#the exchange int

[amugoffandoms]

Woo!! It's time! It's time for the gift exchange!! (@milgram-valentines-exchange) Happy Valentine's Day to @mrcrazyvillainvillainn!! I had such a fun time writing your gift!! Truly gotta let Mahiru and Mikoto be silly and happy! I really hope you enjoy!! I've never written a ship fic for any of the prisoners, so I guess we ball?? (Also, let me know if you want the art without the titles!!) JIAWODJIAOW Anyways, here we go! Please enjoy...

do i dare love you? (i have always loved you)

Is this selfish? This isn’t too much, is it? I just love you so much. How long would this dream go on? I guess we can just say that this feeling is happiness~ Do you really think you know what love is? You don’t have to keep it in and hide it away. "I love you", the reason why I'm here This is how "I" will love "you"! --- "To be honest, Mikoto Kayano didn't know what to expect." "Mahiru Shiina fixes the flowers in a bouquet and hands it off to the customer." (Mikoto Kayano and Mahiru Shiina love each other in the smallest of moments.)

To be honest, Mikoto Kayano didn't know what to expect. Getting a mysterious call out of the blue? Well, ah… That’s sure to scare him.

No, no, everything’s fine. No need to resort to anything crazy. 

Mikoto exhales and splashes some water on his face. Turning off the sink, he looks up at the mirror and flashes himself a smile. 

…ah, okay, that was a little embarrassing. Mikoto laughs to himself as he walks out of the bathroom and back to his desk.

He drums his pen against his desk as he moves his mouse around to turn his computer back on. Placing his head on his hand, he scrolls through emails and emails.

…

It’s just the same emails. “Fix that.” “I liked the original design better; can you do it again?” “The deadline moved. Make sure your designs are ready for–”

Ping!

Mikoto blinks and glances over at his phone. 

New Message: make sure to come soon! 

Right, yeah. Mikoto has to head back home soon. Okay, he should really get a start on his work so he can head home early!

Sitting straight, Mikoto pulls up some designs on his computer and grabs the small stack of papers. 

With one more glance at the ideas given, Mikoto starts designing.

Mikoto leans back in his chair and slumps back. The design… is done! This is where Mikoto pretends to hear a soft achievement noise. Ding!

Anyways, Mikoto exhales and looks at the papers on his desk. The design is nice! One of his finest designs, actually. He flips through the papers and nods to himself, happy with the result. 

In the corner of his eye, he notices his boss and quickly waves him down. The second his boss looks at him with a small smile, Mikoto realizes his desk is an absolute mess. 

Ack–! Why did he leave his energy drink can here? Oh, these papers need to be in a folder–

Right after Mikoto finishes rearranging his desk, his boss finally makes it to his desk.

“Chief! I finished the design you wanted me to make!” Mikoto hands the stack of designs with a small smile. His boss blinks, clearly surprised at how fast Mikoto finished the designs. He flips through the small stack, checking each design.

 

His serious expression seriously doesn’t tell me anything… Mikoto internally groans.

“Good job, Kayano.” His boss places the stack underneath his arm. “These will probably suffice for our client. Do you have other designs that need to be completed?” “Ah, um–” Mikoto looks around at his desk. He doesn’t think he does. “...No…?’

“Oh?” His boss asks, surprised for some reason. Hey, Mikoto knows how to finish his work if it isn’t being constantly changed! “Ah… Alright then… I guess you…” His boss looks around the office. “...Actually, it looks like everyone is preoccupied.”

Mikoto shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Please don’t give him more work. Please don’t give him more work. 

His boss lifts his wrist and looks at his watch. “Hm… It’s seven. Earlier than I would like to let anyone out.” 

Oh, please. Please. Please-!!

His boss sighs. “Alright, Kayano. You may head home early today. I’m only doing this because you’ve got most of your work under control and I unfortunately don’t want to bother your coworkers with giving you their work.” You would anyway, but you seem to be in good spirits today…? “Thank you, Chief!” Mikoto smiles. “Don’t expect this often from me. Have a good night.” His boss turns right around and walks away, going over to a different cubicle. Mikoto watches as his boss walks away and pumps his fist.

Woo! I’m free! Mikoto grins to himself as he packs his stuff into his bag. Standing up, he shuts his computer off and looks around.  To be honest, he feels really bad for his coworkers… 

But, he promised to get home as soon as he could. Mikoto glances at his phone, specifically that one notification.

make sure to come soon!

He doesn’t want to break his promise. So, with a quiet exhale, he walks to the elevator and clicks the button to go down. The elevator doors open.

He walks in.

…

“…oh, I forgot to press the button to the lobby–” Mikoto mumbles as he quickly clicks the button down.

Mikoto hears the key click in the lock and turns the doorknob. As he walks into his apartment, the lights are all out.

“I could’ve sworn I left the lights on…?” Mikoto mumbles as he takes the key out of the lock and shrugs off his coat. He slowly walks through his apartment, fumbling for the lights. 

His hands land on the switch and Mikoto flips the lights on–

Arms wrap around Mikoto’s neck. Something makes Mikoto twitch. “Surprise~!”

Mikoto jumps. 

Mahiru laughs above him as Mikoto lies on the ground, dazed. “Ma– Mappi???” Someone relaxes.

“Hehe~ Did I scare you?” Mahiru giggles, absolutely beaming. “A… a little, yeah!” Mikoto dusts himself off. “I think I hit my head… Ow…”

Mahiru’s laughter immediately stops. “Ah– did I hurt you? Hey, let me see–”  Mahiru quickly kneels on the floor and scoots next to Mikoto. “No, no. I’m okay, I promise– Please don’t worry!” Mikoto gives a weak smile. “Let me just look, okay?” Mahiru says, with a soft voice filled with concern. (Her voice is always soft, but these moments, they're just a little bit more comforting. Maybe it’s Mikoto being too detail-oriented recently, but he’s decided to notice the smaller things.)

Mikoto swallows. “Okay.”

She looks at the back of Mikoto’s head, checking for any bumps or bruises.  The moment is silent as Mahiru looks all over Mikoto’s head for anything and Mikoto sits there, quiet.

To be honest, he doesn’t want to say anything. He doesn’t want to ruin it. It’s… those small moments, right? When you know someone loves you. Those are the moments you want to hold in your hands because they’re so fuzzy and warm. 

“I love you,” Mikoto whispers. 

There’s a pause. Mahiru stops checking his hair. Her hands are still. She’s not moving. 

Did he ruin it? Maybe he should apologize and–

“I love you, too,” Mahiru whispers back.

And, they’re back to silence.

Mahiru scoots back in front of him. “You’re okay. Nothing too bad, okay?” 

She says it with a voice that makes him know she cares: a warm, loving voice. It makes him want to cry just because she loves him. 

And, he loves her. And, he'll make sure she knows that.

“Okay,” Mahiru says, her voice oddly strained. Is… is she about to cry? “Um… Okay, I made some food for you. I– I know you don’t usually like big gestures and I really shouldn’t push myself, but… I think you deserve it, okay?”  “Okay.” Mikoto nods. He stands up and gives a hand to Mahiru, who takes it with a small giggle. “Hehe, this feels like a fairy tale~” She hums.

“Hey, can I…?” “Eh? Do what?” Mahiru asks, with a tilted head. “I mean, whatever it is, I don’t mind~”  

Mikoto places a small kiss on Mahiru’s cheek.  “Ah–!! Hey–! Oh–” She’s red, blushing from ear to ear. 

Mikoto laughs. “That was payback.” “Oh, you-!!” Mahiru has an angry look, but her smile says otherwise. “Fine, fine! That’s fair. Okay, come on, let’s eat~ I don’t want our food to be cold!” Mahiru grabs Mikoto’s hand in hers, trying to drag him over to the table.

Her hands are warm.  Mahiru quickly pauses as she looks at Mikoto and their hands. “Is everything okay…?” Mikoto nods.

“Everything’s perfect.”

Mahiru Shiina fixes the flowers in a bouquet and hands it off to the customer. “Have a good afternoon~” She grins.

As the shopkeeper’s bell rings to show the customer has left, Mahiru sighs and melts into the counter.  “Shiina…? Are you alright?” One of her coworkers asks as they walk over. Mahiru mumbles something into the counter.  “Uh…” They laugh. “Okay, I’m guessing you’re not okay. Um…”

Mahiru keeps her head on the counter as she hears her coworker’s footsteps slowly disappear.

Mahiru sighs. She’s really tired… She wasn’t able to get any sleep last night. She doesn’t even know why. She just couldn’t sleep. A lady like her should be getting her beauty sleep! 

Oh, well… She’ll just have to brave the storm! 

Mahiru quickly lifts her head up and instantly gets hit with a fit of dizziness. 

Ah, that was a bad idea…

As Mahiru quickly blinks away the dizziness, she notices her boss and coworker walking over. 

“I wasn’t doing anything–! I mean, I was doing something, I promise!” Mahiru awkwardly laughs as she waves her hands around defensively. Her boss shakes her head. “Mahiru, you can head home. We don’t expect that many people today, and you seem tired. I can cover whatever is left of your shift.” “Ah, but–” “I’ll pay you for your full shift, alright? Just head home.” “Okay.” Mahiru hesitantly nods and takes off her apron as she heads to the break room to grab her stuff. 

When Mahiru returns with her belongings, her coworker hands her a small bouquet with lilyturf, dahlias, forget-me-nots, and red lilies. 

“I know you’ve enjoyed taking these kinds of flowers home recently, so here you are!” As Mahiru opens her mouth to speak, her coworker continues, “And, don’t worry about the charge. I already paid for it.” Mahiru blinks, taking the bouquet and looking at it. “Ah… Oh. Thank you.” Mahiru smiles at the flowers.

“Of course! Now, rest well!”

Mahiru smiles at her coworker before leaving the store, the shopkeeper’s bell ringing behind her.

Mahiru hums as she enters her apartment and quickly walks over to her table near the couch, grabbing water from the kitchen. She places her bag on the floor next to the couch.

Sitting on the couch, she pours some water into a glass vase. Then, she places her bouquet in the vase.

Mahiru looks at the bouquet for a few moments, admiring each flower.

When she yawns, she finally lowers her head on a pillow and slowly…

Closes…

Her eyes…

There’s a smell of food cooking in the air.  She feels warm.

Mahiru slowly blinks the sleepiness from her eyes and looks around. 

…why is there a blanket on her…?  Is someone cooking?

Confused, she pushes herself upright and glances at the kitchen.

Mikoto.

Mikoto is cooking.

“Huh…?” Mahiru blurts out, sleepy and confused. Mikoto looks over at Mahiru. “Oh, hey! You’re awake! Sorry, I tried calling you, but you were asleep. Um, so I let myself in with the spare key!” 

Mahiru glances at her bag on the floor and quickly picks it up. Opening it, she searches for her phone. When she finally finds it, she turns it on and sees the notifications flood her lock screen.

3 Missed Calls

10 New Messages:

hey, mappi ^^!!

i’m off from work so i’m coming to visit!

Ah wait you might be at work

Go back to work!!

i think your door is locked??

hello?

mappi??

i’m letting myself in, ok?

oh dear where’s your key

found it!! Coming in now :D

Mahiru rambles as she stares at the notifications, “Ah– I didn’t realize you were calling. I’m so sorry, please forgive me–”

“Hey, hey. It’s all good!” Mikoto smiles. “You were tired, so I let you sleep. I grabbed a blanket from your closet. Hope that’s okay!”

Mahiru nods and sits there for a moment, not sure what to do.

She glances over at the table, spotting the bouquet. She looks at Mikoto, who has a smile on his face as he tries to cook some soup. 

She knows why she likes getting these flowers.

They remind her of Mikoto.

They remind her of how much she loves him.

She loves him.

“Hey, let me help you, okay~?” Mahiru sings as she hops up and skips over to the kitchen. “No, I’m okay. I can cook, see?” Mahiru looks at the small pot Mikoto is using to cook soup. 

It’s… hm… not the best soup…?

“Just let me help you, alright?” “Alright, alright.” Mikoto, stepping back, raises his hands. “Show me what you want to do.”

Mahiru quickly slides in front of Mikoto and glances at the pot. "Can you wrap your arms around me?"

"Eh–?" Mikoto coughs in shock. "Yeah, yeah– Um…" 

Mikoto quickly wraps her arms around Mahiru and looks over her shoulder as he tries to stir.

“Mhm~” Mahiru hums. “You’re stirring a little too harshly. Relax, okay?”  “Alright.” Mikoto slowly stirs the soup.  “Still too tense. Okay, hold on.” Mahiru places her hands on his. “Okay, now… We’ll do this together, okay?” 

Mikoto is quiet. Mahiru takes that as his yes.

Mahiru, with Mikoto’s hands in hers, slowly stirs the soup. She murmurs some small compliments.

Mahiru lets go of his hands and smiles. “See, you’re doing it now!”  Mikoto breathes a sigh of relief. “Is it better? Honestly, I really couldn’t tell the difference.” “Hmm… Well, I guess there really isn’t.” Mahiru shrugs. “But, I think the amount of quiet, slow care you put into something will show itself." She's made herself learn that love can be soft and strong. Ever since her last boyfriend and she broke up on... amicable terms, she's tried being better. For love, and for who she loves. “I see.” “...I know it really doesn’t make sense. I’m sorry.” Mahiru shakes her head and slides out from in front of Mikoto.

“No, no. It makes sense, I promise.” Mikoto looks over at Mahiru with a smile. “It shows that you care.”

Mahiru smiles back.

After a few moments with Mahiru helping Mikoto cook, they finally eat together at the table. 

“Mappi?” Mikoto fidgets with his spoon. “Hmm?” Mahiru hums, food in her mouth. “Thank you.”

Mahiru blinks and just nods. “Y-yeah, of course…!”

Ah– That was so embarrassing…! Not at all lady-like! I should’ve just…!!

“I really don’t cook often, so that was really helpful. Haha…” Mikoto rubs his neck with a smile. “I mean, I do cook! It’s just… noodles and stuff.” “Well, now you know how to cook one more thing!” Mahiru smiles.

“Yeah.” Mikoto looks at Mahiru with a loving smile on his face.

His smile is so sweet. He even tries to do stuff he’s never done before for me! Ack… My heart can’t take it–!!

I love you.

Mikoto stares at Mahiru before laughing. 

“E-eh?? What did I do??” “Nothing, nothing. I love you, too.” Mikoto grins.

…she said that out loud…

Mahiru is instantly embarrassed. She feels warm again, but she’s not wearing a blanket. “Oh… Ah–”  “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s sort of cute, I think…?” Mikoto rubs his neck. “Ah– If you say so…!!”

The two of them continue eating when Mikoto suddenly speaks up again. “Hey, did you mean to make you help me feel like one of those scenes from a movie…?” “E-eh?? No, no, wait– Ah. I really didn’t, I swear!!” Mahiru frantically shakes her head. Mikoto blinks, seeming to realize Mahiru is a little panicked. “Hey, no! I thought it was sweet–!”

Mahiru awkwardly laughs. “I’m glad you do… Um… Maybe I was subconsciously inspired by something…?”

“That’s okay.” Mikoto shrugs. “Everything you do is sweet.”

Mahiru beams. 

“If it’s for you, I’ll make sure it’s worth everything.”

#mug writes #mug draws #milgram #milgram project #mikoto kayano #kayano mikoto #mahiru shiina #shiina mahiru #milgram fanfic #milgramvalentine's2024 #milgram valentine's exchange #we're going to have some afterward notes so let's see uhh #the notes are more detailed on ao3 so you can also check int out there lol #i wanted to have small references to what their crimes were #so you can see John pop in for a moment because he believed Mikoto was about to get attacked but once John realized it was Mahiru he relaxe #I wanted Mahiru and her boyfriend to break up amicably because their relationship is really crucial to Mahiru's character #I think actually beans' break-up fic they wrote was REALLY good and was what I was thinking about when I wrote that #I wanna say that Mahiru and Mikoto are both trying to get better at the things they messed up at #They should go to therapy actually /j #I wrote this before Mikoto's interrogation came out so that marriage question came flying back at me #he probably hasn't accumulated a “track record” yet to make his own business but i'd say mahiru might get him to quit early and go work #elsewhere because of how much his job is putting him through #Mahiru checking Mikoto's hair was supposed to be Mahiru carrying Mikoto to the couch but I didn't know how to write it without making it #awkward so I'm sorry wome #Looking back on it I think I realized that the lines that end both sides of the fic kinda... #go straight back to MILGRAM but trying to be better? #Everything's perfect - Mikoto said his life was fine; that he had done nothing wrong (An unconscious lie) #Here you have Mikoto actually believing he's doing okay; that he's fine and everything is okay #And while work is a hassle at least there's some aspect of his life that he connects to #If it's for you I'll make sure it's worth everything. - Mahiru wants to love perfectly she wants to love because it's the reason she elives

[miss-floral-thief]

ah i want some cute fuzzy lougne waer lol

#personalice #i have like one purplish striped sweater #tho it never got to ocold here so i don't own too many cute or tacky sweaters #and a small handful of jackets #tho some are a bit old now and dontated a few #shame we can't just do exchanges too lol #or like take a bunch of old clothes and throw it into a machine and turn it int ofabric again #and then do a custom new shirt/top/bottoms/etc XD;

[cupid-styles]

casual

partially based on casual by chappell roan and a lil bit of sad personal experience hehe

word count: 2k

content warnings: angst (no happy ending), references to smut, alcohol, harry being a douche, not ramadan friendly

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

From: H (12:47 a.m.)

Come over?

To: H (12:50 a.m.)

Give me 15

From: H (12:52 a.m.)

K

. . .

It’s not unusual for her nights to look like this. Or her early mornings, rather.

It wasn’t always this way. When she first met Harry, she wanted nothing to do with him romantically or intimately. She’d heard about his reputation — it wasn’t anything bad as long as you were looking for the same thing. He was an expert in bed and the friends that slept with him always provided rave reviews. Ever excited rumblings of, “oh my God, he’s so caring! He made me finish twice before he even took his cock out” and “he’s the perfect one night stand — seriously, I’ve never had anyone better.” 

But Y/N didn’t care for that.

She was a serial monogamous, always bumping around from one lengthy relationship to the next. In hindsight, she supposes she wasn’t any better than Harry, who earned his notoriety from a series — a long series — of casual hookups. 

If you needed a rebound, you went to Harry.

If you were going through a dry spell, you went to Harry.

If you were just horny and needed someone to go home with at the end of the night (and he hadn’t miraculously already found somebody else yet), you went to Harry.

And Y/N never planned to sleep with him. Ever, really. He was a fine friend, someone who mixed well with their mutual friends, but they hardly exchanged conversation except for the occasional nicetie. She had his phone number from when he planned Rachel’s surprise birthday party last year and they were friends on Venmo, passing back the same $20 every month for drinks or a shared Uber. 

That was the extent of their friendship. 

Until a few months back, when Y/N was down in the dumps. She’d been seeing this girl, Samantha, for a month or two, assuming that they were headed straight towards a happy, exclusive relationship — only to discover that Samantha was sleeping with and seeing just about 10 other people on the side. And it only came out because Samantha happened to contract chlamydia from one of her sexual partners, so she’d been forced to tell Y/N for the sake of her health.

Y/N's friends, Rachel, Maeve, and Len gave her time to wallow. They offered it to her on a silver platter, even, offering multiple girls nights out (and in), providing Y/N all the space she needed to cry and complain and talk about how hurt she felt. 

But then… a week of moping turned into two, which turned into three, which eventually turned into a month and a half. Her friends were exhausted from watching her spiral into sadness, so they did the only thing they knew: They sat her down and told her she needed to rebound. Fast.

“And who the hell am I supposed to rebound with?” Y/N asked through a sniffle. The only thing that made this whole thing worse was her friends staging an intervention for her because she was being annoyingly sad about her not-really-breakup-but-felt-like-a-breakup. “See, that’s the best part of being friends with a man whore,” Maeve replied eagerly. Len and Rachel sat on either side of her with bright eyes, nodding excitedly. “Harry! He already said he’s down and everything!” “Wait— you already asked him?” “We just put the idea in his head. Don’t worry, men are stupid,” Len quickly waved her off, “But he’s going out with everyone tonight. We’ll feed you a few shots to get you just buzzy enough, and then send you off to your night in heaven. You won’t even remember that girl’s name by the time Harry’s done with you!” Y/N cringed. “Hasn’t, like… everyone slept with him though?” Maeve shrugged. “Yeah, but he’s clean. He gets regular testing and uses condoms. Really, Y/N, it’s sort of a rite of passage at this point. But you should do it only if you’re comfortable— don’t let us force you into it.” Y/N swallowed tightly. She had to admit, the thought of a rebound sounded… appealing. She’d swiped through dating apps looking for one, but she was too scared that a one night stand would end in her bloody murder. And it helped that Harry already knew what he was doing, and— wait, was she crazy or was she actually starting to consider this? “Alright, fine,” she replied with a shaky exhale, “Let’s do this.”

That was four months ago.

And what was supposed to be an evening of stupid, lusty, casual sex turned into Y/N falling hard. It wasn’t her fault, though — no, not when he panted breathy promises into her mouth in the back of the Uber, mumblings of “just tonight, you know that, right?”. She’d replied just how she’d rehearsed it in her brain hours prior: “yes, yeah, I know— just tonight. Just for tonight.” 

"Just for tonight" shifted into Harry asking her to stay until the morning for breakfast and shower sex. Then, the following weekend, he texted her the ever classy you still awake? at just past midnight. She was indeed up, doing nothing but rotting on her couch and watching a documentary about the deep sea — and her hookup with Harry had been good, really good, and she wasn’t going to turn down another night of orgasms. 

As he wrapped a condom around his dick and pressed messy kisses down her neck, he whispered the same hurried sentiments from the weekend before: “didn’t see anyone I wanted tonight and we were good, yeah? It was good. So just… just one more night, okay? That’s fine, right?” 

Foolishly, with flittering eyelashes and her nails scraping down her back as he pushed inside, she nodded and echoed his words. Just one more night, that’s fine.

It didn’t take long for their friends to catch on when Harry would leave the bar an hour early without looking for someone to take home. Or, when they’d both be out and, like magnets slowly being pulled towards one another, they’d end up kissing on the street as they waited for an Uber to take them back to Harry’s place. 

The guys hounded Harry about it, asking if Y/N was finally the one to tie him down.

“Nah,” he’d reply with a shake of his head, “She’s a good girl. Too good for me.”

When Y/N’s friends demanded to know every last detail, she shrugged.

"I'm not really sure. It's... good, I think."

They only responded with small, tight smiles.

. . .

“Your mom texted me today. She invited us to come see them this weekend.”

Harry doesn’t reply — or rather, he makes an unassuming humming noise — as he gets out of Y/N’s bed, untangling his naked form from her sheets. He hunts down his briefs and pulls them on before stretching his arms out. 

“Did you eat dinner?” he asks, grabbing her tee-shirt off the floor and tossing it to her. She sits up, tightening the sheet around her chest. She shakes her head as she clutches the fabric of her shirt in her hands and watches him scroll on his phone.

“No. I thought we could get something.”

Harry hums again, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers. Swallowing, Y/N puts her shirt back on. She’s not sure why, but she always feels oddly vulnerable once they’ve finished hooking up. When she’s still naked and he’s already moved onto the next thing, like having plans with the guys or taking a shower before he heads home. She'd even purchased his favorite body wash and shampoo when he started sticking around a bit longer, but he'd never even mentioned it or uttered a thank you.

“Yeah, maybe,” he finally replies. He locks his phone and places it back on the ledge of the TV stand in her bedroom. The simple act makes her heart jump — usually, he’ll stuff his phone in his pocket as he’s leaving. Maybe he was planning on staying the night. “So listen, I know I took you to dinner at my parents’ place that one time, but I don’t really feel comfortable with you talking to my mom.”

Y/N furrows her brows in confusion. “She texted me, H. I don’t, like, regularly reach out to her.”

“Right, but it just makes this whole thing feel way more serious than it is.” he says, sitting back down on the bed. He maintains a steady distance between them and it makes a small lump form in Y/N’s throat. 

“Okay,” she murmurs slowly, “That’s fine, I get it. But… we never really talked about what this is.”

Harry glances up with wide, confused eyes. “We’ve said it a million times, Y/N. This is casual. Completely and totally casual sex.”

An ugly, involuntary chortle leaves her chest. He raises his eyebrows.

“We’ve been fucking for four months. That’s not really casual.”

“Yes, it is. It’s friends with benefits.”

“Sure, maybe, but that’s if you explicitly outline that you’re just having sex. No feelings involved.”

“We did that.”

“When?”

“At the beginning,” Harry responds. He seems frustrated now, but it feels as though he’s recalling a memory that Y/N was never even around for. “Remember? I told you, it was all just for tonight type shit. Nothing real.”

“Then why the fuck did you take me to your parents’ house two months ago?” Y/N demands, anger rising in her chest, “And why am I your date to all of your stupid, boring work events? And why the hell are you at my house like four times a week, and why do you have a drawer full of my clothes at your place?”

“Y/N—”

“This isn’t fucking casual, Harry. This is dating. You’re dating me and you don't even realize it.”

“I would know if I was dating you, but I never asked you to be my girlfriend. I don’t want a girlfriend, you know that.”

She groans and shakes her head, ignoring the way her jaw already aches from clenching it so hard. She grabs a clear pair of underwear from her drawer and quickly slips them on. Harry’s silent the entire time.

Suddenly, she whips around and faces him. “Have you been fucking other people?” 

A wrinkle forms between his brows. He shakes his head.

“No. I wouldn’t do that, and it’s unsafe.”

“Right,” she murmurs, placing her hands on her hips, “So piece it together, Harry. Neither of us are sleeping with other people. We’re exclusively seeing one another.”

“You’re just making this out to be way more of a thing than it is—”

“Oh, fuck off!” she exclaims, “You have a key to my house! That’s pretty serious!”

“I didn’t ask you for that!” he fires back as he stands up from the bed. They’re in a stand-off now, staring at one another with angry eyes. She snorts and shakes her head in disbelief.

“My friends were so fucking right about you. You’re such an asshole. You know Maeve called me a loser for thinking you were a good guy?”

Harry rolls his eyes as he grabs his phone and sweater, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

They don’t exchange any other words as he leaves her room. She sits back down on the edge of the mattress, listening as he stuffs his feet in his sneakers and slams the front door shut. She doesn’t even notice that tears are lining her eyes and falling onto the apples of her cheeks.

. . .

It’s barely 48 hours later when Y/N’s watching a YouTube video as she stands in the bathroom, doing her nighttime routine.

Like four months prior, when she hoped Harry would be a good rebound for her heartbreak, she's been moping around in self-hatred and sadness. She's in awe of how cruel and oblivious he's being, but more than that, she can't believe she actually believed he had real feelings for her. Ones that extended beyond sex.

She’s brushing her teeth when she notices a text notification come down, redirecting her attention from the influencer vlog to read the name of the sender. She taps on it to see a familiar initial.

From: H (10:32 p.m.)

Sorry for what I said. Can I come over?

#writing #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanficton #harry styles one direction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles one-shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #harry's house #⭐️ #yes I just had to re-size that banner and reupload

[coralinnii]

I love the villain scorned by the world feat: Leona genre: budding romance note: continuation of the sequel to Villain/ess au Leona’s ver., not gender-specific reader, no pronouns used, established political relationship, Leona and reader are adults, roughly 1.5k word count, reader is interpreted as extremely ticklish,

Series masterlist

The Royal couple is in trouble!

No, not the King and Queen. And you and Leona are not really in danger, nor are you breaking up or anything…ok no one is really in trouble.

But there’s definitely some tension between the newlywed couple as the servants fear the honeymoon phase has finally fizzled (though you wanted to argue that there never was such a phase to begin with).

First, it started with the lover’s quarrel (the lovers part is also debatable, you muttered) the day Leona revealed fresh scratch marks on his shoulders and chest. The knights recalled the frustration and embarrassment on your face when you verbally tore into Leona over the marks, yelling at the young prince how humiliating it was that King Farena himself had to mention it.

Leona’s words didn’t help your ire, casually replying, “I couldn’t care less what my brother or anybody says about me or our relationship, and neither should you”

Unfortunately for him, you don’t agree with that as you left the training grounds right after calling him a “tactless housecat”. The knights kept their awe for you internally so as to not get caught by the stunned prince. No one but you could ever call Leona Kingscholar that and leave unscathed. Kudos to you

Since then, you have avoided your shared bedroom with your husband, making excuses of obligations and signs of illness (a huge migraine counts, right?). but no one knew you were actually just fearful that Leona would exact his revenge on you through tickling. You don’t regret pissing off the great Leona, you just regret showing a vindictive beastman your weak spots.

Leona was pissed but not because you called him a housecat (ok, maybe a little), it was mostly because your absence has disrupted his naps.

Since your union, you two were obligated to share a bed frequently to maintain your relationship despite having your own personal rooms. At first, it was a pain for Leona to share his peace and quiet with someone but he has grown accustomed to you as the two of you come together to sleep.

The warmth of your body that radiates that perfect amount of heat beside him, the pleasant waft of your scent that sticks to the sheets and pillows that doesn’t overwhelm his senses unlike the obnoxious perfumes of those gold-diggers, your soft breathing that lulls him to sleep as he unconsciously inches closer to you to hear and feel you better. He finds himself waking up in a much better mood and more well rested after your shared nights. You can’t just take that away from him after getting so comfortable.

You ruined his napping routine so you gotta fix it now.

Leona came up to you, calling a truce to “that incident” and promising not to tickle you as revenge for your yelling and insults. You immediately picked up his wording, noting he didn’t say he’ll stop tickling for good, but you figured that’s fine for now.

Ironically though, you really did have obligations that required you to stay in your personal bedroom. You have been exchanging letters with someone from a neighbouring kingdom who was planning a visit soon. So, you were now avoiding sharing a bed with Leona since you didn’t want to disturb his sleep as you stayed up to make preparations for the visiting Royal.

With your prolonged avoidance and Leona’s growing grumpiness, the castle has been tense with worry that the peaceful alliance may be at risk. Everyone was on edge and nearly in tears, especially one young lion cub.

“The kingdom’s in danger!” Cheka bawled as he buried himself into your arms, clutching to your clothes. He had walked into your bedroom with tears in his eyes, towards your seated position by your work desk and climbed into your lap.

You were at a loss at the young cub’s sudden proclamation. You turned to Leona who was lying on your large bed, spreading himself across the mattress like he owned it. He only shrugged his shoulders, confused as you are (though clearly not as worried).

“Cheka honey, what do you mean? Did your father say something today?” You asked worriedly, wondering what news could lead to such a statement.

But Cheka shook his head, still holding onto your shirt. If you weren’t so concerned with his words, you would have joked about how the young heir acts more like a koala than a mighty lion right now.

“Then spit it out, you brat” Leona irritably said, earning a side glare from you which he ignored, “What do you mean the kingdom’s in danger?”

“Hic…everyone is saying you two are gonna b-break up” Cheka choked out, tears filling his eyes again, “Then the union is gonna fail and everyone might go to war”

…

There was now silence as you and Leona processed the child’s words. That was one hell of a stretch of a scenario. Sure, your union with Leona was one of political benefits, but you weren’t crazy enough to start a war with an entire kingdom over a bad break up.

“We ain’t breaking up”

“Oh right, that too” you thought, realizing the obvious that Leona pointed out with an angry growl in his throat, his tail thumping down against your bed in visible annoyance.

“You and Unca aren’t?” Cheka asked, finally lifting his head to look up at you with hopeful eyes. You smiled at the cute cub beastman, weaving your hand through his fluffy hair.

“No, your uncle and I are perfectly happy. We’re not breaking up anytime soon” you reassured your nephew, too distracted to notice the way the aggressive thumping on your bed had stopped.

“Happy? Like mommy and daddy?” Cheka asked with a quizzical look, leaving you to gush internally over such cuteness.

You absentmindedly nodded your head. “Yes, just like your mommy and daddy”

“Then how come Unca and you don’t kiss?”

Oh, the silence is back.

“Mommy and daddy are always happy with each other, and they kiss all the time” Cheka continued, tapping his mouth to show where he sees his parents leave kisses, “If you’re happy, don’t you kiss each other?”

You’re cursing to yourself a mile a minute in your head, a rush of emotional stress going through your body. You didn’t want to explain the complexity of your relationship with Leona to the young Cheka, especially when you didn’t want to destroy his views of love and romance.

“How dare King Farena call me out on my PDA with Leona when he goes ahead and does this?” You frustratingly thought as you looked to Leona who has been unhelpfully laying on your bed, suspiciously quiet for a while. You glared at him while tilting your head to his nephew, wordlessly demanding help from your husband.

Surprisingly, it looked like Leona was willing to help you afterall. He finally got off your comfy bed and walked towards you and Cheka, settling to place his hand atop the backrest of your chair and leaned down towards your head.

“Yea, why don’t we kiss?”

You take back everything you thought. Leona Kingscholar is never helpful and you’re a fool to ever think that. You hoped your glare would eventually burn Leona, but sadly he still stood proudly over you with a smug look on his handsome face. Damn his handsome face.

“It’s your move, herbivore” Leona said, purposely baiting you by calling you a herbivore. He took the teasing further by leaning further down towards you, eager to see your next move.

He’s calling you out, waiting to see if you’ll chicken out and make an excuse to Cheka as he was watching you with anticipation. Fine, you’ll make the great Leona Kingscholar think twice before testing you.

You made the first move, boldly capturing the cocky prince’s lips with your own.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. The two of you have done it before on your wedding day. It should mean nothing to you as it did that day, just a formality to show your dedication to this alliance. Just a meaningless skinship between adults, right?

But why did it feel so good?

Why did you enjoy the surprising softness of Leona’s lips, or the way he didn’t seem shocked by your sudden attack but instead pressed his lips further onto yours. Why did it feel so nice to feel the Leona’s warmth on you, his natural scent strangely attractive to you. Even the stray locks of his dark mane felt nice as it lightly tickled your cheeks. You rather perish than to verbally admit, but your prideful husband was a good kisser. Firm and confident, if a little strong.

Actually really strong, why is he getting more aggressive?!

You had to fervently whack the tall prince on his shoulder to signal him to get off, to which he very slowly did. He backed away from you slightly, a little annoyed but still satisfied according to his little smirk. He certainly enjoyed the flustered mess of your face.

“Yay! No break up!” Cheka’s chirpy voice broke your daze and he cheered over your apparent “happy” relationship.

You sighed, but at least you were thankful to settle this weird confusion. You should probably speak with the servants to clear the misunderstanding around the castle.

But Cheka once again surprised both you and Leona

“Now, you and Unca can sleep together again!”

The life of royalty is not easy.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #twst Leona x reader #twst Leona #villainess au

[weird-is-life]

Black cat energy reader getting all blushy and out of character bc of her huge crush on spencer ❤️

Hii, thank u for this request. I don't know If I wrote what u wanted, but I tried. Sorry this is so bad🥺🥺🤭 (1k)

Slow day at the Bau means, that everyone is trying not to fall asleep at their desks.

Hotch is in his office, hard-working as always. Spencer dissappeared somewhere. Rossi is pretending to be working, but he is in fact badly hiding a book in his lap. Emily and Derek aren't even trying to pretend to work, they find you more interesting than their reports.

You are munching on your cookies, while you frown at your paperwork.

Well, they aren't particularly staring at you as they are at the cookies on your table.

They are contemplating wether they should go ask for one or if they want to live.

Everyone knows, that you aren't the most optimistic person on your good days and you are even grumpier on the worse days.

Today is the latter. Your day didn't start well and it just kept getting worse. Yeah, so you are now just frowning at your papers, willing them to go away in your mind.

"I'm going to ask her for one," Derek says bravely, Emily eyes widen and she laughs, "good one, Derek."

"What? I'm being serious..."

"Right, well I want to see that," she dares him, she literally saw you curse the hell out of the coffee maker, so she bet, that it won't go well," grap one for me too, then."

"Watch me," Derek gets up, but before he even takes one step, Spencer appears next to them

"Why are you guys staring at y/n?" Spencer asks, looking confused at them.

"Better question is where were you?" Derek eyes the coffee in his hands.

"Ah you know, around" he says quickly, sipping on the brown liquid, that is clearly not from the office.

"But why are you staring at her?" he raises his eyebrows at them.

"She isn't in a very good mood today and her cookies look tasty" Emily answers.

"Oh, really?" Spencer asks, eyes softening immediately at the mention of you, as always.

Emily and Derek exchange a knowing look. It's clear to them and everybody else, that Spencer likes you and that you like Spencer, too. Well almost everybody, you two are as oblivious as one can be.

"What's up with that look?" Spencer frowns at them, when he sees their weird faces.

"Oh come on, like you don't know" Emily scoffs, Spencer just frowns more, not knowing what she is talking about, " you couldn't be more obvious about y/n," she chuckles and Derek laughs, too.

"Yeah, pretty boy. And it's obvious, she likes you, too. " You always become such a uncharacteristic rambling mess, that even a blind person could see, that you like Spencer.

"She doesn't," Spencer quickly shuts Derek down. There is just no way, that you like him back, no way.

"She really does. She likes you so much, that I bet she'd give you one of her cookies right now. " You don't like to share, it's not that you are selfish, not at all, but you never ever share your food with anybody, no matter what.

"Not funny, guys" Spencers says, he's been teased about hs love life enough by Derek, but including you in the teasing just stings.

"But it's true! She's always all shy and blushy around you" Derek defends," if you don't believe us, you should see for yourself. Go ask her for the cookie."

"What?"

"Just go ask her and you'll see we are telling you the truth," Emily adds, Spencer looks uncertainly at her. He doesn't want to make a fool out of himself, especiallynot in front of you.

But before he can object, Emily pushes him in your direction. So he goes.

You don't notice him approaching at first, but when you do, your cheeks, that are full of cookies heat up.

"Hi" he greets you, you clumsily wave at him and the cookie you have in your hand falls on the floor.

"H-hi Spencer" you shyly greet him, cheeks even redder as you pick the cookie up from the ground.

"How are you doing? Are you bored, too?" Spencer chuckles.

"So bored, the paperwork is so boring," you sigh,your eyes are basically burning holes into the paper. Spencer chuckles at your exasperation and you go all blushy again.

Spencer only now notices, how much your cheeks go red and how shyly you smile around him.

He thought, you are like that with everyone, but now he realises you aren't. He's never seen you blush at anything, that the other team members had said, ever. He thinks about that one time, when Emily complimented you on your new hair and you just said 'I know' and walked away.

"I'm bored, too. Also a little hungry" Spencer's stomach growls to support the statement.

"D-do you want some cookies?" you immediately offer him some with a soft smile. Spencer thinks he might die.

Emily and Derek were right. Or maybe he is just thinking too much into this little gesture. Or maybe you do in fact like him.

"You are offering me your cookies?" he asks, bewildered.

"Umm yes? Shouldn't i be?" you puzzle.

"It's just that you never share your food" Spencer explains and your eyes go wide, the blush at this point isn't leaving your cheeks .

"No that it's bad or anything. I totally understand, I don't really like sharing food either" he adds, so you know, he isn't judging you.

"Well yeah, but I w-want to share with you now, so do you want some?" you sheepishly ask again, averting your eyes from him.

"No." Your eyes widen after his answer.

"O-oh , okay, " you look almost heart broken, after he says it. So Spencer quickly adds.

"No, because I think we should get some proper meal," he smiles at you.

"We?"

"Yeah, we. Do you want to grab something? I know this great place not far from here."

"Really?" You question, hopeful small smile on your face.

"Yes, really."

"Okay, I'd like that."

As Spencer patiently waits for you to get your thing, he looks over his shoulder and sees Emily and Derek with the biggest grins on their faces.

"Assholes" he says under his breath.

"What?" You think, he said something.

"Oh nothing. Ready to go?" You nod almost giddily and start to walk to the door. Spencer has a big grin on his face, too as he walks next to you. Maybe, he will thank Derek and Emily for being too hungry for your cookies later.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n

[caineinthecorner]

Language (The Demon Brothers)

★ Based on my language general hcs. Part 2 is here.

Hi. Today we have the demon brothers language hcs, brought to you by a single dumbass bilingual. :D

I include mentions of bilingual/multilingual MC, but I use the term MC and you interchangeably in the bullet points. It's the same thing who cares (you can also add whatever languages you think fit I am just going off vibes tbh)

★ Lucifer.

Since he was the strongest and highest ranked out of the brothers, his innate abilities were muddled the least.

This is to say that he remembers a lot from his innate knowledge as an angel, and can actually fare incredibly well on his own if you leave him in the human realm.

(the language he preferred back in his angel days was Archaic Latin, which is also Simeon's preferred language)

When Diavolo brought up the idea of the human exchange program he was like "(: ok" and binged human language for like two months straight like a total psychopath

He's like one of those fancy 10+ languages fluent polyglots (how)

Despite his fluency, it is rare to ever see him speak them. He has better things to do and prefers demon tongue.

Or if he does, the Loquar Ad Vos that was applied to you once you arrived in Devildom doesn't allow you to hear it.

You try to swear in your native language around him and oh boy it backfires

That is how you learn he's fluent in everything under the sun (exaggeration)

Frustrated, you grumble that you will learn demon tongue just to one up him

He takes it like a challenge. Enjoy reading a million books on the demonic language and having double the homework for your little joke.

(he gives you hard material to learn on purpose to see you fail. Enjoy hell buckoo. Double hell? Hell²)

You kept misspelling good morning in demon tongue as a demonic death threat and that somehow turned into an inside joke between the two of you.

He has to keep himself from chuckling whenever MC screws up words

Your accent is lovely though. Keep it up

★ Mammon.

Spanish and English.

Ok I actually can't justify myself further than "Mams would absolutely fucking go to Vegas" and the fact that USA has a large Latino population but hear me out

You cannot tell me that he would not watch telenovelas. Like. C'mon.

he has the vibes of a Spanish speaker is what I am saying

he was SO frustrated about having to learn human languages you have no idea

In fact he probably still struggles a bit and that makes him really mad

Why is it so complicated all of the sudden?! It wasn't complicated Before!

He unconsciously associates human languages with the trauma of the fall, and the stress and hurt and turbulent emotions it conveys

So learning new languages besides the two he knows is a touchy subject for him

(but like, he will learn MC's native language despite this. Whining to hell about it, but he will. Everything for MC)

You are actually very lucky that you have Loquar Ad Vos with you, bcs he actually switches from demon tongue to either English or Spanish mid sentence sometimes.

Not that you notice with your crusty translator (Loquar also works for human languages it supports), of course.

"Ayo can you [Spanish phrase], oh and give me a [English word], for a [spanglish nonsense]" <- Mammon's dumbass not functioning in trilingual

Also he has an accent but he's trying

The others are used to it so they don't question it anymore, but they deadass could not understand Mammon at some point because trilingual was not computing

It was frustrating to say the least

You two play charades with each other when the other forgets a word in your respective languages

"MC WHAT'S THE NAME OF THE ANIMAL FUCK THAT CHANGES HOME" "... Hermit crab?" "THATS THE BITCH"

★ Leviathan.

Japanese (very decent) and English (bad) are musts.

You cannot tell me for a second this fuck watches anime subbed OR dubbed. He's too weeb for that. He will watch the original dub version for the full emotional impact

He wanted to know what happens in the weeb world of the west (and internet discourse), so he learned English through shitty 2000s anime forums and Duolingo

Probably plays Duolingo competitively and/or cries if he loses his streak

His hearing and speaking English is okay, his writing is literally so so shit

Tried to learn a romantic language to be corny but failed miserably.

(He steered clear of languages his brothers know so he isn't self conscious)

It was probably Portuguese or something since Mammon kept talking about being good at figuring it out as a Spanish speaker (due to it being a romantic language)

The diacritical marks killed him on the spot

Meu português não é bom... (crying)

Victim of the you're* corrections

Runs his several-paragraphs-long rants about weeb stuff through Satan so the grammar is legit

Actually thinking about it would be absolutely fucking hilarious if he knew russian just for funsies. Yeah add Russian to the list

He sends you crusty Russian memes at unholy hours in the morning. Calls that bonding

Would absolutely swear in loud ass Russian while playing Valorant or smt

"ПИЗДЕЦ" "LEVI IT'S 2AM SHUT THE FUCK UP"

Ah + he knows Morse code (obviously). He was really excited when he discovered it and proceeded to obsess over it for like three weeks straight.

Although by the time he learned about it humans had already moved on from its wide-spead use at sea (post-1999), the Devildom Navy adapted Morse code for their own use as per Levi's command.

He teaches MC how to use Morse code (bashfully) and they send lil' messages to each other for fun

★ Satan.

He inherited a good chunk of Lucifer’s angel-knows-all-languages innate talents.

He doesn't have the angel knowledge of every language, of course, but he definitely has a really high count since birth; Unlike his brothers who had to relearn their languages of interest.

However, he can tell™ that the topic of languages is kinda taboo-y, as it signifies the traumatic fall he himself was not there to witness, and kept quiet about it.

The others (mostly) think he just learned languages in his free time.

He is the designated google translate person. When the other brothers need translations, they ask him.

He gets very frustrated when he has to translate something on the spot

Absolutely knows Chinese and Latin just to read fancy old human books and be a menace about it

He has a copy of the Art Of War in Chinese I will fight you on that

Actually he probably owns every important human book in its native language

Culprit of the you're* corrections

If he has to read another thesis-length essay abt weeb shit by leviathan he will actually lose his shit

You know the Voynich manuscript? He's probably trying to decode it for funsies.

If you and him (unfortunately) share a language, he will absolutely correct the living shit out of you when you speak it

Look me in the eyes and tell me he wouldn't "erm ACtuAllY" MC. You can't.

His ass does not understand slang. At all. You tell him See You Later Alligator and he'll be like "tf you smoking ಠಿ⁠_⁠ಠ?"

★ Asmodeus.

French. And Korean. Maybe very mid English.

Ok so french is the language of lOVe and whatever + Korea is known for their heavy beauty-focused culture

I can see Asmo definitely picking up Korean just for makeup and self care brands purposes.

Like it is easier to browse for products he wants if he can actually browse the original places/websites himself

It's just more convenient and he's actually very good at language learning

+ Korean it is a "cutesy" language so it fits his vibe.

Like he absolutely would go "안녕 teehee (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)" to look disarming is what I am saying

He flirts to hell with Solomon in French. It is a language they both know and isn't supported by Loquar for translation so nobody can snoop their conversations

If you have the misfortune of knowing French I am so sorry for you bcs they are NASTY

Solomon is teaching him English. Asmo fakes being bad at it on purpose

★ Beelzebub.

He knows a decent amount of English.

What does he use it for? Order food. Obviously.

In fact everyone kinda assumes he just knows a few food orders and that's it but no he's actually very decent at English (borderline fluent)

He learned through clunky conversation with small restaurant owners

Beel actually makes a great effort to enunciate every word clearly, so he doesn't like speaking long sentences

"Would you like Salsa with that, sweetheart?" "... Yes," <- Beel has no fucking clue wtf salsa is but it tastes good so who is he to defy food gods (a nice Mexican grandma with a killer Pozole) whom have blessed him

I also think he would probably know some kind of sign language

Fingerspelling maybe, solely because it allows him to talk while having his mouth full or bcs his games are loud and he can't hear words very well

That and, like, the Devildom equivalent of sign language. DSL or something.

Look at him. Absolute sweetheart. He would absolutely want to include deaf or hard of hearing ppl.

★ Belphegor.

Ok so

I am going to be very fr with you

I believe Belphie would be the only monolingual (demon tongue "native") of the brothers

at most he would remember a few phrases of a few languages from back when he was an angel, but not any specifics

Like this dude has ZERO interest in human culture I cannot think he would sit down to (re)learn anything

he would fall asleep trying to learn human verbs actually

He only knows how to tell you to fuck off on 4 languages (/hj)

None which you speak. So that's kinda awkward

He doesn't know how to cast Loquar (nor has any interest in learning how)

Beel casts it for him if he needs it

He can and will deadass just remove the translator spell from you if you try to annoy/interact with him (except if Beel is who casts it on you).

(so Beel now also casts Loquar for you)

Begone >:(

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date? #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me hcs #caineshcs

[peterspinkrobe]

Temptation | Priest!Miguel O’Hara x femreader [part 4]

W/C: 7,1k+ Go read the other chapters

Warnings/Rating: 18+. Religious content. Some Spanish. [smut spoilers ahead lol] ~~~~~~~~~~~ Reader has a vagina. Oral (f receiving). Some overstimulation. That’s all, babe.

A/N: so so so sorry it took so long. Thank you for your patience. I got real wrapped up in the chapter and work has been working me. Looking up flower symbolism and shit. Also, turns out the Bible has smut too. The scripture quoted throughout is from Song of Songs 4-7. Let me know what you think. Pic is something I found on Google (shame)

The chill of the evening air reminded the two who stepped into it that August was bleeding into September. Change was in the wind that carried hues of summer - fluttering down from trees that were shedding their warm colors for leaves of yellow, red, and orange gradients. The sun set earlier day by day as autumn approached the little town hidden in the Catskills mountain belt.

As the sun buried itself deeper into the horizon, it cast an expanse of purples and blues on the clouds above the two making their way into the courtyard behind the church. The pair stole away, silently sneaking out a side door, while the others enjoyed their supper inside. They were accompanied only by the statues of winged angels frozen in time - pouring bowls of abundance into the garden.

Wildflowers burst from patches along the walkways as the tall man guides the follower to a bench situated beside a maple tree. He ducked to avoid the overhead branches as he sat down and invited the other to join him there.

Wild Asters sprouted on either side of the bench in large clusters, long stems shooting up petals of white and red. The one still standing admires the stark contrast between the backdrop of the natural world and the seated one’s black clothes and collared neck. No words have been exchanged since they stepped into the open air but the silent invitation of the large hand patting the open space made the other feel tingles, nonetheless.

The black clad man kept his hands in his lap and shot sideways glances at the one beside him. Their nerves caused them to bounce their knees rapidly. The silence and their nervousness was too much for the man to bear. He wanted to calm them down and reassure them that all was well. He placed his large hand on the other’s knee, halting the bobbing leg. The sudden touch caused them to look up at him into the stormy dark eyes that showed nothing but concern and curiosity. He spoke their name and the song brought them back to Earth.

__________________________________________

“Your confession last-” the deacon began, but was interrupted by your nervous apology.

“I’m so sorry that you had to hear all that. I am so embarrassed and I understand if you think I shouldn’t come here anymore. The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble or-.” This time you are interrupted by that large hand squeezing your leg gently. You look down and see the long-sleeved black dress shirt rolled up to his forearm, the muscle there too tight for it to roll up any further. The veins in his arms protrude and you trace one with your eyes that trails up his arm to the back on his hand. His palm envelopes your kneecap and the long fingers create a cage around the joint. You swallow your words and silently curse the clothes separating skin.

“Please… let me finish.” He brought his other hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sounded strained, as if he had to get the words out or he would burst. Like the things he had to say were compacted in his skull and caused pressure to build between his eyes. You fell silent again and your eyes darted between the scrunched lids of his eyes.

“Ever since your confession I have been wanting to speak with you. I tried calling after you that day but I know I must have scared you.” Fear wasn’t the primary motive for hauling ass out that church as much as it was shame, but you didn’t want to interrupt him. “And then you weren’t here on Sunday… I realize after your confession that you’re only really here for your mother, but I so wished you were here that day so we could talk face to face.” He continued slightly solemnly.

“I hated that we didn’t get to speak on your struggles further and we weren’t able to close the confession as you deserved. You need to know that I hold no judgment towards you - that session was between you and Him. Everyone's path is different and faith isn’t cookie cutter.” He was so impassioned that when his eyes finally met yours again they lit up with excitement in his explanation.

“I owed a fellow man of the church a favor and I took over his confession shift that day last week. The fact that you came to confession that day… on that day of all days. To you all that may seem serendipitous or coincidental, that you felt that strange urge to release those doubts on the day that I was in the booth, but we in the business like to call that ‘God’s Timing’.” The worry and stress seem to melt away as he talks about your interaction in the booth, very different from the reaction you were expecting. His eyes brighten when you, him, and God are being mentioned in the same breath. He becomes more animated and gestures to the expanse of nature around the two of you.”You were meant to go there that day and say those words, I was meant to be there to hear them, as we are meant to be here now in this garden.”

His chest rises and falls from the excitement he feels. He was certain that this is what is felt to be overcome with the Spirit as he had seen in other churches. For the words to fall out without filters and not hold back the faith. When he lowers his eyes to yours again there is a soft smile in them that matches the one slightly stretching his lips.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe in what I preach,” He says this suddenly and his smile slowly fades into something more serious. “It doesn’t bother me that we don’t share the same faith in Christ.”

Heavy pause follows the revelation and you dare not interrupt him, giving him the time to express himself as he did for you in the booth. The setting sun shines rays into his eyes and they reflect back deep amber irises. Their brilliance bounces across your face like he is studying every inch of it - as if your countenance were a difficult passage in Numbers to interpret.

When he speaks again, you find that you aren't as drunk in the music of his voice. The notes are grounding and almost meditative.

“But what worries me is that you don’t share the same faith in yourself that I do. That you don’t see yourself as worthy of blessings when you are a blessing yourself.” The light chill in the air can’t keep the heat from creeping up your chest and neck. His tone became lighter as he went on.

“You are more than deserving of good things. I know our internal thoughts make us feel otherwise, but I need you to know that what they say to you isn't the truth. We all have personal demons that make us question ourselves.” He tilts his upper half more towards you and his large shoulders jut against the backdrop of maple branches and stirring leaves.

Slowly, so slowly, he slides his hand centimeters up your leg so it’s resting more on your thigh.

“I must also confess that I…” He inhales sharply and releases the words with his exhale, “I’m fighting against every urge in my body to maintain myself when I’m around you.” His brows furrow lightly as his other hand comes to cup your chin again, like he had that first time you’d met. The voice is now the smoky room of a jazz club reverberating lowly in the small distance between the two of you.

“Trying to uphold the principles that have nearly been beaten into me when you are in the same room,” he starts to lean in, “you don’t even have to be in the room, mí vicio, for temptation to threaten the sanctity of my profession.”

He tenses ever so slightly, you feel and hear the hesitation in his touch and voice.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or abuse my position..” he starts to pull his hands away, but you quickly grab his hand on your leg and grip his wrist to hold him there. His eyes widen at your response and his mouth hangs open slightly. A pointed canine dipping into his plump bottom lip as you move his hand to cup your cheek.

He brings his face to yours and looks into your eyes again before his stubborn raising escapes his lips, attempting to put his faith before pleasure, “Tell me to stop… tell me we can’t do this.” He presses his lips together and turns his head away a little. The anguish in the words makes you think he might crumble from the war in his mind.

You respond by closing the rest of the gap and pressing your lips onto his cheek. There is an evening shadow of hairs that poke into the soft kiss. He brings his eyes forward to lock back with yours and your noses bump together. Your breathing mixes and his shoulders rise and fall heavily and it seems as if he’s bracing himself with the grip on your leg. The temptation of just being close to you causes his lips to tremble.

“I don’t think you’ll burn in hell if we kiss,” you try to lighten his tension some and he does chuckle as you feel the shaky breathing on your cheeks.

“Funny.” He quips, but he doesn’t say aloud that he’s already burning. His insides are on fire at the feeling of you in his hands. He knows his soul is doomed if fantasy is enough to condemn. He’d burn for the images he’s pictured of you, the positions his imagination puts you in, and for the way his body is reacting to your permissive responses now. The fact that you want this as much as him makes holding back more difficult.

The anticipation that hung from your pout was too much for him and he whispered to himself before pulling your chin up and kissing you.

Just a press of lips against lips. They brushed against each other as your noses moved to accommodate for the space removed. That first kiss was brief, an innocent expression of the brewing affection between you. Yet, it was laden with complex emotions. A small jolt of electricity sparks from Miguel's chest at the kiss and his heartbeat echoed like a drum in his chest.

He was taken aback at how the simple, sweet kiss had made his head spin and when your lips parted he saw your eyes reflecting desire in their haze. Your eyes closed again and allowed your lips to guide the way.

The two of you traded little pecks and pleasure courses through his body. His hand from your knee now held your right hip and the cupped palm now snaked behind your neck and held your head to his as he deepened the kiss. It was harder to hold back as the deacon’s lust, his want, his desire, was too strong. He peaked down through slitted lids at your hands holding the chest of his shirt in fists and grunted against your closed mouths.

Unadulterated passion overwhelmed him and he poked the tip of his tongue to your lips in request. In those cold showers he had taken to try and control his thoughts, he had instead sinfully prayed to feel the inside of your mouth with his tongue, his fingers, and his currently tented dick. Your receptiveness made him nearly whine when you opened your lips in invitation. The buzz in his brain made him lose his inhibitions as he greedily licked into your mouth. He explored your slick cheeks and your tongues clashed together in their first meeting.

As your tongues danced between your mouths, you found that you were the one having to pull away for breath. Father Miguel’s face had reddened from lack of oxygen since he was prioritizing kissing you inside of breathing. His eyes would open halfway, his eyebrows would knit together in a pleading manner, and his pursed lips were swollen when you pulled away. Strands of his dark hair dangled into his forehead. The desperation on his face and in his grip on you was certainly a sight to behold. It was alluring that he was so affected just by kissing, you imagined just how sensitive he must be. It would be a lie to say you weren’t also feeling warmth pool in your belly at the exchange of kisses. You held his face in your hands and your bodies pressed against each other when he wrapped his arms around you. His voice dripped with yearning as he spoke:

“Let me show you how worthy you are…”

The words were a whisper in the wind, a secret kept by the rustling leaves, but they held a vow he intended to uphold.

_______________________________________

Getting away from your mother was surprisingly easy. She was wiped from cooking and everyone was shooing her home, telling her they would handle the clean up. The only real clean up was from the dishes they had dirtied as she had done most of the kitchen keep up as she cooked.

You should’ve been tired too but your mind still whirred from the excitement earlier. The promise of another rendezvous had you eager to volunteer in the clean up. Your mother looked at you again with pride when you told her to go on ahead and that you’d meet her home later after finishing here. If only she knew your true intentions.

Getting Father Miguel away from his parish was another story. You were washing your hands in the kitchen sink as the last of the trash was being taken out. Discretion was attempted as you stole glances at him helping others with their things and wishing them a blessed evening. At one point he catches your eye and his conviction nearly crumbles, but to you he maintains his composure. He gives you the aforementioned signal of a nod and shaky smile and you dry your hands before excusing yourself from one of the church members on your street. You make it seem as though you’re leaving for the night, but head towards the opposite end of the hall when the dining room door closes behind you.

You try to keep your nerves together as you enter the room on the far left end. You try not to think about Father Steen’s name on the door. You try not to hear the innocent farewells and blessings from the other side of the church. You try to look away from the surrounding symbols of sacrifice for sins you were actively committing. You try to calm yourself and your racing mind as you settle in the chair opposite to the one at the desk.

Curiosity temporarily overtakes your other worries when you crane your neck to see the pages that are open on the desk in front of you. It’s obvious what book it is but it’s hard to tell what chapter given it’s upside down, eleven size font, and single-spaced.

You don’t notice the noise completely dying down in the other room as you scan the office. You’ve never actually been in this office so you don’t know what belongs to Father Steen or the deacon. You do recognize the Catholic vestments that were worn by the elder but there was one you hadn’t seen that was separated from the others.

You could tell as you approached that it was much more fancy than the humble ones worn by either of the church heads. Its red satin underside was soft and silky against your inquisitive, yet careful, fingertips. The emerald green top portion was trimmed and detailed in intricate golden lacework. Embroidered red and white flowers weaved with golden stems and darker woven patterns accentuated the colors even further. It was sturdy and seemed handmade as you held the matching stole that hung from the hook beside it.

A knock on the door brought you back to reality and you murmured a ‘come in’. Funny how he was knocking to come into his own office.

He opened the door and walked through the threshold - the top of his head not even an inch away from the frame of the door. He saw you standing by the robes and smiled. He approached you and looked at the robe with you, feeling the fabric himself.

“This chasuble is a Spanish cut. It came from the priest that ran an orphanage in the city and it was a gift to me when he passed.” There’s reverence in his voice as he explains the importance of the robe, and the true weight of the words doesn’t go unnoticed to you. There’s still so much you didn’t know about him.

“Obviously it’s way too fancy for regular service but I always carry it with me. Bring it out for weddings and Easter. Best part? It’s got pockets.” You share a laugh as he wiggles his fingers in a hidden pouch along the inner lining on the front of the robe. He wiggles his eyebrows as well making you laugh more. The sound of it makes him beam at you and you can’t help but feel whiplash from the range of expression he’s given in such a short time.

From a near blubbering mess just from your lips, to this coy attitude now after congregating with his congregation. That tingle returns to your gut at his confident smile and you think of what was going through his mind when you left to come into the office. Did he watch you leave as he shook hands and embraced his newfound flock? Did he feel any impatience with the others who hung on his words? Did he have a change of heart and is attempting to let you down gently? You understood that this was a big No-No in his vocation… maybe post-kiss clarity and being surrounded by the ones trusting his judgment was making him have second thoughts.

Your doubts cause you to speak up, unfortunately spoiling the upbeat mode but you had to make your concerns known.

“I don’t want to make you do something you’ll regret.” His smile fades at the comment as you continue, “you could lose your job.”

He turns towards you from the garments you were admiring.

“Think of the consequences…” you stamper as listens to you, “you could lose the influence and respect you have amongst your fellow brothers in preisthood.” You brace yourself on the chair behind you as you slowly back up past it. He follows you closely.

“Breaking your vows would be a sacrilege.” Your back hits the desk but the deacon still approaches you. “You could be cast out.”

His hands are on your hips and face and your breathing quickens as he leans in, his voice a husky whisper, “For a nonbeliever, you’ve really done your research.”

You know his cocky demeanor is only temporary; when you start kissing again he’ll be back to incoherence. It doesn’t stop you from blushing up at his towering frame.

“Are you sure you want this? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…” he says and starts to pull away as he had before, so careful not to overstep. Again you put your hands on his chest and it takes everything in you not to squeeze the muscular pecs stretching the front of his shirt.

“I want this. So badly. What I don’t want is you feeling guilty. I know what I want but I also know what is right. I don’t want to be the cause of any turmoil or strain in your spirituality. I’ve caused too much wrong to be the reason you break sacred vows important to you.” You both cling to each other against the desk.

“How could I regret this?” He asks so quietly it’s like he’s asking himself, or silently asking God. “Are matters of the heart to be ashamed of?” The storm in his eyes brewed at the idea of even having to explain himself and his feelings to someone above him in the church. For a man who has never been married, never seen God in the loving embrace of another, to try and tell him what love couldn’t be. How could he be expected to turn away from the act of God placed before him now? How do those in the church not see that to love Him, to truly flourish in His image, is to cherish and admire His other creatures? He scans your face and the hand there moves to gently hold your hands on his chest. How badly he wished to banish any doubt clouding your mind.

“I don’t know how else to explain it other than I have developed a deep connection and affection with you and I wish to learn more, so much more.” His breathing is slightly ragged and you feel the rise and fall under your hands. “Your confession, if you still feel the same, makes it nearly impossible for me to deny this anymore.”

“I cannot deny my feelings and continue to serve the church in a capacity that forbids me from you.” You’re speechless at the words and the abrupt honesty. “I’m making these decisions with my eyes wide open.”

“Deacon, I-“ you begin, but he cuts in to say,

“Please, call me Miguel. Not sure how much longer I’ll be a Deacon after this gets out…” He can’t hold back now that you’re alone so he kisses you because he can. Because there is nothing to hold him back from doing so, and your lips feel so good pressed to his. Hearing you say his name causes a low groan to come from his throat and he parts when you frantically protest against his lips.

“What do you mean? No, no one can know! Not yet… oh my god what would my mom think?! She’d believe I corrupted you, and I have, haven’t I?” Your nervousness and the fact that you were more afraid of the judgment from your mother than that of God Almighty made him chuckle again as he nuzzled into your neck and laid kisses up to your ear.

“Corruption and change are not the same. You have brought about a change in me. While I no longer feel I am the same man I once was before meeting you, I am happy for it.” He moves a hand slowly up your back to cradle your head and he feels like King Solomon taking his Queen to bed in Song of Songs as he kisses your neck.

Your neck is like the tower of David,

built with courses of stone;

on it hang a thousand shields,

all of them shields of warriors.

“Please,” He whispers into your ear and takes the lobe between his lips in a tease, “let me reveal my devotion to you.”

Your only response is your fingers entwining in his hair and a gasp, but it’s enough for him to capture your lips again. This time he wastes no time easing your mouth open with his tongue.

Your lips drop sweetness

as the honeycomb,

milk and honey are under your tongue.

He hasn’t had a woman in his arms like this is such a long time. Excitement overcomes him and his hands aren’t sure where to rest on your body. He wants to learn you only by touch. Allowing himself to be led blindly by faith in your embrace. He cups your breasts over your shirt and moans open mouthed into the kiss. You mewl at the abandonment of restraints you both had been holding yourselves back with. You’re not too lost to the feeling of his hands sliding back down and under your shirt. He traces your spine up and down and grabs at newfound flesh.

“You’re skin… tan suave.” He’s breathless again from the frenzy of kisses and touches he’s covering you in. He nearly loses it wondering how soft the rest of you was. The thought brings his fingers to your bra and he undoes the clasp there. He pulls away to see them fall slightly and his teeth dig into his bottom lip and he nearly growls before pulling your shirt up to reveal the loosened bra still veiling your breasts. His eyes are hungry, but he still asks, “May I?”

You’re frustrated at how long this is taking. Usually this sort of thing is a quick ordeal without all this checking in. You take a deep breath and remind yourself who you’re dealing with. You reassure him with a curt, “No more asking.”

Something snaps in his brain and he’s pulling your bra off and quickly replacing the cups with his own hands. He massages them both, lifting them lightly to feel their weight and admiring how your nipples react to the exposure to air and his fingers. The theories of intelligent, immaculate design are confirmed to him as he gazes at them and appreciates them.

At first, you’re on edge about the intensity in his eyes as he looks over you. Then you realize that you don’t know the last time he’s been with someone and that you just aren’t used to time being taken on you. You attempt to regulate your breathing and relax but when he gently tweaks the buds of your breasts between his large fingers your back arches.

He nearly drools at the sight of your body’s reaction and brings the hardened nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tip and caught it in a suckle. You moan and the last thing he sees before your shirt drops over his head is you tossing your head back. He grins devilishly and grazes his teeth over the sensitive nub before moving to give the other some attention. He doesn’t leave it unattended for long when his fingers run his remaining spit over the delicate pucker.

You pull your shirt up and off, discard it somewhere in the room. You couldn’t go any longer without the enticing image of his face in your chest. His lips parted briefly from your right tit so he could mumble, “Dios, me encantan tus tetas…”

The praise and slightly blasphemy of the Lord’s name used in marvel of your body made your head spin. His free hand gripped your hip, then the flesh of your back, ghosting over your soft belly. His fingertips then slip into the hem of your pants and trail fire in their wake. You buck your hips involuntarily and ignore the dig of the desk in your back side.

He pulls away to see your face and the feedback your body gives him. He accepts it eagerly and continues to tease and pull at your pantyline while pinching and pulling at your nipples.

“Please, Miguel-,” The breathlessness in your voice and the flush of your face makes his already hard dick twitch in the restriction of his pants. His name in that sweet, needy tone made him moan out a ‘yeah?’

“I need you.” Your eyes are glazed from the pleasures he’s bestowing upon you. A sheen of sweat shines on your bare chest from the heat of the moment. Your body is on fire and this is only second base. The sensitivity levels of you both were turned up high, but maybe the taboo of it all was causing such an intense reaction. Or maybe you were feeling the same fervent connection he revealed to feel for you. The same string pulling you to one another.

Any resemblance of control fell away from him completely at your pleading pout. His lips crashed down onto yours again and an image of you he’d had in his mind many times flashed and he knew what you needed.

His hand swiftly unbuttons your jeans and the sound of the zipper is in slow motion as he inhales your breathy moans and pleas. His hands move to either side of you and he peels the denim off your burning skin.

He pulls away from you and looks in your eyes as he begins to lower himself. He kisses every inch of newly revealed skin. You’re suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious because you haven’t had a need to do any sort of landscaping for a while. This hadn’t exactly been planned. You look down at your nearly naked body and blush at how he is still completely clothed. You see the dance of his curls as he pulls the jeans off your feet. Then he’s on his knees.

This man of God, in his uniform of black with the white collar slightly askew, knelt before you as if you were an altar to pray to. His hands roamed from your ankles up to your thighs and then down your backside. He squeezes the flesh all over and they never truly settle in one place. He’s intent on learning each curve and dedicating every mole to memory. He catches your eyes and is emboldened by the lust in them so he leans up to press kisses along your abdomen. He murmurs against your tummy at how beautiful you are and how you can stop him at any time. Then, his fingers are hooked around the sides of your panties and he begins to slide them down.

He can’t help but take his time. There were a couple reasons. The first was this was simply too amazing to rush. He’d been in situations like this, and knowing what was coming next excited him. Pulling you out your jeans and spreading your legs brought wafts of your scent into his nose. The aroma was robust and earthy and it drew him in as your panties came down. It had been so long… the smell of your heat made him nearly light-headed but he inhaled deeply. He couldn’t get enough. He had to taste you.

Your panties were still around your knees when he buried his face into your pubic hair and took a deep breath in. You nearly buckled in embarrassment but his arms wrapped around your legs to bring you to his face even more so. He hugged your crotch for a moment and the smells went straight to his cock. It’d been so long since he’d been presented with such a pretty pussy and he had to appreciate the moment.

He pulls you out your panties the rest of the way and pushes you back against the desk. The back of his hand presses to your inner leg and you oblige him by spreading them both for him to get a better look. He sighs as he sits back on his heels and admires the image that has been in his mind for the last couple weeks. The offering of your own communion already glistening from the heavy petting and kissing is more captivating than his imagination could ever be. He paws at the hardness in his jeans and takes a mental image for later.

Motivated by the hunger in his eyes and the way his eyes move in the need to see it all, you start to lose the voice in your head that makes you worry about your body. You bring your hand down and spread your lips a little for him, a little moan escaping you. He nods as if being given instruction and wordlessly brings his mouth to you.

You cry out his name from the touch of his lips to your sensitive flesh. He’s simply kissing the parts you presented to him so graciously. You lean back and brace yourself more on the desk as his hands come up to massage your inner thighs. He moves lower and looks up at you before dragging his tongue slowly up from your seeping pussy to your clit. Your hips buck again and he grins deviously.

The grin and his lewd teasing showed a transformation in the man, as if this part of him laid dormant just beneath the surface of sacredness. His eyes seemed to shift to an alarming red in the lighting. His fingers dug into you like claws. His teeth seemed more pointed when he flashed those wicked grins up at you. He was the one on his knees, but he was the dominant force.

He brought his hands to his new heaven and spread the pearly gates with his thumbs. He blew gently on the exposed, heated skin and you whined from the lack of friction.

Blow on my garden,

that its fragrance may spread everywhere.

Let my beloved come into his garden

and taste its choice fruits.

The stretch of your legs and the wetness that shone between them looked so inviting. He massaged his thumbs up and down, rubbing your lips together and then apart again. His mouth watered at the sight and he licked his lips.

“You’re so wet for me…” he breathed the words before plunging into your waters. The tension, teasing, and time carefully taken on you had driven you crazy but the satisfaction of his tongue on your clit drove you mad. You arched your back and placed your hands on his broad shoulders, the pleasure bringing you to smile and moan in delirium. No longer were you worried about his job, the way you looked, or if he was interested in you as much as you were into him. He was definitely proving that now as he at you out like his last supper.

You surmised that he had to have had some kind of experience with this as you gawk at the expert movements of his tongue. At first, he prodded with the relaxed muscle to test the waters. Now, he was buried into you up to his nose. His tongue would flatten when he wanted a wider range of flavor and you’d feel the large pad lapping you up. Then he would tighten it and drag circles around your clit, sometimes licking into your tightness as if he were starved. He took note of how your body twitched when he pushed his tongue inside you to taste the velvety smoothness of your tight walls. He saw how you jerked with too much stimulation on your delicate bud. He groaned at the sight of your body moving above him, the way your hair hung in your face. The vibration of his convulsing tongue inside you as he groans makes you toss your head back and chant Miguel, Miguel,…

Fueled by the mantra of his name, Miguel goes back to swirling around your clit. He decided his tongue isn’t long enough to feel as deep inside you as he’d like and pushes his middle finger into you halfway. The promise of penetration causes you to grind on the finger and consequently onto his face as well.

He’s sometimes closing his eyes as if he’s in prayer while consuming communion. But the buck of your hips and your weight shifting down on him made his eyes snap open so he could watch your immodesty through lustful eyes. He pulled as you pushed, maintaining the single digit only halfway. He wanted to take his time feeling you and becoming acquainted with what you had so graciously offered to him. When he pulls away from you to speak, the sight of his puffy lips and chin shining with your wetness nearly makes you fall forward.

“Be patient, please,” his voice drips with desperation, “it’s been so long.”

You let out a low whimper but complain no further when he wraps his lips around your clit again and starts moving his finger inside you deeper, finally. You arch your back and your fingers entangle in his hair.

Your light pulling on his hair pulls another moan out of him and he can’t help but rub the underside of himself as he pleasures you. Your wet noises make him want to bathe in your scent and sleek walls. Your moans make his cock twitch in his tightening pants. He flattens his tongue on your swollen clit and languidly licks around and at it directly. He greedily adds another finger so he can gauge just how tight your opening is, but has to ease it in slowly as you cry out.

“Ooh, so tight.. so wet..” He murmurs against your slick as he wiggles the two fingers inside you. “Todo para mí?” This could easily be interpreted as coy, but the tone is earnest. He truly feels blessed with the gifts you’ve so graciously given. He flicks the tip of his cock over the pants as he sweeps his fingers to graze a particularly delicate spot inside you. As soon as his fingers touch that bumpy groove you see stars in your vision. The direct stimulation to your most sensitive space and this new sensation was nearly overwhelming.

“Miguel, ‘s too much.” You pant and attempt to push him off for some reprieve.

He lifts his head with worry in his eyes. His fingers straighten and pump inside you at a grudgingly slow pace. The slightly sweaty strands of hair stick to your thighs as he gently rests his head on it. Leaning on his devotion.

“I just want to make you feel good.” His eyes trail back to watch the way your pussy clings to his fingers when he pulls them out slowly. He seems entranced with the way you stick to his fingers even when they aren’t inside you. You look down to watch the lewd scene and see just how hard his cock is and how he’s got a grip on it through the clothes he’s still fucking wearing. “As good as you make me feel.”

You melt at the words and when his thumb comes up to press around your glistening pearl. He slid it across the top, just above the screaming bud, as if flipping through the thin pages of the Good Book. He ghosted over the area you found tried and true when you were doing this alone and your body, your voice let him know.

He slides his fingers back inside, unable to hold back any longer. His pace is shaky at first, but becomes stable again.

“Mmm, is that good for you?” He begins rubbing small circles in the spot you so beautifully inclined him towards. You nod and moan in response and then he asks you something that nearly knocks you off the table:

“Will you please cum for me?” He asks between heavy breaths that feel warm on your slit. He wondered how you looked, felt, smelled, sounded, and moved when you orgasmed. When he first placed that wafer in your mouth he wanted to be the reason that it happened. He wanted his name to be the one you called out. “Fuck, I need you to…” the curse and the words from the holy man made your insides twist and burn. The steady driving into your core and thumb on that sweet spot causes you to close your eyes and roll your hips with the rhythm.

He says your name and your eyes snap open again.

“Look at me.”

The way his large body slumps between your legs and the background of Catholicism surrounding the two of you hits a dirty switch in your brain and you’re nearing the edge. He can tell by the tightening of the muscles in your thighs and the way they nearly straighten out to give yourself more purchase.

“Just like that. You’re so close aren’t you, tell me.” You cry out a yes!! through your gaped mouth.

“Cum f’me, please. Cum for me just like this. Just for me.”

The words, the perfect pace of his fingers, the way he’s looking up at you… you reach your climax and fight to keep your eyes open as he asked.

Through your lashes you see that he’s grinning up at you. Your slick still on his mouth and stringing between his lips. The type of grin that shouldn’t be on a priest’s face. That’s two things that shouldn’t be on his face now as he licks around his pumping fingers to devour the flow of juices he’s poured out of you.

Your thighs clench around his head and your body spasms, he pulls his mouth away to look up at you between the trap of your thighs.

“Yesss, just like that you look so good. Such a good girl.” He mumbles with a mouth full of your slickness.

He moves his thumb off the hood of your pulsing nub to not overstimulate you, but his fingers remain inside you. The way you pulsed and squeezed around him mesmerized him. He matched the pulses to the grip on his length in a futile attempt to simulate the intoxicating spasms brought onto you by just his hands.

He tries to memorize the heartbeat of your warm burrow as it begins to ease on your come down. He’ll try to emulate the sensation later - on himself - but he knows and dreads the fact that it would not compare to the readied womanhood presented to him. He bites his bottom lip and groans.

You notice how he holds himself and you can’t pull your eyes away from the tent he’s holding back in his pants. Your arms, still a little shaky, move down and you grab his face. You pull a little and he obliges and stands again. He snakes his large arms around your naked body and doesn’t seem to care about any mess you might leave on him. You pull his face to yours and kiss him. His puffy lips are warm against yours and when your tongues touch you taste yourself and feel another coil form in your gut. You pull away and tell him, in a raspy voice,

“I need you. All of you. Please?” Encouraged by your orgasm, you reach your hand down to grab the erection that’s been begging for you.

He hissed your name through his teeth at the sensation and grabs your wrist. He was already embarrassingly close to his own orgasm after having watched you and toyed with himself. Your grip on him made his knees nearly buckle.

His protest made you worry and your arm seized in its place. You let go of him and stare up into his eyes to see where you went wrong with him.

“What’s wrong, Miguel?” The concern in your voice makes him bore his eyes into yours.

“Nothing, no, nothings wrong. You did nothing wrong. I do want this, oh God, you don’t know how badly…” It’s almost as if he’s gasping the words. Your touch, it set him on fire. But, he didn’t think he should, or could, have you the way he really wanted. Not now. Not here. “There’s something you should know. It’s not embarrassing for me, but it’s important you know.”

The seriousness in his tone has you scanning his face for any more information. He says your name and then reveals the truth and you’re left speechless. His tone is matter of fact, the words shocking.

**

**

**

“I’m a virgin.”

You are a garden locked up;

you are a spring enclosed,

a sealed fountain.

Taglist: IT WONT LET ME TAG MORE THAN 50 I’m crying I’m so sorry I’ll try commenting tagging the rest

@soniajustneedssimping @venusisajpeg @cassidysbbg @haveclayeveryday @fishtail111 @sirbird @thecrowstears @elizzybeth-2005 @tayleighuh @crispypugfs @trashcansally @cheezit-luv3rr @marsout @eliiilamar @hamuuko @jagawriterr @oharaswifexx @limenysnocket @xthejazzdalorianx @y0mill @livingmeat @stranded-dream @its-oevy @be-be-la-la @jxylxx @usagijoestar @queenofroses22 @zaunsin @ceoofmiguel @otomebois @fairycwhores @killakungfu-wolfbitch @buffalolover10177 @jaywalksalloverme @jalxnnie @deepinballs @vomitsama @aurora-burrow @wlalspj @tieonatrenchcoat @cicato @firstghostempathtaco @yallhearsm @mumbi-222 @carmenxhuuuu @dv-ocean-blog @multi-fandom-chick-blog1 @jellybeansupmyass @cheyjellyfish @elyissly @laikve @coffeejellypng @staycgoindown @variouslyalloya @redflame5975 @botchedlove @thatoneenchilada @buck-uwu @donnie-spectacular

Chapter 5? It might take some time tho…

#fanfic #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #priest!miguel #miguel x reader #priest au #miguel x you #atsv smut #finally! #sorry lol #chapter 4

[thydungeongal]

Gonna demonstrate just how hilariously broken the Diplomacy skill is in D&D 3.5 by making a game legal level 6 character who is ready to go solve The Red Hand of Doom (a classic module from D&D 3.5 that in my opinion still largely holds up!)

Half-Elf for a +2 racial bonus on Diplomacy checks. The typing of that bonus is important, because you can't stack multiple bonuses of the same type. Untyped bonuses stack. (Dodge bonuses are a special exception.)

We'll start with Bard. Technically we could also use Factotum from Dungeonscape, but there's a Half-Elf Bard substitution level that allows us to switch out countersong for an ability that effectively allows us to cast calm emotions with a DC equal to our Diplomacy check, which is a fun trick to have.

Bard has all the skills that grant synergy bonuses to Diplomacy on their class list. At 1st level we will need at least the following skill ranks:

Bluff 4

Diplomacy 4

Knowledge (nobility and royalty) 4

Sense Motive 4

We will be multiclassing but since we have a level in Bard our maximum ranks will be as if we had all of those as our class skills. Synergy bonuses hit at 5 ranks, so while we want Diplomacy to be at maximum possible ranks, those three other skills don't need more than 5 ranks each.

For our feat we'll grab Negotiator for another untyped +2 bonus.

At level 1 our Diplomacy bonus is +8 (4 from ranks, +2 from half-elf, +2 from Negotiator) without taking into account our Charisma modifier. Pretty good, but we can do better. At this point it's good to mention that our character has to be Chaotic Good.

Our character then multiclasses into Warlock for two levels. Warlock has Bluff and Sense Motive as class skills, but sadly only 2+Int modifier skill ranks per level. Assuming a +0 Int mod we can at the very least get our Bluff and Sense Motive to 5 and our Diplomacy (we'll have to pay double for a single rank of Diplomacy while taking Warlock because it's not a Warlock class skill). That means that two of our Diplomacy synergies come into play for two untyped +2 bonuses. While our first least invocation choice is moot, the second one is important: at level 2 we'll be able to pick up beguiling influence.

You can invoke this ability to beguile and bewitch your foes. You gain a +6 bonus on Bluff, Diplomacy, and Intimidate checks for a period of 24 hours.

Just have that on forever from now on.

Also at level 3 we might as well pick up Skill Focus (Diplomacy) for one more untyped +3 bonus.

So, at level 3:

5 ranks, +2 from half-elf, +2 from Negotiator, +2 from Bluff synergy, +2 from Sense Motive synergy, +6 from beguiling influence, +3 from Skill Focus. +22 at level 3.

But we're not done yet: it's time our character found religion. Take a level of Cleric. Specifically the Cloistered Cleric variant from Unearthed Arcana (lower hit points, limited armor proficiencies, automatic access to Knowledge domain, higher skill points) as well as the No Turning variant from Dragon #353. The skill point boost allows us to get the missing rank of Knowledge (nobility and royalty) which is now a class skill for us, as well as maxing out Diplomacy to 7 ranks. The No Turning variant means we don't have the ability to turn undead, but in exchange we can pick up this thing:

EVANGELIST You travel far and wide, making showy public sermons and seeking converts to your religion. Level: 1st. Replaces: Turn or rebuke undead. Benefit: You gain a +2 bonus on diplomacy checks. An innate talent for magic grants you the following spell-like ability as a 1st-level caster: 2/day - comprehend languages. At 7th level, you gain the following spell-like ability as a 7th-level caster: 1/day - tongues.

As for our domains? Technically as a Cleric we can just be a non-denominational Cleric who gets their domains from belief. In addition to the Knowledge domain we gain automatically from being a Cloistered Cleric, let's pick up Joy and Mind.

JOY DOMAIN Granted Power: You gain a +4 sacred bonus on Diplomacy checks.

MIND DOMAIN Granted Powers: Gain a +2 bonus on Bluff, Diplomacy, and Sense Motive checks.

We're at level 4 now. Our Diplomacy is at 7 ranks. We have three +2 synergy bonuses, as well as a bunch of other bonuses from other sources. let's tally those up:

7 + 2 (half-elf) + 2 (Negotiator) + 6 (synergies) + 3 (Skill Focus) + 6 (beguiling influence) + 2 (evangelist) + 6 (domains). +34 at level 4.

For our final two dips we're going to pick up a level of Incarnate from the Magic of Incarnum (weird magic system that is all about making temporary magic items out of soul stuff?) and Binder from Tome of Magic. Both classes have Diplomacy as class skill so we get our ranks to 9, and this is the stuff we pick up:

Silvertongue Mask

The soulmeld draws on the souls of quick-witted and slick-tongued heroes, helping to guide the meldshaper in beguilement or negotiation. You shape incarnum into a silver-blue mask that you wear over your face. Your silvertongue mask grants you a +2 insight bonus on Bluff and Diplomacy checks. Essentia: Every point of essentia you invest in your silvertongue mask increases the insight bonus by 2.

At level 1 we're limited to binding only one essential into our mask, oh no. Well, that's still a +4 bonus for a single dip.

And finally we'll be making a deal with Naberius. I'll skip the text and show exactly what we'll pick up:

Silver Tongue: You can take 10 on Diplomacy and Bluff checks even if distracted or threatened. In addition, you can make a rushed Diplomacy check as a standard action and take no penalty. (Normally, a rushed Diplomacy check requires a full-round action and imposes a -10 penalty on the check.)

Tallying up all those final bonuses, at level 6 we have +40 to Diplomacy with no penalty for rushing the check. We can always elect to take 10 on a Diplomacy check. Let's look at the ol' Diplomacy chart.

Taking 10 and with a +40 bonus we simply can't not hit that DC of 50 to turn someone from Hostile to Helpful. (Remember, the DCs are flat.) We're set for Red Hand of Doom, Pacifist run.

#long post

[rhinozzryan]

@sheep311

English int. goodbye, good-bye, goodby, good-by 'a phrase used to express good wishes when parting at the end of a conversation' (also in derived n. 'an instance of saying goodbye'; from the 1600s in goodby and 1700s in goodbye) is from a shortening of earlier Early Modern English int. goodbuy, goodbuy'ye, goodb'w'y(e 'id.' (forms in -buy of later secondhand association with English v. buy 'to purchase, obtain by exchange; to redeem, accept', of heavy influence to the pronunciation of the second syllable), from the forms in Early Middle English int. godb'y(e, godbuy, godbuy'ye, godb'w'y(e, godbwy(e 'id.' (forms in -buy show association with buy, as above; the change from god- to good- is by secondary association with English int. good day 'an expression of general good wishes', good night, goodnight 'a customary expression of parting in the evenings or before going to bed', etc.), colloquial shortening of Early Modern English int. god be with you, plur. god be with ye 'id.' (as a parting phrase, from the late 15th century; the -ye in some forms above probably shows a merger of the plural and a colloquial form of the singular; shortening of with can be seen in early form god be wy you; many early forms used abbreviatory apostrophes).

TL;DR: goodbye is a shortening, with influence from buy and phrases like good day, of the parting expression god be with you.

#throughout this post i use standard linguistic abbreviations #if u have any questions or uncertainties or gripes just throw out a reply!!

[budbuddnbuddy]

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

Pt2

A/n: I thought of this while rotting away in bed like the loser I am, enjoy. Also tell me if yall want a pt2.

TLDR: Someone tried to kill you and your main hoes are not happy 💀

It’s stupidly funny when you think about it. Someone actually being dumb enough to try to kill you, at RAD of all places.

Though….maybe you were the dumb one, to think that you would be safe after your pact with Mammon. Sure he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed but he’s still one of the strongest demons in the Devildom, one of the strongest demons that was under your control.

That was only really made clear to you after demons, not only at RAD, stopped imitating you and talking openly about how they wanted to eat you and how Mammon started sticking by your side way more than usual. He played it off as Demon pact etiquette which was probably true now that you thought about it.

Sooner or later with each pact you made with the brothers the less Demons were actually trying or suggesting to kill you. In fact you were gaining some respect with each pact you made.

Guess when it was announced that you finally made a pact with Lucifer, you thought you had made it clear that you were of important status and finally cleared off the demons who wanted your neck slit.

Turns out they never left, they just hid and waited for the right moment.

It happened at a party at RAD, a good chunk of RAD’s students were there along with some of the friends you had made, along with the brothers, Lord Diavolo and Barbatos, and the other exchange students that were at RAD. It almost felt like a prom night.

Then gunshots were fired.

You fell onto the table of food spilled everything onto the floor, drinks, sweets, plates, bowls. Everything crumbled and broke around your limp body and everyone around you scattered.

You were out of it for a second but when your eyes finally allowed you to see, everything was shaking and blurry. It was so hard to breathe and- was that….blood?

Lights were broken and flashing on and off, people were running around and ducking under tables, you looked around to do the same and then heard a voice of a angel.

“….C! ….MC! MC!”

Literally.

You looked over to the side and saw Luke with tears in his eyes, his head peaked from under the table cloth and he waved at you to hide with him.

You didn’t want to put him in danger but that was really your only option at the moment however as soon and you lifted yourself up to crawl over, second bullet was shoot into your back.

Don’t you just have the best of luck?

You screamed in agony and people ran around more, you almost passed out again from the pain that was at the back of your head and your back itself. Muffled yells of Diavolo and Lucifer flowed into your ears and heavy stomps and running were heard from upstairs.

You settled for shuffling against the floor with the little strength you had, to get under the table with Luke, it was still hard to see but you could still tell that he had been crying, hard.

You coughed a little bit of blood, only making more tears roll down Luke’s cheeks. Everything was getting harder to see, you could hear Luke screaming at you to not die and the last thing you thought before you passed out?

‘I knew this was gonna happen.’

Lucifer

He was standing by Diavolo and Barbatos on the second floor when it happened, glancing back and forth at you every now and then.

You were only with Luke and some of your friends. None of his brothers were near you, Beel was looking for Belphie, Asmo and Satan were on the dance floor, Mammon was just finishing up a game of cards against some other demons and Leviathan was on his D.D.D in the corner.

Just as he was finishing up his conversation with Diavolo a loud gunshot was fired followed by crashing of multiple plates and bowls against the floor, his head shot back to look at where the bullet was fired at but everyone was running around and causing havoc.

When he finally looked down his face twisted into horror as his eyes laid upon you with the back of your head blown out, slumped over a bunch foods and liquids from the food table.

He screamed your name and directed Diavolos and Barbatos attention towards your unconscious body.

He searched in desperation for your attacker but was only met with screams of demons and crowds of people pushing each other for safety.

He did some pushing himself until he finally witnessed the man responsible for lodging a bullet in your head put another one in your back.

Lucifer shouted at him in rage and sprinted toward him Diavolo followed and the man made a break for it.

They followed him through crowds of demons however as soon as they saw who they were chasing the ran in the opposite direction giving them more space to run freely at the man.

He was getting faster and Diavolo and Lucifer had to go into their demonic forms to catch up with him but just as they did Beel stepped out of the room in confusion and Lucifer yelled at him.

“Beel! Stop him!!! Put him to the ground!”

He almost didn’t have to say anything because as soon as Beel laid eyes on him, he already had him in a armlock onto the floor.

With your attacker restrained by Beel, Lucifer sped downstairs to look for you, he cried out for you twice before he was waved over by mammon from under a table.

He threw the table out of the way and there he was met with the sight of your unconscious body laid over Mammon and Luke who were both crying over you.

He was about to scream at someone to call a ambulance but when the sirens were heard from outside he picked you up and rushed you out with Mammon and Luke following behind him.

When you woke up in the hospital he was already shushing you back to sleep, it had taken 4 days but you were back and that’s all he need to know for now.

Only the best Doctors and nurses in the Devildom would be at your aid, only the very best for his human.

Mammon

He was just about to go talk to you, he was almost done with this game, just one last move and he’ll collect all the money he won, show off to you, impress you, then marry you-

His a opponent just placed down a card when the first bullet ran through the back of your head. He turned over to make sure you were okay but be screamed as soon as he witnessed you tumble over the buffet table and bring everything on it crashing onto the floor.

He dashed towards you, just in time before demons started running around in fear. He pulled you out of the mess you were in and teared up at the sight of you.

He attempted to shake you wake but eventually the crowd of demons swam through the two of you and pulled mammon far away enough from you to the point where he couldn’t even remember were you were at.

He ducked from under table after table attempting to make his way back to you. Then the second shot came and he flinched causing him to be swept away by the crowd of running demons a second time however he was lucky enough for it to be brought right towards you and Luke.

He found you passed out with your head in Luke’s lap, he was hugging your head tightly and crying over you. He looked at Mammon in desperation and begged for him to help you.

“Pluh-Please! *Hic*Don’t let them die! Help them, Mammon! Please don’t let them die! Please!!”

He tore up his jacket to use as a make shift badge for the wound on your head, he was just about to destroy the rest of it up, but he heard Lucifer shouting your name and peaked from underneath the table to call him over.

He ran after Lucifer to bring you over to the ambulance and took Luke with him, probably what you would’ve wanted anyway, and rode with him all the way to the hospital.

He was there for the surgery they did, stayed there from the beginning until the end. When you were in your short coma he stayed at the hospital, even slept there right beside you.

He did everything he could to help you get better, only time he was away from you was when he took a shower.

Leviathan brought extra clothes for him and stayed along with him towards the end of your stay at the hospital, something he’s extremely grateful for.

He was right there when you opened your eyes, he was staring down at you when it happened and he became teary eyed when you looked up at him.

“You’re…..alive. Oh fuck you’re alive..!”

He slammed down onto the call button for the nurse and pressed a long kiss against your lips.

Mammon became your personal nurse at home and helped you get back on your feet when you were discharged. He’s so bbg

Leviathan

Now y’all already know that parties were never Levi’s thing.

However this particular event required him to be there plus you were gonna be there too so he really didn’t have a choice in the matter.

He couldn’t dance nor could he just walk up and start a conversation with people so he just settled on gaming on his D.D.D until you were available to drag away for an hour or two.

He was starting to get needy for your attention, when he looked up the only person that was by you was Luke.

Then the back of your head was blown out.

He froze in shock and fear as he watched as people scramble away from you when you fell onto the buffet table.

Guns in the Devildom were extremely dangerous, the soul purpose of them was to kill and if you had one, you were definitely trying to kill someone.

The bullet was lodged in the back of your head and knocked you out instantly meaning only two things 1. You were already dead 2. There was a limited amount of time before you would die.

Soon as that information registered into his brain and he saw that Mammon gotten to you, he dashed into the bathroom and called for ambulance, he told them all about the situation how you had been shot in the back of the head and you needed help immediately.

*BANG*

He flinched as he headed a second gunshot and his eyes widened when he heard your scream of agony.

This time he didn’t hesitate to tell the operator that you were shot once again.

He was still in the bathroom when Lucifer was yelling downstairs for you but he stayed just in case to be safe.

After about 5 minutes he left to go outside and was met with Lucifer and Mammon in the ambulance closing the doors and driving off.

He got the news that you were in the hospital and you were in a coma a day after your surgery. You were stable thankfully.

He just stayed in your room for most of the time, cleaning and setting up your room with Satan, going grocery shopping to make sure you had all your favorite foods and snacks at home, he even did your laundry!

Mammon was still at the hospital with you so he brought some clothes and some food for him over to the hospital and stayed there for the rest of the time.

When you finally woke up, he was just walking back from the bathroom and Mammon yelled for him to get over there.

“They’re awake! Levi, they’re back and they’re alive!”

He hugged your stomach and cried into your chest for a long long time.

When you were finally discharged he and Satan presented you with your favorite meal in bed then gamed and read to you to keep you company. bbg #2

#obey me x mc #mammon #mammon x mc #obey me #obey me beelzebub #obey me mammon #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me! #obey me leviathan #obey me luficer #fanfiction #obey me luke #obey me diavolo

[goddessofmischief]

Hey, thanks for tagging :) I am 34, so the "old men" are not so old to me and quite frankly, watching Shanks, Buggy and Mihawk in OPLA is feeling like coming home to old friends back from 20 years ago. (I was crushing on Shanks and Buggy so much...😅) So I thought, maybe you could write something where fem!reader already knows them and has a soft spot for each of them, since back when they were flirting and making fun when they were young. Now as adults they meet again and the chemistry is still there.

I remember one of my stories from back then. I was jealous of mermaids, because all the pirates got stupid once they're around, and a drunk Shanks said: "nah, you wouldn't like to be one; You'd be missing slamming doors and Buggy would drown on daily basis just to say hi-." Both Buggy and Reader: "shut up! So not true!". Just like young stupids are... :)

Anyways, thanks for your writing and I can't wait to read more about the "get-shit-done"-squad Mihawk, Shanks and Buggy

     — MERMAIDS (YOUNG SHANKS X READER, YOUNG BUGGY X READER)

A/N: Hope this is alright: since your formal request was so in line with what the theme of the series will be anyway, I used the excerpt of your line as basis for this particular fic. All credit of course goes to you for coming up with the lines and the idea. On a personal note, I just want to say how much I respect that you were an OG fic writer and still have interest in and love for these characters. Welcome home.

...

You would have believed that you had been at sea for years, until Buggy reminded you that it had only been weeks.

Granted, this is how he reminded you:

"It's been wee-eks," Buggy whined, stretching out on his hammock. Shanks was collapsed against the wall, fingers knotted together, eyes not really focused on any particular place.

And you? You were lying on the floor, gazing up at the wooden ceiling, wondering if it would be a good idea to leave the cabin and see the stars.

Being on the ship for weeks was highly irregular for your crew. Great captain he was, Roger knew he could only keep this ragtag group sane if they stepped onto shore and ate an orange every once in awhile. This concern was triply inflated by the fact that he had three young adults onboard who became very antsy if they had to stay in one place for too long. Your patience certainly rivaled Buggy's or even Shanks', but even you had your limit, and you had met it long ago.

The ship would have planned to make port nearly a week before, but the World Government was closer to finding you than ever. It was simply too dangerous.

You soon learned how your friends reacted to a situation such as this. Shanks had retreated mostly into silence, with exception of the odd joke or attempt at conversation, and Buggy had decided he blamed you both somehow for this situation and that any words exchanged with either of you would only be of the complaining nature.

"I know, Bugs," said Shanks, and you were surprised to hear him answer Buggy's complaint. You exchanged glances with him, then turned back to Buggy.

"Let's go outside, yeah?" you suggested. "Do something fun."

"Everyone's outside," Buggy complained. "They've been yelling over something for hours."

"And you didn't think that was important to mention, Bugs?" Shanks asked, irritably. Buggy shrugged.

...

The thing that had sparked such interest in the crew was simply that, as your ship had sailed very far into the deepest waters, much farther than usual, you had sailed into a home of mermaids. Extremely dangerous, and the crew knew it.

It did not negate their interest whatsoever, though.

Pirates get stupid when mermaids are around. It is a core trait of pirates and no less than a sacred tenet of piracy itself. More than a few decent men have been seduced to the sea by the very concept of mermaids, and to that end, the idea of finding one.

Shanks and Buggy were no exception.

You had never really taken the care to notice how they behaved with girls. Their flirting was of no interest to you, and so you didn't bother to surveil it. But it came to your attention now that they had terribly different styles: namely, that Buggy was mostly content to sit and watch from the edge of the deck, and Shanks was more interested in yelling, waving, and nearly falling off the boat.

Granted, by this time, alcohol had become involved, and all bets were off.

Despite all the excitement, the first in weeks, Shanks had begun to notice how quiet you'd become. He approached you, somewhat cautiously, hoping you wouldn't react with a retort or a threat.

"You okay?"

You nodded, staring at the drink you held.

"You sure?"

You shrugged, whispering something under your breath that Shanks struggled to hear.

"What's that?"

You spoke again, slightly more than a whisper, but Shanks heard it all the same.

"...I wish I was a mermaid."

"You wish you were a mermaid?" He repeated loudly, almost outraged. You shushed him, and he just laughed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just... nah, you wouldn't like to be one. You'd be missing... slamming doors, and Buggy would drown himself on a daily basis just to say hi-"

"Shut up!" you giggled. "So not true!"

"And then, of course, there'd be all the pirates. I wouldn't like sharing you with them."

"I'm a pirate. You're a pirate."

"I'm a different sort of pirate. And you're barely a pirate at all."

You shrank back, inexplicably hurt by Shanks' drunken offhand insult.

"I'm as much of a pirate as you."

"Of course you are. I didn't mean that. Not like that. I mean, you're just... you're very careful, you're much too good for us. You're not messy or mean like the rest of us are."

"What do you think I am, then?"

"A princess," he blurted out, and you tried not to laugh. "I've always thought so."

"Always?"

"Mhm. The whole time."

You studied Shanks' face, seeing him in a new light that you'd never glimpsed anyone in before. Had he always been this cute, or charming, or kind?

Well, it didn't matter if he always had been, because he was now, and before you had given much thought to it at all you were pushing his straw hat back and he was meeting your lips in a kiss, your first, his first.

"You're a terribly nice pirate," you mumbled.

"You're a terribly beautiful princess," he replied.

You both parted awkwardly, staring at each other with confused half-smiles and resigning to focusing your attentions back on the ocean. For now, it was merely a strange evening, a shooting star, but later on, you would remember that night as the precise moment you began to love Red-Haired Shanks.

And Buggy, watching from across the ship, would remember that night as the second time a deep knot of resentment grew in his chest, one that would only become larger with time. The first time had been as a child, when Shanks had done something exceptionally well where Buggy had failed, and Roger placed his famous straw hat onto his head.

The second time was tonight, because of you.

taglist: @sawendel @twinklesnake

#shanks x reader #shanks #buggy #buggy x reader #buggy opla #one piece live action #it was rare i was there #IWRIWT #live action buggy #shanks x you #red haired shanks

[lilac-5ky]

Roommates from Hell, pt.8 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 8: Nine to Five

Chapter 7 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

A/N: Don't come at me for the ending :)

Warning: fem. masturbation, sex toys, and mentions of explicit sexual content, MDNI!

“Again, thanks for everything, Shiu. Can’t even imagine what we would’ve done without you. No money, no car—”

“Don’t worry about it.” A loud chortle rumbled against the man’s chest as heavy smoke wafted from the cigarette dangling between his teeth. “Wouldn’t pass up the chance to see this failed Casanova humiliate himself for the world.”

Your exchange was cut short as Toji forced his way into the apartment, mumbling curses under his breath. You hadn’t made sense of a word he’d said since he gave into your pleas for calling for help (No way in hell we are hijacking a car, Toji!), refusing to acknowledge his friend’s kindness in the same hopeless way he refused to acknowledge their friendship.

You wondered what it was like between them when you weren’t around to calm the spirits. Neither screamed “chatty” exactly, and pulling words out of their mouths was slightly less excruciating than plucking out a wisdom tooth with pliers. Aside from work, they seemed to have little in common. Shiu’s pride and joy was his extensive collection of tropical fish, while Toji only knew the grilled mackerel you served with his rice every morning.

“You should stop by for dinner sometime. I’m sure Toji would—”

“He wouldn’t.” A gruff voice rang from a distance that defied an ordinary human’s hearing range.

You experienced all the embarrassment that came with excusing a difficult child’s behavior. But Shiu was understanding. After all, he and Toji went back even longer than you did.

“Make sure that idiot’s ready at 8. And tell him this is borrowed, not kept.” You received the garment bag from his hands and gently folded it over your arm. “Pulled enough strings to land him that job. He screws up; he’s on his own.”

You nodded, your curiosity beating him to the elevator. “What kind of job is it?”

“Zen’in didn’t tell you?” Shiu shook his head in amusement. “‘course he didn’t.” He flicked the cigarette butt and stubbed it with his sole, therefore mocking the no smoking sign on the concrete wall behind him.

“Look, don’t want any part in your sappy love story, but cut him some slack. That prideful bastard wouldn’t bow that stubborn head of his ‘less it was chopped off its place—you know how he is—yet he practically begged me to find his ass something respectful.”

Begged…?

“Point is, you don’t get into those companies without a bunch of glorified parchment, and a hit list doesn’t count as CV. He’ll have to work his way outta the mail room. He soaks up experience, and maybe he cracks it to sales. Just make sure he actually goes. Pay’s good, perks even better. Feel free to start pumping out kids.”

“You wouldn’t know why he needed the job, right?”

A cryptic smile accompanied him into the lift. Without answering, he reached for the crumpled Lucky Strike pack in his jacket’s inner pocket and pressed the button to the garage. The only times you saw him without a cigarette was in the short interval between his switching from a burnt-out to a new one.

“Eight sharp. Not a minute later.” He warned as he leaned back against the railing, fumbling with an unresponsive lighter. “Fucking ‘ell.”

You held the bag to your chest, practiced a small bow, and sincerely thanked him for all those years he took good care of Toji.

“Dinner offer’s still on! I can do Korean—how’s dakgalbi with lots of cheese sound?”

“Can’t believe how hard that bastard lucked out.”

The doors began to close before you could make out what he said, the final rings of smoke dispersing with his departure.

A trail of misplaced dirty laundry welcomed you into the apartment; slippers flipped and sweatpants scattered, with black boxers strewn outside the bathroom door like a doormat. You scrutinized the dried precum stain on the latter with near scientific interest, not being in any real hurry to stow them away until the water flow that streamed from the shower head dramatically decreased.

Shit, shit, fuck!

Sprinting across the hall, you dunked the clothes into the basket in time for Toji’s grand entrance with nothing but a towel his thumb and forefinger kept clipped low around his hip. Steam rolled in spirals from each contoured muscle that adorned his scarred skin, a light red coloring him from head to toe.

“That jackass left?”

You tried to block out the sensual slink of his hips as he strode to your shared wardrobe, focusing instead on the countless smudges that dressed your mirror. Still in view, he fished out a clean pair of boxers—one that he had no qualms changing into, the curve of his ass distinct as the fuzzy towel pooled around his feet.

“He—um.” Droplets of water rained from long obsidian strands while he shook off the excess moisture, the reflection of his jade eyes narrowing at the lack of follow-up. “What did you ask again?”

The sweet and spicy notes of a deodorant that could only be new took you by surprise as Toji towered over you with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “I asked, when did ya turn into such a perv?”

You deserved that.

“Like what you see?” His tone was more inquisitive than condescending, like your answer actually mattered to him.

Even after an entire night of touching each other, you doubted you could ever get used to being with someone whose body fit both the requirements of a marbled statue and an action movie star. You felt stupidly giddy, longing to squeeze your head between his pecs and lick him up like an overly affectionate pup who knew neither shame nor boundaries.

Admitting to it was a different thing.

“You should let me cut your hair.” You begrudgingly looked up. Not that his face didn’t bring out the same primal instincts. “People will think you descended from the mountains.”

“Didn’t ask about people. Only care about you.”

Fuck it.

“You turn me on.”

“Yeah?” His voice turned into a low purr, hooded eyes locked with yours up until your lips connected.

The pleasant warmth of his fingertips as they tipped your chin clashed with the cold, damp hair that tickled your cheeks. It went both ways. He showed you when he pushed your hands from the hard ridges of his stomach to the harder erection his underwear packed, firmly cupping your smaller palms against it.

“Wanna be inside you so badly.” Toji murmured, nipping at your bottom lip while you rubbed at his bulge, long strokes earning you little sighs of satisfaction. “Feel you wrap around me. The things I want to do to you—fuck.”

Wetness leaked from his slit, ruining yet another pair of underwear. He was so achingly sensitive, his balls twitching for the sweet release that would either quench or worsen his thirst.

Eight sharp. Not a minute later.

“You are gonna hate me.” Your palms traveled up his chest, mostly failing to put distance between your mouth and his, as he snaked his arms around your waist and pulled your bodies together.

“Could never hate you.”

“Never?”

His tongue broke free from the kiss. He didn’t like the sound of that. “What did ya do?”

“Nothing!” You reassured him with a nervous smile, pecking his lips. “It’s just—it’s 7:30, you know?”

“Good. And I thought the telemarketing watch I ordered was lost in the mail.”

“Shut up!” You chuckled. “Shiu said I should have you ready by 8.”

“Don’t give a damn what he said.” Toji went back to littering your skin with kisses, starting from your cheek and slowly expanding to your neck. He tugged your shirt off your shoulder with his teeth, sturdy hips bucking against your flimsy shorts. “I can do with twenty minutes. No foreplay.”

“Toji—”

“Fifteen minutes.” His palm squeezed around your breast, wet tongue flicking right behind your earlobe. “Just bend over f’me and I’ll take care of the rest. Fuck you full with my cum.”

“Oh my god, Toji.” Your breath stuttered in your throat, your panties clinging to your slit as if you’d been standing under rain.

“Yeah? You’d like that?” He mouthed at your neck, sucking at least three more marks you had no way of concealing unless you scarfed up. “Ready to see what ten years of wanting to pound that pussy feels like?”

He practically begged me to find his ass something respectful.

He screws up; he’s on his own.

“Toji…”

His affections ran out at the same time his mood spoiled, forehead resigning against your shoulder. He knew what his name in that tone meant, and he hated it—more than you hated yourself for denying him.

“Y’are fucking killing me,” was the last thing he said before hopping into your bed, springs creaking beneath his weight. “Tell him I ain’t goin’.”

Of course he hadn’t bothered drying off, and of course your sheets soaked up the water from his body like a sponge. He buried his head in your pillow and stretched his limbs across the mattress. No sound. No movement. Like a corpse washed to the shore. He did say you killed him.

Such a baby.

You padded toward the bed and took a seat beside him, running your fingers through his choppy hair. He didn’t react. Not at first. You assumed this was him being pouty, but then you recalled all he had to deal with in the last 48 hours and felt incredibly sorry for him. Heading to work without a wink of sleep was the final nail in the coffin.

“What are you doing?” Green eyes blinked behind a veil of black as you brought the towel to his nape and gently wrung the lower tufts.

“You’ll get a crick in the neck if you nap with water in your hair.”

“Not trynna convince me to go?”

“Why would I? You said you’re not going and that’s it.”

Toji sat up against the headboard, the look on his face one of disbelief.

“I’m happy supporting you.” The bed dipped as you resumed your handiwork, brushing a strand away from his creased forehead. “It’s like having my very own kept man. Makes me feel rich.” You smiled.

He didn’t return it. But he did sigh. “We need money. Y’always whine about that.”

“You won’t hear me whine again. Besides, my schedule is too light. I can always ask that old man for a few extra shifts.” That was a lie. You bordered on exceeding the legal limit of working hours per week.

“And you’re fine with that.” He stated rather than asked, and when you didn’t reply, he simply rolled to the other side of the bed. “Fucking liar.”

“What happened to you not hating me?”

“I don’t. My balls do. They wanna smack your pussy.”

“You’re so damn vulgar!”

You still giggled as you nestled in the little pillow space he’d left, arm draped over his waist and fingers finding purchase somewhere between his abs. You kissed down his shoulders, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply into the scent laced through the pores of his skin. He’d gone a bit overboard with the quantity, but that wasn’t unheard of from someone who only used fragrance-free toiletries.

Still, it suited him.

“Said the tease.” He contemplated peeling your hand off him but decided against it when he felt you moving lower. Way lower than he thought you would without his guidance.

“Who said I’m teasing?” Your fingers dipped into the waistband of his underwear, feeling out the smoothness of skin and the coarseness of hair above the sole unexplored part of his body. “I want you, Toji. Not what you bring or don’t bring to the table. Just you. God, you’d probably laugh your ass off if you knew how much I actually want you.”

Tears prickled your eyes, swelling as emotion in your heart. Being this sincere scared you, especially with how rapidly your relationship was escalating. Ten years was a long time, and two days felt awfully short to recuperate all that was lost—to shake the image of his footprints slowly fading into snow eight years ago.

A hand closed around yours, thick fingers delicately squeezing between your knuckles, wary of the fresh nicks they donned. “I wouldn’t.”

“How can you be so sure?” Your voice a frail whisper made of glass. “I mean—”

“Because I want you more, dummy.”

“Didn’t realize this was a competition.”

“It is now.” Toji pulled your hand away from his body and pinned it to the mattress, his other arm crossing over your shoulders as he gently rolled you below him. “And I won.”

He gazed down at your face, all flustered with glassy eyes that fluctuated between overwhelming lust and unspoken worry. You think too much. You worry too much. You feel too much. He wanted to accuse you of every single one of those crimes but couldn’t find the words to do so, because he liked that about you.

He liked how your hands trembled with need when they touched him, how your voice broke like it couldn’t bear the weight of its words, how vulnerable and small you looked in his arms—but most of all, he liked what you breathed into him, what your puny fingers sculpted his soul into. Because he only ever liked himself when he was with you, and that was exactly why he wanted to offer you more than a tattered old shirt with rips around the seams.

“How much time?”

“Huh?” You gaped.

His scar twisted into a smirk as he lowered his face to yours—a crooked grin once you closed your eyes and puckered your lips in expectancy of his. So much more. He pressed down against your mouth, tugging at your bottom lip until his thumb slipped in and you gave his nail a firm, albeit painless, bite.

“Better not do that when my dick goes in there.” He tsked.

Immediately, you coughed out his finger along with an aggravated “Toji!”

“There she is,” the man in question chuckled. “Nearly had me fooled.”

You scoffed, part of you grateful that the tension between you was resolved, but not the part that showed. “If you must know, I spoke from my heart’s depths.” Your fist moved to your beating chest.

“Mhm, bet ya did.” Toji helped himself to a kiss, chaste enough for his tongue to remain in his mouth. “Sly wench.”

“Wench?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Prefer bitch?” He retorted.

“Wench is fine.”

The way his shoulder blades rolled while he was hunched above you had you sidetracking from the clock that ticked away your time. You figured he’d be an excellent salesman—supposing he made it to that point—because you were sold on staying there with him, spinning your entrapment by his bulky physique into the perfect excuse to play hooky. Sakurai would understand. Hopefully.

“Five. Lemme hold you for five minutes, and then y’are free to frill me up.”

You were the one who was now “killed,” and yet you accepted your death with grace as your positions were switched. Toji collapsed beside you, squeezing your clothed breasts against his naked chest (remorse for not ridding you of your shirt first) while you huddled together, legs tangled, and mouths inched too close not to meld into one.

For someone who claimed to do only what he wanted to, he succumbed to your will an awful lot.

“What’d you want a sly wench for?” You muttered, playing with the hair that hung low over his neck. “Regular wenches out of stock or something?”

“That eager to find out?” He drawled, both his voice and eyelids weighed down by exhaust. “I’ll show ya when I get back from work; everything a sly wench’s good for.”

“Sounds like quite the ordeal.”

“You’re a big girl. ‘m sure you can take it, and if not—well,” he ran his tongue along your lips. “No reason to talk about what ifs. You’ll be good for me, mm?”

“Depends on whether you actually put on the suit Shiu brought.”

“Women and your suits.”

“You said—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what I said.” Toji scoffed, one of his hands sneaking under your shirt. “You’ll make it up to me.” He decided.

“I told you, you can just not go.” You objected.

“Oh, really? And ya would’ve let me stay home without breaking my balls?” He let a beat pass and added, “Thought so.”

“What would thine royal ass favor?” You humored him with a fake, posh accent.

“I’m easy to please.” You held back a snort. “You’re gonna lemme doll you up with however many or few clothes I want. Fair?”

“Is that all? Doesn’t sound too bad—”

“And then,” he continued, his smirk as sharp as the teeth behind it, “you’ll lemme strip ya. Nice and simple, huh?”

“Your five minutes are running out!”

While Toji was off brawling with a pair of cufflinks, you relocated to the kitchen and brewed two cups of coffee, figuring he could do with a sip before heading out.

A pink sticky note awaited you on the counter, your sister’s messy handwriting begging you to call her as soon as your windpipe reopened—whatever that was supposed to mean. You crumpled it and tossed it in the trash, resuming your coffee-making duties. She wanted details you had no intention of discussing, especially when you didn’t even know what to call him anymore. You felt like no word was descriptive enough of your current status.

“Whatcha thinking about?” A hand snatched the spare cup from your grasp, scarred lips rounding around the searing rim.

You turned around to a Toji you’d never seen before. Surely, his thin eyebrows were drawn together in the exact same scowl he wore when you first showed him the black slim-fit suit of Shiu’s choice. His hair was still damp, sticking to his forehead in wet tufts. The rest of his body was also physically there, boxed inside the narrow lapels and shoulder bite of his jacket—but that was where the similarities ended.

The difference between the Toji you left in your bedroom a mere ten minutes ago and the sharply dressed man in front of you was that you didn’t feel the need to pay a ticket simply for the honor of staring at the former.

“Just admiring how handsome you look.” You straightened out the creases on his lapels.

“Yeah right.” Toji rolled his eyes, continuing to swig coffee. “Just saying that to get into my pants.”

“Please, if I wanted to get into your pants, all I’d have to do is ask.” You wiped his chin before the liquid got to drip down his collar, sparing him an earful.

“At this point, you wouldn’t need to ask.” He glanced down at his suffocating thighs, the seams around his crotch threatening to burst at any given time. “This is ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not—”

“Looks like I’m in a damn sausage casing. ‘s too fucking small.”

“You’re just too big.” You smiled sympathetically, not realizing your blunder until that sly smirk you knew and hated (loved) made its reappearance. Oh no.

“Mm, am I?” Toji cooed, his smug tone making your fingers grab at the counter behind your back. “Even for you?”

You bit your lips into a straight line, your eyes following the hand that slotted a blue striped tie in your fist and ordered you to get it over with. He took a step back, allowing you to remove his jacket and loop the fabric once around his collar. That was pretty much the full extent of your tie-tying knowledge.

“Gonna keep staring at it?” He cracked under the pressure of your intense squinting.

“I… don’t know how to do it.” You admitted.

“Didn’t your dad wear one to work?”

“Didn’t yours?” An immediate glare. “Never mind. Forgot the Zen’ins are stuck in Edo period.”

He had nothing to say. The times when he sauntered around his family’s compound in that gloomy garb weren’t as far behind for him to forget they ever happened.

You carefully folded the tie in half and handed it to him. “Just ask Shiu to show you. But here, lemme—”

You fixed whatever minor detail could be fixed, combing his hair with your fingers, plucking out a couple of loose threads, and securing his cufflinks. He didn’t need the jacket. As long as no one gawked at his crotch, he passed as your average overworked thirty-year-old who’s yet to give up on their early retirement dream.

It was 7:58 when you and Toji argued over the few footwear choices in his possession. He settled for the combat boots he sported mostly during the winter, but scoffed once you reminded him you’d have to go shopping in the following days.

It was 7:59 when he lingered about the door frame like a harbinger of bad news who didn’t know how to break them down, eventually lifting a hand and giving your head a rough pat that suited a Pomeranian more than an actual human.

“Don’t miss me too much,” which in his language meant I’ll miss you.

“Remember Home Alone?” He nodded. Then he realized.

“Brat.” And with that, he hurried down the hallway, cussing at himself when his cellphone began ringing before he’d even caught the lift.

Your smile remained on your face as you closed the door and spotted the tie he’d accidentally left beside his mug.

I’ll miss you more.

You underestimated how much you would actually miss him.

Your first day apart was spent with you plugging every drain hole in the house. Toji might’ve told you to forget the incident ever happened, but even a regular centipede was capable of reducing you to tears. Curse or not, you weren’t prepared to confront another of those critters, and if peace of mind came at the cheap price of plastic, then so be it.

You didn’t have the chance to miss him yet.

At work, you kept staring at his vacant booth, wondering whether his workplace had a kitchen or a cafeteria—whether he had enough cash for a meal—and every time you did, you scolded yourself. He was a grown man. He could take care of himself without you babying him.

But you still hoped he’d call.

“You won’t believe what that new girl Noda did today.”

You made it home a little after sundown, Chinese takeout under one armpit and handbag under the other. “You’re gonna love this!” Chuckling, you kicked the door shut and stalked toward the kitchen, dropping both bags on the table with a labored huff. “Three words: vampire repellent fries. How someone mistakes garlic powder for salt is beyond me.”

No response. Weird.

You laid out the containers before casting a glance at the ongoing football match on your TV. A reel played between the first and second halves—mass hysteria from the crows that celebrated over their team’s scoring as opposed to the apathetic mop of tousled black hair that was spilled over your couch, expressing neither cheer nor jeer. Not even his usual grunt of acknowledgment.

“Did you not hear me? I said—”

Your eyes finally caught up with your mouth as you processed Toji’s sleeping form, his dress shirt unbuttoned and dangling from his slacks, with a belt unbuckled but not quite removed.

“To…ji?”

Again, nothing.

So much for a night of passion.

Rather than eating alone in the kitchen, you brought dinner to the couch and sat down beside him, secretly wishing the rich scent of Sichuan pork revived him. You switched to an overplayed romcom that’d otherwise have him barfing, only to find his content expression far more enticing than whatever vow the main couple exchanged.

When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

You watched over him as he stirred enough for his head to climb up your lap, a large palm engulfing your hip while he breathed in the bare skin of your thighs. More than once, you thought he was awake and tried to ask him about his day, but a snore was all you got in return, the quiet symphony eventually lulling you to sleep.

The rest of your life started when you met him.

Toji was already gone by the time you woke up, miraculously tucked under the covers of your bed, without an actual clue as to how you ended up there. The food you’d stashed in the fridge was gone with him, and so were your hopes of catching up over breakfast.

Your day was a reprise of the previous one. You drank coffee—alone. You did laundry—alone. You trapped a spider and carried it outside the window—alone. And then you met with your landlady—again, alone.

The house felt empty without his brooding figure leaning over the fridge to hurry you up; without his raspy voice calling you from across the house to fetch him the remote that lay on the coffee table; without his low whistles whenever you bent over to catch something from the bottom drawer. Things that once annoyed you, you’d started to miss.

On impulse, you drew your phone and began typing a message you deleted. He was finally acting responsible, and there you were, all butthurt because you didn’t get to talk to him for one day. Big deal.

You packed your bag and braced yourself for a torturous nine-hour shift at the diner, hanging onto the frail hope that once you closed shop, you’d be free to run to him.

Every kiss, every touch, every hug—every single moment of affection became a gale you rode on, reaching the apartment with your heart in your mouth. Surely enough, his shoes were parked by the front step. A good sign. The dubious smell of charred meat bubbling in a cauldron on the stove—not so much.

Hesitant to analyze the green broth’s origin, you searched for the dish’s chef in the other rooms, finding his remains splayed on your bed. Eyes shut, rumbling snore, and a tight grip around your pillow. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, convincing you that it was best to let him rest it out. You took off your clothes and squeezed in beside him, sleep not coming to you as easily as it did the night before.

You missed your conversations. The snarky remarks he’d have about his colleagues. The glint in his eyes that signaled his attentiveness, regardless of his snorting at everything he thought dumb. His bottled laughter. The suggestion in his tone. You’d never told him, but his voice was your favorite thing about him, and now you missed that too.

“Hope your dreams are worth it,” you mumbled against his shoulder, enveloping yourself in the warmth of his body even when you knew you’d wake up to a fistful of cold sheets.

That night, you missed him the most when he was right there with you.

“Not so fast, mister.”

If the sound of your voice wasn’t enough to stop Toji in his tracks, the Glock 22 aimed at his skull certainly was. He stepped away from the door, hands up in mock surrender, as a smirk carried him to where you stood in the middle of the living room, looking not-so intimidating in the pistachio-colored sleepshirt you’d hastily draped over your body.

“Where did ya find this?” He asked, his voice still groggy from sleep.

“I know you keep a gun taped under the nightstand.” You smiled, planting your fingers away from the trigger. “Busted.”

“Then y’know it ain’t loaded, right?”

“Really?” You thought you could tell by shaking it near your ear, only for Toji to leap forward and clasp your palms between his, directing the muzzle to the ceiling in the blink of an eye. “Thought you said it wasn’t loaded!”

“Hmm, let’s see.” The magazine popped out, empty except for a bullet he stowed in his pocket. “Won’t you look at that!” To your amazement (and horror), he reassembled the gun with a single move and returned it to you, defending himself with a “Shouldn’t trust a word outta your opponent’s mouth.”

“Art of war?” You pinched the grip and hurled it onto the couch. Sometimes you really questioned your decisions.

“More like, quit meddling with stuff you can’t handle. Although, if you threw some handcuffs into the mix,” he walked closer, pulling you onto him by the waist, “I could get behind this.” He kissed your lips and gave your ass a squeeze. “And that. Definitely that.”

Your fingers met behind his neck, heart fluttering in your chest. He smelled so nice. Just the right amount of intoxicating. “You’re all talk.”

“Missed me?” You nodded, unwilling to phrase those words out loud. “Then what’d ya want that gun for? Thought we got a lot friendlier these days.”

“Are we still friends?”

“Why?” His thumb brushed against your cheek. “Any plans to unfriend me?”

“Friends don’t do the things we do.”

“Really good friends do.” Toji insisted, his tongue slipping between your lips as if it never left—as if the past two days didn’t happen.

“Want more?” He tugged at your lip with his teeth. You weren’t sure whether he referred to kissing or something else, but whatever he offered, you wanted more of. “Me too.”

His cheek pressed against yours, burning with the same kind of fever you felt pooling in your stomach. You stayed like that for a good while, basking in the intimacy of an inconvenient hug until you felt bold enough to interrupt it. “If you ever avoid your girlfriend again, she’ll kill you.”

He huffed in your ear, then drew away after piecing a loose strand behind it. “My girlfriend can’t even use a gun.”

“Say it again.”

A grin.

“What part?” He asked coyly.

“You know what part!”

“Can’t even use a gun?” He sneered, holding your wrists as they tried to bat his chest. Your reddened complexion only added to his amusement. “Like being told you’re my girl?”

You didn’t answer him—a bad decision, really. It gave him the freedom to run his mouth on about how there were more things he could call you and a couple of other things you could moan back, sparing the details for the sake of the rising boner in his pants. While the premise excited you, the past two failures were hard to forget.

“And for the record, I wasn’t avoiding you.” Toji peered into your mind. A hand rubbed at the back of his neck, his dress shirt lifting from his slacks. “That place’s hell.”

“That bad? Is it the people, the job itself, or…?”

“Fucking everything.”

You could practically hear a can of worms cracking open; see the litany of complaints unfolding over your feet.

“Getting paid to spit on papers like a damn dog. My ass going sore from being glued to a chair all day long. Food tasting like coal briquettes. Dumb kids trynna strike a conversation every chance they get.”

“You poor thing!” You gasped dramatically. “Don’t tell me they also smile at you!”

His glare betrayed him. “Place’s like a fucking kindergarten.”

“Better zip your dirty mouth in front of the kids, then.”

He frowned, and you laughed, genuinely happy that his coworkers seemed to welcome him—a sight you decided you wanted to see with your own two eyes sooner rather than later.

“I won’t be late.” Toji promised once you’d escorted him to the front door.

Your arms folded in front of your chest. Eyebrows arched. “Right.”

“I mean it.”

“Sure you do.”

A sigh. Poking fun at him was always so much fun.

“What about you?” He abided by his little ritual of leaning against the frame, his stance mirroring yours. Unhurriedly since he’d gotten an early headstart on his day. “‘Today’s your day off.”

That’s a first, you thought. He never asked about your plans.

“Oh, you know me. Pilates at 9; golf course at 12. Might go yachting around 5 if you don’t come back early.” You quipped.

He rolled his eyes. “Stop fucking around.”

You poked his tongue at him, not wanting to admit that today would be ten times lonelier without a distraction, similarly to how you didn’t to spoil the surprise in the making.

Except your expression revealed something that your mouth didn’t.

Turning away from you, Toji began coughing like a cat with hair clogged in its throat, eventually spitting out a round, hairy lump of purple. Disgust was written in every line of your face, fading into recognition once the ball expanded into Wormie. The creature tried to wrap itself around its master, who seemed to have a better idea by offering it to you.

“Here. So you don’t die of boredom.” He explained.

You were skeptical at first, but Wormie robbed you of all options as he skipped to your arms and snuggled his head in the crook of your neck.

You never thought the day would come when you’d be hugging a worm, but the feeling wasn’t half as vile as one might expect. He had the weight of a feather and the scent of whatever bowl of cereal Toji had downed that morning. If you closed your eyes, you could think of him as a giant (exotic) pet.

“Hey there, little guy. Missed me?” You rubbed his back. Or what you thought was his back, anyway.

“Pretty sure he’s just trynna eat you up.”

“Shut up.” You glanced at Wormie’s mouth, just in case. “You’re simply jealous of what we have.”

“Sure.”

Satisfied with the image he left behind, Toji finally opened the door and walked out of the apartment.

“Don’t let that idiot get into trouble.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“And I wasn’t talking to you.” He smirked. “Later.”

A moment passed before his comment registered, long enough for the elevator gates to separate his snickering from your dissonant complaints.

“You’re such a lousy boyfriend!”

In the hours that followed, two things became apparent. One, you’d probably make for a decent parent, because when you instructed Wormie to sit quiet on the counter while you cooked a meal for Toji, he did as told without protest, and two, he was the greatest sous chef you could’ve ever asked for.

“Wormie! Pitch me the ladle,” you’d say, and a second later the item would fall in your hands.

Not just that. You could cut away vegetables without walking to the trash whenever the counter became clogged with scraps. Wormie ate up everything you fed him, whether that was onion peels, lettuce butts, or a spoonful of the stewed beef that had him singing toot after toot like a trombone.

Toji was right. It wasn’t as lonely with Wormie around. But he was dead wrong about his pet only obeying him. The second you wiggled those leeks, the little glut switched loyalties.

You wondered whether you could train him to give paw.

Stacking a bunch of Toji’s favorite side dishes inside a lunch box, you phoned the one person who could give you an address. Shiu picked up right away, his tone lax as he accused you guys of having his number on speed dial. You profusely apologized and carried his words to a piece of paper, renewing his dinner invitation with little to no zeal. You were grateful toward Shiu, but all you looked forward to was a weekend alone with Toji.

You hung up the phone and turned to Wormie, gesturing for him to gobble up the tupperware.

“Let’s go see your dad, mm?”

Toji’s workplace turned out to be an impressive thirty-story building on the outskirts of Minato. It belonged to one of the largest telecommunication companies in the country, with an enormous silver plate that bared its three-lettered logotype. Shiu did claim he pulled some strings, but a lobby big enough to double as a landing zone was not what you expected.

The guards at the entrance welcomed you with a curt bow, seemingly undisturbed by the worm that hitched a ride on your shoulders. You remembered what Toji said. The vast majority were incapable of sensing cursed energy around them, and those who did would rather question their sanity than accept the notion that the folktales their grandmothers fed them were real.

You gave Toji’s name to one of the girls at the front desk, who in turn asked her colleagues, but none of them seemed to know him. You weren’t surprised. Thousands of people paraded through these doors on a daily basis, their only accomplishment being the white collars around their necks. You either made it big or died as a nameless corporate slave. Neither celebrated nor remembered.

The receptionist did, however, point you to your destination and provide you with a visitor card. You followed her directions to the elevator, barely finding a spot for yourself in the crammed space that, little by little, cleared up. Your reflection stared back at you—inaccurate, as Worm was nowhere to be found, despite shrieking your ear off a minute ago when you accidentally prodded his tail.

This doesn’t make any sense.

You navigated the maze of cubicle offices before reaching the mail room at the end of the fourth floor. Most employees ignored your presence, while some straight-up shot daggers at you like you were an intruder. You failed to notice the sickeningly amiable smiles Toji described until you saw him surrounded by a bunch of high-heeled man-eaters who vied for his attention.

He was making copies for each of those women, taking away their excuse to loiter around the copy machine and stomping on their confidence with one-worded replies. The less dedicated ones sorted themselves out, while the true contenders stayed back to help him with his workload.

You wished you could get closer and enjoy the show, but you didn’t want to interrupt. Instead, you knelt by an empty desk and placed Wormie on the ground, ushering him in Toji’s direction.

“Make sure he gets it, and I’ll fight for your rights!” You spoke in a hushed voice. “Good boy, Wormie. Now go!”

Certain of your partner’s success, you dashed to the elevator, leaving both him and the company grounds behind for good.

It never occurred to you how much time you spent with Toji since he moved in. And it never occurred to you how long it’d been since you’d last touched yourself either—not until you were lying naked in bed, legs arched and hands stuffed between your thighs, guiding the rabbit vibrator in and out of your sopping cunt while you panted out his name in broken moans.

The hows and whys were unclear. All you remembered was stripping so you could change into a comfier fit, and the next thing you knew, your toy was calling out to you from its hiding spot, fully charged despite its extended period of inertia. You didn’t dare use it when Toji was home—and he was always home. His keen senses trained on you, slashing through every illusion of privacy your bedroom’s paper-thin walls provided.

But he wasn’t there now. And he wouldn’t be there for hours to come. And he looked so damn sexy in his suit, that all you could think about was ripping it off.

“F-fuck, Toji.” You turned the ears speed up a notch.

Each little buzz circulated through your body as tingles of pleasure that enhanced the fantasies your mind crafted. You pictured him leaning over you, wearing nothing but the tie he’d finally mastered. The cocky smile that’d stretch wide on his lips as he’d part your knees with big, veiny arms and stick a thick finger in your pulsing hole, asking you whether that was all for him even when he knew it could only be his—you were only his. He’d ask you to say it out loud; have you repeat it countless times while drilling his cock into your pussy, discovering depths that neither your fingers nor the silicone were capable of.

He’d suggested he was big. God, you’d gotten so close to seeing for yourself. You wanted to touch it, lick it, kiss, bounce on it so many times that the room began to spin around you. Even if it was big, you’d make it fit. Even if it was too big, you’d let him split you open.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you thrust the bunny upward, trapping your clit between the little ears that flicked rabidly in sync.

You needed him to fill you up. You needed to somehow justify all those years of starvation for him, his body, and his cum—you needed to feel it running down your trembling thighs, hot and sticky, as you milked every drop he had to offer.

The tension in your guts finally snapped as you focused on the three little words you longed to hear the most. You didn’t care whether he whispered, moaned, or grunted them out. You wanted to hear them in his voice at least once in your life. You needed him to be yours just as you were his—to love you like you loved him too.

The sweat on your forehead barely had the chance to cool down, when your eyes opened to a sight far more palpable than your crumbling high.

“Is this what ya do when I’m not around?”

A/N: next chapter will have smut, i'm not that ruthless.

#toji x reader #fushiguro toji #zenin toji #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #toji <3 #toji fluff #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji headcanons #jjk toji #toji scenarios #toji fic #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji x self insert #jjk headcanons #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk fluff #Toji x reader #roommates from hell

[absolutelynotmate-archive]

this one and the next- I'VE MOVED BLOGS! if you enjoy this and are looking for more, follow me @formulaforza

c.leclerc x female reader (no y/n, soulmates au) word count: 4.3k a/n: my first f1 fic 🫣 be gentle i'm new here

Can we talk later?

You mill over the text, shaken, unprepared for the what are we conversation just yet, planning on living in the climate-controlled artificial relationship ecosystem for just a while longer. You write out an answer, delete, rewrite until the words don’t look like words and your fingers tap the wrong keys, delete again, set your phone face down on the arm of the couch. Chewing on it for a few more minutes, you attempt to play out the conversation in your mind, pausing here, clipping that short, slowing that down, and then your phone is in your hand again. 

You wonder if his phone sits deep in his pocket, buried somewhere in a bag, in his hand while he anxiously watches the typing bubbles appear, disappear, appear again. Maybe he’s as anxious as you, horrified, mortified, all the other -fieds at the thought of a label corrupting this, at the thought of rules and expectations and external opinions. 

You can plan it out as many times as you want, you’re always going to get stumped, because, well, you have no fucking idea what you and he are. You’re friends, best friends, the exchange of knowing glances, soulmates, a familiar laughter, strangers, a fading fire, nobody knows. Why, why must this conversation be had? You’re having fun, it’s fact, unwavering and unrelenting fun. Keep on, keeping on, just for now, until things aren’t so fun, and then the serious conversations can be had.

You can’t tell him no, refusing to have the talk would be worse than anything that could possibly come from actually sorting this situation out, from deciding whether or not this version of you will live on, or if it’s time they get buried, locked away far from your mind, replaced by someone new. 

Yes, you eventually reply. Dinner, my place?

There’s a pit in your stomach because you still don’t know what you’re going to do, what you’ll say, what your relationship is. His career, his lifestyle, it’s so, so different from yours. He’s home now, but he'll be gone soon, gone a lot, and you can’t just drop everything to follow him around, and you wouldn’t want to. You have no interest in every single move you make being talked about, photographed and scandalized. When you have a bad day, you don’t need the world to know, and when you have a good day, you don’t want to feel obligated to share it with anyone you don’t want to. 

He makes you happy, there’s no denying that, and you’re pretty sure he feels the same way, but you’ve been happy before. You’d be happy again, a simple happy, a regular happy. Is he really worth all that?

He’s knocking on the door at seven sharp, bottle of red in one hand, flowers in the other. You blush, because it’s the first time he’s personally delivered you flowers, and he makes fun of you for it, says you’re too easy to please with a cocky grin on his smug face. He asks you to be his girlfriend over the pasta dinner. You say yes, pretend you never had a single doubt, kiss him in the lamp lit living room. 

You meet his family in Monaco. It’s your first time on the paddock, first time at an F1 race,  and you pick anxiously at your cuticles the entire walk there. You’ve been planning your outfit out for a week, and yet still changed five times this morning. You would’ve kept going, but you were going to be late. You check your purse a million times, terrified that you’re going to forget something. They come up to you in Ferrari hospitality and introduce themselves. His mom is kind and respectful, and hugs you tight. His brothers remind you of him, same laugh, same mannerisms, same sense of humor. “She’s a keeper.” Arthur tells Charles that evening as you all leave the track. He nods, agrees, pulls you a little closer.

You move in together a few months after that, and find yourself explaining the intimate details of the past situationship to your mother over the phone. She’s just looking out for you, curious as to the stranger from another country that will be living with her daughter after only a few months of dating. She was expecting to hear that you’d been fucking for six and a half months before making the jump to boyfriend and girlfriend, but you weren’t expecting her to be so incredibly investigative. “He’s famous, Ma.” You’d told her.

“So if he kills you, I’ll see it on the news before I hear it from the police.” You laughed. She didn’t, and you promised to be out to meet her as soon as you could. You and Charles booked the flights over FaceTime that night.

Your parents had always held out hope you’d move back home, get tired of Monaco and all its pomp and circumstance and come crawling back to a twin bed in the land of dull beige apartments and gray skies. Charles impressing them was going to be twice as hard as it should’ve been, because the mere existence of your relationship was crushing their dreams for their little girl. He is an anchor, holding you steady in Monaco, stationary and happy and far, far away from them. 

He’s him, though, so all he had to do was flash those endearing eyes and that charming smile and they were calling him their son-in-law by the time we were eating dinner in the swankiest restaurant your hometown had to offer. You didn’t know it then, but he sat on the porch with your dad one morning and said he wanted to marry you. “Of course, you do.” Your Dad had said. “For your sake, I hope she wants to marry you.”

You did–want to marry him, and you danced with your friends and family into the morning on that summer evening, the air perfectly warm, the sun perfectly shining, a wedding band perfectly sat on your finger. It was the single most fun evening you’d ever had, celebrating the love you have for your husband. 

It takes a while to get used to that. Your husband, Charles.

“We’re not, not trying.” He told your grandchildren hungry parents at Christmas. You were mortified, wishing you could curl up into your own skin at the thought of your parents, especially your father, knowing exactly what’s happening in your sex life. It’s a year and three months to the day when they’re at your house in Monaco. You’re on the couch, raggedy pajamas and hair that hasn’t been brushed in three days, minimum, watching Charles carefully place your Mother’s littlest grandchild into her arms. He’s a month old, your son, and it seems like he’s already so big, but when you see him in your Mom’s arms, tiny wool socks slipping off his feet, you’re reminded just how small and dependant he is on you, both of you, to keep him safe from even his own fingernails. 

If you thought keeping mittens on the kid or waking up in the middle of the night to make sure his chest is still rising and falling was touch, nothing could’ve prepared you for that little shit learning how to open the babyproofed kitchen cabinets. The terrible twos were indeed, terrible. So terrible, that you’d decided hey, let’s do this again. Dragging yourself to those home races was anxious then, but now you’re chasing around a two year old, hoping and praying he doesn’t say anything or eat anything or, God forbid, break anything. 

Somewhere in the mess of it all, Charles was having his best season. The championship was so close he could taste it, and you made sure you were there, front and center, cheering him on when he finally achieved his dream. ‘It’s for my Father, and for Jules, and for my kids.” He’d said, teary eyed. He didn’t need to dedicate it to you, he never needed to prove anything to you, to show you his greatness. You loved him as he was, world champion or not, but you still hugged him with all your might in the middle of the track, still kissed him like there were no cameras and no people watching, because, for that immortalized moment in time, nobody was there but you and him. 

He smelled like champagne for three days, and you’re not sure you’ll ever bounce back from the celebrations that night, a permanent hangover and a queasy stomach at the mere mention of a top shelf tequila that shall not be named lingers on for years to come. Everything was perfect, though, and it was all so worth it. Two parents in love, chasing their dreams, a big house on a hill, a little boy and a tiny girl with the world at their fingertips. Your little family was so cliché it hurt. 

Before you knew it, you’re dropping your boy off at his first day of school, and you’re pretending not to cry while Charles laughs sweetly, wiping the salt from your face with the pads of his thumbs. He’s gone racing, and you’re splitting your already short time between this afterschool activity and that. When he’s home, he tries to shoulder as much of it as he can, and sometimes it feels like you kiss each other goodmorning and don’t see the other until you kiss again goodnight. 

Charles retires when the kids are eleven and eight. They understand, but they don’t. Their father is just their father to them, they can’t yet wrap their heads around the true passion he has for racing, the way it courses through his veins and occupies any free space in his mind, They don’t understand what it’s like to love something so purely, to know it’s what you were put on this Earth to do, not yet. 

It gets easier, for a while. There’s an adjustment period, and then you slip into a new routine, one where he tells the kids goodnight, and goes to sleep a few hours later rather than calling from somewhere else in the world and still having a million hours left in his day. 

The kids only get older, though, and their lives just get bigger, there’s more responsibility to shoulder, more things that need to get done. They develop new hobbies, add new sports practices and clubs and events to your already chaotic schedule. You’re tired, like, all of the time, and fight more than you ever did before. “I didn’t even want to be with you in the first place.” You said once, in the middle of your messiest argument. You two didn’t speak for three days, no hello, no goodbye, no tired small talk about your days or arguments about spending time with certain kids. On the third night, he slept on the couch and it felt like he had never been farther away. You made up the next morning.

At least, you told yourselves you made up. It only took a few days to slide back into the same stuff, hanging on by a single thread until a new fight came along to be the messiest one. You both tried to keep it quiet, hide it from the kids and your family and your friends, let everyone go on believing you were this perfect couple with this perfect life and perfect family. Nobody needed to know your relationship was going through the wringer each and every day, and you were convinced nobody was the wiser. “Are you and Dad going to divorce?” Your sweet little boy, the one who was now three inches taller than you, asked as you dropped him off for his first day at a new school. 

You called off work and went straight home, waited for Charles to get back from dropping off the younger one, and were crying on the couch when he got home. The two of you talked  until it was time to pick them up, and then you talked some more in the privacy of your room when you got back. It was the first time in a long time you actually talked to each other. You’d spent years speaking at each other, losing yourselves, losing each other, losing everything that mattered. 

“Your parents are so in love,” Your boy’s girlfriend–yes, he has a girlfriend now–said at his little sister’s graduation party. In a few short months, you’re going to be empty nesters, and Charles is taking it particularly hard. He feels like he’s missed out on too much, that his relationship with the kids will never be what yours is. You try your best to comfort him, but you both know he’s right. You weren’t the only ones who made sacrifices for Charles to chase his dream, the kids were forced to share their father with the world, whether they liked it or not. 

Charles was an emotional wreck the weekend of your little girl’s wedding. From start to finish, he was moments away from shedding a swimming pool’s worth of tears. He was so happy to see her so happy, and it was bittersweet for him, giving his little girl away, knowing that she didn’t need him anymore. He understood now what your father had meant all those years ago, that it was impossible not to love her, and that anybody lucky enough to be loved should never take advantage of it for even a moment. You danced together at the reception, laughing and reminiscing about your own. You’d asked, jokingly, if he regretted marrying you. “Never.” He said, without elaboration or grand gesture, and you knew he meant it, despite the challenges you’d faced together. 

Before you knew it, there was another Charles running around the house, laughing that sweet belly laugh and harboring all the innocence of the world in his big doe eyes. You’ll never be able to explain to anyone how much that meant for Charles, a grandson named after him. It was as if every doubt and insecurity  he’d had about raising your kids was silenced. As if you son was telling him, you built me, Dad, thank you

The years faded into each other, both of you graying and aging with an optimistic grace. Your kids threw you a surprise 40th anniversary party, and you thought it was impossible to feel so surrounded by love. You danced to your wedding song, resting your head on his shoulder like you had all those years ago, laughing at his stupid jokes and silently reflecting on everything that got you here. It was never easy, it was never going to be, but it was so worth it, to love him and be loved by him. 

And when your memory started to escape you, when you searched for a younger version of him in every room, he stayed by your side as a stranger. In a moment of clarity, ones that were becoming fewer and further between, you’d asked him to promise you something. “Let me go first.” You pleaded, feeling all the weight of a life without him, knowing that if he dies before you, you’ll forget he was gone and be forced to relive the sorrow over and over again. 

As your breathing slowed and the sounds of the world faced away, his hand stayed on yours. It’s only a matter of time, now. You’ll be gone soon, leaving behind the wonderful life you’ve created. “Wait for me wherever you go, mon ange.” He whispers in the stillness of the hospital room. “I will find you again.”

– – – –

You see him for the first time at a café. You’re sixteen and don’t even like coffee, but your best friend is dragging you in. He’s working behind the counter, flustered and busy, running around mixing drinks and taking orders. "Que voulez-vous commander madame?” He asked your friend, and she ordered. “Et vous?” I don’t drink coffee, you told him. He smiled, goofy, something familiar in his eyes. You noted his nametag, carefully drawn on with a chalk marker. Charles. 

He calls out your friend's name a few minutes after, and sets two drinks down on the counter. Her name is written messily on one, his phone number on the other. 

You spend the next month stopping by the shop randomly. Sometimes he isn’t there, but when he is, he makes you a different drink every time, his number scribbled on the side without fail. It takes the whole month before you’re convinced to actually call him, and he doesn’t answer. You leave a message.

Your first date is the weekend, coffee in the morning. Because, of course it is. He pulls out your chair on the patio of the small shop and the first date turns into a second, lunch in the park, and then a third, dinner at your favorite restaurant. Not once do you run out of things to talk about, something vast and unfamiliar and welcoming about him. In the silent moments there is  solace, warm and comfortable, like you’ve known each other your whole lives. 

Nobody believes in your relationship, not really. You’re fighting the odds from the time you decide you’re not going to break up before going to university. Everytime you catch up with friends from home, they seem surprised to learn you’re still together. Family whispers, tells you it’s not going to last, that you should prepare yourself. But you and he know something nobody else does, acutely aware of the draw and connection you share. A once in a lifetime, once in a millenia, once upon a time love story written just for the two of you. 

When you graduated, a cheap, shiny engagement ring on your finger, he was watching with a proud smile and a bouquet of flowers. You went home together, to your dumpy little apartment, paid for by your waitress shifts and his hours at the café. He cooked dinner, you ate off paper plates in the living room and made infinite, optimistic plans for your futures. 

You could dream far and wide, but when it came down to it, anything would be heaven if he was there. Cheap dingy apartment and barely paying jobs felt like the lap of luxury with him by your side. 

This time though, your story is much more tragic. Lovers fated for a John Green novel, a manic pixie dream girl to live on in montages on tiny phone screens, destined to be someone he thinks of in dark lonely rooms or when someone doesn’t answer his call. 

He realizes a year and a half after the abrupt end to your story that he can’t remember your voice, your laugh, your smell. He spends the day watching videos of you, re-memorizing the way you spoke, your mannerisms, you. He’s moved out of the apartment, and your parents have all your things in boxes in their attic. He drives into the early morning, stopping once to use the bathroom, nothing more. When your Dad opens the door in the middle of the night, he gives Charles a heavy hug and leads him to the attic. It’s there, under the A-frame roof, amongst the humid air and cobwebs that you are immortalized. Beyond the dust is everything that made you, you. Forever young and hopeful and in love.

In a cardboard box labeled your room, corners dark and misshapen, he finds a stack of disposable coffee cups, familiar label printed on the cleaned cups, familiar number scribbled on each one with the haste of a seventeen year old boy’s black sharpie. He had no idea you’d kept them, the stupid advances of a shy boy enamored with the pretty girl. 

He moved forward, somehow, sometime later. But, he never moved on, looking for your smile, your sense of humor, your heart, in everyone who followed. 

– – – –

The next lifetime is spent platonically, a lifelong companionship that nobody else could ever fully understand. You were old souls, cherishing the minute details of the world and longing for something simpler. There was no longing, or waiting to meet. You’d known him for as long as you could remember. 

He was a brother, without the blood. Charles the comedic protector, walking on the outside of the sidewalk and then promising to use you as a human shield, a plus one to a wedding when your boyfriend dumped you the night before then did the chicken dance in front of strangers just to get an embarrassed laugh out of you. Charles, who walked so you could run, who jumped to make sure you wouldn’t fall, who held you back so he could throw the punches. 

When you met his wife for the first time, then barely his girlfriend, you’d made him promise not to fuck it up. “She’s too good for you, Cha.” You’d told him, because it was true. 

When she put you in a purple chiffon cupcake dress at their wedding, he struggled to bite back laughter while you walked down the aisle. You flipped him off with your eyes and he looked to Arthur, who was cracking up beside him. 

“He looks just like his Dad,” She said, holding your son in the hospital. Thank God for that, Charles said, and she smacked his arm. 

“We can only hope yours doesn’t suffer the same fate.” You said, a smug expression on your tired face. 

He went first this time, a million years later. You held her hand at the funeral and kissed the boys’ cheeks, tears pricking your nose when their grip on you tightened. 

There was comfort in the grief, something sure and steady in you, this wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. 

– – – –

Yes. Dinner, my place?

He gets there at seven, wine and flowers in hand. Your heart sinks and you’re ready to have a panic attack. You can’t do this to him, he’s too sweet, too kind. He leaves your apartment an hour and a half later, and you cry for what feels like the entire night. The flowers are in the trash the next morning, because you can’t bear to look at them.

“Do we have to watch this?” You asked, sitting on the couch next to your boyfriend. I thought you liked it, he’d said. There was nothing you wanted to watch less than Charles winning his first World Championship, watching him celebrate on the podium, kissing his girlfriend for the whole world to see. You didn’t know how you were supposed to feel, it was a combination of ache, longing, joy, and pride. None of which were your place to be feeling. “Just, turn it off, please?”

You threw up three times on your wedding day. Something was wrong, you knew deep down that you were making a mistake, but you didn’t have the resources or the balls to do anything about it. You knew you’d be happy, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something better was out there somewhere, that your soulmate was walking–or driving–around somewhere in the world. You went through with it though, never knowing for sure the reason behind your tears at the altar. 

Things were good, until they weren’t anymore, and you find yourself in the aftermath of a messy divorce and a messier custody battle. You live back in your hometown, the one you swore you’d never live in again, in a beige apartment that doesn’t belong to you. It’s all you can afford, and you need your parents' help with the kids. Not that you found yourself with much time to look back on your life, but when you did, it wasn’t the sunshine, roses, and simple happiness you’d aimed for when you opted down this path years ago. You found yourself wondering, more often than you’d like to admit, about what could have been, about what almost was. 

Your son, because the universe is sick and twisted and determined, decides he wants to be a Formula One driver. He must get it from his father, the drive to chase his dreams, because it certainly didn’t come from you and your desire to settle for something simple and regular. 

You don’t know how you manage it, the financial aspect of what feels like the most expensive dream in the world, but you do. Before you know it, your leg is anxiously bouncing for what feels like nine straight months. Watching him drive horrifies you, leaves you shaky and exhausted even when everything goes right, but especially when anything at all goes wrong. 

Your name on his lips is startling. You vaguely recognize it, turning to a familiar face that matches the maturity of the voice. It’s him, because who else would it be? “Charles?” You say, and you feel twenty-something and insanely vulnerable again.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“My boy.” You explained. 

“And, his father?” He asked, something strained in his voice. Hope, maybe. Or boredom. You don’t know him the way you once did, and he’s even more closed off than before. 

“What about him?”

“Is he here?” He said, hanging, something unsaid stuck on his tongue. You gave him the room to speak. “With you?”

You shook your head. “He’s here, but. We’re. I’m divorced.” You admit, something about it still sounds so taboo, so scandalous. Like it’s something you should be ashamed of. “You?”

“Widowed.” He said, and you inhaled sharply. 

“What was her name?” You don’t know why you said it, but it was coming out of your mouth before you could catch yourself, before you could express your sympathy. He told you. You’d never heard a name sound so sad. “I’m so sorry, Charles.” He swatted your words away, shook his head. “What was she like?” His face brightened, like nobody had ever asked what she was like. It was as if he had been desperately waiting to tell someone about her. 

He smiled, thought about it for what felt like a hundred laps. Quietly, practically under his breath, he spoke something you were completely unprepared to hear. “You,” He said. “She was a lot like you.”

<3, mack. hope you enjoyed, if you did, please don't be a ghost reader!

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[dozing-marshmallow]

Would it be alright of I request some headcannons for Chris x co-host reader? Where the reader enjoys the show/challenges the show puts the contestants through just as much as he does? Thx!! 💕

P.S. I really enjoy your writing!

Hi there! Absolutely! And thank you so much, I’m so happy to hear that you enjoy my writing! 😊 Enjoy!

CHRIS MCLEAN X CO-HOST READER HEADCANONS

Regardless of how high your reputation was, this was still Chris’ show; you were lucky to be on it. 

If he thought you were hogging the spotlight for too long, he wouldn’t hesitate to interrupt you mid sentence.

Alike the man in question, you had your humble introduction, and screen time explaining the concept of Total Drama to the audience alongside him.

You quickly became famous for interjecting Chris towards the end of his explanation of orders to the campers, with filthy suggestions that poured more weight on their behalf.

Wouldn’t help when you covered your lips in pretend apology.

Unlike Chris and Chef, who chose to eat in the separate tent away from the contestants, you went out of your way to eat in the mess hall, same time as them to rub it in their faces the better quality of food you got in comparison to theirs.

Some of the nicer contestants like Owen and Beth begged endearingly for a share, whilst some of the daring contestants such as Duncan and Leshawna spat curses on you.

Needless to mention, you never let them have that slice of heaven.

There was an episode where Chris let you have complete control over the challenge and whether or not it was a reward one.

“In spirit of the summer camp, I’ve decided on a gardening challenge.” You explain to him,“Each contestant will pick a seed to plant, and they will be given no instruction to what their seed will need in order to grow, so if they’re really stumped, they may be allowed to get a look at their respective seed guides or swap out their seed...in exchange of answering ten questions correctly. These questions can be about anything ranging from humanities to math. For that process, we’ll have them locked in a glass chamber with an easily accessible separate compartment above them filled with all attainable enemies of gardening. Fruit flies, mosquitos, lacewings etc.” 

You pause to look at Chris, seeing how he’s catching on where it’s going by his restless face expression,“For every question they answer wrong, the hatch will open automatically, slowly. First team that’s able to have all members grow something will win.”

“Wow! Okay, that’s a really good challenge idea. I’m surprised I didn’t come up with that!” Chris commended you, before he broke out into laughter,“It’ll boost the ratings for sure!” He notices your ready tray of seeds and begins reading out the labels,“Talipot palm... Raspberries... Potatoes... Tomatoes... Hey (Y/N)...” he finds you already beaming at him,“This is a guess...but don’t a lot of these seeds need at least a month to grow?”

“Exactly.”

Also known as the episode of which they do not speak of.

You never understood how in spite of that, you were still the more favourable host to the contestants.

Maybe because you weren’t as self centred as Chris?

Either way, you used every figment of hope to remind them that you aren’t there to make anything easier.

And you remained that way, up to where the show was supposed to be over, had it not been for Owen deciding to gamble his luck and kicking off a new game.

“Owen’s definitely lost his win now.” You comment wearily.

“Tell me about it.” Chris yawns,“I’m so bored. Wanna get back to the lodge?”

“Say no more.”

Long story short, you basically called it- not only did Owen lose his money, but thirteen other contestants got tied with him.

Given the situation, Chris declares a new immediate season, where you would be cued to open an empty briefcase for the producers to have someone edit wads of cash in.

However, you accidentally open up the wrong briefcase, this briefcase storing a pack of water snakes that slithered out onto the planks and into the lake, causing the contestants of the future season(apart from Izzy) to scream and frantically swim their way onto land.

It was a ridiculous scene, but what can be done? You and Chris laugh as the final episode of the season comes to a close.

You’re already looking forward to what happens next! And you have a good sensation the contestants feel the same.

#td chris #chris mclean x reader #tdi x reader #chris mclean #td chris mclean x reader #total drama chris mclean #total drama island chris #request #total drama headcanons

[starsandhughes]

Penalty Box Series— Imagines Edition: Best Friend Number Twos

request: “Sissy and Cole! Okay so, Cole just goes dibs one day? Like rocks up to the lake house of even to Anaheim and is basically like *scoop up sissy* "I'm borrowing this. Mental health day bye." And everyone is like can he do that? That's an option?”

warnings: cursing, we*d (underage)

word count: 1.3k

SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: when i tell y’all idk timeline of their life, i mean that shit. ik alex lived with them at some point (from what i put together from context clues) and trevor said he lived with them at one point (idk if that’s separate from the 5 weeks) but this is DIY timeline so trevor isn’t living with them but he visits a lot bc he’s dating sissy (duh) during NTDP days

ps i high key hate this and i am so sorry but every time i hate something it does well soooo here it is :) lmk what you think (i wrote in inebriated)

— — — — —

Sunday afternoons tended to be the calmest of all the days of the week. It was mainly spent with catching up on homework assignments, running errands, or just relaxing on the couch with your boyfriend, Jack, and Luke. Today was one of those days.

“Sissy, I love you, and if you weren’t Quinny’s entire world, you’d be mine. But I am—“

“Why can’t I be both of your entire worlds?” you cut him off. Jack tilted his head and gave you a ‘really?’ look, “Shut up, nobody asked you. Anyways, as I was saying, I love you, but I do not want to watch Catching Fire again.”

“But you love it!” you whined.

“Yes, but I don’t want to watch it every week! I don’t care how in love with Finnick you are, I’m picking the movie,” Jack stated. You crossed your arms and pouted, “Fine. Cars?”

Jack sighed and slammed his head down on the arm of the couch, “fucking dammit, fine!”

You cheered and fell into Trevor in celebration when the doorbell rang. Jack got up to open the door, “Oh hey! What are you doing here? Come on in.”

You and Trevor looked over and saw Cole entering the house. You both perked up and smiled at his arrival, “Cole!”

Trevor stood up to greet his friend in one of their weird handshakes they refuse to let you in on, “Hey! Whatcha doing here, buddy?”

Instead of answering immediately, Cole voted to just pick you up right off the couch and into his arms.

“I’m taking her,” Cole stated as if it were the most obvious thing int the world.

Jack, Luke, and Trevor all exchanged confused glances.

“Can he do that?” Trevor asked.

“Well, none of us are Quinn,” Luke said perplexed.

“Can I ask why you’re taking Sissy?” Jack turned to Cole, who was slowly walking to the door to keep conversation.

“I’ve been stressed, so I thought a Y/N day would solve all my problems,” Cole answered. “It works out great for you guys, I thought I’d give it a try.

“She is good at that,” Jack agreed. “Is this just a thing now? We can take her wherever?”

“Not when I’m—“

“With Quinn! Yeah, yeah, we know,” Jack interrupted.

Cole started walking closer to the door with you still i’m his arms. You situated yourself so that your legs were wrapped around his waist and your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Cole! Where are you taking her?!” Trevor shouted at his best friend.

“Anywhere she wants!”

“Can we come?”

“I can’t have a detox with Y/N day with her brothers and boyfriend hanging around!” Cole called out while he opened the front door.

“Bring her back by 6 for dinner!” Jack told him. You saluted him and allowed yourself to be carried out the door to Cole’s car.

“Alright, Caufield. You got 5 hours with me, what’s your game plan?” you asked as you placed your elbow on the middle console to prop your head up to look at him.

“I thought I’d take you out to lunch and then back to my dorm for some video games and maybe smoke a little?” Cole answered.

You quirked and eyebrow, “Where did you acquire bud?”

Instead of answering, Cole reached into his pocket and held up a disposable pen.

“That’s not smoking,” you rolled your eyes.

“Do you want it or not?”

You snatched it out of his hand and inhaled, relaxing back into your seat on the exhale.

“Good?” Cole smiled.

“Hella.”

Cole took you to Chipotle, which you both voted to take it back to Cole’s room to eat so he could rant. You sat perpendicular to the head of his bed and had him lay his head down in your lap so you could play with his hair as he spoke. Most of it was stress handling school and hockey practice four days a week, plus games. Other parts of it was little things, such as missing home and a much comfier bed.

“What if once a week we all get together and do assignments together? And we can get you a comfier mattress topper for your bed to try and make it comfier, and I’d have to ask mom but maybe you can stay in Quinn’s room every once in a while. I sleep in his bed all the time when I miss him so I can confirm it is a top notch bed to sleep in,” you said.

“How do I know if it’s actually top notch or if you just miss your best friend so much you gaslit yourself into liking it?” Cole inquired.

“Do you really think Ellen would let her favorite child sleep on an uncomfortable bed?”

“Good point,” he laughed.

This started to make Cole feel better, so you both decided it was time to play some video games and get a little high for further nerve easing.

“Cole-Baby,” you said after a hit, “it’s time to go.”

“One more round,” he said.

“Uh huh, you are not ten and I am not your mother that you bargain with. Rap it up, pretty boy.”

Cole turned off the game and looked over at you smirking, “you think I’m pretty?”

“I think it got you to turn the game off,” you smirked back and kissed his cheek as you stood up.

You spent the entire car ride practically inhaling water. It won’t sober you up completely, but it’ll ease it. It wasn’t the first time you’d come home a little high, and it certainly won’t be the last, so you didn’t worry. Plus, it wasn’t bud.

You skipped through the door and jumped on top of your boyfriend on the couch when you and Cole walked in.

“Trevy!” you screamed.

“Well hello to you, too, Princess,” Trevor laughed.

“Kiss,” you said, lifting your head up. Trevor gave you a small kiss, since you didn’t like to put on a show when your entire family was around.

Jack eyed you suspiciously. You knew he was onto you, so you snapped twice to signal ‘yes, I am high’ so that he could help cover for you if need be, which was hardly ever needed. He, however, needed it frequently, which is why you two created the signal.

“What was that?” Trevor asked.

“Hugheslepathy. We’ve been over this,” you stated as if it were obvious.

“As your newly declared best friend I would like in on this Hugheslepathy signals,” Cole said.

Everyone looked at him as if he were crazy.

“Buddy, Quinn’s her best friend,” Trevor said.

“Since she was 6,” Luke added.

“They’re Hugheslepathy is so much crazier than ours that I don’t even understand it,” Jack said.

“Plus, I’m your best friend,” Trevor finished the back and forth.

“You can have more than one best friend!” Cole exclaimed.

“Clearly, you haven’t been around Sissy and Quinn enough,” Jack laughed. “They’re a different breed of best friend.”

“You can be best friend number two, Coley, but only if I’m yours!” you exclaimed as you sat up.

“Alright, I’ll settle for number two best friend,” Cole laughed. “Shall we legalize it?”

“We shall,” you nodded. You held out your pinky finger to Cole and he looped his around it and you shook hands. “That’s a pink promise! It’s legally binding!”

Cole smiled and agreed with you.

“Dinner’s ready!” Ellen called out.

Jack walked by you as you got up, “How bad?”

“I barely feel it,” you answered. “My best friend number two does not have strong stuff.”

Cole came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, “Last time I share with you, then.”

You gasped and escaped out of his hold, “We’re best friend number twos! That means something!”

“Best friend number twos?” Ellen asked. “What about Quinn?”

“That’s why Cole’s number two, Mom,” you laughed.

Ellen smiled at Cole, “Best friend number two, huh? That’s a big role to fill. Are you ready for it?”

Cole slung his arm around you, “I think I can handle it.”

#penalty box series #penalty box series: imagines #cole caufield #cole caufield imagine #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagine #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #cole caufield x reader #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey fic #montreal canadiens

[ladamedusoif]

Hot Chocolate (Marcus Pike x gn!reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 3

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist. FYI: I'm having so much trouble with taglists at the moment that I'm not going to use them for now - if you want to keep updated, turn on notifications for my posts.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x gn!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 1280 words

Warnings: Implied smut, some heavy making out, Marcus being an adorable foodie romantic art nerd, fluff city. No use of Y/N and no physical descriptions of Reader whatsoever. 

Summary: Snowed in and forced to stay over at your colleague’s Georgetown apartment, Marcus whips up a sweet treat to keep you warm.

“I don’t have much by way of dessert,” Marcus muses from the kitchen, where he’s peering into his fridge. 

You finish gathering the last of the takeout boxes from his dining table and begin cleaning them out at the sink. “You’ve given me a room for the night, Marcus, I don’t need dessert. Hey, where’s your recycling bin?” 

He gestures to a cupboard near the sink and leans back on the counter, thinking. “Actually, would you like some hot chocolate? I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Everything he needs?, you think, wondering what more you could possibly need for hot chocolate beyond some powdered mix and milk. Marshmallows, if you were feeling fancy.

“Sure, sounds good to me.” 

He grins in delight and starts rummaging in a cupboard, emerging with bars of dark chocolate and a jar of ground cinnamon, before delving into the fridge and retrieving milk and heavy cream. A heavy-bottomed saucepan is produced and positioned on the hob as Marcus mutters something about finding his grater.

This isn’t going to be cheap-ass powdered mix, is it.

Alright, full disclosure: if someone hooked you up to a polygraph machine and asked you if you had a teeny tiny harmless little workplace crush on Marcus Pike, you’d have to answer in the affirmative.

And who wouldn’t? He was kind and funny, and smart as hell, quietly undertaking a PhD in art history and cultural policy at Georgetown while continuing to work full-time. He was one of the few people in the team who actually kept up with the art world, regularly seeking you out after a new show opened at the National Gallery to exchange your thoughts on it over coffee in the canteen. 

The fact that he was also really cute didn’t hurt, either. 

When snow and ice blocked the routes out of DC back to your place in Alexandria, leaving you stranded, Marcus immediately suggested that you stay over at his place. See? Kind. 

“I’ll be fine, Marcus, really,” you’d protested, searching for hotel rooms in the city and recoiling when you saw the prices - and the lack of options. “Anyway, isn’t your place a one-bed?”

Marcus shrugged. “I’ve got a big couch, spare blankets and pillows, and I won’t stand by and see you hunkering down here for the night. C’mon. We’ll get takeout - I know a great little Korean place.”

He carefully grates the dark chocolate into a bowl while you whisk most of the cream. 

“Y’know, I really thought you were going to pull out a couple of sachets of Swiss Miss? I should have known better.”

Marcus chuckles to himself and checks the saucepan of milk. “Usually I’m a Swiss Miss kinda guy, I have to admit. But when you have guests, you do the Viennese hot chocolate. I like to make a fuss.”

You hold out the bowl of cream for him to inspect and he nods, eyes crinkling as he smiles at you. You put it down and fold your arms as you watch him work.

“Is it really Viennese, or is that just a name they use to make it sound all fancy?”

He laughs and looks at you in mock horror. “Of course it’s really Viennese! I even had it for the first time in Vienna.” Marcus takes the saucepan off the heat and adds the chocolate along with some sugar, a little cinnamon, and a dash of heavy cream. He begins to whisk the mixture carefully.

“It was one summer when I was a student - I had almost no money, but I did have one of those European Interrail tickets and I tried to see as much great art as I could. Took an overnight train to Vienna to see the Klimts at the Belvedere.” He pauses his whisking to assess the texture, then resumes.

“Like I said, I was down to my last few dollars - or Euros, or whatever the currency was at the time - but the one thing I was gonna do besides see the Klimts was go to a real Viennese café.”

The hot chocolate is frothy now, thick and glossy. Marcus nods in the direction of a cupboard and you open it, finding some mugs.

“So I’m guessing you got to a café.”

He turns off the stove and smiles at the memory. “Sure did. Café Central. It was like something out of a Stefan Zweig novel.” He takes a ladle out of a drawer and proceeds to fill the mugs with the steaming chocolate. “And I had a mug of something a bit like this - but much, much better - and a slice of apple strudel, and it was heaven.”

Marcus finishes off the chocolate by placing a large dollop of whipped cream in each mug, and hands one to you.

“This is…incredible. I don’t think I can ever go back to Swiss Miss.”

Marcus chuckles and sips his chocolate, sitting beside you on the couch. “I’m glad you like it. Perfect drink for a snowed-in night.”

You take another deep draught of the delicious, smooth drink and hum happily to yourself. “And I’m checking out flights to Vienna first chance I get.”

He looks at you intently. “Uh, you’ve… uh…”

You can see a giggle rising in his chest. He can’t suppress it, and he laughs out loud. 

“Why is the thought of me going to Vienna so funny to you?”

Marcus’s expression shifts to one of concern and he quickly shakes his head. “No, that sounds wonderful - you’ll love it - it’s just…” He reaches over and gently rubs the tip of your nose with his thumb, removing a large blob of whipped cream. “You had a little, uh, something.”

“Oh. Oh. I’m sorry.” You look down into your mug, a little embarrassed, but try to lighten the mood. “Feels like we’re in a scene from a cheesy holiday movie, y’know?”

He quirks his head. “How so?”

“Oh, you know. The whole ‘one character has whipped cream or something on their face and the other has to swipe it away and then…’”

You stop short, realising what you were about to say - and becoming very aware of just how close you are to him now.

Marcus’s voice is warm and low. “And then?”

Is he moving closer?

“And then… um. And then they usually, uh…”

He finishes your sentence by leaning in and kissing you, softly, gently at first. Your breath hitches as you feel the softness of his lips on yours. 

He breaks away for a second, staying close. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s…it’s great.” 

He takes your mug and puts it on the coffee table before cradling your face in his big hands and leaning in to kiss you again: a little harder, now, his tongue seeking entry to your mouth as your hands reach for his body and you lean back on the couch. 

You moan and whine with pleasure as you feel Marcus’s hands caressing your body, taste the bittersweetness of the chocolate on his lips and tongue. As he moves his mouth to your neck, sucking and nibbling and licking his way along the sensitive skin, you begin to unbutton his shirt and reach for his belt buckle.

“Marcus?”

He looks up for an instant, hair tousled and eyes as deep and dark and shiny as perfect hot chocolate.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch tonight. You’re keeping me warm in bed.”

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x gn!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fluff #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal