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joelalorian · 2 months

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Fall Into Me

dbf!Joel x f!reader

The first TLOU fic I ever read was a dbf!Joel story and it left an indelible mark on my soul. Unfortunately, I never bookmarked it so I have no idea which one it was. It's only natural that I had to try my hand at one at some point. So, here we are.

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 4.1k

Series Warnings: Mature to start, but will ultimately be Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. There will be angst, drama, fluff, humor, romance, smut... basically, the works. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname from her dad, which will be explained at some point.

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Chapter One: The Day That I Met You

If you asked him over a decade ago where he’d be now, Joel Miller would not have placed himself as a single father to a tenacious pre-teen desperately trying to keep things afloat. He spent too many hours in the week working to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. He would be lost without the help of his brother and the few friends he had. He had no social life to speak of and could not for the life of him remember the last time he went on an actual date.

No, back then, Joel thought he’d be living the good life in ten years’ time – traveling, going out with the boys, maybe have a girlfriend or wife. Basically, just getting to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Don’t get him wrong, though. He was still living a good life; it just was a different sort of good than what he hoped for back in the day.

He loved his daughter with every fiber of his being. Sarah was the best damn thing that ever happened to him, his entire world, and he wouldn’t change the past ten years for anything. He bent over backwards doing whatever it took to make his little girl feel cared for, happy, and loved. He just wished there was a little energy left for something for himself at the end of the day.

Joel Miller was drained. Mentally, physically, and emotionally.

He awoke with a groan as the bright sunlight broke through the gap in his curtains. It was Saturday – his birthday – and he hoped to sleep in, at least a little. Between the brightness of the morning and the stifled sounds of clanging pans and voices carrying up the stairs from his kitchen, sleeping in was not happening.

He hauled himself out of bed with a groan worthy of a man twenty years his senior and stretched out his limbs to ease the achiness in his bare back and chest from too much manual labor. Throwing on a pair of well-worn sleep pants and a faded tee shirt, Joel slipped from his bedroom and down the stairs. He moved rather quietly for a man of his size, stealing a moment to lean against the entryway into the kitchen and watch as Sarah and Tommy worked together making breakfast.

The counters were a mess of spilled pancake mix, eggshells, and… was that coffee dripping over the edge and onto the floor? It was a toss-up on who made the bigger mess, his ten-year-old daughter, or his grown ass brother. Still, Joel could not stop the smile spreading across his face as he watched them laughing and teasing each other. That, right there, was the reason he worked so hard, why the loneliness was worth it.

When Tommy flipped the stovetop off, Sarah turned to find her dad smiling goofily at them. “Happy Birthday, Dad!” she exclaimed, launching herself at his chest. Her lanky arms wrapped around his neck as he lifted her off the ground in a big bear hug.

“Thanks, baby girl,” Joel replied, pressing his lips to her forehead in a quick kiss before he settled her feet on the ground.

“We made you breakfast!” Sarah declared, gesturing toward the disaster zone formerly known as his kitchen.

“I see that,” he chuckled, voice still slightly rough with sleep.

Tommy turned with a smirk, hands grasping two plates filled with bacon, eggs, and pancakes. “Take a seat, brother. Let us take care of you on your birthday.” Placing the food on the small dining table, Tommy roughly patted his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry ‘bout the mess, I’m on cleanup duty after we eat.”

“We expectin’ company? That’s a helluva lot of food,” Joel grumbled. He needed coffee, stat.

“Yeah, JB is comin’ over to see ya before heading to the airport. His daughter finished grad school over the summer and is moving back home.” Tommy set more food and a full mug of dark roast coffee in front of his brother. The scent alone made Joel perk up a little.

The Millers hadn’t met you yet, having only become friends with your dad through work after you’d already left for college on the east coast. Your dad had a good decade on Joel, but he and the Miller brothers got on like a forest fire from what he told you. With visits home always short and rushed, busy catching up with family and your own friends, there was never time for your dad to introduce you all. Now you were coming home for good and would have plentiful opportunities for spending time with your dad and his friends.

“Speak of the devil,” Tommy muttered as the doorbell rang. Sarah bounded to the door to greet your dad with a hug. In many ways, the girl reminded him of you when you were young, and it always brought a smile to his face.

“There he is! The man of the hour. Happy Birthday, buddy!” Your dad, John, or JB as the Millers called him, ruffled Joel’s already mussed hair, leaving a few locks standing straight up in further disarray. Pulling a 12-pack of beer from behind his back, your dad set it on the table in front of Joel, topped with a little red bow. “I gotcha a lil’ something to celebrate.”

“Good man,” Joel replied with a chuckle. “Have a seat and help me eat all this. Tommy just told me your lil’ girl is coming home, finally.”

Your dad’s face lit up even more at the mention of you coming home. “She’s not so little anymore, but I sure am glad she’s moving back here. Said she had enough of the east coast, but I think she just missed her ol’ man.” After wolfing down some food, he added, “Think we could host a small barbecue here this coming weekend to celebrate? Your backyard is way nicer than mine and you got the pool and all.”

“Not to mention that fancy ass grill,” Tommy chimed in.

Swallowing a long sip of his morning go juice, Joel nodded. “Of course. Invite whoever you want. I’m looking forward to finally meeting your daughter.”

“Me too!” Sarah added. She heard a lot about you from your dad and hoped you were as cool in person as he made you out to be.

Joel’s mind started spinning upon hearing his daughter’s excitement. With her school hours being so different from his typical work hours, he was spending a small fortune on after school care for Sarah. She was still too young for him to leave home alone, especially on those days where he’s stuck late at a job. He was barely scraping by as it was and couldn’t really afford the cost of after school programs. Perhaps…

“JB, ya think your daughter would mind watching Sarah during the week while she’s home. Drop off and pick up from school and keeping her company ‘til I get home from work? I could pay her – it wouldn’t be much, but better than nothin’, I imagine.” He watched Sarah’s eyes light up at the suggestion and knew it was a good choice.

“I’m sure she’d love to. She wasn’t planning on finding a real job until after the holidays, so I know she’ll be free during the day,” your dad replied. “I’ll talk to her about it on the ride back from the airport and let you know.”

Three suitcases and a carry-on bag. That’s all you had left from six and a half years of pursuing higher education in North Carolina. You sold or gave away anything that did not fit into your luggage or hold sentimental value of your time away. Now, you were moving back home to save some money before you had to start chipping away at the mountain of student loan debt you accrued.

You loved learning, always have, but you were relieved to be done with school. Equipped with a bachelor’s degree in earth sciences and a master’s in education, you felt like a real adult ready to take the world of middle school by storm… well, starting after the new year, maybe. For now, you needed several months of limited to no responsibility to recoup your mental and physical energy. That last couple years of school really burned you out. Not to mention the last-minute rejection of a teaching position you thought was in the bag…

Anyway, you were better off leaving North Carolina behind and returning to Austin. You missed your dad something fierce and his particular brand of caring for you was exactly what your weary soul needed. It was you and him against the world, just like when you were a kid.

You flight was smooth and uneventful, yet you were relieved to deboard the plane. Something about being stuck in a tin can at the mercy of someone else’s ability to keep the thing from plummeting to the ground really aggravated your anxiety. Flying was something you would never enjoy; it was merely a means to an end when you wanted to travel long distances.

The journey to baggage claim was a slog with the crowd of passengers all heading to the same place. You were wondering how you’d wrangle three large suitcases by yourself when you caught sight of your dad. His broad smile took over his face when he spotted you, rushing over to sweep you up in a big bear hug.

“Hey Spud, how was the flight?” he asked as you waited for the baggage carousel to begin moving. “Looks like it was a full plane.”

“It was, but the flight was good. I’m really glad to be home.”

“Me, too, kid.”

You settled into a comfortable silence, watching various pieces of luggage pass by on the carousel. Your bags were scattered, and you had to wait several cycles to get all of them. Your dad lugged the final suitcase over the carousel with a grunt. “Jesus, what you got in this one? Bricks? A body?”

“That one has my gaming system and half a closet full of clothes,” you replied with a laugh.

Before long, everything was loaded into your dad’s truck, and you were heading back towards town. The radio hummed at a low volume as you both chatted about everything and nothing all at once.

“Hey, so I know you said you weren’t looking for full-time work until after the new year, but I have a proposition for you.” Your dad’s eyes stayed focused on the road, and you merely quirked a brow waiting for him to continue. “My buddy Joel – you know the one I told you about? Well, his daughter is ten and he needs some help with the school run and after school care. Our work hours aren’t exactly the same as elementary school, you know?”

You nodded, remembering all the times your dad spoke to you about Joel, as well as his daughter and brother. Despite never meeting them, you felt like you already knew their whole life story. “So, he’s looking for a nanny or something? I could do that. It would keep me from getting lazy while I navigate getting my Texas teaching certificate.”

Your dad grinned, one hand patting your leg. “I was hoping you’d say that. Joel will pay you, of course, but just… don’t expect much. It ain’t easy for him being a single dad trying to keep everything afloat.”

Again, you nodded, a soft smile creasing your lips. You knew all too well how challenging it could be for single parents, having grown up with just you and your dad. Much like what your dad told you about Joel’s experience with the mother of his child, your mom split when you were barely a toddler. Things weren’t always sunshine and roses, but your dad sure did his best to make sure you had a great life. Honestly, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, that life with your dad. You had a feeling it was much the same for Joel and his daughter.

“I’m happy to help, even if he doesn’t pay me. I’m sure his daughter will enjoy having a female influence in her life if nothing else. What’s her name again? Sarah?”

Your dad’s eyes twinkled with pride. “Yup, that’s it. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become, Spud.”

A mist of tears prickled your eyes as you mumbled out a “Thanks, dad.” After a beat, you added, “Must you keep up with that nickname?”

“Of course. You’ll always be my little Spud,” he laughed as you rolled your eyes. “Oh, by the way, we’re going to the Millers on Saturday for your welcome home party.”

“What’s all this?” Joel questioned as Tommy and Sarah placed a heavy, wrapped package on the table before him along with a few smaller presents. The remains of a birthday cake sat nearby, having been delightfully devoured by the Millers while celebrating Joel’s birthday.

“Just a little somethin’ from me and Sarah,” Tommy replied, a boyish grin alighting his handsome features.

Joel gazed between them with curiosity. Not big on celebrating his own aging, he rarely got big gifts. “You wanna help me open this, nugget?” Sarah’s eyes lit up, small hands reaching to tear the wrapping paper into shreds. It only took a few moments for the contents to be revealed, leaving Joel confused at the modern contraption sitting in front of him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You play video games on it, dumbass.” Tommy harumphed as he began a diatribe on the features of the gaming system – he had one just like it at his place and it provided hours of entertainment when he didn’t feel like going out. “I figured it would be a good hobby for you since you never want to join me in going out.”

“Huh,” Joel grunted in return, brows furrowed as he read the instructions on how to setup up the machine. His attention was diverted by Sarah shoving the smaller parcels into his lap.

“Here, dad! These go with it.” Together, they tore into the wrapping paper to find several video games, a few of which were family friendly. The final gift was a spare controller for the gaming system so he and Sarah could play together.

Despite still being unsure that the gift was a good fit for him, Joel was grateful to Tommy for the effort. “This is too much, man. You shouldn’t spend this kind of money on me, Tommy.”

His brother waved him off. “I found a great deal and you never get anything for yourself, brother. You deserve something to indulge in. Believe me, you’ll have fun with this.”

The rest of the evening was spent with Tommy setting up the system and showing the father-daughter duo how to play some of the games he picked out. The living room filled with lots of laughter and teasing, and Joel found himself really getting into the fun of the video games.

After tucking Sarah into bed, Tommy showed Joel a game that was too violent for the little girl but entertaining for the men. The game was set in Washington DC which had been ravaged by a brutal pandemic and the main character was part of a group of agents fighting off nefarious gangs trying to take over the city. Joel caught onto the gameplay quickly and the two men found themselves building the loadout for Joel’s character, taking out bad guys, and chatting well into the night.

At two in the morning, the pair looked at each other with bleary, red-rimmed eyes and finally called it a night. Joel directed Tommy to crash in the spare room as he shuffled off to bed upstairs.

It didn’t take you long to get settled into your dad’s house. It wasn’t the home you grew up in and you only visited a few times after he bought it. After years living away on your own, you thought it would be an adjustment being under his roof again, but it wasn’t. He understood the need for personal space and never hovered unless you were hurt or sick. He gave you the downstairs bedroom – it was the largest in the house, with an ensuite bath and huge walk-in closet.

“Dad, no! Why in the world is this not your room?” you questioned when he placed your bags on the brand-new, king size bed he had delivered the week prior.

“Hell no, Spud. What do I need all this space for? I like the upstairs rooms better – the light is all wrong in this one anyway.”

You looked around, holding in a giggle. The room faced south, giving you just the right amount of natural light all day. That’s what your dad didn’t like. He preferred to live like a bat in a cave with blackout curtains and limited lighting.

“Alright, well, I love it. The natural light is perfect for me. I can actually put some plants on the windowsills. Thank you!” You kissed his cheek as he left you to get settled.

You spent the week rearranging the bedroom how you wanted it, setting up your gaming system, and putting all your clothes into the walk-in closet. Your dad hadn’t done much with the room other than furnish it, so you made a few trips to the store to get a bathroom set, floor lamps, and wall décor to make the room your own.

Before you knew it, Saturday morning dawned bright and warm. The day of your welcome home gathering arrived, and you would finally get to meet the Millers. An excited energy had you moving about your space in a flurry, tidying up and getting ready early. You’d seen some photos of the Millers that your dad sent you – Sarah was adorable with her dark, springy curls, and Joel… Joel was handsome, in a broody, overworked kind of way, with dark, riotous curls and big, warm chocolate eyes. Kind eyes, you called them.

“Hey Spud, you ready?” your dad called from the kitchen as you put the finishing touches on your hair. It was pinned up, leaving the smooth skin of your neck bare. The sundress you picked hugged your curves in just the right way, falling just at your knees in a flow of lightweight material. In early October, Austin was still hot, and you hoped the Millers’ yard was shaded.

“Bring a swimsuit! They have a pool!” he yelled as you grabbed the last of your things. Turning back to your closet, you grabbed a dark green one-piece suitable for family-friendly swimming and tucked it into your bag.

“I’m ready!”

Your dad smiled at the sight of you. “Let’s go then. We’re heading over early so you can officially meet the Millers and we’ll help them setup before everyone else arrives.”

“Sounds good. Who all’s coming anyway?” Your eyes widened as your dad rattled off a list of people he invited, including his work buddies and some of his and Joel’s neighbors. He would have invited some of your old friends from high school, but you all lost touch over the years. The party was turning out bigger than you thought. Your heart swelled with how happy your dad was to have you home for good.

The Millers lived in the same neighborhood, only a few blocks away, so close you could have walked if not for the scorching sun. The drive took only a few minutes before your dad pulled into the driveway of a two-story home similar to your dad’s, with simple landscaping and two wooden rocking chairs on the wide porch. Lovely and quaint, the house made you more curious about the people who lived there.

“Dayum! Get a load a JB’s daughter, Joel,” Tommy called from the living room, leaning over the couch to look out the front window. “She’s smokin’ hot!”

“Dammit, Tommy. Stop spying on ‘em,” Joel growled, sneaking a peek over his brother’s shoulder to do a little hypocritical spying of his own. Breath caught in his throat at the sight of you and he couldn’t break his gaze away, even as JB led you toward the front door.

“What was that about spyin’, brother?” Tommy teased, practically dragging Joel away from the window as a knock sounded against the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

Tommy opened the heavy wooden door revealing the pair of you standing there, matching bright eyes and wide grins greeting him. “Well, hello there, beautiful. I’m Tommy.” Reaching a hand toward you, Tommy completely ignored JB, who just scowled at him.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” you replied, offering him your hand and name in return. Joel’s scowl matched your dad’s expression as Tommy held your hand for several beats too long.

“Back off, Tommy,” your dad grunted, swatting at the younger Miller brother. “This here is Tommy’s brother, Joel. The one who actually owns this house and the better Miller, if you ask me.”

“Ain’t no one askin’ you, old man,” Tommy’s smart mouth shot back at your dad.

Joel ignored both men, eyes like dark pools as he gazed at you, awed at how small and delicate your hand felt in his. “Howdy, darlin’,” his voice rumbled from his chest. “Come on in. There’s someone else lookin’ forward to meeting you.”

Leading the way through the kitchen into the backyard, Joel felt the heat of your gaze burning his back. Were you checking him out? There was no way. You were beautiful and likely in your early twenties. He felt ancient, though he was only in his early thirties, the hard labor of construction work having taken its toll on him.

“Hi Dad!” a young, sweet voice called from a small swing set where a precious little girl entertained herself. “Who’s this?”

Joel introduced you to his daughter, leaving the two of you to get acquainted as your dad called him away.

“You were away at college?” Sarah questioned, motioning for you to take a seat on the swing next to hers.

“I was,” you replied. “But I’m back for good now.”

“That’s good. What grade did you get to? I’m in fourth grade.”

You thought about it a moment. “I guess it would be 18th grade. But you stop counting grade numbers after 12th and start using different words to describe what year you’re in during college.”

Sarah listened raptly while you explained the different terms, what you studied in school, and what kind of job you were hoping to get.

“You want to be a teacher?” she asked, awed.

“I do! I want to teach middle grade science.”

“I love science! Maybe you could be my teacher when I get to sixth grade!”

Joel returned with your dad and Tommy in tow to find you and Sarah having a blast. The little girl sat in your lap as you kicked your feet out, swinging as high as you could, singing some camp song you remembered from your youth.

“See? Told ya she’d love to spend time with Sarah,” your dad said to Joel. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, staring at the two of you with a glazed look in his dark eyes.

Shaking himself off, Joel turned to your dad. “Guess I better work out some details with her.” He stepped over to the swing set, taking a seat on the empty swing and hoping to the heavens above that it held his weight. He struggled internally on how to start the conversation and was just about to blurt something out when his amazing daughter saved the day.

“Dad! She wants to be a teacher! A science teacher! Isn’t that cool? Did you ask her about watching me yet? I think she’d love to.” Sarah rambled on excitedly, amusing you and Joel. Turning to you before Joel could chime in, Sarah turned to you with baby cow eyes, adding, “You would love to, right?”

How could you ever resist that look? No one could. Both you and Joel were powerless as you nodded, and the offer became official. Cell numbers were exchanged and before you knew it, you had a job starting Monday.

Hours later, slightly drunk on spiked fruit punch and buzzing with energy, you thanked Joel for hosting the barbecue and giving you a job. You kissed his stubbled cheek, forcing thoughts of how attractive he was as far down as they could go. You could not develop a crush on your boss. “I’ll see you Monday morning, bright and early!” you declared before following your dad through the front door.

TBC

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel x female reader #the last of us #tlou #dbf!joel #Fall Into Me #pedro pascal #eventual smut #eventual romance

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steddieasitgoes · 9 months

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Their dining room table has been taken over by thousands of tiny little beads and elastic in different colors.

Steve sits opposite their sixteen-year-old daughter, a thin elastic band clutched in one hand and an assortment of approved beads laid out in front of him. He picks up a small purple crystal-like bead and tries to feed the elastic through the minuscule hole.

“Christ, why isn’t this hole bigger,” he groans, squinting as he tries for the third time to thread the bead onto the elastic.

“Aw, but I thought you liked tight holes, sweetheart,” Eddie teases, sauntering into the room.

Their daughter pretends to retch before turning up the Taylor Swift song playing from her phone, hoping to drown them out. It doesn’t matter that they have a state-of-the-art stereo system in the other room that sounds a thousand times better than the shit speakers in her phone. She likes the convenience.

Steve, on the other hand, glares playfully at Eddie. “Seriously, not in front of our daughter.”

“Oh, please, don’t pretend she doesn’t know things.”

“I mean, yeah, but she doesn’t need to know things about us.”

“I really don’t,” their daughter agrees.

Eddie laughs before collapsing onto the seat beside Steve. Assessing the beads in front of him, Eddie collects a few and gets to work.

“Hey,” Steve whines, swatting Eddie’s hand away when he tries to steal one of his beads. “These are mine. You didn’t even get her approval.”

Eddie scoffs. “I don’t need her approval. She trusts me, right bug?”

Their daughter rolls her eyes, but nods. Eddie hoots victoriously before going back to his own bracelet. Steve shares a look of amusement with their daughter. One that says it’s better to let Eddie think he won than try to give him a set of rules to play by.

Many things have changed about Eddie over the years, but one thing that has remained the same is his disdain for other people’s rules — even if the rules are coming from his daughter.

When Steve tries to take a peek at what Eddie is working on a moment later, he gets a swift elbow to the ribs. “No peaking!”

Shaking his head, Steve gets back to his own bracelets. It’s a lot easier threading the beads when he grabs his glasses from the bedroom and he manages to finish two daughter-approved bracelets in the time it takes Eddie to finish whatever he’s been working on.

“Are you ready to see the best bracelet ever?” he asks, standing up with all the dramatics he had when he was thirty years younger.

Steve and their daughter nod, setting aside their own bracelets to look at Eddie’s creation.

A rainbow of beads, all different shapes and sizes surround a group of block letter beads that reads: Fuck Ticketmaster.

Steve laughs while their daughter smirks, shaking her head.

“It’s not a Taylor lyric, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Our bank account definitely agrees.”

“So will the Swifties, you’ll see!” Eddie says, reaching for another random set of beads to start another bracelet.

The three of them spend the rest of the afternoon making friendship bracelets. Well, Steve and their daughter do. Eddie continues making “Fuck Ticketmaster” and various other obscure and random bracelets. The highlights of which include a red beaded monstrosity with the word “scarf” on it and one that just says "Olive Garden."

Unfortunately for Steve and their daughter, Eddie’s unhinged bracelets are the biggest hit at the concert. He ends up trading all his bracelets before they even get into the stadium.

He doesn’t let them live it down, proclaiming himself the King of Friendship bracelets.

#something short sweet stupid and silly for this Saturday morning #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #steddie dads #steddie hits their taylor swift era #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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yoon-kooks · 1 year

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paired & puppy-eyed | jjk

⛓️pairing: hotnerd!jungkook x popular!reader

⛓️genre: smut, fluff, college!au

⛓️summary: When Jeon Jungkook agrees to be your partner for a class project, he doesn’t realize what that might escalate to until you show up at his door in a teeny-tiny crop top and cling to his tattooed arm like his naughty little kitten.

⛓️word count: 4.6k

⛓️warnings: dom!jk, sub!reader, daddy/kitten undertones, dirty talk, reader calls herself a sl*t one time, dick tattoo, many rounds of sex off screen😔

⛓️p&p masterlist⛓️

a/n: if you're looking for the ✨filthy✨ smut version, read paired & pierced from the reader's pov! this one takes place in the same 2 days but from jungkook's pov without explicit smut😔 if you read both, lmk which version you preferred! i personally like this one more bc we get more catdad!jjk heh

Jungkook doesn’t always have a goal for the day, but today is different. He’s running on approximately zero hours of sleep and would love to get a nap in before class starts. That shouldn’t be too much to ask.

Unfortunately for him, that won’t be happening today because there are at least ten girls huddled next to his desk when he walks into the classroom. An onlooker might assume that these girls are gathered around for a chance to win his heart over, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. In reality, there’s a queen bee sitting a foot away from him, and she’s the one everyone’s always drawn to.

That queen bee is none other than you.

As Jungkook quietly takes his seat, he overhears something about that Loudmouth Jim who sits on the other side of the classroom. Apparently, you were hanging out with that guy at some party. A girl like you can do so much better than Loudmouth Jim who always needs to make everything about him. He couldn’t accept it when his ex broke up with him, so he turned it around on her to make it seem like he was the one breaking things off with her. Now he’s made it his mission to make her jealous by flirting with popular girls like you. Jungkook swears he only knows this because his tattoo artist loves to spill the tea he hears from his other clients.

“Is he as big as they say?” All the girls look so wide-eyed and eager to hear what you have to say about Loudmouth Jim’s cock. They talk about shit like this all the time, and as much as it makes Jungkook want to bang his head against a brick wall, he’s also lowkey disappointed that they’ve never once wondered about the size of his cock. He wouldn’t mind if that seed were planted in that pretty little head of yours.

As it turns out, you haven’t seen Loudmouth Jim’s cock. Thank god. And from what it sounds like, you didn’t want to see it anyway. Good girl. In fact, when Jungkook takes a peek next door, you don’t even look super engaged in the girl talk. You nod along and smile a bit, but you’re a lot quieter than one would expect for someone so popular. It’s kind of cute.

Eventually, class begins and Jungkook lets out a sigh of relief. Now the girls have to cut the chitchat and leave. At long last, he can finally catch up on some sleep. This wouldn’t be an issue if not for the tiny demon kitten that wandered to his doorstep a week ago. Not only does she keep him awake at night by knocking shit down and chewing on his phone charger, but she also haunts him in his sleep.

He dreams of the little fucker swatting her paws against his back and wiggling her tiny body into his hood. When that isn’t enough to get his attention, she starts gnawing on his index finger.

“Hey Jungkook.”

The boy opens an eye and the first thing he sees is you bent down in front of him as if you were about to do something indecent under his desk. He immediately shakes that thought out of his head, though he still has no fucking clue why you’re down there looking up at him with such needy puppy dog eyes.

“Wanna be partners?” you ask him.

Still half-asleep, he looks around the room and sees everyone pairing up and talking about a project of some sort. Fucking hell. He absolutely despises any and all projects that aren’t individual. Even the ones where a super pretty girl is asking to pair up with him. But before he can decline, he notices you checking over your shoulder and sees Loudmouth Jim on his way over. Ah, it all makes sense now. You’re just using him to avoid being partners with that asshole. It’s a matter of picking the lesser of two evils. Understandable.

“Sure, I guess.” As much as Jungkook doesn’t want to admit it, he wouldn’t have had it in him to say no to you anyway. Not with those puppy eyes.

“Good, good.” The smile on your face is too much. Why are you smiling that big for something as small as agreeing to be your partner? It’s really not that deep. But it is really cute. Fuck. See, this is what happens when he doesn’t get enough sleep—his mind develops some sort of irrational softness that won’t go away until he either lets his body rest or rubs one out. He’ll do whatever it takes to get that nasty soft feeling out of his system.

Seeing how the classroom isn’t the best place to have his hand in his pants, he opts to fall back asleep before class ends. Hopefully he won’t be disturbed by any more kitten nightmares.

Ten seconds later, Loudmouth Jim enters the scene, and Jungkook can kiss his nap goodbye. Still slumped over, the sleep-deprived boy listens in on the awkward exchange between you and Loudmouth. Bro apparently can’t take a hint that you want nothing to do with him. Jungkook would step in and tell Jim to fuck off, but he wants to see you do it yourself. That would be kind of hot.

“I’m actually partnered up with Jungkook, sorry,” you say in an apologetic tone. You probably get taken advantage of all the time because of that compassion. There’s no need for you to be so nice to everyone you interact with, and especially not to shallow people like Jim. That must be exhausting.

“That kid asked you to be his partner?” Loudmouth spits. Kid? Jungkook does his best not to snort while pretending to be dead. When he takes a peek, he sees you nod. “And you said yes?”

You nod again. This time, however, you don’t give him the gentleness you’re known for. With a furrowed brow, you almost look bothered—something you probably feel all the time but never show. It’s so rare to see your emotions out in the open like that. It’d be quite intriguing to see how you look when you’re genuinely happy, sad, mad, horny—

Nope. Jeon Jungkook is not going to let his sleepy mind wander there on a Friday morning. It can at least wait until he gets home.

After Loudmouth Jim is gone, Jungkook sits up and stares at you. Your face has already softened back up. Fuck it. He’s never seen anyone so cute in his entire life, through sleep-deprived glasses or not.

“Why didn’t you just partner up with that other guy? It sounded like he wanted to work with you.” Kind of a dick move of him to ruffle your feathers when he already knows about your distaste for Jim, but Jungkook is genuinely curious to hear what you have to say. And he’s not one to be curious about other people’s affairs.

“That’s not what he wanted,” you say. They don’t call him Bad Intentions Jim for nothing.

“What about everyone else? Aren’t you friends with everyone here?” Perhaps “friends” isn’t the best word to describe the rest of your classmates, but it’s clear that they enjoy being in your presence.

Apparently, you feel a bit more detached than that. According to you, no one’s going out of their way to save you from a hypothetical burning house. Jungkook probably would. But there’s no way in hell he’s admitting something like that. He’d sound like a simp!

“Who would you save?” he asks. Surely you have someone you’d put before anyone else. Anyone would be lucky to be your number one.

“No one.”

Jungkook knows he shouldn’t feel a certain way about your answer, but he can’t control how his lips curl into the slightest smile. Your response is proof that the two of you aren’t as different as it seems. He might even like you for it.

Heck, he might even offer to do the whole damn project by himself and still give you credit for it! That’s the plan he has cooked up for his antisocial self—until you keep insisting on working together. Something about meeting up on the weekend. Maybe he should stop playing hard to get and just say okay.

“I’m busy.” He immediately hates himself for saying it. That’s his default response for any sort of social gathering, and his dumbass went on autopilot for no reason.

“Busy with what?” The way you flutter your eyelashes at him is both innocent and seductive. Are you actually flirting with him? Because it’s working.

“My newborn,” he utters out of panic. It didn’t entirely come out of his ass, though. The vet did say his kitten is around eight weeks. That’s basically a newborn, and she’s definitely been keeping him busy.

But then your eyes get all big and sparkly. “You have a child?”

How the fuck is Jungkook supposed to respond to that? You’re so excited over a human baby that doesn’t exist, and now he has to be the bringer of bad news. He normally doesn’t feel bad for others, but this makes him feel like absolute shit.

“If it’s easier for you and the little one, we can work at your place?” you offer. Why the fuck are you so gullible and trusting in him, and why is that a huge turn-on for him?

“I was just fucking with you…” he finally comes clean. You look exactly like the surprised Pikachu meme, and yes, it’s adorable. Fine, you win. He gives you his number and address and invites you over.

All that for a fucking project.

When Jungkook returns home, a sleepy kitten waddles its way over to the door to greet him. She yawns her fish breath in his face as soon as he picks her up for a kiss. Ungrateful little demon.

She doesn’t stop there, either. With a burst of energy and a bushy tail, she flicks her eyes around, looking for a wire to chew on. The computer cords must be quite appetizing because she keeps trying to eat them.

“Hey, that's dangerous, Lucy.” Jungkook peels the kitten away from the wires and sets her down on his bed, but she just runs right back into the danger zone. “Lucinda, you little shit.”

Twenty minutes later, the boy makes a run to the pet store and returns with a few peace offerings. He’s not much of a cat person, so he has no idea what all the young kittens are into nowadays. Hopefully they like mouse toys and pink bunnies.

Like the new father he is, Jungkook spends the rest of his evening teaching the kitten how to play fetch, rocking her to sleep, and tucking her in with the mouse and bunny. Finally, the demon has been tamed.

By the time he gets into bed, it’s already past midnight. He’s exhausted and should probably get some sleep, and yet his mind is still wandering. He can’t quite shake that image of you getting down on your knees at his desk, just begging for his attention. For a second, it looked as though you, the most popular girl on campus, were lusting after his cynical smartass self. The mere possibility of that lures his hand into his pants to address that ache he’s been enduring all day. But before he can get any relief, he hears a set of paws back on the prowl.

Jungkook hobbles out of bed and turns on the light. To no one’s surprise, the naughty kitten is caught red-handed with a wire in her mouth.

With a sigh, he collects the kitty, sits her down in his lap, turns his computer on, and opens up the code for the partner project. It’s going to be a long night.

The funny thing is, the assignment itself doesn’t require much time or effort. What takes up all his time and effort is this silly kitten. She’s adorable but so damn needy. Kind of like you. If you were here to work on the project with him like you’d fought so hard to do, you’d surely be much too big of a distraction. No work would ever get done when you bat your eyes at him and giggle over the tiniest things.

It takes a good few hours between modifying and adding lines of code and keeping an eye on the troublemaker, but Jungkook eventually gets it done before the sun rises. As an added bonus, the naughty little wire fairy has finally worn herself out. She curls into a ball on top of Jungkook’s chest and falls into a deep slumber. The boy is out a minute later.

It’s around ten in the morning when Jungkook wakes up and checks his phone. You’re supposed to drop by sometime today, aren’t you? He wishes he knew when to expect you, or if you weren’t coming at all. It’s up to you to message him, though, since he gave you his number and not the other way around.

Just then, he hears a knock at the door. His first instinct says it’s you. But then he checks his phone again and sees no new message from your unknown number. Surely you’d shoot him a text before heading his way.

It’s probably just the special package of kitty toys he ordered a few days ago. He’d get up to check, but he’s not trying to disturb the little rascal from her slumber. She’s still resting peacefully on his chest, and he’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.

But what if the package gets stolen? Jungkook spent a lot more money than he’d like to admit on those kitty toys, and he’d be pretty pissed if someone took that away from his child.

Groaning, Jungkook slowly lifts the sleepy kitten off his chest and places her on the warm spot where he’d been lying. She stretches out her tiny limbs but otherwise continues her snooze. Perfect.

The first thing he sees when he opens the door is your bare tummy because you’ve apparently decided to show up at his door unannounced in a micro crop top. It’s so short your pretty tits might pop out if your arms were held above your head. Jeon Jungkook wouldn’t mind seeing a little underboob if that’s the look you’re going for today.

Then he notices you staring at him like he’s a stranger. You haven’t even greeted him yet. He watches as your eyes travel up his bare arm to his face and messy man bun, and then back to his arm. That’s when it hits him. This is the first time you’re seeing any of his tattoos and piercings.

The quiet studious Jeon Jungkook at school doesn’t look like the type to have a full sleeve or this many piercings. He doesn’t like drawing attention to himself and prefers to keep a low profile. Life is just easier that way. That’s why he always takes his piercings out and covers his tattoos with a hoodie when it’s time to go to class.

Seeing him now in a muscle tank must be quite shocking to you.

“Why do you look like that?” You have the audacity to point the finger at him when you’re looking that good in your little crop top. “I mean, if I’d given you a heads-up, would you have thrown on a hoodie and removed all your piercings before I got here?”

Oh? You sound kind of upset at the fact that he’s been intentionally hiding his body art in class. Like you’ve been missing out.

“Maybe,” he answers as he leads you inside. Your curious eyes are still glued to his tattoos. You ask why he hides it all, and he mentions his distaste for compliments and small talk.

He does it to avoid the exact things you’re so good at attracting.

“Fine, I won’t talk about how pretty I think your tattoos are.” You bring out a pouty lip to combo with those puppy eyes. He wonders how you make your pupils so big like that. And what the fuck are you so whiny for? You want to admire his body art that badly? Fine.

“I’ll grant you permission to give one single compliment.” Without a single thought, he lifts his tatted arm for you to grab onto. Your hands are so soft and warm as they slide across each tattoo. It’s in times like this that Jungkook wishes his entire body was covered in tattoos for you to trace with that angelic touch.

After what feels like forever, you still haven’t said your one compliment. It seems like you’re just using this as an excuse to latch onto his arm like his little kitten.

“Well? Are you gonna fangirl over my tattoos or just keep fondling my arm?” He’d give you a nudge but his arm is too busy being fondled.

“I wish I could see all of them.” Your eyes meet his as your tits press into his arm. The compliment is innocent at face value, but the implications behind it sure as hell aren’t. Oh, you definitely want to fuck him.

If you think you can just waltz into his home with that crop top, drool all over his tattoos, and ask for sex so shamelessly, you’re not wrong. His body is aching to squeeze those tits, to feel just how tight you are, and to make you squirm until you squirt.

“Ooh kitty.” Like an easily distracted toddler, you toss his arm aside and move on to the next toy that fascinates you. The kitten drops her mouse in front of you and sniffs your hand when you scoop her up. Jungkook watches from afar as his own kitten steals you away from him. She even presses her pink nose to your cheek. That little fucker.

Jungkook has to bite his tongue at least five times to stop himself from asking if you’re done playing with his cat. He’d come off as jealous and needy for your attention. Instead, he acts like the mature father he is and puts her to bed in that pink new donut cushion he’d bought for her the other day. She kneads her paws on the bunny until she can’t keep her eyes open anymore and settles into the loaf position. He’s convinced she’s only behaving like an angel right now to impress his lady friend.

“So what’s this project again?” The boy has no intentions of actually working on the project, but he’d prefer it if you weren’t so focused on his cat.

“You’d know if you were listening!” You turn back to the cat again. He could’ve sworn he heard you whispering something into her triangle ears like, “Your daddy is so useless.”

Hearing that name come out of your mouth is confirmation. Confirmation that you’d be so submissive if he were to spread your legs open and make you his little plaything. And he kind of likes the sound of that.

“I’m just fucking with you again. I already finished it, by the way,” he hums. Since you seem to be the stubborn type when it comes to project participation, he sits you down at his computer with the finished code to prove that daddy is not in fact useless.

He expects you to be all wide-eyed and impressed by his work, but you simply sigh as you run the program. Great. It appears he has yet another ungrateful little thing on his hands.

But then you start adding in a bunch of stuff “for the aesthetic” because although he’s “quite possibly the nerdiest boy you’ve ever met,” there’s still room for growth when it comes to “the fun shit.” And by “the fun shit,” you mean coding in a cat doing some elaborate kpop choreo.

Half an hour later, you run the final product again and submit it in its perfect form. Aren’t you the nerd here? Quite possibly the prettiest nerd he’s ever met.

“Are you sure that Jim guy wasn’t trying to be your partner just to get a good grade? Nerd,” Jungkook says before face-palming internally. Why does he always resort to name-calling as his way of flirting with people? This is why no one likes him and why he’d rather just keep his mouth shut. He’s going to ruin a good thing with you if he keeps that up.

But to his surprise, you throw the name right back at him with a playful smile on your face. “If that were the case, he would’ve asked for a threesome with you too, Nerd.”

“Not particularly interested in a threesome with him.” But a threesome with you? Sounds interesting.

You call Jim an asshole and don’t deny that you have a bunch of shallow relationships with the people in your class. When the boy asks you about it, you admit it’s intentional. It’s this mindset of surrounding yourself with a lot of different people until you run into the few you click with.

And while Jungkook can’t relate to having that many connections to his peers, he understands the desire for someone who cares for you unconditionally and makes you want to do the same. He’s been waiting for that person to show up for him too. Idly. At least you’re putting yourself out there.

“Found anyone yet?” he asks, lying down on his bed. He stares up at the ceiling and not at the pretty person sitting less than a foot away from him. You’d joined him on the bed at some point to play with the kitten, but the feline was very quick to abandon you. Now it’s just you and him.

“There might be a boy I’m interested in.” Your voice is flirty and soft. The boy knows he might have a big ego at times, but there’s no doubt in his mind that you’re talking about him. You wouldn’t be on his bed eyeing him like that if that weren’t the case.

With that knowledge in mind, Jungkook decides to tease you some more. “I bet it’s Jim, isn’t it? You know, like a passionate love-hate type thing?”

“Fuck no.” Your face hovers over his like the moon during an eclipse, except you’re much more enticing to look at. He catches your eyes on his lips until they find their way up to meet his gaze. “Never mind, it’s no one.”

Liar.

“Really?” His body suddenly moves on its own, overcome with the lust that had been building up since you first showed him those puppy eyes in class. He pulls you beneath him and holds both of your wrists above your head. He was right. That crop top is indeed short enough to show him some underboob with you in that helpless position. And, much like how you said you wanted to see all his tattoos, he wants nothing more in this moment than to see the rest of you until he’s seen it all.

Purposely keeping the tiniest distance between his lips and yours, he whispers, “I was under the impression you were kind of into me.”

As the afternoon turns to evening, you’re still at Jungkook’s place, still fondling his arm on his bed, and still obsessed with all the art and piercings that grace his body. The two of you had fallen asleep after getting a few rounds of filthy sex out of your systems, much to the boy’s surprise. He’s used to people leaving right after, whether it’s because the relationship was purely sexual or because it just wasn’t worth his time. You’re different, though. There’s something about you that he wants to keep holding onto.

“Did this one hurt?” You poke the metal sticking out of his eyebrow.

“Not as much as you stabbing me with your finger just now,” he frowns, running a hand through his messy hair. The man bun must’ve come out at some point in the midst of all that hair pulling and wrestling in the sheets.

“You must have really low pain tolerance then,” you giggle with your finger ready to poke him someplace else. But before you can do so, he closes his hand around yours and tucks your pointy finger away to put an end to your antics. “You’re no fun,” you pout.

“Really? You seemed like you were enjoying it when I let you s—”

“Where’s this one from?” You somehow dodge the accusation and free your finger from his grasp to poke the shark tattoo that you now know hides beneath his shirt. You’re so sneaky.

“Someone.” Aka the same artist he gets his gossip from.

“What about the… snake one?” Of course that’s the one that pops into your dirty little head.

“Someone else.” Aka the one he might have slept with a few times before she convinced him that the snake would look good on him there. She wasn’t wrong. “You’re nosy.”

“I’m just asking! Maybe I want a tattoo too!” you squeak. Jungkook has no doubt in his mind that you’d look pretty damn hot with any tattoo anywhere on that body. “Tattoos are attractive, no?”

“Be honest, you only fucked me for my tattoos, huh.” The boy knows this to be false because you aren’t the shallow type, but he just wants to hear what other good things you have to say about him. Because maybe he doesn’t hear that a lot from others.

“Obviously. It had nothing to do with how hot you are, or how easy you are to talk to, or how soft you are for your cat, or how perfect of a pair we made for that project,” you lie with the most charming smile ever, snuggling up as close as you possibly can to his body. Twirling his long hair around your finger, you tuck it behind his ear, and whisper, “I’m such a little slut for your tattooed cock.”

The boy gets yet another urge to tear your clothes off again and feel your bare body connect with his so perfectly. He’s just about to shove his hand into your panties (you gave up on pants after the third time) when you let out a tiny snicker.

“I take back what I said about you not being fun,” you say, lips flush against his neck. “You’re fun to tease.”

Him? Fun to tease? Maybe you’re forgetting about all the teasing and torture he put you through earlier. Maybe you’re in need of a little reminder.

“Hey,” he says in his stern parent voice. You look up at him with those big innocent eyes again. Oh great. It’s clear that you know his weakness and aren’t afraid to exploit it. Just like how his naughty little kitten knows she can get away with anything because she’s too cute to get mad at. “Behave or I’ll kick you out.”

“Oh?” His so-called threat catches your attention enough to get your ass in his lap and your hands tangled in his hair. You let him taste your lips, your tongue, your everything—a sweet taste he won’t ever get sick of. “Do whatever you please to me,” you purr as the soft kisses quickly become an unbearable heat of pure desire.

Between you and his kitten, Jungkook already knows he’s gonna have his hands full. The thought of caring for others would normally irk him, but it’s not like he could ever say no to you or the kitten, even if he tried.

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts college au #nerd jungkook

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shibaraki · 1 year

Text

GOD’S LONELIEST CREATION ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: as head of the mothman study you’ve devoted countless nights to observing your subject from behind the glass. you liked to think those many months spent together contributed to a sense of camaraderie, but time is merely a cradle gently lulling you into false security— and shouta is nothing if not patient.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader (mention of ovulating), monsters + cryptids au, mothman aizawa, implied monster hunting, captivity, cryptozoologist reader, possessiveness, dubcon to eventual enthusiastic consent, oblivious reader, monsterfucking, mating behaviour, breeding, mentions of size difference (he is 7ft; called ‘little human’ +‘little flame’), vaginal oral sex + tongue fucking (reader receiving), multiple orgasms, non-human genitalia, oviposition (reader receiving; but no belly bulging), unprotected vaginal sex, *slaps roof* you can fit so much plot in this porn!!

wc: 7k+

A/N: now with art of mothzawa!!!! thank you so much, feral!

Tucked away into the seam between Shizuoka and Musutafu is the UA Cryptobiology research centre. In the eyes of the public it was an extension of the nearby UA University and largely harmless. Cryptids kept there are not advertised, atleast, not the living ones.

The building is huge. An architectural giant, and a stain on the natural landscape. You’ve worked there for years yet still find yourself struck by just how foreboding it looks. Head ducked, you slip past the thin crowd protesting by the security gate, staff card hidden in the sleeve of your shirt.

While they are few in number their voices are loud and accusing. You flinch at the vitriol as you try to reach the scanner. There was a small earthquake in a nearby prefecture a few days ago which was the likeliest reason they had gathered here.

On days like this you couldn’t help the thought that no amount of scientific research would wipe away the countrywide consensus on cryptids. Very early on in your career you came to understand why your superiors lied about the live subjects. If these people knew the truth they could probably birth a calamity all of their own.

Unfortunately it is not only the monstrous who are a target. You lock eyes with a guard standing by the gates and slip your keycard into the shallow of your palm. Nodding in acknowledgement, he places the whistle hung around his neck between his lips and the moment you swipe in he blows, hard.

The gate clicks and unlocks with a short beep that is drowned out by the noise. You walk through and quickly push it closed behind you. Thank you, you mouth over to him, scurrying across the lot toward the main doors. He offers a flippant wave in return.

You enter the mouth of the lobby. It is a wide dome shaped room with high ceilings that houses most of the lecture rooms, and acts as a junction to other parts of the facility. Looking up, you can see each floor twisting into a spiral.

Centred is the reception desk; large and circular to make room for five staff members to be seated at any given time. Yamada is there today, dressed with his shirt cuffs pushed to the elbow, waist length hair braided up into a ponytail. He leans dangerously far back in his chair and twiddles a pen between his fingers. Your unease falls away at the familiar sight.

“Yamada,” you intone sternly. A grin pulls at your lips when he startles. The wheels on his office chair squeak as he rights himself. Wide sheepish eyes land on you and narrow in disbelief.

“Don’t do that,” he pouts, dragging himself closer to the desk, casting another nervous glance toward his coworker. “Bully! I could’ve broken my neck”.

“Then you would’ve thanked me for the two months paid sick leave”.

Yamada smirks, peering at you above his yellow tinted lenses “…Touché”.

You rest both arms on the countertop and lean over, holding a hand out to receive the sign in sheet. “You have a good weekend?” you ask, falling back into idle pleasantries while you skim over the names already on the register. Hatsume Mei. Huh, you think. She’s early.

“Kan and Kayama dragged me out drinking,” Yamada admits tiredly, massaging two fingers to his temples and closing his eyes, opening again to glare at your huff of laughter. “Sure love laughing at my misfortune, don’t’cha? I think you’re spending too much time with those ghouls”.

Signing your name in the next blank row, you give a brief glance at the watch on Yamada’s wrist to mark the time. “Comes with the territory,” you murmur, amused by the whine in his voice, setting the pen and register down on his desk with some finality. “Seen Mei today? She signed in already”.

“You bet. That girl is hard to miss,” he slides the sheets toward his front. “Speaking of…” you turn at the amused hum. His pen is pointed left like the needle of a compass leading directly to a familiar figure. Hatsume is clutching her clipboard with a tenuous grip as she scurries through the lobby, pink hair bouncing on her shoulders.

Her gaze finds you and she perks up. You lift a hand to return a wave as she beckons you frantically. It’s not entirely uncharacteristic of her. Hatsume was the rare type— she loved this job. Any small change or news could garner this reaction from her.

The excitable exclamation of your name draws the attention of the people around you, though the intern remains entirely unperturbed, almost tripping over her feet to get to you. “Mei,” you smile, instinctively stepping forward with arms held open in case she stumbles. “What’s all the noise about? Did something happen?”

“Food!” she pants heavily, grasping your forearm for balance. Her eyes are wide and beseeching as if the word alone was enough to explain her enthusiasm. It doesn’t.

Slow, you repeated, “…Food?”

The band keeping her hair tied back loosens while she nods. “It’s the mothman. He’s not eating!”

“He’s not…” you blink. “Oh!” The realisation trickles in, and you find yourself gripping onto Hatsume’s arms with bruising pressure as it washes over you. Your cheeks ache and she mirrors your grin.

Yamada clears his throat, interrupting before you have the chance to speak. “What’s so great about that?” he asks. “Wouldn't that be a sign that he’s sick or something?”

“No,” you breathe. Energy buzzes lightning-quick under your skin. Restless, you begin to shake Hatsume where she stands, and the two of you laugh in astonishment. “It means he’s hoarding!”

“Hoarding?”

“Mothman cryptids will take food back to their nests for their partners but,” the burst of joy dwindles, then. You worry at your bottom lip. “But… previous observations show that this behaviour should come after they’ve met a potential mate”.

“You think we should be worried?”

“I think it’s unusual”.

Hatsume doesn’t wilt. She shrugs your doubts off like water to a duck’s back, bouncing on the balls of her feet and handing over the clipboard. As always, the notes are verbose but organised. Detailed down to the very last time stamp.

There, written in pen, it states that at 11:58 the mothman was seen hovering by the food hatch. It clarified that there were no signs of aggression or posturing. Shouta was simply waiting. Shouta never waits. At 12:00 his usual weekly meal was given and instead of consuming it immediately as he normally would, Shouta gathered the food to his chest and took flight.

You’re rushing off toward the cryptid wing before Hizashi can press any further. Hatsume is at your heel, her quick light-footed steps echoing through the corridors.

The mothman enclosure is immense. Space is required— most cryptids can grow up to seven feet or above, and their wings even taller. Separated from your observation deck by a thick, bulbous glass window, you needed to crane your head just to catch a glimpse of the ceiling, which remained mostly covered by a canopy.

Flora covers the entirety of the forest floor. The foliage is so dense that sometimes seeing further is impossible, which in turn makes your job that much harder; but it’s worth it, for the sake of Shouta’s comfort. Unlike your predecessors, you strongly advocated for him. You viewed him as an individual, another sentient being with autonomy, and thought building a good foundation of trust could only lead to better data overall.

The facility is vastly different to the outside world. Blacked out nest boxes were placed around the area, hidden away for him to choose from however he pleased, as well as broad net columns where he can rest. Your team was instructed to begin adjusting the seasons months ago. Gradually, the temperature was changed to mimic fall. The fauna acclimated, dousing the otherwise dark and dreary forest in a warm colour palette.

Tawny leaves perched loosely on branches like a flock of goldfinches. Camouflaged behind them are two red dots emitting an unblinking glow. It is very unlike him to be this close to the deck so early in the evening. Waiting for more food, maybe. You note that thought down. You see his eyes follow the movement of your pen and smile.

Mothman cryptids are bipedal winged humanoids. They have always been notoriously aloof and difficult to study. Catching them outright was nigh impossible. They’re a highly intelligent species, and very sensitive to their surroundings. Your best bet was to inflict injury first and capture later when an infection set in.

Shouta was different from the start. So unlike his kin that you sometimes wondered if the research collated about him was permissible. He had been wounded badly by nearby collectors and managed to escape, but rather than relocate, he entered the facility of his own volition. You’d heard the stories. An eldritch being prying open the doors, thick steel bending like paper, the employees paralysed with fear, rendered unable to do anything except kneel under the intense pressure of his glare.

They had been so frightened that the shivering malachite bundle in his arms almost went amiss. A Peryton fawn matted with blood. Director Yagi supposedly spit blood of his own when he noticed.

Shouta never left after that.

Everyone figured the rumours were exaggerated. A mothman wouldn’t surrender itself for the sake of another, not even it’s own kind. That is the universal truth— all cryptids are incapable of empathy. Their sole purpose is to serve as the herald of death, and death bringers did not save life. They took it.

While you knew that to be ostensibly untrue it will never matter. Monster hunting was a tradition practiced for millennia. Accepting that they might be capable of emotion would cast doubt upon such practices. More than anything humanity needed justification for their wrong doings; condemning something as monstrous only renders such violence as heroic.

You, however, had a fascination with them since you were a child. Those unanswered questions and curiosities are what led you to cryptozoology, and ultimately, into cryptid behavioural research. Having Shouta’s care handed over to you was a dream come true.

Shouta was averse to people and made that known; keepers could be found petrified by the feeding hatch, trembling in place for hours if they weren’t careful. Which is why your superiors were greatly pleased by his reaction to you.

You couldn’t confidently say he liked you— could a mothman like anyone? But the cryptid was, at the very least, intrigued by his new handler.

Within the first meeting you recorded vocalisations that were previously undiscovered. Soft chittering and clicks, surprisingly pleasing to the ear; it had a hypnotic quality to it that could almost lull you to sleep. The common denominator was you— rather, Shouta only ever made those sounds when you were visibly anxious, and you often toyed with the notion that he was attempting to soothe you.

You tried not to indulge in such hypotheses as not to cloud your judgment. Humans had a bad habit of anthropomorphising the things they cared about. Countless cynics argued that animals do not love, they simply form attachments to those that provide for them. Shouta may only treat you better because you are the first human to show him sincere respect but that didn’t matter.

Whether your place in his life was just that of a nuisance or not, you cared for him and his wellbeing all the same. That’s what made this so invigorating— not only answers to questions that plagued your field for centuries, but the real possibility that your subject might finally have true companionship.

Your mouth twists as your thoughts drift, imagining the smell of decay percolating in one of his nest boxes now that he was hoarding. Shouta could eat anything within reason if he needed to, but his preferred diet was on the bitter side. Rotted fruits and the like which had a more acidic, sour taste to it, though he could be partial to dry pantry food in the hotter months.

Mothman have been known to feast on flesh, too, in desperate times. Though it is rare for them to acquire the taste for human meat; too mild and too rubbery.

If he truly is readying for a mate then he would soon need more food, materials and bedding. The foliage worked as a foundation but you’re aware mothman cryptids liked to weave silk or cashmere into the structure for the young to cling to and eat.

That gives you pause. Your grimace curls into a wide, exuberant grin, that you immediately shield behind the clipboard. We could end up with babies this year, you think. The first to ever be bred in captivity— a near impossible feat.

Shouta’s antennae are fluttering. Their movements fracture the stillness of the canopy and make known his position. You stare long enough for the dark blob amongst the trees to sharpen into a solid silhouette.

A mothman has a wingspan of around thirteen feet. These measurements aren’t entirely accurate, because Shouta refused to allow anyone to touch them, but the sheer size was obvious at a distance even where they remained tucked to his spine, cocooning him in darkness.

They are covered in loose tiny hairs acting as scales for insulation, while creating intricate, iridescent patterns along the inner forewings that can only be seen in moonlight when open— a gift saved in hopes of wooing a mate. Maybe you’d finally get a glimpse this year.

“Hey big guy,” you call out. Your voice jostles his wings and beckons him forward. Shouta balances himself on a thick cedar branch directly across from the observation deck, a rare sight. He is magnificent in the artificial daylight.

Hatsume releases an awed breath behind you. “Gah, he’s always so responsive to you! I’m jealous!”

Shouta barely acknowledges her presence. His attention is steadfast, pinpointed to your every move; unblinking, lest you disappear from vision. “Don’t take it personally. He’s just known me longer, is all,” you demurred, turning to her with a reassuring smile.

But she is seeing beyond you. The hair on the nape of your neck prickles and suddenly a sinistrous shadow stretches across the deck. Mei flinches back reflexively and you daren’t look back. What was ephemeral fear in her features blossoms into wonderment.

Then, a tapping sound that echoes in your chest. It is careful and somehow that makes it all the more daunting. Brushing off the unease, you pivot on your heel, coming face to face with Shouta. Both wings have hunched forward to create a cocoon of darkness, his pale face barely visible.

Another tap, accompanied by a smooth rumble. His large hand is pressed up against the glass. You step closer and his wingspan widens just a fraction. The light reflects in his eyes. He is right in front of you, so contrivedly real-looking that it feels like it must be fake.

Call it curiosity, or stupidity, or an amalgamation of the two. You outstretch your arm. The pane feels cold where your body presumes warmth. You align your palm with his and it swallows yours, fingers splayed open, still unable to reach the width of his hand.

“Hi there…” you exhale, having to crane your head to hold his gaze. Shouta’s jaw shifts as he clicks his teeth and you are reminded just how impressive a mothman cryptid’s hearing is. “You’re acting all out of sorts, huh. Want more food for the nest, right?”

Dark talons leave marks on the thick glass, hairline fractures stemming from point of impact. His gaze darkens. Hatsume gasps when he shakes his head and you can’t blame her. Cryptids rarely communicated directly with handlers.

“No?” you repeat, brows pinched into a frown. Then, to yourself, “Nesting materials, then? Already? But it can’t be, surely”.

The choice is a difficult one. Every potential mate your team introduced Shouta to throughout the years has been adamantly rejected. There was never an effort to impress or prove himself. He either flat out ignored them or attempted to kill them. You want to enable his new behaviours— to encourage it, even — but there was no mate yet.

Pseudocyesis comes to mind. Though this situation is far different, you wondered whether something in Shouta’s environment had triggered these instincts.

The rich baritone in his purr vibrates against your hand. His eyes blink slow and beseeching, full of apparent hunger, emitting that dewy red glow. Distantly, you register the dull scratch of pencil to paper. Rambling whispers fall from Hatsume’s mouth as she writes, documenting everything the way you taught her to.

“I think,” you begin, tongue heavy in your mouth. Your throat feels dry and the implication behind your next words stings. “I think he wants me to go inside his enclosure”.

A sane person would immediately put their foot down and tell you no. Director Yagi himself would try to talk you down. However, Hatsume Mei is a far cry from sane. She barely considers her own safety, let alone yours.

“What for?” she chimes impatiently. “I noticed he has been keeping an eye out for a specific person all morning— it must’ve been you. Do you think he could really be sick like Yamada said? Since he’s humanoid we can test if our medicines work on him!”

“Mei,” you interrupt, your voice cutting through her exuberance. She shrinks somewhat and you feel bad for being so sharp with her. “No, I’m not sure if he’s sick. And no, our medication only works to an extent. The dose needs to be dangerously high and cryptids burn through it faster than it can be replaced”.

Shouta observes the interaction. The tension in his wings looks ready to snap, and the feathery fingers of his antennae have started to shiver. You take in the sight of your overlapped hands once more and step away, clenching it into a fist at your hip.

“Anyone who goes into a cryptid’s den doesn’t come out,” Hatsume comments, tone uncharacteristically somber.

“I trust him,” you reassured, leveling the mothman with a contemplative stare. He ducks into the fluffy plumage around his neck and glares. “Mostly”.

Hatsume snickers. The weight in your chest lifts and you smile at her. She’s still young. Too young to bear any responsibility for what might happen.

“Something is telling me I have to go in there. It’ll keep me up at night if I don’t,” you continue, adding emphasis with a pointed finger. “This was my idea and mine alone. Do not send anyone in after me. Capiche?”

She gives a mock salute, “Yes boss!”

Each wing with a cryptid enclosure has a staircase leading from the observation deck to a feeding room. You descend the stairs, too aware of Shouta’s stare, which followed until you were out of sight.

The room is dull. Devoid of natural light, furnished only by three large chest freezers and a closet full of linens. There is a hatch the size of a shoebox that can be pulled open to safely deposit food through, and adjacent is a vault door reinforced with steel and concrete.

You open the closet and parse through the fabrics. Admittedly a long shot as far as ‘I come in peace’ gestures go, but the only thing you can think might help. Silk slides petal-soft between your fingers and you tuck it under your arm, joined by another cashmere blanket, smooth and noticeably light.

The vault door requires both a code and a staff card. You input the code and swipe your card. The affirmative beep pierces through your equilibrium. Shouta is not harmless. But you are, and you’re hoping he knows that.

A loud click echoes into the feeding room. You grasp the handle and take one last steely inhale before heaving, struggling with the incredible weight. You curse the door as it groans on its hinges, alerting everything nearby of your arrival.

Mothman feast on anything. Vegetation and flesh, fresh or rotted, but legend always spoke of their hunger for misery. They coveted disaster and fed on it, babe to breast, and somehow grew hungrier the more they swallowed.

You step into the enclosure. The door shuts with a loud foreboding slam and locks automatically.

Shouta does harm to those who would harm him. He feasts on fruit. On cereal and rice. You’d watched him suck through ten packets of coffee jelly, but never misery. If anyone were to ask you, you would tell them that Shouta conjured the very opposite of misery.

You remind yourself of that repeatedly until your thoughts coalesce into white noise. The earth is soft beneath your boots. Something darts through the treeline, gone in a blink, and you feel the hair on your arms stand on end.

Easing into the surroundings, you cautiously call out to him, “…Shouta? You here, big guy?”

A low hum resonates throughout the trees. You feel it more than you hear it, almost like a caress. It coaxes a familiar warm feeling into the pit of your stomach, willing all tension from your muscles until the blankets pinned to your side unfold, falling onto the ground.

A coronal mist has set in, orchestrated by a chattering sound you know well. Your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin. It’s harder to breathe now. Shaking, you try to advance. Your body is quickly paralysed by the innate urge to flee.

Shouta’s presence echoes throughout the brush and sinks it’s claws into you— throbs under your skin in time with your heart. But if you ran, would that make his blood sing? Would he interpret it as a challenge to prove his worth, or a rejection for which to kill you?

The air is temperate. That perfect balance between cool and humid. Lush oranges and yellows branch out into every corner. Light bleeds through the thinning canopy, the ground dappled with sunspots. This isn’t such a terrible place to die.

You don’t hear or see him. Like before, you feel him first. Fear washes over you and steals your breath. Shouta is at your back, shaping himself to your body in a way that boasts how large he is in comparison. You stay stockstill while he touches you, nosing gently at your throat.

Finding your voice, you croak his name. An eldritch purr shudders through him and he grasps at your hips, pulling them back against him. You exhale at the obvious press of his cock to your back. Those soft chitters you had come to love drown out the panic that follows your realisation.

You were the intended mate.

Death stands behind you, arms cinched around your middle, mouthing along the nape of your neck like he loves you. The line between instinct and desire is deceptively thin. You wonder if Shouta knows the difference, or if he equates love with the heat of your blood spilling into his mouth, seams undone by the touch of his lips.

Your legs collapse beneath you, hitting the floor. A grubby applause from the dirt dances around your knees. Shouta accepts your dead weight as though it were nothing, his wings enveloping you both in an abrupt darkness.

Minuscule scales shimmer and reflect the glaring bioluminescence radiating from his eyes. Before you is a sky soaked crimson and blood spattered stars. “Is this…” you start, voice caught in your throat. It should be harrowing. People would call it a depiction of hell. You call it beautiful.

Shouta tucks his nose into your jugular with a warm hum and you feel sharp teeth protruding beneath his lips. Neck ruffle tickles soft against your skin, keeping you tight to his torso, enough that you think he could consume you whole. He’s pleased. You can tell.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest. It’s as if you are a teenager again, sneaking out with someone to see a clear starry night. The moment is incredulously human.

A mothman does not bare his wings to anyone but his mate. Even in flight they are too fast to be seen. You are so enamoured by it that you don’t notice the shift in gravity until the force on your body lightens and your stomach drops.

You squeak. Frantically clinging to his shoulders and turning your face into his neck, Shouta makes a sound suspiciously like laughter. Your body sways in his arms as the too-corporeal trees rise to meet him. What you cannot see you listen out for; leaves rustling, groaning branches, any sign to indicate where you’ve landed.

When his wings retract the shadows do not recede. You’ve been brought to a dark place. A few metres above your head there is a long slit of light bleeding into the lofty space. You’re distinctly reminded of a grave. That thought makes your heart thump hard against your rib cage.

A calm tenor breaks the silence and you refocus on the figure above. Red eyes bleed into the darkness. Long black hair drapes over his shoulders and blends into the light fluffed ruff of his neck, reminiscent of a scarf that extends down his chest and back into his large wings, which he has tucked closely behind him.

Broad feathery antennae flicker on top of his head, so distinctly insect-like, but his body and hands are startlingly human— it would be, if not for the black tipped talons that grew from each finger and toe.

“Are you still frightened?”

You realise you’re being cradled with deliberate care, as if you might shatter. He treats you like this is the first time he has ever met another living thing. There is barely any pressure behind the claws curled at the base of your neck. All you can think is that he’s warm. Soft. Guided by wonder, inhibitions lost in a concussive fog, you reach up to cautiously touch his face.

Shouta had multiple nests. The team before you took over had planted cameras in all of them only for their recordings to be destroyed, pieces left strewn by the food hatch. It agitated him, thus you respected those wishes. But in doing so you also cut off any means of behavioural observation.

This meant you knew of them, but nothing more than that. You had no idea which nests he actually used. You had no idea how he spun them, or what they looked like from the inside.

What you have been lowered into is not a grave, though it is deep and narrow. The bedding yields, padded under your back, emanating the smell of upturned earth and petrichor.

This is his primary nest.

Your tongue feels too thick for your mouth. “You can… you can speak?”

A black tipped finger hooks into the collar of your shirt. You feel it sharp like a knife's edge, and the fabric rips with barely any pressure. Shouta snorts. And then, “Your kind is strange. Presumptuous,” he traces over the swell of your breast. “And soft”.

There’s only intent to satiate his curiosity, but you feel something dangerously warm coil low in your belly. The broad, feathered antennae atop his head curl toward you, almost prehensile in nature, as if they can sense it.

“You can’t,” words fail you as his tongue glides over your pulse. “You’ve never spoken before. You can’t blame me for being surprised”.

“That wouldn’t be logical,” he murmurs. You exhale shakily as his teeth nip gently at your lobe, pressing what could be a kiss to the shell. “It’s not as if your primitive ears would be able to hear me through the glass”.

The baritone of his voice frissons down your spine and you find yourself clenching your thighs. Shouta braces over you until he is all there is— and you are all he sees.

You argue fruitlessly in attempts to maintain self control, “We could’ve talked through the speakers”.

“We could have. But then the other humans would know this part of me,” he replies plainly. “Is that what you want?”

You’re a little embarrassed by the immediate ‘no’ that rolls onto the tip of your tongue. You bite it and let your silence answer for you. A disservice to your team and to your research— you seek truths and yet the truth is you are secretly happy that this is yours and yours alone.

Shouta huffs. He brings your foreheads together and your knees part reflexively to make room for him as he settles between them. The shine in his eyes has dimmed into a simmer. It reminds you of a pyre after the fire has burned; the glowing ash left to cool overnight.

“If I had not played along and acted beastly you wouldn’t have paid attention,” he continues. You tremble as he slots against the cradle of your hips, a suggestive pulse felt between your legs. The size of his body forces your legs wider around his waist. His cock is heavy and the heat emanates through your work pants. He doesn’t move, and he waits.

“You…” you’re breathless when it hits you. “You could’ve left all this time”.

He rises slowly at your words and tilts his head, beckoning you to continue. There is an unwavering composure about him that leaves you uneasy. You got the sense he knew your thoughts before you voiced them.

“You stayed and cooperated with our research. Even though… Some of them treated you like an animal. You could be anywhere but here”.

Shouta gives a disapproving chitter. The sound devolves into a hum. He settles a large hand on the top of your head and leans back into your space, uncomfortably close, as if to impress the answer upon you. “Here is where I am supposed to be”.

He’s not a monster, just something that wants to belong.

Your hand smooths over his cheek to his hair, the other guiding his palm to your chest where your heart sits. He squeezes at your chest, curious. Gentle fingertips brush the antennae rooted in a crown of thick black hair. The sweet resonant purr surges and you watch the touch shudder through his body in awe.

Your blood sings, reacting to his desperate call with a burst of exhilaration. A thought crosses your mind— had it been you he was chasing, or this feeling?

Was this how it felt to be a predator?

“Here. With me…” you rasp, wetting your lips as your eyes fall to his mouth. Shouta smiles and you have to temper the urge to touch his teeth. “I’ve worked here for a long time. Why wait until today?”

“Courting takes time. And though I was sure of you I knew you weren’t ready,” he rasps, rocking up against your sex. A gasp catches in your throat and his antennae flutter in response. “I can smell that you are now”.

“Smell?”

Shouta hums an affirmative. “All creatures have a cycle. Your body changes over the weeks,” the hand over your heart descends to your stomach, resting above your waistband. The repetitive stroke of his thumb is doting, almost. “Soon you will be ovulating”.

You are torn between horror and amazement. The craving to write this down was insatiable. Truthfully it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Shouta could know that— he was finely tuned to his environment. That was the entire purpose of chemoreception.

Regardless, that knowledge instills a sense of vulnerability in you. The scales felt tipped entirely in his favour and there was nothing you could hide from him. It was equally liberating and frightening.

A quiet trill pulls you from your thoughts. He must pick up on your anxiety, because mothman crowds you back against the nest and you sink further with a weak smile, your fingers threading into his fur. Wildflowers and long grass borders your periphery. You hadn’t much chance to appreciate his hard work in the dark.

“Shouta,” you faltered. Perhaps you should be more concerned that giving yourself to him was never a question. “Are you sure it’s me you want? I’m just a human”.

“I see that,” he stated dryly. “But you are my little human. My mate. This is not up for debate”.

Memories surrounding your tentative relationship over the years come to the forefront of your mind. How purposeful and gentle he was, the obvious preference for your company, his willingness to share his secrets and weaknesses just to see you satisfied.

The pregnant pause is mistaken for hesitance. Shouta brings your hand to his throat, inner wrist tickled by the plumage. Soft hair trails up his neck and thins by his jaw. Behind him, his wings unfurl and stretch. Pushing the heel up to his jugular, you feel six deliberate clicks. The rhythm of each is individual, some pitched and others deep, and the silence between is different in length, almost similar to morse code.

“What did you say?”

“Your name,” he rumbles.

There is underlying significance you aren’t privy to, yet you feel it all the same. You meet his gaze. Skin feverish, breathes coming quicker. Your hips twitch helplessly and he bites back a croon.

“Okay. Touch me, ” you slowly coil your arms around his neck and bring him into an embrace. He goes doubtlessly, engaging you with knees settled either side of your hips.

Shouta cuts your clothes off carefully and with ease. The simple hook of a talon and they tore like thin paper. His tongue, long and tube-like at the tip, glides between your breasts, flicking over your nipples and watching with fascination. It’s as though the roles have switched. You are the subject now.

You laugh breathily as he nuzzles into you, palming at your soft stomach. Shouta works his way down your body, giving a curious churring sound as more of your body reveals itself. He tears away your pants, but rather than discard them, he tucks them into the borders of the nest.

The air feels good on your skin, cool where it kisses your arousal. “Hold yourself open for me,” he says. “I want to taste you”.

An overwhelming wave of embarrassment washes over you as he guides your hands to the back of your thighs, ankles hooked over his broad shoulders. Pressure behind his claw-tipped fingers, Shouta gently pries your folds apart to demonstrate his wishes. “Like this”.

You moan, bear down on his tongue at the first lick as it glides over your clit, a shudder rolling through your body at the threat of his teeth. He descends again and again with bottomless yearning, no longer hunger, rather like an elastic compulsion pulled impossibly taut.

A pleased chitter vibrates against you. His wings extend and shudder, looming above like tapestry. “So good,” he breathes in, shameless as he noses along your cunt. “So warm. You smell even better than usual”.

The muscles in your thighs clench as the narrow tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You push down into your heels with a weak cry of complaint and he obliges, gently pushing inside you.

Your breathing falters. “Sh—Shouta,” you croak, reaching down desperately to grasp his plumage the deeper he sinks. It feels never ending, flexing and twisting experimentally as he draws out, still keeping his lips pressed up against you.

Gradually he builds a rhythm. Observing raptly from his place between your legs, his gaze never strays, gleaming when your hips buck into his mouth. It’s his expression that spurs you on— that rapt, intense desire.

Shouta stretches you on his tongue, the obscene slick sound of saliva echoing throughout his nest. The tension low in your belly coils, taut, and you feel it pulse. Your toes curl and you let out a loud, broken moan that sounds like relief.

“Don’t stop. Feels so good,” you keen, balancing right at the crest. Shouta’s pace grows anxious the closer you get, his big hands palming at your thighs, talons pinching skin. He forces them wider as he presses his weight into you with a long groan. “Yeah. That’s it, make me cum. Oh fuck—!”

A moment passes without air, yanked under by the force of it. Your body wrings tight and the tension snaps. Undone, loose at the seams as he takes you through the aftershocks quaking through your body.

You return to yourself, registering the quiet hum reverberating in your skull. Shouta nuzzles your sensitive clit before making his way up your torso. He smells like sex. His ruff, chin and cheeks are wet with arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he licks over the seam of your lips, and shivers when they part to meet him.

The kiss is strange; not quite a kiss, more a press of mouths. You suppose it can’t be helped with teeth like his. His effort is far more endearing than it has any right to be.

Brief fatigue washes over you and settles into a giddy afterglow. The black spots in your vision dissipate. A short, soft chitter comes from his throat. The noise is familiar— they’re exactly like the sounds he would make when you were anxious.

“I’m okay, Shouta. You— You’re a bit too good at that,” you reassured, taking his face into your palms and feeling it in his cheeks when he smiles. The shifting wings behind his head draw your attention as they flutter. He’s near enough for you to reach out and stroke them.

They’re breathtaking. The texture is unlike anything you have ever felt before. You pause at his squirming, “Does it hurt?”

He huffed a laugh. You think that will never get old. “It doesn’t hurt”.

“Feels nice?”

“Too nice,” he says, stroking your hips. Lifting your hips, you grind lightly over his cock. You swallow, noticing how much it had grown, now completely unsheathed. Shouta reflexively chases the feeling, bucking up against your sex. You both hiss at the sensitivity.

Timidly, you ask, “Can I see?”

He nods.

The size is daunting. His cock is curved, long, but more notably it is thick. Fleshy in colour and hot, leaking a clear liquid over your hand. Ribbed around the shaft, the slight bumps slide under your palm as you bring your fist up to the narrowed head. No spikes. Good. If you met God you’d thank him.

It is crowned by sensitive skin, not unlike a human’s, but in gently pulling it back you find it reminds you more of an ovipositor. Shouta’s rumbling deepens, head hung between his shoulders. Drapes of long dark hair fall to curtain his face. His antennae quiver in place, wide red eyes looking back at you.

You feel yourself ache with unfulfilled arousal. Pressing your thighs together does nothing but tease. Shouta watches you guide his cock to the apex of your thighs, his chest heaving as you glide him through your wet folds, drenching yourself in his slick.

The cryptid pushes into you with a gentleness that is almost terrifying in its intensity— so out of place for a supposed harbinger of suffering. “Careful, little human,” he rasps, an ever present humming in his chest.

A pleasant tingling sensation begins to spread throughout your abdomen, relaxing your muscles, like sinking into the soothing heat of a hot bath. You’ve long shut off your avid questions, rendered thoughtless and pliant by the pressure. “Oh,” you exhale, struggling to keep your eyes open. He’s barely halfway in.

Shouta pulls out slowly and rocks back in, repeating the motion as you open up to him. You crane your head, jaw slack as you moan, reaching out to the immense silhouette above you. Everything about him is big. It’s all you can notice. He’s taking handfuls of you, kneading the fat at your thighs, hooking around them and pushing your knees toward your chest.

“Look at you,” his voice is thick and trembling. You whine, watching the way you swallow around him, clit swollen and twitching. “Perfect,” he rasps, the mix of your arousal dampening the fur around his base. He pulls out again, tantalisingly slow, and your legs start to shake.

“Shouta,” you choke, not knowing what it was you were asking for. He gives it to you anyway, rocking forward in one harsh movement, setting a pace that splits you in two. You can almost feel his cock is in your throat; touching parts of you you didn’t know existed; carving out space for himself and making a home of it.

The earlier mindfulness is gone. Shouta sets a divine pace. He shifts on his knees, gripping at your waist with his talons pressing into skin, pulling you down onto his cock. Praises have dwindled into a language you cannot understand, but you recognise those six successive clicks— he’s calling your name, over and over.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ah. What is—?!”

The hypothesis is reaffirmed by the sensation of him stretching you further, widening inside you, inflating as something pulses through his shaft, abandoning his body and slipping into yours. Your mouth falls open as heat prickles across your skin and what feels like a second orgasm crashes over you. You’re left suspended in a free fall that never seems to end.

It feels too good to panic about. Sperm packets or eggs or both— whatever they are, they’re smooth, cooling where they gather inside of you, and right pushing up against your sweet spot. Tremors wrack through your limbs and Shouta appears no better. His upper lip curls, wings fully presented and twitching.

Weak, you wrap your arms around his head and cradle him to your chest. Your fingers brush over the apex of his wings and with barely any exertion, he slams you back onto his cock, a loud groan drawn from his chest. His pelvis slaps against your clit and in a moment of lucidity, you feel the ground rise to meet you.

Rigidity bleeds from your muscles as you cum again, soon replaced by a wave of exhaustion. You grimace at the uncomfortable bloated feeling in your belly. Shouta is muttering, antennae curled and brushing the swell of your cheeks. You can hear his voice. Muffled, as if you were under water, “You did well, little flame”.

Thinking aloud, you mumble, “What if they don’t take?”

He nudges your chin, gathering you into his arms to cocoon you both, “I’ll make sure they do”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #eraserhead x reader

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 1 month

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yay i cant wait so excited i have been waiting for a while to read this fic. its loki or tony!

fem!plus size reader, wc: 580.

cw! insecure fic <3

a/n: i must admit that the plot got away from me on this one, the fluffiness practically poured out of my fingertips. it's been a while since i've written for loki, but it is always a pleasure doing so. thank you for your request!!

Being with Loki made you nervous, and not in the way that many people would think.

He didn’t make you feel threatened nor was he mean, it was just that most of the time you’re around him you can’t help but sink into your head like quicksand.

Why did he choose you when he had so many other options? Was he settling? What did other people think when they saw you guys together? Your stream of thought was almost laughable, because you knew that Loki didn’t care about what you looked like or anything trivial like that.

“What’s wrong, my love?”

Your eyelashes fluttered, breaking your dissociative state. “Hm?” You hummed.

“I asked you what’s wrong.” His tone was forever patient, his fingertips were featherlight against the skin of your arm. You were tucked into his side, the mood of your room domestic as a television show played pointlessly in the background. Loki was never really interested in human delicacies such as at home entertainment, he would much rather spend his free time with you.

“Oh… I’m just thinking.” Your voice was dismissive, almost like what you were saying didn’t really matter, which wasn’t true in the slightest because your boyfriend hung off of every word you said, committing it to memory.

He never forgot human holidays like christmas, birthdays or anniversaries, because those types of things mattered to you – and unfortunately he had to figure that out the hard way – but you bet your ass he never forgot it again.

“Please tell me what’s on your mind, dove.” Loki nuzzles his nose into your temple, placing a soft kiss on the side of your face. A shiver shoots itself up your spine, and the sensation makes you melt in his arms. Leave it up to him to basically pry whatever he wanted out of you.

“I don’t know. It’s stupid.” You shrug. “Nothing you say will ever be stupid.” You groan and curl into him deeper. “Fine. I just… I’m getting into that weird place in my head, you know? Like… it feels like no matter how many times you reassure me that I’m gorgeous and all this other super sweet stuff, none of it sticks. It’s like my brain can’t believe it.”

Loki sits there in silence for a moment, stewing on your words before speaking. He knew how sensitive this topic was for you, and though he was the God of Mischief, he would never make a mockery of your struggles.

“I understand you, darling. I know that through your years of being on earth, many humans haven’t been kind to you, and I out of everyone know what it feels like to be different, but –” He hooks a finger under your chin and coaxes you to look at him.

Though your gaze is shy, you steele yourself despite the way that your cheeks heat under his touch.

“I can assure you that I have not chosen to be with you to make a mockery of you. I am with you because you are beautiful. Your soul sings to me, my dove. You are kind and your heart is unyielding. You are true to yourself and others. That is what makes you shine.”

You feel unshed tears burn behind your waterline and you scoff wetly, but you can’t fight the smile that inevitably breaks out on your face.

“Loki?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I love you.”

He laughs, and his chest rumbles with the joyous tune.

“I love you too.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

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rebeccathenaturalist · 1 year

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Wild vs. Feral, Domesticated vs. Tame, Native vs. Invasive, and Why Words Matter

Originally posted on my website at https://rebeccalexa.com/wild-vs-feral/

Recently a post crossed my dash on Facebook featuring a small group of llamas in the forests of the Olympic Peninsula. The caption described them as “wild” llamas (Lama glama). That may seem pretty innocuous to the average person, but to a naturalist it’s a gross mischaracterization. For one thing, llamas are completely domestic animals, no more wild than a cow or dog; they are descended from the guanaco (Lama guanacoe), which is a truly wild camelid. So this means that the llamas on the peninsula are feral, not wild. But why does the distinction of wild vs. feral matter so much?

The terms we use to describe various species help us to understand their origin and, perhaps more importantly, their current ecological status. These concepts aren’t just relevant to scientists, however. Everyday people are constantly making decisions that can affect the ecosystems around them, and often these decisions are made without having a full understanding of their impact.

For example, look at how many people release unwanted pets into the wild, whether domesticated rabbits, goldfish, snakes, or other, more exotic animals. Some of these unfortunate animals end up dying pretty awful deaths due to starvation, exposure, or predation. But others manage to survive and reproduce, becoming the latest population of non-native–and potentially invasive–species in their ecosystem. This wouldn’t happen if more people understood the impact of non-native species, and how releasing captive animals puts native species at risk.

But it all starts with knowing that there’s a difference, and understanding the terms that explain why that difference exists. So let’s explore some vocabulary that can be used to describe species, whether animal, plant, or otherwise.

Let’s start with domestication, because there often seems to be confusion as to what makes a species domesticated. Domestication is a process that takes many years, often measured in centuries. Humans breed chosen animals for particular traits over a number of generations. As time passes, each subsequent generation becomes more different from the wild species it originated from, and eventually a new, fully domesticated species emerges from this process of artificial selection by humans.

Dogs (Canis familiaris or Canis lupus familiaris) are the first animal humans domesticated in a process that started about 30,000 years ago. They evolved from the now-extinct Pleistocene wolf, a particular lineage of the gray wolf (Canis lupus), and it’s likely that the partnership began as some wolves showed less fear of humans while scavenging from our kills. By 14,000 years ago dogs were a distinct species (or subspecies) from wolves.

Dogs display very different characteristics from wolves. Their faces tend to be shorter with a more pronounced stop (the bump in the forehead where the muzzle meets the rest of the skull.) Floppy ears and curled tails are common, as are patchy-colored coats. Dogs tend to have weaker muscles than wolves of a similar size, shorter legs and smaller feet, smaller teeth, and a smaller size overall. This is a phenomenon known as neoteny, in which domesticated animals have a tendency to retain more juvenile physical traits of their parent wild species, and you can see it in domesticated animals across the board.

But it’s not just physical appearances that matter. Behaviorally dogs are generally more friendly toward humans; in fact, they’ve even developed some human-friendly body language that wolves don’t have, like “puppy dog eyes.” They can be easily trained and, unless poorly socialized, dogs generally enjoy the company of humans.

In many ways, physically and behaviorally, a dog is a wolf that never grew out of its puppy stage. While a young wolf pup may be able to live in someone’s house for a short time, as they grow older they become more destructive and less tolerant of human company. Your dog may love watching out the window during a car ride, but a wolf is going to be much more stressed out by the experience. Even wolf-dog hybrids have to be treated differently than your average domesticated dog because the wolf content has a significant effect on behavior.

This is just one example of how domestication isn’t just a matter of a few generations of selective breeding. You can also compare domesticated horses (Equus ferus caballus) with Przewalski’s horses (Equus ferus przewalskii or Equus przewalskii) or zebras (subgenus Hippotigris), domesticated cows (Bos taurus) with stories of fierce wild aurochs (Bos primigenius), and so forth. In every case the wild and domesticated counterparts are very different in both appearance and behavior.

Now, what about the term “tame”? Many wild animal species have been tamed over the years, either wild-caught individuals or those born in captivity. These tame animals may be more docile in comparison to their fully wild counterparts, but this generally takes a lot of handling and socialization from a young age. Moreover, tame animals retain a lot more wild behaviors than domesticated ones.

Take those supposed “domesticated” foxes that people want to have as pets. Most of the foxes available as pets have no relation to those in the famous Russian fox domestication experiment, but are from modern fur farm lines. And in fact the study foxes came from Russian fur farms, so the researchers were beginning with pre-tamed animals rather than truly wild ones. While some tame foxes may be more amenable to human handling than wild foxes, they are by no means domesticated. They are more prone to wild behaviors like urinating everywhere to mark territory, chewing on anything they can get their jaws on, nipping, and making a LOT of noise. Moreover, whereas dogs adapted to eating an omnivorous diet after millennia of eating alongside us, foxes need a more specialized diet than what you can get at a pet store.

Unfortunately there are unscrupulous people within the exotic pet trade who will advertise their tame (at best) stock as “domesticated.” This often leads consumers to thinking that they’re getting a much more tractable animal that will be as easy to care for as a cat or dog, and sets up everyone involved for disaster (except, of course, the seller with a fatter wallet.)

Next, let's compare wild vs. feral. A wild species is one that has never been domesticated, nor have its ancestors. Generally it will be a native species to its ecosystem, though non-native species can also be introduced to an ecosystem without ever having been domesticated. A feral animal, on the other hand, is a member of a domesticated species that has escaped or been released back into the wild and has survived to reproduce new generations that have never been handled by humans.

I’ve often heard people refer to the feral swine (Sus domesticus) that have ravaged ecosystems worldwide as “wild pigs”. They may behave in a wild manner, and they certainly look rougher and hairier than your average well-fed domesticated pig on a farm. It’s not uncommon for feral animals to regain some traits of their wild ancestors. However, that does not make them truly wild.

If you manage to wrest away a litter of newborn piglets from a feral sow and bottle-feed them, they are likely to be able to be socialized and kept in captivity, though they may still physically resemble feral pigs. They haven’t lost the deeply-ingrained genes that carry domesticated traits. However, if you try to raise a newborn Eurasian wild boar (Sus scrofa) or red river hog (Potamochoerus porcus), it will lack the domesticated traits of its farm cousins and show more wild traits as it ages, making it a rather unsuitable pet or farm animal. We also see this return to domestic traits in mustangs and other feral horses captured at a young age. While a mustang born in the wild may be tougher to work with at first than a foal born in captivity and handled from birth, the mustang will be much more calm and easier to train than, say, a zebra.

The problem with referring to feral animals as “wild” is that this suggests they are a natural part of the ecosystem they are in. Because a truly domesticated species (or subspecies) is not the same as the parent species, it has no place to which it is native as a wild animal.

A native species is one that has evolved in a given ecosystem for thousands or even millions of years. In the process it has developed numerous intricate interrelationships with many other species in that ecosystem, creating a careful system of checks and balances. A non-native species is any species that has been taken out of the ecosystem in which it evolved and placed in a different ecosystem where it is not normally found.

For example, here in North America the mourning dove (Zenaida macroura) is a wild native species. While it may resemble domesticated pigeons, it has never been domesticated even when kept in captivity. The Eurasian collared dove (Streptopelia decaocto), on the other hand, was introduced to the Americas after a few dozen individuals were released in the Bahamas in 1974. The feral pigeon (Columba livia domestica) is a domesticated species derived from the rock dove (Columba livia), which is native to Europe, west Asia, and northern Africa. Both the collared dove and pigeon are examples of non-native species. Most non-native species do not offer any benefits to the ecosystems they are introduced to because they do not have established relationships with native species. When they compete with native species for resources, they weaken the ecosystem overall.

Non-native species can be further categorized as naturalized or invasive, or even both. A naturalized species is a non-native one that has managed to establish reproducing populations, rather than going extinct without becoming established. Unfortunately, some people take this to mean that the species has become fully integrated into the new ecosystem. However, this is a process that again takes thousands to millions of years as other species adapt to the newcomer, which itself often also changes as it adapts to its new environment.

Ring-necked pheasants (Phasianus colchicus) are an example of a naturalized species in North America. Native to Asia and parts of Europe, they were introduced here as a game bird 250 years ago. While captive pheasants are regularly released into the wild to offer more hunting opportunities to humans, this species has likely been naturalized from its first introduction.

Again, “naturalized” doesn’t mean “natural”. Pheasants compete with native birds like northern bobwhite (Colinus virginianus) and prairie chickens (Tympanuchus spp.) Not only do they compete for food, nesting sites, and other resources, but they also spread diseases to native birds. Pheasants even engage in brood parasitism, laying their eggs in native birds’ nests and sometimes causing the native birds to abandon the nest and their own young entirely.

This means that the pheasants are also invasive as well as naturalized. Invasive species are non-natives that aggressively compete with, and sometimes displace or extirpate, native species. There are several hundred species that have become seriously invasive here, including both vertebrate and invertebrate animals, and numerous plants. But even the rest of the over 6000 non-native species that have become naturalized here still put pressure on native species, and have the potential to become invasive if their impact increases to a more damaging point.

Hopefully this gives you a clearer understanding of what these terms mean and why it’s important to know the difference. By knowing a little more about how your local ecosystem works and how different species may be contributing to or detracting from its overall health, you have more power to be able to make decisions that can preserve native species and help ecosystems be more resilient. Given that the removal of invasive species is one of the most important ways we can help ecosystems thrive in spite of climate change, it’s more important than ever that we increase nature literacy among the general populace. Consider this article just one small way to move that effort along.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

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recklesssturniolo · 4 months

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How do you think the triplets would react to their bsf/gf getting her period?? Like would they find it an uncomfortable topic and think its gross or would they not mind it?

Also I dont want any unrealistic shit like “he’d totally do this and that for you 🥺🥺” I want the answer to be realistic, like smth normal and not stuff you’d see in wattpad

Matt - Don’t think he’d care at all, think he’d be gentler/calmer during your period (you’d get some princess treatment from him fs) would get you meds/water, etc. if you asked, “Matt could you grab me meds?” “Yup, cramps?” “Unfortunately yes”, would go get you tampons/pads if you needed any, “it’s the pink box right? That says regular on it?” “Yes that’s it”, I think he’d literally just not think anything of it and understands it’s normal and wouldn’t get uncomfortable or whatnot but would not make it some weird thing, would literally just treat your period days the exact same he would with regular days

Chris - I think Chris would lowkey not fully understand periods so if you told him you were on yours he’d instantly go get you meds, water, heating pad, etc. think he’d just bring you anything he thinks can help because he himself has little to no idea of what will help, feel like he’d ask if you need anything a bunch throughout it and you’d have to remind him multiple times that you’re fine and that it isn’t a big deal like it makes it out to be, “Chris my god, I don’t need anything this isn’t a big deal”, for him to reply with “Okay okay but if you do need something tell me right away”, if he went to get you tampons/pad I’m positive he’d be beyond confused and calling you complaining about how many options there are and how is he supposed to know which to get “Babe how the fuck am I supposed to find that brand? Why is there different sizes what the fuck”, he also wouldn’t be grossed out by it, just feel like he’d be I guess OVER caring to you during it from a lack of understanding and some confusion with periods if that makes sense like he’s quite dramatic about it even though he doesn’t need to be

Nick - He’d just have literally no idea of how to help or whatever, would however keep extra tampons/pads for you in his bathrooms for your sleepovers, if you asked him for meds he’d ask why and you’d have to be like “CRAMPS NICK” only for him to go “Oh they’ll help the cramps?”, he’d let your complaining slide and would contribute to your rants about how stupid periods are, if you had cravings he’d immediately order it, isn’t grossed out by it but has zero experience with them in any way so would almost be oblivious to most things

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #allyrambles🫠#nicholas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo

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so-long-soldier-writes · 3 months

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Teensy Little Crush

kai parker x shy!reader | requested by @luckyvampyr ; the other idea from when i asked for fluffy prompts!

summary: you have a crush on kai you haven't been able to shake for weeks. unfortunately, you're too shy to do anything about it, either. but luckily, elena steps in with a plan, and helps you win over the witch's heart.

tags: fluff, crushes, alcohol, gifts, anxiety, slightly awkward flirting, mystic falls gang (+ reader) friendship, bad planning, cooking, bad-ish childhood memories, teasing, first kisses

word count: 6.6k

a/n: this is the one i've had written for centuries & haven't been able to title. i got antsy and gave it a silly title so that i could post it 😅

You don’t know what it is, something about him just makes you giddy. Ever since the merge, he’s mellowed out immeasurably, and while he still annoys your friends, you’ve found something endearing about him. Kai, of course, is still Kai. He’s reckless, and troublesome, and doesn’t make a lot of considerations before doing things, but he’s getting better about it. He has somewhat of a grip on his emotions now, which is helping as he integrates himself into life in Mystic Falls.

Initially, Damon assumed he’d go back to Portland after the merge, but something told you that wasn’t a possibility. Everyone knows how the Parkers grew up, either from Liv, Luke, Jo, or Kai himself. The story varies between siblings, but at least two truths in the matter remain the same: their family is tragically dysfunctional, and the coven always comes first. So why would Kai, hated by his family and his coven, return to his hometown?

Damon heaves a big sigh when you remind him of this.

“So what do you suppose we do about him?” The man ponders out loud.

“Keep an eye on him; see how this goes. But let him figure things out here, I guess,” Elena says.

“Ugh.”

“What other options do we have?”

You and Bonnie look over to him, and the couples’ gaze quickly follows. Kai drinks alone at the bar, scrolling his phone and bouncing his knee. He’s turned in such a way that you can see one of the dimples in his cheeks everytime he smiles. When he catches the bartender’s attention to show him something, Bonnie groans. You bite your cheek to not smile.

“We can’t just kill him?”

“Not without killing Jo,” Elena reminds her friend.

A collective groan now rings throughout the table, but your eyes are still on him.

“Alright, I’m gonna go to the girls’ room. Drank too much at once.”

Elena’s words register with you as she stands. You then stand up, too, putting your napkin on the table. “I need to go too.”

She smiles, and the two of you leave Damon and Bonnie alone.

You wash your hands side-by-side, and then Elena starts to fix her makeup in front of the mirror. You take the extra minute to touch up your own.

“I can tell you have a crush on him,” she says suddenly.

“What?” A jolt runs down your spine, and you poke your eye with your mascara brush. “Ow!”

She has the nerve to laugh. “You okay?”

“Not funny!”

“Case in point - that reaction.”

“I do not have a crush on him.”

“Y/N.”

“I don’t!”

“You’ve been watching him all night. I heard your heart rate calm when I said to let him stay here, and it sped up when Bonnie suggested to kill him. Not to mention, I can see the way you bite your cheeks to not smile at him. And don’t think I didn’t catch the glossy, lovesick look in your eyes yesterday when he winked at you from across the grill. Your heart sped up then, too.”

You can only blink at the slew of evidence stacked against you. The fact she noticed all these things and compiled a list of them takes you aback.

“I see all, Y/N,” she jokes playfully.

“Fine. I might have a minor crush on him.”

“It is not minor.”

“Might have a Corgi-sized crush on him.”

“I see more like a Great Dane sized crush, but okay.”

Your eyes widen. “Elena!”

She only laughs. “To be honest, I’m kind of offended that you don’t think I can read you. We’ve been friends for how many years…?” She starts counting on her fingers.

“Okay, point made, you can read me! What are you gonna do about it?” Your tone is much more concerned than challenging.

“What?”

“My, y’know,” you lower your voice, “crush. What are you gonna do? Tell Damon? Bonnie? Hell, Kai?”

“Of course not, that’s between us. But I think you should tell him.”

“Who?”

“Kai.”

“Oh absolutely not.”

“Why not? Because he’s a sociopath, or because you can’t approach him without blushing?”

“Elena!”

“Which is it?!”

“I don’t know! Both, I guess. Mostly the latter.”

“Well you’ve said it yourself a hundred times, he’s getting better with his emotions. Understanding them more. You could have a chance.”

“You don’t sound so certain.”

“I am! It happened with Damon.” Your eyes narrow, and she continues. “Damon was borderline sociopathic only a couple years ago, remember? When they first arrived in town, and I was with Stefan, and he wreaked absolute havoc everywhere he went. But I still developed a crush on him, and he fell for me, and I then fell completely for him, and look at us now. If you want him, the least you can do is talk to him.”

The reminder gives you hope. Maybe Kai could follow the same path Damon did. Maybe you could have something with him. Elena’s apparent support of it helps. Still…

“‘Lena, I can’t go up to him and start a conversation, or tell him that, I’m not as confident as you.”

“Then just start by talking about other things. Or start really simple and wink at him from across the bar like he does at you. Or, here’s an idea, get his attention in little, somewhat anonymous ways. Give him little gifts, or notes, or something like that. That, or Pavolv him with offering candy, and then whenever he sees you, he associates you with something sweet.”

“That sounds like manipulation, ‘Lena. I can’t do that. And I don’t know how he’d take it, either.”

“Don’t think of it that way, think of it that you want his attention, but don’t know how to get it straightforward, so you find it with other ways. Trust me, he won’t be offended. He’ll probably be elated that someone’s giving him little things. He’ll probably think it’s cute, too, that a shy girl such as yourself can’t look at him without blushing but is secretly, deeply craving something with him.”

“Oh my god, Elena.”

“Oh, stop being shy about it! If there’s anyone in this town who would enjoy the game in corrupting your shy, innocent ways, it’s Kai.”

“I’m not innocent, I’m just shy.”

“And you can show him that once you get his attention.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me anymore after finding that out?”

“How could he not like you? You’re sweet and kind, but I know you have that badass side to you, too. He’ll see it and love it the minute you show it.” She applies more red lipstick, then smacks her lips together. “And don’t forget, we’re talking about Kai, who has never been shown any kind of affection in his life. He’ll fold the minute you offer it.”

“Who’s to say he wants it from me?” You see her point, but still have doubts.

“Me,” she answers easily, “who has never seen him wink at anyone but you at the bar. Who has watched his eyes follow you throughout the grill, and watched them get heavy with disappointment when you leave. I’ve even seen him adjust himself in his seat more times than I can count.”

“What does that mean?”

“Remember that time you spilled your drink down your shirt and had to napkin-dry your chest by reaching down your shirt?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah, well when I did a grill-sweep to make sure no one was watching, he was. And when we made eye contact, his heart rate accelerated faster than a rollercoaster and he had to move his legs around because something tells me those jeans were a little too restricting.”

“Elena!”

“I’m just telling what I saw! But I’m serious, you have a chance with him. Just give it a try.”

“Okay. But if it backfires, it’s on you.”

“I’ll take full responsibility.”

“Good.”

You both finish up your makeup, then go back to your table.

“That was a long bathroom break,” Damon says as soon as you arrive.

“We had a little girl talk. Sorry Bon.”

“No worries, we’ve been talking, too,” she replies.

“About?”

Damon answers his girlfriend. “The weasel and his wandering eyes. Watched you guys go to the bathroom, trained them on the door waiting for you to come out.”

“Where is he now?”

“Well we’ve officially entered the hour of the frat boy,” Damon nods to the clock, which reads nine p.m., “and he’s been buried in the sea of them.”

“I say we go before they start a racket,” Bonnie says. You agree.

“Alright, time to head out. Bon, Y/N, see you tomorrow. Elena, you coming with me?”

“For a little, yeah. But I’ll be back to the dorm by eleven.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, I’m gonna get a shot to go,” you say to the group.

“Ooh, get me one!” Elena asks, putting on her coat.

You head to the bar and order two bourbon shots.

The bartender rings them up with a smile. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, um… Can I pay for his?” You poke your pinky finger in the direction of Kai.

“Him? With the phone?” Kai’s the only one with his phone, unlike the ten college boys crowded around him.

“Yeah.”

“Sure. Anonymously?”

“Just don’t give him my name.”

“Okay. That’ll be $21.30 total. $5.33 for your shots; $15.97 for his. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Friend of yours?”

“Kinda.” The sudden blush on your cheeks tells him all he needs to know.

He chuckles. “Got it. ‘Kay, you’re all set.”

“Thank you.”

“Have a good night.”

“You too.”

You and Elena take your shots before heading out into the cold. You part ways, divided into two at the door, and send her a wink that you’ve already started on her little plan.

Around the same time you leave, Kai decides he’s had enough of the noise. He waves the bartender over to pay, but furrows his eyebrows at his words.

“You’re all set.”

“What?”

“Someone paid for your drinks.”

“Who?”

“Asked me not to say their name.”

“Point them out.”

“Sorry man, already left.”

Kai looks to the door anyway, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of someone outside it. He sighs, out of luck.

“Did you recognize who it is?”

“Seen ‘em in here before.”

“You’re not gonna give me anything?”

“Scout’s honor not to tell.”

Kai glares, but then ultimately gets up to leave. He’s determined to find out who it was; what their intentions are by doing such a thing. If he doesn’t, it’ll itch at him all night.

Three days later, Kai has yet to find out who paid for his drink, but when he enters the grill that night, the bartender offers him a cheesy smile.

“What?”

“First shot’s been paid, what would you like?”

“What? Who?”

“Scout’s honor not to-”

“Okay, okay, don’t say it again.”

“What will it be?”

“Gin,” he replies, then immediately begins to look around the restaurant.

Nothing’s out of the ordinary in terms of customers. The usual group of geezers and their beers are in one giant booth. A couple early frat boys play pool in the corner. The unofficially-named Mystic Falls gang occupies the table to his left, and Tyler and Matt chat on the other side of the bar. Kai eyes every person individually for hidden answers within their eyes. Granted, most of the people in here would probably dodge his gaze, but he still tries.

After a while of searching, he grows frustrated. The bartender chuckles, then receives another glare.

“Still looking?”

“Would be easier if you’d tell me.”

“Maybe they don’t want to be found.”

“Why not?”

The man shrugs.

Kai only seems to get more agitated at that. His jaw tenses, but instead of pushing, he just orders another shot.

Meanwhile, you watch the interaction carefully from your table. When Bonnie leaves for the restroom, you poke Elena’s arm.

“He looks mad.”

Elena spares a glance. “He’s probably just confused,” she whispers.

“What are we talking about?” Damon asks, also whispering.

You wrinkle your nose, but give Elena a nod to let her tell him.

“Y/N’s finally acting on her little crush.”

“Eugh,” the man reacts, “on Kai?”

“Mhm.”

“Not just gonna let it die out? Give it a week or two, I promise, it’ll die out.”

“Damon!”

“And why are you encouraging this?” He asks his girlfriend.

“Y/N could be good for him. She’s been curiously crushing on him for weeks, it hasn’t ‘died out’ at all, and maybe she could help him. Besides, it’s not that far off from you and I. Remember when you were the psychotic killer in town?”

Damon rolls his eyes. “But this is Kai. He’s a scrawny little, magic sucking, weasel-looking, chatterbox, and is quite possibly the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s rude.”

“It’s true!” He exhales rather loudly. “Does Bonnie know?”

“I haven’t told her. Figured that wouldn’t go down well.”

“Smart. But you should.”

“I will, just not yet.”

“So what have you done? Why’s he look upset?”

Elena answers, “she’s anonymously paid for his drink twice now. We get the feeling Kai knows it’s someone in the bar, but neither of us know how much the bartender has let on.”

“That man is a secret-keeper extraordinaire. Kai knows nothing.”

You nod. “I need to steer off the alcohol path soon, but I don’t have any other ideas. Elena?”

Damon answers instead, “pork rinds. Or any food, really. But pork rinds especially. Went through a whole bag in a day in the prison world.”

Elena makes a face. “Maybe also, like… something he could wear. Or something that would remind him of you.”

“What about a ring? He wears a lot of those. I don’t know what could remind him of me.”

“Does he even know you exist?”

“Damon!”

Before you can react, Bonnie returns. “What’d I miss?”

“Y/N has a crush on Kai,” Damon says, smirking. “She’s trying to get his attention in miniscule ways through tiny little gifts.”

You plant your forehead into the table. A fraction of a second before you do, though, you see Bonnie’s eyes going wide.

“Y/N!”

“Please don’t.”

“Are you insane?”

“Please talk quieter.”

“Are you insane?” She whispers.

“She might be,” Damon offers.

“Guys, it’s not the worst thing that could happen. And I do think she can help him.”

“Help him? Elena-”

“Kai would be a much easier ally than enemy. Dating Y/N, or at the very least, being friends, would help with that. Plus, she likes him. It’s just like when I liked Damon.”

“And I didn’t support that either,” Bonnie reminds.

“I know, but you’re best friends now.”

“Are you suggesting Kai and I will be besties after a couple weeks? No. We won’t.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all. Just… Kai will be around regardless if we want him or not. Y/N has had a crush on him for the last two months. Might as well give it a chance.”

“And if it doesn’t work out? If he attacks her?”

“He won’t! Just give it a chance, Bonnie.”

She glares at you, and you look up just a little.

“I’m not helping your little endeavor to get his attention, but I won’t actively work against it, either. Just… be safe.”

“Of course.”

“Damon, what are your thoughts?”

The man shrugs. “I just wanna see what happens.”

You glare at him, but then raise your head and smile at Elena. “Thanks, guys.”

“Get him a ring, Y/N. He mostly wears silver… which you probably already know.”

You giggle, then drop your attention down to your food to avoid her teasing.

In the meantime of finding the perfect ring, you give him a bag of his favorite snack, per Damon’s suggestion. He mentioned he ate them a lot, and even said the boy was snacking in their first interaction.

“He would chew them very loudly, it was so annoying,” he said, “so make sure you give it to him and high tail it out of there.”

“Oh I’m not sticking around at all, I’m ringing the doorbell and running.”

Your shyness earned a chuckle from the man.

And you do exactly that. Kai has nothing close to a schedule, but you’ve observed him well enough to know he’s usually in his apartment at three in the afternoon. It’s the time in between his morning walk, afternoon lurk, and nighttime drink. When you drop off the bag in your hands - a brown paper bag of pork rinds, with a posy of red gerbera flowers - you have to be quick to find a close hiding spot.

For the record, the flowers were your idea. Deciding which type was a little difficult. You and Elena went back and forth between gerberas and chrysanthemums for ten minutes, liking the deep, red shades in both. After a bit, the florist approached and helped. Ultimately, you liked the symbolization of ‘desire’ behind the gerberas, and Elena was convinced the daisy would make him smile.

After assembling the gift, you creep towards his door, knowing he’s often on edge and listening intently. You can hear his footsteps inside, along with sounds coming from a phone. For a moment, he laughs, but then his heavy boots retreat again.

You almost run away, filling your own head with thoughts. This is such a bad idea. This is cheesy. This is pointless.

But then Elena texts, “you better not be talking yourself out of it.”

You take a deep breath, put it on his doorstep, ring the bell, and then hurry to the stairs. Luckily, you have a knack of getting out of situations quietly; it’s a perk of being introverted and shy.

In the stairwell, you stop to try and hear his reaction. You don’t dare look up, but you do wait just a moment. Even from a distance, you can hear his excited reaction. He sounds like a little kid given Legos. It takes everything in you to not poke your head up and see.

His boots start to sound down the length of the hall, possibly looking for the person who left it, and you take that as your cue to leave. As tempted as you are to see him in this moment, you’re not quite ready to expose your crush.

Kai hears movement in the stairwell. He quickens his pace towards it, acknowledging whoever it is seems determined to keep their identity a secret. They should know he’s equally determined to learn who it is, though, and Kai always wins.

As you hurry around the corner, he catches a glimpse of your hair flying behind you. He bites his lip, fighting a smile. He could recognize your hair any day.

Instead of calling out, he keeps to himself. He’ll give you this victory today; he’ll let you think he’s still totally clueless, for both your sakes. You clearly aren’t ready to face him, and Kai kinda likes the game you’re playing. Besides, he needs more time to sort out his own feelings. He’s known he’s liked you for weeks, but knowing he might have a chance with you is a game changer. As confusing as it is to recognize he has a crush, he finds himself excited, too.

For the rest of the day, he takes to the couch with the pork rinds, and lets his mind run wild, thinking about you.

When you finally find the perfect ring, you really haven’t been looking at all. It catches your eye through a window of a jewelry store, while your best friends are debating on whether or not to go into the neighboring store. The four of you are having a much needed break from the chaos of your local town. It was Caroline’s idea to drive an hour away to somewhere new.

A foot away, you can hear their musings.

“I think I might just go in for a minute,” Elena says, “I feel like if I walk away, I’m gonna regret not at least looking at that shirt.”

“I’ll go in if you go in,” Bonnie nods to her, “mostly to get out of this loud entryway.”

“But after, we need to find fries. Like, seriously,” demands Caroline, for the third time.

“We will! Shirt first.”

“Fine!”

“Caroline,” you wave for her attention, “you know a lot about jewelry.”

“Yes I do,” she agrees, leaving to join your side as the other two go into the store.

“You know what I’m doing with Kai, right?”

She narrows her eyes and a suggestive smile forms on her lips. “Doing with him?”

“Not like that! I mean-”

“Calm down, I’m teasing. Yes, you’re trying to get his attention because you have a crush.”

“Right. Do you think he’d like this ring? ‘Cause like, I know he wears silver, but I don’t know if he’d care about the little sliver of green in there, but I happen to know a lot about crystals, and know that is malachite, but I also know he hates his name, so I don’t know if that would be well received, or if he’d be upset.”

Caroline lets you ramble. As soon as you’re done, she begins to giggle.

“What?!”

“You’re so overthinking this, it’s adorable!”

“Caroline!”

“I don’t think he’d be upset, I think he’d like it.”

“But do men even care about color in rings? What if he only wears silver ones and doesn’t want any color? Let alone a crystal with his name in it!”

“Omg, Y/N, calm down. You’re stressing yourself out over this. Do you want to go inside and ask to see it? Let’s do that.” She takes your hand and goes immediately to the counter. A moment later, you admire the ring in your hand. “It’s pretty,” Caroline comments.

“Yeah… What if he thinks I’m trying to propose or something?”

Before the girl can erupt in more laughter, the salesperson replies, “this isn’t an engagement ring, actually. Are you looking for those?”

“Oh no, not at all!”

“My friend here has a crush on a boy who wears similar looking rings-”

“Caroline!”

“-and she wants to get him one instead of just telling him she likes him.”

“Ah,” the woman smiles.

“And she particularly likes the green on this one.”

“Well this is actually a crystal known as malachite.”

You nod, “his name is Malachai.”

“That’s fitting!”

“You should get it,” Caroline nudges your shoulder.

“This is one of our less expensive rings, but that doesn’t mean the quality isn’t as good as others. The malachite is ethically sourced from Australia, and the ring itself is made here in the US,” she starts her spiel.

“Okay, I’ll get it.”

“Perfect. Size?”

“Uhhh…”

“Average size for men is 10.”

“He’s six foot,” you provide.

“We’ll do a 10. It’ll be easy to size if he needs to.”

“Okay.”

She goes to the back to pack it up for you, and meanwhile, Caroline snickers.

“What?”

“You’re adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“Y’know, this is probably going to be the most expensive thing he owns.”

“It’s not even that much, Care.”

“Still… probably stole his other rings somewhere.”

You’d be upset at the accusation if it wasn’t most likely true. You whisper, “probably stole them off someone after killing them.”

She giggles. “And yet here you are, crushing on him.”

“Can’t help it. And you’re one to talk,” you refer to Klaus.

“This isn’t about me!”

“He wears rings, too. He might like that one over there.”

“Shush!”

The woman comes back and you both hush. “Here you go. That’ll be $43.50.”

You swipe your card. “Don’t tell Bonnie.”

Caroline snorts.

“She already thinks I’m insane for crushing on him.”

“This is quite the gift for a crush,” the woman mentions.

“Oh crush is a light term. Y/N won’t admit it, but she’s totally in love with him.”

“Care!”

“He likes her, too. But he’s just as shy about it as she is.”

“Stop talking,” you say through gritted teeth, face hot with blush.

“Well I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you. Have a good day.”

“You girls do too.”

Bonnie finds out immediately by way of pressing why you took so long in a jewelry store. Incidentally, she then becomes part of your plan in getting it to him.

The four of you decide you’re going to “run into him” by accident, where you’ll then present it as something you just “came across” in passing. It’s a horrible plan, but it’s the only one you have. And, it’s not entirely untrue, which will minimize the amount of stuttering you’d have while giving it to him.

At seven, Damon texts Elena that Kai had just sat down at the bar. He then calls her and loudly invites the four of them to dinner. Minutes later, you join the smirking vampire at his table.

“Nice shit plan you guys have.”

“Shh!” Caroline scolds, “it kinda needs to be shit if these two are ever going to actually talk to each other.”

Damon gets the point immediately. You’re too anxious to register Caroline’s words.

“Okay,” Elena turns to you, “I need a shot. Y/N, can you order a round?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t stutter!” Elena smacks her boyfriend. “Kidding,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. As you near the bar, you take a couple deep breaths. Your friends watching this whole thing is certainly not helping your anxiety, but it’s now or never to act on this plan.

“Y/N,” the bartender nods as you slide up to the counter. You take the seat beside Kai, but don’t look at him yet. “What can I get you?”

“Five shots of bourbon, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kai bounces his knee nervously as he thinks of what to say to you. After a second, he blurts out, “hi.”

You face him. “Hi.”

“You here with someone or are all those shots for you?”

You laugh. “Nah, I’m here with all those,” you gesture to your friends.

Kai follows your hand. “Ah.”

“Hey, um…” three of your shots are poured. “I know you wear rings, and I saw this one the other day, and it looked like something you’d wear, maybe, I don’t know. But um,” you produce it from your pocket, “I got it for you anyway.”

The way his eyes light up warms your heart. He takes it gently and admires it.

“The green is malachite,” you say quickly, “I didn’t know if you’d like it, because I know you don’t like your name all that much, but still thought it was kinda cool.”

“It is cool,” he confirms, “I love it.” He slips it onto his right, middle finger, then smiles up at you. “And I like the malachite. Thank you, Y/N.”

“Your shots, Y/N,” the bartender hands you the five on a small plate.

“Thanks.” You turn back to Kai. “And, um, you’re welcome.” For a moment, you sit in silence, wishing you had the courage to confess, but you don’t. “I’m gonna go bring these to them.”

“Okay.”

You climb off the barstool, but of course stumble over one of the legs on your way down. Kai’s hands reach out to stabilize you. One grabs your shoulder; one’s under your arm, dangerously close to grazing your breast.

As soon as you’re stable, he pulls his hands away. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t forget your shots.”

You smile, give him one more awkward “thanks”, then grab your shots and return to your table.

“Smooth,” Elena says immediately.

“Shut up.”

It’s been three days since you gave him the ring. You haven’t gone to the grill, nor seen him otherwise, partly in an attempt to avoid him. The ring was the first time you actually went up and talked to him, instead of indirectly giving him gifts or slipping in a hello during group conversations. And then, of course, at the end of your interaction, you managed to embarrass yourself. Kai was nice about it, which says a lot because he has little patience with most people, but you’re still embarrassed nonetheless.

So the next time you run into Kai, you’re not expecting it at all.

You’re in the kitchen of the boarding house with Elena, when one minute you look up, and he’s standing right across the counter from you.

“Well hello,” he greets, dimpled-smile wide.

Elena pops up from the floor, a cooking skillet in her hand that she just dug out from the lower cabinet. “Hello,” she greets questioningly.

“Hi,” you finally say. Short and sweet.

“What brings you here?” She nods to him.

“Bored. Wondering what’s going on in the big, giant mansion.”

“Just us cooking.”

“Ooh, fun. Y’know, I happen to be a pretty good cook.”

“Really? Prove it.”

You glance at Elena, silently cursing her for inviting him even closer to you. She smiles.

“Really?”

She nods at him.

“What were you making?”

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

“Ah. I used to make that for my siblings’ lunch. There’s a spice you’ve got to add in the soup that you wouldn’t think about, but it makes all the difference.”

“Impress us. We’ll make the sandwiches.”

Kai starts on the stove, and all you can do is stare. His back is turned to you, but everytime he reaches, you get a glimpse of his hands. The veins on the back compliment his long fingers. Two rings adorn his left; one is on his right - yours. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight. He turns around suddenly. “Where’s your spice rack?”

Elena points to the pantry. “On the door.”

“Thanks.”

“I remember you saying you could cook when you kidnapped me. The memory’s starting to return.”

“Awh, I did say that, didn’t I?” He smiles. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

“Yeah… who taught you how?”

“My father, surprisingly.” As he moves back to the stove, Elena nods at you to retrieve the bread, butter, and cheese. You do, as she turns on the fire. “Taught me how to measure with my eye. Taught me what spices do best with what dishes. He was more of the cook than my mother.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she was busy wrangling six kids.”

“Were your siblings all close in age?” You ask, hoisting yourself on the counter. The more he talks, the more your confidence grows, even if just a little at a time.

He looks up at you before tending back to his soup. “When Liv and Luke were toddlers, the oldest aside from Jo and I was thirteen. Pretty close.”

You nod.

“Interesting to me that your dad did most of the cooking,” Elena says, “usually men make their wives do all the work, especially in the time you grew up.”

The boy smiles at her subtle prod at him being way older than he looks. The reminder makes you gulp and shift your legs.

“Yeah, well, he loved her. He would’ve done anything for her. They both did the chores around the house. Jo and I, too, if I was allowed. I mostly cooked, though. They put up a baby gate so the toddlers couldn’t crawl into the kitchen when I was in there; they trusted me that little.”

“Was that for a reason?”

“I siphoned them more when I was younger, sure. By the time I was sixteen-ish, I had mostly learned my lesson not to do that anymore. As a kid, though, it was hard to resist. Sometimes I’d still steal from my oldest younger brother when he’d piss me off. He wouldn’t tell because he knew he deserved it.” When Elena gives him a quizzical look, he explains. “Early nineties, we had a computer, and Joey was obsessed with this wizard game that my mother hated. She thought it was too violent. So he’d wake up really early in the morning to go play it and would always wake me up. He’d let me siphon so I wouldn’t tell on him.” Kai winks. “Sometimes, too, we’d roughhouse when we weren’t allowed. He would always start it. He’d come into my room and throw something at me, or would slap me for no reason. Or, would just stand in the doorway and stare. If I caught the upperhand, we’d wrestle on the floor until he apologized. Then he’d let me siphon so I wouldn’t tell mom that he went in my room, because he wasn’t allowed to do that.”

You both nod, somewhat understanding. Sibling stuff. It’s familiar, siblings coming into your room just to piss you off, and then bribing them not to tattle. Kai just happened to use his lack of magic as his bribe; desperate to have something he was born without, despite all his siblings having unlimited access. You couldn’t blame him, really, especially with his brother teasing him as much as he seemed to have.

Kai turns off the stove as his soup begins to bubble. He looks up at you again, then chuckles. “You look cute up there.”

Immediately, you blush hard. You tuck your knees up, resting them on the edge of the cabinet door below you. “Thank you.” It comes out in a whisper, and he replies with a wink.

“Bowls?”

Elena points to the cabinet beside you.

“Ah, great. Watch your head,” he mutters, opening the door. You duck a little as he reaches into it. His shirt rides up slightly, skin rubbing into the counter’s edge.

“Do you need help?” You ask, holding your hands out to grab a bowl.

“Yeah, thanks.” He hands you one after another, then shuts the door. Elena turns off the stove, then nods at him for plates. “Which one?”

“The one she’s blocking.”

“Ah.” You start to get down, but Kai insists, “no, I can work around you.” Your breath hitches in your throat as you duck and shift to the left. Within seconds, his body is centimeters from touching yours. The softness of his gray shirt brushes against your exposed knee. “Hold,” he hands you a plate. You take it and set it down, then grab the other two from him. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

As you recover, he starts to organize the dishes. Elena goes to the fridge for drinks, but then clicks her tongue. “Gotta go to the basement fridge. Out of coke in this one.” She winks. She’s gone before you can say a word.

Kai finishes his task, then comes back to your side. He puts a hand on your knee, his right one, and then offers a smile.

“I like my ring. Thank you for it.”

You force a smile as you try to calm your racing heart. “You’re welcome.”

“And the pork rinds, I enjoyed those.”

“I didn’t do that.”

He chuckles. “The shots, too. Plus the pretty little daisy.”

“I didn’t do that, either.”

“Oh come on, princess. Admit it.” You tense up at the nickname and he can see it. “You can’t hide from me anymore.” He hooks a finger under your chin, but you refuse eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y/N…”

“I don’t even know where to buy pork rinds.”

“You’re so cute when you’re trying to lie to me.” You blush even more at that and he smiles. “Y’know, the shade of those daisies reminds me of the blush on your cheeks.” He licks his lips. “You can’t deny it, just admit it.”

“Kai, I can’t.”

“Can’t what? What’s wrong?”

“What do you even want me to admit?”

He laughs, as if the question is crazy. “Admit that you did it. Gave me cute little gifts and paid my ever-growing bar tabs.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “Fine. I did. Happy?”

Apparently not. “Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’?”

“Why’d you do it?”

“I thought you just wanted to know if I did it.”

“I did, and know I want to know why.”

“Kai-” you start, whining. He’s still holding your chin and it’s getting harder to not look at him.

“I like the way my name sounds on your lips, cutie,” he whispers. “Why don’t you just admit it and I can put something else on your lips?”

You finally look at him, eyes wider than a mouse’s.

“Awwh, there you are. Hi.” You stare, speechless. “Can I ask you something?” You only nod. “Is it safe to assume you have a little crush on me? Is that the reason for all this?”

You shake your head ‘no’.

“No? Really? Find that hard to believe.”

“Kai-”

“Princess, this’ll be so much easier when you just admit it.” He cocks his head. “What if I told you I have a little bit of a crush on you too, hm? Would that affect you at all?”

“You do?”

“Mhm.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re sweet, and shy, and just so cute. I mean, look at you. Perched on this countertop, and I could so easily grab you and hold you in my arms.” He smiles. “I’ve seen you moving around out of the corner of my eye. I know there’s a reason you’ve given me all these little gifts. Like this ring,” he shows it to you, “only you would care enough to do that. Not to mention the crystal inside it being part of my name.” You bite your lip in response and he grins. “See, I got you.”

“The food’s getting cold, we need to eat it.” You try to slide off the counter, but he catches your waist.

“Ah, ah, ah, not yet, little girl. Admit it first.”

“I already did!”

“You know what I mean.”

“Fine!” You give in, “I might have a tiny, little crush on you. And I thought if I give you things, you’d notice me.”

He smiles, satisfied with his win. “There it is! You have a crush on me.” You don’t look at him. “For the record, I already noticed you. And I’ve been watching you since I arrived in this town. Your gifts only told me that you were interested, too.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“So what now?”

“You could let me kiss you. I bet you taste sweeter than you look.” He runs a finger along your jawbone.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You nod.

Kai wastes no time pressing his body into your legs and cupping your face in his hands. “You’re so cute,” he mutters. Then, a second later, kisses you softly. Your lips part in pleasure before you start to kiss him back. He takes advantage of this, sucking your lower lip in between his teeth and making his next kiss more passionate. You let your hands rest on his chest, but don’t push him off. A couple seconds later, he breaks it off himself.

“Even sweeter than I could imagine,” he says cheesily.

“Really?”

He pinches your cheeks. “Perfect.”

“What’d I miss?” Elena appears in the doorway, three drinks in her hands.

Kai smirks. “All the fun.”

The girl knows immediately. “Finally?”

“Finally,” Kai confirms.

“Wait- did you two-?” You point back and forth. “Did you-?”

“Promise, I didn’t say a word to him!” Elena swears.

Kai agrees, “not a word between us. You’re just bad at keeping secrets.” He bops you on the nose.

“You suck.”

“And you’re adorable when you pretend to be mad at me.”

You pout in response, peeling yourself off the counter. Kai kisses your cheek as you pop off, making you blush.

“Sandwich time?” Elena asks, “I have a story about that ring that you would just love.”

“Oh, I’m definitely going to need to hear this.”

“No! Elena, don’t!”

The three of you take your sandwiches and soup into the dining room, and she tells the story anyway.

#malachai parker x reader #kai parker x reader #tvd fanfiction #kai parker fluff

157 notes · View notes

ravencincaide · 5 months

Text

This little thing

Summary: Not every woman wants their boyfriend to buy them everything they lay their eyes on. It was just excessive. Unfortunately for you, that’s something that Chuuya still struggles with. Or the time Chuuya got you one meaningful gift instead of 50 just-because ones.

Pairing: Reader x Chuuya Nakahara

Inspired by Sweetober prompt 11: Shopping

Hope you enjoy~ ______________________________________________________________

“ Chuu, are you really getting all those felted bunnies for yourself?”

You did little to hide your teasing smile as you stared at your boyfriend's confused expression, his arms filled to the brim with at least fifty handmade animals in all shapes, colours and sizes. All of them were soft; either knitted, crochet or felted and all with exquisite details. Hearing your comment he looked down at his arms, seeming to just realize he may have overdone it slightly. Turning his head left and then right, he quickly came to the realization that there was little place in the small shed for him to place them down. It wasn’t long until the 50 or so animals were levitating in the air between you.

“ So pass on the bunnies” Chuuya agreed, flickering his eyes towards the shelf furthest away where he took them from. All twenty of them returned to the shelf in neat little lines. You watched with an amazed expression on your face, always fascinated by his ability whenever he used it. Which was rare around you. “ Sweetheart?”

You closed your mouth and turned away from the bunnies and back to your boyfriend and the remaining thirty animals levitating around him. Not a single duplicate, each one slightly different than the next, in one way or another one. “ Why so many Chuu?” You asked as you tilted your head to the side.

Chuuya watched your expression carefully before raising his hand and rested it on your cheek. The leather of his glove felt cool on your skin, the touch loving. Even if you’d wish he took those damned things off when around you. “ Because you like this sort of thing”

You blinked in confusion for a moment, trying to figure out where he got that idea from, before it finally clicked. “ Do you mean the felted fox I have in my bookshelf? The one my mum made for me before I moved out?”

“ It looked like it could use a few friends” was all he said, his eyes looking at you with such adoration you could have sworn you hung the moon. Or something. But you could see past that loving expression and down to the emotion which triggered this behavior of excessively buying you anything you could remotely like, let alone want or need. Each date would end with your hands full of different gift bags and presents as if you had just gone Christmas shopping for your entire family instead of spending a few hours together. So now when you were actually out to look around the autumn market with intentions to buy some random cute or practical autumn items you were terrified of how many more things your sweet yet excessive boyfriend would bestow upon you.

“ Love” you called and pressed a hand against his cheek feeling him instantly lean into the touch“ You don’t need to buy me anything, you don’t need to bribe me with gifts and trinkets to keep me. I’m gonna remain your girlfriend even if you get me nothing. So please- no excessive shopping.” You plead hoping you could get through to him. Reluctantly three more animals returned to their shelves.

Only 27 more to go.

“ It shouldn’t be a problem for me to buy things for my girlfriend.” He pressed a quick peck to your lips, clearly deciding that this would be the end of this conversation. You, however, were not planning to give up until all the animals returned to their rightful place.

“ Chuu we talked about this” you mumbled, letting your hand drop away from his cheek and pressing your fingers against your forehead, above the bridge of your nose. You were fighting off the oncoming headache “ You know that when you just pile on things on me like this it makes me feel inherently guilty and indebted to you. I know it’s not what you’re after- I honestly do- but it also makes it harder for me to say no to you when I really should.”

“ You never need to feel that way,” he said, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “ You know I’d never ask for anything that you don’t want or aren’t ready for.”

You looked up at him as he moved your fingers away from your forehead and clasped them tightly in his hand. His lips were quick to replace them, the gentle touch beginning to ease the frown. “ Chuu please” you begged “ We can compromise on something somewhere else okay? I really don’t want anything from here and if you keep buying me things I show a slight interest in I’ll not have enough space for the truly precious gifts you get me.”

You watched him hesitating, the gears in his head turning as he fought back the argument that ‘you could just move in with him’ or he could ‘buy you a bigger place or storage space’. Thankfully even Chuuya realized that your relationship was not at that point, yet. “ Fine” he muttered, pulling back and pushing his hat over his eyes as the remaining animals returned to their shelf.

“ Thank you Chuu” You gave him a peck on the lips, trying to ignore how pouty he looked. Like the thought of not gifting you the entire store physically hurt him “ Now that we’ve checked this place out, wanna head towards the fall market stalls? I heard the farmers outdid themselves this year with fall-themed treats and pastries!”

Before Chuuya replied, you grabbed his hand and turned around, starting to head for the door.

Just then something off to the side, hanging on the wall, partially obscured by numerous knitted hats and gloves, caught your eye. It was a hanger full of white hand-knitted floor-length scarf that resembled more a small blanket than something practical. It was full of intricate designs in various shades of white. From this distance you couldn’t fully tell what the designs were, but you were certain they were just as detailed as the rest of the items in the shop- if not more. You were captivated by the way it shimmered from a distance; the shift of silver, icy and blue colours depending on how the light hit it. But most importantly, it looked soft and warm, like a hug that would protect its wearer against even the coldest and most bone chilling Japanese winter days. It was clearly a handmade thing- a unique one of kind that you had never before seen. And you were certain you’d never see a second of its kind again. God you wanted to look at it closer, run your fingers over the material to see if it was as soft as it looked.

You bit your lip in thought.

Then deciding that it would make you too much of a hypocrite if you were to go and buy the first thing your eyes lingered on after you just scolded Chuuya for doing just that. So you turned your back on it and headed outside the small store pulling your boyfriend behind you.

You regretted your choice almost the second you step outside; the autumn sun was quick to set while you were browsing inside the warm stall, letting the chilly autumn night air set in. The wet coldness seemed to crawl past your clothes and chill you to your core despite the five layers you were wearing. A scarf would have been nice, you mused to yourself bitterly.

Still proud and stubborn however, you refused to turn around and get it. Instead you took a look around the sea of people before picking a direction at random. It wasn’t long until you and Chuuya were walking side by side, admiring the handiwork:, from hand carved wooden toys and games to weaved socks and sweaters. It didn’t take long until you arrived at the part of the market which sold food; jams, cheeses and meats, fall vegetables and even pumpkins together with a pumpkin carving contest.

“ Sweetheart shall we get some hot chocolate?” You turned to look at your boyfriend who nodded in the direction of a semi-long line. All it took was another blow of the chilly wind for you to agree. Indeed you nodded, hot chocolate sounded like a splendid idea to warm up. Almost too eager you went to the queue wondering what sorts of flavors they had to offer. You stood ahead of Chuuya in line, with your boyfriend hugging you from behind, head resting on your shoulder, eyes closed. Gently you moved from one foot to another, a soft rocking motion that kept you warmer and seemed to make your boyfriend sleepier.

You hated to admit it but if it got any colder you’d probably have to call it a day early, independently of how much more of this market you got to see. The thought made a wave of disappointment wash over you, this was one of the few together-activities that you were really looking forward to and wouldn't get to re-experience until next year!

“ Sweetheart, can you get me the dark one with marshmallows?” Chuuya asked after five minutes of waiting, breaking your trail of thought.

You tilted your head to the side in confusion “ Sure, you going somewhere?”

“ Just give me a moment” Chuuya pressed a kiss to your neck, his cold nose making you shiver, before he disappeared into the masses, somehow perfectly blending in despite how lightly dressed he was, on top of wearing his hat and black coat which swayed behind him with each step. Although his clothes were stunning on him, they did make him stand out among the masses of warm coats and gloves. You looked after him before shaking your head and turning back to count the number of heads that were left before it was your turn. Concluding it was ‘many’ you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself missing Chuuya’s embrace more than ever.

It took you another ten minutes until you got hot chocolate for you both. Once you got the two large cups overflowing with goonesses you began facing the dilemma of where you’d find Chuuya. Looking left, then right you made your way towards a small empty table to the side of the stall and set your mugs down there. Before you could reach for your phone, a familiar arm wrapped around your waist, pressing you closely to his chest. “ Hmm smells good. Wait long sweetheart?”

“ Not at all” You smiled as he nuzzled into you before moving back from you. The action confused you: you turned your body to face him, your back leaned against the table momentarily forgetting about the chocolate and the coldness.

“ Here Y/N” Chuuya stated as he held up the paperbag towards you, looking to the side. His face looked flushed, something between embarrassed and guilty, with a redness that not even the chilly autumn wind could achieve.

You looked skeptic for a moment before carefully taking the bag from him. You watched his hand drop to his side and he still wasn’t looking at you, perhaps because he was expecting that you’d scold him for it. In fact you could see him sigh heavily, clenching and unclenching his fist in nervousness.

You turned your attention away from Chuuya and towards the white wrapping tissue which kept the gift inside obscured. With careful fingers you moved the paper aside before you gasped. Inside was the fluffy white scarf, looking even more stunning than it did on the hanger.

“ Ohh Chuuya-baby you shouldn’t have” you mumbled in shock trailing your fingers carefully over the hand embroidered design of a shimmering- glittering snowflake. The material was much softer than you could have imagined. “ It must have been so expensive.”

“ Do you like it?” he asked carefully, still cautious in case he had somehow offended you.

“ I love it” you looked up at him with a huge smile on your face. “ This is the best and most thoughtful gift you’ve ever given me, thank you so so soooo much Chuu!”

He chuckled at your excitement before reaching for the bag, intending to help you wrap yourself up in it. As he draped the warm material over your shoulders you grabbed the front of his jacket and crashed your lips together in a long, grateful kiss. It took him less than a second to reciprocate, his lips moving against yours. The kiss was deep yet sweet and gentle, neither rushed nor sexy-passionate. Still it was a kiss you’d remember for a long time.

After all, there was just something magical about kissing Chuuya in the middle of the autumn market, surrounded by people, lights and under the warmths of the most thoughtful and caring gift your boyfriend had ever gifted you. Even if with each kiss the hot chocolate behind you grew colder and colder..

#bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #sweetober #Chuuya sweetness #caring boyfriend #autumn market #chuuya nakahara #bungou stray dogs chuuya #buying thoughtful gifts #Cold sweetness

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writersundersiege · 3 months

Text

The New Girl in Town: Part 2

Rafe Cameron x F! Reader

if you would like to to keep reading:

The New Girl in Town - Masterlist

Warnings: Drug use implied, talks of stalking,

Summary: It’s been a week since Rafe has seen you and he’s craving just a moment with literally anyone in your family. What will happen when all in the same moment he’s granted the opportunity of your phone number and some time spent with your mom and a mysterious friend from home? Can he change the towns talk to those who are close to you before they decide who he is? Or will Rafe need to fight harder to really become a better citizen in the community for you to take notice?

It’s been a week since Rafe watched you disappear in the car with Jason, your loud music and your lively spirit trailing behind you. Every day, Rafe has been bugging Topper to come back over, and every day, it’s another excuse of “My mom wants me to mow the yard” or “Sarah asked me to help with the fundraiser happening at the county club” an endless amount of excuses.

Honestly, it’s gotten to the point where Rafe asks Sarah himself if she’s asking for Top's help, which is his last resort since conversations with her are always aggravating when she says that she indeed was pestering Topper with plans for the beginning of summer family fundraisers for families in need of new summer clothes and essentials. During this whole conversation, Rafe is getting more annoyed, trying to think about when he’ll be able to make the sly move of asking your dad and brother to golf or really anything to get to know you more before he makes the actual moves on you.

Here is the thing about Rafe: he has a reputation on this island for being a problem child, a loose cannon-rich boy who doesn’t care about anyone but Rafe and his best interest, but somehow, the second he sees you, it’s like a switch clicked. He knew you were the only other thing he may ever care about like this.

You seem so bright despite the horrible thing he’s heard you recently endured; he doesn’t want to see anyone else break that light from you. Another thing about Rafe is that he doesn’t like things he admires ruined, and he admires a lot about you.

At the end of the grueling conversation with Sarah, she asks, “Will you come to help us then?” he gets frustrated, shaking his head and walking to the front door to go to Barry’s for a bit and see if maybe getting something will clear his mind “No Sarah I don’t want to help with some stupid Pouge’s getting summer clothes if they want them they should work harder to get it themselves just like we have and I’m not playing along with your dumb im a philanthropist act” slamming the door behind himself hopping on his bike and peeling off.

Unfortunately, Rafe's undoing was that you were the one who suggested the clothes drive for this year's country club summer service act. At this very moment, Sarah was finalizing plans for that night to be able to distribute clothes to people along the cut with younger kids and some of the teens who are struggling to get new stuff with how prices are.

Sarah shakes her head, reflecting on the infuriating conversation with Rafe, trying to understand why her brother must always be so aggressive with everything. She notices her phone buzzing on her vanity, runs over, and picks it up, not even looking, saying, “Helloooo!” She hears your slight laugh through the phone

“Hey Cameron, I was just calling to tell you everything is ready to go here at the Country Club. Mom and I just finished organizing boxes based on size, and it was a great turnout. Thank you so much for those men, small and medium. Mom was panicking. We wouldn’t have enough of Jason and Dad’s nice shirts to spare.” Sarah agrees, saying, “It was no problem at all. Rafe never cleans his clothes bins from the garage, so he had many things to give things he probably won’t even remember he owns them.” You laugh over the other end of the line. Which unintentionally makes Sarah smile. “Jaz and Rafe sound like two peas in a pod. Maybe we should get them together sometime, although the combination may be a recipe for disaster.” this makes Sarah laugh, and she shakes her head, saying, “Surely it would. The loose cannon and goofball sound like a mess and kinda like that one film you showed me and topper of the two guys making a mess of things.”

Sarah hears you laugh so physically loud through the phone she’s laughing with you; it seems so contagious. “Abbott and Costello,” you say through giggles. “They were my Pop Pops favorite comedians. I have to show you, Laurel and Hardy. That is more so Rafe and Jason, two bafoons who are completely oblivious.” Sarah laughs, humming in agreement with you, not knowing what you are talking about but knowing there is always something new and exciting you're teaching her that she’s never heard of.

All of a sudden, she hears you clearing your throat “You still there, Cameron?” she sits up, realizing she is completely zoned out thinking about the times she’s spent with you and your family, and everything about you guys seems new and exciting, she says, “Yeah, sorry just getting ready to head your way” You hum something small and then turn to something behind the other end of the phone “Alright see you here soon Sarah and Oh—don’t worry about bringing any more volunteers my friend from home made a surprise stop to help me settle before he’s off to Costa Rica for a month so he picked up the spot” Sarah smiled and told you she sees you soon and hung up.

As Sarah prepares to spend her entire evening with you, enjoying your welcoming presence. Rafe sits across from Barry at a small pit fire beside his camper, doing a few lines complaining about everything going on, like Ward paying no mind to him, Sarah playing goodie two shoes to the whole island, Topper following her around like a dog, and most of all he can’t seem to find you or your family anywhere.

For the past week, Rafe has been going places like the market, even the one closer to the cut, to bump into either of your parents; he went to the library twice, hoping he’d maybe see your brother since he remembers he’s in college. Lastly, every day at sun up and sun down, since the day after you left for the ocean, he’s gone to the beach to check for you in the waves. On multiple occasions, he could swear he saw you riding a wave, laughing like you always are (H/T) sticking to your neck and face as some fly behind and around you in the wind and (E/C) squinting as you look forward and balance. In the next second, he blinks, and you're gone like a ghost haunting him, but he never knows if it’s truly there.

Barry sits and listens to Rafe talk about you and the previous time you met and how he’s trying to see you again when he finally cuts him off. “You’re telling me you’ve been on a lowkey stalk fest for days but haven’t even talked to the girl.” Rafe stands looking at him over the fire. As he starts talking, he paces back and forth. “I’ve spoken to her, you fucking idiot, just not enough. I want to make a good impression with her family in hopes-“ Barry chuckles at this part. That’s when Rafe's eyes snap to him, looking enraged enough to jump over the fire at him.

“Chill, Country Club. I find it amusing that you don’t want to smash and pass along with this one; that’s you’re usual motto there, pretty boy. so what makes this girl so different?” Barry is leaning forward, studying the boy across from him. Rafe shakes his head, sitting down and looking at his feet, saying, “You haven’t seen her.”

Suddenly, Rafe's phone rings; an unknown number calling. And he was just about to decline but thinks better of it just in case, by the grace of some god looking over him, it’s you. When he raises the phone to his ear, he hears the slightest sniffle. With his lower tambur, he says, “Hello, who’s this?” he hears what he assumes is a girl's voice clear her throat and then a shuffling of a phone and a man’s voice he knows but can’t place behind the other line “here honey let me do it sweetheart—“ and then the tone as clear as day comes to him as the man speaks.

“Yes, Hello Rafe. Is this Rafe Cameron?” Your dad Charlie was calling him, but why, how, and whose number were you calling him from? He immediately stands at the recognition. “ Yes, sir, this is he. What’s going on? Is (F/N) okay?” he asks in quick succession. Charlie chuckles and says, “Woah, slow down there, son; everybody’s fine (F/N) is not feeling well and needs to lay down, but she was leading the fundraiser, and she knew the only person she could call who’d be kind enough to show up is you” Rafe looks up at the sky cursing every constellation for him not fully listening to Sarah just this once to know it was you who was doing this the whole time, while saying “ I would miss it for the world, sir tell her she can count on me always” Charlie smiles behind the call knowing the implications Rafes makes “ I knew you would my boy I knew you would talk soon” and with that, your Dad hung up.

Rafe was scrambling to grab his bag and helmet, pulling some cash from his pocket and throwing it at Barry. “Thanks, I’ve got to go. Don’t ask.” catching the cash and pulling it from its money clip, Barry laughed and said, “Don’t worry, Country Club, I never did.”

Rafe paid no attention to this comment, though he was too busy strapping his helmet starting, and peeling off to the Country Club in the Upper side of Figure 8 to play a giving hero in hopes you’ll recognize his oh-so-generous and noble acts of community

Or maybe you won’t forget the chatter you hear around town about Rafe and his unfair and unrequited actions towards many before you, but he’s looking forward with hope for the first outcome to blossom into something bigger.

All rights belong to the owners of Netflix and the Outer Banks. I do not own any characters except the family. The fiction is simply for fun. All copyrights belong to the original owners.

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emmyrosee · 2 years

Text

Kiyoomi thinks play fighting is childish.

Fairly standard things, he knows Meian and his partners do it, and he knows atsumu has a track record of losing to Hinata, Bokuto is notoriously playful after a big win, but it never appealed to Kiyoomi like it does them, and in turn, they know better than to test and try his patience.

Unfortunately, for Kiyoomi it seems you don’t get that same message.

It wasn’t his fault Meian needed him so suddenly, messing up the dates for their new sizing for the team jerseys, and he doesn’t want to leave and more than you don’t want him to, but Kiyoomi must oblige for his career’s sake, and for the love of the gods, where the hell did he put his keys-

“Oh, you haven’t left yet?” You hum brattily, and Kiyoomi feels the vein in his head throb.

“No,” he grumbles, a hand carding back his curls as he stands up straight. “Baby, you haven’t seen my keys have you? I could’ve sworn I’d left them-“

“Oh- you mean these keys?” There’s a jingle that prompts the end of your tease, and goosebumps of irritation rise from his skin.

“For fucks sake,” he groans, finally turning to face you. “I’ve been looking all over the place for them, why would you take them?”

“Because I don’t want you to leave,” you shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Which it was, but he’s never going to let you know that.

“Give me my keys, I’m going to be-“

“No.”

His brows shot up in surprise, taken aback by your defiance for his demand. “What do you mean ‘no?’” He snips, taking a step towards you, and snarling when you take one back confidently. In reality, there’s a feeling brewing in his gut at your words, almost like an excitement and eagerness for a challenge. He doesn’t want you to see it though, he’s an adult and there’s no reason for such an emotional response to come from your audacity.

“I’m sorry, what letter is tripping you up?” You say, a mocking brow cocking upwards as you jingle his keys in your fingers. “N. O.”

Oh, you’re so in for it.

“Watch yourself,” he snarls, but the glimmer in his onyx eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and it makes you lick your teeth in excitement. But there’s absolutely nothing, no warning, no thoughts that could prepare him for the low, snarky little words that fall from your lips next.

“Make me.”

“You little brat,” he growls, but he’s unable to fight the smirk on his lips as he drops his bag and absolutely sprints towards you, relishing in your screams as you try to run fast and far from him. He’s an athlete, surely you must’ve known he’d catch up to you, but even if you do, you cackle and shriek in surprise when long fingers grip the back of your shirt and positively yanks you back towards him, threads popping and your legs kicking wildly to escape. It’s unsuccessful, and he’s on full adrenaline and excitement when he pulls you up and over his shoulder, fists banging into his back.

“Since when are you so strong!” You whine around cackles.

“I can physically lift and move Bokuto, you think you’re a problem for me?” His answer comes quick and in-between pants, his cheeks hurt from the grin that splits his face, and even before you can beg and plead for giggly mercy, he hauls you into the bedroom.

He tosses you carelessly enough on the bed to have you scrambling to face him, your eyes glimmering from laughing so much. His heart squeezes, and if he weren’t on absolute adrenaline right now, he would’ve bent down and kissed the giggles out of your mouth.

But alas, he holds himself back and instead, when he lowers his hands to try and grab his keys, yours bat them away, the keys stabbing his knuckles one too many times for his liking.

“Oh you fucking-“ he growls as he flips you back onto your belly to face away from him again, and when you try to flip over with your free arm, he knocks the weight out from under you, pinning the arm without the keys behind your back, the arm with the keys flailing for freedom over the edge of the bed.

“Omi!” You whine around howls of laughter, your arm bent in an awkward angle, but you’re not fighting back as rough as he’d expect, and he takes it as a sign you’re still having fun. He snarls and moves your arm higher up your back to ease the tension, and you merely bury your face in the mattress as you cackle.

Then, a massive paw claps a playful smack on your ass, and he absolutely loves the sound of your shocked scream. “Kiyoomi!” You scold, head whipping around but the grin on your face still beaming wildly. You’re clearly surprised to see him in such a state, but he can tell just by the body language that you love it. “Don’t do that!”

He smirks, “you gonna give me my keys?”

“No! You promised me- OW!”

Another rough smack lands on your butt, and your legs kick out with a giggly “stop it!” to which he prompts another smack. Then, a squeeze to your hips to make you writhe and shriek at the ticklishness. And one final slap when he hears the clatter of his keys hitting the floor.

After deeming you punished enough, Kiyoomi releases you to curl up and giggle on yourself, his pulse beating wildly from the adrenaline and exhilaration pulsing through his blood stream. “Don’t test me again, brat.” He cards back his curls and makes his way over to the dropped keys, and he crouched down to pick them up, planting a kiss on your head as he stands back up. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Who knew the impenetrable Sakusa Kiyoomi could be so playful?” You hum, smiling innocently up at him. He gives you a deadpanned stare and a flick to your head to make you whine.

“Come back to me, ‘kay?” You whisper, sitting up and pouting you lips out for another kiss. He rolls his eyes and complies, a large hand tenderly stroking your jawline, and lips whispering a soft “of course,” against yours.

“I’ll always come back to you… even if you are the bane of my existence.”

——-

@meloomi IM SO SORRY I HAD TO TAG YOU, IF I GO DOWN YOURE COMIN WITH ME-

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lunaviee · 10 months

Text

04. JEALOUSY…?

(with some writing below)

rin states at your instagram post. annoyed.

it’s a weird feeling, he thinks. he doesn’t even know you, so why is he so annoyed at isagi for getting so close? all he knows is that your favorite pen to use is a pale blue one that’s running out of ink soon. and how you get annoyed when that one strand of hair gets in your face. and that you take off your bracelets when you write because they’re uncomfortable. and that he catches you glancing at him sometimes.

oh. okay, maybe he does know a bit about you..but that’s no reason to be so jealous, right? whatever, he doesn’t need this right now. he should focus on school no matter how many times you catch his eye.

————————————————————————

you walk into class and see a worker standing around the area where you would normally sit. you look at your teacher and he holds up a finger, indicating you to wait a moment. so you do.

soon, the worker (which you find out is a remodeler) calls your teacher over and you and your classmates are left conversing with each other.

“what do you think they’re doing?” a voice asks you, trying to start conversation.

you turn around, still keeping your eyes on the two men near your seat “i’m not sure…my guess is-” you freeze. you finally look at who you’re talking to and it’s rin. you’ve only heard him speak once and you were a bit too flustered to remember what he sounded like. he was quiet in class and didn’t even know he existed up until a few weeks ago.

his voice is smooth and low, which makes you just a tad bit nervous…

“uh huh? you were saying?” he questions, raising an eyebrow at you. “oh right. uh my guess is they’re fixing the charging plug next to my desk. it doesn’t work” you finally look into his eyes to answer. his eyes are pretty..icy irises surrounded by long eyelashes.

“hm.” he hums back in response. before either of you could say anything else (if you even wanted to), your teacher makes an announcement.

“alright, all students seated in columns 8-12 are moving desks. everyone else, go to your seat please.”

you turn back to rin and your eyes meet again. you were sat in column 12 and rin was in 10.

“uh do you wanna-” you start.

“yeah sure” rin walks past you and towards 2 empty desks.

even though there were only 36 people in your class, the size of your classroom was able to fit just under 50 students, so finding an empty seat was easy. (you really aren’t sure why your teacher had assigned seats in the first place…)

when you sit down, you take out your notebook and pencil case. well, it seems like you didn’t properly close your pencil case all the way when you last used it, and one of your pens had dropped. you lean over to get it, your head being dangerously close to the desk…

rin sees this and his hand slides over to the edge of the desk while you’re grabbing your pen, making sure you don’t accidentally hit your head.

once you sit back up, rin’s hand is back to its original spot before you can notice it had ever even left. your teacher walks back up to the front of the classroom and assigns a worksheet for the rest of the class period.

“work with a partner if you need to, i’ll be dealing with the remodeling situation.”

the word “partner” makes you glance at rin out of the corner of your eye. unfortunately, his eyes are set on his own paper.

though, his eyes do flicker to your desk as he watches you shake your favorite pen in hopes of using it again before it’s completely out of ink.

PREV | NEXT | MAIN EVENT

oh my god i’m SO sorry i didn’t upload for so long and this chapter SUCKS😭i’ve been so busy recently and writers block definitely doesn’t help

TAGLIST — @jaeheekangslover @disoriented-fish @itzsora @tamimemo @punkhazardlaw @bxddiebloss @userwithlotsoftime @anurst @vvasant @l0v3do11 @reiners-milkbiddies @ilytrinsworld @hyeenct @yunxbin @raidenshogunmommy @livelaughloveisagiyoichi

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #blue lock fluff #rin itoshi smau #itoshi rin smau #infrunami smau

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vamqyr3 · 10 months

Text

↳ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY // 2013. ᴥ

EP 1 .

CW// Yelling, idk it’s angst what do you want, aftermath of Simon dying and leaving you with a kid.

You pour two parts pasta, one part cheese, lined to the backing on the box. Shifting his little feet to lay along the leg wide holes cut through his high chair. “Luke give it a minute, honey.” He’s a thoughtless toddler, without a response. Bits of cereal to fling around on sticky floors, honeyed watermelon and carrot paste. He had been restless since 7 months. Peopled have stopped Inviting you to things, piled next to your water bill and oily napkin bunch. The large of you knew he didn’t deserve the butt end of it. Your nature is casted into stone. From loved, thought of and care for to distant and diseased. Hugged from time to time, yet no one’s trying to lay with crazy.

His father was a dead beat, not his fault. Not yours. His, the fathers, Simons, his fault. It was hardly and appropriate breakfast, now matted to the front of his cotton shark print top.

He’s zipped into the back car seat. You hope to see the day he’s attached to the booster, then left without one. Sad to see it from the front cushions, driving, give or take a new decade.

His school isn’t far it’s the drive that’s hard. One hand to his aid one to the front. Remembering which way to turn, if he was still breathing, did you buckle the left strap? How fast are you going?

The plastic of his fist sized shoes squeak under his foot. Slides past the front gate, squishy playground and over to where you could not see. You’re off today unfortunately. Meant to report to base and check up with whoever from 141 was left with the shortest stick. It was patronizing, the jut of the gas pedal and the stop for ID. You were no child meant for coddling, you just so happen to have a child, one of Simon’s.

”Doing any better?” The walk here made you sick, the air had a smell of dust and rubbing alcohol. Price’s hat made you sick, the pins on his desk slipped down your throat and jabbed you stomach. “How’s Luke?”

“Fine,”

“You should let me n’ Gaz take him out, yeah?”

“Oh then what after that Price?” “Listen,”

“Take my son out for a drink? Show him a few tricks in your big ass truck? Price? I want you to show my child how to load a gun, captain. You know what why don’t you just carry him off to the front lines while you’re at it?” He just sort of stands there, takes in a breath like he’s going to speak and readjusts.

“It’s my day off you know I don’t have to be here,”

“Yes you do,”

“On whose orders?” “Mine,”

“Right, Right the same ones that got Simon killed, it’s all clicking sorry,”

There’s a sort of prickle to those words, it tickles his face and makes wrinkles. “You knew damn well what you were gettin into,”

“Oh my god, how many times are you going to send for me just for us to have this same argument? I hate it, I hate it here. Theres that same goddamn picture that’s been up since our first date. And the fucking Gym still has the same equipment. How many times am I going to look at that stupid ass wall of yours and remember the time Simon put a hole in it? Like I can’t, I look at my sons skin and I worry just how long it takes till all of our grief leaves scars on it.”

Price finally lets go of that breath. “Look, the boys are worried,”

You were too, shifting to anchor yourself. No part of this was supposed to leave you gasping at night. To have your son set In a deep driven drudge of speechless resentment. To have him shielded yet still affected. Up asking why he couldn’t show off his dads sporting gear like Hunter could. Luke has no father, he never did. And that wasn’t your fault or his.

“I have to pick my son up,”

FIN. // EP 2. // MASTERLIST.

@bootboob @yippeerrrs @ghostsfavhoe

@the-faceless-bride @konigsblog @russadler

ect… I couldnt find all of them.. send in an ask for tag list

#cod ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon riley x you #ghost call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #cod #cod mw22

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geeks-universe · 1 year

Text

Kiss of Death pt. 4

Anthony Bridgerton x Assassin!Reader

Society has certain expectations of you. If only they knew of your nighttime activities…

That, as it were, was not possible.

Viscount Bridgerton was only afforded a couple of extra hours of sleep following your late night encounter. He still rose relatively early, only to find out from his mother that you had left nearly half an hour ago with an apology and a promise to meet them at the ball that evening.

You were in a rush for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, sleep rarely found itself in the silent hours of the night, and when it did, it was fitful. You couldn’t rest, not until you completed your mission. So, you were run ragged by the time the evening approached.

Business was not as usual, and you didn’t know when the London brotherhood had descended into such chaos, but you imagined the famous Edward Kenway might’ve had something to do with it.

His house had been a makeshift headquarters for the time being, and you’d been hard at work establishing both targets and allies.

Being a prominent member of society, however, came with certain expectations. Even a princess couldn’t publicly denounce societal norms, at least not so boldly, but especially not while trying to maintain anonymity.

The Templars had been amassing power in London for some time, and with the brotherhood as desecrated there as it was, you needed to remain unknown.

Which is exactly why you found yourself cursing God above as you tried to re-stitch the gash in your side. The injury was from the night before, but Graham, the resident medic, had stitched it together. In your hurry to return to the Bridgerton home for the ball, you’d ripped them back open.

Now, you were certainly no medical expert, but you’d had to resort to crude stitches a number of times before to prevent yourself from bleeding out. A part of you was thankful for the modest rhetoric of present society, if only because it shielded the many scars a lifetime of fighting had earned you.

Silvery lines mapped your skin, different shapes and sizes, coalescing to a single story of the life you lead. It was a hard life, almost always dangerous, and mentally demanding, but in a world that tried to tie your life value to your marriage prospects, you were damn proud of it.

A knock interrupted your musings, and you cursed loudly as you whipped around to face the intruder, a knife in your hand before you could logically reason that an attacker would decidedly not knock.

Benedict Bridgerton, the middle son, held both hands up in surrender, his eyes blown wide as he took in the scene before him. At first, common etiquette took over, and he apologized for interrupting, and turned away to protect your decency.

Then, he seemed to process what he actually saw.

“I’ll get the doctor,” he proclaimed, already a step out the door.

You didn’t let him get any further.

Mindful of your wound, and the single stitch that still needed to be fully patched up, you vaulted over the bed.

“No doctor,” you stopped him, pulling him back into the room with a force he didn’t know you were capable of, and then leaning against the door.

He opened his mouth, eyes blown wide in surprise, then closed it once more.

“Pardon my indecency,” you spoke eloquently, gesturing to the bloody mess on your torso. You weren’t fully bare, but you were certainly missing a few layers.

“I really think you need a doctor,” Benedict argued, no longer shielding his eyes. “How did-“

“I will explain,” you promised, forcing his gaze to yours. “Everything. But I need to get to the ball.”

“Maybe that’s not-“

“Benedict,” you interrupted sternly, presenting the needle and thread you were using in one hand. “I promise that I’m fine, but if I don’t make it to the ball soon, I will have bigger worries.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, that he needed to advocate for your health. Instead, he sighed, then nodded.

“What do you need?”

“An escort, for one,” you grinned, pointing to the intricate dress you’d laid out earlier. “And discretion. I’ll tell you everything, but you have to promise you won’t breathe a word to another soul.”

Benedict mulled over the proposition, as he leaned against the bedpost and watched with a morbid fascination as you threaded the last stitch in.

“As long as there’s no danger to my family, I can keep a secret.”

You flashed him a smile, then fixed your slip to the proper position.

“First order of business, I need help with this corset.”

He raised a brow, sure you were joking. When it became evident that you were absolutely serious, his smile faded.

“What would the lords and ladies of the ton think of this?” Benedict teased, helping you dress in the lavish gown you had chosen for the ball.

“I’m sure,” you grunted as the pressure of the corset pushed against the wound, “They’d disapprove of a great many of my hobbies.”

“Having men dress you is a hobby, then?”

There was an easy air between the two of you, like you were fast friends. It reminded you of the stark difference between him and his older brother. Where you could joke along with Benedict easily, every interaction with Anthony was charged, electric even.

“Quite the opposite,” you hummed, and Benedict laughed loudly.

Fast friends, indeed.

You were sure if it were any other Bridgerton, there would be more questions and demands. You were also sure they’d be a little more sober.

But, as it were, Benedict was exactly who you needed at the present. He offered help with no judgment and little questions.

There would be a time and a place where you owed him both, but for now your objective was set, and Benedict certainly didn’t get in your way.

The carriage ride to the ball was tense, at best, and suspicious, at worst. Your fingers flexed against the deep red fabric of your gown, and even through the many, many layers of finery, you felt the pressure upon your leg.

Still, Benedict remained silent, his mouth pulled in a tight line. It was difficult for him to do so, but he held his tongue. For an inexplicable reason, he believed you would tell him the truth, and that was enough to earn his silence.

“Will you be my first dance, Benedict?”

Your voice was gentle against the harsh squeaking of the old carriage. One corner of his lips pulled up in a crooked smile, the street lamps twinkling in his eyes.

“I would be delighted.”

You breathed a laugh, enjoying the last few moments of peace before braving the storm. Despite what your refined birth might suggest, you would never be accustomed to the duties you had as Princess. In a ballroom, you played the part you had to perfectly, but it would only ever be an act. You never felt more like yourself as you did when you had your gear on, hurdling towards the earth in a leap of faith, trusting your judgment and quick wit to grant you a safe landing.

The beating of your heart, the widening of your eyes, the perfect control over your muscles; it made you feel alive.

All too soon, the great pillars of the Craven estate towered outside, signaling your arrival at the ball. The carriage slowed to a stop, the halting of the jostling a minute reprieve from the ache on your abdomen.

Just smile.

Your lips tugged up- not with unbridled joy, but rather polite disinterest- as you took a steadying breath. Benedict got out first, scanning over your features quickly before he extended a hand, helping you out.

You didn’t wince, didn’t even move a muscle, as the new stitches pulled uncomfortably, a dull ache settling against your ribs.

“That’s incredible,” Benedict commented under his breath, leading you past the stragglers outside.

You were late to the ball, but fashionably so. Some of the more aggressive mamas were fixing their daughter’s hair or gowns before they entered. They all dropped to a curtsy as you walked by, murmuring about your dress.

“What is?” You inquired, not even sparing him a glance.

Your shoulders were straight, your head held high. Years of instincts made sure you took particular note of your surroundings, and escape routes if need be, but to everyone else you looked calm- content even- as you glided towards the doors, the intricate train of your dress nearly dragging on the ground. The bodice of the dress looked to be made of red rose petals, their overlapping covering from your wrist to your waist, then cascading down over the layers of red silk. The gown left your shoulders exposed, and just enough cleavage to be deemed tasteful. The placement was careful enough to avoid any noticeable scars, while still being tantalizing to the eligible men.

If only they knew.

“It is truly impossible to tell the position you were in just moments ago.”

The curve of your lips pulled up a little more.

“Everyone has their secrets, Benedict,” you replied quietly, muttering a thanks as the door was opened for you and him. “Some are just better at hiding it.”

As you and the middle Bridgerton boy descended the stairs into the sparkling marble ballroom, the music paused, and they all turned to stare at you.

The queen wasn’t present, luckily. Your father had sent a letter in advance to her, so that it wouldn’t be seen as disrespectful when you didn’t visit her first. You would have to make a royal visit sooner rather than later, but, ironically enough, you tried to avoid royalty. In your experience, too many had been direct supporters of the Templar cause.

You identified as many people as you could- and those you couldn’t, you assessed what sort of threat they might pose. Even as the music resumed and the hushed whisper that’d fallen over the ball had all but dissipated, you found the noise faded to the background.

Somewhere in the chaos of your thoughts and the murkiness of your fear Benedict slipped a dance card around your wrist.

The eyes of paintings seemed to watch you and the expansive ceilings closed in, suffocating you in a way you’d been before.

28.

28 possible escape routes.

The thought was enough to calm the fear swelling in your heart. Once, you would’ve been just as comfortable in the crowd. Once, you were fearless.

Then, your mother…

The dark eyes of Viscount Bridgerton dragged you out of your mind before you could be swept up in the current of memories as he approached you. He bowed deeply, but his gaze didn’t stray.

Hot desire burned there, his eyes slow to draw your figure. He tried to conceal it, like he, too, was startled by the air that crackled with intensity between you.

“I was starting to think you’d decided to forgo tonight’s ball as well.”

There was such a simple curiosity in his words that you couldn’t contain the gentle laughter that bubbled to your lips.

“I suppose I have been rather absent.” You admitted, casting a glance to your escort. “Alas, your brother promised me a dance, so I simply had to attend.”

The frown on Anthony’s mouth could be categorized as suspicious, but Benedict shot him a wink and swept you away, mindful of your hidden injuries.

“I dare say,” Benedict leaned in conspiratorially, one hand placed in yours while the other rested on the small of your back. “You’ve caught Anthony’s interest.”

“His interest?” You echoed, a brow arched. “Or his ire?”

Where Benedict’s moves were graceful and practiced, yours were fluid- the dance of someone who was familiar with precise movements. You were sure you made quite the spectacle, even more so to the eyes of men who wished to marry the rich and beautiful.

“Perhaps,” Benedict laughed, spinning you with ease, “they are not so different.”

Even with the series of spins you performed, you managed to catch Anthony’s stare with each turn of your body. It would’ve been impossible not to, considering his attention had yet to leave you.

“I do believe we’ve managed to anger your brother without a word,” you slyly mentioned, bowing to Benedict as the crescendo drew to an end.

He returned the gesture, flicking a quick look to where you’d stitched your wound together earlier.

“The poets might call that jealousy,” he said, nodding in his brother’s direction, as if to dismiss the conversation.

You hesitated briefly, swallowing against the guilt and anxiety in your throat, before offering a friendly squeeze of your hand.

Tomorrow.

You would tell Benedict the entirety of the truth tomorrow.

Tonight, however, you had a role to play.

You squared your shoulders, raising your head high as you began walking confidently, steadily, in the direction of Anthony Bridgerton. The steel of the twin daggers you concealed against your thighs burned, a gentle reminder of the life you lead.

Anthony was dangerous.

His eyes made you weak in the knees, a bit too much like the lady you were expected to be. He was an attractive man, sinfully so, and you found yourself inexplicably drawn to him.

Perhaps it was the way he challenged you. Or, perhaps, your mind was simply clouded by a haze of lust.

Whatever the case may be, you would not fall so easily to his charms.

“Princess,” Anthony greeted, very obviously shooting his brother a look first.

“Viscount Bridgerton,” you answered, a teasing smile on your lips.

His eyes narrowed a fraction, tension in his brow as he tried to decipher what you could possibly be feeling at the moment. He wouldn’t be able to tell, though. Years and years of training, of learning to wear the mask that most suited you, made you impossible to read.

“You owe me a dance.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t expected him to be so bold. Then again, Anthony, it seemed, had a habit of catching you off guard.

“I don’t recall ever owing you anything,” you shot back evenly, unable to stop yourself from playing into his game.

“You stay in my family home,” he reminded you, mirth shining in those soulful eyes of his.

“Are you suggesting I find other arrangements?” You couldn’t keep a straight face, cursing yourself as a sultry smile spread on your lips.

“No,” he noted the flock of men waiting for your conversation to end so that they might engage with you. “But I am keeping your suitors at bay. Surely, that warrants a dance.”

Your eyes didn’t need to leave his to notice the men congregating a polite distance away, patiently awaiting a chance to speak with you, or perhaps dance. Either way, you didn’t want to. In this case, you didn’t have much of a choice, appearances and all that.

“My knight in shining armor,” you deadpanned, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

“A dance then?”

There was a hopefulness there, and a part of yourself you thought you’d long since abandoned twinged desperately.

“Patience, my dear Anthony, is a virtue,” you ran your tongue along your teeth, watching his gaze flick down, tracing the movement with his eyes.

“Perhaps we should tell that to them.”

His smile widened mischievously, and before you could question why, he waved over the nearest suitor. The tall blonde-haired gentleman looked startled, before he rushed over to introduce himself and place his name on your dance card.

You glared at Anthony over the man’s shoulder, physically restraining yourself from doing something childish like sticking your tongue out at him when he had the audacity to shrug.

The rest of the ball continued in a similar manner. Anthony watched on as suitor after suitor approached, all far too eager for your attention. He ignored the twinge of jealousy, telling himself over and over that he didn’t want you in any manner, and therefore he had no reason to feel envious of all the men holding you throughout the night.

It didn’t help, of course, but he’d gotten decent at burying his feelings deep beneath his own stubborn ideas.

“You didn’t ask her to dance,” Daphne noted beside him, leaving her own entourage of suitors.

He knew that look she was giving him. It was the same look his mother gave him before she meddled in his business. It seemed Daphne had inherited a carbon copy of that expression.

“I would think, dear sister, you have your own dances to worry about.”

Daphne smiled thoughtfully.

“It’s okay to like her,” she replied kindly.

The soft tone, and unexpected observation, caused Anthony to stare at his sister for a moment. A moment too long, considering she left him in his confusion, offering no further explanation.

The rest of the night he was left in silence, a lonely shadow watching over the bright ambience. He felt starkly out of place, and was reminded once again that he felt constrained, rather than freed, by the responsibilities on his shoulders.

He released a quiet breath, lingering near his mother as the night drew to a conclusion. You were lost somewhere in the fray, and, much to his displeasure, he couldn’t seem to find you.

When he began to usher his family home, he noted with some amount of curiosity that you had already left, disappeared with only a quick explanation to Daphne.

He felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

Surely, you hadn’t snuck away with a suitor, right? The thought was unpleasant, so much so that the sour look on his face kept his family from engaging with him on the carriage ride home.

He had hoped that perhaps you would stop by late into the night, as you had previously, but Anthony slept through the night with no interruptions.

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