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yeyinde · 2 years

Note

Hello :) English isn't my first language , so please correct me if anything is wrong . First of all you're writing is ABSOLUTELY AMAZING ! ! ! I don't know if you're taking requests but if you do can you please write an RZ|Michael Myers x shy reader , in which Michael comes home after a kill and finds his S/O showering and can it be smut ? But , if you don't take requests right know and you don't want to write about Michael , that's totally fine . Anyways , I hope you're having a wonderful day <3

ahhhhh, thank you so much!!!! 🖤🖤 i am absolutely taking requests, and i do write for Michael (i have been working on some peepaw Myers smut on the DL for a bit now, so my apologies if some of OG Myers mannerisms bleed in), but love all versions of MM, so thank you for giving me an excuse to flex my hand with some RZ Myers~

and sorry for the delay! i wanted to get reacquainted with RZ Myers so i spent some time watching the films again to get a better grasp on his movements, mannerisms, and the little idiosyncrasies i could spot!

i really hope you enjoy this! and - sorry, again: this kind of got away on me, and its maybe-sorta-kinda clocking in at 11K. oops. 🥹

⤷tw: gratuitous smut, fluff, mentions of gore and death, Michael being Michael, dom!Michael

You tell yourself you're not nervous, that there is nothing to be nervous about in this strange little microcosm you've fallen inside (snatched, dragged, locked in a gilded cage where you are tucked away from a world that might lash out and hurt).

No, nothing at all.

In this ethereal, otherworldly place inhabited only by two (and your cat - cats, really, because you love all of your strays equally) there is no set routine; therefore, there is nothing to be worried about since something like this could only be fretted over had you the luxury of normalcy. Of established rules. Regulation. Schedule.

It's silly to worry, then. Silly and stupid and pointless.

You're not nervous. You're not.

But the anxious knot that gnarls inside of your chest spools and thickens with each passing minute calls you a liar.

The clock in the corner ticks the time down like an augury, and your eyes bounce between it - this ugly grandfather clock with a pendulum that hangs too much like a noose for you to ever enjoy the sonorous lull - and the back door, as if in those scant microseconds, he would appear in the doorway, head hanging low to avoid clunking his forehead off the trim - because he's just so tall, just so massive -, and would just be standing there, watching you. Like he always does. Staring. Assessing.

For such an indomitable, unfathomable mountain of a man, he's surprisingly catlike.

A silent, stealthy jaguar hidden in plain sight.

(There is a predator in this picture!, your aunt shares on Facebook. Can you spot him?

You never do. You don't have an eye for locating hidden danger, and when you scroll down, spotting the cat lurking in the red circle, you realise you weren't even close.)

When you look at the back door once again, there is nothing crowding the archway. No one lingering near the basement stairs. The open hallway is empty save for your bins lined up in the small mudroom that connects to it by a set of three steps on the halfpace.

You know the layout of your house like the back of your hand, just like you know the places he likes to hide. To wait. The little enclaves barely conceal the sheer, absurd bulk of him, and they're all empty.

You hear nothing. Not the rattle of the lock. The creaking of the cellar stairs. Nor the unmistakable sound of his muffled breathing.

You're not worried. Saudade doesn't belong in your heavy chest.

Tick tick tick…

There is nothing to be worried about.

Tick tick tick…

Your gaze tears away from the door, the clock, when the familiar jingle of the local news station cuts through the tenebrous clouding your living room.

The man - clean, sharp, greying around his temples - jogs a stack of papers on the curved desk, his mouth set in a grim line.

It's been nearly a month since you've seen him last.

He comes and goes like the many strays you pluck from the alleys and take home, nursing them back to health, feeding them until they're plump and nourished, and then letting them wander back from wherever little corner they originated from, knowing that you'll see them again when the rats thin and the new litter is able enough to hunt on their own.

Scarcity is what brings your family together.

"...A series of murders are once again shaking up the county. No curfew is set as of late, but the police are urging the public not to wander at night alone, to stay in large groups, and to lock all windows and doors…"

Hunting in Haddonfield is scarce lately.

You taste copper on your tongue before your bottom lip starts smarting as your teeth break the flesh. Your tongue rolls out, smoothing over the irritated skin, and wiping away the droplets of blood that pool in the seam of your mouth. It's salty, astringent. The metallic tang makes your mind wander, drifting to him.

Like a magnet, your eyes are pulled back to the hallway.

The taste of blood reminds you of him. The thick, heady scent of rust seems to exude from every pore on his body. The burning miasma of decay. Death.

(Danger, something in the atavistic recesses of your mind spits. Danger and doom. Demise.)

"...Seven more bodies were found-," you blink, gaze focusing on the dim hallway that sits, stagnant, vacant, and turn your head back to the television. Faces flash on the screen behind his head. Their names sit in a little white rectangle below the last image of them alive, happy.

The one in the middle looks familiar. A familiar stranger.

It hits you when you spot the little mole on her chin.

The bubbly clerk at the mum'n'pop grocer on the outskirts of the city. She always pretends to ring up your tampons and pads, but each time you sit in your car and glance at the receipt, they're never there.

It's done with no words. She isn't seeking recognition, or plaudits.

The last time you saw her, she added a bag of chocolate clusters to your order, perching them on top of the box. You walked in looking like death and hunched over from the cramps that turned your face nearly ashen with pain that day. No words. No inclusion of nearly nine dollars and forty cents on your bill. She even grabbed the expensive brand - the one that uses all-natural ingredients.

She winked when you looked at her. A secretive little thing meant only for you.

And now -

You suck in a shuddering breath through clenched teeth. The temperature drops. Your teeth ache from the cold.

Sometimes you like to pretend that the world doesn't exist outside of the four walls that close in around you. That everything else is a bad dream, an illusion. It's just you on this lonely island on the outskirts of a town that bred the unequivocal evil that haunts the shadows and hunts down those misfortunate enough to stumble in its ravenous path.

Just you, him, and your cats.

And he, of course, is the shapeless chasm of evil skulking the town and butchering the lovely shopgirl who gives you free chocolate when you wander in like an omen of death.

It's not his fault.

The excuse is thin. Sorrow gnarls inside of your chest, edging into the anxious thrum that steady billows up, polluting you with that fretful, nauseating sense of worry.

You know you can't just mark down the residents that are off-limits. No such thing exists to him. The concept of unkillable is as confounding to him as this whole thing is to you.

But -

As much as you like her - liked - you've made your choice, haven't you? The sorrow is overwhelmed by the worry.

What if the police found him? What if someone hurt him? What if, what if, what if -

What if he never comes back?

This whole thing started on an ephemeral moment of happenstance. You wandered out into the alley right beside your house, pstpstpst'ing in the dark with an open bag of Temptations whilst you searched for that little stray who ran off with your socks - the cosy kind that keeps all your toes warm - when you stumbled into a wall. A warm one. Fever-hot. A hand lashed out of the caliginous recess, sealing around your arm before the gasp in your throat had a chance to pass your lips.

It felt like a vice.

The unrelenting coil of iron wrapped around your arms, squeezing the bone with such unfathomable force that your knees quaked from pain leaking into your forearm.

The bag dropped from your shaking hands, spilling shrimp and lobster flavoured cat treats all over the dank, grimy alley floor.

You couldn't see anything through the gloom or the sudden vertigo that ensnared you when you glanced up, trying to catch a glimpse of the mass of pure strength perched in front of you. Your head swam as the man's sheer length stretched on for aeons, never ending, roiling up nearly two metres tall.

Your knees buckled.

His hands gripping you was the only thing that kept you from collapsing into the murky puddle below.

Through the town, murmurs erupted about the Shape. His history leaks blood and misery - mayhem and calamity follow him wherever he wanders. He's an omen of death. Decay and pain, murder, is his auspice.

He's pure evil, the flashy doctor on the television set ground out, tone severe. His brows furrowed tightly together as everyone else around him hurtled blame and reason. He ignored them, his gaze unwavering as he stared into your very being through the monitor. Stay away from him. If you see him-, there was a hitch in his voice; and then, solemn. The silence of the newsroom was palpable: well, you'd be better off praying for a swift death.

And so, that's what you do.

"Please, please-," you don't pray to god. Gods. Your pleas are meant for him even though the black eyes that gleam in the low moonlight that hangs over you like a portant all tell you that it's futile. He doesn't listen to prayers. Your breathless orisons fall on deaf ears.

You think about your cats. The ones locked inside your house right now with no escape. Food will run low. Water. You don't have many friends that keep up with you often enough for them to notice your absence.

It's then, at that moment when his hands squeeze and your bones creak under the strain, that you wish you didn't prefer your own company over that of others. Cats. That if you weren't so docile and content to be alone, someone would notice the glaring lack of you, and rescue the poor strays you trapped inside your charnel.

"Please," you choke, eyes burning with tears that stream down your face in rivets. It's your last adjure, plea, to whatever humanity is left to rot inside of him. "P-please just open my door…? My cats are inside, and I-"

The clouds overhead split apart. The milky glow of the moon illuminates the dim alleyway, cutting through the tenebrous cloaking the being that grips you from the shadows.

The murky light makes the deep splashes on his chest look almost like ink.

You thought it was his head.

Oh, god. You'd been pleading with his chest this whole time.

You glance up, nervous, shaking, and are met with the waxen mask, creased with age and covered in grime. Blood, perhaps. The sight of him, the way the back of your head has to nearly rest on your spine to stare at his face, makes you shiver. Makes your hands tremble and your heart thunder inside of your chest.

It would be very logical for the blood in your veins to run cold.

But with the intense, piercing way he stares down at you, chin tipped toward his chest, it spumes molten, liquid heat that rushes through you with enough force that you feel a little dizzy with it.

Oh, no…

Oh -

He bends down, and the thick, metallic scent of blood overwhelms you. Dirt. Sweat. The miasma of rot makes your heart give a painful thud. Fear. Terror.

(And something else.)

His breath turns stertorous.

You brace yourself, tensing for the sudden paroxysm of a vicious attack, your mind flashing with all the things you did, didn't do, should have done, and will now never get the chance -

- He lurches, and then like a pendulum, swings back.

You're jerked forward when he falls into the trash behind him, clattering against the bins stacked up near the garbage shoot.

The silence that settles over you is smothering.

You expect him to get up, to finish what he tried to start, but he doesn't. He lays, motionless, in the gutter. His grip on your arms slackens, and they fall, limp, to his sides.

It's then that the damage to his torso reveals itself to you. The blood coating his body wasn't, entirely, foreign.

He's injured.

You hesitate.

You should leave him here to die. Call the police. Thank your sudden stroke of luck. Kiss the ground and look for some deity to worship for this salvation.

You should, but you don't.

(You've always had a soft spot for dirty strays.)

He comes and goes, now. Like the many cats you feed.

Wandering around before slowly ambling back to your house in search of more sustenance.

Somewhere in the muddled awakening, when he blinked his eyes open and found himself staring at the white popcorn ceiling in your living room, catching sight of you careful dabbing at the sweat drying on his brow after the rupture of a fever, you - and your house - become something victual for him.

It was tense, at first - and really, it still is - but in the interim of patching together the gory remnants of his abdomen and breaking down in the solitude of your bathroom, huddled in the basin as water rippled across your skin in a baptism of sin, you found purpose in the murkiness that enshrouded you.

The dubious morality nearly crippled you, leaving nothing but an empty husk of regret and terror as his skin knitted itself together, sealing over the wound that, had it been left in the trash, would have killed him. The infection, poisoned blood, animals - it would have all contributed to a corpse in the alley.

The stench would have drawn notice to his final resting place, and the reign of terror the chasm of evil, the Shape, brought to your town would finally be over.

And yet -

There was something itching in your pericardium that made leaving him alone feel tithe abysmal as the brief relief of letting him die.

This is your fault.

Your lip aches. Your tongue lolls over the broken skin, soothing the sting.

Whatever it was that made him decide not to kill you when he felt your hands on his forehead, when he saw you trembling in the corner, gasping for breath and praying for a swift end, is a mystery to you.

But maybe there is no logic. You feed the strays because you want to.

You buy the extra cat food, and litter, and spend your earned money to get them spayed and neutered and cared for, not because you have to, but because you just do.

And maybe it's the same for him.

You're somewhere in the middle of unkillable - for now - and nourishment.

Or you were.

Then something inside of him snapped, evolved.

You weren't here when he slipped inside of your home like he belonged, flinching at the state of him dripping gore in your mudroom, and then slowly, cautiously, skirting around him, fretting in the background.

You weren't there.

No -

You were at the vet.

When you returned, cat cradled under your arm and dozing off the effects of anaesthesia, you were met with an eerie silence, and bloodied footprints pacing across your floors.

You had just enough time to set the cat down on the landing when his hand lashed out through the aether once more, grabbing your delicate neck and slamming you against the wall so hard the photos you hung (all pictures bought from Ikea to make your mudroom a little less drab) clattered to the ground, cascading glass and broken wood over the messy floor.

His breath comes in great, heaving rasps; anger seeps into every crevasse as his eyes, feverish with bloodlust, bore down at you.

The apoplectic fury that roars through him is sudden, unexpected. He'd been so docile toward you thus far. Your defences lowered, almost, when weeks passed and he made no move to end your life.

He crept around your house like he belonged, watching you from the doorway of your bedroom as you slept. It was the most he'd done to shake your sense of comfort and privacy.

He never touched you, except that time in the alley and when he'd first woken up, both times grabbing you out of reflex rather than intent.

This -

This is purposeful.

The quick rise and fall of his chest makes your toes curl in confusion, fear.

Why now? Why he is -

He leans in, the wheezing breath sounding muffled and garish behind the latex, and then he -

Sniffs.

It's so unexpected, so jarring, that your head thumps against the wall when you flinch.

Why is he -

His hand reaches up, grasping at the wispy, tangled hair of his mask, and with a great tug, it's pulled from his head, and dropped - discarded - on the floor.

You've only seen him barefaced when you lugged him into the mudroom, and settled him on the carpet between your couch and coffee table. It wasn't his choice; you'd removed it in your search for additional injuries.

This, however, is all him - his choice, his decision.

And it baffles you.

You don't know why he took the mask off, why he's so angry - why he keeps coming back, why he stares at you so much, why he does what he does, why you -

You find out with the briefest flutter of his eyelids narrowing at you. His nostrils flare. And then he moves, plunging his head closer to you until your foreheads are pressed taut together, and suddenly - unexpectedly - his mouth is on yours.

He doesn't move. His lips are lax. It might not even be a kiss, you don't think, but then his head tilts, slanting his mouth over your own, and his lips part, only just, and it's then that you realise that he is kissing you.

Or in proxy of it, anyway.

He mimics the right movements, but there is no action beyond that. It's almost as if he doesn't know how people kiss, just that they do, and this is what it looks like when you stand off to the side and watch.

Movies. Real life. The images you've seen play in your head over and over again, lining up perfectly with the way his head moves, the way his body leans into you, bracketing you against the wall. His hand around your throat keeps your chin up, your head immobile, while he cocks his head to the side in a mockery of romance that's so utter endearing you nearly pass out from blood that rushes to your cheeks.

Oh, god.

Michael Myers is kissing you. He doesn't know how, but he's trying, and it's -

Oh, god. Oh -

It changes the chossy foundation established between you.

Michael stakes a claim on you, on your house, that is incomprehensible to you; this abstruse chasm in which you're precariously balanced on the precipice, gazing in at the inscrutable abyss that looks back at you, and kisses you, and pulls you close, and smothers you with the sheer absurdity of it all, is confounding. Beyond reason.

You haven't initiated any of it.

All the lines crossed between you were at his hands, his whim. When he strips you bare and looms over you like a starving breast, a ravenous god, you let him - willingly, eagerly - but you never breach those parameters on your own accord.

The abrupt physicality of your evolving - something - with Michael Myers wreaks havoc on your poor, straining heart. The embarrassment comes in a maelstrom. You skirt away from his grasping hands, gasping and flushing scarlet as the blazing heat of his body sears your skin.

It's too much sometimes.

To go from near death, to a ramshackle symbiosis of sorts - a ghastly, unspoken agreement in which you are not to be killed provided that you aid him when he comes skulking through the alley, and meandering about your haven like the very same alleycats you pluck from the barren streets -, to this, is, well, odd, to say the least.

Was it there the whole time for him? Did he look at you with his lidded gaze from the onset? Did that dark hunger spool inside of him from the beginning or were the embers flamed by something you did after?

Was it the empty house he wandered into that set him off?

(Does it really matter?)

"...If you see any suspicious figures, do not engage, and call local authorities right away-," click.

You toss the remote on the cushion beside you, leaning your head back on the rest, gazing listlessly at the ceiling. The swell of panic hasn't subsided, but it's all futile.

Michael has no collar. He comes and goes on his own, driven back to you by that strange unknowable thing that makes him desire you, that makes him tug you on his lap and paw at your body until you're quivering from his touch. When he finally sinks inside of you, all thought is dissolved into frayed synapses that spark, filled with nothing but pleasure. Logic, reason, questionable morality, the existential ennui that drapes over you like a stormcloud, only seeps into the tenebrous when he is around.

And he hasn't been around for nearly a month. So, it comes in vicious waves, now.

Maybe he found whatever he was searching for in your flesh, and didn't need it any longer. Maybe the tremble in your hands caused by his touch, the briefest brush of his skin nearly overwhelming you, and the etiolated countenance you carried when he loomed large and imposing, in your space, was disinteresting to him.

You've seen it before in the others, haven't you?

Hunger satiated. Thirst quenched. They wandered away from you, no longer needing the aliment you provided.

You should be thankful that his curiosity has been abated.

(But like most things you ought to be, you aren't.)

The only constant with Michael is a trail of bodies and the habitual sense of fear and unease as he lurks in the crevasses of Haddonfield, waiting to happen upon his next victim.

He leaves you in a state of pell-mell and uproots your bucolic existence with his confounding presence, and the strange way he fits you inside of his world.

Your thoughts are plagued by uncertainties that make your stomach churn with knots; a festering mass of unease and anxiety.

You need a distraction.

Your eyes glance furtively toward the hallway - barren as it has been for the last month - before the little sigh of dejection passes through your lips.

It's silly to worry.

With one last hopeful glance at the still empty hallway, you rise from the couch, and drift toward the washroom adjacent to your bedroom. You'll scour the nerves off under the scalding nozzle, and then watch something cheesy and stupid - a mindless movie you turn your thoughts off before falling asleep.

Peanut Purrter and Jelly swarm you when you stand, mewling for the food they already ate, and you bend down, scratching behind their soft ears. Out of all of the cats, these two are the most affectionate. They never leave your side, either. You picked them up out of a bin, took them home, and they quickly decided that the outdoor life was just not for them.

It happens sometimes.

All their wants are fulfilled in the sanctity of your four walls, and they seem content to live out the rest of their days wandering through the halls, and watching the birds from out the window, or the fish in your tank.

Jelly pushes his soft, orange head into your palm, eyes slipping shut as his loud purrs fill the hallway, and you can't stop the little thought that slips out of the recess where notions of grandeur and impossibilities are let to rot, wondering if one day, Michael will find that, too.

(And then, embarrassedly, selfishly, you wonder if it would be with you.)

You bury your flaming cheeks into Peanut's lush fur, and use her as a shield to hide the silly little thoughts that roll inside of your head late at night. She's happy to go along for the ride, content to paw at your hair and flick her tail over your arms.

"How stupid," you murmur into her fur, the flush spreading like a fever.

She bleats in response.

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The shower eases the tension that builds, settling the cortisol that pools inside of you.

Thoughts of Michael slip down the drain, but only just. He lingers in the periphery - has since you first found him in the gutter and dragged him inside - like an inescapable shadow. Your hands scrub over your face in a futile attempt to wash the blush off your cheeks.

It's easy to push the idealistic musings into the chasm that chews them up and spits out realism.

It's the worry of the unknown that refuses to relent.

Is he hurt? Did he get caught? Why hasn't he come home -

Home.

No. This isn't his home. His home is a dilapidated house in the suburbs of Haddonfield.

Your little bucolic abode on the fringes of the wilderness is not home to him: it's a refuge. A place to get his needs met and lay low.

A means to an end.

The thoughts gnarl inside of you, festering under the weight of uncertainty.

You wish you could ask him, but even if he was here, you know you wouldn't. The words sat on your lips so many times before only to be swallowed down quickly by the fear of rejection, of pushing him into a corner.

You reach for the soap and wonder where this is heading. Maybe he wouldn't return. Maybe he didn't need you anymore.

Maybe -

There is a rustle. A looming shape just outside of the blue cover. And then your curtain is wrenched back.

The startled scream is smothered in your oesophagus at the sight of him, brooding, massive. He takes up all space in your small washroom - so tall that he has to duck his head down to look at you lest his view is hindered by the curtain rod.

(Can you spot the danger? You didn't even know it was there-)

He appears almost as quickly as he disappears. His eyes never waver as he watches you huddled under the scalding spray of the shower head, hands curled between your breasts as you lather a bar of soap in your hands.

(Sea salt and eucalyptus. The loam scent reminds you of him.)

You flush, hunching further as his usually impassive stare hardens, brimming with an intensity that is only matched when he's angry or victorious after a kill.

Michael peels back the shower curtain, exposing more of your nude, wet flesh to his burning gaze.

"M-Michael-," you start, stuttering over his name, but the rest turns into a breathless huff of surprise when he pulls off his mask, and ducks under the rod keeping the curtain in place, clambering into the shower behind you.

As soon as the water hits the leg of his jumpsuit, grime and dirt bleed off of him in rivets, turning the pooling liquid black. The brackish water sloshes as he steps in beside you, looming over you.

The shower seems comically small in comparison to the length and width of him. His shoulders hunch, head dropping to avoid hitting the waterproof ceiling. You shuffle back, numb with surprise at his unexpected appearance, and with the way he moves - agile and graceful, despite his size.

He fills the space, pushing you back to the opposite wall with the nozzle directly over your head. It reaches to his sternum, the weeping spray drenching his jumpsuit until it's nearly black from the water and the dried blood that runs down the length of his torso.

It must be uncomfortable, you think, but he makes no move to undress, and seems completely unbothered by the oddity of the situation.

It's been a month. Not much has changed. He is still the same strange - deadly, dangerous - man he'd always been. Always is.

Your smile is a touch wobbly, filled with nerves of a new kind; the same anxious thrum wells inside of you at the sight of him. Your mind oscillates between terror, fear, and that primal pool of self-preservation that quickly rips through you, and bellows to stay still, to hide so that the hulking predator can't see you, can't devour you; and the unmistakable sense of relief at the sight of him standing so close to you.

He's here, your mind chants like a broken record, tone shifting like a swinging pendulum between nervousness, fear and happiness, solace.

Michael has a tendency to wring out every iota of intensity in each emotion you feel. There is no slight, no halves - it's whole. All. You're never slightly happy to see him. You're exuberant. You're never a little scared of him. You're terrified.

You've never felt this way about anyone else before. The visceral emotions he makes you feel leave your mind spiralling on a downward descent off the edge of a steep precipice.

And even now, with him towering over you like an inescapable wall of pure strength, you're wracked with tremors from the force of the relief, the conflict of fight or flight, and the undulating sense of contentment at having him so close to you.

"Michael…" you murmur again, caught between terror and need.

The slightest narrowing of his eyes is all he gives you in response. His chin dips down, meaningful, purposeful, and you know, you know, what he wants. What he came for.

Covered in blood that doesn't belong to him, fresh from the abattoir he makes of your town, you can't help the thrum of want, need, happiness that spumes inside of your chest, consuming the worry, the fear, in one quick bite.

It's gone, dissolved by hydrochloric acid and the unrelenting urge to close the chasm between you and the bulk of his body where you stand, barely brushing past the last rib of his torso. Michael knows. Of course he does.

You were naïve in the beginning when you assumed him to just be a mindless killer; that the eyes that gazed at you were vacant and unseeing.

Michael Myers is more observant than you could have ever fathomed.

Nothing escapes him.

Not the tremble in your lip, the spasms of your shaking fingers, the glistening water that runs down your flesh, already prickling with goosebumps despite the steaming heat of the shower.

He can see the need, the want, brimming up in your eyes as you gaze at him fleetingly, unable to match his stare, and overcome with that burning tang of embarrassment, shyness, that overwhelms you when he stands too close.

He can see the war in your mind:

Yearning for proximity until all you can feel is his heavy flesh on yours, merging together into a muddled mess of euphoric pleasure.

And;

The hesitation to get too close. The nervous thudding of your heart when he moves, like a scared little animal of prey stumbling upon a resting predator. Unsure what to do. How to approach. And if you even can.

It becomes too much. Your eyes drop - submissive, docile - to the white panelled floor below, watching the blood run over your feet, staining the mat pink with the gory residuum of seven - known - victims. It makes you recoil slightly, toes curling in the river of ichor.

Michael’s head tilts. Another display of impatience.

Right. Your teeth sink into the soft bed of flesh. Nerves turning to ash.

Your hands shake when you reach up, knuckles brushing over the metal chain of his zipper as your trembling fingers grasp the pull. Michael keeps his intense, heavy gaze on you as your fingers spasm, too nervous to take the lead and undress him.

Like a skittish little mouse under the paw of a cat, you tremble. Paralysed. But not with fear - with nerves.

It's been a month, you want to say. You're not prepared. You're not -

It's a lie, though. You laid in bed for the last four weeks with your hand under the covers, and his name on your lips like gospel.

If anything, you're over-prepared. All too eager to feel him. To let the boogeyman take you.

The thoughts running through you make you shiver. In your musings, Michael's head tilts.

The amplitude of his patience is deep, but not endless.

His hand reaches up, closing in your own. His palm swallows your hands with an effortless ease that makes your knees quake.

The implication in his action is clear: hurry up.

You nod, mostly to yourself and you scrounge together the nerve that is quickly being eroded by the cascading water pouring over you. The grind of the metal teeth peeling back on the zipper, the rush of the water, and Michael's deep, even breaths are the only noise that fills the small - too small - shower. The muted cacophony echoes against the ceramic walls, reverberating through you.

The zipper snags on the grove, and can go no further. You swallow thickly, eyes darting up to catch a glimpse of his expression covered under the damp, tangled curtain of his long brown hair. An inky abyss stares back at you. Under the impassivity of his expression, the vat of unfathomable black churns and froths with intense, burning fervour.

He shrugs his shoulders, and the jumpsuit slips down from the weight of the water, pooling at his ankles.

You flinch when his cock springs up, freed from the loose confinement of his overalls, and you think you catch a glimpse of his canines when he spots the bloom of blood spuming under your cheeks.

You peek up at him, stomach knotting with a flutter of nerves that batter relentlessly at your soft lining, anxious to escape the prison it's kept in. His teeth are hidden by the even seam of his lips, expression veiled with a thick veneer of that same implacable nothingness that's reflected on the latex laying dormant, forgotten, on the carpet.

When you finally meet his gaze, Michael's eyes flutter. And then he drops.

Michael sits in one swift movement, dropping down to the shower bench behind him. His knees jut forward on the seat that's far too tiny for someone so big.

Without him looming over you, you feel like you can breathe again. Quick breaths are eagerly stolen into your starved lungs. His proximity alone makes you sweat, makes you feel like you're being smothered. Hypoxia sets in until you're dizzy with it.

His hand reaches out, wrapping around your arm in that same too-tight, too firm grasp he always uses.

It would be a lie to say he doesn't know his own strength by now. Michael Myers is very aware. Very attuned to himself in a way that you don't think any other person could ever manage to be. There is no unknown with him, no indecision. No unease. When he does something, it's always with purpose.

So, when he takes hold of you like this, a shade away from burgeoning pain, you know that this, too, is done with meaning. And when your gaze drops to the floor, unable to meet the burning smoulder that stares at you, expectant, waiting, you see the purpose very clearly.

He's hard.

The moment your gaze brushes across the pearlescent precum pooling on his flushed, engorged head, his cock twitches, jerking against his broad, firm stomach.

The hot water is limitless with your tank. It'll never run out so long as the electric light keeps it burning. But the spray that grazes your skin feels icy compared to the heat thrumming in your veins. You feel hot. Feverish.

Panting into the steamy, oxygen-starved basin, you hastily snap your eyes shut, squeezing them tight to stem the sudden torrent of want that rages inside of you at the sight of him - knees spread in the perfect picture of languour, one hand on you, an effortless shackle keeping you from escaping, and the other limp by his side, knuckles brushing against the ceramic shower seat.

He's probably tilting his head in that way he's wont to do - a little dip of his chin that conveys and implacable: well? and you can almost hear the accompanying, what are you waiting for? echoing in the stifling chamber.

Your face is on fire. The embers flicker and drop sparks across your chest, spitting at the tips of your ears.

You can't -

Well. You simply can't.

But Michael doesn't understand the concept of no, of wait, of this is too much and it's been so long and he's too -

Overwhelming.

Everything is: his presence, the way his intensity feels like physical weight bearing down on you, his absurd size, his indomitable prowess and strength that sometimes makes your knees buckle and your limbs slacken in fear, his insatiable appetite -

He's hungry. Your teeth chatter from the shiver that rockets down your spine.

There is no preparation for when his hands seal around your waist, unamused by the embarrassment that overtakes you. It happens too fast for you to keep up. His muscle coil, tightening, and then you're being heaved up into the air, suspended over his lap by nothing but his brute strength.

Michael moves you around like you're a life-sized doll, filled with nothing but spooled polyester cotton. And to him, maybe you are. You're a malleable thing that flushes blood red in his presence, the hue never failing to catch his rapt attention immediately, and pique that little part of his brain that wants more. Little nips decorate your chin, neck, collarbones, chest - all a buccaneer smear of blossoming brands in the shape of his teeth; his insatiable lust for that particular cardinal shade manifesting on your flesh.

He stares at them after. Eyes fixed on the burst capillaries that pool blood just under your skin. His breath is always a little quicker when he sees them the next morning, a little raspy, ragged.

(He'll push you, then, against the wall and take you there, eyes never straying from the soot-coloured stains smearing flaxen and violet.)

There is no illusion of control with Michael. No sense of shared power or leeway. The ebb and flow begins and ends with him - his whims, his wants. You're merely adrift in the current, clinging to driftwood as his currents drag you along.

It's here, perched on top of him, in a position where - had it been anyone else, you might have considered yourself in control, where the truth of that really stands apparent.

Your knees aren't even touching the bench. They're folded up, caps pressed into the seam of the wall and Michael's hips, legs folded under your thighs, and toes dangling off the edge of his bent knees.

He holds you tight, refusing to let you go, and pulls you taut to his chest until you can go no further.

Even with you perched atop him, he has to angle his chin down to meet your gaze. Big. Towering. Mountainous. His arms flex, muscles coiling under the tawny flesh that barely contains it, and it's the jut of his veins that makes you gasp, eyes lidding as desire spools inside of you.

Sometimes you like to imagine what he would be like had he chosen a different path in life, one void of bloodshed and terror. A model, you think, delirious with the hard press of his body against yours - so fragile and delicate by comparison. He'd be lusted after by an endless stream of people desperate, like you, for just a graze.

It feels a little taboo to touch him, but you're imbued with the visceral sense of cacoethes.

Unable to stem the itch in your palms, you press them against his chest, feeling the hard plains of his body under your fingertips. His skin is warm. Chest dusted with a flaxen smattering of ulotrichous hair. It prickles against your skin when you rub your hands across his broad torso, tentatively running them up toward his collarbones.

It had taken quite a substantial amount of courage - of the liquid kind, no less - to touch him of your own accord. He seemed rather pleased when you did, when your hand reached out and felt the bulk of his forearms, so wide that there was still a finger-width of flesh poking out around your thumb and pinky. His muscles tensed under your curious prods. The first tightening of his corded arm seemed largely out of the unwonted brush of your skin on the outside of his usual demanding design. Then he relaxed. His muscles flexed, as if to show you a proper demonstration of his indelible strength.

His skin rippled. Veins bulged, pressing taut to his flesh.

The sight of it made your mouth water.

Still does, you think, eyes greedily taking in every inch of his exposed skin, the expansive flesh offered to you is irresistible. Your hands roam, free and unhindered by the usual hesitation that encapsulates you. It's the distance. The time apart has chiselled open a rapacious hunger inside of you.

Michael watches as you paw at him desperately, eyes widening, breath stuttering when his chest expands under your hands. Your palm passes over his heart, and the steady thud is almost jarring. It knocks through the haze of want that overtook you, and you find yourself almost surprised, like always, when Michael's humanity is confirmed.

He's not a husk driven by basic needs. Evil.

He has a heart - one that beats just like yours.

You pull back, your palm lifting off of his chest until just the very tops of your fingers remain on his skin.

Sometimes you convince yourself that he's a spectre. Ichor and evil are confined in the pulpy sinew of a human. A matryoshka of sorts where the exterior seems largely normal - or as normal as someone as massive as he is could ever seem - but the inside is filled with empty layers all stacked together.

Murder. Bloodlust. Mayhem.

Carnage. Death. Decay.

It muddles together in your mind and makes you think of him as a quietus. A being that does not belong in this realm where ghosts and demons and ghouls are relegated to the altar where they are condemned by a vicar. Cast out of the established spectrum in the material world that closes in on you like a noose.

The dense, solid flesh under your hands confirms corporeal nature, but everything else about him mystifies you.

A little part of you wonders if he really is a quietus prowling around in this moral plane; an escapee from the pits of hell left to wreak havoc on the world of the living to satiate that lust for calamity that brims inside of his slate-coloured gaze; the same hue as death, decay.

The same eyes that ensnare you - captivate you - rendering you mute, silent, in the echoing cacophony of the dead that bellow at you, their blood running down your drain, congealing on your toes.

(You wonder, then, what it says about you that you're willingly perched on the lap of Stygian ilk like a poised queen on a throne of skulls.

Right where you belong.)

You meet that smouldering gaze.

He's surprisingly accommodating today, you note, glancing at him through the wet veil that hides his expression from you. Your fingers twitch on his chest. You're overcome with another inadvisable whim - the urge to sink your hands into his hair and scrub the dirt away from his ashen locks is hard to ignore, but that might be pushing the limits of what he allows too far.

You dig your nails into the flaxen hair on his chest instead, grounding yourself against the silly notions brimming up inside of you.

It's in those musings over your unexpected caprice that Michael's patience wears.

His jagged nails bite into the flesh on your hips, the stinging prickle of a furze meant only as a warning. He wants something. You're taking too long. He's getting impatient.

But the thing is: you don't know what it is he wants.

Your lower lip juts out, and you sink your teeth into the plush skin. It would be easier if he spoke, telling you what it is you're doing wrong, or if he showed you what it was he wanted. But it's futile.

He does neither. Michael gave you a warning, and now he waits.

The nervous gnashing in your chest grows under the intensity of his stare. His eyes narrow just a touch, fixed on the pink slip of your appendage poking out. He's so focused on it, that you feel like you can breathe a little better without the weight of his gaze penetrating into your being. Eye contact with Michael Myers fills you with the maddening urge to roll over and show your soft belly, to bare your vulnerable neck in submission.

Your tongue flicks up, swiping across your upper lip. His eyes follow it.

You do it again. Again -

Just as you're beginning to catch on to what he wants, he tires of the little game you're (unintentionally) playing.

To him, you're toying with him. Holding up a piece of meat and dangling it in front of his maw.

You flush, stuttering out a simpering apology, but Michael cares very little for the placating words you attempt to persuade him with. The burn of his unyielding grip burrows into you again, and it's the only warning he gives before he wrenches you forward, pulling you until your breasts are flush with his chest.

He devours the broken gasp of his name that stumbles from your lips, feasting on you like a starving beast.

Michael is a quick learner. Almost as soon as you opened your mouth, moulding your lips against his, he picked up the finesse behind the action, and consumed you. He doesn't let you take control of the kiss - once he learnt the little things that make you pant into his mouth, moan brokenly against his tongue, his hunger grew. His kisses leave you breathless in a way no one else has ever managed.

Like most things in your life before Michael, kissing was always just okay. A prelude. A chore.

And now you whine against his lips as his tongue lashes out, filling your mouth in search of more of your taste.

It's good, now. Great. Amazing. An explosive sensation of searing heat, and kiss bruised lips. You pull away, gasping for air, and feel the sting on your mouth from the force of his ardour.

Lidded, hazy with want, you pull yourself closer to him, whimpering when his cock presses into your navel, smearing precum across your wet skin.

It's been a month. A month of nothing. The scent of him left your pillows weeks ago, and your imagination was barely enough to quell the rapacious ache inside of you that longed for the firm, unyielding press of his body over yours.

And now, he's here. He's yours for the taking.

Your fingers itch again - the urge to touch is strong. Consuming.

But you don't. You flush a deep maroon, tipping your chin away from his gaze, and rock against his lap, seeking a quiet, unnoticeable pleasure.

He's too much.

You can't ever bring yourself to give into the greediness inside of you, and instead take what little you can get away with. The idea of just -

Taking feels a little too sacrilegious. A little too bold. It's not in your nature to do so, and the idea of testing those implicit boundaries with Michael is a little too daunting.

So, you cant your hips against him, squirming in his lap to abate the ache growing inside of you with what little motions he'll allow as Michael nips down the column of your throat. His mouth on his skin, teeth burrowed into your pulse point, the thick length of him so close to where you want him, need him, is too much.

He catches the bloom of red under your skin when you blush, feels the stutter of your breath as it crawls up your throat. The want in your voice, the need, is palpable when you choke out his name. A soft, meek little thing: the coo of prey, begging so prettily for reprieve.

Michael buries his chin into the curve of your neck, forcing your head back. His hands slide, bracing over the delicate vertebrates of your spine. They're almost fluid in his hand. The bones in your body are as easy as papier-mâché for him to snap. To break. He could ruin you. Sink his canines into your jugular and tear out your flesh, letting you bleed to death in his lap. He could keep the sensual arch of your back going, pushing and pushing until he snapped you in half. You're so -

Fragile.

His cock twitches against you, spitting prespend over your belly. His cock burns hotter than a brand, molten against your skin.

Michael's arms tighten around you, fingers digging into the knobs of your spine. Panic wells inside of you. He's going to do it - snap you in two -

-and Michael -

-picks you up effortlessly once again, and holds you over his aching cock.

There is no foreplay tonight. He won't slide his hand between your soft thighs to feel how wet you are for him, fingers toying with your slickness until you moan out his name in that particular cadence he likes best. He won't drag them up, making you see them glistening with your desire. Forcing you to acknowledge your want for him, to see it glimmering on his hand. Evidentiary proof that your body yearns for him. That you belong to him.

He won't because he's impatient, now. Your wiggling, the little gasps of his name, the way you cling to him and fit in his lap, have all worn his patience down to nothing.

(To Michael, he's had nearly a month of edging, foreplay, with each of his kills that left him half-hard and aching, and on the verge of wandering back to your familiar abode to satiate the burn in his loins.)

He'll take you like this.

And maybe later, when he wakes in the middle of the night with you slumbering peacefully beside him, in the spot you belong, he'll slip under the covers and spread your aching thighs apart, rousing you to the sensation of his mouth devouring you, tongue greedily lapping at your centre until you're a quivering mess, begging him for respite that'll never come. Not when he hasn't had you in nearly a month.

This is only an appetiser.

You know this by the darkening glaze in his eyes as he pulls you close, grasping you tight, until the flushed head of his cock slips between your thighs. Shuddering from the way the blunt tip presses against you, you scramble to find purchase as he steadily lowers you down. His cock slips inside, stretching you wide to make room for the rest of him.

Michael doesn't do things in halves.

There is the slightest hitch to his breath once the first inch passes, bringing tears to your eyes at the burning stretch of him filling you. Once he's found his mark, he leans his head down, nuzzling into your neck.

You know what's coming. You know -

But there is no time to prepare yourself for the suddenness of being split apart while his teeth sink into the soft flesh of your neck.

A shrill cry is ripped from your throat when he bludgeons into you, the head of his cock battering into your cervix in a way that has you seeing phosphenes with your eyes wide open. Your toes curl, fingers dig into the flesh of his broad shoulders, body spasming with the sudden paroxysm of him being seated so deep within you.

His jaw is vice on your neck, and for a moment you fear that he's going to pull away with a chunk of your flesh, but it's gone when his teeth go slack, and his tongue runs out with rapacious greed to lick up the fresh blood that spills down your chest in pink rivets.

You sob, quaking from the suddenness of it all, and try to abate the hypoxia from inking out your vision. The abruptness, the pain of the bite, the burn of the stretch, all knocked the air from your lungs, and you struggle to come to yourself through the overwhelming sensations he ripped through you.

It's a mercy that he stays still, letting you adjust to his girth as he laps at the blood he spilt, nipping at your broken flesh. Michael is big. You barely had time to marvel at the size of him before his urgency to fill you became too much, but you feel it now with incredible clarity.

It pushes to the very edge of your mettle, teasing the resiliency of your body until you feel like you're on the verge of splitting apart. Broken, irreparably, by the thickness seated to the deepest depths inside of you. You shift, wincing at the way his cock moves when you do, the base of him stretching you in a way that has you heaving brokenly into his chest.

It aches. He feels endless. You pry your fingers from his shoulders, only slightly remorseful at the sight of four indents cutting through his flesh, and drop your hand down to your stomach. More than a little delirious on that white-hot pain, you almost think you can feel his cock through the layers of tissue, pressing against the skin of your abdomen.

"Michael-," you sob, head spooling with the thick haze of pleasure-pain that ricochets down your spine.

He knows what you want. What you need. He always does, and while he might be a right bastard when it comes to giving it to you when you want it, he never leaves you dissatisfied. But this - the watery stream of blood leaking over your collarbones, dripping down your breasts, is what he cares for most, and so -

You'll wait.

You pant. Squirming on the throne of his lap in a desperate attempt to find that spot inside of you that makes you see an array of refulgent nebulae behind your eyelids.

Your walls tremble, body shaking, but slowly, slowly, the ache inside begins to spool, coiling into something different. Numbed pleasure seeps out of the place he's nudged, seated so firmly against, and begins to leak into your bloodstream.

The first, quiet gasp that's ripped from your chest verges on absolute bliss. It's a call. A beacon.

And Michael answers.

Michael plants his feet firmly on the floor, and you feel the flex, the coil, of his strong hamstrings pull taut. Too busy admiring the strength in his body, you fail to recognise the signs. His hips jerk suddenly, pushing upward with enough force to jostle you. You gasp, slipping on his hard, wet skin, and slamming into his chest. Your hands reach up, holding onto his shoulders as Michael begins to move under you - the prowess of a tiger, a caiman, pure muscle barely contained by the prison of its flesh.

He doesn't wait for you.

All you can do is cling to him desperately, eagerly seeking purchase from the deep, demanding thrusts he batters into your body from below.

His mouth is on yours again, swallowing the hiccuping moans you make, the keens, as he pistons into you. The pace he sets is rough, a touch brutal: he forces himself in as deep as he can go, pauses there just to let you feel it, and then pulls out until only the tip of his cock remains, and he waits again. It's a brief second, but they come so sporadically that you can't work out a pattern, not when the firm press of his cock inside of you knocks all logic out of your head.

Synapses overheat with each delicious drag of his cock against your gummy walls until they misfire, filling with a slurry of oxytocin and dopamine, rendering you stupid, dizzy, and drunk on the thickness of him, the way he fills you, and slams into the places inside that make your nucleus accumbens coruscate like a supernova.

His hands clench around your hips, lifting you up off of his aching, hard cock, and forcing you to meet him in the middle of his next thrust. It rattles through your core until your voice is hoarse from the cries he rips out of you. It borders on the blissful equinox of being too much, too painful, and too good, too euphoric.

All you can do is cling to him. Let him move you around how he pleases.

His breath quickens in tandem with your mewling sobs, head nuzzling into your chest when he lifts you up, and he pants into your wet flesh, head cushioned by pillowing softness of your breasts.

The flesh is much too unblemished for his liking.

His teeth sink into the soft underside of your breast, leaving behind a ring in the shape of his teeth that has your walls fluttering around him, squeezing him tight as the sudden burst of pain is perfectly complemented by the brutal pleasure he forces into you, head battering harshly into the gummy walls that have you singing his name in adulations.

The sweet sounds you make spurn him on. The brands he decorates on your flesh split and bleeds as he trails his mouth through the valley of your breasts.

His molten mouth seals over your aching, hard nipple, and pleasure whites out that place inside your head that worries. Your hand snaps up, burrowing in the messy tangle of his locks, pushing his mouth firmly into your chest, unwilling to let the way his tongue feels rolling over your buds go. He's sadistic, you think, fringing on utter delirium. He'll let go. You know he will.

His body rumbles with a growl when you tug on his hair, forcing his mouth to stay latched onto you. It vibrates over your sensitive flesh and makes you paw at his chest when the pleasure liquifies, roaring through your core until you can taste the cosmos on your tongue.

It's not a warning. You know this because his mouth turns harsh, ravenous. He brutally fucks into you, pulling your body down to meet him with each thrust until you're howling his name so loud that you're sure the police department can hear your echoing cries rattling through the city.

Your body dissolves in his hold, limbs turning phospholipid. The only thing keeping you together is his burning hands on your flesh as he moulds you in the ways he wants, bouncing you on his lap as molten pleasure courses through you.

The coil tightens. Michael pulls away from your nipple, pushing his head between the valley of them, and pants into your sternum. The deep, haggard breaths he takes has you shuddering over him, so close now that you can feel it spreading liquid bliss through your body, pooling in the pit of your belly.

Pleasure congeals in your marrow, and all at once you're on that precipice, careening over as you cum on his cock, sweet hymns falling from your lips as Michael's cock bludgeons deep inside of you.

His hips shift, canting into you in a thrust that feels distinctly weakened, lax, compared to the others, and it's then that you hear it. A little grumble in the pit of his chest. He batters inside of you in quick succession, hands gripping you tight enough that you wonder, vaguely, drunk on the feel of his cock spearing into you, if he'll break your ribs before he finishes.

In the muted slurry of your mind, you have the wherewithal only to glance up at him through your wet lashes when another rumble reverberates through your being.

And really -

It's enough to send you careening over that precipice once more.

His eyes flutter, full lashes dusting over his ruddy, wet cheeks. His chin tips back, jaw clenching to bite back the groan you feel ripple through his chest. You stare, mesmerised as his Adam's apple bobs. His fingers squeeze you tight, pushing your hips down on his lap as he struggles to fill you with every last millimetre of himself.

Michael holds you steady, powerful thighs flexing under you, and then he lifts his hips, bludgeoning into you with enough force that you cry out his name, eyes widening at the deep pleasure, the burn of the stretch, the too-full feeling of him forcing his cock as deep as it will go. He jerks once, twice, and it knocks the air from your heaving lungs. Liquid heat fills you as he spills himself inside of you, and you mewl at the feeling of being too full. It's too much. Your eyes roll back as he grinds his cock inside of you, chasing the frayed ends of that intoxicating cudgel of pleasure that ripples through the two of you.

Your spine is liquified. Body dissolves with the spray of the shower that patters across your back.

You slump in his grasp, falling against his heaving chest.

It's too humid. Too hot inside the shower, but your legs are mush, bones brittle and charred from the surge of electrifying pleasure that lacerates through your being. You can't move. Won't. You gasp wetly into his chest as the deluge of bliss spools inside of your veins.

You blink, then, dazed.

When Michael fucks you, it always ends up feeling like a battle. Like you rolled out of the combat zone, battered and bruised, aching in ways that sex shouldn't make you feel.

But it's good. So good.

He's ruined you. Now, forever. You don't think you can live without the feelings he wrings from your being - the white-hot pleasure that rockets down your spine until you're screaming hymns in his name.

It's the sensation of a freefall of a vertiginous precipice, and the unrelenting waves of panic that envelops you as you spiral downward toward an unseen end. What lay at the bottom is hidden by the murky abyss that spools inside of your mind whenever he's close, chasing out all logic and thought, all reason, until you're putty in his hands.

You slump in his lap, sucking in desperate gasps of balmy air as your body reassembles; atoms fusing, molecules merging until you're flesh and bone once more.

You can't speak. Your throat aches, ripped raw with the force of your cries, but you whimper out just to confirm that you are, in fact, alive; that his intensity, the brutal way he fucked you, didn't send you into the heavens. It's a coo drenched in repose. A satiated sound. Lax and languid.

Sagging into his chest, your limbs melt. Bones turning once more into putty. Reassumebed just to dissolve in his hold once again as the electrifying aftershocks of the post-orgasmic haze thicken in the spiralling slurry of your mind.

Your head nuzzles into his chest. Another sigh passes your stinging lips, ghosting over the thick expanse of his chest.

You could sleep like this.

Tired eyes smeared with the residuum of many sleepless nights blink, wet, sticky lashes fluttering over his skin. It's a struggle to stay within the confines of reality. Your mind slips, easing into that metaphysical place where nothing except these four walls and the solid bracket of his body exist. The world fades into the aether. Forgotten. Discarded. Nothing matters but you and Michael.

Under your temple, his chest rumbles with another sound that makes you keen in response. The modern synapses have faded into ashes, leaving nothing behind but pure primalism.

And when your predator calls for you, you answer.

It's the only affirmation he needs. His arms close around you, locking behind the soft curve of your ass. The movement makes you purr into his chest. The coarse dusting of hair tickles your nose.

You're slipping, slipping -

And then Michael stands. Abrupt. Purposeful.

You squeak at the sudden movement, eyes snapping open, and dizzy vertigo overtakes you as your weight drops into the solid plinth of his arms.

Michael's breath ghosts across the shell of your ear in something that might be almost mirthful, humourous, had you not known him.

A burning flush singes the apples of your cheeks and the skin of your chest when he moves, and the motion jostles him - his cock still deep inside you.

"M-Michael-," your whimper ends in a gasp as his spent cock twitches inside of you at the sweet way you mewl his name. "You-"

He ignores you, stepping out of the shower without even bothering to turn it off.

He makes no move to grab at the fluffy towels you keep in the closet by the sink, nor does he seem bothered by the puddle of water each footstep leaves behind. You shiver when the cool air grazes across your wet skin, burrowing your head deeper into his neck, greedily seeking the warmth that seems neverending with him.

In half the steps it usually takes you, he arrives at your bedroom, slipping inside with ease that warms your chest. You know he isn't the type to dawdle or worry about preamble, but the familiarity and comfort in which he moves inside your space, your home, fill you with the threads of contentment, happiness. You hide your blossoming grin, this silly little thing that tugs at the corners of your lips, into his flesh, and breathe in the loam scent that still clings to him. The heady musk of ozone and humus that is so uniquely Michael it makes your heart flutter.

When the squall of that mushy affection recedes and your face isn't making the most outrageously gooey expression, you pull back, glancing up at him.

You'll dry off, dress, and slip beneath the sheets with him beside you, finally getting the rest that evaded you for nearly a month. You wriggle in his grasp, straightening yourself for when your feet meet the ground.

But it doesn't happen.

Soaking wet, he stands at the end of your bed, and then turns on his heel, dropping down with you still perched in his lap. You gasp, jerking upright, but he doesn't let you go.

In a fluid motion that leaves you reeling at the absurd agility of a man so damn big, he tightens his arms around you and shuffles on the bed until his head is under the pillow. He sinks into the mattress, unbothered by the way the bedding sticks to your skin, and the growing wetness under his back.

The deep heave of his chest as he exhales in something that can only be utter contentment quickly dissolves the protest that pools on your tongue. They stick to the roof of your mouth before being swallowed down when his arms wind around you, closing out the modicum of distance that separates you as two beings. He tucks you under his chin, securing you to his body.

You barely surpass sixty percent of his overall body weight, and the fact quells the little fear inside of you, the one digs in deep and says, oh no, you're going to crush him. Michael seems more than content to use you as a weighted blanket, his body lying supine on the bed that feels much cosier with him in it.

Weeks of fretting over his safety are dulled under the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the feverish heat of him that seeps into your marrow, making you repose in the unintentional succour his arms bring you when they wind around your back, locking you against his chest.

There is no escape from the prison of his arms.

This gilded cage sometimes feels too overwhelming, too stifling, too much, but he wasn't the one who locked you inside. You shut the doors of your accord and handed him the key - free to come and go as you tended to your plumage and your strays.

All thoughts and fears are adrift in the somnolent haze that fills the anxious flurry of your mind. Who cares about the linen? About morality and the consequences of lying with a devil. Does any of it matter when his arms around you feel like home.

You nuzzle your cheek into the coarse hair on his chest, pressing your ear against the steady beat of his heart. Your pericardium pickles. Ataraxia floods your being.

"Welcome home," you murmur.

And under you, Michael sighs.

#Michael Myers #RZ Myers #Rob Zombie Michael Myers #slashers #smut #requests #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #rz halloween #rz michael myers #rz michael myers x reader #rz Michael Myers x you #slasher x you #slasher fic

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sam-loves-seb · 2 months

Text

wip wednesday friday

we're gonna pretend it's still friday and not ten minutes past midnight here on the east coast (oops). thanks for the tags @jrooc & @mybrainismelted & @transmurderbug <3

wip is from a one shot i'm working on that will (hopefully) be posted next week. it's a bit of a longer snippet so i'm putting it under the cut. enjoy.

March, for some people, always seems to drag on. It’s a long, cold, rain-filled month, especially in Chicago, and it makes it feel like it goes on and on with no end in sight.

Ian, however, finds it to always go by fast.

The twenty-first is here in the blink of an eye, and when he wakes up on the morning of his fourth wedding anniversary—and God isn’t just the thought of that alone enough to make him grin—he wakes up smiling.

Mickey is still asleep beside him, curled up on his side with his half his face smushed into the pillow, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath.

The sun is just starting to rise, and Ian quickly looks over and checks his phone. They still have ten minutes until the first alarm, and he leaves his phone on the bedside table. In the drawer below it, he shuffles around the half-empty bottles of lube and spare phone charger, then lifts his journal just enough to slide out the envelope beneath it.

There’s nothing of note on either side of it, except for the scrawled Mick on one side. Despite the lack of fanfare, Ian grins at what he knows is inside.

These days he tries his best not to wake a sleeping Mickey if he can help it, but Ian figures that if there was ever going to be an exception, today would be it.

He slides over under the covers and rolls Mickey onto his back. Mickey makes a half-conscious noise at the movement, but that’s about it.

Ian leaves the envelope on his side of the bed and stretches himself out over his husband. He keeps the blankets pulled up high on his shoulders because he knows it’s fucking freezing in their apartment in the mornings, and he kisses Mickey’s neck.

Another faint sound comes from Mickey, who’s starting to wake slowly, rolling his head over on the pillow and shifting his shoulders.

Ian continues his path of kisses up to Mickey’s jaw, then switches to the other side. He takes his time, not really looking to start anything, just trying to wake his husband up with soft, loving kisses. It’s slow, careful work, but it’s so worth it when he sees the smile that tugs at the corners of Mickey’s mouth the very first second he’s aware of what’s happening.

“Morning,” Ian whispers into his skin, gently nipping at the skin just above his t-shirt collar.

Mickey hums in approval, lazily lifting one arm and getting his fingers in Ian’s hair. “Hey.”

Ian kisses Mickey’s chest over his t-shirt while his hands slip under it by his sides. Mickey’s body is still sleep-warm and soft, fitting perfectly between his palms.

When Ian reaches the center of his chest, he kisses Mickey once there, then again slightly to the left. He lets his lips linger over the tattoo that he can’t see, but knows the exact position of, then props his chin up on his husband’s chest.

“Happy Anniversary,” Ian whispers, watching Mickey blink his eyes open in the early morning light.

Mickey smirks. “Is that today?”

Ian lightly bites at his pec, and Mickey’s chest rumbles with a laugh.

“Happy Anniversary,” Mickey says with a fond smile. He pushes Ian’s curls back off his forehead. “Four years, huh?”

“Uh huh,” Ian agrees, slowly pushing Mickey’s shirt up his stomach. He dips his head lower, kisses his husband’s belly.

“That’s a long time.”

“Mm.” Ian kisses his navel. “I think we’re just getting started.”

Mickey grins. “Yeah. I think so too.”

After he’s satisfied with his exploration of kissable exposed skin, Ian pulls Mickey’s t-shirt back down and settles heavily on top of him, fitting his body between Mickey’s legs. He brings their faces closer together and kisses him soft and sweet.

Mickey hums as Ian pulls back, the morning sun dancing in his eyes. “Alright Gallagher,” he says. “What do you got planned?”

“For today? Not much,” Ian says with an honest shrug. “Work, some dinner. Maybe we’ll make out a little on the couch later. Oh,” he pretends to just remember something and reaches out to grab the envelope from the other side of the bed. “And there’s this.”

Mickey eyes the plain white envelope suspiciously as he slowly takes it from Ian’s hands. His brows furrow slightly. “I thought for sure you’d make us take the day off from work.”

“No, not today,” Ian says playfully, pretending to think about it. “But tomorrow, don’t bother setting your alarm.”

Mickey grins, all teeth. “Long weekend?”

The hopefulness in his eyes is already enough to convince Ian that what he has planned is a good idea. Just the prospect of a day off has Mickey beaming.

“Extra-long,” Ian tells him, rolling over to the side and propping his elbow up on the mattress, his head resting on his fist. “We took off Monday too.”

Mickey pushes himself up on the pillows so he’s sitting up a bit more, the unopened envelope still in his hands. “We can’t skip Monday, man, we have that huge shipment coming in for the northside grow houses.”

“Carlos is gonna do it.”

“Carlos?” Mickey rasies his brows. “He’s already working forty hours next week.”

“Yeah, he knows,” Ian says, snaking his arm around Mickey’s waist. “He’s looking forward to the overtime in his paycheck.”

Mickey grumbles. “I bet he is, greedy little fucker.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Mickey, he needs the money. His wife’s pregnant.”

“She is?” Mickey asks, as if this is the first he’s hearing about it. “When’s the kid gonna be here?”

“Not ‘til August—are you gonna open that or what?”

TBC [coming soon to an archive near you]

#gee can you guess what i'm writing this for #i wonder!#i still have so much left to write for it so fingers crossed i actually finish this on time oops we'll see !!#anyway #wip #wip game #tag game #gallavich #gallavich wip

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saetoru · 2 years

Note

oh to have draken's balls in my mouth <3

notes: fem! reader, hand jobs, ball sucking, slight fingering at the end, i made this way softer than the other ball sucking drabbles lmao oops draken makes me soft

draken’s tired. he’s always been a little wonder, you suppose, always carried himself around even when he really couldn’t, but you think it’s time he gives himself a break.

so, with soft touches and a lingering gaze into his eyes, you slowly pull his hair out of his ponytail, letting the dark locks fall to his shoulders. he closes his eyes, sighing at the way you thread through his locks. and when your hand leaves his hair, wandering to other parts of him, down past his broad shoulders and defined abs, right past his v-line and to his member, he doesn’t have the heart to stop you. because he’s too tired, and he needs this.

“working so hard, kenny,” you murmur, pressing soft, wet kisses to his jaw. he hums, tilting his head and giving you more access as his rough hands find purchase of your hips, squeezing lightly.

“‘s been busy at the shop,” he groans out as you palm him through his pants. you climb off his lap, sitting yourself in between his spread legs as he stares down at you. and if he wasn’t hard before, he’s rock solid when he stares down into your eyes and sees the clear devotion in them. he slants his hips up and lets you slide his pants and boxers past them, exposing his leaking cock.

pressing a soft kiss to the flushed tip, you rub his thigh slowly, watching as his clenches his jaw and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the couch. he knows you’ve got it from here.

“i know,” you murmur. “never any alone time for us,” you pout softly, and he can’t stop himself from leaning down and stealing one, two, three soft pecks from you when he cracks an eye open as sees the curl of your lips. you taste so sweet, and he groans, missing the feeling of you after hours of work.

“i’ll get a day off for you, princess. we can do whatever you—ah fuck,” he hisses, cutting himself off when your thumb collects the pre cum at the tip of his stiff cock, making his hips buck slightly. slowly, you wrap your hand around his length, stroking him languidly as his head falls back once more, soft moans spilling freely from his mouth.

trailing sweet kisses up his thigh, you inch closer until you can take a heavy ball into your mouth, sucking gently as your hand works his dick at a steady pace. he grunts loudly, thighs quivering at the added stimulation.

“shit, baby,” he groans, large hand falling to the back of your head, keeping you in place. his hips thrust up into your hand, letting out deep grunts when you squeeze just a little tighter. “like that, babe—ngh, fuck.”

“love you, ken,” you whisper as you pop off of one ball, moving onto the other. he chokes on a gasp, harsh pants ripping from his chest as he approaches his orgasm slowly, face flushed and mouth hung open as you jerk off his aching member. there’s a soft whine from his throat when your thumb runs over the vein on the bottom of his cock, and you press your thighs together at the sound, arousal dripping from your core as you watch your boyfriend’s large figure fall apart right above you. “always take care of me, wanna do the same,” you murmur.

“yeah?” he chuckles, looking down at you fondly. affection swirls in his dark eyes as he looks down at you, and his gaze shifts to your hand wrapped tightly around his thick girth. and when your mouth reattaches to his balls, sucking the sensitive sac again once more, his breath hitches in this throat as he grips the cushion tightly, a breathy, drawn out moan falling past his lips as his orgasm crashes over him in waves.

thick, hot spurts of cum shoot from his tip, coating your hand as you stroke him through his high, watching in awe as his face slacks in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut and bottom lip tugged between his teeth. sweat glistens on his forehead, and you feel your chest swell up with pride that you make draken fall apart like this, putty in your hands.

“f-fuck, baby—oh shit,” he curses as he cums hard, hips bucking up faster as he chases the friction of you fisting his member, a ghost of a whimper bubbling from his throat as the last spurt of his cum spills from his tip.

grinning, you climb back up onto the couch, cupping his cheek with your good hand, gaze softening when he leans into your touch. he catches his breath for a moment before cracking his eyes open and meeting your gaze, pulling you into a sweet kiss.

“wanna cum in you this time,” he says in between kisses, nipping at your lower lip as he pulls you straddle his hips, fingers slipping past your waistband and sinking into your wet heat.

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icanfixhimclub · 2 years

Text

𝐼𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑚 || 𝑅𝑎𝑓𝑒 𝐶𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑛

Pairing(s): Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Slight Dark!Rafe, drug use, lots of swearing, kidnapping, mostly fluff

Summary: You will always be it for Rafe, wether you like it or not.

You had been it for him. Since the moment Rafe Cameron had laid eyes on you in 4nd grade, Ms. Wilerds math class, you were it.

“Hi! I’m Rafael, people call me Rafe.” The taller blonde walked up to you with a lopsided smile. “Hi, I’m y/n.” You were hesitant, your friends had told you that his dad was the richest in outer banks, that if he didn’t like you, you were screwed, this was fortunately, not your case. “I think you’re cute, wanna sit with me at lunch.” His question caught you off guard, no boys had talked to you so far at your new school, so for the first one to be a complement was a shocker. “Uh, sure, that’d be cool.” “Cool! Al-“ “Rafael get in your seat!” “Oops, bye!” “Bye.” You had lunch with Rafe that day, and every other day too, quickly getting along.

Then in 7th grade, when he suggested doing a double costume with you for Halloween.

“What about, like, a zombie bride and groom?” “Wouldn’t that make us look like we’re dating?” You looked at him in confusion but he just shrugged, “So? It’s be fun.” You think it over but eventually argee, spending 3 weeks working on your guys costume. By time Halloween came, you guys undoubtedly looked the best, from make up to clothes. “You know, I think you should be a bride one day, my bride.” “What are you talking about Cameron?” You looked up at him with a huff. “We should get married, Y’know, just without the zombie part.” You just nodded and munched on a Twix, “Whatever you say Rafael.”

And how could we forget Sophomore year when you had your first major injury in hockey.

“And Y/n/n is taken down with a hard hit into the boards!” Your head is spinning, no strength in your body to get up. Everything was drowned out as you heard Rafe’s screams. “Y/n/n is not getting up! This can’t be good folks.” A teammate skated over to help you up, reaching out a hand. You tried to take it, but as soon as you leaned yourself in your right arm, pain shot through your nerves and you let out a scream. The game had been paused and you had been taken off the ice to be looked at. Long story short, you sprained your shoulder and can’t play for the rest of the season. Rafe was the first person in the locker room to check on you after the doctors. “Are you ok? Who shoved you, I swear I’ll kill ‘em.” “Rafe, I’m ok, alright?” “But you’re not! You’re gonna miss the last game!” “Rafe,” you use your free hand to hold his face, “Calm down, I’ll be ok.” You kiss his forehead and he sighs.

Then shit went down hill senior year.

“Hey Rafe, I think I’m gonna- what the fuck?” Rafe was leant over a table with some random dudes by his side as he snorted a line of coke. You scoffed and he finally looked at you. “Y/n! Hey, hi, hey.” His words were slurred and his eyes were fixed on your boobs. “Whatever Cameron, thought we made a promise but whatever, I’m walking home.” You turned and jogged out of the house, Rafe calling after you. It was pouring outside and you were suddenly glad you brought your moms old wind breaker, shielding you from the rain a bit. You weren’t even a block when you heard Rafe’s truck beside you. “Y/n get in, you have another 4 blocks, you’ll catch a cold if you don’t.” “Fuck off Rafe, no way I’m getting in a car that you’re driving.” “Then I’ll let you drive, just get in the damn car!” You finally stop and glare at him. He gets out of the truck and gets in the passenger as you get in the drivers side and head to your house. He opens his mouth to talk but you cut him off, “Save it, talk to me in your not high out of your mind.” You pulled into your drive way and silently got out of the truck and into your house.

Even after you broke up, you could still never get rid of him, even if it means taking certain measures.

You woke up in an unfamiliar room, the room quite literally swaying. All you remember was you were at your house watching a movie then passed out. You sit up off the couch and look around, fear sinking in as you look out the window to nothing but ocean. “What the fuck.” “Oh, you’re awake,” You jumped at the sound of Rafe’s voice, “You’ve been out for a while now, got a bit worried for you sweet heart.” “Rafe where the hell am I? Did you kidnap me?” You recoiled into the couch as he steps towards you. “I wouldn’t say kidnap? Maybe, borrowed you for an uncertain amount of time.” “Rafe we broke up 6 months ago, why the hell did you take me?” Rafe laughed and sat beside you, brushing your hair from your face, “You didn’t really think I’d leave you be that easily? Besides, everyone misses you, me, wheezie, Rose, Ward-“ “Ward is dead.” “Mhm, sure sweet heart.” He leaned forward and kisses you, and no matter how much your brain fought it, your heart fell in love all over again with the sweet boy who used to be your best friend, and you melted into his kiss. He pulled away and smiled, “Knew you would come around.” He grinned and kissed your cheek before leaving the room and locking the door from the outside.

You were it for him, and always will be. Wether you like it or not

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #obx fic #outer banks fic #dark!rafe cameron #rafe x y/n #outer banks #drew starkey #rafe x you #rafe cameron x you #wheezie cameron #sarah cameron #ward cameron #rose cameron

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teeth-farie · 3 years

Text

Kinktober Day 3: Impact Play

Mammon/GN Reader

☞. . . This one turned out a little longer, oops!

The brothers seemed to listen to punishment better when it was dealt by your hands. It started with when you snapped at them, raising your voice and putting them in their place purely with shock. Whatever they did wrong, they fixed it that day. Mammon…Mammon was a little different. He’d much rather deal with a punishment from you than Lucifer, though that didn’t keep him from his usual shenanigans. Eventually, stern talking to’s weren’t cutting it.

“Mammon, I have reason to believe you’ve been selling my things.” You haven’t even raised your voice, and Mammon resembles a kicked puppy. “Lectures haven’t been cutting it, I’m going to start taking physical measures with you.” The low lights of your bedroom highlight that pang of fear almost perfectly. It’s gone before it came. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead and tie me up already.”

You rummage around your wooden chest, retrieving something sleek and dark. “Actually, no. I’m going to punish you the way humans do.” You sit down on the edge of your bed, setting the paddle within your reach. Mammon swallows thickly, heat blooming on his face. “I-I mean, y-you,”

“Over my knees, this is your punishment.”

Mammon slowly shuffles over, averting his eyes every time he finds you still staring at him. “S’ weird,” he grumbles, yet he bends over your lap nonetheless, crossing his arms in front of himself. Just the feeling of your hand on his back makes him jump. You guide your hand down his tailbone, resting it on his rear. “I won’t start with the paddle just yet.”

Oddly enough, Mammon finds himself a little disappointed. That disappointment fades with the first hit, the fabric of his jeans cushioning the full force of your hand. He hides his face in his arms, biting down on his bottom lip. You hit again, dissatisfied with the lack of sting. “I’m pulling your pants down.”

“Wha-!”

You reach under him, where his crotch presses against your thighs and flick open his button. It takes a few tugs to get his tight jeans off, yet Mammon makes no effort to get away from you. You pull his jeans down under his ass, exposing black underwear. You decide to keep his underwear on him, if only to spare him from a complete strip of dignity.

The next spank is far more satisfying, a resounding slap! echoing from your palm. Mammon yelps, legs kicking out behind him. “That’s one,” you reel your hand back and hit again, slapping under his thighs. It elicits a high whimper this time, muffled by his arms. “Two,” he gasps out without your prompting. You raise a brow, a smirk spreading on your lips. “That’s right, go ahead and keep counting.” You punctuate your sentences with a few more spanks, focusing on his right cheek. “Ow! Three! F-four, five!”

“Tell me what you did wrong, why you’re here.”

Mammon swallows, panting in the crevice of his elbows, his hot breath fanning back at him. “I-I took your stuff.” He keens as you grab the lean fat of his ass, squeezing it between your fingers before spanking finally again. “Sixxx,” he practically drools, cursing himself at the interested twitch his dick gives. “Hm, you don’t seem too sorry,” you sigh with mock disappointment.

The shuffling clues Mammon in that you’ve grabbed the paddle, a surge of fear and excitement pooling in his chest.

You rest the paddle on his ass, the resin cool against his heated skin. It’s about the same color as his underwear, a smooth voided black. Mammon braces himself, lurching forward when the paddle comes down on his ass with a thwack!

“Fucking—seven!”

Thwack! Smack!

“E-eight, nine! M’sorry, I’m sorry!”

You put as much force into the next hit as you can, an actual moan slipping from his lips. “Ten,” he croaks, and it’s abundantly clear how hard he is, straining in his underwear. Mammon’s shaking violently, stomach clenching with his wracking body. He feels like he’s on fire, and you didn’t even smack his bare flesh. “You did good, you took your punishment like a good boy.” Your praise coats his senses like a balm, and Mammon feels like he’s floating. “M’good?” He slurs, feeling loose and unscrewed from his body when you begin guiding him back up.

He slumps against your lap again, clinging onto your shoulders. “Yes, you are! Punishment’s over, it’s all done.” You lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead.

Mammon melts, lips parting in a whimper. “How about we take care of this now?” You ask gently, pressing a fingertip to the swollen tip of his cock. He groans, weakly rutting his hips up. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he stutters, his head thumping onto your shoulder. You keep rubbing him through his underwear, tapping the little puddle of sticky fluid building at its peak. Mammon’s breath is hot against your neck, his drool collecting in the crook of your shoulder.

You begin pumping him to the best of your ability, yet he doesn’t seem to mind the restricted mobility. His toes curl in his boots, fingers squeezing tighter into the meat of your arms. “S’good, so good,” his stomach tightens, a warmth pooling below his navel. “Go ahead and come for me,” you whisper in his ear, gently rubbing underneath the head.

He keens, his entire body tending as liquid warmth spreads under your hands. “Ah-hah, hnn,” Mammon falls limp, arms loosely curled around you. “I d-didn’t, I didn’t sell it,” he begins, his voice cloudy and hoarse.

“Sell what?”

“Your stuff. I just took it, yaknow? S’ in my room—I missed ya.” You gently rub over his back, a curl to your lips as a low purr rumbles from his chest. “That’s ok, you can keep it.” You know full well of his horde, you’re just wondering about the day he’ll crack and try to take you too.

#spicy #mammon #kinktober 2021 #queue #sub obey me #dom reader

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tteokdoroki · 3 years

Note

hi lovely! i hope you’re doing well<3 i was wondering if i could request (hcs or drabbles? you can choose) for keigo and bakugou going to a hero gala with their s/o? this can be gn for everyone hehe but i’d like to see how they’d react seeing their s/o in formal wear and how’d they go about acting at the gala. (if you throw in a lil nsfw in there i’ll love you forever hehe) thank you!

— seeing their s/o in formal wear for the first time !

⇝ pairing(s): keigo takami, katsuki. bakugou x gn!reader

⇝ rating: mature, 18+.

⇝ genre: smut, fluff.

⇝ warning(s): please read ! unprotected sex ( please wear protection ), public sex, oral sex ( reader receiving ), handjobs, marking.

⇝ author’s note(s): ello ello, i’m back with some requests once again, i decided to switch this one up a little bit and include a slight scenario for each character, please let me know if you liked it, nsfw below the cut <3

⇝ masterlist | requests

you probs haven’t been dating very long when keigo asks you on a date to the upcoming hero gala

you’re also a civilian so he’s worried it might not be your scene !!

he’s over the moon when you say yes and is pressing a bunch of kissies to your face.

gives you his bad boy black credit card and tells you to buy whatever you fancy; it just has to be formal wear !!

i see you not being very comfy with idea of using his card to buy yourself something expensive since you’re only just dating

but he waves his hand and says “only the best for my baby bird.”

probably sends his assistant to make sure you’re not worried about the price tag.

on the night when he sees you his draw DROPS

because damn, you look so good in that cute little outfit you got.

it compliments you so well and you look absolutely ravishing.

cant stop looking at you the whole night.

will probably be handsy the whole time, slipping under fabric of your expensive new clothes.

keigo steals you away from a chat with endeavour to slow dance with you during the gala.

“damn baby bird, if i’d have known you were gonna look this good in formal wear, we’d never have left the apartment.”

you whimper into his ear and keigo knows he’s done for.

don’t even make it home, he just pulls you into the closest bathroom and forces you over the sinks.

“k-keigo, anyone could walk in and see—“

“see? oh baby, i bet you want them to see how much of a mess i’m going to make you.”

barley holds back as he gives you his cock, it’s so loud that literally e v e r y o n e can hear you from outside.

when you stumble out both of you a visibly messy from your activities.

you take your leave and barley make it to the car before keigo’s hands are on you again.

⇝ scenario:

if anyone were to walk into the bathroom right now, you’d surely be fucked. million dollar outfit a mess on the floor, hair strewn about and number two pro hero between your legs.

keigo groans as your free hand curls in the sea of his messy blonde hair, forcefully tugging his head up to yours before you press a sloppy kiss to his glistening lips. you whimper at the taste of yourself on his tongue. “k-keigo,” you whimper, legs begging to shudder as his free hand roams your nether regions, stimulating you until you’re seeing new colours behind closes eyelids and your body is trembling against the bathroom counter. “p-please—“

“please what angel? don’t hear you using your words.”

you curl in on yourself, feeling the knot in your tummy tighten as if it’s about to unravel— your eyes snap open to meet a pair of dilated golden ones, making you moan so loud that you clamp down on your bottom lip to keep the sounds in. “gonna cum, don’t wanna be to—to loud, people could hear...”

your boyfriend chuckles darkly from above you, mouth falling open to mock your moans while the slick sounds of your sex flicker between you. “ohoho baby bird, don’t worry about that and let them know how good i’m making you feel.”

you’ve been dating for a year or two at this point but bakugous really private so he’s never taken you to the gala.

when the next one rolls around you decide to ask him why he’s never asked you to go

katsuki just shrugs and says he “didn’t think you’d like all the lights and shitty cameras.”

nonetheless he invites you this time and you happily agree but pout upon realising you don’t have anything appropriate to wear.

you’re both pretty new to the pro hero thing but i think katsuki would be higher ranked and thus earn more bc he’s on track to be number one.

so you’re sitting there like >:(

and bakugou flicks your forehead and rolls his eyes.

“don’t pout dumbass, just use my card and get yourself something nice.”

you don’t hesitate, bouncing to the nearest mall the next day to get yourself something off the charts.

you end up running a little late to the gala so arrive separately from bakugou but when he sees you ...

gosh !!,£/&/

a tiny explosion sets off in his palm from how gorgeous you are

his hands are probably sweaty for the rest of the night.

he keeps checking you out from across the room, staring at you while he sips on champagne...

you only catch him because he keeps letting off tiny explosions by accident !!

you’re probably the one to initiate any teasing that night, slipping your hand down his breaches at the dinner table.

he doesn’t flinch but sends you a warning glare.

probably let’s out a strangled moan when you start palming him for real.

“fuck, yn...”

“what was that kacchan?”

“mind your fuckin’...fuckin’ business, damn nerd. we’re going home.”

yanks you from the table and heads straight for the car.

you both don’t say anything in the car home but as soon as you’re past the front door bakugou is ravaging you like his last meal

teeth, tongue, love bites !! you name it !!

“you think you can get away with teasing me like that? well you’re in for a long fuckin’ night sweetheart.”

oop , you can’t walk for days after that.

⇝ scenario:

“how do you like me now, sweetheart? not so confident— ah fuck, are you?”

bakugou mocks you, forcing you up the wall with every thrust inside of your tight heat. you’d barely made it into the house before your boyfriend pounced, lips on your neck on your lips and your sex. the guy was relentless; tearing right through your formal wear with no regrets, what was left of your outfit remained bunched at your hips— katsuki using the fabric to pull you back onto his hard cock.

tears threaten to spill from the corners of your eyes, nails scratching their way down the walls as your boyfriend lands a harsh spank to your ass— the pain sending shivers down your spine. “not gonna answer me brat?” he spits; finger tips singing little marks into the skin of your hips. “where’s all that mouth you had earlier? when your hands were down my fuckin’ pants in front of all those people.”

“k-katsuki!”

the blonde pulls you back by your hair, blood red eyes staring right into yours as the pace of his hips speed up; forcing his red hot length further into your walls. “that’s what i thought. now sit there and take my cock. that’ll teach you to misbehave again.”

some more helpful links about recent events:

educate yourself carrd

issues going on in the world carrd

blm carrd

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levisgirll · 3 years

Note

i had this idea in mind and i was wondering if i could request a little story hc for it pls! so basically, levi's s/o is a bit of a klutz and can break things sometimes so when levis out in a meeting and his s/o is cleaning his office, she accidentally breaks one of his tea cups and starts panicking if he sees what she's done. so she frantically tries to fix it in the time that she has but levi catches her and she just breaks down and feels really bad but levi comforts her in the way that he can? sorry if this is too specific but you can add in your own ideas as well! <3

𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐞-𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 (𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐀𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

→ text: hello there anon! this is such a great idea and I made it loads of fluff so I hope you enjoy it <3 ty for sharing your ideas and making it specific!🥺

synopsis: just as Y/N thought today would be a normal day and wanting to spend the rest of the day with her boyfriend, Levi, she accidently breaks one of his favorite things, which is his teacup! Y/N feels extremely bad about it and tries her best to fix it, although something goes wrong and Levi notices it. How does her boyfriend Levi react? And what does he do and say to her? get ready cause y/n gets to see a side of Levi she never seen before!

real cute fluff, a lil mention of injury (?), aot world, headcanon fanfic ♡ —

“I’ll see you later Y/N, okay? I just have a quick meeting to attend.” Levi said as he ruffled his girlfriends hair, giving her a small smile. “If you need anything-” Just as Levi was about to reassure his girlfriend that he is always willing to help her out, she cut him off by hugging his chest suddenly. “Don’t worry! I will be fine! And I just only want you back as soon as possible, so I will wait for you here!” His girlfriend said with a cheerful tone and gave him the most purest smile.

Levi loved his girlfriend a lot, and he would always be ready and willing to offer his help, time and effort for Y/N, because to him, she meant the world. His girlfriend was a bit clumsy, and that did not matter to Levi a lot but when it comes to Y/N accidentally slipping, or dropping things. He would never get mad at her but instead worried if she ever got herself hurt. He would always be a step ahead, ready to treat her injuries quickly if the thing she broke caused her harm and he would always then check up on his girl and ask her if she was alright.

He would usually take on many tasks and do them just to help his s/o out. Levi then started to find her pure clumsiness lowkey cute sometimes, for instance when she spills the tea while giving it to Levi and half of it would be gone, he would slightly chuckle and then say, “You made this for me?” And she would get so happy and nodding her head with a bright smile, getting happy how Levi said that. He admired and appreciated her effort for him, but what he finds also cute is when they are cleaning together alone at the stable and she would randomly drop her broom and say “Oops!” and when she tries to pick it up, Levi would just give her his broom and then chuckle “Stop being cute already.” and after he said that he lightly flicked her forehead, making his girlfriend a blushing mess right now and being embarrassed.

Waking up to random bruises would usually happen to his girlfriend when they sleep together. Y/N never had no idea where, when and how that happened! And when Levi wakes up and notices that as the sun shines on her skin, and he sees a small bruise on her upper arm, he would say “How did you get that?”. Y/N would turn her head that was laying on Levi’s chest to look at her arm, and then she would say “I wanna know that too!”. Levi would slightly chuckle and then he would caress it gently, to see if it hurts you, and if he sees no reaction coming from you he feels relieved but still puts a bandage on it later on as you change to your uniform <3

Levi would never let you walk after it has rained, on a wet floor, he would turn around and suddenly pick his girlfriend up from her waist, carrying her in his arms (in a bridal style way) and he would say “I’m carrying you. I don't want you slipping.” This man is ready and prepared to take care of his girl, the woman he loves dearly.

When Levi hears Y/N saying ‘ouch’, he quickly comes to you, as if he was summoned, and just randomly check on you then asks “Where are you hurt love?” Levi is ready, and your boyfriend does think of you 24/7 and cherishes you!

Although, one day her klutziness got the best of her today and it left Levi being really concerned and upset.

After Levi has gone to his meeting, Y/N decided to surprise him by cleaning his office as he always seems to smile whenever he sees something clean, and his girlfriend wants to see her boyfriend Levi smile as much as he can!

While she was cleaning his office in her free time, wiping the table surface with a cloth, she picked his teacup up and with her other hand was rubbing the table. But, she accidently slipped the teacup that was from her hand and it fell on the ground, causing it to break, shattering to pieces.

“Oh shit, shit, shit! I really fucked up this time!” Y/N said panicking and started to pace around, wondering what to do next. Her tears started to form in her eyes and she started to regret what she has done. Levi would so be upset and mad at her now.

Y/N then frantically tries her best to pick up the teacup pieces from the ground and was seeing if she would fix it or put them the pieces back together. She wanted to do this quick before Levi would come in and see what she has done.

But, that was too late as soon as Levi opened his office door, “Hey Y/N, I’m ba- What the hell.” Levi was caught off guard as he saw Y/N bent down, and when he came closer to her to see what she was doing, he then realized there were pieces of glass on the floor and that made him worry. “L-Levi, Don’t worry I’ll fix-” As soon as his girlfriend was about to finish what she was saying to him, she winced in pain as she accidentally cut herself with the small glass pieces since she got startled by Levi’s sudden presence. “Ow!” She uttered a yelp as she jolted from the pain and blood was now staring to form on her index finger.

Levi dropped everything he was carrying on the ground and immediately went to his girlfriend to help her. “Love are you okay?! Let me see.” He quickly took her hand, examining the cut on her index finger and went to his desk to get the first aid to patch Y/N up. Levi was calm and still as he was treating her injury, and he stayed silent while helping her out, focusing on putting the bandage on her accurately, and also to make sure she wouldn’t get even more pain while he was doing it.

Although, his girlfriend mistook that has Levi being mad and angry at her and she felt extremely bad, she looked down to her shoes, avoiding his eye contact and started to tear up. “I-I’m sorry Levi....I-I know you are mad right now, I feel really bad what I have done. I know how much you liked that teacup, I’m sorry I brok-”

Levi cut her off and brought his hand under her chin, to pull it up and made her now looking directly to his grey eyes. He had a calm expression but in his eyes he felt worried for her and his love for her was also shown. “I don’t care about that damn cup. What I care about is you idiot. Are you okay? Is it painful?” He questioned her in a concern tone, waiting for her response and she stood there sitting, her eyes would be wide open and surprised how Levi actually did not care a single bit about the teacup and was not even mad at her clumsiness. His love for her was stronger than that, and nothing mattered to him other than his girlfriend.

“No...” Y/N said in a soft tone and looked away, still feeling bad about what she did and Levi did notice that. He brought her closer and what he did really shocked Y/N. He gave her a tight and warm hug, and he was softly stroking her back gently and lovingly. She then realized that this was Levi’s own way of comfort, his way to let her know that it was all right and he only cared about was her.

This made Y/N a blushing mess and she grabbed on to Levi, and hugged him around his shoulders and softly sobbed on his neck. He was really gentle and soft towards her, and she loved him even more.

After that, Levi would take his girlfriends hand and pull her up, “Let’s go out.” Y/N just nodded and wondered where they would head to around this hour?

They then ended up in town, and Levi was holding her hand carefully and would time to time caress the back of her hand softly with his thumb to ease the pain away and that would give Y/N butterflies every single time he did that.

It turned out that, to make his girlfriend not feel bad about what she did. He ended up buying new teacups, and he would ask her to pick two teacups that she liked. She listened to him and picked the ones she found cute, and wondered why. It was then she realized that Levi finally said with a slight blush on his cheeks, “We can have, matching teacups. Hm, What do you think?”

Now, they have matching teacups <3 He was honestly the best boyfriend to Y/N and he tells her in his own way to comfort her that he is glad she broke that, cause if she didn't they wouldn't have matching teacups “That teacup was shit anyways. I wanted to buy a new set of teacups with you.” Levi would say he wouldn't even know how to even mention it and bring it up cause he was in fact thinking of having matching teacups! He is awkward and shy and would be a stuttering mess if he ever brought it up randomly one day to Y/N so he never mentioned it, but today was the day he would slip it in!

His girlfriend felt pleased and happy, happy about the fact that Levi was really understanding and he would do anything to make her feel happy again, he would never let Y/N go a day not feeling happy and making sure his girl was alright. She would then chuckle after and say, “Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

Levi would then smile at her, feeling relieved to see her smiling and happy again, cause in the end of the day, that was important to him other than a stupid teacup.

Now, Levi would roast ANYONE who touches his and Y/N's teacups. Levi would say to the other scouts that she is only allowed to touch them, use them, clean and even break it.

Then, starting from the next day Levi would sneak in kisses on her hand that got the cut every now and then when no one is looking. This left both of them blushing a lot.

Y/N would sometimes say with a sad sigh “Ugh, I’m so clumsily.” to Levi, but he would then go near her face and hold her side cheek which got her off guard and say “Yea, You are ‘my’ clumsily girl.” He won’t let you say anything negative about yourself slip by and you always feel loved whenever he did that.

Overall, Levi found her absolutely wonderful and her qualities far outshine some of the challenges she faces. Even while she is clumsy and stumbling, she is very skilled when it gets to use her 3D gear, she can just move around very good, flexible and easily avoids titans and Levi is kind of impressed by her skills then says “That's my girl” with a soft smile. Y/N had talent in her blood.

Okay I found this hc fanfic so cute! Levi would definitely never get mad at his girl when it comes to this since this man is very mature and understanding, and he is always willing to make sure she is doing alright and taking care of his girl <3 Levi now uses the new matching teacups every now and then and he would always gets your tea ready using them! (he would be such an excited kid whenever you both used it) so expect to have more tea time sessions with him. Anyways, I hope you and anyone else enjoyed it, and please leave a like, reblog or a message to let me know! Have a great rest of the day and ty for the support <3

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cobaincreates · 3 years

Text

the fuck is a touron? pt. 2

warnings: language, mention of drugs & alcohol, smut (wrap it you're smart), very brief oral (male receiving), 18+

count: 9k+

part one is here! i hope you enjoy this as much as i did writing it! also remember when i said this has been sitting for a couple months?? welp, it’s been longer than that...oops. but it's all yours now!!! :)

taglist is always open. have a lovely weekend! photo cred

— — —

3 weeks earlier

a loud blare jolted you awake.

“what the fuck?”

you scrambled to stop the noise, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest. your head knocked into something hard as you twisted and tried to assemble your brain.

a clatter of what sounded like several bottles came from your right. the sound still rang out into the room—which was where exactly?

as you got to your hands and knees and shuffled against what felt like carpet, you remembered vaguely that you’d gone out last night. the carpet and dark room didn’t tell you much else. but the trilling alarm was enough to set you into a search to find that out.

“shut that off!” a voice yelled from behind you.

your hand knocked into more bottles and you grappled for one, feeling the familiar shape of a glass beer bottle. someone groaned in front of you then a blinding light pierced across your eyes. you sucked in a breath, dropping the bottle and covering your eyes.

what, were you a vampire? you peeked past your fingers to a parted curtain letting in a sliver of sunlight. you saw a little more of where you’d been, the light trail full of bottles and some sprawled legs and arms.

the alarm cut off suddenly. soft snores and labored breaths filled the silence now, along with a pounding in your ears so intense, you would’ve thought you were still hearing the alarm. a slow, gradual ache formed in the center of your forehead.

you blinked as your eyes adjusted to the light. a sparkling stiletto caught your attention, but it wasn’t on a foot. you looked around the room and spotted its twin near the back of a couch. crawling over, you found liza laying on her back with her hair messily splayed around her.

she was yawning while her phone lit up her face in a soft glow. when your eyes met, she whispered, “hey.”

you faintly remembered her setting an alarm on her phone somewhere in between jell-o shots and body shots. or was it after the jäger bombs?

you let out an oomf as you collapsed beside her on your stomach. your head didn’t let up the pounding. you made a noise, your words muffled against the stale-smelling carpet.

“what?” liza said, not having heard any coherent words.

you turned your head, the carpet scratching your cheek. “i said, nurse me back to health, please.”

“i told you not to do those lines,” she said, shaking her head.

“what?” you said a little too loudly, earning a few shh!s in return.

“i’m kidding,” liza laughed.

you grimaced, mostly at her but also at the hair in your mouth. you reached up to remove it and sat up while liza looked at her phone.

“what time is it?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder around the room.

no one else had moved from liza’s wake-up alarm. your vision was clearer now and you took in the trashed room. bottles lay everywhere, a few staining the carpet in dark puddles. a lamp was on the floor, its shade across the room over someone’s head. it was warm considering the blackout curtains keeping the morning sun out and you couldn’t imagine sleeping in here any longer.

your head pounded again as liza said, “noon.”

“can we go? i might throw up from how hot it is in here.” you pulled at your dress, wanting nothing more than to get under some cold water.

liza sat up and looked around, dropping her phone into her lap. “i need my other shoe.”

“it’s over here,” you said and crawled to retrieve it for her.

she put it on, her dress riding up her thighs before she stood and pulled it back down. you took her offered hand so she could help you up. your heels sank into the carpet and you looked down, finding a soggy spot where beer had seeped in. you frowned and grabbed ahold of liza’s arm to find your way out.

your small crossbody clutch was resting on the couch cushion and you reached for it over a girl’s sleeping form, careful not to wake her. she made a small noise and you snatched it quickly, feeling the weight of your phone inside.

liza ordered an uber to bring you back to campus. it was fifteen minutes away and you panicked for a brief moment from not knowing where the hell you were. last night was a whole blur apart from arriving and getting into the swing of things. you remember dancing and drinking and having fun with liza and a few other friends. it wasn’t usual for you to sleep at random people’s houses after parties, but last night must have been a little more eventful than others.

you let out a long breath you didn’t know you were holding as you sank into the back of the uber driver’s car. luckily, you didn’t get someone hopped up on coffee or blasting music. it was quiet and calm, enough so that you closed your eyes.

speaking of coffee, you could really use one. and food. and a shower. had you really slept on that nasty carpet last night? you shuddered and opened your eyes.

fishing out your phone from your clutch, you saw a few notifications from last night and the past few hours. you ignored them for now and unlocked your phone with the goal of texting one of your friends who worked at the diner in town and begging him to have your usual ready when you got there. it was all you could think about as your stomach rumbled.

but when you unlocked your phone, your eyebrows drew together. your screen opened to an internet tab, a little plane logo at the top corner.

“why the fuck did i buy a ticket to the outer banks?” you blurted to no one in particular. well, maybe to your friend beside you, who lived in the outer banks.

liza lolled her head toward you on the back of the seat, not at all looking as concerned as you felt. “you’re visiting, remember? i talked you into buying it last night.”

“why?” your head seemed to throb even worse.

you couldn’t go to the outer banks. you didn’t have the money for it and the ticket on your internet browser said you’d even bought a round trip one. god, why had you done that? you were saving up for the summer. you were saving up to see so much more than the outer banks. as much as you loved liza, and you knew she’d love to have you there, you would be wasting a weekend. how were you going to tell your boss that you needed off at such short notice?

liza shrugged beside you. “because my dad will be gone for a whole weekend and i’m throwing the biggest party ever and you love me and you promised to dance to ‘back that ass up’ with me there.”

“oh my god,” you groaned and dropped your phone into your lap. you rubbed your pulsing temples. “i can’t go, liza. i really need the money.”

“hence why you have a job—said job will pay that back in a week. you’re fine,” she waved her hand and turned back to the window.

“i need to work that weekend,” you argued. just thinking about asking for it off had your skin crawling.

“you can take time off. you never do.” liza shrugged, looking at you again. her face softened when she noticed how distraught you were over it. “look, if you really don’t want to, then just cancel it. it’s okay if you don’t come.”

your fingers came away from your head as you saw that she was being genuine. she may have joked around with you a lot, but she meant it when she said that.

friday

getting time off wasn’t easy. your boss acted like the ultimate villain in a boss level from a video game, having you go through all of these obstacles just to get three days off. you understood it, you were short-staffed anyways and it was hard, but you couldn’t help feeling as though they were a little harsh on you. it was always a fight to get time off, even when you showed up every day, on time, and did your work without complaint.

right after you talked to your boss, feeling the ultimate amount of shame over requesting three days, you searched high and low for someone to cover your shift. turns out, it wasn’t all that difficult to begin with since one of your co-workers—who just had a baby and was still a full-time student—told you they’d appreciate the extra hours. you felt instantly better afterward until your boss asked you to fill out three separate sheets for the time off. no, you couldn’t just write the three days on one sheet. it had to be three. separate. sheets.

it was completely ridiculous and uncalled for. you fumed for a while, pressing way too hard on your pen as you filled them out. once you set them on their desk, all filled out properly, you reminded yourself you could quit soon. just a few more months of the semester and you’d be gone.

the next day when you came in, your boss had allegedly lost those request papers. and funnily enough, they allowed you to put the weekend dates on one paper this time. you’d stared at them for a whole three minutes, paper in your hand and tongue between your teeth with angry words just dying to get out. you can quit soon. you can quit soon.

the weeks dragged by before the day finally arrived and you left for your flight. it was only when you got off the plane that the hours started to fly by. it was colder this time around, which you didn’t mind, even on the breezy ferry ride. you were looking forward to campfires and cozy sweaters.

you hopped off the ferry around noon and right into liza’s waiting arms at the dock. she was overjoyed about you visiting and you knew all the trouble with work was worth it just to get away for a little. you were young, there was no shame in a little time off, and liza was right—you’d already earned the money back for the ticket.

liza’s dad was bustling around their house when you arrived, packing like a crazy person on a time crunch. he threw a hello at you as he shuffled past with an armful of socks and possibly underwear, which had you lifting an eyebrow at liza. she shoved your arm and took your bag into the guest bedroom.

“where’s your dad running off to? can i go?” you teased, dropping your backpack onto the light green comforter. the white walls seemed brighter this time, but you accounted it for the new sheer curtains over the windows facing the back of the house.

“he’s going on a business trip. and no, you can’t. his girlfriend is going with him.” liza left your bag near the dresser and hopped on the bed, the comforter sighing under her weight.

“girlfriend? aw, man.” you frowned dramatically and lay on your stomach beside her. “do we like this girlfriend?”

“she’s very...” her left eye squinted as she thought. “eccentric. like, i don’t know how to take it. he seems happy though.”

“like, weird eccentric or crazy eccentric?”

“i don’t know. i haven’t breached the abortion topic with her yet. that could be very telling, don’t you think?” a playful smile hinted at her lips.

“totally telling,” you agreed.

minutes later, you were waving liza’s dad off as he pulled out of the driveway, liza standing a few steps in front of you. once he was gone and out of sight down the drive, liza turned back to you with a flourish and a cheshire grin spread on her face. you laughed as she pushed you into the house and began jumping excitedly. music started playing somewhere in between the jumping, which promptly turned to dancing in the kitchen. having a whole house to yourselves was always a thrilling thing.

it wasn’t long after that that liza told you to get ready for a party at the boneyard, as she called it. you had no idea whether to take that literally or just go along with it and be surprised. you went with the latter as you changed out of your airport clothes.

as you were heading that way, you thought about that one fling you had the last time you were here. what was his name? something rich, with a t. tom? trenton? no, no, something obscure. topper. god, you nearly forgot about him, but now that you were visiting again, you wondered if he was around. in the middle of the semester seemed like your luck would be out.

liza was slowing the car as you thought to text topper, just to see if he was here. you hadn’t talked since that summer—what was it? seven months ago? you hadn’t felt the need to keep in touch. didn’t he say to shoot him a text when you were in town again? you supposed there was no harm in doing so. what could be the worst thing to happen? maybe he wouldn’t be in town, but you wouldn’t be all that bummed about not having a hookup. you weren’t as ravenous as you were in the summer.

“are you getting out?”

your head turned and you found liza standing with the door open, her keys dangling from her hand. you hadn’t noticed that the car had parked or that you’d arrived at wherever the boneyard was. the beach was right in front of you, just over a small crest in the sand. you could smell it slipping into the car from where liza held the door propped open.

you opened your own door and hopped out, the gravel crunching under your shoes. you were glad you opted for a sweater with the early spring wind from the water as it blew over your shoulders and tangled into your hair.

a handful of people were already on the beach, stripped driftwood scattered around. most used them as seats while there was a fire already going and drinks in their hands. you couldn’t help but smile at the sight, a giddiness filling your chest. this was exactly what you needed and the perfect setting for it.

liza pulled you into a group with some familiar faces that you had met the last time around. small talk was immediately flowing and you couldn’t care less for it, but you welcomed it anyways. liza was quick to guide you to the next group and the next before you finally got comfortable with a drink in hand. you sipped it steadily and ditched your shoes with liza’s, sticking them under a piece of driftwood behind where you stood. one of liza’s friends was asking you about your degree, something along the lines of why you had chosen it. you couldn’t comprehend it fully as your eyes drifted around the sand where people stood in small groups and larger ones.

standing near an overturned lifeguard post that was sure to be rotting away was none other than topper. he was facing away from you, but you had no doubt in your mind that it was him. his hair was blonder than it was when you met, funnily enough in the colder months. he wore a sweatshirt (blue or dark green, you couldn’t tell) paired with shorts and (surprisingly) sneakers.

you turned back to liza’s friend, giving them a somewhat vague but good answer. you then excused yourself and split from the group to head in topper’s direction. you stopped just outside of his larger group and crossed your arms, holding on to your beer by the neck loosely. it took a minute or two for topper to notice you, obviously feeling a presence behind him and doing a double-take. you already had a smirk on your face.

“holy shit, hi.” he blinked rapidly, turning away from his friends.

“hi,” you laughed. both of you went in for a hug at the same time. topper pressed your waist firmly to his while you hugged him around his shoulders.

“it’s good to see you,” you said.

“yeah, you too.” there was surprise in his voice and features as if he never thought he would see you again. your hand slipped down his arm as you pulled away before you took a step back, your hands resting at your sides.

“how have—“

“hey! the touron’s back!” a voice over his shoulder shouted.

you looked in its direction, finding a menacing smirk on an all too familiar face. you couldn’t remember his name as he sipped arrogantly on a beer, perched on the rotting lifeguard’s post.

you found your own sweet smile and raised your free hand to flip him off, which only egged him on more as his laughter filtered out. you were instantly annoyed, although you didn’t show it as he had brought unwanted attention to you and topper. you were sure most of the people in this larger group had been on topper’s deck that day in the summer.

topper looked at a loss for words when you turned back to him, his eyes still on you. you were glad he wasn’t laughing at his friend’s comment.

“can i get you another drink?” he gestured to the bottle between your fingers and you glanced down, seeing that it was a sip away from empty.

you gave him a nod as you said, “sure.”

the sun was setting by the time you got a refill, the glass cold against your palm, and wandered off with topper toward the water. conversation flowed as you caught up, shrugging as you told him all you had been doing was working and studying. you were lucky if you got to go out and have fun once in a while. topper expressed the same, talking animatedly about college and visiting home for the weekend to see his friends.

you wondered what he was like at college, if he spent most of his quieter hours in the library reading articles or if he was the type of friend to take up guard in the kitchen at parties. it was easy to imagine him in those situations since you hardly knew him. his smirking friend certainly didn’t seem the type.

you flicked some wet sand into the water, imagining the waves bringing it back to settle at your feet. topper stood beside you, the wind tousling his locks. you had just mentioned how your mother had bought a new coffee machine and how your dad canceled it because there was no point in having two. your mother just figured it would be easier having two so no one had to wait on the single-cup brewing system. it made you laugh and roll your eyes when you heard about it over the phone. topper had been smiling the whole time as he listened, his head inclined like you were whispering.

a rush of heat had slithered down between your thighs when you caught his eyes a couple times. he was just watching you as you spoke and you couldn’t help but smile flirtatiously, wondering if he was thinking what you were thinking.

how you were imagining last summer and the feel of his hands on your skin. you wished you’d gotten to know more of him; if he had any scars or little beauty marks that you didn’t notice the first time. it was easy to imagine it, but you had the burning curiosity to see for yourself.

you needed to take a break, to get a gulp of air before you drowned in the thought and jumped his bones right here and now.

“i should go find liza,” you said abruptly even though no one had been speaking. “i’ll see you around?”

topper nodded without a word and you caught a glimpse of confusion on his face, but you walked away. you let out a deep breath as you felt the wet sand turn dry under your feet. the sky was an inky pink behind you, windshields on cars reflecting it back.

you wrapped an arm around liza when you found her and she smiled knowingly. you didn’t have to ask if she’d seen you with topper, it was quite obvious in such an open area.

topper took up his place with the group you took him away from, but this time he was facing your way. you closed your lips around your bottle, staring back at him as he did the same thing. a shiver went up your legs, goosebumps exposing to the crisp air around you. you had to look away before you walked over there and kissed the hell out of him. your heart was behaving rather poorly now.

but could you help it? every time he looked at you as the sky grew darker and the bonfire grew larger, every obscene image possible took shelter behind your eyes. your mouth dried out so many times that you eventually had to get another drink and another. topper wasn’t making it easy and you started digging holes with your feet just to stay put.

you wouldn’t go to him, you made that very clear to yourself. if topper wanted you, then he’d have to make the first move. stubborn as it was maybe, but you’d torture him if you had to like he was torturing you now with all of these looks under his lashes. christ.

“my god,” liza said into your ear as she stood on the driftwood behind you, arms around your neck. “you’d think topper was a starving man.”

“shut up,” you laughed and looked at a fallen log in the fire pit.

“i’m serious. you guys have been undressing each other for an hour and a half now. just go over there and make out with him.”

you smiled into your drink, keeping your eyes far away from topper, or else you might actually do just that.

“there’s hardly any pda going on as it is, we need entertainment,” liza sighed.

“there’s your entertainment,” you nodded your head toward a rowdy group of young high schoolers shouting at each other. three of them looked angry as all hell and there was a bit of shoving before one of the older college boys broke it apart.

“that was short-lived,” liza frowned as she hopped down from the driftwood.

“you want another drink?” you asked her as she finished off her last one.

“yes, please!” she beamed as you took her bottle and tossed them into a nearby trash bin. you headed for the stocked cooler and grabbed two beers. as you stood, topper was making his way over.

“you have any plans after this?” he asked without much preamble.

you smiled, pulling the tops off and taking a sip from your own, eyeing him as you did. that flicker of heat made its way back between your thighs, warming you all over. you couldn’t deny the suggestion in his question excited you and you were giving yourself a mental pat on the back for being patient.

“nope, i’m all yours.”

topper smiled slowly, his eyes flicking to your lips as you licked them. okay, maybe jumping his bones here and now wasn’t a terrible idea. but you needed to string this out, you wanted it to last—whatever it was.

“i don’t want to leave yet though. i’ll come find you?” it implied that you’d make him wait longer than you really would, but it was satisfying to see him practically drool at the thought of what was to come.

liza was giddy when you went back over, either for the beer or when you told her that you’d be going off with topper for a little. she smirked, knowing exactly what for, but she didn’t mind. she wasn’t leaving anytime soon, and not without you.

you didn’t make topper wait long. when you were ready, another beer in and a relieved bladder, you touched topper’s elbow as he talked with his friends closer to the cooler. the ice was partly melted, but there were still plenty of drinks left. the fire was feeding off sweltering heat, and with the cold wind, it was perfect.

“hey, you ready?” you asked when topper turned to you.

you weren’t sure exactly what topper had in mind when he had asked you if you were busy for the rest of the night, but not having a clue thrilled you a little.

“yeah,” he nodded and took the last sip from his beer. his slid his hand up, capturing yours before tugging you along toward the parked cars. hardly anyone was over there. you could faintly hear voices and sounds from inside a few cars, some windows cracked. your fingertips warmed as your heart beat, pushing blood to every corner.

topper’s jeep came in sight and you tried to remember the inside. was there enough room for both of you in the back seat? or maybe you’d share one of the front ones. it didn’t matter to you, as long as he put his lips to use.

your back met the side of the jeep as topper leaned his hands on the window, caging you in. you were quick to close the space between you, either the beer taking the reins or your lack of patience from the past few hours of being here and having a staring contest with him. your breaths mingled and your hands grabbed fistfuls of his sweatshirt to pull him closer. the familiar tingles spread between your thighs and you wasted no time in showing him how impatient you were.

“i don’t think either of us is fit enough to drive, topper,” you breathed when you had the chance.

there was no way you could drive with everything you drank. topper tasted like the beer too, but you weren’t sure if he was fit enough to drive either. you didn’t want to chance it, nor could you wait that long.

“what do you want to do?” he asked against the skin of your neck, his nose skimming up the side. he pressed a few kisses, getting closer to your jaw.

you tilted your head back against the door and sighed, closing your eyes momentarily then opening them to find a few stars winking at you. there were so many once you focused on them. topper interrupted your gaze, pulling you by the back of your head to his lips. he kissed you as if you were his last meal, his tongue licking into your mouth. you moaned, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair. you remembered him being this much of a good kisser.

“let’s find a spot on the beach,” you suggested, only getting a kiss on the corner of his mouth before he pulled away.

his eyes were blown wide, his hair ruffled. if you looked hard enough, his cheeks were sure to be flushed, both from alcohol and excitement.

“seriously?” he asked, his hand stilling on the back of your head.

you laughed and nodded, brushing a lock of his hair. “yeah, why not?”

a cold wind blew, tossing your hair into your eyes. topper caught it and pushed it back to its spot behind your ear.

“i think you’re the girl of my dreams,” he joked.

you grinned and slid your hands down his chest. “do you have a towel?”

topper had to pick his jaw up off the gravel before he finally moved away from you and opened his jeep. he ruffled around in the back then finally pulled out a blanket.

“very resourceful,” you commented as he closed the door.

“never know when you might need it,” he said as he threw it around you, shielding your bare legs from the wind. he turned again to the jeep and bent over the driver’s seat to get something. you saw it was a condom when he turned back and closed the door.

“also resourceful.”

he laughed then took your hand back in his. you headed back toward the beach but in the opposite direction of where the bonfire was. it was quieter the further you got, nothing but the waves coming into the shore. it was darker too; all the more private.

topper took the blanket from you and settled it down. you took a seat as he fixed a corner, swiping sand that had gotten on to it. once he sat beside you, he pulled you back against his lips.

you knelt up and scooted closer, placing your hands on his shoulders for leverage as you swung a leg over his waist. you sat in his lap and hummed as you felt him against your thigh. he squeezed you closer in response.

“i’ve never fucked someone on a beach before,” you admitted as you slipped your hands under his sweatshirt and the t-shirt beneath, pushing them up.

“i’ve never fucked anyone outside before.”

“what?” you pulled away to look down at him, your hands freezing on his chest. he was breathing deeply and you swore you felt the patter of his heart against your fingertips. “really?”

“yeah,” he shrugged and glanced over your shoulder toward the water. “just never had the chance to try.”

“what do you mean? you live on an island.” you let his clothes fall back down, stopping above his belly button. “i’ve been here twice and i’ve seen at least twenty ideal places that would be perfect for it.”

“i don’t know, i never asked anyone and no one asked me.” he shrugged again and you knew you were looking way too into this, but it seemed impossible that he hadn’t done this at least once before. you knew that if you lived here, you would’ve done it countless times.

your hands slid back up. “well, tonight’s your lucky night.”

you pulled topper back to your lips, tongues meeting. his hands rubbed along your back and you couldn’t help but arch into him as he slipped them beneath your sweater. his hands were so warm that it felt as if he set fire to your skin. you moaned and sunk your teeth into his lip briefly. a shiver wrecked your body just as topper’s hands came around to your front, sliding up to your breasts. you felt your nipples peek at the contact and topper made it even worse when his thumbs brushed over them.

“christ, it’s cold,” you mumbled as another shiver came and went.

“mhmm,” he hummed. “i’m sure that’s what it is.”

you laughed and wanted to swat at him. instead, you swallowed that little bit of nerves edging close to the surface and reached a hand to his lap. you watched as topper’s lips parted as your hand squeezed him over his shorts. the fabric was soft as topper grew harder. you relished in his expression, the way his eyebrows were drawn together, and how his jaw flinched when he closed his mouth.

topper’s hands fell away as you stood. he looked ready to pull you back down until he realized what you were doing and watched closely as you pulled your shorts and underwear down together. you kicked them aside and shivered as another wind blew.

sitting over topper again, you knelt up onto your knees to pull his shorts down. you couldn’t help swallowing at the sight of him. as dark as it was, you could still see him pretty well. your hand wrapped around him, solid and warm in your palm. topper groaned and leaned back on his hands.

“where’s the condom?” you asked as you stroked him, not at all in a rush with your hand around him.

topper registered your question and patted around the blanket for a moment before holding a square packet between his fingers. you took it from him and bit down on an edge, ripping it open with your free hand. you took the rubber between your fingers and spat the packaging somewhere. topper’s breathing became swallow all the while you stroked him. you stopped and rolled the condom onto him then leaned forward for a kiss.

topper reciprocated, his hands grabbing ahold of your hips until he pulled away to look up at you.

“what if you get sand in your vagina?” he asked, an innocent tone wrapping around his voice.

you couldn’t help the smile or the way your eyebrows furrowed all the while wanting to laugh. that’s what he’s thinking about?

“nothing that hasn’t happened before. it usually takes a couple of days to get rid of but i’ll be fine.”

the topic didn’t stop there. “does it hurt?”

“no, i’ll be fine,” a small laugh slipped out. “that’s why we have a blanket. and i’m on top. can we stop talking about sand getting in my vagina now? it’s kind of killing the mood.”

“sorry,” he shook his head, an embarrassed expression taking form.

you snorted, laughter bubbling up your throat. how did that question even come about in his head? you supposed it was nice of him to care about such a thing. you hoped your laughter didn’t make him feel more embarrassed.

his expression morphed into an amused one and he joined in, laughing at his odd question. you both shook with laughter for a few moments until you calmed down. topper squeezed his fingers on your hips, dragging his palms down your thighs. you brought your lips back to his and your hands to his chest. pushing him gently, you went with him as he lay down. you stayed against him for a couple more seconds before sitting up over him and finding him in your hand again.

topper groaned and gripped your thighs as you brought him into your heat. you couldn’t find your breath as you took him all the way in and sat over him, feeling completely and utterly filled. he was in your stomach, under your skin, everywhere.

“fuck, yes,” you panted, branding your palms on his stomach, pushing his sweatshirt and shirt up again. he was flushed from head to toe, something you were slowly building up to be.

you started off rocking back and forth slowly, feeling him pull and glide inside of you. when you dragged your clit against his skin, which was getting hotter and hotter with the friction, you couldn’t help the way your body tightened around him.

“y/n. oh, fuck—you gotta bounce for me,” topper choked out underneath you, moving his hands to your waist to grip tightly.

you nodded without words, not really finding any with your tongue tied. your hands pushed against his stomach as you lifted yourself up, letting almost all of him leave you empty. then you slammed down, moaning as loud as you could. you didn’t care. not one bit. you were still aware of the bonfire happening yards away, but you didn’t care if someone from the party was walking this way and heard you. let them hear how good topper felt inside you.

a quicker pace was set, sweat building in the creases of your knees and under your hands planted against topper. you loved this. all you could think about was how good it felt, how you fucked topper hard and fast—and how you were getting to fuck him again. it was so much better than the first time, even though you loved having him behind you then. this was just as good.

topper was sitting up again, your sweater rubbing against his and your body feeling way too hot. his hands gripped your ass tightly, helping you rock your hips over him. you were close, closer every time your clit brushed against him at this angle.

it became too much very quickly. you held on to him by his hair at the back of his head, gripping so tightly your knuckles were probably white, and reached your other hand down to touch yourself. your moans were growing higher and more frequent and topper was full-blown panting in your face. when you reached your end, a strangled sound came out of you. you stilled over topper, pulling more of his hair as you came over him.

not long after when you were moving again over him, your mouth on his neck and arms around his shoulders, his grip tightened on your ass as he came. you hummed and gave a few pecks just before he let go and fell onto his back. you followed, moving off of him and laying on your side.

“how long are you here?” topper asked minutes later, his breathing leveling out.

“i leave sunday morning,” you said, blinking tired eyes open as a wind blew over you.

“can i see you again?”

you smiled, your eyes shifting to topper beside you. “don’t you mean can you fuck me again?”

his lips spread wide and if his eyes were open, you had a feeling he’d be rolling them. laughing, you pushed yourself onto your elbow and touched his cheek.

“liza is having a party tomorrow. you should come,” you said quietly, leaning down to brush your lips over his.

“okay.”

“that was easy.”

“it doesn’t take much to convince me,” his voice was tired, piquing your interest.

“am i that good?”

all you got in return was a low laugh.

“i’m taking that as a ‘hell yes’ so thank you very much.”

topper let out a noise just before he moved, pushing you onto your back. his lips landed over yours, gentle and thorough.

saturday

it was a blur of drinks and games and dancing at liza’s house. every room was filled and it was hot for a few hours until you stationed yourself out on the deck with topper. you could lie and say that you didn’t sit out there just to make out with him, but that’s exactly what you did. it was perfect—even more perfect when his shitty friends didn’t show up with him. if you hadn’t been so distracted by his mouth, you would’ve thanked him then and there.

hours later, you had met topper at the front door. you informed liza of your new plans and she was more than happy to get you out of her hair, especially when her eyes latched on to someone and she started to drool into her drink. you grinned fiendishly at her and quickly went on your way.

topper was unlocking his front door and your legs were still a little tingly from the drinks you had over the past few hours. your hand absentmindedly ran along his forearm, needing to feel him so you could stay grounded and alert.

“if you don’t open this door, i’m going to fall asleep right on this porch.”

topper laughed, his keys jingling in his hand. it was a few more seconds of him trying without a light until he eventually found the keyhole and the door swung open. there was a rug that the bottom of the door brushed over and topper walked ahead of you, leading you in by the arm you refused to let go of. he was warm and solid. if you let go, you might evaporate.

your eyes adjusted with the lack of light in the entryway as topper closed the door behind you, sliding the lock into place. your skin felt like it was humming, the hairs on your arm standing up as you stayed close to topper. his shoes scuffed as he kicked them off, his keys dropping onto a table near the door while his other hand wrapped around your wrist. he lured you in by heat alone and you leaned in. your lips landed on his shirt, but you moved them until you found warm skin past the neckline.

reaching down, you found the strap of your sandals and worked to get them undone. why you wore sandals was completely lost on you as you struggled. topper grabbed ahold of you so you wouldn’t fall while your lips pressed a few more kisses into his neck. his hands were searing against your shirt and your skin pricked with the need to have them everywhere.

you kicked off your shoes, feeling your bare foot brush other pairs as topper grabbed ahold of your neck. you didn’t know where he was leading you until his lips landed against your cheek. he adjusted to where he meant to land and opened your lips with his own, coaxing your tongue with his. you moaned as if you were melting, your hands moving along his back as your body relaxed into his. another noise slipped from you, your hands moving down to his hips. one of them you let venture further until you felt him straining against his jeans.

topper gasped, his breath fanning over your mouth and down your neck. you grinned as you squeezed him just so you could see how he’d react.

it was cut short by light flooding the room and burning behind your eyelids. you flinched, parting from topper and squinting.

you were doing so well with no interruptions.

“topper? oh—i’m sorry,” a voice came from your left and you held your eyes open long enough to see a woman standing there, her hand falling from the light switch.

you suddenly remembered where you were holding topper and you dropped your hand, a hot blush crawling up onto your cheeks. you shuffled away from topper faster than he did at composing himself. was it wishful thinking to hope this woman didn’t see where your hand was placed a second ago?

“mom,” topper breathed, hiding his lack of breath well. your own heart was beating so loudly in your ears you figured the woman could hear it too in the entryway.

you averted your eyes, embarrassment dousing you from head to toe at the fact that you’d been caught by topper’s mother.

“we’ll be in my room,” topper said. his hand engulfed yours and you couldn’t remember how to use your feet or legs. “night.”

you kept your head down as topper tugged you past his mother, her robe flowing with the movement. he guided you through the unlit house until you came to his room.

“christ,” he sighed and dropped your hand to close the door. “i’m sorry about that.”

“it’s inevitable when you live with parents,” you shrugged and laughed, looking over your shoulder as topper rubbed his hands down his face. when he dropped them, he shook his head with an amused smile.

you turned back to his room and glanced around, the light a little brighter from the open windows. the decorations were the same, but for the most part it didn’t look all that lived in. you moved to his bed and sat at the end of it, running your hands along the comforter and remembering the last time you were here.

your eyes found topper’s like a magnet. your skin pricked with that awareness of him. reaching, you pulled your shirt off and let it fall beside you. topper watched, his eyes following every movement you made, his gaze moving over you like liquid.

you held your hand out towards him, coaxing him over where you sat. he approached until he was in front of you and even then, you pulled him closer with your hands on his hips again. your eyes fluttered shut as he came between your legs and touched your face, bending down to plant kisses on your forehead, cheeks, and nose. your thighs tightened around him, your hand dropping back to its original spot before you were interrupted. topper kissed you on the mouth then, his tongue hot and invading.

you pushed your palm into him a few times and rubbed until his breath was heavy in your mouth. even though you were kissing him and delighting in the ways he could use his tongue, your mouth felt dry for him. a moment later, your fingers glided up to the button of his jeans, working determinedly to unfasten them.

when his shirt was off and his jeans were unbuttoned, you nudged him backward, slipping from the bed and onto your knees. you pressed your lips along his stomach, feeling it tighten under your mouth as his hands brushed your hair back.

“tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” you said quietly, looking up at him as your fingers fisted the waistband of his jeans, slipping into his boxers too.

topper heaved a breath and nodded. you pressed another kiss just beside his belly button as you tugged on his bottoms, pulling them past his hips and leaving them to rest just above his knees.

you didn’t waste any more time. you took him into your mouth within the first few seconds of him smacking his stomach. he moaned with your lips around him and held your face as you licked him thoroughly. you couldn’t stop once you started and it took everything in you not to give him that release as his hand tightened on your face and his hips began to move.

he didn’t protest or get upset when you pulled away, licking your lips and standing. he just kissed you deeply and you wondered if he liked the taste of himself in your mouth. you certainly did.

all of your blood was gathered at your center. your skin was bubbling to a boil and topper helped you cool down, shedding the rest of the clothes between you. your hands wandered all over him as you sat back on the bed, pulling him with you.

you separated for only a second to kiss just under his ear, panting, “i want you inside me. now. i have an IUD.”

topper’s hands paused, his fingertips brushing the underside of your breast. “no condom?” he asked, pulling away further to meet your eyes.

you nodded, biting your lip to keep from putting him inside you now. “as long as you’re okay with it?”

“are you sure?” his eyebrows furrowed and you couldn’t tell if he was worried about you or if he really didn’t want to.

you nodded again as you were having trouble finding words without your breath. “have you been tested lately?”

“before i came home. i’m clean,” he said, his hands moving again and squeezing your thighs.

you grinned as your stomach rolled. you pulled him back to you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and smiling against his lips. “me too,” you managed to say and laughed as the excitement poured over.

topper’s skin suddenly felt too hot, but you couldn’t pull your hands away from him if you tried. more blood rushed in between your legs. topper kissed you a few times before pulling away and leaning forward, his hand moving to your lower back to hold you upright while his other landed on the comforter to hold himself up. you drew your legs up around him and tugged him closer, breathing heavily as you anticipated his next move.

he swallowed thickly and averted his eyes down, his hand leaving your skin to grab ahold of himself. you bit your lip as you watched, seeing him swollen and ready and practically dripping. your stomach rolled into a tight ball as his hips grew closer and you bit your lips shut as a noise of surprise left you, floating around the room, when topper dragged his head along your folds painstakingly slow.

as much as you wanted to close your eyes to completely let your senses take over, you lifted them to topper’s face. he closed his eyes as he poked his head at your entrance. when he started to slip inside slowly, his mouth opened and his hand went back to hold you. you held your breath as you felt him inch after inch, filling you and stretching you.

his head fell to your shoulder once he was completely inside, a muffled curse leaving his lips.

“oh my god,” you said at the same time as he said, “god, you feel amazing.”

his hips retracted slowly, just as slow as how he entered, and his lips guided back to yours.

“c-can you move back a little?” he asked. the angle was probably straining him unlike you.

you nodded and didn’t have to do all that much as his hand kept you close to him, keeping himself inside of you, as you moved further onto the bed. you laid on your back and moaned as topper started to move, pinning your hips below his.

“you need to be quiet,” he said.

“why?”

“because my mom is right down the hall.”

“so? she obviously knows what we’re doing.”

“still.”

“oh, topper,” you moaned a little louder, a smile curling the corners of your lips.

topper’s hand landed over your mouth. you laughed into his palm and opened up to bite on his finger.

“you should move that hand a little lower,” you suggested, rolling your hips into his.

topper laughed breathily and a moment later, moved his hand to your neck. his hips drew back then and he thrusted, harder than before.

“oh, fuck,” you panted, tightening your hold on him.

“you like that?” he asked, his fingers flexing on your throat.

“mhm,” you managed, your face screwing up. “just like that.”

you sucked in a gasp, your breath staying in your lungs as topper did it again. you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t do anything but feel everything he was doing to you from your throat to him between your thighs. your back arched, pushing your breasts into his chest. you cried out the next time he thrust, hitting you so deeply, your nipples peeked to hardened points. fuck.

“don’t stop,” you couldn’t stop gasping. “please, don’t stop. it feels so good.”

tears pricked your eyes as he did it again, picking up a rhythm and sticking to it. his hand let go of your throat and gathered your hands into his, pinning them above your head as he fucked into you. the harder he went, the more your nails dug into the backs of his hands. his fingers tightened over yours and you cried out with your hips smacking. he didn’t cover your mouth this time, suddenly not caring if his mom heard you. you didn’t care either, you wanted this to go on all night. hopefully it would.

tears spilled when he didn’t let up his grip or his pace. they fell more as he drove into you quicker. it hurt so good, you couldn’t breathe. you didn’t dare open your eyes to see if he was enjoying it too. you hoped he was, you hoped he was loving pinning your hands down, driving into you like an animal. you didn’t know topper had this in him.

his hand let go of one of yours but you left it where it was as his thumb flicked your clit. your breaths grew higher within seconds and you tightened around him, your free hand flying to his arm where your nails dug in deep. you couldn’t stop the cry bubbling in your chest even if you wanted to. it was going to come out whether you liked it or not and topper wasn’t doing anything to muffle it.

“fuck—i’m going to come,” he sighed, his voice strained. was he losing it too? “come for me, please, baby. come with me.”

“top—” your muscles spasmed and everything exploded. you cried out his name however many times as you came over him, feeling him do the same as he thrusted and emptied inside you. his spurts were heavy and warm as his face buried into your neck, his mouth slick one moment then his teeth latching on to you. you grabbed the back of his head and pulled at his hair as he bit you, not hard enough to break the skin, but it still hurt so good.

“oh my god,” you panted as topper lay limp on you. you could feel both of your orgasms dissipating as your juices mixed and dripped out of you.

having let go of your neck, topper licked over the pulsing spot and lifted his head up to look down at you.

“are you okay?” he asked, sweat collected along his hairline. his thumb brushed your drying tears away.

“that was—i—topper,” you shook your head, wishing you could find the words. “i feel very good right now.”

he laughed, shaking your body with his and making you moan as you felt him rub inside of you. “i’m glad,” he said, kissing the underside of your jaw. “i think we need water and snacks so i’m going to go get some.”

“mmm. that’s a good idea.” you couldn’t bring yourself to wipe his sweat away just to feel it on your fingertips. you were spent.

he smiled and pecked your numb lips before sliding out of you and getting up.

cleaned up and under the covers, topper laid out an array of snacks and water bottles. you sat propped up against his pillows while he lay on his side, his head propped against his hand.

“will you come back next summer?” he asked, popping a piece of fruit into his mouth.

you reached for the cereal bowl of chocolate and stopped the smile from stretching across your face. “maybe.”

“i was looking for an answer more along the lines of yes.”

“you’ll have to be more persuasive then,” you hummed and chewed.

“i can be persuasive.” he was grinning and you couldn’t help thinking that he never looked better. tired, hair messy, dressed in just boxers, completely sated.

“oh yeah?” you raised a brow at him.

“mhmm,” he nodded, putting the fruit down and moving onto his hands and knees to crawl towards you. he grabbed ahold of the comforter and pulled it back a little, revealing your chest to the cool air. his head lowered to press a single kiss to the swell of your breast. then he moved to the other. he pressed a final kiss to your shoulder.

“how’s that?”

you shrugged the shoulder he just kissed and kept the smile off your face. mostly.

topper grinned again and it reached his eyes. he looked over you, down your chest, then slid his hand under the blanket to your thigh. “am i getting closer?”

you gasped and grabbed onto the back of his neck as his fingers ran up the inside of your thigh. heat swirled between your legs. “definitely.”

⭐️taglist of beauties & babes⭐️

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#topper thornton #outer banks #topper thornton x reader #topper thornton x fem!reader #topper thornton obx #topper thornton smut #topper thornton imagine

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catgirlforkaeya · 2 years

Text

dancing to christmas music

kaeya x gn!reader

fluff

warnings: not proofread + all lowercase + swearing

a/n: i almost forgot about this today oops — sorry the cut is kinda weird i didn’t know where to put it 😭

your bodies swayed slowly to the music. kaeya’s hands resting on your hips while you wrapped your arms shoulders. you two were most definitely off beat with your dancing but it didn’t matter.

insomnia had taken over both of you tonight. after a few hours of tossing and turning in the bed you two shared— you eventually gave up trying to sleep. needing something to occupy yourselves, you ended up in your living room slow dancing to faint christmas music.

it was originally kaeya’s idea— you were a little against it because you didn’t feel like getting out of bed but once he “persuaded” you to go to the living room (he picked you up and carried you downstairs) you absolutely loved it.

“even in my pajama bottoms and one of your shirts?” you let out an airy laugh as you leaned into his touch some. his hands felt so warm but so cold at the same time.

“mhm,” he flashed you a warm smile, causing you to flash one back.

“well,” you lifted one of your hands and grabbed a strand of kaeya’s hair, intertwining it between your index and middle finger. “i think you look very handsome. i mean you always look handsome but like— especially handsome tonight.”

the way the moonlight shone through the windows and reflected off kaeya made him look 10x more gorgeous than he usually does. his midnight blue hair looking a little more vibrant than normal, sepia color skin glowing slightly against the grey-blue color of the moonlight, scars & burn marks that littered on his skin a little bit darker due to shadows— this man was literally drop dead gorgeous. every once in a while the light would catch his one visible periwinkle colored eye and make it twinkle.

“and you call me a flirt? you should really listen to yourself right now y/n,” kaeya had that shit-eating grin that he always had on his face.

“oh shut up,” you playfully rolled your eyes at his comments. “you’re lucky you’re pretty— if you weren’t i’d probably punch that smirk off of your face right now.”

“make me shut up then.”

this son of a bitch.

you leaned upwards some, placing your lips on his. you tried to take the lead in the kiss but within a few seconds kaeya had already taken lead. he had both of his hands on your waist again, pulling your body flush against his. you brought one hand up and raked your fingers through his hair.

you both mumbled some “i love you”s between kisses. this went on for a good 3 minutes. you two eventually pulled away and rested your foreheads against each other’s. both of you immediately bursted out in giggles like some teenage fangirl.

it was small moments like these that reminded you that kaeya was the one for you.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya #genshin #kaeya x you #kaeya fluff #genshin christmas #genshin fluff #genshin drabbles #genshin fanfic #catgirlforkaeya #kaeya x y/n

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imaginewarehouse · 3 years

Text

Marcus White x Jonah’sSister!Reader || Oneshot

Plot:

You find out that you are pregnant... with Marcus' miracle baby.

Warnings: Pregnancy, panic attack

🔆 🔆 🔆

Carefully, I pick out one of the pregnancy tests from the shelf. Then grab another... 2 more... and another. Just to be sure.

As I go up to the pharmacy desk, I thank god that Tate isn't working here anymore; I never would've gotten away with this. He would've snitched to Jonah or something, for his own sociopathic enjoyment. Instead, the new guy thankfully rings up and bags my items casually, not really caring what he flings into the white plastic bag- then hands it to me with a soulless customer service smile. If I had to describe it, I'd say its if the man had been working here for years before finally letting the job kill him on the inside- just in time for the wind to change and stick his face like that. Honestly, I never see the guy without this smile. Not even in the breakroom. Its unnerving.

Still, I take the bag and smile back even though I know he for sure doesn't really mean it and turn around so I can walk (The long way around the store, so I don't pass the doors to the warehouse) towards the employee bathrooms... but stop short, jolting into panic mode immediately. Freeze, freeze, freeze!

There's Isaac, standing as tall as a bear in my path behind the aisles, with a scanner in his hand and a surprised look on his face. Or at least as surprised as he would ever convey.

Clearly, though, he saw the tests. And I'm screwed. He is absolutely the well, second last person I wanted to catch me doing this; Buying these.

A nervous smile flickers onto my face and I walk the short ways over to him, hugging the bag to my front. He's still just staring; Mouth half open and eyes a little less dead, then usual. "Oh, hey Isaac! How's is going? You got sent to pharmacy today? That s-sucks... " Honestly I didn't think he was allowed to be assigned pharmacy...

Completely by-passing the option to forget what he just saw and exchange polite chit-chat with me, he instead closes his mouth and his eyes, shakes his head and then opens his eyes again. Then inhales. "Are those what I think those are?"

"Wh-what?"

"Pregnancy tes-"

Shit- Giving him a desperate expression, revealing my true feelings today - being complete and utter panic, - I cut him off. "SHHH! Isaac! No- uh. Yes. Um... Would you believe these aren't for me?"

"Mmm... " His face twists slightly into one of thought, tightening his lips together and sizing me up. "No, I don't think so."

"Well!- " I'm totally ready to make up an excuse... but peter out as soon I try. I could do it. I could string together some kind of half-believable bullshit like 'They're for Amy', but he would still go and tell Marcus and he would find me and... I would still have to have the conversation earlier then I want to. So instead I drop the façade, and my shoulders, and show just how tired I am. "I want to find out myself before breaking the news to Marcus. Okay? He might be unhappy about the idea and then we do the test and it turns out I'm not pregnant and then I just stressed us both out, for no reason! And, on the other hand, what if he wants it and it turns out I'm wrong about this? Please, Isaac, just don't tell him yet. Please, please." I feel like no matter how many pleases I use they may still not change anything. But I'm desperate.

He stands still for a few minutes... so long in fact I think he may be in shock himself, or having some kind of drug induced anxiety attack, and am about to wave my hand up in his face or say his name again, when he finally breathes a little more obviously and I relax back down to earth. "... Well, lets go find out then, right?"

"What- You- you want to come?" Something in me relaxes at the thought- I don't really want to do this alone. I want someone there, like in the movies, to hold the box and just read me the instructions. But I imagined it would be someone I'm actually close friends with, who can hold my hand and wouldn't care that it recently touched a pee-stick. I did not expect that person to be Isaac - Isaac, who likes to watch homeless people kill each other with shopping trollies and sticks and trash can shields like in a horrible, pitiful, modern-day coliseum, - in a million years.

But he nods.

"Yeah, sure." He puts his scanner on the shelf, and we set off the way I was going. He seems to silently understand why we have to go the long way around- to avoid passing the doors to the warehouse. Or he just doesn't care. Either way, I'm thankful he doesn't try to re-rout my course. Or even mention it. "Good excuse to slack off work... besides I should probably get out of this section, anyway. Hey, it is Marcus- right?"

I sigh- I suppose the companionable silence was too much to ask for. "Yes Isaac. If its a thing, in the first place."

"Yeah, right."

___TIME SKIP___

"You're having a miracle baby, you know? He's not supposed to be able to do that- isn't that kinda... good?"

I only whimper in response from |my new home| the cubicle I've been taking the tests in, holding my head. How am I going to do this? I have college, I have this job, I have my studio apartment to continue paying rent for! Marcus and I don't even... there isn't even... we haven't labelled it yet, and... Oh god, I'm shaking.

Isaac heaves a sigh outside, his chair creaking as he shifts. "Well, that's... three positives, so far." Isaac's memorable, slow drawl seeps through the cracks in my cubicle and takes away my thoughts for a moment. And my breath.

3 positives.

Not one, not two... three.

... Then he goes on, a whiny tone in his voice. "Do we really need to do another one?"

I breathe in deep. I don't know what else to do. The next logical step would be telling Marcus or Jonah, but I'm ready for neither of those. So procrastination through pregnancy test, it has to be. "Uh, yes. We do. Um... can you, please?- "

"Ughhh. Yeah, yeah. I'll get you more water. Stay here." Then Isaac, who has surprisingly been very helpful, even getting me tape so I can stick the finished tests up to the door in front of me so that I can compare them easier, disappears out of the women's bathroom, leaving me with my thoughts.

I peak back up at the tests, feeling panic fill up my chest cavity like its anxiety gas and my rib cage is the gas chamber- and my heart's the poor organ at deaths row. I'm... pregnant.

Oh my god. I'm pregnant. There is a human being growing inside me, right now. A human being who will require time that I definitely don't have, money that its parents certainly could not scavenge if we scavenged for used soda cans like Myrtle and sold them in our spare time, effort that I'm terrified might not even be in me at this point... A baby that needs some semblance of a comfortable, stable home, which I do not have for it.

I'm just burrowing my face into my arms and knees atop the toilet seat when the bathroom door opens again. Looking up, I immediately ask for Isaac- because that was really freaken quick, for him.

And get a familiar, confused sounding voice call back "... No, its Amy... Sorry, I just need to pee. Are you going to be long?".

"Oh!" Oops. Immediately, head going empty with panic, I unlock the door and and jump out to let her in. "No! I just finished. Um- go ahead. I'll just wash- wash my hands."

Now seeing each other, I see Amy's forehead crease and her eyebrows furrow in confusion and concern at my pink cheeked/pale faced appearance and the panicky way I'm talking. She reaches out toward me. "... Y/N, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine!" I laugh, the most nervous sounding laugh ever. "Don't worry."

Amy's nose screws up. "... why were you waiting for Isaac?"

"We-we're just having an affair."

... what??

Her eyebrows furrow even deeper. "Okay... I'm just gonna go... pee... now... " She says slowly, gradually disappearing into the cubicle; Not quite sure what to say back to that.

I sigh in relief when her eyes aren't on me anymore and the door locks, thinking flushing some water onto my face might calm me down, when a loud GASP comes from Amy and I i m m e d i a t e l y remember the tests stuck to the wall. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!!

Amy comes right out of there, looking at me with completely new eyes now- understanding truly why I'm pale, I'm sure, and definitely why I was acting the way I was. "Y/N! You're... pregnant??!" I open my mouth to respond. Maybe say 'yes' seeing as that's the truth and the only proper answer, but I choke on my words and instead say, "Isaacs getting more water so I can take another test."

"I think 3 is a pretty conclusive number!"

"I-" She is not wrong, but I don't want to do anything else but take another easy test, and get defensive instead. "I bought four, I'm doing four!"

"Wh- Is Isaac the father!?"

"God, no." Isaac and I both spit back in offense.

I whip my head around when i realise he wasn't supposed to be there yet at all, and- there he is in the doorway.

... Jonah right behind him looking sicker then me. My jaw drops. "You brought Jonah??!"

"Uh, no, I was just waiting outside for, um," He gestures to Amy and my stomach drops. So he heard the whole thing. Could this get any worse??! Well I mean of course it could, Marcus could be here. Stupid question. Don't ask questions like that; It always summons the worst, in movies. "You're pregnant!? Who- you know what, unimportant right now. Do you wanna sit down??"

I shake my head, taking a deep breath and holding my hand out to Isaac. "No, I'm fine. I have a test to do. Water, Isaac?"

"Here." He hands me the bottle, and I go to disappear back into the cubicle before jumping back away again, remembering that Amy still needs to go and gesturing for her to go, ridiculously enough. She shakes her head and gestures back, like I'm crazy, to take it instead.

I do so and lock myself in, starting to chug the whole bottle.

A blessed silent moment passes... before Jonah speaks. "Is the 4th test really necessary?- "

"For the love of god- Let me take the fourth goddamn test for fucks sake!"

___TIME SKIP___

"... so what is it?" Amy asks 10 minutes later, breaking the deafening silence, as I sit back down on the toilet seat and hold my face in my hands again.

"... Positive... "

Isaac sighs. "Who would have guessed, really?"

No one tells him to shut up. He's right. But also no one agrees, because I'm a fucking 23 year old pregnant girl and I will kill them.

"So... what now?" Amy asks, speaking to the room, but expecting me to answer.

"Well, I'd like less people to be here, honestly." I pipe up, removing my hands from my mouth to speak clearer.

"Done. Isaac, Jonah, get out."

"What? I was here before you... lady." Isaac exclaims, offended, but a moment later I hear the door close, anyway. I assume it had something to do with Amy's signature resting bitch face- cranked up to eleven. "We'll just wait out here, then! Yell if you need us."

"Yep... " Amy responds to him, sounding exhausted and I can totally imagine her rolling her eyes right now. She takes a deep breath, and sighs it out. I hear her rest carefully down into the chair Isaac vacated. For a moment she thankfully says nothing, and I do wonder whether I should... but I don't know what to so say. So I just stay hidden in the cubicle, silent until Amy takes another deep breath and asks the question. "Who is it?"

I take a deep breath, knowing that once I say it I cant take it back, while on the other hand... its done, anyway. He's already the father and I cant change that (Would I if I could, though?) but telling Amy may either make or break my confidence in having him as the dad of my kid. Not that I have a choice... I just know that Amy's going to be worried about it and I don't know if I can handle the criticism right this moment.

Finally I spit it out though. Marcus.

...

"Oh- wow."

Uncomfortable, I shift on the closed toilet seat. "Yeah."

Her voice gets higher, clearly fake and trying to sound like this is better then she really feels it is. My heart plummets into my stomach like a terrible roller coaster. "Well, that's... " She pauses, searching for a safe word to use, assumedly. "Great!"

"... 'great?" For some reason that word, and Amy's tone... hits something wrong, in me. Panic flickers deep in my chest and my stare on the wall gets colder, harder. "... you think this is 'great'? Really? You? No, you don't. Do you hear yourself? 'Great'. Puh! This is Marcus. 'Been to jail' Marcus. 'Ex Con' Marcus. 'Creator and CEO of BOOB CHEESE', Marcus. Marcus who shits in the shower and thinks breastfeeding is akin to whipping your dick out in public, Marcus who has a tattoo of his mother on his back for Valentines day- "

Okay so maybe I'm just picking on him because I'm inadequate, because I don't have the time for a baby, because if I'm trusted with this perfect thing then I will ruin it... I'll pick work, instead of love, and they'll grow up with less of it then they should have and I'll be to blame...

But I don't want to address that yet. I cant.

"Y/N."

"Neither of us even have the money for this." I'm panicking again. "He lives with his mother! And- what if he gets mad... " I suddenly get worried, my eyes go round and I cover my mouth. "I really like him Amy. I cant have him mad at me. Not for this. Not him. Please don't let him hate m- "

"Y/N! Calm the fuck down, okay, right now. Don't speak. Just... take some deep breathes okay? First of all, Marcus is not going to be 'mad' at you. He's sure as hell is not going to hate you. You're spiralling, just take some long breaths." Amy makes it sound like a ridiculous idea with her tone, that he might be mad or he might hate me. I do as she says as she talks; take deeeeeep breaths. Slowly, I start to clam down. "He might be shocked, yeah, but he's- he's not like that. He's an idiot, not a total asshole. Take it from me, I know what I'm talking about here. I promise you. Whether he'll be good at being a parent, is... debatable." Everything she says makes sense. And she would know- you've met Adam. "But he'll be there, at the very least.

And... and you'll be a great mum, anyway."

I feel my heartbeat start to slow down again as I breath. I close my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest and rest back against the wall, carefully.

I really hope she's right on that second part.

"... thank you."

___OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM___

Jonah rubs his neck in nervousness at his sister in the bathroom dealing with something like this, pacing around the small hallway area before turning to Isaac. He raises his dark eyebrows. "So, do you know... wh-who?? I mean... the guy, that- I mean, does he work here, or... ???"

"Its Marcus." Isaac pulls out a bag of trail mix from his vest pocket and starts picking through, standing by the bathroom calmly. The brother to whom he just broke such detrimental news - that his sister, has Marcus White of BOOB CHEESEs baby inside her, - widens his eyes until they're more like dinner plates. "Yeah, they've been talking for a while, man. You didn't know?"

"I- I just thought she wasn't interested in... guys... " All her time must be busy with balancing both school and work, plus her friends... how can she possible have had time to... But on the other hand, he realises that its a bit naïve to think that his younger sister still isn't interested in 'boys'. Part of it might have been wishful thinking.

Isaac barks out a laugh. Its a stale, dry sound that makes Jonah really uncomfortable. "She also went out with Tate. Had a bit of a thing for Sayid for a while, too... "

"What!?- "

"Jonah!" At Amy's exit from the bathroom, he calms down immediately and straightens up. She raises her brows at him. She nods into the bathroom. "She wants you."

Yep- it takes him about 2 seconds to fly into the bathroom... to find his sister still hidden in the cubicle. He sighs, pressing his hand against the door. "Y/N? Amy said you wanted me. Do you want me to get you something to eat? Its just, I'm the only one who knows your snack preferences... and maybe we shouldn't eat in here, cuz its kinda gross... but if you want to, that's cool too!"

She doesn't respond for a minute, silent apart from the careful peeling of tape from the cubicle door.

Then the peeling sounds stop. A moment later her voice, sounding small and tentative as if just saying this would open Pandora's box, slips out. "... how're mum and dad gonna react?"

Its a rhetorical question. They both know it'll be bad - and they'll like Marcus even less, - , but its said so he knows what she's worried about. He sighs and leans back on the door. "Well very, very badly. But that doesn't matter right now. I'll take care of them."

"How valiant." Her voice is still small, quiet. But she sounds less scared; She always believes her big brother. Even when she knows logically that he cant protect her from them. Not their parents.

"Well, I try."

"... hm."

___TIME SKIP, BACK OUTSIDE OF THE BATHROOM___

"She is not leaving that bathroom," Isaac shakes his head. Its been an hour, and they've all been in there with her a couple times but she has not left the cubicle. Not even peaked her head out. She hasn't even e a t e n anything while she's been in there. Its starting to worry them. "Maybe we should go get Marcus."

Immediately Jonah looks up from his phone - having been reading up on pregnancy. What is going to start happening to his sister, now?? - and shakes his head, firmly. "No, she'll tell him when she feels comfortable with it. We aren't doing that."

"Yeah, it isn't up to us." Amy agrees, while still looking like on a deep, unsympathetic level that is tired of standing here... she definitely wants to drag Marcus here. But she also knows that Jonah is, unfortunately, a n n o y i n g l y, right.

Isaac heaves a deep, frustrated huff and gets comfortable on the floor.

___TIME SKIP: 3 HOURS LATER___

Finally, Jonah breathes in a deep, exhausted breath and puts his phone away. That's enough of that. He's sufficiently disgusted. He looks down the hallway, out to the store. Then to Amy playing solitaire on her phone and Isaac drawing slowly on the ground. "... Well, I mean, it's Marcus's baby too, right? He should know... right?"

"Mhm,"

"Yep, that's right."

"And... besides, Y/N might need him, right? Maybe he could get her out."

"You make some good points."

"I just wish they weren't points we already mentioned." Amy looks up from her phone and turns it off, flashing an sarcastic, displeased kind of smile. "Earlier."

"Yeah well... " He rolls his shoulders, looking away from Amy's piercing gaze- god, her face is like a loaded gun with no safety. And he's totally into it. He coughs, then whispers. "So, who wants to go get him??"

"Not it."

"I would, but ah... nah. I'm down for the count, down here."

"So... me."

Amy nods, making a 'shoo'-ing gesture with her hand. "Yep, you, Jiminy Cricket. You made us stay here for hours- you go get Marcus."

Looking to Isaac for help, Jonah is just met with the deadest eye's he has ever come upon, so he eventually sighs deeply, wiping sweaty hands on his jeans. "Fff-fine. Wait here."

___IN THE WAREHOUSE___

"Uh, hello? Hi- have you seen Marcus anywhere? Wh- No? Well if you see him can you tell him I'm looking for him? Its about Y/N."

The warehouse worker with the nametag reading 'Nigel' that Jonah's never spoken to before in his life and who prior to his words, had the new deadest eyes that Jonah has ever seen, suddenly beams- a twinkle of evil mischief in his eyes. "Oooooh, cats outta the bag, huh?"

Jonah blinks. "What?"

"You found out about Marcus and your sister, and now you're gonna beat him up? I was waiting for this moment." Nigel clarifies, actively looking around the room for Marcus now as Jonah rushes to explain that no, that is not what he's here for. Please don't say that so loudly- "HEY RICO! You seen Marcus around?? Y/N's brother's here to deliver an ass beating." Half a second passes while Jonah's ears ring from Nigel's screeching before something new apparently occurs to the warehouse worker as his eyes widen and he turns again to who must be Rico. "And you owe me 20 bucks!! Told ya he'd come!"

How often is Y/N in this place? Just seems weird, these guy's saying her name so casually... Jonah's forehead crinkles in thought as Rico rolls his eyes and groans, walking off to assumedly find Marcus. I'm learning a lot about my sister, today... Not sure how I feel about it...

Jesus Christ, has she eaten the cheese, too??!

Jonah doesn't get a moment to panic about that particular bit of nightmare material before he realises Nigel is still standing, awkwardly now, arms straight at his sides and eyebrows raised expectantly, right by him. Watching him, instead of returning to his job. Jonah raises his own eyebrows back; Shrugging. Like, what?? What do you want?

Nigel just just shrugs and shakes his head back passive aggressively, crossing his arms. Like, he doesn't know. Fine, we'll just stand in silence, then...

"Jonah! What's up, buddy? Visiting me in the warehouse- this is so nice! Want me to take my break now, cuz we totally can. Just let me wrap one last thing up and then we'll be back in my car, together. Listening to tunes; Ya know. Guy buddy stuff." T h a n k f u l l y, Marcus seems to rush from wherever he was in the depths of shelf-land when Rico apparently found him and cuts off the awkward stand off between the two men, dropping a hand on Jonah's shoulder and beaming. "What up, man?"

Quick to turn away from Nigel and get to what his mission really is at the moment, Jonah graciously ignores the touchy greeting... despite the awkwardness on his end and the fact that Nigel is still there, watching. "Actually, I wanted to talk about, uh, Y/N."

Marcus' eyes immediately widen and his eyebrows raise, taking his hand off Jonah in favour of ringing his hands and stepping back nervously himself. "Oh, man... you found out, didn't you? Did she tell you? Cuz like, I know the bro code says its not cool to bone your friend's sister but- "

"Ah, ah, ah!" No, no, no, Jonah does not want to hear those words. No. "No, um. That's fine, whatever. Y/N's sexuality is her own. But- "

"Its a ruse, Marcus. He's here to kick your ass." Nigel insists, still very much there despite everything about this situation having nothing to do with him and instead just freaks Marcus out more as the warehouse head's eyes go even wider and he takes another step back- raising his hands in surrender.

"No, no! Nigel!- That's... no. I'm not here to kick anyone's ass! The asses here are all perfectly safe, I promise. Okay?" When Nigel's expression doesn't change a lick, Jonah gives up and just gestures off in a random direction. "Nigel, could you give us a minute, here?"

"What, so you can jump my boy here alone?"

"Alone?? Who's alone?" Jonah is getting increasingly irritated. "We're literally surrounded by other warehouse workers!! Ones who are actually doing their jobs, by the way. Maybe you should- "

Marcus finally intercepts and pats Nigel's shoulder, getting his attention from looking confrontationally at Jonah and smiles relatively softly at him. "Its okay, Nigel. If Jonah wants to kick me in my junk once- he's kinda entitled to it. Bro code and everything. Why don't you get back to work? I got this. Thanks, though." Nigel leaves, with that, but certainly not without giving Jonah one last greasy look over his shoulder and an 'Okay, Marcus. But call me, if... you know... '. Along with an extra evil squinty look at Jonah. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks bud. I know I can count on you." When Nigel is finally out of the picture, Jonah feels fatigued and just wants to get back to Y/N. At least its just him and Marcus now, though, so they should be doing that very soon. "So! What'd you want? If you really do wanna hurt me, then, can we go outside? By my car ideally, so I can drive the emergency room right after? Or you, cuz I mean... you're small, man. And I'll have to defend myself. Even if its fair. Its instinct, you know? You get it."

"I'm not gonna hurt you?? Why does everyone think- " What is wrong with people here? Do I give off a confrontational aura right now, or something??? "Ugh, whatever. Y/N needs you- she's been in the bathroom for 4 hours. We did try to get her out ourselves, but our attempts have been... l-lacklustre." Lacklustre? Okay, even he is surprised to hear that one come out of him.

"She needs... me? Like, she said that?" All of a sudden Marcus' expression changes. Worry wells in his eyes and his forehead creases, and he glances at the door out to the floor before returning to Jonah, looking restless now as his body fights with him to go, immediately. "Oh, what's wrong with her? Is she sick??"

"Uhh... in a manner of speaking... Look, I just think she needs to see you right now."

That makes the taller man move towards the door, clipboard dropped on a box on his way. "Of course; Right away man. Come on, lets go see her. So you really don't know what's wrong?? Should we pick up some root beer on the way?" Jonah follows behind, hand on his chin as he answers Marcus' questions. Wow... He did not expect such a response from him... He... kinda respects it, in a way. Its a pleasant surprise, at least.

___BACK TO YOU AND YOUR POV. God I hate third person. Its so hard, I want to cry___

"Y/N? You in here??" As soon as that voice registers in my mind, my heart beat skips in the worst way and I almost start to full on panic all over again, but thankfully instead just freeze and only widen my eyes. What the hell? The door to the employee bathroom closes as Marcus shuts himself in and you watch his boots appear under the door to your stall. "What's going on? Jonah couldn't tell me what's wrong with you," Jonah. I glare at the stall door. I'm going to kill him. "But I brought you some root beer for you- a total cure all. I promise. And some (Enter your favourite snack) cuz I know you like them. Here," He stretches up and holds the items over the stall door, and, feeling genuinely touched that Marcus was sweet enough to bring these, I get up off the toilet seat and accept them from him.

"Thank you, that's really nice. I'm... not sure, that the root beer will fix this, though." I speak carefully, sitting down and holding the items in my lap close to my stomach.

"Course it will! I poured some in Mateo's ear once when he had an infection... I think it worked?"

Probably not. "This is a lot bigger then an ear infection... Kinda permanent, too?"

"Oh god, is it cancer?" He pauses for a moment but before I can put that particular worry at rest... or remind him that cancer is not always permanent... he makes it worse, and I fight not to facepalm. "The plague??! Its still a thing, you know. Jesus, its not that is it? Please tell me its not that! That would be the worst!" I mean... yeah, it would.

"Oh- no no! No, nothing like that!! I'm just pregnant!"

... wait.

Immediately I want to take back my words and say them differently- because is that really the way I just broke it to him?? Oh my god. My hand slaps over my mouth- then pulls back an inch to speak again, but is definitely on guard to slap again and prohibit anymore stupid to come out. "I mean! ... N-no big deal?" My voice gets tiny. "At least its not the plague, right?" I'm just making this worse, so I cover my mouth again.

Marcus does not respond, and I can imagine his face crystal clear, without having to look. He would have his mouth hanging open like a cartoon character, his shoulders have dropped, eyes are blank, and he's pale as hell. Oh god... oh god oh go oh god... I cover my whole face now and just try to breath evenly, and not talk anymore. I was right! He's not going to even like me anymore, this is going to ruin how he looks at me- I cant have Marcus look at me coldly. I really cant.

Finally, a few minutes later the door to the bathroom creaks open again and I know it's not Marcus escaping because I can still see his boots under the door and they haven't shifted in a while. Amy's voice rings out, too loudly in the stock silent bathroom. "... everything okay in here? We haven't heard anything in a while- Marcus?"

He doesn't respond.

I hear Amy walk in now, her heels click-click-clicking on the tiled floor. "Marcus? Marcus, are you okay?" She snaps her fingers, assumedly near his unresponsive face. I slip my fingers down to just cover my mouth, straining my ears to hear any movement from him. "Wake up!" Another snap. "Marcus wake up."

All of a sudden I hear shifting and his boots shift slightly and I squeeze my eyes slowly shut- now he speaks. Now's the part where he speaks. Now's the worst part! He either leaves, or stays. "Uhh... I'm awake, okay?"

...

Amy and I are both startled by the seriousness in Marcus' voice- Amy evidently in the way she responds, backing out of the room. "... Okay! Um, well talk. To Y/N. I'm... just gonna... wait outside... "

Marcus just grunts in response, turning back to my stall door. Then he wraps his knuckles against the surface and I flinch- unsure whether to unlock it and be a grown up or stay hidden away like I really, really want to. Its not like I'm afraid he'll hurt me or anything, not at all! Its just... I don't like to disappoint people and I'm terrified at seeing his face. "Y/N? Can you come out, now?"

"Ummm... no... " I wince, keeping my eyes closed to the world. As if that'll hide me from it.

"No???" He asks, bewildered.

"No... "

Marcus' voice isn't at all as cold-serious as it was when he spoke to Amy, but still. There is still definitely an unfamiliar focused quality about it, and its making me nervous. "What? Come on. What do you think's gonna happen? I'll yell at you? Come on, that's not gonna happen; Come out. "

"I'd really rather stay in here... " I fire back.

"Don't be scared of me." He really does sound trustworthy... but that fear, man; She's one unrelenting bitch.

My voice goes high pitched when I answer, too vehement to be the truth. "I-I'm not! Silly! Why would I be scared of you??" My eyes open up again and I just wince. Such a liar.

"Aghh... " I just listen to him shifting around out there looking for something for a bit, or thinking of what to say next, while I myself sit and think comfortable that there is nothing that will make this worse, seeing as I'm safe and sound in this toilet stall... before his boots disappear from my vision under the door and I hear him disappear out of the bathroom then return again almost immediately, going into the stall beside me and putting something down on the toilet seat in there.

Oh my god- he wouldn't dare! He would not-

Then all of a sudden he's climbing over the wall and I have to jump off the toilet seat and press closely to the stall door, root beer and snack still hugged in my arms like teddy bears. Marcus eases himself over the wall and onto the toilet seat before my eyes, then jumps off it to the tiles again in front of me, while I gape wide at him. "I- what- Marcus!"

"Well you weren't coming out! It was my only option!" He exclaims, and now that I see him I do relax a bit. There's no coldness in his face now, and there is certainly no unfamiliar, unfriendly seriousness, either, seeing as the man just climbed into a toilet stall to get to me. Very Marcus-y. I slowly let out a relieved breath, which is still also a 'calm down' breath as the pressure is certainly still on. I can see him, but he can also see me.

Eager to avoid the issue at hand, I snap. "You might've kicked me!"

"No, I wouldn't have." He makes a defensive 'pshhh' sound immaturely, waving me off with a hand before resting them both on his hips and looking right at me. I give him my own dubious look right back- What makes him so sure??? He rolls his eyes. "Whatever, anyway." Suddenly, a beautiful big smile spreads across his face; the kind that still makes me a little bit weak and almost forces me to smile back. Even now, in this situation. "This is great."

And then I'm speechless, mouth closed and eyebrows furrowed together. ... Great? What? Quickly he moves to clarify, before grinning that goofy grin of his. "The pregnancy! Man, I've seen enough girlfriends get pregnant over the years... its nice to see one having my baby." A moment passes and my system is just registering this reaction - not even relieved, yet. Just in shock and a little less anxiety, - before he drops his smile, raises an eyebrow, and adds: "It is mine, right?"

Still shocked, I answer as if the question was more on the lines of 'That was my cupcake that I just ate, right?'. Meaning, probably too casually. "Oh- oh, yeah! Abs- absolutely." He doesn't seem to mind.

He beams again. "Great! We'll be awesome parents- that is assuming you wanna keep the baby, right?"

"Uh... " All I want to say is yes, right now. Even as the complications of raising a baby right now linger in the forefront of my mind. But at the same time I'm looking at Marcus and I just want to. I want to have the baby, and I want to do it with him... in the moment, he's the absolute perfect person to do it with. I choke out, "Yeah."

He fist pumps the air at that response, and finally the relief starts to settle in my stomach and my heart... a smile grows on my own face. My eyes even get a little watery with the powerful relief. "YES! That's right, I'm gonna be a Dad. Whoo! We gotta tell everyone. But how, do you think? Should we get a cake or something that says it in icing?? Or should we just go out there and announce it over the speakers? Or should we just not tell anyone? Cuz on the one hand, I wanna tell everyone- but on the other... I don't really want Carol to know you're pregnant. That could be bad."

"Um... " I don't even know what to say. I just want to hug him, so I do. I step forward and wrap my arms around his middle, burying my face in his coveralls and the body I've become so familiar with over the past months that smells so uniquely - and not always so pleasantly, but definitely comforting, - like Marcus and squeeze tight, closing my eyes. He smells like that 'new furniture' smell that's really just 'warehouse', and an unfamiliar home, and a little bit of B.O.

Thank god.

Amy was right. Of course she was. Even when I was stressing, I knew the image I had of Marcus getting mad about this didn't feel quite right, but... you have to prepare yourself for the worst, you know? I'm just so glad he's the way he is though, as he wraps his arms around my shoulders in return and bends his neck to press his cheek to my head. "I'm really happy about this. And I know we haven't figure anything out. With us, with money, with anything actually, but... we will, okay? I'll do my best, I promise."

"... Thank fuck." I chuckle, although its muffled and get a similar sound from him in return. "I'm really happy, too." He rubs my back in that rough, comforting way that guys do and I might as well melt; He's too wonderful. I bite my bottom lip, thinking my next move through before taking a deep breath and deciding to take the plunge and ask. "... hey... um... b-boyfriend?"

Marcus immediately pulls me back and holds me at arms length, a crazy-big grin splitting his face. "Oh, yes! This day just keeps getting better and better; Come on, we definitely have to tell everyone this, lets go." Excitedly, he slips past me and unlocks the stall door finally, but pauses and turns back to me before its pushed open at all. I tilt my head in curiosity- what's up? "Unless... congrats sex?"

...

Oh my god- a snort, transforming into a laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. I pull him closer by the front of his coveralls, grinning at both the idea and how silly he is and gently tug him down closer to my level. I close my lips and knit my eyebrows together understandingly. "... How about you come over after work? First we should probably deal with the others? You know, the ones hanging outside right now?"

"Oh, yeah, probably. Oh man- I'll be basically related to Jonah now!" Oh- well- not exactly but... okay fine. If it makes the guy happy. "Ha ha, look forward to seeing this face every Christmas, bro." Oh boy.

I just grin at that - Goodluck Jonah, - before leaning up the rest of the way and pressing a careful kiss to Marcus' lips which he immediately returns with enthusiasm, hands abandoning the stall lock and collecting my waist instead.

This is going to be okay.

It will work out. I hope.

BONUS:

Later in the breakroom while Marcus is busy with talking to some of the other Cloud 9 employees about the news, Jonah takes the seat next to me and I raise my eyebrows at him- he's obviously dying to say something. I know my brother at least that much. He sighs.

"So... you... haven't eaten the cheese, right? I mean, I have but I'm hoping you haven't been put through such, uh, cruel and unusual torture... "

"Oh, no. Absolutely not. I managed to convince him it was cannibalism for women." I grin, returning immediately to my Cloud 9 Caesar salad as Jonah sighs long and hard in relief, relaxing back into his chair.

#Superstore #Superstore Oneshot #Oneshot #Superstore x Reader #Superstore Marcus #Marcus White #Marcus White x Reader #Amy Sosa #Jonah Simms #Superstore Isaac #Superstore Jonah #Superstore Amy #TW: Pregnancy #TW: Panic attack #TW: Stress #TW: Anxiety

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spxllcxstxr · 3 years

Text

To Make A Calming Draught • J.P

Summary: “You have my heart.” (Bolded)

Warnings: potions, use of animal parts for potions, brief mention of blood?

Word Count: 899

A.N: Um, don’t actually look up the ingredients for a Calming Draught because I got two conflicting takes and then decided to have some creative liberty so....oops? I also call this fluff but it’s just kinda amusing to me

****

“Lupin and Evans.”

“McKinnon and Snape.”

“Black and Meadowes.”

“Potter and (Y/Ln).”

You audibly groan and drop your head onto the cool wood of your desk, successfully interrupting Slughorn’s ramble.

“No complaints, Miss (Y/Ln). Look on the bright side, he will only be your partner for a month.” Slughorn cheerfully informs you, blissfully unaware of how much pain his decision has brought you.

You purposely bang your head on the table once, the dull thunk causing your nearby housemates to erupt into snickers.

“Literally stop complaining, I’m partnered with Snape. For a month.” Marlene hisses from the seat next to you.

“Guess we’ll both have to suffer.” You sigh, picking your head up and rubbing the spot of your forehead that made contact with the desk.

“Everyone find your partner and a table and open to Calming Draughts in your textbook. You may begin.” Slughorn announces.

Reluctantly, you rise from your seat and drag yourself over to the spot Potter and Black had already claimed as their own.

Potter leans against the table, his uniform prim and proper, his dark curls deliberately placed in organized chaos.

His whole being infuriated you.

With his glasses always slightly askew so he has an excuse to repeatedly take them off to readjust, running a hand through his hair in the process to attempt to look cooler.

If anyone asks you, though, it just makes him look more like a prick.

When you get close enough, Potter’s hazel eyes run over your figure. You roll your own, praying to Merlin that for once, the Gryffindor will keep his mouth shut.

“It seems fate brought us together, (Y/Ln).” He flirtatiously greets.

Thanks for nothing, Merlin.

“No, I just think Slughorn is still miffed about the Fungiface Potion I slipped in his goblet during dinner last week, and this is my punishment.” You retort blandly, dropping your things on the table in front of you.

“Alright, Dorcas.” You greet your friend standing across from you.

“Hey (Y/n).” She smiles, flipping through the pages of the textbook. “Sirius, why don’t you get the ingredients?” Dorcas continues.

You glance down at the ingredient list.

1 L water

60 mL syrup of hellebore

3 sprigs lavender

15 mL salamander blood

30 mL essence of belladonna

1 crocodile heart

“Dear—“

You hold up a hand, cutting him off.

“Don’t call me dear, Potter. And yes, I’ll grab the ingredients.”

You stalk off to the storeroom, Potter calling out his thanks loud enough for the whole class to overhear.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you join Marlene in the supply closet, Black not far behind.

“He’s driving me mental!” She whisper-shouts, tying her platinum blonde hair in a bun. “The only time he speaks to me is when he critiques my every move and when he’s not focused on that, he’s creepily ogling Lily!” Marlene throws one hand in the air in exasperation before angrily grabbing a vial of salamander blood.

“Relax, Marls, you’re guaranteed an O with that tosser.” Black points out, blindly taking containers off of the shelves.

You nod in agreement. “At least you’re not partnered with someone who thinks Calming Draughts and Draughts of Peace are the same potion.”

Black and Marlene freeze, looking at you in shock. “They’re not?” They ask together.

“I’m surrounded by bloody idiots.” You mutter in irritation.

You grab your jars and vials and make your way back to your cauldron. And Potter, who shockingly hasn’t caused anything to explode yet.

But the period isn’t over.

You do your best to ignore Potter and Black, instead trying to focus on making basically the entire potion yourself while the two boys goof off.

Eventually, you’re staring at a pale orange concoction. You look around for the next ingredient before spotting it in Potter’s hand.

“You’ve got my heart, Potter.” You interrupt their riveting conversation about Mulciber’s newly charmed lime green hair.

“You hear that, Sirius?” Potter dramatically swoons. “I’ve got (Y/Ln)’s heart!” His smirk widens significantly.

Dorcas snorts across from you, still stirring her potion.

Black reaches across, hand held up high, which Potter cheerfully slaps. “Alright, Prongs! Knew it’d happen some day!”

“My crocodile heart, dumb arse.” You clarify, motioning to the jar still grasped tightly in his hand like a Quaffle.

“Crocodile—?” His hazel eyes widen, dropping to the mysteriously dark red jar.

“Yeah, y’know, for our potion?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Did you not read over the brew?”

“James doesn’t know how to read, (Y/n), we all know that.” Dorcas teases.

“I do know how to read, Dorcas, piss off.” Potter snarks benevolently. “I just trust (Y/Ln) here to not screw up the potion.”

He twists open the jar, taking a whiff before recoiling violently, coughing.

“Oh how kind of you.” You roughly yank the jar out of his hands, chuckling at the look of disgust that overtakes his features.

“It says here that the heart shouldn’t be exposed to open air for a long period before use—“ Dorcas starts.

However, before she’s able to finish, you drop the heart in the concoction, just like the instructions tell you.

And then the explosion happens.

Vibrant blue sparks fly up, buzzing beneath your nose and catching on your eyebrows. Intense heat surrounds your face and the distinct smell of burning overpowers your senses, making your eyes water.

“Potter!” You shriek, horrified.

“Ah, shit.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #the marauders x reader #the marauders

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cotccotc · 3 years

Text

genre/s: felix x barista!reader (gender neutral), fluff, angst, coworkers to lovers au, bakery / barista au (feat. baker / bff!minho, (strict) manager!chan, barista!jeongin, and baker!seungmin)

wc: 6.9k 😎

warnings: many mentions of food (specifically sweets such as cupcakes, brownies, cookies, etc.), some swearing, arguing, probably very poor editing oops <3

a/n: this is part of the @districtninewriters “dear skz, with love” event :D THIS IS ALSO THE LONGEST FIC I’VE EVER WRITTEN AHHH i’m really really proud of it !!! i hope u love it besties !!!!!!!!

it was a frostbitten february evening when you met the boy at the bakery.

you were seated upon the counter, back turned to the deep brown door through which you’d first entered months ago, eager to apply for a barista position. minho sat across from you on the cashier stool. he was always better with the baked goods. you were a great team. the two of you were bored; a familiar feeling that accompanied weeknights at the bakery-cafe. people tended to arrive either in the morning time or late in the afternoon, and very seldom later. plus, your manager trusted the two of you enough to lock up on your own. and so, the two of you would be left to your own devices for a few measly hours a night per week.

“i bet you couldn’t make a batch of sugar biscuits without instructions,” he teased with a snarky grin. he was right. that was more his thing than yours.

so, you retaliated. “i bet you can’t do the same with a mocha frappe. or even simpler: an iced americano.”

“please!”

“oh yeah? step right up, biscuit boy,” you retorted with a giggle, gesturing to the coffee maker that sat beside him. there were multiple in the shop, and truth be told, he had no idea which was used for what types of beverages.

confidently, he grabbed a cup from the stack on the table behind him, striding over to one of the machines. he then took a look at all the knobs and buttons, clearing his throat. you chuckled. with his finger ghosting over one of the buttons, he turned back toward you to check for your reaction. “not even close,” you remarked. he clicked his tongue, turning back toward the coffee maker. “just a hint,” you added, “the first step isn’t coffee.”

he simply looked up, bewildered. he turned back toward you, dropping his hands to his sides and parting his lips into a circular expression of disbelief.

suddenly, the sparkling tone of the door chime behind you caught both of your attention. peculiar. nobody was usually around at that hour. as minho put his cup back on the table, you hopped off the counter, turning toward the front of the store.

in walked one of the most strikingly handsome boys you think you’ve ever seen. if not the most handsome. an angular face; fair, slightly pink-tinted skin decorated with the most endearing assortment of freckles. they were almost reminiscent of the chocolate sprinkles minho used to top off the cupcakes situated inside the glass counter case. his hair was a vanilla blond and long enough to delicately cascade over the side edges of his face. cherry red lips that parted upon his arrival, chocolatey brown eyes staring right back at yours. he was astonishing.

“how can we help you?” minho asked him, stepping forward. he couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes seemed to be bugging out of your head. he had to stifle a chuckle or two.

the boy’s eyes lingered on yours for a moment. or maybe you dreamed it that way. regardless, he walked up to the counter, inquisitively placing his hands behind his back and bent over to glance at the contents of the case. “hi! uh…” he seemed sweet, though his voice was much deeper than you’d expected. it was unique. he was unique. and in quite a rush, as well. “...shit,” he cursed under his breath. he seemed to have startled himself with his expression. he looked back up at you, then at minho, a tight-lipped smile and strawberry-pink blush appearing on his face. “sorry,” he said.

minho finally let out a chuckle. “no worries. what’re you looking for?” he was always so good with the customers. smooth yet considerate, witty, yet firm. you always aspired to be a little more like minho when it came to customer service.

“do you have any of the salted caramel cupcakes left? they seem to be gone.”

“ah, we seem to have run out of those. could i interest you in a peanut butter cupcake instead?”

the boy shook his head. “no… she likes caramel.”

she. there was a she.

“may i ask what the occasion is?” minho asked.

“it’s my mom’s birthday, and she’ll be home from work soon... hopefully. i would’ve made my own gift to her but i didn’t have the time…”

“enough said,” your coworker assured him. “does she like chocolate? we have a few salted caramel brownies in the back.”

he almost gasped. “that’s perfect!” he paused. “um… how much is that? i-is it more than the cupcake, or…?”

minho glanced through the glass at the tag beside the brownie tray. “nope. less, actually.”

the boy let out a short sigh of relief. “great. thanks so much.”

“ah, it’s nothing. one sec,” minho said before walking into the kitchen to grab the brownie from the fridge. an awkward silence ensued between you and the boy.

“a name for the order?” you blurted. dumbass, you thought to yourself.

“i’m… the only one in the store…” he replied.

heat rose to your cheeks. “i… um… it’s protocol-”

“felix.” he cut you off before you could embarrass yourself further. he could tell you were nervous.

a unique name as well. of course.

“coming right up, felix,” you murmured, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. both of you chuckled.

minho came back out to the counter holding a small blue box with the cafe logo on top. “you’re all set! that’ll be…” he pressed few buttons into the cash register before continuing. “ten thousand won.”

“perfect.” felix grabbed his wallet out of his coat pocket. he pulled out a few bills from the black leather case, handing them to minho with a small smile. he was excited to surprise his mother, and happy that it wouldn’t cost as much as he’d thought it would. and you found it adorable.

minho took the money, ringing felix up and inserting the bills into the register. he handed felix the box, which made the boy’s face light up even more. it was hard for you to suppress a similar countenance. “i hope she likes it. have a good night!” minho said, closing the register. he crossed his arms and leaned on the counter as felix waved to the both of you and began walking back toward the door.

“thanks so much. you too,” he said, giving minho a small bow.

with his hand on the door, he glanced back at you once more. you smiled. he returned the expression. and just like that, with a brief gust of cold air sweeping through the shop, the boy was gone.

“you, uh… you know we only take names when there’s a line, right?” minho teased as the door shut, the chime letting out what seemed to be a pitied laugh.

you held your hands up to your forehead. “ugh, i know! i’m such an idiot,” you replied, letting your nerves go with a chuckle. he patted you on the shoulder, laughing with you.

in between laughs, he remarked, “he really made you that nervous, huh?”

“you could tell?! oh, great… wonderful!”

the two of you carried on for a moment, making light of the otherwise mortifying exchange. but finally, minho glanced at the clock and asked, “would you mind locking up tonight? i’ve got a date.”

“ooh!” you cooed, taunting him. “a date... who’s the not-so-lucky lady?”

“what joke book did you get that one from, hm? i had no idea you even knew how to read!” you gave him a playful punch in the arm for his sarcastic dig, causing him to giggle. yet, he answered your question, saying, “it’s a girl i met on the train home from school the other night. chaeyoung.” he looked off to the side, seemingly entranced. “she’s really witty and smart… and gorgeous. like... gorgeous.”

“ah, yes… so gorgeous that it causes men to leave their posts… and friends…”

“if i bring you back some takeout, will you quit being an ass?”

you pondered the question for a moment. and, while you’d be bored as hell in his absence, closing up the shop wasn’t much of a hassle on weeknights… and, well, you could always go for a free meal. “...pleasure doing business with you, lee minho.”

“thank you. as with you,” he commented in return. he took off the periwinkle blue, involuntarily worn apron which you’ve both been made to wear, revealing what you hadn’t even noticed was a dressy outfit. well, dressier than usual. he’d opted for a pale blue button-up shirt, tucked into black skinny jeans, all tied together by a chic black belt and a pair of black loafers. not to mention the small silver hoop earrings and matching necklace. you had to admit, he did look dapper.

he quickly strode to the back of the kitchen at which there resided a small storage room where you and the other employees usually dropped off your belongings. he grabbed his backpack and put on his long black coat, quickly making his way back up to the counter and walking around to the front of the store. “catch you tomorrow! thanks again.”

“takeout! don’t forget!”

“i couldn’t even if i tried,” he retorted, opening the door. the two of you waved to each other before he took his leave.

moments later, the door opened once again. you figured minho must’ve forgotten something. looking up, you began to ask, “what’d you forget this ti-”

it wasn’t minho.

it was felix.

he paused in his footing, little blue box still in hand. you jumped just a little. he noticed. “s-sorry… i just, um…” he looked off to the side. “i guess this is a bit of a long shot... considering the two of you seem to be more than enough staff… but…” he paused again, taking a moment to straighten his posture and scratch the back of his head. “is there any chance you might be hiring… any time soon?”

the answer was no. undoubtedly. he was right in thinking that you, minho, and the other employees were perfectly capable of handling the cafe. though some mornings and weekends were a bit tight, the team made it work. if this was anybody else, you could’ve easily said no.

yet, he persisted. “i can bake! i like to think i’ve been getting better at it… and i can clean as well.”

you couldn’t turn him down. you simply couldn’t. not with those kind eyes locking themselves with yours, the enthusiasm in his deep voice, or the hastening beat of your heart. “i’ll talk to my manager!” you affirmed. you smiled, causing a similar reaction out of him. an idea popped into your mind. if only for a moment, you thought it was the best you’d ever had. your eyes averted themselves to the pale yellow note pad and ballpoint pen on the counter, used to take orders from seated customers. “here,” you said, reaching for the pen and paper and handing it to felix. “if you’ll give me your number, i can text you with any updates.”

he walked back up to the counter for the second time that night, taking his number down on the pad. as you watched him intently, eyes fixated on his concentrated face, you silently praised yourself for being so brave. especially after the whole name debacle. your heart was at its wits’ end. “there,” he said, placing the pen down on the counter and sliding the notepad back to you. “i really appreciate it.” he sounded so genuine. he flashed you another smile. he had such a grand, bright, toothy smile. it would stay in your memory for days, weeks, even months to come. you can still recall it now.

“it’s no problem,” you responded. “...i really hope your mom likes the brownie.”

“thanks. i’m sure she will.” he turned to walk toward the door. you almost turned away as well, excited to examine the style with which he’d written on the pad, until he spun back around once more. “oh! one more thing… can i get your name as well?”

the question came as a bit of a surprise. you nodded to him, letting out a short giggle. “y/n.”

he grinned again. it was smaller that time; a bit more subdued. effortfully so. “ah. well…” he began walking backward, eyes connected with yours as he headed toward the door. “goodnight, y/n.”

“goodnight, felix.”

and thus, your pursuit for a job offering began.

your manager, chan, was reluctant to accept your proposal for him to give felix an interview. however, you made note of how eager he’d seemed that night and the skills he’d mentioned having. you also mentioned how he’d been so enthused to find out the price of his order. and so, after a couple days’ worth of mulling it over, chan finally gave in.

you weren’t supposed to be at the cafe when felix was being interviewed. however, your saturday afternoon shift had just ended, and the place was essentially empty. well… apart from you, chan, felix, and then jeongin, who wandered in from the storage room to find you eavesdropping from behind the wall separating the kitchen and the dining area.

“y/n?” he asked. “what are you-”

you inaudibly shushed him, motioning for him to come closer and hide with you. he did so.

“chan’s interviewing someone,” you whispered to the boy.

“ah…” he responded, his tone hushed. “so why are we hiding?”

“because we’re not supposed to be listening.”

“so why are we doing it?”

“because i want to know how it’s going.”

“so why can’t you just-”

you shushed him again. he obliged, covering his mouth with his hand.

from the other side of the wall, chan asked, “so felix, do you have a resume?”

“uh…” felix stammered. you could hear the nerves in his voice.

“let me put it this way,” chan offered instead. “do you have any prior working experience? at another cafe, another store, a completely different place...?”

“oh! yes. i’ve bagged groceries at the supermarket on third street for the last few months. that’s where my mom works. but i’d much rather work here, if i’m honest...”

“ah. okay.” chan nodded, jotting down some notes in his notebook. “so y/n told me you could clean...”

before chan could finish, felix proudly exclaimed, “i can! i do a lot of cleaning at home.”

“perfect.”

the interview went on for a few more minutes. jeongin let out a few silent chuckles every once in a while, mocking your state of concentration. but who could blame you? you just wanted to make sure felix got the position. he seemed to need it.

you totally weren’t in it for his smile… the freckles… the adorable creases that formed at the edges of his eyes when he grinned with that sweet, genuine, toothy grin of his… no, not at all…

nevertheless, he got the job.

“i love this apron,” felix had said to you on his first day. he was quite fond of your uniform. everyone else in the shop hated them; what, with the pale blue color, white pinstripe pattern, and the ‘one-size-fits-all’ design. yet, in every sense of the phrase, it fit felix perfectly.

“i’m glad someone does,” you replied. he laughed.

“when i got the cleaning job, i wasn’t sure i’d get to wear one. but i’m happy i do.” he smiled at you, his pearlescent teeth on full display and face aglow with joy.

after about a week of training, felix became a natural at his job. though it wasn’t much, he took great pride in his work and enjoyed taking any opportunity he saw to do a little extra sweeping, some more dish washing, and even some dusting here and there.

he also fit right into the employee dynamic. every once in a while, you’d find him playing hand games with jeongin. or, sometimes, minho would discuss baking with him, as he often noted his affinity for it.

“have you ever tried using oats in your chocolate chip cookies?” felix asked. it was monday night. and, as per usual, the shop was devoid of customers.

minho looked puzzled. “oats?”

“yeah. it adds a little nuttiness. it’s really, really good.”

“huh… i’ll have to try it out sometime. i like to add a bit of coffee grounds to the flour when i make mine.” then, he leaned in to whisper, “don’t tell chan, though.” felix let out a nervous giggle.

“don’t worry,” you said to him. “minho’s only kidding. i’d never let him touch my coffee grounds.” this made all three of you laugh.

after the laughter died down, felix looked at the clock. it was four in the afternoon. “well, my shift is over,” he said. you were disappointed. hanging out with felix had become a bit of a highlight for you. he always carried himself so kindly. he had a bubbly soul, and a pure twinkle took residence in his eye whenever he smiled. you couldn’t help but feel light and airy while around him.

“hey, i’ve been meaning to ask,” minho started to felix. “do you bike here?”

the other boy was confused. “no. why?”

“oh… then, do you walk?”

“yeah. it’s only a few blocks,” felix responded, shrugging.

“do you need a ride?”

felix paused to think. “don’t you need to stay here? to lock up and everything…”

“i’ll come right back.”

you chimed in, suggesting, “i can close tonight.”

“you sure?” minho asked you. “i don’t have any food to bribe you with this time.” you both chuckled.

“it’s fine by me,” you said.

minho thanked you, stating once again that he owed you. the amount of times you’d done this for him was countless. but you never seemed to mind. and so, off they went. you were glad felix had integrated into the friend group so well. you supposed that he was just that loveable.

when it finally came time for you to close up shop having not received any other customers for the night, you waltzed into the storage room to grab your things. however, you noticed something strange sitting atop one of the shelves that hadn’t been there that morning.

an envelope. with your name on it. and a tupperware container filled with a single slice of what looked like chocolate cake.

your heart flinched. you were shocked. flustered, flushed. confused… but endeared. you hesitated. shakily, you tore open the cream-colored envelope’s seal, careful not to rip too much. you wanted to preserve its crisp smoothness.

“y/n,” the note said...

“a gift to you,

a chocolatey treat,

a token of thanks

for being so sweet.

~ me”

your heart fluttered. you ran to the kitchen, opening the container and grabbing a freshly-cleaned fork from the metal sink. you dried it off on your apron before excitedly digging into the dessert. it was more of a brownie than a cake, you realized, with melted chocolate chunks stuffed inside. it tasted amazing.

you began wondering who this mystery gifter could’ve been. it couldn’t have been minho… it simply couldn’t have. the two of you were much too close. and he was always more confident than anybody you’d met. if he liked you, you would have already known. besides, things seemed to be going well with him and chaeyoung. no… this had to be someone else. jeongin, perhaps. he did always made such high praises about your cappuccino-crafting abilities. you looked to your left and right, peering around the kitchen for signs of life. but alas, you were all alone in the cafe.

then it hit you.

of course...

felix.

you recalled the first time you met. when you had him jot his number down on the piece of paper. you remembered his handwriting; the way some characters curled on the ends, the rounded shape of his letter e, the squiggly line he used before he signed his name… it was felix. it had to be.

and you were ecstatic.

the next day, you entered the shop to find a full house. it was a saturday morning, after all. you enjoyed the breakfast rush, mainly because you got the chance to show off your coffee-making skills. you made your way to the kitchen, greeting jeongin at the counter on your way in. you said hello to minho and seungmin as well, who were busy stand-mixing and hand-folding various types of batter. they were a great team, especially on mornings like those. though they tended to bicker about ingredients and proportions, the sweet treats they’d concoct always turned out excellently.

finally, felix emerged from the storage area, duster in hand. when he saw you, however, he froze. with his eyes wide and cheeks beginning to flush, he greeted you. “h-hi, y/n… good morning!”

you let out a bit of a giggle. does he know that i know? you asked yourself. granted, the mysterious gift giver signed off as ‘me,’ so you couldn’t say you were positive… but this reaction told you otherwise. “morning!”

he nodded, smiling nervously. he gestured to the storage room. “the shelves in there are all dusted now.”

“great! i think i’ll… um…” you pointed to the room, slipping past him to stash away your belongings and put on your apron.

“yep! you… do that…” he muttered as you walked away.

however, when you walked in, you found something peculiar displayed upon the shelf.

another envelope. and another container.

you turned back toward the door to find felix peeking in. you chuckled. “so it was you!”

he stepped to the side, coming into full view. “how’d you know?” he asked.

“i just… had a feeling.” you grinned.

he paused, a tight-lipped smile spread across his face. “well, open it.”

you placed your coat and bag on one of the shelves below. you then opened up the envelope just like you had the previous night: meticulously, yet enthralled. it read,

“another dessert

for a person so sweet

will you honor me kindly,

and go out with me?

YES / NO

~ me”

once you looked back up at him, felix commented, “you were supposed to circle one…” he then began rambling. “i thought you didn’t come in until later. you don’t have to say anything right now, or at all, and-”

though you thought it adorable, you cut off his nervous prattle, stating, “yes.”

his eyes grew even wider, his strawberry tinted lips forming a circular shape. “you mean…”

“i’ll go out with you, felix,” you confirmed.

his face lit up. and yours did, too.

thus, one date became two, two became four…

by the end of february, you were officially a couple.

you were a perfect match. each of you complimented each other so well, rivaling the bittersweetness of a good cappuccino when paired with a light and fluffy slice of cake. like minho, felix’s baking abilities and knowledge never ceased to amaze you. you explained the ins and outs of coffee brewing while he told you all about how he bakes his tasty treats. he even showed you some of the recipes his mom handed down to him from generations past.

his mom sounded so wonderful… yet, a part of you felt so sorry for her. felix’s dad left when he was young, and she’s always had to fend for herself and her son all on her own. however, when she was let go from her office position the previous year, things began to spiral. she took up two jobs: one at the local grocery store and another waitressing at a restaurant in the next town. she was always so busy. but felix understood. he tried helping out, especially by working at the supermarket with her that fall. nothing seemed to get any better.

that is, until he landed his job at the cafe.

felix constantly thanked you for helping him out. chan paid him a considerable amount more than what he’d received at the supermarket, which helped him and his mother out greatly. anything would. aside from telling how lovely, smart, witty, and gorgeous you were, felix’s mission in life was to remind you how you’d saved it.

one monday, you entered the storage room on your break to find a sight all too familiar. a handwritten note and small sliver of baked loveliness, all wrapped up in a metaphorical bow of allure and intrigue. nevertheless, however, you were still just as giddy as the first time you’d received one of felix’s treats. suddenly, you felt a finger graze along your shoulder, moving your hair to the side as an arm wrapped itself around your waist. two warm, pillowy lips made contact with your cheek, gently pecking the skin. felix.

you let out a giggle. “is this for me?” you asked, facetiously.

“of course,” he muttered beside your ear, his tone low, entrancing, and chill-inducing. he kissed your cheek again, holding you close and swaying you from side to side. “it’s another brownie. try it,” he suggested as his chin settled upon your shoulder.

you did as he said, biting into the small slice of fudgy goodness. to your surprise, chunks of melted caramel oozed out of the dessert, cutting through the rich chocolatiness of the brownie with a tangy edge. you hummed in satisfaction. “a salted caramel brownie,” you noted, swallowing your bite.

he chuckled. “i figured i’d finally try it out, maybe give some to my mom… do you like it?”

you placed the sweet back into its container and turned around in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. you smiled. “i love it, lix. thank you.”

he grinned back at you. pulling you closer by the waist, he sealed the space between his lips and yours with a kiss. his lips were always even softer and more captivating than the texture of his confections. sweeter, too.

after his lips left yours, he gazed into your eyes, holding you close. “open the note, love.”

you excitedly spun back around, doing as instructed. opening the crisp white envelope seal and pulling out the folded sheet of paper, you read its contents.

“a caramel kiss

for you, my love.

i can’t give you the world.

but i hope i’m enough.

~ felix”

you paused. you were puzzled. visibly so, you figured, since when you turned around the look on felix’s face shifted.

he took your hand in his, rubbing small circles into the skin with his thumb. he kept his head down as he spoke. “i wish i could do more. i wish i could take you out to nice places, bake you batches of your favorite sweets, get you real gifts…”

a sharp pain struck your heart. “lix…” you murmured. “i don’t need any of those things. and as far as i’m concerned, these are ‘real gifts.’ they come from your heart. that’s as real as it gets.”

“i know, love, but…”

you placed a hand on his cheek, guiding him to look back up at you. “you don’t even have to do this stuff for me. i know that you care.”

he gave you a forced, shy smile. “okay. i’m glad.” he placed his own hand on top of yours, warm fingertips pressing gently against your skin.

“felix! y/n!” chan called from the kitchen. it was saturday night, and the last of the day’s customers were taking their leave. you were standing by the coffee-makers, in the middle of telling felix about the time you’d bested jeongin in a macchiato-making contest during a breakfast rush.

both of you turned toward the kitchen door, concerned. chan poked his head out. “can you come here a minute?” he looked serious. something was wrong.

nevertheless, the two of you obliged. holding hands, you made your way to the kitchen, led by chan to the cooling racks. “what’s up?” you asked.

chan cleared his throat before shoving his hands into his pockets. “i have reason to believe that one of you, or both, has violated protocol.”

you quickly grew confused. felix’s hand tightened around yours. you glanced at him, noticing how his face flushed pale. “uh…” he stammered.

“early this morning, seungmin pointed out that we’re low on cocoa powder. now, that’s odd, especially considering we had three cans of it yesterday. now we only have two.” you both nodded at him, following along. “...so i took a look at the camera footage.”

felix let go of your hand. “c-cameras?” he stuttered. you were even more confused.

“yeah. the cameras,” chan confirmed, looking felix dead in the eye. “i watched the footage from yesterday. and the day before.”

felix gulped. “you… you did….”

“what the hell is going on?” you asked.

chan let out a bit of a sigh. “y/n. were you aware that felix has been taking ingredients from the kitchen?”

your heart dropped.

you glanced at your boyfriend. he glanced back at you. he then bit his bottom lip, averting his eyes down to the floor. you looked back at chan, calmly answering, “no… i had no idea.”

“is that true?” chan asked.

“yes.” you then turned to felix, face ablaze. “it’s true.”

“then in that case, you can go for the night. i’d like to talk to felix. alone.”

after one last unreciprocated look at your boyfriend, you quickly rummaged through the storage room, collected your things, and left. you stood outside of the cafe, waiting for whatever might happen next. your stomach was doing flips. you couldn’t possibly believe what you’d heard.

minutes elapsed. it felt more like hours. all you could think to do was lean up against a lamp post and watch the gloomy clouds shift overhead. the sun was close to being fully set, casting a deep purple tint over the whole street landscape. and it looked as though it was about to rain.

after what felt like an exorbitantly long time, felix emerged from the shop. the door closed behind him as he bolted down the steps and onto the pavement, that familiar chime sending a chill through you. it sounded almost eerie that night. out of place. taunting.

“lix,” you called. you walked behind him, despite his quickening pace. but he wouldn’t stop or slow down. “lix,” you exclaimed again. no answer. finally, you grabbed his arm, realizing his apron was gone, and shouted, “felix! slow down.”

he scoffed, stopping dead in his tracks. “he fired me.”

you stared at him, blankly. once again, you couldn’t believe it.

“i tried to do something nice, and he fired me.”

“do you think it makes me feel any better?” you asked. “you getting yourself fired so you could make me little brownie experiments?” you paused, taking a deep breath. you were outraged. more so with yourself. you should’ve asked how he was finding the time or the resources to be doing what he was doing. you should’ve known. “i thought you needed this job. when were you gonna tell me you were a thief?”

“a thief?!” felix’s eyes seemed to be bulging out of his head. he was surprised at your verbiage. he’d never seen you upset like this. “y/n, i’m not a thief.” you rolled your eyes. his cheeks flushed crimson. a prickling sensation began around his eyes. a stinging, almost. tears. he looked down at his sneakers. tattered white converse. the same ones he wore every day to work. the same ones on which he’d splattered a few droplets of brownie batter during his latest attempt at making you a gift. now, it just looked like a stain of mud. “i didn’t just take cocoa powder. i took eggs… some milk… a couple cups of flour here and there… my mom got demoted at the restaurant. she works the bar now. she thinks i asked for the stuff. so yeah, i did need this job! i do need it. i just fucked up...” under his breath, trying not to give into the tears that prodded at his eyes, he remarked, “‘little brownie experiments’... that’s all they ever were to you? little brownie experiments...”

you realized what you’d said. of course that’s not all they were to you. they were everything to you. but that isn’t what you’d said. “lix… i-”

“you know what, you’re right,” he muttered, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet, hands clasped behind his back, and eyes rapidly blinking to avoid the inevitable. “they probably weren’t even all that good.”

you took a step closer to him. a drop of water fell onto your shoulder from above. “no.. no, that’s not what i-”

but, as quickly as you approached him, he stepped back. he locked eyes with you once again. his eyes were glossy; tainted with the aftereffects of a broken heart. suddenly, a steady stream of drizzling rain began to fall from the night sky above you. felix’s lip quivered. yet, with a furrowing brow, he continued. “you know what, maybe this was all a mistake.” his voice cracked a bit; frayed at the edges. “maybe i should’ve gotten a different job. at a place that would pay me enough to be able to buy my own shit and pay my mom’s bills.” the rain fell harder now, coating his hair and dragging it down over his face. you didn’t even feel it as it completely drenched you as well.

seeing him like this affected you just as much as your words did him. guilt. the panging, crushing weight of guilt laid heavily upon your heart. “felix…” you whimpered, tears of your own beginning to cloud your line of sight. though, you could still see clear enough to watch him shake his head, turning around and beginning his ascent up the avenue. clear as ever. even despite the pitter-patter of evening gloom.

sopping wet, you marched back into the shop. you ripped off your apron, throwing it down upon the counter. you then walked back behind it to start preparing to close up for the night. all you wanted was to go home.

that is, until you spotted an envelope tucked beside the cappuccino maker.

a creamy white envelope, with your name and a heart inscribed on the back. and a tupperware container. a single teardrop descended from the corner of your eye, resembling the droplets of rain that covered your form. you carefully took hold of the envelope. you gently tore it open, making sure not to rip it, just like you’d done the very first and subsequent times.

“another present

for my love;

my dear y/n,

sent from above.

~ felix”

a drop of rain fell from your hair onto the page, dampening his name. the black ink began to run, the letters seeping into each other.

you could no longer control your tears. you took a seat on the floor, back resting against a leg of the table upon which the coffee makers stood. the metal was cold. but you paid it no mind. with your head on your knees, legs bent and arms wrapped around them, you cried. audibly. you couldn’t believe how you’d spoken to him. you should’ve known that he didn’t have the money to bake you these little presents on his own. you should’ve realized from the moment he confirmed it was him. at least, that’s what you thought to yourself as the tears expelled themselves from your system.

he just wanted to make you something special. yes, he broke the rules. yes, he stole from the cafe. and yes, he knew it was wrong. but he just wanted to make you something special. it was the only way he believed he could. and you wish you’d seen that. not just so you could’ve prevented it, but also so you could’ve appreciated it even more. so you could’ve seen that not only was he working overtime to make you something you might enjoy, but that he was risking his job for you and his mother. it wasn’t a perfect gesture - not by a long shot. but he meant well. he always did. and you didn’t even give him the chance to explain.

you loved him.

after a few moments of solitude, you regained your breath. you sniffled, looking down at the note. you then stood back up, taking hold of the container. its contents looked delicious. but you couldn’t consume it. not even if you’d been hungry. so, you dumped it into the trashcan beside the table. and, with a deep, shaky breath, you ripped up the letter and envelope into tiny pieces. it was a bittersweet feeling, letting go. but you had to do it. and so, home you went.

a week passed. things never really changed at the cafe once felix left. weeknights were still as slow as ever. maybe even slower. you missed him.

minho emerged from the kitchen one evening to find you wiping down the cappuccino maker with a coffee-stained rag. it was the third time you’d done it that day. twice more than you were getting paid for. and of course he noticed. “how’re you holding up?” he asked.

you barely glanced up at him, busy rubbing the same spot on the metal machine over and over. this stupid stain just wouldn’t budge. each time you’d gone over it that day, you couldn’t seem to make it go away. it plagued your mind, infiltrating your subconscious when you least expected it until you finally decided to go back to it for the second time, then the third. it was a real mood killer. though your mood hadn’t been very lively when the day began, either. “‘m fine,” you replied through gritted teeth, brows angled inward as your focus remained on the task at hand.

“are you?” he questioned, playfully. he leaned on the counter behind you, crossing his arms and watching you scrub. “you’ve been going at it with that thing for hours now. what’d it ever do to y-”

“i’m fine!” you interjected. you then paused, both in speech and action. suddenly, you were aware of how fast you’d been rubbing the machine. as well as how loud your voice had raised itself. you turned around. “...sorry.”

he gave a pitied smile, crossing his arms. “it’s ok. i’m fine,” he replied, mimicking you. it made you chuckle. he was glad it did. “is, uh… is this a bad time to ask you to lock up? i’ve got a.. uh…”

“a date?” you supposed, unfeeling.

he cleared his throat, glancing between you, the clock above you, and his shoes. “yeah,” he confirmed. “with chaeyoung. would you mind?”

“not at all.”

“you sure?” you nodded. “alright… i owe you one… or ten...” he joked, untying his apron.

“no you don’t,” you murmured, eyes drifting to the side. you almost turned back around, heart set on getting to that stain, until you felt his hand on your arm. you glanced at each other for a moment. he looked sad. sorry. he pitied you. and you hated it. yet, as he took you in his arms, wrapping you into a tight, benevolent hug, you became a little less tense. a little less angry. you hugged him back, burying your face into his shoulder. this was the first time you’d ever engaged in such a gesture with your coworker. sure, you were friends. and sure, you’d talked about some deep stuff on nights like these with nothing better to do. but this was different. meaningful. sweet.

after a moment, minho remarked, “you know i miss him too, right?” he sounded mockingly peeved. “he was your boyfriend but he was my friend.”

you looked up at him, confused. “you’re not still friends?”

he chuckled. “no! he’s avoiding me the same way he’s avoiding you.”

laughing with him, you responded, “shit… i’m sorry, minho.”

“you have nothing to apologize for.” he let go of you, hands remaining on your sides for a moment. “you both messed up. it’s not all your fault.” you nodded to him, a reluctant, close-lipped smile upon your face. he glanced up at the clock again before pulling his apron off. “i’ve gotta go. thanks again for locking up, y/n.” he walked past the counter to the front of the store. “i’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” he added, pointing at you while striding backwards toward the door.

“see you tomorrow,” you replied, waving to him. “have fun.” you still sounded a bit bitter. you couldn’t help it.

“thanks,” he said. the chimes twinkled as the door closed. it haunted you.

and with that, he was gone. nothing but you, your rag, and that unnerving coffee stain for another half-hour’s time.

you heard the opening and closing of the door behind you once again. with a sigh, not even bothering to turn around, you blurted, “we’re about to lock up for the night.”

no response. odd. maybe they didn’t hear you. you tried again, raising your voice a bit but continuing your attempts to clear up the stain all the while. “i apologize, but we’re closed for the night-”

“one salted caramel brownie, please.”

a familiar voice. a familiar, low-toned, nostalgia-inducing voice. the voice that, at one time, softened for you… close enough to your ear to make your stomach tie itself in knots. the voice that made you giggle, the voice that called you “love”... the voice that cracked when faced with the realization that it was never to be heard by you again. you spun around.

a familiar face, too.

felix.

his eyes gazed into yours. somber, silent.

“y-you...”

“hey.”

tags: @magglesx, @crscendoforsung, @stayndays, @hanniiesuckle17, @leggomylino, @freckledberries, @pixielix, @skzctnightnight, @serenityswords-main, @childofthecosmos, @changbinniee, @kpopscape, @skzwriternet, @hyunsins, @sleepylixie, @ncityluvvs, @vera-liscious (send a 🍓 in my ask box to be added for skz !)

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lupinlongbottom · 4 years

Text

Practically a Weasley pt. 3

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Summary: What could make Charlie’s life more full? He already had a wife he adored, a job he loved and a child who loved him more than the moon and stars. Lunch with his mum isn’t the first idea on his list, that’s for sure.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: a couple of swears? but like when isn’t there my dudes

A/N: So like, these are probably like 3 different stories in one, no clear plot. Oops that’s just my brain getting excited at the idea of their child and the Weasley dynamic so idk still cute

Part 1 ... Part 1.5 ... Part 2 ... Epilogue

“Charles Septimus Weasley!”

The name echoed through the quaint cottage, volume boasting only what could be rivaled to a howler. Charlie had been anticipating a screech like that all day, quietly enjoying a pot of tea, reading the latest issue of the Quibbler before his wife awoke.

“Yes my flower?” Charlie hummed, eyes not leaving his magazine. The latest headlining story involved a sighting of a new type of mini-dragon, one with invisible wings. They were not lizards, a fact Charlie was sure of.

“I just received an owl,” (Y/N) pointed, hopping down the oak stairs as if it were nothing. “From your brother,” she crossed her arms.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, love. Got quite a few of those,” he took a sip of tea.

“From Bill, the brother who was watching your daughter last night?”

“Oh love, I can’t remember much from last night. Maybe you can jog my memory?” His eyes peeked over the magazine, eyeing his wife up and down.

“Cheeky,” (Y/N) replied cooly, feeling a slight heat rise to her cheeks. “He said that Kayda had a wonderful time with her cousins, but when it came time to get ready for bed, she didn’t have any pajamas.”

“Oh?”

“You know what she had, though?”

“Not exactly,” he shrugged, flipping the page. “I let her pack her own overnight bag.”

“Did you double check it before you dropped her off?” (Y/N) crossed her arms, all her weight shifting to one side. “You know, considering she’s five?”

“I trust my daughter,” Charlie said, finally setting the magazine down, looking his wife in the eye. “But, to answer your question, it just might have slipped my mind.”

“Funny,” (Y/N) moved over to the table, standing directly over Charlie. “You know, last night, I was wondering why I couldn’t find that little red thing you like,” (Y/N) hummed, tapping her chin. “But Bill made it abundantly clear that Kayda had a very similar ‘night gown’ to wear.”

It took Charlie every ounce of his being to not laugh out loud. “And? You wore the black thing I like even better,” he grinned, pulling his wife onto his lap. “I’m sure Bill was mortified.”

“Charlie, I’m mortified! I don’t need your brother knowing what sorts of intimates I own!” (Y/N) allowed her head to fall into her hands. Charlie wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Flower,” another kiss. “He know’s we fuck. He babysat the evidence last night.”

“Charlie!” (Y/N) slapped his arm, trying to escape her husband’s grip. He tightened his hold. “I’m serious. We have lunch with your mum today! How am I supposed to look anyone in the eye?”

“Then don’t,” Charlie shrugged, swaying side to side, resting his head on (Y/N)’s shoulder. “Try avoiding your best mates once Bill tells ‘em after he drops Kay off,” Charlie laughed, pressing a kiss to his wife’s neck.

“No,” (Y/N) practically sighed. “Fred and George aren’t going to let me hear the end of it,” Charlie pressed another kiss to her neck, this time sucking lightly on her pulse. “Charlie, we shouldn’t…”

“Funny,” Charlie said, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “You didn’t say that last night. Got out all the candles, busted out the turntable—”

“—we have to leave for The Burrow soon,” she sighed again, leaning into Charlie’s peppering kisses. “I barely have enough time to get ready as it is!”

“Come on, love. You look even more radiant than the day I met you,” He pressed a kiss to her lips, soft and sweet. “We can be quick, considering we took our time last night,” another kiss. “Think of it as an encore presentation.”

(Y/N) laughed, finally releasing herself from her husband’s grip, headed towards the stairs. Charlie focused all too intently as she walked away. “Well?” (Y/N) stood at the end of the stairs, hand on her hip. “You coming?”

Charlie and (Y/N) arrived to their planned lunch on time. It only took a quick use of their floo and a careful once over of their appearances to make it to Molly and Arthur’s.

“Charlie! (Y/N)!” Molly exclaimed, practically rushing over to the fireplace to greet her children. With two wet smooches, (Y/N) and Charlie entered the living room. “Oh, Kayda is going to be thrilled that you’ve made it,” Molly said, rubbing Charlie’s cheek. “Sorry, sweetie. Floo powder.”

“Mum…” he hissed, swatting her hand away. “Where is everyone?” Charlie noted, taking a longer look at the living room and kitchen.

“They’re out playing quidditch, dear,” Molly answered, nodding her head to the back door. “Ginny made time in her busy schedule to be here, so Fred and George have been testing their little sister’s skills.”

“Sounds about right,” (Y/N) laughed, putting a dish on the kitchen table. “Do you have room for a cake, Molly? Charlie and I made one last night,” (Y/N) laughed. “Well, Charlie did most of it, but I added the hundreds and thousands.”

“I’m sure with the lot outside working as hard as they are, they’ll appreciate the treat, it won’t go to waste,” Molly smiled, setting the table. “I think the twins were trying to get little Kay up on a broom, might need her mum’s eye on that.”

(Y/N) groaned. “Peachy. Thanks for the heads up, Molly.”

“(Y/N), hear me out,” Charlie approached, blocking (Y/N) from opening the door to the backyard. “If they let her fall off you take Fred and I’ll take George.”

“Deal.”

The couple walked out to the makeshift quidditch pitch, hand in hand. Only two redheads could be seen flying in the sky, relief leaving their bodies with a deep exhale.

“Mummy!” A little redhead exclaimed, her chocolate brown eyes meeting (Y/N)’s. She struggled out of Ginny’s lap to run over to her mother, barreling faster than a snitch. Her little arms wrapped tightly around (Y/N)’s legs. “You’re here!”

“I am!” (Y/N) giggled, pulling her daughter up into her arms, kissing her forehead. The softness of her red bangs tickled (Y/N)’s nose.

“Daddy made it too, you know,” Charlie mumbled, fighting back a grin. He pulled his family in for a short hug, enjoying the warmth.

“Hi daddy,” Kayda said, waving to her father lightly, her hand moving in small circles.

“Glad to see you two made it safe,” Ginny laughed, walking over to her brother and his wife. “You just missed Bill.”

“He’s not staying for lunch?” (Y/N) asked. Ginny shook her head. “Amazing,” (Y/N) sighed, setting her daughter down. “He didn’t… share anything about their night last night, did they?”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary,” Ginny hummed, fingers running through her pixie cut. “But Kayda couldn’t stop talking about the dinner that Auntie Phlegm made.”

Kayda’s eyes lit up, a lightning bolt of remembrance hitting her face. “Oh! Mum! Aunt Phlegm made this yummy—”

“Kayda, her name is Aunt Fleur, not Phlegm,” (Y/N) looked at Ginny, who was wearing a proud grin, pride boasting from her chest. “What did Fleur make you?”

“Sorry mum,” Kayda sighed. “Aunt Fleur made dinner with all vegetables! She cut them really, really thin and called it rat-a-patoolie!”

“Rat-a-patoolie?” Charlie asked.

“You ate vegetables?” (Y/N) asked.

“They were really good, better than your veggies, mum!” Kayda smiled, hands on her hips. “Did you see that I dressed myself?”

“I did,” (Y/N) smiled, noting the bright purple overalls atop of a lime green jumper, not a pair of matching socks in sight. “I heard dad let you pack your clothes.”

“We heard that too,” Fred said, leaning down from his broom, now hovering over his family.

“Bill told us all about it,” George winked, hovering a few meters away from Fred, spinning upside down. “Say, Kay, how were your pajamas?”

“Red!” Kayda exclaimed, jumping lightly.

“Don’t worry, (Y/N), Uncle Billy made sure that she wore something else,” Fred cooed. “Mummy’s ‘fun clothes’ are folded neatly away.”

“You both have seven seconds to fly away,” (Y/N) said, pulling her wand out of her sleeve. “Before I do something I regret.”

“I’d listen to her, blokes,” Charlie laughed. “She nearly had my head this morning.”

“Bet she had more than your head this morning,” George smiled, high fiving Fred. The two laughed in the air, circling menacingly.

“Charlie, Ginny, take Kayda inside,” (Y/N) pushed up her sleeves. Charlie nodded and swooped his daughter right up.

“What’re you going to do from down there?” Fred chided, flying higher on his broom. “Last I checked, little (Y/N) isn’t good in the air.”

“Yeah, as long as we’re up here,” George laughed, holding his arms out. “We’re untouchable!”

(Y/N) stood for a moment. This was true, she was never good on a broom, practically cursed the second she sat upon it. It had been years since she tried again.

“Mum’s going to kill you!” Kayda shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. “You’re just scaredy-cats! Come down and fight her like boys!”

“Kayda,” (Y/N) scoffed. “I would never kill your uncles,” she smiled, patting her head. “Seriously injuring or harming them? Fair game.”

“No fair,” Fred yelled. “Using our favorite niece to taunt us?”

“Low blow, (Y/N),” George added.

“She learned that all on her own,” (Y/N) laughed. “Now, do you want to disappoint your little Kay-Kay?”

“Uncle Fred, Uncle George!” Kayda waved, grinning widely. “I wanna see your new toys!” Charlie whispered in his daughter’s ear. “Please?” she pleaded, now corrected by her father.

“Kayda…” Fred groaned, hanging upside down on his broom. “Stop looking so cute!”

“(Y/N), using children like this should be a criminal offense,” George pointed. “Punishable by an unforgivable curse!”

“Charlie?” (Y/N) turned, giving her husband a knowing look. “Time for the big guns.” Charlie nodded, leaning in to whisper to his daughter one more time.

“Uncle George and Fred?” Kayda asked, batting her brown eyes. “If you won’t come down to play with me, I’ll make Uncle Percy my favorite uncle.”

“Percy!?” The twins screamed in unison, instantly lowering their brooms and landing on the ground below.

“Go on, (Y/N),” Fred said, getting on his knees. “Take your best shot! We’ll take anything over your daughter’s threats.”

(Y/N) smiled, walking over to the twins, tapping her wand to the tip of her nose. “Rictusempra,” she mumbled, causing the twins to buckle in complete hysteria. She turned around to her husband, still holding their daughter. “Let’s go see what Molly cooked for lunch, yeah?”

“Mummy,” Kayda whimpered, pushing her plate away. “I don’t want any carrots.”

“Darling, you’ll hurt your gran’s feelings if you don’t at least try them,” (Y/N) sighed, patting her daughter’s back. The rest of the family had finished eating over 20 minutes ago, Ginny had already left, the twins were outside. (Y/N) was determined to get Kayda to eat one baby carrot, even if it killed her.

“You won’t hurt my feelings,” Molly piped up, washing the dishes. “Charlie never cared for carrots either,” she laughed.

“Molly,” (Y/N) hissed. “If she can eat Fleur’s ratatouille, she can eat at least one of your carrots.”

“Let me try,” Charlie said, sitting on the chair next to his daughter, cracking his knuckles exaggeratedly. “Kay, you remember going to go see Harriet, right?” Kayda nodded. Harriet was her favorite to visit at the sanctuary, after Charlie of course. “She didn’t used to be as big as she is now, you know why?”

“Because she grew up?” Kayda asked, looking up at her father.

“Well, yes,” Charlie smiled lightly. “But she grew because she also ate her carrots.” Charlie put his hand atop his daughters, holding it gently.

“Dragons don’t eat carrots, daddy,” Kayda laughed, swatting his hand away. “You said Harriet used to eat spinach too! She can’t eat both!”

(Y/N) laughed. “She’s right, Charlie, Harriet couldn’t possibly have eaten both carrots and spinach,” Charlie gave (Y/N) an exasperated look. She shot back a shit-eating grin.

“Tell you what,” Charlie said, picking up a spare fork. “If you eat a carrot, I’ll eat a carrot,” he held back a gulp. “Then you can go and play with Fred and George all you want, okay?”

“You’ll eat a carrot?” Kayda’s brown eyes grew to the size of saucers. She quickly shoved her fork in her mouth, the orange disappearing behind her lips. A few chews and swallow, she grinned. “Your turn, daddy!”

Charlie sat still. “You ate that fast, Kay,” he laughed nervously, tapping the fork lightly to the plate. “Did you think she’d eat it that fast?” He turned to (Y/N). She laughed.

“She’s your daughter,” (Y/N) shrugged. “Stubborn and determined as all hell.”

“As all hell!” Kayda repeated, grinning wildly.

“Kayda,” Charlie groaned. “What did we say about swearing?”

“That mummy and daddy are allowed to do it, but not me,” Kayda sighed, looking down. Her crestfallen expression quickly flipped. “Eat your carrot, dad!” she exclaimed, changing the subject.

“She’s right,” (Y/N) hummed, leaning behind Charlie, wrapping her arms around his chest, head resting on his shoulder. “You’re avoiding the carrot, dad.”

“(Y/N),” he groaned again, feeling (Y/N)’s lips press against his temple. “Carrots are gross.”

“Stop being a baby,” (Y/N) laughed, her hand guiding his to the plate, stabbing a baby carrot with the fork. “You’re setting a bad example for your daughter,” (Y/N) said, holding his hand, now forcing the carrot closer to his lips.

“What’s in it for me?” Charlie asked, turning his head away from the fork.

(Y/N) smiled, her lips meeting his for a short peck. “The satisfaction of your daughter’s dreams coming true,” another short kiss.

“Please, daddy?” Kayda pleaded, clasping her hands together. Molly grinned from the sink, enjoying the scene before her.

“You have two beautiful girls asking you to eat a carrot, Charlie. There are worse things.” Molly laughed.

Charlie took a deep breath, finally determined to fulfill his promise. With a bated breath, he put the carrot in his mouth, chewing slowly. All eyes were on him, waiting for his final swallow. “There,” Charlie groaned, slamming the fork down. “Are you all happy?”

“Yeah, I am,” Kayda said, dropping down from her chair. “Gran, can I be excused?” Molly nodded. “I’m going to go play with Uncle Fred and George!”

“You did it,” (Y/N) laughed, rubbing Charlie’s back. “You ate a carrot without vomiting,” she grabbed Kayda’s plate, finally turning it into the sink.

“And they say love is dead,” Charlie said, wiping his mouth. “I can’t believe Kayda actually ate a carrot. I was almost certain she would throw a fit.”

“You underestimate our daughter, sometimes.”

“Maybe so,” Charlie groaned. “She just holds such a power over me, (Y/N),” he shook his head. “I better go make sure Fred and George don’t use Kayda as a test subject or something.”

“A doting father never rests,” (Y/N) laughed.

“You know,” Molly said, turning from the sink. “I never thought I’d see the day where Charlie was under the complete mercy of a little girl,” she laughed, pulling her greying hair out of her bun. “Besides Ginny, of course.”

“Children change people,” (Y/N) shrugged. “Changed me a bit. Kayda gives me more than enough inspiration for new books. I reckon I could pump at least two or three more out just thinking about it.”

“Children?” Molly asked excitedly.

“What?” (Y/N) felt her cheeks heat up, realizing what she had just said. “Oh, Godric no! I reckon one’s enough. I was talking about my books, Molly.”

“You never thought of having another one?” Molly sat at the kitchen table, summoning a pot of tea. “Children are a blessing, you know.”

“Charlie and I never talked about it,” (Y/N) shrugged. “I know Kayda wants a little brother, asked for one last Christmas. But Charlie’s so busy at work, I’m practically locked in my study every hour of the day now that Kay’s at school…”

“Last I remember, you and Charlie didn’t talk about having Kayda,” Molly hummed. “Come to think of it, you didn’t exactly talk about marriage either. You’re a very spontaneous lot, the two of you,” she smiled, sipping from her mug. “I know it’s none of my business, but I would adore another grandchild.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Molly,” (Y/N) said, forcing a small smile. “It’s just, our life is just so perfect the way it is, you know? I have a husband who loves me unconditionally, an angel of a child and a career I love. I’m just afraid—”

“That a new baby is going to ruin it?” (Y/N) nodded her head. “Did I ever tell you about when I had Bill? Arthur and I had the same conversation about having Charlie.”

“You did?”

“Children bring joy, (Y/N). I’m sure you know that with Kayda. I’m sure Charlie knows, too.”

“You seem a bit biased,” (Y/N) smiled.

“I am,” Molly laughed. “I just can’t wait for more grandkids! I’m up to four now, quite the collection.”

“I’ll try talking to Charlie, see where his head is at,” (Y/N) stood up, hearing a loud crash from outside. “Didn’t Fred mention at lunch that they were working on a new dungbomb?” Molly nodded. “I didn’t realize becoming a mother meant I had to babysit my best mates and husband, too,” she sighed, enjoying the jovial laughter Molly sprung from the kitchen as (Y/N) went outside.

The scent was excruciating, swelling into (Y/N)’s senses. The culprits, (Y/N) deduced, were laughing like maniacs. The sweet bell-like sound of her daughter’s laugh was sprinkled into the mess.

“Mummy! Do you smell that?” Kayda laughed, calling from George’s lap, his arm wrapped lovingly around her. “Uncle George farted!”

“Did not!” George said, looking down at his niece. “I thought that was you!” Kayda’s laughter rang out again, shaking her head wordlessly. “Maybe it was Fred?”

“Oi! Maybe it was the dungbomb?” Fred asked, pointing to the exploded fragments a few meters away from the group.

“Can’t even go along with Kay-Kay’s joke? What kind of comedian are you?” George asked, glaring at his twin. “Honestly, I don’t even know you anymore.”

“Where’s Charlie?” (Y/N) asked, realizing that her husband wasn’t around.

“He’s out flying,” George said, thumb pointing to the pitch. “We convinced him to—”

“—blow off some steam while we had some quality time with the greatest product tester,” Fred ruffled Kayda’s bangs, eliciting a grin from the girl.

“What did you say to him, exactly?” (Y/N) asked, knowing full well that Charlie wouldn’t have just left their daughter in the hands of the twins for too long.

“Oh nothing…”

“Just maybe that his quidditch skills are dwindling every second he spends off of a broom…”

“The fact that also his little sister is dominating in the quidditch world and out-shining him as the ‘Weasley star’…”

“Alright,” (Y/N) said, holding her hand up. “I’m going to find my husband, don’t let Kayda eat anything funky, okay?” (Y/N) turned to the pitch, walking away.

“Is a ‘face pickling fudge’ considered funky?” George shouted, ignoring the finger (Y/N) was proudly flashing for him.

(Y/N) looked to the sky, watching Charlie zoom through the various hoops on either end of the field with ease, as if he had been born on a broom. The wind breezed through his hair, blowing it back. Charlie noted his audience, lowering almost instantly.

“No helmet?” (Y/N) laughed, kissing Charlie as he dismounted.

“Seekers don’t wear helmets, love,” Charlie said, combing through his hair. “Besides, you love the wind-swept look.”

“I do,” (Y/N) hummed, kissing her husband again. “For someone who claims to never fly at work, you were pulling those stunts off pretty easily,” (Y/N) noted, tracing her finger in a loop.

“I didn’t say I never fly,” Charlie said, laughing lightly. “But flying for fun and flying away from an angry dragon are two completely different things, flower.”

“Maybe,” (Y/N) agreed. “Why don’t you fly more around the house? Kayda would love to watch you.”

“You know how you are on a broom, love. The second Kay sees me fly around, she’ll want you to join. I’m just avoiding that disappointment.”

“Disappointment?”

“When Kayda figures out that her mum’s a wussy,” Charlie beamed, fully expecting the slap to the side he had received. “You know I’m right!”

“Kayda knows that I’m shit on a broom,” (Y/N) said, crossing her arms. “I know how badly you want to get her on one, but we agreed—”

“Stop talking, (Y/N),” Charlie said, hopping back onto his broom, holding his hand out. “Get on the broom.”

“Are you kidnapping me to make a point?” (Y/N) laughed, pointing an eyebrow upwards at the notion.

“Wouldn’t call it a kidnapping,” Charlie said, offering his hand again. “Don’t you want your child to know you’re not a wussy? If I can eat a carrot for our daughter, you can ride on a broom for her too.”

“I failed flying class at school—”

“I didn’t,” Charlie said, taking his wife’s hand, pulling her up onto the stick. She sat behind him, holding onto his chest tightly. “I’m the one flying this broom, yeah?”

“Charles Weasley if you do any funny tricks, I swear on my own life—”

“What? I can’t hear you!” Charlie shouted, swiftly lifting into the air, pointing to his ear. “The wind!”

“Shut your mouth, Charlie!” (Y/N) screamed, clinging to her husband tighter as the ground below became smaller and smaller. “You can hear me perfectly fine!”

Charlie stopped, floating midair, The Burrow the size of an apple below them. “Love, there’s no need to shout,” he said, turning his head slightly, a grin stretched to his face. “I’m right here.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” (Y/N) said, burrowing her face into Charlie’s red jumper.

“Aim for one of the twins, would you? I overheard them scheming to put different prank supplies for Kayda in her bag before we leave,” he laughed. “Besides, you’re the one who gave me this jumper, I quite like it.”

“I guess it’s not so bad from up here…” (Y/N) said, taking another look at the ground.

“Of course not,” Charlie laughed, causing (Y/N)’s arms to bounce. “You’re with your favorite person, your husband, whom you trust I hope?”

“Kayda’s my favorite person,” (Y/N) said simply. “You’re up there, though."

“I could flip this broom around right now and you have the audacity to say that your daughter is your favorite person?”

“Hey, she’s our daughter. Last I checked it took the two of us to make her,” (Y/N) laughed. “I can be a bit of a narcissist and say that my favorite person is a perfect mix of my other favorite person and myself, right?”

“Perhaps,” Charlie said, flying slowly around the grounds, gently elevating and dipping every so often. “She’s pretty perfect.”

“Do you want another?” (Y/N) blurted, not even realizing what she had said.

“What?”

“Molly said something after lunch that had me thinking—”

“Yes,” Charlie said simply. “Of course I want another.”

“You better not be pulling on my leg, Charles Weasley.”

“I’m serious,” Charlie laughed. “I know my mum planted that seed in your head—obsessed with her grandchildren, that one—but understand that I’d be open to having another.”

“Open?”

“Like you said, love,” Charlie began to fly closer to The Burrow, watching Kayda jump enthusiastically below. “It takes two,” he shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I would love nothing more than to try day and night—”

“I get the picture,” (Y/N) laughed, her face surely growing pink. “I’m not entirely sure I want another, honestly. We didn’t plan Kayda, but I’m so happy she’s in our lives…”

“So maybe we don’t plan?” Charlie shrugged, turning his head again. “Maybe we just continue our weekly routines—a little less carefully—and accept whatever is to come of it?”

“We’re quite against planning anything, aren’t we?” (Y/N) said, loosening her grip on Charlie, finally growing used to the height.

“Speaking of, we didn’t use any—”

“—this morning? No. No we did not,” (Y/N) laughed. “An oversight.” (Y/N) pressed a soft kiss to the back of Charlie’s shoulder, leaning fully onto his back. A husband who loved her, friends closer than brothers and a child who lit up her waking days? Maybe another wouldn’t hurt.

Right?

General Tag List: @maralisa124 , @leighxlover , @hey-its-me-rai , @missihart23 , @biatheintrovert , @chocolaterumble, @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy , @steve-thotgers , @greeneyedthief

Charlie Weasley Tag List: @sungoddessra , @phantom-pheonix , @dccomicnerd-world , @marveltrash99 , @graymountaingal, @storiesbycaroline, @mytinybaguette , @garbdump , @utahjoerdis , @eldritchscreech , @fiiiinewine

want to be added to a tag list? hmu in the replies or ask box with what characters you’d like to be tagged with!

#charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x you #harry potter x reader #harry potter #charlie weasley imagine #dragon boi #practically a weasley #uh yeah that's all folks #probably no more PaW tbh #send some asks about their lives if you wanna hear more but I don't think I'm writing more for this series #enjoy!

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