#him just appearing in places to be confused then leav

[tame-the-lion-writes]

reader x dog shifter 141 [pt.2]

(If you haven't seen it yet, here's part one.)

It’s been a couple weeks, and you’re starting to catch on to just how smart your dogs are.

Not that you know what they actually are—but they’ve got this weirdly human intelligence behind their eyes, and weirdly human personalities. The Great Dane likes to sit on the recliner in your living room, regal and commanding, often watching your front yard whenever the gardener would come over. The gardener’s son replaced him once for a job, leaving grass cuttings in the driveway, and he was all huffy about it. It amused you at first, but then you realized his judgement wasn’t reserved for strangers. He was even more huffy the time you accidentally burned a steak. (Jeez, since when was he a dad?) Not to mention the empty whiskey glasses he likes to keep around, but that's not right—dogs can't have alcohol, can they?

The German Shepherd, on the other hand, is surprisingly clingy—but not in a bump-into-your-leg or overtly cuddly kind of way. Instead, he follows you while never begging for attention, attentive and patient as though a soldier awaiting orders. You’ve been jump-scared one too many times by his presence, when you think you’re alone and he appears out of thing air. A massive giant of a dog, with paws as silent as a shadow. And he’s stubborn—doesn’t initiate contact, but you swear you’ve caught a subtle bashful glance. Especially when you scratch behind his ears and along the scar of his cheek and chin.

But what the Shepherd lacks in open affection, the Labrador makes up tenfold. He doesn't pester about it, though, simply hopping up to your side on the couch to curl up or placing his muzzle on top of your knees. Still, while probably the most obedient out of the four, you’ve seen him get roped into food heists with the Foxhound, or stalking as closely and silently as the Shepherd. Very much the little brother who tags along with whatever. But you can't stay mad at him for long, either—not when he knows how to apologize—bringing you a freshly chomped-off flower from the backyard whenever you get mad. Then he'll sit at your heels with a faint tail wag, whining 'til you're settled and appeased.

The Foxhound is perhaps the most talkative, in both a noisy and conversational way. His joy is unrelenting around you, and he greats you like you’d expect any other dog. Still, he’s awfully communicative. It’s how you’ve learned their names—with you wandering aloud what to call them, and him making faces at every suggestion. He eventually settled for playing retriever: playing charades by bringing you back bottles and bars of soap. For the Great Dane, he grabbed an old receipt from the trash. For the Shepherd, he threw on a sheet. He seemed awfully confused on what to do for the Labrador, though, and just kept whining as if in apology.

“So Soap, Price, Ghost, and…,” you trail off, glancing at the Labrador with a slight pout. “Oh, I’m sorry, boy. I really don’t know what to call you. And Soap here seems like he’s run out of braincells.”

Ghost snorts in amusement, which is returned by Soap’s unfettered glare.

The next morning, though, there really is no explanation as to how Soap learned the alphabet, how to write, or to arrange your bedsheets in the following name: GAZ.

_

Bonus Thoughts:

"Aha... what the fuck."

Price has face-palmed (face-pawed?) and Ghost just walks over and calmly almost slapstick-esque baps Soap on the head. Meanwhile, Gaz looks dejected, pressing his forehead to the front door, like he's expecting you to kick them out in the next five seconds.

Not that you would, of course—but we can queue the mild horror and existential questioning of what the hell these dogs actually are. You call your friend to rant about your theory—that they could be escapees from a top secret government laboratory, or spies from another country. She just says to enter them into a dog show, or make ‘em celebrities on social media.

[songbirdseung]

you're here, baby / lee heeseung

where you surprise visit your long-distance boyfriend after their tour finally ended genre long distance au, established relationship, fluff

Heeseung settled onto the couch, his phone propped up on the armrest as he waited for your call. It was your usual routine—after his long, exhausting days of practice or after he’d spent hours in the studio, you would sync up over video calls, watching movies together as a way to stay connected despite the distance between you. It had become the highlight of his nights, and while nothing could replace having you right there with him, those virtual movie dates made the separation feel a little less painful.

His phone buzzed, and your face appeared on the screen. He grinned immediately, all the exhaustion he’d been feeling melting away the moment he saw you. You were still as beautiful as ever, and even through the screen, you always had a way of making him feel at ease.

"Hey, babe. What movie are we watching tonight?" he asked, trying to seem casual, though he was always giddy just to see you.

"Actually, before we start..." you said, your voice taking on that playful tone that always made him curious. Heeseung raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“What is it this time?” He laughed softly, already used to your random little requests. You were always full of surprises, sending him gifts or packages to make him smile on the days you couldn’t be there.

"Can you do me a favor?" you asked, your smile widening as you watched his expression shift into slight confusion.

"Another package, huh? You’re spoiling me too much,” Heeseung joked, sitting up a little straighter. "What is it this time? More snacks? A hoodie?"

You giggled, biting your lip to contain the excitement bubbling inside you. "Just... step outside your house for a minute. Trust me, okay?"

"Outside? Babe, it’s late, and I was just getting comfortable," he said, pouting slightly, but he still got up from the couch. He couldn’t say no to you, even if it was something as odd as stepping outside in the middle of the night.

As he slipped on his shoes by the door, he still couldn’t shake the curiosity. “Alright, alright. I’m going, but this better be good.”

Heeseung opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, glancing around in the dim glow of the streetlights. The night air was cool, and the streets were quiet, save for the distant hum of passing cars. He scanned the area, searching for whatever surprise you had in store for him. “Okay, I’m here. Now where’s this package?”

"Are you sure you’re looking in the right place?" your voice teased through the phone, barely holding back your excitement. You knew he’d catch on any second now.

Heeseung laughed, his brow furrowed as he looked around again, but nothing was out of place. “Yeah, I’m looking. Did you hide it or something? Come on, give me a hint.”

Then, you dropped the surprise. "You wanna leave your lover outside?"

Heeseung froze, your words making his heart skip a beat. He turned slowly, his eyes landing on a figure approaching the house from the street. His breath caught in his throat, disbelief clouding his mind as he saw you, standing there in person, walking up the driveway toward him.

"No way," he breathed, the shock rendering him momentarily speechless. His phone nearly slipped from his hands as he fumbled to shove it into his pocket. In an instant, he dashed toward you, closing the distance between you in seconds.

You grinned as you saw him sprinting toward you, your own heart racing as you finally reached him. Before you could say anything, Heeseung enveloped you in his arms, lifting you off the ground in a tight embrace. His laughter filled the air, the joy and disbelief evident in the way he held you close.

“You’re here,” he gasped, his voice filled with pure elation as he pulled back slightly to look at your face, his hands cradling your cheeks like he needed to make sure you were real. "You’re actually here... How? When did you—"

You laughed softly, still catching your breath from the excitement. "Surprise, Hee."

Heeseung let out a breathy laugh, hugging you again, spinning you around slightly as if to convince himself that this moment was real. The feel of your warmth against him, the familiar scent of your perfume—it was all too good to be true.

"I can’t believe you’re here," he murmured, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "I missed you so much."

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him just as tightly. "I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to come see you."

After what felt like forever in his arms, you finally nudged him gently. "Come on, let’s go inside. It’s cold out here."

Heeseung nodded, still holding onto your hand as he led you back inside the house, his heart still racing from the excitement. As you walked in, you kicked off your shoes and shrugged off your jacket, making yourself comfortable like you’d done a million times before. It felt like home, being there with him.

But Heeseung stayed by the door, his back leaning against the frame as he watched you move around the house, his eyes filled with wonder. You were really there, in front of him, not just on a screen. It felt surreal.

Noticing him standing there, you turned around and gave him a curious look. "What’s wrong?"

Heeseung didn’t respond right away. Instead, he slowly made his way over to you, his footsteps quiet as he approached. When he reached you, he stopped just a few inches away, his hands gently resting on your arms as he stared at you, his expression soft and filled with love.

“You’re really here,” he whispered, his voice quiet and full of emotion. "You’re actually here, baby."

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. "I’m here. It’s real."

Heeseung leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a moment as he took a deep breath. “I can’t believe it,” he said softly. "I missed you so much. Seeing you through a screen wasn’t enough... I needed this. I needed you."

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer. "Well, I’m not going anywhere for a while. I’m all yours."

Heeseung let out a quiet laugh, his lips brushing against your forehead as he held you close. "Good. Because I’m never letting you go again."

The weight of the past months, the long nights of missing each other, melted away in that moment. It didn’t matter how far apart you’d been—right now, you were together, and that was all that mattered.

[ssahotchnerr]

Hello! How are you doing?

I don't have anything extremely specific (sorry, I'm just leaving work and haven't really thought about this).

But if you want to, how about jealous Aaron who has the, very rare, opportunity to go pick up the reader from her job and see her all smiles with another coworker? In this case I was thinking that there might be a age gap between them and the male coworker is more of her age? So a bit of jealous and insecure Hotch?

If you feel comfortable with this of course!

Have a good day 😊

in comparison

cw; fem!reader, age gap, insecure :( and jealous!aaron, some angst, small suggestiveness, fluff <3 wc; 1.2k

You were exiting the building with a few of your colleagues, partaking in what appeared to be an entertaining conversation from Aaron's line of sight. The liveliness on your face was vivid, undoubtedly enjoying whatever the whole of you were collectively discussing.

You looked comfortable, relaxed, happy. You molded into the group well. One of your male colleagues in particular was inching a bit too close, a near awestruck expression on his face as a laugh escaped you. If he took one step to his right, his shoulder would be touching yours. While you were clueless, he was enamored.

Aaron felt his eyes harden involuntarily, a jealous heat swarming through his body; he wanted to march over there and assert his role as yours. However, the feeling wasn't long lasting. A profound sadness climbed up his spine, as he gained a different perspective.

It wasn't that you didn't fit into his life. On the complete contrary: you were the perfect addition.

But something about seeing you with others, with someone closer to your age, was daunting. Intimidating. It sickened him how natural the visual appeared. Reality has smacked him in the face numerous times over the years, he wouldn't be surprised if it happened again. That somehow, someway, you would prefer the latter. The one that had nothing to do with him.

As you walked towards Aaron's car, you glanced back at your coworkers, offering a wave and a smile as they jointly headed to the parking lot. His window was opened a crack, and he heard you call back towards them, "Have fun tonight!"

Aaron exhaled a breath.

"Hey." You chirped as you slid into the passenger seat, leaning over the center console to place a kiss on Aaron's cheek. He was rather stiff as you did so, causing you to lightly scrunch your nose in confusion, pulling away slowly. Something was up.

"Hey," He echoed, greeting you with an almost forced smile. The abruptness of his thoughts had unsettled him deeply - he couldn't shake them. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." You responded hesitantly, searching his face as you buckled your seatbelt. You added after a moment, happy to be in his company and the emotion overtaking your heart. "I missed you today."

But your words went unnoticed, as he had already reentered the void that was his unwelcome thoughts.

In result the car ride home was silent, Aaron's pout unfaltering. His mind was plagued by the image of your coworker being in his place, driving you home, or the two of you huddled together amongst a night out with friends. It caused an uncomfortable, sad pit in his stomach.

"You missed a turn."

"What?"

Your statement jolted him back to earth. No he didn't... did he? His eyebrows furrowed in a line, reassessing the current surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary, all familiar street signs. When he confirmed he, in fact, did not miss a turn, he turned to you, only to find a knowing smirk plastered on your face.

His eyebrows quirked softly, obstructing the line drawn above his eyes. "What was that about?"

"To get your mind off whatever you're stewing about."

A smile threatened his lips, due to your witty expression and observation, "I'm not." His tone found a slightly lighter note - amusingly guilty. Anything but convincing.

"Aaron, darling, you're gonna break some teeth if that," Your playful demeanor dropped for a moment, your eyes tracing back and forth, as if you were in a trance. "Jaw of yours tightens anymore."

Your brief distraction eased a notion of his jealousy, he still had that effect on you, thankfully. He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his stare forward.

"So what is it?" You asked, "Did you have a bad day?"

He shook his head.

"Bad bout of cases?"

Aaron grimaced, his knuckles letting up only to secure his fingers over the wheel again, "They're always bad."

"Something I did?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but only silence came out. His hesitation caused your face to fall, your shoulders dropping and posture succumbing to the back of your seat.

"No honey, no you didn't do anything." He was quick to reassure, feeling entirely worse. "I can assure you."

Your eyes met his, needing more.

He sighed defeatedly, surprisingly not afraid to bluntly admit, "I'm jealous."

"Jealous?" You froze, but then it clicked. You gestured behind, as if your colleagues were somehow tailing the two of you. "Of...?"

Aaron bit his lip, nodding slowly.

Your expression lightened, a soft and genuine wonder in your eyes, "Why?"

"Are you okay with this?" Confusion arose on your face once more, so he clarified. "This. Us. You signed up for a lot, quickly at that."

Truth be told, the two of you had progressed at a rate neither of you expected, due to the sheer infatuation you possessed for one another. That, too, had been natural.

"I'm divorced, widowed, a father - I come with baggage. My 'going-out' are days long gone. I don't want you missing out."

"Aaron." In a way, you could laugh. It tore your heart into pieces he was thinking this way, doubting himself but he was clueless in an adorably, idiotic way. In summary, he simply never gave himself the credit he deserved. "What could I possibly be missing out on?"

"You could be spending your weekends out, socializing, with people closer in age. And yet, you're..." He came up with an example. "Making pillow forts. These are supposed to be the best years of your life. I'm terribly boring in comparison."

"Hey, I make a mean pillow fort."

He gave you a look.

Your hand grabbed his bicep affectionately, clinging onto it as if you were knocking some sense into him. "I chose this. I chose you. Jack is the addition to my life I never knew I needed. And I don't want to be out galavanting bar to night club to bar. I jump at the opportunity to deny a night out to spend it in. With you. When have you ever seen me wanting to go out and party?"

An expression of distaste flashed across your face at the concept, and Aaron's head tilted to the side as he considered your point.Yeah, that was true.

"I'm a homebody. And if there's anything I've realized over the course of the past months, you're my home. You."

Aaron let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"I know what I'm in for. And I embrace it with open arms. I want it." Your face was content, even more so than when you were talking with your colleagues. "I love you. And I love the life we're creating. It's so special, beyond my wildest dreams."

"Really?" A boyish, hopeful expression graced his face.

"Really. I wouldn't want it any other way. I can promise you. This- you're everything I could ever want."

Aaron's hand found your thigh, giving it a gentle, loving squeeze. "I love you too, sweetheart."

You beamed in response - you'd never get tired of the words leaving his lips.

"That one guy though," Aaron raised his eyebrows, taking a quick glance at you. Envy began creeping back, "He seemed interested. Wasn't a fan of that."

You scoffed, unbothered. "I'm into men, not boys. Which again, you are the utmost depiction of." Your delightful smirk resurfaced, admirably looking him over. "Believe me, I couldn't be more satisfied."

He wanted to play into your suggestive remarks, but he needed further confirmation. Once more. "You sure?"

"Oh, I'm positive."

Finally satisfied himself, he surrendered, "Okay."

"In fact, I can think of a few ways to show you just how much later."

[cherrylovelycherry]

𓂅new order. "tarte aux fraises and a pain au chocolat."

Insolence and control

pairing. Sunday x gn!reader cw/genre. angst, argument, some slow burn, TW(abuse), first time slap, criticism, synopsis. his control-freak behavior started to get on your nerves. full menu note. something short to keep up with the language heh.

As the Family's spokesperson with a hectic schedule, Sunday is arguably the busiest person in Penacony. His workday often extends beyond 15 hours, occasionally reaching over 19 hours. In short, he rarely makes it home, even when he desires to.

On an unusual Tuesday, he manages to arrive home before midnight—a rare occurrence. You casually sit on the living room couch, watching TV until you hear the front door open. It's Sunday. You promptly rise from the couch and assist him with the briefcases in his hands.

"It's okay, Y/N. I can manage them," he declined, visibly exhausted as expected.

You persist, attempting to take the briefcases from his hands, but his demeanor suddenly changes.

"I said it's fine! Can you just fucking leave me alone?!" he shouts, his voice strained. His sudden temper leaves you questioning what has come over him.

You freeze upon his unexpected outburst. His usual composed self was now replaced with a completely different aura.

Sunday drops the briefcases on the floor and takes a step back, averting his gaze. His breathing is heavy, as if he's holding back. The outburst was seemingly triggered by seemingly minor interaction.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted," he says, trying to regain his composure. He's still avoiding eye contact with you, but then his expression suddenly shifts to one of surprise.

His eyes widen slightly upon realizing something.

"Are you…wearing one of my shirts? A hint of irritation laces his tone as he finally looks at you, examining your appearance. You're wearing one of his work shirts that you had borrowed.

You nod, a bit confused by his reaction.

"I missed you—"

You thought he wouldn't mind you borrowing his shirt.

Although hey, he'd never found out you were using them, until now.

He grits his teeth, the irritation in his voice evident, but his eyes remain fixated on the shirt.

"Take it off." he says, his tone firm.

Your heart skips a beat at his command. The shirt suddenly felt too tight.

You look at him, searching for a hint of humor, but you're met only with his intense gaze.

"But why?" you asked, managing to push the words out of you, despite the growing knot in your stomach.

With a great notorious irritation on his face, he spoke again.

"Because you're going to dirty and wrinkle it."

You look down at yourself, noting that the shirt is barely wrinkled and clean, contrary to his statement.

However, the tension in the air was palpable.

You tried to protest, not understanding why he was making such a big deal about something so trivial. "But this won't - "

Before you could finish, he silenced you, his voice filled with irritation and authority.

"Don't argue with me. I said take it off. Now."

But oh right, he wanted to always have everything controlled and in place.

You hesitate, torn between obeying him immediately and questioning his unreasonable demand. But his stern stare leaves no room for argument.

Slowly, you lift the hem of the shirt, preparing to take it off.

However, the moment the shirt slides halfway up, revealing the midriff, he abruptly grabs your wrist.

His touch is firm, his grip preventing you from going further.

"Change in the bedroom, not here," he said.

He released your wrist but recorded your other hand before leading you towards the bedroom, his demeanor still emanating tension and irritation. You followed behind, still trying to wrap your mind around the situation.

Once inside the bedroom, he went to the closet to put on slightly more comfortable clothes.

You stood by the bed still puzzled, wondering why he was so upright about this. It was just a shirt.

But anyway, you approached your side of the wardrobe, to take out your own clothes and put it on.

Once you finish changing, you turn around to find him sitting on the bed, still visibly agitated.

Once you finished changing clothes, you left his shirt on dirty clothes.

You sighed and turned your body towards the bed, he was sitting there.

As you approach, he pats the bed, motioning for you to sit next to him. You comply, taking a seat next to him. The air in the room was thick with tension, each moment of silence felt uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath before turning his gaze toward you. His eyes were filled with frustration.

He spoke, his voice softer but still tinged with irritation. "Do you know how long I've been working this week?"

You replied, a hint of guilt in your voice. "I know. It's been incredibly busy for you lately."

He let out a heavy sigh. "I've been working non-stop, sometimes not even coming home till midnight. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically."

You moved your gaze to his face. Dark rings under his eyes were visible, evidence of his tiredness.

He continued, venting his frustration. "And what do I find when I finally get home? You, wearing my shirt as if it's nothing."

His voice rose, the irritation in his tone evident again. "That's not just some random shirt; it's mine. It's supposed to be clean, pristine, hanging neatly in my closet. Not being casually worn and wrinkled on you."

"I'm sorry," you replied, feeling a mix of guilt and frustration. "I just missed you, and I thought you wouldn't mind."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. "You've been living here, in my house, with me, for how long? You should know not to 'borrow' my belongings."

The tension in the room was escalating quickly, and you found yourself feeling defensive.

"It's just a shirt, Sunday," you said, trying to stay calm. "I thought you wouldn't mind."

He shot you a stern glance, irritation evident in his gaze. "It's the principle, not the shirt itself. I have specific ways I want things organized and kept in order."

His control-freak behavior started to get on your nerves.

"I wanted to feel closer to you, that's why I wore it. Is that such a crime?" You said.

His jaw tightened at your response as he shot back angrily, "You could've done that in a different way; not by disrespecting my belongings,"

His control started to leak out of him completely. The outburst was not only about the shirt, but the frustration built up during the week, from his stressful work to the lack of time you both had for each other.

He paused, taking a deep breath to compose himself. "I expect more from you, especially as my partner. You should understand and respect my boundaries,"

"Boundaries?" you replied, the frustration in your voice evident. "Is it really about boundaries, or is it about control?"

You were starting to lose your patience.

"I do respect your boundaries," you added, your voice starting to rise. "But there's a line between having expectations and being ridiculously controlling. And right now, it feels like you're being the latter."

Sunday's eyes narrowed, clearly not appreciating being challenged. He retorted, "I'm not being controlling; I just have high standards, and I expect them to be met. You know exactly who you're living with."

His voice grew more frustrated. "And instead of understanding and appreciating that, you're questioning me, and accusing me of overstepping boundaries. I demand a certain level of order and respect. Is that really too much to ask for?”

"Are you serious right now?" You snapped back, your frustration reaching its peak, "Of course it's too much to ask for! You're acting as if this is all my fault. You're being completely unreasonable,"

"I can't just sit here and take this—this verbal abuse because I wore your stupid shirt," you exclaimed.

The room was thick with tension.

"Verbal abuse?" Sunday's voice rose, clearly offended. "I'm not abusing you; I'm expressing my expectations and frustrations. There's a difference."

He pointed his finger at you, frustration etched on his face. "And yes, it is your fault. If you had respected my boundaries, we wouldn't be having this argument. It's not about the damn shirt, it's about your disregard for my wishes."

You let out a slight laugh in mockery, as you rolled your eyes.

"You know what? Fine, you win, I'm not going to touch your stuff," you said, as you got up from the edge of the bed.

Sunday's eyes followed you, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "Where are you going?"

You replied, "to the living room, i need some space to cool off."

He let out a scoff, clearly not satisfied with your response. "You want space? Fine, take all the space you need. But come back here when you're ready to apologize and accept you're in the wrong."

Your eyes narrowed at his insistence that you were in the wrong. You retorted, "I'm not going to apologize for something that doesn't make sense,"

He clenched his jaw, his tone stern. "You know what, maybe you shouldn't come back until you see reason."

His words stung more than you expected. The implication that you weren't being reasonable made your heart flutter, mixed with the hurt of his cold statement.

You crossed your arms, your voice filled with determination. "Fine, I won't. Consider this a break from your 'expectations and rules.'"

His eyes flared with anger as he responded, "A break from my expectations and rules? You make it sound like I'm controlling, but those boundaries exist for a reason."

He got up from the bed, his voice raised, "And if you can't respect them or me, then maybe we need more than just a break."

The tension between you both palpable, your relationship suddenly hanging on a precipice.

You let out a hollow laugh, the hurt and frustration bubbling up within you. "Maybe that's what we need – a break from each other."

You moved back towards the bedroom door, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'll go stay somewhere else."

His expression hardened, a mix of surprise and stubbornness evident on his face. "You can leave. Go ahead."

You opened the door, your hand gripping the handle tightly. The urge to turn back, to argue further or something, was strong.

"Fine, I will," you said, your voice quiet, almost resigned.

You took one last glance at him, noted his tense stature, and then walked out the door, shutting it behind you with a sharp click.

The sound of the door shutting echoed through the apartment, leaving Sunday alone in the quiet room. He stood there for a moment, his mind racing with frustration and anger.

He ran his hand through his hair, the silence in the apartment felt deafening. He looked down at the floor, the argument still fresh in his mind.

You didn't end up leaving the house, first of all, or know where to stay.

So you stayed in the house, huddled on the couch.

As the hours passed by, the silence in the apartment felt deafening. Sunday still hadn't come out of the bedroom.

You sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a mix of emotions swirling within you.

You lay on the couch, choosing to sleep.

You didn't know how much time passed, but you felt someone pushing you a little bit, to make room for the couch.

As you stirred from your sleep, you felt someone gently pushing you on the couch, attempting to make room. You opened your eyes slightly, groggy from the disrupted sleep.

You noticed Sunday hovering above you, a tired expression on his face.

"Move over," he said, his voice softer than before, but still holding a hint of tension.

You shifted slightly, creating space for him on the couch. He slumped onto the spot you just vacated, his presence immediately filling the room with his energy.

He leaned his head back against the couch cushion, sighing heavily.

The two of you stay there in silence for a moment, the weight of your unresolved argument still lingering between you. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the dim bedside lamp, casting shadows on the walls.

Sunday broke the silence first, his voice a low rumble. "You didn't leave."

You looked at him, your gaze meeting his weary eyes. The tension from your earlier fight still hung in the air, but his comment felt almost like an olive branch, a hint that maybe he didn't want you to leave either.

You replied softly, "I didn't know where to go."

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Then, after a few more seconds, he spoke, his voice holding a hint of resignation.

"You could have gone to a friend's place. Or a hotel. Anything but here."

You responded, your voice quieter this time, "I didn't want to go anywhere else."

He shifted his head to look at you, your eyes meeting his. His expression softened for a moment, before the tension returned.

He continued, his voice slightly strained, "You'd rather stay here, even after what happened?"

You nodded, your eyes not breaking contact with his. "Yes. Despite our argument, I didn't want to leave."

He inhaled deeply, his eyes still fixed on you.

After another moment of silence, this time you spoke first.

"Couldn't sleep?" You asked, seeing his tired look.

He let out a weary sigh, stretching his tired figure a bit.

"No," he admitted, "I've been tossing and turning in bed for hours."

His eyes searched your face, studying your expression.

"Why is that?" You asked, curiosity piqued.

He shifted his position once again, clearly not wanting to give a direct response.

"The bed felt too empty," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

You let go of a little 'mhm' while also moving yourself a little on the couch, looking for comfort.

"Then let's sleep," you said, closing your eyes.

There was another moment of silence, this one felt heavier.

Sunday didn't say anything at first, but then you suddenly felt his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

You allowed yourself to intertwine your legs with his, feeling more comfortable so you could sleep on the narrow couch.

You both settled into a rather tight, but somewhat comfortable position on the couch, with your head resting on his chest.

The sound of his steady heartbeat and the warmth of his body were strangely soothing, despite the lingering tension between you.

His arm remained around you, his hand gently tracing light circles on your back.

It didn't take long for you to fall asleep again.

The sky outside had started to darken, dusk painting the horizon in hues of purple and deep blue. It was getting late, signaling the end of another workday.

Sunday was still at work, finishing up a few tasks before returning home.

You were sitting on the couch once again, scrolling through your phone when you heard the sound of keys in the front door.

The door opened, and in walked Sunday. He looked weary and tired, exhaustion evident in his gaze.

This time you didn't get up to try to help him, because the last time you did he was too irritated to be kind.

"Hey, sweetheart," you greeted, as you turned your gaze towards your phone again.

He closed the door behind him, locking it as he always did.

He took off his jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door, his movements weary.

He turned to face you, his expression revealing his fatigue.

He couldn't help but make a grimace when he saw you sitting there.

"Did you wash the dishes?" He dared to ask, as if he knew the answer.

You immediately felt the irritation rise in you. Despite your attempt at not letting it affect you, his first words felt like another challenge.

You replied, trying to keep your tone even, "Yes, I did."

He walked over to you, stopping in front of the couch.

He didn't seem convinced, as he raised an eyebrow and asked again, "Are you sure?"

His tone was laced with skepticism.

The doubt in his voice made your annoyance flare up even more, the feeling of being constantly questioned and disbelieved by him was wearing thin.

You shot him a look, before answering again firmly, "Yes, I'm sure. I wouldn't lie about something as simple as washing dishes."

He shifted, leaning his arm against the back of the couch, towering over you.

He responded with a dry tone, "And how am I supposed to know? You've been known to forget before."

You crossed your arms, meeting his skeptical gaze with your own. "I'm not a child, Sunday. I'm perfectly capable of doing basic chores, without being questioned and doubted constantly."

He didn't respond and headed to the kitchen, where he saw for himself that the dishes were clean.

But not in the right way.

Or at least that's what he thought.

"Y/N, did you dry the dishes with the cloth for the dishes or to dry your hands?" He raised his voice, from the kitchen, so that you could hear his words.

You felt your frustration rising again. Why was he always so nitpicky about every little thing?

You stood up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen. "What difference does it make?" You replied, trying to keep your voice even. "They're both clean, aren't they?"

He looked at you, his expression stern. "It does make a difference. One cloth is supposed to be used for the hands, not as a drying cloth for dishes."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. The way he was picking on such a trivial issue was mind-boggling.

You retorted, "Sunday, this is ridiculous. It's just a cloth, and it serves the same purpose, right? The dishes are clean."

He shook his head, his expression remaining stern.

"No, it's not just a cloth. The dish cloth is for the dishes, and the towel is for your hands. It's about order and organization," he responded matter-of-factly.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath.

"Well, I'm going to wash them again and dry them with the right cloth," you said, in a tense voice.

As you approached to start putting the variety of dried dishes inside the sink.

He stopped you with a gesture, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Wait."

His tone was firm, preventing you from moving forward.

"Let me do it. You'll probably just use the wrong cloth again." he declared, his gaze fixed on you.

You let go of an unconscious mockery after his words reached your ears.

"How nice," you said, as you left the kitchen.

You left the kitchen feeling frustrated and annoyed. The fact that he thought you couldn't handle such a simple task as washing dishes felt like a blow to your pride.

You sat back down on the couch again, still see something but trying to control yourself. You picked up your phone, pretending to be distracted, all while feeling his presence in the next room, taking care of 'your mistake'.

And yes, you thought he was just irritated and it would only be the only times he would make those kinds of comments.

Oh, aeons. How wrong you were.

Time after time again, every time he came back late at night, he insisted on criticizing the things you did, from how to fold your clothes, to how you eat.

At this point you were starting to feel frustrated, and of course, you couldn't help but defend yourself, sometimes speaking badly or raising your tone of voice.

It wasn't the best way to speak for you, but it was infuriating for you to criticize everything.

And obviously, he didn't like your attempts at defense and tone of voice.

At this point, you were sitting on the couch, somewhat relaxed not to have Sunday in the living room.

You were now glad that he spent so much time away from home.

The door opened once again, revealing the tired figure of Sunday once more. As he stepped into the room, his gaze instantly focused on you, sitting on the couch. The moment he saw you, a disapproving frown settled on his face.

He closed the door behind him and approached the living room, his footsteps reverberating in the quiet apartment.

"Y/N," he began, his voice stern. "You're sinking into the couch again. It's going to wear it out."

You couldn't believe it.

He was now criticizing how you were sitting on the couch. It was as if everything you did was wrong in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure.

"I'm just sitting comfortably," you replied tersely.

But Sunday wasn't satisfied.

"You're sinking in the couch," he repeated, his tone disapproving. "You know it's not good for the couch, or your back, to sit that way. You need to sit up straight."

His constant criticism and corrections had been wearing on your nerves, and this latest comment was the final straw.

"Oh, for Aeons sake, Sunday," you snapped, your frustration boiled over. "Can you just relax for a moment? I'm tired, I'm just trying to relax."

He didn't take your response kindly. His expression hardened.

"And I'm tired of coming home every day to find you slouching on the couch," he replied firmly. "It's not respectable, or good for you."

Your eyes widened at his words and this time, you lost it.

You stood up, your voice raised and filled with frustration. "Respectable? Are you serious? You're more worried about how respectable I look on the couch than how I feel?"

He was taken aback by your outburst, but stood his ground. "It's about maintaining a certain standard… "

You interrupted him, your voice filled with sarcasm. "Oh, spare me, Sunday. We're not living in some uptight Victorian house."

Sunday's expression tensed, his eyes narrowing. "Watch your tone, Y/N. I'm just trying to help you be more presentable… "

You laughed bitterly. "Presentable? Is that all you care about? My appearance and how it reflects on you?"

Sunday tried to maintain his stern expression, but the tone of your voice was starting to chip at his composure.

You continued, your irritation rising, "You're always criticizing me, finding faults in everything I do. I can't relax without you nagging at me to be 'more respectable' or to do things your way. It's like I'm walking on eggshells every moment you're here."

Sunday clenched his jaw, clearly growing irritated. "You're exaggerating. I just want you to have some basic decency and standards,"

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Decency and standards?! Is that what you call it? I call it suffocating and controlling. I can't even relax in my own home without you breathing down my neck, telling me how to sit, how to fold my clothes, how to talk‐"

Sunday interrupted you, his own irritation seeping into his voice. "Because you're not doing it right! Someone has to keep things in order around here. You think the house will magically stay organized and tidy without any effort?"

You retorted, "I'm not saying we need to live like pigs, but there's being tidy and then there's being overly obsessive about every little detail."

"You're making me feel like I can never do anything right, and it's driving me insane."

"It's about showing some self-discipline and self-respect. You're always so slovenly and careless…" He said.

You felt like you couldn't take his comments anymore. "Slovenly?" you replied, your voice filling with incredulity. "I'm not a slob, Sunday. I'm just being comfortable in MY own home."

The tension in the air was palpable. Sunday's irritation was now almost palpable, and he looked like he was on the verge of losing his composure.

"Your 'comfort' is an excuse for being undisciplined," he said, his voice growing louder. "You think because you're at home, you can just relax and do whatever you want. You have an obligation to yourself to maintain a certain standard of behavior and appearance."

'Obligation?'

You snapped.

"Who the hell do you think you are to dictate my behavior and appearance?" Your frustration boiled over. "You're not my boss, Sunday. You're my partner. You're supposed to support and respect me, not nitpick and control every little thing I do. This isn't a military drill, it's a home."

Sunday's own frustration flared up as you stood your ground. "I'm just trying to help you be better. If you'd just listen and take my advice - "

"Oh, so it's 'advice' now?" You interrupted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're not advising me. You're ordering me around like a damn soldier."

"I'm not just supposed to sit idly by and watch you act carelessly. It's my duty to guide and correct you when you're veering off the right path." he shot back, his voice rising in volume.

You couldn't help but use sarcasm again at his loud tone of voice. "Oh, right, right."

"In the process, teach me how to breathe, yes? I'm sure I'm doing that wrong too."

That comment clearly hit a nerve and Sunday's irritation turned into anger.

"You're being sarcastic and disrespectful again," he said.

"Disrespectful my-!" Your words were quickly cut off.

By he stepped closer, towering over you.

"How insolent!" And the moment he spoke, his hand rose above his head.

Just as you were about to retaliate, your words were cut off by a swift and firm slap across your cheek.

The sudden shock left you stunned, your mind spinning for a moment. Your hand gingerly touched your now stinging cheek.

Sunday stood there, his face filled with disbelief. It was as if he was just as surprised as you were by what he had just done. For a moment, both of you remained silent. The air was filled with shock and a tense silence.

You knew Sunday was stern and strict, but this was the first time he had ever raised a hand at you.

The atmosphere in the room was now even more tense. You felt a knot forming in your stomach and throat, fear and anger mixed together forming a confusing sensation.

The realization of what had just happened was slowly reaching your brain.

He slapped you. He actually dared to lay a hand on you.

The room echoed in deafening silence, the only sound was your own breath, which now came in and out rapidly.

Sunday stood there, his hand still slightly raised as if frozen in time.

Sunday's breathing started to quicken as he began to regain his composure.

His eyes widened after realizing what he had done, his gaze fixed on your reddening cheek.

Your own mind was reeling, trying to process this moment. Just moments before, the conversation was heated, but it had never crossed the line into physical violence.

The stinging sensation on your cheek was slowly turning into a dull ache.

You could feel tears start to sting the corners of your eyes, at that point, you couldn't identify whether it was because of the fact that he had dared to do that or because of the sudden sharp pain in your face.

Sunday's expression morphed from shock to something akin to helplessness. He had crossed a boundary that he never thought he was capable of crossing. All this time, he thought that words were enough to guide and correct, but for the first time, he had crossed the line.

He tried to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words, but all that came out was silence.

The tension in the room was palpable.

He finally managed to speak in a shaky, low voice. "I… I didn't mean… I'm sorry, I don't-"

But you were already at the brink of breaking down. The pain on your cheek combined with the emotional turmoil was becoming unbearable.

You couldn't hold it back anymore.

A soft sob escaped your lips, your tears starting to spill down your aching cheek.

Sunday's heart ached as he saw you starting to break down before him.

He captiously took a step forward, his hand reached out towards you, but stopped midway. He didn't know if he should comfort you or keep his distance after what he had just done.

His voice was a hushed whisper. "Please, let me-"

The sight of him trying to touch you after what he had just done sent a shockwave of fear and anger through you.

"Go ahead," you said, trying to get your voice out without any sobbing.

"Go ahead," You repeated, turning your face a little, pointing to your cheek that wasn't hit. "slap me again,"

At no time did the tears stop, practically you spit out the words between cut-down and agitated breaths.

"Surely this is how your 'father' hit you," you said again, with hatred in your tone. "Surely he did the same for you to be obedient,"

Your words, despite being fueled by anger and pain, stung like a dagger through Sunday's heart.

He stood frozen in place, shocked at the comparison you had just made.

Sunday had revealed to you in a previous conversation how strict Gopher Wood was, raising him to be obedient and disciplined. Growing up, there were times him had used physical means to discipline him for mistakes.

He couldn't deny that his upbringing had influenced his way of thinking and acting, but he had never, ever considered crossing the same boundaries Gopher Wood had.

He had never spoken about it with pride, and in fact, he often looked ashamed when he spoke of the times he was reprimanded in such a manner.

He shook his head, voice shaky. "I'm not like him, It's not the same-"

"Isn't it?" you cut him off, your voice quivering with pain and anger.

"Why? Because you love me?" you continued, the tears now flowing freely down your face.

"Because your father didn't love you? That's the difference?"

Sunday clenched his jaw, your words hitting him deep.

You continued, your voice choked with emotion. "If that's the difference, then you're just as bad," your words cut like blades.

"Maybe even worse, because you should know better." you finished, your voice a broken whisper.

The room was once again heavy with silence, the only sound being the occasional soft sob that escaped through your tears.

Sunday's face was pale, a mix of shame and helplessness.

All he could do was stand there, watching you fall apart before his eyes.

The sight of you broke his heart, but the knowledge that he had caused this breakdown weighed heavily on his soul.

He didn't know what to say, how to justify this to you or even to himself.

He just stood there, feeling like a complete failure.

"I hate you, Sunday," you murmured, As you passed your hands across your face, be careful not to dry your tears abruptly, down your sensitive cheek.

Maybe he is a failure.

©cherrylovelycherry do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[suashii]

— 𝒸𝑜𝓏𝓎 𝒸𝓊𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈 ౨ৎ

🦚 anon request: "making the house as cozy as possible before they come home" with matsukawa. you can request for my event here!

matsukawa issei x reader. 0.8k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ shirless mattsun. . . heh :3

Today has not been your day. Not by a long shot.

First, coffee splashed on your shirt before you even made it in the door to work—an accident that the owner of the unlidded beverage apologized profusely for. You think you could have brushed that off if it wasn’t followed so closely by an impromptu meeting that dragged on for an unreasonable amount of time. It left you racing to finish all the other tasks you were meant to complete today, tasks that should have been a breeze if your time had been budgeted accordingly—which it had been before that stupid meeting. 

By the time you’re finally able to clock out, the weight of eight stressful hours is heavy on your shoulders and makes your walk to the train feel twice as long as it really is. You find being squished between countless other bodies in the passenger car more unpleasant than you usually would but the upside is that you’re almost home—away from all of the bothersome inconveniences of the day, free to do as you please.

As you unlock the front door, thoughts of collapsing on your bed until you’re either too exhausted to stay awake any longer or your stomach growls in a noisy request for food are the only ones that swirl through your head. You’re quick to kick off your shoes and hastily hang up your bag when you cross the threshold into your apartment.

Your plan to make a beeline to your bed is put on hold after taking only a few steps in the direction of your room. You were so preoccupied with shedding the worst parts of your day at the door that you hadn’t taken notice of the oddities in the apartment—the scent of vanilla that only ever permeates the room when you take the time to light a candle, the unusual darkness you avoid coming home to by opening the curtains before you leave.

Your eyebrows pull together in a confused frown as you slowly approach the living room. The space that’s typically untouched when you return from work is anything but that. There are blankets messily strewn over the cushions of the couch and, despite the room being empty, the tv shines brightly in the otherwise dark area—one of many streaming service home tabs displayed on the large screen.

Before you can question any of the scene, a voice speaks up from beside you.

“Damn, you beat me out here.” You don’t have to look to tell that it’s Matsukawa—who else would it be? Still, you turn to face him anyway and are met with his large figure. There’s a goofy yet endearing smile on his face like he’s been caught in the act. The rest of his appearance contrasts that of his face—curls damp enough that water continues to bead at the ends, sweatpants low enough that you’re allowed a peek of his v-line. He must have just gotten out of the shower.

“You set all this up?” It’s a silly question that you already know the answer to but you can’t help but gesture to the cozy environment he created.

“Surprised?” he asks, and the smile tugging at his lips turns from goofy to proud.

“A little,” you admit with a nod, but you smile too. He did all of this for you. “I honestly thought you’d be asleep when I strolled in.”

Mattsun huffs out a laugh through his nose before putting his hands—still warm from the shower—on your shoulders and leading you to the couch. He sits you down and takes his place next to you, adjusting the fluffy blankets as he speaks. “How could I sleep knowing you had such a shitty day?”

You didn’t expect that your complaining to Issei throughout the day would lead to such a sweet gesture. It almost makes you feel guilty. “It wasn’t that bad…”

“That’s not the impression all of your texts gave.”

If you went through your message log right now, you’d probably find that the man was right.

“Fine, it was pretty bad,” you concede. But you don’t want to dwell on the negatives, not when Mattsun went out of his way to make sure you came home to something that was sure to cheer you up. You lay your head on his shoulder with a content sigh. “It’s better now, though.”

He’s warm, like a human heater—all the comfort you need bundled up in one person. Your person.

“Good.” Issei gives you a squeeze that you’re sure is meant to be a hug and leans down to place a sloppy kiss on your forehead. “Movie pick is up to you. And I can cook you something if you’re hungry.”

While the offer itself is kind, you can’t help but pull away and level the man with a questioning look. You and he both know that his skills in the kitchen are less than average. 

Without you even uttering a word, Issei chuckles in understanding. “Takeout?”

You nod. “Takeout.”

thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, please consider reblogging or commenting ❤︎

[evanescencelovrr]

Part 8 college!simon x reader. Reader works her first shift at the bar and meets team 141 🙊 feel free to like comment & reblog!

Masterlist here ✉️

First shift. You muttered to yourself, buckling your black belt in your jeans. All black outfit, perfect for waitressing. Your hair was tucked in a bun to keep it neat, some strands fallen. Closing shut your mirror, you eyed your dorm room, taking off the lights before leaving with your bag.

“I wonder what that crew is like…apparently they must mean a lot to him.” You said, under your breath as you walked to the main street. The bar was located behind Campus apparently and took about 15 minutes to reach. It wasn’t horrible—you saw shitty motel buildings and broken neon lights along the way.

Cars passed by every now and then. Your mind drifted back to Simon. Maybe that was where he got those eyebags from—working all these night shifts.

The bell rings as you enter and of course, you hear an electric guitar strumming over the speakers. Glasses clink and the displays are showing a football match. You nervously approach the counter and soon a man comes in—mohawk, beard and sharp eyes. Tanned. Tall, muscular and a rag thrown over his shoulder.

What you didn’t expect what his strong scottish accent. “Aye, y’er ere’ fa’ the job, lass?”

“Yes—“ You furrowed your brows, slowly comprehending it to which he barked out a laugh. You weren’t sure you heard him right and the words just spilled out your mouth.

His shiny teeth glittered in the lights. “C’mon, love, no reason t’ be scared. Names Johnny.”

“Of course sir—“

“Johnny.” He said firmly, eyes cutting a glance at you as he began cleaning the glasses with his rag.

You nodded and bit your lip—first mistake. You then made your way behind the counter, boots thudding against the ground. You always wore your lil platform combat boots—added a nice touch.

“Lieutenants got a hold on’ ya?” Johnny said suddenly, eyeing you. Confused, you turn to look at him and you shake your heard, lips tugging down a bit.

“I wouldn’t—“

“Damned man. Cannae help it, you’re a pretty one.” Johnny smiled, rolling his eyes and grinning.

You stare mildly shocked at his carefree attitude, not knowing what exactly to say—or how Simon would respond to this.

After a pause, you then say, “Show me around, yeah?”

“Look at er’ givin’ me orders.” Johnny teased and then got to work, dropping his causal persona. He led you gently to the kitchen, showing you where to restock the fruits. Oranges went in one crate.

Apples in another.

Lemons to the side.

You nodded.

He then showed you how to clean the damn ice maker, which took a good portion of training. He even had you do it, watching you. A half hour at least passed.

“Y’er gettin’ it.” Johnny said, pleased. He patted your back hefty, and you nearly groaned at each pat. He was heavy handed.

You scoff a bit and smile, slowly getting comfortable. After that, was washing and soaking the glasses in lukewarm water to get stains out and debris. And then drying them. And then placing them on the hanging racks by the bar counter for use.

Just then, the door rung and Simon walked in, ready for his shift. When he rounded the counter and saw you, back facing him and drying a glass, he froze momentarily. He then slid his hands into the dark wash of his jeans, black button up wrinkling.

“See ya’ made it in one piece.” A gruff voice said from behind you. You recognized it.

You turned around and grinned, brow raising slightly at his appearance. He sure cleaned up nicely, although his stubble remained rough, hair uncombed. It looked like he ran his fingers through it multiple times.

“Johnny over there s’been keeping me alive. Does he always have a knack for teasin’?”

“Shit, shoulda mentioned that to ya. Don’ let em’ talk his way in y’er panties.” Simon said gruffly, although eyes flashing in amusement. His heavy lidded eyes raised and you found yourself staring a bit longer than necessary, and then turned around. Carefully rearranging the glasses so they stood upside down—the wet ones draining.

“Would be funny all he found were a pair of balls. Steel ones.”

With that, Simon let out a small laugh. A choked out chuckle, shoulders jerking up and grin stretching wide. The curve of his nose wrinkled, eyes flashing down to undo his cuffs to raise his sleeves over his hair forearms.

“Steel ones you said? Quite the image.” And with that, leaving you dazed and flustered, he went off to the kitchen.

——

As Simon approached the kitchen to begin slicing the oranges, and lemons, Johnny appeared.

“Ya’ got a lass under ya now?”

“Shut it, before I stuff Price’s unwashed sock in y’er mouth.” Simon is at it, gruff and glaring. Brows pinched together, big hands cradling the lemon. He tosses it up, then catches it, giving a sharp glance to Johnny who grins mischievously.

“I ain’t signin’ myself up fa’ tha’.” Johnny winced playfully and moved back, to which Simon found it pleasing. Even at work, he was still regarded as Lieutenant—which should still be. Regardless of being at base or not. His position would remain.

He then glanced at you, who leaned against the counter and spoke to a customer. Your grin, although some strands fell delicately, most was tucked away neatly. You shook the drink, mixing and poured it over.

You seemed to be adjusting pretty well.

‘’Aye, lass, come work the back, yea?’’ Johnny called out, from the kitchen. You moved swiftly on your feet, after given the man his drink to which he dropped tips on the counter.

‘’Ya forgot—‘’ Simon started when you breezed past him, sighing through his nose. He walked up, cleaning his scarred hands with the rag, and then slid the tips over.

‘’For that girl.’’ said the man, drinking his mojito and eyeing Simon. He didn’t like this fella. Something itched at him. Maybe it was the sly twinkle in the mans eye, the slight lift of his lip. Bushy eyebrows peeked out.

“Didn’t need ta’ explain yourself.” Simon muttered, stuffing the tips in his pockets, although in his left, making sure to keep his tips separate from yours. Seems you still had some learning to do.

The man returned to his drink, although occasionally eyeing Simons back who now worked the front of the bar. He used the calculator to punch in numbers. Just then, a crowd of people came in—as usual. Night settled now and chatter arose in the bar.

Barstools shook as people sat, slamming hands and cheering. Simon approached and leaned his hands on the edge, eyeing them. “What ave’ we got?”

“Whiskey, neat.”

“Same here.”

“Gimme a scotch, good man.”

Behind, you worked cutting the oranges skin off. Stealthy hands worked and even Johnny let out a whistle. “Things ya’ canna do with those hands.”

You found your breath catching and you shifted on your boots, leaned over the table. You pinched your brows. “You woke up cheery today.”

Johnny laughed and sautéed the vegetables, steam rising. A crackle sound rung in the air, then hissing as he mixed in steak. About halfway, he flipped it expertly. “Jus’ focus on makin’ them hands work, yea?”

“You got it, Johnny.” You quirked, releasing some of your rigidity. He grinned, eyeing you for a second appreciating your tenacity. Slowly, you were getting used to this work environment. It appeared to be smooth, occasionally filled with teasing and banter. Maybe this wasn’t so bad—you thought.

Simon didn’t like as soon as you arrived—new recruit—you’d gotten stares. What he didn’t like were the usual assholes that crept up here every night. He figured he should give you a heads up, although maybe you knew. He wasn’t sure.

And he also wouldn’t lie, you were a pretty thing. He stilled himself once he realized his train of thought, then went back to shaking the drink harder. Almost as if threatening the damn drink. Brows pinched in semi focus— and a hint of irritation at himself. He then removed the shaker and poured smoothly the drink into the glass, pushing it towards the rugged man.

Just then, he spotted Price who arrived. He took his jacket off, resting it on the hook in the small closet next to yours. The man didn’t take long to realize what had changed. ‘’We got a new one?’’

“Aye, shes in the back.” Simon responded, voice lowered.

“She?”

“Got a problem?”

“Nah, just thought you’d bring in a little lad, is all.” Price grinned widely, small eyes crinkling. His mustache brushed his lips.

Price earned a look from Simon. His usual stoic, and cold demeanor not wavering. As Simon leaned against the soda machine, he then perked up when a woman approached the bar, lipstick smudged and hair a wavy mess. Price took this to his advantage and moved to the back.

“Gimme—“

“Gimme a…Malibu mixed with pineapple and cranberry.” She mumbled, grasping the counter and smiling at Simon.

Price then saw you, peeling away at the oranges skillfully. Beside you were a whole basket—unpeeled. And another—ready to go. Price grabbed his apron and tied it round’ his waist, chin tilted down, eyes not leaving you. “Recruit, see ya’ made it to the team.”

You jumped as you were stuck in focus and the man smiled, one corner lifting up. He looked like a millennial dad, you thought. Shifting on your boots, you watched as deft fingers made a skill-full knot behind his back and then he moved to the table beside you.

He grasped at the large knife, as it shined in the overhead light.

“Names y/n.” You said, Johnny taking a long glance over at the scene as Price began slicing smoothly at the chicken.

“You up for waiting tables?” Price said gruffly.

“You got it, sir.”

And at that, Price gave you a smug smile, eyes flashing over you. Johnny then prepared a plate, handing it to you. His tall form towered over you for a moment before going back to prepare another round.

“That ones’ fa’ table five, love.” Johnny said and your eyes peeked up at the nickname. Honestly it seemed casual for him—maybe there was no meaning behind it.

Nodding, you grasped the plate and then caught eyes with Price. He was busy slicing the flesh clean.

Wasn’t so bad for my first shift, you thought.

[maikissed]

cherry flavoured lips 2

Kylian Mbappé x reader

She did numb the confusion, with many other feelings on the way.  angst

part 1 is here

! a little note: the events in this fic are placed in time when Kylian still played for PSG. an important note: This is pure fiction. A name appears in this story, that might be associated with a real person, however I do not attribute anything negative to anyone in real life. I do not know personally any original person that appears in this story. So to sum up: no hate, just love.

If there are any blinding misspells, I'm sorry.

The next day Fleur greeted her with the most sour and condemning look on her face known to mankind. The next day weather turned gloomy, sun hid far behind many grey clouds, it looked like it was going to pour heavily. The next day her mother started to emphasize with regret that she has made too much pie and it is a shame that Kylian had to leave so soon. The next day she could not even look at the big fruit bowl full of freshly picked cherries, placed at the centre of the breakfast table. The next day she felt her heart break to a great extent, to the point of tears welling up in her eyes. But no tear has fallen down her cheek, she could not cry the way she used to every single time she was forced to watch Kylian with a new girl on his arm. Because it was never a subject, she never brought it up and their friendship stayed safe, despite the despair reaping on her heart. The next day she was not so sure they would survive anymore. She blamed him, she blamed herself. She blamed love and her most likely dead heart.

The day before, in the late evening, after the events in the cherry orchards, he knocked on the doors to her bedroom. She let him in, she agreed the conversation was crucial, but there were things that he was not familiar with and she was immensely afraid to speak with him about it. She wasn’t really sure what caused such distress on her side, why couldn’t she live freely, just like he was? She did not owe him anything.

His presence in her room weakened her, she was not so resolved anymore. She remembered his touch, his breath and his lips on her and how she thrived in this intimate moment between them. She was floating in his embrace while it lasted, while it felt right and fulfilling. Until the reality hit back in like the end of the world. And there he was now, standing confidently in front of her, with his dark, intimidating gaze swallowing her whole. She tightened the tails of the satin bathrobe around her body and took few steps back to sit on the big armchair in the corner of the room, bending her legs in the knees to let them rest on her side. Her eyes locked with his.

“Speak to me” he started, no embarrassment in his voice. Always so sure, always so assured.

Was he so confident he could have her now? When he wanted? Or continue to play with her as he seen fit?

“I’m seeing someone” a shot, like a gunfire.

She could see him freeze, sat on the verge of her king-size bed. Fingers intertwined between his legs, a question visible in his eyes.

“For six months now” she added, feeling her throat tightening.

Somehow she wanted to have a fight with him. She wondered what would it take for him to pick it up. Maybe she’ll have to provoke him.

“You haven’t said anything” he murmured, his eyes lowered, focused on his hands connected on his lap.

“Were you always informing me about your girlfriends straight away?” her voice raw.

Tears close.

He bit his lower lip, as if fighting the urge to leer or laugh at her.

“You always found out at some point” when he looked up at her again there was some form of cruel wrath hiding behind his eyes.

“Yes” she whispered “Yes, I did” her eyes glazing. No, fight it, she reminded herself.

“We were always telling each other everything. Why was this a secret for such a long time?” his voice broke a little at the end. A sign of hurt, distrust.

“I wanted to be sure. Wanted to keep this to myself for a while before you would ruin it for me yet again.”

He frowned in displease. These were harsh words, an accusation.

“Tonight, you almost did” her gaze sharp, composed.

“I had no idea” he answered in defence.

But it was not what she meant.

“I appreciate your friendship, Kylian. You truly mean the world to me. But I don’t always seem to read your intentions correctly” finally, her voice started to shake a little. She was expecting that. She could stand in a fight with any person in the world, being the most collected and composed while doing so, but not with Kylian. Especially right now, when she knew the outcome of it might be deadly for both of them “Do you remember our first kiss when we were fifteen? I knew it was an experiment but it absolutely messed with my head back then. I was about to attend the school ball with Adrien as my partner. I stood him up.”

His eyes turned bigger while he listened. He opened him mouth to say something, but she did not let him.

“Or that night in Paris few years ago, when you got so drunk I had to make sure you made it home safely. I stayed the night since you asked so nicely” the mere memories of these moments made her tremble. She wondered if he had any idea how perfectly fucked up she was because of him, by him “I spent the night in your bed, sleeping next to you. You touched me and kissed me before you completely blacked out. The next day I found out you were involved with Emma” the way she spat the words out was vicious. The stupor in his features made way for abashment “And now you’re doing it again” she continued, not looking his way anymore “Coming as you please, going as you please. I am a person, you cannot play with my feelings like it means nothing”

“Why are you putting it this way? It’s not like that” he objected.

It felt strange to finally, after so many years, let it all out, to finally admit the truth behind their relationship over the years. She was carrying it hidden far too long. But there was the dark and painful truth next to it, the fact that if they were about to set all the things clear, they would have to set boundaries, resulting in them growing apart. But she was always choosing him first, maybe it was the time to choose herself, like her father always taught her.

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I sacrificed a lot for you” breath stuck in her throat for a moment, a very bad sign of the possibility of breaking down in front of him.

He knew her sadness, he was familiar with her tears, although at this moment, she felt the need to act resolved. Distant.

“I do know that you love me” her voice so soft, soft but somehow cruel, like a stab in his guts. He was lacking air in his lungs “But I was never your first choice” a miserable sob coming out of her.

He felt the urge to stand up, to comfort her but he seemed the be the villain in this story. A tragic thing really, that he was not aware of the stupidity of his actions thorough the years.

“It took me too long to realise that I grew out of the simple love I had for you as a lifetime friend” he started, now nervously, now less composed.

He never considered himself a romantic soul. Found it difficult for himself to care, to speak in language of love, to show someone his devotion and adoration. It was one of the main reasons why his past relationships fell apart rather quickly, him always being the guilty one for the lack of affection. Cold and cruel, were the words he heard so often, the women in his life walking away from him with their broken hearts on theirs palms, their eyes red, puffy, full of suffering and deception. Impassivity and torpor on his side as he moved on with his life.

But it was different with her. Because the only person he only, truly and infinitely loved was her. It took him so long. He never felt his heart break, he never suspect it could even have a sound, yet there it was - her tortured and cracking voice declaring rejection, filling his ears. Definition of the broken heart always waking some form of derision in him, now suddenly so clear and so painful he could not believe it real. A misery.

“You have every right to punish me for it” he tried to catch her gaze from distance, but she was stubborn in avoiding it “But please, let me change that” he tried to stand up but felt himself glued to the bed. It was the very first time he opened this way to anyone “You are the only person that has my heart, you always were. It might be a bad moment to finally voice it out, but…”

“It is” she interrupted him. And if her earlier words felt like a merciless stab, these felt like the final execution.

Like a dream, a very bad one. The one that leaves you with that hollow and swallowing feeling of anxiety when you wake up, terrified and abandoned. She turned cold, merciless, something he never experienced on her side, something unknown.

-Two years ago-

“Ky, you’re heavy, I know you can stand on your own, stop it” she whined with a little laugh at the end when they reached the doors to his apartment. His arm tightly wrapped around her shoulders as he leaned into her, claiming that he was way too worn out to even stand straight.

Of all the things, Kylian chose to turn into a real mess tonight. He never drank too much alcohol but this year he declared it was the right time for him to enjoy freedom and carefreeness. And y/n knew one thing for sure: Kylian could not handle his alcohol and the results led into him turning into the whiniest and most stubborn creature she struggled to stand. However, she had to admit, that he was even funnier while drunk. That was bringing her enjoyment. And her little tipsy state added to that, of course.

“Alright, there we go” she cooed as she pressed him against the kitchen counter, her gaze already searching for the location of the kettle. He was keeping himself straight just fine “You need some warm water, or maybe a tea, but bitter. Are you going to puke tonight?” she asked with a funny look on her face.

He smirked, his eyes small, lids heavy, he needed rest definitely. He blinked slowly and she giggled before he placed his hands behind her back, low, embracing her close, his face resting in the crook of her neck.

“I need my bed” he murmured against her skin there, causing ticklish goose bumps to spread all over her body and she laughed, trying to get him off, but for a person that claimed to have no strength to move, he was quite persistent in holding into her.

“Okay, you big baby, let’s go then”

“You smell so nice” he murmured, leaning away with a sweet, yet tired smile on his face.

Like a spell casted upon her, she felt her limbs weakening under his hazy gaze, her chest filling with a warm and tender feeling at the sight of him. He looked so boyish, it almost made her want to kiss him. But she stepped away, taking a hold of his hand, he kept watching her attentively.

“Come” she added, heading in the direction of his bedroom.

“A shower would be nice” he mumbled, reaching back to take off the t-shirt he was wearing “But I don’t think I am able to do it now” he considered, almost like talking to himself.

“Yeah” she laughed “Go to sleep, you can shower in the morning” she watched him carelessly toss the clothing on the floor.

“Unless you are willing to help me?” he started, facing her and in the same moment his fingers reached to undo the belt of his trousers. His eyes on her.

Her eyes, on the other hand, were too low, she realised. She brought them back up quickly, her skin heating up at the realisation of being caught. Because she knew he noticed. He just casually, shamelessly flirted with her, comfortably undressing himself while doing so.

“Did you bump your head on the way home? I haven’t registered that” she snickered playfully to which he answered with a low laugh, making her even more flustered than before.

She could not keep her eyes up, it was a torment. The belt tossed aside, pants still on, with the top button simply undone.

“You are a cold woman” he muttered under his nose, and then, his next question, substantially knocked her off her feet: “Stay with me?”

They were eleven the last time they slept in the same bed.

“I have an exam tomorrow morning, I should go back home” she stated, her tone more serious now.

“Come on, it’s online. You can log in to class here as well. Don’t leave me alone on my birthday” he argued stepping closer to where she stood, taking her hands in his, a plea visible on his face, his eyes round and begging and glassy in the drunken state “Please?” she snorted at that, meanwhile realising that he drew the best card. She could not say no to him, ever.

“Technically, your birthday was two hours ago” he rolled his eyes at her smart answer “And if you wanted company so much, you could have grabbed yourself a lady for the night” her eyes hard but amusement dancing in them as she gazed up at him. Focusing on looking into his eyes, not fucking lower, not on his bare chest so close to her.

“Hm. I thought I have”

“Alright!” she called stepping away from him, feeling nervous all of a sudden “Get your ass in bed, I have to change. Gonna borrow your clothes”

“Help yourself!” he called after her after she passed him, heading in the direction of the wardrobe.

She struggled with choosing the right kind of clothes to join him in a shared bed. She considered this situation rather unusual and difficult. She was not stupid, she knew that such distress was caused by unequivocal feelings she had for him for a long time now. Which is why her attitude towards him changes drastically, fear of these feelings not being reciprocal paralysed her. She felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, way too willing to take a step and fall right to her death.

Blunt enough of her, she decided on wearing just one of his shirts. Shorts ignored. Her heart threatening to jump out of her chest.

But when she came back to his room, Kylian was already asleep, which should not be a huge surprise. At the same time she felt some form of relief but also disappointment. After turning off the night lamp she carefully dived under the sheets, next to him, making sure to not stir him out his peaceful rest. Relaxing against the pillows, she faced the ceiling, slowly the heat radiating of his body reached her and she shivered, the temperature in the room seemed to be rather low.

But suddenly she gasped softly when she felt his hand sneaking around her belly, the touch being sure and prominent. And when his arm snaked around her form, palm resting on her side, he pulled her into the front of his body. She turned her head to look at him, the beating of her heart increasing again. His eyes remained closed, she concluded he must have acted reflexively, still in his sleep.

“You’re shivering” his voice startled her, turned out he was not asleep, or maybe she in fact woke him up “Come here” he murmured, his hand resting on her side gently pushing her to turn his way.

She faced him, closely.

“Well, maybe because you sleep in a freezer” she whispered softly, but here was no witty response from him.

What he did next was slide his hand lower, down her thigh and she absolutely froze when he put his hand on the inner side of her knee and hiked it up to let her leg rest above his hip. She wondered how much his actions were conscious and not acted in the haze of sleep and alcohol fogged perception. She wondered, because then his touched followed the same path back, along her thigh, softly, over her backside, to press harder just above it, to keep her closer. His palm stayed there, under the shirt she was wearing, the clothing now hiked up, her lower body almost bare. This position was uncomfortable but she was not focused on it completely. She was putting a real fight to keep her breath steady but there seemed to be no point in trying to calm her rising pulse. Many sensations were taking over her body and she feared them. And she was not cold anymore, let’s underline this for a fact. But it was still uncomfortable, her hand bent under her body in a strange way, she had to move a little, readjust to this position. Or maybe move away from him? He seemed to be asleep back again. But when she did move, he moved as well, her now freed hand fell down on the pillow and his head rested on it. His embrace on her tightening, it felt too intimate. Too intimate for friends. She could not control it, she wriggled again, it was more like an impulse, really. Her head was placed a bit above his, his face snuggled into her neck. And when she moved she could feel his lips press against her skin there, hot and moist, he placed a kiss on her throat. She went rigid.

“Stop squirming so much, love” he mumbled against her skin and there came another tender kiss after it.

Few more seconds has passed and she confirmed he was already back deep in his sleep, still clinging into her passionately. Meanwhile her head was a mess, sleep seemed to not come as salvation.

The next day she sneaked out rather early, trying to collect herself and not think too much about passed night. She had a quite busy Sunday planned. First the art history exam, then her mother visited her in the late afternoon. She was seated at the table while her mother kept bustling around the kitchen, determined to prepare something homemade and healthy for dinner, always concerned about her daughter’s eating habits. Y/n looked at her phone as soon as she heard a new message notification. It was Gia. A message and a photo attached to it.

“What a disgrace” Gia’s message said.

Y/n squinted her eyes to see better what the picture presented. Football stadium’s stands, Kylian seated amongst some people she did not recognize and did not care to recognize, and Emma, next to him - her she recognized. She frowned questioningly. Something prickly and concerning building under her sternum.

“Wym? Is the pic even recent?” she responded back.

“It’s today’s PSG game. Heard they’re dating. She was all over him for the past year” she read her friend’s another message, her eyes glued to the three words.

Hell, that’s new. Emma was not even present on his birthday party last night. Smelled like a nasty fib. Y/n knew he had many friends, although girls were not in his tightest pack in general. It awoke some doubts in her. What was he doing? She did not respond to the text, but already spotted three moving dots under it, a sign that Gia was typing something else.

“Straighten him up, he cannot be serious with her”

Yet she had no intention to dwell into it, having a conversation about this new revelation and their last night together was the last thing on her mind, she had an intention to take the closest flight to England and focus back on her university, on her own life. Swallowing her nerves and numbing the confusion, she muted her phone, leaving it on the table and heading to her room. Silently, with no explanation for her mother despite her calls behind her. She did numb the confusion, with many other feelings on the way. 

[cheynovak]

Lose Control - pt 3

Characters: Azriel x F/Reader Y/N     

Summary:  Azriel, struggling with the emotional aftermath of his fight with Rhysand over Elain and the fact that Gwen found out his gift for her was a returned gift for Elain made him seek out some company at the pleasure hall. Y/N an old... 'friend'

Warnings: 18+ - Pure SMUT - Sexual content, Dominance, Spice, jealousy

English is not my first language 

*This story is my own fanfiction, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

* Published September 21th 2024 *

It's a long story... brace yourself.

As I slowly gathered my things, trying to be as quiet as possible, Elain’s name echoed in my mind. Elain. The name carried an elegance to it, something sweet, soft, and undeniably sophisticated. She had to be beautiful, probably as stunning as Mor, with a grace and serenity that I couldn’t help but imagine.

I couldn’t stop wondering what she looked like as I pulled my clothes back on, stealing a final glance at Azriel as he lay asleep in his bed. My heart ached as I looked at him, remembering how he’d unknowingly stolen my heart the night we first met—decades ago. The connection we shared had always been undeniable to me, even when I hadn’t fully realized what he meant to me. But now, everything felt painfully clear.

I opened the door, not paying much attention as I stepped out, lost in my thoughts. Suddenly, I bumped into someone, startling us both. A young woman with soft, delicate features stood before me, her expression gentle but surprised.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I blurted, trying to hide my embarrassment.

“No, it’s my fault,” she replied, her voice as soft as a summer breeze. “I didn’t expect someone to walk out.”

Her voice was so light, almost musical. It took me a second to process her presence, and before I could respond, she asked, “Who are you?”

Caught off guard, I quickly extended my hand, trying to appear composed. “I’m… Y/N.”

She smiled politely, shaking my hand. “I’m—”

“Elain?”

Azriel’s voice cut through the moment like a blade, making the air between us suddenly feel too thick, too heavy. I turned, seeing him standing in the doorway, his face betraying the mixture of surprise and tension that hung between all of us.

Elain. The woman in front of me, the one I had been wondering about—this was her. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, and my world shrunk around me, the walls pressing in. I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened as the weight of her presence and what she represented crushed me.

Elain glanced between us, her own confusion clear as her soft gaze flickered to Azriel, and then back to me. I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, with no way to pull myself back.

This is her. The girl who had broken his heart. Or the girl who still held it. And here I was, standing between them.

“I—” I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat. The look on Azriel’s face, the weight of everything unspoken, left me feeling like I didn’t belong in this moment, in this place, in his life.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I turned to leave, catching a glimpse of Azriel still standing there, shirtless, his wings relaxed but imposing. I tried not to stare, not to let my heart ache at the sight of him, but it was impossible. My whispered “Bye” barely made it past my lips as I moved to slip past Elain, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of the situation.

I had just made it to the door when Azriel’s voice stopped me. “Y/N, wait!”

I froze, my back still to him. My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I heard him take a step toward me. “What… why are you leaving without saying goodbye?”

I clenched my jaw, my hands trembling slightly as I tried to keep it together. I could feel his presence, looming, concerned, and I knew that if I looked at him, the fragile composure I had would break.

“I just…” My voice wavered, betraying me. I kept my gaze firmly fixed on the floor. “I remembered I had to be somewhere. I’m sorry.”

Before he could say anything else, I brushed past him, my body tense and on the verge of fleeing. But just as I moved toward the exit, I walked straight into a room that was anything but empty.

Rhysand and Feyre were there, standing at the far end, their expressions poised but curious. Nesta stood beside them, her icy gaze sharp and calculating. Amren sat nearby, observing everything with her usual detached interest, while Mor stood with her arms crossed, glancing between me and Azriel. And then there was Cassian, his broad grin lighting up the room.

“Y/N!” he boomed, moving toward me like an excited puppy. “Long time no see!” Before I could even react, he swept me into a bone-crushing hug, lifting me off the ground and kissing my cheek in his usual affectionate way.

I forced a smile, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks as I caught a glimpse of Azriel and Elain walking up behind me, clearly still part of whatever gathering was happening. The weight of it all—their stares, their presence, the sudden awkwardness—settled over me like a heavy cloak.

“I’m sorry,” Rhysand said, his tone smooth but amused as he looked from me to Azriel, a grin tugging at his lips. “If I’d known Azriel had a guest over, I would’ve set the meeting at the River House.”

The playful lilt in his voice made my stomach twist. He knew. They all knew. I could see it in the way Mor’s lips twitched, in the way Nesta’s eyes narrowed slightly in recognition.

Azriel stood behind me, his presence an anchor I wasn’t sure I wanted to lean on. The room felt impossibly full, the tension thick enough to cut through, and I suddenly felt like I was drowning.

Cassian, oblivious to the undercurrent, set me down but kept his arm around my shoulders. “Come on, you’re not leaving yet, right? We’ve barely said hello!”

I forced another smile, but my eyes darted to Azriel, who was watching me closely. I could see the concern, the confusion in his gaze. He hadn’t expected this. Neither had I.

But all I wanted was to escape. To get away from the mess I had just walked into.

“No, no, I should really leave,” I stammered, trying to back out, but Cassian waved me off with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“Bullshit,” he said, his voice booming. “You’re staying for breakfast.”

I opened my mouth to protest again, but the words died on my tongue. Cassian’s energy was infectious, and as much as I wanted to bolt, something in me gave in. “Well… at least let me make it,” I offered, mostly as an excuse to stay out of the way and avoid the tension swirling in the room. If I kept myself busy, maybe I wouldn’t have to think about the mess I had just stumbled into.

Cassian shrugged, all too happy to accept. “Works for me!”

I moved to the kitchen, grateful for the distraction. I could hear the others talking softly, but I wasn’t paying attention—wasn’t trying to pay attention. The meeting, whatever it was, didn’t involve me. And frankly, I didn’t want to get involved in anything more than I already was. I had enough to deal with, given the awkwardness of Azriel and Elain standing just feet away.

As I was preparing the food, I felt someone walk up behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was—her soft, delicate presence was unmistakable.

“So you and…?” Elain’s voice was quiet, but the question hung heavily between us. Her finger moved over the kitchen counter, clearly afraid or shy to look at me.

I fumbled with the food, my heart racing. “Oh, uh, we’ve known each other for a while,” I said, my words tumbling out clumsily. “It was, um…” I trailed off, not sure how to explain what Azriel and I were. How could I, when even I didn’t fully understand it?

Elain gave me a polite nod, an awkward smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I get it,” she said softly, her eyes not quite meeting mine.

We exchanged uneasy smiles before I quickly turned back to the food, setting it on the table in hopes of avoiding any more awkward questions. The tension in the room was suffocating, but before it could settle too deeply, Cassian’s loud voice cut through again.

“Oh my gods, Y/N!” he exclaimed, his mouth full as he dug into the food. “You should open a restaurant! This is even better than the last time you made food.”

I couldn’t help but blush at his enthusiasm. Cassian’s praise was always so genuine, even if his timing could be a bit off.

Azriel, who had been conspicuously silent the entire time, finally spoke, his voice sharp. “You’ve had her food before?” The irritation in his tone wasn’t lost on anyone except Cass.

Cassian, oblivious to the tension that thickened the air, nodded enthusiastically, still chewing. “Yeah! A few times. Honestly, Y/N, you chose the wrong profession. You should try her pies" he said to Nesta.

I felt my face heat up even more, the attention making me uncomfortable. I could feel Azriel’s gaze on me, something unreadable in his expression as Cassian continued eating, completely unfazed by the awkwardness swirling around us.

I tried to smile, tried to act normal, but the weight of it all was too much. Elain’s lingering presence, Azriel’s sudden shift in mood—it was all pressing down on me. "So, eh... What do you do?" Elain asked with innocence in her voice.

The room was suddenly charged with a new wave of tension as Elain’s question hung in the air. Amren and Mor almost spilled their drinks, their reactions betraying their surprise. I glanced at them, feeling a sharp sting of embarrassment as Cassian answered for me.

“Y/N works in the flower shop in Velaris,” Cassian said, his tone matter-of-fact but somehow completely missing the undercurrent of discomfort in the room. His eyes met mine, knowing, telling he has my back.

Azriel’s face twisted in confusion. “You do?”

I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yes, I’ve been working there for a while now.” Azriel’s brows furrowed, and his eyes darted between Cassian and me. “I didn’t know. How do you even know?”

He turned to Cassian, his irritation palpable. “How do you even know her?”

Cassian, who had been in good spirits, suddenly felt the shift in the room’s atmosphere. His face fell as he realized the tension. “Dude, relax. I helped her move and find a job. She made food as a thank you.”

Azriel’s anger flared, his voice sharper than before. “Was that all she did to thank you?”

Mor’s voice cut through, firm and authoritative. “Azriel!”

The room fell into a tense silence as Azriel’s eyes softened when he turned back to me. I could feel the tears threatening to spill, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. I couldn’t handle the scrutiny, the judgment. I just wanted to escape.

“If you will excuse me,” I said, my voice trembling as I gave a respectful bow to Rhysand and Feyre. “I would like to go home now.”

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and made my way toward the door. The weight of their stares was almost too much to bear.

Cassian, still visibly annoyed with Azriel, got up from his seat with determination. “I’ll take you home,” he said, his voice firm.

As I moved toward the door, Cassian followed closely behind, his presence a comforting contrast to the heavy atmosphere I left behind. I could hear the muffled conversation behind me, but I didn’t turn back.

All I wanted was to get out of there, away from the confusion and hurt, away from Azriel.

The flight home was quiet, the weight of the day hanging heavily between us. I was grateful for the silence, though it gave me too much time to think about everything that had happened.

Cassian dropped me off at my apartment and before he left, he placed a hand on my shoulder, his voice soft but firm. “Don’t hate Azriel. He’s clearly protective of you.”

I huffed, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. “Or he just felt guilty about being caught with a whore in his bed.”

Cassian’s laughter was a rare, genuine sound in the tense air. “A florist, to be precise,” he teased gently, though the humor didn’t quite reach my eyes.

I rubbed my temples, feeling the weight of my own foolishness. “It was stupid to go home with him. I should have just left.”

Cassian’s hand stayed on my shoulder, his touch surprisingly comforting. “You care for him,” he said, his tone warm. “That’s beautiful. Azriel just has a twisted idea of not being worthy of someone’s love. He doesn’t see how much you care. You need to tell him.”

I looked away, shaking my head. “After seeing the look on his face when he saw Elain? I’m not telling him anything, Cass. I’m not Mor, I’m not Elain. I’m not the woman he wants a life with. I have to accept that.” I will not be loved

Cassian’s eyes softened with understanding, though a shadow of sadness lingered. “At least you two have one thing in common,” he said as he prepared to leave.

I looked at him, puzzled. He offered a small, knowing smile. “You both struggle with feeling unworthy.”

With that being said he kissed my cheek and took off into the night sky, leaving me alone at my door. The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the warmth and tension of the evening.

I entered my apartment, I tried to shake off the lingering feelings of hurt and confusion. Cassian’s words echoed in my mind, a bittersweet reminder of the complexities of love and self-worth.

--

The next day dragged on at a slow, almost torturous pace. I took a long, steamy shower, read a book, and made dinner for myself, trying to keep my mind off the chaos from the night before. My hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and I was dressed in just some comfy panties and an old shirt that had seen better days.

As I was tidying up the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. I was expecting it to be Cassian, perhaps checking in on me. But when I opened the door, my heart skipped a beat. It was Azriel.

I looked at him, confused. “How did you find me?”

“Cassian,” he replied simply, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. His eyes scanned the modest space, and he seemed to be taking in every detail.

“It’s not much,” I said quietly, trying to avoid his gaze. “But it’s more than I had before.”

Azriel’s eyes remained fixed on the room as he walked further inside. “Cassian helped you?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice soft as I moved towards the kitchen. I attempted to shift the focus away from the uncomfortable situation. “I made some pie. Would you like a slice?”

I turned to face him, holding out a piece of pie. “I have one slice left, you’re lucky.”

Before I could fully register what was happening, Azriel had me cornered against the counter. His eyes locked onto mine for a split second before he took a piece of the pie from my hand. He took a bite, and as he did, a low, appreciative moan escaped his lips. His eyes closed, savoring the taste.

“Cassian was right,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.

My cheeks flushed with a deep blush at his reaction. “I’m glad you like it,” I managed to say, trying to steady my breath as his proximity and the intensity of the moment overwhelmed me.

Azriel opened his eyes, and the heat in his gaze made me catch my breath. For a moment, the room felt charged, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension. I could feel the warmth of his body so close to mine, and the closeness was both thrilling and terrifying.

He finally spoke, his tone softer, almost vulnerable. “I’m sorry for everything. For how things went last night. I didn’t handle it well.”

I swallowed, my heart racing. “I don’t know what to say.”

Azriel’s gaze softened as he stepped back slightly, giving me space. “I’ve been struggling with how to make things right. I just… I needed to see you.”

I looked at him, the confusion and hurt from the previous day still fresh but mingled with the undeniable relief of seeing him again. “You didn’t have to come here. I'm not mad, I’m just trying to move on.”

He nodded, his expression one of regret and understanding. “I know. I just wanted to tell you that… despite everything, I appreciate you and I'm sorry for what I said. I care about you more than I’ve allowed myself to admit. I know I shouldn't be jealous, but the idea of you and other males... Stupid I know.”

The words hung in the air between us, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. The mix of emotions, the remnants of our past interactions, and the reality of our current situation left me feeling torn.

Azriel seemed to sense my inner conflict. “I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. I just needed to make sure you knew how I felt.”

I panicked, the thought of him leaving so abruptly hitting me hard. “No! No, I don’t want you to leave. Please.” I grabbed his hand, my fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around his. Azriel looked down at our intertwined hands, his gaze catching on the small burn mark on my finger.

His eyes moved back to mine, a mixture of concern and tenderness in his gaze. “You burned yourself?” he asked softly. I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. “Yes, this morning. It’s nothing major, just...” Before I could finish, Azriel’s lips moved to the burn, pressing a gentle kiss to the sting. The softness of his touch, the warmth of his lips, sent a shiver through me.

My breath caught, and my lips parted slightly at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture. Azriel looked up at me, his eyes filled with an intense, vulnerable emotion.

“I’m sorry for how things have been,” he said softly. “I just wanted to make things right.” I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The tenderness of his kiss and his words broke through the walls I had built around my heart.

Azriel’s lips traveled up my arm, moving slowly and deliberately, their warmth and softness sending shivers across my skin. He traced a path to my shoulder, then up my neck, his breath warm against my ear. I leaned into his touch, the sensation both soothing and electrifying. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. The words were a caress in themselves, and I felt a rush of emotions flood through me.

He nipped gently at the sensitive skin beneath my ear, his lips then moving to lick and soothe the spot. My breath came in heavy, uneven gasps. “Az… what are you doing?” He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my heart race. “I’m making it up to you,” he said softly, his hands cupping my cheeks.

His gaze was full of earnestness, as if he were pleading for a chance to right the wrongs. Before I could fully process his words, he leaned in, capturing my lips in a heated, passionate kiss. The kiss was deep and fervent, his lips melding with mine in a way that conveyed everything he was trying to say without words.

The world seemed to narrow down to just the sensation of his touch and the warmth of his embrace. His hands were gentle but firm as they held my face, and his kiss was a blend of regret and desire, a promise of something more if only I could let go of my fears. I responded to him, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer as I gave in to the intensity of the moment.

As the kiss deepened, the boundaries of our previous hurt seemed to dissolve, replaced by the raw, undeniable connection that had always existed between us.

Azriel’s touch was both tender and electrifying as he gently turned me around, his hands slipping up under my shirt, his hands made their way up to cup my breasts. His lips continued their trail of kisses along my neck, sending waves of warmth through me.

A deep, approving hum rumbled from his throat when his fingers made contact with my bare skin beneath the shirt. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as if he were savoring the moment, trying to make up for everything that had come between us.

His fingers played delicately over the exposed skin, tracing patterns that made my breath hitch and my body respond eagerly. His kisses on my neck became more insistent, his breath hot against my skin as he explored my body further.

The sensation of his fingers moving slowly and deliberately made my pulse quicken, my body arching slightly into his touch. I let out a soft moan, my head falling back as I lost myself in the intensity of his caress.

“Az,” I breathed, my voice trembling with the mix of emotions swirling inside me. The intensity of his touch was overwhelming, both comforting and intoxicating.

He paused for a moment, his lips brushing softly against my ear as he whispered, “I want to show you how much you mean to me. How sorry I am for everything.” His words were a soothing balm.

Azriel’s hand moved to my hip with deliberate, measured movements, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my panties, making contact with the sensitive skin there. The sensation of his touch was both intimate and intense, a mixture of warmth and anticipation.

He explored gently, his fingers finding the wetness that had accumulated in response to his touches and kisses. His breath hitched slightly at the contact, a soft, approving growl rumbling in his chest. His touch was careful and purposeful, seeking to both reassure and arouse.

The warmth of his fingers against me made my body tense and then melt into his touch, my breath coming in uneven gasps. I arched into his hand, unable to suppress the soft moans that escaped my lips. His touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure through me as he explored with a tenderness that contrasted with the raw need we both felt.

Azriel’s eyes were focused on me, his expression a blend of concentration and desire. His fingers moved with a deliberate, rhythmic motion, adding to the mounting intensity between us. Each movement was measured, designed to build anticipation and pleasure, to make the moment as intense and meaningful as possible.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered against my ear, his voice low and urgent. His fingers continued their slow, deliberate exploration, the pressure and rhythm building in a way that made it hard to think clearly.

I struggled to find words, my thoughts muddled by the overwhelming sensation and the raw vulnerability of the moment. “Azriel… just… don’t stop,” I managed to gasp, my voice barely audible over the sounds of our breathing and the quiet rustling of the room.

He responded with a soft, appreciative hum, his fingers continuing their exploration as he leaned in to press a tender kiss to my neck. The dual sensations of his touch and his kisses created a potent mix of pleasure and intimacy, making it hard to focus on anything but the way he made me feel.

Azriel’s hands moved with a mix of urgency and tenderness, pulling my panties down and letting them fall to the floor. As he guided me over the counter, his touch was both firm and gentle, guiding me into position. I felt a rush of anticipation and vulnerability as he helped me settle against the cool surface.

His lips brushed against my behind, the kiss a teasing promise of what was to come. The sensation of his warm breath and the light touch of his lips against my skin made me shiver, heightening the anticipation and making me acutely aware of every nerve in my body.

As he widened my stance, I heard the sound of his zipper, the soft rustling of fabric as he freed himself from his pants. The sound was both exciting and daunting, a tangible reminder of the passion and desire that we were about to indulge in. His hands moved to hold my hips, positioning me just right, and I felt the heat of his body close behind me. The tension in the air was palpable, a blend of desire and intimacy that made my heart race.

Azriel’s touch was both commanding and reassuring as he guided himself to my entrance, his breath warm against my skin. He paused for a moment, his fingers brushing along my hips as he prepared to enter me. The anticipation was almost overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and nervousness as we both braced for the intensity of the moment.

His entry was slow and deliberate, allowing me to adjust and savor the sensation as he filled me. Each movement was measured, his hands gripping my hips firmly as he began to move, his rhythm steady and purposeful. The connection between us was electric, the combination of his touch, his kisses, and the deep, rhythmic thrusts creating a potent mix of pleasure and intimacy.

As he continued, the counter beneath me felt solid and grounding, a stark contrast to the intensity of the feelings coursing through me. The sounds of our combined breaths and the rhythmic movement filled the space, a symphony of desire and connection.

Azriel’s hands moved to hold me closer, his grip on my hips firm and steady. His movements were both powerful and tender, each thrust a testament to his need and desire, as well as his care and consideration for me.

Azriel’s movements were deliberate and filled with a raw intensity as he gently turned me around to face him. I was now sitting on the counter, my legs spread apart, and his gaze was unwavering as he positioned himself between my thighs once more.

When he entered me again, it was with a deep, controlled motion that made me gasp. The sensation was both thrilling and intimate, the warmth of his body pressing against mine as he filled me completely. His eyes locked onto mine, a fiery intensity in his gaze that spoke of his longing and need.

The look he gave me was filled with a mix of desire and tenderness, his eyes dark with passion as he took me in. “Gods, I love that look on your face,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. His hands rested on my hips, his touch firm yet gentle, guiding me as we found our rhythm.

“I love how much you care,” he continued, his voice a rough whisper against my skin. “I love… I love… all of you.”

His words were a potent mix of adoration and desire, each declaration a testament to the depth of his feelings. As he spoke, he moved inside me with a steady, rhythmic thrust, each motion accentuated by the heat and urgency of the moment. His gaze never wavered, his eyes locked onto mine with a fierce intensity that made my heart race and my breath come in shallow gasps.

The connection between us was palpable, a powerful blend of passion and emotion that made every touch and movement feel significant. His hands caressed my hips, his fingers digging in slightly as he continued to thrust, his breath coming in uneven pants as he chased his release.

As the intensity built, I felt every part of him—the way he moved, the way he looked at me, the way his words and touches made me feel. Each thrust was a testament to his desire, each word a declaration of his love and longing.

The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the electric connection between us. The counter beneath us was a solid, grounding presence, a stark contrast to the intense emotions and sensations that enveloped us. In that moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the powerful, intimate connection we shared.

As we reached the peak of our desire, the culmination of our passion was a profound mix of pleasure and vulnerability, a reminder of the depth of our feelings and the complexity of our relationship.

Our breaths came in ragged, sharp, and heavy, the intensity of everything between us settling into the stillness. His forehead pressed gently against mine, and his eyes—soft, vulnerable, and full of regret—held mine like they were searching for answers. "I mean it," Azriel whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Every word. I was a fool. It wasn’t until I thought about you and Cassian… that it hit me. Will you forgive me?"

I didn't respond right away, still reeling from his words. “Me and Cassian?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, confusion spreading across my face. His gaze faltered for a moment, shame flickering in those eyes that were usually so steady.

“I—” Azriel hesitated, a pained expression overtaking him. “I never knew he was a… a client.”

The words struck me like a blow, and I instinctively pulled back, my heart sinking. "Az, no." I shook my head, my voice gaining strength. "He never was. Cassian and I… we met, we clicked as friends. He saw other girls, but that was years ago, when he was much younger. Never me. We’ve never slept together.”

Relief washed over his face, the tension in his body visibly loosening. “I didn’t know,” he murmured. “I let my jealousy and insecurity get the better of me, and I… I should have never.”

I could see the sincerity in his eyes, the weight of his words hanging in the space between us. Guilt, regret, and love all swirled together in his expression. He closed the gap between us again, his lips pressing softly against mine in a kiss that felt like both an apology and a plea for forgiveness.

When we pulled back, he cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently across my skin. "I should have never dragged you through the mud like I did yesterday," he said, his voice thick with regret. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. You deserve better than that… better than me treating you like I did."

There was something raw in his confession, something that tugged at the tender places in my heart. For a moment, I didn’t know what to say, but seeing him like this—vulnerable and remorseful—reminded me of why I had fallen for him in the first place.

--

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Taglist:@lilah-asteria @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @mich0731

[i-have-41-protons]

My very own super self-indulgent AU! ✨ It’s called… Drumroll…

✨GRAVITY FURS✨

Where everyone is an anthropomorphic furry :3

Explanation for the au below the cut!

Basically everything is the same, except everybody — even Bill! — is a furry. Obviously I had to make Bill a cat — they act in all the very same ways: demanding attention, leaving for unknown reasons, scratching at lab doors, and overall being just petty little gremlins. He is incredibly floofy, and has retractable claws (which I am aware is not at all original, but I love that headcanon and it goes SO well in here). “Fiddlesticks” and “Stanfur” is a joke btw, they actually have their original names.

So, everyone is a furry little animal, living exactly the same in their own little furry universe, right? WRONG.

Our, canon Bill Cipher dies, and invokes the Axolotl… but instead of going to Theraprism, he gets another chance at life. Such is the Frilly deity — forgiving, with many, many chances to spare for every being. So, Bill Cipher is sent back to Earth, in a different form, at a different time… but it is not the right Earth. Not the Earth he’s used to, anyways — but rather, the fluffy universe. The Furry Falls, if you will.

The “different form” being exceptionally un-triangular, which he is obviously enraged by. What’s more, is that his new flesh-sack is also… fluffy. With whiskers, and cute little ears (which he does NOT consider cute in any way), and paw beans… WHAT THE FUCK AM I, screams Bill as he wakes up.

An even worse shock is the creature that finds him (alone, naked, in the woods — yk, the classics). It is strangely resembling of both a human and a dog, and most of all, of Sixer. But this can’t really be Sixer, can it? Nope, it can!!! Surprise, surprise, Billy. You now have to deal with all THAT! >:D

Furry!Bill is sent into Canon!Bill’s place. Either the Axolotl didn’t care, or they thought he also needed a change of scenery — I don’t know, and neither do the Bills. But the fact remains, that now, in place of the recently defeated dream demon, there is the very same dream demon… but now, corporeal, fluffy, incredibly confused, and horrified at everybody being so fleshy… and way cuter than the original Bill. Of course, shenanigans ensue — Mabel might even like his new appearance, when she gets back to Gravity Falls.

As Bill searches for answers and SOME sort of understanding of what happened, he reaches out to anyone he can get to (that being anyone who stayed in Gravity Falls — so, not Stan or Ford or Dipper or Mabel, but, I suppose, Soos and Melody and Wendy and all the other members of the zodiac). I think, he will do quite well with Soos and Melody! Anyways, I haven’t thought into it that far, just yet.

In the Furry Falls, however, Ford and Bill search for answers together. It is your classical “return to Gravity Falls in a human form” type of story, except no it’s not, because it’s happening in the 80s and Ford now has to explain Bill to Fiddleford — somehow. Billfiddlesford ensues……….

Anyways that’s about it for now! That’s my AU, and it’s gonna be tagged #gravityfursAU :3

[suusoh]

check this post out for context :)!! but anyways— weird cryptid johan, who can't be killed for some reason, but enjoys seeing you endearingly try anyways.

---

You try to bury him alive.

Maybe the trick isn't to kill him, but to keep him contained. Not give him any chance to come back from the dead, or regenerate his injuries. Locked away. In a dark, tight, crummy box like he deserves.

You wipe the sweat off your brow and greasy neck, grime mixing in with your body fluids and staining your shirt. At least the dirt mound is smaller now, an estimate of maybe 15 more shovels at least, and the bastard would finally leave you alone for a good while.

Maybe you should leave flowers, a nice little sentiment of peace.

Or maybe you should let a dog do it's business all over, you don't really care about what to do afterwards. You're just glad you got the cement part over.

Having to combine all that cement mix, carry heavy buckets to pour all over his casket, and waiting for it to dry was back-breaking. But it was a necessary precaution no less; anything to ensure you never see those god-awful eyes stare at you again.

Hah, rest in peace you son of a bitch.

...or daughter, or something.

Come to think of it: was he— it— even a guy? or even had an existing gender at all? Gender is rather... more of a human thing after all, creating a definition to categorise ourselves. To categorise other humans.

And that thing, obviously, is nowhere near to what can even be considered human. Seeming to switch out of skins as if it were merely switching out shirts for the day. Even morphing itself and contorting its face and body into the image of a dead relative of yours one time.

(It got it wrong. It copied the image from a family picture, but family pictures never contain faces of disappointment, do they? That's where it made a mistake, by copying that camera-ready smile and looking at you warmly.

and that's how you knew something was wrong.)

As confusing as it is by itself, another thing bothers you. See, it could easily copy anyone, at any given moment. Anyone. From a distant childhood friend to the everyday mailman.

Yet it leaves you stunned at times that it chooses a somewhat... "consistent" body, if you can call it that, when it comes it visit you. You'd expect it to come to you wearing your classmates face, or donning the look of an innocent child, or if it really wants, it could do something closer to home again.

But... no. It actually, presents itself with this certain appearance for some reason.

It didn't resemble anyone from your past or of significance to you, so using this look leaves your tormentation out of the list (surprisingly); it doesn't look like your ideal type either, so definitely not seduction. You have no idea who this is.

Perhaps a collage of features the entity chose to mix and match, or is it an entirely copied form of an already existing person? If so, then why him? Who is he?

A young man.

Blonde, tall, and pale; a crisp matching blazer and pants ensemble that never seemed to wrinkle.

Blue eyes.

Blue wretched eyes, you're absolutely sure you've already drove a pen into, or cut out with a knife, numerous times into a bloody squishy mess that leaves you crying after. But no matter what, those eyeballs always seems to come back as good as new the next time you see them again. Untouched in its place and doll-like, a bit too squeaky clean and a bit too perfect.

It makes your skin crawl.

Breathe... you're almost done.

You take a small break, lowering your self to sit on the muddy dirt ground, groaning when your backaches serve as a reminder of being hunched over all day; you toss the shovel aside and take in much needed breaths.

Something ice-cold and wet touches the back of your neck.

You jolt forward. shocked. disgusted. Quickly using your hand to cover your nape. Eyes shooting open and twisting around to whatever the hell just did that.

A singular bottle of water is held in front of you. You freeze.

"Tired?"

He asks, gentle expression resting on his face, still holding out the cold bottle with his hand to you.

A hand without even a single trace of blood, dirt, or cement on it, not even a single speck hiding under the fingernails.

No.

No No No No.

He's here.

He's not 8 feet underground stuffed in a dark wooden box, with a sheet of cement weighing on top of it to prevent him from crawling out, and layers and layers of dirt ensuring to push him down with added pressure.

He. Is. Here.

And he is smiling at you, whilst handing you a drink. In his neatly pressed clothes that look picked straight from the dry cleaners. And now everything you did, for the past 39 hours of sheer labor and desperation, is reduced to absolutely— nothing.

"I apologise for not telling you sooner to save you the trouble."

You don't need his comfort; the emotions he invokes in you will never come close to resembling comfort.

"But at the very least, it's not all for naught: you've found another useless method that doesn't quite do the job yet."

He’s still holding out the water for you, but it’s the way he extends his hand that makes you stare at the synthetically still limb in front of you, nothing about it human or natural—more akin to a statue covered by a thin layer of skin.

After lingering in a still state of suspended animation— his hand moves. The action so sudden, you flinch a bit. This elicits... something from him. You're not sure what reaction he's supposed to be portraying right now, was he supposed to be... chuckling? Or gasping in some weird way? The sound never making it past his throat as he just continues staring and making that noise. You don't like it.

He brings the bottle closer to your lips, wordlessly encouraging you to drink. A twitch in his fingers suggests he’s trying to recalibrate the functions of his human body, retrying to hold the bottle correctly; more naturally. More... gentle. Fluid.

He smiles again; it doesn’t make you feel good. The tug of his lips is a mimicry; you're sure he's borrowing someone else’s mouth right now, still trying to appear as "comforting".

"We'll just have to try again, won't we? I’m sure you’ll find plenty of ways to keep disappointing yourself."

[666writingcafe]

Greed (Part Two)

Lucifer

"Well, hello MC," Solomon merrily greets when he opens the front door of the cabin. As soon as he sees me, however, his expression grows more serious. "Lucifer, is everything alright?"

"I'm afraid not," I reply. "There's been an incident, and--"

"Tie me up," MC abruptly interrupts, their voice slightly strained. Solomon looks between the two of us, clearly confused.

"I'd do what they say," I suggest. He's still unsure, but he nevertheless lets us in and pulls out a chair from the kitchen for MC to sit in. He utters a spell that causes ropes to magically appear and wrap around them, effectively keeping them in place.

"There'd better be a good explanation for this," he warns, turning his attention back to me. "I'm not about to hurt my apprentice--" My phone suddenly rings, and I quickly excuse myself to another room to answer it.

"What happened?" I ask once I've answered the call.

"Mammon's lost the coin," Satan quietly responds on the other end. "The dumbass kept tossing it in the air, and it ended up rolling off somewhere."

"So you've haven't made it back to the House yet?" Satan sighs.

"No. We're still in the forest. He's making us look for the stupid thing."

"Asmo, I don't care about your fucking nails! We're not leaving until my lucky coin is back in my hands!" I've never heard Mammon scream that loud, and he's one of the more noisy ones in the bunch when he's arguing with someone.

"We're literally on our hands and knees, combing through every single thing on the ground. It's fucking ridiculous, if you ask me." I sigh.

"This is probably going to be a stupid question on my part, but has anyone tried to tell him to let the coin go so that you can get home safely?"

"Belphie." He pauses. "His statement caused Mammon to go berserk, and somehow he used magic to force us to the ground. If we even try to stand up, he makes the most excruciating pain shoot down our bodies." A faint whipping sound cuts through the air on his end. "And that would be due to him spotting someone taking a rest." This isn't good. Not at all.

"I'm assuming you've found a place to hide?"

"Yes, but I'll have to move soon. I hear him getting closer." Something suddenly starts rattling loudly, followed by various objects shattering on the ground.

"Lucifer, I think that's coming from your end," Satan nervously observes. "Did you at least make it to the cabin?"

"We did. Listen, I'm giving you permission to use whatever means necessary to knock Mammon out. Just make sure it's not fatal. Call me when you've done that." I quickly end the call and rush back to Solomon and MC, only to find the room they're in to be an absolute wreck.

"Let me go!" MC yells. Solomon looks like he's walked through a minefield with his hair in disarray and his clothes torn.

"As I keep telling you, I can't do that--"

"Whose side are you on, Solomon?! His?!"

"Look, I think it's unfair that he stole the coin from you, but--"

"But what?! You don't think he deserves to get punished?!"

"That isn't what I'm saying--"

"MC." They snap their head, focusing their attention on me. "Pull yourself together. You're being unreasonable." The air around them begins glowing.

"How dare you!" MC screams.

"Great, Lucifer," Solomon complains. "I was trying to calm them down, not provoke them even further."

"And how well is that turning out for you?" Silence. He may know MC better than I do, but I've dealt with Satan on the warpath many times before. Explanations mean nothing when someone is in this state, so the best thing to do is to be simply firm and wait for them to tire out on their own.

"Let me at him!"

"No."

"It's my coin, and I want it back!"

"No." Is it my imagination, or are the ropes starting to break?

"Of course you would side with Mammon."

"I will deal with him accordingly."

"Then why are you still here?!" In a nearly blinding flash, the ropes fly off MC, and they lunge themselves at me, knocking me down to the ground. I quickly spin us around so that I'm able to pin them down. They're thrashing about, but that's to be expected.

"Sleep." Their body quickly goes limp as the magic behind the command takes over them. I stand up and dust myself off. I don't have to look at Solomon to know that he's glaring at me.

"They'll be fine," I tell him. "It'll just be a few hours before they're awake again. Help me get them in bed." He's still seething, but he at least comes over and assists me. It's not until we've gotten MC tucked in and leaving their room that he reacts by slamming me against the wall.

"What the fuck is going on?" he whispers threateningly.

While I certainly have enough strength to throw him off me, I'm not about to get into another fight. Plus, I do understand why he's upset at me. In his eyes, I'm currently a threat to his loved one's safety. He has every right to protect them.

Especially since I'm trying to do the same thing. It'd be hypocritical of me to hold his feelings against him while experiencing them myself.

"Growing pains." If I gave that answer to someone else, they'd probably demand a more detailed explanation after chastising me for being so vague.

Thankfully, Solomon's smart enough to read between the lines of my short answer.

"They're affecting MC."

"Yes." The fact that he doesn't pose that as a question makes me suspect that he knows something that I don't. Then again, he did know MC back when they were human, so perhaps it makes some degree of sense.

Solomon steps away from me, allowing me to move freely.

"How much time do you have?" he asks.

"Enough."

"Good. Fancy a trip back to the castle?"

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @budbuddnbuddy

[elysiaheaven]

𝗦𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹-𝟭𝟴-(The Fox's wedding)

Words:2212

Moze appeared suddenly, his sharp gaze cutting through the tension like a knife. His presence brought a cold chill as he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing at the scene in front of him—your tear-streaked face, the manic look in your eyes, and Jiaoqiu, holding you tightly. You felt exposed, vulnerable, so you scrambled to put on your mask, quickly hiding the remnants of your emotional breakdown behind a cold, detached facade.

Without missing a beat, you straightened yourself, forcing your voice into an icy tone. "Let's go. We've wasted enough time," you said, your voice hollow and devoid of any emotion. Moze raised an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback by your sudden shift. Even he, with his vast knowledge of human behavior, seemed unsure of what had just happened.

Jiaoqiu stood silently, watching you with a deep intensity. His eyes followed your every move, searching for a crack in the cold mask you wore. He looked like he wanted to say something, to reach out, but the moment had passed. You were distant again, a ghost of the person you had been just moments before.

"It's time to leave," Jiaoqiu finally said, his voice strained, though he tried to hide it. Moze gave a short nod, casting one last confused glance between the two of you before he led the way.

The three of you walked through the busy streets, the atmosphere felt heavier. You continued your act, speaking in clipped, emotionless tones. You cracked twisted jokes and feigned indifference, pushing Jiaoqiu's buttons at every opportunity. But he didn't respond with anger or annoyance. Instead, he kept staring at you, a silent plea in his eyes, hoping for some sign that the cold mask was just an act.

Moze remained quiet, observing from the sidelines, though he could tell something was off. His instinct, honed from years of working in the shadows, told him that whatever had just happened between you and Jiaoqiu was far more complicated than it appeared.

"Acting messed up won't get you anywhere," Jiaoqiu muttered quietly as the group walked ahead. You shot him a sharp glance, but he didn't elaborate. His eyes never left you, filled with a mix of concern, confusion, and something deeper that you didn't want to acknowledge.

You scoffed, keeping up the twisted front. "You think you understand me, Jiaoqiu? You don't know anything," you said with a cold smirk, though your heart felt heavier with each word. 

Even if it hurt. Even if it was killing you.

Timeskip

"Speaking of which, why hasn't she arrived yet? They say the Merlin's Claw strikes like lightning. Being late isn't her style..." a familiar voice rang out. You knew this voice, but couldn't quite place it.

"That's not true, General Huaiyan. She's been here for a while now, but I'm sure you've heard of her... unbridled nature," Jiaoqiu responded, clearly answering the general's curiosity before it could fully form into a question.

"As soon as she disembarked from the star skiff, she mentioned having something to attend to and disappeared," Moze added, his tone more matter-of-fact.

"Miss Feixiao's a silly goose when she's on duty. You don't have to worry," you chimed in from behind your mask, your voice dripping with smugness.

General Huaiyan raised an eyebrow, turning toward your direction. "You must be the messengers from the Xianzhou Yaoqing, I assume... And you are?" His gaze lingered on you, his curiosity piqued as he tried to make out who hid behind the mask.

You met his gaze, your expression unreadable under the mask's fox-like design. Despite the years, his appearance hadn't changed—Jing Yuan still looked as composed and formidable as ever. His long white hair, tied back with a red ribbon, golden eyes sharp as ever, and that same mole under his left eye. He wore his armor like it was second nature, his golden plates reflecting the light, with his lion Snowmoon no doubt nearby.

Jing Yuan's eyes stayed on you, alert and calculating. "A kitsune mask?" General Huaiyan asked, breaking the silence, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

Before you could respond, Jiaoqiu quickly stepped in. "This is my wife," he said smoothly, his hand moving protectively to your arm. "She wanted to join me. She... ran away from her home, and I decided to marry her for her sake." His voice had a calm confidence, but there was a hint of urgency, as if hoping his words would satisfy their questioning gaze.

Jing Yuan's sharp eyes didn't waver, but he remained silent, his expression unreadable. General Huaiyan, on the other hand, looked momentarily satisfied, though intrigue still danced in his eyes.

Jing Yuan's expression darkened as he spoke, his voice cold and measured. "I've always wanted to behead another kitsune girl who once came to Luofu," he said, his golden eyes locking onto you with a sharp, almost predatory glare.

You could feel his gaze piercing through you, a palpable tension in the air. Calmly, you lifted your mask and met his cold stare with a wicked smile. "Yes, such an evil woman should have been beheaded," you replied with a dark chuckle. "But it's a shame... her curse could kill the one she's bonded with."

Your eyes darted toward Jiaoqiu, making it clear who you meant, though Jiaoqiu was oblivious to the exchange, distracted by his conversation with Moze. The implication hung heavy in the air, though. Jing Yuan's jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing as if he were piecing something together.

General Huaiyan, standing nearby, noticed the tension. "Jing Yuan... do you know her?" he asked, his tone filled with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.

Jing Yuan's eyes flicked back to yours, as if seeing through your mask of deceit. His lips curled into a tight, bitter smile. "No," he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "I don't."

But his gaze betrayed the truth. He knew exactly who you were. 

Jing Yuan's eyes locked onto you, his golden irises shimmering with a strange intensity, as if he had seen a ghost. The cold detachment in his gaze flickered for a brief moment, betraying a deeper recognition. He tried to mask it, but you saw it—the brief flash of something unsettled in his calm demeanor.

You tilted your head, smirking wickedly. Then, in a mocking gesture, you playfully placed your hand over your neck, as if holding it to keep your head in place. "Careful, General," you teased darkly, your voice dripping with false amusement. "Wouldn't want to lose my head over a silly misunderstanding."

Jing Yuan's jaw clenched, the tension thickening between you. He didn't respond, but his expression hardened, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel the weight of his thoughts pressing against the air, unspoken words left to hang between you both. His earlier joke about beheading you now felt like something far more sinister.

General Huaiyan, sensing the undercurrent of hostility, shifted uncomfortably, casting a glance between you and Jing Yuan. "Jing Yuan?" he asked cautiously, trying to break the heavy silence. "Are you alright?"

Jing Yuan didn't immediately respond, still staring at you with that same haunted look, as if he couldn't quite shake the ghost of his own past. Finally, he tore his gaze away and let out a slow breath. "I'm fine," he muttered, though his voice was tight with control. "Just... old memories."

You chuckled softly, lowering your hand from your neck, thoroughly enjoying the effect you had on him. "Old memories have a way of haunting us, don't they?" you purred, your words laced with a venomous sweetness.

Jiaoqiu, still oblivious to the tension, glanced over with a bemused look. "What's so funny?" he asked, looking between you and the generals.

You shot him a sly smile, still feeling the eyes of Jing Yuan burning into you. "Nothing," you said smoothly, sliding your mask back into place. "Just reminiscing about the past..."

"Now this is interesting," General Huaiyan mused with an amused smirk. "A guest who doesn't even bother to visit, but sends a message instead. Tell me, what could possibly be more important to her than showing up in person?"

Jiaoqiu responded casually, his tone light as he answered, "Master heard about a spectacular view at Scale Gorge Waterscape. I believe she went there to... enjoy the scenery."

"A spectacular view, you say?" General Huaiyan's brow lifted as he glanced at Jing Yuan with a mocking chuckle. "Did you hear that? This person must be sarcastic."

"How is this sarcasm, old man?" you interrupted smoothly, masking the rising sadness in your chest with an air of nonchalance. "The view really is breathtaking. I had a Foxian friend who used to follow me around... and a dragon companion too. We'd hang out there. It's truly beautiful..." Your voice trailed off for a moment, but you managed to keep the melancholy well-hidden beneath your smile.

General Huaiyan eyed you curiously, but before he could speak, Jiaoqiu stepped in once more. "Please, don't misunderstand me, General Huaiyan," he said, maintaining his poker face. "I was merely stating the facts. Master thought it would be improper to keep you waiting. So she sent us ahead. Once she's finished admiring the scenery, she will personally come and apologize to both of you."

Jiaoqiu and Moze made their farewells, preparing to leave. Jiaoqiu reached out to catch your hand, but you pulled away sharply, not wanting his touch. Jing Yuan's commanding voice cut through the tension. "Please, stay. I need to speak with you."

General Huaiyan nodded, stepping outside as instructed, leaving you alone with Jing Yuan. The room's atmosphere grew heavy as you met his gaze with a cold, unwavering stare, a mix of defiance and weariness in your eyes. You felt a deep frustration, thinking how ironic it was that he might only threaten you instead of offering the resolution you longed for.

Jing Yuan's voice was stern as he began, "How do you live with yourself after having killed an entire village? How do you continue after causing so much suffering to another man?"

His words cut through you, but you tried to maintain your composure. "Adoring," you said softly, almost to yourself. "It's not like the Jing Yuan who used to sneak in during Jingliu's training just to steal my sweets. You were kind then, but now you judge me so harshly."

You walked over to him and handed him a letter. "In this letter, Jingliu wrote about the tragic fate of a kitsune who lived before her Mara struck. It was me who took it to keep others from knowing what truly happened."

As you turned to leave, you added with a quiet, somber tone, "I always cared for all of you, for all ... for our old friends." Your voice broke slightly, revealing the depth of your pain. You didn't wait for his response; instead, you walked away, feeling each step weighed down by the hurt and betrayal that had defined your past.

Jing Yuan's eyes followed you, the weight of his unspoken regrets clear as he read the letter. His thoughts were interrupted by your departing words, which echoed with an anguish that mirrored your own.

You muttered to yourself, your voice barely audible, "Why did I survive through all that suffering, just to be seen as a traitor? Why do I live while others suffered?" Your questions remained unanswered.

Moze mentioned he would be leaving for a while, and with that, he took his leave, leaving you and Jiaoqiu alone. 

Upon returning, Jiaoqiu looked at you with a blend of concern and desire, asking if you'd like to wander around. You were too numb to respond clearly, your eyes showing a depth of pain as you nodded.

Jiaoqiu, sensing something off, gently but firmly took hold of your head, pulling you close. You felt too weak to protest, your mind clouded with tormenting questions and emotions. Suddenly, he enveloped you in a warm embrace, his arms providing a fleeting sense of comfort.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, his voice laced with concern.

You looked up at him, your gaze twisted and pained. A twisted, broken laugh escaped your lips as you responded, "Kill me, over and over....."

Jiaoqiu's eyes darkened with a mix of desire and frustration. He cupped your face in his hands and pressed his lips against yours in a feverish, almost desperate kiss. The kiss was intense and hungry, a primal need to silence you, to claim you in this moment of chaos. His lips moved passionately against yours, and his tongue sought to dominate, drawing out the lust that had been simmering between you both.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath mingling with yours. "Be quiet. Just wait," he murmured, his voice husky and laden with an unspoken promise.

Before you could fully process his words, he kissed you again, more fiercely this time. He guided you into a nearby dark alleyway, the shadows embracing you both. In the dim light, the kiss continued, fervent and insatiable. Your hands clung to him, pulling him closer, your body pressed against his in an urgent need for his touch.

Every kiss was a blend of desperation and longing, as if you were starved for his affection and touch. You let out soft, needy moans into his mouth, your heart racing with each heated embrace.

[enbyandyy]

I think I have a new genre of favourite screenshot

CONFUSED GRIAN

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter. 

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up. 

It was him. 

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak. 

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises? 

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers. 

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,” 

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment. 

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,” 

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile. 

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped. 

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,” 

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze. 

Fuck. 

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,” 

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—” 

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked. 

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break. 

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?” 

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?” 

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks. 

“I would,” 

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile. 

Fuck. 

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears. 

But how can you be quiet? 

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck. 

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,” 

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass. 

He’s huge. 

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—” 

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,” 

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?” 

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much. 

He was too much. 

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,” 

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,” 

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?” 

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—” 

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns. 

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart. 

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up. 

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—” 

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt. 

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store. 

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—” 

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care. 

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump. 

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush. 

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,” 

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?” 

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling. 

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.” 

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern. 

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started. 

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin. 

“What are you—” 

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,” 

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type. 

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?” 

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“ 

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,” 

“Mahito—“ 

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money,  “be a doll, won’t you?” 

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?” 

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?” 

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice. 

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?” 

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.” 

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling. 

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger. 

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods. 

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot. 

“I will,” 

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,” 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip. 

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,” 

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.” 

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze. 

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—” 

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—” 

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,” 

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—” 

“Have another lesson?” 

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you. 

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue. 

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt. 

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was. 

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—” 

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,” 

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release. 

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure. 

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you. 

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks. 

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much. 

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light. 

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach. 

Your mouth runs dry. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought. 

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you. 

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it. 

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze. 

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch. 

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away. 

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—” 

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal. 

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod. 

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out. 

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!” 

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you. 

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out,  “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?” 

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder. 

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him. 

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—” 

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls. 

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt. 

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick. 

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again. 

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour. 

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise. 

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you. 

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.” 

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?” 

You were picking up your boyfriend. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.” 

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious

[tender-rosiey]

from me to you — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: this takes place in chapter 268, soo sort of spoilers ahead? also long live gojo satoru; gojo leaves you a letter 🙏

“y/n-sensei, there is a letter for you as well!”

that catches your attention, and you look up at the first years. you tilt your head slightly, and yuuji hands you an envelope.

you gently take it from him, and the first thing you notice is “wifey” written on it then the doodle of satoru with his blindfold on. you feel your throat tighten, and your hands shake slightly.

you let out a small breath then shakily open the letter.

hey, honey!!

it first reads.

I feel like there is still much I didn’t tell you in our last meeting, so here I, your beautiful and handsome husband, am writing them down.

you swallow lightly, and a small smile appears on your face as you imagine satoru saying that, then you continue to the next line.

first, I changed all your computer passwords to variations of “satoruisthebest” at one point. your confusion was so cute!!

you quirk an eyebrow at the admission, but when you rack your brain, you remember that one day when you couldn’t log into your computer.

what you vividly remember was satoru being sat beside you the whole time, and now that you think about it. he was smiling so widely the entire time, letting out small chuckles every now and then. oh, that sneaky man.

“satoru, I am telling you it’s broken!”

“sweetheart, we spent over 2000$ on that. if it broke, then we could easily sue the company,” he chuckled, arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you closer.

“2 year guaranteed top performance my ass!”

you smile at the memory. it was pretty satoru of him to do that. your eyes then move to continue reading.

second, there are times when I would tell megumi that you would be coming with me, then he would turn and leave me when he found out I was tricking him.

your eyes glance up at said boy who is sat across of you. he made it out alive, despite everything. he suffered so much, but he made it.

it makes you relieved, and you can imagine satoru being bloody proud of him and saying something along the lines of ‘you handed sukuna’s ass to him, very cool!’

no matter how much megumi had frowned and grimaced at satoru’s presence or antics. it rooted itself as something—safe and familiar.

you can’t count on your hands the times when you and satoru would visit the siblings, and nobody really said it, but these meetings did all of you a favor, a chance to kind of wind down. maybe act like death might actually not be looming tomorrow.

it feels like just yesterday when megumi would cling to you when he got really sad or nervous, after so much time spent getting comfortable with each other.

he grew up well, you think, eyes gliding to next.

third, I hid your uniform every two to three weeks, so you have to stay with me.

at that, your eyes widen a bit. satoru’s schedule was pretty packed, but he somehow managed to squeeze time for quality time between you two.

it tugged on your heartstrings, and you made sure he knew how much you appreciated it, not a single space on his face left without a kiss. however, finding out that he went out of his way to make you rest and stay.

satoru’s care really showed in his actions, and you feel like this is the biggest proof of it.

“satoru, have you seen my uniform?”

“nope! maybe, it is a sign to stay home today? you’ve been working so hard, wifey!”

you cupped his face, pulled him down to your height, and kisses his cheek, “you’ve been working harder, ‘toru. let me take off some of the load at least.”

“we could both stay!”

“you’re kidding, right?”

“I already told yaga; I miss you!”

you try to stop the reminiscing further and try to compose yourself before reading the rest.

fourth, I’m the one who kept adjusting the thermostat. I just wanted an excuse to cuddle.

a fond yet melancholy smile appears on your face. you kinda figured that one out. satoru’s favorite pastime was cuddling, so it’s no surprise that he would go out of his way to create the need for it even further.

add to that, once you went to get some green tea and saw him from the corner of your eye teleport to the thermostat, click something, then teleport back to bed.

you figured that the room being chilly that night was not an exception in the middle of july.

“babeeee, it’s so cold! let’s cuddle!”

“maybe the problem is with the thermostat?”

“I checked! I think cuddling is the best solution.”

you giggle as you recall the moment, one of many similar. your heart feels a bit lighter as you go through the letter. something satoru managed to always do even in person.

he would plaster sticky notes, get you trinkets, and even pull pranks on other just to see you smile. feeling more encouraged, you keep on reading the letter.

then you feel your chest constrict so tightly that you might just throw up.

fifth, I am really gonna fucking miss you.

you read the line over again, and you purse your lip in hopes of silencing any noise that may come out as you feel the lump in your throat return, even worse than before. your breathing starts getting more difficult.

your grip on the letter tightens, and you find yourself thinking back to the good times. memories of late nights spent in each other’s arms, thinking about everything and nothing at once.

hushed whispers of confessions and quiet giggles as you reminisced on your highschool days. tight hugs when recalling the sad moments and the departure of a certain someone.

“you know, y/n, I think we might just be made for each other,” he said one night. you hummed and looked him in the eyes.

“three am thoughts?”

“three am admissions,” he grins slightly, “I am made for you, and you’re made for me.”

you remember him pulling you closer and kissing your forehead, while you teased, “and what would you need little old me for, so much that I got made?”

he feigns thinking then closes his eyes, burying his face in your shoulder, “grounding me.”

I love you. I really do, but you should know that already, right?

your eyes drift down to the corner of the paper, and that is when you feel your tears start free-falling. there is drawn a chibi satoru besides a chibi you and between them is a heart.

the chibi satoru is giving yours a big smooch, while she laughs. you never thought that the day your jealousy burns would be because of drawings, and drawings of you and your own husband, nonetheless.

“but wow, gojo-sensei is shit at writing letters,” you hear nobara remark.

megumi responds with a small chuckle, “I am fine with mine.”

“what about you, y/n-sensei?—”

the trio becomes silent as you let out a sob. a watery smile makes its way up your face as you kiss the letter gently and murmur, “so shitty.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will tell @callmemirro

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[laligraves]

morning run

joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~ 2.8k summary: Joel overhears your argument with the neighbor. masterlist | AO3

warnings: HBO Joel, TLOU AU, dubious consent (i'm so serious, don't read if it makes you uncomfortable), NSFW, pre/no outbreak, some proofreading, Joel is a tall and very strong man, older man/college-aged reader, Joel lives in a wealthy neighborhood with an HOA (homeowners association), no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, somewhat public setting, breeding kink (kinda), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie

“These HOA people are vultures,” your sister mutters. 

You look up from your laptop and watch out the window as the committee leaves on their golf cart, most likely on their way to torment another house on the block. 

“Is it that big of a deal that my flower garden has the wrong color of roses?” 

“There’s a wrong color of roses?” you ask in confusion. 

“Yes! The president of the HOA, Susan,” you sister spits out in disdain, “only wants light pink roses on this block.” 

She slams the written warning on the entrance table and storms off into the kitchen. “I’m not sure how her husband stands her. I guess that’s why he spends so much time at the golf course.” 

You follow her into the kitchen, partly because you want a break from your assignments and also because you want to hear more gossip about her new neighborhood. 

“You know she made me pay a fine because my car was left on the driveway after hours? It’s my driveway!” 

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Suddenly, I’m not so jealous about your new place.” 

She throws a sponge at your head. 

“Why don’t you just say no?” you ask as you narrowly dodge the sponge. 

“I’ve tried so hard to be nice to everyone here. But all Susan does is turn people against me. Everytime I walk outside to grab the mail or go to work, people give me dirty looks!” 

You don’t like seeing your sister like this. It’s her home. One she worked very hard to buy in this wealthy neighborhood. No one has the right to make her feel like an outsider. So you develop a plan. 

You find out Susan’s schedule fairly easily. Every morning at 8 a.m. she walks her husband to his car and kisses him goodbye before he leaves for work. She then walks back inside for her notebook and pen to then walk around the neighborhood. 

She stops at every house to ensure it fits her standards and if they don’t, she leaves a written warning on the front door. During the weekends, she and her gang of friends drive around on a golf cart to give out even more citations. 

So at exactly 7:55 A.M., you make your way to her house. You’re careful in the outfit you chose this morning: a tight sports bra and running shorts. She, and most importantly her husband, are definitely going to notice you. 

You slow down as you round the corner, already seeing her husband place his briefcase in the backseat of his beamer. She walks right behind him with a lunch pail and kisses his cheek. You shout out a good morning and watch as they both turn to look at you. 

Her right eye immediately begins to twitch and she plasters on a fake smile. His eyes do an appreciative sweep of your body as he walks to the end of the driveway. 

“Good morning! Susan,” he says turning to his wife, “why didn’t you tell me we had a new neighbor?” 

He grasps your hand and gives it a firm shake. His thumb caresses the back of your hand as he slowly lets go. Susan finally reaches the both of you and grabs onto her husband's arm to pull him away. 

You give him a sweet smile, pushing your chest out in a calculated move so he has no choice but to look.   

“I’m just visiting my sister over on Ocean Avenue. The neighborhood is so nice I thought it would be perfect for my morning runs.” 

“I agree, you can run anytime you want–” 

“Sweetie,” Susan interrupts in a high-pitched voice, “you’re going to be late.”

He asks for your name and what you’re studying in college, then shakes your hand again while Susan seethes next to the driver’s side door. He drives off, promising a tour of the country club later that day. You're left standing alone with Susan, just as you wanted.  

“Look here, young lady,” she snarls, “this is a neighborhood full of families. Not some frat house. We do not allow blatant displays of–of–well this ,” she says as she motions to your workout attire. “I am going to write your sister a citation for this disrespectful action.” 

“Well, that does make me sad. I guess I’ll have to ask your husband to cheer me up later when I visit him.” 

Her face turns beet red and you wonder briefly if steam will come out of her ears. “What did you just say?” 

“Your husband was so nice in inviting me to the country club, how can I say no? I really need to work on my swing–” 

“You stay away from my husband,” she whispers, pointing a finger at your face, “or I will find a way to run your sister out of this neighborhood.” 

“Leave my sister alone,” you say as you walk right up to her and push her finger out of the way, “or I’ll fuck your husband.”

Susan gasps, dramatically placing a hand over her mouth. 

“I’ll make sure he finishes inside me, too. Maybe give him a baby.” 

With that, you continue your jog down the sidewalk. You don’t notice Susan’s neighbor, who stands by his gate and watches you run off.  

- 

You continue your jogs for the next few days, waving at Susan and her husband every morning. You and Susan come to an unspoken agreement: she stops bothering your sister and you make sure to stay away from her husband. 

Just as you jog past her house, you notice an envelope on the sidewalk. It’s next to a brick mailbox that has the name Miller written on a plaque. You check the envelope and sure enough you see it's made out to a Joel Miller . 

You walk up to the iron gate that matches the address and call out a hello , but no one answers. There’s red roses that wrap around the expansive gate which look and smell beautiful, but block your view inside. You test the handle of the gate and luckily it opens. 

“They must’ve dropped it when getting the mail this morning,” you mumble to yourself. 

“Mornin’, doll,” a gruff voice calls out to your right. 

You jump slightly and turn to look, finding a man crouched by the gate. He stands to his full height and you have to tilt your head up just so you can keep eye contact. 

“Good morning,” you whisper. 

He’s older and handsome, much more attractive than the college boys you're used to. He places his gardening shears down and takes off his gloves to shake your hand. You do your best to control the shiver that courses through your body at the touch of his warm skin. 

“Joel,” he states, swiping his other hand through his salt and pepper hair. 

You open your mouth to say your name, but he beats you to it. 

“How did you know–” 

“I heard your conversation with Susan the other day,” Joel interrupts with a slight smirk. 

His hand tightens for a moment until he lets go, dragging his fingers over your palm. You feel embarrassment wash over your body and you quickly hand him the envelope. 

“Right–um, how much of the conversation did you hear?” 

He lets out a laugh and drops the envelope into a basket that you’ve now just noticed. It’s full of the same red roses that cover his gate. 

“Just the part where you threatened to fuck her husband if she didn’t leave your sister alone,” he says, placing his hands on his hips. “Effective threat, it seems.” 

His eyes sweep over your body and you become hyper aware of the workout clothes you're wearing. Once again, a sports bra and running shorts. 

“She’s backed down,” you say after a few moments, crossing your arms to cover your pebbling nipples. 

“So,” he continues while walking closer, “you offerin’ to fuck every man on the block or just her’s?” 

His words send a shock wave through your body, landing right between your legs. You ignore the pulsing in your cunt and instead lift your hand to slap him across the face. 

As if he’s able to sense what you’re about to do, he catches your wrist before your hand makes contact with his face. 

“How dare you–”  

“Don’t act so innocent now,” he growls, pushing your body against the gate. “You told Susan you were going to let ‘em fill you up. Put a baby inside of you.” 

Your back makes contact with the gate, luckily in a place where there’s no thorns. You try to push out of his hold, confused at how much you enjoy being manhandled by an older man you just met. 

“Let me go or I’ll scream–”

“Joel?” a familiar high-pitched voice interrupts you. “Are you there?” 

Your body stills at the sound of Susan’s voice. Theoretically, you could use this opportunity to scream for help. Sure, you’d have to face Susan again, but you’d be able to escape. 

Except, Joel manages to pick up your lower body and push his jean-covered cock right against your cunt. You wrap your legs around his waist to not fall and place one hand on the iron gate behind you.

He rocks against you, moving a finger in front of his mouth, motioning you to stay quiet. Your mouth drops open in surprise as he grabs your hips and begins to grind you down on him. 

“Yes, ma’am. What can I help you with?” Joel responds. 

She tries to open the gate and you press your body back so she won’t see you. You’re not quite sure why you’re trying to hide. 

“Joel, honey. Your gate is locked,” she says. “Come unlock it and let me in.”  

Through your daze, you faintly register her tone. Did she just call him honey?  

“Sorry, Susan. It does that sometimes. I’ve got my hands full at the moment,” Joel calls out, giving you another hard thrust. 

You bite your lip to stop the moan that threatens to escape. 

“That’s okay, I just wanted to stop by and warn you about the young lady that’s staying with her sister over on Ocean Avenue.” 

Joel raises his eyebrow and stops his movements, dropping your thighs from his hold. You're shocked again, feeling dejected that he’s stopping.  

He quickly spins you around and bends you over, pushing a hand between your thighs. You grab onto the iron gate once more and slap a hand over your mouth as he begins to rub a big hand over your thin shorts. 

“Warn me?” he calls out. “What’s this young lady been up to?” 

“Well, that–that– tramp ,” Susan spits out, “is acting in ways that she shouldn’t. I know you’re a hardworking man who has done so much for our community and the last thing I want is this girl making you uncomfortable.” 

Joel yanks down your shorts and plunges a thick finger inside of you. You’d roll your eyes at her words but instead they're rolling into the back of your skull. He thrusts his finger a few times and calls out a is that right to Susan. 

Joel adds another finger and you almost fall at the stretch. If those are just his fingers, you wonder how big his cock is. He uses his other hand to keep you steady and continues to fuck you with his thick fingers while talking to her. 

“I just,” Susan continues, “I don’t know what to do. Maybe we can find a way for the sister to leave? If we all band together?” 

Joel removes his hand from between your legs and places it on your back to keep you in place. This time you actually struggle in his hold, wanting to face Susan and give her a piece of your mind. 

“Now, Susan,” Joel admonishes, “don’t go blaming the sister for the younger one’s actions. There’s no need to be spiteful to our new neighbor. There’s more than enough room in this neighborhood for everyone.” 

You stop, surprised that Joel is standing up for your sister. He presses against you and you feel the roughness of his jeans on your bare skin. He brings you in close, gently rubbing his crotch on your slick cunt. 

“Oh, you’re so right, Joel. I just get so caught up in the politics of the HOA. I want this community to be perfect.” 

A wet glob of spit lands on your asshole and you clench in surprise. Joel quietly unzips his jeans and takes out his cock. 

“Fucking perfect little asshole,” he whispers, pushing the tip of his cock right on your hole. “Not today, baby. Today is that juicy, little cunt.” 

You arch your back and barely manage to stifle a whimper when he teases the tip of your entrance. 

“What was that, Joel?” Susan calls out. 

“That the community is already perfect, Susan.” 

His voice sounds annoyed at this point. 

“You think so, Joel? Thank you, I–” 

Joel uses that moment to plunge inside of you, bumping your g-spot and reaching so deep that you choke on your own spit. 

“I’m getting a call, Susan,” Joel says through gritted teeth, “I’ll speak to you later.” 

Susan gives a sad goodbye while you bite on your hand to stop your moans. Joel is big, much bigger than any of the boys in your past. Your pussy spasms and flutters over his length and you breathe in deep to adjust to the size. 

“S’tight,” he mutters, ”keep quiet f’me, doll. Too many people on the sidewalk at this time of mornin’.” 

You hum in response, wanting him to fuck you, to stretch you and make you come on his cock. He starts a rhythm, keeping one hand on your waist so you match his thrusts and the other slips between your thighs. 

Sticky wetness drips down your inner thighs and he swipes two fingers through the mess to bring them up to your clit. Joel pistons faster, rubbing harsh circles on your clit that have you accidently whimpering in pleasure. 

“I know, baby,” he coos, “feels so good, doesn’t it?” 

“ Y–yes ,” you whisper. 

“Showing off that pretty body when runnin’ around the neighborhood,” he groans. “Picking fights and trespassing. Just needed someone to fuck some manners into you.” 

Your fingers curl into the iron gate and your back arches even deeper. He speeds up, becomes harsher in his thrusts once he notices your pussy become softer, wetter, gripping his cock with each plunge. 

“Little cunt can barely take my cock,” Joel groans, “fuck, doll. You’re choking me.”

You wish you could bite his neck, leave red hickeys on his tan skin that you imagine tastes like salt and roses and spearmint. Your head spins from lust and you feel the coil in your belly, ready to burst at any moment. 

You hear voices, people walking past on the sidewalk for some early morning exercise. Joel lands a quick slap, slap to your clit and your cumming, clenching hard on his length while you fall apart. 

Your vision blurs and you faintly hear him say there you go, make a fuckin’ mess on me . Wetness spills from your cunt, only making it easier for Joel. You bite hard on your bottom lip to stop the whimpers and your fingers curl into the iron gate. 

“Gonna cum inside this pussy, put a baby in there,” he whispers. 

“ Please, Joel,” you whine. 

He brings your back to his chest, molds his lips to your neck and bites down, moving you like his personal fleshlight. Joel groans in your shoulder and then you feel it, hot pulses of cum, filling you up. 

You hold onto his arm that's branded across your chest and squeeze down on him, milking every drop from his body, wanting it to mark you deep inside.

Joel's body trembles from the exertion and he stumbles as he finishes, turning his body to lean on the iron gate with you still attached to his cock.

He keeps you pressed to him for a few moments, keeping his nose pressed to your neck as he breathes deep. Your own breathing regulates and you become aware of the sensitivity all over your body.

Joel stands straight and gently pulls out. He reaches into his jeans pocket to reach for a clean handkerchief that he uses to clean up between your thighs.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asks.

You manage a rough fuck off and lightly push at his shoulders. He laughs and helps you fix your clothes. He swipes your phone that fell on the ground the moment he pushed you to the gate, having you unlock it so he can put in his phone number.

You make it back home a few minutes later, sore but for the most part, satiated . Your sister gets home hours later, once you've relaxed in her ginormous bathtub and washed away the evidence of your morning run.

"Are you seeing someone?" she teases as she walks in.

"What? No, why?"

"Someone left a giant bouquet of red roses on the porch." 

Sure enough, you find a bouquet of familiar red roses on the front doorstep. You don’t need a notecard to know who they're from.