#shoutout to the black spot

[starseized]

i miss amy and rory so its time to revisit my favorite episodes

[leclerc-hs]

fille stupide - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: request from anon, in which you don't know French and a stranger helps you find your way back home Warning: 18+, SMUT, mean charles, degradation, some French (badly translated please correct me if needed), smut, smut, smut.... Word Count: 1808 Author's Note: I can't stop writing smut??? I think I hit every area the anon wanted!!! xo hope you like it lmaoooo also I wrote this so fast so it might not be my best work but I couldn’t sleep so I decided to write to pass the time. UPDATE: Also I just want to give a major shoutout to @dannyramirezwife for checking the translations for me!! It seriously means the world to meeee PART 2

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DESPITE MONACO'S REPUTATION as one of the smallest countries in the world, you found yourself defying expectations by getting lost. The common assumption that such a compact place would be easy to navigate proved to be a misconception, as Monaco’s intricate streets and unique layout presented a challenge, turning what seemed impossible into a reality. Your reality.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The murmur of students passing by echoed, their conversations blending into a linguistic symphony of French, a language foreign to your ears. The decision to pursue the International University of Monaco, a place where the native tongue was French, felt like a bold and ambitious choice at first. The picturesque landscapes, the allure of the Mediterranean, and the prestigious academic reputation had drawn you in. 

However, as you stood outside the building, the reality of linguistic barriers hit you with full force. It seemed like every conversation, every announcement, and every piece of information was enveloped in a language you struggled to comprehend. Although, most knew English, it wasn’t the standard, and you were not yet adjusted to it. 

Panic surged through you as you hurriedly navigated the winding sidewalks, desperately trying to locate the building housing your apartment. Your focus was solely on scanning the towering buildings, hoping to spot a familiar one. The urgency of the situation compelled you to dart forward, not paying mind to those surrounding you. It was a recipe disaster, leading you to collide right into the body of another person.

“Mon dieu,” My God. The man said with a slight annoyance in his tone. “Regarde où tu marches!” Watch where you’re walking!

As the words were proclaimed, your eyes locked with a man’s gaze. He was the most stunning individual your eyes have ever beheld. His physique was tan, sculpted and taut, with biceps stretching the seams of his t-shirt. A pair of black sunglasses perched confidently on the bridge of his nose, adding an extra layer of allure to his presence.

You had absolutely no idea what he was saying. Although by the look of his furrowed eyebrows and tightened jaw, it was evident he was far from pleased. He removed his sunglasses, unveiling a pair of narrowed eyes.

Embarrassment tinged your cheeks as you stammered, “I’m so sorry!”

Under his scrutinizing gaze, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of smallness. His eyes, which you presumed to be green, were veiled in fury, making it difficult to discern their true color, yet undeniable captivating in their intensity. 

“Tu parles Français?” Do you speak French? A sly grin stretched across his lips slowly, reveling in your bewilderment. “Stupide, stupide fille,” Stupid, stupid girl. he added, savoring the moment.

Gazing downward, you focused on your feet, idly brushing your hands across the bottom of your white sundress. The garment was short, adorned with a little tied bow between your breasts and flower details.

“I’m a bit lost.” You muttered. “Would you be able to help me find my place?”

“I ne sais pas,” I don’t know. He persisted in speaking French, despite knowing you couldn’t understand. It felt as if he aimed to humiliate you, to provoke a sense of frustration or anger deliberately.

“Évidemment, je peux. Fille stupide.” Of course, I can. Stupid girl. He was mocking you and you didn’t even know it.

You let out an exasperated groan and sidestepped to make way for him, muttering a small ‘nevermind.’ However, as you moved, he followed suit, intentionally blocking your path and halting your movement.

“You shouldn’t be wearing dresses so short,” his fingers gently toyed with the thin strap of your dress. “It’s a bit windy for them.”

You felt the goosebumps rise on your skin from his touch alone. You frowned, “So, you do speak English?”

“Oui, la plupart des gens le font.” Yes, most people do. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as he continued speaking in French. While you acknowledged the need to learn the language, it felt like he was intentionally being cruel rather than helpful. “Are you in University?”

You nodded briskly, eager not to waste any time, especially since he finally seemed willing to be helpful.

“Most of the students live this way,” he mentioned, his hand wrapping around your wrist as he began to walk, essentially pulling you along with him. The touch of his skin against yours stirred butterflies in your stomach. Despite the fact he was insanely hot, you struggled to concentrate, almost forgetting the fact that he was behaving like a total asshole. 

He muttered French phrases to himself throughout the entire walk, small laughs escaping his lips while you remained clueless about what he was saying.

“Je veux te manger.” I want to eat you out.

“Tu t’habilles comme une salope.” You dress like a slut.

“Je vais te détruire.” I’m going to wreck you.

You weren’t sure what it was. Whether it was delusion from exhaustion or simply the undeniable sex appeal of the guy, the words, even though you didn’t understand them, strangely aroused you. 

Guiding you through the streets, he steered you into a lobby of a building that finally seemed familiar. “What number are you?” he inquired, referring to your apartment number. 

“Why would I give a stranger my apartment number?”

He scoffed, “I’m Charles. Not a stranger anymore. What’s the number?”

You didn’t give him the information because he convinced you that easily. It was more because he knew the area better than you. 

“0217? I think.” You replied, not entirely certain. The rush of your first day at university had left you with little time to settle in and memorize details. He didn’t seem to have much patience as he led you quickly up the stairwell and in front of a door with the numbers 0217 on it. You pulled out your key and unlocked the door, smiling as you finally pushed it open with success.

“Come in and have some water before you go,” You offered. It was the least you could do to express gratitude for his assistance. Your apartment was sparsely furnished, with only a mattress on the floor and several boxes scattered about.

“Sorry for the mess,” you bent over to pick up two water bottles from the case of water, your lace underwear with tiny hearts all over them peeking out for Charles view. He groaned loudly and unashamed.

Fatigue weighed heavily behind your eyes, but a persistent ache tugged at your stomach, insisting on the need to fulfill it.

“Mon dieu, j’ai besoin de t’avoir.” My god, I need to have you.

You rolled your eyes at the man as he said yet another sentence in French, handing him the water bottle. Rather than taking the water bottle from your hand, he grasped tightly onto your forearm and pulled you into him, the shock of his grasp causing you to drop the water bottle.

You felt your stomach tightening with need as his hands were on you once again. It was sick really. How this big of an asshole could turn you on so much.

“Rule number one, you can only roll your eyes when my cock is stretching your tight little pussy.” The scent of his cologne made your knees week. It was embarrassing. How quickly he was able to affect you. 

A soft gasp escaped your lips at his words, and your heart raced rapidly in response. He towered over your small frame, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at your flushed skin. A dead giveaway to how badly you were aching for him.

His hand swiftly pulled the strings of the dress, giving him full access to your breasts. He slipped his hand into it, pinching your nipple between his middle finger and thumb.

“On the bed.” His tone was demanding and authoritative, treating you like you were the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. Treating you like the slut that you were. “On your hands and knees.”

You rushed over to the bed, falling to your hands and knees, turning your head to look up at Charles behind you. Once he makes his way over, he grabs your hair and pulls you so your back is flushed to his chest, pulling your mouth to his. His tongue slips its way into your mouth, devouring you. The process is not entirely sexy. It’s urgent. Frantic. As if neither of you could have enough of one another.

He pulled away and spoke gruffly, as if he was angry with you. “Doesn’t even know a lick of French, stupide fille.” Stupid girl. He remarked, switching off between French and English.

Your dress was so short that he didn't even need to move it to see your panties. The dainty little hearts had him foaming at the mouth. So fucking cute.

“Fucking salope.” Slut. He pushes you back down, letting you fall back onto your hands as he pulled his pants down, freeing his cock.

You felt your mouth water at the sight. Just like him, his cock was beautiful. Perfectly smooth and dripping with pre-cum. You moaned as he pressed the head of his cock to your lace covered pussy, teasing you with it. You felt yourself growing needier, trying to push yourself onto his cock for more friction. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” He groaned, pulling your underwear to the side, and spitting directly onto your pussy. He did it as if he was spitting on the sidewalk, with no care and no respect, shoving two fingers into your heated center. He wasn’t gentle in the slightest. He was greedy, taking whatever he wanted from you. “Pathétique,” Pathetic. He sighs, shaking his head, "Such a cock slut."

Loud moans left your mouth as he stroked where you ached with his fingers before removing them and replacing them with his cock. 

“So fucking tight,” he hisses, his fingers grabbing onto the skin of your ass to add leverage as his continues to push deeper. To push harder. Your pussy squeezes him harder as he utters the words. “Tu aimes ça?” You like that? He muses on, “You like hearing what a tight pussy you have?”

“Dirty fucking slut.”

His hand reaches out and forces your head down onto the mattress, limiting your breathing. He’s completely unhinged. His hips relentlessly pounding into you. Fucking you like he’s mad at you. Fucking you like he hates you. With every thrust, a loud moan escapes your lips, echoing off the empty apartment walls.

“Come on my cock,” he demands. “Squeezing me like you’re going to come.” He states. You can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You feel yourself choking on your moans as it hits you. You’re now leaping over the edge of your orgasm. “That’s it,” he soothes, talking you through as you release all over his cock, but he doesn’t slow the roll of his hips into you. He pulls your face up from the mattress, his hand holding you up by the back of your neck. You’re completely limp, practically nothing but a toy for him to use. 

“Charles,” you’re yelling his name repeatedly.

At the sound of your voice yelling his name, he quickly pulls out and comes undone, releasing all over your backside. He collapses beside you, both of you trying to catch your breath. You both lie there, unmoving, just staring at each other.

“You should really learn French.” He laughs, a smug smile forming on his lips. You can’t help but laugh in response. 

“Maybe you can teach me?” 

“Peut être.” Maybe.

[writingjourney]

Late Night Reading

Your Papa spends his evening reading about Roman cults – perhaps you can tempt him to offer you some of his attention instead.

pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x female!reader || rated: E

content: 3.6k words, (mostly soft) dom!copia, thigh riding, finger sucking, cockwarming, praise, p in v, riding, teasing, orgasm denial, unprotected, coming inside, suggestive use of a history book, 18+ only

Shoutout to @ghelullu for the historical expertise and to @foxybouquet for drawing reading glasses Copia for me that definitely helped inspire this fic!!

Masterlist – Ao3 link

The sheets feel soft against your skin as you stretch out on the bed like a lazy cat. You run your fingers over the fabric, a deep blue cotton that hugs your body as you roll from your belly onto your back. His side still carries his smell and the sigh that leaves you at this discovery is filled with a longing that has the sound vibrating in your throat.

Copia pays you no mind.

For an hour now he’s been sitting comfortably in an armchair, book in his lap and reading glasses perched on his strong nose. He is lost in the story, his eyes moving along the lines rapidly and with visible interest. The glass of red wine he’s been drinking tonight sits abandoned on a table by the side and the vinyl record hasn’t been flipped in quite some time; only the static noise of the record player fills the room.

You rise from the sheets and walk over to the music station on naked feet, slipping the record back into its sleeve to pick another. Copia has a vast collection and you take your time, glancing at him from the corner of your eye in hopes that your half-naked body, clad in just your sleeping shirt, will catch his attention. However, even as you place the needle on the record and soft 80s rock tunes fill the room his eyes stay on the pages of his book.

He looks handsome, you note. The glasses almost slip from his nose with how low he wears them, smudging the white paint where they sit tight by his nostrils. His hair is a bit messier now at the end of the day. A loose strand has fallen over his forehead and tickles his brow, the curve casting a small shadow on his skin under the light of his reading lamp. You fight the urge to brush it back and kiss the spot, lingering by the shelf to assess whether you can finally justify disturbing him.

Copia turns the page. You tiptoe over, hip pushing against the armrest by his side. He must notice you but he gives no indication of it as you trail your fingers over his shoulder, then down his arm. His black shirt stands open at the collar and you get a glimpse of his thick greying chest hair as well as the curve of his firm pectorals underneath the fabric. You want to kiss him there, too.

“Papa,” you try.

“Hm?”

He does not look up, even though the use of his title is enough information as to your intent. With your heart hammering you sink down and kneel beside him, resting your head on his thigh. The fabric of his pants feels rough against your soft cheek. Even so Copia continues to read, his eyes never straying from the page, ignoring your puppy-eyed face right next to the book. You can’t help but pout. Impatient fingers run down his calf, then up to his knee on the other side but your touch lures no reaction from him either.

You move to stand, let your fingers run down his forearm and grasp his wrist, lifting it out of the way so you can place yourself in his lap, once more the image of a needy cat vying for attention. Copia hardly reacts, only lifts the book out of the way while still fixated on the page. You shift until you’re sitting more comfortably, feeling his thighs flex underneath your weight until they press firmly against your ass. You feel his cock too, half-hard beneath the lacings of his pants.

“What are you reading?” you ask this time, nestling against him. Your head rests on his shoulder as you try to get a glimpse of his book.

“It is a book on the Mithraic Mysteries,” he explains, his voice steady and calm. “A very fascinating read. Not much of the Cult of Mithra survived, no written texts anyway.”

“Who is Mithra?” you inquire, only half-focussing on his words now that you finally feel him against you.

“An old Indo-European deity, worshipped by Roman soldiers. Some surviving depictions show him killing a bull, sacrificing the blood and seed to replenish the world and life itself.” His free hand moves to rest on your thigh, the black glove soft on your bare skin. “However, the cultists were persecuted by Christians and ultimately eliminated. Their places of worship, the mithraea, were destroyed.”

“That does sound interesting… and sad,” you conclude, taking in his scent with a deep inhale before you press a kiss to his neck. “Is it more interesting than me?”

“Oh, amore. Of course it is not.” His hand moves further up your leg until it rests on your ass, pushing your shirt up a little higher to squeeze the soft meat there. “Have I not given you enough attention, tonight, my baby?”

You shake your head, pressing your face against his neck as you hug him closer.

“Amore, if you want something you have to ask for it,” he says. “You know this.”

“I did not wish to disturb you. You were so engrossed in your read.”

“And yet here you are, no? Disturbing me.”

You break away to look at him, his face betraying nothing even though you swear you can see the hint of a teasing smile playing at his lips. Encouraged, you reach for his free hand and drag it into your lap, running your thumb over his wrist where his pulse starts to beat a little faster against your fingertip. You lift his hand to your lips, pressing kisses to the tender skin just where his glove ends.

Copia finally reacts, his fingers curling around your cheek and tilting your chin up. His eyebrows are pulled together, giving him a stern expression with the glasses still sitting so low on his nose. You giggle, the image of a teacher who glances at his students in irritation as they interrupt him popping into your head. Perhaps you will be rebuked now.

“Funny, hm?” he asks.

Before you can reply he pushes his index finger into your mouth, gently pressing down on your tongue until you obediently start to suck. The leather is smooth, making your mouth water, and you swirl your tongue around him languidly. Copia holds your gaze as he adds a second finger, his thumb resting on your chin where he wipes away the drool that dribbles from the corner of your mouth. After a moment of indulgence he withdraws them as well as his gaze and uses the wetted digits to turn the page without another word.

His attention is on the book again.

You release a sigh of discontent but he’s ignoring it just like he’s ignoring how you squirm in his lap. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs, your underwear soaked by now.

“Papa,” you whine. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“I need you.”

“You have me, demonietta, now that you wiggled your naughty little butt into my lap.” He glances at you from the corner of his eyes, no doubt taking in your desperate expression and unable to keep up his austerity for much longer. “Va bene. You have permission to use me as long as you do not disturb my reading. If you do, there will be consequences.”

“I won’t. I promise, Papa.”

He nods and his eyes land on the book again, his upper body angled in the direction of the lamp on his side table away from you. You reposition yourself until you can feel his thigh firm against your core, using his chest as leverage. Not a single one of his muscles moves to help you. Once you’re settled you have to readjust his free hand on your hip to make more room, smooth leather once more on your heated skin. As you slowly start to grind on his leg you feel his fingers tightening but he does not look, does not stir.

It feels incredible. The fabric of his jeans is rough against your inner thighs, the friction so needed that you can’t help but close your eyes and moan at the pressure against your clit. You repeat the same movement, slow drags of your hips to the rhythm of the music playing in the background. Hands planted firmly on his chest you feel his muscles against your palm and every time you push yourself back they flex underneath your fingertips.

You’re approaching your release fast after that – more confident movements, the perfect angle to ignite a fire deep inside your belly. The rolls of your hips become sloppy, your knee pushing forward into his crotch as you release a needy whimper, and then suddenly Copia’s fingers dig into your hips, effectively stopping you.

“Ah ah.” He tuts, his eyes snapping in your direction with a frown. “No, no, no, amore. Not like this. What did I fucking tell you, eh?”

A painful sob rips from your throat, your pussy throbbing desperately at the sudden lack of stimulation. “Papa?”

“Do you think I can read when you are dripping all over my leg? When you are moaning into my ear with the voice of a temptress?”

“I’m sorry, Papa. You just feel so good.”

His expression softens, his fingers unclenching. “Gentle now, hm? We are not in a hurry.”

You shake your head, your breathing still fast as you try to recover. “Will you help me, Papa?”

“Help? But you interrupted me,” he says with indignation. “What did I tell you happens when you interrupt me, amore?”

“There will be consequences.”

“Brava ragazza, listening so well to my words. If only you would heed them, hm?” He rubs his hand along your thigh, soothing, comforting. “Now unlace me, demonietta, so I can decide how to proceed with you.”

His cock strains against the fabric and you fiddle with the laces, your fingers still shaky from the almost-peak that he robbed you of. Once you finally loosen them, the pressure does the rest and you can free him easily even with your tremor. He’s achingly hard, dripping precome into your waiting hand. You want to lean down and taste him but you know he is in charge now and it thrills you to comply, to be good for him.

“Take off your underwear,” he orders. “Then you will keep me nice and warm for as long as it takes me to finish this chapter, hm? You want to please your Papa, do you not?”

 “Always,” you say as you slip from his lap, driven by the anticipation of finally feeling him inside of you.

The fabric is drenched as you remove it from your core and throw it aside. Copia’s arms remain open, hips slotted forward to allow you some more room, and you hover above him for a moment. You take his cock into your hand and slide it back and forth between your folds, wetting his tip with your arousal. Copia moans lowly at the contact, the pages of the book fluttering as his body trembles underneath yours with suppressed desire.

“So wet and needy,” he chides. “You want your Papa so bad it makes you forget that he is a very busy man, amore. I only have so much time to do my reading.”

“Perhaps you should read to me in the future, Papa,” you suggest, slowly sinking down on him. The stretch knocks the air right out of your lungs, his girth a welcome intrusion after so much time you spent waiting. A groan slips from his throat once he is fully sheathed, betraying the way he is affected as well.

“Hm, no, dolcezza, if anything you should read to me,” he says through gritted teeth. “So your Papa can rest his weary eyes. I am not so young anymore.”

“You are in your best years, my Papa,” you correct and begin to rock your hips.

Copia’s hand shoots out to grab you, digging roughly into the softness with the strength it takes him to stop you. “Ah ah ah,” he chides with a shake of his head, the glasses now crooked on his nose. “You stay still while I finish this chapter or I will remove you, amore. You know the rules, eh?”

You whimper, clenching around him not just in frustration but in arousal at his tone. With one hand you adjust his reading glasses, the other one rests on the soft curve of his belly underneath his shirt, trying to keep still. Every breath is laborious, every second too long.

“Very good, amore,” Copia praises and then his eyes are back on his book.

His cock pulses inside of you or maybe you are pulsing around him, the need to move so overwhelming you can’t stop the occasional whimper from slipping out, nor can you control the way your hips buck ever so slightly on their own accord. You’re not sure how he can focus, if he focuses at all or tortures you for his own enjoyment. His eyes do move along the lines and you spend a good amount of time studying them, green and white, slightly enlarged by his glasses. No matter how well he plays his part as the stern Papa, the mischievous, loving glint in them never leaves.

You can’t fight the urge to fix his hair, finally combing the loose strand back and massaging his temple. Copia lets out an appreciative hum, pressing his head into your hand. You take the hint and move your fingers along his scalp, gentle pressure to remove the tension of a long day. His hair is soft as you trace the silver streaks that become more and more prominent the longer you two are together.

His hand leaves your hip then to flip the page. You can’t help but squirm, the movement sending a wave of pleasure through your body that makes you keen and clench around him. It’s too much, you are too aware of his cock buried so deep inside of you to keep still. All you want to do is lose yourself in him, to have his undivided attention.

Copia inhales sharply at your fidgeting, in irritation or arousal you cannot tell. His hand reaches for your jaw, tilting it so that your eyes meet his. Instead of anger you find compassion in his gaze, even though there is a hint of complacency as well. “My poor amore,” he says, his tone only partly mocking. “I am not quite done yet. But I think you will have to read the next page for me. My eyes are so tired.”

“But–”

“You are so good for me, dolcezza,” he interrupts, leaning in to nuzzle your nose. “If you do well now your Papa will reward you for your patience.”

Before you can close the gap for a kiss he leans back again and hands you the book, pointing to a line at the top of the page. You try to catch your bearings, especially when you feel his cock twitching inside of you as he shifts to remove his reading glasses. A whimper turns into a croak, your throat suddenly tight and dry.

“In the– the–” You struggle as he once again stirs underneath you, settling comfortably in the armchair with both hands on the armrests. He is enjoying your struggle, a barely concealed grin on his lips. You clear your throat, take a deep breath and relax your muscles. “In the ancient world, the term mysteries was used to refer to secret cults throughout the period from the seventh century BC to the fourth century AD.”

“Very good, amore,” Copia says, voice smooth and sensual. “The next line now, hm? You are doing so well.”

“A-all shared two basic features: the injunction to silence, intended to… intended to prohibit ritual details reaching the outside world, and the…” Suddenly his hips buck, both of his hands settling on your sides to keep you steady as he pushes up into you with one hard thrust. Your eyes flutter closed, the book slipping from your fingers as you hold onto his shoulders.

“Go on,” he orders. “Finish the line. I know you can do it, amore.”

You open your eyes, trying to find the page again and holding the book open with one hand. It takes you a moment to find the right line. You’re trembling and dizzy. “The-the injunction to silence, intended to prohibit ritual details reaching the outside world, and the promise of… the promise of salvation...”

“Mhm, salvation,” he agrees, another thrust that finally has the book falling shut between your bodies and sliding into the gap between his thighs and the armrest. “Everyone wants salvation, ragazza mia, everyone wants release. Do you?”

“Yes, please, Papa.”

Copia grabs the book and sets it aside, feet braced against the floor and hips canted in a way that allows you to fully straddle him. You rest your hands on his chest and stare down at where your bodies join, the sliver of skin and dark body hair between his shirt and waistband glistening wetly with your arousal. Impatient now, you rip at the buttons of his shirt to tear it open, trying to find purchase on his bare skin, anything to feel more of him. His warmth radiates into your palms and then his hands curl around your buttocks as he lifts you just enough to shallowly fuck up into you. You moan, falling forward from the impact until your fronts are squished together.

“Papa,” you whine.

“Hmmmm, sei perfetta, amore mio,” he whispers, lips parted in concentration as he keeps up his pace. “I am proud of you, eh? So patient, waiting all night for your busy old Papa.”

You lean in, stealing his breath as you desperately press your mouth to his. The armchair creaks just as your lips connect and the wet sounds of your hips meeting over and over fill the room, drowning out the soft music. You follow his rhythm instead, pushing down and taking him ever deeper, controlling the angle with which he burrows into you.

“Fuck, Papa,” you whine, the orgasm you lost now building back up fast and violently.

One of Copia’s hands slides up to the back of your head, keeping it down for more wet kisses that smear his face paint all over your chin. His tongue enters your mouth, licking against yours desperately as though he suddenly can’t get enough of your taste. You comply eagerly, carding your hands through his chest hair, leaving trails of red as your nails scrape over his skin. Copia groans at the sensation, a deep sound that vibrates within you and has you clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, amore, ahhh–” He picks up his pace, chasing his own pleasure now just as much as yours. “So fucking good.”

“I’m s-so close,” you whisper.

“Let go for me,” he encourages, bringing his hands between your bodies in search of your clit. “Show your Papa how f-fucking good he makes you feel.”

He finds your sensitive spot, grazing the swollen nub with his gloved finger, and you fall apart in an instant. Your muscles tense, voice high-pitched as you moan and whimper at your release. When your mouth slips from his Copia grabs your chin and forces it back up, urging you to hold his gaze as he continues to fuck up into your clenched cunt. You struggle to hold yourself upright, your whole body turning into jelly as pleasure makes way for exhaustion. With one hand on his throat you trace the line of his Adam’s apple, feel him swallowing hard as he finally follows you and comes inside of you with a groan. His eyes turn glassy, losing their focus, and you finally allow yourself to sink against him, feeling his slightly sweaty chest.

For a long moment neither of you speaks, trying to breathe the air back into your lungs.

“It was okay, amore?” Copia finally asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not too much teasing?”

“It was amazing,” you say, your body still numb and tingly from the exertions. “Maybe we can wait a few minutes, though, before we get cleaned up.”

Copia hums and wraps his arms around you, keeping you pressed closely together. He begins to caress your back, fingers then sliding up to your neck where he massages the tight muscles for a moment but stops when it gets too exhausting to maintain. You sigh into his neck, face hidden underneath the curve of his jaw where you snugly fit against him. After a moment of reprieve you lean back up and look at him – ruined face, his paint smeared into grey streaks that run down his neck and reveal his skin. You press a kiss to the small scar on his jaw, then to the dip where it transitions into his plump lips, the corner of his mouth next.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your reading,” you mumble, breathing more kisses to his exposed face to give him the gentleness he always craves after being intimate like that. It’s a ritual by now, comfort and affection that make up for all the teasing.

“Ah, I was just waiting for you to come over,” he admits, returning the favour by pressing his lips to your cheek. “The book is interesting… but not that interesting, eh?”

“I will worship you, my Papa,” you whisper with a smile. “I call it the Cult of Copia.”

He chuckles, tightening his arms around you again to pull you flush against him. “Watch out, amore, I think I could get used to that.”

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡ The quotes I used in here are from this book, sorry for the blasphemous use of an actual academic book haha.

Masterlist – my Ao3 – Join my tag list

[tangledinink]

Hello sorry for tagging. I am very sick, my asthma is at its maximum level, my nose freezes, I have no medicine or food. I am in bad shape financially, I am a black disabled, who uses multiple medications, I pay for my food and lodging

Unfortunately I do not have all the resources to keep me safe, that is why I need your help, whatever you can contribute to me will be of great help.

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right now it's incredibly important to give time, attention, and money to online fundraisers. but it's also incredibly important not to let scammers take advantage of that and steal money that could actually save lives right now.

firstly-- if we go to this person's blog, and navigate to "archive--"

this person's blog has only existed for a few days, only has a handful of generic posts (many reblogged multiple times,) and made their first reblog the same day that they posted their "fundraiser" post. this is a MASSIVE red flag.

please also note that neither their ask nor post actually mention palestine or gaza at all, but it's still tagged with "free palestine" and "gaza."

though this one should obviously be taken with a grain of salt, it is also worth noting the poor grammar here, because this can be (but isn't always!!!) another red flag. Note also that all the details are really vague and don't quite make sense... user describes "enduring cold" and their "nose freezing" though it's the middle of the summer. This user says that they're "sick," but doesn't really offer any further details about this. This user says that they need money for "resources," but don't elaborate on what exactly they need. They vaguely elude to a need for lodging, caretakers, and medicine, but don't actually give us any details-- despite this they have a "$1200" goal. What is this specific goal of $1200 for? Is that the cost of their medication? Overdue medical bills? Cost for rent this month?... They also apologize in their ask for "tagging" me... but they didn't tag me. They sent me an ask.

Another red flag is that their link labeled "Fundraiser link" leads directly to a Paypal donation page rather than a gofundme or anything else. If someone chooses to collect aid through paypal, venmo, etc. instead of through a gofundme, that's not a huge issue in and of itself... but it is fishy that it's mislabeled like this.

And if we GOOGLE this user's tumblr name or paypal name, we can find results like this:

This also led me to find them on @/kyra45's blog on their list of current scam accounts.

Despite all this, they have close to 100 reblogs from well-meaning people trying to signal boost and ask for donations on their behalf.

With the current situation in Palestine and the amount of actual, legitimate fundraisers and donations being circulated right now, for Palestine, Sudan, the Congo, or otherwise, it is more important than ever to be aware of people who are trying to take advantage of the situation for their own personal gain. Whenever possible, please take the time to do some due diligence when you receive messages like this and check to see if a fundraiser is legitimate! It always sucks for someone to be the victim of a scam and lose money to someone playing pretend on the internet... but it sucks even more when that money could have gone to people in actual, acute, dire need.

Here's some more information about spotting scams on tumblr! Shoutout to tumblr user kyra45 for compiling this, and for all the other hard work they do-- thanks.

Here's an actual, vetted, and legitimate campaign that could use your support. After receiving this ask, I went and donated. If you have the means to do so, it would be amazing if you did so, too.

[ see ALL gaza funds campaigns here ]

[hismourningflower]

「 scary dog privileges | kiss (don't tell!) event 」 blade & cyno x gn!reader | fluff, established relationships | event entry. ↳ ohhh zenith~ (@lovingluxury), i'm your secret admirer for this year's kiss (don't tell!) event !! you get my very first attempt at blade, i'm so sorry but i'm so glad i got to practise him !! happy valentines my lovely, i hope this year treats you how you deserve it !! ↳ shoutout to my oc chrysalis for being on my mind for the entirety of blade’s part

the jade's guidelines | genshin m.list | honkai m.list | kiss (don't tell!) m.list

BLADE calls falling for you "a mistake," one that he made quite boldly. nonetheless, he only ever grumbles this under his breath and never actually aloud - he can't bear to see that faint grimace of hurt on your face. no matter how many times he says he doesn't care, he quite clearly does.

it's a well known fact that's not into all of the lovey dovey romance stuff you rope him into with a wide smile on your face, tugging his calloused hands in the direction of another pretty scenic backdrop for a couple selfie or when you place matching items into his rough palms. behind closed doors, he finds the pads of his fingertips tracing over the photo or item with some 'annoying' sense of longing.

blade is scary to a lot of people. he knows he is, it's unmistakeable when people cower at the sight of him. their eyes shrink in fear, lips trembling when they can barely stutter out words in his presence. this is precisely why he loves to loom behind you, even when you're unaware of him being there - in his defence, he's quite quiet when he tries - because the mere sight of him scares people off. you want to scold him but you're thankful for this newfound privilege when you're stuck in uncomfortable situations, regardless you know that blade wouldn't bat an eyelid and would simply ignore you.

he undeniably has a soft spot for you - this "mistake" of his. the other stellaron hunters pick up on it fairly quick, smug looks on their faces as they share glances every time the two of you are together around them. blade wasn't sure you'd get along with the stellaron hunters at all, can you blame him? they're an organisation that isn't exactly in anyone's good books. yet you seem to bond well with kafka and silver wolf... what a shame for him. unfortunately, this means he's prone to hearing silver wolf and kafka taunt him about this little soft spot of his; "what's wrong bladie? you're going soft," kafka chides with a sly grin, only to hear a disapproving grunt from the tall man.

in private, blade's personality doesn't change all that much. he's still grumbly, his scary demeanour hanging over his head like a guillotine thanks to his mara but there's a slight shift in his behaviour. he likes to lay with you, not that he'd ever admit that (aeons forbid if he did, he'd never hear the end of it.) in fact, it's his favourite thing to do, especially after a stressful mission.

when things get tough and the mara hurts just a tad too much, blade will always find a comfort in laying his head gently on your chest or your lap, regardless of what you're doing just so that you run your hands through his dark hair. just so he can feel the tips of your fingers rub against his scalp, feel the way you braid little - or big - braids into his long hair. he stays silent as you comb through his black locks, brushing out every tangle so gently he barely feels it.

he may claim that getting too close to you was "a mistake" but by the aeons, he knows damn well that he's lying to himself.

CYNO didn't intend to fall for you. it had been a mere accident but he'd never let the words 'mistake' fall from his lips, celestia forbid he even uttered 'accident' either. tighnari unfortunately had heard him say 'blessing' a tad too many times, however.

the general mahamatra... plenty of people in sumeru are relatively scared of him. why wouldn't they be? he's obsessed with his work, heavily devoted to his job of chasing down criminals and enforcing justice. even if they don't fear him, people most certainly know cyno - whether it be his name, his looks, his accomplishments or merely his rank title. despite this scary demeanour everyone sees when he's working, cyno really isn't as scary as people make out him to be.

cyno is incredibly self aware of people's thoughts and words about him. he knows damn well that people find him scary - that's the whole point of his comedy act and awful jokes he throws out without a second thought, his facial expression still as stern as ever as if he doesn't even find his own jokes funny. he tries not to let it affect him, in fact he's adapted; he'll use it to protect you.

don't get him wrong, he's perfectly capable at protecting you without instilling fear into the people bothering you but combat is tedious and you've scolded him many times for attempting to use hermanubis on some poor soul who rubbed him the wrong way. what's more better than looming like a threat, red eyes piercing into their very soul until they take the hint? sometimes he doesn't even need to go that far - the sight of him sends people running, they're not particularly looking for trouble with the general mahamatra after all.

despite trying to figure out how people work so he can soften the aura around him when people get too tense in his presence, cyno doesn't completely understand the lovey dovey things you rope him into. he understands to an extent, picking up the things you love the most so that he can do when you least expect it; he understands that it means a lot to you and that's all he cares about. you.

and undeniably so, he's ten times less 'scary' in private. kaveh and tighnari can't help but taunt him when he's brushing his tanned thumb over your knuckles, pressing slightly chapped lips to your skin in delicate kisses - what do you mean that's the general mahamatra? they'll grin but secretly, they're happy that cyno has someone that brings this side of him out.

one of cyno's favourite things to do outside of catching criminals so that they may face their judgement for their crimes (other than tcg...) is cook for you. when i say cook, i mean actual meals and not the rations he eats while he's out in the scorching desert or deep in the apam woods on dirt paths that have been worn into the grass from centuries of people walking through. he loves it, the idea of being able to provide something to you that he knows you enjoy and honestly, he's not a bad cook. however, you regret introducing him to non-native sumeru recipes when he mutters "wanna hear a joke about pizza?" oh no. even if you say no, he'll be quick to add "nevermind, it's too cheesy."

you're quite literally the most important thing to him other than work and if he has to use means he's not fond of just to protect that loving comfort you shelter his cracked heart with, then so be it.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

© thexianzhoujade 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[dirtyvulture]

Alpha!Natasha Romanoff x Omega!Fem!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by anon: Jealous Alpha Nat x Clueless Omega Reader 

Semi-public sex, claiming/knotting/breeding. Please, and thanks to you, God of Lust. 

AN: I accidentally made Nat beefy even though you didn’t ask for it. 🥺 I hope you don’t mind, anon! Shoutout to @mostlymarvelsstuff for helping brainstorm this one.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to spot you?” Natasha asks for what you feel is the thousandth time.

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll only be using the ten-pound weights anyway,” you respond, a little annoyed at how oveprotective she can be sometimes. 

“Well, I’ll be right over here if you need me.” Natasha parts with a kiss on your forehead before going over to her favorite exercise, the bench press. You weren’t much of a fan yourself, so you grab a pair of dumbbells and stand in front of the mirror. 

You hear the gym door open as you’re in the middle of your set of curls, but you don’t think much of it. You can see Natasha in the reflection of the mirror, balancing a barbell with two times your weight on it and you pause to admire the impressive flexing of her arms as she brings down the bar to bounce off her chest.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You snap out of your ogling to find Sam Wilson standing behind you with a wide grin on his face.

“Huh? Oh, hi, Sam.”

“Need some help with your workout?” he asks, boldly putting his hand on your shoulder and steering you toward an empty bench. 

“Um, not really.”

“Come on, I can show you some new moves. It’ll really diversify your workout.” He sounds so earnest, you don’t want to deny him the opportunity. Plus, it’s just Sam and he’s completely harmless, and you’re where Natasha can see you if anything goes south.

“Okay fine,” you relent, watching as he adjusts the bench so you can sit up and rest your back on it. 

“Have you done shoulder presses before?” Sam asks as you take a seat. He stands behind you. 

“Uh, these?” You bend your arms and press them up.

“Yeah! Just add some weight to it.” Sam hands you your dumbbells. 

You start your first set, not struggling too much with the weight. Sam holds his hands under your triceps, following your range of motion in case you can’t complete a rep. 

After you finish your first set of 12, you go into your second set, although your arms are already tired. Sam’s hands brush the undersides of your triceps more than once.

“Come on, Y/N. You got this. Push, push, push.”

“Phew,” you pant, dropping your dumbbells to the floor and shaking the ache out in your arms.

“Those are too easy,” Sam says, going over to the rack and picking up a pair of 15 pound dumbbells. 

“Oh no, I stick to the tens,” you protest.

“You got this. I won’t let you drop them on your head. Besides, Romanoff would kill me if that happened.”

“Or, I can still kill you before that happens,” someone growls from behind you both.

“Nat?” You didn’t even notice her come over. The collar of her low-cut shirt is soaked in sweat and the veins in her arms look like they’re straining to escape. 

“What the hell are you doing, Wilson? She didn’t want a spot,” Natasha says in a low voice that makes you tingle.

“Oh, I wasn’t spotting her, I was just showing her some new exercises,” Sam says, suddenly backing away from you on the bench.

“And you don’t think I can do that?”

“Well, uh, no...” Sam stutters. “I know you’re more than capable--”

“I’ll take it from here,” Natasha interrupts.

“Sure. I’ll...I’ll see you two around.” Sam scampers away. 

“Come on, Y/N,” Natasha says, hooking her arm under yours and pulling you up.

“Oh, are you done with your workout?” It wasn’t unusual for your mate to spend upwards of two hours in the gym.

“This one,” she says, whisking you out of the gym. 

“Nat, are you okay?” you ask as she drags you into the locker room. You look down at her black shorts and notice the tent forming at the center. “Oh.”

“It seems someone forgot who their alpha is,” Natasha growls, pushing you against the lockers and looming over you. 

“Nat, someone can walk in--” you squeak as she removes your shorts, easily lifting you with her strong arms and pressing your back against the lockers. 

“Good. So they can run out and tell everyone who’s alpha you belong to.”

“Fuck.” Her deepened voice and aggressive tone has you soaking your panties.

“Who’s your alpha?” Natasha asks, now holding you up entirely with one arm so she can pull her shorts down. Her cock is dripping with pre-cum, fully erect, the veins on it pulsing. You clench around nothing, aching to have her sheathed inside of you.

“You’re my alpha,” you respond, whining as she teases your folds with the dark tip of her cock. 

“No one else’s?” she asks, almost as if she’s a little insecure that you’d leave her for someone.

“Just yours. All yours,” you insist. “Please, Nat.”

“Good.” Her arms flex as she steadies you before lowering you on her cock. You moan as she stretches you out, clawing onto her biceps and shoulders in pleasure. 

“Harder, Nat,” you whimper, unable to make a sound as her thighs slap louder against yours, bouncing you on her dick. 

“You are my omega,” she growls, burying her face against your neck and tracing her tongue teasingly along the mating mark she left there months ago, when she first claimed you as hers. She bore a similar one on her collarbone, in the perfect outline of your teeth, a mark she wore proudly. “Mine and only mine.”

“Yours,” you pant, clinging onto her. “Claim me again, Nat. Knot me and make me yours.”

You feel her chest vibrate as she moans at your words and you swear you can feel her cock throb harder inside of you. Natasha mumbles something in Russian, a language you never bothered to learn but loved to hear when she was so turned on she couldn’t think in English. Her thrusts come harder and you swear you’ll be bruised tomorrow. But you don’t care, tearing at her shirt so you can feel her sweaty skin against yours and take in her scent.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Natasha moans, starting to lose her rhythm. You clench harder around her, desperate to feel her hot cum spill into you. You can’t wait to carry her pups and start a family with her one day. “Do you...Do you want my knot?” she asks, knowing that if you take it, the two of you won’t be able to disconnect very easily. In fact, she’ll probably have to carry you out to your room, and who knows how many eyes will fall on you two on your way there.

“Yes, yes, please. I don’t care who sees us,” you reassure, digging your nails harder into her biceps. “Fill me with your pups, Nat.”

That does it for her, and with a final hard thrust, her knot slips into you without difficulty and you feel her cum gush into you. You sigh in satisfaction, dropping your head against her chest and pulling aside her shirt collar to expose her mating mark. You bite into it and Natasha’s body goes rigid with a moan, and she finishes cumming with a few hard pulses. 

She wraps her arms around you, balancing you against her chest, as she reaches for some towels to throw over your back. You hook your legs around her waist and she pulls up her shorts as high as she can, carrying you out of the locker room, with her cock still inside of you. 

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

AN: These two. 😅 Absolutely insatiable.

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[kyouka-supremacy]

BSD Anthologies Masterlist

I couldn't find a comprehensive (and with still working links) masterlist of the translated anthology chapters so. Here we go! Biggest shoutout to this other masterlist by @/yokohama-drip for most of the chapter references and to bsd-bibliophile for chapters 7 and 12 of the first and second anthologies. Titles translation credits go to the bsd wiki. Happy reading!

Edit: Thank you so much @amythedemisimp for the precious additions!!!

1-5 raws

First Anthology -Rei-

Don't Get a Stomachache to Gain a Friend by Hideki

The Things I Hate, the Things I Like by Ichi Kotoko

The Devil Comes and Takes Care by KanaiNeco

Kenji 100% by Enya Uraki

The Detective Agency's Manju Incident by Ui Kashima

A Quiz During Work by Mito Aoi

Karl's Resentment by Tsubata Nozaki /// alternative translation

The Things I Like by Con Kitora

Me and the Cake and Sometimes the Pug by Kazuki Tōgō

Jun'ichirō Tanizaki's Suffering by Akamaru

Fortune-telling Will Bring Good Luck by Yūto Masagishi

Icy Weather by Tam Chashibu

What is a Partner...? by Akaza Samamiya

Second Anthology -Hana-

The Detective Agency and the Port Mafia's Holidays by Mikan Aka

Time Sale is a Battlefield by Guru Mizoguchi

Q's Stroll Day by Kazusa Subaru

Osamu Dazai Quiz Tournament by Hinoki Kino

Ruler! Fitzgerald's Room by KanaiNeco

Thirty-two. Episode Five by Kakashi Tano

Ichiyō Higuchi's Off Duty Top Secret Mission by Ataru Hida

A Restaurant with Many Literary Masters by Ko Nikaido

A Timid Person's Day by Masahiro Jinno

Hot Pots and Holidays by Sho Kimiduka

The Tiger's Repayment by Kotaro

Sweet Outing by Yuzuru Kuzukiri /// alternative translation

Bungos' Joint Social Gathering by Hideki

Stray Dogs' Lucky Spot Disagreement by Noka Nogami

Third Anthology -Rin-

Mother by Hideki /// alternative translation

The Mafia Inadvertently Read a Novel Written on a Whim and Reincarnated in a Parallel Universe by Hinoki Kino /// alternative translation

As You Wear It by Akira Hirahara /// alternative translation

The Devil's Automatic Door by Nanora /// alternative transaltion

How to Find Happiness by Kanae Ikushima /// alternative translation

Hello, Again Winter Dreams. by Pyaa /// alternative translation

The Visitor in the Rain by Togekinoko /// alternative translation

Because My Senior's Healthcare is Also My Job by Roku Sakura /// alternative translation

Good Weather, Cat Storm by Osawa /// alternative translation

Breakfast Situation by Miki Daichi /// alternative translation

Elise-chan, a Smartphone Application by KanaiNeco /// alternative translation

Q's Suffering by Hiko Nekome /// alternative translation

Tiger, Sometimes Cat by Taichi Miya /// alternative translation

The Port Mafia's Medical Check-up by Sakurana Haru

With a Hat, a Man and a Beef Bowl by Oda

Fourth Anthology -Akatsuki-

Poe and Ranpo and Enter and Black Tea by Imaru Adachi /// alternative translation

Apple Demon by Nykken

A Little Break by Siroisora

Exciting Grab Bag by Toriyasu

All Quiet on the Black Cloth Front by Mari Araki

Hirotsu-san's Coffee Shop by Yashino Ayashiro

The Client is a Cute Ghost by Otakumi

The Little Visitor in the Rain by Togekinoko

Fully Automatic Suicide Machine by Zero Akabane

Why Did You Come to Japan? by KanaiNeco

The Story of Kunikida Falling Asleep by Saru Hashino

A Hunting Dogs' Holiday by Hinoki Kino

Infernal Day by Asuka Keigen

The Decision is an Oblate that Enwraps the Pain of Life by Hideki

Fifth Anthology -Kanade-

Masterlist by @/zilinks

Sixth Anthology -Mutsumi-

Given to You Based on Your Level and Love by KanaiNeco

Detective Agency Radio by Yu Kira

GET UP LUCY!! by Kabotya

Poe, Wine and the Setting Sun by Imaru Adachi

Shindafuri Dai Sakusen by Yuri Tsukushiro

Hanachidori by iyutani

What Style Are You? by Kiyo Hasui

'Hitori' yori 'hanbun' by Neno

The Angel's Rest by Mari Araki

Mottomo Erai Egoisuto by Mutsuki Higashioji

Magomusume Sakusen, Zokkō-chū ni Tsuki by Eku Hachida

Boo no Yū by Asato Konami

Do S! Erisu-chan!! by Kakeru Sora

Young Ranpo Wants to Be Praised by Tsuki Anmi (incomplete)

[prettyfilmz]

ACTS OF SERVICE • JIMMY USO

authors note: hey friends! I’m back with the second installment of my love language series this time with mr. jonathan fatu himself ughh i miss my thick daddy anyways🤭 i hope you enjoy this one, up next is our OTC roman reigns🙂‍↕️ (also shoutout to my rn/cna followers, as an upcoming cna myself I dedicate this to you and I 💗)

summary: after a stressful day at the hospital, jimmy knows just what to do to melt the stress away from your day.

warnings: 18+ (you better go play with them school books before you play wimme) porn w/smidge of plot, dom! jimmy uso x sub! fem reader, reader is black, reader is a nurse, unprotected sex (be smart and wrap the peen), cunnilingus, daddy kink, doggy style, lil bit of spanking (one single spank), dirty talk, small bit aftercare at the end.

word count: 1.5k words

after twelve grueling hours at the hospital, you stepped through the front door of your apartment, body aching with exhaustion and strain. you drop your bag and kick off your pink crocs, the soft thud barely registering in your brain. but what did catch your attention was the sight of jimmy lounging on the couch, a warm grin already spreading across his face.

“hey, pretty mama,” he greeted you, standing up and meeting you halfway, wrapping his strong arms around your frame and pressing a slow, deep kiss to your glossed lips. his mouth lingered against yours, the warmth and familiarity of it immediately melting away a fraction of your tension.

“hey baby,” you whisper, pulling away to head straight for the shower. jimmy watched you retreat with that same smile, knowing exactly what you need. it had become your unspoken routine—he knew you better than anyone, and that extended to the smallest details, like your need to wash away the stress of the day before you could fully unwind.

while you showered, jimmy moved to the bedroom, pulling out one of his oversized shirts and a pair of soft cotton panties. laying them neatly on the bed, he grinned to himself, knowing how much you loved lounging in his clothes. the subtle scent of him would cling to your skin, providing an extra sense of security.

when you emerged from the bathroom, your brown skin still damp and flushed, white towel barely hanging onto your curves, you spot him standing by the foot of the bed. “you didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, a tired but grateful smile on your lips as you let the towel drop to the rugged floor.

jimmy’s eyes twinkled with desire as they roamed over your naked skin, your curves highlighted by the soft light in the room, brown nipples perked up by the exposure. “girl you know i’d do anything to help you relax…besides I love seeing you like this,” he murmured, stepping closer, his warm hands gently brushing against your full hips as you slipped into the shirt and panties he’d chosen. “you in my favorite shirt…” his voice dropped, thick with heat. “makin’ me wanna rip ‘em off and take you down.”

you smirk at his lewd comment, your tiredness momentarily forgotten as the heat in his gaze sparked something deep inside you. “maybe later,” you tease, but your body was already reacting to his touch, a soft hum of anticipation building in your belly. you collapsed onto the bed, sinking into the memory foam mattress with a heavy sigh. jimmy joined you, his hand finding its way to your hair, fingers gently playing with your curls knowing that’s how you self-soothe. “wanna talk about it?” he asked, his voice low, comforting.

“mmhmm,” you nod, closing your eyes as you felt the tension in your scalp ease with his touch. “non-stop work. I barely had time to breathe or eat.” you vent to him about your long, grueling shift, the words coming out in a rush. as you spoke, jimmy’s hands never left your body, his fingers wandering from your hair down to your neck, rubbing soft, gentle circles that made you exhale deeply.

when you finally finished, jimmy leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I don’t like it when my baby is stressed,” he whispered, his voice now carrying a note of something darker, something that made your heart race. “lemme take care of you, mama. lemme help you forget all that bullshit from today.” his lips trailed from your temple down to your neck, placing soft, teasing kisses along the sensitive skin there, taking in the scent of the creamy vanilla body butter that you moisturized yourself with. you shivered, body responding immediately as heat pooled between your thighs. “jimmy…” you whispered, breath catching as his hand slid beneath the hem of your (his) shirt.

“mmhmm say my fuckin’ name,” he murmured against your skin, his hand moving higher, cupping your breast through the soft fabric. his thumb grazed your nipple, teasing it into a stiff peak, making you squirm involuntarily. “let daddy take care of you.”

you let out a soft moan in response, body already aching for more, soft skin sensitive to his every touch. jimmy shifted, positioning himself above you, his weight pressing you further down into the mattress in the most delicious way. the view was beautiful; jimmy’s long hair cascading down to his tatted shoulders, his gaze on you full of admiration and lust, and the action of his tongue quickly swiping against his lips…like a predator who caught it’s prey. his mouth found yours again, this time more demanding, his tongue sweeping across your plump lips before diving in, savoring your taste.

“you always workin’ so hard, baby. lemme make you feel good,” he whispered, his hand sliding down your body, pushing up the hem of your shirt to expose where you ached the most for him. “i’m gon’ taste you… every inch of you.”

a whimper escaped your mouth, thighs parting as his fingers found the edge of your *now* soaked panties, tugging them down with agonizing slowness. “jimmy, please…don't play..”

“I know, baby, I know,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. he lowered himself between your legs, his hands spreading your thick thighs wide, his breath hot against your glistening core. “don’t think about anything mama just feel.”

he pressed his warm mouth to you, his tongue immediately finding your sensitive clit, teasing it with slow, deliberate strokes. your head fell back, body arching off the bed as his name fell from your sweet lips like a sacred prayer, your fingers gently tugging at his thick hair. “oh fuck…jimmy,”

his grip tightened on your trembling thighs as he devoured your pussy, alternating between long, slow licks and teasing flicks of his tongue against your sensitive folds that sent you spiraling closer and closer to the edge. “there you go, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with lust. “gimme that nut, cum on my face.”

your lower body trembled, breaths coming in shallow gasps as your orgasm unraveling under his expert tongue. just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, jimmy pulled back, full lips and beard glistening with your arousal, climbing up your body and captured your mouth in a searing kiss. you could taste the sweet, tanginess of yourself on his lips and tongue, the act made you dizzy with lust.

he gently flipped you on your stomach, his hands sliding down your smooth back as he positioned you on all fours, then stripping himself of his shorts and boxers. “you ready for me, baby?” he asked, his voice a low growl as he lined himself up behind you, tapping your pussy with the head of his cock. “yes… please daddy c’mon…” you pleaded.

jimmy obliged at your plea and pushed into you slowly, the stretch and fullness made you cry out as your fingers gripped the sheets. “you feel so damn good..I love this fucking pussy,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he thrusts into your tight cunt, his pace slow and deliberate.

your head fell forward into the pillows, sweet soft moans filling the room as he moved inside you, each thrust sending shockwaves through your already sensitive body and making you feel every inch he carried. “that’s it, baby,” jimmy cooed, a hand striking against your ass making you yelp. “take this dick, be my good girl and take it.”

he picks up the pace, his hips snapping against your ass, the sound of sweaty skin slapping against each other, and the sticky wet sounds of your pussy only drove you both even crazier. your body naturally responded to every thrust, back arching as you felt your climax build with every deep, deliberate stroke to your g-spot. “fuck, daddy… I’m gonna…”

“I know, baby. come for me, lemme feel that shit” he growled, his hand sliding you to tease your clit, sending you over the edge. your body convulsed in pleasure, your orgasm crashing over as you screamed his name, warm gummy walls clenching around him. jimmy followed soon after, burying himself deep inside you as he groaned, his release hitting him hard as he peppered light kisses along your sweat slick back, his breath ragged against your neck.

after he pulled out of you and laid down next to you, he scooped you into his arms. you both stayed like that for a moment, bodies entwined, breathing heavily as the aftershocks of your passion slowly faded. jimmy pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, peering down at you in his tatted arms.

“feelin’ good now?” he murmured, his voice soft and full of affection. “i’ll order some food for us in a bit and we’ll watch one of those space documentaries you like, sound good?” all you could do is smile, head resting on his chest. “that sounds…really lovely.” you answer, feeling blissfully stress free in comparison to when you first got home.

taglist💗: @bebesobrielo

[preeningpisces]

Report - Kenjaku x F!Reader

Kenjaku shows up unannounced, and makes himself all too comfortable in your apartment. Pwp, 4k, Crossposted on AO3

A/N: At first I referred to him as Geto in this, as I found it unlikely YN would know his real name, but then figured this has no plot and there isn't many Kenjaku x reader fics without Geto & swapped it to Kenjaku ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Shoutout to this lovely anon for giving me a reason/the drive to write something for my favorite hoe 💚

Content: p-in-v, m!oral, sex toys, size kink, unprepped sex, edging, choking, biting, spit/cum stuff, degradation--personally I think this is more tame than it sounds

18+ content below, mdni, implied chubby!reader, enjoooy!

The figure seated at your dinner table makes your soul leap from your body.

Tonight you planned a date with a hot shower, your favorite snacks, and three seasons’ worth of TV to binge. You’d only completed step one, so recently that your skin hasn’t finished absorbing the lotion, leaving your calves and thighs tacky.

His back is to you, but you know he’s aware of your presence. For once, he isn’t wearing his signature robes, and instead sports simple black clothing. Seeing him dressed down is comforting, makes him seem less untouchable, and more like a regular person.

You lament the change in your evening plans, knowing your guest will occupy a decent portion of your time. 

“You take awfully long showers,” he says without turning. “I’ve been here for over an hour.” 

Springing up at random isn’t out of the ordinary for Kenjaku, though it’s more common for him to send messages from unknown numbers or ‘coincidentally’ run into you. He’s never showed up at your apartment before, let alone at such an odd hour of the night. Briefly you wonder how he knows where you live, but then dismiss this as a foolish thought—of course he knows.

“I’m just thorough,” you say as you round the table and sit across from him where he reads one of your books. A silly romance that was popular online; hardly revolutionary or life-altering, but it was a sweet, endearing story and you enjoyed it quite a bit. With how far he’s in, you wonder if he picked a random spot or simply reads that quickly.

“That you are.” He glances up, and a shift in his eye tells you he wasn’t expecting the cotton bathrobe with matching shorts. It’s a favorite that you got off a discount rack, lying somewhere between the lines of sensual and comfortable. Flattering, but hardly scandalous; you don’t feel indecent in his presence. 

“I’m surprised you enjoy this drivel,” he says, judgment evident. “You seemed more intelligent than that.” 

“They’re just for fun. Sometimes it’s nice to read something simple,” you reach for the book, beginning to feel defensive. 

He leans back, now flipping through its contents. It reminds you of a schoolyard bully holding your belongings above you and taunting you for being too short. 

“Are you here to antagonize me, or are you here for something actually important?” As soon as you say this, you know you made a mistake: the ire in your voice will only encourage his pestering.

“I came for your report, but now I’m more interested in your terrible taste.” He gestures to your bookshelf—small, and housing a modest collection of varying genres with the occasional knick knack. “I’ve gone through several already, but saved what I suspect to be the worst for last.”

“Then you can follow me on Goodreads, if you’re so curious. Now give that back,” you hold out your hand, growing agitated. The light catches the ridge of his scar, and taunts you to tug on one of those stitches, which look much less secure than they should. 

“Embarrassed?” He smiles, and makes no move to relinquish the book. 

“If I say yes, will you give it back?” 

A snide puff.

“No.” 

Knowing how fickle he is, you relent; he’ll grow bored with the book soon enough and move on. But minutes of his skimming pass, wholly ignoring your crossed arms and impatient tapping.

“Ah, I see. Is this why you’re so fond of these?” He turns the book for you to read: it’s one of the few sex scenes, and his finger points to a questionable line of dialogue. 

You can’t resist the bait, and indignation rises in your chest. You spring forward in your seat, aiming for the book. Unfazed by your aggression, he avoids you with ease and an infuriating smirk. It only provokes you further, now motivating you to one-up him.

There is a sudden pause in his movements that allows you to snatch the book. As you look at him triumphantly, you notice his eyes aren’t directed at your face; instead, they’re fixed on your chest. Following his gaze, your heart sinks when you discover your robe hanging open, revealing your right breast. 

When you look at him again, his eyes are on yours. Heavy and lidded, they freeze you in place with their weight. The playful energy from before halts, as if the room itself is holding its breath. Without breaking eye contact, he slides his hand in the opening, and cups your breast.

Shocked, you drop the book with a muted thud, more from his boldness than the sensation. A gasp escapes you when he pinches your nipple, rolling it slowly, and your hands fly to his shoulders, not wanting to topple over from the awkward position.

His other hand joins and teases your unexposed breast through the cloth; you fall against him, and a soft noise warms his ear before tracing the stretched lobe with your lower lip. Whether it’s ticklish or it’s your interest in his ear that entertains him, his shoulders thrum with amusement. The plastic clacks between your teeth as you toy with the plug, seeing how far you can rotate it before he becomes irritated.

It doesn’t take long, because a hand winds itself in your hair and pulls you forward, but the table creaks in protest under your weight. 

“Not here,” you say, husk already tinting your voice. “It’s a shitty table.” 

He releases you and follows you down the hallway to your bedroom. You don’t even have time to flick on the light before he pulls you backward, connecting your ass to his groin with his large hands fondling your breasts.

The eager touch surprises you—he hadn’t seemed at all bothered when you stopped him before. You can’t help but shiver when he sucks on your neck, fixing it with hickeys and bites. A renewed focus on your nipples makes you whimper and squeeze at his forearms. 

“Sensitive here, or are you just desperate?” He punctuates with a pull of your left nipple. 

“A bit of both,” you say, and press your ass against him. It’s been some time since you’ve felt this kind of touch, let alone by someone as attractive as him. 

“Cute,” he hums, and grinds his forming erection against you. 

Cool palms slide beneath the robe again, making your nipples so peaked they sting. Deft fingers are quick to melt the cold with slow rolls that morph into pinching and dragging from areola to tip. The attention makes you squirm in his hold and rest your head against his shoulder, weaving your fingers through his glorious hair—which is every bit as silky as it appears. Needing an outlet for your rising desire, you detach him from your neck and angle his head so you can force your lips together. 

The kiss is more passionate than you expected, and it only makes you melt further in his hands. You scratch his scalp and earn a surprised moan. His right hand trails upward, wrapping around a considerable portion of your neck. Air isn’t cut or restricted, but he squeezes enough for your pulse to quicken and make your head fuzzy.

A twist of your nipple makes you arch your back, and he sucks your lower lip until it bruises. Teeth scrape it briefly, before he pushes his tongue into your open mouth and greets yours unabashedly. 

Kenjaku has an air of grace to him, of superiority; you’d think him above such things as these. But he doesn’t flinch or show any disgust when drool pools from the messy kiss—he even licks the bit that trickles down your chin. He breaks the kiss, parting slowly to appreciate the strand that connects your mouths. 

A tug of the simple knot at your waist peels your robe open, and you help him by shrugging your shoulders free. The hold on your neck tightens, and he feels down your stomach, dipping below the waistband of your shorts. Your skin prickles with embarrassment when he squeezes the full softness above your pussy. A pleased noise comes from the back of his throat when he realizes you have no underwear and finds slippery arousal. 

“Look at me.”

You feel how heavy your eyes are, how blatant lust must be on your face. His middle finger finds your clit and traces a single rough, short line, making you flinch. Almost imperceptible circles soothe the rough sensation, leading you to loosen your grip on his hair and hold his wrist. The featherlike strokes feel like static, and every tingle of your flesh touching makes you wetter. 

When your eyes shut, he squeezes your neck again, demanding you keep your focus on him. Even in moments like this, his eyes are full of condescension and superiority; the lowliness you feel in his presence only stirs your need. 

Awkwardly, you feel around behind you for his cock and rub your palm over it as best you can. Despite the clumsy touch, his breath hitches, and his clever fingers pause. Thrill dances in your chest and you stroke him more firmly.

His hand flexes around your neck, and you can’t tell if it’s a warning or a green light. Whichever he intends doesn’t matter to you, because you squeeze his bulge. The firm tap of his finger on your clit reads as chastisement, but you ignore it, already deciding your next move. 

“I want to suck your dick,” you say. You aren’t too prideful to kowtow to his desire for control. “Can I?” 

Dark eyes shelter his thoughts as he considers your offer, and for a moment you think he’s going to turn you down, but he dips his finger in your hole and briefly skims the edge before swiping back up to your clit. A small noise comes out, and your face must be comical because he looks more amused than before. 

“How polite.” The lack of heat and touch as he steps away are disappointing, but the sounds of his belt and zipper more than make up for their loss. “I suppose I’ll let you.”

“Let me,” you snort as you watch him undress. “As if you didn’t start this.”

A broad hand presses down on your shoulder, urging you to kneel—which you do eagerly, not minding the cheap carpet scratching your knees.

“I did, and now you’re exactly where I want you,” he removes his sweater, bearing the impressive muscles of his abdomen. You wonder if this was his true intention coming here tonight and that he played you like a fiddle.

These thoughts disappear when he pulls his trousers and underwear down; you can’t help when your face twists in shock: his cock is huge.

“No wonder you’re so full of yourself.” 

He smirks, and you dread what this affair will do to his already inflated ego.

You scoot forward, assessing the beast, and idly rotate your jaw to prepare for the task at hand. Despite most of his head being exposed and dripping with pre-cum, you push back the remaining foreskin to fully reveal the dark head. You lean forward for a kiss, but land it on his groin instead. 

The click of his tongue and the twitch beneath you is reward enough for the entire night; you’re confident he would never beg for anything from you, but this disappointment feels close enough to claim the satisfaction all the same. 

Still positioned at his tip, your thumbs softly stroke the sides, more soothing than pleasurable as you continue to mouth everywhere but his cock. Fed up, he grips your hair and pulls you back. You get the message, and eagerly suck his head in your mouth, where you set your lips and tongue to work; it’s difficult with his girth, but you manage. He grunts and loosens his hold, allowing you to do as you please. 

To show your gratitude, you plunge him deeper, tongue now rubbing along the seam of his cock as you flex and contract your lips. The muscles in his thighs jolt, and you feel energy rolling off him—the urge to do something, to react.

Steeling your resolve, you slide him further in and pull back, never stopping the pulse of your lips or tongue. It’s then that you suck around him, creating the wet sounds of suction that fill your small bedroom.

The light from the hallway glows behind him, making him radiant; like he’s a god, and this is your offering.

You cup his balls gently and rub a thumb over them to test the waters. Your curiosity is rewarded when the single hand in your hair becomes two, and he moves your head for you.

They cover your ears, cutting out all sound. Whether this is intentional, you can’t say. All you can hear is the wet sounds of your mouth molding around his cock. It’s as if this is your entire world, that this is the only thing you’re good for, and the thought makes you drip. 

Lewdly, you hum and moan your prayer around him. Noises of his own join yours, but you are not worthy of hearing them. Overeager, he pulls you down further on his cock, poking dangerously close to your gag reflex. Your second unoccupied hand wraps around the portion not in your mouth preemptively, and stroke him in time with your mouth. Seeing right through your attempt, he holds your head still and begins fucking your mouth.

It takes only a few thrusts for him to push deeper than before, making you gag softly, which causes him to throw his head back and continue the deep thrusts. It’s uncomfortable, but not so much that you feel the need to stop him. Watching him loosen up is so hypnotic you don’t register how worryingly deep he is in your throat. Until he surges himself all the way forward, forcing your nose to meet his groin. 

When you choke, he groans deeply, and rolls against your face as your throat convulses around him sporadically. You’re about to beat at his thigh, but he pulls you off his cock entirely.

Quickly, you recover and recapture him despite the pull on your hair, doubling down with a soft mouth, tonguing all the sensitive spots you found. And to your surprise, hot cum spurts down your throat with a low groan. You drink it all until he pulls your head back and strokes his cock, shooting the remaining spurts on your face.

You didn’t think he’d be so quick to cum, and it seems, neither did he.

A painful yank of your hair forces you to stand before you can comment, and full of surprises, he licks a line of cum from your chin and smears it over your tongue with his own. The dirtiness of it makes a raw noise come from your abused throat.

Not breaking the kiss, he walks you to your bed and pushes you back; you scoot yourself to the headboard and barely shimmy your shorts off before he crawls atop you, flaccid cock in hand. With a surge of reversed cursed energy, he urges it to re-harden. 

“Is this the difference between special grades and the rest of us?” 

He doesn’t acknowledge your taunt, and after two pumps, positions his cock at your hole. Unprepped, his tip presses against the ring of muscle for several moments, unable to breech despite ample lubrication.

“The Viagra tech-”

Your pussy finally yields, and his cock spears itself to the hilt.

“Fuck!” 

Mercifully, he doesn’t rail you, and instead rolls his hips, stroking your most receptive spots. It aches, his cock stretching you to what feels like your capacity, but it’s the sort of ache that makes you crave more. You meet his hips with your own, desperately chasing more of the electric feeling. He grabs the underside of your knees and leans forward, putting his weight on them. The position angles his cock upward and fucks you with more fervor. 

“Jesus, it’s so big,” you say, legs trembling in his hold. 

Needing a distraction, you cup the back of his head and pull him as close as your breasts and stomach allow. You kiss at whatever flesh you can reach, starting at his damp hairline, and following up immediately with the seam on his forehead. The simple kiss earns you a sharp cant of his hips and a hiss, tempting you to fixate on the scar.

Your tongue traces the divot faintly, careful not to press too hard and minding the sutures. The effect is immediate, as he ruts into you, slow, deep, and hard, surprisingly loud moans spilling from his pretty lips. Even his moans are rough, as if they scrape his throat on their way out. Like his vocal chords haven’t made such sounds in some time. 

“Sensitive?” You murmur your tease against the raised flesh. 

“Wounds tend to be, yes.” He kisses you tenderly, and when you sigh, bites your lower lip with a crunch. Teeth pierce, and copper flavors the kiss. You part with a hiss, and his thumb swipes at the puncture. “See? Or do you need further demonstration.”

“You’re such a dick,” you mutter, batting his hand away from your sore lip.

His attention falters, and you follow his eyes to your nightstand. You live alone and have no need for secrecy, so your vibrator charges in plain sight. Owning sex toys is something you’ve never thought twice about, let alone felt any shame towards, but you become flustered when Kenjaku leans over and unplugs it.

Excitement overpowers your embarrassment when he turns it on. To your surprise, he doesn’t place it on your clit, and instead keeps it in a low setting and traces it along your labia. His hips slow, but they maintain a steady pace. Your body tenses with anticipation anytime it nears your clit, but it still doesn’t touch you. The stretch of his cock feels amazing, but your clit practically burns with need, swollen and begging to be touched.

“Now, what do you have for me this week?” he asks, full of mischief.

“What?”

He pushes your chubby mound upward and finally places the toy on your clit—you gasp. 

“Your report. It’s what I came here for, after all.” 

He circles the vibrator around your clit in time with his hips, looking all too amused when you struggle to respond. You ignore his question, and instead squeeze your eyes shut as your orgasm approaches at an alarming rate. You’ve waited so long, you’ve been so pent up, you just need—

“Ah, ah, you’ve got a job to do. Stay focused,” he tuts, and lifts the vibrator. You swear loudly, and your hips chase the toy, but he pins you with a hand on your hip. 

“T-the first year,” you begin, legs trembling with pent up anticipation, “students–” you whimper when the vibrator returns. 

“Go on,” he coos. 

“They-they…” you trail off when a slow and delicious drag of his cock steals your mind. The vibrator moves, and you throw your head back. “Theywentto–fuck!” 

“Speak clearly; this is vital information.” He presses it on fully, directly, gleefully watching you struggle. 

“They wen-went to Ro-oooh,” with a click, he turns it up a notch. “Fuck, you’re–” he nestles it between your lips and rotates it teasingly. Only a few hums more and he removes it again. 

“Please, please don’t stop.” Your voice warbles pathetically, “please let me cum. I need it–”

“And I need your report,” he smiles, as if he isn’t torturing you. 

The hopeless look you give him must spur him on, because he fucks you with the most vigor he’s showed thus far. Ripples roll across your soft stomach and thighs, and your breasts bounce wildly, but you’re too far gone to pay them any mind. 

“They went to R-roppongi!” You manage, and before he can torment you, add, “it was just—third-grade curses.” 

Even now, as he fucks you hard and fast, he doesn’t pull out much, and instead focuses on stroking your all of your sensitive areas relentlessly. It’s so different from what you’re used to, and so, so much better. You don’t know if you’ll be satisfied getting fucked any other way now. 

“And what of Satoru Gojo?” he grunts when you squeeze him particularly hard.

“A meeting–he had a meeting,” you breathe heavily, trying to catch your breath. The pause must displease Kenjaku, because he slaps your wet clit with the buzzing toy, making you jerk beneath him. 

“Wednesday!” you yell. “The Higher uh-” you’re cut off with a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue, agitating your bloody lip. 

“No need to shout, I’m right here,” he says cheekily, and grips your jaw, demanding your attention. “I’m sure you’re eager for your reward.” You nod the best you can.

A large palm spans your lower belly, pressing the plump flesh down to meet his upward thrusts. It feels like you’re even fuller, even more sensitive; your eyes bulge when a deep pressure builds. 

“Can you feel it?” His eyes look wild, more unhinged than before, and it makes you squeeze him in apprehension. “How large this cock is—incredible, isn’t it?” 

If you weren’t on the verge of exploding, the way he marvels at his own dick would make you roll your eyes. 

“Hmm?” He pulls all the way out for the first time, and sharply thrusts back in, meanly stabbing your deepest, most tender area.

“Yes, yes—I feel it!” He repeats the motion, aiming higher. “It feels so fucking good!”

He chuckles and ups the vibrator’s setting, rocking into you faster. All you can do is hold on to him, your mind too scattered and pliant for anything more. With each powerful thrust, he hits the spot near your cervix, causing your pussy to clench around him and draw melodic sounds. You force your eyes to stay open, fully aware that this is a sight you’ll never forget. His disheveled hair clung to his sweaty skin, with most of the strands of his top knot undone. Pink tinges his cheeks, and his brows crease ever so slightly. The sight causes a sudden leap of pleasure, and you feel yourself dancing at the edge.

“Are you ready to come?” He asks, as if sensing the sudden development.

“Oh, god yes!”

A smile is the only warning you're given before he withdraws the vibrator again. The cruelty almost makes you cry. Before you can plead, he pushes the hood of your clit back and the vibrator returns.

“Then come.”

Everything you held onto breaks as you come, abdomen convulsing deeply, and mouth wide open. You soar so high you forget he’s with you for a moment. Your pussy gushes, and clenches him so hard it feels like it’s trying to push his cock out along with your release. The euphoric sensations quickly become a sting as the vibrator doesn’t falter, and you claw at his back and wail.

With a click, he turns off the toy as he tosses it aside, and traps you in his arms with his head nestled in the junction of your neck and shoulder. Teeth sink into the flesh hard enough to draw blood and a shout. Only four pumps more and he fills you as deep as he can reach, as if his cum seeps directly into your womb.

He lies on you for several moments, his cock softening and twitching occasionally. It’s pleasant, and oddly domestic, feeling skin against your own and listening to the sounds of each other’s breathing. Eventually, he slides free, and you’re reminded that he came inside you when it trickles down your ass. 

“I’m not on birth control, you know.” You eye him as he flops next to you, making himself comfortable, as if this is his bed and you’re the guest. “Unless you want some kid of yours running around, you owe me a Plan B.”

He shrugs.

“Makes no difference to me. It wouldn’t be my first child or my last.” 

“Ha, right,” you stretch your legs, sore from being bent for so long. After a pause, you turn to him again.

“Wait, really?”

[musubi-sama]

Game of Chicken

Satoru invited you to a club to see his favorite band play. But you have a boyfriend, so surely you can win this game of chicken?

CW: afab!reader x gojo satoru, modern au no curses, outdoor sex, piv, cunnilingus, DP if you squint.

AN: Shoutout to @/bunny584 and @/pseudowho for helping with two key elements! You two are amazing and I look up to you! And guess the name of the song and band I used.

WC: 5.1k | Link to AO3 if you prefer

~~~

Trying to quell the shivers of excitement and nerves, you focus on the road ahead of you. Glancing momentarily at the digital nav on your console, you change lanes in preparation to take the next exit. As you exit the freeway, you see another message arrive from Satoru.

>> Text me when you’ve parked and I’ll come down

You hadn’t planned on going out tonight, especially not planning to drive into the city and meet up with a new friend to go see a band at a local club. But when he sent you a text in the afternoon gauging your plans and interest, you all too eagerly responded yes.

Before you left for the evening, you sent off a message to your boyfriend:

<< going to Murasaki tonight, don’t wait up <3

An otherwise unremarkable drive, you spent the 30-minute trip with your music uncharacteristically low and your hands uncharacteristically fidgety on your steering wheel.

You’re just going to see a band with a friend. A friend, that you told your ridiculously tall, tanned, and handsome boyfriend about. A friend, whom your boyfriend assured you he is not worried about - you or him.

But each flick of the passing streetlights dances over your ticking hands gliding over the steering wheel. Light catches on the demure set of silver-shining rings your boyfriend bought you recently. They match a pair he wears on his right hand, while yours are thinner and more feminine for your left hand. The hands you hold when you’re sitting at home or walking around town.

Reaching Satoru’s building, you slip into the open visitor parking spot in the underground lot. Hopping out of your car, taking a deep breath to attempt to quell your nerves and quiet your hands, you send off a quick message:

<< hheree!

Damn your shaky hands! Again, sending off messages too quickly before you think.

A moment later after arriving in the cavernous, brutalist lobby, a shock of white hair attached to a tall, lanky body pops out of the elevator. Satoru is sporting a black and pink color block shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, distressed designer denim sitting perfectly on his hips and a sleek leather belt.

“Hey. Hi. C’mon up. How was the drive?” he says as you approach the elevator.

“The directions on the app sent me half-way around the city just to avoid the local roads,” you respond exasperated as you step into the elevator. The button for floor 41 is illuminated.

Satoru stands directly across from you and in a moment, you get a whiff of his sweet scent of vanilla and cherry. You’re fidgeting with the hem of your shirt and the lengths of necklace decorating your plunging neckline as you ride up the quiet elevator. It’s not like you’ve never spent time in a penthouse, in fact your boyfriend lives in one not too fa-.

Your thoughts are cut off as the elevator dings and opens up to a sprawling, blue and silver post-modern penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city. Satoru’s hand is resting in the space of your lower back, heat radiating into you but not quite making contact.

“Do you want a drink? We don’t need to leave just yet,” Satoru slips past you to the well-appointed bar area of his sprawling kitchen. A chill is left in the space where his hand sat, and it slides up your spine.

“Dirty martini, gin, if you have it would be lovely,” you take a seat at the oversized kitchen island seating. A drink will calm your nerves.

You’ve known Satoru for about a month, having met while in line for the deli counter during lunch. You both ordered sandwiches, then walked over to the drink cooler and tried to reach for the same can of seltzer, and somehow ended up next to each other at the register. After deciding to grab a seat and eat together, you exchange contact information and meet up for lunch weekly.

Knowing exactly what he was doing, Satoru carefully followed you around the deli creating “accidental” run-ins with you just so that he could sit down with you over lunch. A known playboy in the city, he was thinking only with his dick and with a goal in mind when he ran into you. And if tonight went well, you would be another notch in his bed post. And, if he played his cards right, a recurring one.

Satoru spent his entire life being gifted with everything. He owned the building you were standing in; his entire life was crafted for him specifically. Satoru only chose two things - his best friends and his sexual partners.

Satoru flashes a quick raised eyebrow at the request but quickly moves to grab the ingredients and set to mixing, “How many olives?”

“Hmm, four, please!”

You take in the view of the city from your perch. Even though it’s dark outside, you can still get a decent view as the lights are dimmed in the rest of the suite.

“Your drink,” Satoru slides the chilled and dangerously filled martini glass sitting atop a coaster across the shiny marble countertop towards you, not spilling a drop. He sits an old fashioned with four Luxardo cherries on a cocktail skewer in front of himself.

Satoru lifts his glass to yours, “kanpai!” as you gently bump your glasses together, still not spilling a drop. You take a quick sip and hum in satisfaction as the savory bite coats your tongue. You take a second, much larger sip before setting down your glass and picking up the skewer of olives.

“So,” you bite one olive off the stick, “who are we going to see tonight?”

The game of chicken has officially begun. You lay your first trap, shiny and red lips sliding around the piked olives.

“My best friend is the bassist in Jujutsu Kaisen and they’re playing a secret show tonight downtown.” Satoru follows your tease with a nip of the cherry from his own glass.

“Is this how you impress all your girls? With secret shows of mega stars?” another olive bitten.

“It’s not always girls,” he gives you a wink as he leans over the island, resting his head on his arm propped up by his elbow. The last two olives slip off the skewer because you need something to do with your agape mouth.

Winner of the game: whoever breaks second. You were going to win. You had to. You have a boyfriend, but you sure planned to enjoy the harmless chase. If you can chill out enough to enjoy it. The gin is really helping, though.

Stepping out of the building, Satoru leads you over to a luxury black car waiting for you and a driver holding the door open.

“This is too much, I thought you said we were just going to a bar to see a band?” you said incredulously, looking back at Satoru.

“We are. Ichiji is my personal valet. After you,” he waves you into the car and you slide in across the supple leather seats.

Satoru doesn’t think twice about how this looks. To him, this is standard operating procedure. He’d never considered any other way to get around the city. And of course, he asked Ichiji to use the sportier model today.

You take in the sights of the city as you take the quick 10-minute trip across downtown into the industrial district. Ichiji pulls up to a brightly lit club with a few throngs of people milling about.

Satoru leads you to the door, flashes something on his phone to the bouncer, and you’re both waved in. Sliding across the room to a pair of seats on the side of the club and a great view of the stage. Satoru slips away to grab you both drinks from the bar, returning after a few moments.

“My favorite shot to start the night, Red Headed Sluts,” he passes the shooter to you and you both take it in a single swallow. A small dribble leaks from the corner of your mouth. Satoru reaches over to wipe it off with his thumb, proceeding to lick it off while maintaining eye contact. You blush and immediately turn your head, trying not to look at Satoru after that.

Damn, lost that round. Focus, dammit.

Satoru slipped away again to return the shot glasses to the bar and get more drinks; this time a beer for you.

Checking the time, it’s almost time for the band to go on. The crowd has quickly started to fill in and you are developing a nice buzz, your head starting to feel a bit cloudy and suggestible.

The band comes out to roars from the crowd and you join in. Satoru stands behind you, one hand again hovering at your lower back. As they start their set, you get caught up in the music and fail to notice your date disappearing occasionally to keep your drink filled.

Each time he returns, his arms slowly reach up your body to rest on your shoulders. You’re in control, put your hands on his to make sure they don’t drift any further.

Then they encircle your shoulders, and you’re standing. Swaying your hips with the beat, lipstick marks on your glass appear with increasing regularity as you try to distract yourself. You’re playing against a master.

And slowly, Satoru’s arms reach down across your chest. By some definitions you have lost. But by the imaginary rules in your head, you move the goalposts. All is not lost. Other than your brain, in the moment. The band starts up a ballad, powerful chords racing through your veins, melodic lyrics and a stunning harmony between the lead singer and the bassist.

Satoru’s best friend, Suguru Geto, bassist of the band. His thick black hair, half pulled up into a bun, stretching down to his mid back, and bangs framing his face. Tall, broad and you can see the edges of tattoos extending across the edges of his shoulders into his bare chest. He has thick eyeliner, dark eyes, and a pair of sharkbites and large plug ear piercings to decorate his fierce face.

You’re going to lose the battle if you aren’t careful. Satoru, well-practiced in this game of cat and mouse knows that you are a timid mouse he needs to delicately trap if he wants to win.

An hour into the set, you are feeling incredibly buzzed, teetering on drunk. As the last song before the break starts, Satoru is now in front of you, standing between your legs and his arms are on your hips. His piercing blue eyes gazing down at you. There’s a slight smirk in his mouth as he slowly leans down. One hand traced its way up your side to pinch your chin and guide your lips to his.

Just before your mouths connect, you open your mouth to protest this moment. You have a boyfriend, what are you doing? This isn’t right, you’re already breaking so many rules. You need to stop, put distance between the two of you and keep it platonic.

But the song ends, music stops, the lights come up, and the band walks off stage for a short break. The crowds shift and move toward the bar, the door, and the bathrooms. You stand up abruptly, chest heaving, and excuse yourself to the bathroom. Some water on your face and a refresh of your makeup should help you calm down and fix this.

Standing at the sink, you take in yourself. You can do this, you can win.

Satoru grabs your drink to take a sip and finish it off. His pocket buzzing, he sees a text message from Suguru.

>> If you don’t fuck her tonight, I swear to god

Satoru chuckles and tips the beer bottle towards the now empty stage. The intended goal tonight was to do as much, at this point he just needed to convince you that you wanted this as much as he does.

You return after a long wait for the bathroom and with another drink. You’ve managed to calm yourself and you sit back down next to Satoru.

“Feeling better?” Satoru asks you as he places a hand leaning on your shoulder, just close enough to not touch your earlobe.

You shiver, unable to look him in the eye for more than a millisecond. “Y-yeah. I should probably drink some water,” you trail off. Satoru, already planning for that request, hands you a cup of water from the counter next to you. You take a long sip and the cold drink switches your nerves for cold shivers.

The lights flicker, indicating that the band is about to return to the stage. You join the crowd in cheering, focusing on the band and not the building desire burning between your legs. You’re here to see a band, and you have a boyfriend, one who satisfies you in ways you’d never even dreamed of. But there was something so enticing about what was standing right here, arms resting across your shoulders.

Hands drifting down from around your décolletage to brush the glittering peak of your breasts.

You arch your back slightly at the sensation, breath heavy with lust. Looking up and trying to focus on the concert, the bassist is singing into the mic, but his eyes are trained on you. Surely, he’s just scanning the crowd or looking for his friend, right?

But I'm only dancing / She turns me on But don't get me wrong / I'm only dancing

Your heart skips another beat, and you blush, tilting your head back and finishing off the drink.

Accepting that you’ve lost, you swallow your nerves and lean into the touch Satoru is giving you. Tilting your head back, you reach up to meet Satoru’s waiting lips. You take control and push your tongue into his mouth, taking your pleasure from him. Letting the alcohol suppress your inhibitions as you place your hands on Satoru’s while they continue to squeeze and massage your tits.

You pull away from the kiss. High from the adrenaline after jumping off the cliff.

“I need to tell you…” you trail off.

Satoru slides around to return between your seated legs.

“I don’t care, just don’t tell me about him.” Throbbing between your legs now taking over for all rational thought.

Satoru immediately leans down to leave a trail of increasingly stronger kisses along your neck. You stretch to give him better access. Your hands slip around the back of his head, scratching and pulling the nape of his neck and along his undercut. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you moan into his ear and bite down on his earlobe as you pull back.

“Let’s-let’s get going, back to my place,” Satoru doesn’t wait for a response as he grabs your hand and pulls you off the barstool and head out the door. As you leave, you noticed the bassist still has his eyes trained on you.

You stand outside while Satoru gives Ijichi a call to come around with the car, only waiting a few minutes. Those minutes are filled with very handsy kissing until you hear a cough, signaling Ijichi’s arrival and gesture to get into the car.

Satoru slides in the car first and pulls you onto his lap straddling him. You look back towards the driver’s seat but before you can protest, you’re cut off.

“You didn’t have a problem when we were back there in the club. You even seemed to want to be seen by Suguru,” he taunts and gives your ass a hard slap.

Even in the darkness of the car, with the passing streetlights, he could see your blush.

“C’mon baby, let’s just have fun, okay? Don’t think too hard about it. Besides, it was hot seeing you show off for Sugu back there,” Satoru grinds up into you and you can feel his erection straining against his jeans.

Satoru is enjoying the chase tonight. Trying out new tricks, using old ones that have gathered dust. You’re fun to chase. Are you as much fun to capture?

You spend the rest of the, mercifully short, ride back to his penthouse slowly winding your hips across his crotch, hands resting on his chest as you tease and show off your form. Finding little relief on your own tortured arousal.

Once you arrive at Satoru’s building, the two of you stumble out of the car and into the elevator. Before the doors close, Satoru pushes you up against the back wall and slots his muscular thigh between your legs. You can’t help yourself but grind on his leg as his hands pull down the front of your shirt and exposing your lacy bra. He reaches in and pinches your nipples; you keen at the touch, sucking in a sharp inhale of air.

“Are you even going to make it to my floor?” he teases you, pushing his leg harder against your throbbing, clothed cunt.

All you can do in response is moan obscenely. At this point every drop of inhibition is gone and you push back on his chest causing him to step back from you. You use this moment to drop to your knees and begin to unhook his belt.

“No,” you exhale as you begin to palm his straining erection almost painfully pressing against the seams of his pants. You unbutton his pants as he starts to run his hands through your hair, but the elevator arrives at his floor, and you hear a soft ‘ding’ when the doors open.

Disappointed, you stand up quickly and shuffle into Satoru’s suite, adjusting yourself back into your shirt, kicking your shoes off at the door and dropping your purse. You check your phone and see a message from your boyfriend:

>>> have fun ;)

You immediately stuff the phone in your dropped purse in a panic. But as soon as you bend down, you feel a pair of hands around your ass and a clothed erection pressed up against you.

“You’re making it too easy, baby,” Satoru croons into your ear and you roll yourself up to standing holding contact.

“Are you complaining?” your pussy pulses as he continues to grab your ass with one hand and snakes the other around your abdomen and pulls you in tighter. Satoru leans in to take a nip at your neck before releasing you and walking over to the door for the veranda.

You follow in his wake, eager to see the view of the city from here. The chill of the midsummer night washes over you, but just as quickly, Satoru approaches you at the railing and engulfs your body with his.

He doesn’t waste any time sliding his hands up your shirt, unclasping your bra, and removing both in one fell swoop. Satoru drops your items on the edge of the balcony before spinning you around and kneeling before you to remove your shorts.

Oh, he looks stunning from this angle. Subservient but dominating in power. Another trick he hasn’t played in a while.

You rest the back of your forearms against the balcony, spreading your legs slightly once your shorts are off. Head buried in the ozone of lust and anticipation.

You slip one leg over Satoru’s shoulder as he leans up to whisper a touch of his nose to your clothed cunt as he inhales your sweet scent of arousal.

He palms his restrained cock as his free hand rubs over your needy bud, eliciting a whiny moan from you. Seeing how soaked your little, useless, thong is, he hooks his finger onto the scrap of fabric and pulls it aside.

You use your heel to push Satoru closer to you and he eagerly obliges. Placing his hands on each thigh, he spreads your legs more to gain easier access to your dripping pussy.

Satoru licks a long stripe up your cunt, gathering your copious arousal on his tongue. Coming back again, he takes his middle finger and teases your hole eagerly clenching around nothing. Focusing his tongue on your aching nib, he adds a second finger and you let out another strained whine. He slowly slides his fingers in and out, twisting his hand and curling the tips to drag against that spongy spot deep inside you. You buck at the pace of his ministrations, moans getting louder with each thrust.

The pressure is building in your core, your heel is digging in even more to Satoru’s back. He moans into you, the vibrations traveling up your spine through the ends of your hair.

“C’mon baby, give it to me,” Satoru moans into you. His fingers speeding up, one arm reaching around your waist, tongue pushing directly and lips sucking on your pulsing clit.

The sensations reach a fever pitch, and you scream out as your orgasm takes you. Your hips jut wildly, your hands grip the railing of the veranda, and you throw your head back as the electric shock runs through your body.

Once you have regained some semblance of control over your body again, you slide your leg off Satoru’s shoulder. Satoru pulls his fingers out and sits back on his heels once your leg releases him. Licking his fingers clean with a moan, savoring your taste.

Satoru stands up and cages you in against the railing, urgently crashing his lips on yours, sharing your taste covering his tongue, lips, and chin. You eagerly accept, moaning into him as you lightly bite his invading tongue.

“How about we move this somewhere more comfortable?” Satoru grabs your hand and leads you back inside.

He brings you down the hall to his bedroom, dim lighting accentuating his aethereal features. You fall back into the plush bedding while the bed dips with a shirtless Satoru sitting behind you, legs on either side of your body.

Rolling over and sitting on your knees, you gently push Satoru’s chest allowing him to fall backwards. Nimble hands slide their way back down his abdomen, following the dips and peaks. What luck of the genetic lottery did he win to have such divine musculature.

You quickly finish the job you started in the elevator and remove his pants. Running your hand over his twitching erection restrained by his tight black boxer briefs, you give a few squeezes before you quickly rid him of the final layer.

All ten inches of his veiny cock spring free and slap against his abdomen. Your nerves suddenly come crashing back. But this time, it’s over how you’ll be able to take all of Satoru in you. You look up and see a shit eating grin on Satoru, arms resting behind his head.

You’re not the first person to gawk over his size. Aside from the obvious prizes for winning this game, the stunned moments his dates share compete for this reward.

You grasp the base of his cock and start to slowly stroke up to the tip, gathering his leaking precum as you slide your hand back down. After several strokes, you slide your hips over his and line up your wet cunt with his angry red tip.

Satoru places his hands on your hips to guide you as you slowly sink down. All the teasing, the anticipation, the yearning has built to this moment.

“There you go, doll. Take it easy,” he chuckles as you gasp. Feeling full and it’s only barely halfway in, you let out a shakey moan. Bottoming out, you hold still for a moment before slowly rocking your hips back and forth. Savoring the fullness and depth he’s reached inside of you.

Locking eyes, you throw your head back, hair flying back in a splash as you pick up speed, taking control of your pleasure. You’ll deal with the consequences in the morning, the fun of chasing and capturing this apex specimen has you enthralled.

Sliding your hands up your body, giving in to the rhythm, you pinch your nipples and let your full tits fall and shake.

In an instant, a blink, and your world flips around and suddenly your chest is in the plush bed, a hand under your abdomen hiking you up. Pace never faltering, Satoru’s heavy balls now slapping against your ass as you’re pulled up onto your hands and knees.

“I loved the view, but something tells me you like this better,” he pulls back and finds that one angle that gets that scream from you.

You reach up to the headboard for leverage as you push back against Satoru. You can feel the coil winding again, deep in your stomach. A hand finds its way to your peaked nipples and with one, two, three pinches your orgasm washes over you again. You lose your grip on the headboard, crashing into the pillows while Satoru slows to feel your warm gummy walls pulse around him.

Not wanting to spill just yet, he waits until you’ve regained some control before reaching his thumb towards your little unused hole.

You feel a sudden wetness drip onto your ass as Satoru’s thumb presses the spit into you. Gasping at the intrusion, you just moan “more, please, god.”

With a smirk, Satoru slowly slides his thumb in and out, half speed to his hips. Using his other hand, he grips your plump ass and then pulls back for a loud slap. Not impressed with the sound of the first, he reels back for a second. This time, leaving a lovely red mark. Secretly hoping it is still visible when you go home in the morning to whomever is waiting for you.

“Baby, can I give you a mess?” Satoru asks, not a drop of fatigue in his voice, only lust.

Your mouth answers, again, before you can even think of a response, “please.”

Satoru pulls his thumb and cock out of you, precum and your slick leaving a sticky trail connecting the two of you as you roll over to your back.

Satoru is kneeling as if to propose and offering you pearls instead across your pussy.

As he finishes, you reach down to spread the sticky mess on your sensitive and hairline trigger clit. Utterly debauched, you cum with a yelp and arch your back at your own touch.

Satoru collapses on the bed next to you, taking your wet hand into his. You moan and clench your thighs as he cleans off your hands, taking each finger in turn, slowly rolling the digit around in his mouth and across his tongue.

“I should wash up,” you croak out, trying to avoid eye contact while your one-night stand seemingly fucks you again with his ocean blue eyes.

Satoru gives your fingers one final lick and slides out of bed. He disappears into the bathroom, and you hear the shower turn on. After a minute, he pops out of the door “shower’s this way, doll.”

Somehow you manage to wash up, in spite of an extra pair of hands and a sneaky pair of lips following after every clean patch of skin.

Falling asleep is easy, the warm afterglow of a couple orgasms and a spicy shower let you both drift off into the morning.

Rolling over, you’re awakened by vibrations coming from the headboard. You reach up and find Satoru’s phone ringing.

“Hey, fix it,” you grumble as you push the phone into Satoru’s chest. He removes his arm from under your head as he blinks several times attempting to read the caller ID.

“Yo,” his voice gravelly and clipped. “Mhmm, yeah sure no problem.” He hangs up and puts the phone back on the shelf.

Satoru reaches his arm across you and pulls you into the crook of his neck, kissing the top of your head.

“Hi,” you mumble as you stretch your leg across his.

“Breakfast? I’m in the mood for pancakes,” a rogue hand makes its way down your back onto the swell of your ass.

“And some ibuprofen?” your free hand finds its way through his abs. You can’t believe how someone who just woke up doesn’t have morning breath nor the musty musk of a just-awoken body.

“How about a hair of the dog that bit you?” he winks as he gets out of bed and puts on a pair of lounge pants, letting them hang low.

You walk around the corner, hearing an unexpected voice coming from the kitchen. Clad in nothing but a button-down shirt you pulled from Satoru’s closet, you decide to make the best of it and ignore any shame for being the one-night stand the morning after.

“Hey handsome, pancakes smell good,“ you stop short as you round the corner and see who Satoru is talking to.

“Hey baby, sounds like you had a good night,” Suguru turns away from Satoru to face you as you approach the kitchen. He gives you a slow elevator stare. “Looks it, too.”

“I-I did. And you sounded amazing last night, I loved the new song,” you excitedly bounce over to Suguru a kiss on the cheek and join him at the kitchen island.

“Hey Satoru, you should be more careful where you put your guests’ clothes. These-“ Suguru places a shirt and bra on the table, “were laying on the sidewalk this morning. And considering I bought them for my girlfriend, I know they came from your veranda.”

Satoru’s jaw hits the floor as he attempts to work out what is unfolding in front of him. Suguru never mentioned he had a girlfriend, and you didn’t mention a boyfriend. Wait, then why did he send that text message last night?

“I’m sorry but what is happening?” Satoru points his spatula at you, catching you in the middle of a messy kiss with Suguru.

“When I found out my lovely girlfriend ran into you, we decided to see how long it would take before you tried to get into her pants,” you’re pulled closer to Suguru.

“It was my idea, once Sugu filled me in on your sordid history.”

Satoru rolls his eyes at the implications.

“Yeah. Now, I tipped the deck in my favor by setting up the private show last night. I knew you couldn’t resist the tempatation.”

“What am I, some common manwhore?” Satoru cries as he puts a hand on his hip and returns to the griddle.

“Yes” both you and Suguru respond in unison.

“But a manwhore with a really nice ass,” you add.

Satoru just sighs and serves up three plates.

[blossiewossie]

— Lawless Affair

pairing : gojo x reader x geto genre : business men au (lawyers), smut rating : mature word count : 2k+

shoutout to @junqkook for helping me with learning the ways of tumblr and for helping me prep to post; i still have lots to learn but you made it less intimidating teehee ♡

— note : hihi this is my first time using tumblr and also posting on tumblr, pls be kind. also, i put down 'smut' but the spicy stuff could come in a later part (when i eventually write it, lol) enjoy!

“Ah, ____, I see you’re all set up at your desk!,” you heard someone exclaim behind you.

Spinning around in your chair, you look up to see one of your new colleagues smiling cheerfully at you while holding a woven basket full of supplies. Her silky black hair was tied up in a half-up do with a cute pink bow on it, completely encapsulating her bubbly personality.

“I’m sorry to bug you, but I brought you these!,” she exclaimed brightly, plopping the basket down. She reached in and started pulling out different items for you to use to decorate your cubicle, including a bunch more bows of various sizes.

“Thank you, uh…,” you trailed off sheepishly, glancing at the spot where you were told to wear your name tag on her shirt before realizing she didn’t have hers on.

“Oh, where are my manners?!,” she cried out loud. “I’m Utahime Iori, but you can just call me Iori! I figured since it’s your first day here with us, I’d give you a hand with decorating your spot!”

“Cut it out, would you? You’ll scare her away!,” demanded another colleague. Turning your head towards the new voice, you spot a woman with silver hair sashaying towards you, her heels clicking against the floor. She came to a stop next to Iori and nudged her before turning to you with an apologetic smile, while Iori coughed awkwardly.

“Sorry about her, she tends to overwhelm our new hires with her presence. I promise she means well,” says the new woman. “I’m Mei Mei,” she says.

“Hi, I’m ____,” you say back, laughing as Iori sticks her tongue out at the unimpressed colleague.

You tell them you appreciate how welcoming they are, as you were feeling quite nervous about today. After all, not everyone gets a chance to work at a prestigious law firm under one of the greatest lawyers of the country.

The two women quickly assure you that you’re in good hands and the topic is quickly changed as you all started getting to know each other. Many moments, and laughs, later, you are all exchanging numbers so that you could contact each other outside of work. As the two women say their goodbyes and you turn to face your desk, Mei Mei stops in her tracks and returns to your desk once more.

“Just a final thought. I want to give you a warning,” her voice drops to a whisper, while she glances around carefully.

Intrigued, you lean in, eager to hear what she has to say.

“Whatever you do, do not let him in your pants.”

Sputtering wildly, you look back at Mei Mei with a shocked expression while she has a curious look on her face.

“I’m not letting anyone in my pants, wha-,” you start to stutter out when Mei Mei’s palm splats across your lips, hushing you immediately.

Mei Mei glances around once more before removing her hand.

“The big boss has a friend that likes to linger in here when he has nothing else to do at his own firm,” she says softly. “We cannot speak ill about him freely, but as your friend now, I must warn you. Do not fall for his games. He has slept with every new hire we have had. You don’t want to be tangled up in his mess.”

Straightening up, she looks around once more before nodding at you. Turning on her heel and flipping her silvery locks, she walks away while yelling out a loud ‘Nice talking to you, ____!’ before entering the hallway and disappearing.

Shaking away your thoughts, you straighten back towards your desk and smile amusedly at the basket left behind by your new friends. Digging through, you find a couple of bows of your favorite color and start piling them up on the side, reminding yourself to put them up before you leave for the day.

As the day drags on, you commit to your work meticulously, organizing and storing files away in their proper locations. You hear your coworkers occasionally walking around, but all is silent for the most part.

The next thing you know, BANG!

The door leading into the office area slams open and you see someone’s leg outstretched, as if they had kicked the door.

Startled, you scoot back and stand to lean over your cubicle to see what the commotion’s about as some of your coworkers do the same around you. Some of them have a wide grin on their faces while others roll their eyes and continue on their work as if nothing has happened. You notice most of the women around you are the ones keeping an eye on the door. Must be the hot-shot, you think to yourself.

The outstretched leg at the door set itself down and the man behind it walked in, exuding all the confidence in the world with his stride. You trail your eyes from his covered legs up, appreciating how well his slacks accentuated his long limbs. They continue to make their way up his torso to his chest, where he’s sporting a snug, white button-up with the top buttons lose. His matching suit jacket wrapped seductively around his arms, showing off their physique as he swung them nonchalantly by his side. Finally you raise your eyes up to his face and your breath hitches in your throat.

His eyes — they’re like the color of ice, but there’s more to it. They’re almost paradoxical, the way they sparkle with light but also glint with a hint of darkness. Paired with such breathtaking eyes was his unique hair color, as white as snow. The man was a walking epitome of winter, beautiful yet dangerous. And his smirk, that tied it all together.

Before you was an angel with devilish intentions.

You swore you could see the women in the room swoon instantaneously as the mysterious man waltzed his way around, stopping to chat with different people. Clearing your throat, you duck back down into your seat and try your best to continue where you left off in your work, suddenly feeling a rush of heat between your legs.

Jeez louise, you think to yourself.

Never in your life has a man made your body react like that from just looking at him. Sure, you’ve read some spicy stories here and there that made you want to touch yourself, but just his mere presence is making you feel more than all those stories combined.

You bite your lip as you continue typing, trying to ignore the conversations around you. Soon after you started to finally concentrate and your shoulders relax, a deep hush fell across the room as another set of footsteps make their way into the room, this time from your right side, where the boss’ office was.

“Ah, Satoru, I thought I’d find you here,” said a velvety voice.

Looking up, you realize your boss has stopped right in front of your cubicle as he spoke to the mysterious man. You recognize his voice from when he joined the human resource manager’s call to congratulate you on getting the job, but now you finally get to put a face to the voice — and what a face it is.

His eyes were closed as he smiled towards the mysterious man, making the latter return it with his own smile. His arms were crossed lazily, making his built arms and his toned chest puff out of his navy blue suit. His hair was tied up messily into a bun, with strands coming down the left side of his face, framing it nicely. You could see his ears, pierced and adorned with dark circular earrings. He stood tall, his frame towering over everyone but his friend, who had started to stroll leisurely towards him.

Gods, does being attractive come with being a lawyer?

“My, my, is that any way to welcome your friend, Seguru?”, said the man, Satoru.

You file that name into your memory, making sure to keep it there for later.

You peek through your lashes as the handsome man finally stops in front of your cubicle as well. Squeezing your thighs tightly, you listen as the two lawyers chat absentmindedly and try your best to type quietly. You do your best to tune out their conversation out of respect, but you can’t help stealing glances at them

As you went to look up at them once more, you realize the man Satoru was now looking at you curiously while your boss continued talking. Your breath hitches again as you stare into his twinkling eyes. Time seems to slow as all you can see is him.

You don’t realize your boss stopped talking until he clears his throat to get his friend’s attention, swiftly ending the intense eye contact between you both. Blushing bashfully, you glance back at your boss to see he was already staring at you with an eyebrow raised. He smiles and turns, facing you now.

“Ah, ____. I forgot to come introduce myself to you. I am Seguru Geto, we talked briefly on the call with Mr. Yu, the human resource manager.”, he said proudly, reaching his hand out to you.

You shake his hand as you spoke, noticing how small yours was in his.

“Hello, Mr. Geto. I’m honored to meet you!”, you say brightly, returning his smile with one of yours.

Your boss' smile widens as he turns his body slightly towards the mysterious man and stretches his hand out to him with his palm up.

“This is my friend and the owner of our sister firm, Satoru Gojo. You’ll see him here as he tends to visit us quite often while he lets his fellow lawyers pick up his slack.”

Your hand is suddenly lifted, taken by the handsome man himself, as he places a gentle kiss on it, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Hello there, ____.”, he says slowly, as if tasting your name on his lips, his smile now a smirk once more.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Gojo,” you stutter out, yanking your hand back to your chest. You can feel your cheeks heating up again as you shyly look up at him. He sends you a wink as Mr. Geto wraps an arm around his shoulders and starts walking back towards his office, hollering for everyone to get back to work and apologizing for the interruption.

Your eyes follow their leaving forms, trying to decipher if this is real life. Before the door to the boss’ office closes, you see them both stopping to chatter, glance your way with smiles, and exit the room.

You look back to your computer once more, feeling the same heat rush between your legs from before. Now it wasn’t just because of Mr. Gojo, but also because your boss is an attractive specimen as well. A naughty thought of being with both of them crept into your mind, making you bite your lip intensely. The air around you felt warmer than before.

Leaving your desk, you quietly tell the clerk to the side of you that you’ll be going to the bathroom, getting a thumbs up in return. You quickly make your way down the hall to where the bathrooms are located. Rushing towards the sink, you turn the faucet to the cold water side and wet your hands, bringing them up to your face and neck as you look at yourself in the mirror. You notice your bottom lip was a bit red, bringing back your earlier thoughts. The sudden thought of being with both of your senior lawyers made your pussy tingle.

Groaning, you throw your hands back under the cold water to try and distract yourself from your naughty thoughts. You think back to your friend’s warning from earlier. Curiously, you wonder why she didn’t give you a heads up on how much of a hunk your boss was as well. Maybe he’s married, you thought as you dried your hands. Tossing away the napkins, you straighten up your blouse and skirt before nodding at the mirror in satisfaction.

Spinning on your heel, you make your way out of the bathroom and into the hallway. Turning back towards the office area, you walk forward — only to slam into a wall.

Faltering back a couple steps, you feel a pair of hands reach out to steady you.

Quickly apologizing, you look up to see none other than Mr. Gojo looking down at you with a concerned look.

“Are you alright, ____?”, he says, looking you over, probably scanning for any injuries.

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you-,”

“This is why I told you not to walk backwards,” said Mr. Geto abruptly, rushing forward from behind Mr. Gojo, stopping behind you to look at you as well. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You realize now that both men are standing on either side of you, each one scanning your frame from the front and back. You look back up towards Gojo, his eyes now settled back on yours, an eyebrow cocked with a sideways grin. You glance back behind you to see Geto’s eyes surveying your body, lingering on your behind for a moment, before bringing them back up to meet yours, a mischievous smile gracing his lips. You swallow the lump in your throat and cough, before nodding to both of them that you’re okay.

The two men make eye contact before looking back at you and nod as well, both of their eyes twinkling as if there was an inside joke that you missed out on. Shuffling your weight from one heel to the other, you apologize again for not looking at where you were going and excuse yourself so that you can go back to work.

Walking away quickly, you couldn’t help but hear them chuckle to themselves as they talked in hushed tones. Before you reach the end of the hallway and enter the office area, you turn your head back to look at them — only to see them already looking at you with matching smirks on their faces.

Sitting down at your desk, you only had one thought on your mind as you tried to continue your work once more:

What a first day at work this has been.

[sheeple]

Miracles don't exist | Epilogue

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): None A/n: It feels weird uploading the last part of the story. Shoutout to everyone who has been following the story — from the beginning and from the end. [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

It's dark around you. Dark and dingy and it vaguely smells of mould. It makes your nose itch. Every way you look is pitch black. Only when you focus really hard you spot a faint light in the distance. You start to walk towards it, in the hope of escaping. 

But the more your speed picks up, the farther the light goes. Until you're sprinting and the light is gone. You collapse on the ground and heave while tears start to pool in your eyes. 

You let out a scream and your voice echoes around you. Clutching your head tightly, you curl up into a ball and rock yourself back and forth. The silence of the void is all-consuming, swallowing you whole.

Your eyes open widely as your chest raises rapidly. Cold sweat runs down your temples and you turn your head, to look at your husband. Tired eyes look at you with concern. Knitting your brows together, you shuffle into his embrace. "Sorry for waking you up", you whisper, your voice wavering with sleep.

"Was it the same one?", he asks, stroking your back while his other hand takes hold of your hand, pressing kisses against the inside of your wrist, his lips ghosting around the Mark. He always does this when he wants to soothe you.

You hum and close your eyes. "It's been so calm lately." Clutching tightly onto the back of Theo's sleepshirt, you try your best to forget the memories.

The two of you know why your nightmares are resurfacing. It's the first time in years that you're back on British soil. The first time since the end of the war. 

Immediately when the end was declared, Theodore and you got your affairs in order and left Great Britain for Canada. You had to leave. England was never your home and you're happy now, with your little bookshop that caters to wizard and non-wizard kind. 

And the weirdest part is that you're back for Hermione and Ron's wedding. Yes, you've kept sending letters to Hermione — and when you finally got a computer communication got way easier — but you never expected her to want you to be at her wedding. A lot has changed in five years.

It was actually Theo who convinced you to go. "If not for the ceremony, then for the reception afterwards. Didn't you always say you two were friends?" He raises his brows with a teasing glint in his eyes and you know he's right. By now you've learned that he's almost always right. Almost.

You're lucky you've kept the cottage by the sea. It's the only happy thing about coming back. The sound of waves crashing against the shore calms you as you squeeze your eyes closed in the hope of going back to sleep. But it's no use. 

Once you hear the grandfather clock downstairs chime six times, you decide that you've laid awake enough and you slip out of bed. Making sure Theo's tucked in warmly, you put on your robe and make your way downstairs. 

You turn on the water cooker and start to prepare for breakfast, softly humming to yourself as the silence of the old house is jarring to you.

Over the years you've discovered that you don't do well with silence. Call it trauma from the war or just living in a bustling city, but not having any music on in the background makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight. And since you still have to buy a radio for the cottage, you have to make do with humming to yourself.

Two arms wrap around you from the back as Theodore buries his nose in the nape of your neck. He holds you close to his body as he watches you fry the eggs.

"Morning", you muse, laying a hand over his own. He grumbles while pressing butterfly kisses against your skin. A soft giggle escapes you as he stays clutched tightly around you while you plate up the food.

A disapproving hum gets muffled against your skin as you try to unfold his arms from you to have breakfast.

Then, an idea pops into your head. "I was thinking of taking a bath after breakfast. Do you want to join me?" You feel Theo halt his ministrations before quickly letting go and practically throwing himself in front of his breakfast.

"What are you standing there for?! Eat up!"

You're nervously chewing on the inside of your cheek as you walk towards the entrance of the tent, Theodore's hand clutched tightly in your own, grounding you.

The reception is beautifully lit with stars and fairy lights. Tables are spaced around and people mingle around. Off to the side stand Hermione and Ron, welcoming guests who haven't been at the ceremony.

Hermione's face lights up when she spots you and you hurry your steps towards her. The two of you hug for the first time in years and you can't wipe the wide smile off your face.

"Oh, how lovely you look!", you say once you've parted, admiring her beautiful wedding dress.

Hermione's glowing and the dress compliments her perfectly. The tule floats around her and sparkles under the lights.

"I'm so happy you came. We'll talk later, okay?", she says as the next guests enter the reception.

You nod and take Theo's hand to find the table you're assigned to. He pulls the chair out for you and you thank him with a smile. Slowly the table fills and the speeches begin.

First, it's Mr Granger. He tells about her growing up and the sacrifices she made during the height of the war to ensure her parents were safe. Then it's Mr Weasley, who gives a somewhat funny speech. He ends with the question of what a toaster does before he's ushered away from the mic.

And finally Harry. He still wears the same round glasses and his hair is also the same, although less unruly. Seeing him after such a long time makes you feel weird, how much you want to ignore the feeling.

Under the table, you feel Theo lay a hand on your thigh. When you look at him, he gives you a reassuring smile while squeezing your knee. You lay your hand over his own and continue listening to the other speeches.

Dinner gets served and you converse with the people around the table. That's how you discover you're seated with Hermione's cousin and a good friend from Ron's work.

Once dessert has been cleared, everybody's free to mingle around. "I'll get us something to drink from the bar. What do you want?", asks Theo as the two of you stand to the side, watching Hermione and Ron dance.

"Cola's fine. Thanks, babe." He gives you a quick peck before he's off to the bar.

You're not alone for long as someone slowly comes to stand next to you. Looking to the side, you're eye to eye with Harry. Your body tenses and you clench your hands to fists. "Hello."

"Hi", he answers back simply, clutching a glass of champagne tightly in his hands. "How have you been?"

"Good", you nod, praying that Theodore returns soon, "you know, just… living life. And you?"

Harry nods. "The same, honestly. I've been in the Auror force for almost five years now."

"Really? I've always thought you would get into teaching." You chew on the inside of your cheek, surveying the room.

After that, silence falls between the two of you. You're still not totally at ease next to Harry. It's been a while but the memories still haunt you.

Harry takes a sip of his champagne, watching Ron twirl and dip Hermione with wide smiles on their faces. "Did I ever have a chance?"

The question makes your stomach drop. "Yes", you answer after a moment or two, "but after- after sixth year- I was so afraid you would hurt me again, Harry. And that the next time, you would kill me." You swallow thickly, glancing at the bespectacled man next to you, gauging his reaction.

Harry looks shocked at your reaction and his hand reaches out but stops just short of your arm. it closes to a fist before dropping next to him. "I could never hurt you intentionally. I loved you too much… still do."

"Stop", you say while shaking your head, taking a couple steps away from him. "Stop it, Harry. You're with Ginny. And Teddy and I… We're a family." Subconsciously, you lay a hand on your stomach and Hary's eyes focus on the movement.

He takes a moment to realise what you're implying. "You're pregnant?", he asks bewildered. Something flashes through his eyes. Could it be… hurt?

As he takes a step towards you, you take one back. And praise the heavens, Theo comes back at the right time. "Potter", he says, giving you your glass and standing protected in front of you.

Harry relents and creates some distance between him and the two of you. "Nott. Congratulations on the pregnancy." It comes out forced. With one last flickering look towards you, he turns around and walks off.

You follow him until he is back at his label, taking place next to Ginny, who's already looking at you with an unreadable look. You must up a kind smile and wave towards her. Ginny does not return the gesture and turns her back towards you.

A deep breath escapes you and you take a large sip of your drink.

"What did he want?", asks Theo as he lays a hand on your hip.

You shake your head. "I'm not sure myself. Going here was a mistake, Teddy. Can we please just go?" You look up at your husband with pleading eyes.

Without hesitation, he nods and the two of you collect your belongings. You shoot Hermione a quick text as an apology saying you're not feeling too well and that you didn't want to bother her.

Once outside of the venue, you apparate back towards your home. With a sigh, you kick off your shoes and let yourself fall onto the bed. You look up at Theo as he undoes his tie. "I love you", you say, watching his face soften.

He walks closer towards the bed and drags you towards him by your ankles. You let out a giggle, sitting upright. He traces your face with his fingers before closing the gap and pressing his lips on yours. You close your eyes and hum into the kiss, pulling him closer by his neck.

When Theo breaks the kiss, he leans his forehead against yours. "I love you. The both of you."

Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry  @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore​ @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what @mypolicemanharryyy @fals3-g0d @decapitated-coffee @thatgirljas13 @slytherinambitious @raineisms @mastermindmiko @timmytime17 @regsg18 @supernatural-lover @bubybubsters @lafrone @hermionelove @the-sander-fander @akengii @aliciacat20 @unstablereader @burns-in-the-sun @rachelnicolee @damagelove @mqndrqke @llpovi @clairesjointshurt @222244445555 @jolly4holly @padf00ts-l0ver @fandom-life-12 @prettyb1tchsblog @pari-1 @f14ever @nopedefe @randomgurl2326 @rinalouu @yazminetrahan @ellen3101 @comfyvic

[intern-seraph]

forget-me-not (Chp 1)

also on ao3

Summary: For the first time in your seven years alive, you meet someone new in your small town. Little do either of you know that your brief friendship will bind you together long, long after you are forced to part ways.

A/N: hi :)

shoutout to matcha twstjam for being my cheerleader thru this insane, ongoing journey

For those who have been following me on my socials, i'm sorry you know that this fic has been in the works for over a year as of last month. I was originally intending on publishing it only when it was complete, but it very quickly grew way out of hand and I realized that it would definitely not be complete any time soon. Still, I wanted to put it out into the world! So I decided to publish the first chapter! When will the rest come out? Who knows? I certainly don't lol ALSO the presence of forget-me-nots in the actual fic is, at most, debatable lmao i just thought it was a cool and fitting title

Anyways, I have a deep, desperate need for more jewishness in fan content, so I'm filling that dearth myself.

————

You peer out from behind the gnarled oak tree at the edge of the town park. Its trunk is almost half as wide as you are tall, and its boughs are so thick and heavy that the branches droop under their own weight. Once, there was a rope swing that hung from one of the thicker branches. It was destroyed in a storm a few years ago, and nobody has bothered to replace it since. As one of the few children living here, you don’t mind its absence much. After all, you only ever come here to read. Usually you sit on the other side of this very tree, enjoying the shade and the rustling leaves. However, today someone’s taken your spot. The stranger seems to be only a few years older than you, dressed entirely in black. Their clothes shimmer as light filters through the leaves, and you know that the fabric must be fine and expensive. Slivers of their pale skin peek out from the ends of their sleeves and the hem of their robe. It’s a far cry from the homespun woolen garments and rough, sun-kissed skin of your neighbors. The most bizarre thing about them, however, are their spiraling black horns.

You hug your book to your chest, unsure of what to do. You’ve never seen this child before, after all, and you know all of the other kids in town (all four of them, that is). Even worse, you just know that whoever this is must be rich and therefore important. Why are they here, of all places?

“Um…” You tiptoe over the tree’s massive roots and draw closer to the stranger. “Are you from around here?”

The stranger startles, and you yelp as the world burns bright green for a moment. With a grunt, you fall back and land squarely on your butt. You lie there for a second, blinking away the spots in your vision before your throat begins to tighten and tears form at the corners of your eyes. Beside you, the stranger’s blurry face appears. Your sniffling turns into sobs, and you cover your face with both hands as you start crying.

“H-hey,” says the stranger, touching you lightly, “don’t cry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

You wail even louder, rolling onto your side and curling up into a ball. The stranger pats your shoulder stiffly.

“I’m sorry,” they whisper, voice breaking. “Please don’t be scared.”

Finally, your crying peters out. You hiccup as you wipe your tears away on your sleeve. “I-I’m sorry for scaring you,” you say. The stranger remains silent. “That was magic, right? I scared you and you used your magic…”

“That’s okay. Are you hurt?” The stranger extends a hand into your field of view and hauls you up onto your feet with little effort. Now that you can see clearly, you lean closer to examine his face. He’s a boy around your age, you think. His cheeks are round and soft but you can see where his baby fat is starting to recede. His lips curl into a small pout, accentuated by the embarrassed flush coloring his cheeks. You can’t help but gawk at his electric green eyes. They’re so distinct that, without taking his horns into account, their color and slit pupils alone would tell you that he’s not human. When he notices you’re staring, he shifts back in discomfort. You jolt and giggle abashedly.

“No, I’m okay. Uh, who are you? Are you from around here?” You start to circle him, eyeing his odd features with interest. Are those scales crawling up the back of his neck? Why is the back of his robe moving so weirdly?

“No,” he mumbles. He holds something close to his chest. A book! “I’m… from really far away. My grandmother brought me with her to do some —” his nose scrunches up “— official business. But that’s boring so I left.”

“Won’t your grandma be worried?”

He puffs up like a particularly proud pigeon. “Nuh-uh. I’m big and strong so I can take care of myself!” As he speaks, the thing moving under his robe finally lifts enough to reveal itself: a thick, scaly black tail. It swishes from side to side as he practically preens. Cute. “What about you? You’re here all alone!”

“I know everyone here, duh.” You crouch down and pick up your book, then trot over to sit in your usual spot now that it’s empty. The stranger pouts at you, puffing out his cheeks. You turn your nose up at him. “This was my spot first.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. You can sit next to me, I guess.”

He blinks slowly at you, fingers tightening on his book, before he breaks out into a brilliant smile and plops down at your side. You take note of his sharp fangs. Part of you is tempted to touch them, but you restrain yourself well enough. “What’s your name?” asks the stranger.

You give it to him immediately, pausing to spell it out letter-by-letter just to show off. He nods, but when you ask him the same question, he balks.

“Is it okay if I don’t tell you? I don’t wanna… uh…” He waves his hands for emphasis. “I don’t want my grandmother to hear about me.”

“Well then what should I call you?”

“Hmm…” He furrows his brow and scrunches his eyes shut. Then, he gasps and beams at you. “Nickname! You can gimme a nickname!”

“A nickname, huh? How about…” Your voice trails off. You stare at him, pursing your lips. First, you glance up at his horns, then his tail (thumping against one of the oak tree’s roots), then back up at his horns. “Horn…ton? Yeah, Hornton!”

“That sounds weird.”

“Too bad! You’re Hornton now!”

Hornton rolls his eyes. He opens the book in his lap, clearly trying (and failing) to look smart and above-it-all, but you can see the pointed tips of his ears turning red. Giggling, you follow his lead and open your own book. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch his petulant expression melt into contentment while he reads. He’s cute like this. He’s cute in general — which is a thought that makes you want to gag — but you especially like his sweet little smile. Although you were loath to share your spot beneath the tree, he does make for good reading company. That is, he’s quiet and doesn’t take up too much of your personal space. Before you know it, the sun is setting.

You dog-ear your page and nudge Hornton. “Hey, it’s getting late. You should go back to your grandma.” Hornton jolts, but doesn’t react as violently as he did earlier. His tail thuds against the tree trunk.

“Oh, yeah. I gotta go!” He doesn’t move, only fidgeting with his robe. “Uh, thanks for sitting with me.”

“Why’re you thanking me? It’s no problem.” You pause and look away. Feeling your face grow hot, you say, “Will you be back again?”

“C-Can I?”

“Yeah! I mean, you’re a pretty decent reading buddy, so… yeah.”

“Yes! I’ll be back tomorrow!” He smiles so broadly that you think it must hurt.

“Cool! I’ll be here after noon, that’s when our classes are over.” You stand up and start patting your clothes to get rid of any dirt. Then, you turn and give Hornton a grin of your own. “‘S nice meeting you! See ya!”

He waves timidly, eyes wide and almost shimmering. You don’t give it too much thought, you just start sprinting back down the dirt road leading into town.

—

“Mister Crowley!”

You slam the front door open, practically vibrating with excitement. The schoolmaster yelps from further inside your house, then rushes over to greet you. He’s pouting, feathers positively ruffled. Gently, he grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a once-over.

“Now, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you!”

“I was at the park!” You grin and hold up your book.

Crowley sighs and shakes his head. He wags his finger at you as he starts walking you to the dining room. “Now, child, what have we said about staying out late?”

“Uh… tell you?”

“Indeed! I have been very generous with allowing you free reign of the town! Nevermind all your tchotchkes and trinkets! If you’ll be gallivanting around like this in the future, make sure to inform your very magnanimous guardian beforehand! I was about to send the entire neighborhood out to look for you!”

He probably wasn’t. You know him well enough to know that. But the concern is appreciated. “Sorry,” you say.

“As long as it doesn’t happen again,” Crowley mutters. He pulls out your seat at your little dining table and returns to his own chair. Just at a glance, you can tell that he’d tucked in to his dinner before you came home. As you pick up your fork, a soft little body butts up against your calf. You squeal with delight and duck under the table to scoop up Grim, your bratty street cat. He mrows petulantly, but lets you cuddle him. It had taken a week of relentless begging for Crowley to let you take Grim in, and you had to pinky promise to take good care of him. Then, your friends got the bright idea of trying to bind the cat to you as a familiar (despite your lack of magic), and while it hasn’t worked yet, it certainly helped warm Crowley up to the idea. Something about his sweet baby becoming a beast tamer. You’re not sure what that is, and you’re definitely not a baby, but if it works, it works.

The air is filled with the quiet clink of silverware. After a while, you speak up. “I met someone today.”

Crowley nearly chokes. He pounds on his chest, coughing into his fist. It takes a second for him to recover. “You what?”

“There was a boy at the park,” you explain, “we read together.”

“What did I tell you about talking to strangers?”

“Nothing, we already know everyone in town.”

His mouth opens and closes silently. Then, sighing, he shakes his head. “Well, yes, but you were supposed to say that we don’t talk to strangers.”

“He wasn’t scary or anything,” you lie, remembering how you startled each other.

“Very well! Be careful, though. If something were to happen to you, I don’t even know what I would say, er, do!”

You pointedly ignore that slip-up in favor of finishing your meal. Pushing your chair away from the table with a screech, you grab your dishes and your cat and say a quick “good night!” to your guardian.

—

First thing in the morning when you and Crowley arrive at the schoolhouse, you’re accosted by Ace and Deuce. It’s mostly Ace doing the accosting, really, but Deuce joins him in hanging on your back like the world’s heaviest and most annoying koalas. You shake them off and whip around to start wrestling with Ace. Deuce takes his loss better, choosing to sit on the grass and watch you and Ace play fight. Crowley clears his throat several times, probably to get your attention, but you’re preoccupied and he gives up quickly in favor of unlocking the door and stepping inside. There’s a holler nearby, a series of rapid footsteps, and another heavy body falls on you with a grunt.

“Epel!” you wheeze out, squirming on top of the also-squirming Ace. “Can’t breathe!”

“Oh!” Epel rolls off of you, and you roll off of Ace. “Sorry, looked like you were havin’ fun!”

“Was fun,” Ace mumbles, “until you two crushed me.”

“Oops.”

“You didn’t die, though,” you say before you get up. “Also you started it!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“How do you guys do this every morning?” says Jack as he trots up to join you all on the lawn. He rolls his eyes in a remarkable impression of his mother when she’s scolding all five of you. “We’ve gotta go to class.”

“Ace started it!” you repeat.

“Whatever, c’mon.” Jack hauls both you and Ace up by your forearms while you both giggle. He shakes his head, marching you both into the schoolhouse with Epel and Deuce hot on your tails.

"Ah, there you are! I was wondering what was taking you all so long. Take your seats! We have Professor Trein visiting from the city today for our lesson."

Ace groans as he flops into his seat. You lean over and smack his shoulder. Deuce takes his own seat beside you, trying his best to look enthused.

Professor Trein works in the capitol as a history professor for the university. While he's nice enough (and his familiar Lucius is cute and fluffy), every time he comes to give a lesson at your schoolhouse is somehow more boring than the last. You sink down in your seat, ready to daydream until class lets out. When Professor Trein takes Crowley’s place in front of the blackboard, you feel a tap on your shoulder. Without looking at him, you take the slip of paper Ace passes.

‘my mom wants u to come to a party tonite’

Aside from a time scribbled beneath the words, there’s no other information. Great. History lessons with Professor Trein followed by a party where you’ll be stuck at the kids’ table. Again. At least you have a few hours to hang out with your new friend after school.

—

After class, Epel hands out little brown sacks full of apples to everyone. “Ma ‘n Pa said that they’re ‘not fit to sell’ or somethin’, and Meemaw said I should give ‘em to all of you.” You sling your sack over your shoulder, say your “see you later!”s to your friends, and march off to the park.

Beneath your tree, Hornton is waiting. You sprint towards him, grinning, and he looks up at you with wide eyes before returning the smile. He has his book in his lap, open to a different page than he left on.

“Hi,” you say shyly, hugging your sack of apples to your chest. “Were you waiting long?”

“Not really. I mean, maybe? Dunno, I didn’t really notice.”

You sit next to him and set the apples between your splayed legs. Fishing a plump red one out, you wipe it on your blouse and offer it to him. “Here!”

“Why do you have apples?” He eyes it curiously, hand hovering over it.

“My friend’s family has an orchard so he gave us all some after class.” You wave the apple around. “Take it! They’re good!”

Hornton takes the apple. He inspects it in the sunlight for a moment, then takes a bite. His eyes light up as he sinks his teeth into the apple’s hard skin, and he demolishes the fruit in less than a minute. Licking the juice off of his lips and fangs, he mumbles a messy thanks. You just smile and bop your temple against his. As you pull your novel out of your bookbag, you take another apple from the sack and shine it on your trousers. Out of the corner of your eye, you spy Hornton staring longingly at the sack.

“You can take another if you want,” you say.

He jumps, green eyes going comically wide. Cheeks flushed a bright ruby-red, he snatches another apple from the sack and rubs it clumsily on his very expensive robes.

“Do you like apples?”

“I do now,” he replies. He’s visibly struggling to keep his attention both on you and the book in his lap.

Curious, you lean over his shoulder and try to make sense of the foreign words in his book. Your brow scrunches up. “What’re you reading?”

His body goes tense the moment you touch him, but he doesn’t flinch away. When you glance up at his face, his expression is more severe and excited than you’ve seen yet. “It’s about arky… archee… uh, it’s about buildings and art! And this is the chapter about gargoyles!” He jabs an excited claw against an illustration of a beastly statue whose jaw hangs open. Water pours down its chin. The page (and the ones preceding and succeeding it) is clearly more worn than the rest of the book. “We have a bunch at the — I mean, at home — and Grandmother saw that I really liked them so she gave me this book!”

“What’s a gargoyle?”

He looks at you like you just confessed to murder. Shaking his head, he flips back a few pages. “They’re ‘ornamental stone carvings of animals or people that project from the side of a building and serve as the spout of a gutter.’ You’ve seen one before, right?”

“No.” You lean in closer to inspect another illustration. “They’re weird.” He stares at you, aghast. You roll your eyes. “Cool weird. We don’t have these out here.”

"Oh… that's a shame. Maybe one day you could come see the ones in my home."

You peer up at him. "Maybe. I gotta ask Mister Crowley."

"Who's that?"

"I live with him. He's weird."

"Cool weird?"

"Weird weird." You nudge him with your shoulder. "Do you live with your grandma?"

"Yeah."

"So it's you and her and your parents?"

Hornton goes completely quiet. He fingers the gilded edge of the page. Softly, he mumbles, "They aren't here anymore."

"Oh. Mine too. That's why I'm with Mister Crowley."

“... Do you know what happened to them?”

You shrug and pluck another apple out of the sack. As you wipe it on your trousers, you reply, “Nah. I dunno if Mister Crowley knows, either. He says he found me in a box left outside the school. There was a note, but it only said my name.”

“Oh.” Hornton looks away. “That’s sad.”

“I guess.” You shrug again. “If they didn’t want me, I don’t want them neither.”

He stares at you, wide-eyed. All he manages is another quiet, “Oh.”

Scowling, you take a bite out of your apple. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. Let’s just read.”

“Okay. I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He seems to wilt at your curt statement. You add, “Really, it’s fine. Please, I wanna get through another chapter before I have to go.”

“You’re going somewhere?”

“Yeah, some party at my friend’s house. It’s not even for him, so I dunno why I’m invited, but I think his mom invited everyone in town.” Another bite. You look over the words on the page, not really processing them. “So I gotta go in a couple hours.”

“That must be nice,” Hornton sighs. “Getting invited to parties all the time.”

“What? No, it’s boring. It’s just boring grownup stuff most of the time. It’s only fun when it’s a birthday party, and there’s only four other kids in town so those never happen.” You emphasize this with a long groan.

“Really?” He thinks on this for a moment. “I guess it’s like the parties Grandmother throws.”

“What kinda parties?”

“Uh, they’re… big and fancy, but there aren’t any kids at all. And I can’t go dance or talk to people. And… um… it’s a lot. I don’t like them that much.”

You watch him as his voice shrinks and his head droops. Gently, you bop your temple against his. He perks up a little. With a small smile, you say, “Maybe I can invite you to my birthday party this year. It’d be fun!”

For a moment, you’d swear his eyes water. He beams at you, reaching out to grasp your hand. “I’d like that.”

—

The party at Ace's house is full of tipsy adults while you and your friends drink your juice in a corner. Well, everyone except Ace. His mother parades him around to talk to the other adults who apparently know him. None of you envy him — he looks miserable.

It turns out that the party is for Ace's brother. He emerges from a side room with his girlfriend on his arm and introduces her as his fiancée. When Deuce gives you a questioning look, you lean over and tell him that that means they're going to get married. The adults cheer and sing and dance for hours longer; the celebration only pauses for bedtime (which is fine with you, the party was boring anyways).

The next morning, Crowley wobbles out of his room with most of his weight held up by his cane. He has a faint green tinge to his face, but that doesn't stop him from walking with you to the schoolhouse. This is all, of course, just to announce that class is canceled for the day. You gather with your friends and, after a brief argument, decide to play in the park together.

That's how you find yourself nearly tripping over a familiar figure sitting beneath the oak tree. Hornton looks up from his book, gasps, and reaches out to help steady you. You wheel your arms around haphazardly for a moment before you breathe out a sigh of relief. Then, you take in Hornton's face and gasp.

"Oh! You're here today!"

Before you can give a proper greeting, Ace hollers your name. Both you and Hornton turn to look at the four boys coming to join you. Ace stops, bare toes curling in the grass. He eyes Hornton warily, the sloppy heart painted around his left eye scrunching up. "Who're you?"

"Uh…"

"He's Hornton and he's my friend," you say for him.

"'Hornton?'" Epel repeats. He snorts. "That's a stupid name."

"It isn't my real name," mumbles Hornton.

"Your name is stupid, Epel," you snap. You cross your arms and stick out your tongue. He returns the gesture.

"You guys are children," says Jack. Epel appears comically devastated at the deadpan insult. You huff softly.

Deuce snorts. "You're the youngest!"

"By a month!"

"Your friends are loud," Hornton whispers. You nod. He picks at the page he's on, a tiny film of gold foil flaking onto his black claw. "Should I go?"

"No!" Your friends turn to stare at you. Hornton blinks slowly, pink tinting his cheeks. He smiles bashfully, shrinking a little into his robes. Ace, meanwhile, gets that certain spark in his eye that instantly makes you shoot him a glare in warning. He grins, showing off one of his missing baby teeth, but keeps his mouth otherwise shut.

"Wait, is this the kid you mentioned yesterday?" Deuce asks. He peers over at Hornton. "I thought you were kidding."

"Why would I kid about that? That'd be weird."

"'Cause you're weird," Epel mutters, and you lunge for him while he shrieks with laughter and ducks away.

"You've got pointy ears," says Jack, his own fluffy white ears swiveling towards Hornton before he turns to look at you, "kinda like your dad."

Ew. From your spot on the grass wrestling with Epel, you sit up. "Mister Crowley is not my dad."

"But you live with him?"

"So?"

"I live with my Meemaw," Epel adds. "She's not my mom."

"See?"

Hornton observes your conversation. He tilts his head and hums thoughtfully. "I live with my grandmother, that doesn't make her my mother."

"You talk funny."

"Epel!"

"What? It's true! He talks all fancy like Professor Trein!"

"Fancy?"

"Fancy!"

You roll your eyes and shove Epel. Ignoring his indignant squawk, you scurry over to sit beside Hornton. "Wanna hang out with us?"

He stares at you, mouth agape. Again, he smiles shyly. "You're really inviting me?"

"Duh," Ace drawls. "Why else would they ask?"

Hornton tucks his book into his robe. A tiny green light sparks at his fingertips for a moment as he does so. Then, he stands up. He holds his curled fists close to his chest, guarding. Ignoring his nerves, you grab his hands and use him as leverage to stand, too.

"Whaddya wanna play? Or talk about?"

"Uh… I don't know?"

"Do you guys think you'll ever get married?" Deuce blurts out. All 5 of you turn to stare at him. He goes pale before blushing furiously. "Wait, no, I mean —! Since Ace's brother's gonna get married I was thinking about it!"

You hum. "I'unno. Maybe? Mister Crowley cried last night when I asked him if I'd ever get married."

"Ew."

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna get married," Jack asserts. His tail swishes with excitement. "My mom and dad said that I'll know when I found 'the one.'"

"What does that mean?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. But they've been together for forever."

"True. Ace?"

He makes an exaggerated gagging sound. Complete with gestures. "No way! My brother and his fiancée are so gross with each other all the time! It's weird."

"It's gross 'cause he's your brother, dummy."

"And?"

"My mom's not married," Deuce says, plucking at the grass. "She says my dad was a… uh… a 'good-for-nothing scumbag'. She gets all sad when she talks about him, so I dunno about getting married."

"My Grandmother told me that I have to get married one day." Hornton shrugs. "But I don't really think about it."

"So you've never thought about your wedding?" you ask.

Ace shoves you. "You're the only one who has! You're always reading those kissing books."

"So?"

"Kissing books?" Hornton repeats.

"They're called romance and they're good!"

"Real life is grosser," says Ace. You shove him. "Hey!"

"What if we did our own wedding?" Jack interjects. Everyone pauses to look at him. "It can be like training. For when Ace's brother has his, I mean."

"Yeah but who would be who?" Deuce glances over at you, then Hornton. "Why don't you guys play the people getting married?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, yeah! Me 'n Ace 'n Jack 'n Deuce will put up the… the thing!"

"Thing?"

"A chuppah! We gotta make a chuppah!"

"We gotta get some big sticks!"

"I think I saw some branches over on the other side of the tree."

"Nice, Jack! Hey, you 'n Hornton should make some rings! We'll be right back!" Deuce scurries off with the other boys, leaving you and Hornton standing in a stunned silence.

“What?”

“I guess we’re playing wedding?” You shrug and start looking for wildflowers. Hornton watches you with wide eyes. You glance over at him. “C’mon! Help me make the rings!”

He crouches down next to you. Giving you a helpless look, he holds his hands to his chest in hesitation. “Um… how do we do that?”

“We’ll get some flowers and tie the stems! Like making flower crowns! Oh oh oh! We should make flower crowns, too!”

“Oh. I’ve never made a flower crown before. Can you show me?”

“Yeah!” You kneel next to him with a fistful of brightly-colored wildflowers. Hornton watches in rapt attention as you slowly weave their stems together, forming a ring just big enough to fit you as a bracelet. He claps when you present it. Then, without a word, you reach up and drop it onto one of his horns. Hornton sits in stunned silence for a moment before he blushes and mumbles a quiet thanks. He takes the leftover flowers and carefully weaves a crown for you, this one large enough to actually be a crown. His brow furrows as he finishes the crown and then places it on your head. Giggling, you touch the petals. “Thank you, honey!” “H-Honey?”

“Yeah! That’s what the ladies in my romance books call their gentlemen! If we’re getting married I should call you that!”

“Oh!” He smiles, shoulders hunched, then grabs one of the few remaining flowers. “Here, uh, honey. I’ll make your ring.” He winds the stem around your left ring finger, sticking his tongue out in deep concentration. Once he’s knotted the stem, he uses a claw to snip off the excess. Without your prompting, he holds out his own left hand for you to do the same.

“We match!” you whisper-shout, holding your hand next to his.

“Mhm!” His tail thump thump thumps behind him. “Wait, let me try something…” Hornton leans over and touches your flower crown and ring. A bright green light envelops the both of you, and you gasp and squeeze your eyes shut. Once it fades, you crack open one eye. The flowers seem unchanged.

“What’d you do?”

“I tried a spell my Grandmother taught me. It’s s’posed to keep plants from withering!” He twists the flower ring on his finger. “I mean, I don’t know if I did it right, but if I did then we’ll always have these!”

“I like that.” You take off your own ring and cradle it in your palm. “I like it.”

A holler from Epel breaks your focus, and you turn to look at the oak. Beneath it, the boys have stuck four massive branches in the ground. Now, they’re arguing over who will give up their jacket to use as a canopy. Beside you, Hornton sighs and takes off his cloak. With a flick of his wrist, it floats up to rest atop the branches and shade the ground beneath it. The boys shut up, seeing the matter settled.

“Okay, I think we gotta start with… uh…” Deuce frowns and scrunches up his nose. After a long moment of deliberation, he looks at the rest of you helplessly.

“You gotta give each other your rings!” Ace shouts.

You tilt your head. “But we already did that while you were getting the sticks.”

“Then give them back and do it again!”

“Why?”

“‘Cause you gotta!”

You roll your eyes but slide the flower ring off your finger. Hornton does the same, cradling his delicately in his palm. You drop yours in his hand and take his. Pinching the stem between your fingers, you glance over at Ace. “Aren’t you supposed to say something?”

“I’m not the one who’s… uh…” His nose scrunches up as he thinks for a moment. “Mom called them an o-fish-ant?”

“You’re not a fish,” Deuce supplies helpfully.

“It’s ‘officiant’, stupid,” you interject. “Did you guys even pick someone for that?”

“I’ll do it,” says Jack, “‘cause if I don’t, this’ll never be done. And then I’ll miss lunch and my mom will yell at me.”

“You’re taking this way too seriously.” Ace folds his arms behind his head. “We’re just playing!”

“A wedding’s a wedding.”

“Whatever, do your fish thing!” “It’s ‘officiant’!”

Jack clears his throat. You and Hornton turn to give him your rapt attention. His nose scrunches up and one fluffy ear flicks at the air a few times before he begins speaking. “Uh, we’re gonna… start with you giving each other your rings.” He pauses, pursing his lips. “... Go on. Do it.”

You raise your left hand dutifully, and Hornton slides the flower ring onto your finger. You do the same for him. Both he and Jack look so serious about this that it’s hard not to giggle. “Okay, now what?”

“Um…”

“Oh! I remember one’a my cousins got married and she walked ‘round her husband a bunch!”

“That sounds weird.”

“It was! But she did it!”

“How many times did she do it?”

“I dunno.”

“Wouldn’t you get dizzy?” Deuce mumbles.

“I mean, she seemed fine.”

You glance at Epel, shrug, then look back at Hornton. “Wanna do it?” He nods eagerly. Again, you try not to giggle. Hornton beams. “Okay, I’ll go first! Epel, how many times should I do it?”

“Uh… I dunno, until you start getting dizzy?”

“Bet I can do more than you,” you whisper to Hornton. He stares at you, wide-eyed, then grins so sharply you barely recognize him.

“Bet you’re wrong.”

You both laugh. Taking a deep breath, you start to walk around and around and around Hornton. He spins with you, wobbling. Meanwhile, your friends count every lap. One, two, three, four — you get to seven, and decide to tap out. Hornton puffs out his chest and, a little green in the face, starts circling you, instead. He also makes it to seven.

“Aw,” you mutter. “It’s a tie.”

“I totally could’ve beat you if I went first.” You stick your tongue out at Hornton. He giggles to himself. Then, he turns to Jack. “So, uh, what next?”

“Umm…” Jack’s face screws up in contemplation. His ears swivel back and forth for a moment, before he hesitantly replies, “Uh… you’re married now?”

“I don’t think that’s it,” you say.

“Aren’t we s’posed to… kiss?”

You stare at Hornton, who appears just as flustered as you now feel. “I think so.”

“Wait!” Ace reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a small pinecone. He sets it on the ground between you and Hornton. “You’re supposed’ta crush it first!”

“Isn’t it supposed to be glass?” Jack asks, and Ace shoves him. “Hey!”

“Do you wanna go get glass to step on?”

“... No.”

“‘Kay, then pinecone it is!” He gestures enthusiastically at the pinecone. “Crush it! Go! Go! Go!”

You squeeze Hornton’s hand, giggling, and in unison you both lift a foot and crush the pinecone under your feet. It gives a loud, crackling crunch, and its little seed pockets burst and go flying. Your friends hoot and holler in celebration.

“‘Kay, now you need to kiss!” Ace declares.

Hornton turns beet red. “Kiss?”

“Like, for real?” you squeak.

“Uh, yeah, otherwise it’s not a wedding.”

You fidget with your ring, face hot. Hornton stares at you with wide, uncertain eyes. All the while, your friends (well, everyone but Jack) chant, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

You’re the one to take the initiative. Squeezing your eyes shut, you lean in and give Hornton a brief, chaste kiss. It lasts only for a second, and from his startled squeak, it’s almost as if he expected that nothing would ever happen. Behind you, Epel and Ace gag dramatically.

“Ewww, you actually did it!” Epel shakes you by the shoulders and cackles through his words. “Gross!”

“You wanted us to kiss!” you protest. Before you can say more, he lifts you on his shoulders. Your words become a shrill squeal, and you can see Ace and Deuce struggling to lift Hornton, as well. “EPEL! PUT ME DOWN!”

“You’re married!” he crows. “You kissed someone!”

For his part, Hornton buries his face in his hands while Ace and Deuce finally manage to lift him up together.

“Uh… mazel tov,” Jack mumbles.

“We’re not actually married!” Even as you say this, you can’t help your rosy cheeks, nor the way your heart races as you meet Hornton’s electric gaze. He smiles bashfully as he grips Ace and Deuce’s shoulders for balance.

Hours later, after you and Hornton and your friends have spent the rest of the day dancing together and chatting and playing tag, you and Hornton are the only ones left at the park. Everyone else went home as the sun began to set. You run your fingers over your ring’s petals, fascinated by their softness.

“Did you have fun?” you ask, voice small. “I know my friends can be a lot…”

“Yeah.” A faint flush brings life to Hornton’s pale face. He smiles, and the sun casts him in gold. “I haven’t had this much fun in forever. Thank you.” For a moment, he hesitates, then he reaches to grab your hand. “Um… will you be here tomorrow?”

You nod, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Mhm! Do you… wanna read together, maybe?”

It’s as if the sun is rising again when he beams. He gives your hand a squeeze. “I’d like that.”

Though you’re loath to leave, you force yourself to give Hornton a squeeze in return before you pull back. “I gotta go before Mister Crowley starts worrying. Bye, Hornton.”

“Goodbye.”

—

When you go home, you can’t stop yourself from spinning the flower ring on your finger. Crowley asks you what you’re giggling about over dinner, and all you do is grin and show him the ring and crown. He rolls his eyes, muttering about children and their whimsies (whatever that means), and shoos you off to bed once you’ve finished and cleaned up. Before you crawl under the covers, you take off the flowers and place both pieces delicately on your nightstand.

The next day, once school is over, you run to your oak tree. You’re wearing your ring again, unable to stop looking at it and its perfectly-maintained petals. With an excited shout of “HORNTON!” you swing around to the other side of the tree.

And it’s empty.

Your heart drops.

‘Maybe he’s doing something with his grandma?’

The next day, you approach your tree again, less enthused and more nervous. He’s not there.

‘I thought we were gonna play together again.’

Day after day, you check your tree. Day after day, you’re greeted with no sign of the boy you’d started to befriend. Spring turns into summer. Ace’s brother gets married, and all you can think about during the ceremony is a scaly black tail thump thump thumping against the ground. When the leaves of your oak tree begin to turn gold and orange and red, you stop checking.

The ring and the flower crown remain just as pristine as they were the day they were made. You leave the crown on your dresser and wear the ring to class every day.

Years pass. You grow up. Your friends start taking extra lessons after classes a few times a week to train their magic. A new teacher from the city starts to visit, a young man named Divus Crewel. He teaches chemistry and alchemy, and you take to it like a fish to water. The private lessons you get from him almost help to soothe the beast of envy that grows in your chest every time you leave your friends to their magic classes. By the time you turn 13, the ring no longer fits. You keep it and the crown in a little wooden box tucked lovingly beneath your bed. Sometimes, you take them out and marvel at how little they’ve changed. Your friends, however, change just as rapidly as you do. Their magical prowess grows at a startling rate. You content yourself with cheering from the sidelines and working on your alchemical skills. Ace and Deuce try to bind Grim to you as a familiar first when you’re 16 (It doesn’t work, but your hair briefly catches fire). They next try when you’re 18 (It almost works. Crowley says it may have to do with your utter lack of any magic. You try not to feel resentful.). At last, on your 19th birthday, they succeed. It’s quite possibly the best gift you’ve ever gotten; Grim’s life is prolonged for as long as he’s bound to you.

By 20, you and your friends (by some miracle) all get accepted to the university in the city, the same one that Professors Trein and Crewel teach at. You start working under Crewel as a student alchemist (He says you’re one of his most promising students, especially because you have no magic to use as a shortcut. For once, you don’t wilt at the mention of magic.). You see your first real gargoyle on one of the older campus buildings. You take a photo, your mind conjuring up a fanged grin and excited electric green eyes. ‘Does Hornton still like gargoyles?’ you wonder as you save the photo. Years later, at your graduation ceremony, you take another photo of the gargoyle. Now, it’s decorated with a few fabric-flower leis that your fellow graduates managed to get over its head. ‘Look, Hornton, the gargoyle is celebrating, too!’

You return to your hometown after receiving your degree. Crowley graciously allows you to stay at home (although you suspect he might just like having another hand to help around the house) while you continue your work as an alchemist. Crewel has hired you full-time as a lab assistant. Every day you take the train into the city for work. Sometimes, when you get all caught up in your head and the novelty of watching the world pass by through the window, you find yourself reaching for your left ring finger to twist a ring that isn’t there.

‘It’s been almost twenty years,’ you chastise yourself, ‘why are you still thinking about that boy?’

Despite your age, your experience in romance is limited to the cheesy romance novels and cheap bodice-rippers that populate your bookshelf, interspersed between your textbooks and notebooks. For some reason, you could never bring yourself to try dating. Every time the thought comes to you, you feel the phantom sensation of a soft stem wrapped around your finger. Your friends tease you about it. Ace calls you a dweeb. Epel says you’re acting foolish over a stupid game you played as children. Deuce laughs and does a pantomime of your fake wedding. Jack just shakes his head knowingly. He’s the most understanding about it — wolves mate for life, and he gets why you would take a play-wedding to heart. That doesn’t stop him from getting a jab or two in on occasion, though.Some days, you pull the box out from under your bed and look at the flowers. As always, they look just as perfect as the day they were picked. Now that you’re older, you’ve learned more about magic. The spell required to make and maintain such perfect preservation requires both skill and a wellspring of magic. The amount of magic alone would send most experienced mages into overblot. This only stokes your curiosity. How did Hornton, a child hardly older than you, cast such a spell with ease? Who was he? It’s a question that haunts you. It’s a question you know you’ll never get an answer to.

[written-beyond-the-grave]

Getting with Mitch Rapp HC's

After an intense who knows how long a bitch finally cracked and decided to write about Mitch Rapp since he’s a sweetie who doesn’t get talked about enough… like I been under the tag and I know writing takes so much time and effort so I decided to step tf in and give it a turn… bare with me

We all know after the death of Katrina this man went completely off grid, quit college, didn’t speak to his brother, went all in on avenging her on his own….. To take down a whole cell and the mastermind… yeah, white boy won’t shoot up a school, but will become an almost martyr (he’s what the govt would deadass hire, and keep on rotation)

ANYWAYS

I dead do feel like Mitch would we cautious, wary, and sus as hell with a civilian s/o

Let’s unpack: this man after Katrina probably wasn’t seeing anyone after that being emotionally scarred and whatnot (maybe he had to fuck someone or a few for the sake of a mission or kiss them, but it was just business). So the likelihood of this man entertaining someone else like with intention and not just some one fuck wonder is gonna be crazy ngl. This man has to look over his shoulder and his trust issues got trust issues, like his energy on a regular basis doesn’t scream “stay away”

But anyway, to catch his attention I feel like would be by constantly meeting him in mundane situations. I’m not doing the whole “you’re partners” trope, my black ass isn’t in this luv

Laundry room in the apartment and y’all get clothes mixed in on accident and you end up with his shirt or something— or the age old tale of him getting your underwear…. Or y’all shifting through the mixed laundry picking out what’s yours lmfaoooo

Mail getting dropped off in the wrong box or something

Bumping into each other at the grocery store and Mitch has the bare necessities in his basket and yours is like girl dinner coded

And the thing is, he’s not necessarily rude in interactions (when him throwing knives and punching his punching bag got loud and the person who owned the building asked Mitch to keep it down, and Mitch was respectful and said sure…. He’s not an asshole) but he might be on edge and try to speed things up

I feel like what might get the ball rolling might be a few different things: him seeing someone following you home that he KNOWS doesn’t live in his building (ik this man recognized everyone who lives in that bitch), being catcalled aggressively while walking home, seeing you stay in your car because a sus ass person is waiting for you to get out your car so he comes up to your window to help you out, or some comment about a terrorist attack “shoutout to terrorists, bc the US when to Afghanistan saw all this oil and snatched their chain. “We” (bc ain’t no WE here) snatch their chain and they retaliate, then we yell “it’s the Muslims” to spark a debate

Ngl he’s gonna have to let you cook with that one bc I feel like the “shoutout to terrosits” would’ve had that man spiraling and attacking you immediately. IK that man would spazz on the spot…. So let’s keep it to the safer options hm?

Soooooo after that it would spark a bit of conversation and solidify the familiarity bc here is your neighbor that you tend to see sparklingly helping you out

And being the person I am, I feel like as a thank you you’d leave him some brownies, cookies, or maybe a whole ass lasagna with instructions on how to best reheat at his doorstep being too shy to outright do it

Mans is confused but I feel like he’d take it to be nice, leave it in the fridge for like 2 days until he’s back late from a meeting and needs something in him and the only in that barren ass fridge is the lasagna…. He indulges and once he finds it’s good as hell he bodies half of it

He probably has it for lunch/dinner next day too. And then like washes it and knocks on your door to like give it back. He tells you thanks and you didn’t need to, but you say otherwise. And at this point with his stubborn ass if you’d invite over for dinner he’d respectfully decline so now there needs to be an event that puts him in your place of residence

Cue you taking a tumble on iced pavement

Mwah, inconvenience 😘

And now Mitch being at the right place wrong time, has to help you up and probably check for a concussion since that fall was nasty. He helped you into the elevator then into your place to help check your head and then like how you’re functioning bc goddamn. Once he figures out your fine, he’ll tell you to get a professional opinion and he makes you an nice ice pack and gives advice for how to take care of it

He thinks he’s good to leave you until he sees you struggling to get your bearings. He hates that he does this, but asks if you need any help since your mind is scrambled. Maybe he gets your some Advil, but then realizes you can’t take it on an empty stomach (he’s done it too many damn times himself) and so he looks into your fridge for something to heat up in the microwave to give you before you take the pill 

This is where the relationship starts and y’all make small talk, and how this is the longest you ever seen this man. He smirks, and snarks back. Once he gives you the food and sees you take the pill he’s off the clock and bids you a goodnight 

Until you see him gain tomorrow since he probably starts to check in on you, not like he’s been getting emotionally fed by having an associate outside of work that isn’t trying to kill him or isn’t Stan or Irene. Just a normie…. But he be lying about his feelings 

Next interaction is him coming back from a semi rough work week, and you catch him before he goes in and since he looks over it. Maybe a home cooked meal could help? You invite him over, no strings attached and go ok your way to get the braised short ribs out the oven for the mashed potatoes. You don’t tell him what’s for dinner tho

Thinking nothing will result of this, you get a knock at your door 30 minutes later with him and his hair still slightly damp. And maybe like a case in his beer bc he was told to never show up empty handed (so cute). Then bam! Y’all have some nice conversation, Mitch making sure to keep the attention off him and his job and do some information digging about you. School you went to, parents, hobbies, etc

He’s also scarfing down the ribs and such, you’re probably going to send him with food home tbh. He looks like he’ll need it 

After that it’s really wraps, like it destined for y’all to be real friends! Once he gets sent home with the plastic tupper (we don’t give guests the glass in case we don’t get shit back) we all know he’ll be back again

Then starts the tradition of Mitch eating at your place for like once a week that later gets bumped up to like 3 times a week. At some point your forgetting ingredients and maybe text Mitch about it, funny thing is he’s at the liquor store getting alcohol you might like since beer isn’t always going to cut it. He texted back what you need, and when he arrives he hands you what you need. This man stopped next door to the Shop Rite to get you the stuff…. Eventually I feel like he just buys your groceries since he eat EATS with all the work he puts in 

Friendship established

Y’all been shooting the shit for a while until there’s an emotional shift…. Lets say he’s having an episode of anger and just shuts down. On top the roof brooding and shit, it’s Katrina in another nightmare, him walk my himself with a panic attack, Stan up his ass, he just cannot right now. You take an elevator up there to see what’s up. You ask him what’s up, what’s wrong but he just ignores you. And by this point you know he can be a tight lipped lil shit…. But it doesn’t stop you from being there. So you do what you know best about which is just being there

So y’all sit in silence. And maybe you start to ramble to fill the silence, talking about the way your parents did a thing about colors when you were super and didn’t feel like talking. They said numbers “1 was green meaning yes, 2 was red so no to whatever they asked, 3 was yellow so a I’m not sure”. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Silence 

“Are you ok to be by yourself?”

Him staring straight ahead

“Do you want me to go?”

A painful hard silence

You respect his wishes and get ready to leave him until you heard a soft “2”, and the. Sit your ass down.

“Ok, so you want silence?”

“…..3”

“Ok, I’ll just sit here and watch the time…. We can get ice cream after….” You were doing your best dammit

Mitch felt a fond feeling some up over him, but didn’t say anything. You guys were up there until it got too damn late and cold. You tell him it’s time to go, and that when he looks at you like LOOKS and it’s just different…. You know he doesn’t want to go, and you understand but you can’t let self sabotage happen

“I get it, life is lifing and shit sucks but even  when you’re not ready for the day, it can’t always be night” 

This man knows you quoted Kanye

He gives you another long look, and you get up and offer your hand to help him up. He stared up at it… then grabs it to get up and y’all get inside. You two end up eating ice cream sandwiches 

Now the seed is planted for feelings to grow… MWAHAHAHAHAAAAA

After that y’all hangout regularly when he’s home, you give him normalcy in his life which he appreciates 

He will die on a hill before he admits or even acknowledges the feelings he has for you, lets be real he probably feels like he’s cheating on Katrina and that he’s not here to make friends since he’s a whole ass assassin and whatever. That’s fine, but when he’s wondering what you’re up to, or what’s for dinner, or reminiscing on a joke you made he feels warm and fuzzy and sometimes not as on edge as he usually is on missions

Stan noticed

I don’t think things will turn until he gets home one day at an odd hour of the night like 3am type shit and is bruised over his face. He just wants to lay in bed after taking a nice shower, but nah there’s you in the hall coming back from the club and having fun. You might be tipsy and say hi to Mitch but all that leaves your system once you see his face.  *giggles like a school girl kicking her feet* 

You’re on him without thinking asking what happened, he’s trying to keep it together and not blow up on you since you’re friends but he really wants to go inside. But you let him and follow him in asking for a first aid kit that he has. And you end up cleaning off his face after he showers, during that time you go to your place and get a first aid kit that is more advanced than his (that spray on band aid shit). Now it's you disinfecting wounds and putting neosporin on them and sealing it. During this time you’re complaining about wtf this man did while he was away, completely ignoring the fact that he’s in a towel. You’re giving him an earful and Mitch is rolling his eyes but not moving much bc when was the last time someone touched him so gently?

He’s probably taking in your clubbing attire while you do this, not in a weird way but like looking at the glitter, the new hair style, etc and putting it to memory 

“What the fuck were you doing? Jesus you look like shit”

Cue eye roll and for that you poke a nasty bruise that has his muscles flexing, he grabs your wrist for that

You give him a glare and don’t back down…. He answers with “The government” after that you don’t ask questions. The FBI agent assigned to your phone is probably already on your ass so you don’t need more enemies 

You fix him up, tell him to chill out, and then go to leave, but not right before him saying “thank you” 

We love a polite man who is in denial about having feelings, and you not acting in them bc Mitch is like a blank slate to read when he really wants to be

So like the way y’all talk about feelings and decide to get together and shit is not my forte, and breaking down his walls to talk about Katrina and the nature of his work to a degree that doesn’t scare you off. And his work on being emotionally available to you since he now cares for you more than he can admit

But we KNOW this man is a complete softie

Once he loves he LOVES, no question about it. And once you gain that, you have him for life

Fuck even if he’s been away for an assignment for months at a time, he’d probably head back to your apartment rather than his…. He knows where home is 

He might not be the type to declare his love for you verbally all the time, but he shows it through actions like remembering the brand of stuff you like. Bringing you dessert or picking up food for you when work has been bullshit. Maybe not a gourmet meal for breakfast in bed (he can cook but like take your expectations, he can throw down for breakfast tho and make good ass sandwiches), but he will give you the rest of the milk for the cereal. Do the dishes, trash duty, put furniture together, wait for you outside till you get off work and drive you home. And even tidy around if he sees you don’t have the time

And when things get more serious put you as an authorized user on his card without telling you. You’ll just find that shit in your Apple Wallet

He’d keep the loving touches at home but he’s a cuddle bug, loyal to a fault, and loves to spend time at home with you. Home dates are a must, but he does love a good date night to see you dressed up

He would grow to love the domestic nature of your relationship and that’s what this man needs besides a copious amount of therapy

You’d also find out that he’s a nerd, but like undercover. I feel like he’d be a Nightwing or Red Hood fan from DC, and other comics from his childhood shows as well

He’s protective, smart, probably would talk to you about getting an air tag or some government tracking thing in case of emergencies. Then maybe take you on a gun date to teach you some self defense which probably goes wrong because you’re a CIVILIAN and that punch came too fast at you and you screamed and ducked while covering your eyes. He feels bad now, but now knows to take it to baby steps 

Your assassin boyfriend has your best interest at heart, promise 

A/N: I do be writing for black readers iykyk, but here is just very general.... Let me get to the tomfoolery next time babes (like Mitch helping you take down the braids)

[siilvan]

proximate

characters: rodolfo “rudy” parra

summary: an undercover operation goes awry, leaving you and rudy in a tight spot – literally.

prompts: 3. "first one to make a noise loses" & 19. "the choice is yours"

genre: general, fluff, fem!reader (no desc.)

warnings: not proofread (i'll do it later </3), cursing, brief mentions of canon-typical violence, classic stuck-in-a-closet situation 😏, like two spanish words since i'm still a beginner lol

word count: 1.9k

note: RAHHHHHH RUDY MY LOVE‼️‼️🗣️ once again, shoutout to @glitterypirateduck for curating this event!!

also wrote most of this while fighting off sleep so if it's bad, i'm sorry, i have another rudy fic on my WIP list <3

things can't get much worse than this, right?

right?

"a simple mission," he said. "just a quick in-and-out." he said.

you swear, you're going to to kick alejandro with the heels that you're wearing if you come out of this alive.

as you go to round a corner, a few voices make you stop dead in your tracks and tuck yourself back against the wall. it's a small group, no more than four men, and you hold your breath as they stroll right past you without even sparing a glance in your direction.

if there's anything to be thankful for, it's the lack of discipline in the guards. they're all too worried about getting drunk at the party still raging elsewhere than catching the "agent" in attendance.

you let out a soft sigh as you watch them disappear down the corridor, until footsteps quickly approaching from behind make you jump and spin around, preparing to face the would-be attacker.

before you can even turn, though, a pair of gloved hands grab ahold of you, one coming up to cover your mouth as you let out a surprised yelp, and the other pressing you into the wall again. it's an instinct when you fight back, lifting your foot and stomping on theirs, praying that the heel of your shoe is enough to force them to loosen their grip and give you a chance to escape.

the grunt that leaves them – him, you realize – sounds all-too familiar. you hesitate, which gives the man enough time to yank his foot back and lean closer, mumbling something into your ear despite the pain lacing his every word.

"it's me—!" he says through a pained groan. the dots finally connect in your head and you crane your neck to look at him over your shoulder.

the man stares at you through a black balaclava, but his eyes are unmistakable. it's rudy.

"what are you doing here?" you ask, voice slightly muffled against his palm. rudy pulls his hand away and steps back, giving you space to face him properly. you mutter a quick apology upon seeing him stumble a bit, obviously sore from your attack, but he brushes it off with a casual wave of his hand.

"heard about the situation over comms, figured you could use some help." he shrugs as your gaze drops, dragging over the dark suit that sits snugly on his form. "we need to move quickly. the security's scattered right now, but it won't be long until they find the body." he adds, tapping your shoulder gently as he moves past you.

you follow close behind as he starts down the corridor that the group of guards came from earlier. "i'm assuming you mean the guy who's clothes you're wearing – did you not hide him well?"

rudy pauses at another intersection, holding a hand up to signal for you to stop behind him. "didn't have time to. i was more worried about you."

with the way he says the words so casually, you know that it's nothing more than work to him. helping a fellow soldier, assisting you in the field for the sake of the mission, doing his job as the second-in-command. still, you don't miss the way your heart skips a beat at the thought of rudy rushing to your aid for a different, more personal, reason.

after a mumbled "come on," he's continuing down the hallway with you right behind him, the distinct sounds of your heels clacking against the floor with each step and his leather oxfords echoing off the walls.

you nearly slam into his back when rudy suddenly stops in the middle of a hallway, opening your mouth to protest, until you hear aggravated grunts and conversation coming from further down the corridor. before you can react, though, rudy's grabbing your shoulder to guide you as he swings open a nearby door and hastily shoves you inside it.

he slips in with you and lets out a heavy breath as the door softly clicks shut behind him, leaving you in almost total darkness. you press your back to the wall and flinch when the handle of a broom brushes against your spine, making you shuffle forward a bit to get comfortable in the cramped space.

unfortunately, "comfortable" equals standing so close to rudy that you worry about him hearing the rapid beating of your nervous heart.

you're in a small room, some kind of broom closet, with one of your superiors confined and standing just inches away from you. the shadows obscuring your face end up being your saving grace— if he could see the way you're reacting to the close proximity, you'd probably die from sheer embarrassment.

"they were heading our way?" you manage to ask, whispering through the pitch blackness.

you can make out some movement in the shadows akin to a nod. "party guests aren't allowed in this area. it's safer to hide and let them pass by." rudy mutters in reply, shifting. his hand, covered by a dark leather glove, grazes your arm lightly, his touch leaving behind a faint heat that slowly spreads through the rest of your body.

he lifts his arm fully and finds something that you can barely make out: a string, hanging in the air between you two. rudy gives it a single tug and suddenly you're squinting, eyes adjusting to the dim, artificial light that fills the small space from the bulb at the center of the ceiling.

seeing him semi-clearly again is enough to make you stare, eyes greedily drinking up his disguise as he keeps his attention trained on the little bit of space at the bottom of the door. you manage to tear your gaze from him after admiring the way the balaclava clings to his focused expression, clearly outlining strong features that you know will make you melt all over again once the mask is removed.

fleeting shadows obscure the light coming in from the crack, signaling that the group from before is passing by. you remain quiet, practically holding your breath as you watch the last person's silhouette appear and disappear under the door, the group's conversation gradually fading as they continue down the hall without a single alarm raised.

rudy goes to open the door, hand firmly wrapping around the knob, but when he tries to twist it open, you're both a little shocked at it not budging. he twists it again, but to no avail.

"mierda," he whispers harshly, fidgeting with the doorknob. "it's stuck." he adds, shooting a glance in your direction.

you briefly meet his gaze and blink at him, swiftly understanding the implications.

you're alone, very lightly armed, and trapped in a stuffy closet with your second-in-command whilst surrounded by enemies. somehow, things did find a way to get worse.

the two of you fall into a tense silence as you take in the situation: rudy, testing the strength of the door once more, and you, carefully listening for anyone nearby with an ear pressed against the wall. catching a guard's attention isn't ideal, but two or three men shouldn't be too difficult to take out discreetly.

you don't hear anything for what feels like ages. no footsteps, no voices, not even a peep from your ally. with a frustrated huff, you pull back from the wall and settle for staring into the minimal space between you and rudy.

at some point, he pulls off the mask, allowing you to drag your gaze up to his uncovered face. you can see thoughts swimming behind his dark irises, plans being formed off the cuff, preparation for any and every possible outcome. if rudy's anything, it's meticulous and levelheaded, even in a bad situation. he's everything a leader should be, and you commend him for it.

the silence lingers heavy in the air, settling like an uncomfortable weight on your shoulders. you swallow down the lump in your throat awkwardly, wracking your brain for an excuse to break it.

"first one to make a noise loses," you mumble, sending him a cursory glance.

rudy chuckles softly, his shoulders drooping slightly. he meets your gaze and seems to relax, lips twitching into a small smile. "i think you lost when you said that."

you roll your eyes half-heartedly. "that doesn't count." you lean in, mirroring his smile. "you lost by responding, though."

he concedes, lifting his hands in a mock surrender. "you got me, i guess you're the winner." he says, before letting his hands fall to his sides once more.

you're left staring at each other again. the tension dissipates with those few words, however, and you let yourself bask in the warmth of his gaze. it isn't special, you know that rudy looks at all of his allies with the same warmth, but a part of you clings to the hope that his affection is reserved for you. it's silly – juvenile, even – to think of your teammate like this. what you have is just a schoolgirl crush, feelings that he'd never reciprocate—

"you look beautiful," he utters, nearly inaudible despite the lack of other sounds. "i, uh... wanted to tell you that before the mission."

did you hear that correctly?

you keen under his praise, muttering an equally soft "thank you" before mentally kicking yourself for the awkward response and opening your mouth to speak again. "you look handsome. maybe you should've been on this mission instead." you add with a laugh.

"you were handling yourself just fine." rudy says, eyes narrowing when you shake your head.

"there's a reason why you had to step in. besides—"

"—besides, why would i miss out on this view?" he asks. you stop short, jaw practically going slack. again, did you hear that correctly?

you blink at him, dumbfounded. "that's bold."

another mental kick makes you flinch at your own reply.

gloved hands wrap around your own, guiding your hands to sit between yours and rudy's bodies. he squeezes them gently, a comforting gesture that sends a shiver coursing down your spine.

"maybe this isn't the best place to say this," he starts, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin. "and, maybe that's exactly why i finally can say this, but... i've always thought that you're beautiful." he continues, voice dropping from a quiet timbre to a whisper.

"i want to be more than just teammates, if you'll have me." he quickly says, his grip tightening as his eyes search yours for an answer.

"rudy..." you trail off, before he speaks – again.

"the choice is yours. i'll respect your decision, no matter what it is."

if you didn't know better, you'd tell yourself that you're dreaming. it's not an ideal confession, not in the slightest, but there's something about it that's so very him. your chest tightens in the best way as you slide your hands from his, fingertips dancing up his arms until you cup his cheeks and bridge that final gap.

the kiss that follows is chaste and saccharine sweet. strong arms circle around your waist, drawing your body closer to his, grounding you in the moment as you threaten to slip away in the pure bliss of it.

after a few moments, you manage to pull back enough to give a verbal answer. "if we get out of here, then it's a date."

rudy chuckles, warm breath fanning against your lips. "keep your weekend open, cariño."

[swissboyhisch]

You Can't Be Serious

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk x OC

Summary: A night out celebrating brings co-workers closer than what they thought possible. With the help of a little alcohol.

Word Count: 1346

Warnings: Probably crossing work boundaries. Alcohol. Kissing. Blurry consent.

A/N: This is for @offside-the-lines Birthday Bingo!! Happy birthday to one of my favourite Aussie girlies. I know it was a couple weeks ago but Birthday month is the best thing to celebrate!

My choice of four bingo boxes were:

Drunken Confessions

Dancing

Rivals (enemies) to Lovers

Mistaken Identity

Sorry it's so late but work became a little stressful and unpredictable. But I got it in just in time! I really hope you enjoy this as it definitely had me writing tropes I haven't before. Happy birthday Rox <3

Also shoutout to @mp0625 for being my beta. Always can count on you!

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

Cora sighed happily as she finally stepped foot into her apartment, taking off her shoes and collapsing onto the couch. Even though it was a lost cause as she’d be leaving again to meet the boys at the bar, they had organized to celebrate the team clinching a playoff spot. Some country bar that the boys liked to go have a good time at when celebrating a win.

As one of the off-ice fitness trainers, she spent a lot of time with the players, creating great friendships. Cora was the only woman in the facility's fitness physio and trainers team and the youngest by far. She had done a traineeship last season, and when the head physio left, he suggested that she come onto the team as one of the other men would be taking his position. As the only woman, the boys had taken to her like family, and suddenly, she had 22 brothers. 

Notice the 22 and not 23? Well one of the team decided she was annoying and just looking for attention. Even when she was just doing her job. Matthew Tkachuk, ever since she started her traineeship, had taken a liking to pissing Cora off whenever he could. If she had to spot him while he did weights, he would do the opposite. She was younger than him and telling him what to do? Yeah right. 

But he had been injured for the last 4 weeks so the two had been spending more time than usual working together making the tension peak. Hopefully, with Matthew being back on the ice tonight, he will have simmered back down before he said something to make Cora strangle him. He was holding it against her that he wasn’t allowed to play yet. Like it was solely her fault for not clearing him to play.

Instead of wallowing and thinking about the dumbass that was Ratthew, Cora pulled herself off the couch and into her bathroom where she could shower and get ready. She was thankful that quite a few of the girlfriends, wives and family members were also coming so she wouldn’t be the only woman within the group.

Cora chose to wear a red lacy bodysuit and a black denim skirt with a leather jacket to finish off the look. A bold red lip and simple smokey look with curled hair made her look out of this world. Something the boys weren’t used to as they only ever saw the woman in athletic clothes and team gear. She traded in her worn pair of Nikes for a pair of trusty black heeled boots. She knew by the time she ordered her uber and got to the bar, some of the players and family would already be there so she grabbed her clutch that had her phone, portable charger and ID in it. The uber luckily wasn’t that long for a Friday night. 

“Cora!” Yana Tarasenko yelled as the young woman climbed out of the SUV.

“Yana,” She laughs, being brought into a hug. 

The pair intertwined their arms and made their way through the security with Vlad to where there was already a group gathering in the back corner around multiple booths and tables. Players, partners and family alike were all chatting away happily, nearly all with some kind of drink in their hand. Whether it be alcoholic or not. 

“I’m going to get a drink,” Cora yells over the music to Yana who nodded and waved her off. 

Yana found a seat with some of the other girls in a corner booth tucked behind the boys. Cora found herself at the bar, ordering her usual vodka cranberry along with two tequila shots. If she was to get through this social gathering, to be what she deemed as a normal, she needed a few drinks. Hence the shots. When she wasn’t paying attention, a body slid into the bar right beside her. 

“Your lips look lonely. Would they like to meet mine?” A familiar voice spoke up over the Carrie Underwood song that was blaring. 

Cora turned slowly, not wanting to believe what she had heard. There beside her, and apparently hitting on her, was an already tipsy Matthew Tkachuk. What the actual fuck? Those words did not just come out of his mouth.

“Tkachuk,” Cora muttered uninterested.

“So you’re a fan?”

Cora laughed, “You can’t be serious…” The curly-haired boy looked confused for a moment. Which to Cora was comical. “Matthew, we literally–” 

“Cora!” Barkov shouted when he saw her at the bar. He brought her into a hug, but she didn’t miss the shocked look that crossed Matthew’s face.

“Cora?” He gasped.

Instead of wasting time, she disappeared onto the dance floor with some of her friends dancing and sipping her cocktail. A few of the girls were cheering her on when she shook out her hair that she had put into a clip for the trip to the bar. They were all having fun, enjoying themselves. When the first few notes of Kesha’s song Take It Off played, Cora let out an excited squeal. She had practiced the line dance a heap after seeing it on TikTok. 

“Go Cora!” The girls yell as she races to the middle of the circle with quite a few other bar patrons. 

As the chorus came up, Cora stripped off the jacket she was wearing and waved it around in the air above her head. She thrived on the attention of all the girls and their partners cheering her on. Matthew had stepped up beside them and watched the girl he had come to be so frustrated with. After the song came to an end the group pulled her into the circle, showering her with compliments on the side of her she’s never shown to the team.

“You make not liking you hard when you move your hips like that,” Matthew whispers, coming up behind the dancing girl as the attention turns elsewhere. 

She could faintly smell the beer on his breath but she was probably just as drunk. “Matt…”

Cora leant back against Matthew’s body as his arms came to wrap around her waist. His fingers tickled her skin through the lace bodysuit. Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy started to play as the two swayed together in time with the beat. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Matthew yelled over the music after another hour of drinking and dancing. 

Cora giggled, “Let’s go.”

Without saying goodbye to any of the team or partners, the two slipped out of the bar and into the back of an Uber that Matthew had ordered. The two laughed and whispered on the journey back to his apartment. Cora was helped out of the car by Matthew and led up to the 11th floor of the apartment complex. 

“You frustrate me to no end,” Matthew mumbles against Cora’s lips as he pushes her to the now-closed door. 

Cora frowns at the words, “What? Why?”

“You held me off the ice even when I was all good to play.”

That made Cora step away. Even though the two were definitely tipsy, probably drunk if you look at the true definition, it hurt to hear that. “I can promise you it was for the best.”

“But I was good to play…”

“We knew we’d make the playoffs, why risk you getting injured and missing the playoffs? Why risk our best player?” 

Those words coming out of Cora’s mouth made Matthew’s thoughts flip. He had only thought of himself that Matthew hadn’t considered the team and the future of the season of he had made his injury worse. 

The silence was worrying to Cora. What was running through his head? “Matthew?”

The curly-haired boy pulled her close again and pressed his lips to hers. It was addicting… For both parties. The two stripped off clothes, leaving a trail to his bedroom.

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you,” Cora slurs as they fall onto the bed together. 

Matt grins, “I know I’m in love with you.”

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