#ANYWAY again if you read all this we're holding hands

[imagineitdearies]

~ A Flawed Eternity ~

(AKA drabbles set in the Perfect Slaughter universe. 🩵 Special thanks to @secretbraintwin for the ko-fi request! 🩵 Also as a love letter to you PS enjoyers still out there--as braintwin put it, "this is terrible but we're going to help each other through it" is a sentiment many of us could use right now.)

~

In which Astarion gets worse and worse at not being in love, i.e. Chapter 22. Content warning for dubious consent.

~

Astarion didn’t like magic on principle, after how many ways it had been used to make his life a living Hell. Not that he would dissuade Tyrus from all the useful tricks the drow creatively employed to make their existence a bit less miserable. To feed Astarion, even, despite what it cost him.

And until recently—until Cazador took Tyrus away for an entire year, and then just a single, life-ruining night—the little magic Astarion had a knack for seemed useless anyway. Right up until he started secretly researching Polymorph for the chance to give Tyrus something for once, and happened upon Prestidigitation in the opening chapters of an arcane book.

It felt dangerously easy, practicing the incantation and hand somatics just a few times one morning until Astarion felt the spark of something in his hands. But that was just before the door opened and Tyrus walked in late with a flat, empty look in his eyes, pulling Astarion away from the little discovery.

Astarion tried to cheer him with a warm, “Good morrow, love,” as Tyrus shut the door, wondering if he should share his private studies now to lift the drow’s dour spirits. 

But Astarion quickly forgot the notion when he saw Tyrus’s face crumple into something terrified and broken as their eyes met.

Astarion didn’t think further before snapping the book shut and tossing it onto the bedside pile, going upright. He had to hold himself back from a faster speed, really, not wanting to rush Tyrus despite his hurry to reach him.

In the meantime, Tyrus was murmuring something Astarion only belatedly realized must have been a few spells, his dark ruby eyes flashing with just the smallest twinkle before he stared at the wall to Astarion’s right. And the terror faded back behind that flat, empty expression again, in the bare seconds before Astarion stood in front of him.

“Tyrus?” When Tyrus made no answer, Astarion reached out—then stopped himself. “ What’s happened?” he entreated instead, stepping just a bit closer.

Finally, Tyrus looked at him again, his pale brow furrowing as he asked the last thing Astarion expected: “Can I kiss you?”

Astarion wanted to kiss him every day. He wanted to hold him and touch him, make him smile and bring him pleasure. He wanted Tyrus, with a true desire he’d thought had been lost decades ago.

But in his imaginings of how it would go, the first time they tried intimacy again after Cazador’s assault on Tyrus, Astarion had pictured kissing him after some lovely day of reading stories, or listening to Tyrus ramble about the arcane, or once Astarion had provided Tyrus with a bit of blood.

Not when Tyrus looked the way he did now: scared, resigned—hopeless.

Astarion could only make terrible guesses as to why. “Darling, what’s the matter?” he asked, just barely stopping himself from reaching out a hand and cupping the other man’s cheek.

“I . . .” Tyrus grimaced, looking further crestfallen as he admitted, “I just wanted to ask, before I explain.”

Explain what, part of Astarion wanted to ask right away. But the rest of him didn’t look forward to bad news. Clearly, Tyrus was holding onto something terrible. And the fact that he wanted to kiss Astarion first was concerning on top of strange—but as Astarion looked over Tyrus’s face, he could somehow tell the question was genuine. The desire for Astarion was there, only half-smothered by a thousand other worries and fears and needs at the moment.

It wasn’t close to the ideal kiss Astarion had imagined . . . but outside of whatever else was going on, it seemed to fully be Tyrus’s choice.

With that knowledge, “How could I say no?” 

Astarion took the chance to hold him a bit, on top of joining their lips. And just sliding his palm to press against the small of Tyrus’s back felt like so much combined with the way Tyrus was kissing him, his lips clinging to every movement of Astarion’s as if unwilling to let the kiss end. Whilst a growing flame of desire flared within him, Astarion wrapped his other hand around Tyrus’s shoulders, felt a greedy satisfaction as Tyrus reached up to do the same, and wondered if he needed to know about whatever Tyrus thought should be explained. If they couldn’t just lay down and get lost in each other, just like this, instead.

But Tyrus broke from the kiss and spoke poison into the air: “He’s watching.”

The fire in Astarion’s belly abruptly died a cold, damp death.

The gift of permission into the favorite spawn chamber, so long as Tyrus allowed it, was already tarnished by why Cazador had granted it. And anytime Astarion forgot and felt himself growing too happy, a haunted look would cross Tyrus’s eyes and remind him. Or worse, something dead would flatten the drow’s expression. And Astarion had nothing save useless words and the futile effort of gathering gold to offer.

Nothing, save his own blood.

Considering how long it’d been since Cazador’s fuck-feeding of the poor man, Astarion had guessed another encounter was imminent. Tyrus would have little chance to resist if he didn’t get a single drop of sustenance in the meantime—and perhaps this was the price.

Maybe Astarion should be grateful it was him Tyrus was likely being forced on again, not Cazador himself. 

He wasn’t.

“He wants us to do something,” Tyrus explained, confirming his guess, and Astarion felt abruptly nauseous. Grateful in a rational way that Tyrus was telling him the truth, while also furious in a childish way that he couldn’t have continued on in blissful ignorance. “For me, to—to—”

Astarion’s mind flashed through a dozen terrible possibilities, and suddenly he had to know, so his mind could replace the disgusting, terrifying memory of hurting Tyrus in the kennels with anything else. “For you to what, Tyrus?” he asked, keeping his voice slow and careful despite his inner rage.

It burst out of Tyrus like a convoluted geyser, then. Something to do with Cazador blackmailing Tyrus into performing oral sex on him, first with the promise of blood, then a threat on Astarion, before settling on the likely-more satisfying conclusion of getting to watch the both of them in misery while Tyrus went to Astarion instead.

Not so bad as Astarion had feared, truly. But the misery on Tyrus’s face made sense—Astarion knew the withering, soul-crushing pain of guilt well, despite his own best efforts to cultivate a bit of sadism to counter it. With how much Cazador pulled the strings, the few semblances of choice he offered were almost always equally terrible, detrimental to the soul. But certainly in this case, Tyrus had correctly chosen the lesser of two evils, he thought.

Not that Tyrus seemed to believe it. Either that, or they had already run out of time—for then Tyrus began moving to his knees in front of Astarion as if to start things here. With such a miserable, forlorn expression on his pretty face, Astarion didn’t think even a direct compulsion from Cazador would manage to stir interest in his groin right now.

“Tyrus,” Astarion entreated, putting a hand on the man’s robed shoulder as he checked, “can you wait?”

Tyrus’s eyes widened in sudden horror. “Yes, sorry, whatever you’d like,” he said in a hurried, guilty tone, head ducked as he rose back up and nodded.

Astarion couldn’t stand to see him so unsure, so afraid, when he could still do something about it. So he took a page out of the drow’s own book and pulled Tyrus in, wrapping arms tight around him and feeling his throat tighten at the slight tremor he could feel in Tyrus’s body. 

“That’s alright,” he assured carefully, biting back his usual indignation at useless apologies. Now wasn’t the time to chide Tyrus; it was the time to do everything in his power to make this a neutral or even good experience, if that was possible. “It’s just, the first and only time we did something like this you seemed . . . very hurt, afterwards. Do you remember?” he asked, though it was highly unlikely Cazador would make Tyrus forget anything about initiation. “I even very uncharacteristically agreed to stay a while after, I felt so terrible leaving you in that state. And that was before the—the whipping, the party, and Cazador.”

Tyrus winced against him, even as he mumbled, “I’ll be fine,” into the crook of Astarion’s neck.

But Tyrus was trembling even harder at the reminder, and Astarion refused to simply weather through this, to just try and minimize damage like he had the first time. It hadn’t destroyed them before, but that was likely because nothing had been built yet to destroy. If they just numbed themselves and behaved like rote, obedient animals now, he had a feeling Tyrus wouldn’t be able to enjoy intimacy together ever again. Maybe, neither would he.

So Astarion let out a scoff and pulled from the hug to grab one of Tyrus’s hands, nodding down at how Tyrus’s fingers shook. “Will you?” he pushed back.

Tyrus didn’t answer right away, Astarion was happy to see. The drow’s pale brow furrowed while his eyes began flicking about. Calculating, if Astarion had to guess, in a quick, intelligent, self-aware manner that reminded Astarion of one reason why he was so deeply fond of the man.

The fear was slowly replaced by a small but firm resolve in his expression, before Tyrus asked, “Could you hold me, after?”

And there exemplified yet another reason. 

While the warmth in Astarion’s chest was just as terrifying as it was wonderful and precious and rare, what could he do but lean into it and promise, “After? After you can have whatever you’d like, my love.”

By now, he knew better than to think Tyrus would want the act reciprocated, even if Astarion would happily even their score that way. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to give Tyrus what he truly needed, if the arcane text was correct in saying Polymorph was not a self-casted spell only.

Once they were on the bed—Astarion purposefully on his back to impose the least amount of control, Tyrus kneeling with hesitant movements between his spread legs—Astarion wistfully thought of how he’d imagined their first array into consensual, sexual pleasure. They’d just start out kissing, like they used to when he snuck down to visit in the spawn dormitory, until Tyrus instinctively started grinding against him. Then Astarion would sneak a hand into his trousers, kiss his neck and ears until Tyrus was a whimpering mess again, except this time take him in hand . . .  

It didn’t matter. Instead, no instincts would be allowed save the one to protect, Astarion sternly reminded himself.

But then Tyrus leaned down and just kissed him for a while. And oh, how dearly Astarion had missed every second of this. It wasn’t a mechanical, precise act to satisfy his prey; it wasn’t a loathsome, dominating assault from Cazador. It wasn’t even a performance to please their unwanted audience—Astarion doubted Cazador was enjoying this part. It was simply something soft and warm and blooming between them, growing in passion with slow but reciprocated care. 

Astarion didn’t think twice about it, when he felt Tyrus pulling his shirt loose from his trousers, stroking the skin of his belly under it with soft fingertips. Just felt a swift punch of arousal, once Tyrus broke away to lean down and trail kisses there with his even softer lips instead. By the time Tyrus’s hand trailed lower, Astarion could already feel his cock hardening. And with just a few strokes of Tyrus’s hand over the fabric, it was starting to strain against his trousers.

Once Tyrus had unbuttoned them he hesitated, however. His eyes began to wander about the room, body tensing—remembering, as Astarion suddenly was too, now, who exactly his performance needed to please.

But Cazador apparently hadn’t given them any sort of timetable, and Astarion prided himself in being a seasoned expert at finding loopholes in the bastard’s commands.

“Tyrus,” Astarion murmured, “come back up here,” smiling at him as Tyrus gusted out a sigh and gratefully crawled up his body again. Then Astarion eagerly went back to showering the drow in kisses, on his lips and down his neck while Astarion removed the last barrier of clothing between them and what unfortunately needed to happen next.

Only on Tyrus’s timetable, however. Astarion would be happy to kiss forever—until Cazador gave up his hiding spot, banged down their door, and made them suffer the consequences, even. Rather that, than prod and persuade and gently pressure Tyrus into it for the sake of minimal pain, like Astarion had their first time. He loved . . . he cared for Tyrus much too deeply now for that. 

Where Astarion’s self-preserving nature had run off to, he didn’t know—which only seemed to prove Cazador’s point about things like love only making a person weak. 

But maybe, just maybe, whatever would replace it could be just as strong.

Astarion wasn’t to find out that day—for, a couple minutes later, Tyrus did pull away of his own accord again. And every touch of his hands and his mouth that followed was a painful reminder to Astarion that he hadn’t lost enjoyment of sex. He simply couldn’t call any of what he’d done in the last eight decades something close to it.

Tyrus went slow, of course, some touches starting hesitant, but he didn’t look to be retreating into the back of his mind or reliving some terrible memory, at least. Especially when trying to fit more of Astarion in his mouth, he didn’t seem very at ease—and if this was just the two of them, Astarion would have told him to not bother with more than the head if he didn’t want to. Given everything, he simply kept an eye on Tyrus and made sure to hold his hips perfectly still as the drow set his own pace.

But once a rhythm picked up, Astarion admittedly couldn’t pay attention to the subtle indications of how Tyrus was doing when the mere sight of him taking Astarion in deeper was enough to wash Astarion’s senses in sharp, full-body pleasure. And beyond the sight, the feel of his wet, warm mouth, the tight circle of his lips, and the steady strokes of his hand around the base of Astarion’s cock—it was enough to pull thoughtless, brazen words of affection from Astarion’s lips as he smoothed away the other elf’s silky hair from his face and rode the building waves of pleasure.

Astarion was fairly certain he attempted to warn Tyrus when he was close, but to no avail. Tyrus only seemed to take him in deeper, more determinedly, all at once until the pleasure reached a tipping point and suddenly flooded through Astarion’s entire body. He didn’t think much after that as he groaned through the consuming, bright pleasure of it, vaguely aware of Tyrus dutifully swallowing and continuing to gently stroke with his mouth and hand as Astarion shuddered through a slow, glowing comedown.

Eventually the sensations carried over into over-sensitivity, not prolonged pleasure, not that Astarion had the presence of mind to explain that to Tyrus. He only reached down and nudged at the man’s shoulder, sighing in relief as the stimulation stopped.

That sigh caught in his throat, when Astarion heard Tyrus suddenly speak in a hoarse, deadened tone, informing him: “This was a gift from your master.”

Then the afterglow sputtered out as quick as water over a flame.

Tyrus had put a hand over his own mouth, his eyes wide as silver platters before squeezing shut the next moment in clear shame. But Astarion didn’t need to see such a reaction, to know exactly who sent the message.

Every good, temporary enjoyment he’d felt during the act just made him angry now. But of course, Cazador wanted them to be intimate on his terms. But of course, he couldn’t just allow Tyrus to do this to Astarion instead without having the last word. And of course, he had to remind Astarion in yet another visceral way, that he’d poisoned this tree from its very roots.

Yet somehow, Astarion kept hoping the fruits of their relationship wouldn’t ruin them both? Cazador was somewhere laughing at Astarion for his own stupidity, right now.

Somehow, he did still hope, Astarion realized whilst quickly redressing and running to fetch something he could wrap around Tyrus’s trembling shoulders. Somewhere along the way, it had become second nature to fight for something he could only hope for, to always put someone else before himself—even to learn a bit of magic, after all these years.

As Astarion tried to cast Prestidigitation on the blanket in his hands, a small voice in his head whispered, What else could you call that, but love?

[icarusflewsworld]

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 4 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

I hope you like it! Don't hesitate to let me know if you prefer the OC to become y/n and/or gender neutral.

Also, I apologize for any mistakes you might find, I'm just a French girl doing her best with Google Translate and her average score of 5 in English classe.

! Don't forget to read the previous chapters ! : Here

Happy reading!

Chapitre 4

Luxiana laughed silently as she made an apologetic face at the three Illyrians, asking them silently to forgive Nesta's behavior. 

They sat down around the table, leaving Tamlin's sleeping body on the ground, which Lucien and Feyre had gently put his back against a wall, waiting for him to wake up. Nesta had taken her place at the end of the table, and Elain at her side soon found herself facing Lucien. Feyre positioned herself at the redhead's side and Rhysand, to Feyre's dismay, took his place beside her. Cassian and Azriel sat in front of them, with Luxiana at the end of the table between Rhys and Cassian.

Dinner was very tense. Nesta didn’t stop throwing cutting remarks at Feyre and Lucien defended her, although he was quieter with Elain, to whom he only gave blushing glances. 

As for Cassian, Rhysand and Azriel, who understood nothing of the animosity between the sisters, remained silent, not caring how Feyre was treated or what had happened to them. That said, giving sideways glances at the pretty blonde at their side, the three Illyrians could see that she’d lowered her head. Their soulmate seemed saddened by the quarrel between the three Archerons, and this was what made them curious and wanting to know more about the situation. 

Azriel tried to find out more and Elain vaguely explained that they didn’t take care of Feyre when they should have. Cassian was irritated to see the situation impact his soul mate, so he wasn’t able to restrain himself from throwing bad remarks at the viper who was their host. Rhysand, as a good high lord, had to contain his anger despite wanting to do the same as Cassian, and so, he deviates the conversation to the subject of the queens, the meeting and the letter he would like to send them. 

Luxiana kept her eyes focused on her plate, her head bowed, her eyes sad. She didn’t listen to any of the conversation, her thoughts still focus on what Feyre told her she'd been through in the past few months. She was sad, and she knew she couldn't totally hide her sadness when she raised her head from time to time to pretend to listen to the sisters' words, but she couldn't stop her heart from breaking. She had let Feyre suffer. She failed to protect her despite the fact that Feyre saved her life. She couldn't make the same mistake again. She couldn't let Feyre go back on the other side of the wall. At least, not alone. 

“Write the letter to the queens, Elain and I will go post it tomorrow. We're leaving,” said Nesta, rising from the table with an air of disdain that allowed Luxiana to shake her head and come back to herself. “Luxiana will show you your rooms.” 

They both disappeared, allowing the atmosphere in the room to lighten a little. 

Feyre turned a somewhat shocked gaze on Luxiana, realizing something. “Do you live here?”

Luxiana nodded, smiling. “They offered it to me when they realized I was sticking to them all the time. Besides, I'd almost settled here in spite of them anyway, so it was easier to keep an eye on them.”

“Wow,” exclaimed Cassian with shining eyes, “you've managed to charm that viper?” 

He was undoubtedly talking about Nesta, which caused Luxiana to burst out laughing uncontrollably. 

Cassian began to feel pride swell in his chest at the hilarity he had provoked in the blonde. Azriel couldn't believe her ears. How was it possible to have such a melodious laugh and look so beautiful? Rhysand had to hold on to the table with both hands, his whole body tickling. 

“Do you doubt my capacity for seduction, Commander of the Armies? I can charm anyone when I want to,” Luxiana said with a smirk, winking at the brunette with the red siphons.

Cassian had to brace himself to keep the member between his thighs from swelling. This woman was his soul mate, damn it, he could feel it in his bones, in his heart, under his skin. 

Azriel felt a wave of jealousy and anger devour him from the inside. He didn't want her to charm anyone, just him, and she'd already succeeded very well.

Cassian was his best friend, but Rhysand could have sworn he'd have ripped his skin off if he wasn't also his soulmate's mate.  

“You haven't changed a bit,” exclaimed Feyre.

“What?” smiled Luxiana, already knowing full well what her best friend was going to say.

“Stop flirting with everyone,” mocked Feyre. 

The three brothers couldn't help but tense up even more, gritting their teeth. They really didn't like hearing that their mate had already flirted with men before them. They felt even more irritated than before. Although Cassian's ego took a whack at the understanding that she didn’t only flirt with him and that he has then nothing special, his disappointment was rapidly replaced by sharp anger and all-consuming frustration. Azriel had the irrational urge of wanting to find her previous lovers and rip off their hands, eyes and tongues. Rhysand had to restrain his power to explode around him and kill every man in the land because some of them had once laid eyes on his soul mate. 

No matter how much they tried to reassure themselves that this woman was far too charming to have never had a relationship before, the idea that other men had already laid hands on her seemed to plunge them into an incomprehensible rage. They were so jealous that it made them feel as if they were being torn into a thousand little pieces. It was a completely strange, crazy and incoherent sensation. Illyrians were possessive, but the way they were with that girl although they didn't even know her was already far too insane. As if they could feel more emotions than before... As if… As if their feelings were multiplied by three. 

***

Luxiana gave a room to Feyre, who hoped to be joined by Tamlin during the night, and left Lucien in another room with a polite smile. 

“Are the three of you going to sleep together?” asked Luxiana, opening the door to the largest room in the house to allow the Illyrians access.

“Yes, as we don't know the place, it would be safer for us to stay together,” replied Rhysand. 

The three brothers entered the room, examining it from floor to ceiling, then turned back to the blonde unable to take their eyes off her for too long.

“Unless you invite me to sleep in your room,” Cassian whispered seductively to the blonde.

Luxiana returned his expression. She really wasn't intimidated by Cassian or his obvious way of flirting with her, and he loved it. 

“My room's at the end of the corridor, you can sleep there if you want, but unfortunately I won't be there tonight.” 

The three Illyrians froze, tensing their muscles, trying to hide their irritation. Why the hell wouldn't she be in her room tonight? Whose room would she be in?  

“Are you leaving?” questioned Azriel, frowning and gritting his teeth.

“Indeed, I must...” Luxiana began hesitantly, “...go and do something.”

“In the middle of the night?” grumbled Rhysand, squinting with incomprehension. “What kind of thing do you have to do?”

The blonde lowered her eyes for a second, her empty gaze shining with a glint of sadness. “The kind of thing that's not going to do me any good if you ask me, but... I've got things to elucidate before…”

She shook her head before saying too much. She didn't know if she could trust them, and anyway, what she was going to do with her life, how much she wanted to protect Feyre or the goodbyes she was going to give tonight were none of their concern.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel didn't like this at all. Luxiana remained mysterious about her occupations and distorted by a bitter taste of jealousy on their palates and a vice in their guts, they felt like they had a bad feeling. They really didn't like it.

“Isn't it dangerous for humans to walk alone in the streets in the middle of the night, especially for a woman as pretty as you?” asked Cassian, clasping his hands behind his back so he could clench his fists without her noticing.

Luxiana shrugged mockingly. “It is, but I'm in a good mood today, I shouldn't be attacking anyone.” 

Cassian smiled for a second, he loved her confidence, but he soon lost it. He and his brothers were no longer in the mood for laughter either. 

“Will you be alone?” asked Azriel in a much colder intonation than he would have liked. 

Luxiana squinted and gritted her teeth, shivering. Part of her didn't like the tone, but another thought it was far too sexy. “You three do ask a lot of questions,” she remarked suspiciously as she crossed her arms, forcing herself to scowl. She didn't understand their curiosity or the point of all their questions, and then suspiciously thought they were trying to get some compromising information.

Azriel's anger buzzed in his ears. Why was she being so secretive about her destination and intentions? Was she meeting another man? Someone she would love more than him and who already took his heart? He gritted his teeth. 

The irritating mix of feelings Cassian was trying to contain as best he could was insane. He couldn't stop the flow of anger and frustration inside him. He knew all these questions were intrusive, especially for people who didn't know each other, and he didn't want to sound indiscreet, but damn it, it was killing him not to know where she was going or what she was going to do.

Rhysand held back a grimace as he noticed the young woman's discomfort and realized they'd gone much too far, “Let's just say we don't want anything to happen to a woman as charming as you coming to our aid.”

Luxiana had to lower her eyes and head for a moment, biting her tongue to stop herself from blushing. She didn't believe his concern for a second, but the way he'd tilted his head and leaned forward toward her with a piercing gaze had the merit of warming her cheeks.

She raised her head with a confident look, forcing herself to appear self-assured “Your concern is touching, but don't worry, I'm used to it. I'll be back at dawn. Have a good night.”  She wasted no more time, going out of the room, and closing the door behind her, leaving shocked and angered Illyrians there.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel said nothing more, standing with swinging arms in the middle of the room. Each of them struggled with the irrational urge to follow their soulmate, whom they barely knew, to make sure she was all right and didn't go off with another man.

“We should follow her,” Azriel gave up first.

“No, we can't penetrate into her intimacy like that,” Rhysand remarked reluctantly, his own insides making him pay. He needed so much to follow her, to touch her, to feel her. His whole body was burning all over, clamoring to be near her, but he knew full well it was overstepping his rights and interfering in her privacy. “She said she was used to it, so there's no reason for us to worry.”

“Speak for yourself I've got a whole bunch of reasons running through my head right now,” Cassian retorted with a worried look, his breathing suddenly panting. He plopped down on the bed and rested his forearms on his thighs, despite one of his legs jumping up and down in a hurry. “It's been months since we haven’t seen you smile, Rhys. Ever since you came back, you've been like a ghost, but there, in front of her, you gave the impression of being you again, of being alive again.”

Rhysand didn't answer, his gaze still focused on the door where his soulmate had just left him. He knew his brother was right. This woman was his mate, and the burst of life she had awakened in his chest was doing him a world of good. He felt alive again. Ever since he'd laid eyes on her, Rhysand was breathing. He was breathing, for God's sake. She'd given meaning to everything he'd experienced. Everything. He didn't even know her yet, and yet the mere words he'd exchanged with her had already filled him with excitement. 

Azriel also detailed Rhysand. Cassian was right, Rhysand hadn't behaved like this since he'd returned. The Illyrian with the blue siphons was very worried about his brother and what he must have gone through under the mountain. It pleased him to see that Rhysand seemed to be coming back to life a little thanks to this girl, but it drove him crazy with rage because he too felt alive thanks to her. He would always sacrifice his happiness for his brother's, especially after what one of them has been through for fifty years, even if it made him tired to have to do it, he'd have done it. He would have left his brother the woman he loved. But here, with her, his soul mate, he simply couldn't think of not having her, even if it was at his brother's cost. She was his. 

Cassian looked at his two brothers in turn. He could almost read their minds and know what they wanted. Luxiana. She was their soulmate. He knew they felt strange things for this girl, something beyond simple attraction because he felt the same way they did. This woman intrigued them. Her mind and body reacted in a thousand ways in her presence. Hell, there was no doubt about it. Especially not the way her body tingled whenever she laid eyes on him, or the way his mouth burned with the desire to taste her. And it wasn't just physical; Cassian had already been physically attracted to a woman and it had never disturbed him so much. Even now, with Luxiana gone, he still thought of her and his muscles burned with the desire to pursue her. She was everything and the only thing he and his brothers wanted, because she was their soulmate. 

“What if she's going to join another man?” growled Azriel, mad with rage and jealousy at the thought, his teeth clenched so tightly it was hurting him. 

Cassian growled as he clenched his fists, his jealousy tearing at his stomach. 

Rhysand felt the same, but his good conscience was stronger for the moment. “It's her life. We can't stop her from doing what she wants.” His words burned his tongue.  Hell, he wanted to give up and join her, but it feels so wrong. 

“We're not stopping her from doing anything, we're just making sure she doesn't get hurt,” Cassian said as he gripped the edge of the mattress, squeezing the sheets between his fists. What he just said was only part of the truth. He also wanted to make sure she didn't join another man tonight. He couldn't help it. 

Azriel was shaking, an image of a man touching that fragile little woman to hurt her emerging in his mind. “Stay here if you like, I'm going.” He threw himself at the door to open it and step out of the room.

That was all Cassian and Rhysand needed to follow him. The three of them made themselves invisible and ran silently towards Luxiana. They caught up with her in the entrance hall. They winced as they watched her rush out of the house without even putting on a coat or grabbing a cloth to cover her arms. 

Luxiana stepped into the biting cold of the night and headed for the stable to pick up a horse. When she'd seen Feyre in the house, she'd forgotten how she'd frozen to death this morning fulfilling yet another mission Kaden had given her, and how she'd promised herself to take a coat the next time she went out.

The cold was brutal this evening, but Luxiana, because of her guilt over what had happened to Feyre, accepted the wind's bite on her face and arms as a deserved punishment. Her best friend had suffered far worse under the mountain because she'd been too stupid to trust herself and that she hadn't gone to make sure she was okay. 

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel followed her, flying at a distance as silently as possible, but worry, anger and jealousy made their bodies hum loudly. Such a fragile little human should not be wandering out alone in the dark night in such cold temperatures without any protection. From where they stood, they could see her arms and face reddened by the temperature in the negative, and notice her limbs shaking violently.

Cassian had to fight with every cell in his being that urged him to throw himself at her to warm her up and bring her back to the Archerons' abode. He didn't like the idea that she had someone so important to see that was so worth putting her life on the line for. He didn't like the fact that she hadn't even thought of taking a coat. He didn't like the fact that she hadn't wanted to tell them where she was going. And fuck, he didn't like the tugging, aching sensation of his body which just wanting to take her in his arms.

Azriel was angry. She should have brought a coat. She needed to be punished for going out so late, especially if it was to join another man, so the cold was an excellent way to do it for her. But damn, it was so crazy and reckless for a young woman to be walking around half-naked in a frozen landscape. It meant that the person she was joining was more important than her own life, and the idea that it might be a man drove Azriel mad with rage. If that were the case, he'd burn every inch of this man's skin that had come into contact with his soul mate and he would make her watch.

Rhysand was worried. Humans got sick very easily. She could become seriously ill from this cold. His soul mate. His fragile, human, little soul mate. He was already so worried about her when she wasn't even his yet. A part of him - which he didn't even know how his good conscience still managed to fight - just wanted to kidnap her and lock her up in his house, where she'd be safe, cherished and loved. But he knew she wouldn't be happy, not by being forced into a place against her will. And it was knowing his soul mate was happy that mattered most to Rhysand.

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Luxiana disappeared. The three Illyrians froze in mid-air for a moment, before rushing down to the place where they last saw her. They put their feet down, looking in all directions, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but she had vanished.

“What the hell?” panicked Cassian, spinning around in circles, trying to catch a clue to the disappearance of his soul mate. 

Rhysand's heart pounded in his chest and a ball of anguish crushed his gut as he prayed that nothing bad had happened to his soul mate. 

Azriel managed to keep a controlled calm, or rather a controlled panic. He noticed the footprints of the horse his soul mate took, which were still very much present in the icy white layer of the ground, despite the thick snowflakes that were falling. 

Their visibilities were reduced, but the tracks Azriel could see showed him that his soul mate had turned off to the side in one fell swoop, leaving the road and entering the dense forest ahead. 

“This way,” he told his brothers in a voice louder and sharper than necessary, a voice filled with anger and uncertainty. 

They threw themselves body and soul into the wood, following the horse's footsteps and chasing their soulmate to make sure she was all right. But the forest was too dense, the trees too close together, the grass far too tall for them to follow the trail properly and quickly, and above all, there were other tracks everywhere. Animals that had passed by and were unintentionally blurring the trail. All that, until they totally lost the track of their soulmate.

Worry, anger, guilt and frustration made them tremble. How could they lose track of her so stupidly? They felt so dumb. Their mate !

They searched everywhere for hours and hours, but they hadn't found her. Not even in the next village, where Rhysand had searched everyone's minds to see if anyone had seen her, but she had simply disappeared. 

In the end, they resigned themselves to returning to the Archerons' home, their only hope being that she knew where she was going, what she was doing and, above all, that she would come back safe.

[ijwtbap]

ㅤㅤ★ㅤA promise — Bakugō

— Bakugō x GN! reader.

You like Katsuki, he likes you — is a fact not a maybe. He doesn't seem to believe it thought.

a/n. I had to keep my promise ig. Is VERY short so im sorry, also Im bad at english and is my first one shot so have some mercy plz.

You were going insane. Just a little bit. Well, actually, you were ready to rip out your hair and scream into the void, standing naked as flames consumed you. That's kind of insane.

Every time Bakugō referred to you as his friend—even if he only said you weren’t that annoying and didn’t mind having you around (which was close enough)—you wanted to disappear.

You had done everything but treat him platonically. Sure, you could see how holding hands, cuddling, or crying together might seem platonic. But kissing in bed and saying “I love you” in a completely serious way?

You were completely lost.

At first, you thought it was a joke, then maybe just a game to him.

But now? Now you’re convinced he’s just... dense.

You could tell Bakugō you love him dead serious while looking him dead in the eyes, on your knees and with a big sign that said 'plz marry me,' and he would still think you're joking.

And it was killing you.

"Are you going to study or what?"

You were in his bedroom, "studying." Yeah, right—studying. You just wanted to be there with him. You’d barged in without warning, and yet, he hadn’t even questioned your presence.

"No."

You knew he liked you back. There was no way he didn't, but fuck, he refused to acknowledge it.

"I like you."

His eyes widen for a second before he looks back at his notes.

"Shut up."

"I really do, tho."

"Yeah, whatever."

"I love you."

"If you don't stop, I will kick you out."

"I love you."

" __________ "

"I love you so much."

"Stop it."

"I want to marry you, one day when we're adults. Small or big wedding, or none at all, whatever you prefer."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I."

You two look at each other, him holding his pen so hard that it looks like it's about to break and you looking at him as if he were the most wonderful and prettiest dense idiot you have seen in your life.

"What do you need me to do to make you believe me?"

He ignores you. Mostly because he knows that paying attention to you would just make him more annoyed (because you clearly weren't going to stop) and because he didn't want to accept it.

"Die."

A small smile comes to your mouth. How many people would get offended by that? A lot, but you knew Bakugō didn't mean it.

"You want to recreate Given now?"

Bakugō rolls his eyes, making more notes in his notebook, but you were able to notice a small smirk.

You had forced him to watch it a couple of months ago, and he swears he didn't cry. You knew the truth, though.

"Shut up."

"Shut me up yourself, you coward."

He lets out another scoff, and he continues to avoid your eyes.

"Study already."

You loved Bakugō Katsuki, and he loved you back.

No matter how much time it would take you, you were going to make sure to take his last name and hold his hand in a not-platonic way.

One day.

"I love you."

I totally didn't use like 3 grammar online correctors, and re read this like 20 times (It will still have an issue, and I know it). I also didn't copy inspired my introduction (?) from a random post.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed my bad writing style. Im not doing this again, unless I get REALLY bored.

521 words.

[cherubchoirs]

Whats ur interpretation of heaven and its people in ULTRAKILL?

oooooo interesting question!! this is definitely gonna be long-winded even by my standards bc i'm about to speculate on a LOT so let's talk about it!!!

ok so there's a couple things that we seem to have laid out in the lore to start with, and that's largely the division that exists between true angels and their previously human counterparts. true angels look down on those derived from humans, seeming disinterested in god's experimentation and almost wanting to segregate themselves from them, while the human-based angels seem to revere true angels and follow the orders they give to them. the only rankings known to exist in ultrakill at this time (act ii) are archangels and virtues - theologically speaking, archangels exist as the second to lowest choir while virtues rank right in the middle BUT that's clearly not the case here as virtues come from human souls and gabriel clearly has the power to direct them. this could be for a couple reasons: ultrakill may follow the precedent set by paradise lost, which places archangels at the top of the angelic hierarchy, or "archangel" is a title conferred to gabriel, but not his actual "species". this comes from the idea of some texts that the four archangels are not true archangels but are in fact of a much higher rank, such as cherubim, that are denoted with the title to reference their leadership role amongst the angels. this is the idea i tend to favor in this case, as i don't believe gabriel is at the top of the hierarchy given his loyalty to the council, but i also believe he must be quite high up due to his power and respect.

i will say i don't think my interpretation is anything too different from anyone else's or many other pieces of media that examine heaven as less than perfect, but i believe these hierarchies are IMMENSELY important. the reason gabriel carries out his orders so diligently despite obviously being much more powerful and beloved than the councilors is simply because at least some of them rank over him - he is a being made to serve and if they are those that speak in god's place, he will do as they say just the same. the council, for their part, i think both used his strength and good will to bolster their decisions while frankly just. kind of hating him for the massive respect he garnered from the citizens in heaven. i tend to think this popularity stems from the fact that he interacted often with humans - he is always the messenger angel sent to earth and in some way, he's built a rapport with humanity. it goes both ways too, in that gabriel doesn't believe in segregation the way other true angels do and often interacts with human souls in heaven (i, like everyone else, believes he is particularly kind with children and he enjoys spending time with them when he has a chance to rest...i like them all looking like little lambs ;o;) this extends even further into his borderline heretical treatment of the sinners in hell - he's not nearly so harsh in his heart of hearts on their wrongs when they are remorseful or when their crimes truly weren't so terrible. but this is the inherent part of gabriel's tragedy - his sympathy and softness towards them is always overridden by his orders, and so this is why i believe even though he was always capable of overthrowing the council, he never did. orders are absolute to him, and his personal feelings never factor into the violence he carries out.

all of this culminates in how he is treated by the council - his power and popularity do a lot to further their ends, how efficiently he builds their empire on his back and how much the citizenry happily support anything gabriel does, but it's likely that they were looking for a way to get rid of him by the time the game happens. he is too powerful, he is too sympathetic to humanity, and i believe it was widely rumored in those higher circles that gabriel had unnatural tendencies toward the damned, though the proof may not have existed. they really honestly all believe that his role of messenger led him to be too close, too involved with the humans they so look down on.

i know i'm not the first person to suggest the idea (and here's where things get REALLY speculative hhh), but i too think the council was ready to dispose of gabriel now that their rule in heaven was absolute. i think it began with making him the judge of hell at a time when hell was becoming entirely unmanageable - not only does the council likely care little for hell and only wish to maintain its upkeep for its own sake or perhaps to uphold the idea that they still follow god's will, but it's also a mammoth task to regain control over it now that it's so far gone. and they send gabriel. perhaps they believed he was the only one who was capable of cleaning up that mess, but the move seems political, like a way to invent a failure for him. because failure is a death knell for angels, one that incurs heavy punishment as you are meant to be perfect in all you do. so gabriel was given a hell now run by its sinners, and so many there are, with planned insurrections and an entire layer flooded, he was sent with some lower angels to attempt an impossible effort. and he managed it. i'm positive he ran himself ragged doing it, committed a multitude of his own sins in the process, but he reinstated god's will to the extent that any of them can. so he didn't fail, but he's getting tired. and then the machines come, v1 comes, and gabriel is sent to deal with that because the whole of hell is seemingly only his business now. all he needs to do is fail and the council will be justified in their decision to rip the light from his body. because honestly, if it's not political, that would be a BONKERS move on their part given how gabriel seemed to single-handedly deal with the hell problem before all of this. they have an agenda and gabriel accepts it too, coming to them meek and ashamed after losing his fight, doing nothing to stop them as they tear the light from him and his anger is directed entirely toward v1, not the council. he's too obedient to think otherwise.

sorry for carrying on a lot more specifically about gabriel and the council, BUT that's mostly what i can say while sticking somewhat within the confines of canon. overall though, i think it's a strict and segregated place - the human souls are in paradise, but they very rarely see true angels other than gabriel since god disappeared. for their part, they are maintaining after the fall of man, believing in god's almighty power and mostly confident that gabriel and the council are completely in control of the situation. honestly...i'm not sure if this is disputed by anything, but i do kind of like the idea that maybe they're not even fully aware that god is gone. the true angels are adrift, purposeless, doing route management of heaven and little else, save for the council. its infrastructure is starting to buckle, it's turning into whatever the council wishes to make of it, and gabriel is exhausting himself trying to maintain the illusion that this place is still fully functional as it once was. BASICALLY heaven has a veneer of being fine and is holding up for now, crumbling just beneath the surface, but the human souls don't know and the true angels refuse to acknowledge it.

[joelscurls]

best kept secret

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 6.7k

summary: In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, pre-outbreak, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is 36), secret relationship, angst, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, semi-public sex, car sex, creampie, some fluff; lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared. but we're back, baby! anyway, dbf!joel owns my ass, so here's my rendition of him. as always, ty to my baby @javisashtray for reading this over for me and helping me through the creative process <3

Joel’s bedroom window offers a perfect view of the sunrise; of shy, pink light creeping over treetops and the roof of your dad’s house across the street.

It’s gorgeous — breathtaking, even — maybe because you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually seen the crest of morning. You’re far more privy to late nights and sleeping in as long as you can push it,  never been one to be up with the lark, so to speak.

You don’t mind the early wakeup call, though, not when it’s this: Joel’s head tucked between your thighs, his tongue rolling lazily over your clit, your eyes still adjusting to the light as he spreads you open for him.

He’s humming against you, his coarse beard tickling soft skin, thumbs dug into muscle to hold you in place as your back bows reflexively off the mattress. He looks so sweet like this, so eager to please, staring up at you with blown pupils.

“C’mon baby,” he purrs. “Just gimme one before you go.”

They’re the first words he’s said all morning, the first thought that’s necessitated utterance. His voice is hoarse and deep and drips honey-sweet at your core. 

Even so, despite how badly you want to — because you always want Joel’s mouth on you — you’re not sure you can. 

Because you need to get home before Denise next door leaves for her early shift. Before Susan a few houses down takes her dog out for a walk.

Before the neighborhood wakes and somebody sees you leaving Joel Miller’s house. Or worse, before your dad catches you slipping into the house in yesterday’s clothes, your car in the driveway still cold.

But with another experimental flick of Joel’s tongue, you forget all that, a content little sigh slipping past your parted lips, betraying you.

Just one, you tell yourself, and then you’ll head out.

“Fuck, okay — yeah,” you breathe, twisting your fingers into the roots of his curls.

With your permission, he buries his nose in your mound. Licks at you again — with more purpose, this time. One long, drawn out lap followed by another.  

He’s so gentle with you, so careful, caressing your folds with his tongue like they’re made of paper. It’s a dizzying juxtaposition to the way he laid you down last night and fucked you, teeth scraping your neck and cock bruising your cervix.

You’re still sore, your walls tender where he stretched them, but your pussy is drooling nonetheless, surely making a mess of the bedsheets underneath you.

Because you’re insatiable when it comes to Joel. 

For the past few weeks, since the first time you’d found yourself in his bed, you’ve craved him. Regardless of how sated he’s left you each and every time, you’ve needed more. 

It’s dangerous and stupid and undeniably wrong, having a fling with your dad’s best-friend. But you’re finding it difficult to consider the morality of it all when just his tongue makes you come harder than any other man’s cock ever has. 

That tongue, now dipping into your apex, drawing more slick out of you as his thumb finds your swollen clit — It’s overwhelming how good it feels, how good he is at this.

He’s bringing you to the edge languidly, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your silky flesh. It’s like he doesn’t want this to be over, needs to stretch the moment as far as it’ll go, milk every last second before you slip from his grasp.

But it’s going to end soon; it’s inevitable with the way he’s laving your pussy, the crushed velvet of his tongue gliding through your folds so wet and warm. Your orgasm is building, and you’re powerless to stave it off any longer.

“Joel,” you warn, his name a high-pitched whine. 

“Shh, I know babygirl; it’s okay.” 

Two of his fingers hook at your entrance and push in, pacifying you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The soothe of his voice floods your senses like nitrous; renders your body loose and your head foggy. You come apart with a string of shattered breaths, eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the duvet.

Joel talks you through it: that’s it, pretty girl; so good for me; always so good for me, and though he sounds so far away, his words are the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

The world comes back into view slowly. Air settles in your lungs. And you can’t help but laugh at how fucked-out you feel when you peer down at Joel, his gaze already locked on you, expectantly.

“Okay?” he asks, rubbing at your inner thigh.

“Yeah,” you exhale, corners of your lips pulling taut. “More than okay.”

He smiles back at you. Props himself up with hands planted either side of you on the mattress and hovers over your feeble form.

“Good,” he whispers, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your mouth. He licks into you, letting you taste yourself on him — a little sweet, a little bitter — and his lips are so soft that you nearly melt. “Did so good, angel.” 

You want nothing more than to spend all day in this bed with him. Return the favor a few times over. Learn what he looks like in the afternoon sun against the backdrop of navy blue sheets. What he tastes like after his coffee rather than before.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admit against his mouth and he frowns, taking one of your hands in his. He presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, one by one, his eyes never straying from yours.

“I don’t want you to either, darlin’. But you can come back tonight, yeah?”

Tonight. Hours away. A whole day between now and then. But it’ll have to do. 

“Tonight,” you repeat. Solidify it. 

You slink home just as the street lights dim.

The house is quiet when you enter, apart from the incessant ticking of the grandmother clock in the living room. It sets off a throbbing in your head, a dull pang right at the front of your skull that you massage with two fingers as you ascend the stairs.

You move cautiously up each step, wincing at every creak of old wood. It must take minutes to reach the second-floor landing, and then you’re tiptoeing past your father’s room, listening for signs of sleep behind the seal of his door. Sure enough, you catch it, a single, drawn-out snore, loud enough that you let your feet fall, shuffling the rest of the way to the bathroom across the hall.

You immediately crank the shower on, climbing in as soon as you see steam. Lathering your skin with citrus-scented body wash, the smell of sex washes off your body and down the drain.

The warm water soothes your sore muscles; bittersweet relief. You stand there until the stream grows icy, stepping out and toweling yourself off just as you hear the familiar blare of your dad’s alarm on the other side of the wall.

By the time you’ve dressed and made your way downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his back to you. 

Sink empty, counters borderline sparkling, a coaster tucked under his warm mug — your father is a neat man. He does not take kindly to mess.

God forbid, anybody disrupt the sacred balance of his home; move something and forget to put it back, break something of his that should be kept intact.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he yawns. Turns to face you. “You were up early. Heard the shower going.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you lie.

“Something on your mind?”

Heat blooms across your chest and up your neck. There’s no way he knows — you’ve been far too careful. Still, you’re on edge, and the question lodges itself between your ribs uncomfortably as you frantically search for an answer.

“Uh, n-no,” you stutter. “Just work stuff, I guess.”

He seems to buy it, reaching for the percolator and re-filling his mug with a sigh, “Just gotta give it time. You only just started. Plus, it’s your first job out of school. They don’t expect you to know it all right away.”

It’s good advice, if not misguided. You nod as if you’re absorbing it, taking it straight to heart. As if your mind isn’t preoccupied.

You grab a mug from the cabinet. Fill it with coffee and creamer. Perch yourself at the breakfast table and take a slow, steadying sip.

The caffeine has just about seeped into your bloodstream when-

-there’s a knock at the door.

Your dad shoots you a puzzled look, one which you immediately return. Who could that be, so early on a Wednesday morning?

And when he pushes open the door to reveal none other than Joel, you just about fall out of your chair. Your nails absentmindedly dig into the wood of the table in an attempt to brace yourself.

“Oh, buddy — hey! Come on in,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he steps over the threshold. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

You grasp the handle of your mug like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, you worry the ceramic will shatter in your hands.

Joel is dressed — blue cotton t-shirt covering his broad back and the deep, red scratches you left there when you dug your nails into skin, your legs hiked over his hips and your face tucked into his chest.

The pair of boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans are different from the ones you pulled off of him last night, the ones he shimmied back into before you slept cradled in his arms.

He’s a different Joel here, now — your father’s friend, your neighbor — not the man who breaks you down with his tongue or the one who calls you his good girl while you take his entire, throbbing length. 

No, this Joel, standing in your kitchen in the presence of your father, has never betrayed him. Hasn’t tasted his friend’s daughter or felt the tight embrace of her wet, warm cunt around his cock. This Joel is reliable, honest, not one to do harm.

You do not desire this Joel, cannot. You must look at him with apathetic eyes. Must keep the boat of your longing at bay. 

Easier said than done. It’s as if your desire for him is a feral beast, fed by his touch and left starving in its wake. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, sweat beading at your collar as you not-so-subtly follow the subconscious flex of his hands, the bunching of fabric over his biceps.

His voice bounces off the backsplash, and your fingers tighten around the handle of your mug.

“Yeah, I uh — I went to make myself coffee and realized I was out. Was hopin’ you might have some to spare?”

He can’t be serious. He came over for coffee? He couldn’t get some on the road?

“I’m afraid she took the last of it,” your dad’s eyes point to you, and you ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze when his follow.

“Ahh,” he says. “‘ts okay. I’ll grab some on my way in.” 

His fingers taptaptap on the edge of the countertop, bottom lip tucked between his teeth like there’s something else. Another reason he came here.

And then you spot it — your wallet, dark red leather, poking out the top of Joel’s back pocket. 

You must’ve left it in his room before you hurried home. Somewhere amongst the mess of trinkets and trash on his dresser. You half-remember dropping it there last night as he’d kneeled in front of you and peppered kisses up the length of your leg.

Thankfully, your dad is oblivious as ever, giving Joel the perfect opportunity to inconspicuously slip you your wallet when he turns around and crosses the kitchen, placing his empty mug in the sink. 

Joel sidesteps once, twice, extending his arm and snapping it back as soon as you have the wallet in your grasp.

Your father clears his throat. Spins to find Joel exactly where he was. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wrestling a slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it into the toaster, “I gotta set you up with this co-worker of mine, Deb.”

Joel freezes. You watch as the color drains from his face and his large hand anxiously cards through dark curls. You’re pretty sure you freeze too, breath caught somewhere in your throat until your dad turns to you and you remember to exhale. 

“You know Deb, right, honey?” he asks. You mentally flick through the rolodex of your dad’s coworkers. 

There’s Leanne, tall redhead, hosted a potluck a few months back at which you tasted the worst mac & cheese you’ve ever had. And Barbara from accounting, who he got into a heated argument with over who makes the best BBQ in the city. You only remember her name because he hadn’t shut up about how wrong her opinion was for a full week. 

This woman actually thinks the Smoke Shop has got better ribs than Lou’s. I said to her, Barbara, your taste buds must be absolutely torched.

But Deb? You don’t recall a Deb. Still, you’re pretty sure you hate her, just in hearing her name in this context. 

You shake your head, no. 

“Well, I guess you haven’t seen her in a while. She was there that day I brought you into the office.”

“When I was ten?” you retort. 

“Yeah, I guess it was that long ago, huh?”

You shrug. He returns his attention to Joel. “Anyway, Deb – she’s around your age, just got divorced about a year back, and she’s a real nice woman. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Is that so?” Joel replies. You swear his voice wavers. If your dad notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll like her Joel, I promise. I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a nice lady? Not since – what was her name — Jean? And if things were going well with her, I’d hope you’d tell your old friend.” The toaster pops, and he retrieves his slice of toast. Grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer.  

“No, I ain’t seeing Jean,” Joel sighs. Flashes you an apologetic glance as your dad slathers his toast in artificial purple jam, blissfully unaware.

“Well, you gotta get back out there!” 

Joel’s gaze rolls to the ceiling. “I don’t know – I’m just not real interested in datin’ right now.”

You exhale, then — a quiet declaration of relief that seems to go unnoticed — unperturbed even when your dad continues his pitch. 

I’ve known this woman for years Joel, I’m telling you, the two of you’d be the perfect match; she’s a looker too, real pretty.

Ew. Tuning him out, you check the clock, find that you only have a few minutes before you need to get going. You stand from the table and make your way toward the sink with your now-empty coffee mug in hand.

Would I ever lead you astray? your dad is asking just as you brush past Joel. His hand, idle by his side, catches the fabric of your blouse and you have to fight to ignore the pinprick of electricity it ignites under your skin.

“No, I know,” Joel grumbles. “I trust your judgment ‘n all, ‘ts just-”

“Will you just give her a chance?”

“Jesus; fine.”

The mug slips from your grip, falls into the sink with a clang.

Your dad glares at you, expression softening only when you gesture to the still-intact ceramic lying on its side in the basin.

He’s quickly distracted, then, jotting a series of numbers down onto a scrap of notebook paper, the blue ink pressed in so hard that it’s beginning to bleed through. 

“Atta boy,” he drawls, sliding it across the counter. Joel pinches it between two fingers, folds the paper without looking at it and stuffs it into his front pocket. 

“Promise you’ll give her a call tonight? I may or may not have already talked you up, and I need to know you’re not gonna make me look bad here.”

Joel has to see you staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He must. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But he’s refusing to meet your gaze, eyes glued to the cabinet directly in front of him as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” he says, a small, unconvincing smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

He’s actually agreeing to this?

You need to get out of here before you say something rash.

The anger bubbles in you slowly, then all at once, threatening to boil over as you slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder. 

Marching toward the door, you offer a half-hearted bye, not bothering to look back before you leave.

The office is already milling with people by the time you stroll in, ten minutes late. 

The conversation between Joel and your dad is still running laps in your head as you sneak past your boss’s door.

It sticks there through the morning and well into the afternoon, your dad’s words an incessant earworm: I think you two would really hit it off.

The thing is — you can’t blame Joel for saying yes to the setup. Not really. Your situation is complicated, messy, bound to end badly.

Maybe he’d be happier with Deb. 

They could take walks together, stroll through the grocery store or down the street  hand-in-hand. Throw dinner parties and shamelessly gush about their relationship to their friends. All without fear of being caught doing something wrong.

Because that’s what this is, you and Joel — it’s wrong. Not like you weren’t already well aware of that. Leave it to some woman you’ve never met to rub it in.

The day passes infuriatingly slow.

The pile of emails in your inbox only grows larger by the time you’re due to clock out, stack of reports on your desk barely touched. You wince when your boss stops by your cubicle on her way out, eager for an update.

“Sorry, Linda; a couple of these were more time-consuming than I’d hoped,” you lie. But you can tell she doesn’t buy it, not one bit, her expression souring as you shuffle through papers.

“I need these done by the end of the week, no matter what.”

“Of course,” you mutter, face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll get them done and on your desk by Friday.”

“Thanks.” Her heels are already clacking on tile when you open your mouth to apologize again, your sorry lost to the ether.

You gather your things and scramble to your feet as soon as she’s out of view, not sticking around to watch your computer power down. By the time you get to your car, Joel’s number is already dialed on your phone.

He picks up after two rings.

“Darlin’ — are you okay?”

It’s admittedly uncharacteristic for you to call him so early. You usually wait until after dark, when you’ve both retreated to your respective bedrooms, away from listening ears.

But this can’t wait. It’s been eating at you all day, digging into your work. If you don’t talk to him about it, you’re going to end up unemployed. You don’t bother to ask if he’s still on the job site, around other people. “You’re going on this date.” It’s not a question. More of an accusation.

“Baby,” he sighs. You try your best to ignore his molasses drawl and the way it seeps into your chest. 

“Why didn’t you say no?” 

“How could I?” he groans. “There’s your dad, askin’ me if I’m seein’ someone, sayin’ he’s already told this lady about me – what am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice comes out a whine. “Make something up. Tell him you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”

He laughs, low and breathy on the other end. “Yeah, baby. Think he’d believe that one, f’sure.”

“Fuck,” you huff. “I just— I don’t-“

You want to tell him not to go. To cancel. Fake his own death. Do whatever it takes to get out of this. But you have no right, not really. The two of you aren’t dating. You don’t have any control over what he does or who he sees. And you don’t want that, no. You just want him to choose you.

“I don’t wanna go, darlin’. I really don’t. But if I do this, I think it’ll get him off my back for a while. He won’t have a reason to suspect that I’m foolin’ around with his daughter.”

Fooling around. His phrasing is a metaphorical punch in the gut.

It’s not exactly a lie. You haven’t put a label on this thing, whatever it is. It’s been purely physical: lips slotted to lips, tongues pressed together, swapped sweat and saliva. But hearing it reduced to two words, words with such a casual connotation — as if you haven’t been driven by overwhelming desire — makes your stomach churn.

Joel doesn’t seem to clock it when you go quiet, a cocktail of rage and sorrow sloshing around your insides. “It’s for the best,” he adds, a shot of hard, burning liquor. 

“Yeah,” you say defeatedly. Choke back the pathetic tears that creep up your throat. “For the best.”

He ends the call with the excuse of bad cell reception. Promises to talk to you later. You’re not sure that you believe him.

The phrase fooling around curls up in your head, a wet dog, its fur dripping into the crevices of your rattled brain the entire drive home.

You dodge Joel’s calls for the remainder of the week.

There’s no use in talking to him when you have nothing to say, when you know any words you attempt will be overtaken by tears.

Even so, it doesn’t stop him from trying. His number lights up the screen of your phone at least twice a day.

He leaves voicemails that you do not listen to. You can’t. The last thing you need is his syruppy drawl in your ear. You’ll break; you know you will.

So instead, you delete them. Rid yourself of temptation.

But you still ache for him — a devastating truth. You lumber through the days, bones heavy with hurt. Find yourself kept up at night by thoughts of Joel and the infuriatingly soothing timbre of his voice, the intoxicating callous of his fingertips against your soft skin. 

It’s a lonely thing, yearning for Joel Miller.

On Friday, your father beams at the dinner table. He’s grinning like a child as he stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Joel and Deb’s date is tomorrow,” he says. “Think they’ll really hit it off, don’t you?”

You’re dumbfounded for a long moment — can’t believe that this is your life now: being asked about your thoughts on Joel and the ever-elusive Deb as a couple. When it takes too long for you to answer, your father’s fork stills pointedly on his plate, and you sputter.

“Oh! I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember Deb.” You can’t help your condescending tone. Your dad doesn’t seem to catch it anyway. 

“Well,” he says, “I think they’ll be a match. Hoping so, anyway. The man has been such a hermit lately — maybe if he has a lady, he’ll get out more!”

“You sound real excited,” you grumble. Stab four peas on the prongs of your fork.

“It is exciting. I’ve never set anyone up before. And the best part is, the place they’re going to — the Tavern — it’s got rooms you can rent out for wedding receptions. Just imagine if down the line, they got mar-“

“Dad,” you stop him. You think you’ll be physically sick if you let him finish that sentence. “Sorry, I just — I’m really tired, all of a sudden. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”

It’s not a complete lie. You’re emotionally exhausted as a result of the past couple days. Sleep sounds like a much-needed, blissful escape right now.

Your dad doesn’t question you. He just nods. Swipes your plate from in front of you and brings it to the sink along with his.

Of course, you find it impossible to actually drift off that night. Tossing and turning, you battle the glaring urge to get up, slink into the home-office and look up directions to the Tavern. 

Not that you’re planning to go there anytime soon — you’re just curious. That’s all. 

Around midnight, you give up, pad down the hallway and into the room parallel yours. The computer dials up slowly, and you chew your bottom lip as you wait. 

You snatch a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from the #1 Dad mug that sits next to the monitor. Click on the internet icon and type the words into the search bar.

This is definitely a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve had in a while.

You jot the address down anyway.

Downtown Austin is buzzing with life. 

Patrons spilling out of bars, tourists striding down the street in their brand new Stetsons – it almost distracts you from the task at hand. 

At just past seven, you’d told your dad you were going out, meeting a friend for drinks. He’d been a bit taken aback, seeing as you’re not very social these days, but he’d seemed happy. Relieved. 

That’s not what you’re doing, of course.

No – in reality, you’re turning into the parking lot attached to the Tavern. It’s packed to the brim with cars, but you still manage to find Joel’s truck, its license plate number burned into the back of your mind after countless mornings of absently reading it as you snuck past.

It’s idle and empty when you inch by, and even though you knew he’d be here, on this date, your heart still sinks. Because maybe a tiny part of you had hoped he’d stand Deb up. 

You should leave. It was stupid to come here in the first place. What are you going to do — storm inside and demand that he leave with you?

You consider it for half a second, groaning when you realize how pitiful you are. Defeated, you swing your car into a spot at the back, facing the building, and shift it into park. You hug the steering wheel dejectedly.

From here, you have a straight-shot view of the restaurant’s entrance, a set of double doors at the side of the building. Groups spill out every so often, every pair that emerges causing your back to arch reflexively.

Joel and Deb are probably discussing their interests right now, bonding over a shared connection with your dad. You can vividly picture the smile likely plastered across his face — the same one you’ve elicited with sweet filth whispered in his ear.

And you’re here, sitting in your running car, watching the door. Your pulse thumps obnoxiously loud in your ears.

Minutes pass like molasses, slow and thick. You watch the clock on the car radio obsessively, betting with yourself on what time they’ll leave. After thirty minutes of nothing, you’re convinced that they’re going to close the place out.

But then the door opens again, and you straighten up, immediately met with the sight of Joel and Deb. 

She’s talking animatedly, eyes widening every few words, blonde hair wafting around her narrow face. It’s undeniable that she’s stunning, even from far away; possesses the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers in line at the grocery store. The jealousy that pools in your gut burns like acetone in an open wound.

She takes his arm as they walk toward the parking lot, and he lets her, despite the rest of his body appearing strangely rigid.

You wonder if he’ll take her home. Lead her to his truck, help her up the step to the passenger seat and sneak a look at her ass under her dress before shutting the door. If they’ll leave her car in the lot for the night, come back to retrieve it in the morning once he’s helped her forget about her loser ex-husband; let the scent of her perfume seep into the bed sheets to cover up yours.

But he doesn’t lead her to his truck. You watch as they unexpectedly turn down a row of cars, disappearing from your view completely, his arm still locked with hers. 

He could still kiss her. Press her against the car. Promise her that he’ll call — and he will, first thing tomorrow. He’s probably just being a real gentleman. Treating her like a woman he might want to marry someday. 

Maybe he knows, after just one date, that she’s his soulmate. He’ll buy the ring in a couple weeks. They’ll be engaged in a month’s time, and he’ll say he just couldn’t wait any longer. 

She’s the one thing I’ve been missing.

You stew in the agonizing unknown for what feels like hours before Joel materializes once again, backside illuminated by headlights as he strides toward his truck.

And then — he stops. You see the exact moment he notices your car in the parking lot, his eyebrows threading together and his hands splaying over his hips.

He’s staring directly through the windshield. At you.

Fuck.

He takes a few slow steps. Stops in front of the hood. Narrows his eyes and flexes his jaw.

With a deep breath, you unlock the doors. Gesture for him to get in the passenger side. 

He immediately rounds the car, prying the door open and climbing inside just as a SUV pulls out the row he and Deb had walked down. 

The door slams when he yanks it closed. The sound echoes through the cab of the car.

“You wanna fuckin’ explain what you’re doin’ here?” he snaps. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, embarrassment and now, anger, spooling hot behind your ears.

You know you’re in the wrong. You shouldn’t have followed him. But does he have to be so hostile?

When your gaze finally meets his, he looks — distraught — jaw clenched and lips set in a straight line. His fingers absently dig into denim-covered thighs.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just wanted to see how you were with her.” And it’s the truth; not one you want to be admitting right now, to him, but it’s the truth nonetheless.

“Doesn’t give you the right to spy on me.”

“So what was I supposed to do? Sit at home and mope while the guy I was seeing is on a date with someone else? Oh no, I’m sorry,” you throw your hands up, form air quotes with your fingers, “the guy I was fooling around with.”

This seems to strike a nerve. His jaw twitches, and his fingers still on his lap.

“It wasn’t like that,” he grits

“No? Isn’t that all this was to you: fooling around?”

There’s a beat. Joel sighs. 

“No — fuck, no. Of course not.”

His expression softens. A crack in solid stone. “I tried callin’ you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you admit.

He nods. Another beat.

“Did you kiss her?” you ask.

“No.” He says it with intent, with promise, eyes firmly locked on yours now. 

Your mouth goes dry.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t want her?” 

“No,” he says flatly, his pupils bulging in the lamplight, black bleeding into the brown of his irises. “I don’t want her.” 

“Why not?” 

He leans forward. His weight presses into the center console and his breath fans your face — warm, tinged with the scent of cheap beer.

“I don’t want her,” he says, voice an octave lower, “because I want you. I thought you knew that?” 

The radio drones between the two of you, some classic rock song you think you recognize flitting through the speaker. Your pulse beats staccato in your throat, off tempo.

“You want me?” you ask, a little breathless, and the next words you say are beyond dumb, beyond reckless, but you say them anyway. “Prove it.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He closes the slight distance between you and kisses you, hard, his tongue frantically sliding against yours through parted lips.

It’s sloppy, and desperate, and you feel drunk on the taste of him, on longing laced with carnal need. He’s groaning into your mouth, grabbing your head with both hands, burying his fingers in your hair — as if he can’t get close enough, as if he’ll only be satisfied once he’s swallowed you whole. You’re pretty sure you want him to.

Your hands move frantically to his t-shirt, then, bunch into the fabric and pull. You need to feel the skin underneath, need to rove your hands along his bare chest. He accommodates, tugging the shirt by the back of the collar, lips separating from yours ever-so-briefly to bring it over his head and toss it onto the backseat. 

And then he’s back on you, licking into your mouth again, eliciting a whimper from you when his hand wraps around the side of your throat, just under your jaw. 

Your palms splay across his torso, wander over warm, golden skin. You’ve missed this, god, you’ve missed this — but it’s still not enough. You need to feel more of him. In your mouth, in your hand, in your cunt — you’re not picky. Just need him in whatever way he’ll provide.

“Joel,” you whimper into his mouth, fingers winding around his bicep. 

He pulls back. Peers at you through hooded eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks through labored breaths. 

“Need you — please.”

He immediately unbuckles your seatbelt. Lowers his seat back and manhandles you onto his lap. You go easily; slot yourself to him with legs folded on either side of his thighs. 

Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you grind down into his lap. His cock strains against denim underneath you. He groans when you swivel your hips and brush the heft of it again with your clothed heat.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” he asks into your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your breath catches. 

You know what he’s really asking: are you going to  let him fuck you here, in the parking lot of a public establishment, where anybody could see?

But you don’t care. In fact, you’re way past caring, the emptiness of your cunt too painful to ignore any longer. Let them watch him take what’s his.

You nod frantically. “Yes,” you pant. “Please.”

Joel nods too, as if he’s accepting his fate. He’s going to fuck his friend’s daughter in the passenger seat of her car. There’s no way around it — not when you’re begging for it. He’s going to give you what you need.

“Okay,” he soothes, “I got you baby.” 

He helps you out of your pants, then; clumsily maneuvers them down and off your legs along with your panties and tosses them aimlessly into the back.

He doesn’t bother to take his jeans off. Lets you unzip them and pop the button open, your nimble fingers making quick work of it. And then you’re pulling his cock out of his boxers, stiff and leaking in your grasp.

You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders just as he begins to pepper placating kisses along your neck. “Go ahead baby,” he whispers into your ear. “Take it; it’s yours.”

His head falls back against the seat as you stroke him a few times and line his cock up with your dripping entrance, his hands clasped around your waist. 

You sink down slowly, savoring every inch of him as he burrows in deeper. He’s so thick, stretching you like it’s the first time again, your walls fluttering as they relax around his cock.

“Fuck,” Joel slurs, fingers digging into your skin impatiently when you still, fully seated on him.

“Gotta move baby — please move.”

He’s so fucking deep, though, his cockhead bumping your cervix, and your entire body feels gelatinous atop him. A cloying sort of heat hangs around your head. You swivel your hips weakly, your forehead falling to rest on his with a heavy sigh.

Joel is happy to take control, bucking up into you so hard you see stars. You can’t suppress the string of moans that spill from your mouth, and Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just as loud, anyway, his broken sounds bleeding into yours, bouncing off glass and leather.

Neither of you can muster an actual word, though, not with him rutting up into you, sheathing himself in your pussy over and over again. He’s relentlessly hitting that spot — the one that has you practically clinging to him for dear life. 

It’s approaching too quickly; he’s going to make you come.

One of your hands flies to the roof of the car in an attempt to brace yourself, flat palm pressing into it so hard you worry it’ll pop. 

Joel takes the opportunity to drag you down in his lap, spearing you on his cock, and the sudden change in angle makes you cry out.

“Oh f— ahh, oh my—“

“That’s it,” he coos, “you got it, babygirl.”

His words tip you over the edge, your entire body locking up as you gush around him. You’re wetting his lap, slick splattering his thighs, and he loves it, his fervid moan telling you so.

His movements begin to falter then, hips stuttering underneath you as he chases his own high.

“Cmon, baby,” you goad, “please fill me up.”

He grunts when he spills inside, his face nestling in your chest, heaving as he works through it and begins to come down. You don’t move, not that Joel would let you, still holding you on his lap like he’s afraid to let you go.

You nuzzle into his embrace as his cock softens inside you.

You stay like that for a while, probably too long given that anybody could easily look into the car and see you straddling him. You don’t have the energy to care.

Eventually, you lift your head from its spot on Joel’s chest. Look up at him with bleary eyes.

“Joel,” you say.

He meets your gaze, face shiny with sweat and his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous like this, you think. The way only you get to see him.

“Yeah?” He grazes along your arm with featherlight fingers. His touch raises goosebumps on your skin.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About wanting me.” In truth, you’re not sure you want the answer. But you need to know, definitively, if Joel is yours. You’re done sharing him.

“Oh, baby,” he drawls. “Of course I do. You’re all I want. Do you want me?”

And it’s a stupid question. He has to know that. You’re nodding before he can even finish it. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Joel”

“Then it’s settled. It’s me and you. No more…interlopers.”

You giggle. Reluctantly separate yourself from his body and re-dress. You settle back into the driver’s seat with achy legs.

You’ve never felt more content than you do in this moment.

Still, you’ll have to hide — won’t be able to share the news of your new relationship with friends or coworkers, your dad — and neither will Joel. 

You don’t care much, not as long as he’s yours, but you need to be sure he feels the same.

“Joel,” you stop him as he opens the passenger-side door to get out. He stills with one leg swung out the door.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind…being a secret? Don’t mind keeping me a secret?”

He looks at you like you have two heads.

He pulls his leg back into the car. Shuts the door and leans over the console again.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he forces your gaze. Makes sure you’re listening.

“I want you — doesn’t matter who knows or doesn’t know. Long as you’re mine.”

Your chest tightens, and your heart squeezes inside your ribcage.

“I’m yours?”

He smiles. Presses a chaste kiss between your eyes, on the tip of your nose, on your lips. The same way he did the other morning. 

It all feels somehow sweeter, now.

“Yeah, angel. You’re mine. My girl.”

end notes: tysm for reading! please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed! I've been toying with the idea of turning this into a series so lmk if that's something you'd be interested in hehe.

Also, I hopped on the bandwagon and made a sideblog for notifs! I'll be doing away with a taglist from here on out, so follow @joelscurlsupdates & turn on notifications if you wanna be notified when I post a new fic :-)

tag list: @janaispunk @amanitacowboy @fhatbhabie @frannyzooey @lola8888673

[cregansdingdong]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ɪꜱ ꜰɪɴᴇ.

Cregan Stark x pregnant!fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: pregnancy fluff, the tooth rotting kind <3

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

“There you are.”

There he was. Watching from the threshold of their marriage doors—the only separation between their traditional chambers—Cregan gazes over the form of his bare wife, who was enjoying a nice bath in her alcove. His eyes moved slowly, deliberately, taking her in and committing her to his memory like it was the very first time. A sleepy smile graced her perfect face, head leaned back against the edge of the tub. Just barely breaking the surface of the water was her stomach, rounded and taut with his child; her wrist had been resting on it as he entered, a letter held loosely in her hand. “I am.” He murmured, feeling himself relax just at the sight of her, and he crossed the room to sit on the chair by the tub. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better now. Jace wrote to me.” She holds out the small paper to him. Cregan hums at the mention of her brother, and his eyes scan the words on the page, quietly snorting after a few moments of reading���he was as funny as he always was. Nothing new, really, in the letter. He’d mostly asked about how his sister was faring, questions about the pregnancy, and gushing over his coming nuptials to Baela. But it all brought a smile to his wife’s face anyway. Cregan felt guilty sometimes, knowing how far Winterfell was from King’s Landing. She missed her family often, but even more now that she was having a child. “He’s eager to be an uncle.” He muses, handing it back to her. “The second he learns the babe is born, he’ll be outside our quarters pouting.”

“Yes he will.” She laughs and places it off to the side. “Only a few weeks more.” Cregan peers down at her stomach, expression softened now, his hand reaching out to gently pet her bump, fingers caressing the skin. “The water is almost cold.” He notes, a slight chide in his tone. His wife nods along, obviously aware. “Mmhm. The maesters say hot baths aren’t too good for the baby—warm is fine, but it becomes tepid fairly quickly. I’m comfortable though, I promise. Supper was divine. I was craving that stew all day. And grapes, but mostly the stew. I missed you.” A pleased smile lifts the corners of his lips at her soft ramble. He loved hearing her speak—just as much as she liked to prattle his ears blue. “I assure you, wife, I missed you even more. You and our babe. How is she doing?”

“Are you truly still convinced we're going to have a girl?” She muses. Cregan gently splashes her in mock offense, tutting lightly at her teasing. “I know we're having a girl. I can feel it in my bones, wife.” He leans in, pressing a less-than-chaste kiss against her mouth, tongue just barely slivering past her supple lips. She tasted like something sweet. “Cake?” He asks, head tilted even though it wasn't really a question. She grins. “Sara brought the letter up here—and sneaked me some frosted scones from the kitchen. I love your sister.” Cregan rolls his eyes. “I should've known you two would scheme behind my back…and not leave me any. I'm your leige-Lord.” His wife reaches out to pull him in again, not satisfied with the previous kiss, and their mouths clash together nearly with a mutual clack of their teeth. "Get in." She was pulling him down into the jasmine scented water, hands fiercely tugging at the laces of his leather doublet. "This water is so damn cold—" He barely had a moment to remove his boots. "You'll be fine." What Lady Stark wants, she gets.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

[songbirdseung]

pinky ring / sim jaeyun

synopsis: jake made you a promise to marry you when you two were toddlers. he would fake propose until he really did get down on one knee.

pairing: childhood besties jake x reader

wc: 1.1k

To your parents, it was all good fun. Seeing their child being proposed to by their childhood best friend at their favorite beach. Documentation was highly important to them, filming little you and little jake holding a candy ring pop in his hand, asking your hand in marriage. To them, it was adorable.

For young child you, you were petrified. At the time, your dad just gave a small talk on how to stay away from boys and you're definitely too young to get into a relationship. This happened when you called the actor on scene handsome when you were having a family movie night.

"We are too young Jake" pouting your lips, feeling bad for rejecting his proposal. Jake shrugs and hands you the ring pop anyway. "Fine, I'll just wait and get you a real ring".

That didn't last long because fast forward to the next year, he does it again. He has done it so much that for the next few following years, it had become an inside joke to everyone in your immediate family.

"You have rejected me for 4 years now" crossing his arms in a fit, Jake looks at you disappointed. "Maybe because we are only 12 years old?"

At this point, you aren't sure if he's doing this because he really wants to marry you or just to tease you and lead any guy interested in you far far away. Remembering all the instances where a boy would approach you during lunch and sit next to you and confess and say that they think you' re cute. There then comes Jake, wearing a smug smirk and says something along the lines of "I'm actually her future husband, please go away".

It makes you think about how you could never get away from Jake and his antics.

Even when you guys reached your teenage years, almost reaching adulthood, Jake never dropped the fake proposal joke. Like on your 19th birthday, at the restaurant he took you both to, he claims how he's your boyfriend and he's planning to propose soon, the waiter thought he was weird for saying that he wanted to propose soon with you sitting right there but nonetheless, he gave you both free desserts.

You thought at by the age of 14, he'd stop since you both are going through puberty, his feelings would change and he'd drop it due to his own pride and embarrassment, but no.

Now you both were 20, if you had to count how many fake proposals Jake has done over the years, it would reach 100.

"You can't say that we are too young, we're both legal adults and we basically known each other our whole lives." You turn over to him and flick his forehead, causing him wince in pain and shoo you away from him. "You're mean"

"You're the one that wants to marry me, so get used to it"

"Oh, so you're playing along now" He removes his hand from his head and pokes your side. "After years, you're finally warming up to the idea"

"Keep that up, I won't be anymore" Once you said that you realize how you didn't even deny it. Looking back at Jake who went back to playing video games, you take in his appearance and guide your eyes to follow the lines that make his side profile.

Jake was good looking, you knew that. He's always been the apple of your eye since you two were kids, then as you got to know him, his humor, personality, and behavior kind of sealed the deal for you.

"If you keep staring at me, I might disintegrate."

"Then, who is going to marry me?"

"We're still on that? I thought you didn't want to?"

"Make me your girlfriend and I'll rethink it" Now it was your turn to cause a ruckus in Jake's mind. He pauses the game and looks over to you, reading your expression wondering if you were serious or not.

That night, Jake stayed over. Unlike the other past sleepovers that you two had, this one was different because the way you cuddle into him now, it felt different. He was always yours and until now, just a different kind. He was now your boyfriend, not boy-friend.

With your dynamic and bond with Jake, it felt like sunshine and rainbows most of the times, being around each other all the time and knowing each other too well, you always found ways to fix things or any miscommunication that would come along.

Transitioning to relationship from friendship was surprisingly easy from the outside perspective but the thing with you and Jake was he was always a gentleman and treated you right and how you deserved to be treated, and of course vice versa.

When you told your mom the news, she did not show any surprised reaction, simply telling you how she saw it coming and was just waiting for this moment to happen, you dad shared a similar reaction, happy that it was Jake to be the one you were dating.

Fast forward to a whole year of dating Jake. People would say that you two were like a fairytale love, match made in heaven, meant for each other, all that. "Hey yn, maybe you should do that trend where you call Jake your husband"

"I'm pretty sure he's already seen that on tiktok, no?"

Still, even if he did, you were going to do it just to see his reaction. That same day, you two meet up after your last class ended. Waiting for you somewhere in the university's campus, you run up to him and give him a hug. "Someone missed me?"

In the car ride home, you guys both agreed to stop by your favorite restaurant and get some take out. Which was a perfect time to put your little prank in action. Just like everyone else, after placing your order, you ask Jake what he wants and tell the waiter. "Then my husband would like ___"

Once the waiter leaves, you finally take notice of Jake who is wide eyed, staring at you in awe. "There's no way you just called me that" To say he was a lovesick puppy after that was an understatement.

But now since you called him that, you have to keep calling him that. Because if you call him or introduce him as your boyfriend, he'll act surprised and startled. "Are you asking for a divorce?" "Do you not love me anymore?" "I thought I was your husband?" to name a few.

"I'm gonna have to propose now, for real this time"

[bloomries]

our compatibility is... 0%!?

includes : lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, and belphegor.

summary : you come across one of those 'compatibility' quizzes and decide to take it as a joke— only for the results to end up saying you two are NOT perfect for each other!? what!?

warnings : gn! reader. insecurities.

LUCIFER

Lucifer had always been very popular with his good looks, so you really weren't all that surprised to see the Devildom heartthrob on a magazine cover with the promise of a compatibility quiz inside. You decided to buy it just for laughs.

"Must you really?" He sighs, shaking his head at your childish antics. Lucifer, however, couldn't deny the little bit of excitement he felt knowing you'd score a perfect 100- except as you circled your answered and tallied up your score...

Lucifer scoffed, taking the magazine and putting on his reading glasses. Well this is just ridiculous! He shook his head, tossing the magazine to the side. "What do those idiots know anyways?" He glances at you, hoping you weren't too upset by the results, only for him to see you giggling. Were you happy with the results, or perhaps are you laughing at him?

Seeing his mood begin to sour at both of those thoughts, you rest your head on his shoulder and take hold of his hand. "We seem to have a habit of beating the odds, don't we?"

Oh? So that's what made you so happy? Knowing that you two some how managed to fall so deeply in love, despite being opposites, despite the odds being pitted against you two time and time again? Yes, he concludes internally, your love was extraordinary.

MAMMON

"Look, your super hot boyfriend is on the cover of this months magazine." He says, throwing down the magazine in front of you. You quirk a brow, forgetting earlier this month about his photoshoot, and flipped through the pages, smiling at the sight of him.

"You look very handsome," You coo, leaning up to give him a kiss before you flipped to that page. Mammon instantly grew hot in the face and tried to snatch the magazine back but it was too late, your interest was piqued.

"Ohoho? What's this? A dating quiz?" You wiggle brows, answering the questions in your head.

"Give it back, 's embarrassin'!" He whined, still trying to get it but it's too late, you've turned the page to get your answer and-

"Wha- we aren't compatible!?" You turn to face Mammon with a frown, giving him the magazine back.

"Wait what?!" Finally he snatches the magazine from you and reads the questions before frowning as he flips to the answer page and, "'m not even compatible with myself?" You both share a look before an eased laughter fill the room. "Who even came up with these questions 'n answers? My favorite thing is obviously-"

"Grim?"

"You!... But then grim, yeah."

LEVIATHAN

You had just been sent a link by an anonymous number, and seeing Levi's name in the link had you curious, so you opened it and was brought to a quiz on... how compatible are you and the third born, leviathan!

Peeking over at Levi who was still farming for materials on his phone, you decided to take the silly little quiz. You felt pretty confident in your answers, knowing him best. It wasn't until the 'YOU TWO ARE TOTALLY INCOMPATIBLE' screen came up that you gasped, catching Levi's attention.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, brows furrowed a little. You blink, before forcing a smile and nodding.

"Yeah, totally, everything is perfect!" You say, exiting out of the quiz and moving to cuddle up with him. "You know I love you, right?" He blushes, looking away and nodding.

"Y- Yeah, I do... I love you too..." His voice grows more and more quiet until you barely hear him- but you know what he says. You giggle, pressing a kiss to the side of his face.

"Good! 'Cause no matter what anyone says, we're a perfect match~" Levi tenses, before whipping his head around to look at you, tears in his eyes.

"Did... Did someone say we're not?" Deciding to not make him worry anymore, you shake your head, making plans to block the unknown number but not before telling them how terrible their quiz is.

"No, don't you worry~" Thankfully, he relaxes after that- and the quiz is taken down shortly after your complaint.

SATAN

"Oh, what are you doing?" Satan asked, peeking over your shoulder to look at your computer. He read the title of the quiz and to say the least, he pulled a seat up next to you. "A dating quiz, hm?"

"I like reading the scenarios that go with it. I always get you, of course." You say, rather proudly, as you click the last question. "See, I got-!? I got Mammon!?" You can almost hear the way Satan's jaw clenches.

"Well, it's all in good fun." He says, but his expression betrays his nonchalant words.

"This doesn't usually happen," You clarify, scrolling down, "watch you'll be in second place-... or last..." You mumble, seeing you didn't get a single answer right for the 'Satan' choice. "Not all quizzes are created equally, this one is obviously a bad quiz so- where are you going?"

The sinister aura he's carrying makes a chill run down your spine, and fear for whoever has to face his wrath. "I just remembered I have to pay Mammon a visit."

"It doesn't have anything to do with this quiz though, right?"

"..."

"Right?"

He clears his throat, a little blush forming on his cheeks, "I'll be going now."

ASMODEUS

"Look what came out today~" Asmo says as he jumps into bed beside you, giggling as he flips through the pages and admiring himself. "Don't I look good enough to eat?" He asks, showing you the pictures.

"Oh, you look amazing, Asmo!" You take the magazine and flip through a few more pages of him. He truly was gorgeous and such an amazing model.

"And~" Asmo says in a sing-songy way, flipping the page to a specific number, "Look at this, a dating quiz." Pink hearts surrounded the questions and several adorable pictures of Asmo decorated the page. "So, how compatible are we? 100 percent? 1000 percent? A million?"

"Uhmm..." Quickly answering the questions honestly, you frown. "Zero."

"Zero!?" He snatches it back from you, looking over the questions and answers. "H- How could you possibly get a zero? We're soulmates!" He whines, leaning into you.

"Well, it's just a silly magazine quiz, I wouldn't read too much into it." Asmo was clearly not satisfied with this though, as he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Honey, what are you doing?" You ask, hesitant because you hadn't seen him this worked up since they claimed his hot pink leopard print outfit wasn't 'cozy chic'.

"Obviously calling the magazine and telling them they made an error with the compatibility quiz! We'll just have them change all the right answers to whatever yours were." As sweet as that is, you take the phone away from him and help him get it off of his mind with some kisses.

BEELZEBUB

"Beel this is serious," You whine, "We aren't compatible!" Beelzebub furrows his brows. You're really that upset about the dating quiz? He sets his food down and turns to look at you, smiling weakly.

"But we are compatible."

"Well not according to that quiz!" Beel frowns. If he could, he's get rid of the quiz all together and tell you a million times over that you two are the most compatible people to ever exist, but he can't do the first part so...

"But we are." He says, "We don't need a quiz to tell us what we are or aren't." He takes a bite of his food, before continuing, "I can't imagine wanting to be with anyone else, ever."

Your quietness didn't go unnoticed by Beelzebub, who worries maybe he said the wrong thing. He offers you a fry as a peace treaty, and you take it, although you don't eat it right away.

"Beel?"

"Yeah?"

"You're right. I also... can't imagine being with anybody else either, so..." you take a bite of the fry, "let's just forget about that dumb, dumb quiz." He chuckles, agreeing easily.

BELPHEGOR

"Maybe we aren't compatible 'cause you're annoying, that's why, now leave me alone." He whines, swatting his hand at you to try and shoo you away. You huff, not giving in as you ask him how he'd answer one of the quiz questions. When he gave the same answer as you you were resolute in your conclusion that this quiz was simple wrong. Belphie didn't really seem to care though.

"You're so rude." You say, "If it were the other way around you'd be all clingy and whining and saying how we're so compatible."

"Well I wouldn't fail the compatible quiz." He states matter-of-factly, turning around to face you. "Anyways," he rips the magazine from you and crumples the paper up, "not like these dumbasses know me any better than you do." He throws the paper over his shoulder and looks up at you. "So will you quit whining already?"

"So you think we're compatible?"

"If I say yes will you go to sleep already."

"Belphie!"

"Ugh! Yes, I think we're more compatible than anybody else in all three realms, and I really mean it, okay? So now just, c'mere, and go to sleep!" He lifts his arm and you snuggle in close to him, your happiness radiating off of you. "Stop smiling it's creeping me out."

"You looove me~"

"Yeah, yeah..."

(Seems your smiling was infectious, as Belphie fell asleep with a very content smile on his lips)

[pretty-little-mind33]

ＳＨＯＲＴ ＡＮＤ ＳＷＥＥＴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

muggle au poly!marauders x fem!reader

Summary: You introduce yourself to the bookstore next door.

Warnings: none

"𝒪𝒽, 𝐼 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃"

The air is chilly as you pull your jumper over your shoulders, balancing your silver tray in one hand. You blow some hair from your eyes and close on the door to your small cafe, the bell chiming after you. While technically you don't officially open until 10 am for brunch this morning, you had planned an assortment of mini-drinks and pastries to bring to the neighboring businesses so you could introduce yourself to them. 

Your first destination is the bookstore across the street. It's an old red-brick building, accompanied by a worn-out wooden door and a wooden sign where the name, "Moony's Library" is proudly displayed in chipped white paint. It looks homey and antique and when you walk over and can see that the small plaque on the door says closed. You knock anyway.

You receive no answer. 

Biting your lip, you hold your tray tighter against your sides, frowning as you raise your arm awkwardly to try again. Still no answer. You try the handle this time. You could have sworn you saw someone in the window. The door opens with a creak as you tentatively push on it and hesitantly, you step inside.

Just as you do, your shoe hits the slightly raised step of the entrance, bending your ankle awkwardly as you almost fall over. You gasp, catching yourself just in time as none of your drinks spilled or pastries fall. 

Thankful no one saw you—

"Clumsy, aren't you?" a voice drawls from the corner of the room and you jump, almost dropping the tray again. When you turn, you see a man sitting in an armchair in the corner, his left foot bound in a medical boot. His crutches lay against the side of the armchair.

The man is strikingly handsome, with his round glasses resting on his nose and his messy dark hair curls framed around his sharp hazel eyes. He isn't smiling, instead he is simply smirking like he knows something you don't know. 

"You scared me." Your voice sounds more intimidated than anticipated, and you walk towards the counter, placing the tray near some old books. You're careful not to ruin them as your cheeks burn warm. "I knocked," you point out, afraid he'll accuse you of being a trespasser. 

"I heard," the man says with a chuckle.

Your eyebrows scrunch and he reads your mind. 

"We're closed. Didn't want to stand and open the door when we are closed." The man shrugs and as handsome as he is, you don't like how he's practically making fun of you. His eyes land on the drinks and trays and his lips curl, his voice a little more lighthearted this time. He makes a guess. "You own Whisk and Whims Cafe?" 

You nod and walk over, holding one of your drink samples to him. "This is a Caramel Cappuccino. It's called Autumn Swirl," you say and then pause a moment. "My name is Y/n," you add quietly.

The man takes the drink and drinks it all in one go. He smiles and looks at you again. "Decent," he teases, wiping the foam from his lips. "Hint of cinnamon?"

You nod again as another voice interrupts you. "James. Be nice, will you?" The man, James, rolls his eyes at this and leans back in the armchair, adjusting his boot with a grunt. You look behind you at the newcomer and your heart leaps. It's another man, just as handsome as this one. He looks taller and lankier and he has deep scars adorning his skin, accompanied by faint freckles you can only see if you focus very hard. Which you are. His dusty dark-blond hair swooshes almost perfectly. He's breathtaking and you lose your train of thought. 

"Hi, I'm Remus," the man comes up and holds out his hand, "Ignore my friend here, he can be grumpy in the morning."

You nod, looking at Remus and then James.

"Shut up, Moony."

"Moony," you whisper, referring to the bookstore's name. You look at Remus directly and smile. "You're the owner."

Remus chuckles and hums, strolling behind the counter. He looks around the old-fashioned bookstore; the books are arranged on tall bookshelves all around, wooden ladders accompanying the slightly dusty shelves. The ceiling is painted mural style, adorned by golden trim. His hand smoothes over an old book and then he looks at your tray of pastries and drinks.

"And you must be my new neighbor."

You smile and point to one of the small sample cookies. "Chocolate chip," you say and smile at Remus, "you seem like a chocolate kinda guy."

"Couldn't have said it better myself, love," James interrupts from behind you. He's leaning on one of his crutches, his broad shoulders flexing as he rolls them. He's smiling at you, towering over you as he leans one of his arms on the counter. 

Your cheeks feel warm again. "Are you partners?" You ask. 

James laughs loudly, his pretty lips turning into a smile. "No," Remus answers, finishing the cookie as he wipes the crumbs from his lips. "Jamie here is just helping while he recovers from his injury."

Your gaze falls to James's boot and he catches your gaze, his jaw clenching as he captures your chin in his hand, keeping your eyes on him. Fuck, you think as you look at him and his touch sends a jolt of electricity, he's so handsome.  

"Eyes up here, darlin'," he grumbles. The boot is obviously a sour subject for him and your eyes snap up. 

You nod, entranced. James smirks and drops your chin, his hand lingering in the air. Remus clears his throat and your attention is pulled to him again. "Y'know, I was thinking we could do something fun with our businesses—" Remus offers, stealing your attention as James's smile disappears and he clears his throat, turning to look at some of the books on the shelf. 

You turn to Remus fully now, fiddling with the small sample cups. "Oh?"

Remus nods. "I mean, a cafe and bookstore? A match made in heaven," he explains his plan, "I'm thinking we could host some events. Perhaps an evening tea book club? And we could have opportunities to blend our businesses, for example, one book purchased here could earn them one coupon at Whisk and Whims and some bonus coupons if they read the book in your cafe. I could also have James build you a bookshelf, he's my personal handyman, with sample books from here to bring in more customers, ones they could buy potentially—"

"Who said I would build you the bookshelf— I'm injured—" James interjects.

"James," Remus sends his friend a glare and you smile.

"I'd like that," you interrupt, loving Remus's plan. You feel happy that you've found him and your smile widens. "Thank you," you say honestly.

Remus's heart leaps at that smile you wear and he has to shake himself, clearing his throat. "Oh, y-yeah, no problem," he says, his Welsh accent slipping out because he's nervous and James sends him a curious look.

When you return to your café, the interactions replay in your head. You switch the open sign, humming as the mental image of James's curly hair and Remus's smile causes you to feel an unfamiliar giddiness in your chest. The morning is slower, which you'd expected from your first day, but you don't mind as your mind wanders. 

Eventually, the clock strikes one, and that familiar bell rings. You look up from where you're rearranging the cookies in the window. There are only a few customers and you only have a few staff so you see him instantly. 

You jump up, rushing to the door to open it for him since he does have crutches at the moment. However, you almost slam into a doe-eyed redhead as she holds the door open for James. Your eyes widen and you stumble back, hand finding your apron as you suppress the embarrassment coursing your veins.

The girl turns to you, skin pale and eyes a shiny emerald green. Her cherry red hair is braided to the side and she looks behind her, smiling as James helps himself through the door. He lifts his head, staring at you.

"Y/n," he says your name, a little surprised to find you here and not behind the counter. Where you should be. He turns to his girlfriend—friend? And for the first time since you'd met him today, he smiles warmly, "Thanks, Lils," 

James looks at you again and this time, the smile stays. "Remus is still busy but I wanted to stop by and see how business is," he looks around the mostly empty room and his smile falters just enough for you to see the change. Your embarrassment grows. 

Lils interrupts him, "For your first day, it's quite good! It took Sirius months to fill out his store, right, Jamsie?" 

You look at her, grateful for the kind words, and unclench your hands from your apron. You push away the embarrassment and gesture to a small table near the window, "This one is free," you back away, your voice a little shaky as you ask them, "What can I get you?"

"I'll have another Autumn Swirl," James teases you as he staggers over with the girl's hand around his muscular arm. "Lily will have anything with matcha." He laughs and Lily rolls her eyes at him, but then she nods at you. 

"Thanks," she says and then smiles. Her smile is the prettiest thing you have ever seen and when you return behind the counter to make their order, you feel stupid. Of course, someone like James is already in a relationship! What were you thinking—developing a school-girl crush on a guy you'd met only hours ago? 

You shake your head, successfully diminishing the warmth from your cheeks but only worsening that pit in your stomach as you do your best to focus on the drinks instead of hearing James's, already intoxicating, laughter from across the room. 

tags: @nubigenouss

~ THANK YOU FOR READING! this is my first series. I'm nervous but hopefully you like this! very slow burn ;) ik Sirius isn't in this one, but he will be soon! ~

[pickingupmymercedes]

She's not here, but she'll be - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

Series: She's here and she's ours / She's here and she's not only ours / She's here and she's just like you / She's not here, but she'll be / She's here and she won't be the only one / She's here and he won't let her give up / She's here and so is he / She's here and so are we - (they can all be read as one-shots)

requests: "hello can i request one with lewis where he has been having a baby fever ... fluff and smut of course. and can we have a very slow and sexy one because he wants to take his time with her 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻" - anon 2 ;

"hi, can I request a prequel to She's here and she's ours ... maybe it was hard to conceive and things weren't always all flowers" - anon 1

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: mentions of troubles with infertility, unprotected sexual activities (all sorts)

Also, wrap it before you tap it guys

wordcount: +2K

a/n: Combined requests again because anon 2 asked for something that gave me the idea for the prequeal (sorry for how long it took anon 1, but hope the wait was worth it)

a/n.2: The tone of this whole series is mixing angst and fluff, this time I added a bit of smut too, hope you guys like it

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

The discarded ovulation test lay on the bathroom counter, a white plastic screaming what her ovulation app had already warned to. Y/n stared at it, not really sure she even wanted to know about it that month.

The more you want something, the harder it is. That's what they said anyway, and apparently it wasn't any different when it came to “trying” to get pregnant, a euphemism that felt increasingly hollow with each passing cycle.

Doctors assured her a year was still considered normal, but the constant hum of wanting, the way it colored every conversation, every shared glance, was starting to wear on them both.

Six months. Six months of basal body temperatures, ovulation predictors, and Lewis’ frustrated attempts at scheduling "baby time" around his chaotic schedule.

“Again?” as Lewis emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he saw her face, then the test on her hands and his smile faltered.

He sighed, walking over to wrap his arms around Y/n. She leaned into him, but the spark of hope she usually felt was absent.

"It's been too long, Lew" she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. " The schedules, apps, and ovulation calendars. It's driving me insane."

“Maybe we just need to try harder” he suggested, trying to be optimistic. But the forced cheer didn't fool her.

“Harder?” Y/n pulled back slightly, the edge in her voice surprising even herself. “Lewis, it's like we're robots. Everything's always timed, charted…”

Lewis turned to face her. "You think I enjoy this? Every time we fail, it's like there's this... pressure. Like if it doesn't work, it's my fault."

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting his. "It's not about fault. It's about us. It feels like we’re losing sight of why we wanted this in the first place."

"It's not supposed to feel calculated, is it?" he said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone. "We both want this, right?"

"Of course, we do," Y/n insisted, her voice a touch too sharp. "But it's like we're robots following a program instead of… you know, a couple."

He took a step back, his face contorting with hurt. "That's not fair, Y/N. We’re trying our best here. Circumstances might not be the most ideal but it’s what we got"

Tears welled up in her eyes, her frustration boiling over. Lewis's shoulders slumped as he saw the evident fear in her eyes, his anger giving way to hopelessness. "I just... I don't know what else to do."

"Maybe," Y/N's voice held such certainty that surprised even herself, "maybe we should take a break.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise starting to take hold in his eyes. "A break? From trying?"

"Yeah," she took a deep breath before continuing, a growing conviction in her tone. "From the apps, schedules, calendar, the whole... stress. We just focus on us, and why we want this."

He was silent for a moment, considering her words. "What if it takes even longer?"

"Then... we'll deal with that when we get there," she said, her hand gently touching his cheek. "I want this pregnancy, but not like this. Not at the cost of us."

Lewis closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of their struggles hanging heavy in the air. He shook his head with an understanding nod "We've been so caught up in this that we've forgotten about us." he whispered, his voice breaking slightly.

"I love you; you know ?!" she whispered, the words catching him by surprise in their suddenness. She hadn't said them in days, maybe weeks, the unspoken worry choking the words back.

Lewis tilted his head, his gaze searching hers. "I love you, always." His voice was laced with tenderness. He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "We'll get there " he whispered. "We'll have our family. I believe that with all my heart."

The positive pregnancy test felt surreal. Lewis and Y/n sat on the bed, the silence in the room only broken by the soft hum of the air conditioner. The digital test lay between them, its stark message still blinking: "Pregnant 5-6 weeks."

Y/n turned to Lewis, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and disbelief. "This can’t be real," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I’ve been on the pill... we weren’t even trying."

Lewis stared at the test, then at her, his mind struggling to process the information. "We haven't thought about having kids for over a year." he stated, his voice filled with bewilderment

Tears filled Y/n’s eyes, but this time a mix of confusion and hope. "I didn’t even think about missing my period." she confessed. "I thought it was just the stress of the season, the move, the change in routines…"

Lewis wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "This is real," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "We’re really going to be parents."

They sat there for a while, holding each other, the reality of their news slowly sinking in. The past months of not even considering pregnancy, of relying on birth control, seemed to amplify the miracle of this moment. The weight of their previous struggles felt lighter, replaced by the shock and anticipation of the new life they had miraculously created.

"Five to six weeks," Y/n murmured, looking at the test again. "How could this happen?"

Lewis frowned, trying to remember. "What were we doing around then?" he asked, his brow furrowing in thought.

Y/n bit her lip, feeling a pang of guilt. "I don’t know... maybe I missed a pill or something. But I really thought I was careful."

Lewis looked at her thoughtfully, his fingers tracing soothing circles on her hands “That’s not on you love, we decided on no condoms, remember?! We knew it could happen”.

Then, out of the blue with a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Wait a minute," he said, his eyes lighting up with realization. "Silverstone."

Y/n’s eyes widened as she remembered and stated "Silverstone!” Lewis nodded, a grin spreading across his face. Y/n's cheeks flushed as she recalled the night. She looked at Lewis, a smile spreading across her face despite the lingering shock.

Lewis looked at her, his grin widening. "It makes sense, doesn't it?"

Y/n laughed softly, shaking her head in disbelief. "I guess we were celebrating more than just you that night."

"We were celebrating us" Lewis said, his voice filled with warmth and love. "And now, we have even more to celebrate."

He leaned in, kissing her tenderly, resting their foreheads against each other when they pulled back.

"We're going to be parents," she whispered, the reality finally settling in.

"We're going to be parents," Lewis echoed, his heart swelling with joy and excitement. "I love you, Y/n. And I love our little one so much already."

The Silverstone circuit buzzed with the electric energy of a crowd celebrating a hero’s homecoming. Lewis, now a Ferrari driver, had held his own, going from p3 at the starting line to the tallest step of the podium, beaming as the Union Jack waved above him.

After the race, the celebration shifted to a more intimate setting. Lewis’s family, Y/n, and a tight-knit group of friends gathered at a house in the countryside nearby. The energy of the race lingered, laughter and music filling the air. It was a night of toasts.

As the party slowly wound down, the house fell silent. Guests retired to their rooms, and the sun began to hint at its arrival on the horizon, leaving Lewis and Y/n by themselves in the garden, the weight of the day finally sinking in.

“Can you believe it?” Lewis whispered, his voice hoarse from cheering. He was sprawled on the couch, Y/n nestled against him.

“You were amazing,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “I’m so proud of you.”

He kissed her forehead gently, his eyes closing as he felt the exhaustion wash over him. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll celebrate properly tomorrow.”

Y/n nodded, her eyelids heavy and he led them to their bedroom.

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the unknown room. Y/n stirred, her body snug against Lewis’s as he spooned her, one arms securely holding her close and the other serving as her pillow.

As she shifted, she felt a familiar pressure against her back. She turned slightly, her eyes opening to find Lewis still asleep, his breathing was steady, but she could feel his arousal pressing into her. A soft moan escaped his lips as he dreamt, his hips subtly moving against her.

Y/n smiled to herself, a gentle warmth spreading through her at the feeling of him. She shifted again, trying not to wake him, but his eyes fluttered open. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“Morning, champ,” she replied softly, turning her head to look at him.

He grinned, his eyes twinkling despite the lingering fatigue. “I must have been having a really good dream,” he joked, his hand sliding down to rest on her hip.

Y/n chuckled, pressing back against him. “I noticed” she teased rubbing her ass with a bit more vigor against him.

She could feel his arousal growing more insistent as his breaths came out in hisses. She bit her lip, considering their options. “Do you think anyone’s awake?” she whispered, glancing towards the door.

“Probably,” Lewis replied, his hand slipping under the hem of her shirt to caress her skin. “But we can be quiet.”

A shiver ran through her at his touch, and she nodded. “I doubt you’ll let me” her voice dropping to a whisper. He smiled mischievously, his fingers trailing up her side. “I’ll try,” he promised.

Slowly, he rolled her onto her side, spooning her again from behind. He nuzzled into her neck, his hand sliding down to the waistband of her shorts. She held her breath as his fingers slipped inside, brushing against her most sensitive spot.

She gasped softly, biting her lip to stifle the sound. “Lew” she breathed, her hips instinctively pressing back against him.

“Shh,” he whispered, his lips grazing her ear. His fingers moved with deliberate slowness, teasing and exploring until she was panting with need. Her hands gripped the sheets, trying to stay quiet as he worked her up.

When he finally slid a finger inside her, she had to bite down on the pillow to keep from crying out. He added another finger, stretching her gently, his movements unhurried and tender. She could feel his breath hot against her neck, his own restraint evident in the way he held her.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yeah” she whispered, barely able to speak. “Please.”

He positioned himself at her entrance, his hands gripping her hips as he slowly pushed inside. She moaned softly, the feeling of him filling her almost overwhelming. He paused once he was fully seated, giving her time to adjust, the pause also helping him control his breathing.

When she took a deep breath, relaxing into the sensation of him with a “You can move.” he started with slow, gentle thrusts, his arms wrapped tightly around her. The rhythm was languid, each movement measured and precise. Y/n’s breaths came in short, quiet gasps, her body trembling with each stroke.

The room was filled with the sound of their breathing, the occasional creak of the bed as they moved together. Every so often, she had to remind him to stay quiet, her whispers blending with his low grunts.

When he hit a particularly sensitive spot, she bit back a cry, his hand reaching to cover her mouth. She licked her fingers, his thrusts becoming more insistent with the scene.

“I can’t… I’m so close,” she panted, her voice muffled against his hand, her body arching against him.

“Just a little longer, love, I’m almost there.” He quickened his pace, each movement somehow reaching deeper.

Lewis’s body tensed, his toes curling as he felt her walls starting to flutter, and with a final, deep thrust, he came shortly after her, their bodies shaking with the intensity of it. She buried her face in the pillow, stifling her cries as Lewis held her tightly and lowly grunted into her neck.

For a moment, they lay there, catching their breath, the room filled with the soft glow of morning light. Finally, Lewis pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder, just below where he had left his mark, his arms still wrapped around her.

“Best celebration ever,” he whispered, a satisfied smile on his face. Y/n laughed softly, turning her head to kiss him. “Next time though, we’ll wait until I can have my way with you, no muffed moans”

She chuckled, nuzzling into his neck. “Deal.”

______________________________________________________________

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[lymtw]

shy reader who marches up to the counter when the restaurant gets tojis order wrong but still can’t look him in the eye is honestly sending me into a giggle fit. it’s a thought i had that i NEEDED to share with you 😭😭

A/N: Oh, that's adorable! 🥹 I love this and I have something for it!! Don't know if this is a request, but i'm blabbering on about it anyway, so thank you for sending this in! 💙

(Post writing... I made the setting at a cafe 🤦🏻‍♀️ Pretty fitting for an ask that involves getting things wrong, isn't it? Hope you like it anyway 😭)

You had been bugging Toji for the longest time about this new cafe that was going to open in town. Not necessarily bugging, because you never actually manage to annoy him, but you had brought it up multiple times, already. He understood that you really wanted to go, but it's like you kept forgetting that you already mentioned it to him and every time you brought it up again, he would say the same thing, 'sure, we can go once it opens'.

The grand opening had already happened and you couldn't make it because of work. Toji said that he could stop by and order something to bring to you, but you declined, saying that you could go another time. What you really wanted was to go with him... on a date... The thought made you giggle to yourself. Sitting across from him at a table, maybe being bold enough to reach for his hand. It made your heart race and it motivated you to get your work done a lot quicker that day.

You went together on a day you both had off. He picked you up, but instead of driving to the cafe, you walked because it was a short distance from your place. During the walk, he let you ramble on about the menu and what drinks looked good. It was cute how something that piqued your interest so much, managed to get you to talk his ear off. He loved the rare times when you talked more than him.

You finally reached the cafe, and it had such a simple, yet, elegant design on the outside. The color scheme consisted of white and a dark shade of blue and the logo had an outline of a white owl on a background colored in that same shade of blue. You walked in and everything was so bright and it all looked so cool. There was a wall that had a spray painted design of that same owl from the logo holding a coffee mug, and everywhere you turned there was something interesting. There was a spot to take pictures, a wall of the cafe's mugs and tumblers, it was just so much to take in. You were stunned.

The main thing you were there for was the drinks. You and Toji stepped up to the counter and read the menu for a brief second before the cashier asked if you were ready to order. Toji got something plain. Coffee with a splash of milk in it and he asked for the sugar on the side. You ordered something that made him suck in his lips from how sweet it sounded. You paid, despite Toji insisting on doing so. He pulled cash out of his wallet but you were quick to insert your card into the card reader before the cashier could take his money.

You both stepped aside to wait for your drinks. Toji shook his head, grumbling something about how he was going to pay, which just made you giggle. You kept that cheeky grin on your face until he got closer and said something about getting you back for this or paying you back for this, you didn't know which one. The second his hand went to your hip, you lost focus and didn't catch what he said.

Your name was called out and Toji had to nudge you so that you could head over to grab your drinks. His was in a paper cup, yours in a plastic one because it was iced. He grabbed the sugar packets beside his cup and followed you to whichever spot you chose to sit at.

"We're finally here, having the drinks you've been dying to try, doll. How're you feeling?"

You laugh, the sound so bubbly and accurately used to express the happiness you're feeling. You feel like you're being interviewed with the way he watches you and waits for you to respond.

"I'm excited. Hope it's as good as their advertisements made them seem." You quiet down for the second part, something that makes Toji snicker.

"Well try it and describe it to me," he says. He picks up his cup and takes a sip, his eyes on you as you do the same. The second the coffee hits his tongue, he's disappointed. He tries not to make it noticeable because when you put your cup down, you have a huge smile on your face. You must be happy with how your drink turned out.

"Well?" He asks.

"It's really good," you say, smiling at him before looking at the familiar owl design on your cup.

"That's all you've got for me? After chirping about this for so long?"

You giggle. "I don't know what else to say. It's really sweet... a little bit sour and could use some water, but it's good."

"Alright, doll. Just glad you like it," he says with a smirk.

You watch as he takes another sip of his drink, and when he puts it down, his expression seems off. You can't miss the way his nose scrunches a little and how he presses his lips together, like what he's having isn't enjoyable.

"Is your drink alright?" You ask, after observing him for long enough.

"Uh... not gonna lie, doll, they messed it up. It's got like some sort of hazelnut syrup in it, but it's all good. It's not going to waste."

"You should let them know. Maybe they'll remake it for you or give you a refund. Here." You extend your card to him. You feel guilty. His drink was such a simple one to make, yet he's unsatisfied with what he got.

"Nah, it's fine. They probably just got the labels wrong."

"But, Toji, you don't like it," you say, hoping to persuade him.

"It's just gonna be a hassle, ma. It's fine. Really."

You look down at your cup again, sparing a couple more moments of guilt, before standing up from your seat, and taking his cup up to the counter, politely explaining the mixup to the cashier.

Toji watches you, a quiet chuckle leaving him as you extend the cup towards the cashier, assuming you're asking if they need to throw it out, but the guy shakes his head and waves his hands in front of him to emphasize that it's unnecessary and you can keep it. You step aside once again and wait for Toji's drink. You look at him, where he sits across the room and he points at his phone, signaling for you to check yours.

👎🏻

Love you

[specialgrades]

CRiTiCAL HiT ! ⏤ select genshin men and their sensitive spots

arataki itto, wriothesley, neuvillette

➜ ┊: cw ! porn without plot, monster fucking… kinda, dom!reader, nipple play, premature ejaculation, pet names ( sugar, baby, darling, my love ), reader’s gender not specified but is topping neuvillette ( could be read as a strap or a dick ), hair pulling, neuv is kinda ooc but we're gonna ignore that for now, cumming untouched, not beta read we die like men

notes. whoa hey. i'm kinda popping off recently. anyway this is only three characters cause they're the only ones i'm horny for. if you think i have a particular favourite you're probably right. dividers by cafekitsune as per usual, backbone of tumblr fr!

ARATAKi iTTO — horns

such a big man reduced to a whimpering mess if you stroke his horns! god forbid you do it while he’s already experiencing other stimuli…

itto’s grunts and groans mixed in with your own moans as his hips snapped against yours. his hair falling in his face as he hung his head, fangs almost piercing his lip with how hard he’s biting it. your hands gripping at the sheets as he makes it his mission to rearrange your guts. one particular thrust has his tip hitting that spot deep inside you directly; a broken scream leaving you as your hands flew up to him for anything to ground yourself with. fingers wrapping around his red oni horns, tugging as he keeps hitting that spot. itto moans loudly, hips stuttering. “sugar, don— oh fuck—!” you tug again, oblivious to his protests until you feel him cum inside of you a lot quicker than usual. his body shakes as he does, whimpers leaving him. he knew his horns were sensitive, but not that much; and god did it feel good. you blink at him, hands still holding onto his horns. “did you jus’... cum from having your horns touched?” you manage, shuttering as he slowly fucks his cum deeper into you. “sensitive— ah-!” he yelps when you tug again. any semblance of dominance he had slipped away as you played with his horns. his cock twitched back to life at record speed, his hips moving on their own. “fuck sugar, don’t stop… tug ‘em harder— jus’ like that, fuck! fuck…” he cums again, crying out as he did.

WRiOTHESLEY — chest

wrio never knew that his chest was that sensitive, he always just ignored that part of his body during his own time. your wandering hands change that…

wriothesley’s kisses were always hungry, sloppy. he doesn’t have much experience, but his eagerness to devour you every time your lips connect isn’t something you’d trade for the world. he helps you tug his tie off and undo his vest, the fabric hanging loosely off of his shoulders. all without breaking the kiss you had pulled him into a few minutes prior. your fingers work on the buttons of his dress shirt while he toys with the hem of your shirt. same fingers pushing under the fabric of his shirt, index fingers brushing against his nipples as you moved. wriothesley surprised himself with the moan that escaped him when they did, freezing up for a second. he feels you smirk against him, fingers brushing over his nipples again. he caught the moan this time— though barely— shaky noises escaping him as his nipples hardened under your touch. his slacks feeling even tighter than they did when you began undressing him. “sensitive, are we?” you ask against his lips. he’s trying to focus and doesn’t respond instantly; causing you to lightly pinch the buds. he whines, body unsure if it wants to push against or pull away from the sensation. “y-yes! don’t—” he breaks the kiss as he tosses his head back, eyes squeezed shut and bottom lip tugged between his teeth. you look down to his pants, part of the light grey turned a darker shade from how much he’s leaking just from your teasing. “let’s see…” you let go of his chest to walk him back against his desk. he had fully intended to fuck you against it not even five minutes ago, but the tables had turned. he felt your gaze on the evident bulge in his pants, wiggling his hips in hopes it’d get you to touch him. you did, but not where he wanted you to. pushing his shirt and vest from his shoulders to fully expose his torso, you went for his chest again. whimpers and moans spilled from him as you toyed with the sensitive skin. a particularly loud moan that caused him to bite his hand to silence himself when your tongue flicked against the left one. he felt the coil in his stomach tighten as your tongue swirled around the bud, your fingers tweaking the one your mouth wasn’t on. he shrugged the rest of his shirt off, hand gripping your shoulder as he thrusted his hips up into nothing. “baby ‘m gonna— please— fuck fuck fuck-!” he gripped you tight as he came untouched, cum soaking his underwear and pants. he shuttered when you gave one last pinch to his nipples, breathing hard when you pulled away. “hm… cute.” you surmise, running your finger along the wet spot of his pants. he pulled away from your touch, sensitivity heightened. you smiled at him, cupping his face gently. “think you got one more in you, baby?”

NEUViLLETTE — ears

it’s law that pointy elf ears are sensitive. argue with a wall. the iudex is no exception…

neuvillette buried his head into the pillows, shaky breaths turning into moans as the sound of skin hitting skin. he felt your lips on his nape and shoulder— licking, biting, sucking the skin there as you fucked into him. his cocks rubbing against the pillow you put under his hips and staining the cotton. pulling away from his shoulder after nursing the bruises you left, your eyes focus on the pointy ears of the iudex. your curiosity got the better of you and before you could stop yourself, your tongue darted out to lick at the shell of his ear. neuvillette shuttered and moaned, hole clenching as pleasure ran through his body. “darling not there plea—” he cut himself off with a moan when the mixture of you hitting his prostate and your tongue running along his ear made his entire body light on fire. “your weak spot, hm?” you muse, your voice rumbling against his skin. he moaned, nodding as he moved his hips to get more friction on his dicks and to fuck back against you. “please…” he mumbles, so close with the mixture of all the stimuli happening at once. “more…” he begs weakly. he doesn’t expect you to give in so easily, but he’s been so good all day you cave; pulling back until just the tip was inside him before harshly snapping your hips against his ass. you lightly bit the tip of his ear as you did, tongue still running along the cartilage. the iudex cried out, arching further into the mattress as he felt the coil begin to snap. “please let me cum darling, please ‘s too much please-!” he cries, trying so hard to hold back from cumming until you give him the green light. “so soon, neuvi? your ears that sensitive?” he nodded, rain hitting the window as you brought him closer to the edge. you hum, breath hot on his ear. “go on, my love…” you lick his ear again. “cum.” he does almost instantly, crying out as he makes a mess of the pillow and his stomach. he collapsed onto the mattress, small shocks going through his body from the intensity of his orgasm. you give him a minute before sitting up, hand wrapping around his hair and horns. with a tug he’s pulled flush to your chest. high pitched yelp left him as you did, feeling your breath against his other ear now. “let’s see where else you’re sensitive, hm?”

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 26 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You've given Bradley one job to do, and he's not quite sure how successful he has been. But he couldn't care less whether or not you're on birth control. Not when he's in love with his family. Not when there are so many other things starting to press on his mind.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, body image, oral sex, smut, DILF Roo

Length: 4000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley loved La Jolla. He loved this hotel. He loved the people that you and he became every time you stayed at this hotel. By Friday night, he'd eaten two seafood platters at the beachside restaurant, taken two naps on a blanket in the sand while you played with his hair, consumed a lot of your breast milk, and fucked you all over the hotel room.

"Let's call and check on Rose again," you mused, laying across Bradley's lap on the couch. He had his hand tucked inside the front of the fluffy, white robe you were wearing, gently caressing the soft underside of your breast and your belly. He had just finished making sure you didn't feel too full, and now you were yawning and snuggling up against his thigh.

"If you want to FaceTime your parents, we should get dressed."

"Why? I think the robes are fine," you said, gesturing to the matching one he was wearing that was a little too small on him. "It's not like they don't know what we're doing here."

Bradley felt himself blushing. He supposed anyone would make the same assumption, but he pulled your robe tight up to your neck and tied the sash anyway. As if that would ward off the idea that all he wanted to do for the rest of the weekend was fuck you until you couldn't walk.

"Okay, let's call and check on Rose."

A few seconds later, you were sitting next to him on the couch, and both of you were staring at your phone screen. Rose was on her play mat in the living room, holding her head up like a total boss, trying to reach Tramp.

"I swear she's almost crawling," your mom's voice said through the phone.

"She's only three months old!" you replied, rolling your eyes.

"Almost three and a half," Bradley supplied, pulling your phone closer to him. "I told you she's a damn genius."

"She is," your mom said. "She holds the bottle by herself when we feed her, and she reaches for the pages in her board books when she likes the colors."

"See?" Bradley asked you, gesturing like he was right all along.

"And she's just adorable, too," your mom gushed, moving the phone closer to Rose's face. "Such a sweet baby. Just like you were."

"An adorable genius," Bradley reiterated, making you bury your face against his neck while you laughed. "Everything's going okay there?"

"Of course," your mom promised. "Dad's taking a little nap so he can do the nighttime feeding. He took Tramp for a long walk earlier. Rose has been eating like a pro. Everything is good. Enjoy the rest of your weekend."

There was a hint of teasing in her tone while she said the last sentence, and Bradley cradled his face in his hand as you said goodbye and ended the call. 

"It's like she knows we did a bunch of dirty shit on the balcony last night," Bradley murmured.

"Do not start with me, Bradley. Dr. Morris knows you've had your cock in my ass because you can't keep your mouth shut."

"Oh," he said, immediately perking up. "Can we do that again? Zero risk of you getting pregnant even if I don't pull out."

Your lips were all over his even as you laughed. "I didn't bring the fancy lube. It's probably on my nightstand with my pill pack."

He wanted to suggest he knew how to get you so wet you would be fine without the fancy lube, but he wasn't about to press his luck or hurt you. And now he was distracted as you yanked at the sash securing his robe before kissing your way down his chest. "Okay," he grunted, watching your every move. "I like this, too." Your wide eyes were aimed up at his as you trailed your tongue down along his abs and settled on the floor between his legs. You let your cheek rest on his thigh, close enough to his hardening cock that he could feel your breath when you spoke.

"I have an idea."

"Jesus," he whispered, licking his lips as yours grazed his sparse leg hairs. "Tell me, Baby Girl," he coaxed, running his knuckles softly along your cheek. "Anything you want is what we'll do."

Your lips brushed his balls, warm and deliberate, and a shiver surged through his spine like electricity. A low groan escaped before he could stop it. His eyelids fluttered shut, head tipping back as you kissed him delicately.

"How about we get drunk on champagne and mess around for the rest of the night?"

He cracked his eyes open. You were waiting for an answer, but you'd never rush him when it came to this. He didn't love the idea of drunk sex. Consent was important to him, especially because of the manner in which he'd lost his virginity. But you were the only woman he ever trusted with his whole heart, and he knew you would never take advantage of him.

"Change drunk to tipsy, and you've got yourself a deal, Sweetheart."

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

You kept tugging your robe shut while Bradley kept trying to discreetly open it further. "Roo," you whispered on a laugh, perched with your legs straddling his lap.

"Hmm?" His own robe had been discarded behind him on the couch, and he was holding a chilled bottle of champagne against your thigh while he sucked on your neck. His mustache was sinful, and his thick cock was heavy against your core. "You're so pretty." He flashed his brown eyes up at you. "I love you so much. Why you trying to hide those titties from me?"

Oh, he was definitely a bit tipsy now, but so were you. Getting him to mess around like this was always a bit of a hard sell, and you didn't want him to feel uncomfortable. But he really turned you on when his lips loosened up a bit. It was always a perfectly mixed combination of sweet sentiments and dirty talk, and you ate it right up.

This time, when he tried to nudge open your robe with his nose against your collarbone, you let him. His eyes lit up as he pushed the sleeves down your arms. "That's better," he whispered as the fluffy fabric fell to the floor at his feet. He leaned back and took a long sip of champagne while he studied you with half lidded eyes. "Oh god. Sometimes I can't believe you married me." Your cheeks felt warm from the champagne as well as from his words as his cool fingertip traced your dainty rooster tattoo. "You didn't have this last time we were here."

You shook your head slightly. "That was your wedding gift."

One big hand slid down your back until he was cupping your ass, and he stood up in one fluid motion while you scrambled to hang on. "Bradley," you shrieked as he walked past the open balcony door and carried you all the way to the bathroom. "Where are we going?"

"I want to fuck my wife," he replied casually, setting you down on the marble counter. "Where we can get a little messy."

You shivered when he tipped the champagne bottle and let some of the bubbly drink trickle down your breasts and across your hard nipples. "It's so cold!" you complained, but his mouth smothered your words and you moaned. When you tried to squeeze your thighs together, he was wedged firmly between them. You were grabbing along the vanity, at his mercy, and you were so turned on.

"I want to fuck you," he repeated before another kiss left you reeling. Then he trailed sloppy kisses down to your breasts, licking away the sticky, bubbly mess. "I want to fuck you so hard, Sweetheart."

His cock was right at your opening, begging for entrance, but all you could do was whimper his name. Then there was more cold champagne on your sensitive skin followed by his warm tongue. You were so turned on, you wanted to cry as you scooted closer to his body.

"Please?" Bradley begged as just the tip of his cock slipped inside you. His voice was like honey as he set the bottle down and wrapped his hand around your hip. "I'll make you feel so good," he crooned, staring at your lips while he stroked your tattoo. He pushed his cock a little deeper still and kissed your forehead.

"Fuck me, Bradley," you moaned as he held eye contact. You were a little tipsy and very needy at the moment as you added, "Hard."

You wrapped your calf around his hip, trying to get what he promised you, but instead you got another slow inch and his cool lips on your temple. Gently, he tipped your head back and whispered, "Are you sure that's what you want? Because you're allowed to have anything. I'll gladly give you anything."

"Why are you like this, Roo? You're sweet and so fucking dirty. Just fuck me."

You squealed when his big fingers dug into your thighs, guiding them further apart, watching the place the two of you were intimately connected. His gaze trailed slowly up your body to your face. "God, you are so fucking sexy," he whispered with a snap of his hips. He bottomed out as you reached for his shoulders to keep yourself steady. "You look like my little slut, the way you're taking me. But you're my wife, which is so much better."

Bradley's words were filthy, and his lips were soft and sweet. But his hands and the pace at which he fucked you were demanding and unrelenting. When his thumb found your clit, circling at a pace that left you breathless, your teeth began to chatter as your back arched. When you came for him, he slammed into you. He let you have him, hard. Breasts bouncing and voice jerky as he went all the way. Sweat beading on his brow as he moaned your name like he'd never get enough.

Your head was spinning with desire, and he went until he was gasping and grunting, using your body to coax him through his own orgasm. "I love you," he murmured breathlessly, his glistening cock still gliding in and out of your pussy before he pulled himself free, shooting cum all over you. The back of your head tapped the mirror as he kissed you just as hard as he'd fucked you.

When he finally let you breathe again, he whispered, "Somehow I love you even more now than the last time we were here."

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

On Sunday morning, Bradley got carried away. There was no more champagne, and the two of you had been out late on the beach watching fireworks the night before. You were tired, and he was tired. But when he woke with your body nestled on top of him like usual, your lips were pressed to his neck, and your tits were leaking onto his chest.

"Fuck," he gasped softly. He'd already had you all to himself so many times this weekend, but he wanted one more. He stroked himself as he whispered your name, but you just snuggled in closer against him, working your lips along his skin. It just turned him on even more.

Sometimes he wondered what on earth happened to him that made him go from countless one night stands to a one woman kind of guy. Then you moaned his name, and your eyes fluttered open as you looked at him. Your pretty lips were parted, and your cheek had a soft imprint from cuddling against him. And you kissed him, replacing his hand on his cock with your own.

"Good morning," you whispered against his lips, and this was the reason why. You were all the reasons why.

"I need it," he whispered, and you settled on your back with your engorged breasts in your hands and let him have everything. He fucked you so slowly, barely moving as he drained your milk until you were comfortable. You combed his hair back from his forehead, in no hurry as he plucked at one nipple and then the other, nuzzling his way along your breasts. He rocked into you with steady pressure, making sure you could feel his body against your clit as he kissed you.

It was a slow build, and the two of you would most definitely be late for your check-out time. But he didn't care. Your fingers were laced with his against the pillow. His nose found the curve of your cheek and then your ear. He inhaled your sweetness and your warmth. He could feel it at the base of his spine, the way you were his. It was powerful. You were close, and he knew it. But he drew it out until your body was tense beneath him before going limp. You shook your head, making the most feral sounds, and when he looked down at you, it was almost too late.

"Oh, shit," he grunted, jerking his hips from your body, sending ribbons of his cum against your pussy and thighs and the bedding.

"Did you pull out in time?" you whispered, circling your pert nipples with your fingers and looking up at him through a lust-filled, post orgasm haze.

"Uh," he replied, gasping for breath as he parted your thighs and kissed your rooster tattoo. "Yeah." But he didn't sound convincing even to his own ears as he waited, looking for the telltale sign of a cream pie in your pretty pussy. He saw no evidence there and repeated himself with a bit more authority as he worked his thumb along your opening. "Yeah. I did."

You propped yourself up on your elbows and raised one eyebrow. "You don't sound so sure." Then you paused and chewed on your lip. "Did you pull out last night? Or when we were on the bathroom counter?"

"Yes," he promised, remembering how badly he didn't want to, but doing it anyway. But now your brow puckered in concern.

"Seriously, Bradley. Are you sure?"

He had offered to drive back to Coronado to get your pills. He'd been good about all of it until this moment, and he was afraid to remind you that he came inside you on the balcony as soon as you and he arrived at the hotel. "I'm doing the best I can here, Sweetheart. Okay? Have you ever tried to pull out of your delicious pussy? No. You haven't. It's hard, Baby Girl."

A smile found your lips as he knelt there between your thighs, red-faced and frustrated. "Oh, Roo."

He kissed your bent knee and climbed out of bed. "I'm sorry I like cumming in my wife," he murmured, starting to pack his stuff to head back home. He really didn't see what the big deal was about you being on the pill or not being on the pill anyway. What difference did it make in the long run?

You scrambled out of bed after him, kissing his scarred cheek as you said, "Thank you for pulling out. I'll get back on the pill as soon as we get home. It's the first thing I'm doing after we give kisses to Rosie."

He paused and smiled. "I missed the Nugget. A lot. Next trip we take will be the three of us."

"Agreed."

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

"Did she get bigger since Thursday?" Bradley asked, completely scandalized when you and he ran inside after parking the Bronco in the driveway. "I think she grew!"

"I think you're right." You were on your knees next to the play mat where Rose was chewing on one of her crinkly toys and trying her hardest to roll over onto her back. Neither you nor Bradley greeted your parents before you were both cooing at how cute your daughter looked. Bradley ended up with his big body stretched out on the floor, pressing kisses to Rose's forehead as she looked at him.

"We missed you," he whispered, tickling her cheek. "Next time, we'll all go away together, okay?"

"He's such a good dad," your mom muttered behind you, giving her son-in-law heart eyes. "You picked a good one. Proud of you."

You wanted to roll your eyes at her, but you just smiled. "Thanks for staying with her so we could have a break."

"Your mom wants the house in Maryland up for sale by October at the latest," your dad said casually from the couch. "Less than three months away."

"Really?" you asked, glancing back and forth between the two of them now as Bradley rolled onto his back and placed Rose on his chest. "And you'll start looking for a house here pretty soon?"

Your parents shared a look. "Well... we may have already found one," your mom said slowly.

"Rose and I found it when I was pushing her in her stroller," your dad added.

"It's cute. Two streets over from the water," said your mom.

"You better not be joking," you whispered.

"I would never joke about being able to see my granddaughter every day," your mom promised.

"Well, maybe not every day," Bradley muttered, giving you side eyes while Rose reached for his mustache.

You nudged him with your foot and stood with tears in your eyes. "Keep us posted, okay?" you whispered, giving both your mom and dad a hug at the same time.

Once again, your parents were there to stay with Rose when you went to work on Monday morning. Going back to your regular routine in a few more days was going to be hard and exhausting when they were gone again.

"You really wore me out this weekend," Bradley muttered as he rolled his shoulders at a traffic light on the way to base. "I might need a night off."

"Thirty-eight years old seems rough, huh?" you asked between sips of your coffee. You also desperately needed a night off, but you'd never tell him that as he just grunted at you. Three days of nonstop sex and champagne had been lovely, but you wanted a solid nine hours in your bed tonight. And you knew you wouldn't get it any other night after your parents flew back east again and you had to get up to feed Rose alone. "You may have a night off, Roo. But I expect a foot rub."

"So fucking demaning," he muttered, leaning in to kiss your cheek before the light turned green. "You know you can ask me for that whenever you want it."

"I know," you whispered, still yawning as the guard towers came into view. "I hope to god Bickel doesn't pull some three hour long meeting or something today. I just don't have the patience for it."

"I'm kind of hoping to avoid Maverick altogether," Bradley replied, finding an empty spot in the parking garage. "He's always extra hyper after a holiday weekend."

When the two of you parted ways, you dumped your stuff in your office and grabbed your computer before heading to the lab. You just had a feeling something was going to happen, but your boss wasn't even in there when you arrived. In fact, it was just Cat sitting quietly at the counter, tapping away on her keyboard, entering code with a big, fat diamond engagement ring on her finger.

"Are you serious?" you gasped, nearly dropping your computer as you ditched it on the closest counter to make your way over to her. "Jake proposed?"

Her dark eyes seemed to be all mixed up with emotion, but a smile spread across her lips as she held her hand up for you to see. "Yes," she whispered. "Didn't I tell you the ring was massive?"

"Your sure fucking did," you replied examining the rock which was easily four times the size of Carole Bradshaw's ring on your own finger. "Holy shit."

You pulled her in for a hug, wrapping her up tight. "It's too much," she said. "I told him it's too big and that it could pay for college for Jeremiah, but he said he'd make sure that happened, too." When you released her from the hug and gaped at her, she whispered, "He wants to adopt Jer."

"Let him," you replied immediately. "Oh my god, Cat, he loves you both so much."

"I know," she said, pressing her lips together. "We're talking about the next steps that we want to take together." You watched as a single tear rolled down her cheek. "You're right. He'd be a good dad."

You sat and listened to her recount the way Jake proposed as the two of them tucked Jeremiah in bed in his room at Jake's place. He waited until the Independence Day fireworks were over and they were all alone to do it. She used the word perfect to describe it. 

Just before lunch, you couldn't wait another minute to talk to Jake yourself, so you jogged out through the hangar and across the tarmac to the tower. You were hoping to catch him as well as Bradley in the rec room, and you weren't far off. You could hear both of their voices before you turned the last corner. They must be out in the hallway. Then Bradley said your name with a laugh.

"Fuck you, man. She's going to want another ring if she learns the one you gave Cat is three carats."

You rolled your eyes at the teasing tone in his voice as he went on to congratulate Jake, but you stayed tucked out of sight when Jake asked, "What did Maverick want you for?"

Bradley groaned, keeping his voice low. "This new opportunity to train incoming pilots at Top Gun. Originally I thought the idea of fewer deployments was appealing, but Mav is all hyped up about me going to Fort Worth for a week or two. He wants me to hand pick some promising aviators to train at North Island starting in the fall. It's starting to sound like a lot more work."

"What's the problem?" Jake drawled. "You'll be home with your family more in the long run."

"Yeah, I know," Bradley said with a sigh. "But my in-laws want to move from Maryland to Coronado, and Maverick wants me to transition to this new role as quickly as possible. There's just so much shit going on, and you know how my wife gets. I don't want her stressing out. And... sometimes I just don't know what I want."

You crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him through the wall. He told you he was excited about all of these things. If he didn't want you to be stressed out, maybe he shouldn't make things difficult.

You ducked around the corner to find them both in their flight suits, and while Bradley looked surprised, he didn't look at all annoyed. "Hey, Sweetheart," he said with a smile, but you threw your arms around Jake instead.

"I heard congratulations are in order," you told him as his arms wrapped around your back. "A wedding and hopefully an adoption?"

He chuckled. "Thanks, Angel. Yeah, I better get both."

"I think you will," you whispered, pecking him on the cheek. As soon as you released him, Bradley pulled you in his direction. "Hi, Roo," you said quietly.

"Does this mean you didn't come all the way over here to see me?"

"I did not," you confirmed. "But since I'm here, you can have a kiss, too." The peck you gave your husband was on the lips, but that's all he got.

"There better be more where that came from," he muttered, cocking his head to the side.

"It's your night off, remember?" you asked, patting his abs. "We can talk about some things when you're rubbing my feet later?"

He nodded in the affirmative, but when the time came, he didn't say a word to you about Maverick or Fort Worth or his new position.

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

Well, let's just see where this goes. Thank you for reading! And thank you @beyondthesefourwalls

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[vilnmelling]

NPMD Digital Ticket details!

Since not every can/can afford to/wants to buy the Digital Ticket for Nerdy Prudes Must Die (and the bonus material that comes with the purchase), for your inclusion purposes, here's a list of fun background details, funny moments and comments made in the track commentary, for you to use however you like!

Ruth doesn't actually need to wear her headgear anymore, but she wears it anyway because it makes her feel safe.

Jeff pitched a Nightmare Time episode about the problematic puppy from Steph's verse of High School Is Killing Me, meaning there is a story there.

In the line, "I learned that at the anti bullying assembly last month, fucknugget!" there's a long pause before "Fucknugget!" which really makes it sound like Max forgot to insult Richie and just threw the word out.

All of the little noises Ruth makes, she makes because she has more she wants to say, but she can't say them (presumably due to anxiety).

In the proshot, you can't see fully how low Richie goes while he and Ruth sneak up on Peter, but Jon is fully crouched down. He then uses Pete's pockets and elbows to climb up like he's climbing a mountain (he mimes using a pick or axe to get good hold).

While Steph is talking, Ruth and Richie try their best to hear through the phone by getting as close as they can to it.

The reason Max and Jason were in the Pasqualli's parking lot is that they were practicing their skateboarding. They do that at Pasqualli's instead of at school/at a skatepark because they don't want the smoke club and skater kids to make them look like noobs. (This was a cut bit from the Pasqualli's scene).

The line, "Some big... dumb... sexy... football star" is expanded. In the Digital Ticket, Grace says, "Some big... dumb... sexy... sweaty... hot... well-spoken... beautifully tall football star."

When they're in the boys bathroom, Steph jumps to see over the stalls.

Richie Naruto runs when they're going to Waylon Hall. Pete slaps his hands down, but after they pause to look at the house, Richie looks over his shoulders at Pete a couple of times before darting away from him, once again Naruto running.

Richie stops in the door at the Waylon Place, so Pete pushes him inside.

Ruth and Richie speak at the same time when they say, "I'm allergic to deodorant" and "I have overactive sweat glands."

Ruth goes straight to Richie to complain after the "pus in my pits" exchange with Steph.

When Steph suggests saying there's a party at the Waylon Place, Pete, Ruth and Richie all react negatively (mostly nervously groaning).

While Grace sings the "He's just a nerd in disguise!" line, Richie can be seen practicing the first move of the Bully the Bully dance.

After Ruth says, "We're gonna cut off his nips!" you can see Steph look confused and ask, "What?"

While Pete and Richie talk in the Waylon Place ("Am I reading as ghost or Lin Manuel Miranda" & "She came all the way out here just for you."), Ruth and Steph discuss and practice Ruth's skeleton moves.

Richie gets stuck in the dangling parts of Pete's costume when he says, "You could just hit it and quit it, bro!" He then aggressively detangles himself.

The line "He's just really fucking brave!" comes from Richie being jealous that he's not that brave.

Richie hypes Ruth up a bit after Max says her skeleton bit was really special.

Grace hides behind Ruth while Max is dying.

Richie rolls his eyes when Grace says "It was an act of god!" (Similarly, Shapiro sighs and looks away in disbelief when Grace later says "It was god's plan!")

Pete gags when Grace says "Hack all his limbs off." Richie can also be seen gagging and holding his stomach several times.

Ruth hands Max's nipples over to Grace after cutting them off.

Jeff Blim is the principal of Hatchetfield High. Not a character of Jeff's, just Jeff himself.

Brenda still seems quite judgmental after the two weeks have passed. She makes a lot of not-quite-friendly faces when the football team's talking about Richie smelling bad.

When Richie struggles to remove the Zeke the Fightin' Nighthawk costume, he accidentally removes his jacket as well, leading to Jon having to put it back on (which he also struggles with) (and which creates a funny situation, since Richie was supposed to go shower).

Richie seems to have hurt his leg by the second fall in Nerdy Prudes Must Die (the song).

After Steph tells Grace to "Leave Ruth alone!" in the principal's office, Ruth tries to grab Steph's hand.

The wig Joey wears when he plays Dan Reynolds isn't Dan's real hair. Dan Reynolds wears a toupée.

Trevor and Angela's drama student encourage each other after they finish rehearsing.

Additional line when Grace is lying to Shapiro: "Suddenly, I remembered a crucial detail that made everything make sense. A picture came flashing into my mind, like I was Enola Holmes!"

"My dad sells women shoe! Shoes!"

Angela misses the chair at Beanie's and falls on her ass, leading to her, Joey and Mariah (mostly Mariah) breaking character.

During The Summoning, Tinky focuses ONLY on Pete. The entire time, he looks like he's restricting himself from lunging out and attacking him. At one point, he points at the Bastard's Box while staring at Pete.

90% of the time during The Summoning, Pokey's staring at his own mask.

Steph facepalms after Max says "That's nasty! ... I like it!"

[avatar-anna]

this is very unedited, and i'm like half asleep as i write this, but a Horan!sister reader has been in the back of my mind recently (mostly bc i miss one direction and maybe bc i saw niall live a couple weeks ago) anyway, enjoy!

"We...We, um, we kissed."

"Yeah. We did."

"But we're—we're friends."

"I know."

"Are you freaking out? I feel like you're not freaking out enough," you said as you paced the length of your hotel room.

Harry, who sat on his bed, the one mere feet from yours, shrugged. "I don't see a need to, honestly."

You couldn't believe how nonchalant he was being. You and Harry had never expressed any romantic feelings for each other. You'd known each other for ages, and of course you thought he was attractive—who wouldn't?—but that was it. There were never any heated glances, no longing gazes while the other wasn't looking, no hugs that lasted too long to be anything other than friendly. You were friends, nothing more, and what had just happened changed everything.

Unless...

"You're right," you found yourself saying. "It was just a heat of the moment thing. We—We just got excited, that's all."

You were ready for Harry to agree with you. You were ready to agree to forget about the kiss, to never mention it again, pretend it never happened. That was the only logical option in your mind, unless you wanted to throw years of friendship down the drain. You didn't want to be a cliche, and you didn't think Harry wanted to either.

Plus, there was the other thing, but you didn't want to even think about that right now.

"Did we?" Harry asked. He looked amused as he tracked your movements, one hand playing with his bottom lip as if he was trying to cover up a smile.

"What do you mean—Of course we did. You're you and I—and he—Stop looking at me like that!"

This time, Harry didn't even try to hide his grin, dimples set deep in his cheeks as he laughed. "Like what?"

"Like you—" Like you want to sleep with me, you thought but didn't say. That was even more dangerous territory. "Like you don't regret what we did."

"We kissed, Y/n, we didn't kill someone," Harry said.

Right, you thought. This was normal for Harry. He probably didn't think twice about it because he was constantly kissing people. Well, not constantly, but definitely more than you did. Your brother made sure of that.

"You're right, sorry," you said. "So we'll just forget it happened then, right? We can just go back to—"

"Hold on a minute, I didn't say that."

For the first time since you kissed him, you looked at Harry directly. "Excuse you?"

"I don't regret what happened," Harry said, standing up slowly. "Do you?"

"Yes! I mean we're friends, and your best friend is—"

"Let's leave that out of the equation. Just for a second," he said. For every step he took toward you, you took one back. "That wasn't just in the heat of the moment, Y/n. I think we both know that."

"It—It was. We were celebrating and got carried away—"

"See, I'd believe you if you hadn't used tongue."

"You used tongue first!"

"And you moaned."

"It was a sound of surprise from the use of said tongue!"

Harry took another step closer, and once your back hit the wall, you had nowhere left to go. He was close enough that you could smell his cologne, sweet and a little smoky. His eyes were intense as they stared down at you, expression unreadable as he looked you up and down.

Since you met him, Harry had been hard to read. He was naturally quiet, never giving much away unless he was more than a few drinks in. Not to mention the first few years of knowing him that you'd gotten to know each other more. You only knew him through your brother, who was more than happy to stick you with the annoying little sister role, despite only being a year younger than him.

There was a point in time where you might've had a crush on Harry. You remembered watching him on TV at night and liking his voice and his smile and curly hair. Your brother had gone and ruined it of course when you met for the first time, teasing you about said crush, and you went so out of your way to convince everyone that you didn't that you succeeded perhaps a little too well. But now you knew Harry better. He wasn't some boy who sang on television anymore. Well, he was, but he was so much more than that now, his fame growing wild and beyond anything you could comprehend.

"Was it a bad kiss?" he asked suddenly.

That was a question you didn't expect. "What? N—No, it was fine—"

"Fine? Just fine?" Harry repeated. "What's a guy got to do to be better than fine?"

"That's not what matters!" you said, growing exasperated. "It should never have happened in the first place. You're my brother's best friend, you're—you're his bandmate!"

Niall had an embarrassing amount of rules when it came to you and his friends. Not that you thought they were ever really necessary, though now you weren't so sure. Half the boys were already in relationships anyway, and Harry was...well, he was Harry. As long as you'd known him, he'd never had a long term relationship. You didn't know why, and you were never close enough to him to ask. But the more famous he, and One Direction, became, the more...larger than life he seemed. Or maybe it was that you were in the perpetual space of being Niall's little sister that you'd just automatically written him off as someone who wouldn't be interested in you.

Either way, whatever was happening now was nerve-inducing. And scary. And making you feel things you weren't sure you wanted to feel.

"Is there an area I could improve in? Like specifically? Or was it the overall kiss that was mediocre? I'm really trying to wrap my head around this," he said. "Not to be rude, but I normally don't get many complaints."

"How are you being so—so unbothered right now?" you asked.

"I don't know, I just know that I liked kissing you," Harry said with a shrug. "And that I'd like to do it again. If not for the sake of kissing you then to at least improve from fine to enjoyable."

"Oh my God, the kiss was better than fine, okay? It was probably the best kiss I've had in a while. Best kisser in all of London. You're a proper Casanova," you admitted with a huff, knowing Harry wouldn't let that one detail go. "Happy?"

"Very. So...want to do it again?"

"No!"

"Why?"

Was he whining? "Because—"

"Okay, all of the stuff about your brother and my bandmate and how this probably isn't a stellar idea aside, you can't tell me you don't want to," he said. His eyes searched yours, looking for an answer in them before you said it. "I meant what I said, Y/n. I don't tend to do things I'll regret, and I don't regret kissing you."

That face, you thought. It was too beautiful, too distracting to make you think straight. Harry was all sharp angles and high cheekbones and long hair now, it wasn't fair. You didn't stand a chance against it all. Especially when his big green eyes almost seemed to plead with yours.

Deep down—maybe not even that deep, quite shallow, actually—you knew you enjoyed the kiss too, and not just because Harry was objectively good at it. It was him, it was the pesky feelings that erupted and took root inside you when you first slid your lips against his. Perhaps the kiss had started out as a heat of the moment thing—an overemotional celebration after watching a particularly intense football match after running into each other in London. You were there on holiday and he was home during his time off. You found yourselves spending they say together, finding comfort in each other's familiarity.

You'd never meant to spend the whole day with him, you'd never meant to invite him to your room to watch football and order room service, you'd never meant to kiss him after a goal scored. Yet you did, and you had, and it was hard to cross back over to ignorance and bliss when you knew what it felt like to have Harry's lips on yours.

"We can't tell him," you said. "Not yet. Not until we know what we're doing. He'll kill you."

"I know," Harry said, his fingers coming up to play with a strand of your hair. "When do you go back home?"

"In a few days, but—Fuck."

"What? Changed your mind already?"

"No, I just—I'm coming with you. On tour," you said, eyes widening. "It was Niall's graduation gift to me. Some time off traveling before I get a job and everything."

"Okay, well that's—that's an obstacle for a few days from now. Let's just—unless you don't want to anymore—I mean, I can go if—"

"Who's nervous now?" you teased.

"Not nervous, just being extra sure. Got a lot to live up to, being the best kisser in the world and everything."

"Pretty sure I said London."

"Pretty sure we don't need to debate it anymore," Harry said, bringing your arms up to wrap around his neck. "You can just kiss me now instead."

The movement felt almost too natural, his hair soft beneath your fingertips as you leaned in, putting you both out of misery and kissing him for the second time.

It was just as good, if not better than the first time you kissed him earlier. Harry's lips were incredibly soft, gentle but sure. Your body molded perfectly against his, feeling light as his hands roamed up and down your back, through your hair, on your hips. You felt those same butterflies from before, the ones that told you you might be feeling more than just lust, but you batted that thought away.

It was way too early to be entertaining those thoughts. You wanted to just enjoy the moment, go with the flow and not lose yourself in he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not. So you pulled him closer, sealed your tongue against Harry's bottom lip, and savored the flavor of his mouth on yours, letting it drown you until you could think about anything else but him.

"We're gonna have fun on tour, I think," Harry breathed, his voice coming out in shallow pants as you kissed along his jaw and up the shell of his ear.

There were a million reasons why you shouldn't, but they all floated away as Harry hoisted you up into his arms, your legs moving instinctively around his waist, leaving just him and a very easy and resounding yes. Your answer came in the form of kissing him once more, your hands tugging eagerly on his hair until every doubt and question was a distant memory.

[restinslices]

Lin Kuei Bros: Play Fighting

Smoke so dramatic-. Anyway, don’t ask why I thought of this. The voices were loud

Bi-Han

Play fighting with any of them is bold as fuck but HIM? You don't like your life 

I'm not saying he's gonna straight up assault you but out of all the brothers, he has the highest chance of hitting you hard as shit on accident 

He probably wouldn't even like play fighting that much. He'd prefer sparring cause at least you're working on your skills. Why you just fucking around?

You gotta catch him on the right day. Some days he's busy and some days he's just legit not in the mood. 

“Imma start it off slow. Imma scope the scenery out-”

If you somehow get this man to cooperate, first of all good job. Second of all, y'all do not stop until you give up. 

The type to pin you down and not let go until you admit he won. If you refuse, you're legit not moving. 

This is a big guy so you're not moving him. You give up, he lets go and you manage to crack a smile out of him

We never see him smile in the game but listen bitch, I'm here for the fantasy-

If he's not in the mood, I can see him just saying “no” like you're a puppy or smth. 

You'd go to swing on him again and he'd either grab your hand or give you a look that tells you he's being serious 

Going back to him accidentally hitting you hard as shit, he's used to sparring with two other buff ass men. Imma guess you're not as buff as them, and some of y'all reading this ain't men. Accidents are bound to happen 

You'd think the Grandmaster would have more control but I just think it slips sometimes. He's stupidly prideful and he's used to sparring so sometimes that's where his mind goes. Also once again, he probably sometimes forgets a hit Kuai Liang could handle is a hit that'll take years off your life. 

I would love to say he gets on his knees and apologizes but this is the same man who betrayed his brothers and was like “why y'all tweaking?” so um… 

You're gasping for air and he's “see why I always say no?”

I feel like I'm making him sound abusive but as someone who's play fought with my older siblings, they hit you hard as shit then tell you you're a bitch when a tear slips out. Why the fuck are you hitting me this hard in my chest? You got 5+ years on me-

He's an older brother. He's gonna hit hard. I swear it's in their DNA 

And if he does apologize it's not really verbal. He checks to make sure your limbs are alright then offers to do something else. 

“Are you gonna say you're sorry?” “For?” “For almost breaking my damn lung” “You started this”

You'd expect that the next time you wanna play fight he'd decline cause he doesn't wanna hurt you again. Wrong. 

Remember he's an older brother. THE older brother. Y'all squaring up again. You don't care about your health so fuck it. 

Honestly would be super fun besides the limb you're gonna lose 

Kuai Liang

Would be more cooperative than Bi-Han but still isn't overly excited to play fight 

Bi-Han is the “tell mom. I don't care” older brother. Kuai Liang is the “wait wait wait, I'm sorry. You can hit me back. Calm down. You want some candy?” older brother 

Fully aware he could cause terrible injuries but as time passes on, he relaxes more 

Definitely play fought as a kid but after Tomas started jumping everytime he heard his voice, he thought “maybe I need new hobbies”.

You’ve interrupted his recovery

He actively focuses on holding back and being soft even if you tell him not to

“Hit me harder” “No❤”

Honestly a fun time though. He holds back when it comes to strength but still tussles with you. Also let's you get hits in even when he could easily dodge them. 

If he accidentally injured you frfr, he's checking up on you immediately and says y'all stopping for today. 

“No, I'm ok” “Can you even breathe right now?” “Uhhh… yes😀” “We're done”

For sure feels like an asshole depending on how bad you're hurt. He's not sliding down the wall in pain but he's like “damn, that was a little too hard”. 

“You can hit me back” “No. I've seen Twilight” “What?” “It's gonna hurt me more than it's gonna hurt you. I'm not doing that”. (Now I wanna write you making them watch Twilight. I'm never gonna be rid of this addiction-)

You gotta hit him back so y'all can be even. It's the only way to move on

Y'all are not doing that shit again for at least another week or so. 

“We gotta scrap right here right now” “No”

Does the thing older siblings do when they put their hand on your head so when you swing at them, you're just hitting air. 

It's so infuriating so you gotta stop. 

The next time though, you swear you're gonna win. You will not. 

Tomas Vrbada

The most willing and having the most fun 

Tomas has two older brothers that probably jumped him on several occasions growing up and you're gonna try and convince me he doesn't have aggression to get out?

People would probably expect he's the softest but no. He's the youngest. As the youngest myself I can assure you, we are used to putting our all in these fights cause we gotta use all our strength to defeat these evil mfs we live with. Sometimes it's not enough-

You're not his older sibling so he's not scrapping like his life depends on it but I do think he's hitting somewhat hard 

Not as hard as Bi-Han, not as soft as Kuai Liang 

You feel his hits but it's not knocking the wind outta you 

Super fun cause he's also using the environment. Definitely is grabbing a pillow and starts swinging it at you. Definitely is running around the couch to chase you. Definitely has thrown you but made sure to aim at something soft. He's probably even turned off the lights then threw a folded blanket at you 

“Cheater” “Don't be upset you didn't think of it first”

You're fighting but laughing at the same time. There's no real tension. Just fucking around. 

Probably starts initiating it too

If he does injure you fr, for a split second he'd actually see it as a victory then he'd remember you're not his older brothers and is like “oh shit-”. 

Injuring those two would mean freedom (or a worse jumping. really depends), injuring you is not good. 

He knows how bad those hits can hurt so he makes sure you're alright. He's not watching you as much as Kuai Liang would but he'd still make sure you're not overly sore. 

He doesn't feel as bad as Kuai Liang would cause he kinda knows this shit happens. Kuai Liang kinda got a little bit of guilt cause Tomas gets into a fighting stance when he raises his hand up. Tomas hasn't victimized anyone so he's more chill about these situations 😭

Tells you random ass stories about when he used to play fight with his brothers. 

“One time Bi-Han threw me in the air and Kuai Liang jumped to catch me only to throw me against the wall”

“This reminds me of when Bi-Han swept my feet from under me and Kuai Liang jumped on me”

“What is it called when someone jumps on you elbow first?”

“This one time I woke up to them standing over me. I knew it was a wrap”

“One time Bi-Han slapped the back of my neck so hard, it was red for at least a week”

“One time Kuai Liang-” “Tomas… you need a therapist” “I don't think that's what it is”

Unlike Kuai Liang who makes you wait, he's cool with scrapping days later. 

Actually says “time out” when he wants a break. Also says “time in” fast as fuck though to catch you off guard 

Legit the most fun brother. I don't make the rules (except I do). 

I did not mean to write the least for Kuai Liang but I was really brain empty for him. Y’all should give me ideas, thanks bookie