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endlessthxxghts · 24 days

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Ch1: New Beginnings

teacher!reader x student's dad!Frankie Morales || W/C: 8.8k

Ch. Summary: Frankie gets introduced to a new opportunity for his daughter, Elena. You get introduced to your new job. In celebration of these new beginnings, you both set out to a night at the bar, completely unaware that your paths are about to cross.

Content/Warnings: F!reader (she/her), female sex anatomy, reader is able-bodied. No physical descriptions of reader. Slight description of reader’s outfit (no size descriptions). Tío Santi (& TF Miller boys) makes an appearance. Slight implication reader understands some Spanish. Going out to bar/consumption of alcohol. Flirting. POV switch, mainly Frankie this chapter. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Sexual activity while under the influence of alcohol (you've slowed down your alcohol intake by that point, though). “Author Chose Not to Apply Archive Warnings” because it may result in spoilers (but there’s smut here…).

A/N: thank you to @honeyedmiller for proof-reading this for me, and thank you to @javierpena-inatacvest for peer pressuring me into giving my little idea an actual chance. I love love love you both sm🩶 to everyone, I truly hope you enjoy!! All my love xx

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August 2024

“Thank you so much for coming in, Mr. Morales.”

“It’s no problem at all, Mrs. Adams, is- is, um, is everything okay? Is Elena doing alright?” Frankie asks the second grade teacher, concerned.

The school year hasn’t started yet, but from time to time, the school does accelerated summer sessions that last a few weeks up until the actual start date of the school year. Elena always attends these sessions, begging her dad every summer to sign her up for one because I need to learn more! she’d tell him. How could he deny her the chance to expand that beautiful mind of hers?

“Oh, yes, everything is good! Elena is wonderful, and that’s actually why I asked you to come in,” she states. “Are you aware of how smart that girl is?”

Frankie can’t help the cheesy grin that spreads across his face. “Yeah, she’s always too excited to show me her progress reports and report cards, always pulling them out before we even leave the parking lot at the end of her days,” he beams.

“Oh, I bet. She blows me away everyday, that girl,” Mrs. Adams says genuinely. “So much so that I actually think she shouldn’t be attending here anymore,” the teacher adds, softer than the rest of her previous statements.

Frankie’s eyebrows twist in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, don’t get me wrong, I love having Elena, and everyone in this school loves her, too. She’s one of our brightest. But,” she sighs. “She is so damn smart, Mr. Morales. I’d go as far as to say she’s a prodigy.”

“Oh,” Frankie says, pleasantly surprised and confused. He still doesn’t know where she’s getting at. He tells her as much.

“What I’m trying to say is- Elena isn’t getting the proper brain stimulation someone of her level needs. She needs to go somewhere that will increase her levels at the fast rate she’s moving and somewhere that will stimulate the creative parts of her brain. Traditional public school—at least here—cannot provide her with that.”

Frankie has always known his daughter’s natural intelligence. She often comes home either excited because they worked on a topic she’s really good at, or she comes home really bored and exhausted—because they worked on a topic she’s really good at. It’s too repetitive for her, but he wasn’t sure what other options he had.

Frankie takes a moment to think. “Even if I did move her to a school that has all this, it sounds like it would cost a lot of money. Money that I unfortunately don’t have right now,” he says with a heavy breath.

Mrs. Adams’ smile grows ten times bigger. “Mr. Morales-”

“Frankie, please,” he corrects.

“Frankie, there’s a school for the gifted connected to our local university just a few miles down the way. I used to work there, and I have friends there. Please forgive me if I’ve overstepped, but I’ve spoken to the Director of Admissions. There’s a waitlist, and barely any get admitted—and it’s by semester, so you’ll have to keep up with re-enrolling her—but I told them all about Elena. They want her, Frankie. No waitlist. No tuition. They want her for this new semester. And I really think you should go for it.”

Frankie sits in Mrs. Adams’ office, utterly stunned. He’s sure his jaw is on the floor right now, eyes bugged out like those squeezable stress toys. “I- I don’t know what to say…” Frankie trails off.

“I know it’s a big step,” the teacher comforts. “But think about it.” She pulls out a card from her desk and hands it to him. “Here’s the director’s card. I’ll reach out to them to make sure they know to expect your call.”

Frankie knows this is a good thing. He knows these are once in a lifetime opportunities, and he knows if he goes through with this now, those rare opportunities won’t be so rare for her as she gets older. That’s all he wants for his daughter; nothing but opportunity and the right kind of challenges meant to help her grow as a person.

So why does he feel so nervous? He’s dealt with change before, and he’s dealt with last-minute, under pressure change up in the sky where his life could’ve been on the line—but nothing compares to the anxiety when it involves Elena. Since she was born, she is all he’s ever known. It’s been him and her against the world, and although some days are more difficult than others doing this parenting thing alone, Frankie wouldn’t have it any other way.

He gives Mrs. Adams his thank yous and goodbyes, and makes his way to the front office. It’s 12 o’ clock right now—recess time—but he wouldn’t doubt she’s propped up against a pillar with her nose in a book. He decides to check Elena out early and take her to go get dessert.

“She’ll be escorted here in a few minutes,” the front desk lady tells him.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Frankie says, resting his back against the wall.

A few minutes pass and the office’s door bursts open with the heartwarming sounds of his daughter’s giggles, an excited aura filling the room. “¡Papi!” she squeals, immediately wrapping her arms around the parts of her father she can reach.

“¡Mija!” he says, matching her energy, pulling her in for a tight squeeze. He kneels down to reach her level, placing a kiss on her forehead before he speaks. “Wanna go get dessert?”

Her eyes light up like a million stars. “Please!!” she replies, her entire body shaking in Frankie’s grasp.

Frankie picks her up, and they make their way to the car. Buckling her into her car seat, Frankie settles himself to the driver’s seat and asks the burning question before he pulls off. “Brownie sundae spot or-”

“BROWNIE!” Elena replies immediately. Frankie has to slap his mouth to stop from the uncontrollable laughter bubbling out from his chest. He knew what her answer would be. “Okay, mija, brownie spot it is.”

Their usual brownie sundae spot is in a little diner up the street from their house. Frankie began this little tradition as a way to celebrate Elena’s wins and milestones. The first milestone they celebrated was for her first word: airplane. Frankie was ecstatic, practically jumping up and down with Elena in his arms until his best friend, Santiago, had to calm him down. “Ay, tranquilo, tranquilo,” relax, relax, he said, holding his hands softly around Elena’s little head.

Today’s milestone, however, is much bigger than any they’ve celebrated, and the notion is not lost on little Elena.

“Papi,” she calls. “Are we celebrating something?”

Frankie chuckles to himself, loving how easily she can put things together. “We might be, mi amorcito.”

“Hm?” She hums, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted to the side as she settles into the booth seat, sitting across from her dad.

Their usual waiter comes before they can continue their conversation. “Hey, guys! The usual?”

Elena answers first, very excitedly. “YES, YES, BROWNIE SUNDAE!!!” She squeals as she elongates every syllable. Frankie confirms with a head nod as he chuckles at her energy.

“What’s the occasion?” The waiter says softer, directing the question to Frankie.

“We’ll see after I talk with this little lady,” Frankie tells the waiter, extending his long arm out to pinch Elena’s little cheek.

The waiter smiles and walks off, putting the order in with the kitchen and asking for a little bit of a delay to give Frankie enough time to talk things through with his daughter.

“So,” Frankie states.

“So,” his daughter mirrors, putting on her best serious face while fighting the huge grin that wants to break free.

“Do you know how smart you are, mija?” Frankie asks, smiling because he knows what she’s gonna say. Duh, papi, he thinks in his head.

“Duh, papi!” She says, a troublemaking giggle she’s had since her babbling stages echoes their little corner of the diner.

“Alright, little smart ah-” Frankie coughs to stop his mouth. “You little smarty pants,” he corrects himself.

“Daddy, were you about to call me a smartass?” She scolds.

His cheeks flush a bright red. “You spend too much time with Tío Santi,” he deadpans.

She hums, nodding her head triumphantly.

“Anyway,” he says, noting in his mind to scold Santi for his mouth around his little girl. “You’re so smart, mija, I was wondering… well, I was wondering if you feel like you’re actually learning?”

“What do you mean, papi?”

“Well, everything you’ve been learning so far is super easy for you, isn’t it?”

She ponders for a moment. “Yeah, it’s easy,” she confirms.

“Does it ever make you bored, how easy some days are?”

“A little, yeah,” she says a little softer. “But it’s okay because I end up helping my friends, and Mrs. Adams tells me I’m her assistant,” she giggles with pride.

“You’re too good, amor,” he chuckles. “But what if I told you,” he starts. Immediately, her interest is piqued. “A really fancy, really smart school heard about how smart you are?”

Her chocolate brown eyes widen, and her little jaw drops. “Me?! Really?!”

“Yes, baby!” Frankie can feel his excitement rising alongside hers, his initial nervousness fading just as quick. “And what if I told you they want you to go to their school?” Elena’s hands fly to her mouth, suppressing her squeals of joy. Frankie can hear her legs kicking back and forth underneath the table. “Would you wanna go, mi niña inteligente (my smart girl)?”

“So… I’ll learn harder things?” She asks.

“Yes,” he swallows thickly. Frankie thinks she’s having anxiety.

It’s not. “Then…” She settles for her usual diva answer. “Duh, papi!” She giggles, positively radiating pure excitement on this new journey she’s about to embark on.

She wiggles out of her side of the booth to crash into her father’s arms, pulling him into the tightest hug ever. As she pulls away and settles next to Frankie, the waiter comes out with the sundae, Congratulations! written in cursive on the side of the plate. Elena reads the message with ease, scooping up the red icing with her finger and licking it up. “Thank you!!” She exclaims to the waiter who murmurs a sweet smartest person I know with a ruffle to her curly head of hair.

The waiter looks at Frankie with a genuine smile, and Frankie returns it. This diner really has been there for all the Morales’ family wins. Frankie wonders what other miracles just might happen in this little building.

For the first time in your teaching career, you are nervous.

You’ve dealt with gifted children before, and you had no problems juggling public school and the extra side lessons you’d give to the occasional gifted child. People tend to underestimate the amount of prodigal children in the world due to the constant brushing off these adults like to give to developing humans. These little children deserve as much respect and care that any other human deserves, maybe even more. The children are our future, after all.

So, now that you’re starting a new job, in a school dedicated to your life’s passion—yeah, you’re pretty nervous.

This school was created by the state’s local university; it was their attempt at providing children with an enriching, stimulating environment that the typical school system couldn’t care enough to provide, and their attempt was an absolute success. It will take a little while to get themselves off their feet, so tuition and enrolling students is expensive compared to what you would pay for your child in the public education system.

However, with time and careful planning, the program’s ultimate goal is to adequately provide to childrens of all needs—regardless of their prodigal status—for little to no cost. It’s definitely an ambitious goal, but it’s one you’re absolutely ready and willing to stick around for.

You were hired this summer, August 1st to be exact. The principal—Ms. Sabatino—caught wind of the powerhouse of a teacher who goes above and beyond for her students, and she just had to have you on her team. Your interview wasn’t even a real interview: it was exchanging logistical information and showing you to your new home base, your new classroom. She told you if you wanted to take the time before the year officially started to make your classroom feel more like you, you could.

It took you about a week to settle the vibe of your classroom, and during your preparations, you met a few other teachers, instantly hitting it off with each other that they invited you to their “semester pregame,” they called it.

“You have to come, Ms. Powerhouse!” Ms. Smith—Linda, she corrected you—exclaimed.

“Powerhouse?!” You repeated, a little frightened. You knew coming in that the culture here was very tight-knit, but how fast does word really spread around here?

“Yeah, you powerhouse, you!” Mr. White—Blake—chimes in. “You’re all anyone is talking about! Honestly, we’ve been dying to meet you.”

And lastly, Ms. Marshall—Leah—joins in. “You’re a real legend, ya know that, don’t you? Sticking to the Rebel theme we got going on here,” she smirks, referring to their school’s mascot, the Rebels.

You flush under all their praise. “I really don’t know what you guys are talking about,” you say softly. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for our kiddos, like any of us would.” A proud smile graces your face, and not for the things you’ve done, but for the amazing students you’ve had the honor of meeting and teaching. There truly isn’t a better feeling.

The three teachers share a knowing look, the one that tells you they think you’re just trying to be humble. Their hums of secret agreement don’t escape your super-teacher hearing.

Ms. Marshall is the one to speak again. “Are you going to come though? We really would love to have you. We’ve been trying to find someone who can hold their alcohol better than Mr. Lightweight here can,” she cackles, pointing over to Mr. White, who now has an offended look on his face.

“I’ll have you know-” he starts. “Oh, Blake, enough with the excuses already!” Ms. Smith cuts him off.

You giggle at their banter, your apprehensiveness about this little squad slowly melting away. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for someone who can hold their own, that person is not me…but I would absolutely love to join you guys. When and where is this pregame?”

“YAAASSSSSS!” Ms. Smith is quick to squeal. She’s definitely the life of the party with these three. “We have it the Saturday before the semester starts! So, the 17th I believe. It’s a bit risky depending on how plastered we end up getting, but it’s all a part of the fun,” she says with a wink.

You reach for your phone in your back pocket, unlocking and letting your three new friends put their phone numbers in. You group text them so they have your number, too. “Perfect! I can’t wait,” you say sheepishly, your excitement slowly rising as their smiles begin to mirror your own. It’s been a while since you let yourself go and get lost in something else other than work, and you think this little pregame is exactly what you’ve been needing.

“Oh, come on, Fish! You have to come out with us!” Santi tells you, giving Frankie’s shoulder a punch of encouragement.

Frankie hisses at the impact, swatting Santi’s hand away with a scowl. “No.”

“Fish,” Santi reasons. “The Millers haven’t seen you in a hot minute since my ‘Lena girl was born, man. They miss you. Especially Benny, you know how sensitive that man gets. And! We need to celebrate this new chapter for you and ‘Lena!”

“We already celebrated,” Frankie corrects. “At the diner.”

“An adult celebration, Fish. When was the last time you let yourself go?”

Frankie sighs. Santi’s right. “Who would watch Elena?”

“I already spoke with Yavonna last night,” Santi says, a tinge of hope laced in his voice.

“Let me talk to Elena-”

“Fish, she’ll be fine-”

Frankie holds his hand out to signal Santi to shut up. “Let me talk to Elena,” he repeats, “and let her know our plans for tomorrow night. You know I don’t do anything without running it through with her first.”

Santi’s face is happier than a toddler getting ice cream for breakfast. He claps him on his shoulder, “Fuck yeah, man! Frontier boys back at it again!”

Frankie grimaces. “Pope, cállate, por favor,” shut up, please, he says, pinching the bridge of his nose as he kicks Santi out for the night.

“Tell ‘Lena Tío Santi says buenas noches (good night) please since her daddy likes to kick me out so soon,” Santi taunts, a fake offended look on his face.

“No,” Frankie says. Then he shuts the door.

Frankie lets a few moments pass to make sure Santi was out of sight before he calls out to his daughter. “Baby, tío Santi wishes you good night!”

Elena comes running down the stairs. “He left already?!”

“Yeah, sorry kiddo,” Frankie frowns, meeting her at the end of the stairs to kiss her forehead.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You kicked him out again, didn’t you, daddy?”

“Y-yeah, yeah I did,” Frankie stutters. There’s no lying to this little Einstein.

“Hey, baby?” Frankie says again, crouching down to his knees to meet her level. “Do you remember Yavonna? Tío Santi’s girlfriend?”

Her gears turn before recognition sparks in her eyes. “Yeah!”

“Well, would you be okay if papi went out tomorrow? And you and Yavonna have a girls’ night?” He asks.

Elena’s smile turns mischievous as she pulls her dad in for a hug, whispering in his ear. “Are you going on a date?”

“Mmm, tío Santi is nice and all, but he’s too much a pain in my ass for me to wanna go on a date with him,” he retorts. “So, no, no date. Just spending some time with your annoying uncle and some of our other old friends.”

“Oh, okay,” Elena says as she giggles. “Have fun, papi!”

“I will, baby, thank you,” he says, pulling her into one last hug before they both venture off to bed.

It’s Monday morning, one week before the semester starts, and Frankie is buzzing. He’s nervous and excited for his daughter, but he can tell this new environment is one that gets heavily involved—in both the child and the guardian’s life.

He’ll do anything for Elena, of course, and it isn’t like he wasn’t involved at her old school. But this one makes it feel like he’s also attending this place. The thought terrifies his socially anxious heart.

He puts his car in park and practices a few breathing exercises before he gets out. He has a meeting with the principal today—Ms. Sabatino?, he tries to remember. This meeting is for her to finally get to know him, and for the paperwork to get finalized. And because they aren’t charging him for this semester, he also needs to fill out some waivers.

He makes his way to her office, checking in at the front desk and waiting to be pulled back. His hand fidgets at his side, the nerves getting to him again.

“Mr. Morales?” A voice calls out, pulling him from his nerves. “Ms. Sabatino is ready for you, first door to your left.”

“Thank you,” he replies. He softly knocks on the door before entering.

“Mr. Morales! Come in, come in!” Ms. Sabatino waves him over. “Sit, make yourself comfortable! It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, ma’am, and please, just Frankie is good,” he tells her, a slight shyness in his voice and demeanor.

“Okay then, Frankie,” she smiles. “Let’s see here,” she says, squinting to her computer. “Do you have the enrollment forms?”

“Yes, right here,” Frankie sets the folder in front of her.

“Perfect, thank you,” she replies. “Here, you fill these waiver forms out that we talked about while I upload your forms in for Elena’s profile.”

Frankie mutters a quick okay, sounds good, before Ms. Sabatino speaks again. “While we get through these formalities though, did you have any questions for me? About the program, the teachers, literally anything at all besides what the meaning of life is?” she tries to joke, sensing Frankie’s anxiety.

Mrs. Adams already gave him the rundown of this place, but the financial conversation has been clouding his mind since he first found out about this place. “Well, actually, yes, I wanted to talk to you about the cost,” he starts.

“The cost is no issue, I promise you,” she reassures. But it’s not that. Although Frankie has major social anxiety, he’ll be damned if he comes off as a freeloader—even though absolutely no one here views him that way.

“No, I understand, but it’s more so that-” he pauses, taking a deep breath before he tries again. “I’m a single dad. I’m the one catering for both Elena and I. We’re not very well off, but we’re also not entirely poor. Just enough to…not really afford this place,” he shakes his head, he’s rambling. “Anyway- sorry. What I’m trying to say is, money isn’t an issue, but I can’t just sit here and not do anything to pay you guys back, even if it isn’t in a monetary sense.”

This piques the principal’s interest. She nods her head, taking a moment to measure her response. The computer pings as she thinks to herself, signaling that it’s done uploading the forms. She hands Frankie the folder back. He takes it, handing her the completed waiver. “I respect it,” she finally states. “A lot.”

“Y-yeah,” he says, not really sure how to respond to that.

Ms. Sabatino spins in her chair, pausing towards a drawer underneath her desk. She pulls out a little booklet of some sort.

“I have one idea,” she offers.

Frankie’s ears perch up. “Yeah? Anything,” he replies.

“It’s a lot to ask of a parent,” she says. “And I know you’re eager, but hear me out before you agree. And if you’d like to say no, then say no, that’s all I ask.”

“Deal,” Frankie tells her.

“So, last semester, the head of our PTA—the Parent-Teacher Association—quit on us. She quit and also unenrolled her child. Some weird drama, it was very unavoidable if she knew how to communicate properly… anyway, we are actually in need of a new head. I will admit, it’s a lot, but you’ll have me by your side, and I know a few of the parents would help show you the ropes and help you with anything you need.”

Out of everything, Frankie was not expecting this. It’s evident in the shocked look on his face.

“Like I said, I don’t need an answer right now-”

“What about the existing PTA parents?” Frankie blurts out. He may have not been PTA-level involved with his daughter, but he knows the seriousness in which parents take their roles when it comes to this.

“I appoint the head, and choosing one out of all of them would… to be frank… be a bloodbath. This PTA needs a fresh face. A new perspective. I can tell you’re nervous, but I can also tell you’re ambitious. I can tell you’d do anything for your daughter first and foremost. That is what my PTA needs. The rest of those parents- God- I love them, but they’re more worried about looking good and their brownie points with me than their kids’ experiences.”

If Frankie was unsure before, he definitely isn’t now. All he wants is the best for his daughter, and honestly, it makes him disappointed to hear where these parents’ priorities are. He’s absolutely scared shitless about doing this, but he can’t stop the next words that come out of his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Her eyebrows fly up. “Are you sure?”

He isn't, he thinks. “Yes,” he tells her.

“Oh- okay, then,” Ms. Sabatino smiles bigger than before. She picks up the booklet from earlier and hands it to Frankie. “Read this over- they’re just some little rules we’ve established to keep the environment thriving for our kids. We’ve never had any issues before…besides last semester… but yeah, it’s just a precautionary measure. Thank you so much again, Frankie, and please if it does get too much, do not hesitate to let me know if you’d like to quit.”

He looks down to the book in his hand. The Rebels Guide - PTA Addition. He’s definitely not cut out for this. “Thank you, Ms. Sabatino. I’ll let you know. And I really appreciate you considering me for this. You have a good rest of your day,” Frankie says as he exits.

What the fuck am I doing? He thinks to himself as he gets himself into his car.

The rule book stares at Frankie as he drives. Stopped at a red light, he decides to place it in the glove compartment of his car. He’ll grab it later. For now, he needs it out of his view before he spirals.

Saturday, August 17th. Semester Pregame Day.

You’re in the middle of picking out your outfit when a flood of texts come through your phone.

[5:47PM Linda] You bitches ready?!

[5:48PM Leah] I’ve been ready, just waiting on Mr. Lightweight to get here…

[5:48PM Blake] Yeah okay, I’m not giving you a ride anymore, good luck.

[5:49PM Leah] Blake, I’m kidding, get your ass over here.

[5:49PM Blake] I’ve been outside, smartass.

[5:53PM Leah] Linda, we’re on the way to you. Ms. Powerhouse, are you sure you don’t want a ride?

[5:55PM] Please do not call me that.. And yes, I’m sure! I’m still picking out what I’m gonna wear to be honest. I think I’m gonna be a few minutes late.

[5:56PM Linda] OOOOO GIRL ARE YOU TRYING TO GET LAID?

[5:57PM Leah] 👀

[5:57PM Leah] Blake is driving, but he also would like to say: 👀

[5:58PM] Umm. No. I can’t make myself look nice for my friends?

[5:58PM Linda] In this world? Not without a motif, no.

[5:59PM] Wow.

[5:59PM] Okay, I’ve gotta finish getting ready. See you guys in a bit.

You toss your phone on your bed, not wanting to make yourself any later than you already are. They are right, you don’t necessarily have to get all dressed up. And it’s not like you’re getting laid anytime soon, let alone tonight. Right? Gosh, it’s been a hot minute since you’ve had any action. Well, okay, if you count your trustee wand, then it’s been about an hour since you’ve got some… but human interaction? Yeah, no.

You shake away the deprived thoughts your new friends planted in your brain settling for a sage green tank top with a lace lining at your chest. Something casual yet not too casual, slightly flashy but not too flashy. And since it’s in the middle of August, you decide on some black jean shorts.

It’s 6:15 by the time you head in your car. They wanted to get there around 6:30, so you’re not too far behind after all. It definitely helps that the bar they chose was a seven minute drive.

When you enter the bar, you spot the trio immediately, huddled by a tall table, all already cheering with shots. Linda spots you with a squeal, sending Leah to grab another round with a fourth shot this time.

With the mischievous party glint in her eyes, already you can tell what kind of night you’re going to have. One that makes you think maybe you should’ve caught a ride.

The first shot goes down roughly, an immediate fiery burn sliding down your throat as Linda shoves a lime in your mouth afterwards. “Tequiiilllaaaa shootttsss!!” She sings, already on her fourth to your first.

The second and third round slides down much smoother, your entire body beginning to heat up from its effects. Tequila has always had a fast effect on you, making you buzzed after one shot and effectively fucking you up after the third. Maybe you were a lightweight. Nonetheless, you indulge in one more peer-pressured round from Linda before you settle on a sugary sweet mixed drink paired with a glass of ice cold water.

Linda disappears to the small dance floor while Blake convinces the people at the pool table to let him join. It’s just you and Leah at the table now, talking here and there, but mainly just watching the other two have their fun from afar.

“So how long have you guys been doing this?” You shout over the loud music. Once the clock hit 7pm, the music was definitely hitting the threshold for ear damage.

Leah looks at you with a genuine smile. She’s content watching her friends be social butterflies. She has them in her presence and that’s all that matters. “We’ve been doing this for a few years now, really. Linda was at the school first, then I got hired a semester after her. Then Blake got hired a semester after me. And because we were all relatively new, we all just sort of- gravitated towards each other,” she explains. “I don’t know what I’d do without them, honestly. In and outside of the school, those two are very important in my life,” she breathes in a sniffle, quiet enough to go unheard, but since you’re watching her, you catch it in combination with a tear she sneakily wipes away.

It’s your turn for your eyes to gloss up. “That’s really beautiful,” you tell her.

Leah laughs a little. “Yeah. But don’t tell them though. I’ll have to strangle you,” she says in a mock sternness. Weirdly enough, you think there’s truth behind that.

You pull your hands up in a surrendering motion, “Promise,” you respond with a smirk. “I’m gonna go get another drink. Want?”

“What are you getting?”

“Was honestly just gonna sip on beer and water the rest of the night. I’m tapped out.”

“Me too,” she grins. “I’ll get what you get.”

Making your way up to the bartender, you politely wait until she comes up to you. “What can I get you, doll?”

“Two beers, please, and also two waters, but can you give me the waters after I set the beers down at my table?” you ask a little shyly.

The bartender gives you a sweet smile. “I got you, honey.”

She hands you the beers, and you make your way to Leah. “I gotta grab the waters real fast, give me one second,” you say, already whipping around and making your way back.

In that short span of time, the bartender was met with a crowd of needy newly aged adults, swarming her with requests. She looks at you, but you give her a nod, signaling it’s okay.

Two minutes, she mouths.

You sit down on the stool in front of you while you wait, turning to check on Leah. Her eyes are back on her friends, a warmth radiating from her smile. Only now, you’re a part of her rotation, and the warmth is reciprocated to you, too. And to think you were hesitant with this bunch.

As you sit and wait for the bartender, a group of four rowdy men take up the bar space beside you. One of them even bumps into your side, and you’re quick to jump. “Hey, watch it!” You yell over the noise.

A large hand grabs onto the guy’s shoulder and pulls him away from you. The bar is loud, but it doesn’t stop his deep gruff from blessing your ears. “Benny, watch where you’re fucking going, man!”

“Oh, shit,” the tall, lean man turns to you. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention..” he starts. You can feel the man fight for his life to stay on your eyes. He darts to your lips for a millisecond before he brings them back up. “Can I… Let me buy you a drink? To apologize?” He smirks like he just pulled the smoothest flirt attempt ever. Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance, but before you can say anything, the large hand from earlier is pulling the man—Benny, apparently—away from you and to the other end where their other friends are. “Pendejo,” he mutters under his breath towards his friend.

You stifle a giggle. The man, your savior, finally actually looks at you, and at first he was going to ask if you understood what he said, but the moment your eyes meet, it’s like all the airflow was vacuumed clean out of his lungs, leaving him mentally gasping like a fish out of water. Physically, though, he keeps it cool. Or, at least, tries to.

“Hi- uh, I’m- I’m Frankie- look, I’m real sorry about my friend back there, he can be real stupid sometimes,” he mutters, his rosy cheeks bright on display, no alcohol to blame it on.

As he rambles, only then are you able to get a good look at this man—at Frankie, he calls himself. A baseball cap sits on his head, hiding what you can make out as curly hair. The dim light of the bar ruins your view slightly, but you are both near the warm light that emanates from the side of the bar, so your view is not completely obstructed. You can see beautiful brown, puppy dog eyes with a pretty scruff that grows haphazardly across his cheeks and jaw, and above his lip, too.

“Don’t worry about it, Frankie,” you manage as you look up at him. He’s still standing. You’re sitting on an elevated bar seat, and you still have to crane your neck. Good lord, he’s tall. You introduce yourself with a smile, holding your hand out for him to take. You have to fight your body not to shudder at the warmth of his hand.

Little do you know, he’s also fighting the same battle as you.

“Can I get you a drink, Frankie?” you ask. Usually you’d never do this, but there is just something about him. You need to know more.

“Uh,” you see him flush, an internal battle going on in his brain. Is it the battle of the so-called bro-code where he can’t hit on you because his friend did or because he should be offering you a drink?

He looks back to his friend. Yup, the bro-code. You quirk your brow at him.

“Yeah, okay,” he says with a grin as he perches himself to the bar seat beside you. “I’ll have a beer,” he tells you.

“Coming right up,” you smirk, winking at him before you try and regain the bartender’s attention.

You text Leah a quick I’m sorry, to which she replies with the eyes emoji again along with a winky face. Of course she saw everything.

The bartender comes to you and apologizes for earlier with the other group and then apologizes again when she admits she completely forgot to come back to you. She tells you this round of beers for you and Frankie are on the house. You try to tip her, but she doesn’t accept.

Frankie is really nice. Really handsome…and sexy…but you try to ignore the heat tingling between your legs because of the fact that Frankie is really nice.

As your two beers listen in on your conversation, untouched and sweaty, you’ve come to learn a good amount about Frankie. Like the fact that he’s a bashful boy, but you can tell he has no problem getting what he wants when the confidence strikes him. You’ve been witness to it a few times tonight—a hand on your knee there, a tucking of your hair behind your ear here, a long glance at your lips as you lick the residual drip of your drink—and it does nothing to calm your core’s ache.

The one that really sent you over the edge though was when he made you laugh particularly hard, your reaction was to lean into him. He took the opportunity to grab onto your seat and pull you against him, his thick highs entrapping both of yours.

“Oh-!” you gasp involuntarily, your eyes immediately searching for his. His gaze is dark, and so is yours.

Although quite nervous, Frankie’s confidence has spiked being in your presence. His thumb and forefinger come up to your chin, steadying and making your heartbeat erratic all in one. He leans closer in, the tips of each of your noses a hair’s width away. “You’re intoxicating,” he whispers.

“I could say the same thing about you,” you whisper back, feeling lightheaded and not from the alcohol coursing through your veins. “Been dying for you to touch me since you pulled your friend away,” you admit.

You see his Adam's apple bob in his throat. He looks past you, eyeing the single stall bathroom. You scanned the place earlier, you know where he’s looking. Tapping his thigh for him to look at you again, you give him a look of understanding before you break away from his grasp.

He faces the bar again, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He catches Santi and the Millers staring at him from the pool table they took over. Santi shoots Frankie a wink while Benny looks like a puppy who’s been kicked to the curb. Frankie really couldn’t care less right now.

Satisfied with the little window of time he gave, he stands from his seat, taking one more swig of beer before he makes his way to you. He knocks on the door softly, and you open it right away, pulling him in and immediately shutting it again.

Like a calculated dance, his hand goes back to lock the door while your hand grasps onto the fabric of his shirt at his chest, pulling his body flush against yours. Your hands take their time in coasting the plain of his broad chest and shoulders. Your thighs clench at the sensation.

His lips meet yours for the first time tonight, and he can feel every nerve in his body spark with electricity. Your lingering taste of all the drinks you had this evening mixed with a flavor he thinks is distinctly you consumes each of his senses.

Oh, you have him wrapped around your pretty little finger and you don’t even know it yet.

He walks forward, backing you into the bathroom sink.

You hop up on your own, your legs spreading without any forethought for his broad form. His hands coast the expanse of your body, settling at your ass on the counter as he pulls you tighter into his body, your center coming into contact with this hardness. He practically growls into your mouth at the heat he feels radiating from you.

“Fuck, querida,” he moans, his teeth chasing your bottom lip.

“Frankie,” you beg. For what, you’re not entirely sure.

“Can I taste you?” He breathes heavily against your lips, fingers twitching to take action.

Fuck. “Ye- yeah- yeah, okay,” you stutter, eyes wide. Getting eaten out probably has to be one of your favorite things in the whole world, yet, with your dating history, it’s a rare occurrence. Your last boyfriend was disgusted by it, and your last girlfriend ended up cheating on you. So. Your experience of receiving oral was rare, and God did you miss it.

Frankie mistakes your surprise as fear. “Are- are you sure? I don’t have to, not if you’re not comfortable,” he says sincerely. He starts to pull away, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but you’re quick to grab onto him.

“No, no, I’m sorry, that’s not what I-” you laugh a little breathlessly before looking into his soft eyes again. “Yes, Frankie, please. Please, I want your mouth on me,” you say, tone a little needy on the backend. “You just took me by surprise, is all,” you whisper.

“Surprise?” He can’t stop his curiosity.

“I- I don’t know, guys don’t usually like-”

You don’t get to finish your statement before Frankie’s face turns angry. He places a heady kiss to your lips before he brings his mouth down your jaw, your neck. “So what you’re saying is,” he starts, his breath tickling your neck. If you weren’t propped up on the counter, you’d be on the floor with how weak your legs feel. Making his way down, he places a soft kiss in between your breasts. “This pretty little thing hasn’t been treated properly in a long, long time?” He asks as he kneels down, his eyes looking up and devouring you in your entirety.

“How do you even know she’s pretty?” You quip back, matching his energy.

“Oh, I know she’s fucking gorgeous based on the rest of you,” he purrs, fingers working your button and zipper. He hooks his fingers at the waist, and you lift your hips to help him.

“You flatter me,” you shakily say as you try to tease, your resolve starting to break.

Frankie smirks up at you before his entire demeanor changes upon seeding your exposed lower half. His face falls into astonishment, as if he just won the damn lottery, as if his last fucking meal was just placed in front of him. “What’d I say?” He mutters to himself. “Fucking gorgeous,” he answers his own question before he gives you no time to respond as he dives right in, the flat of his tongue licking a slow wide stripe up your glistening went cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” a loud moan leaves you, your head falling back as you relish in the immediate pleasure that shoots up your spine.

Frankie reluctantly breaks away to look at you, to check up on you, but your body is still shocked from the pleasure, and he grins, cheeks full of mischief. He hums to himself before he goes back in. “Fucking delicious, too.”

“Jesus, shit-” you murmur, trying to brace yourself for what you know is going to utterly ruin you.

He licks through your folds once more, slow and steady, calculated, measuring every small twitch and whimper that your body produces. His tongue moves up to your clit, circling around the area reveling in the way your breathing speeds up and your hips buck. Even with your movements chasing for more, he remains steadfast in his ministrations.

He continues his tease until he hears you huff. You’re getting impatient. “Baby, please,” you whine. “Please don’t tease,” you pout at him then, and whether it’s real or a ploy to get him to give in, how can Frankie say no to that face?

Without lifting from your cunt, Frankie switches from slow passes around your bud to attaching directly on it, suckling and flicking the sharp tip of his tongue across you. Your legs writhe under his expert touch, your hand flying to the baseball cap to his head and flinging it off to rake your fingers through his wild curls. He groans into you the second he feels your grip, his pace faltering for just a moment before he finds his way again.

Frankie detaches from you, dragging his tongue downward to your folds to lap up your slick. The squelch your pussy makes when his tongue makes contact is sinful. He lets his mouth wrap as much as he can around you, his tongue prodding at your entrance, testing your limits.

“Oh, Frankie, yes-” you lament, your hand pulling his face tight against your core as your hips force his pink muscle inside. His cock is definitely at full mast now, especially with how reactive you are for him. Your eyes are entirely white as you repeat his name like a prayer, your hips frantically meeting the thrusts of his tongue.

You grip tighter into his locks, angling his head slightly down, and fuckfuckfuck you squeal loudly, this angle causes his nose to nudge at your sensitive nerves perfectly with each push of his tongue inside of you.

“I’m c-close, Frankie- fuck- I’m gonna cum, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum- oh my God-” you practically scream, your body losing all strength as you fall back into the counter behind you, Frankie licking everything up while he tries to fuck you through your orgasm.

The vibrations of his moaning sends you into overdrive, and you’re so spaced out you don’t even realize Frankie’s been desperately humping nothing, bringing himself to an orgasm the same time as you. He lifts off from you completely, his breathing labored as his chin threatens to drip your arousal to the ground. Frankie’s fingers reach for his face, collecting up the residue only for him to bring it back up to his mouth. The sound of him sucking his fingers up like he just ate the sauciest of wings brings you back to reality, pulling your body up weakly as your eyes go wide when you realize what Frankie’s doing.

Your cheeks heat up, but your ability to tease is back. “That good, huh?”

“Finger lickin’, baby,” he says lazily.

He rises from his knees only for you to then notice the wet spot at his crotch. “Frankie-” you start.

“Yes, yes I did,” he finishes, knowing the question you were going to ask.

He bends down to pick up his hat, swiftly placing it back on his head while he grabs your shorts, putting them gently back in place.

“You okay?” He checks in.

You melt under his sweet attention. “Never better,” you beam.

You two stand there in each other’s presence before you finally pipe up. “So how do you wanna…” you trail off.

“You wanna head out first? I got a bit of a… mess to clean up anyway,” he says, gesturing to himself.

“Oh! Right, yeah. Okay,” you say awkwardly, as if his tongue wasn’t just inside of you. “I’ll see you out there,” you add as you turn around, opening the door just enough to slip out.

You stand there for a moment, giving yourself a second to register what the fuck just happened. You did not let a man you just met go down on you? At a bar, no less?!

You make your way to the bartender, needing an ice cold glass of water to cool you off. Your head is spinning, and it’s really not because of the alcohol anymore. But you blame the substance anyway.

Hearing the bathroom door creak, you turn around to see a blushing Frankie, his hat off his head and his hand shielding the wet patch between his legs. He sees you at the bar and he smiles, walking in your direction. However, before he can reach you, Linda magically appears in your face, drunk as shit and louder than you’ve ever experienced.

“There you are, silly!! Where’d you run off to?? Been looking for you, I swear it’s been like an hour!!!”

You look at Frankie over her shoulder, and he pauses in his tracks. You give him an apologetic smile. Before he can say it’s okay, the friends he was with finds him and drags him into a game of pool.

“Hey, sorry!” You scream over the music. “Just needed some time, it got a bit too loud in here,” you lie. You’re too overstimulated—in many ways as your clit throbs against the fabric of your wet panties—to handle more ridicule from these three. “I think I’m gonna head home now, though, I’m kind of tired,” you tell her. “Where’s Blake and Leah?”

She drags you back to your guys’ table, urging one more round of shots. You go with her to the bar to order the round, mouthing to the bartender to make yours water. She winks at you, and hands you your glass directly while Leah impressively holds the other three with a drunken ease.

When Frankie finally spots you, happy and laughing with your friends, he smiles to himself and decides not to interrupt your time. He can find you later.

Except, he doesn’t.

Monday, August 19th.

Sunday was a blur. It was spent downing more water to flush out your body while surfing every account on every social media platform you have for a Frankie in your area.

No luck. Of course.

Frankie’s Sunday was spent the exact same way, too, although he is much less tech savvy and his attempt only lasted an hour before he gave up and spent the rest of his day moping.

“¿Qué pasa, papi?” What’s wrong, daddy? Elena had asked him as she scarfed down her eggs.

“Estoy bien, mi amorcito,” I’m okay, my love, Frankie responded with a kiss on her head.

Elena didn’t bug further, but he knew she would soon.

Monday morning, Elena was way too eager for her new school, forcing her father up and making breakfast an entire hour before they actually needed to get up. Somehow, Elena even convinced Frankie to leave the house half an hour before they needed to leave, forcing them to wait in the empty parking lot until any sign of life emerged.

Elena buries her nose in a book, while Frankie sat there, watching the minutes tick by. As he stared at the building, red accents and Home of the Rebels painted in big white letters, he’s suddenly reminded of what Ms. Sabatino asked him.

He reaches over and grabs the handbook out of the glove compartment. He flips open to the first page to the table of contents, and the first section, written in italicized, bold letters catches his eye:

Ground Rules

He flips to the page.

He scans through each bullet point, each one feeling more and more like common sense, but with the way the principal described these parents, he realizes how necessary these so-called rules are.

His eyes scan the last bullet point, and he can’t help but bite back a laugh.

No parent-teacher relations. Parent will be kicked off the PTA. Teacher will be reprimanded. NO exceptions.

He flips through several more pages when Elena lets out a piercing shriek. “AHH! DADDY, DADDY, LET’S GO,” she’s jumping up and down as much as she can while being belted in her car seat. Frankie looks up to see a bustling crowd of children and their guardian. He sees Ms. Sabatino in the mix.

“Alright, alright, mi vida (my life), I’m coming,” Frankie soothes, giving a softer tone of voice that hopefully she mirrors. He gets out of the car and opens the passenger door behind him, unbuckling Elena and setting her down to the ground, grabbing her backpack and shuffling it onto her back.

Ms. Sabatino catches sight of Frankie and Elena, and excitedly makes her way over. She bends down to Elena’s level. “Good morning!! You must be Elena Morales, yes?”

“YES-” she stops herself and clears her throat. “Yes! Yes, that’s me!” She says, a decibel calmer.

Ms. Sabatino warms at her eagerness. “It’s very lovely to meet you, Elena, I’m Ms. Sabatino, the principal here!” She holds out her hand for Elena to shake. She takes it eagerly.

“It’s very nice to meet you!” Elena emphasizes, putting on her best charm. Frankie chuckles.

Ms. Sabatino rises. “Mr. Morales, it’s great to see you again!” He nods his head with a smile and a soft likewise. “May I walk you both to her class? I’d like to introduce you to her new teacher,” she directs the question towards both of them.

Elena looks elated. She turns around to look her father in the eye, Frankie’s very own signature puppy dog eyes reflected back to him. He doesn’t even need to hear the question to know what her answer would be if she pulls this card. “Oh, papi, please will you come?”

“Of course, baby,” he says, caressing the apple of her cheeks before she cheers in victory.

“Great!” Ms. Sabatino says with a clap to her hands. “Right this way.”

On the way to Elena’s new class, Ms. Sabatino really praises her new teacher. Apparently, she’s the best of the best. One of their newest hires, but she’s practically a veteran when it comes to teaching prodigal children. She’s a powerhouse, Ms. Sabatino calls her. He gets the feeling that the teacher doesn’t really like that label much.

When Ms. Sabatino opens the door to his classroom, the teacher is immediately there to introduce herself and welcome in little Elena.

Frankie really doesn’t know what happens next besides the fact that his heart thoroughly stops and Elena’s voice is a muffled daddy, what’s wrong? throughout his panicked mind.

What’s wrong? He thinks.

What’s wrong is that Elena’s new teacher is you.

And he is absolutely, wholeheartedly, positively screwed.

Fuck.

I hope you liked the first chapter of my new series, New Beginnings!🥹🥹 I poured everything I have into this story, and I’ve been so eager to share it with the rest of you. I hope you are able to love it as much as I do.

Follow & turn on notifs for @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to know exactly when a new chapter comes out!🫶

Comments/reblogs or any kind of feedback to let me know what you think is my favorite part about putting out a story!! Please let me know your thoughts!!! I love you all so much, and thank you for the endless support you all show me. I wouldn’t be here without you.

Floral dividers on top & bottom courtesy of @saradika-graphics <3 section dividers in middle of fic made by me!

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staarri · 22 days

Text

𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨 — 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡.

c. scaramouche

character(s) are friends with reader, gn!reader, angsty-ish, scaramouche is still in the fatui, this is a work of fiction

fluff , love letter . word count : roughly 0.9k

t. @aventurne @tragedy-of-commons @yvnaology @nyoomiin

Scaramouche is not an easy man to love. He’s busy, constantly busy, awake even during the most ungodly hours of the night and constantly rubbing at his eyes from his exhaustion. It’s no surprise the Fatui are overworking him again. What’s funny is that he’s sitting at his desk, a pile of papers on the right side–all reports from his underlings–were unnoticed; all of it, even the chirping of the birds as the sun rose and showed the start of a new day, Scaramouche was stuck on a piece of paper in front of him with the words that reads, To my dearest.

There's no way he can capture your beauty on a cheap piece of parchment . He should’ve bought something expensive instead, like a new set of clothes he thinks you’ll like. But lately you’ve just seemed so distant. He needs to reach you somehow. You’ve been driven away by the lies his mouth spills and now, he’s suffering with the consequences, and not once will he ever say it to you, but he needs you to stick with him while he tries to better himself.

So here he is: a fountain pen in hand, wasting his time with something so.. childish. Who writes letters anyway, isn't it something you did as a child towards someone you liked?

Call him a child then. Call him old-fashioned, traditional, and in love. Call him whatever you like, because in the end he’s yours, and he’s always been.

He’s let his thoughts linger for too long and suddenly it's 7 am. His eyebags have never been worse and his mind is tired, not from his job, but from this stupid letter he’s made no progress on. To my dearest should be good enough, right? I mean, you were easy to please. He was sure that it would be more than enough for you.

How tiring. He says, mindlessly scribbling on the paper, jet-black ink scattered all throughout and splattering around the words. Was he angry? Not at all. Frustrated, yes, but for a good reason–to think he did this just because you two were friends was infuriating. Shouldn’t you two be something more?

You were pretty, far too pretty for him to describe. Scaramouche thought his vocabulary was wide enough, but this letter alone has him searching for the words he once knew. Your eyes, leaving him feeling small in a never ending forest and your smile–god, your smile was intoxicating. It would give light to the things he’s been hiding from you this entire time. Your laugh–your voice, sweet and soft, loud and oh-so clear. How you’d bring it down to a whisper when you feel embarrassed about admitting something, how your nose scrunches up when you laugh or when your smile lines just seem so fitting for someone like you.

What was so special about you?

You were like the sunset on the beaches, glowing. Absolutely stunning, ethereal, lighting everything in a bright orange, his eyes becoming a mix of brown and a dark blue. He’s different around you, he's a completely different person. From the color of his eyes to the racing of his heart, to the feeling that he wasn’t getting enough air whenever you hold his hand–but you’d do it in a friendly way. You don't squeeze his hand too tight, you let go when necessary and don’t leave any kind of touch lingering for far too long.

Scaramouche is not an easy man to love. He’s bad with words and he can’t tell you the things you want to hear;he can’t provide you with the touch you crave, he can’t make up his mind. One moment he’s thinking about just giving you a whole bag of mora for you to use for your next trip, the other he’s thinking about finishing this damn letter that has plagued his mind ever since you first whispered the fact you appreciate him.

There’s no way he can treat you right. There’s absolutely no way he will be perfect, that he’ll be the partner that’ll leave such a mark on you. But god, ask for the world and he will give it to you. Name one thing and when you wake up it's right at your nightstand. Choose the ring and its design, he’ll get a matching one that you yourself decided on as well. Just say the word because he is a child in love.

So here he is, an envelope in hand. Going to the nearest flower shop to buy something that will still wilt under the sun after a few days. He will not love, and can’t love the same way as you, but he will learn how to.

Call him stupid;call him an idiot for falling for someone he knows is way too out of his league. But that’s all he is, and it's far too late to change that. He might lose you at some point, and that's really what scares him the most.

Suddenly he’s standing at your doorstep, ringing the doorbell and you’d be confused who in the world decided to bring you a sunflower and a piece of envelope in the middle of the day–you don't recall ordering anything.

He didn’t even get to sign it. Maybe next time he can get it right… for his dearest.

characters belong to their respective companies. everything is written by staarri - do not steal, reupload, translate, modify or feed my work to ai.

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islandofsages · 3 months

Note

Hey ! Can I ask for a male!reader that is a 4th or 3rd year at the NRC (in the dorm you want), and Yuu, Grim and Ortho after seeing him just decided to adopt him like their father ?

The reader is the definition of a good father, and Yuu, Grim and Ortho made him sign the adoption contract (give by Azul).

(Maybe the reader can be the boyfriend of Idia ?)

I just want a reverse adoption with Grim, Yuu and Ortho bc they need a good father.

characters: ortho, yuu and grim with fourth year male reader

tags: platonic, fluff, fic format

warnings: none

author's notes: sorry i didnt do the characters separately, i think they would have similar reactions. also reader isnt with idia bc im keeping this blog fairly romance-free :) thank you for giving me an excuse to write fourth year reader tho, the concept is so interesting and fun to explore!! and hes not in any specific dorm, wanted to keep it ambiguous hehe. honestly this whole thing was my own spin so word count: 974 words

You haven't gone back to NRC in a while. Despite the absolute chaos that goes on way more than often in that school, you’ve grown to harbor fondness for that familiarity. Luckily, you're due for a report of the progress of your internship. Instead of merely sending an email to your professor, you’ll go meet up with him yourself and check up on your underclassmen (maybe even get to know the freshmen) in the meantime.

You are just one of the many seniors of NRC but you found that your dorm members are quite fond of you for whatever reason. So when you come back for that short time period, a few of them come to greet you and catch up with you. Apparently, the abandoned dorm is now occupied by not one but two new students. You didn't even know there was an abandoned dorm!

“One of them can't even use magic and came from a different universe or something? And one of them is literally a magical monster! The school totally got weirder when you left, (Y/N),” one of your dorm members explains. You try to imagine it in your head. Yeah, no, if nobody told you that’s exactly what happened, you wouldn’t have known. You only believe the dorm member because you trust them enough.

“Oh, and remember Idia? The one with the robot brother? He’s a housewarden now. And his brother's a student now. He's an actual freshman,” more gossip makes their way to you. Your eyes widen at the news. You feel like you may remember them, the Shroud brothers - you could tell Idia was trying really hard to stay on the down low so you did him a favor and left him alone for the most part.

You don’t stay at your dorm for very long - you did come to NRC for a reason - and that was to send in that report of yours. Though you already dropped it off before checking up on your underclassmen, you plan just walking around school and taking in the sights that were once so familiar to you. And you haven’t even really graduated yet.

You walk down the hallways and say hi to whoever you recognize, basking in that comfortable familiarity. Some friendlier students stop to chat with you and to be perfectly honest, you feel a little old compared to everyone. You don’t mind but what’s rubbing it in is how some of the students are calling you “Dad” to tease you. You know they’re being playful for the most part but you can’t help but feel a little awkward with the nickname.

Then you run into those three.

You recognize the younger Shroud brother - hard not to with his flames for hair - but you can only guess the other two are the new students occupying that abandoned dorm; one’s uniform seems foreign and the other is not even remotely humanoid. They're definitely eye-catching, especially together. And apparently, you're pretty eye-catching too, with the way they lay their eyes on you while you were talking to another student.

The younger Shroud brother leads the group as they make their way to you excitedly. You're already preparing yourself for what you assume is a normal conversation with these kids. Too bad normal is the wrong thing to expect from these three, you will come to know.

“(Y/N)! You’re back at school!” The younger Shroud - Ortho, that’s his name - exclaims as he flies slightly upwards, happy to see you again. The other two look at you curiously, head tilted to the side and all. You offer them a jolly laugh as you tell the other two who you are and update all of them of how your internship is going. They’re eerily silent when you’re relaying your story but you appreciate not being interrupted. ‘What polite freshmen,�� you thought.

Until they aren’t, because they interrupt you with-

“Can you adopt us?!”

Their eyes twinkle as they clasp their hands together and gaze at you with their best puppy-eye look. Oh, they’re being genuine. This is escalating way too quickly - the nickname was weird enough, you’re not sure what to feel about a bunch of age-ambiguous freshmen wanting a fellow (though presumably older) student to adopt them. You sigh and put on your best smile so as to not disappoint them.

Truth be told, it really isn’t as bad or weird as it sounds. People were already teasing you about it so might as well run along with it. But still. Legally adopting these freshmen would still be too much for you to handle. After all, you’re still going to be preoccupied with your internship. You won’t be present for most of their school years and the last thing you want to be is a father who forgot to bring the milk back home.

You tell them you will think about it, in case they were actually joking and you’re somehow dumb enough to not catch on. They agree to allow you to take your time… but then they start muttering about “getting a contract from Azul” and you immediately step in to stop them from taking any drastic measures.

After that whole ordeal, you leave school more exhausted than you thought you would be. After all, three freshmen literally asked you to become their father and adopt them and were about to get you to agree to some contract. But then, you find out, they turn out to be the best children you’ve ever had.

They can be a handful, sure - Ortho is way too curious for his own good sometimes, Grim can’t sit still and picks fights with people often, and Yuu is… Yuu. Being a single father is definitely not the easiest thing to do with them as your children.

Yet you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #platonic twst x reader #platonic twisted wonderland x reader #twst x male reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #ortho shroud #ortho shroud x reader #yuu twst #grim twst

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drabblesandimagines · 5 months

Text

Dove (part four)

Leon Kennedy x female reader Part one. Part two. Part three.

The time for Leon’s next perimeter check comes and goes, yet he remains in place on the sofa, you cuddling into his chest. He knows he could try and shuffle along a little bit, get you to lie down, but he doesn’t.

You must be exhausted, both physically and mentally, to have fallen asleep on him after all. He doesn’t want to risk waking you up when it’s the first time he’s seen you properly relaxed in the last 24 hours. It’d be more awkward if he did try to move and woke you up, too. Plus, if he did successfully pull it off, it’s not the widest of sofas either - what if you rolled off when he was outside and damaged your shoulder even more? You’re already bruised and battered from your encounter with the Lickers and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna let you get hurt again under his watch.

It’s everything to do with that and nothing to do with the fact that he can’t remember when he last held a woman like this, content in his embrace. He’s not a big one-night stand guy – won’t deny he’s had them, but they’re not a preference - so intimate moments like this are few and far between. Besides, you’d asked him for a hug, you’d fell asleep in his arms. It might not be proper, but he’s not overstepped professional boundaries by reassuring a victim in their moment of need.

Just like he totally hadn’t overstepped when he helped you undress last night.

God, when you’d asked for his help with your bra… Memories of awkward fumbles with girlfriends under covers had flashed through his mind, still isn’t sure how he pulled it off one-handed.

Leon swallows as you unconsciously nuzzle your cheek up against his chest, bringing him back to the present moment. He chides himself for the distraction, shouldn’t be thinking about that when he should be thinking about the job at hand. There’s been no reply from Hunnigan, though he wasn’t expecting one unless there was any sort of development. She’s probably waiting for his full report before she’ll give him a crumb of anything in return.

He looks at the laptop sat open on the coffee table, though it’s long gone to sleep. He was maybe a little ambitious with his timeframe of having it in her inbox by 2000, as now he’s going to have to type it up, listening to the audio, all in the same room as you as he does.

Problem for later, he decides, as is you being asleep on his chest preventing him from doing his perimeter check. His hand remains on the small of your back - keeps you steady against him, whilst he compromises for scrolling round the camera feeds a few times one-handed.

There’s nothing to note visually from his last outing - though he definitely wants to be able to double-check with his own eyes rather than put his full trust in pixels on a 3.5-inch screen. There’s been no motion detected either, so it’ll do.

It’s turning into a nice evening, he muses, warm enough to be out without a jacket. It’s a shame he can’t take you outside for some fresh air, stretch your legs with a walk around the perimeter – after he’d checked it first, of course – and maybe make you feel less like a prisoner. Knows from experience that it won’t be long until the frustration of being restricted to three rooms is going to surface. Always does. You’ve already shown some over the medication being locked up last night.

He also knows how much the restrictions and protocols seem overkill, but if anything were to go wrong on this mission, all his actions are going to be scrutinized under a microscope, discussed at length by a panel who will either sign him off for active duty or accuse him of being a traitor to the good old US of A.

You jerk almost violently on his chest then, nearly clocking him in the chin, your good hand scrunched up in the fabric of his shirt – all tell-tale signs of a bad dream. Leon begins to rub slow circles with his hand on the small of your back, hoping it’ll be soothing enough to stop the dream progressing, perhaps enough to draw you out of that REM state but not enough to wake you up entirely.

He slips his phone back in his pocket as he continues to rub large circles on your back, can’t help but smile as he watches you settle, your face relaxing once more.

Leon closes his eyes, then, relishing the weight of you on his chest. It’s not selfish, he reasons, no, because although those sleeping pills work wonders, they can never replace a true night’s sleep – again, he knows that from bitter experience. It’s enough to shut your brain down for a solid eight hours, but it’s never going to be a restful sleep when it’s synthetic.

Not in the way you’re napping right now, safe in his arms.

God, Kennedy, pull it together – you just met the girl.

Still, doesn’t open his eyes though.

He’s about to drift off himself when you whimper and he swears it breaks his heart. Your grip tightens on his shirt, face twitching once more, now alongside furrowed brows and hitched breaths as you face invisible demons. He strokes your hair with one hand, still rubbing circles on your back with his other but it doesn’t have the same effect this time as your restlessness continues.

“No…” You whimper again, nails digging in his chest from your grip and he admits defeat. He sits up slowly, stills his hand on your back and moves his other to rest lightly on your arm to give the most gentle shake.

“Dove, it’s okay.” Leon says, softly. “You’re all right. It was just a dream.” He moves his head down, in dangerous territory of being headbutted, speaks a little louder in the hopes the movement and his voice will break through your slumber. “I’m here, Dove. You’re safe with me, okay?” Your eyes shoot open and you lift your head off his chest but his reflexes don’t fail him as he moves his head back from the collision. You emit a sharp gasp from your mouth, catching your breath and look at him briefly in alarm, feeling entirely disorientated and confused, heart pounding.

“Hey.” He smiles.

It takes a beat for you to properly gather your bearings – never been a fan of napping during the day, always made you feel worse more than anything. You’re in the safe house, in the living room, with Leon – the kind DSO agent who made you oatmeal and sandwiches for lunch – whose warm palm still is pressed solidly against the small of your back…

“You fell asleep. I… It seemed like you were having a bad dream, so…”

You remembered asking him for a hug, how nice it had felt in his embrace, how you thought it would be fine to close your eyes for just a moment. Afterall, they were so dry and tired from all that silly crying and how nice and warm Leon felt, with your cheek pressed up against his chest.

Yes, you were just going to savour all that for a couple more minutes and then you’d sit up.

But it hadn’t happened that way, waking up whoever knows how long later, holding onto him for dear life.

“I fell asleep… on you.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

His smile turns somewhat bashful. “Yeah.”

You realise then that your hand is flat on his chest, right over his heart – you can feel it pound underneath your fingertips and you snatch it back into your own chest, sitting up poker straight, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Dove. I can add emergency pillow next to the first aid qualification.” He teases, relieved it seems to make you relax a little by the way your shoulders drop. You smile, placing your good hand back on the sofa for balance to shuffle back along. A little reluctantly, Leon brings his hand back to rest on his thigh.

“Do you, er, want to talk about it?”

“Not much to tell.” You shuffle in place again, trying to get comfortable as your injuries begin to ache. “I was being chased… But that’s all I can remember.” You shake your head as if you could shake the uneasy feeling out of it. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not long.” Leon shrugs, though he knows exactly how long it was. Doesn’t want to say he let you sleep on him for over 90 minutes because he liked the human contact.

You look up at the TV, not knowing what to say, and see it’s still on at a low volume – the channel unchanged and the house renovation show ongoing. Must be some sort of afternoon marathon.

“So, I need to do my, er, perimeter check. I won’t be long, but can I get you anything before I go?”

“Can I have the next dose of painkillers?”

Leon checks his watch and frowns - you’re over an hour away from the next dose. Maybe he shouldn’t have let you sleep in that position after all, torso twisted to lie across his chest – the fall down the stairs had to have a done a number of your ribs. “I’m afraid not for another hour or so, Dove. Is the pain really bad?”

“No, I’m just starting to ache a bit. I’ll be all right.”

“We can arrange a call with a medic if the painkillers aren’t bearing up, see if we can get you on something stronger.” He offers, getting to his feet.

Your stomach flips. There it is, that horrible niggle of doubt in the depths. Leon seems sincere enough in his offer – hell, this is the man who prepped your toothbrush for you this morning, made breakfast and lunch, let you sob and then nap all over him. That’s surely not how a government agent who suspects you’re a bioterrorist is going to treat you, yet you can’t bring yourself to fully relax around him, painfully aware that he might be feeding back everything you say or even do to superiors.

Is this a trick or a test, to see if you’ll take up stronger pain medication after you insisted yesterday that what you were given had been adequate? Oh, you lied about that, did you? Did you lie about your whole statement too, Dove?

“No, that’s not necessary.” You’ve taken too long to reply, so time to try and deflect. “I’m just being a baby.”

“No, you’re not.” He replies, firmly. “Have a think about it, okay? You’ll have been running off adrenaline for a while, might have numbed the real extent of the pain when you were being assessed. Been there a few times myself.”

You nod, unsure of what else to say, still feeling a little awkward in the way you’d woken up.

“Okay, I’m heading outside. See you soon.”

You lean forward and grab the remote control. “Take care.” It comes out before you even think about what you’re saying and you turn up the volume on the TV, as if it could drown out what you’d already said.

Leon smiles as he picks up his duffel bag, slings it over his shoulder – he’s locking it in the garage on his way out. If you’ve noticed he keeps it in his line of sight at all times -besides the time it was behind him but you had been very snug in his arms - you’ve been polite enough not to mention it, or maybe you just don’t want to hear the answer. He wishes he could make the call, but until those above him officially deem you as a victim who needs protection and not a suspect under surveillance instead of the hybrid moniker you’re under, he needs to keep you and the weapons separate.

Like you could do any damage to him with your arm in a sling, bruised, grazed and sore, all whilst on sleeping pills and painkillers for God’s sake. If you were faking all of that, call the Academy cos there’s a new Best Actress in town.

---

Part five.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x female reader

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darlingdarkly · 3 months

Text

New Year New You Part 6

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x f!reader

Personal Trainer AU

4k words

CW: dubcon!, dark fic, dark content, obsessive behavior, dirty talk, explicit language, E rated, NSFW, smut, 18+, mature themes, alcohol consumption, use of drugs against one’s will

Part 1, 5, 7

It’s been five days of radio silence. You don’t show up the morning after your last session ended just to let Johnny know your free trial is up, although you do walk past the gym every morning before work, even though it’s eight blocks in the wrong direction and makes you leave thirty minutes earlier than you usually do.

You don’t text him and let him know that you won’t be coming in the next day or ever again for that matter, although you do start the text, writing and deleting and rewriting variations of the same “Hey Johnny, I just wanted to let you know-“ and “Johnny, I just wanted to text you and say-“ and also “Hey there, I’m just texting to tell you-“ All typed with bravado and deleted as your nerve deflates.

The one constant is your homework, you do still do that every night like clockwork, three sets of sit ups, two sets of toe touches, ten lunges and your stretches. Your soreness had ebbed after two days of rest and on the third day after you’d washed your dishes and sat down on the couch you had stared at the wall for ten uncomfortable minutes, fidgeting with your nails until you caved, moved the furniture out of the way and did your exercises, even if you couldn’t muster up the nerve to call him so he could watch.

Your days took on a blurring quality. Get up, go to work, go home, sleep, repeat. You felt the monotony settle over your days like a heavy dark blanket, it blotted out the sun and as though your disposition held any real world consequences, as if the very shift of your mood held sway over natures cosmic tides it started to rain and hadn’t stopped since the morning after you’d last seen him.

You were at work, typing away at a report when Nancy approached your desk. She sat down across from you, scooting the chair as close to the desk as her legs would allow and leaned in on her elbows until you finished your sentence and looked up at her, a bit dreary. She frowned and reached out across the desk to touch your hand. “Come to lunch with me.”

You looked back at your computer, the cursor blinking impatiently. “I can’t, I’ve gotta get this report done, I’m gonna work through lunch.” She tipped the monitor in her direction before scooting it back into place. “No you don’t, those reports are all old, I’ve got to send out the updated ones before you can type that report up, or else you’ll just have to do it all over again.”

Your brows furrowed as you reviewed your work. “What do you mean? These are all-.” As you looked back at her she was smiling and you couldn’t help but smile back. “Nancy.”

“Come to lunch with me.” She brooked no argument and you relented, saving your progress and following her out to her car. She unlocked it and you slid into the passenger seat, letting her carry you to the little cafe the pair of you hadn’t been to in ages but used to visit frequently.

You sat down at a little table close to the door and a tall skinny man brought you two menus and took your orders. Nancy also ordered two glasses of prosecco to go with the meal and you stared at her in disbelief as the waiter took the menus from you and walked away.

“Starting a little early today are we? You do plan on going back to work after this right?” She smiled and unrolled the napkin and bundle of utensils on the table in front of her. “Of course, one glass won’t kill you. Besides, you need it. You’ve been moping around the office all week.”

Just then the waiter came back with two flutes of wine and set one in front of each of you before turning away. Nancy picked hers up and brought it to her lips, taking a sip before setting it back down on the table in front of her and folding her hands in her lap. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

You picked the glass of wine up and took a sip, letting the sweet fruity juice marinate in your mouth before swallowing. It was good and you had to admit it made you feel better.

The alcohol helped to loosen your tongue and you found once you started you hadn’t stopped until your plate was set in front of you. Nancy sat across from you and watched as you unwrapped your own napkin and dug into your lunch. She picked up her fork, took a bite and thought everything over.

“You know what you need.” You reached out for another sip of wine and looked at her tentatively from across the table. “What?”

“You need to come out with me tonight.”

“No!”

“Yes!” You rolled your eyes and shook your head, the last thing you wanted was to go out. It always ended badly. Either you'd wake up in some strangers bed or you’d drink too much and wake up with a throbbing headache. You had to go to work in the morning and nursing a hangover at your cubicle at seven in the morning sounded like the exact opposite of what you needed.

“You need to let loose, live a little. Forget about him!” You didn’t want to let loose and live a little, and you certainly didn’t want to forget about him. He was so beyond anything you’ve experienced in so long, so intense and weird and you thought he might be a little crazy but he had said you were his and he was yours. But then why isn’t he texting you? Why isn’t he calling you? Hell, you wouldn’t be mad at him showing up at your house, you half expected him to be there when you didn’t show up for your session that next day. But he wasn’t.

Maybe Nance was right. Maybe you should forget it, forget him. Maybe your previous first impression was more on the money than you’d given it credit for, maybe he was only cozying up to you so you’d buy a membership. Maybe the sex was just more casual and meaningless than he made it out to be.

So you agreed, reluctantly, to go out. You didn’t promise you’d stay long or dance or even talk to anyone that wasn’t her but she agreed that as long as you were getting out then it was a step in the right direction.

You finished your lunch, downed the rest of your wine and left feeling a little better but still uneasy. It was hard to admit to yourself that maybe you’d let your guard down and fallen into some sort of infatuation with Johnny. He made you feel good, wanted, sexy. He hounded you like a dog for a bone and then when he got it he only seemed to want more and more, craving all of you relentlessly. He seemed so committed to you and your goals but maybe it was all just a clever ruse.

But that felt like one maybe too many so you went home after you clocked off with clear instructions from Nancy to be ready at eight. You cooked, showered and got ready, nothing too fancy but dressed up enough for wherever she might have planned. You looked yourself over in the mirror, putting on a few finishing touches when your hand came to rest on the Fitbit around your wrist.

You still had it, still wore it everyday, it was useful to help track your steps and it was an expensive gift to just let sit on your dresser and collect dust, you wouldn’t admit to even yourself that it felt a little like taking off a wedding ring so soon after a divorce, it would be absurd for you to have grown so attached to something material in just a weeks time but it stayed on your arm nonetheless. You switched out the band for the gold chain, dressing the high tech jewelry up and grabbed your purse as you heard the cab pull up outside, laying on its horn.

If she arranged for a cab then she really must have meant for the two of you to drink tonight. You raced down the stairs and slid into the seat of the cab as she drew the door open for you. “Are you ready for some fun?” You smiled and matched her energy but still felt wary about the whole thing. She leaned up and spoke to the driver before the cab pulled away from the curb and out into the night air. Nancy adjusted her makeup with a compact from her purse and you stewed in your thoughts as the buildings flew by out the window.

It had been awhile since you’d been out and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that kind of scene again, the crowds, the lights, the music. But before you could imagine the various elements of your future perils they were before you as the cab pulled up to a building pulsating with sound, a throng of people spread about the exterior talking, laughing, huddled close together in tight groups.

Nancy handed the cabbie a tip and stepped out onto the curb, pulling you out into the amber and pink neon light of the club. The ground shone bright with prisms of color, the rain slicked pavement mirroring the lights and creating a floor of brilliant light. You could feel the thump of the music even from outside and listened to it drastically increase in volume as a couple pushed open the door and stepped into the building, holding onto each other as they disappeared down the dark corridor and into the belly of the building.

You and Nancy pulled out your IDs and showed them off to the bouncer who gestures for you to pass. Pushing open the door Nancy pulled you into the dark hallway, the only light coming from a small window in the door behind you, it faded to nil as you traversed the passageway.

It curved and then was vibrantly lit by various entanglements of neon lights, the first set made a pair of hands, fingers interlocked, the second a half of a woman’s face, her neon eyes fierce and piercing. The third a fibonacci sequence, swirling ever inward upon itself. Passing down the corridor you could tell you were descending, the music getting louder and louder with each step.

Eventually there was a turn and radiating from the corner was a prism of bright, quickly changing light, the rays shifting from pink to gold to green. A fog began to build, a miasma of stale air, sweat and alcohol that burned your nose.

As you rounded the corner the music hit you like a physical wave, deafening in its volume. The lights, bright and strobing, illuminated the writhing bodies wall to wall, you’d entered the belly of the beast. Nancy tugged you by the arm up a set of stairs letting onto a balcony, it wrapped the length of the building on all sides, turning the floor below into a pit of life.

You weaved between the groups of people, brightly colored cups in their hands, their eyes ran over you as you invaded their spaces and passed, their pupils blown and dilated from more than just alcohol, sober they looked like strange monsters but after a few shots their outlines would begin to glow, golden and radiant and they’d appear as gods.

She stopped at the bar, packed with people all along the length and she had to muscle her way between bodies to get the bartender's attention. “Four shots of Bicardi.” You vaguely heard her yell over the noise of the house.

You survey the scene behind you, people passing back and forth, streaming up the balcony towards the bar bumped by people freshly hydrated and looking to dance headed to the floor. None of the faces are distinguishable, a blur of noses and eyes and lips, none catch your eye but you’re still not looking for any interaction, if the most you can do tonight is let loose and dance with Nancy then that’s fine by you.

She turns around behind you, four shots held delicately between outstretched fingers as she tries to maneuver away from the bar. You grab two shots from her hands and she thanks you, motioning with a roll of her shoulder for you to follow her. You follow at her back, a shot in each hand as she finds a deserted table. There’s half empty drinks spread over the top but the booths are empty, which means the people who previously occupied it are feeling good and more than likely down in the pit sweating it off.

She sets the shots down and you follow suit, slumping for a moment into the booth. She sat opposite of you and passed you a shot with a sly grin. “This’ll help.” You took it, eyeing up the clear liquid, knowing it will burn, anticipating it as the saliva built up in your mouth from muscle memory.

You looked up from the tiny glass to meet her eyes, they held yours as she brought it up to her lips and tipped it back, a loud crisp “Ahhhh” resounding from her as she brought the empty shot glass down with a bang on the table. She beamed, the picture of a woman in paradise beckoning you to join her, free of responsibilities, free of pain. Take the shot, join me in paradise.

You did. Picking the shot glass up and downing it, the liquid hardly touched your mouth, barreling straight for your throat, it was sweet and spicy and it burned. Your mouth refilled with saliva, chasing the harsh juice down your throat. As you set the empty shot glass down she was picking up the second, in for a penny, in for a pound. You grabbed for your second shot, lifting it with a smile as you felt your bad mood slip to the back of your mind. You’re out, you’re here, might as well enjoy it. You swallowed the second dose of rum, feeling it burn and not minding so much the second time around.

She scooted out of the booth and grabbed for your hand, you came willingly. She bustled through the crowd hell bent for the floor. The song changed, you didn’t know it but it didn’t take long to pick up on the rhythm as you made it to the edge of the mass and penetrated its ranks.

It was a much tighter fit than weaving through the bar crowd. Bodies pressed up against each other, moving in time with the music. Wandering hands found grinding hips, one press of silhouette shifted into the press of another until they became indistinguishable, you could be dancing with one person of four simultaneously. You kept hold of Nance as she slipped through the crowd and into the middle of the floor.

Satisfied with her depth she turned to you and grabbed your hands, pulling you through the last of the crowd into her space. It was safe and you felt at ease, joining hands with her and dancing without care. Why had it been so long since you’d done this? Why did you always have to fight it? It was better when you could just move, move and forget.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, dancing in carefree bliss. You felt invigorated and alive. You felt a body at your back, not Nancy, she was still in front of you plus this body, molding itself to your back was strong and hard, the hair on the back of your neck stood up, you held your breath as you spun around, expecting very familiar brilliant baby blues but they settled on eyes as green as deep forest moss and even under the potent haze of your buzz you felt your heart sink a little.

The man currently getting physical with you was dark haired and handsome. Strong jawline, stubbled and his green eyes held yours intensely. This wasn’t an accidental bump on a crowded floor, this was a come on.

You turn back to Nancy for help only to see an exact mirror of the man behind you, behind her. Her eyes are cast over her shoulder as the man slides up close to press her back against him and she seems to melt into his touch. When her eyes turn back to yours, they’re excited and you know she’d be no help.

The men simultaneously bend down to whisper in your respective ears, you see the one behind Nancy and know it’s mimicked by the loud deep whisper you hear from behind your own ear. Twins, oh boy.

“Hey there gorgeous, I’m Andrew.” The accent is exotic, from somewhere you can’t place or even point out on a map if you tried but it’s deep and rumbly and if it weren’t for your current predicament it would have been very appealing. Nancy grabs your hand and pulls you forward to speak where you could hear over the music.

“They’re twins.” You could hear the excitement in her voice, there was no way she was letting one or both of these guys slip out of her grasp. “I don’t know Nance.”

She pouted, lip stuck out and all. “Come on. Let’s just see where it goes. Free drinks.” You knew she’d get her way in the end so you went along with it, letting them lead both of you back up the stairs towards the bar. They ordered in front of you a set of four shots and you picked them up directly from the bar, wasting no time in tipping them back.

Nancy was already giggling at whatever her twin was whispering sweetly into her ear but you were still resisting the charms of yours, you had said you weren’t looking to talk to anyone and you really meant it. After a few attempts he noticed you weren’t picking up on his advances and so he did something you really hadn’t expected.

“Look, I can tell you’re not interested so how about we start over as friends. Hi, I’m Andrew.” You looked up at him, trying to get a read. His eyes held no malicious intent and he had a genuine smile on his face so you took him at face value and gave him your name.

The four of you spent a good chunk of time in an open booth talking and getting to know each other, it was actually a good time and the guy who’d originally strided up to you on the dance floor kept his word and didn’t try anything once you started to open up a bit.

The four of you were very intoxicated at this point and you had long forgotten the pit, much preferring to stay upstairs. One of the twins was regaling a tale of how he and his brother nearly died sneakily train hopping through Europe when they had just turned eighteen.

It was a hilarious story, all of you in various fits of giggles, even Ian, Nancy’s twin and the one telling the story, couldn’t keep a straight face as he talked. You were coming off a fit of giggles when your full bladder made its presence known. You excused yourself from the group to take care of it, coming down onto the dance floor and heading for the bathrooms. You really had no idea where they were but you thought the front of the house was the best place to start.

As you traversed the club you realized you really were intoxicated, stumbling as someone bumped into you and struggling to regain your balance, swaying dangerously like a man on the bow of a turbulent ship.

You grabbed the wall to right yourself and stared up at the first set of neon art on the way towards the door. The Fibonacci sequence of lights, natural patterns in bright fluorescence, now more mesmerizing than it had been on the way inside. You don’t know how long you were there staring before the urge to pee made itself known again.

You made your way up the hallway and finally found the bathroom. It was pretty busy there, girls adjusting their hair and makeup, talking, laughing. One girl was crying surrounded by a group of her friends who were doing their best to console her. You found an empty stall and went in, locking the door and doing your business, listening to the chatter as you relieved yourself.

When you were done you came out and the group of girls had vacated the room, leaving an open sink. You came up and began to wash your hands, taking a little longer than normal because of your inebriated state. You dried off and checked yourself over in the mirror, your eyes drifted to the jewelry on your wrist and you became lost in your thoughts.

Johnny came to the forefront of your mind and you saw yourself frown in the mirror without even realizing you were doing it. You dropped your gaze from the reflection and elected to stare down at the sink instead. You felt oddly ashamed about these thoughts, you shouldn’t be thinking about him, you’re out and having fun and there’s a guy, who seems like genuinely a really nice guy who is interested in you and that should be what you’re focused on.

Only that it wasn’t. It was the stupid watch! Why had you worn it out? Why were you still wearing it? You turned your wrist over and fumbled with the clasp until it fell loose into your open palm. You opened your clutch and dropped it inside. Feeling better but not great, you came out of the bathroom and made your way back to the table, mood ruined. You engaged as much as necessary in conversation but now that you’d thought of him, he wouldn’t go away. There were another round of shots and a decree from the twins to go back to the dance floor. You followed and watched as Nancy got very physical now with Ian, and Andrew found a new girl in the crowd to turn the charm on for.

You danced in the crowd, trying to re-find that carefree girl you’d been pre-bathroom break. You let your body move to the sound, closing your eyes and just feeling. When you re-opened them you saw him, he was a couple of heads up, dark hair and broad shoulders, those baby blues unmistakable, only there seemed to be four of him instead of one.

You went towards him, it was your first instinct and you did it without thinking about it, slinking your way through the dancing forms, pushing past arms and backs until you thought you were about where you’d seen him. There was a man here but it wasn’t him, just a guy who was the same height with dark hair, his eyes weren’t even blue, they were brown.

Boy you really must have had too much to drink. You looked around, searching the crowd for Nancy and the twins but you couldn’t see them anymore, you tried tracing your way back to where you’d been but only got lost more. As you turned there was a rush of air to your face, little flecks of something hit your skin, a chemical smell filled your nose.

The following moments descended into a memory slush, just fragments of reality that didn’t make any sense. Lights, loud music, movement. There were hands on your shoulders, strong, warm. Glimpses of light, green, blue, gold. The neon woman with her piercing eyes, she judged you from her place upon the wall. Her judgment was final, her sentence was sleep and the world went dark around you.

#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #cod soap #twdubcon #dark!johnny #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader

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methoughtsphantom · 3 months

Text

DP x DC

not me thinking about imaginary scenarios of ten year old Tim Drake in the ghost zone (pariah’s castle)

where Tim thinks it’s strangely soothing that despite being the only one whose steps connect to the ground, there’s not that eerie silence that befell drake manor

strange blob creatures chitter softly and nip at his hair and swooshes and wisps of wind betray the presence of an invisible ghost

which after following he realizes it’s almost like he’s trailing after the black dark shadow that is batman again

which gives him the idea that, maybe, just this one time, he can play the part of robin

that in mind Tim makes out a game of sneaking to the side of ghosts that look like they’re brooding and if they can spot him he loses

most just grunt in response (very in character) while others fuss over him and ask questions which Tim uses to infodump

he also politely asks the ghost that always asks him how he’s doing to instead say the word “report”

(the ghost looks at him weirdly but humors him and besides the answer would be the same anyways)

Tim also(!!)

gets on the case of why the walls lack tangibility when he is the one leaning on them (he doesn’t live down the time he wanted to look cool only to fall through the wall)

hyperfixates on how gravity works in the ghost zone because he couldn’t do a skateboard trick he has pulled off many many times and he’s salty about it

tries to figure out where they are getting human food from (cause it’s hot enough to be homemade but also there’s no kitchen —so how could it be) (also he wants coffee)

finds out the dude that often gives him a side eye when he finds that Tim knows how to do something (math homework), is next in line for the throne and yet doesn’t have a single “mingle and talk people up” bone in his body. (despite it his networking is a solid 7/10)

gets a ghost horse to adopt him what

discovers pretty quickly that there are rooms to which he can’t phase through (a.k.a. he’s not allowed entry) to which he begrudgingly backs off even though that stands in his way of doing a very thorough layout™ of the place (robin would)

sulks over the lack of extreme sports in the place

(Danny takes him to the Far Frozen where they go tire sliding in the snow and where tim learns how to use a skateboard skate and also that ghost ice cream is just as good as normal ice cream)

sulks again cuz he caught a common cold

also because there’s no sun or moon poor Timmy’s already screwed sleep schedule gets more messed up to the point no one knows when or where he will fall asleep

(ghosts find him in the most unhinged of places with a signature purple cloak draped over him every. single. time.)

overall, be a menace

see-> the time he threatened to build ghost weapons he’d somehow memorized the blueprints of cause Danny wouldn’t let him visit the radium girls factory but yes the renaissance period

see-> that time he went through the whole ghost energy and how to work with it book section in the library and half an hour later had a prototype of a star wars laser beam made

(note: bribing only works for hot chocolate, not for letting him keep cool-looking guns)

just tim having the time of his life

clockwork being no help at all (the ghost loves being a cryptid)

and danny trying not to get attached while he progressively gets more concerned over this chaos child he emotionally adopted as his little brother

(to fit canon cause i want it to this would just be until Danny finds the dimension little Timmy is from, then they can safely yeet the child back to the moment he first went missing)

anyways before anyone knows it’s been three months

#tim drake #danny phantom #dp x dc au #batman #dc #dp x dc #danny fenton #like this little guy practiced with ghosts #which don’t breathe #tim comes back to gotham and can sneak up to batman better than an assassin #don’t make sound on the floor if they don’t want #and have heightened senses #you are gonna tell me that in all the bats career they never saw the little tiny child that followed them around with a camara??#whelp now you got an explanation as to why #also upon realizing Danny didn’t know anything about how to mingle Tim who has been going to galas for years self appoints himself #to teach him don’t frett #little headcannons in my own au #this in my head is fic #it’s more extensive but it was getting long #i was going through some mental hoops to find the correlation between his hobby and tim this time deciding to be robin #instead of the shadow chasing AFTER Batman #but basically it’s because this time tim had someone to make of Batman #he’s not alone #and he’s a kid #he wants to play #and now that he can play With someone of course Timmy is gonna chose his hero

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earthnashes · 11 months

Photo

It's been a long day, and Melon is exhausted. Ever since escaping Hookbill and those pesky Lakitus, he and Mario had been on the move almost non-stop, taking advantage of the Super Star Fruit's power to cover more distance. But it had to wear off eventually, with Mario burping off the remnant of the magic before they slowly--but surely- sunk all the way back to the forest floor and in the middle of the Sluggy Snowdrift Mountains.

As soon as they touched ground a blizzard fell upon them, and Melon set out to find suitable shelter.

So far, no such luck. No matter where he turned, all Melon could see was the vast expanse of snow, the screen of heavy snowflakes, and the dark silhouettes of tall mountain peaks in the distance. As a yoshi the cold didn't bother him as much, but he could feel the shivering of Mario upon his back even wrapped so tightly in his favorite blankie (how he managed to keep it, Melon can't be too sure).

Melon stopped for only a moment, just to pick the boy up from his back and instead cradle him close to his chest. He huffed hot air across Mario's red-tinged face, tucked his blanket closer (if that were possible). When all Mario did in response was shiver even harder, Melon let out a trill of distress; he had to find something.

With his eyes straining against the blizzard Melon set off again, head on a swivel in hopes of finding anything that could work.

His luck finally earned him a place in the form of an old burrow. It must've been home to a Huffin Puffin before it migrated. Whatever the case, it was empty, and Melon wasted no time setting the place straight.

Snow was dug out and away, debris cleared, dirt scrapped until it lay flat and dry. Only when he felt it right did he set Mario down in the bare nest, being sure to tuck him into his blanket before he settled in himself. Melon positioned himself in front of the entrance to shield the boy from the cold, curling protectively around him.

He didn't dare sleep, not at first. He waited until he felt Mario's shivering subsided, until his breath evened out into the cadence of a peaceful slumber. Until he was sure the kid was warm and secure, red eyes trained on his face for any sign of discomfort.

Mario eventually sighs and snuggles deeper into the yoshi's side, chewing contently on his binki, and it's only then Melon allows the insistent pull of sleep to drag him under.

-----------

Against the darkness of the night, three pairs of red eyes peek into the den. Even against the howl of the blizzard they can hear the reptile's rumbling from within; it's likely a purr, but one as small as a mouse can never be too careful.

Two of the three stay back, mindful of their distance, but one braves the entrance and quietly patters into the den. Closer to the yoshi and the human cub he's curled around.

The hidden mousers squeak out questioningly, but the brave one doesn't answer at first. It clambers up a rock and leans as far as it dares, peering into the sleeping face of the small child.

Brown hair? Check.

Big nose? Check.

Red hat with an M? Double check.

This is the one they were searching for. The Tweeters reported true.

Finally the brave Mouser squeaks its affirmative; perhaps a little loudly, if the sudden growl--sleepy but full of warning-- was of any indication. The rodents flee the den before they could wake the yoshi and his boy up, cowardly but excited nonetheless.

The boss will be very pleased with their findings.

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

Part 7<<– Part 8 (CURRENT) –>> Part 9 (TBA)

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

Part 8 of Melon's Adventure is here! :) We're now entering the home stretch of the first act of this story; only 2 more parts to go!

I'm super excited to finally get so close to the end, largely because I have plans on making mini artbooks out of the story's illustrations (it'll include both the art and the written shorts). The books is planned to also include things like concept art, a few WIP progress shots of some of the pages, character bios of the main characters + enemies, and unique cover art. It's gonna be a bit of an undertaking but I think it'll be fun!

At any rate, that's all for now! Apologies for the writing in this one; I've been a little sick the past few days so the quality may have suffered a little bit, but I wanted to deliver both to ya'll on time. ;_; I hope you enjoy! More to come soon!

#nintendo #yoshi's island #Super Mario #nintendo headcanon #my art #my stuff #yoshi #mario #baby mario #au #headcanon

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the-traveling-poet · 7 months

Text

Headcannon no. 6

════════════════════════════════════════

Blushing

This man will fight tooth and nail to maintain his composure.

He’s gotta keep that “I couldn’t care any less abt anything or anyone” expression intact.

But the moment his crush happens to do something cute?

i.e. breathing and exiting in his general vicinity.

He’s gotta find the quickest excuse he can to turn away and hide his cheeks and ears.

He has the cutest blush too, spreading pink across the bridge of his nose to his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

His favorite excuse to use when being seen like this is “it’s too damn hot in here.” Hange has busted him on this lie in the past by reminding him they were outside. In the dead of winter.

When he had to physically turn away or cover his face? “Shitty headache…”

When asked why he was leaving a room so hastily upon your arrival? “Gotta shit.”

He’s so smooth with his excuses…

He had to up and leave Erwin’s office the one day his crush walked in to hand off some reports, a bright smile on their face as they greeted Levi after greeting Erwin.

That damned smile of yours always got him.

He hates how easily his composure crumbles around you, and is constantly trying out new ways to hide his reactions to your beauty and general adorableness.

The easiest way he’d found was to tighten the cloth mask over his face when he was cleaning.

Pls just imagine the way he’d pull the cloth so far up over his nose that half his eyes are covered and you can’t even see his ears PLEASE.

One time when cleaning around HQ with his squad, he’d entered a room expecting to come check in on Eren’s progress.

Imagine the way his eyes would comically widen when he sees you instead; bent over on all fours to clean under a desk.

You were just being thorough with your work to make sure it met your Captain’s expectations :)

He’d have immediately gripped at his mask to cover his whole face, knowing what was about to happen.

Cue him running into the doorframe on his rush out of the room with a muffled curse from behind the white fabric.

Even over the more innocent acts, like bringing him a cup of tea when he wasn’t expecting it.

He nearly cursed himself out after you left for having stuttered out a reply.

“O-oh. T-thanks uhh…Thank you, Y/N…”

I think he’s the type to lay awake in bed late at night curled up on his side under the blankets letting himself blush like mad in the darkness from imagining scenarios of you being in a relationship with him.

He craves your attention and your presence, but as soon as he gets it he’s tucking tail and running.

He is so down bad for you but he can’t tell a soul. Much less you.

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oikasugayama · 4 months

Text

subm!ssive series: Ango

MDNI, sexts, established relationship, EMPHASIZED mommy kink, whiny+submissive ango, soft dom reader, cunnilingus, cum eating, amazon position (click for illustrated reference), creampie

It’s the natural progression of your relationship for you to become the more dominant one. Ango is inexperienced in love so he’s prone to neglect you without realizing it. You, however, are not one to let a good thing slip away so when he gives you the cold shoulder or acts like a brat, you force him to verbalize what’s bothering him and stop taking shit out on you.

More often than not the issue is stress from work and fear that his enemies will hurt you, so you spend a lot of time “taking his mind off” these things and “helping him destress,” ;) which also helps him manage his fears. However, he’s never had the most creativity or confidence in bed, so things gradually turn to you becoming more dominant here as well.

You’re in bed when Ango gets home from work. The door slams shut behind him, his shoes and briefcase thump to the ground, and he quickly makes his way to your bedroom to find you.

You sigh happily, languidly smiling at him when he rushes through the doorway.

“Hi baby,” you say softly. “You’re just in time.”

He watches in awe as your sticky fingers gently pat your messy pussy, leaving trails of cum and wetness in the air between. He nearly falls to his knees right then and there seeing you all spread out and waiting for him.

“Come here,” you coo, holding your sticky hand out toward him. “I need you to clean this off.”

Ango rushes to your side, gently grabbing your wrist and holding it steady as he slips your fingers into his mouth. His eyes flutter closed and he moans softly as soon as the taste of you registers on his tongue.

“Good boy,” you say encouragingly, sliding your free hand up your naked body to caress your tit. You tug your hand away from him after a few seconds of his slurping and licking all of your slick off of your hand. He whines, trying to hold your wrist still.

“If you want a taste you need to use your words, Ango.” He opens his eyes and looks at you in his pathetic, tired, needy way, and you can already tell how this night is going to go. He’ll be putty in your hands the whole evening and crying by the time he finally cums.

“I want another taste of you, mommy. Please let me eat you out.”

“Of course. But you need to take your suit off first, and hang it up so it doesn’t wrinkle. I don’t want to have to iron it again.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, quickly shaking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. He stares hungrily at your body-- especially at your wet cunt-- as he undresses and hastily hangs his suit in the closet and puts his dirty clothes in the hamper. When he comes back to the bed, crawling up to you from the foot of it, he’s completely naked, just as you are.

“May I please?” he asks, laying between your legs, his face right above your aching pussy.

“Give me your glasses,” you say, holding your hand out to him. He takes them off quickly and places them in your hand. You take your time inspecting them-- making sure they’re not cracked, not too dirty-- and folding the arms closed. You reach to the side and set them carefully on the nightstand, then turn back to him and reach down, pushing his hair back from his face.

“How was work?”

He whines loudly, shifting his crotch against the bed. He doesn’t want to talk about work, just wants to get straight into the action, but you love teasing him.

“[Y/N]--”

“Who?”

“Mommy…”

“Good boy. Answer my question, Ango. How was work?”

“It was fine,” he says, glancing from your cunt to your face. “I finished a heap of reports about the last incident with the Armed Detective Agency,” he answers absentmindedly, not really able to focus on explaining the mind-numbing tasks he spent the last 8 hours doing.

“That’s good. Did you have to save them from trouble again?”

Ango whines again, his lip wobbling slightly. He can’t take his eyes off your cunt now and he licks his lips before he answers. “I was cleaning up after them. They didn’t technically do anything wrong, but I had to… prove it… mommy, please,” he whines, acting like he can barely hold himself back. You can tell that the second you give him the OK he’s going to dive in.

“Please what, Ango?”

“Please let me eat you out now. Work was really boring, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I want to make you feel good, mommy.”

“Hmm…” You run your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly in the way you know he likes. He nuzzles his head up into your hand and his eyes flutter closed again. You pretend to be thinking, humming a couple more times as you scratch his scalp. Finally, your hand stills and he looks at you.

“Okay,” you say, pushing his face down to your cunt. “Make me cum, Ango.”

His tongue immediately lunges out to taste a fat glob of your wetness and cum-- he knows you’d been playing with yourself before he got home; you’d been sending him pictures for an hour. He wants to know how many times you’ve cum already, but there’s no way in hell he’s stopping to ask you now.

He selfishly slurps up as much of your heat as he can before he finally points his tongue and starts flicking it back and forth across your clit. He’s very knowledgeable when it comes to your body-- he knows exactly what it can take and what it can do. By the way your hands tightern in fistfulls of his hair and your breath hitches and your hips buck up to meet his face, he thinks you’ve probably already come twice, and now he’s determined to give you your third orgasm.

“Mm, Ango,” you moan, grinding your hips up into his mouth. “Good… good boy.”

His face burns with a blush but he also feels prideful and driven because of your praise. He wraps his arms around your hips, locking them together over your stomach to hold you in place. One of your hands pets his while the other stays in his hair.

He flattens his tongue and draws fat, lazy circles over your clit and hood, making you whimper each time he flicks over a certain, extra sensitive spot. He notices almost immediately and targets that spot next, flicking back and forth relentlessly, trying to work you up fast so you’ll praise him again.

“Mm… Fuck… You’re so good with your tongue, Ango.”

He moans into your cunt and buries his face further, almost lovingly nuzzling into it, getting your juices all over his face from his nose to his chin. He moves back to your clit and slurps and suckles on it given that it’s nice and swollen from your previous abuse of it. Your moans turn high and whiny. Your nails dig into his hand and claw at his scalp.

Cum, he thinks. Please cum. Please, please, please.

It takes a couple more minutes of fast licking and suckling but you do cum hard, grinding up against his face which you hold in place with both of your hands. He loves being used like this, loves when you ride his face even when he’s laying between your legs. He’d let you use him for your pleasure any day, more than happy to make you cum as much as you want.

When you finally let go of him, he doesn’t immediately get up. He kisses your pussy all over, from your clit down to your taint and back up. He spreads his kisses around your inner thighs, then dives back in, unable to help himself. He once again licks into your cunt, trying to slurp out as much of your cum and wetness as he can.

“Ango, stop,” you whine, squirming. “I wanna fuck you. Get up.” You whine again. “I need to be wet to get your dick in me, you dummy.”

“You’re always perfect,” he mumbles against your pussy lips. “So perfectly wet and tight and warm. I don’t deserve how perfect you are.”

“Oh, hush,” you sigh, petting his hair. “Get up and wipe your face, pet.”

Ango gives your pussy one last kiss and greedy lick before he lets go of your hips and shakily gets to his knees. You immediately look to see how hard he is, and just as you expected, he’s not only hard but he’s already oozing pre-cum.

“I love how much you love eating me out,” you say to him as he sits on the edge of the bed and uses a tissue to clean his face. You reach over and trace lines between the moles on his back. “You’re such a sweet boy. I wanna make you feel so good, baby. You deserve it for being such a good boy.”

“Thank you,” he says, tossing the tissue away and turning to face you. “I love you.”

“I love you more. Come here and lay down.” You sit up and get out of the way so Ango can take your place laying in the middle of the bed. He does so, immediately spreading his legs and holding his knees up slightly, knowing which position you’re going to go for.

You kneel right against his ass, your thighs bracing his to hold them further up. You lean down over him and kiss him, also taking the opportunity to push your breasts against his flat chest, knowing that he likes the feeling of your heavy tits on him. You make out with him, both of you panting and moaning softly into each others mouths as you start slightly humping his ass, leaving a small wet patch against his skin where your dripping cunt touches his skin.

“I need you,” Ango whimpers against your lips. “Please fuck me, mommy.”

“I’m getting there, baby, I promise.”

You pull back from his mouth and look down at his cock laying against his belly. You hold it gently and spread his precum around his tip, getting him wet and messy as you start to drag your hand up and down his shaft. He moans softly, biting his lip as he watches you.

“That feel good?”

“Yes, mommy.”

“You want me to put it in?”

“Yes, mommy, yes yes yes,” he pants, eyes widening, his hands reaching out to caress your sides and help you balance as you finally shift so you’re on your feet, crouching above Ango’s cock. You take it in your hand and point it up and slightly back so you can lower yourself onto it. You throw your head back and moan with your mouth hanging open.

“Ango, fuck. You have such a nice, big cock. It fills mommy up so good.”

Ango moans too, hands tightening on your waist. “Thank you, mommy. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He babbles on, thanking you for fucking him as you start humping him, using his cock as if it’s yours. You make sure to hold his knees up and apart the way he does to you on the rare occasion he takes control, basically folding him in half as you fuck yourself on his cock.

“Touch me, Ango,” you tell him breathlessly after a moan-filled couple of minutes of humping him. “I know you wanna play with my titties.”

“Yes,” he sighs happily, reaching out to cup both of your breasts in his hands. He pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers, trying not to let them out of his hands as you keep fucking him. Your tits jiggle in his hands with every thrust and he feels his mouth watering at the sight of it. He wishes he could get them in his mouth, but it’ll have to wait for later.

You readjust your position, finally tired of squatting over him. You gently lower yourself onto your knees with his cock still inside you, making sure he doesn’t yelp or yell out or suddenly get hurt by the way your angle changes and makes his cock point down between his legs.

He only moans and keeps looking at you with love-struck pussy-drunk eyes, so you consider yourself good to continue. Now that you’re kneeling behind him, you can glide your hips back and forward as if grinding on him while riding, but since you’re behind him your thighs smack his ass with every thrust. You push harder, fucking yourself faster on his cock, making your skin slap against his, sending jolts through his whole body that have him shaking up and down on the bed from the force of your movements.

“Mommy,” he mewls, high and throaty. “Mommy, I need to cum. Please! I’m gonna cum. I can’t hold it in!”

“Cum in me, baby,” you tell him through gasping breaths. “Fill me up. Show me you love me and give me all your cum, Ango.”

By the time your hand has reached up to flick at his perky nipples, he’s already spilling deep inside your pussy, painting your walls milky white in thick spurts. He moans your name, and mommy, but mostly your name as he cums, and as he comes down from his high all he can whine is “I love you, I love you.”

You raise yourself up and let his softening cock slip out of your cunt. You both watch as his cum dribbles out of you and lands on the curve of his ass.

“Good boy,” you coo, swiping his cum up with your finger. You suck it into your mouth and taste him, humming happily. “You even taste good. That’s ‘cause you’re my sweet boy, huh?”

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wttcsms · 1 year

Note

“she fell first, but he fell harder” with any inarizaki boy of your liking please! 🩵 have a good day~

pairing rintarou suna x f!reader word count 2.6k content contains mutual pining, tutor!au, right person/wrong time, bittersweet ending, unrequited love, slight angst author’s notes maybe not what u anticipated hehe

You don’t look up from your book even though the slamming of a bookbag on top of the table obnoxiously announces the arrival of another student, one who’s obviously going to take the seat next to yours.

“Hey—” So it’s a boy then.

“—can I ask you for a favor?”

Now you look up, partially annoyed that he’s interrupted you while you were in the middle of reading a particularly interesting paragraph, but more curious than not. You tilt your head, taking him in. Of course, you know Rintarou Suna — it’s hard for any student in the school not to know him. But just because you’re aware of his existence — and if you dare to allow yourself to be bold enough, you think he’s aware of your own — doesn’t exactly make the two of you chummy enough to ask each other for favors on a Tuesday morning.

You must have a bad poker face because he raises both hands in mock surrender. “Look, just hear me out. I need to pass this English class or my coach and captain won’t sign off on allowing me to play in the next few matches. I’ve seen the rankings; you’re top of our class. You know this shit a lot better than I do.”

A beat passes.

Two startling and equally scary revelations:

Now that you’re finally seeing him up close, Suna’s eyes are a much lighter shade than you thought they were. (Not that you’ve given his eyes much thought up until now, anyway.) It suits him. And,

Suna is absolutely aware of your existence.

“I’ll owe you one.” He says, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He’s playing at being nonchalant, but you can see it in those lighter-than-you-thought eyes of his that he’s practically pleading with you.

“I want you to convince Atsumu Miya to do an interview for the school paper.” You finally say.

Raised eyebrows is the closest thing you’ll get to seeing emotion on his face, you think. “Done.” And then, “Why Atsumu?”

“He’s not an easy person to get a hold of, but I know being the first person to ever interview him will probably mean something in the future.”

He nods, taking it in. “So it’s not because you’ve got a crush on him?”

You can’t tell if he’s teasing you or not; his voice and facial expression give nothing away. Shifting a bit in your seat, you frown. “No. His bad dye job makes him an eyesore.”

The corners of Suna’s mouth curve up at that.

ii.

“I didn’t know you wrote for the school paper,” Suna says.

“I’m the president of the club.” You push a paper covered in red pen marks, all of them corrections and criticisms against him. “Suna, we’ve been going at this for almost two weeks now. How have you barely improved?”

“Maybe you’re just not a good tutor.” You can read him well enough to know that he’s only joking. “You wanna be a journalist or somethin’?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. At least pretend to look over your paper.” Sighing because you know he won’t actually do anything unless you appease him, you shrug. “I want to be a sports reporter.”

“So that’s why you were so excited to meet with Atsumu!” You don’t expect him to actually be invested in your life, but you excuse his exclamation as him being bored out of his mind and savoring any distraction he can get.

The idea of being just a pleasant distraction from the pain of schoolwork makes you feel weird.

iii.

As you near the two-month mark since your tutoring sessions began, you make progress with Suna. He’s funnier than you realize, both of you sharing the same dry sense of humor that has jokes that can only properly be delivered if you say it with a straight face. He’s shown you about 200 of the images and videos cluttering his camera roll, and you pretend there’s no intimacy in that. His grades in English have substantially gotten better, to the point where you’re certain one day he’s going to decide that he doesn’t need tutoring anymore.

(For some reason, that makes you kind of sad.)

For now, you’re content to just be sitting next to him, both of you silently working on your assignments. He’s rewriting his essay due tomorrow (he’s a bit of a procrastinator, really) and you on your latest article for the school paper. The silence in the library — the silence wrapping the two of you together — is surprisingly comfortable.

Sometimes, Suna can’t make it to the tutoring sessions, and you pretend that it doesn’t matter. You just shrug and smile and move on. After the third time he does, he confesses that it’s because he’s seeing someone.

We’re just talking, he tells you. But you know that he must really like her because Suna doesn’t usually waste his breath talking about things he doesn’t care to talk about. He’s the one who brought her up completely unprompted. You actually would have been more than okay with remaining completely oblivious to whoever Suna decides to enter the talking stage with.

He yawns, stretching his arms while he does so.

It should be illegal, you decide, for someone so out of reach to still be so close to you. If you shifted your body back against your chair, nothing would stop the inevitability of his outstretched fingers brushing against your hair. The thought of that happening makes you far more excited than it should.

(He never tells you when they stop talking, but you know when they do because somewhere in between all these tutoring sessions, you started to learn him.)

iv.

“You really think I’m just messin’ around?” He’s got his elbow resting on the library table, cheek and chin laying against the open palm of his hand. When Suna smiles, it’s a little crooked, almost like a smirk, yet warm enough to cause heat to rise to your cheeks, especially when he’s smiling and staring at you like that, like you’re the one person he actually wants to see.

“You’re always messing around,” You point out.

“I wouldn’t joke about this.” There’s that familiar pleading look in his eyes that contains enough superhuman strength to pound away at your steely resolve. It’s the same look he gave you all those months ago when you two were nothing more than classmates exchanging favors. It’s the same damn look that got you caught up in all sorts of messes: rearranging your schedule to tutor him, suddenly spending more time making sure you look good for school, rejecting the other guy who first asked you the same question Suna’s asking now…

“I’m serious. Please go to the dance with me.”

“You didn’t even give me chocolate or flowers.” You manage to say, trying to ignore the pleased sensation that overtakes your body. It’s a different reaction from what you felt when your other classmate asked, and he at least had the decency to bring you your favorite drink from the vending machine when he did it. “This doesn’t seem like a very serious request.”

He snorts. “Would you have even wanted me to show up to homeroom with a poster and a bouquet and the twins serenading you as I asked you to a school dance?”

He knows you well enough that an extravagant proposal like that would have you wanting to run into the nearest bathroom stall and lock yourself in there until school ended. The fact that he knows you would hate anything remotely close to that, less dramatic or not, makes you agree to go with him.

(Perhaps he’s spent these tutoring sessions learning you, as well.)

“Hey!”

You turn around at the sound of a familiar voice, smiling when he comes into view. Donned in the same oversized gown, graduation cap hanging from one hand, Rintarou Suna is smiling back at you.

“Knew you would graduate top of our class. Congratulations.”

“And you were ranked within the top twenty. Being a volleyball star just wasn’t enough for you, huh?”

It feels good to be out here, freshly graduated and knowing the rest of the world is out there, just beyond the boundaries of your high school. The heat is getting the best of everyone wearing the thick graduation gowns, but instead of looking like a sweaty mess like the rest of you mere mortals, Rintarou just seems to shine, as if he’s made for summer. His hair sticks up, probably an effect of being stuffed in the cap for so long, and you find yourself pressing down on his hair. This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to help him tame his cowlick, and the action is so familiar, that it doesn’t even catch him off guard.

“My tutor carried.” He says, grinning at you.

(You feel considerably warmer now, and it’s not because of the sun.)

The laugh you give him makes his grin only grow wider. You sound equal parts pleased and surprised, just like how you always do whenever he decides to randomly compliment you. Is it bad that he wants to make you laugh like this for the rest of his life?

Before he can make a proper quip, one that will surely have you laughing even harder, someone is gently tugging you away from him.

“Hey, babe, my parents wanted to get pictures of us together.” And then, as if realizing Suna’s right there even though he’s tall enough to be hard to miss and close enough to tug you back towards him, the boy stares at him. “Oh, hey. Suna, right?”

Everyone here pretends as if it’s not already obvious that you all know each other.

“Congrats on nationals, man.”

“Thanks.” Suna says, without sounding the least bit thankful, even though he should be. He thought the two of you broke up already, and he’s been preparing for how he’s going to confess his feelings for you for the past two months now. At least now, he won’t have to suffer your rejection and embarrass himself for making a move on a taken girl.

“C’mon, my mom’s going to hate us if we keep her waiting any longer.” Your boyfriend is holding your hand, leading you toward wherever his parents are. You turn your head, looking like you want to say something to Rintarou, anything at all, but instead you give him a shrug and a small smile.

He keeps that smile of yours tucked safely in his pocket, not knowing that it’ll be a few more years until he gets to see it again.

vi.

Staying in touch is hard, but Suna is nothing if not stubborn. A random TikTok sent to you at 2 AM here, an attempt to meet for lunch if the two of you are in the same city at the same time there.

Getting drunk from your high school reunion and sneaking into the library the two of you spent the better half of your high school years pining after each other in is the most fun Suna’s had in years. The two of you are lying on the plush carpet, too drunk to care about how dirty it must be.

“Gosh, we spent so much time in this place.” You’re looking up at the ceiling, tacky glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to it, remnants left behind by students who graduated way before you two.

“Some of the happiest times of my life.” He’s being too honest without realizing it.

You laugh, thinking he’s just joking because you always think he’s joking every time he tries to hint at his feelings for you. Feelings that didn’t hit him until he realized how pretty you are, even with your hair tied back and your bottom lip being bitten to death by your teeth as you type away at an article none of the students in this school will even bother to read. Feelings that he wished he confessed to you on the dancefloor, when the two of you slow danced, and you asked him are we doing this as friends? and he didn’t have the balls to say anything but of course it’s as friends.

“Yeah, I bet having me roast the shit out of every paper you wrote was the highlight of your second year.”

“It’s because it was you doing it that made me so happy.”

You laugh even louder at that. “Oh my God, Rin, you’re such a sap when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not just sayin’ shit just to say it, y’know? I mean it.” He tries his hardest to make the sincerity in his words stick, but he’s drunk, and his words are kind of slurred, and his intentions just slip and slide away. “I liked you back then.” Still do, he doesn’t say. I still like you.

“No way, really?” You turn to face him, wide-eyed with a tipsy smile on your face that lets him know that you just don’t know how serious he is right now. “Because I had the biggest crush on you in high school too!”

He always assumed the feelings were returned, but the possibility that they weren’t — that him confessing would just fuck up your friendship and have you leave him — was too large for him to risk it. Swallowing hard, he asks,

“Did you… Did you ever think we would end up together? Back then, I mean?”

You hum, too inebriated and maybe too distant to him now to recognize the pleading look in his eyes. “I wanted us to, but then I thought there wasn’t a chance in hell you would actually like me back. Gosh, this was all so long ago, though. I can’t believe we used to like each other, isn’t that so funny, Rin?”

The used to reveals enough to him.

vii.

You’ve made a name for yourself now. You’re not just a mere sports reporter (he doesn’t know that he’s the first person you confessed your dream career to), but every professional volleyball team in Japan has deemed you their favorite reporter to see out on court. Rintarou blames the fluttering of his heart and the excitement that floods him every time he sees you at one of his games on your popularity, but he sees through his own flimsy excuse.

You don’t show favoritism when it comes to conducting your post-game interviews, but tonight, you’re standing in front of the camera with him, smiling up at him with a microphone in your hand. He’s happy you’re here, but the only question he cares to answer is the what if? that’s been haunting him ever since that reunion. What if he confessed in high school? What if he sobered up after that night and told you the truth? Would this interview be different, then? Would you still say,

“Congratulations on a game well played!”

And would he still say,

“I heard some more congratulations are in order.” He’s giving you the same lopsided smile he always gives you, the smile that rests on his face yet belongs to only you. It’s all anyone could talk about. Pictures of you flood his timeline; his teammates, other players, and sports fans alike all were overjoyed at your happy announcement. You didn’t just win his heart over, but a good portion of Japan’s as well.

“Congratulations on your engagement.”

You smile at him, practically beaming, shining so much brighter than these stadium lights, and he holds onto this one even tighter. A smile just for him, placed right next to the memory of the one you’d given him at graduation.

#suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #rintarou suna x reader #hq x reader #fluff #one shot #drabble #angst #imagine #hq fanfic #wttcsms writing warmups

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dontexpectmuch · 3 months

Text

part 2 - [Lost in Madrid]

author note: jude is annoying but whats new + im too lazy to proofread. hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think about it!!

series.masterlist // part three

“but, how do i know what participle form to use?”

you turn around to face adriana, one of your students in this course, “well, unfortunately you actually have to learn those.”

at your response, you could see hear shoulders sack a bit, muttering a spanish curse word under her breath.

“but,” you speak up again, hoping to lift up her spirits, “you’ll know them in no time, they’re easy to remember.”

nodding, she smiles at you before continuing to work on her report that she needs to wrote by the end of the month, something to monitor her progress in class.

sighing, you look around the class room, eyes focusing on the windows. it has been almost a month of you being here, teaching and helping around the center, and though it’s still a bit slow, you surely find different aspects to nite down for your thesis.

“hey, pretty teacher!” a voice appears by the door, making you tear away your eyes from the trees outside to look at the person.

“ah, lorenzo, buen día.” you smile at lorenzo, a new friend of yours.

you guys have been introduced to another by hernan, who claims that since you are in the same age range, you would get along even better than with others in the center. and he wasn’t wrong. even if you haven’t known lorenzo for a long time, you still find yourself enjoying his presence quite a lot, feeling comfortable enough to talk about various things with him during your lunch break. however, señor lagarde is still your favorite person, him giving you the feeling of an uncle that is also a father figure.

you walk up to him, looking at your students briefly before placing your attention on him.

“are you done with your group?”

lorenzo nods, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms in front his chest. they looked bigger this way, really good even, you admit. but you try to focus on his brown eyes instead, which are already looking at your face.

he turns his head to the side, smiling slightly, “i only had the younger ones today, they work fast. how about you, linda?”

you mirror his smile, “yeah, almost. they started their reports today, that is why it’s taking a bit longer.”

your gaze moves up to the clock on the wall, eyes widening as you see the time, “guys! you can already pack and leave for your practical lessons, the coaches wanted to start earlier today!”

choruses of “sí”s and “gracias”s are heard throughout the class, everyone is packing up and leaving the room, but not before wishing you a nice day.

“shall we go home together?” lorenzo pushes his body off the door frame, hand going through his dark hair to push it out of his forehead.

you move back to your desk, quickly packing your stuff, “can’t, i promised señor to watch his team play today.”

“want me to stay with you?”

smiling at his offer, you shake your head, kindly declining, “it’s fine, señor and i get along really well.”

“pero, what if that guy bothers you again?” his eyes sharpen and his lips are drawn into a straight line, though you can’t help but chuckle a bit at his behavior.

“no one bothers me! it was an accident!” you explain, putting your bag on your shoulder and walking out the room.

lorenzo is hot on your heels, not satisfied with your answer, “was that thing during lunch also an accident?”

thinking back, you pause a bit, unsure of what to say, “well, i don’t know? maybe he didn’t see me.”

scoffing, he shakes his head, “if you say so, but let’s get lunch outside next time, yes?”

“yeah, we’ll see.”

you bid your goodbyes and start to walk to the open field, thinking about the situation lorenzo was referring to,

“it’s so hot today.” you groan, moving along the line with your plate at hand.

“wait til it is august, it’s even worse then.” lorenzo replies, a smile dancing on his lips.

as you move up to the place for your drinks, you get yourself a coffee and some fruit, balancing them on your way to your seat.

but, right before you arrive at your table, someone bumps into your shoulder, causing the hot coffee to spill over your hand.

“ow, fuck. shit shit shit-“ you quickly put the coffee and plate down, shaking your hand for some relief.

“didn’t see you there.” a familiar voice behind you says, making your eye twitch.

“usually,” begin, turning around to face the british footballer, “one would apologize, instead of saying something like that.”

however, jude just nods, eyes focused on something else as he already begins to walk away, “yeah, ‘m sorry.” is all he says before he moves to the table to sit next to his friends.

scoffing, you looking down at your hand, which still feels hot, “stupid fucker.”

that trip down memory lane makes you scoff and you try shaking your head to get out of it.

but you also didn’t want to think too badly of someone you didn’t know, because who knows? maybe he has had a bad day that day? maybe he wasn’t feeling well?

instead of focusing on that, you try to focus on your view ahead, a happy señor lagarde that was explaining something to the players lined up in front of him.

in order not to bother him, you quietly move to your seat, a bit further away from the field than last time, just to be safe. you put your bag on the ground and rest your hands on your hips, eyes still looking at the people on the field. this time, there are more players than before, from different age groups and all of them play professional football here in madrid.

everything goes according to the schedule for a while, nothing too exciting. the sun is still high up in the sky, its rays heating up the entire place, resulting the players to sweat excessively during their training. you try to stay professional, you really do, but seeing some of the elder players running around the field, their shirts clinging onto their body and the sweat rolling down their neck, just makes you appreciate you internship a little more than necessary.

your daydreams come to an end when you hear someone call out your name, making you tear away your gave from the grass on your feet.

“can you bring us some water bottles?” you hear the british player - what was his name again? - yell at you, voice booming over the entire pitch.

you open your mouth, wanting to yell back, something along the lines that you aren’t some water bottle holder or whatever. but, you hold back, deciding on being mature about it and doing what he asked [demanded] you to do.

you get up, grab the bag with water bottles and start walking towards the group of people. opening the bag, you let each of them grab out a bottle, hearing small “thank you’s” as you pass them. as you turn around to walk back, you feel something around your foot, causing you to slightly trip, though it is nothing major and you catch yourself immediately. you turn around, looking at your feet first before your gaze moves up, staying locked at the face of the british player, whose eyes look everywhere but your direction.

you bite your tongue, trying your best not to say anything you might regret later. you continue your way back to your seat, leaving the now empty water bag next to it.

as practice slowly comes to an end, you start to pack up your book and pen, thinking about what you could cook for dinner when you arrive home.

“are you a new coach here?”

looking up, you see jaden - at least that is what you think his name was - looking down at you, a towel slung around his neck and hands resting on his hips. his dark eyes look directly into yours, creating a weird feeling in your stomach.

are you getting sick? due to the weather changes perhaps?

“no,” you shake your head amd get up from your seat, his eyes never leaving yours and watching every movement from your side, as if you’re some kind of prey.

weirdo.

“i do an internship here, something with languages.”

the expression on his face morphs into one of enlightenment, “yeah, makes more sense.”

offended, your eyebrows draw together, getting ready attack this guy in front of you, “what is that supposed to mean?”

“nothin’” he throws his hands up in defense, “but, like, c’mon, y’know what i mean.”

“no, no i do not know what you mean,” you take a step forward, “why are you so rude?”

“‘m not rude! just trying to start a conversation.”

“well, you suck at that.”

now, he is the one offended, mouth open in shock, “no i don’t?” his accent was thick, maybe because he was getting worked up, “you suck at getting a conversation going!”

“no, i don’t!”

“you do, though.”

rolling your eyes you move away, making your way to the exit, “go away, jaden.”

he follows you, “it’s jude.”

“that’s what i said.”

“wow, you’re rude.” jude says, coming to a halt when you arrive at the door.

“me?” your eyes widen in anger? or is it frustration? you aren’t sure, but this guy surely knows how to awaken these emotions in you, “you’re the rude one! you never properly apologized for what happened during lunch!”

“i did!”

sighing, you close your eyes for a second, your nerves running thin, “listen, i gotta go-“

“want me to come with you.” his smirk makes you want to crave out his eyeballs, though you hold yourself back.

he is just a boy, he is just a boy, he is just a boy-

“woah, are you that happy that you forgot how to talk?” he speaks up again, smirk widening.

“have a nice day.” you monotonously reply, opening the door and closing it abruptly behind yourself.

———————————————————

you always liked to say that fate was mostly by your side due to your positive thinking and avoidance of negative attitudes. but that luck must have come to an end.

after that talk with jude - not jaden, you really have to start remembering names better - you hoped to avoid being around him as much as you could, not because he did anything wrong, but just to safe yourself from another [annoying] conversation with that guy.

as already mentioned, however, fate seems to enjoy to throw you into situations where avoiding him was nearly impossible.

whenever you walked onto the pitch during your weekly practical classes, he was already there, yelling inaudible things at your direction and laughing at every mishap that happens to you. whether it was spilling the water because you got scared by a loud noise, or because your phone slipped out of your hands.

during lunch breaks, he seems to make it his very own mission to stand in your way, taking away the last piece of cake or taking extra long to choose a meal option, and what not.

at first you thought that he might just want to tease his teammates, they have always had a playful relationship amongst themselves, not a second passing without a laugh or giggle. but every time he did something that annoyed you, his eyes were already focused on yours, teasing smirk almost inviting you to punch it away.

“i just don’t understand what he wants from me.” you decide to rant to one of your colleagues during your break, expression sour.

“well,” she begins, chuckling a bit, “maybe he wants to get to know you?”

you feel like laughing, not believing the words coming out her mouth.

“yeah? and that is why his shots always ‘accidentally’ hit my legs?” you point out, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your chair, “i just want a relaxing internship, dealing with a child was not on my bingo card.”

amanda, your colleague, laughs at your comment, leaning against the table, “that is how footballers flirt! you should give him a chance-“

“give whom a chance?” lorenzo interrupts your conversation, taking a seat next to you, his arm behind the back of your chair.

“no one.” you answer, looking at amanda knowingly, “i was just telling her about some dude.”

“who?”

“irrelevant.” you dismiss the topic and look at the time, eyes widening when you register what time it is. “i have to go, señor lagarde needs my help today.”

as you leave the room, you hear amanda shout at you, something along the lines to enjoy your time.

“ah, linda! great timing!” you are greeted by señors deep voice as soon as you step onto the pitch, your bag now left by the benches.

“i’m here to help!” you reply, laughing as he puts an arm around your shoulder.

his eyes focus on the players on the field, all of them shouting something in spanish, sometimes more curse words than actual commands.

“so,” señor begins, bending down to grab a football, “all you have to do is throw the ball and they pss it back with their head, yes? and i will tell them to either go high or low.”

nodding, you take the ball from his hands and walk towards one of the cones that are spread on the field.

blowing his whistle, señor gathers the players around you two, explaining the next exercise in spanish.

“i will do the younger ones, you have older.” he tells you, also grabbing a ball.

“okay, sure.” you look up, though your smile immediately vanishes are you are met with a smiley jude at the beginning of the line.

“miss me?” his teasing made your ears bleed - not really, but you are pretty sure that it would happen soon enough - and you bite back a groan.

“alto.” your voice is low, eyes focusing on throwing the ball the way you need to.

and of course, of course, jude has no problems with passing it back, his technique almost flawless.

this routine goes on for another ten minutes, with jude always throwing sneaky comments in between the times when it is his turn.

at one point, he even stops standing in line, deciding to stand next to you and criticize the way you throw the ball, your pronunciation, the way you stand and you are pretty sure that if he could, he’d also criticize the way you breathe.

“no, no, that was too low, how is he supposed to get that?” - “higher, you gotta go higher!” - “why would you round your back like that?”

you are about to open your mouth, or maybe throw the ball against his face, but fate seems to favor him these days, since your thoughts are interrupted by señors final whistle.

“finally.” you throw your head back and begin to walk to your bag, the heat of the sun finally getting to you.

or maybe it was your nerves that are on the brick of giving up if you have to hear judes horrendous accent any longer.

“we should totally do that again!” jude jogs up next to you, matching you pace as you continue to walk.

you - sarcastically - smile at him, shaking your head, “no need, thanks.”

“no, but, you are shit at throwing the ball properly.”

“or,” you are getting provoked, you knew it, but it was so hard not to, “or maybe you just suck at passing the ball back? maybe you should be the one practicing your technique?”

lies, lies, lies, no matter how awfully you threw the ball at him, jude never made you even take one step to the side, perfectly delivering the ball back into your hands.

he chuckles, “you know that ain’t true.”

“you ain’t true.” your reply is dry, but you couldn’t help yourself.

today was exhausting and judes annoying comments didn’t help either.

“what are you? a kid?” he asks, not getting the hint of leaving you be.

you side eye him, “i’m older than you.”

“yeah i can tell.”

mouth open in surprise, you do the first thing that comes to your mind, which is hitting his back with your flat hand as hard as you could.

jude just giggles, though, finding amusement in your behavior.

“asshole.” is the last thing he hears you say before you walk out the door, not bothering to say any kind of goodbye to him.

“don’t miss me too much, yeah?” he shouts after you, the only reaction he gets is your middle finger, triggering a laugh out of him.

————————————————————

the sound of a spanish pop song softly playing through the speakers is heard through the entire store, accompanied by the sound of your sneakers rubbing against the ground.

saturdays in madrid are definitely your favorite, you think, the heat of the sun, the sound of children playing on the streets and the shouts and cheers from your neighbors around your block all contribute into that homey feeling you have gained during your first month here. you still struggle to speak the language, the different dialects around town not really helping, but so far you have only met people that are kind enough to offer you their help, regardless of their level of english skills.

the sun starts to set outside, aurora rays shining through the windows, creating a calm and relaxing atmosphere in the store.

you hum along the melody of the song, eyes going through the different snacks that are being displayed in the aisle.

bending down slightly, your finger finds it ways to your lips, tapping it lightly, “where is it?” your voice is low, only for you to hear - or that is what you think.

“you should try the olive oil chips, absolutely slaps.” his voice booms from behind you, startling you and ruining the current vibe.

you turn around, frustration slowly creeping onto your face, “what are you doing here?”

“wow,” jude puts his hands on his hips, teasing smile already present, “not even a hello? how are you?”

“are you stalking me?” is your second question, but you have to admit that it is really childish of you. he might be here to get some snacks, just like how you are. but his presence just triggers something inside you, something you couldn’t explain even if you wanted to.

jude scoffs, smile never leaving his [annoying] face, “you wish i was, huh?”

“i’ll sue you, or whatever!” you threaten, already getting worked up.

“for what? being too handsome?” a smirk dances around his lips, a kind of smirk that you want to slap out of his face [do you really?]

“is said handsomeness with us in the room right now?” your voice is monotonous, making judes eye twitch at your comment.

“maybe get some new glasses, grandma.”

you open your mouth for a comeback, but are interrupted by a new, soft voice.

“honey, did you get the snacks?”

judes eyes move to your face, “‘m tryin’” he winks at you - at least he tries, but it mostly looks like him blinking in a weird way.

you focus on the lady coming up behind judes right side, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this woman is his mother. jude looks like her a lot, and without wanting to compliment him in any way, you have to admit that she is beautiful. kind smile, warm eyes and beautiful aura surrounding her, you would entrust her your deepest secrets without a second thought.

“mum, this is my friend.” jude tells her your name, repeating the same process of telling you her name, denise. you want to tell him off for calling you his friend, but leave it out for another time.

you smile, stretching out your hand to shake hers, “it is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

she shakes your hand, smiling at you, “no need to be so formal, dear, denise is enough.” she tells you.

she turns to face jude, giving him her wallet and telling him something you can’t really make out. facing you once more, denise tells you goodbye and adds that she would like to have you over for some dinner sometime, you can’t really resist and tell her, yes, you’d love to come over and eat dinner. she walks off, disappearing behind another aisle without another word.

now, you focus on the guy in front of you again, his stupid smile making your eye twitch this time.

“why are you standing there?” well, maybe you are rude, and shit do you hate this feeling. jude never did anything too bad for you to treat him this way. you can’t even explain your dislike towards him, it is just something you can’t control, like when you start to dislike a person before even meeting them, not bothering to get to know them anyway. maybe because he made your first few weeks at the center harder than necessary, ticking you off for no reason.

with his mothers wallet in his hand, jude steps closer to you, picking up a snack that is on a shelf behind you, kind of caging you between his body and the shelf. you hold your breath, but his parfume still manages to find its way to your nose. his eyes stare at your face, and though this moment does not last longer than a few seconds, it surely feels like hours, everything going in slow motion.

“we should hang out sometime.” is the first thing he says after he takes a step back, now snack at hand and smile back on his face.

maybe he means well, genuinely interested in a friendship with you, however you still feel the need to get away from him as far as you could, a weird feeling spreading in your stomach after that little moment the two of you had. so you do what you have always done so far, pushing him away.

“not interested, thanks.”

you try to step forward to another aisle, but you way is being blocked by judes body, “no, but like, i am quite fun to be around, maybe you’d finally get a good humor yourself if i influence you enough.”

you roll your eyes, distaste not in the dark, “you? showing me how to have a good humor?”

he nods, a small agreement leaving his lips.

“and, your humor is what? bumping shoulders of others, hitting their legs with footballs,” you pause, recreating a think pause, “hm, what else?”

chuckling, jude mirrors your pose, “well, i think also being a smooth talker?”

that statement tickles a laugh out of you, the sound spilling from your lips clear. your eyes are closed, you won’t see it, but hearing you laugh causes judes smile widen, his cheeks even start to hurt. your smile brightens up your face, your cheeks look full and your pearly whites are present, all an addition to your radiant prettiness.

the warmth he feels is short lived, though, you calm down and simply tell him to get going, starting to walk away yourself.

you hear his footsteps follow you, but decide to not say anything anymore. there is no point of arguing with him any longer, he will be the same annoying jude that you have got to know over the past month. you won’t let him ruin this beautiful evening, everything has been going way too good for that - well, until you met him in the store.

“so,” jude is now walking beside you, grabbing some snacks and drinks on his way, “my place or yours?”

“i don’t want to fuck you, jude.”

“no, no!” he quickly denies, eyes wide, “i mean, we should definitely hang out more, y’know, strengthen our friendship.”

“no, thanks.”

“c’mooon.”

you open your apartment door, frustration painted on your face.

“just,” you take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. “just take off your shoes and put them next to mine.”

you turn to face the footballer standing behind you, excitement vivid in his face. you don’t know how, or when he did it, whether he just followed you here, but before you could notice it you have had led him to your home. he is just so annoying, winding you up at any given chance, that is why you didn’t notice that he followed you home - or this is what you’d like to tell yourself.

you walk into your kitchen, watching jude who follows you put your groceries onto the counter.

“you still didn’t have to carry them, y’know.” is all you say, a silent ‘thank you’ in your unique way.

jude simply smiles, “my mum would’ve make me sleep outside if i’d let you carry ‘em.”

you push yourself off the counter, moving to sit on your couch as you look up at him, “well, now that you’ve seen my apartment, you can go now, right?”

“no way!” jude decides to take a seat on the other couch, “we still have to eat the snacks i bought and play games!”

you lean your head back against the couch, sighing, “jude, c’mon. ‘m tired.”

“don’t care.”

he gets up again, and you hear some rustling from the kitchen, assuming that he is probably getting the snacks from the bags. you don’t bother to open your eyes when you hear him put bowls onto the coffee table, he will do whatever he wants anyway.

you decide to lift your head up to look at jude, only to find his face inches away from yours.

“what the fuck!” your instincts kick in and you do what first comes to your mind, you, well you slap him, hard.

his face flys to the left, eyes wide open in shock as he stands up straight, his left hand now covering his cheek, “bro, what the fuck is wrong with you!”

“with me!” you put your feet onto the couch, pressing your upper body against its back, “what the hell is wrong with you! why would you even be so close to me!”

“you had something on your face!” is his excuse, scoffing as he sits back on the couch, grabbing a drink from the table.

you shake your head in disbelief, not even bothering to answer him. you grab a bowl and put one of the chips into your mouth, testing the ones jude bragged about when you were still at the store.

“does your mother know that you are currently sitting on the couch in the home of a stranger?” you ask, looking at him.

“wait til she finds out you slapped her precious son, no more dinner for you.” he responds, taking a chip from your bowl even though there is a second one on the table.

“boo-hoo, cry me a river.”

“well, did you know that we live pretty close to each other?” jude skillfully changes the subject, taking another sip from his drink before setting it down, “we should definitely go home together after the practice sessions.”

your eyes wander around your living room, going over the different pieces of furniture around, “another friend of mine already walks with me.”

“ditch them.”

“no? why would i do that?”

“to hang out with me!”

“nah.”

jude crosses his arms in front of his chest, lips pouting slightly, “it’s always the elder ones that are so rude.”

“and you expect me to be friends with your childish self?” with how you much have been rolling your eyes ever since you met jude, you’re scared that they might get stuck one day.

“at least i’d keep the spirit of our friendship alive!”

“i pass.”

and though you don’t notice it, a small smile creeps its way onto your lips, gradually growing the more time you spend with jude sitting in your living room, eating snacks and listening to the different stories he has to tell. you didn’t think that you would spend your saturday evening sitting in your home, listening to some guy with a horrible accent talk about whatever came to bis mind, but it feels relaxing, not having to use your brain for something.

you also don’t notice your eyes feeling heavy, slowly but surely falling shut as you continue to listen to jude, his voice deep but softly telling you about his time in germany and how the people there would treat him.

as soon as he sees your eyes shut and head leaning against the back of the couch, he slowly gets up, careful to not make a sound, and grabs a blanket from the chair in the kitchen, draping it over your sleeping figure. he takes the bowls and drinks, leaving them by the kitchen counter before he moves to the door, putting on his shoes. he looks back one last time, just to check if everything is done, his eyes staying longer on your face than necessary. after a final look, he turns the doorknob and leaves your home, carefully shutting the door behind him.

#jude bellingham #football one shot #football x reader #x reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x you #football #jude bellingham fluff #LostinMadrid

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hawkeyetrained · 1 year

Text

Favorite Niece

Derek Hale x Fem!Argent!reader

Other Characters: Kate Argent, Allison Argent (mentioned), McCall Pack (mentioned)

Warnings: cannon level violence, but nothing too bad, Derek tied up, slight S1E11 spoilers

Summary: She is the older sister of Allison Argent and, unlike her sister, knows all about the supernatural world. What happens when her aunt visits and happens to capture her boyfriend?

Word count: 1,650

My family was well known in the hunter community. Each member was trained either as a hunter, or a leader. My mother was the leader in our family, until time came for me or my little sister to take her place. Allison and I had just moved to Beacon Hills with our parents. She was a sophomore while I was a few months away from finishing my senior year. My little sister still didn’t know too much about the supernatural world we lived in, but me, my aunt Kate had been teaching and mentoring me for years.

She saw the world in a much different light than I did though. She believed that anything supernatural should be killed, while I, on the other hand, thought that those living in peace and protecting their own people and spaces shouldn’t be put down.

When we first moved here, I met Derek Hale while out in the woods, practicing my knife throwing. He had stopped running when he heard my frustrated yells and curses, coming over to investigate and make sure no one was hurt. We were instantly drawn together, neither of us wanting to stay away from each other for more than a few hours. The fact that I came from a family of hunters was one of the first topics that came up when we first got together. When I assured him that I saw the world in a vastly different way than my family, he and I became inseparable.

Everyone in the hunting world knew the Hale’s, and their story. I didn’t want to believe that someone could be horrible enough to trap a family in their house and let them burn. But when Derek opened up and told me about the night of the fire, about the pain he went through after losing his entire family, I swore off hunting completely.

Now, we had been together for nearly half a year, and when my aunt Kate came into town to visit, Derek and I had to keep things even quieter than usual. Scott and Stiles both knew Derek and I were together, but we had them keep things to themselves when my baby sister began hanging around with the three of us and Derek.

“Hi there my beautiful niece.” Kate smiled widely as she came into my room. I set my notebook down and turned around in my chair, making sure my phone was face down so she couldn’t see my messages.

“Hey Aunt Kate.” I smiled back at her, hoping she couldn’t feel my anxiety rolling off my body in heavy waves. I hadn’t been able to get a hold of Derek for hours, and with the small group of hunters in town, I was overly nervous.

“You at a good place for a break?” She nodded back to my homework. “I wanna show you something.”

“Umm.” I closed my laptop after saving my English report. “Yeah, I can stop for the night.” I slipped my boots on and grabbed by burnt orange sweater as I followed her out the front door. “Mom, dad, Aunt Kate is kidnapping me for the night. Love you!” I yelled back into the house before getting in the car. “So, where are we going?”

“I have a surprise for you.” She had been teaching me more and more about the hunting world as I had been trying to keep her off my back with my relationship with Derek. “You’ve been making so much progress in your training with me. I can’t believe how quickly you picked up knife throwing, and I swear you’re a natural shooter, so I thought I would surprise you with a very easy first hunt.”

My blood ran cold, and it felt like my heart stopped beating. “What do you mean? You know how I feel about hunting.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “I know, but you’ll have to get over it eventually. What if something comes after your baby sister one day?” Threatening Allison like that made my entire body freeze. She knew how protective I was over my little sister, how I’d do anything to keep her safe and out of the hunting world if I could. My dad had just started teaching Allison the basics, so the thought of her being thrown into hunting like I was scared the hell out of me. “You need to know how to protect yourself and your sister.”

She opened her door and got out of the car. When did we stop? “Where are we?” I followed behind her, not being able to see much as we wondered through the darkness, only to stop in the basement of what I recognized to be the Hale house. “Aunt Kate?” My heart was pounding as I followed her farther into the basement, only to come to a room with Derek chained up to a metal frame, wires connecting the metal to the circuit box on the wall, my curious eyes widening in shock and fear.

“Surprise!” She gave me a wide grin and held her arms to her side, effectively making Derek jump awake and his eyes land on my face. “What better way to kick off your hunting life than to take out one of the most famous werewolves in Beacon Hills?”

My breathing was a bit heavier as I stared at Derek. His side was bandaged up, the wires of the circuit box disappearing under the black tape, and he looked like he hadn’t sept in days. I knew Kate had been torturing him, probably sending too much electricity through his body as her way of getting him to talk and not letting him heal properly. “You...you want me to kill Derek Hale?” I looked at my aunt like she was crazy.

“Yes!” She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and dragged me closer to the werewolf. Derek bared his teeth and growled at my aunt. “See, he’s just so feisty.” She didn’t know he was trying to protect me, not himself.

“Derek?” My voice was soft, my aunt taking it as disbelief, not my fear for his life. “I can’t do this. He never did anything to me.”

Kate rolled her eyes at me, dropping her arm and going over to the circuit switch. “Sure, you can. You just have to take the first few steps.” I hadn’t taken my eyes off of his, until I heard a small click, and Derek tensed up in pain, a loud roar tearing through his chest.

“No, no, Aunt Kate, stop! Stop!” I shrieked, running over to her table, and flipping the switch off. Derek relaxed back against the metal wall, a breath of relief falling from his lips. “Stop.”

“Oh, come on sweetheart, he’s a monster. Our family, we hunt them down to make sure they won’t ever hurt anyone.” My eyes were wide as I stared at Derek, his bare chest heaving as he took in all the air he could before my aunt would turn the machine back on.

“He hasn’t hurt anyone though.”

“But he will!” Her voice was getting louder and louder, almost yelling at me. “You need to understand that werewolves are dangerous and need to be put down.”

I was silent for what felt like hours, both Kate and Derek looking at me, waiting for my answer. “Ok.” I sighed. “You want me to kill him, fine. But I don’t want you breathing down my neck telling me I’m doing something wrong. Go wait in the car.” I had to convince her that I would go through with it. My fingers trailed over the black handgun sitting beside the machine on the table, slightly trembling. “Please, just let me do this my way.”

A proud smile covered her face as my eyes dropped to the ground. “Alright! I knew you were my favorite niece for a reason.” She clapped her hands together. “I’ll see you outside in twenty minutes.” Kate turned and walked out of the house. I didn’t move until I heard the car door shut behind her, then I moved quickly up to Derek’s side.

“Derek?” I placed my hands on his cheeks, turning his face to look at me. “Look at me, please.”

“Why? You wanna look into my eyes as you kill me? I knew it wasn’t real.” The pain in his words broke my heart.

My eyes filled with tears and I held onto his cheeks just a bit tighter. “Derek, I am nothing like my aunt. She is crazy and thinks anything supernatural should be killed. I can’t do that. I could never do that, especially not to you. I sent her out so I could get you free, so I could save you.” My hands smoothed down his sweaty hair. “Please, Derek, you gotta believe me. I could never hurt you.”

“You do this, and it’s not just Kate that will come after you. It’s all her hunter friends, your mom and dad, maybe even your sister someday. You’re ok with that?” His eyes locked on mine, listening to my heart for a change in pace.

“For you?” I smiled softly, resting my head against his. “Anything.” He leaned forward, pressing a searing kiss to my lips before I pulled away. “You see a key?”

He rolled his eyes. “Move.” I listened to his order, stepping back, and watching his movements carefully. Derek planted his feet, balled his hands into fists, and threw his arms forward, snapping the metal cuffs off his wrists and tearing the black bandage from his side. “Now let’s get out of here.”

“Just a second.” My feet carried me up in front of him, my hands resting around his neck as I pulled him down for another kiss. His arms came to wrap around me, pulling me closer to his chest for a moment before leaning back and taking my hand in his. “You scared the hell out of me.”

A car door slammed outside the old Hale house. “We need to go.”

@thetallassgirl

#derek hale #derek hale x reader #derek hale imagine #derek hale one shot #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #argent!reader

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tokyoyumeeee · 1 year

Text

Stitch you up…put you together…

featuring: dottore, scaramouche, tighnari

tags- yandere theme(stalking, murder, kidnapping), dr*g usage(during tighnari and dottore’s part), slight nsfw, reader’s gender not specified

IL DOTTORE the doctor had been eyeing you for some time or rather stalking you would be a better way to put it. his fixation with you started when you gave him a report concerning the balladeer’s whereabouts. it was the first time he’d ever met you. during your report, he couldn’t help but focus on how your uniform framed your figure perfectly, how soothing your voice sounded, and how you would nibble on your lower lip every time you weren’t sure of something. it was all too fucking adorable. you were stronger and more addicting than any drug he’d ever used.

soon enough, watching, admiring, and stalking you, became a permanent part of his routine. even when he wasn’t physically around you, you still ran through his mind. late nights for dottore would include either continuing his experiments or jerking off to a polaroid of you. a polaroid of you fully nude, with every inch of your body exposed. how did he get that you ask? well during the ungodly amount of times he had stalked you, he managed to snap a quick photo of you while you were changing.

sometimes you would be all he could think of and it would hinder his progress in experiments. he would also think of you during the long, boring fatui meetings that would drag out for hours on end. thinking of your pretty face struggling to take his cock was much more interesting than listening to pierro’s voice drag on about gnoses. Whether or not you were aware of it, you were his, just as much as he was yours. TIGHNARI ahh, forest watcher tighnari’s precious assistant. you were oblivious to how tighnari felt about you. you thought that his overprotective, jealous, and caring demeanor was how he showed his care for you. you were right, but you didn’t know that you cared for him that much... some random lowlife forest ranger flirting with you? suddenly, they’ve digested a poisonous mushroom that just so happened to be in their food. some scholar making you uncomfortable? no problem, various drugs, toxins, and concoctions have been injected into them. you didn’t understand why everyone around you was slowly disappearing. you felt so alone. you felt as if you’d done something wrong. don’t even worry. tighnari is there to reassure you that everyone around you didn’t deserve you and that’s why they “left”. the only person you knew who hadn’t left, was the optimistic, leafy-haired, forest ranger, collei. however, there was no way collei could be optimistic about the situation when people were dying left and right.

she knew of tighnari’s feelings for you. it was pretty obvious. she didn’t know that it would’ve extended this far though...

when she had finally made an attempt at telling you to run away from avidya forest, she quickly disappeared too. the only difference this time was that you saw. you saw tighnari slip arsenic and poisonous mushrooms into collei’s medication.

you just didn’t understand...he was doing this all for you... SCARAMOUCHE you can’t escape him. you know that he went everywhere you went. every moment of your life was lived in fear. not fear for yourself, but fear for the others around you. he wouldn’t even bother hiding his murderous tendencies from you. in fact, he would force you to watch as he brutally murdered those he saw as threats to his future with you. following you wasn’t enough for scaramouche though. he wanted to keep you near him all the time. no...he needed you near him all the time. every fiber of his being yearned for you. every inch of you. he wanted all of it on him. he wanted to feel you at all times. whether it be your body or just your presence. he wanted nothing more than to just feel his cock inside of you. he wanted to make you squirm. he wanted to see you cry and struggle. kidnapping you was like taking candy from a baby. you were so weakened and demoralized by everything around you. you could barely eat, sleep, or drink properly, so naturally, your body was sickly. you couldn’t fight back either. not just because you didn’t have the strength of the energy to, but also because you didn’t see a point in it.

he would always have his way in the end. and most definitely when it came to you.

#yandere #genshin scara #scara x reader #scaramouche smut #dottore #dottore x reader #dottore smut #tighnari x reader #tighnari x you #genshin smut #yandere scaramouche #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #tokyoyume

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astroboots · 2 years

Text

RED FLAGS ║ PART 5

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector

Summary: You try to befriend Marc with mixed results. Or alternatively: God this man is cranky.

Word Count: 7080

Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

The thing about vanishing off the surface of the earth is that even if the missing person themselves doesn’t notice, people around them will.

We live in a society where we’re all accountable to someone or something. Your landlord will want the rent paid at the end of month. Your parents will ring to moan about you not calling them often enough. Your boss is going to send chaser emails asking for progress reports. A person cannot just disappear for a week, reappear and expect nothing to come of it. There are always going to be repercussions.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when Steven stands before you, looking absolutely gutted as he tells you that his supervisor has assigned him the worst possible schedule. He’ll have the unenviable honour of manning the gift shop every Saturday and Sunday for the rest of the month, and on top of that he’ll be on the second shift most weekdays where he’ll be stuck unboxing inaccurate ancient Egypt souvenirs late into the night.

“I’m sorry, love.” Steven looks down at the ground, then back up at you, all contrite apology and puppy-dog eyes. “I tried talking to Donna about it, but she just threatened me with more inventory. Not sure why she’s got it in for me, but it’s been worse than ever this last week.”

You hum sympathetically, though you’ve got a pretty good idea of why his supervisor might be hacked off—missing a whole week of work can’t have endeared him to anyone at the museum.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry that I’ve gone and messed things up again.” He looks like a sad puppy in a rescue video, disappointment and remorse colouring his features.

“You haven’t messed anything up,” you reassure him, reaching over to touch his arm. “You don’t have control over your schedule. Besides, we can still spend the nights together, even if we can’t laze about together in the morning. And maybe you can ask Donna nicely to switch you back to your old schedule when you have your performance review at the beginning of next month?”

He gives you a small nod, but he still looks like the world is ending. It’s frustrating and painful to watch him struggle with the consequences of a disappearance he knows nothing about and couldn’t control. Having his body arbitrarily borrowed and spirited away is hardly something he planned just to spite his supervisor. Not that you could tell her that (or Steven for that matter).

“We’ll have plenty more weekends together.” You slide your hand up his arm until you can cup the back of his neck and pull him close, resting your forehead against his. "Not going anywhere, remember?"

You hope it’s the truth.

Steven smiles a bit at that, and warmth blooms in your chest. All you want is to make him feel better.

“Maybe I can phone in sick tomorrow?” you offer up as a consolation prize, “Skive off work so we can have a proper lazy morning together.”

His eyes light up like a Christmas tree at your suggestion. “That’d be amazing!” he enthuses, then hesitates. “But are you sure you can do that? I don’t want you to get in trouble for chucking a sickie on my account.”

“It should be alright. I haven’t taken a sick day for years, I can afford to do so now so long as we don’t make a habit of it. One day shouldn’t cause too much trouble.”

You’re wrong about that.

The situation in Steven's flat the next morning proves as much.

You’ve never understood the expression cooking up a storm, but there’s no other words to describe the way Steven Grant lays waste to the kitchen.

It’s chaos.

Steven whirls through his kitchen space with the uncoordinated choreography of a drunk elephant. Pots and pans are banging. There are tomato specks spattered across the kitchen tiles like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Smoke is rising, and there’s a strong burnt smell permeating every inch of his flat. The fire alarm has already gone off twice, and no doubt would be doing so again now if not for your executive decision to remove the batteries.

Even with the smell of smoke hanging heavy in the air, you’re smiling as you watch him destroy his kitchen. His enthusiasm is contagious, lighting up the whole of the room.

Half an hour and two fully open windows later, the storm subsides, and Steven makes his way over to where you’re seated on the bed, balancing a tray in his arms.

“Breakfast is served,” he announces, setting it down on the duvet with a flourish, and you can’t help the bubbly laughter that rises to your lips at the grandiose theatricality of it.

You watch his expression, enjoying the way he beams with pride as he starts plating out the cutlery and leans down to steal a confident kiss before neatly folding a napkin on your lap.

He’s gone completely overboard, but you can’t help but love it, love him.

“You know," he muses as he takes a seat beside you, "I’ve always wanted to do this. Serve someone a romantic breakfast in bed I mean. And now, here we are, and I’m just… I’m thrilled! Can’t believe I’m lucky enough that I get to do it with you, but I’m thrilled.”

And suddenly the joy is gone.

You sit on the top of the duvet, staring down at the breakfast tray of burnt toast and charred baked beans that Steven has prepared for you with such love and devotion, and all you feel is guilt.

You can’t help but wonder how much of his over-the-top enthusiasm is simply because he is so excited to finally have something he's been denied for such a long time. And he has no idea why he’s never been able to have it before. (But you do, and you’re lying to him about it.)

The happier the two of you are, the deeper the guilt festers in you like rot spreading under the still-shiny skin of spoiled fruit. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t seen Marc again. The very fact of his existence is impossible to ignore, haunting your time with Steven like a dark shadow that looms large in the corner of every room you share. You know now that somewhere underneath that shy and sweet exterior, there’s another man hidden behind the curtains, controlling his life.

You can’t go on like this. You need to tell him. Steven deserves to know.

Squaring your shoulders, you take a deep breath, gathering the courage to initiate the conversation. You can do this. It will be okay.

You look up to his warm eyes, which narrow slightly in confusion, and for the briefest of moments you think you see a reflection of Marc within them. That’s all it takes for you to lose your nerve.

You don’t want him to be taken away from you.

“Everything alright, love?”

Steven’s voice snaps you back to reality and you refocus your gaze to find those gorgeous brown eyes filled with concern.

You can’t tell him.

“You looked… worried.” Steven picks at the charcoaled edges of the toast with his fork, brows knitted with concern. “I’m sorry, this is really quite burnt, isn’t it? I’ll make new.”

You’ll lose him forever.

You glance at the charred bread and try to smile back at him. Wouldn’t it be nice if burnt toast was all you had to worry about?

No one else is going to save him from Marc. You’re the only one here, the only one who knows. You’re the only one he has.

The words falter on your tongue, and when you open your mouth they’re replaced by a different sentence entirely.

“You don’t need to make me a second breakfast, just come back to bed.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and drag him in towards you, feeling the curve of his smiling lips against your forehead. He’s warm and solid in your arms, yet the precariousness of his position has never been so apparent.

You need to protect him.

“Oh? And just what exactly are you planning for us to do in bed?” Steven asks, and you hear a hint of amusement in his tone. “Cause I don’t think it’s sleep, now is it?”

Your fingers thread through his curls, as you pull him downwards to your lips. “We can sleep after.”

It's noticeably lighter in the room when you wake, you can tell that much even with your eyes still shut. You must've had quite a lie-in if it's gotten late enough to be this bright.

Despite the warmth the afternoon sun brings to this space tucked up under the eaves, the bed feels colder than it should. It's only when you open your eyes that you understand why.

Steven is not in bed with you, which means...

In a panic, you lurch upright, head swivelling frantically as you search the cluttered flat for any sign of– There! You let out a sign of relief when you spot his familiar figure in the kitchen. He’s standing at the counter with his back towards you. Shoulders square and stiff, his movements sleek and sparse. Calculated.

It’s all very… un-Steven-like.

“Morning,” you call out hesitantly even though it must be well into the afternoon. You’re trying to confirm your suspicions, and sure enough, he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t answer you either.

Definitely not Steven.

You draw up the covers and clutch them tightly to your chest. It feels like a distorted deja-vu of the first night. But unlike that night, you’re not engulfed in darkness; the slanted golden sunlight is streaming through the large windows of the flat, illuminating every dusty nook and cranny. Unlike that night, he has yet to speak to or even turn towards you, and you don’t have to fumble for your clothes this time. They’re there, neatly folded, in the empty spot of bed next to you.

Carefully dipping your toes onto the floor, you wrap the covers securely around you before slinking into the loo to get dressed. When you emerge, he’s still there, ignoring you. The silence is unnerving, a warning sign.

Stay away. Do not engage.

Given the experiences you’ve had with this man so far, you really should heed that warning. Anyone with half a brain or a scoop of survival instincts would quietly gather their stuff and flee the flat immediately, but not you. You hesitate. If this were a horror movie, you would be yelling at the daft woman on the screen to get the bloody hell out of there.

But if you do, then Steven is bound to wake up to an empty bed and an empty flat. You don’t want him thinking you’ve disappeared on him again, not after he told you how much it upset him last time. Particularly not after you’ve had a taste of the experience yourself. You don’t want to do that to him again. You need to leave Steven a note or something at the very least.

Your eyes skim the clutter, settling on a yellow pad of sticky notes on Steven’s desk. Perfect!

As quietly as you can, you tiptoe over to the desk and reach over for them. There’s a loud crash, and you jump, startled, your eyes darting to the floor by your feet. Steven’s pyramid paperweight lies there, staring back at you accusingly. You must have knocked it off the desk, a casualty of your graceless attempt at stealth.

So much for being inconspicuous.

When you look back up, Marc has turned around to stare at you.

It’s uncanny how unalike they look. It’s like one of those spot-the-difference photo games. The same face, the same body, but where Steven’s gorgeous dark eyes are wide and vulnerable, this man’s are narrowed and impatient. His brows perpetually drawn together and a constant stubborn set to his jaw as he grinds it.

He’s staring at you like that now, arms flexing where they’re crossed over his chest, and it feels like another warning.

A red fucking flag.

Every inch of your skin prickles at the hostile attention, but you can’t leave yet. You haven’t written the note. You can’t leave Steven in the dark again.

Doing your best to pretend that your heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of your chest, you take a deep breath and bend down to pick up the paperweight trying to steady it with your slightly trembling hands. It’s undamaged thankfully, and you quickly find a more secure spot on the desk to set it down, then search out the stack of sticky notes and a pen.

You can feel Marc’s penetrating gaze on you as you scribble down a quick message to Steven, and it’s all you can do to keep your shoulders from creeping up to your ears. You sign off with a heart for good measure. Hopefully that will allay some of Steven’s anxiety when he inevitably wakes up alone with no memory of seeing you leave.

Sneaking another look at Marc as you finish, you find that he’s still looking at you. Somehow though, it feels different than it did that first night. Less predatory and more... cautious. He is no longer a wolf eyeing his meal, but a wary stray sizing up whether you might pose a threat.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin as you walk over to the fishtank, more aware than ever that he’s watching your every move. He’s eyeing you with all the distrust of a shopkeeper who suspects you of shoplifting. You wonder with nervous annoyance if he thinks you're somehow planning to smuggle the gigantic tank out of Steven’s flat in your handbag.

“I don’t want him to worry,” you explain as you stick the yellow note onto the side of the fishtank.

At this, Marc finally officially acknowledges your presence.

“The fish?” he asks, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow in apparent confusion.

The… fish?

You stare stupidly back at him, not quite able to understand what he’s referring to until you follow his line of sight, turning your head to trace his gaze back to the fishtank.

Dear God. Is he joking or does this man seriously think you’re writing a message for Gus’ benefit? What kind of daft, idiotic—

“No, not the fish!” You interrupt your own mental tirade. “Steven. I don’t want Steven to worry.”

Marc doesn’t seem to have anything further to say to that. He just watches you with narrowed eyes as you finish gathering your belongings in silence. He doesn’t mention the dropped paperweight, or check in on your promise to keep his existence a secret from Steven. Apparently, Marc’s biggest concern is how the crazy lady Steven is sleeping with on a regular basis has learned to communicate with fish through written language.

The fish. Good God.

You want to laugh. All of a sudden, the formidable, larger-than-life image you’ve held of the man in your mind cracks, crumbling slightly around the edges. Amusement at the sheer knob-headed stupidity of his question lingers at the corners of your mouth as you turn and head to the door.

“Bye,” you call out, but he doesn’t respond to you as you close the front door behind you. You can’t believe you took a sick day for this.

Steven goes missing again.

When lunchtime rolls by and his trademark silly texts and photos of the odder artefacts from the museum’s collection fail to show up on your phone, you know that Marc must have disappeared into the ether and taken Steven with him again.

God. No wonder Donna always has it in for Steven if Marc keeps pulling stunts like this. If Steven was in the doghouse before, you can’t even imagine the torture she must be planning for him now. She’ll probably drag the doghouse into the inventory dungeon and throw away the key.

You glance at your phone where it’s lying next to you on the sofa, then at the palm of your hand where the numbers Marc had once scribbled down have long since washed off.

You’re allowed to initiate texts, right? He never mentioned that you couldn’t. And why else would he have given you his number in the first place?

Your hands are sweating as you swipe up your contacts, fingers a little shakier than you would like. It makes it hard to type correctly, despite your text being only three simple words.

You Is Steven okay?

You stare at the screen and watch the single tick turn into two. The message has been delivered. There’s no reply, but that makes sense, he hasn’t seen it yet.

Nothing further happens, but you watch the screen for a long time before eventually forcing yourself to put the phone down. This is not healthy behaviour. You try to busy yourself by pottering around in your flat, tidying the laundry you’ve left strewn about haphazardly, hand washing dishes and clearing out clutter. Anything to keep yourself distracted. But you still find yourself obsessively checking your phone every two minutes.

An hour goes by, then two. Still nothing.

And then, on yet another check, you notice the two ticks have turned from white to blue. He’s seen it. Still no reply though. Shit, this was a mistake.

The phone dings and vibrates in your hand, and you nearly shriek with surprise.

Marc He’s safe.

You When will Steven be back?

You don’t receive a reply to your second message, even though the two ticks turned blue almost immediately. But, just like the previous time, Steven returns shortly after, safe and sound and still none the wiser.

Your daily life settles into an odd sort of routine. You spend as much time as you can with Steven, but Marc is never far behind. In your early dating days, you only saw Steven a handful of times a week. It had never occurred to you before how omnipresent Marc was in Steven’s life.

The pattern goes like this: you and Steven get to play house and enjoy your relationship uninterrupted for a few days at most until, lo and behold, you wake up in the morning to an empty bed and neatly folded clothes next to you. Then it happens all over again.

At this point, your life has become some bizarro remake of Groundhog Day.

Wake up in bed together with Steven, and he’ll lovingly make you burnt toast for breakfast, blow up your phone with cute nonsensical texts during lunch, and surprise you with your favourite takeout for dinner.

Wake up alone in bed, and Groucho Marx is there serving you cold silence instead, and you spend the hours (or days) alone until Steven, still oblivious returns.

Rinse and repeat.

Eventually it occurs to you that mostly ignoring Marc isn't going to get you anywhere in the long run. He is clearly an all-time world champion at the quiet game. If something is going to change, it’ll have to be because you make it happen. You’re going to have to at least try to talk to the man if you want to get enough information to be able to protect Steven from him.

It’s this half-baked plan that comes to your mind, some weeks after, when you find yourself in Steven’s bed again, with no Steven next to you.

Instead you find him in the far corner of the kitchen, and your clothes folded on the bed next to you.

You’re not dumb. The odds of you chumming it up with this man are about the same as an ice-cube’s chances in hell. Your interactions so far have informed you that Marc is not the friendly type. In fact, he seems to be allergic to chit-chat. It makes the act of trying to befriend a person you still find somewhat intimidating all the more difficult.

Still though, these recent encounters have been downright bland compared with the time he revealed himself by threatening you in your bed. And even that was nowhere near as unnerving as your first encounter.

Maybe he isn’t as intimidating as you had made him out to be in your head.

“The fish?” he had asked with genuine confusion in his voice, and you almost crack up all over again at the memory of it.

Hell, if you do spend enough time with him, perhaps he’ll stop being scary to you altogether (unlikely, the little voice in your head tells you, but necessary, you rebut).

The end goal isn’t to befriend him. You’re never going to be besties. You just need things to be cordial between you, friendly enough that you can make sure that he doesn’t actively put Steven in harm’s way.

You call out a greeting on your way to the loo. Marc doesn’t answer and he doesn’t even look up or turn around when you emerge, ignoring you completely while you dress.

He's putting away dishes from the sink from last night at a snail’s pace, trying to make as little noise as possible. When he runs out of dishes, he stands there tapping his fingers as he looks around the kitchen, opening and closing a few cupboards, before he chooses one apparently at random and starts organising the items inside.

For a second, you just observe him, confused by his actions. Then it occurs to you that he’s busying himself in the kitchen so he doesn’t have to talk to you. That could be rather insulting if you allow yourself to dwell on it, so you don’t.

Instead, you turn your head, eyes roaming the walls of the space, desperate to come up with some topic of conversation to ease the tension. Your gaze catches on the heaps and heaps of books in the flat. There’s nothing that sets off Steven into an excited flurry of conversation like the mention of Egyptian history, if you’re lucky, their body isn’t the only thing that Marc shares with Steven.

“Do you have an interest in Ancient Egypt as well? Steven’s told me he’s read all of these books at least twice.”

Marc goes still, then turns slowly to face you. The silence is thick and heavy, and his eyes are mere slits as he looks at you. You suspect he’s hoping to scare you into dropping the subject so he doesn’t have to engage in conversation. But instead of looking away, you stand your ground, meeting his stare with as politely expectant of a gaze you can manage under the circumstances, waiting for his answer.

Kill him with (strained) kindness, that’s your strategy now.

After what seems to be an eternity, he opens his mouth to answer.

“No.” Statement made, he turns his back on you again.

One word. Apparently all you get is one, single, word, in the negative. Then it’s back to silence.

Even Steven gave you three words on your first date. God. The all-familiar frustration and deep desire to bang your head against the wall returns, and it takes more of your willpower than you would like to resist the urge.

You walk over to the fish tank, trying to give yourself a moment to think. Trying to recover. You find yourself smiling indulgently at the one-finned champ through the glass, as you watch as a row of bubbles leave his mouth.

"Do you think you’ll be gone for long this time? I don’t want Gus to get lonely."

Marc doesn’t answer, and your eyes catch the postcards that Steven has hung haphazardly all over the wall above the fish tank.

It’s a collage of iconic landmarks from various holiday destinations, and you read the locations of each postcard hanging on the wooden ledge. Morocco, Venice, Porto, Iceland, Moscow… Gosh, Steven’s mum is quite impressively travelled, isn’t she?

“Oh hey,” you turn around to face Marc. “When’s your mum coming back to London?”

He jerks around to stare at you, shoulders raised in a painfully firm line that’s stiff and defensive, even for Marc, and you have to stop yourself from apologising, though you’re not sure for what.

“What do you mean?” he asks. The words are said with such caution. He’s on guard as if bracing for a blow.

“From her travels?” you try to clarify.

His eyes narrow. The hostility is back. “What travels?” He asks.

You point to the postcards.

“Steven tells me she’s currently on a trip abroad. She’s sent him these?” You don’t know why the pitch of your voice rises as you speak, turning the last sentence into a question. There’s just something about Marc’s behaviour that makes you doubt every word coming out of your mouth.

“I don’t know. I don’t–” his voice breaks, fingers flexing as he curls them into agitated fists then releases them again.

“We don’t really talk anymore, we’re…” he stops and looks up but not at you. Instead, he looks to the ceilings as if the words he’s searching for will be etched somewhere in the wooden beams. “Estranged.”

That’s not right. You know that can’t be right. The cards are from Steven’s mother, who is always off travelling on some new adventure or other. It’s why he’s never introduced you, despite his excitement to show you off to her.

“What do you mean? Steven talks to her on the phone almost every day. Where do all these postcards come from then, if not from her? Surely they weren’t sent by a ghost?”

Something painful flashes in his eyes. Marc bites into the bottom lip, so hard it goes bone-white, and you know you must’ve struck a nerve, you just can’t tell which one or what it was you said that’s upset him.

“Marc?” you try again, voice cautious.

“I send the postcards,” Marc finally says.

“Then why does Steven think they’re from his mum?”

Marc doesn’t answer you, just turns his head to look away, and you’re getting more confusing by the second.

What the hell does he mean he sends them? And if so then why does Steven think they're from his mum? Either Marc's lying to you or–

“Wait! Are you sending these postcards to him while pretending to be his mum? Why are you lying to him?"

“Steven doesn’t need to know.”

“You say that a lot,” the words, sharp and bitter, come out before you think to stop them.

He stays quiet at your accusing tone. Doesn't move and stays seemingly unemotional. But there’s something there. It’s subtle. From the distance between you, it would’ve been easy to miss.

There’s a tick in the small muscle of his jaw. His nostrils flare ever so slightly.

Regardless of how hard Marc tries to hide it, trying to school his expressions, you know every intimate detail of this face too well for him to hide from you. It’s not an expression you’ve seen on Steven’s face, ever, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it all amounts to.

He’s really quite upset, isn’t he?

Any sensible person would stop right about now. You’ve always prided yourself on being a sensible person, but since you met Steven, sensibility seems to have flown out the bloody window.

“Whatever it is, Steven can handle it. He’s so much stronger than you give him credit for.”

“Steven shouldn’t have to handle it," he snaps back at you. Voice losing any restraint he held before.

Once again the sensible thing would be to drop it. But the dismissive, know-it-all tone in his voice rubs you entirely the wrong way.

“He deserves to know. It’s not right for you to keep him in the dark like this. He deserves better. He’s an autonomous adult, and he should be allowed to make decisions over his life just as much as you do. You have no right to control his life the way you do. You’re torturing him.”

“I am not,” he all but shouts back, voice raised for the first time since you met him. “I'm protecting him. You know nothing about the world I live in. If Steven finds out about me, about the work I do, he will be drawn into that world. Steven will be in danger. Do you understand? Is that what you want? For him to know he's sharing body with a– ” Marc stops himself mid-sentence. Eyes wide in shock, as if surprised by his own outburst.

A silence falls between you, and he steps back, physically distancing himself from you. He continues to retreat until he bumps up against the kitchen counter, grabbing onto it to steady himself as he looks down to his feet, sharp eyes now hazy and unseeing, a guilt ridden tinge to his usually unshakeable expression.

You appreciate the space he’s giving you, but a more pressing thought pushes to the forefront of your mind. What was Marc going to say before he stopped himself? Did you want Steven to know that he’s sharing his body with… what, exactly?

You search his face, free to stare as much as you like now as his eyes remain downcast. “Just what is it that you do, Marc?”

“You don’t want to know,” he answers, voice quieter now, devoid of any emotion.

His stance is no longer as straight and firm and usual. His shoulders sag as he continues to stare fixedly at the ground, avoiding all eye contact. The lines around his eyes are marred with sadness, a mark of defeat. He’s curled into himself, the entirety of his body shrinking like he’s trying to make himself invisible. For a beat of a second, he reminds you all too much of Steven, and your heart breaks for him.

Even though this isn’t Steven you’re looking at, that all-familiar instinct to protect swells up in your chest. Your arms want to curl around him, drape yourself over him and tell him it’s okay.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with something to salvage the situation. The first words that come to your head is ‘sorry,’ but the problem is that you’re not. Not really. Sorry means that you condone his perpetual lies.

You hesitate for a long moment, but you don’t know what the right thing to say to him is. Probably because there is no right thing. And you’ve already bollocksed things up quite enough for one night, haven’t you? Perhaps it’s best to cut your losses now and try to do better next time.

As quietly as you can, you gather up your handbag, and head towards the door. “I’ll see you around, Marc.”

There’s no answer, and you don’t look back, as you close the door with a quiet click behind you.

Blue Planet is on in the background at your flat. It’s become yours and Steven’s weeknight ritual, but Steven is nowhere to be seen.

You sit on your sofa, a dull weight perched oppressively on your chest, as you think of Steven’s other half.

His words ring loud and sharp in your ears, overpowering Attenboroughs sombre narration on the telly, until Marc’s voice is all you hear.

“I’m protecting him,” he’d said.

You think of how small he’d looked this morning, completely unlike the other times you’ve seen him, but somehow, heartbreakingly, you suspect it’s the most honest you’ve ever seen him as well.

What reason does he have to lie to you? None.

Fishing your phone from your handbag, you pull up Marc’s contact details. You stare at it, fingers hovering over the keyboards, unsure of what you want to say.

You Are you and Steven okay?

Marc Steven’s fine.

It’s only a half an answer, and not quite the answer you would’ve liked. But part of you is surprised he responded at all considering the way things ended earlier.

You When’s Steven coming back?

He doesn’t answer you (surprise, surprise), and you’re just about to call it in for the evening when you remember Steven's upcoming performance review. If Marc is telling the truth– If he cares about Steven’s well-being the way he claims to, then he wouldn't want him to miss it, surely?

You He has his performance review at work on Monday.

There’s no reply, and you’re left on read once again.

Still, despite Marc’s lack of acknowledgement, Steven returns in time for work on Monday. He’s even on time for once.

You’re awoken in Steven’s flat by the quiet clattering of dishes being put away. The bed beside you is cold and as you reach out your hand, patting the mattress, instead of Steven, you find your clothes folded into a neat square.

You sit upright in the bed turning your attention to the kitchen, sure enough Marc is standing by the sink, tidying up after you and Steven the previous night.

“Good morning,” you call out.

Save for a brief pause in his work on the dishes, he doesn’t respond. The silence between you has taken a different tone now. It’s not unnerving or scary to you this morning. Instead it makes the heavy weight settle even deeper, until it’s carved a hollow dent into your chest at the thought of how you two last left it.

Dipping your toes onto the floor, you gather your clothes and once again make the habitual walk of shame to the loo to get dressed.

When you emerge, Marc predictably pays you no attention. You pad across the room until you find yourself standing in front of the fish tank.

You wonder how long you could stand here, without saying a word before he would have to give in and acknowledge you. An hour? A day? You suspect that you could very well stand here until you both grow old enough to claim pensions, and he’d still keep his silence.

It’d be easy to just walk out of the door. You have no obligation to Marc. He’s a stranger who wants nothing to do with you. The thought makes you sad.

You grab the shaker of fish food and sprinkle some into the water. It’s at least double the portion size Steven would usually give, but God knows how long he’ll be gone this time. Gus deserves a decent meal before he’s left to fend for himself.

When you’re done, you put the food back away above the fish tank. A postcard of the Alps catches your eye. Green fields full of cows peacefully munching away against the backdrop of ice-clad mountains. It’s so picturesque and idyllic.

“This one’s new,” you say out loud, and you observe Marc through the glass panes of the fish tank where he’s standing at the opposite end of the room. He looks over at you, and you gesture to the postcard.

“It’s so pretty. We went to Switzerland once when I was a kid.”

No response to that, but you continue to natter on mindlessly, “I got a cheap music box as a souvenir. I loved that thing. Used to listen to it for hours. I cried for a week when it broke and my dad threw it out.”

Marc doesn’t answer. He’s clearly still upset about last time. But instead of capitulating, you keep going. Sooner or later he has to crack and respond. Right?

“The melody was from The Sound of Music. It was my favourite movie growing up. Used to watch it on repeat on my mum’s old VHS player every day after school until it was completely worn out. Tried to run away once just so I could join a nunnery thinking I could work as a nanny for a handsome colonel and his kids”.

He hums in acknowledgment. A hum. Stubborn…

“I was kind of hoping I could take Steven for a weekend trip one of these days. A couple’s holiday.”

Still no reply, but as you watch him through the glass-panes of the fishtank, you can see his shoulders loosen, body language visibly relaxing.

“If you don’t mind, that is. Since we’d be bringing you along as well.” You say it facetiously, with as much humour in your tone you can muster, trying to invite Marc to share the joke. Unsurprisingly he doesn’t take the bait.

"We don't have to do this," he says. Zero inflection in his voice, but at least it’s a response.

You straighten up slowly and meet his gaze over the top of Gus’ tank. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"This,” Marc reiterates. He gestures to the space between you. "You and me. Conversation. We don’t have to be friends,” he clarifies.

Wow, this man is blunt.

“I know we don’t have to. But…”

But what exactly? What are you trying to do here, really? The man has made it perfectly clear that he’s not interested in your friendship, barely willing to tolerate your mere presence in his vicinity.

“But,” you start again, “I’m hoping to be with Steven for a long time. And my understanding of the situation is that you and Steven are not…” you hesitate, unsure of what wording to use. If there’s a way to make this sound pretty, you can’t think of it, but you forge ahead anyway. “Well– That you two come as a package deal.”

Across from you, Marc straightens his posture, folding his arms. He assesses you guardedly from top to toe.

“It would be good if we could be friendly with each other,” you add hopefully, “Maybe even friends? We don’t have to be, of course, if you’re not willing, but… I think it would make Steven’s life easier. Better.”

There’s a subtle change in his face, and he rolls his shoulders, looking up at you from underneath his striking lashes. His expression is softer somehow, not the stern, unsmiling face he’s been perpetually giving you. It makes you hold your breath waiting for his answer.

Except it doesn’t come.

Seconds tick by, and the line of his lips presses down firmer. He looks away, something akin to frustration in his face, eyebrows pinched tightly together. Once again, you’re left to linger in the limbo of awkward silence. He clearly doesn’t want to continue this conversation.

You try to think of something else to add to your filibustering, but your well of potential topics to keep this one-sided conversation going has run dry. At least you tried. Giving up with a sigh, you flash him a resigned half-smile and turn to pick up your bag. You’re collecting the rest of your things when he finally speaks.

“I like Switzerland.”

You turn to stare at him, and you can feel your mouth gaping in what is probably a very unattractive imitation of Gus. You’re in complete disbelief that he actually volunteered information, completely unprompted. Well, mostly unprompted.

Marc shifts his feet slightly, redistributing his weight, and then miracles of all miracles he actually continues. “The mountains are nice. Quiet.”

You manage to snap your mouth shut, disproportionate elation building in your chest. You can’t entirely contain the gleeful smile that wants to spread across your lips, but you manage to tamp it down to something a bit more muted so he won’t think you’ve lost the plot entirely.

“They really are,” you agree warmly, “Nice and quiet.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment, and he doesn’t quite smile back, but something in his face relaxes marginally from the ever-present frown he likes to sport.

You can’t help but be happy (happier than you probably should be) that he finally opened up to you. That moment of joy and relief, of simply staring at this man as he softens before your very eyes extend into a much longer one, until you’re not sure how long you’ve been standing there but you’re too afraid to move in case this armistice breaks the moment you blink.

Out of nowhere, your stomach cramps. Before you know it, a growl of hunger reverberates across the cluttered walls of the flat.

Shit…

A shiver of embarrassment runs down your spine as you stiffen. Surely, it’s one of those moments where the silence of the room intensifies any sound. You’re just aware of it because it’s your own stomach. Surely Marc didn’t hear it.

“You’re hungry,” Marc states.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

It’s the sort of comical nonsense that constantly happens between you and Steven… Not with Marc. If only the Universe had gotten the memo.

Turning his feet, Marc walks towards Steven’s fridge—or is it his too?—which immediately starts whirring noisily as soon as he opens the door. “There’s not much, but I can manage scrambled eggs and sausages.”

“I… um…” You hesitate. Not sure if you should take him up on the implied breakfast invitation. You can’t help but feel that you’ve pushed your luck about as far as it will go already this morning, and that you’re bound to upset the delicate progress you’ve miraculously managed to achieve if you stay. “I don’t want to impose…”

Marc looks back at you, eyes narrowing as he studies your reaction, and it’s like he can read you like an open book.

“You’re not imposing. I’m no gourmet cook, but my food won’t kill you. Can't be worse than Steven’s. You ate that and survived.”

You’re stunned. Blinking at his comment, it takes you far too long to realise he means it as a joke. A rush of laughter rises up to your lips, once you do. He’s offering you food and joking with you. That’s a friendly gesture if you’ve ever seen one.

You stay, and he’s right. The slightly runny eggs and soggy vegan sausages left in Steven's fridge are nothing to write home about, but you eat them with a smile on your face.

You Hi. Have you taken Steven again? He’s not answering my texts.

Marc Yeah. He’s safe.

You When’s he coming back? We have a date on Saturday. I’ve made a reservation and they’ve taken a deposit. Do I need to cancel?

Marc No. He’ll be back.

You Thank you.

You’ve just put your phone face down on your nightstand when an impulse you can’t quite explain pushes at the corner of your mind, and you reach for it again.

You Be safe.

Placing your phone back down, you expect that to be the end of it. When your phone pings and vibrates against your night table a moment later, you jump, startled. You unlock the screen to see the new message.

Marc Thanks.

~ CONTINUE~

Credits/Dedications

Forever and always to my wonderful, amazing and most perfect friend and co-writer @thirstworldproblemss. I'm just going to keep this simple and true. I love you, in fact I love you the m💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗st

Also a shoutout to @the-ginger-hedge-witch @radiowallet @write-and-buried who have listened to me scream about this.

And last but absolutely not the least to everyone who's followed and read this story. I appreciate you so big-ly!! I am so so excited to share this chapter with you and finally get to delve properly into Marc beyond... mystery guy who frowns a lot. Whether you're lurking, liking, commenting or reblogging, thank you all so much for reading this little work of ours!

1K notes · View notes

jean0farc · 1 month

Text

◤ 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥 ◥

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: eventual smut.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Light Yagami X Reader.

𝖈𝖜: porn with plot, yandere! Light, office sex, boss/employee relationship, oral sex (you giving), dubcon, sexual tension, extreme power imbalance, power play, near death experience?

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘:

Being a private investigator sure had its perks the moment you stepped into the workforce as someone with a degree in criminology. Sporting a tough front, you got used to being dealt with the risks of being killed and tracked down by unlawful criminals. That is, if you weren’t that careful with the information you disclosed about yourself.

But wait, you did NOT just step into the workforce and attained a job on a whim. This wasn’t just any ordinary job. You were blessed with the opportunity to work under none other than Kira’s company of employed investigators. You heard it right, you were offered the privilege of working under the world’s most powerful judges of all time. You didn’t just let the opportunity slip by, so you accepted the job and started working with dignity.

After months of blood and sweat poured out on the heavy workload your job as a data analyst carried, you received a promotion from your one and only boss — Kira. Surprised and intimidated, you suddenly receive a call from his personal assistant who requests you to meet Kira at his private office.

This news alone puts a smile on your face, but at what cost?

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: Shit’s about to get real hot. Just a heads up, the ending is sort of rushed since I haven’t written in a while. Hope this fic satiates your cravings for new content, and thanks for bearing with my absence.

The buildings towered tall as its windows began to light up the night sky in just a heartbeat. It was about 6:30 PM in the evening, and while every citizen in Japan was rushing on their way back home, you had agreed to work a night shift under Japan’s most powerful organization of policemen, inspectors, and detectives.

Anticipating your next meeting with another business partner, you sipped a cup of coffee as you silently typed on your laptop and replied to e-mails. As you sat on your personal desk, you received an e-mail from a superior asking you to work on writing a report listing the number of criminals executed by Kira. As much as you wanted to bid the day goodbye, you can’t help but feel glued to accomplishing everything your job required in one sitting. You chugged your drink while contemplating on responding, your eyes focused on the laptop’s screen as you composed a message to your superior.

Much to your shock, your phone rang. You grabbed the phone without question and spoke through it.

“Hello? Who could this be?”

“This is Matsuda speaking.” a voice replied on the other end. “I’ve called to inform you that the records team of our organization has evaluated your progress in the company lately.”

“Oh? Is there a problem with the way with my work ethic, sir?” you asked, frowning in disbelief.

“No, no,” Matsuda let out a laugh as he stammered. “In fact, your work ethic is far from a problem. I called simply to notify you of good news. And I want you to listen carefully.”

“Sure thing.” you replied.

“The boss has made his final judgment on who he chose to promote to a higher position in our organization. As his personal assistant, I am pleased to announce that our future private investigator and detective-in-charge ....is you.”

“Wait, no way?!” you exclaimed, placing a hand over your mouth as your eyes widened in shock. “Is this…is this actually true, sir?”

“Sure is! The boss wishes to have a word with you tonight in his private office. At least, before the day you get recognized by our company’s fellow employees. Please be there at—”

“The….boss?” you paused. “B-but—”

“It’s a really urgent and important meeting to celebrate your success, [Name]. If I were you, I wouldn’t let this opportunity slip by.” Matsuda interjected. “Please drop by his office at 8:00 sharp. And remember to bring nothing with you.”

“B-but….wait!!! Matsuda!!”

The phone hung up, leaving you confused and lost at what you had to do next. Is it more convenient to issue a report due the following day and communicate with your company’s business partner, or should you reject your superior’s request and meet up with your boss? Decisions, decisions.

After minutes of overanalyzing your current situation, you texted everyone necessary for the meeting to ensue, stating you couldn’t make it due to an “urgent task.” You always felt guilty about having to turn down assignments from your superiors; however, the boss’ words were where it’s at, and you had to keep in mind that his plans were far more significant than what you were being bossed around to do by underlings.

You then made a decision to request a delay in submitting the necessary paperwork due to sudden change of plans. You typed carefully, ensuring that your refusal to accomplish the reports were in good faith and harbored no ill intent. To your satisfaction, you waited an hour before you could finally take an elevator to the top floor.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Sweat dripped across your cheek as you anxiously waited fifteen minutes in advance. Something about your boss always fascinated, yet terrified you to an extent. His ability to hold the world’s most heinous criminals futile in his grasp and giving them a heart attack out of the blue (whether he had some sort of weapon or not) always remained a mystery to you. Yet, it so happens that you opted for the highest position in every area of your expertise. Not for power, not for personal gain, whatsoever. It was because you had a strong sense of justice, believing every problem deserves a solution. You truly cared for victims who fell prey under the hands of wrongful acts.

I guess that’s what set the both of you apart. The boss had his own ways of bringing justice to the table — and as a mere employee, you tried your very best to not doubt, question, or underestimate his abilities. You always reminded yourself to not fear authority, but rather, embrace it. But this time, knowing his eyes were set upon you made you shiver. It was his power, his prestige, that frightened you.

If knowing how he killed unlawful individuals was a game of curiosity killing a cat, you could’ve been lured into death this quickly. It wasn’t like you had any objections about how he chooses to kill, though. But you itched for a logical and concrete explanation on how he did it. You wanted evidence. You wanted a scenario. After all, you worked as a private investigator.

Checking your watch, the clock struck 7:45. You braced yourself, took a deep breath, and went for the exit of your office. As you stepped into the hallway, you were greeted with a colleague who smiled upon noticing you.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our employee of the year!” the woman smiled. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” you replied. “It’s been a while. Well, I’m off now.”

“Wait!” she exclaimed. “Is the boss…..actually there to meet you?”

“Yes, why?” you asked.

“Oh, um…..it’s just because I observed that Sir Fujisaki…..uh, how do I put this? He had a heart attack the past week. I happened to see you two the other day, and he was perhaps being too friendly with you from my observation.”

“Mr. Fujisaki?! But he was such a sweetheart to me the other day!” your smile dropped. “Yes, he may have been too friendly, but how could he have a heart attack? Could this be….”

“Is it who you think it is?” your colleague asked. “Well, in that case, we need to stay silent. We can’t just falsely accuse our boss of actually killing Mr. Fujisaki, am I right? Perhaps we can talk to him about it?”

“Yumi….the boss almost never shows himself.” you sighed. “And if he heard what we were talking about just now, he’d have us in dead meat.”

“Right….but do take my guess with a grain of salt.” your colleague smiled. “I’d hate to blackmail the boss.”

“True.” you agreed. “Anyways, nice chatting with you! Gotta get back to work!”

“Sure thing!”

Ending your conversation, you walked towards the elevator and ensured you brought nothing with you. As it led all the way up, you practiced a simple smile at the mirror, fixing your office wear and arranging yourself to look presentable in front of your employer. As the doors opened, you made your way through the boss’ quarters, shaky and overwhelmed. You didn’t win any promotion at your previous job, so it was truly miraculous to actually land a decent position in your current career.

The doors were made of tinted glass while the floors were covered with red carpet. The hallways were lined with some vases and expensive furniture, making it comfy to sit on the velvet purple couches. One could have mistaken this floor to be that of a luxury hotel, the way all the lighting radiated a warm, golden tint. There were also paintings of what was known as a ‘shinigami’ in Japanese folklore, with some religious figures resembled in the images. So far, so good.

However, this was not the time to dwell on the floor’s aesthetically pleasing interior design—you had a meeting. An urgent one at that.

Pushing the glass door open, you were met with a lingering smell of musk, the fragrance entering your nostrils with its strong, manly scent. To your surprise, the quarters were dimly lit, which isn’t exactly what you’ve expected it to be. Normally, an employer’s corner would have vibrant lighting to enable productivity, but this time was a different story. The ambience of your boss’ room was rather eerie, lights flickering as a fragile candlelight would. But you paid it no mind, you just moved on and cleared your intrusive thoughts.

As you strolled closer to the main area, you knocked on the wooden door leading to the actual office of your boss.

“Come in.”

The room was filled with flickering lights as well, much to your disbelief. The office may look professional and minimalistic in terms of its design, but the way it was private and hidden within another glass door made you feel quite….uneasy. It was your first time visiting his office.

The creaks echoed as you were met with the gaze of your boss already setting his eyes upon you. His glare was sharp, yet smugly impressed by the looks of it. Your defenses were now broken down and torn to shreds, leaving you with no other choice but to actually face the brunette right in front of you.

“Ah, if it isn’t our employee of the year, [Name].” your boss, Kira, greeted you. “Have a seat.”

Obeying immediately, you eased yourself into the room’s air, trying to brush off the awkward silence that penetrated deep into your being. As he browsed through your documents, you felt your legs shake as you shamefully placed your hands near your thighs, trying to calm yourself from his presence. His authority always intimidated you. Browsing through your reports, you could hear the sounds of pages flipping as your eyes began to meet his stern gaze towards the document. You could spot your own name on the write-up, which confirms his assessment of your performance on the spot. You waited patiently for feedback.

“Hmmm…..” Kira hummed. “Very well.”

Your eyes widened, anticipating his next words.

Putting down the paper you wrote, he averted his gaze upon you on eye level. Without hesitation, he spoke.

“I’ve called Matsuda to inform you of your success in this industry, am I right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, come here.” Kira spoke.

“Huh?”

“Next to me.”

You tried to stand up, only for your legs to wobble. You fell back on your seat, only to earn a laugh from your boss.

“There, there. No need to grow anxious. I just have something to clarify.”

As you slowly stood up once more, Kira beckoned a finger ushering you beside him.

“Tell me, [Name].” Kira asked as he looked up at your standing figure and placed a hand around your waist. You were surprised at his touch. Wishing to let go, the warmth lured you for more, but you dismissed it as an unintentional gesture. “What do you mean by these statements?”

Kira looked down at the report you wrote, pointing at significant sentences in it that stood out amongst every line of text. Lending the paper to you for further inspection, you received it reluctantly.

“That being said, to truly bring justice into life is to recognize that your intentions should not be for the sake of taking control, but out of sincere care for the people that surround us. I believe that by incorporating this as a motto to live by, we can become akin to what we call the ‘god of a new world.’”

“Oh, it’s my take on how to govern a society properly, good sir.” you replied.

“Fair point.” Kira nodded as his eyes narrowed at you condescendingly. “And what makes you think you can claim that title as your own, [Name]?”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant, good sir,” you panicked, growing more confused as to whether he was impressed or disappointed with your report’s content. “I meant that, IF we truly treated justice as something that should be mutually beneficial towards ourselves and the people around us…..instead of flaunting our sense of justice out of personal satisfaction…..we can….we can become a God of the New World.”

Kira chuckled lowly as he let go of your waist and stood up next to you. Meeting you from a close proximity, you tried taking steps backward in order to avoid his predatory gaze. You also took note of a small detail in his eyes; his pupils glinted a faint red, which threw you off immediately from your awkwardness.

“Now, now….” he smirked. “No running away.”

“Kira……what is it that you called me here for?”

“I was hoping we could have a civil meeting right here and now.” he continued as he crossed his arms. “Normally, I fire people who usually include blasphemous remarks in their reports.”

You felt a pang of guilt rush within your veins, worried and fretting that you may have done something wrong.

“However, it is worth noting that your loyalty and competence in this line of work are far too commendable for me to actually expel you from my company.”

You didn’t know what to feel about that statement.

“Here’s another thing I want to clarify.” Kira announced, taking the copy of your report into his hands and reading your essay aloud.

“However, there are certain rules that seem to almost break as we investigate the surge of people having heart attacks in Japan recently. If we find whatever is responsible for magically killing these heinous criminals, we will hold the suspect accountable and might as well imprison them.”

“Sir, that is my perspective on the news recently. There has been a couple of innocent people killed, like Mr. Fujisaki.”

Kira frowned. “Who entrusted you with this information, [Name]?”

“It’s…..just out of my pure observation, Sir.” you replied.

Kira let out a sigh as he closed his eyes. “Rather than getting angry, I’m going to move past your recent remarks on the assignments given to you.”

“Did I….do something wrong, sir Kira?” you asked out of the blue..

“Not necessarily,” he replied. “However, I’m going to ask you another question. Make sure to answer carefully and honestly. If you fail to convince me otherwise with your response, I have no other choice but to fire you.”

“But sir???” you asked, your eyes widening in shock as you were about to protest. “But…. but I thought I was about to be rewarded with a promotion?”

“As I said, you’re an exception to all those lowly employees out there.” Kira spoke, taking a few steps forward. “I was thinking of giving you a raise and a promotion, BUT I need to clear out some possible misinterpretations people may have about your work.”

“I see. I’m sorry.”

“Now, let’s get back to the topic at hand, shall we?” Kira announced. “You state in your report that showing sincere care towards people depicts true justice. However, that is not my problem. My issue here is that you go around, stating that doing so will make you the God Of A New World. What interesting wording. Let me ask you a question about that. Who do you think I am?”

Goosebumps were the only thing you felt as you found his question to be a threat. You couldn’t tell how he was feeling right now — was he furious? Annoyed? Offended?

“Well, I think you’re a fairly intelligent disciplinarian who aims to get things done.” you replied as you gulped in fear.

“To get things done, eh?” Kira followed up with a smug grin. “What kind of things do I aim to get done? Elaborate.”

“Um…..uh….the way you…..target potential criminals and have them accountable for the rotten things they’ve done.”

“I see.” Kira sighed. “I’m going to ask you a follow-up question. Do you look down on all these mere underlings and consider how many of them are envious of your position?”

“I do.” you replied. “In fact, I feel grateful I have a roof above my head thanks to this company.”

“Gratefulness, hm?” Kira hummed. “You don’t seem to possess that quality, I’m afraid.”

“How so, sir?”

“If you were truly grateful for what this company has given you, you’d show a bit of humility in the content of your assignments and missions. Something which I fail to see in you. You tend to claim on how there are still errors in my ways, questioning my authority like I lack the qualities a God Of A New World has.”

“Sir, I wasn’t—“

“Not only that, but you truly have the audacity to actually think you can overthrow my position.”

“But sir, that was not my intention—“

“Shut it.” Kira snapped. “Now tell me, what are the exact actions I get done that further catches your attention? What makes it stand out? Describe everything you’ve been observing in thorough detail.”

“It’s just that…..you….you…..!!!!”

“Hm?”

“You may or may not have killed Mr. Fujisaki!” you cried out. “If our objective was to rid the world of heinous criminals, then why are innocent colleagues dying in your hands?”

“May or may not? There you go again with your uncertainty.” Kira sighed. “Do you have any evidence to support your claims?”

“Well…..I heard from a colleague that you may have had a notebook? I’m not sure…..”

“A notebook, huh?” Kira smirked. “What makes you think I possess a notebook that can possibly kill an innocent fool?”

“It’s everywhere, sir. There were rumors.”

“As usual, basing your conclusions on mere accusations and speculation.” Kira sneered condescendingly. “How pathetic.”

“Listen, please, I’m…..really sorry, sir.” you spoke. “I thought this was good news, but, since I may have offended you for what I’ve written……I would like to apologize if I ever—“

“You haven’t answered my first question.” Kira interrupted, cutting you off. “Who do you think I am?”

“You’re……you’re….”

“Spit it out!”

“You’re….you’re the God of the New World.”

“See, it wasn’t that hard, was it? You’re making things more difficult for yourself.”

“No, I—“

“Come here.” Kira beckoned his finger once more.

“But sir, I have an urgent meeting at—“

“Cancel them.” Kira scoffed. “In fact, cancel all your meetings for tonight’s shift.”

“I’m…..I’m sorry? I can’t just—“

“Cancel them!” he snapped. “In fact, cancel all of your meetings for today.”

“Sir?” you asked innocently. “I’m sorry but—”

“Come here.”

Hesitantly complying with his request, you approached him as instructed.

“Next to me.”

Kira grabbed you by the waist, your efforts to let him go rendered futile.

“Um, sir? Let go, please….”

“I like you, [Name]. Of all the times you’ve been working in this company, you should be grateful I wasn’t contemplating on letting you go any longer ....”

“Sir, let go, I have—“

“While we’re at it, I have something to show you.”

You fell silent, not knowing what to do or say given the situation.

“On your knees.”

“What? But—“

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Complying with his request, you got down on one knee, trying to adjust your position gently so as to not hurt your kneecaps being latched onto the floor.

“There’s a black notebook on the shelves under my desk. Give it to me.”

You knew this was coming. So the rumors were true, right?

You spotted a peculiar notebook from the bottom shelves behind his chair, picking it up. A Death Note? What was that about?

“Give it to me.”

You lent the notebook up to Kira. As he got the notebook, you already had a clear assumption of what he used it for. Listing down the names of criminals and other people he deemed “rotten” to his eyes. Some colleagues spread a rumor saying he had the power to kill anyone with it provided you play by the notebook’s rules, and turns out, it may be true.

You attempted to stand back up, only for him to stop you by resting his hand on your right shoulder.

“No.”

“But sir—“

“Under the desk.” he commanded.

“Huh? But why?”

“I personally think you owe me something.” Kira smirked. “Based on your current record of writing such exceptional, yet blasphemous remarks on the assignments I’ve given you, there’s no way you shouldn’t be held accountable for these things.”

You could only listen in terror as his hand rested upon his crotch, gripping it tightly without causing much pressure. He let out a deep sigh.

“Yes, the rumors are right.” Kira announced as he let go of the hand between his legs and took a ballpen from the stand beside the paperwork on the table. “I killed Mr. Fujisaki. Happy?”

“No…..Mr. Fujisaki was a nice man. He’d never commit a crime, let alone hurt someone intentionally. You killed someone innocent….”

“I kill whoever gets in my way.” Kira replied as he let his left hand rest on your head. “And he specifically got in mine.”

“How?” you asked.

“He kissed you. You weren’t his to kiss.”

“…..And just like that? Kira, you have no idea how he—“

“Not only did he kiss you, but he so happens to take what’s rightfully mine!”

“I’m not yours, you freak!” you cried as you attempted to stand up on one knee, only for him to lift his shoe up your chin.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Kira replied, a smug expression displaying through his face. “How do I put this, [Name]? As your boss, you must know that I am in charge of the rules here, and that whatever I say goes. That, of course, goes for who my underlings connect with.”

“Wrong.” you asserted. “Mr. Fujisaki was a good colleague. He didn’t deserve to die. You’re just disturbed.”

“And he didn’t deserve to kiss you. I’m not disturbed, I just know what I want.” Kira said as he used his shoe to tilt your chin up. “And I want you.”

You felt bewildered and frightened at his remarks, your legs shaking as your senses heightened. You could feel his predatory gaze cornering you as it glowed a bright red. He surely wasn’t at his normal, innocent and charismatic self that he presented to the public. Beneath this facade was something sinister, something with malicious intent. Following his look upon your writhing figure, his musky cologne wafted through your nostrils from distance.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I have to pa—“

“Ah, ah, ah. There’s absolutely no way you can object, right? Not when I have your first name written down in my Death Note.”

You gasped in shock.

“No, no, please!!! I’ll do anything, just please, don’t kill me!!!”

Amused and chuckling at your pleading expression, Kira laughed, looking away.

“So, [Name], what’s it gonna be? Are you going to give in to my desires of having you around? Know that I’m not a patient man.”

Without hesitation, Kira scribbled down two more letters of your last name, then stopped at the sight of your face begging for your life to be spared.

“N-NO!!! STOP!!!” you screamed, violently grabbing Kira’s arm and getting it out of the table.

“You’re really adorable, you know that?” Kira laughed. “Fine. I’ll spare your life. On one condition.”

You paused, not knowing what to say next. Kira readjusted his position, leaning closer to you.

“Let’s start with the basics, shall we? Since you’ve said so yourself that I’m the God of the New World, why not prove to me how much of a loyal underling you can be?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know what you exactly meant—“

“Oh shut up.” Kira replied, slowly unzipping his pants as you could only stare in horror. “You’re going to take me as far as I could let you. And you’re going to be a good little servant for me, yes?”

You cleared your throat, nodding while giving a light yes.

“That being said, go on, take it out.”

The way he sounded made you feel anxious, not knowing how things would go afterwards. Regardless, you eyed the sight between his legs, closing your eyes as you took in a deep breath. You felt your hands reach for the zipper of his tented pants, slowly pulling it down and earning a sigh of frustration from your boss. It was obvious that he grew impatient, so you hurriedly reached inside the unzipped fabric, taking his cock out. It wasn’t fully hard yet, but you could see beads of precum leaking from the slit.

The next thing you did was reach out for his balls, pull them out, eyeing his length with reluctance and fear.

“Hmph.”

You heard sounds of scribbling which caused you to hurry the fuck up. Curious to see how far you can take it, you didn’t want to overwhelm yourself and gag at the feeling of his length shoved down your throat. Worst case scenario was you throwing up at it, and you knew he wouldn’t like that. So you took baby steps, sticking your tongue out and having it swirl around the head. You used your fingers to rub gently at the tip after letting go, then circling your tongue around it before taking it raw into your mouth. Your head bobbed up and down as you gave it around ten seconds before going down by at least two inches.

“See? It wasn’t so hard, was it?” Kira sneered as he laughed loudly. “You take me so well it would be a shame if I didn’t choose you.”

You didn’t respond, instead, you moaned around the length in arousal, your suckled growing rougher as you felt a hand grab you by the roots of your hair. So this was how it felt to be under the presence of a God—never his equal, but always by his company. Before you could even pull away, he pushed your face inward, your throat finding the urge to release a sputtering gag. You tried fighting over your gag reflex by focusing your mind over matter, holding your breath to suppress the urge to breathe. You let out a cough upon the release of your head from inward, leading Kira to “tsk, tsk” his way through.

He let go of you, which made you pull away quickly. You caught your breath, panting as you tried another take in deepthroating his throbbing length. You felt it harden, which gave you some sort of gratification and guilt, putting your lips together and diving right in. This time with your hands on, you twisted it while giving him head which was enough to earn a guttural grown from Kira, cursing to himself while they stifled the soundproof walls.

You began liking how it felt to pleasure your boss, your head twirling around to match the rhythm of your hands twisting altogether.

“Mmmm……that’s good…..” he moaned as you continued bobbing your head around, the lewd noises enough to stimulate his length as if something was about to pop. As his hand tried to write another letter of your last name, his hands grew shaky as he could barely contain himself. He chuckled while you sucked roughly.

“You know you’re not getting away with replacing me this time, are you?” he cooed and sneered like a hungry wolf.

You felt tears well up in your eyes as you kept sucking back and forth. All you could muster was a desperate nod, feeling a strange moisture form in your underwear.

“I’ll ask you one more time. Who do you think I am?” Kira asked.

Your muffled voice filled your wet mouth. A fistful of your hair got pulled, causing you to withdraw from his throbbing length with a string of saliva connecting from your lips and his cock’s head.

“You’re God.”

“That’s better. Now, back to work.”

But it wasn’t over yet, or so you thought. You returned to what you were doing, sucking his length and all.

“A little eager, are we?” cooed Kira. “Go on. Pleasure me like your life depends on it.”

You grabbed his length once more and darted to his balls, kissing and rubbing it gently with one hand. You suckled harder which was enough to make Kira throw his head back, hands pushing your head down until he couldn’t get enough of your performance.

As he got closer, you left a huge pop as your mouth left his balls, returning to his length and continuing to suck as the sounds grew sloppier.

“Shit….” Kira hissed. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he sped up the pace as he grew bored of your normal, slightly slower pacing. You took this as a sign to bob your head faster, the job growing rougher as you looked up at him with doe eyes. Upon coating the length with your mouth’s saliva, you jerked him off while his eyes glinted towards your pathetic, desperate figure.

Without warning, Kira held your head sturdily and stopped you mid-head as ropes of cum spurted from his cock’s slit, filling your mouth with drenched discharge. You looked up with your mouth dripping with his slick and sticking your tongue out as he squeezed out more ropes of cum into your mouth. You licked your lips, feeling a moisture well up between your legs as you felt yourself grow increasingly aroused towards the sight of his length. You knew everything was over, until…

“Swallow.”

Doing as he instructed, you gulped as you pulled away.

“You did well.” Kira announced. “That being said, I think I’ll have to give you a raise. Not for this, but because I think your efforts for writing this report have been put to shame by your obedience.”

Kira wiped his dick with a handkerchief nearby, tucking it back into his pants.

“I better get going.” you said, getting up and attempting to unlock the door.

“No. Stay.” Kira commanded. “Spend the night.”

“Huh? Are we….sleeping here?” you asked.

“No, you idiot.” Kira replied. “I’m taking you home as a means of rewarding you. Trust me. It’s dangerous to be left alone during the night.”

“But, sir, I’m already used to—“

“Fix yourself up. You look pathetic.”

“Fine.” you agreed.

Wiping your cum-soaked mouth off, you walked towards the sofa and checked on your belongings. Making sure your files were complete, you proceeded to sit down.

You got promoted, alright, but at what cost?

#light yagami x reader #yandere x reader #x reader #fanfiction #death note x reader #yagami light #yagami light x reader #light yagami #death note #smut

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