I go and bring that? Half of my kitchen’s contents are here already” you joke and Joel laughs.

“I’m sorry about that, I’m usually better prepared, but work’s been crazy these weeks and the girls insisted on baking today, so…” He scratches his neck and you smile at him.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve had a great time today. Finally got me into the holiday spirit a bit, I kinda really needed that.”

You walk over and take the wine bottle back to his place where you sit down in the living room, the Christmas tree that has been mostly decorated by the girls shining in the corner and the several strings of fairy lights that Sarah has spread all over the room glowing around you.

You feel a warmth and comfort that you haven’t felt in a long time, but also a kind of envy for this feeling of family, of how clearly this man and the two girls belong together, how their house is basically imbued with love for each other. A feeling that you’re not sure you’ve ever had, but that you suddenly find yourself desperately longing for.

“So…” Joel begins, a faint expression of uncertainty on his face. “Is it just you over there, or…?” You understand what he’s asking and nod, a wry smile playing around your lips.

“Yeah, it’s- it’s a bit of a long story, really, but yes, it’s just me.” The understanding is clear on his face and he doesn’t push you, sensing that you don’t want to expand on the subject and you’re grateful.

You still talk about both of your pasts, where you grew up, where you went to school, learning that Joel lost his parents when he was young, only two years after he had Sarah, how it had been just the both of them in the beginning, with the addition of his younger brother whom he speaks of with the loving kind of exasperation that only an older sibling can muster up, and how he adopted Ellie a few years later.

You finish the bottle quicker than you would like to, and when Joel walks you home and you’re both stood in front of your door, you’re drunk on more than the red wine, a happiness in your veins that warms you from within.

Joel clears his throat, his eyes trained on your face.

“Listen, I don’t want ya to feel pressured or nothin’, but would you want to come over for Christmas Eve? ‘S just me an’ the girls, nothin’ fancy, just-“ he shrugs, his hands buried in his pockets, “don’t like the thought of you alone in this house on Christmas.”

It might be embarrassing how quickly you say “yes”, but you can’t bring yourself to feel that way. A smile stretches across Joel’s face as he tells you “good night” and kisses your cheek before you step into your house and watch him walk back to his.

Christmas at the Miller household is one of the best evenings that you’ve ever had. Sarah and Ellie have gone all out on the decorations now that they have a guest, leaving twinkling lights, glitter and ornaments in every corner and on every surface, Joel makes a surprisingly good dinner, you’re playing board games with the girls that dissolve into fights between them most of the time, everyone is talking over each other and you’re all eating chocolate until you’re sick with the sugar high.

Late in the evening, with both of the girls softly snoring on the couch, tangled up in each other like two overly large kittens, Joel and you are sharing another bottle of wine. You feel so full of happiness that you feel like you might burst, a smile on your face that feels like it’s never gonna leave again.

When it’s time for you to go home, Joel stands with you and walks with you to his front door. “Thank you again, for inviting me,” you smile at him, “this was probably the best Christmas Eve that I’ve ever had.”

He nods, his gaze dancing between your eyes and your lips.

“Merry Christmas,” you murmur, butterflies erupting in your stomach. He leans in and you hesitantly do the same. Before you can overthink it, you cradle his face in your hands and pull him towards you, your lips meeting in a soft kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers against your lips.

i hope you liked this!!! merry christmas and happy holidays 🫶🏻

#space sisters secret santa 2023 #janas fics #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel and sarah #joel and ellie #joel tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fluff

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 3 months

Note

Pack mom!Stiles steter fics?

i anon! @kevaaronday made this list for you.

How A Pack Should Be by xcaellachx (1/1 | 25,071 | Teen | Steter) Ever since the Nogitsune caused havoc and nearly killed several people, Stiles had been alone. No texts, no emails, calls, nothing. Even his father had become distant and no longer acted when Stiles woke screaming in the night.

Giving the Hale/McCall pack one more chance, Stiles arrives at the loft for the pack meeting and is greeted by an unfathomable violent attack. From nearly every pack member.

After being warned he would be killed if he stayed in California, Peter and the few who supported Stiles, left for a new pack who loved them, taught them and made them a pack with a surprising new alpha.

In Violent Devotion by friendlyfiction (4/12 | 23,331 | Mature | Steter) 10 years ago, Peter Hale ran away from Beacon Hills and the promise that he made to a boy in love for the first time.

10 years ago, Stiles woke up in bed alone, left with broken promises and empty bed sheets.

In the decade since, they’ve both grown and changed, putting years and miles between themselves and the memory of what almost was until disparate circumstances bring these two men back to Beacon Hills, where their lives will once again collide.

They may be different people now, but will they still feel that same pull of violent devotion that drew them together in the first place?

All I Need Is You (And Cookies) by SincerelyLittle (13/13 | 18,196 | Gen | Steter) “Daddy Stiles!” those are the words that ring out the Hale’s backyard, everything seems to stand still for a moment while Stiles opens his eyes to the sight of long brown hair, beautiful brown eyes and a freckled face. He doesn’t blame anyone for believing the kid when she looks so convincingly like a daughter of his own would.

Since said child is so cute, he can forgive her for potentially starting world war 3 - or at least he thought he could until the next words were "Daddy Peter and I brought cookies!" At least he'll have cookies in the middle of battle.

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down by Ravenxxx97 (3/? | 9,481 | Explicit | Steter) Still wracked with guilt months after Peter's death, Stiles struggles to move on from the loss while everyone else focuses on the Kanima. His dreams are plagued with memories of Peter, both good and bad. After getting kidnapped by Gerard the night of the lacrosse game, Stiles is faced with the Argents' lies and is pushed to his limits as he fights to rescue himself, Erica, and Boyd. When he arrives to the warehouse to rescue Derek from Gerard and Allison, his world is turned upside down once again when he finds Peter Hale there, alive and breathing as if everything from the past few months never happened.

Can things between them be repaired?

I Crave Your Bite ( I belong to you ) by Suzuki_Motors (1/1 | 4,132 | Explicit | Steter) Stiles has known for awhile now that he wanted the bite. So what's stopping him when Derek would love to gift him such a thing?

#teen wolf #steter #stiles stilinski #peter hale #pack mom!stiles #anon

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lockburn-castle · 23 days

Text

the city of love

synopsis in which dokyeom proposes to yn in Paris pairing nonidol!lee dokyeom x gn!reader genre fluff warnings dk being anxious, a small part about cabarets, terms of endearment/petnames, kisses, reader wears a dress, that's all i can think of (do let me know if theres more) word count 1.9k

playlist cant help falling in love marry you

notes: been loving romcoms for a while and decided to write this story based on what id like my proposal to look like HAHAHA hope yall like it !! p.s. 10 things i hate about you is one of my favourites <3 do give me more ideas for fics in the cmmts or send me an ask !!

As Dokyeom paced around the room, his mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts. The suitcase in front of him was half-packed, clothes neatly folded, but his thoughts were anything but organized. The idea of proposing to you filled him with both excitement and anxiety. He glanced at the bag of balloons he’d slipped into his luggage, a reminder of the grand plan he had meticulously crafted for a few months now.

“What if they don’t say yes, hyung?” Dokyeom fretted, pacing around their room as he packed for the trip with Y/N. His phone was on speaker, and he were calling the group for some last-minute advice.

“Have you seen the way they look at you?” Seungkwan’s voice came through, trying to sound reassuring. “I’m pretty sure they’ll say yes.”

“If they say no, can I steal them from you?” Dino joked with a laugh. “They make amazing cookies.”

“Not helping,” Dokyeom mumbled, nervously folding another shirt into their suitcase.

Dokyeom's fingers brushed the edge of the velvet ring box, its weight a tangible symbol of his hopes and fears. “I just hope everything goes smoothly. What if all this effort is for nothing? They might leave me.”

“Don’t worry about all of that,” Jeonghan advised gently. “Remember to have fun. Trust the plan. Everything will fall into place if it’s meant to be.”

“And don’t forget to pack the ring,” S.Coups chimed in with a grin that Dokyeom could practically hear.

Dokyeom took a deep breath, nodding even though no one could see him. “Alright, I think I’m all packed. Let’s hope everything goes according to plan.” He muttered the last part.

Everything had gone surprisingly well so far. You and Dokyeom had talked about this trip to Paris for years, but something always got in the way. Now, finally, both of you were able to take a seven-day leave and make it happen. The city felt like something out of a dream — timeless, and full of hidden wonders.

On the first day, after landing in Paris, you both felt the excitement settle in as you headed straight to the Louvre. The enormous layout of the museum took your breath away as you went inside, surrounded by art from all around the world. Walking hand in hand, you wove through the maze of halls, pausing at famous works like the Mona Lisa and Winged Victory of Samothrace.

When you reached the sculpture Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss, you both stood in awe. The way the marble figures intertwined seemed almost too lifelike, as if they were frozen in a moment of affection. You couldn’t help but admire the way the light bounced off the smooth stone, highlighting every detail. Dokyeom’s arm hugged your waist as you both took in the beauty and history surrounding you.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” You whispered, eyes fixed on the sculpture.

Dokyeom nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah, but you know what’s even more beautiful?” He turned to look at you, his smile widening.

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him gently. “You’re such a cheeseball.”

“I mean it, though,” he chuckled, squeezing your hand. “I still can’t believe we’re here. Together.”

In that moment, surrounded by art and history, everything felt perfectly right.

You spent more time at the Louvre than planned, snapping tons of photos for Instagram and for your own memories.

On the second day, you and Dokyeom decided to explore the Montmartre, starting with the stunning Sacré-Cœur Basilica. The white domes stood out against the sky, offering an amazing view of Paris below. Inside, the intricate mosaics shimmered in the light, creating a serene atmosphere as you took in the stunning architecture.

After leaving the Basilica, you strolled through the nearby Place du Tertre, a lively square filled with the buzz of street artists and their easels. You and Dokyeom sat down to get your portraits done, soaking in the lively atmosphere. The atmosphere was vibrant, with the sounds of sketching, laughter, and conversations blending together into a perfect Montmartre experience.

After a delicious lunch at a little café, you both headed to the Musée d'Orsay. There, you found yourself captivated by masterpieces from artists like Van Gogh and Monet. Each painting seemed to pull you into its world, and the museum’s elegant interior only enhanced the experience. The two of you wandered through the halls, taking in every detail of the beautiful works of art.

As evening approached, your excitement began to build. You were about to experience the legendary Moulin Rouge, a cabaret show in Paris you’d heard so much about. Dokyeom, always full of surprises, had secretly bought tickets for the famous venue. As you arrived, the bright lights, vibrant costumes, and captivating performances whisked you away to a world of entertainment you had only dreamed of. Checking "watching a cabaret show" off your bucket list felt even more magical than you had imagined.

By the third day, you decided to slow things down, spending the afternoon at the Champ de Mars for a picnic, with the Eiffel Tower looming gracefully above. You both laughed as you watched tourists pose dramatically in front of the landmark, feeling content in your own world together. Later, you took a scenic cruise along the Seine River, the water shimmering in the late afternoon light.

The two of you returned to the hotel room early to prepare for a special dinner at the Eiffel Tower, a night you had anticipated with excitement. You had chosen a stunning white Chanel mini dress, its chic simplicity accentuated by black off-shoulder sleeves that framed your shoulders gracefully. A delicate ribbon, adorned with a Chanel camellia, cinched the waist, adding a touch of timeless elegance. The soft glow of the evening light made the fabric shimmer subtly as you moved.

Dokyeom had chosen a new suit to complement your outfit. His classic black and white suit was impeccably tailored, with a simple yet elegant Chanel brooch pinned to the lapel.

“I had to pick out a new suit to match you, you know,” he said with a playful smile. “And I didn’t want to risk being turned away because of the dress code.”

“I'm glad though. You look handsome as always.”

After taking some photos on the balcony, you headed out to the restaurant. As you were about to leave, Dokyeom asked you to wait outside while he spoke with the concierge.

You were puzzled by the request, but when he returned, he explained that he had arranged for extra towels and soap to be delivered to your room. You didn’t think much of it and continued your way to the dinner venue.

The both of you indulged in a long-awaited culinary experience at Le Jules Verne, a restaurant you had been eager to visit ever since seeing it in Murder Mystery 2. Dining high above Paris with panoramic views of the city, the experience was as unforgettable as you had hoped. The sophisticated atmosphere and exquisite cuisine made it a perfect end to a delightful day — or so you thought.

Back at the hotel, Dokyeom asked you to close your eyes. He gently guided you into the room, covering your eyes with his hands.

“Close your eyes.”

“What are you up to? Don’t do anything silly; this dress is expensive!” you chided, knowing he might do something playful.

“Relax, I’m not doing anything stupid. Are they closed?”

“Yes, kyeom, they are. What’s going on?”

“Keep them closed. I’ll let go now.”

He removed his hands, and you heard him shuffling things around. “Okay, you can open them now.”

You slowly opened your eyes and took in the breathtaking scene before you. Rose petals were delicately scattered from the entrance of the hotel room, leading to a heart-shaped arrangement in the center, where Dokyeom stood, enveloped in a sea of petals. He held a bouquet of roses, their vibrant colors contrasting beautifully with the soft light of the room. Silver balloons floated on the windows, their reflective letters spelling out “Marry Me?” Your heart raced as you took in every detail, feeling a wave of emotion swell within you.

As you stepped further into the room, Dokyeom moved to stand within the heart of petals, his eyes full of love and nervous anticipation. He handed you the bouquet, his hands trembling slightly, then knelt down with a deep breath, pulling out a ring box. Your breath hitched as you saw the ring — its diamond gleamed with a brilliance that seemed to capture all the warmth and love in the room, shimmering with every flicker of light.

“Dokyeom…”

“Y/N, love, these five years with you have been the most incredible of my life. You’ve been my rock through every high and low, my constant when everything else was uncertain. I can’t imagine a future without you, and I want to continue building that future together. I want to create more memories with you, face every challenge side by side, and share every joy. My love for you is beyond words. Will you marry me?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over as you nodded, your voice choked with emotion. “Yes, of course I will. I love you so much.” You extended your left hand, and with a gentle, reverent touch, he slid the ring onto your finger. The moment felt suspended in time, the diamond’s brilliance reflecting your shared happiness and the promise of a future together.

“Okay, thank God, because my heart was pounding and my knees were killing me,” he joked, making you laugh as you admired the ring.

“I had it custom-made.”

“Really? It’s perfect,” you said, turning your hand to catch the light. The ring’s elegant design and intricate details made it feel even more special. “I love it.”

“Yeah. I thought you’d like it more this way. I had fun designing it and made sure to include all the details you love,” he said, as you admired the diamond sparkling in the moonlight.

“Thank you, Dokyeom. This has been absolutely amazing.” You looked at him and gave him a kiss.

“Let’s take some pictures!” you said, grabbing your camera.

That night, after posting some photos on Instagram, your phone buzzed incessantly with congratulations and likes. But you barely noticed, wrapped up in the comfort of late-night snacks and your favorite movies, nestled beside your new fiancé.

“By the way, how did you pull off that incredible surprise?” you asked, gazing at Dokyeom with curiosity.

“Well, the concierge is a secret weapon,” Dokyeom said with a mischievous grin. “They’re like fairy godparents for tonight. I think they were so charmed by the proposal that they didn’t charge me a thing. They said it was the sweetest thing they’d ever seen — except maybe the time a couple asked them to help with a proposal on a gondola in Venice. ”

You laughed softly, feeling a rush of warmth and affection. “I love you, Dokyeom,” you said, your voice soft as you gazed into his eyes.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he replied. He gently pressed a kiss to your forehead, a gesture that made your heart swell even more.

In that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the room and the cozy comfort of each other’s presence, everything felt perfect.

You had always thought people exaggerated when they called Paris the city of love. But experiencing it firsthand, you couldn’t agree more.

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mochiwrites · 6 months

Text

secret husbands au — master post!

since… that’s a thing I need now, apparently! :D

this is a collection of all of the important bits of the au! scar and grian knew one another pre-hermitcraft! they were married long before scar joined back in season 4. none of the hermits actually know they’re married because they’re oblivious. and they think scar and grian have been pining after each other for years. so they decide to get them together!

there is hermitshipping involved (obviously) so if that’s not your thing, this au isn’t for you!

also this au is like 95% fluff and 5% angst. sorry angst lovers, the fluff enjoyers get well fed with this one

caution: things might get a little suggestive, but that’s it. no real warnings for this au!

- main tag: #secret husbands au

fics/drabbles.

scarian’s first meeting / the cuddle curse / avalanche / scarian’s reunion / scar's birthday / scar proposing /

arts.

secret husbands ; by @nothavinganygoodtimes / drabble ; by @hermitcraft-my-beloved /

hypixel era.

scar backstory / how grian and scar met / rough timeline / the roommate offer / scar job hunt / jellie / scar's nightmare / scar baking cookies / dating? / grian being sick / the proposal: one ; two ; / scarian cooking (or... trying to) / grian goodtimes: one ; two / scar twig to hunk / scar and food / scar being touch starved / from tcd to hypixel /

hermit s4 - evo.

scar joining hermitcraft: one ; two ; / hermits knowing g went missing / scar and grian's sweater / grian losing his wedding ring: one ; two / grian showing scar his watcher form / scar becoming vex / cub and scar / grian not looking for scar /

hermitcraft.

grian joining hermitcraft / closure from evo / grian's reaction to scar vex / bdubs starts it / season 6 thoughts: one ; two ; / season 7 thoughts: one ; two ; / season 8 thoughts: one ; / season 9 thoughts: one ; / season 10 thoughts: one ; / sweater and blanket: one ; two / king ren arc: one ; / mycelium resistance/mayor stuff: one ; two ; three ; four / grian and food / grian and sensory overload /

life series.

potential life series / differences in third life /

lore asks.

how they show affection / the betting pool / vow renewals / martyn voice: scar is tricking a married man! / why no one realizes in s6 / empires knowing / scar and grian's bets / nightmares: one ; two ; / grian playing with scar's hair / grian and nests / "avian" grian: one ; two ; three ; four ; / mcc / vex lore / watcher lore / scar doing art / eating habits / wearing each others clothes / scarian getting their suits / old suits for renewal / scar's bday /

misc.

the initial post / third life thoughts / "why didn't you tell me we were dating?" / who knows vs who doesn't / "I sure hope he does" / secret husbands syndrome / scarian's marriage / "scar loves you" /

#secret husbands au #CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE FACT THAT THIS AU IS ONLY 3 DAYS OLD #AND THERE'S ALREADY SO MUCH UNDER THE LORE ASKS SECTION #JFC JGHFJKHGF /POS #also I will. just say.#that if any art of this au starts circulating it will be added here #I thought it might've been presumptuous to add an art section jkghdfhgfgj

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f1version · 9 months

Text

SANTA DOESN’T KNOW YOU LIKE I DO ‧͙*̩̩͙❅ MSC47

pairing: Mick Schumacher x reader ( she/her )

summary: Mick and you have been best friends for years, been through the good and bad, but feelings change and thoughts spiral. Will this holiday time make both of you realize that you could be the one?

warnings/info: fluff, best friends to lovers, miscommunication (they’re avoiding each other), kissing, a bit of anxiety, a try-to hallmark movie my way through fics.

word count: 2.1k words

note: inspired on sabrina carpenter’s song! hope you like it, have a good day and happy holidays!

snowglobe, a holiday special

DECEMBER 20, 2023

It’s cold outside; snow is falling everywhere but not with enough force to block the streets or close the stores. Usually, when the weather looks like this, you would call Mick and bake those cookies he loves. He would put on his ‘Emotional Support’ apron and pretend to help. You would tease him about how he never does anything, just there to eat, and he would laugh, eyes lighten up, and say something along the lines of—I just passed you the flour! or whatever ingredient he helped you grab from the shelf ten minutes back.

Sometimes you wonder how you ended up in this place, so desperately in love with your best friend, with butterflies in your stomach when he hugs you, a silly smile on your face when he tells some awful joke, and an enormous fear of telling him, sort of. It doesn’t matter; that won't stop you from baking cookies on such a pretty snowy day.

You: Wanna come over? I’m making cookies

Mick: Very busy right now

Mick: Just do them without me

You: that's alright

Here’s the thing: Mick’s been acting as cold as snow since the last time you saw each other a week ago. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, not that you are aware of; you were watching Hallmark movies together, and he decided to leave abruptly before the movie ended. Maybe it’s just an emergency, he said, but he’s been running away from you for days, your friends confused over the whole thing.

You wonder if he’s noticed. Lately, your friends have spent a lot of time telling you how obvious it looks—shiny eyes paired with a never-ending smile. They have also suggested it’s mutual, which you hope because all you've wanted to do before your family's Christmas party is to confess, but who knows, maybe you’ve all been watching too many movies.

DECEMBER 22, 2023

“Are you sure you didn’t do anything to make him mad?” Alicia, your best friend, asks. She came in to leave some decorations for the party on Sunday, but one life update lent to another and of course, the Mick situation came up.

“It doesn't even seem like he’s mad at me,” You say because it’s true, you’ve known Mick long enough to know how he acts when mad, “he’s just ignoring me.”

She sighs. “Then why don’t you ask him what’s wrong?”

You’ve asked yourself that a couple of times, but the answer is still not clear, usually is as easy as walking down the street to his house but this time the thought overwhelms you. “Because I'm scared?” You answer, out of breath. “I don't know. I’m focusing on the party, especially because Mom doesn’t come back until tomorrow evening.”

“Honestly, my suggestion is for you to ask him before the party.”

You sigh, knowing she’s right. The Christmas party is a tradition your families started eleven years ago, after Alicia, Gina, Esteban, Mick, and you decided to become inseparable at one of Mick’s birthday parties. This year it will be hosted at your family home, and with your mom away in Germany for a work conference, you’ve had your friends come around and help. They’ve all shown up but Mick. What the hell is his problem?

“I know Ali but,” Your phone starts ringing, Mickey is displayed on your screen with a picture of Mick carrying Angie. Alicia rolls her eyes and encourages you to take it with her head. “Hello?”

“Hi. I'm panicking a bit,” he says, the background noise lets you know he's in his car.

“Why?” You ask, forgetting you were having a crisis on this. “Is everything okay?”

He sighs. “It’s embarrassing, but I have no idea what to get your mom,” he says, and you laugh. Last year, you were having this exact crisis about Corinna.

You hum, thinking, “She wanted new pedals for her bike. Loved some she saw in Bike World; you’ll have to drive a bit, but I’ll send you the pic.” You put your phone away, change the call to speaker, and open messages, sending the picture your mom sent you a month ago. “There you go.”

“You are a lifesaver.”

You smile, letting out a laugh. “I know, idiot.”

“Bye, love you,” he says. Your calls always end like this; it’s a habit, so you mutter Love you back and hang up.

Alicia is staring at you, a grin on her red lips. “I hate both of you,” and she laughs, grabbing her keys and purse, about to leave. You’re somehow dumbfounded.

“What?”

“Bye, love you. Love you,” she mimics, and you feel heat rise up your cheeks. “You guys really need to talk; I’m done dealing with him too.”

“What? Ali, it’s a ha-”

“I’m coming back at six”

“Alicia!”

“Just ask him!” She closes de door before you can even ask her to come back.

DECEMBER 24, 2023

Needless to say, you didn’t talk with Mick on the 23rd. Too busy dealing with the party and, as Esteban said, too busy avoiding the topic.

Now it’s 7 p.m., warm lights tint the house while friends and family sway along the music in the background. Mick has been around since ten in the morning, bringing presents, a couple of ingredients that your mom was missing, and decorations, which he then helped put together. Now he’s just in full black attire, wine in hand, singing along to the song playing. Once again, you're too busy in your world to notice him approaching you.

“You always know which songs to play,” he says. Because he knows it’s your playlist reproducing. You know that’s one of his favorite songs.

“I try my best. But I also know it’s one of your favorites,” you answer, and he hums. There’s a void between you, one that hasn't been there before. It's not the tension when you fight or the longing when you're upset; it's not the excitement of seeing each other after months of traveling or the mischief when you prank your friends. It’s different—something that has been building itself for months—and you are too oblivious to understand what it is.

“You look beautiful,” Mick says, not looking at you but at his drink. He’s looked at you enough tonight, he thinks. You look up, suddenly feeling an outrageous urge to kiss him. Try and see if that’s the answer to all your questions.

He’s faster though, clears his throat, and says, “I’m going for more cookies.”

And he leaves. Your eyes stay on his back as he takes one cookie from the snack table. See him hum to the taste. You smile, bittersweet, What is going on, Mick? You want to shout at him, tell him in a million different ways how confusing all of this is, but that’s a talk for tomorrow; you’ve decided, you can't escape it any longer then.

"Shatz,” Someone calls and then says your name.

“Hm, yes, mom?” You ask, and it’s time to eat.

[ 10 minutes later ]

You are in the middle of dinner, or gossiping time, as Gina calls it, when Aunt Adelaide starts asking each one of you—the single, young members of the family and friends—about relationships. It’s not your favorite part, but a lot of fun commentary comes out of it.

Hearing your name, you know it's your turn. “Do you have anyone special yet? Maybe a secret boyfriend you don't want to tell us about?"

You laugh, “No, no. But I hope someone comes along this year.” First, you have to get over Mick, you think, and laugh a bit more.

“I have a neighbor I could introduce you to, dear. He’s a lovely young man.” She always has someone to present you to; it’s surprising. You try to go on dates with them, but they never end up working.

“I’ll think about it.” You say this as the loud sound of silver hitting the floor calls everyone’s attention.

Mick abruptly stands up. “I’m sorry,” he says as he picks up his fallen fork. He looks uncomfortable, like he’s had enough of the food, the music, or the topic. “Excuse me, I’m going for another one.”

The table has fallen silent. Aunt Adelaide is looking at you in amusement, a playful grin on her face. Someone nudges your shoulder, and you know it’s Alicia. Her eyes stand on a strange middle ground between confused and knowing, tilting her head in encouragement, like she always does. You also stand up, not so abruptly, but now everyone looks at you expectantly. “I’m going. Excuse me.”

You follow Mick to the kitchen; thankfully, it's far enough from the dining room that no one will bother.

“Mick?” You call once you’re there. His head is on his hands, and he is murmuring inaudible words to himself. "Mick, what is going on?"

He looks up, his hair messy. He’s overthinking, and you don't know what to do. You feel lost looking at him, far away from his thoughts and feelings. “What do you mean? Everything is alright.”

“You don’t look alright,” you say, shaking your head. “You’ve been acting strange.”

“No, I haven't. We’re alright,” he lies once again, picking on his thumbs.

You sigh, knowing this is when you talk about it—no script, no thinking, just questions and hope for answers. Whatever is budging him has his anxiety running in full force. “No, you’re not, and we're not; I have no idea what just happened, and you're acting as if you barely know me."

He takes a deep breath, runs his fingers through his hair, and looks at you with his deep blue eyes. You see questions being asked but don’t understand how to answer them. “It’s nothing; I'm just. It’s hard to explain; you won't understand.”

“I will try to understand then, like I always do.” You promise, taking two steps forward, close enough to reach out and hold him, "Just please talk to me."

“I don’t want to mess things up between us,” he says, sounding afraid. It reminds you of the time sixteen-year-old Mick broke your favorite perfume by accident. He didn’t want to tell you, too afraid you would stop talking to him. You really hope he didn’t break anything, material or not.

“You won't. I will be here for you.”

“I just want,” he stops himself once again. His eyes never leave yours, so you open yours a bit, waiting, listening to whatever he has to say, and it seems to work because he just says, “You."

“What?” You blank, not knowing what to say or do, not knowing if you understood correctly or if it’s the movie's effect once again. You see the exact moment in which he panics.

“No, fuck. I’m sorry, I.” He looks everywhere but your eyes, searching for an exit. Your first instinct is to grab his hand, keeping him where he is.

“I could,” you say slowly, looking at your now-intertwined hands. “I could be misunderstanding all of this, but, Mick,” you say, looking at him. He’s looking back, hope in his gorgeous sky blue eyes. “I like you, but no, not even. Mick, I’m so in love with you it hurts. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while, but then you disappeared. You didn’t want to see me; you were acting different, and I got so worried, but I think...”

“That we are both idiots,” he says, a small smirk growing on his lips.

“Yes, yes, we are.”

He smiles and brings his free hand to your cheek, says your name like it’s meant for him to say forever. “I’m in love with you too, so much. I got so scared when I realized that I didn't just like you, that I couldn’t hide it anymore. And then our friends started saying how obvious I was being.”

“Same here,” you say, laughing. He moves his hand, pulling you in for a warm hug. It feels different than any other you’ve shared; the last two pieces of a puzzle you’ve been building together, finally finding their place. It’s a breath of fresh air. Mick’s hands are all around you, softly caressing your back, his head buried in your neck, leaving a small peck before distancing himself enough so he can see your face. You want to ask if it's appropriate to kiss him now.

But he's the first to talk. “Quick question."

“Shoot."

“Do I need a mistletoe to kiss you?” He asks, and you laugh loudly. Shake your head in embarrassment. Oh, how you love this man.

“As much as I enjoy the tradition, all you, Mick Schumacher, have to do is ask,” and now it's his turn to laugh, brings you closer while doing so.

“Can I please kiss you?"

You pretend to think about it and decide to tease him a little bit: “Is that what you asked for Christmas?"

“It’s the exact thing I asked Santa Claus for."

“Then merry Christmas, Mick.”

taglist — @smartstupyd @ziarah . . . add yourself here

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sukunasbow · 1 year

Text

jealous girl, maggie greene.

summary: in which you and your wife visit the sanctuary after the war, but some of the saviors take a liking to you!

warnings: fem!reader and not yet proof read!

notes: most of my fics are gn!neutral but this was part of the request! the request was anon so i hope this finds you bby and ty for the lovely request, maggie is one of my favs too!

Now that the war is over and Negan’s living in a cell, the remaining Saviors are left in Daryl’s care at the sanctuary. Your wife isn’t all that happy about this, but the two of you decide to go to the sanctuary with Rick and Daryl in order to help keep things in order.

Rick finishes his speech to the people in the building, then taking Daryl upstairs to discuss things. Meanwhile, you and Maggie walk around the rundown factory, watching the Saviors sort their cans of food.

“Well, hello there.” A voice catches your attention, making you turn around. Your greeted by a man with his hair half-tied up, wearing a grey sleeveless tank top. You shake your head and laugh at him, knowing he has no chance, your wife just a bit in front of you, talking to another Savior. “What’s funny, baby?” He grins, letting out a small laugh of his own. You let out a long sigh, “I’m taken.” You put your hand directly in front of his face, showing off the nice ring Maggie managed to get for you back at the prison. “Oh, I see.” He nods, pausing for a moment. He’s making it seem like he’s going to back off, but he proves you wrong when he opens his smug mouth again.

“Does that really have to stop us?” The man mumbles. “Us?” You raise an eyebrow. “I’ll stop you.” Maggie suddenly walks up to the two of you, “Hey, I’m her wife.” She seethes. The guy looks shocked, simply walking away as the girl stares him down. “Hot.” You joke, Maggie snaking an arm around your waist, letting the other guys that were staring you down know you’re hers.

This doesn’t seem to stop some of the men, however, as another one approaches you now that you’re once again separated from Maggie. This time, Rick and Daryl are surrounding you, the three of you discussing the future of the sanctuary. “Hey, ma.” The unknown man smirks, interrupting Rick. “Excuse me?” Rick glares at him. “Oh, you her husband?” The guy backs up a bit. “Nah, but she’s married and you’re a pervert, so back up.” Daryl defends you this time. “Oh, so you’re the husband?” He laughs.

You scoff, “I don’t have a husband, dumbass, I have a wife.”

“Oh, ya like girls?” His tone grosses you out even more than before.

“I like my wife, now go sort your food cans with the other’s before I starve your ass and take them.” You huff. He rolls his eyes and storms off.

“We aren’t going back there.” Maggie presses her lips into a firm line as the two of you enter your shared home, back from the trip to the sanctuary. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” You laugh, still feeling icky after the situation. “I’m serious, those men are pigs, all up on you like that.” Your wife takes off her flannel jacket and tosses it on the ottoman in the small living room as you grab a snack from the pantry. Taking a bite into a cookie, you raise an eyebrow, “Are you okay?” You ask her. She’s obviously not, she’s still seething after everything, angrily sitting down on the couch and sulking like a toddler that was denied a candy bar. “I’m fine.” She mumbles with her smooth southern accent. “You’re not fine, stop being like that.” You join her on the couch, offering her a cookie, which she denies. You eat the cookie instead, “You know you’re my wife, right? You’re the only one for me.” You turn to face her, looking into her beautiful green eyes, a small smile starting to form on her face. “I love you, hm?” You press small kisses all on her face until you reach her lips, waiting for her to say the phrase back. “I love you too.” She laughs. “Good.” You kiss her lips.

#x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead x you #the walking dead x y/n #twd #twd x reader #maggie greene x reader #maggie greene x fem!reader #rick grimes x reader #daryl dixon x reader #glenn rhee x reader #shane walsh x reader #rick grimes #daryl dixon

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alyakthedorklord · 7 months

Text

Agent D to watchtower

(Fic)

Flash And Green Lantern, bored, stuck on monitor duty at the watchtower, cheerfully badmouthing batman together when a notification rings through the room.

Hal snaps to attention, because notifications on monitor duty don’t usually mean good things, but at least they’re things.

Oh holy crap that’s Batman’s caller ID.

Green Lantern and the Flash do NOT scramble like kids caught staying up badmouthing a parent at a sleepover, sending chips and cookies flying. They are professional world savers. Incredibly powerful men. Yep.

“Batman!” The Flash squeaks. “Whats- uh. Whats the situation?”

Whatever it is has to be dire. Batman never calls for help, ever. So it has to be a really big problem. Unless he’s spying on them. And is about to growl at them for talking behind his back.

The line is silent for a few moments, just long enough for Hal and Flash to trade terrified looks, and then…

“This is Agent D, reporting in.”

That voice is not Batman.

It’s not Batman’s deep, growly baritone. It’s slightly accented, boyish and light, despite the serious tone to it as whoever the voice belongs to whispers into the communicator.

Too young. Far too young. Thats a kid.

Hal checks the ID- yep, this is Batman’s communicator. How on earth does this kid have it?

“Uh… nice to meet you, Agent D. Can you tell me what’s going on? How are you calling us right now?”

“I’m deep in enemy territory.” The kid whispers, which isn’t really an answer but definitely catches Hal’s attention. The kid is whispering like he’s scared someone- or something- will hear him. “The darkness is endless. Any and all sound travels here- it’s a massive echo chamber. This is his territory. I’m not sure if I’ll make it out of these caves- if he hears me, I’m done for.”

“Whoa, whoa, hang on.” Hal says quickly, eyes wide as he stares at the indicator on the screen. “What’s going on? Where are you? Do you need help?”

“Negative on the extraction.” What the hell? Who is this kid? Who taught him to talk like that? “It’s too late for me. But I have urgent info the Justice League needs to hear!”

Hal and Flash exchange a concerned look. The kid knows he’s got a Justice League communicator. It isn’t just some random thing he’s picked up.

“We’re all ears, kid.” Flash says.

“Alright,” the kid says seriously, taking a breath like he’s bracing himself for the words he’s about to say, Hal and Flash leaning closer to the monitor as they wait for whatever he has to say. “Batman…”

“…is a butthead.”

Hal stares at the monitor.

Flash stares at the monitor.

“…what?”

“Batman is a butthead.” The kid repeats. “A stinky butthead. He’s mean and old and dumb and a big butt.”

Is there something in his ears? Is there something in the Doritos making him hallucinate? Did a kid really steal Batman’s Justice League Communicator to call him a butthead?

“He’s such a big butthead, we should call him Buttman instead of Batman.” The kid is saying, glee seeping into his serious tone. “There goes Buttman, in the Buttmobile.”

“These are-” Hal begins, then has to stop to let out a laugh or else he won’t be able to maintain a serious voice for the game they’re apparently playing. Flash has his hands pressed over his mouth, shaking. “These are serious claims, Agent D. Do you have any proof?”

“Yes!” Agent D announces. “He makes me wear PANTS and do GRAMMAR! And! And last Wednesday he wouldn’t let me have dessert, and he won’t take me on patrol with him, and! He was mean to Agent A! Even though Agent A is just worried about him because he got hit on the head and got a concussion because he doesn’t have a skull to protect his brain and his head is all squishy like a Butt!”

Hal is nearly crying with the effort it takes to hold in his laughter, clutching onto the desk for support. Thankfully, the Flash has recovered enough to play along with a shocked gasp.

“Is that why he wears that Armored Cowl?” He asks Agent D. “To protect his squishy head?”

“Yes.” The kid insists, voice dripping with vicious glee. “I saw him take it off once and he doesn’t have any hair. He’s wearing underpants on his butt head.”

“Is it… is it special underwear? Or just normal?” Flash asks, grinning madly and shaking as well. “He doesn’t have legs on his head to wear it right, so-”

“The ears on his cowl are the legs.” The kid says immediately.

That mental image is enough to bring Flash down to the floor beside Hal, cackling madly. They get ahold of themselves, swallowing down their laughter to get back to the kid, but then they lock eyes, setting them off all over again as Agent D’s giggles echo through the comm line above them.

“I can’t- oh god, I can’t breathe.” Hal gasps, clutching at his chest. “Fu- um, gosh, I needed that.”

“I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again.” Flash wheezes. “That’s an image that’s going to stay with me forever.”

“Good. Memorize it: this information will not be repeated.” The kid says seriously, deepening his voice in what is clearly meant to imitate Batman. Flash cackles again.

“In all seriousness, kid.” Hal says, crawling his way up to the desk to stare in bewilderment at Batman’s caller ID. “Where did you get this communicator? It’s meant to be a secure line. Emergencies.”

“Well,” Agent D says, voice lightening out of his Batman imitation and into a tone of sweet, angelic innocence, “he shouldn’t have left it out in the open then.”

“I didn’t.”

Both Hal and the Flash freeze, hearts stopping in their chests at the familiar angry growl.

Batman.

“Uh oh.” Agent D mutters.

The next thing they hear is the flurry of motion- the thump of the communicator being jughled, the scraping of cloth and shoe on stone, the whoosh of the communicator being swung through the air, and the patter of feet running full tilt.

“ROBIN!” Batman’s voice shouts, the only response a cackle of young laughter.

“Run, little man!” The Flash urges, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Go go go!”

“It’s too late!” Agent D shrieks. “It’s too late! The Buttman is coming! Remember me! I sacrificed myself for the greater good! Like the spies who got the death star plans! Remember me!”

“It’s not over yet!” Hal cheers, even if he knows theres no escaping Batman. “Evasive maneuvers! Keep going!”

“YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!” Agent D bellows, but a moment later the sound of running is cut off with two grunts, one much deeper than the other, and the sound of a scuffle.

Scrabbling and slapping of little kid hands on kevlar armor can be heard between thumps of the microphone hitting something. Finally, the sound settles, enough for Hal and Flash to hear Batman mutter, “you sure about that?” as Agent D groans dramatically.

A moment later, Batman’s voice comes over the communicator clearly for the first time.

“Batman to Watchtower.” he says, voice flat and businesslike as ever despite the kid gighling madly in the background. “Comms have been compromised.”

“We noticed.” Hal smirks. And Batman was the first to let the secure line get infiltrated! He’s never letting him live this down.

“The perpetrator has been apprehended, and will be punished accordingly.”

“Aww, no, Batman, come on.” Flash wheedles on behalf of his new buddy. Hal is kind of worried too- Batman won’t be too hard on the kid, will he? “Agent D was just having some fun!”

“Yeah, don’t be a butthead!” Agent D shouts, before giggling again.

“You know you’re not supposed to be down here alone.” Batman grumbles. “This is probably one of the safer things you could have picked up. And it can send a distress signal that can summon the entire justice league. What would you have done if Superman decided to smash his way through the cave?”

“I know how to use it!” Agent D complains. “I’m not stupid! I’m good with technology, and you showed me how in case of emergencies!”

“And this was an emergency?”

“A boredom emergency.” Oh god, Agent D is sassing Batman.

“Seriously, Spooky.” Hal interrupts, because he’s actually a little worried for Agent D, “whats his sentence?”

Batman huffs, and then there’s a grunt and a small oof like he’s readjusting his grip on Agent D. “Considering this isn’t his first offense of the night…”

“I’ve done nothing! I’m innocent! I want a lawyer!” The sounds of struggling come through the communicator, but Hal doesn’t think it’s working very well. The kid is trying to escape Batman, after all. “You’re always saying we can’t be judge, jury, and executioner! Put your money where your mouth is! I want a lawyer!”

“Alright.” Batman hums, much to Hal’s shock. Is he really playing along with the kid? “Green Lantern. I’m promoting you to Lawyer. Answer my next question carefully.”

Still a little shocked, all Hal can say is, “um… okay?”

“What is twenty-four minus twenty-four?”

Hal frowns. That doesn’t sound like a lawyer question. “Excuse me?”

“Twenty-four minus twenty-four.” Batman repeats.

“Uh… zero?” Why does Batman need him to say this? Doesn’t he know math? Can’t he whip a calculator off that belt of his? It wouldn’t surprise Hal in the slightest. Hardly the weirdest thing Batman’s got on there.

“Lets add some words to that problem.” Batman growls. “If I had twenty-four cookies before someone was left unsupervised in the kitchen, and none after… then how many cookies are currently rallying for a stomachache against Agent D?”

Hal won’t lie. That’s impressive. The kid doesn’t sound grown enough to have a big stomach. “Twenty-four.”

“No!” Agent D shrieks. “No!”

“Sounds like an admission of guilt from your lawyer.” Batman growls. Oops. Hal forgot that was his job! He should have dodged the question!

“No! Leading the witness! Your question was a trick!” Agent D shouts, in an impressive show of melodramatics. “I want a better lawyer! This one sucks! I bet this guy didn’t even go to law school! Also, he wasn’t given all the relevant evidence or time to prepare his arguments! ALSO also he was appointed by the opposition! Rigged jury! I want a retrial!”

How old is this kid?

“Nope, too late. Welcome to Gotham, chum.” Batman huffs. “Now then, stealing a Justice League Communicator, eating all of the cookies, which were meant for both of us and I was very much looking forwards to, and calling me… Buttman.”

He growls the last word, and Hal watches Flashes fist teleport to his mouth to hold in the bark of laughter threatening to escape. The serious way he said that stupid name… even Agent D has stopped his dramatics in the face of the court to cackle!

“Don’t laugh.” Batman growls, in exactly the same tone that made them laugh in the first place. “I am deciding your punishment.”

“You can’t do anything!” Agent D jeers. “I already told the Justice League that you were actually a Butthead! I’ve eaten all the cookies! All twenty-four tasty, tasty cookies and you can’t have any! I’ve won! There’s nothing you can do! You’ll never get your cookies back!”

“Is that so?” Batman hums, and if Hal didn’t know better, he might think Spooky was smiling. “Well then. I guess I’ll have to tickle you until you toss your cookies.”

“Wait- no!” The kid shrieks, and then the communicator breaks off into peals of desperate, full bellied laughter, interspaced with pleas for mercy and one final, deep voiced line.

“Batman, out.”

The comm channel is cut, leaving the Watchtower’s occupants in an echoing, shocked silence.

Tickles? TICKLES? Batman, the hardass of the Justice League, the no-nonsense, work no play, spooky scary bastard… left his communicator where a kid could get it. A kid who stole all of Batman’s cookies. Who Batman retaliated against for stealing his cookies with tickles.

And his voice had been… not non-growly, but lighter than Hal has ever heard it. Ever. The kid had seemed completely at ease with him, mocking him, grumbling about homework and treats. It was almost as if…

“Oh my god Batman is a dad.” Hal whispers into the silent room, eyes wide. “This is the greatest thing to happen to me ever. I’m so glad I decided to stay to keep you company.”

“So am i, so you can tell me later i didn’t hallucinate that.” Flash says fervently. “He’s a dad. He’s a dad to the giggliest kid I have ever heard in my life.”

“He punished his kid with TICKLES.” Hal wheezes. “His kid calls him a butthead for making him do homework- oh my GOD. His kid grabbed a JUSTICE LEAGUE COMMUNICATOR- he knew exactly what that thing was!”

“Came on the line like a proper secret agent!” F agrees, vibrating. “Oh my god, please tell me we have that saved. Do we have that saved?”

“Quick- before spooky deletes it!”

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #robin #justice league shennanigans #found this in my notes app #here you go #enjoy

385 notes · View notes

throwaway-yandere · 2 years

Text

Dendro NA: 101 (Yandere!Alhaitham/Reader)

a/n: “ansy weren’t you going to write faceless!ayato and music composer!tighnari” well yes but things happened so now here we are. I’m dedicating this fic to crying anon since they’re the person that gave me an idea of an "what if Alhaitham had an elf!darling?" after this fic. The beginning reads like an enemies-to-lovers fic with a slice of crack where nothing goes wrong but trust me it’s not lmao

unreliable synopsis: After Alhaitham forged your signature, you're now forced to become the Acting Grand Sage’s assistant. It's even more annoying when he nearly visited your house all drugged up. Seriously, when will he learn to respect his seniors?

CW: yandere themes, noncon touching, aphrodisiacs, possessiveness, so much bickering, and the reader slanders dendro for plot reasons.

Pulcinella, The Rooster, came to visit early in the morning.

“Pups, please… Stop turning my apartment upside down and just tell me what you want.”

It was unexpected how the old man barged into your “unconquerable mess of an apartment” with the intent to celebrate your newfound job at the Haravatat. Mayor Pulcinella isn’t your direct grandfather, but he is your grandfather’s brother. The fact that you are connected to him is a well-known secret (as absurd an oxymoron as that may sound) in the College of Engineering and Technology at the Akademiya. Because of the collectivist mentality that characterized your family, every last pointy-eared relative you are aware of is blatantly nosy and annoying. The "mayor" is much more so.

Pulcinella did come to extend his congratulations, with a generous batch of cookies even, but he had an objective in mind. His way of showing that he cares is usually in the form of letters but he stands right in front of you now. You can only imagine how difficult it is for someone in his position to take a leave of absence this far since Port Ormos is so far away from home and it takes days for mail to arrive here.

Your grandfather is obstinate. Terrifying so since you recognize that expression on his face all too well. Although you are unsure of what he needs from you, you do know that you want him out. Immediately.

“Don’t talk to me in that tone, child.” He scowled, jabbing your briefcases with his wooden cane. “I’m not leaving until I find it.”

That "Rooster" moniker belongs to him without a doubt. Your belongings were seized by the elf-like a bird's beak. He prodded the dreadful equation-filled sheets hanging on your wall and snatched a few trinkets on your work table. Good lord. Pulcinella made so much noise that if you weren’t already planning on starting your day, you would’ve been incredibly cranky when he knocked on your door.

“For Her Majesty’s sake– just what are you trying to find, grandpups?”

He turned to look at you.

Not mad, but disappointed– sad, even.

“An engagement ring. Evidence that you’re dating that fool, Alhaitham.”

You groaned.

“Him again?! Motherf—”

Pulcinella quirked his eyebrow at your outburst, “hmm?”

You chuckled nervously, “ah, sorry, I just… It’s nothing.”

No, it was not “nothing.” That bastard ruined a lot of things for you, including your vision. You didn’t want a dendro vision. You were praying for Rex Lapis every night even after his death but somehow being involved with Alhaitham strayed your path to gaining the “grass fertilizer tool” as you loved to call it. Sure, there’s little evidence that he’s the reason behind the fact that you got a dendro vision instead of geo but that doesn’t change the fact that you want to crush him between your palms like a writhe scarab. Especially after he enlisted you as his scribe-disciple without your consent. What a complete scumbag.

Oh, to quit the Akademiya only to be forced to go back again…

But of course, your grandpups don’t know anything about this and you have ZERO intentions of letting him in on your business. If he knows, then ALL of Snezhnayan elves know.

“I’ve heard from your mother that you’ve gone lovesick and left the Akademiya,” Pulcinella spoke in a slow somber tone. “And falling recklessly in love and gaining a dendro vision does not sound like you at all.”

Eww. Lovesick? Hell no.

If it weren’t for this man, you would’ve graduated as a fully pledged civil engineer next year. If he wasn’t such a great scribe, no, forger, your signature wouldn’t be on that damn contract.

That man seriously has no respect for his seniors.

Nevertheless, it was too late to do anything. You just have to accept the consequences of your inaction. Additionally, if you're going to take this "new job," you might as well act as if you adore it.

Hooray! Don’t you love working for Alhaitham? Isn’t it fun to discard your 4 years of studying? Oh, what joy! You definitely did not burn your eyebrows out trying to ace FIFTY Kshahrewar mock tests!!!–

“Talk to me, poppet.” He continued, eyebrows knitted. His wrinkly hands reached to gently hold yours. Suddenly, you remembered that he is still family. That this was the same old major that your young self boasted their miniature construction toys to.

“I’m worried that something might’ve happened. And my dear, health is not the absence of disease or infirmity, it is also–”

“The complete state of physical, mental, AND social wellbeing. Yes. I know, Pups. You nearly forced me to study medicine.” You groaned and palmed your forehead, weak but playful.

He chuckled heartily.

The old man’s rather soft with you compared to his other grandchildren. If he wasn’t, you’d likely find yourself as Il Dottore’s new assistant.

Although most people would find working for a harbinger, especially The Doctor, to be a complete nightmare, you concluded that being Alhaitham's slave was the epitome of "overrated garbage," and you despise the scribe so much you can't even remember his appearance. Sure, Layla’s jealous that you’re essentially set for life by being a scribe assistant but at least Dottore gives his assistants a hefty pay (discounting his crimes against humanity…)

You’re not proud to call Alhaitham your boss. That stupid #093c0d face doesn’t make your 2 million mora salary worth the trouble. He needs to pay for your mental health insurance–

“Are you alright, poppet? You’re looking at me like you would with one of your test slimes.”

You exhaled deeply, “sorry, I suddenly thought of a hex code #093c0d person.”

Pulcinella closed his eyes.

“A dark green shade?”

“That’s right.”

“...”

With an unreadable yet deliberate face, Pulcinella fixed his gaze on you. Your unique perspective on others didn't seem to disturb your grandpups the way it did your parents. He is one of the select few who is aware of how you assign people's personalities through colors. Pulcinella raised his glasses further up before giving a sage-like nod. The moment he crossed his arms, you knew he understood what you were trying to express.

“So it’s a lover’s quarrel.”

“Yes, exactly.”

…

“Wait, what– NO!!! Pups, please stop assuming shit– things!!!”

Never mind— he is SO far off.

Why is he convinced that you’re dating that prick? What the hell did your mom tell him?!

“I heard that, poppet. And do not misunderstand, I think this is a good thing.”

Your uncle-grandfather cupped your cheeks and squished them between his fingers. Perhaps this is what people consider a wholesome grandpa-grandchild dynamic– but social norms should’ve also labeled this as domestic violence. His pinching hurts. Your clipped groans made him grin wider.

“After all, this means that you have seen his flaws and true character. What better way to break a couple up than a genuine argument?”

“PWUUUPS!!!”

Pulcinella pulled his hands away.

“I felt distraught when I heard you have given up your pursuit of civil engineering and chose a career in the Haravatat,” he sighed and took off his hat, holding it against his chest. “I was rooting for you, dear. I had faith in your aspirations. Even Lord Capitano found it upsetting to learn that the future engineer I frequently boasted about had become a lesser Lord Kusanali underling.”

You squirmed and rubbed your cheeks, staring at the ground.

Lord Capitano was not someone you often interacted with, but you knew that he had an eye for talent– and he sought after yours. Perhaps this is your ego talking, but it felt like even he believed you’re best suited for an engineering course too. Other than your grandpups and subsequently his recruit, Ajax, Lord Capitano was one of the Fatuis you respected.

Alhaitham truly crushed your dreams.

“I know, Pups…”

“You know what to do, right?”

You nodded solemnly, before looking him dead in the eye. Pulcinella can see your determination clear as day.

You breathed in.

“I’m going to commit arson.”

He patted your back, smiling.

“That’s my grandchild!”

Pulcinella tip-toed and ruffled your hair.

“Alright, this old man had given up. Just show grandpups where the ring is.”

“Her majesty the Tsaritsa’s sake– I already told you Pups– ALHAITHAM AND I ARE NOT DATING!!!”

It was an exceptionally hot evening in Sumeru City despite being far from the desert. You should be inside your apartment right now, studying the Dendro Vision book Alhaitham gave you but you’d rather be where you are now. It’s about to get warmer, yet you’d dare argue that both you and master architect Kaveh’s headache can compete with its 38°C average temperature.

“C’mon, please?”

“No, I’m not helping you burn Alhaitham’s house down.”

“What?! Why not?!”

“Damnit, (Y/n)– BECAUSE I LIVE THERE!!!”

“Oh, right.”

You flopped back to your seat, eyes rolling back, deflated.

Kaveh cried out in pain while lowering his head to the table. He somewhat resembled a dried-out raisin. He had a drinking binge the night before, so this isn't because he's not a morning person. Although you expressed regret for knocking on his (Alhaitham's) door, the architect never misses a chance to rant about his housemate. Kaveh's pain wasn't even close to how much he detested Alhaitham. Now here you both are, sitting outside Lambad’s Tavern like morons because you both forgot to bring your wallets.

Not a sight you’d expect from a master-of-all-trades (ex-)engineering student and a genius architect.

“Damn it…” You whined. “What else am I supposed to do now?”

“Await until Focalors passes her judgment,” he answered hoarsely.

In other words: curl up and die, probably.

“Yeah… Yeah, that sounds viable. Let me just go to Fontaine real quick– oh wait, I can’t, because some dumbass scribe paid the corps to keep me from reaching the borders.”

Kaveh chuckled, still caressing his headache, not caring how his messy and unwashed locks covered his eyes. You’d be surprised if he told you he didn’t just get out of bed. He appeared like he was ready to sleep for all eternity, or more accurately, Kaveh’s starting to look eerily similar to Layla. In terms of colors though, he’d still be a #ffda29 and not a #003153.

He sneered, “did the sun always look this bright, powerful, and oh-so hateful?”

“It wouldn’t look like that if you didn’t down the pitcher I left on the table last night, Kaveh.”

You both turned to look at the voice– rather, the abyss. Alhaitham stood behind you. Or at least, you think it’s him.

Okay, here’s the deal: you hate remembering his face.

You handle your memory much like a student would a personal bookshelf– you’ll occasionally take out the information you no longer wish to retain in favor of more useful and relevant ones. As a creature with longevity, an elf should be picky when it comes to memories. You believe your approach is in the same vein as Pulcinella disposing of “less valuable assets’' without hesitation. If there’s no point in having it, why carry the baggage? But there are at least two facts that you can easily recall about Alhaitham: it’s his voice and the color #093c0d.

In other words, he’s just a talking dark green slime in your eyes.

Which he considers a major step up, by the way. You went from ignoring him to recognizing his voice, to associating him with one color. That’s quite a development. A pathetically slow progression, but still a positive one.

“THERE YOU ARE, ALHAITHAM, YOU PRI–”

The man swiftly dodged his slap by crouching down. He honestly didn’t have to put in the effort when Kaveh’s attacks were sluggish.

“–CK! WHY’D YOU LABEL THE ALCOHOL AS WATER?!”

Tons of passersby stared at Kaveh as he flailed around, but they were quick to look away. It’s no longer a secret that he lives with the scribe. Everyone in Sumeru City knows about his tactless antics and none are deaf when it comes to his loud gripes about his housemate. Even so, you went up to him to soothe his worries and restore his reputation because not everyone understands he's not a bad person.

Alhaitham scoffed, glaring.

“I didn’t. The label said "Fire-Water.””

“WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES THAT MAKE?!”

“Fire-water? Oh.”

Your hand flew to your mouth as you connected the two dots.

That beverage from Snezhnaya is notorious for having a high alcohol content and is only known in Mondstadt as the drink Master Ragnvindr forbade exports of. As a quote-unquote "wine connoisseur," you were invited to one of his parties. Fortunately, you were able to warn Diluc of how potent it is firsthand– Kaveh? Not so much.

You snorted.

“Yeah, Kaveh, I hate to take Alhaitham’s side on this but this one is on you, friend.”

The blonde’s eyes widened, betrayed.

“HAH?!”

“Need I remind you that fire-water is an alcoholic beverage, Kaveh.” Alhaitham waved his hand, emphasizing his condescending tone. “Maybe if you listened to me instead of ranting about my work ethic, you would’ve known that I received it as a gift from a Fatui Harbinger.”

Your ears perked up. “From a Harbinger?”

Alhaitham smirked but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Hmm. I’m certain that you know him, assistant (L/n). His name is Pulcinella,” the scribe said. “He left me a note. He said he wishes that I drink to my heart’s content as a thank-you gift for hiring his grandchild. I wasn’t aware you have a kind grandfather.”

You smiled back, crookedly.

No. No, your uncle-grandfather DEFINITELY wanted to see Alhaitham in pain. He didn’t even bother giving him a bottle– he gave him a fucking leftover pitcher.

Alhaitham took your arm. Unfortunately, he’s taller than you with muscle strength you can’t compete with. You squirmed but resistance was futile. Doesn’t mean you can’t bite his arm off–

“Assistant (L/n)–”

You gritted your teeth. “Don’t touch me, sir.”

Alhaitham paused, processing how much emphasis you put into pronouncing the word “sir.”

“–I’ll be taking you away now.” He looked down on your friend and scoffed. “Kaveh, do try your best to not be a burden to Mx. (L/n) again.”

Kaveh clutched his head, still in pain.

Sorry, Kaveh. That drink and beating headache were not meant for you in the slightest. You made a mental note to make it up to him, but not today. You have a lot on your plate right now.

“Idiot. They’re the one that invited me here!”

“True–”

“I quite frankly don’t care,” Alhaitham spat coldly.

“From now on, refrain from having conversations with my assistant. Unless you’re prepared to face the consequences.”

“Do you remember the approximate damage multipliers an aggravate reaction causes?”

“Nope.”

“Tch. I just discussed this, I can’t believe you already forgot.”

“You think I forgot? Haha, hell no. I didn’t forget, I just wasn’t paying any attention.”

Alhaitham dragged you down a secluded area in the rainforests with a sword in hand. Quite frankly, you hoped he brought his weapon to kill you, but you’re well aware of what this is about.

This is a lesson straight out of a page of “Dendro Vision Qualifications 101: Normal Attack Patterns.” The Acting Grand Sage thinks that you should have at least enough fighting proficiency for you to start formally working for him. As for you? You think this whole charade is utterly meaningless.

Sometimes, you truly do wish you were born as a rock instead. Maybe then you would be able to perform the “gray-rock method” whenever Alhaitham starts his drivel about dendro visions. You bet you’d make a pretty good tombstone for your dead childhood friend if you were a rock. Being a rock is probably the nicest thing to be. You get to be something created from the Geo element– the element and vision you desired. And not dendro.

Anything but lame old dendro.

This is so stupid. You wanted a geo vision, damn it. What on earth did you do to make Rex Lapis spite you, and what kinda breakthrough did you accomplish to gain the Lesser Lord Kusanali’s favor instead?!

If only you got something that isn’t the same as Alhaitham’s vision. Maybe if you got an electro vision you’d be learning how to brandish a lance with the General Mahamatra instead. Unlike most people, you enjoy being in his prolonged company and dry jokes. You’ve exchanged letters with Cyno multiple times– but your friend’s on-the-spot puns are 10x funnier than the things he writes down. Of course, that’s only because his earnest delivery sells it.

“In this fighting stance, you can perform up to 4 consecutive attacks, dishing out dendro damage approximately every 2 seconds interval–”

You held up your Eye of Perception.

“Bold of you to assume I’ll use this vision.”

“–charge attacks on the other hand require a hefty amount of stami–”

You yawned, halting Alhaitham in the middle of his “lecture.”

There’s a reason why you chose an Eye of Perception, and that’s because, unlike most catalysts, it procures physical damage as well. With someone as petty as you, it’s only natural that you’d brandish a weapon that doesn’t rely too much on dendro reactions.

“Yeah, I’ll just hit the enemy with my catalyst. Like, aim and shoot, or maybe I’ll just go with blunt force. This eye of perception looks like it’s made of metal, it can probably dish out some physical damage–”

Alhaitham shifted forward. Your gentle yet insouciant voice forced him out of his momentum.

“(Y/n).”

“...Yes, sir?”

His gaze sharpened.

“Pay attention.”

You snorted. Was he trying to intimidate you?

You, an elf who lived longer than him? How arrogant. It was becoming clearer why Alhaitham never once had a girlfriend or boyfriend. Or maybe a genuine friend in general. His senior who happens to also be his housemate does not count.

“No thanks.” You laughed to yourself, barely containing your amusement. “I think I’m doing fine.”

“What do you expect will happen if you don’t listen to my instructions? Your unfailing indifference sickens me.” He sheathed his sword back. “Do I have to spell everything out? You’ll get injured in combat. You won’t be able to defend yourself from fungi, eremites, and other enemies on the prowl. All for what? Useless pride? Grow up. Accept that you got a dendro vision and be done with it.”

“Tch…” You know how you feel, but you do not have the strength to say it out loud.

What an impossible task. He’s telling you– the most stubborn person you know– to give up on your goals? Inconceivable. You bet he sees the mediocre majority as nothing more than defective pawns, and you’re well aware you belong in that lowly category.

To him, grief may as well be easy as breathing. For you, years had gone by and you could still hear their voice. The scribe knows nothing about tributes for the dead.

Your old childhood friend beckons you back to the chasm. His voice comes once the dark rears in, reverbing his desperate pleas for a fitting grave. It’s a voice that twists around your chest like a knife. You can’t get their faces out of your memetic bookshelf, but it’s not as if you’re willing to dispose of them.

You didn’t want a dendro vision.

You wanted a geo vision to construct mausoleums for your dead friends.

Alhaitham scowled.

“Fine. We’ll resume our lesson next week.”

He bumped into your shoulder as he walked by. For a split second, you’re reminded that your superior had longer eyelashes than you do. And it made the gesture more annoying.

Strange.

Alhaitham wouldn’t normally let you off so easily…

Maybe he’s busy?

“If you’re so insistent on only utilizing physical attacks, be my guest. Next time, I will not back down a single step.” Alhaitham walked away with heavy feet, stamping the dirt with his heels.

The consequences of your actions began to sink in. You may have lived longer than Alhaitham, but needless to say, he had more experience in combat.

Admittedly, you may have done yourself a disservice by acting out… You huffed.

No, no way.

“What could possibly go wrong? He’s just a feeble scholar!”

Unsurprisingly, Alhaitham was not, in fact, a feeble scholar.

Thankfully you have the Eye of Perception at your disposal because the moment he found you walking towards Devantaka Mountain the following week, the bastard went for your jugular.

“What the fuck, Alhaitham?!”

You fired a single shot, aimed higher this time knowing that he would attempt to evade. Much like his actions with Kaveh last time, Alhaitham was quick to dodge that projectile. His timing is impeccable as he activated his vision.

#ff0e0e starts blaring in your line of sight. You’ve always trusted these colors— your instincts.

You’re in danger.

“Tch!”

You almost didn’t recognize that it was him. If he wasn’t breathing heavily, you would've mistaken him for an assassin. Alhaitham never made any unnecessary movements. His slashes were not done with the intent of harming you, but shepherding you to an appropriate trap. Your knee scraped against the grass and minuscule rocks. Prioritizing distance over attacks was a wrong move– he’s faster than anticipated. You gasped sharply as the scribe pinned you against a tree trunk–

… His scent caught your attention.

“A cicin mage’s perfume…?” You mumbled, eyes wide.

That didn’t seem right. Their perfume usually doesn’t smell this unpleasant and metallic.

Your ears drooped down as you realized this Alhaitham did not attack because he’s a lunatic, no. That malodorous stench was akin to a grandmother’s bittersweet husk.

This Alhaitham was under the influence of aphrodisiacs, and it is not something you can fault him for.

“What– What on earth happened?”

He twisted your arm slightly, not enough that’ll make you scream but just rough for a tiny yelp–

and that’s how he boldly claimed your lips.

You froze in horror, letting him take advantage of your plight. Alhaitham pulled away, panting slightly.

“F-Fuck…”

Alhaitham moaned as he slipped his tongue back inside. You tried to stop him but you yelped the moment his hand groped your thigh. His breath fanned your flustered skin as he moved to slither his arms around your waist, closing the already small distance between you two.

You weakly pulled back. The rainforest had never felt this humid before.

Something is truly off about his scent.

“L-Let go!!!” You hissed and punched his chest, completely forgetting your catalyst in your panic. “What the hell is wrong with you?!?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

He didn’t listen despite your physical protests. Alhaitham disgustingly crooned down and sloppily dabbed wet kisses down your neck. His saliva dripped over his shoulder, coating you in hopes that it would leave his trace.

It felt wrong. You felt dirty– like you were kissing an actual #093c0d slime.

“P-Please…” He whispered, his voice dropping dangerously weak and vulnerable. “H-Help me, (Y/n)…”

Your face flushed as you wiped the saliva that connected you both from your lips.

You’ve never heard Alhaitham beg before.

Is this really him?

His fistful grip on your clothes grew taut as desperation colored his knuckles white. You had never seen Alhaitham lose his cool the way he does now, and the broken sight in his eyes made you uneasy and uncertain.

He looked pathetic.

“Haitham, your…” your hand supported his neck and he hungrily leaned in to feel your touch. “Your heartbeat is loud.”

“I know,” he whimpered.

You bit your lip. You could sense his pulse going faster.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been kissed– or first anything. You’ve had your fair share of “soulmates” and “flings”, but those happened decades ago. Before you were mastering engineering, you were a freelance artist who’d had many affairs with humans and elves alike out of the undiagnosed emptiness that was grief. Up until Faruzan made you start a new leaf, you indulged in numerous vices, including wine and one-night stands. She was the closest a human could hope to understand the loneliness an elf would have.

Both your appearance give the illusion of youth, but your bones are held together by flesh older than this man. She would undoubtedly be angry with you as soon as she learns that you enabled Alhaitham's small rendezvous.

“Alhaitham, I’m more than a decade years older than you–” you squirmed.

“But I want you,” he groaned.

Those words felt so different when he was the one who said them. Nearly sinister.

“I know,” you said, but your voice doesn’t match the confidence you were meant to exude. “But this isn’t you, this is your hormones doing the talking. Where did the cicin mage attack you?”

“Between Pardis Dhyai and Yashna Monument”

“Between WHAT?!” You gawked. “That’s miles away from here!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does!!!”

You yanked his shirt. It’s thin, yet surprisingly durable. The strength of the fabric is not what made you unnerved, but his stare.

He gazed at you as if you were his lifeline— as if you were the only thing that allowed him to breathe. Alhaitham’s hot breaths were shallow, fanning your face as you took note of how red his face, neck, and ears were. You noticed how he struggled to gulp— struggled to keep his composure. His bedroom eyes had not once diverted their attention away from you.

“It doesn't matter how far I ran. You were the one I wanted to see. You were the face that came to mind after getting poisoned."

You pretended not to hear that.

“Alhaitham, we need to get you to Tighnari.”

“He can’t help me.”

“The forest watcher can most certainly help you more than me.”

“You don’t know that.”

You don't want to hear him talk anymore, to be honest. You're horrified by how weak and inaudible his voice sounded.

“Why did you come to Avidya Forest all the way from there? Why not head straight to the city?”

“So many questions…” He irritably spat. “Just stop talking and kis–”

“I refuse,” you glared. “Why were you heading towards Port Ormos? Did you think I was going to help you get over this mess out of the goodness of my heart?”

Did he forget how much you loathe him?

“No. No, of course not.”

He chuckled, full of self-loathing.

“I know you hate me, (Y/n). I would hate myself too.”

You raised an eyebrow. Of course, he’s self-aware— you just didn’t expect him to say that out loud.

Alhaitham continued, “but I’m not the one at fault here.”

Defeated, he rested his head on your shoulder. To avoid having you look at his expression, Alhaitham cupped your back, running fingers through your scalp so that you may only look forward. His body pressed against yours firmly. There’s no possible way for you not to be wholly aware of how warm he was and how fast his heart was beating.

It was distracting to know how much the poison affected someone like Alhaitham, whom you thought was damn near untouchable.

Awkwardly, you returned the favor and played with his hair. Alhaitham gasped softly, making you shiver as you realized how sensitive you are to his breathing from this position.

“And who would that be?” You asked quietly. “If your pride won’t let you seek Tighnari’s aid then since you’re here you might as well tell me everything, starting from the very beginning.”

“T-That won’t be necessary.”

“If we want to rule out who your true assailant is, then yes it is,” you answered. “I think this is what you call the process of elimination.”

Suddenly, he pulled away from you with his arms stretched out. Alhaitham still kept you pinned on the tree, but there’s more space for you now to move and see his face.

Ah, you’ve nearly forgotten again.

Alhaitham has green-orange eyes.

“No need.”

He clicked his tongue.

“It was Pulcinella. Your grandfather sent a cicin mage in an attempt to seduce and assassinate me.”

… Oh.

You should’ve guessed. You really should’ve guessed that he was behind all this.

Instinctively, you tried to cover your mouth from shock, but he quickly grabbed them and pressed them back to the tree behind you again. He tightened his hold once more, making you wince.

“I didn’t mind at first because your grandfather reminded me of my own grandmother,” Alhaitham gritted his teeth. “Pulcinella—”

He bit his bottom lip, his seafoam eyes looking unstable and royally pissed.

“He’s not after me because of my position as the Acting Grand Sage. H-He was merely looking after you. His expression was one I recognized. It's a grandfather's love. I may not show empathy as frequently as my housemate would like, but at least I am conscious of how important family is. I don’t want you to have to arrange your grandparent’s funeral like I did.”

You’re not unaware of who Alhaitham’s grandmother was. At one point, you had befriended her back when she was out on a mission to acquire 1,000 books. To think that you’ll meet her grandson for the first time in college and that you’ll end up in a situation like this… you’re sure she would’ve never condoned any of this. She wouldn’t appreciate that her grandson was trying to fuck the elf that helped her build her small library.

This is wrong.

Everything about this is wrong. From the age gap to the work power distance– it’s vile–

You want to vomit.

“So— s-so what did you do?”

“I didn’t want to kill your grandfather in retaliation.”

“Yes, you’ve established that. You don’t usually beat around the bush— go back to being the Alhaitham I know and just get straight to the point, damn it!”

“I ended up tracking all of his people in Sumeru down.”

He chuckled lowly.

Your heart started racing as well.

If his heart was beating out of excitement, yours were out of a rational fear that you wouldn’t get out of this unscathed and mentally sound.

“It’s laughable how his lackeys were so incompetent. If they listened to my lectures at all, they would’ve known how to defend themselves.”

“What… What the hell are you talking about?”

There was nowhere to run. You’re trapped unless Alhaitham lets go of both your wrists. Your dilated eyes surveyed the woodland, but you weren't confident that, should the occasion arise, your shaky knees could put some distance between you and the scribe.

“Didn’t you notice? They were stalking us from the moment I was teaching you how to use your vision last week, and likely even before that.”

His face drew near and you strained your neck to hopefully maintain at least a hair of distance between both of your lips.

Alhaitham closed his eyes.

“Did you honestly think I’d postpone our practice due to your mild complaining? Don’t you understand how excruciating it is to be away from you for a week?”

He pressed his forehead against yours.

“But I had to do it. For us.”

“Where… Where were you when you were gone? What did you do to them?”

You didn’t want to ask.

You already know the answer.

“When will you start thinking before you speak?”

With fears renewed, your body felt small underneath his gaze. He’s not even looking at you— his piercing green eyes weren’t even looking directly at your soul. You turned away and gazed at his left shoulder— shrieking.

Never in your 100+ years of life did you feel so stupid. Only now did you realize that it wasn’t just a cicin mage’s perfume you smelled earlier.

There was blood all over his coat.

“Stop screaming, (Y/n). I’ve finished the job and it’s high time you reward me, wouldn’t you agree?”

#ansy-writes #yandere alhaitham #alhaitham #al haitham #yandere al haitham x reader #yandere alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere oneshots #male yandere #x reader fanfiction #yandere male lead #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact

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farfromstrange · 7 months

Text

Weed Cookies | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 3 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Karen receives a box of cookies from one of their clients. Foggy and Matt take a bite. Even with his heightened senses though, Matt doesn't realize what's wrong with the cookies before he's absolutely wasted, and you have to babysit him. Yes, they were edibles.

Warnings: Fluff, faint hints at S3 depressed!Matt and suicidal ideations, attempt at humor, crack fic, accidental drug use, for the sake of this fic we are going to pretend that the edibles were made well enough for Mister I-Know-Everything to miss it

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: I wrote this after watching the episode of Grey's Anatomy with the Weed Cookies. I took some behaviorisms from my own experiences and exaggerated them a little to fit the vibe of this fic. I scraped parts of this and once again adjusted them because this was even more poorly written before than it is now, and I added the Nelson, Murdock & Page Season 3 narrative again because that's now the running theme of this event. Anyway, if you choose to consume edibles, stay safe! (Also, I'm just copying and pasting my usual tag lists. if anyone wants to be added for this event, do let me know)

“We just got cookies from Ms. Lebowsky next door,” Karen announces happily when she enters the office, balancing the transparent Tupperware in one hand and her handbag in the other.

“She told me to thank you for helping her get out of that hellhole,” she says. Her eyes crinkle in the corners as a mischievous grin takes over her face. “There’s plenty for all four of us. Although she did mention Matt a few more times.”

“Ms. Lebowsky?” Foggy asks. He stands in the doorway of his office, holding a freshly brewed coffee. “Isn’t she the elderly lady we helped last week?”

“Yeah, that’s her. I think she has a crush on Matt.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, she does. Who doesn’t? Not that I do, but—well, you get the gist.” The blood rushes to his cheeks, and Karen giggles in response.

From the office on the left, Matt’s voice rings out, “We just did our jobs,” he says. “She made us cookies, dude!” Foggy inspects the box on Karen’s desk. “They’re chocolate chip cookies. Our favorite. See what good looks can buy you?”

Matt chuckles, his fingers tracing the Braille indentations in the documents that are starting to form a mountain before him. “I think we got them because we’re good lawyers, Foggy.”

“Yeah, right. No way! That woman was smitten the second she came in. I really gotta get that blind thing going. I mean, she’s way too old for you, but come on! You’re in a serious committed relationship, and women still come piling at your door. It’s not fair.”

The way he whines like a little kid who has just been denied his favorite candy makes Karen laugh at his antics, and even Matt can’t help but join in. No matter how stressed he is, and how badly he wants to focus, Foggy never fails to lighten the mood.

Ever since moving offices, things have been going well for the trio.

When Matt met you, he was at his lowest. You helped him climb out of a dark hole that was threatening to swallow him whole after losing Elektra and almost losing everything he worked so hard for to Wilson Fisk. Thanks to you, he found the will to fight again. You brought him back to life.

He wanted to die. He hated himself for the longest time after the building collapsed and forever took the first woman he ever loved down with its ruins, but then you came into his life, and you didn’t care about his baggage. You were far too good for him, but that didn’t matter to you.

He fell for you hard and fast, and maybe the timing was a little off because what he needed was therapy and not someone new to get attached to. Still, if you hadn’t pulled him back to his feet and encouraged him to fight back against Fisk, saving his friendship with the people he cares most about in the process, he would have never made it far enough to get therapy.

Matt trusts you with his life because he feels like he owes it to you, but he also loves you more than anything. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him. You’re his soulmate, and he couldn’t be happier.

Nelson & Murdock added Karen to their permanent repertoire. With her, things are flowing much more smoothly, and they’re actually making money now. They’re expensive, as Foggy likes to say it. Matt’s friends are just as happy as he is, giving him hope for the future.

“Hey,” Foggy snaps him out of his trance, “Earth to Murdock.”

Matt blinks behind his glasses, his fingers halting their frantic movements along the paper. “While I don’t disagree with what you’re saying,” he says, “please don’t let my girlfriend hear you say that women are piling at my door.”

Karen snorts. “Trust me, Matt. She knows,” she says.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t remind her of that.”

“My lips are sealed. Foggy?”

He sighs, once again dramatically. “As long as you don’t sleep with them, you have nothing to fear, my friend.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” says Matt. “The one I’m sleeping with is incomparable.”

Foggy grimaces. “Oh, dude. Gross! You know, God made conscious thought as a mechanism for humans to know when to shut up.”

“To be fair, ninety percent of the population don’t know how to use that mechanism,” Karen jumps to Matt’s defense.

As he laughs, he takes a whiff of the air surrounding their new baked goods. Matt can smell the sweet chocolate of the cookies, and somewhat of a herbal essence, but he can’t quite pinpoint why the scent seems so familiar.

Karen walks around her desk to drop her bag and her coat. “So, do guys want a cookie?” she asks, swiftly changing the subject.

“I’ll take one,” Foggy is quick to answer.

Matt nods from his desk. “I’ll try one, too.”

The innocent decision to indulge in a sweet treat soon comes back to bite them in the ass though. Heavily.

When Matt first bit into the cookie, he didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. It tasted like chocolate mixed with basil, sugar, honey, and the kind of flour Ms. Lebowsky used, but he didn’t find much else wrong with it. Perhaps if he hadn’t allowed himself to get distracted by his phone calling out your name and the sweetest text he could have possibly received this early in the morning from the love of his life, he would have noticed that something tasted off about these cookies. And that what he believed to have been basil as a secret ingredient was something else entirely.

When lunchtime finally rolls around, you drop everything you were doing before and make your way to Matt’s office. You always spend lunch together. It’s your favorite time of the day. For an hour, you can forget the stress of your workplace and focus on him. He’s your safe haven. Your home. You crave to memorize his features anew every day so that you will have something to carry around with you when he has to work a bit longer, or when he goes out at night and his Daredevil duties drag on beyond what he planned.

You need to be with him as much as possible because you’re scared that your happiness will shatter on a white cloth, and you will be forced to move on—you can’t imagine losing him. You dedicated your life to loving him, and the thought of ever losing that privilege kills you.

On your way out, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You smile, thinking that it’s Matt, but when Karen’s number pops up on your screen, you frown.

‘We have a problem,’ she texted you. Without context.

All the alarms in your head start blaring, and you start to walk a little faster. You start imagining all possible scenarios. When you ask Karen what’s going on, she doesn’t even reply. What if someone got hurt? What if something happened to Matt? You almost lost him once; you can’t go through that again.

You burst into the new office space that your friends share a few minutes later, your chest heaving and sweat dripping down your pulsating temples. You’re ready to fight whoever dared to hurt the man you love, or possibly threaten your friends, or both, but when you look up and see your darling boyfriend with his cheek pressed against one of the leaves on their gigantic office plant as if the overgrown Calathea were the coziest pillow he has ever touched, you understand why Karen texted you that you—both you and her—have a problem. A big one, too, judging by the looks of it.

“What is going on here?” you ask the dreaded question, shutting the door behind you.

Only then do you notice Karen to your right in Foggy’s office, trying to get him off of his office chair. He’s belting the chorus of Defying Gravity at the top of his lungs, and he’s got a broom clutched tightly in his right hand.

Oh boy. Your wide eyes drift to Karen’s desk in the middle of the room. As soon as you see the chocolate cookies inside the Tupperware, it slowly begins to dawn on you.

You’re not sure which is worse: Matt cradling a houseplant with his glasses discarded and the first three buttons of his dress shirt undone as he’s coated in sweat, or Foggy singing one of Broadway’s greatest ballads so off-key that the Calathea is starting to wither.

It takes Matt much longer than usual to sense your presence in the room. He calls your name, and his lips curl into a bright grin. Even completely out of it, he looks like an angel on earth.

“Matthew,” you say. You approach him like you would approach a little kid. He’s on his knees, so the analogy isn’t far off.

“Hi, honey. What’s going on?”

“Sweetheart,” he greets you, and you have never heard this man sound so relaxed. His hazel eyes are red-rimmed and glazed over, but the most obvious change lies in his behavior.

“Feel that.” He reaches for your hand when you’re close enough for him to smell you, but he misses. “Where are you?” Matt pouts. “I can’t see.”

You want to laugh, but this is not the time. “You are blind, baby,” you remind him.

“Since when?”

“Over twenty years.”

“Oh.” He finally gets a hold of your hand. The conversation seems to go right over his head. “Feel the power of nature,” he tells you. “It’s so soft.”

You want to drag him away from the potentially dangerous plant if he decides to eat it, but the sight of him is one to behold. He looks downright adorable.

You have to focus though. You gently pat his hand. “Maybe later,” you say, and then you make your way to Karen’s desk to inspect the cookies.

Behind you, she calls your name. You twirl around. From the looks of it, she managed to get Foggy down from his chair, but he remains singing at the top of his lungs. All the signs point to one thing, and one thing only.

“Did you give my boyfriend weed cookies?” you sound a lot more condescending than you planned to.

Karen shakes her head. Her face is pale, and she looks just as panicked as you do. “Those are not mine,” she says.

“But you knew they were edibles?!”

“Of course, I didn’t! I started questioning it when Matt started cuddling the plant because his Braille felt like boobs and he didn't want to cheat on you, so he decided that he needed to touch some grass.” She points to him, exasperated. As if on cue, Matt lets out a happy little sigh.

Your brain struggles to process all of the information at once. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He said that his Braille feels like boobs. I don’t know! I thought he was messing with me until Foggy turned into Elphaba, and that’s when I took a bite and realized there was weed in them,” she says.

You groan, your worried eyes momentarily flicking back to your high boyfriend. High. That’s not a word you thought you would ever associate with him. “How did this happen?” you ask.

“Ms. Lebowsky, the lady next door, we helped her out the other day, and this morning, she gave me these cookies. I called her when these two started acting like idiots—more than usual, anyway. Turns out, she confused them with the ones her niece made for her birthday party tomorrow.”

“Her niece made edibles for her birthday party?”

“Please, don’t ask. I don’t have all the details. I just–”

“It’s fine,” you cut her off. “Just tell me that you’ve got Foggy under control.”

Karen peeks in through the window to his office. “More or less, yeah. You’ve got Matt?”

“Yeah, I’ve got him.”

You have to take care of him. He’s your responsibility. But as calm as he is right now, his heightened senses make the situation a lot more complex than the mere accidental consumption of edibles.

Walking over to him, you try to haul him up. He protests, at first, but then he feels the fabric of your shirt, and he slacks.

Matt wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. “You’re so soft,” he coos. “You smell like honey.”

With his entire weight on you, you have to widen your stance so you won’t fall over. His usually quick reflexes are nonexistent right now; he won’t be able to catch you if you trip, and then you’re both going to get hurt.

“You know what’s even softer?” you ask.

“The plant,” he answers confidently. He sounds like a more careless version of himself. You can’t deny that it does something to you.

“No, silly,” you chuckle softly, “I meant your bed.”

“Oh. But I’m not tired.”

“You’re high.”

He pouts. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” You stroke his back. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

He stiffens and relaxes at the same time. You swear you can feel the electricity in his veins as his nerves respond to the feeling of your skin on his. It’s like he’s on fire. Like your touch feels a million times more intense, and he’s being crushed under the weight of it in a way that makes him crave more.

He squeezes you tighter, trying to get swallowed by you, consumed to the point that you are the same person. The drugs are doing a number on him, and his already heightened sense of feeling has increased tenfold to the point you’re not sure if it’s pleasurable or painful or both. It must be agonizing, yet at the same time there is a high chance that the weed is calming his nerves and dampening his perception to the point he’s taking everything in without the added weight—he’s enjoying the newfound sensations in limbo, and he’s unaffected by it. You wonder how long that is going to last.

After bidding farewell to Karen, wishing her good luck with Foggy who has now reached a point of his high where he’s lying on the floor, demanding to listen to Bohemian Rhapsody and cry over Freddie Mercury. She assures you that she has got it under control, apologizes again, and then sends you on your way.

“Bye, Karen,” Matt says. “You have very nice hair.” His hand tangles in yours, and his face lights up like a Christmas Tree. You managed to convince him to put his glasses on, at least, or he might get irritated. “Never mind,” his voice turns into a pur.

Usually, you would shiver at his fingers in your hair, tracing the strands and sensually massaging your scalp only he knows how to, but today is not one of those days. You’re still concerned about the effects that the weed might have on him, so you want to be careful, although you’re not sure how much longer you can keep yourself from laughing.

As you maneuver Matt through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, his cane hovers above the ground and his arm is hooked around yours. Without you, he would have run off into traffic by now. He has absolutely no spatial awareness anymore.

Every sound, scent, and texture seems to capture his attention, but there's one sensation in particular that he can't seem to shake: thirst. You’re not even home yet, and you had to stop by a convenience store to get him a bottle of water. He shed his coat, which you are now carrying for him while also guiding him while simultaneously trying not to attract any unwanted attention.

You can’t help but look at him as though he is your whole world. He is. He is everything to you, even high on edibles he never meant to consume, and acting like a feral toddler. If anything, you are even prouder now that he is yours.

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning close to you, “do you think fire hydrants taste like licorice?”

You shake your head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Matt, don’t lick the fire hydrant.”

He pouts. For a moment, you think that you have steered off any possible disaster, but that was only wishful thinking.

Matt’s curiosity knows no bounds, and he’s soon reaching out to touch anything that catches his eye. He runs his fingers along the rough brick foundation of a building, marveling at the texture, and he stops to sniff a flower, declaring, “This is the most beautiful flower I have ever smelled.”

You pluck it for him, and he carries it in the pocket of his coat with a happy smile.

You’re both exhausted when you finally make it to his apartment. Getting his large frame through the door is one thing, stopping him from tearing the tap off the sink as he desperately searches for liquid with the words, “Water!” is another.

“Okay, okay,” you try to calm him. You grab a bottle from the fridge, open it for him, and force him to take it. “Drink.”

One touch is enough for him to drop it. “It’s cold,” he recoils in agony.

You sigh. “Tap water it is, then.”

You have never seen him down so many glasses of water. He is severely dehydrated and sensitive to changes in temperature. It’s either too hot or too cold, and you’re so glad that Karen texted you when she did.

You manage to get him to the couch with some snacks that he devours within seconds. If he moves one more inch today, you may not be able to catch him again.

His lip twitches. “Chickens don’t have any arms.”

You pause in the process of wrapping him in a blanket, staring blankly ahead at him. “Excuse me?” you ask.

“Chickens don’t have any arms,” Matt states. “Every American citizen has the right to bear arms under the second amendment in the constitution. If an egg was fertilized on US soil, and the chicken hatched there as well, technically, that makes them a citizen of the United States of America, therefore allowing tiny creatures without arms the right to bear arms, but who gives the bears their arms?”

You’re so flabbergasted that the absurdity of the situation eludes you. The words process only slowly in your mind, and when they do, they cause a wave of confusion to wash over you before it turns into genuine amusement, and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep yourself from laughing at him.

You can pinpoint the exact second the thought escapes his mind and something else replaces it. His hand brushes over the leather couch. “Smooth,” he observes. You haven’t even fully processed his very philosophical question about the animal kingdom before he drops his cheek down on the couch.

The man who has been carrying the weight of the world in bricks on his back for years is finally relaxed; it shouldn’t leave such a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

You kneel in front of him, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Do you need anything?” you ask.

Matt’s gaze is filled with an odd sort of clarity. “Nah. Just you,” he mumbles.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you brush a sweaty strand of hair away from his forehead. "I'm right here," you reassure him.

He nods, his eyelids drooping as the effects of the edibles start to take their toll. “Good.” He searches for your hand, and you help him intertwine your fingers. A giddy smile finds its way onto his face. “You’re warm.”

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “And you’re high,” you tease.

Matt huffs out a breathy laugh. “Mmh, yeah,” he says. “But it’s okay. ‘Cause you’re here.”

Despite the chaos and the unexpected turn of events, there’s a sense of contentment settling over you as you watch him drift off into a state of bliss. He deserves it more than anyone.

You stay by his side, watching over him as he succumbs to the pull of sleep that you’re all too familiar with after a sudden high.

“Note to self,” you say to yourself, “never eat a stranger’s cookies without drug testing them first.”

And love has funny ways of making even the most absurd moments feel strangely beautiful.

Matt Murdock Tag List: @littlenerdyravenclaw @yarrystyleeza @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @thatonegamefish @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattkinsella @itwasthereaminuteago @linamarr @gpenguin666 @acharliecoxedfan

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil #daredevil x reader #reader insert #from the vault #charlie cox #weed cookies

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