#And that requires Pants and A Shirt and I’m feeling too spun up about fucking dental work to deal with that shit rn

[little-mouse-adventures]

one of the worst parts about trying to be healthy and limit processed sugar intake is that like. I just got back from the dentists (which I fucking loathe even though everything’s fine) and they put the stupid. Fluoride shit on my teeth.

can’t have anything hot or hard for 3 hours, but CAN have soft and cold, and after dealing with the fucking dentist I just want some soft serve ice cream but it’s a Wednesday and that’s not an option rn :(

[julyarchives]

Baby, pull me closer || (M)

If you had ever believed in soulmates, it was because of Jo Jinho. When you were just hanging out at a bar with a few coworkers on a Friday night, the last thing you expected was to be confronted with your past.

→ A/n: Jinho x Female Reader

→ Genre: Angst; Smut

→ Words:  3K

→ Contains: Exes to Lovers; some angst; Talk about feelings; Break up.

→ A/n: We might have gotten carried away with the word count 😅 but we hope we could live up to the request! Thank you again for the anon who did it! We hope you all like it 🥰

If you had ever believed in soulmates, it was because of Jo Jinho. You two met in High School and were inseparable since day 1. He was your prince charming, the love of your life, your ride or die. Your life with him was a fairytale, and you caught yourself wondering so many times how lucky you were to have him in your life. You two worked hard to get into the same college and the time you spent there only made your connection stronger, and you knew it in you that you were his forever.

Which only made the break up more painful.

When you were offered the scholarship of your dreams, your first instinct was to go running to him and share the news, so you could celebrate together. But it was only seconds later that you stopped to think about everything that it would implicate. Jinho’s dream job required him to stay in the city and you would never want to be the person to make him give up everything for a relationship. You were selfish enough to put your goals first, but not selfish enough to rip him out of his.

So, after a lot of thinking, you made the most excruciating decision of your life.

“What do you mean? You can’t possibly be serious. You’re joking, right?” Jinho asked, voice trembling and tears pooling in the corner of his eyes.

The lump in your throat almost took your voice away, but you quickly swallowed it, convincing yourself that this was the only right decision.

“I told you, Jinho, I just don’t feel anything anymore. This relationship won’t work if I’m not in love with you. You deserve better, and it’s best if we break up now so you don’t get any more hurt. I don’t want to hurt you, Jinho.”

“Y/N, please” His tears fell freely now. He held you close by the waist, fists curling around the hem of your shirt “Please, don’t say this. I don’t believe you.”

He leaned his forehead against yours, and you closed your eyes, trying -and failing - to hold back your own tears.

“Please” he whispered

His lips grazed against yours and you let him kiss you, tasting the salty tears that were completely unrestrained by now.

“I’m sorry” was the last thing you whispered before leaving without looking back. Completely heartbroken at the sound of him calling your name in between sobs.

That’s why when you hear his voice calling your name again, almost 2 years later, you almost couldn’t believe your ears.

You were just hanging out at a bar with a few coworkers on a Friday night, the last thing you expected was to be confronted with your past.

“Jinho?” you turned around, knowing who you would see.

You always thought Jinho was the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, and it is not like you haven’t checked his social media after the break up, but nothing had prepared you for the way he looked in front of you.

So much had passed, so obviously he looked way more mature than the last time you actually saw him in person, with traces you couldn’t see over a photo, but adorned his face like it had always been there, and only complemented his charming self.

The suit and glasses added to it as well, but what made your heart stop was the smile. It was like traveling back in time, to when you could see him everyday in comfortable sweatpants and loose T-shirts, playing guitar by the window of his apartment, the golden dawn light shimmering on his skin.

Your daze was broken as he approached and you tried to find anything to say at all, but it felt like you forgot each and every word in your own language.

“Hey” was all that came out of you, and you cursed yourself mentally for being a grown ass woman acting like a teenager again.

"I did not expect to see you here." he said, a confused look on his face

"Yeah, I live here now." You offered a smile, but you were actually nervous thinking how living in this city is basically what broke you two up.

"Nice to know I'll have a familiar face around! I got a job here now, I just moved in"

"Really?" You were surprised "congratulations on the new job"

"Thank you" He smiled in return, eyes turning into crescent moons "since we're here, would you like to grab something to drink? I would love to catch up with you"

You always thought of getting in touch with Jinho over the years. Every time you thought of him or checked him online, you thought of texting. What actually stopped you was the thought that what you did was unforgivable and he probably hated you after you ignored the many times he tried to reach you after you told him you wanted to break up. The last time you saw each other was when you went to return his stuff, and get yours' from him, and that did not go well. You two barely looked at each other and you don't ever remember saying anything, but you couldn't forget how heartbroken he was.

It threw you completely off guard when invited you to catch up because you expected him to hate your guts. But then again, it was a long time ago, he probably was over it, like you were. At least you thought so.

"Sure, why not?" You answered shyly.

He led you both to a table while your coworkers grinned at you, and you silently shushed them.

The conversation started a little awkward, both of you walking on eggshells to avoid the "ex" subject. You caught up eventually, and you were glad to know that he actually achieved the job he always wanted and was very focused on his career, and he was happy to know that the same happened to you.

Before you two realized, the conversation was flowing easily, and you were laughing together and messing with each other, feeling like nothing actually changed between you two. The connection was still there and you honestly felt happy about it.

When the bartender warned about the last call Jinho offered to share a cab home with you because it was already late, and you gladly accepted it, just so you could stretch the time spent with him.

"I'm glad we ran into each other" he said like he could read your thoughts.

"Me too, I'm having a lot of fun." You admitted, you two reaching the front door of your house.

"I gotta be honest, though, I thought we wouldn't see each other again." He said with a half-smile "the way that things happened with us…"

"Yeah, I know…" you gently interrupted, too embarrassed to bring that up "But I'm happy to see you, really. I didn't even see the time passing."

"Right?" He agreed "it ended too fast."

"I might have a bottle of wine we can open if you would like to come in" your mouth ran faster than your brain, and you felt really stupid for asking that like you were pushing some kind of limit there.

You felt a little more comfortable when he didn't take long to make up his mind and accepted your invitation.

You entered your house and kicked your heels off to the side while you heard Jinho closing the door behind himself.

Out of a sudden, you felt too shy to look at him, so you kept yourself busy with other stuff.

You tried to take your coat off, but the collar got caught in your necklace's chain, and you simply couldn't undo it yourself.

"Here, let me." Jinho promptly helped, gently untangling it.

He went further and pushed the coat off of your shoulders delicately, his fingers grazing on your bare skin exposed from your sleeveless dress. His knuckles ran all the way down your arms and you were too aware of his body next to yours, goosebumps rising on your skin when his warm breath hit the back of your neck.

"Please tell me you don't have a boyfriend." He whispered, his fingers grazing on your waist while he stood behind you.

Your breath got caught in your throat and you knew the implications of that question. You also knew that what he was suggesting, you wanted just as much.

"No, I don't." Your voice was just a barely audible whisper

You almost couldn't finish your sentence when his grasp on your waist tightened and he spun you around, pulling you closer to him, chest to chest, and his lips didn't hesitate to find yours.

Your body reciprocated him in a reflex that comes with a habit, like you never were not used to having him holding you like that.

The kiss was hungry and desperate, your hand messing his hair while he explored every new curve of your body, grasping for any skin he could find.

Jinho pressed you against the wall, trapping you in between the surface and his body. He wrapped one hand around your leg, lifting it up and squeezing up the hem of your dress, his kisses trailing down your neck.

"Fuck, I wanted to do this since I first laid eyes on you." He whispered against your ear before sucking a spot just under it.

All you could answer was a breathy moan, leaning your body to press harder against him.

You took your time exploring his body and couldn't help but notice that his muscles grew stronger as you grazed your nails on his toned chest.

He grinded his hips forward, and you could already feel a semi-hard growing in his pants, the thought of it making you clench in anticipation.

You chased after his lips again, never having enough of it, nibbling at the plump bottom lip that you always loved

"Bedroom?" You whispered in between kisses, your breath already heavy.

Jinho only nodded eagerly, and you held his hand while walking down the hall.

As soon as he figured out the way he was all over you again, backing you up until the back of your knees hit the edge of your bed and he didn't stop kissing you as you both settled on the soft mattress, every touch of his was very rough and commanding.

He kneeled up and you watched him discard his shirt carelessly, the sight making your mouth water. You bit your bottom lip, admiring his body, and he smirks proudly.

Next thing you know he's grabbing you by the hips and pulling you closer to him, making you slide down the sheets and yelp in surprise.

"You've changed" you addressed his manhandling with a naughty tone to it.

"You have no idea" his husky voice hit your ears like music, a tone as mischievous as the grin on his lips.

He pulled your dress up, off of your body, and you followed his lead without hesitating. Your panties were next and soon enough your hands were opening his fly and button, only letting go so he could get his pants and boxer off.

Jinho kissed you again and you moaned. You didn't think you'd ever need him this much again but you could feel your body trembling for him with only kisses. He pulled away and stood there, heavy breathing, eyes focusing on your every detail.

"I never thought I'd have you like this again", he seemed so sincere that made your heart ache.

"You do now", was all you could say before his hands were all over you. Gently caressing from your shoulder to your thighs, his strong hands guiding your legs to be around his waist.

"I don't think I can wait much more. '' Jinho didn't seem pleased with himself, staring at your chest instead of your face. You could see his hard shaft twitching whenever your skin rose up in goosebumps to his touch but the wetness between your legs was not any better.

"Please…".

Before you could say anything else, Jinho was already touching you, hands firmly grasping your breasts and squeezing, playing with your nipples while slowly grinding against you, his dick moving easily against your folds with how slick you were.

He groaned when you moved your hips back, hands exploring his toned chest and arms, touching all parts of him you could reach. You missed him so much that all these years apart only made you desperate to have him.

You were the one who moved lower and grabbed his member, smirking when he groaned lowly. You guided him to your entrance without a word, knowing you wouldn't be able to say anything. Jinho thankfully went along with it, letting go of your breasts and supporting himself with his hands on top of you while slowly entering you.

It felt like the world stopped. He felt so good inside, filling you up completely. Both of you moaned, his forehead leaning against yours. When he moved, you couldn't stop looking at him, his intense eyes and mouth open, his arms flexing from the movements, his hair already messy. Jinho was perfect and you wished you never let go. Looking back into his eyes, you could see he was watching you just the same and soon enough he was moving intensely with you, never breaking eye contact.

Everything started so easily and so intimate but even then it surprised you when you realized you two weren't just going on a nostalgic casual fuck. Jinho was making love to you, moving gently but also hitting your spot perfectly, his muscles flexing in the most delectable way. Your hands rested on his waist, caressing the skin as much as you could while you both moved, too deep in the moment to realize you didn't let go of each other's forehead.

It didn't take long for you to feel the fire burning hotter inside of you, the pleasure being too intense, and feeling a white-hot shock through your body. Neither of you said anything, your moaning, and heavy breathing filling your room in the most sensual way possible. One of your hands moved to his chest, right above his heart and his eyes widened. Jinho picked up his movements, chasing his orgasm as yours took over your body, making you arch and move closer to his body.

Thankfully you had recovered seconds later, just in time to see, and feel Jinho climaxing, his eyes squeezed shut and a low deep grunt falling off his lips beautifully. He laid gently on top of you and kissed you again, deep and longingly. When you pulled back, you couldn't help the bright smile you gave him, a soft giggle falling off your lips at the feeling of him in your arms again. Unfortunately, Jinho only half-smiled back and your guts twisted.

"I think we need to talk".

You could only manage a small "yeah", your smile died down. You pointed at the corridor, getting up after his nod. You didn't take long in the bathroom, too anxious to hear him out but also dreading what was about to come. You picked a sweater from the bathroom that surely wasn't supposed to be there and came back to the room.

Jinho was laying down in your bed, boxers back in place, and had half of his body covered with your comfy blanket. He was fidgeting with the hem of the blanket and you knew he was nervous as well.

"I felt cold, I hope you don't mind", he said with a shy smile.

"Of course not", you said, moving to lay with him under the blanket. He moved until he was laying on his side facing you, you mirroring his position.

"So", you both said at the same and that got a nervous laugh out of both of you. You motioned for him to go first.

"Why?", Jinho said, looking into your eyes. "Why did you leave me back then? Be honest this time, please".

"I-", you froze. You knew he'd say something about that but why was he so sure you lied? "How do you know I was lying?"

"We were perfect, Y/N", his voice was soft, his eyes gleaming. "We were in love and we fit perfectly together. You made me believe in soulmates, I felt like I would spend my life with you. And I know you felt the same".

"My scholarship", you said bluntly. "I couldn't have you give up your life for my dream and I knew you'd do it. I couldn't let go of my dream scholarship but I could never let you jeopardize yours".

Jinho closed his eyes briefly and breathed deeply slowly. Your eyes were filled with tears suddenly, a lot of feelings coming back at once. Regret, love, sorrow, how you missed him.

"I don't know if I feel relieved or even more hurt", he chuckled but you both couldn't see the humor. "I mean, I was sure you loved me but you were so hurtful that I was starting to believe you never actually even liked me".

"No!", you sit up quickly, eyes wide. "I thought it was the only option but I never stopped loving you", you blurted out.

"You… what?"Jinho sat up too then, slowly but surely.

"I know I made a mess and hurt you, but I always loved you when we were together, loved you when I broke up with you and… I honestly think I never got over you completely".

Jinho moved as if he could scare you off at any second. He slowly lifted his hands, thumbs wiping away the tears that fell. It only made you want to run. You had hurt him so much and even then he was taking care of you.

"I'm here now. I- I don't think we can go back to how we were even if we tried. It hurt too much and I don't think we are still the same person we were", he moved until his face was inches away from yours. "I feel the same and always did. I want to heal, I want to help you heal too".

Nodding, you moved to kiss him and sighed in relief when kissed you back.

"We can be friends", you said, lips moving always completely against his. "We can learn about each other again, I can redeem myself", you finished the sentence with a small kiss on his lips and he laughed.

"Friends that may kiss?"

"Friends that definitely will kiss".

[darkimaginarydesires]

Tease Me - Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

《 star wars fandom • din djarin x reader • mandalorian x reader 》

☆ you are responsible for your media consumption. this content has extreme warnings / triggers. this content may make some people uncomfortable. please be safe and take warnings seriously. if you need help or need to talk to someone, i am available for anyone ☆

♡ warnings: teasing, punishment, cunnilingus, p in the v, all is consensual this time  ♡

《 summary: a job requires you to play the role of the Mandalorian’s slave. when you decide to have a little fun, he decides to show you where teasing will get you. 》

「 Side Note: Reader and the Mandalorian have an understood arrangement regarding his helmet. Reader knows to not look at him when he takes it off, and he tells her when he puts it back on. Let's just say, they've done this many times, so they are used to it... enjoy! 」

-

“She’s my slave,” Din announced. “She goes where I go.”

The bouncer and you matched a reaction of shock, but both quickly concealed.

“Is that so?” He asked, looking you over once again. “How did you get a sexy little thing like her so indebted to you? I’d pay for the night, if you’re willing.”

You fought all urges to kill the man where he stood, and even through the thick coat of beskar, the Mandalorian could sense this tension rising. You retreated into the side of your master, knowing if you did not hide your growingly agitated demeanor you would break the false formalities and blow your cover. His arm reaching out to cover you further, which made you feel admittedly protected and at ease, the Mandalorian denied the man’s request.

“This one is not for sharing. I’ve grown quite attached to the way her tongue works.”

The man laughed obnoxiously and you could feel Din’s amusement despite his facade. You boosted forward, but you were stopped suddenly by an arm of beskar holding you back. The helmeted Mando looked down at you with a warning you knew translated to behave.

“Oh, I understand, I understand. If you ever change your mind, you know where I’ll be.”

You passed by the bouncer, Din’s gloved hand on the curve of your back to guide you. His thumb brushed under the hem of your shirt as he knew you liked - an attempt to calm you, and in his way, apologize for the necessary disrespectful tone.

You made your way over to the bar, sitting next to each other in the rather uncomfortable high tops. The Mandalorian signaled for two drinks. Sipping from his, he whispered the apology.

“You know I had to say something.”

“I know you won’t be appreciating my tongue any time soon.”

Din leaned in closer to you, if it wasn’t for the helmet, you could have felt his hot breath on your neck.

“That’s fine. I’ll make it up to you with mine.”

You looked up at him before taking a drink to hide your fluster. The effect he had on you was immense and he knew it.

“Mandalorian,” A man approached, his presence alone expressing his distaste. “You made it. Please, come join me, and bring your-“

“slave, working off a debt to me,” Mando finished, a little too enthusiastically for your liking.

Din’s hand brushed your skin again as he lead you to the secluded table set for two.

“I apologize, I did not expect you to be traveling in a pair, but certainly she can-“

“Sit.” The Mandalorian finished his sentence while commanding you by motioning with his hand. You placed yourself across his lap, wrapping your hands around his neck.

“I like the way you think, Mandalorian.”

The man motioned for one of his women to come over. She took similar position to you.

The men talked, but you were focused on another game. Your hand trailed across the areas of his chest not protected with armor. Your fingers found there way to his shirt collar and pulled down slightly to expose the skin of his neck.

“My turn to play,” you whispered, low enough only he could hear you over the bustling establishment. He tensed and gripped your thigh as your lips connected. You left love bites, licking and sucking sensually as you moved along. His grip on your thigh became instantly painful as you began grinding against him, feeling him harden.

“I want you, Mando,” you teased. “I need you to fuck me good.”

Your hand slipped underneath the table, out of sight, and massaged him gently. He grew harder by the moment as you played with him. He dug his hands into your thighs harshly again - a warning you ignored. You reached for his hand and guided it inside of your pants.

“I’m so wet for you, Mando.”

His gloved fingers naturally moved their way around your folds, the harsh fabric hitting your clit in an unexpectedly pleasurable way. You continued to palm him, mimicking his motions.

“I need you so bad,” you moaned. “Please, daddy, fuck me.”

To your surprise and the man across the table, your Mandalorian stood, tossing you over his shoulder with ease.

“Excuse me,” he announced before making his way over to the bathroom of the establishment.

He locked the door behind him and immediately pinned you against the wall.

“Do you think you’re funny?”

“A little,” you replied. “What? Did you not like that?”

“I’m going to show you how much I liked that.”

“Don’t you have more important business to handle than fucking a slave in a bathroom?”

“No.”

He spun you around and pressed your face into the wall roughly. He jerked your pants down and brought himself to his knees. You could hear the clang of his helmet against the floor as he took it off and buried his face into you, his tongue playing with your folds before focusing on sucking your clit.

“You’re going to regret teasing me, little one.”

His hands rubbed your thighs and backside roughly, spreading you apart for easy access. Your moans filled the small space. You reached behind and ran your fingers through his curls, tugging at him as he picked up his pace. Your legs nearly buckled as he ate you like he hadn’t eaten in days.

As his mouth disconnected, you immediately felt the wind down in your stomach and disappointment wave over you. He stood, wrapping his arms around your frame and nuzzling his face in your neck before burying himself deep inside of you. You cried out as he pounded you, the pressure in your stomach building again, but this time harder. You covered your mouth with your hand, trying to silent your moans. He grabbed your hand and pulled it away.

“No, let them hear you. I want everyone to know you’re in here being fucked like the dirty little slut you are.”

His cock filled you harshly until it was pleasantly painful. You could not hold back your moans. His now ungloved hand reached around you to play with your clit, moving in circular motions. Your head fell back against his chest. You no longer cared about who heard you. You cried out as you inched closer and closer to finishing. Your legs began to shake.

“You didn’t think I’d let you come just like that, did you? After all you did out there?”

He pulled out and away from you all at once. You immediately felt the lack of his presence.

“Please,” you begged. “Please let me come. Please, daddy.”

The head of his cock pressed against your folds. He moved slowly, pressing it against your aching clit. You jerked back into him needing more. His hand connected with your ass with a sharp pain.

“Be a good girl now. Don’t you think you need to be punished?”

His hand connected with your ass again, and again, and again until the mere gentle touch of his hand hurt. He brought you away from the wall and moved you into all fours in the middle of the room. He grabbed a fist full of your hair and pulled you back into him.

“Now, I want to hear you. If you hold your pretty sounds back, I’ll have to punish you again. Do you understand?”

You nodded as much as your head would allow.

“Yes, sir. Please, I need you.”

He filled you again, spreading you open as he pounded you. He pressed your face against the ground and nailed you so hard you were going numb. You moaned for him, not holding back. Each thrust sent you crying out again. His hand reached around, and played with your sore clit again. Instead of sensual circular motions, this time it was raw back and forth movement. You bucked away from him at the intensity, but he held you in place. You shook under him as you released, your walls clenching around his cock. He buried himself as deep inside of you as he could to fill you with his come. You both rode your orgasms together before he collapsed over you, both of you breathless and sore.

He sat back against the wall of the bathroom, pulling you into his chest. You were careful to keep your gaze down as you rested against him, your skin against the chest armor he was still wearing.

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice before teasing me,” he warned. He kissed your cheek sweetly and then kissed down your jaw. You looked forward, but appreciated the limited beauty you could see out of the corner of your eye, the way his sweaty hair fell into his face. You closed your eyes and turned your face to connect your lips with his. You brought your hands to his cheeks and his curls, taking full advantage of his helmet being removed.

“If it means you fucking me like that, you can call me your slave anytime, and I’ll happily tease you in public.”

He pressed his lips against yours again and you could feel his smile. He pulled your hands away from his face gently, which you knew meant he was returning the helmet.

“You can open your eyes, darling.”

You did. You were unable to suppress the ping of disappointment you felt in your chest as you stared into the blackened screen, but you hid it from him as you always did. You both stood, readjusting your clothing to look presentable again.

“Ready, love?” He asked, unlocking the door.

You walked toward him - or tried to walk toward him, despite the aching pain you felt with each step. His intoxicating laugh filled the room.

“Do you need help?”

“No,” you responded quickly. “Maybe.”

“If they didn’t know you were fucked good before, they will now.”

He picked you up bridal style, your arms wrapping around his neck. As you left the bathroom, you could feel the peering eyes on you and your Mandalorian. You buried your face into his neck, avoiding the stares as best you could.

“Can we please get out of here soon?” You muttered.

“Oh no, this is still part of your punishment, pretty girl. Let them look and imagine all the ways I fucked you.”

You returned to the table, sitting over his lap the same way you had before, but this time you knew better than you play your games.

“So,” the Mandalorian began. “Where were we?”

[downondilaudid]

Taboo Nightmare

Reader has an amazing one night stand with a stranger from a bar, only to regret her decision days later when she walks into class and realizes he’s her new professor. 

LOOK AT ME, FINALLY posting. I am finally motivated.

Requested: No

Prompts: None

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: BASICALLY JUST SMUT, Penetrative Sex, Fingering, Degradation, Light Humiliation, Light Impact Play.

“Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.”

― Emery Allen 

Your body felt warm with the alcohol coursing through your system. The bright club lights shimmered on your black sequin bodycon dress. The euphoria you were experiencing almost felt superficial, it was addicting. 

Sweaty bodies mangled on the dance floor, you being one of them, grinding your hips against one of your close friends. To say you had dragged her to the club would be an understatement, she had practically kicked and screamed the whole way here. But now here you were, both relaxed and having the time of your lives. 

From across the club, your eyes met with a man’s, his figure tall and dressed in a fitted blazer. He definitely didn’t look like he should be at a club. His features were almost unrecognizable in the low light, but his gaze was strong, strong enough to force you to look away. You turned to your friend, “I’m going to get another drink.” She nodded in understanding.

At first, you actually were headed to get a drink, standing near the bar, waiting to flag down the bartender, who seemed to be frantically running around to collect orders and mix drinks. The club was definitely understaffed tonight. 

A presence could be felt beside you, and a flicker of hope rooted in the pit of your stomach, maybe you wouldn’t be going home alone tonight. You turned your head slightly, peering over at the man, and apparently, he had the same idea. You cleared your throat, wishing you could’ve guzzled more alcohol before the encounter. Too late now, “This doesn’t look like your scene” you pointed out, your voice raised to overpower the music. 

The light hit his face, and all the breath in your body vanished, everything about him was perfect. You tried to memorize the way he looked before the light left his face. “It’s not” he responded, his voice was smooth yet punctuated. Just by the way he held himself you could tell he was an intelligent individual. 

You couldn’t help the girlish giggle his words drew out of you, “then what are you doing here? If you don’t mind me asking…”

“I’m here with a friend.” He answered, before saying another sentence. Unfortunately for him, it was drowned out by the music, fortunately for you, it gave you the perfect opportunity to get him alone. 

Your friend was long forgotten as soon as the words left your mouth, “It’s really hard to hear in here, do you want to step outside?” You threw your thumb over your shoulder, pointing to the door in case he couldn’t hear you. 

He retreated a bit, almost surprised at your bold question. For a moment you thought you had made a mistake, only for his head to nod as he brushed past you, making his way to the exit. Quickly you followed after him, the sudden change in his mood making your head spin. Yet, you were still determined to regain the higher ground, you were the predator, he was the prey, even if he didn’t know it.

The cool night air brought you back to earth, your feet halting just in time to keep yourself from running right into the man’s back. At that point, you realized you still didn’t know his name, and here you were, outside, practically alone with him, despite the few wandering pedestrians.

He turned back around to face you, his face visible now, and dear god was it a sight. His eyes were a deep hazel, and you were sure every woman on the planet was envious of his perfectly plump pink lips. He was definitely older than you, probably by quite a few years, but that never bothered you “Spencer.”

Confusion dawned your face, your eyes widening with realization, that was his name. “Y/N” you introduced, right now the two of you were neutral, but you craved the higher ground. You wanted your name to tumble from his lips, and his large hands to wrap in your hair. His eyes scanned your body slowly, lingering on your exposed legs.

You raised your fingers, snapping to get his attention, “my eyes are up here” you teased. Spencer’s head snapped up to meet your eyes, a flustered look on his face. The sound of your laughter filled the cool night air, “it’s okay, I don't mind you staring at me.” You took a step closer to him, watching as his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. “I’ve been staring at you all night.” He didn’t retreat from you, and you took it as a sign to let your hands run lightly up his chest. A burning desire ignited in your stomach as he flinched at your touch.

“A-are you sure about this? You’re a lot younger than me.” He stumbled over his words, his body subconsciously leaning into your touch.

“I like my men older.” Your hands drifted south, fingertips dipping into the hem of his slacks. Spencer’s hands shot out, wrapping around your wrists, yanking them away from his body. With a quick tug, he had you pulled flush against him, his warm breath fanning over your ear.

With every slightly ragged breath he took, his chest rubbed against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut, this was the exact reason you always went for older men. Guys your age were so boring, and inexperienced. But, this man would take his time with you, he would let his primal urges take over, he would absolutely break you. And that’s exactly what you wanted, and you knew every card to play to get what you wanted.

“You think you’re so cute? Acting like you’re the one in charge? I’m not even sure you could handle me.” Every perfectly punctuated syllable he spoke sent shockwaves to your core.

An inhale of the cold night air stuck in your throat, a sharp contrast to the warm body pressed up against you. “Funny” you began, yanking your wrists free from his grip, “I think you’re the one that can’t handle me.” It was exhilarating to see Spencer’s eyes darken with desire, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. His hands found a vice grip on your arms, pulling you from your dazed state. Whether it was the alcohol or lust that was clouding your mind, you didn’t know.

“I’m giving you one last chance to turn around, and pretend like this never happened.” If you weren’t so ready for this man to fuck you, you would say his statement was almost thoughtful. But, that was not you, some strange fate had brought the two of you together, and who would you be to pass up an opportunity like that?

There was no stopping the smile that wormed its way onto your face. You steadied yourself by latching your hands onto his forearms, now happy that you had worn heels. Your eyes locked on his, greedily enjoying the sight of his perfectly sculpted face as you spoke “not a chance in hell.” Just like that you were being roughly pulled to the parking lot of the club, and into the car of a stranger. You were very much aware that this man could be a serial killer for all you know, but who doesn’t make stupid decisions in college? The answer is girls without daddy issues.

The car ride was short, almost as if you had teleported to your destination. Which you assumed was Spencer’s apartment. His large hand had remained on your exposed thigh throughout the whole ride, his thumb rubbing teasing circles.

The second Spencer flicked on the light, and you closed the dark mahogany door, he was on you like a feral animal. His hands danced viciously up and down the curves of your body, his mouth moving in sync with yours. Your hands met his shoulder, fervently working to tear off his blazer. With every passing second, the heat coursing through your body became too much to bear. You just wanted to feel his smooth, warm skin against yours.

Air-filled your lungs as soon as you pulled away, the both of you panting for breath. His hands retreated from your body, beginning to unbutton his dress shirt. Taking the initiative, you reached for the zipper on the side of the dress, pulling it down slowly.

Spencer’s dark eyes scanned you like a hawk, seemingly memorizing your every move. The shimmering dress slipped from your shoulders, gliding over your hips with, surprisingly, little resistance. You could feel your nipples harden as the cool air kissed your skin, as the dress hadn’t required you to wear a bra. The fabric pooled at your feet, discarded as you stepped out of the circle of fabric.

A low grumble emitted from Spencer’s throat, he was clearly enjoying the show you were putting on for him. “See something you like?” You questioned, your voice seductively sweet.

“Definitely” he replied, his voice low and trickled with lust.

The two of you shared the same idea as you simultaneously took a step forward, closing the space. His mouth met yours in a frenzied kiss, the proximity causing your breasts to rub softly against his chest. Spencer trailed sloppy kisses down your neck, sucking softly here and there. A content sigh left your mouth, and your hands trailed up to tug on the hair at the nape of his neck.

Each kiss placed to your neck hit you straight in your core. It was times like these where you felt lucky to have daddy issues.

Spencer pulled back, his hands leaving your body to work on unbuckling his belt. You looked up, your eyes meeting his as he finished unbuckling the belt.

A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips, so far, Spencer’s actions hadn’t matched his words. Nothing he had done was rough or teasing. Luckily, you knew exactly how to push him. “You know, you’re all bark and no bite.” You pulled the belt from his pants, letting it clatter to the floor.

His arms crossed defensively over his chest, perfectly accentuating his biceps. “Really, you think so?” His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed as if mocking you.

Here we go. “Mhm,” you hummed. You spun on your heel, leaning down to pick up your discarded dress. “If you’re not going to fuck me like you said you would, I’m going to leave. You’re just wasting my time.”

You rose back up just in time to see Spencer rush forward, his hands meeting your shoulders. With a shove your back hit the wall, a huff escaping your lips from the impact. Before you could blink his large hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing lightly on the sides. His grip allowed him to angle your head up, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

His hair fell in his face, just above his eyebrows. Even with the yellow lighting of his apartment, he looked gorgeous. “You want to know what I think?” He paused, his other hand leaving your shoulder to run his thumb over your bottom lip. “I think…” he paused again, shoving his thumb into your mouth.

Now we’re talking, this is exactly what you had wanted. Your lips wrapped around his thumb, your tongue swirling around it. “I think you’re a young naive girl, with unresolved daddy issues, who’s desperate for attention from any male she can pull.”

His words should’ve made you run for the hills. You should’ve grabbed your dress and left. But he was right, his words didn’t hurt, in fact, they had the opposite effect. Arousal flooded your core as you rubbed your thighs together to relieve some tension.

“Enlighten me, am I right?” He pulled his thumb from your mouth, wiping the excess spit on your chin. You nodded, you felt like you were addicted to his every move, every intake of breath. His hand around your neck tightened, shocking you back to reality. “Am I right?” He growled, his voice slightly more punctuated than usual.

“Yes, yes, you’re right.” your voice cracked as his hand that was in your mouth began a slow trail down your stomach, running along the hem of your panties. Spencer leaned forward, his mouth resting next to your ear. “How desperate are you?” He whispered, drawing a light whine from your lips.

Your hand wrapped tightly around his wrist, trying to pull his hand to your core. “Please,” his hand dipped into the waistband of your underwear, fingertips trailing lightly over your folds.

The hand around your neck loosened its grip, allowing more air to flow into your lungs. Still, you felt suffocated, the pure lust clouding your mind and body. “Not so confident now, hm?”

Usually, this is the time where you would push back and take control, and show them you’re more than a pretty face. But that's not what Spencer was looking for, he wanted to watch you beg for him. So you would play nice, and give him that, as long as he gave you what you wanted.

You bit down on your bottom lip, shaking your head coyly. Spencer mimicked your action, his teeth dragging along his bottom lip. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yes! Just fu-” you huffed, restraining yourself from acting out. “Just do something, please?” It was a well-balanced mixture between begging and demanding. You were obviously desperate, but you pleaded politely.

As if your pleading wasn’t enough already, you allowed your lips to pull into a pout, your eyes rounder than usual as you stared up at Spencer. “Since you asked so nicely” he replied, his fingers finally finding solace at your core, rubbing slow circles against your bundle of nerves.

Every moment of buildup was absolutely worth it as his fingers played you like a fiddle. Your mouth fell open, a low moan escaping your lips. “Spencer, fuck!”

“Look at you,” Spencer spat, his fingers moving down to your entrance. “Making a mess all over my hand.” Two of his long fingers entered you, crooking slightly. Your hand fell from his wrist, nails coming up to scratch back down his chest.

“Harder, fuck!” This is exactly what you wanted, his hands on your body, in your body, ravishing you. He obliged your request, the obscene sound of skin smacking against skin filling the room. Porn-worthy moans left your lips as his fingers curled more, rubbing perfectly against your dimpled patch of skin.

Your back arched off the wall, and your chest heaved with pants. If you wanted to keep your submissive control you would have to control yourself. It was hard to do with Spencer’s perfect fingers buried in your cunt, his other hand wrapped tightly around your neck, varying in pressure.

You lapped up every ounce of pleasure Spencer gave you. The feeling was addicting, your head clouded and free of external worries, as your eyes fluttered shut, lost in bliss. Your hips ground onto his hand as your orgasm approached.

The hand dancing on your windpipe retreated, quickly grabbing onto the sides of your face, forcing your lips into a pout. Your eyes snapped open, met with Spencer’s dark ones. “Look at me while you cum” his fingers worked faster, his wrist angling with every thrust so his palm would rub deliciously against your clit. “A man you just met, who you blindly followed into a car. How ignorant can you be? I guess it makes sense, you’re just another whore desperate for the validation of a man.”

His taunting words sent you barreling into your orgasm, screaming out his name over and over again. Your thighs clamped onto his hand, entrapping it between your legs. Spencer’s hand released your face, allowing your head to fall forward to rest against his chest. His free hand wrapped around your body, viciously digging into your ass.

Once your thighs relaxed, Spencer pulled his hand from your cunt, quick to bring them up to your mouth. “Open.” Your jaw fell open, allowing him to push his digits into your mouth. Immediately you alternated between sucking them and swirling your tongue around them, tasting yourself.

But your time together was rudely interrupted by a ringing that buzzed through the air, and you began to look around for the source of the sound. Your eyelids grew overwhelmingly heavy, and the scene around you became distorted, the colors swirling together. Finally, your body succumbed to the tiredness, allowing your eyes to shut and the ringing to fade.

When your eyes opened you were no longer in Spencer’s apartment, but your own dorm. Shit. You had slept through your alarm, too busy dreaming about your most recent one night stand.

Leave it to you to fuck up first impressions. Which is why you were speed walking to class in a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt. You no doubt looked like you had just rolled out of bed, but I mean, you had.

Criminology honestly wasn’t something you needed to take, it was more for fun. It had piqued your interest. You had a hatred for all things school-related, and you thought, maybe if you took more interesting classes, you would be more motivated to do your schoolwork. It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful, your parents graciously decided to pay for your college. School was just something that was always difficult for you, and if you couldn’t meet everyone’s standards, what was the point in trying?

Money had never really been a problem for you growing up, and you were known to have a “bratty streak.” But, you tried your hardest to be humble, you knew your family was very fortunate to live the lifestyle they do. Sometimes, though, it could get the best of you, it was your biggest flaw, but at least you were self-aware.

You had really wanted to make a good impression, despite being the stereotypical “rich bitch,” you wanted to show there was more to you than miniskirts and sports cars.

You pushed open the dark wooden door slowly, trying not to disturb the lecture. At least you wouldn’t miss much, just the first half of the syllabus.

The professor turned to you, watching as you ducked your head, practically running up the auditorium and to the first open seat you saw. You hoped he would have resumed his lecture by the time you had set your stuff down, and picked up the syllabus off the table, but you were unlucky. His eyes were glued to you, you could feel them, and for the first time you looked up to see him.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Your eyes widened, and your jaw practically dropped to the floor, he seemed to reflect your look of astonishment. His hands frozen mid-air as if he was talking but suddenly stopped. There was no way, absolutely no way. How, how was this possible? What are the odds, what are the odds that your professor was Spencer, your most recent one night stand?

He stuttered like a deer in the headlights, his hands falling awkwardly to his sides. A hand from across the room shot up, and he immediately took the escape. “U-uh, yes?”

Your mind was reeling, how the hell had you fucked up this bad? What are the odds that your incredible one night stand turned out to be your professor?

Awkward couldn't even begin to describe the situation, and by the way Spencer’s body language shifted, you could tell he felt the same. His hands which usually flailed wildly while he spoke, stayed still at his sides, and his eyes looked anywhere but you.

By the time class was over, you were shifting uncomfortably in your seat, ready to bound out of the auditorium and switch classes. There was no way you could confront him, how are you supposed to, ‘oh, hey Spencer, how’s life? Still making girls come like crazy on your cock?’ Yeah, that definitely wouldn’t work.

You had already stuffed your laptop into your Louis Vuitton bag, pulling it over your shoulder. Students filed out of the room, and you prayed to every higher power that you disappeared into the crowd.

“Miss Y/N” fuck, if it were any other time, that phrase would be hot. You kept walking, in fact, you quickened your pace, and kept your eyes trained on the ground. “Miss Y/N, can I talk to you for a moment?” His voice was louder this time and dripped with authority. Out of all people in the club, you picked your future professor! But, unfortunately for Spencer, you were known to be very stubborn, so you continued your way to the door, your pace picking up speed. You were sure you looked insane rushing to the door, pushing through the crowd of students.

You looked up, body coming to a halt just in time to keep yourself from crashing into the back of a large man. You tried to say excuse me, and push past him, but he was like a giant brick wall, planted right in front of the door. There was no way for you to look around him and even see why he had stopped in the doorway like a fucking idiot.

A hand wrapped around your arm, grabbing your attention, and the sight was like something from a taboo nightmare. Spencer let go of your arm quickly, probably realizing how unprofessional it would look to the other students. “Stay behind for a moment, we need to talk.”

Snickers coursed around you, there was absolutely no way you were ever going to live this down. Hopefully, the other students thought he was apprehending you for being late, you couldn’t exactly explain how you unknowingly slept with your professor.

You followed Spencer back to his desk, standing politely to the side as the two of you awkwardly waited for the room to clear out. As soon as it did, your polite manner disappeared, and your hands met your hips as you shifted your weight onto one leg. “What the fuck?”

Spencer’s eyes widened at your language, his jaw falling open slightly. “You never told me you were a professor!” You exclaimed.

His eyes narrowed slightly, a defensive state taking over his body, “and you never told me you were a student!”

“I didn’t think it mattered! I’m twenty-four!!” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest with an eye roll.

Spencer turned, planting his hands on his desk, “ you’re also my student!”

You groaned, so far neither of you were solving the problem, “no shit, sherlock!”

Spencer’s head turned, sending you a sharp glare. You hated to say it but that would've been so hot if it weren’t for the fact he was your professor.

“Let’s just keep things professional.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “so just pretend it never happened?” It would be a hard task if he was going to dress in a suit like that every day. His tie was a deep maroon color, contrasting against his cream undershirt. His blazer fit his shoulders well, hugging his body perfectly, and all you wanted to do was tear it off.

“Yes, I’m not going to make you switch classes. Neither of us knew, it would be unfair for me to punish you.” Spencer stated, pulling himself back from the desk to face you.

You shifted slightly at the word punish, who the hell uses the word punish in a non-sexual context? Biting your lip, you tried your hardest to suppress a giggle, it was just so hard. A giggle escaped your mouth, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, visibly confused by your outburst. “T-there’s no way you just said the word ‘punish’ in a non-sexual context,” you said between giggles.

Just then a ringing sounded through the room, cutting off your laughter. Spencer glanced at his phone, picking it up quickly, obviously seeking escape from you.

You spun on your heel, taking it as your cue to leave. Right as you approached the door Spencer called out your name, halting you. “Please put on some more appropriate clothing before coming to class.”

A smirk tugged at your lips, deep down you knew this wasn’t over. Especially not after that line, and while walking out the door you made sure to sway your hips a little more than usual.

The next few criminology classes you attended, you behaved like a good little girl. But, slowly, your clothing dwindled, until you had walked into class in a plaid pleated skirt and a cropped tank, the perfect schoolgirl. Now, this wasn’t your only tactic, from what you gathered over the few classes you experienced, nothing peeved Spencer like false factoids. Which you made sure to quote, as long as the numbers were off by one or two points.

Usually, Spencer would have no problem correcting people, but it was different when you were correcting him. Today was like any other, you felt his eyes on you as soon as you walked in the door. Yet you refused to give him the time of day, innocently talking to your friend as you took your seats. You were clad in a skirt, and an old band shirt you had cropped. The outfit seemed perfectly normal for someone your age, unless you counted the fact that the shirt was short enough to expose the bottom half of your lace black bralette.

The lecture began like any other, and you absentmindedly listened for the perfect time to cut in. You had been interested in the class in the beginning, but as always, your focus shifted on Spencer. The way his large hands moved when he spoke, and how he dug his teeth into his bottom lip. You were sure half the people in the class were just there to admire Spencer, I mean, can you blame them? Have you seen the man? He’s the definition of perfection.

Your hand shot up in the air, the corners of your mouth upturned in a slight smirk. You could practically see the dread in Spencer's eyes, his shoulders drooping slightly. “Yes?”

“Can you repeat that one more time?” You questioned, pulling your laptop in front of your body, as if ready to type.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed slightly, scanning you. “Oh, you don’t need to write it down.”

You looked up from your computer, feigning an innocent look as your head tilted slightly, “it sounded pretty important.”

He shoved his pockets, letting out a slight huff, “then maybe you should’ve paid more attention.” With that he continued his lecture, leaving you smirking to yourself. You were definitely getting under his skin.

You slid your computer into your bag, pulling it over your shoulder. For the first time, you initiated eye contact, turning to look at Spencer, only to find him glaring daggers at you. God, you were really in for it.

An innocent smile took over your face, deciding to push him just a bit further, you raised your hand giving him a teasing wave. If possible, his eyes got darker, and his arms crossed over his chest. His button-down was rolled up his arms, leaving his perfect veins on display.

His arms unfolded, one of his hands motioning you towards him. Who would you be to ignore him? You bounded down the stairs, anticipation winding in your stomach. You stopped at the bottom of the stairs, watching as the last group of students walked out of the door.

Your body shifted towards Spencer, “what's up?” You asked.

He scoffed, shaking his head in astonishment, “what do you want from me?”

A sickly sweet smile curled onto your face as you took a few steps closer to Spencer, like a lioness circling her prey. “I’m pretty sure you know what I want Dr. Reid.” With another couple slow steps forward you were within a foot of Spencer. “You’re a smart cookie.”

The corners of Spencer’s mouth twitched into a smirk, mimicking your own. His arm shot out, wrapping swiftly around your elbow, and with one sharp tug, you were chest to chest with Spencer.

His hot breath hit your ear with the new proximity, “correct me if I’m wrong. You want me to bend you over my desk, hike up your pathetic excuse of a skirt, and fuck you until you’re shaking around my cock?”

Someone needed to call the firefighters, because it was getting hot in there. Your mouth fell open in a delirious smile. “I don’t think I’m the only one here who wants that.” You ran a hand down his chest, continuing its trail till it stopped to rest over the slight bulge in his slacks.

Spencer let out a light groan at your touch, “you’re my student.” He protested.

“You’re not pushing me away, professor.”

At first, the only sign he gave you that you had won him over was his tongue poking out to wet his lips. But, quickly, using the hand on your elbow as leverage, he spun you around, shoving you face-first into his desk.

The impact caused you to let out a sharp yelp, your breasts squished harshly against the desk, the wood pressing hard into the top of your thighs. “How taboo, professor, fucking your bratty student over your desk.”

His hand tangled in the roots of your hair, pulling your head back slightly, so you were facing the auditorium. He leaned over you, his breath hitting your ear, and his now noticeable bulge rubbing against your ass. “You think I’m just going to fuck you? A pathetic whore like you doesn’t deserve my cock.”

His words pulled a giggle from your lips, quick to remind him, “well, you already have.”

You wanted to push him to the edge, you craved to feel the anger coursing through him as he pounded you into the desk. He let out a huff, the smooth skin of his hands brushing against your backside as he hiked up your skirt, exposing your ass. A laugh sounded through the air, and he hooked a finger in the lace fabric of your black thong, pulling lightly and letting it snap back against your skin. “Did you wear this just for me?”

“Would you want me to?” You could tell your snide comments were irking him, as his hands ran over your smooth skin, gripping harshly at your ass.

His hands left your skin, and the rustling of fabric could be heard behind you. “Open your mouth.” Your eyebrows knitted in confusion, still, you obeyed, letting your jaw fall open. Fabric filled your mouth as he pulled his tie around your head as a makeshift gag, working to knot the two ends behind you. A muffled protest left your mouth, and you attempted to push yourself from the desk.

But, Spencer had other plans, one of his palms fell to the small of your back, pushing you firmly back against the desk. “I’m tired of your backtalk, you’ll speak when spoken to. Understand?”

You nodded your head against the desk, but that wasn’t what he wanted, as he spoke again, “do you understand?” His voice was sharp and enunciated, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t around you.

“Yeth thir” you garbled through the tie, the pure humiliation of your distorted voice causing a flush to cover your cheeks.

Spencer hummed lightly, “what a pretty sound, almost as pretty as this one.” Once again you were left confused, the answer coming in the form of a swift smack as his hand collided with your ass. Your body lurched forward against the desk, a muffled scream leaving your mouth.

“Thank me, sweetheart. You’re lucky I’m even touching you.” Spencer growled out, before his hand came crashing down again against your backside. It was harsh and painful, yet you didn’t want him to stop. You were sure it must’ve hurt his hand, you know it would hurt yours.

“Thank you, thir.” The tie was warm in from your hot breath, and you could feel spit starting to trail out the corners of your mouth. Never in your life could the term hot mess be so accurate.

Spencer continued his assault on your ass, again and again, leaving your skin red hot and burning. Each time you thanked him, and each time your speech became more and more pathetic as you squirmed against the desk. The overwhelming desire getting the best of you.

His finger hooked in your underwear, this time pulling them to the side. His long digits parted your slick folds. “Maybe I will fuck you, not sure if I’ll let you cum though.” He thought aloud.

You whined at his words, stretching out against the desk to push your ass back towards him, longing for more friction. The action caused his fingers to run deliciously over your clit, eliciting a low moan from your mouth.

“Pleath, pleath fuck me.” It was crazy how quick he could break down your resolve, no longer fighting, but rather eagerly submitting to him.

His touch left your body, the glorious sound of clinking metal and rustling clothes following his retreat. “You’re lucky you’re such a pretty whore.” One of his hands met the side of your hip, the other reached up to grab a hold of your hair. The head of his cock pushed past your folds as he sheathed himself inside you.

The sounds and curses you released were muffled by the tie, Spencer pulled back almost completely, before slamming back into you. The feeling of his warm cock plunging in and out of you was incredible, and you were sure he felt the same, as he let out low moans behind you.

With each thrust his hips smacked against your sore ass, adding to the redness. The hand buried in your hair began to yank you back in time with his thrusts. “Is this what you wanted? For me to bury my cock in you? For me to punish you?”

You attempted to answer, but all that came out was a screech. His hand left your hair, letting the top half of your body collapse onto the desk. He used both hands to grab your hips, pulling you up as he thrusted, the new angle allowed him to brush against your g-spot. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and your jaw clenched, teeth baring down on the tie.

It was times like these that made you question whether or not you were a sex addict. Because the feeling of being filled was completely intoxicating, you never wanted it to end. “You know, you’re a very smart girl. Maybe if you thought with your head more, and not your cunt, you would do better in my class.”

Well, it was hard to pay any attention when your professor was Spencer fucking Reid. He laughed behind you, “but you can’t do that, can you? You’re so desperate for cock, that you purposely corrected me with false information so you could get a rise out of me.”

Your body had devolved to a moaning mess, and you squirmed unceremoniously against the desk. You could feel your orgasm threatening to overtake you from the telltale signs of your legs beginning to shake under you, and your hips rutting back against Spencer wildly.

“It worked, didn’t it? You got what you wanted? Because, now you’re here, cumming on my cock.”

Like magic, his words pulled your orgasm from your body. You sobbed into the tie, and your nails scratched against his desk. You barely registered Spencer pulling out behind you, groaning as ropes of his cum coated your ass.

Heavy breaths filled the room as the two of you came down from your orgasms. “You okay?” Spencer rasped. His hands came up to your head, fumbling with the knotted tie.

The tie slipped from your mouth, falling onto the desk. “Yeah,” your voice was equally as hoarse as his, if not more.

“Good,” he replied.

Your next class of Professor Reid’s you actually decided to pay attention and withhold your annoying commentary. Like always, the students began to file out when the class ended, yet you took your time. When the last student walked out you turned to Spencer, watching as his head tilted slightly. He was thinking, probably figuring out what you were trying to do. But, there was no need for that.

You walked to his desk, a genuine smile etched onto your face. “You up for lunch, Dr.Reid?”

His eyes narrowed at you, a light smile crossing his face, “just lunch?”

“Hmm… maybe more than lunch.” You giggled.

He turned picking up his satchel, and pulling it over his head, to rest across his body. “Only if you promise to be a good girl.” He said, taking a step towards you.

You pouted playfully at him, “I’m never good, doctor.” The statement caused the two of you to laugh, before you were off to a discreet lunch.

Tag list: @pinkdiamond1016 @gubler-squad @obsessed-with-spencerreid

[sunsetinmyvein]

My Foot is in the Door - Patrick Stump

Eyyyy, thanks for the request from the prompt list lovely anon! I went with a slightly different angle with the “ I’m calling to cancel our date because I’m actually in the ER right now, sorry. I mean… sure? I guess you can come down here but- okay…” context, since I’ve done it once already for Mr Healy and wanted to spice it up. Hopefully you still enjoy it. (Also, it didn’t eat the bottom half of your ask, I’m just a dumbass lol)

“Pete, I just don’t know why you set me up on this date.” Patrick huffed into the phone as he tried to find his tie. Where the fuck had he put it? When did he last even wear it..? Probably for that shitty wedding two years ago.

“Because you need to get laid, ‘trick.” His friend’s voice echoed down the line.

“I’m fine.” He grumbled as he flipped his laundry basket over. It wasn’t there either.

“It’s been ages.” Pete droned.

“Just because you need to fuck someone every three days doesn’t mean I have to.” He shot back, only to hear the bassist laugh in response. “I’m not gonna sleep with someone I’m not into. You know that, right?” He asked as he finally caught sight of the dark blue tie sticking out from one of his dresser drawers.

“You should.” He yanked hard on the tie, but it wouldn’t budge.

“That’s not how it works.” Patrick spat angrily as he pulled on the tie again.

“It is for me.” He could just hear the smugness in Pete’s voice. He didn’t want to go on this stupid fucking date. He’d done it as a favour and it had just backfired on him. The restaurant was ages away and way too fancy, he didn’t even like this girl, and now he couldn’t even get his fucking tie to look half decent.

“Pete, I swear to god-” He started as he spun around and kicked his door in frustration, only to feel pain shoot up his leg and leave him crumpled on the floor.

  At the sound of the phone clattering to the floor and Patrick’s strangled cry of pain, Pete became slightly concerned. “Are you okay?” The singer heard his friend ask. His phone was only a metre away, but he felt like if he let go of his ankle he might die. Patrick also saw the sizeable hole that was now in his bedroom door.

“No. Obviously I’m fucking not!” He shouted in the direction of the receiver.

“What did you do?” Pete continued.

“Probably just broke my foot when I kicked the door because I was mad at you and my stupid tie.” He stared daggers at the piece of fabric in question as he said it, hoping that it was able to feel his wrath.

All he could hear was laughter. “You’re a dumbass.” He was going to choke on his rage any second now and just die here on the floor with a broken foot.

“I’m going to fucking smash your bass over your car if you don’t take me to the hospital.” He eventually said through gritted teeth when Pete’s laughter died down.

“Shit. I’ll be there in five.” He mumbled as he hung up the call.

“You fucking better be.”

  The drive to the hospital was mostly just filled with the crackling of Pete’s shabby old radio. Patrick was in too much pain to speak. He worried that if he opened his mouth he might just scream, so he opted to keep it shut. He was also still mad at Pete for being the cause of this. But at least he’d gotten out of the date. Shit. The date. “I’d better call her and let her know not to go to the restaurant…” He muttered as he fumbled in his pocket for his phone.

“You probably should, yeah.” Pete nodded as they pulled into the carpark.

Patrick scrolled through his phone for her contact, before begrudgingly hitting the call button. She picked up after three rings, which was a shame – he had hoped he could just leave her a voicemail. “Look, I’m really sorry but I need to cancel our date.” He sighed.

“What? Why?” She asked in what sounded like frustration.

“I, uh… I think I’ve broken my foot?” He answered hesitantly.

“Oh my god!” She gasped loud enough that Patrick had to pull his phone away from his ear.

  “So, it needs to be looked at-” He continued.

“Let me drive you!” She offered instantly. He could hear her shuffling around on the other end of the line.

“No, it’s fine, I’m already here-” He shook his head vehemently, even though he knew she couldn’t see it.

“I’ll meet you there. Just let me find my jacket.” She interrupted, clearly not listening to what he was saying.

He decided to just get to the point and be honest with her, “Seriously, I’d rather you didn’t-”

“I’ll see you soon!” She called out, before he heard the click of the call ending.

“I… guess?”  He said in disbelief as he stared at the phone in his hand.

“Come on.” Pete said, gesturing in the direction of the hospital doors and holding a hand out to help Patrick get out of the car. Patrick slapped it away, deciding to hobble to the doors by himself.

  Once he had checked in, taken a number and sat down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, he let out a long sigh. At least it wasn’t too busy in the waiting room at this hour. He felt far too dressed up to be here, still in his good pants and crisp shirt. But no emergency room was complete without a crying baby and a TV that was turned up slightly too loud. The jarring noises rattled around Patrick’s skull incessantly. Why couldn’t he have grabbed some headphones on his way out of the house? He let out another defeated sigh.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong or you just gonna wallow in your angst?” Pete asked, not even looking up from his phone.

“Why did you set me up with this girl?” Patrick moped. He could’ve had a pleasant evening by himself. But no, here he was with a fractured foot and a jerk.

“Because I am older and therefore wiser than you.” He spoke in an entitled tone.

“Get fucked.” He scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

  “Because she’s hot.” That sounded much more accurate.

“Then why didn’t you just take her out?” He questioned.

“I took pity on you.” Pete said as he clapped a supportive hand down on Patrick’s shoulder, which he instantly shrugged off.

“I don’t fucking need your pity, Pete.” He frowned. The notion that he required relationship help from someone like Pete was just downright offensive.

“Well, you need something to help you out. You’re doing pretty hopelessly at the moment.” He said as he tried to wrap his arm around the younger singer.

“Hey! Fuck you!” He nearly shouted, moving to grab Pete’s arm off him. But he was too fast.

“I’m doing you a favour, man.” Pete chuckled. He was about to also need to check himself into the emergency waiting list if he continued like this.

  “Mr Stump?” A voice called, right as Patrick had lined up his fist with Pete’s teeth.

“Oh, that’s me.” He mumbled in surprise. “This isn’t over.” He added, glaring at his friend. Pete just flashed his shit-eating grin in response. Patrick gave him the finger.

“He can come too-” The nurse started to offer.

“No!” He cut her off instantly. “He absolutely is not coming.” He said, scrambling to get to his feet and limp over to the nurse. She eyed him in concern before taking a few steps closer to help him walk.

“Come through here.” She instructed as she motioned towards a set of double doors.

“Sure thing.” He nodded as she wrapped an arm around his waist to try and keep some of the weight off his foot. Patrick couldn’t help but feel the little nagging voice at the back of his brain informing him that the attention was nice.

  “Just sit here and let’s take a look.” She said as she sat him down in a chair and began rifling through a few drawers. Patrick watched her as she tried to find whatever equipment she was looking for. She was quite pretty. That just made this all the more embarrassing. Having an attractive person deal with your stupid, anger induced injury? Awful.

“I think I might’ve broken it, or fractured it.” He started to explain as he took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, trying to fill the awkward silence. She nodded along, listening to him elaborate on his pain.

“All right.” She finally said, having removed his swollen foot from his shoe. “Let me know if this hurts.” She said as she began to try and roll his ankle around. He took in a sharp breath, the pain was instantaneous.

“That… yep.” Patrick squeaked, trying hard not to yank his foot away. “Definitely hurts.” He nodded rapidly.

“One a scale of one to ten?” She asked as she gently put his foot back on the ground.

“Nine. Nine point five.” He said quickly, rubbing at the stubble on his chin to stop himself from crying out in pain.

“Okay.” She said, turning around to make some notes on his file. “There doesn’t seem to be any abrasions or cuts, what did you do to it?” She questioned.

“I… er… I was worked up on the phone and kicked a door too hard.” He admitted sheepishly as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

  “Must’ve been an intense conversation you were having there, Mr Stump.” She said with an amused look.

“My friend out there set me up on a shitty date.” He said, jabbing a thumb towards the door.

“Oh? Why was it so bad?” She asked as bandaged his foot to try and keep the swelling compressed.

“The girl he set me up with is more of his type of girl than mine, and now he’s just trying to guilt trip me into going on a date with her.” He explained with a huff. As he said it, he heard her familiar shrill voice echoing in through the waiting room door. “Oh my god, that’s her.” He said, shrinking down in his chair. “Please don’t let her know I’m back here.” He pleaded. He was trying not to sound desperate, but was absolutely certain he was failing.

“You don’t want her to know you’re okay?” She asked with a confused frown.

“I really don’t want to be on this date.” He said truthfully, scratching at one of his sideburns. “I told her I was going to the ER and she just told me she’d meet me her. I tried to ask her not to but she insisted.”

“Fair enough.” She shrugged as she grabbed a set of crutches. “I’m going to send you off for an x-ray to verify exactly what you’ve done. It’s just down the…” She was about to send him back through the waiting room to go down to the x-ray clinic, but then realised he probably didn’t want to go past this date of his. And the puppy dog look he was giving her was too sweet to resist. “Let’s go the back way.” She suggested.

“Thanks.” He grinned.

  After a slow and shaky trip down to the x-ray machines, the nurse left him in the technician’s capable hands. The scan took less than five minutes. But then a further ten minutes was spent by Patrick prying to know what his foot looked like. Was it broken? Fractured? Sprained? The answer of ‘I’m not the doctor, I can’t tell you’ just wasn’t good enough. Also, he’d rather not leave this nice, confined room just yet. But eventually he had to give up and go back to the waiting room. He apprehensively pushed the door open, feeling a rush of relief to see Pete sitting by himself.

“Hey, man. What did they say?” He asked as Patrick hobbled over.

“I don’t know. They have to wait for the x-ray to come back.” He said as he tried to sit down. Crutches made everything so much more difficult to manoeuvre.

“Do they think it’s broken?” He continued to question.

“I don’t know.” He said again. “Where did she go?” He asked, glancing around the waiting room.

“She went out to go get a coffee.” Pete answered. A coffee at 11pm? Geez. “Did you want me to-”

“No!” Patrick instantly shouted, earning a death stare from the receptionist at his volume. “No.” He said again, quieter.

“I’ll let her know when you’re free next?” He suggested. It looked like he was trying to contain his stupid smile.

“Please don’t.” Patrick groaned.

  The bandages soothed the pain somewhat. Which was helpful considering it was another hour in the waiting room before the results of his x-ray came back. “Mr Stump, please come through.” The same nurse called out.

“Coming!” He spoke, quickly getting to his feet. Pete watched his lack of coordination with the crutches with amusement, at one point sticking his foot out just to be difficult. Patrick stomped on it with his good foot, earning a yelp out of the bassist.

“Take a seat.” The nurse said when he eventually managed to get into the room.

“Is there a reason you never say my first name?” Patrick asked as he leaned his crutches against the wall.

“What?” She asked, seemingly caught off guard.

“You keep calling me Mr Stump.” He elaborated, adjusting his glasses.

“Oh, well… it’s just procedure, I guess? We’re told to refer to patients by their surname.” She answered.

“You can call me Patrick.” He said. She looked over at him, and he suddenly felt self-conscious under her stare. “Uh, if you want, anyway.” He added with a nervous grin. She just smiled back at him.

  “Looking at your x-rays, it’s not broken.” She said, bringing them up on her screen.

“Oh, that’s good.” He said, the news brightening his mood.

“You’ve just dislocated it.” She continued, pointing out the leg bone that wasn’t sitting flush with his foot like it should be on the scan.

“That’s… not good.” He said quietly. The worries started building in his head about what that meant for their gig next weekend. Would he even be able to walk by then? Let alone be on stage for an hour?

“It’s not great Patrick, no.” She laughed lightly. The way she said his name pulled him out of his spiralling. “You really did a number on yourself.” The smile on her face made his heart rate start climbing. He realised after a second that he was just staring at her like a love-sick puppy, and should probably say something.

He cleared his throat before speaking, “So, um… What do I do now?” He asked, leaning forward in his seat to get a better look at the x-ray.

“We’re going to need to move the bones back into place.” She replied. He instantly grimaced. “It won’t be as bad as you think. It’ll hurt less once it’s sorted.” She reassured him.

“I’ll take your word for it.” He nodded grimly as he pulled a hand through his hair.

  “We’re going to need to take you through to one of the doctors to get them to do it.” She said as she stood up and started moving towards the doors.

“Aw, man. More walking?” He complained. “These crutches are so hard to use.” He mumbled as he got to his feet.

“Have you adjusted them?” She questioned.

“What?”

“Have you adjusted them? To be correct to your height?”

“Oh, uh… no? How do I do that?” He stared down at the large metal contraptions. After a brief moment of laughing at him, she helped him sort out the crutches to be more comfortable. Usually, he would get pretty defensive at being laughed at, but in this moment, he was just happy to have made the cute girl laugh. Maybe all the adrenalin was messing with his brain.

  As they stepped out into the waiting room, the nurse nudged his shoulder. “It would seem your friend is having a better night than you are.” She said quietly.

“Huh?” He looked around the room in confusion, before spotting what she was referring to. He caught sight of Pete walking out of the hospital, with his date hanging off his arm. The bastard then had the audacity to turn around and flash Patrick a thumbs up over his shoulder. The fucker.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” Patrick said through gritted teeth, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his crutches.

“Wait until your foot is better first.” He heard the nurse say.

“What?” He frowned.

“Don’t wanna give him any extra advantages or you might not succeed.” She explained.

He looked at her in bewilderment for a second, before starting to laugh. “I’m liking you more and more by the minute.”

  She ushered him through to the doctor’s room, leaving him sat there waiting and worrying for the next twenty-five minutes. Finally, a doctor came in to reposition his foot. They ran him through a few things that they were going to do, before just jumping right in. The pain was on a new level from anything he had felt before as the doctor forcibly moved his bones. But once it was set as it should be, it started to ebb away slightly. Once the procedure was done, the doctor relegated him back to the nurse’s office. He sat quietly, massaging his ankle slightly to try and relieve some of the ache.

“Patrick, good to see you still in one piece.” She said as she came back into the room.

He looked up at her in surprise, unable to stop himself from cracking a smile. “Good to have my foot reconnected to my leg.” He shot back.

“The doctors sorted you out, then?”

“Yeah.” He nodded as he fiddled with the hat in his hands. “They said you had some medication for me?” He added.

“Yes. I do.” She began grabbing a box out from the cupboard above her computer before handing it to him. “Only take these painkillers once a day - I’d recommend using them to sleep.” She instructed with a serious expression.

“Got it.”

“Keep your foot elevated when you can to reduce the swelling, ice it if it’s hurting too much.” She continued.

“Okay. I can do that.”

  “And if you’re really struggling,” She started, handing him some paperwork. “Feel free to ask me for help.”

He looked at her in confusion, before looking down at the papers to see a number written across the top. It took him a second for the pieces to click into place. “Really?” He grinned in disbelief.

“Take care of yourself, Patrick.” She smiled sweetly.

“But if I don’t, I’ll see you more.” He pointed out.

“You can see me without injuring yourself.” She laughed, rolling her eyes at his suggestion.

“Good to know.” He felt like his heart was beating so fast it might explode.

“Terrible night a little bit better now?”

“Much.”

[impala-dreamer]

Muddy Soul - Chapter 26

~ Life isn’t always as it seems and people aren’t who they say they are. Love isn’t always a good thing, and sometimes, finding out the hard way may just kill you. ~

Series Warnings/Characters/Pairings are all listed on the Muddy Soul Masterlist. Please read the warnings before proceeding.

Chapter 26 Word Count: 2,056

Muddy Soul Masterlist ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ My Original Works on Amazon

Days went by and Y/N found a little peace now and then. 

Castiel had been by to heal her new wounds, easily closing up the cuts and soothing the bruises. She smiled as he worked, closing her eyes as his Grace flowed through her. It felt so strange, like an echo of Christian’s magic, and she soaked it in, just a little taste, just a hit of the drug she needed.  

The withdrawal came and went. For long stretches, she was fine, almost back to her old self if not incredibly tired and depressed. She felt all right, until suddenly, she felt very wrong.

She helped out when she could, reorganizing the pantry with Dean, and passing him tools as he gave Baby a tune up. It was easy to do things that required her hands; moving was much better than not. 

When she sat with Sam in the Library, attempting to help him with some lore entries, she started to panic. The quiet was too quiet, the air was too still. Her fingernails flicked over the tiny ribs in her jeans, tugged at the seams on her shirt, dug into her palms. If she wasn’t moving, she was thinking, and thinking only led her down the darker paths. 

What had she done wrong? Why had she been so stupid? Why didn’t he want her? 

Over and over, she played out scenes in her head like horror movies as Christian’s phantom haunted the shadowy corners of the Bunker. She tried to ignore him at first, forcing her eyes to pass over him without a thought, but it was impossible. He was solid, lifelike, evil. And she wanted him still. 

Eventually, she learned to tune out his face, to push away his image from her mind. It wasn’t always easy, but the more she did it, the more she consciously told him to leave, the more she crossed out his picture in her mind, the stronger she felt. Perhaps, she could beat him. 

Some days she smiled. 

Some days she cried. 

Some days she screamed and fought with anyone who approached her. She drank until her stomach turned, cut until she needed help to staunch the bleeding. 

Some days she climbed into Dean’s bed with soft kisses and a plea for a hug. 

Some days she ran from him, afraid he would strike her down with a single blow. 

It was hard, but she was trying. 

Thursday night was pizza night, and it was Dean’s turn to fly. He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and headed for the garage, boots clunking loudly against the floor. 

Y/N was alone in the kitchen, staring down into a cup of cold black coffee. 

He stopped in the doorway and whistled at her. “Hey. You gonna drink that or interrogate it?”

Y/N shivered and yanked her mind from a flashback, forcing a smile as she looked up at Dean. “Going somewhere?” 

She sounded sad, lost. His shoulders dropped. 

“Just running into town to grab dinner.” He twirled the car keys in his hand. “Come with me.” 

Y/N shook her head. “I don’t know-” 

Dipping his chin, Dean gave her the eye. “You’re coming. Let’s roll.” 

Reluctantly, she followed. It was hard to say no to him even in her darkest moments. Especially when he looked up at her through those thick lashes, green eyes bright with ideas. “You suck,” she mumbled. 

His chuckle rumbled off the tiles. “I know.” 

Y/N hadn’t been outside in weeks and the early evening sun burned her eyes as the Impala drove out of the garage. The light rose on the windshield like sunrise on a beach and Y/N squinted at the brightness, not used to the feel of it against her eyes, her skin. 

When they hit the road, she rolled down her window an inch and Dean watched as she stuck her nose in the crack, cautiously sniffing the air. She inhaled deeply and the cool air filled her senses. 

“It’s almost fall,” she said, rolling down the window even more and sticking her hand out. She let her hand ride on the wave of the wind, smiling honestly for the first time in a long while.

Dean smiled. “Yeah. Almost.” 

Y/N closed her eyes and let the wind kiss her cheeks. It felt good to breathe again, to feel the air rush through her hair. The sun flickered like a strobe through the trees and she unbuckled her seatbelt, turning towards Dean. 

“Let’s go to Vincenzo’s,” she suggested with a soft smile. 

Dean raised a brow and shifted his hands on the wheel. “Vincenzo’s? That’s like thirty minutes away. We’re just popping into town.” 

Y/N pouted. “I just wanna… drive for a while.”

He nodded and stretched his arm out across the back of the long bench seat. “OK.” 

Y/N scooted over and settled against his side, head on his shoulder, hand on his chest. He bent his lips to kiss the top of her head; he hadn’t felt this good in forever. Maybe she was finally on the way back. 

The pizzeria was crowded and Y/N clung to Dean’s hand as they walked inside. She hung back as he ordered; two pies and a side of wings. Y/N closed her eyes and tried to breathe, but the lights were too bright, the voices around her too loud. The walls began to tremble, ready to close in around her, and she dug her nails into her palms, begging her mind to slow. 

“You all right?” Dean asked, turning away from the counter. She was a step behind him, muscles in her arms and neck pulsing rapidly as the rest of her stood stone-still. “Y/N?” Concerned, he reached out to touch her arm and she jerked away, violently jumping back. 

“No!” She screamed at his touch, at the room, at the random strangers now turning to look at her. Their faces twisted and contorted into viscous sneers and evil laughter rang in her ears. She swung at Dean who tried to pull her close, knocking him off balance with a left hook he didn’t see coming. 

Christian loomed in the darkness behind the crowd that now turned to gawk and point at the crazy woman in their midst. He tipped the ashes from his cigarette onto a freshly baked pie and laughed. “You’re losing your mind, pretty girl.” 

Her vision blurred on everything but his smug face and she raged at him, shouting over the dense noise pounding in her skull. “Shut up!” 

Hands reached for her, faces rushed into her line of sight. Her skin began to crawl, her veins ached, her breath stopped. 

Y/N spun on her heel and rushed to the door, Christian’s booming laugh echoing behind her. 

“You can run all you want. I’m inside of you. You’re stuck with me. Forever.” 

Bells crashed above the door as Y/N pushed out into the night air. She took off down the street, not knowing or caring where she was going. 

Darkness settled around her, the cool air stung her cheeks. 

Boots thudded behind her; Dean called her name. 

Out of breath, she stopped, sneakers skidding on the asphalt. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky, arms spread, soul open. She begged Heaven to strike her dead. Dared Hell to come take her. She’d had enough. 

“Smart girl.” Christian’s voice flew through her mind, carried by the wind that lifted the short hairs at the nape of her neck. “Death is the only way out of this.”

Y/N screamed. “Please!”

She felt the light hit her eyelids, burning them bright orange and red. She smiled, relieved that the angels were listening, and opened her eyes. 

Headlights blinded her and Y/N lifted her arms to shield her eyes. 

Dean slammed into her like a brick wall, knocking the breath from her lungs as he grabbed her up off of her feet, rushing her to the side of the road where they both fell in a heap on the grass, panting and terrified. 

“What the hell is wrong with you!” He screamed, rolling over her, pinning her to the cold ground. “You trying to get yourself killed?” 

Tears pushed out of her eyes, sliding down the corners, and she gasped for air, unable to control herself as he yelled. “Please...stop.” 

His face was red, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched. “Stop? I just fucking saved your life!” 

Y/N whimpered loudly as his voice crackled through her. Her bottom lip shook, her body trembling beneath him. 

Dean sat back on her legs and lifted a hand to scrub down his face. She saw the arm go up and cringed, turning away from him, afraid he was about to strike. 

“D-don’t.”

“Jesus, Y/N/N,” he gasped, climbing off of her and lowering his hand. “What the hell did he do to you?” 

Still shaking, she rolled onto her side and popped up on all fours, scurrying away from him as fast as she could. She didn’t get far, collapsing into a pile of weak limbs and flowing tears. 

“Baby, come on… please.” Dean went to her, falling down next to her head, listening in pain as she cried. “I’m sorry I screamed at you. I just- I don’t know what’s going on half the time anymore and I- You were standing in the middle of the road, talking to yourself. For fuck’s sake, Y/N, this can’t go on. You can’t go on like this.” 

Tears calming but heart aching, Y/N pushed up and sat on her heels, wiping her cheek with her sleeve. “What are you saying? That you’re done with me?”

Dean startled. “What? No…”

“That I’m too much of a fucking burden and you’re over it?” Her voice grew with anger and resentment. “You don’t want to have to deal with the crazy girl anymore?”

Dean shook his head and sat forward, reaching for her. “Y/N, no. Stop it.” 

“Oh, I’ll stop it.” She jumped to her feet. “I’ll leave you to get on with your life, Dean Winchester. God forbid anyone else have a fucking trauma around here but you or Sam! I’ll just leave you two to it, then, shall I? The Righteous Man and the Boy With The Demon Blood, twin fucking assholes!” She turned, ready to run, but Dean’s cell phone rang, throwing her off track. 

He was frozen, staring at her as the ringtone blasted from his jacket pocket. 

“Well?” she yelled, one hand waving towards the sound. “You gonna answer it?” 

“I don’t know,” he said calmly. “You done yelling at me?” 

Y/N crossed her arms and sneered. “Yes.” 

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket and swiped, putting Sam on speaker. 

“Hey. Where are you guys?” 

Dean sighed. “Oh, just rolling around in a ditch by the side of the road. You?” 

“What? Just get back here. Rowena’s got something.” 

Y/N leaned in. “Rowena?” 

Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah. I asked her to look into a few things for us. She, uh- Just get home soon as you can.”

Dean nodded and pulled the phone closer. “OK. On our way.” 

As if he could sense her apprehension through the phone, Sam added, “Oh, Y/N? It’s a good thing.” 

She scoffed and looked away. “Yeah, yeah.” 

Dean ended the call and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. “You ready?” he asked, looking up at her. 

Y/N nodded gently and held out her hand to help him up. He mostly jumped, but she helped a little. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

Dean licked his chapped lips and sighed. “Me too.”

After a glance that lasted a moment too long, Y/N turned and tried to start back for the car, but Dean refused to let her hand go. 

“What are you doing?” 

He turned his palm and pushed his fingers through hers, locking them together. “Not letting you go again,” he said, voice calm and sure. 

Y/N smiled and Dean blushed as she stared at him, an adorable laugh shaking her shoulders. “So much for no chick flick moments…” 

Dean gave her hand a tug as he walked off, pulling her behind him. “Yeah, shut up.” 

‘21 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @amanda-teaches​ @beardburnsupersoldiers​ @because-imma-lady-assface​ @broiderie​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @cheritzie @cno92 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses​ @crashdevlin​ @deansgirl215​ @defenderrosetyler @dontshootmespence @donnaintx​ @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn​ @gabrielslittleangel​  @hannahindie​ @ilsawasanacrobat​ @justcallmeasmodeus​ @katelynw93​ @kittenofdoomage​  @laxe-from-outer-space @lyarr24​ @magicsharilynn @mariekoukie6661​ @missjenniferb​ @mylovelydame21​ @mysticmaxie​ @pandaxo79​ @pilaxia​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​ @squirrelnotsam​ @tatted-trina6​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @typicalweirdbookworm​ @vulgar-library​ @winchestershiresauce​

Muddy Soul:

@starryeyeseunbyul​ @sycochick​ @vicmc624​ @jtink27 @lil-bitty-mushroom​ @couldabeenamermaid​ 

[illneverrecover]

going deeper (m) | myg

➛pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader  ➛genre: demon!AU, devil!AU, smut. ➛word count: 2342 ➛rating: M because we goin FULL SMUT YALL. ➛warnings: I mean for smut it’s pretty soft, actually. fingering, vaginal intercourse (unprotected), heavy petting, biting, marking, slight mentions of a certain Jeon Jungkook, some possessiveness, mentions of wings used during sex (not the way you’re thinking, though). ➛summary: You always miss Yoongi when he’s gone, and he’s always gone too long, every time he goes away.  ➛notes: This was my piece written for the @ksmutclub​ ‘s secret admirer project, in which I was given the lovely @sunkoos​ to seduce and serenade. That mostly meant I sent her vague asks on anon in attempts to flirt and get to know her a bit better while she kindly responded acting like I wasn’t an entire embarrassment. Bless her. I hope you had fun with me this past month or so, Nas, and I hope you enjoy this fic! I tried to make it soft & smutty, just what the doctor ordered. Happy Valentine’s Day, bb!  ➛song: Black Swan - BTS (obviously, come on).

His touch is so soft you almost don’t feel it.

A ghost, a breath pressed against your pulse point, your jaw. Pillowy lips trailing an invisible path, tongue sweeping out to taste the subtle sweetness of your skin.

“Yoongi?”

Vibrations rumble against your throat as he hums his affirmation, focused on his task. He is feather light, a gentle breeze - and yet your skin heats rapidly, fire brimming just below the surface. 

Dragging your hands from under the covers, you lace them around his neck, letting your fingers trace up and down his spine, opening your eyes to drink him in. It’s late, unfathomably dark, and yet there was just enough light to make out every sharp outline of his features. He’s shirtless, which was a welcome surprise, his exposed skin delicious under your touch.

“Did you miss me?” he murmurs, voice raspy as if he had been talking for hours. 

Sighing, you let your hands smooth to his front, tracing at the waistband of his boxer briefs. “I guess…” 

He nips at your collarbone in retaliation, your answering squeal the exact response he was looking for. Pulling away to peer down at you, you can’t help but reach out to touch his face, his lips. 

“I always miss you. You’re always gone for so long.”

His stare is intense, impossibly deep, and for a moment the worry of saying too much crosses your mind. It was his job, you chastise yourself, searching his gaze. The job he loves.

Something flashes in those dark eyes, something you almost place - pain? - before it’s gone, a smirk pulling the sides of his mouth. “I know, love. But I’m here now.”

Nothing but a gasp has time to pass through your lips before he’s pressed against them, nipping and licking until he gains the entrance he seeks. He kisses you hard, deep, tongue swirling like it won’t be satisfied until it knows every inch of your mouth. Hips rolling, you reach to pull him down, closer, always closer - until he’s lain atop of you, knees wedged between your own. 

Trailing from your pout, he sucks at your throat, biting the spot he knows makes you weak until it blooms in violet. “The kid still taking good care of you?” he rasps, lips forming the words against tender skin. 

The kid. It takes your brain a moment to work through the thickened lust and comprehend the words, the puzzle piece finally clicking in place. Ah, he means his colleague, Jungkook. The one he assigned to watch over you in his absence, to guard and protect,  to make sure you wanted for nothing. 

You were fond of Jungkook, that was certain. His big brown eyes were wide and always dancing with mischief, and between that and his charming smile, he was hard to resist. Friendship occurred naturally, and you found yourself seeking him out more and more as time went on. Tasks you previously enjoyed alone, you now did with Jungkook at your side - his humor and wit the perfect addition to the metonity of the daily grind. The truth was that in Yoongi’s absence, Jungkook was a welcomed familiar face, and you felt yourself growing close to him in a way you hadn’t expected. 

Smiling, your fingers find the soft dark strands at his nape. “Yes, he is still taking good care of me, just like you asked.” 

“Good.”

“Sometimes I wish he’d take better care of me, if you know what I mean, but I guess it’ll do-”

A sharp sting at your neck had you yelping once more, a laugh already at the tip of your tongue. Instead of rage or jealousy, mirth glows in Yoongi’s lust blown gaze. “If that’s what you want, I’m sure it could be arranged. The kid certainly wouldn’t complain.”

Eyes widening, you glare at the man above you, mouth agape. You’re stuttering through a response when he interrupts, pulling away from your throat to peer down at you. “But we both know that’s not what you really want, is it?”

The smile on his face is maddening, wide and genuine, all gums and hidden secrets. Fire lights low in your belly, and you have the sudden urge to prove yourself to the powerful man above you. 

It only takes a well placed leg around his hips and a strong tug of your wrist to change your positions, legs now straddling his lap as you earn the higher ground. A small voice in the back of your mind reminds you that you have only achieved this because he allowed you to, but you shove it away. 

“Oh yeah? And what is it that I really want?”

A warm palm slides up your legs to the back of your thighs, toying dangerously at the apex, just under the hem of your large sleep shirt. Breath catching, you close your eyes to the touch, drunk on lithe fingers and a tell tale hardness pressed to the inside of your thigh. 

He watches you then; the way you slow blink until your eyes roll back, the purse of your pout as you sigh out a whisper of his name, brow creasing slightly when he raises his hips to press against your tender heat. Every single inch of you was art, beautiful poetry, and it was easy for Yoongi to get lost in his thoughts as he let you settle over him like a new skin. 

It’s as he ghosts one long digit over the wetness clinging to your core that he speaks again. “You want me to touch you, right here,” his thumb swipes against your clit, punctuating his words as you mewl. “You want me to touch you here with my hands and my mouth until you come, until you’re ready to take my cock.” 

Whining, you drop your head to his shoulder, allowing your focus to fall to the smooth glide of your pelvis against his own. You’re too worked up to answer, instead dragging your lips in a mirror image of the bruises he had left on your throat, hoping he would heal slow enough to let the love bites take root. 

“Hmm, is that what you want, love? Want me to ruin you, fuck you so good you can’t even think about another man, can’t imagine them touching you?” 

It was with his final word that he spun you again, moving so quickly you barely had time to register the switch until you were pressed faced down in the mattress, hips pulled to rest with your ass in the air. 

He leans over you, the hardness pressed against your ass now free of any fabric - when did he take those off? - naked and warm and demanding attention. His body covers yours, lips ghosting at the shell of your ear. “I’ll give you what you want. I’ll make sure everyone knows who you belong to, who you will rule beside.” 

Biting your lip to suppress your moan, you rock back against him, seeking the friction your body so desperately required, fully intoxicated on your want, your need for him. It was like you had been made perfectly for him, a simple word or hint of a gesture enough to have you dripping and ready for more.

Always so perfect for him.

Ripping away your panties, his fingers glide over your silk core, dipping in just enough to hear you gasp. You didn’t want to play games, didn’t want to drag this out - just wanted him, all of him inside of you. 

“Yoongi, please, I’m ready-” a swipe against your engorged bundle of nerves causes you to keen, head lolling forward. “I need you inside me, please, please-”

With a groan, he pulls his hips back, sliding inside of you with the ease of being welcomed home. His fingers remained at your apex, swirling and pinching in time with his slow thrusts, the suddenness of being so full causing your knees to shake.

His remaining free hand travels up and down your spine, pausing for brief moments to hold you in place for his assault against your body, before returning up to your throat to wrap around with a gentle squeeze. He was everywhere, lips and teeth and hands, surrounding and suffocating you with the sweetest poison, the greatest addiction. You couldn’t get enough, being filled with him and yet wanting more, always wanting more.

Yoongi’s moans were softer, lower, but the sound still caused goosebumps to raise on your arms, his pleasured grunts and praise enough to send you over the edge without a single touch from him. Part of you wonders if that’s just some of his appeal, a piece of his power over you, but you know regardless of his status, you would have fallen for Yoongi long ago. 

Picking up the pace, he slams his pelvis into you repeatedly, furiously pistoning in and out of you while never losing rhythm. A skilled and attentive lover, always making sure you were a breath away from crumbling for him, curses and his name always ready on the tip of your tongue. 

“Tell me, love. What are you thinking about, hmm?” 

His voice is black velvet, and you clench at the words, turning your head so you could pant out a response. He never slows, fingers still rubbing mewls out of you, cock lodged deep within your aching cunt. 

“I’m thinking about you, Yoongi. How ah- amazing you are. How much I love you.” 

As if that was the phrase he was waiting to hear, he hisses, a mumble of your name echoing in the room. Through closed eyes, you feel the room darkening, a sudden shadow casting over your form, and a grin pulls at your lips.

His wings.

You always loved when he showed them, let them unfurl and expand until there was no mistaking what he was, who he was. They were bigger than you had expected, feathers a deep inky black that reflected blue and purple in the right light, like a beautiful oil spill. He tended to keep them hidden, his power abundant enough that it could be done without more than a mere thought, but when he let them show, when he let down the invisible wall - it meant he was comfortable. He was at ease. He felt he could be himself, with you. 

The thought made your heart swell. 

Craning your neck, he was a vision behind you - chest naked and glistening, twilight strands of his hair in disarray and matted against his forehead, lips kiss bitten and swollen. His eyes however weren’t closed, instead sharp gaze was focused on your face, your body, as his wings open and expand to their full glory. He was every embodiment of otherworldly, truly an angel, your angel, your fallen prince.

His hips falter when his eyes land on yours, when he sees how intently you stare at him. Adoration floods his veins, his desire to give you the world to rule as you see fit only second to the overwhelming need to protect you, love you. 

“I love you too, baby.” he husks, tongue darting out to lick his lips. His fingers that had been pressed to your fevered heat seemed to double in speed, your eyes snapping closed against the pleasure. “Come for me, love. I need you to come for me.”

You were so close, the precipice within your reach, his utterances only hurtling you towards the end. It was when he leaned over your body once more, lips suckling at the soft space where your neck and shoulder met, his wings cocooning your tangled forms that you finally felt the band in your belly snap, orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. You could feel how hard you were clenching him, the way your thighs began to shake under his punishing movement, and you let out a final cry of his name.

“Yoongi-!”

The high pitched hum had him spilling inside of you,  slowing to pump you full of him with staccato thrusts and groans of his own. When he was sure you were entrenched in nothing but him and his scent, he collapsed, sticky body laying on top of your own, his wings slowly moving to wrap you fully. 

Moments like this were some of your favorites, silence with the exception of tandem pants and gasps for air, hearts thrumming fiercely in your chests as they struggle to return to normal. Yoongi was always tender, almost delicate in how he handled you, but in the minutes after showing you his love with his body he became exceptionally so. Cooing, he dotes over you, pressing soft open mouthed kisses on every available inch of skin as you catch your breath. 

“I’m sorry, you know.” His voice is a whisper, but his eyes are sharp, watching. “For always being gone, for leaving you here alone. I know Jungkook helps some, but it’s not the same as me just being here, and I wish-”

Leaning forward, you shush him with your lips against his. “It’s okay, Yoongi. I understand why you’re busy, why you’re gone. You’re the King of Hell. Your people, your fellow Fallen - they need you.” 

Raising a hand, you trace the delicate lines of his jaw, his lips. “I need you too, of course. But I can always wait until you're done,” He turns his face into your touch until you’re cupping his cheek, thumb smoothing his temple. “I’ll always wait for you.” 

Yoongi smiles then, one of his face changing, soul warming smiles, his wings raising to slowly fold against his back. He wants to tell you that he’d give it all up if you asked, walk away from any responsibility, any promise of power, if only you required him to never leave your bed. He wants to weep at your feet, tell you all the ways you changed his blackened heart, his damned soul. 

Instead, he rests his forehead against yours, a final promise spoken in the air between you.

“And I’ll always come home to you.”

[argylemnwrites]

He Knew

Pairing: Colt Kaneko x MC (Ellie Whitnall)

Book: Ride or Die (post book 1)

Word Count: ~4600

Rating: R (language, referenced sensual content, referenced violence)

Summary: The five times Ellie came back, and the one time she didn’t

Author’s Note: Written for @rodappreciationweek Day 2 - Colt Kaneko. This is my first time not only writing Colt, but also my first time writing for one of my Choices couples that don’t end up “happily ever after.” I adored the bittersweet endings we got in ROD, and I wanted to keep that vibe here. This is pretty different from my usual writing tone/genre, so be forewarned - this is not a happy tale, but the crumbling apart of a relationship. It think the warnings listed in the rating section cover the content here.

It wasn’t really goodbye. He knew she’d be back. There was no way she would be able to stay away, to just fall back into a world where her only thrills came from acing a test. That was too easy for her. She needed more, the push, the challenge, the adventure. He knew because he was just like her.

He wasn’t sure exactly when she’d be back, though. He was sure she’d be back in LA for Thanksgiving, but he didn’t expect her to come looking for him then. Besides, the shop was still in ruins. He wouldn’t be easy for her to find at this point. He rode past her dad’s place early on Thanksgiving morning and saw her blue Shokai Fourier sitting in the driveway. But he didn’t see her then.

Same thing about a month later, her car parked in the driveway when he drove by a few days before Christmas. But it didn’t surprise him that she wasn’t ready to come back to his world, not just yet. That first semester of college probably had enough novelty to keep her from getting too bored. New friends, new freedoms, new knowledge.

It’s not like he wasn’t busy, too. Hunting down the remnants of the Brotherhood while not attracting any unwanted attention was a new mission, one that required a new sort of careful calculation and anticipation. He wasn’t the type to sit around pining, moping, waiting on some girl, just like he was sure she wasn’t longing for him. They were alike in that way - they didn’t let their emotions define them.

It wasn’t until the anniversary of Pop’s death that he really felt it, deep down, that he… fuck it, that he missed her. Because no one else got him, not the way she did. No one else was quite like her. He was a few drinks in, sulking in the room he was renting from X’s old roommate when he did the thing he swore he would never do - he pulled out his new phone and searched “Ellie Whitnall” on Pictagram.

Her hair was darker, no longer highlighted, but still pulled back in that ponytail. And that damn sweatshirt was nowhere to be seen. Instead it was her in a crop top and a skin-tight pair of jeans in a line with six other girls, a smile on all of their faces as their arms wrapped around each other’s backs. Her lounging on the grass with one of the same girls, textbooks sprawled out around them as they both laughed. Her eating a slice of pizza in some tiny restaurant, a blond dude who looked like a preppy douchebag sitting in the booth next to her.

She looked good, happy enough. It made him proud, but the worst parts of himself wished she was just a little miserable. Not just because he was mourning and miserable himself, and misery did fucking love company, but because she didn’t belong in a world that was bland and ordinary. She burned too bright for such pedestrian experiences. She would see that soon, and she would be back. Until then he just had to keep working on avenging his father’s death, making the Brotherhood pay for all the shit they’d done. And that’s what he did, not noticing as May and June passed by. But then July came.

He was working at the sideshow, trying to find out where Wallace had last been spotted when he saw her on the dance floor. She was wearing a little white tank top and a light blue skirt that was short enough it barely covered anything. It took all his willpower to listen to what the little punk was telling him and not just march over there and kiss her, welcome her back where she belonged. But business had to come first. Besides, she was only dancing with her brunette friend, Riya, and the guy who had worn the orange tux to prom.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away” he murmured into her ear when he finally, finally could join her. She tensed at first, as he came up behind her, snaking his hand around her waist, his fingers tracing along the thin strip of skin between her shirt and skirt, but she relaxed into him when she recognized his voice. She spun to face him, her arms reaching up to rest on his shoulders.

“Who says I’m here for you? Riya and Darius just wanted a taste of what I was up to last spring.”

Colt shook his head. “Nah, you wouldn’t have worn that if you weren’t here for me,” he said as his eyes traced over her gentle curves, settling back on her face, just as beautiful and determined as he’d remembered.

“It’s July in LA. Some of us actually dress for the heat.”

He chuckled lightly, leaned down, and kissed her. She tasted the same, her fingers felt the same as they crawled up his neck and clutched onto his hair. When he tugged her out of there and handed her his spare helmet, her arms felt the same as she wrapped them around his chest. And when they got to his new studio apartment in Broadway-Manchester and stumbled towards his mattress as they stripped as quickly as they could, she felt the same as he sunk into her, both of them moaning in relief.

After, they talked all night, lounging on his mattress, drinking cheap beer and eating the string cheese they found in his pathetically empty fridge. About her classes and seminars, her roommate from some tiny town in Nebraska who had never seen an escalator before coming to Langston, and her upcoming research project. About his plans to reopen the auto body shop next year, now that the heat was finally dying down and he could go back. About how Ximena was still around, ready to help out, but how Toby had made his way north to San Fran, working for some startup that was looking to get into the high-tech auto accessory game. About how Mona would be up for parole in a few months.

“When do you head back?” he finally asked as the sun started to peek through the window, his hand tracing along her spine as she curled up against his side, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Tomorrow,” she said, after a moment, “Dr. Frisch wants me to start on my research next week so that we can get a prototype built before the end of the fall semester.”

Colt swallowed before sliding his fingers under her chin and tilting her head up, looking straight into her brown eyes. “You happy?”

She nodded gently. “For now.”

“Not bored?”

“Not yet.”

“Just want to make sure they aren’t wasting your talents.”

“Colt…”

“Just remember, you shouldn’t settle for bland.”

“I know, Colt. I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Even though it had been over a year since he last saw her in person, he knew she would be back someday. She had his new number now, and every so often she would send him a little text or photo. They had no agreement, had made no promises to each other, still her messages were sometimes flirty, sometimes sexy. The blond idiot still hung around her Pictagram, but if she didn’t feel obligated to keep things between them… friendly or some shit, it wasn’t any of his business really.

The summer after her sophomore year at Langston, she stayed out east, hired on for some summer research program. But Colt was busy, too. The shop was open again. It wasn’t officially under Colt’s management, not until the statute of limitations ran out next year, but he had a couple of mechanics he’d hired on, keeping things on the up and up for the moment. Everyone knew Colt was running the show.

One day in October, he was at the shop, on a creeper under some rich asshole’s Porsche Cayman GTS when Ricky, his newest hire, called out for him.

“Hey, Kaneko. Some chick is here and says she needs to talk to you.”

He rolled his eyes as he pushed himself out. Ricky was talented, but he was far too much of a pushover. “I’m in the middle of this, Ricky.”

“I know, boss… but she kinda acted like you guys were… she seemed like she knew you personally.”

Wiping his hands on his pants, he strode over, ready to tell off whatever entitled little girl thought she could demand to see him, but then he caught sight of her. The sweatshirt was back, but her hair was even darker than it had been last summer. 

“Ellie? What are you doing here?” He was shocked by her appearance in his shop, in the middle of the semester, and every instinct to tease her about not being able to stay away went out the window when he saw the look on her face, so hollow and lost. He ushered her into his office, closing the door and hearing it all. How her dad was in the ICU at UCLA after he’d suffered a massive heart attack. How she’d had to go on a leave of absence for the rest of the semester.

“The doctors think he’s going to be okay, but I can’t… I can’t go back to the house alone. Not after everything,” she finished, perched on the end of his desk.

“You’re here by yourself?”

“Riya transferred to UC Oakland to be with Darius, so other than you… I don’t really know anyone here anymore.”

So the blond douche didn’t come with her. Either he was even more of a dickwad than Colt pictured, or he wasn’t that important to Ellie. Either way, it was all Colt needed to know. He tugged her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t tell her things would be alright, because unlike some people, he wasn’t stupid enough to try and lie to her. To make her promises he couldn’t keep.

So he did what he could. He took her back to his apartment, poured her shots of tequila, and fucked her senseless. There was nothing he could do to make things better. But he could make her forget, at least for a little bit. It’s what she would have done for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Ellie coming tonight?” Ximena asked as Ricky spread out the takeout on the table in the breakroom.

“Haven’t seen her around much lately,” Ricky said, opening the containers of fried chicken.

“She’ll be back,” Colt said with more confidence than he actually felt. It wasn’t that he doubted that she’d be back… eventually. But she was pissed at him. Really pissed. And he wasn’t sure how long it was going to take her to cool off.

It was absurd that she was angry with him when he was the only one who wasn’t handling her with kid gloves, instead treating her like the grown-ass woman she was. Her dad was recovering just fine, but Ellie kept putting off going back to Langstson. When she’d told him she’d pulled out for the spring semester, though, he’d told her exactly what he thought about that. That she was being stupid. That she was only sticking around out of guilt over her last few months of high school. That she was wasting herself.

“What happened to you telling me I would always have a spot on your crew?” she’d yelled at him, tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Not like this, with you just bumming around, aimless. Fucking around, not really doing anything. You’re better than that, Ellie.”

She’d stormed out of his apartment after their fight, and he hadn’t seen her in eight days. He assumed she was with her dad. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. She’d be back once she’d cooled off and realized he was right. But the days continued to tick by, with no sight of her around the apartment or the shop. After three weeks, he rode past her dad’s place, but the Shokai Fourier was still in the driveway, so he knew she was still in LA.

Finally, almost one month later she showed up at the shop, just as they were wrapping things up for the day. She walked straight into his office without so much as saying hello to anyone, so Colt took his time, finishing up with the spark plugs he was replacing before he joined her. She was sitting at his desk, scrolling through his spreadsheets, reviewing the shop’s finances. So damn presumptuous.

“I didn’t realize you were an accountant now,” he said, crossing his arms as he closed the door. 

She spun in his chair, glaring at him. “Just seeing if you can afford to hire a mechanical engineer.”

“By my math, you’re only half a mechanical engineer at this point. That has to earn me a bit of discount on your salary.”

“I’m here to negotiate. If I’m going back for two more years at Langston, I need to know it’s going to be worth it. So make me an offer.”

Colt couldn’t fully suppress a smirk as he quirked an eyebrow at her. “What, am I supposed to write a number on a sheet of paper and slide it over to you?”

“I’m being serious, Colt.”

He rolled his eyes. “The offer’s the same as it’s always been - equal partnership, you and me, running this place.”

“And that offer will still be on the table in two years?”

“It hasn’t changed in the past two and a half, has it?”

She stood up with a nod at that, crossing the small office to stand in front of him, staring up at him, somehow looking imposing from five foot two.

“Should we shake on it?” he asked, widening his eyes to tease her, just a bit.

“I think we can do better than that,” she said before she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him with all she had, shoving him back against the door in the process.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Colt glanced at his phone. 11:45 pm and no new notifications. She was supposed to be back from Riya and Darius’s wedding today, but as the minutes ticked by, he wasn’t sure if she was more upset than he’d anticipated.

Technically, they were both supposed to be back from the wedding today. But he’d gotten word about some… hot merchandise that was too good of a deal to pass up late on Friday, and so he’d shot Ellie a text to send Riya and Darius his congratulations before he turned his phone off. He’d figured she’d understand. She was as ambitious as him, after all.

But seeing as it had been radio silence all day Saturday and now Sunday, he was wondering what sort of Ellie was going to walk through that door. Either she was pissed, or something had happened to her, but he didn’t think she’d been in any danger in Napa.

His finger hovered over her name in his contact list. She hadn’t answered any of his calls earlier today, so he didn’t have much hope for this one. Just before he pressed down to foolishly call her yet again, headlights flashed through the front window of their apartment’s living room. She was home.

Less than a minute later, the deadbolt turned. There was Ellie, her little duffel bag in one hand, a garment bag in the other. She looked exhausted, and when she glanced up and saw him sitting at their little table, he noticed that her eyes were bloodshot. She didn’t say anything, just shook her head at him as she walked straight into their bedroom.

“Ellie, come on-” he started, chasing after her, but she slammed the door right in his face.

“I don’t even want to look at you right now,” she called through the door.

“It was three million worth of merchandise for only four hundred thousand. I couldn’t pass it up.”

The door flung back open, Ellie practically trembling with anger as she braced herself against the door frame.

“I was the fucking maid of honor, and my plus one didn’t show up!”

“None of them like me anyway.”

“Hmm, I wonder why,” she practically sneered at him as she shoved past him, stomping into the bathroom, slamming that door this time.

“You know we need to move more volume if we want to keep growing the shop. You’re the one who wants us to expand our territory into Vermont Knolls.”

“Fuck you!” echoed through the door.

“What do you want me to say? I made the call that I thought was best for our business.”

“How about ‘Sorry, Ellie. I was a total asshole’ as a starter?”

He winced at that. He probably should have led with an apology. He just didn’t think it would piss her off this much that he’d missed the wedding.

“Ellie, I am sorry. I just thought you would be fine with it since you told me to skip your cousin’s wedding last spring so we could close that deal-”

“-You didn’t even ask me this time.” she called out.

“I didn’t have time. And they are your friends. It’s not like I left you all alone with people you don’t know.”

The bathroom door swung open, but Ellie pivoted on her heel, sitting back down on the toilet seat.

“You say I’m your partner,” she said with a heavy sigh, “but you always make these decisions without me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, this was a no-brainer. The pure profit on-”

“I don’t mean business partners. I mean in our… personal life.”

He frowned at that, crossing his arms, “What the fuck are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”

Ellie just shook her head. “I don’t know. Sometimes it just feels like… like no amount of growth at the shop will ever be good enough for you. Like you are never off the clock.”

“I’m not ever off the clock. That shop is Pop’s legacy, and with you, it’s grown bigger than he could have ever imagined. I don’t know why you’re acting like this was all me. We’ve built everything we have together. You’ve always been hungry to prove yourself in this world.”

“Look who’s talking! Don’t you ever think that maybe your father wouldn’t want you sinking into this world so single-mindedly after he tried to keep you away from it for so long?”

It was an old argument from her, one he hadn’t heard in years. “My pop made a lot of bad decisions. Underestimating what both of us were capable of was just one of them.”

Ellie’s phone chirped, and Colt felt lightheaded as he watched her stand up and pick up a pregnancy test off the counter next to the sink. “Well, I hope you do better than him,” she said, shoving the piece of plastic into his hand. “This decision’s all mine, and I’m keeping it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was his own fault she was staying with her father for a few nights. He’d been careless and just a little too reckless. The contact on the new stock of Tesla Model S’s had been a friend of Ricky’s friend. He should have vetted him better. He’d been too blinded by how good of a deal it was. But it was a mess from the start, and now they owed a crew in West Adams seven million in either cash or vehicles. At least he hadn’t gotten arrested. He’s pretty sure Ellie would have murdered him if that had been the case.

But he’d gotten them involved in a bad deal. It was 100% his fault. Not only was Ellie pissed at him for not being appropriately cautious with their business, but pregnancy had reduced her fuse significantly. She’d gone off on him when he’d returned from the drop with the terrible news. He didn’t blame her for wanting to take a few days away from him and the shop. He figured it would go a long way if he’d worked out a safe way to repay their debt by the time she came back, hence staying late in his office, trying to brainstorm the quickest way out of this mess.

At some point he must have nodded off in his chair at his desk, because suddenly he bolted awake, disoriented and panicked, grabbing for the handgun he kept in his top drawer before he recognized Ellie standing in his doorway. He let out a rough breath and moved to offer her his chair, but she just shook her head.

“It won’t be worth the effort it takes to stand up again,” she said, reading his intentions in a second. “I was waiting for you at home, but when it hit midnight and you weren’t back, I thought I might find you here.”

“I thought you were gonna stay with your dad for a few more days.”

“He was asking a lot of questions about us that I didn’t exactly want to answer. Besides, I figured you might need some help coming up with a plan.” Her hands rested on top of her stomach. She still had three weeks until her due date, and Colt had no idea how was going to stand up if she got any bigger. Not that he told her that.

“It's my mess, Ellie. I can take care of cleaning it up.”

She shook her head, rubbing her hands along her bump. “That’s the thing, Colt. Your messes impact all three of us. So even if it’s not my fault we’re seven million in the hole at that moment, I need to help you fix things. And the two of us working together has always gotten us better results than either of us working independently.

“But Colt, I need you to take a step back from this ‘high risk, high reward’ approach. It was one thing when it was just you and me, but we both need to be a bit more careful going forward. Our kid deserves parents that are alive and not incarcerated, alright?”

He sighed but nodded. “I just don’t want us to lose our edge. But I get it, Ellie. I do.”

She sighed as well before she said, “Come on. Pack up your stuff and meet me at home. We can work on solving this from the comfort of our bed, okay?”

“Sure thing. I’ll see you there.” 

She gave him a little smile, so forced and empty it nearly shattered him, before turning and walking out the door. He wished he knew how to earn her trust back. But she was like him. She had high standards. Fixing things with her was going to take ages.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Colt ran his hands through his hair, trying to calm his breathing. She had to come back. She had to. She had his daughter.

This fight had been bad, worse than any other than he could remember. When Ellie had seen the news coverage of Shaw’s shanking in prison, she’d turned to him, horror etched across her face. She hadn’t even needed to ask if it was him. She’d just known that he’d ordered it.

He tried to get her to understand, to see that he’d only done what he had to do. Shaw had his initial parole hearing coming up soon. If he so much as breathed a whiff of freedom, not only was their entire shop and crew in danger, but so were their lives and Margot’s. He was just taking a necessary precaution.

But she’d not wanted to hear any of it. She’d marched into Margot’s room, throwing her clothes and toys into a bag before hefting her out of bed and marching her out to her car, strapping her into her booster seat while she was still sound asleep. Ellie hadn’t so much as said a word to him as she drove off. Of course she’d ignored every call and text from him since that time.

He’d taken to riding past her father’s house daily. Her Shokai Fourier was always there, but he was never lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her or Margot in the yard. It had been nine days since he’d seen his kid, and he was getting desperate. He didn’t know what to do.

He sat along the edge of the cliff, watching the waves crash along. It wasn’t calming him tonight. Nothing was going to calm him. He didn't know how long he sat there, but eventually he heard a car engine approaching behind him. He would have known that paint job in his sleep. The engine quieted and he felt Ellie approaching him, sitting down next to him, almost close enough to reach out and touch. Almost.

“This is it, isn’t it?” he asked, staring out over the Pacific, inhaling the salt of the sea air.

“Colt… I can’t raise her in a home where killing someone is an acceptable solution to a problem. You had to know I wouldn’t be able to stand by you when you ordered that hit.”

Her words stung, burned his soul. Of course he’d known that. She’d always had her lines her morals didn’t allow her to cross. But how did she expect him to just sit there and let a threat to the safety of his family potentially walk free?

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked. He could hear the tears in her voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her, to see revulsion and disgust in the place of love and trust.

“What is there to say? Nothing I can do will make you come back.”

He heard her sigh before he felt her fingers, tiny and gentle against the back of his hand. He turned his hand over and threaded their fingers together more out of habit than anything. He knew her well enough to know that this wasn’t a gesture of love or hope.

“Colt, I’ll always love you, but…”

“I know, Ellie.”

“Are you even sorry?”

He paused, thinking over her question. He knew what she wanted to hear, but he’d always respected her too much to attempt to placate her with pretty sounding lies. “I don’t regret it at all,” he finally said, “I did it for both of you.”

She didn’t recoil from him at that. He hadn’t said anything she didn’t already know in her soul anyway. She’d always understood him in ways others just couldn’t. After all she was just like him. Just like him in so many ways.

They were only really different in one key way. She tried to pretend that there was a way to live the life they did and to be “good,” to keep to some sort of moral code. He knew that wasn’t the case. Or maybe she was just a better person than him. It was hard to tell right now, when he felt so hollow and drained.

“We’ll work out times for you to see Margot,” she said after a few minutes of silence. “I think we probably both want to keep lawyers out of this.”

Colt just grunted in acknowledgement. Ellie gave his hand a little squeeze before she tugged her hand free. She pushed herself up off the ground and walked back to her car. He couldn’t bring himself to watch her drive away, so he just stared ahead as he listened to her ignition start.

It was goodbye. He knew she’d never be back.

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[choco-glow]

Fall Like Rain On Sunday, Pt. 2

They’d agreed to meet up at four in the afternoon after a quick run back to their respective apartments to shower and change out of their patrol gear, and Steph bit her lip as she tugged the towel a little tighter around her chest, wondering just what would be best to wear out. She’d asked Jason for an idea of what might be best, thinking he’d probably want to go clubbing (their usual whenever Dick and Kate were in town) or go to barhopping (Roy and/or Artemis), but he’d paused, giving her question serious thought as he stopped the motorcycle outside her apartment building.

“Honestly? Wear something comfortable to walk around in, if you’re up for it? I…wanted to do something a little different. Kinda celebrate the weather, y’know?” And she did know…He’d been blushing at that, sweet and shy and a little more school boy, a little less sexy asshole, and she’d hopped off and given him a kiss on the cheek, beaming at the butterflies in her tummy. “Oh…”

“Alrighty, that sounds good. Make sure you’re the same?” She almost asked, but Steph decided to add a little more weight to that one; ninety percent of the time, Jason would pull off his armor and change tee shirts, but otherwise, it was always the black/gray camo pants, the tan jacket, and a black shirt. Every. Single. Time. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hot as fuck, but I know damn good and well the man has more in his closet than just that. Jason had been a mob boss himself for a time, and she still lusted over the thought that some day, she might see him in the black and red suits…But for today?

Today was casual cute, for both of them.

“Deal, only fair. I’ll be back at four, okay?”

“Sounds good; are we going on your bike?”

“Actually, I had a different plan for transportation, if that’s okay?” She nodded, actually a bit relieved, and he beamed, then leaned in and kissed her, full on the lips…and oh, that made those butterflies burst into life all over again. She’d floated up to her apartment in a daze, and after a quick pause to do her dishes (just in case, y’know, she might have company later) and a shower, she’d put up her hair in a curly soft messy pony, bangs fluffed out and cute, then followed that up with some classic make up. A touch of mascara, a wickedly sharp wing on each eye’s liner, a brush of purple eyeshadow, then rosy red (because why not make sure he knew she was interested too?), then a soft pale pink to brighten  just under her eyebrows.

Rose red lipstick completed the look, and she grinned a little, feeling vintage and sexy and cute, then strolled out, still in her towel, to peruse her clothes. After a long conference with herself, she was left with three possibilities. All were cute; all were comfy, and only one required a heel higher than an inch to look fabulous in. That one, the bodycon dress in deep amaranthine, she put away after a long look; it was super cute, but definitely more club than ‘about town’. She also decided against the denim short-shorts and purple crop top; not quite the look she was going for, to be honest, and as pretty as the shimmery crop top was, it might actually be too cool for today.

That left her with the dress she’d bought a month ago, and she smiled as she undid the buttons on the front of the bodice, pulling out a matching set of lingerie in dark red to put on first. She’d found it in a shop just outside the Narrows, and lusted over it for weeks before working up the courage to go in. Thankfully, the woman who ran the shop was from a similar background, and rather than most boutiques, who looked at Steph’s eclectic style and judged, this lady had helped her pick out the right size dress, a cute pair of kitten-heels to go with it, and even a shawl to match. Purple linen, with black polka dots, soft and cool against her hand, made up a lovely day-dress with a sweetheart neckline, fluttery cap sleeves, and a lovely, knee-length, full skirt. With pockets.

And it was easy to step into, sliding up her hips with a whisper of linen on her skin, buttoning with no gaping (which, from experience, Steph could tell anyone was a fuckin’ miracle.) Steph stepped into the matching heels, and gathered up a cute flowered handbag she’d picked up at the thrift store that rather accented her new dress, matched some studs to the color of the dress, and pulled the wide-brimmed sunhat out of her closet, giggling as she spun in her mirror, feeling cute and happy and just…girlish in a way that she’d never felt. Even when she was a little girl…

Thankfully, a knock sounded at the door, rapping in the familiar Bat-pattern they’d all been taught, knocking her melancholy out of orbit and Steph glanced at her phone. 3:58…I love a man who’s never late. She happily danced her way to the door, and when she opened it…Stephanie Brown froze, jaw dropping.

Because standing at her door, holding a bouquet of purple roses (and where the fuck did he find  PURPLE roses, of all things?!) was Jason Peter Todd, looking as starstruck as she felt, dressed down in a pair of soft gray jeans that hugged his glorious thighs and ass, a pair of slightly battered red Converse, and a red cotton button down over a soft black tank top, buttoned up almost all the way, but left free on the last two buttons, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his shirt tucked in, wonder of wonders…She felt herself start to drool a little, and snapped out of it with difficulty, because UNF.

“Oh…Jase…are those for me?” He suddenly snapped back to himself too, looking absolutely adorable as he blushed and nodded.

“Oh, uh, yeah…Thought you might like these, given that your favorite color is pretty much a dead giveaway.” He grinned as she laughed, the ice between them melting once more into easy friendship, and she took the flowers, beckoning him inside as she pulled a vase out of her cupboard. She smiled to see him looking around with interest at her books, her game systems, even her tentative bits of crochet with the soft yarns she’d bought months ago, and still hadn’t quite finished.

“…See something you like?” He blushed, glancing up from reading the back of one of her fantasy books, and grinned sheepishly as she finished putting the last of her roses in their new home. They smelled so so good, and already were opening up, and she hugged her arms to herself shyly as she walked back to him. Jason shelved the book with infinite care, and his eyes seemed to warm even more, his smile creasing his eyes in all the ways she’d always loved in her fantasy guys.

“I do indeed…you look…God, you look absolutely amazing in that dress, you know that? It’s so fuckin’ cute.”

“You look amazing in that shirt and those jeans…I mean it!” He turned away, blushing at that, looking shy now, and she caught his hands in hers, blue eyes trained on his. “Seriously. It’s a good look.”

“…Thank you.” He murmured, smile returning to his lips, and she took a risk, rising up on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. He kissed her back, just as soft and sweet, and Steph didn’t know if she wanted to go out after all; this was…this was really nice. Jason pulled back, though, and she sighed a little, making him chuckle as he wrapped an arm gently around her waist. “Believe me, babe, I hate to stop kissing you, but I did make us some nice plans for dinner, if you’re still up for it?”

“Oh? What might dinner be?” He grinned at that, so much more in his own comfort zone now, and nodded his head to the west, where the sun was starting to lower in the sky, just a little.

“Care to let me surprise you?” Steph smiled, and put her arm around his waist in return, scooping her handbag up again.

“I suppose I can, this one time…” She rolled her eyes and he laughed, letting her lock and close the door before guiding her to the stairs, and walking down them in time with her, which, given his longer legs, was definitely something she appreciated.

“I promise, you won’t be disappointed.” As they walked out of the building, Steph was surprised to see a nice, large red truck waiting for them, and Jason’s hand up into the cab was just as nice as the interior, though it wasn’t leather, thankfully, but comfy heavy cotton seats. Dark grey with white accents, made it look a little more typical while still appealing to his color scheme, and Steph wasn’t surprised to spot a very, very well hidden (but not if you’re a Bat) gun compartment just under the dash. He gave her a worried look when he realized where her eyes were looking, but she met Jason’s worry with a smile, and kissed his cheek.

“You know me, Jase; I’m not gonna lecture you.” Jason’s tension melted away at that, and he chuckled, turning on the truck and backing neatly out of the space.

“I should, by now; but I still…panic, I guess? Too many years of being lambasted by B.”

“Don’t I know it…but…eh, we both grew up here. We both know what really stops criminals.” She murmured, and he breathed an ‘Amen’ at that, his right hand gently squeezing her left hand as he drove them towards the livelier market side of the bay.

“Still, I appreciate your…I guess, kindness? Tact?” Steph just smiled, twining her fingers with his, and grinning a little when his big thumb began to rub circles in the side of her hand.

“Let’s go with understanding.” She replied softly, and he gave her a flash of a smile and a squeeze.

“Deal.”

[xpouii]

Spit Take

Hey y’all! I really put my nose into this fic to get it finished. It was commissioned by (anonymous) and I hope you like it! The prompt was amazing!

Tags/Warnings: NSFW, Dukexiety, Prinxiety, full NSFW warnings below the cut!

Warnings: Spit kink, tentacle dick, cum play, rough, bulging (stomach and throat), deepthroating, gagging, choking, drooling, crying, masturbation, voyeurism/slight exhibitionism, toys

           “Kiddo!” Patton called as he stepped out of the kitchen. “We’re having a movie night… care to join us? I made cookies.”

           “Yes, Virgil,” Logan echoed. “You don’t have to wear a onesie if you don’t want to. Patton just has an affinity for them for some reason.”

           “Like you don’t?” Roman muttered, flipping through the menu of available movies. “Did we decide what we’re watching?”

           “March of the Penguins,” Logan said. “It’s the only possible compromise. There’s scientific information, aesthetically pleasing animals and it’s narrated by Morgan Freeman.”

           “Aww penguins!” Patton gasped.

           “I wanted to watch Aladdin, but…” Roman chewed the inside of his mouth, “You do have a point about Morgan Freeman. His voice is just so soothing!”

           Logan seemed pleased with himself as he picked up a cookie from the large plate of them. Virgil reminded himself to sneak back out later and help himself once the others had gone to bed. Patton clapped his hands together, “Great I’m so proud we agreed right away! I can’t wait to watch these adorable penguins with my best friends. So what do you say, Virgil? Penguins do wear a lot of black, and there’s an empty spot on the couch with your name on it! Not literally but if you give me five minutes and some glitter pens I could whip something up.”

           “You?” Roman scoffed. “What about me? You’re going to make an artistic gift for Virgil without me?”

           Patton smiled warmly at Roman and patted his knee, “Of course not, Roman. You’re my favorite artist!”

           “Uh… gee Pat that sounds great but I’ve got stuff to do,” Virgil said. They were all looking at him then, Logan with his cool, matter-of-fact interest and Roman with a look that Virgil still hadn’t decrypted. The Prince would catch his eyes sometimes, especially across the room or in the middle of a group conversation, and Virgil felt cold and hot, invited and accused all at once. It was hard not to slip into a sneer and snap like he used to. Old habits die hard, especially in frightened animals, but Virgil wanted to be the light side they had invited him to be. That just hadn’t quite extended to movie nights and cookies yet, so he ducked his head and hustled off to his room, kicking it shut behind himself. He’d left the kitchen on a mission after all.

           Virgil locked his door, pulling up his hood before walking over and sitting on the edge of his bed; he closed his eyes and smiled softly, his mind swimming with slow memories, nostalgia that skated like fingertips over his skin. His legs opened, an automatic response as he slid his hand down to palm himself through his jeans; tingling heat swam over him and he whined, his fingers quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He moaned at the relief of pressure but it was short-lived as he hardened fully. Virgil pulled himself free of his underwear and spat into his hand. More memories, more heat as he wrapped his slick hand over his cock and stroked slowly, letting out a little chuckle of disbelief at just how good it felt. Virgil was usually much more interested in being with somebody than touching himself—it required a certain amount of self-interest that he struggled with—but he was in a bit of a transitional period, new friends and new… faces.

           Logan, Patton and Roman weren’t anything like the others, although Patton and Logan often wrestled for the top spot—at least that’s how it looked to Virgil when he was fresh from the subconscious, after he’d been accepted, but now he knew that Patton was in charge in a far different way than Deceit, especially considering Patton had little idea just how much sway he held over Thomas’ decisions. Then there was Roman, Remus’ parasitic twin—as they used to call him downstairs—but so completely different. Where Remus felt unshakable confidence, Roman was a ball of insecurity. Where Remus liked to sneak up on a conversation, Roman burst into the room like a confetti canon, scattering fanfare and nicknames. Where Virgil had found casual companionship in Remus, his feelings for about Roman were complicated at best, and terrifying at worst. When Roman had given his little speech of encouragement in Virgil’s room, it wasn’t his cock that twitched. It was his heart, and wasn’t that just the worst. At least with Remus, things were simple.

           An easy moan escaped his lips and he couldn’t help but rock up into his hand, a slow sustained rhythm that he stopped only to gather the precum from the head of his cock and spread it downward. It used to always be this easy, smiles and moans and letting go. Anxiety was Thomas’ problem, and Virgil had always been happy to let it choke Thomas rather than analyzing, tweaking and dealing with it. Back then, he’d been Deceit’s—and Remus’, and he’d been a simpler, saucier creature. Even when he would mess up and get caught up in his own web of panic, and when Deceit’s gentle petting and encouraging words weren’t enough, Remus knew exactly how to fix the problem. Virgil’s smart little mouth had always been good for more than spitting vitriol and sarcasm, and Remus knew exactly how to drag it out—or push it in—in the best ways. Virgil raised his free hand and slipped two fingers into his mouth, moaning around them as he pressed against his tongue, thrusting them back and forth until they started to tickle that fluttery feeling in his chest, caught between swallowing and coughing, gagging and moaning—just like old times.

 ---

           When Virgil came to him, Remus knew exactly what he wanted. His eyes were dark, red-rimmed and his lips were in a full pout, wet and reddened by chewing, absolutely begging, “What is it, Emo?”

           Virgil unzipped his hoodie and shrugged it off, pulling his shirt over his head; he knelt in front of Remus, a question in his eyes, spilling out in a throaty whisper, “Are you busy?”

           “Too busy for you? Never,” Remus said, sliding his fingers through Virgil’s hair, gathering it so he could take in Virgil’s face. He was pale, but a blush sat high on his cheeks, and his eyes were darker than usual, the black makeup smeared all the way down to his cheekbones and streaked down by a drying tear or two of frustration. Remus always thought this Virgil was the most beautiful, so true to himself, so overtaken by his purpose and his instincts that even Deceit couldn’t suppress him, and he was begging Remus to fuck his mouth and let the wild brambles of the anxious side’s mind grow uninhibited until Remus choked it all away.

           Virgil’s full lips twitched into the tiniest wisp of a smile as he reached for Remus’ pants. The creative side slapped his hand away gently, and lost his clothes via magic. He would rather be naked anyway—given the chance. His cock, so familiar to Virgil by now, was just as eldritch as anything else Remus had any kind of control over, a tentacle that—according to the creative side—had a mind all its own. Virgil was fairly convinced that Remus was perfectly in control of himself, cock and otherwise. It traced Virgil’s lips and the anxious side opened his mouth, closing his eyes as the first hints of the familiar taste touched his tongue. He opened wider to accommodate the tapered organ as it pushed further, heavy on his tongue and writhing against every surface of his mouth, exploring and giving Virgil that familiar stomach flutter.

           Remus’ hand at the back of his head made him calm, tension easing as Remus took control; all he had to do was be present. The taste of precum made him moan, and Remus pulled back, making Virgil lean forward to chase his cock. He was hungry for it, entirely tunnel-visioned, and Remus chuckled, “Impatient, Emo?”

           “Please,” Virgil whined, his mouth feeling achingly empty around every sound he made. “Please Remus, I want it. Pl-“

           His words were cut off when Remus thrust back in, and Virgil fought his gag reflex as Remus’ cock slid past the back of his tongue to bump against the back of his throat, one swift surprising movement. He opened his throat, eager to be filled, to be used. Remus’ cock squirmed in his throat and he relaxed more as he felt the skin of his throat stretch and bulge to accommodate the hot, heavy organ. He moaned as best he could, his voice warped and layered by the overwhelming juxtaposition of pleasure and humiliation. Virgil looked up at Remus with lust-heavy eyes, his cheeks hot and his eyes were burning with the promise of choked tears already.

           Remus backed up just enough to let Virgil breathe, and he could feel a mix of precum and drool sliding down his chin. He sucked in a breathe before Remus was inside again, and his eyes rolled back to stare up at Remus, glassy and grateful. It went on like this, drooling and gagging and the occasional hissed praise from Remus while Virgil spun out into the warm, safe headspace where he could forget himself.

Remus reached down and took a handful of Virgil’s hair, pulling him backward. Virgil whined in complaint, Remus’ cock sliding against his cheek as he slowly lifted his face; he knew what Remus wanted, and he opened his mouth, letting his tongue loll out as Remus spat into his mouth.

           “How’s it taste, Virgil?”

           “So fucking good. Thank you, thank you,” Virgil slurred open-mouthed. He made a show of swallowing, tossing his head back.

Remus leaned down to licked Virgil’s bottom lip before capturing his mouth in a deep, possessive kiss that left Virgil breathless. He broke it and stood back up and Virgil leaned back, opening his mouth again to beg silently, knowing he was already a mess of drool and tears, beautiful and destroyed.

           “Hungry tonight aren’t you, Emo?” Remus chuckled, his cock sliding back into Virgil’s mouth, sweet on his tongue as Remus made his first thrust, cutting off Virgil’s ability to breathe or even swallow. He looked down at Virgil, combing his hair back again. Virgil met his eyes, lost in Remus’ commanding gaze.

           The racing of his heart replaced any of the unpleasant tightness in his chest, and Virgil fully relaxed when Remus reached down to place his hand on the side of Virgil’s neck, pressing against the bulge from outside. Virgil’s eyes rolled back and he closed them, melting away into sensation and heat, more of a plaything for Remus than a functioning being—and that’s how Virgil wanted it for now. Forgetting everything outside of this room, the sounds and tastes and smells of sex were like a merciful smokescreen.

           And then Virgil felt the familiar signals, throbbing and lost rhythm, and he groaned in his chest, anticipating what was coming—literally. Remus always came so much, and Virgil could almost never swallow it all at once, but he always tried. After a few spurts Remus pulled back and shot across Virgil’s face while the anxious side eagerly swallowed what was in his mouth, “Yes Remus please give it to me, give me more, want to taste you!”

           Remus growled as he thrust back into Virgil’s mouth and down his throat. Once. Twice, and then he pulled out, connected by a line of thick spit to Virgil’s wet lips. He knelt then, reaching to wrap his hand to palm Virgil through his pants. Virgil groaned and humped against Remus’ hand while the creative side cleaned his face, licking away the hot stripes of his spend. Remus captured his lips in a commanding kiss and Virgil got another mouthful of cum. He jerked in Remus’ grip as he came, choking as he swallowed and cried out at the same time. Remus muttered gentle nonsense as he rubbed Virgil through his orgasm and beyond, toying with the wet spot on Virgil’s jeans.

           “Th-thank-“ Virgil stammered.

           Remus stood and pulled Virgil to his feet, helping him to the bed where he was nestled in a pile of abandoned vellum and leather and silk. Remus kissed him on the nose and then gently stripped Virgil, “How about a nice hot springs full of demon octopi? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

           “More demon octopi?” Virgil hummed with a smile. “I’d love that.”

           Remus swept him up and sunk out, reappearing in one of his little corners of the imagination where the air was heavy with steam. Virgil sighed as he was lowered into hot water, muscles he didn’t know were tense melted into warm butter. “Anything else, Emo? A drink?”

           Virgil stretched, “I wouldn’t say no to a pineapple juice.”

           “Good idea, keep tasting sweet for me,” Remus mused, conjuring a glass and handing it to Virgil.

           Virgil sank into the sensation as several red tentacles found his legs, waist and chest in a deep—astoundingly innocent—massage. He let his head fall back, “Thank you, Remus, so much.”

           “For you, anything.”

 ---

           Virgil squirmed when his hand alone wasn’t enough, frustrating and disappointing as he rutted in his bed, mussing his black sheets. The memory of a thousand touches only made him want more, and he grabbed his sweaty pillow and threw it across the room, not comforted in the least by his little outburst. He kicked off his shoes, struggling with his jeans and underwear but not bothering with his hoodie. He was pulled so perfectly between arousal and frustration that his hand moved of its own volition, squeezing and twisting in hopes of finding some sensation that would push past the plateau where he hovered in sensual agony.

           Finally Virgil made himself stop just long enough to reach for the nightstand and yank open the drawer, fetching the toy he kept there. It was tapered, but it couldn’t compare to Remus’ size—or dexterity. He set it on his stomach and reached back for the lube, popping it open. He arched his back to get two slicked fingers into himself. The prep was quick, unceremonious and then he lubed up the toy, rolling onto his side and moaning involuntarily at the feel of it pressed at his entrance. He rocked down against it, deeper each time until it breached him, and he moved it manually then, in and out a few times before he got it positioned just right, turning on the vibrations. It was almost a relief to feel something, although it would never be enough. He cranked it up and his mouth fell open in a silent moan, his hips working as if he could get it deeper by will alone.

           The toy was nowhere near as big as Remus, but when he rocked just right it nudged his prostate in a familiar way, and his body remembered as much as his mind—unfortunately his body remembered all too well exactly what it was missing. The girth, the weight and the heat. He wondered what Remus would say, watching him whine and writhe like an emptyheaded—and empty-assed—slut. He’d no doubt have a comment, and Virgil was almost glad the creative side wasn’t there to see him. There was no way—horny and even a little homesick in a super fucked up way—that he’d be able to resist Remus’ offers even though Deceit had made it very clear that Remus was on his side of the line in the sand.  

           Pushing bad memories away, Virgil let himself think about Remus’ cock, and the cold jab of Deceit faded—for the night, at least. The anxious side had always been a size queen; Remus wasn’t just enough to bulge his throat, and memories of the tight tug inside made him chew his bottom lip. He slipped his free hand down to his stomach where he would be able to feel Remus pushing, bumping into his palm with every thrust, knocking the breath—and several filthy words—out of him. He gasped now as if he could feel it, and his body shook, his eyes burning as he squeezed them shut, pressing a fist to his mouth. He wanted to be shamelessly loud, but shameless was never really Virgil’s specialty, even back then.          

 ---

           Virgil glanced around in the dim light as Remus tugged him along by his hand; they had snuck upstairs into the livingroom where Deceit forbade them to go. The sharp jaws of adrenaline had him by the throat, and fight or flight melted into nothing when Remus turned to face him, “Clothes off, Emo.”

           Virgil shed his clothes tossing them in a pile on the floor as Remus magicked his own away, pulling Virgil in by the back of his neck. The kiss was feral, teeth and tongues and Virgil dug his blunt nails into Remus’ chest. When Remus pushed him to the couch, Virgil stammered, “H-how long do you think we have?”

           Remus shrugged, “Deceit won’t be looking for us until tomorrow if we’re lucky.”

           “I mean… the others.”

           “You mean those light sides?” Remus purred. “Why? Want them to watch?”

           Virgil blushed and the humiliation sent a pleasant spark through his body, but the time for talking was over—temporarily anyway. He moved into position on his knees, arms crossed to brace him against the arm of the couch. He relaxed into the position, trying to calm his racing heart until the touch of Remus’ hand on his back calmed him. Remus’ cock moved up against his own, a reminder of just how big he was, and Virgil reached down to stroke it lazily as Remus prepped him. Tentacles had never appealed to Virgil before he’d started things with Remus, but now the way it pressed into his touches and writhed like a sentient being—perhaps it was—was more than sexy, it was endearing, and Virgil couldn’t help the soft smile that stretched his lips. Remus was leaking precum already, much wetter than Virgil could get without at least a little assplay, and it made Virgil’s hand slick and sticky.  

           Remus pulled back then and Virgil almost complained, but then Remus’ cock was stretching him open and he let out a low, shuddering moan as he wrapped his hand around his own cock. The heavy member was undulating, writhing, massaging Virgil in all of the right ways, and he moaned into the couch arm, stroking himself slowly. It was more habit and comfort than out of a need to cum; when Remus was splitting him, there was no chance that he wouldn’t have an orgasm, sometimes multiple and often without much substantial warning. Then Remus was bottoming out, and Virgil could feel him so deep that he lowered his hand to his stomach where a familiar bulge was, crawling underneath his skin, “Fuck, Remus.”

           “Isn’t it nice?” Remus purred. “Stretching you, filling you up like the hungry little slut you are. How’s it feel, Emo?”

           “It’s… it’s—good!” Virgil hiccupped as Remus moved, drawing almost all the way out before snapping his hips forward and sinking back in, and the bulge retreated and returned, sending another ache of arousal through Virgil’s cock. “You know it’s good.”

           “I like when you say it,” Remus said, settling into a staggered rhythm to keep Virgil guessing. “Besides, what else are we going to talk about?”

           Virgil’s eyes rolled back and he bit his lip, letting out a nervous giggle, “The w-weather?”

           “Too boring,” Remus said, smacking Virgil’s ass. “Unless you want me to conjure a tornado or something. I think we should talk about getting caught, don’t you? Those sticks in the mud won’t know what to do, seeing me fuck you in their space like this. I bet Patton will just fucking die right then and there. My brother will be jealous because he’ll never get close to anything as gorgeous as you, isn’t that right, Emo?”

           Virgil yelped at a particularly deep thrust and the words spilled from him, “Remus we’re gonna… gonna get caught.”

           “Telling me you wouldn’t like that? The looks on their faces?” Remus growled, tangling his fingers in Virgil’s hair and yanking his head back.

           “I… I don’t know,” Virgil panted, too ashamed of the real answer.

           Remus ran the nails of his free hand down Virgil’s back, “That’s what I thought. You like being my pretty little whore, don’t you? You’d love for me to show you off.”

           “Shit,” Virgil growled, because it was true, and sometimes it terrified Virgil just how easily Remus could read him.

           “You never disappoint, Emo,” Remus said. “And you always say all of my favorite words.”

           “I haven’t said twatwaffle one time,” Virgil said, a smile on his lips.

           Remus laughed, leaning down to kiss the back of Virgil’s neck, then up behind his ear; Remus got sweet when Virgil made him laugh. Deceit had told Virgil once it was the way to his heart—but that wasn’t where Virgil was aiming, so he shivered and pushed himself back into Remus’ thrusts. “Somebody’s impatient.”

           “Come on, Remus,” Virgil said, as sweet and subby as he’d ever been. “Please give me your cock, please fuck me hard. It’s so good I want more, want everything.”

           Remus growled in his throat and took Virgil’s bait, though he was far from trapped; he shoved Virgil’s face into the arm of the couch roughly and fucked into him with a renewed domination that made Virgil’s cock jump and leak and ache with arousal. “Is this what you want?”

           “Yes,” Virgil muttered into the fabric. Remus’ nails were back in his back and he choked out a cry, “Yes! Yes please!”      

           Remus bit into Virgil’s shoulder as he came, and Virgil could feel it, hot and thick and there was a lot, filling him up like he’d begged for. He sobbed and barely had time to process the sensation before he himself was cumming, dirtying the couch under them and managing to milk more from Remus in the process until they were both rutting and growling like animals—and maybe animals is what they were. Remus pulled out and Virgil could feel the spend tickling down his inner thigh before Remus nudged him forward and he lifted his ass higher into the air, lowering his face into the couch cushions.

           Remus’ tongue was hot and probably longer than it should be, but the way it felt had Virgil rocking back while the creative side sucked the cum out of him. When Remus pulled back Virgil whimpered, but soon he was being pushed onto his back and his mouth fell open. He looked up into Remus’ eyes, lolling out his tongue. Remus’ eyes darkened and he let the cum drool down into Virgil’s waiting mouth. Virgil’s eyes rolled back as the sensation fought against his own refractory period, and his cock gave a lazy twitch. Once he’d taken everything Remus offered, he rolled it around his mouth, curling his tongue at the corner of his mouth before finally closing and swallowing.            

           “Such a good boy”, Remus cooed, swiping his thumb through the cum that had escaped at the corner of Virgil’s mouth. He pressed his thumb into Virgil’s mouth and the anxious side eagerly sucked it clean, floating on the cloud of praise.

           “Thank you,” Virgil said again, softer and with a deeper, warmer meaning. He stretched then reached up for Remus.

           Remus lowered himself to kiss Virgil, quick and chaste—if anything they did could be called chaste. Virgil melted into the affection and let himself be held. The couch wasn’t particularly deep, but Remus managed to maneuver them into a comfortable spooning position, pulling Virgil against his chest. The beating of Remus’ heart and the sound of their breathing as it slowed to normal brought Virgil down gently, and when he’d had enough, he squirmed in Remus’ arms, turning onto his back as much as he could without falling off of the couch.

           Remus watched Virgil’s face, prompting the anxious side to smile, “I’m good, just gonna take another second. You should go make sure Deceit’s not looking for us.”

           “Perish the thought,” Remus said sarcastically, but he smiled as he climbed over Virgil to stand. “I’ll go make sure Snake Daddy is none the wiser.”

           Virgil stretched out, licking his lips clean for the final time as Remus sank out. He sat up slowly, careful to wave away the wet spot before he grabbed his pants, pulling them on. Dressing wasn’t easy on shaky legs, but that made it more satisfying, especially layered with the possibility of getting caught.

           As if on cue, Virgil’s ears caught the smallest drag of a shoe on the carpet. He spun around, eyes searching the darkness around him for a threat. Roman stood in the darkened doorway, hand on the hilt of his sword; his hair and eyes made it clear he’d probably been asleep—maybe at his desk the way Remus did sometimes. He was pretty, Virgil couldn’t deny that—dashing, maybe, but a poor imitation of Remus. The prince met Virgil’s eyes and Virgil hesitated, staring at the other side before pulling up his hood and sinking into the floor.

 ---

           Suddenly the deep vibrations were too much, and Virgil cried out, reaching back to turn it off and take it out. He was shaking, unsure whether it was the memory of Remus or Roman that had caused the sudden spike. Virgil huffed in frustration, and his straining cock regained his attention. He couldn’t stop now just because he was trying to deny a possible partial crush on his old fuck buddy’s twin brother. Wrapping his hand back around himself, Virgil tried to slip away, find another memory to turn himself on just that last little bit. After three minutes of desperate self-searching, Virgil sighed, “Fuck.”

           He let that little mental block fade away, and the memory turned to fantasy, and the thrill of it zinged up into his chest and down to his toes, making them curl. He worked himself a bit slower, letting things play out.

---

           Virgil locked eyes with Roman, in the dark, and Roman’s nose wrinkled, just a little, because he knew. The prince unsheathed his sword, stepping forward and holding it to Virgil’s throat, “Care to explain yourself, foul fiend?”

           Virgil took a half-step back and sank to his knees; Roman looked pleased with himself, but his mouth fell open in surprise when Virgil nuzzled his cock through his pants. He tensed, but rather than taking a step back, he sheathed his sword and rested his hand on the back of Virgil’s head. Virgil undid Roman’s pants easily, pulling his cock free and covering it in kisses and kitten licks until the Prince was fully hard and pushing at the back of Virgil’s head. Virgil hummed and took Roman into his mouth and down his throat. He tasted nothing like Remus, none of the tingling magic eldritch qualities, but more like a man with impeccable hygiene who also spends the better part of his days trapesing through enchanted forests, earthy and spiced and—for lack of a better term—masculine.

           Roman growled, and Virgil gagged when he thrust forward, holding Virgil in place. Whether it was warped hate, or Roman was just naturally rough, Virgil was lost in it. He managed to pull back when Roman allowed him to breathe, “Fuck!”

           Roman smirked, “What’s the matter, Anxiety? Too big?”

           Virgil laughed breathlessly, rocking back onto his heels and standing. He stripped off his clothes and moved to the couch, reaching to brace himself on the couch arm. Strong hands took his hips and moved him like he was weightless, and before Virgil knew it he was on his back with Roman slotted between his legs. He closed his eyes tightly and turned his face away. “What are you looking at?”

           Roman snorted, and lips on Virgil’s collarbone made his bottom lip tremble, “Where’d that brave little monster go?”

           Virgil bristled and leaned up, capturing Roman’s lips in a rough kiss and biting down on his bottom lip. Roman tangled his fingers into Virgil’s hair and pulled. Virgil gasped when Roman broke the kiss and looked down to line himself up. “Fuck yeah give it to me,” Virgil whispered, following the Prince’s actions with eager eyes.

           Roman hesitated for a moment, spitting in his palm and running it hastily over his cock before slipping inside. Virgil threw his head back as it spun, Roman’s cock pushing in while he was still slicked up inside. He met Roman’s eyes, and groaned, “That’s his… it’s your brother’s cum. You know that right? Can you feel it?”

Roman’s nose wrinkled, but more in anger than disgust, and he spat in Virgil’s face, making Virgil moan like a shameless whore as he arched his back. Roman’s first proper thrust was rough, fast and it knocked him out of the fantasy completely.

           ----

           The orgasm was heavy and sudden, like a punch to the chest and Virgil panted as he wrung himself out, his free hand fisting in the sheets, “Jesus, Princey,” Virgil muttered into the stillness.

           Well and truly overstimulated, his nerves singing like they always did, but without the comforting warmth and weight of another body. He ran his fingers through the spend on his stomach, savoring the sight as yet another wave of nostalgia rolled over him, weaker than the others, but undeniably present as Virgil sucked his fingers clean, sighing at the rapidly-fading sex high.

Virgil heard a familiar sound and turned his head to look at the door, opened just a crack, “You just gonna watch again?”

           Roman moved forward, pushing the door open further with his foot. He was of course more put together than the night they saw one another in the dark living room. Not quite the picture of smirking valiance Virgil imagined, not a hero looking to dominate a villain. Nonetheless, the Prince looked willing, and Virgil was ready to move on and make new memories, as painful as it could be to accept change. What did he have to lose?

[fallenrepublick]

Domino

SO... This is extremely experimental. I’ve had thoughts swirling around in my head for quite a while about Maul’s past, and now that I’m here, it occurred to me that I might want to... do something with it. I wouldn’t call this a “Fix-It Fic” because I’m more fucking up the canon if anything, but call it what you will.

No warnings!

Synopsis: Basically, the idea is that Sidious is “raising” Maul, right? He brings him back to Coruscant temporarily as part of his training. Thresh, a grey Jedi with a strange past feels a crazy strong urge to return to Coruscant, leaving you, his current apprentice on Alderaan as he investigates. Keep in mind, this is the intro chapter. PLEASE tell me what you think afterwards, because I’m still iffy on it.

Without further ado, here ya go!

Coruscant. A city of starlight if ever there was one, though any natural glow from distant planetary systems was paled away by the artificial shine that emitted from the windows and speeders that populated nearly every centimetre of both the planet’s surface and atmosphere. Not a moment went by where the hum of a motor rumbled past or loud voices were heard calling out the name of a distant companion, ushering them over to the group in preparation for another round of drinks to celebrate the dawn of a new day in the midst of interplanetary outrage.

No, the stars that Thresh saw weren’t stars at all, but rather the markings of a planet, so metallic and cold in structure, teeming with life from every angle, so much so that the individual thoughts and prayers of the population seeped into one another, creating the very soul the celestial body relied on as it spun on its axis.

He still didn’t know why he had felt a call here, an urge so great to return to his childhood home at the Temple that he unceremoniously urged his sole apprentice to remain at the base on Alderaan while he scoped out his senses. One thing was for certain, though: It was not the Temple that had called him.

The rubber soles of his boots scratched at the concrete, his mind reaching out through the force, trying to identify the object that required his attention so greatly that its call had pierced through the fabric of the galaxy as easily as a knife through a sheer curtain. The looming shape of the Temple rose as he approached nearer, his lure so close yet so far, and a silent sense of dread draped over his pathetically human heart, almost forcing him to recount memories that didn’t need recounting. As much as he told himself everything was in the past, the fact that he found himself at the doorstep of that which he avoided most was proof enough that his lies were not yet good enough to fool even himself.

This area of the city was more peaceful, the tranquility of the building such a mask for the reality inside that even the most educated would never be able to see the true colors of what lay inside, let alone those foolish enough to fall prey to their hypocritical teachings. The contempt Thresh harbored here, unprovoked as it may seem, was rooted deep in the foundation of the Temple, built low in the walls and in the structure’s hollow bones, and, as far as his senses were telling him, as did something else.

Moon high above, his path was lit as he crept close to the side, hand outstretched as he concentrated for that singular aura he had followed all this way. His palm dragged along the stone wall, the rough surface clicking lightly as a greeting in his passing, and the further he went, the more terror he felt, the stronger his need to leave. And it was only once he stepped into a blinding moment of childish desperation that he realized the emotions he felt were not his own.

It was futile, he knew, but pressing both of his hands up against the wall where the emotions flowed the strongest, he became even more horribly sure that there was more than simply Jedi younglings inhabiting the Temple. He circled the premises once, twice, eyes darting across every surface available to him, seeking the entryway that even the oh-so-wise Jedi Master Yoda remained unaware of.

Until it dawned on him. Calling upon not the Light, but the Dark, Thresh followed the emotions, trail painting the air a bloody path that he followed like a trained hunting dog, the way he sought blindly before now illuminated before him clearer than his own two hands that remained in front of him as he walked.

He followed the path down steps and across winding walkways he had previously been unaware of, and found himself just outside the wall in a small cranny that no-one ever bothered to look behind, the faintest outline of a door carved into the face that no doubt required the force to pry open. He tightened the grey scarf around his neck, taking a deep breath before pushing as hard as he could with the force, the door hesitating to open for the intruder, yet relenting, letting out a soft whine as it turned on its hinges.

The hallway before him was pitch-black, instead of the creamy walls of the Jedi Temple, the barriers were darker than brimstone, deathly cold and an aura that would make any sensible person turn tail and leave this memory in their wake. Thresh was not a sensible person.

He pressed on, pulling the door shut and lighting his way with his lightsaber, the yellow light almost being absorbed by the void of the unknown. The light, however, was only insurance he wouldn’t trip. He still held on tightly to the emotions he had felt, the call that he was entirely sure was what he had come for taking precedence in his mind over every other goal or tentative thought that crossed his mind. The sense only strengthened as he journeyed, and in his head, he was almost sure he could hear something cry.

There were doors now, metal and numbered, no other labels to identify them with, their thresholds lining the walls of the hall as prison cells shut out the unwanted and shut in the targets.

A beat, an emptiness. And then, Thresh was overwhelmed. To his left stood a door, the same as all the others in appearance, but in aura, it was unique. The control panel on the door’s right had been tampered with, the wires moved and re-attached in various places. It could be opened from the outside. It could not be opened from within.

The crying was louder now, not in his head, no, but from within the room. The door had no window, so any idea of what could be inside was shut out to him. But he felt it. As much of a trap as it might have been, no one, not even a Sith, could replicate this.

Brushing aside black hair, his hands, shaking from the cold of the passage, went to work on the control panel. The buttons had been rearranged, albeit crudely, and certain controls had been completely removed, most likely for insurance. Taking his lightsaber, he sliced through the panel, sparks emitting from the box and door sliding open immediately, the hiss startling him.

He stepped inside. A small, lone bed sat on the far right corner, the room almost as dark as the hall, save for a single flickering bulb fixed into the ceiling, dimmer than even the light the moon gave. A tiny dresser was across from the bed, not nearly large enough to hold anything essential.

At the foot of the bed sat a tiny figure, red skinned, with black tattoos reminiscent of a midnight fog lining his body from head to toe. Horns poked out from the top of his head, no longer than a few centimetres in length, yet sharp as a cat’s fangs. He wore a plain black shirt with dark grey pants too short for him.

He looked up, brown eyes tear-stained and bloodshot, and Thresh knew. This one. This one was it.

[jaskierswolf]

The Witcher’s Companion pt.3/6

(Other parts on my masterlist/AO3 - TW: Alcohol, mentions of vomiting, and canon-typical gore)

Oxenfurt!

Jaskier felt like he was whole new person in this glorious city. He had a new name, a new home, a new lease of life.

The city was filled with music, and booze, and beautiful people who loved music and booze! Oh for the love of Melitele herself, he was home!

His studies were going well. He excelled at the arts just like he’d expected. His passion for all the beauty in the world had served him well. He had already been a master lute player by the time he’d started classes at the university, and unlike most of his peers he already had a few compositions up his sleeve. His most successful ones were about Geralt.

He sighed wistfully.

He hadn’t seen the witcher since the week they spent training together when he was thirteen. That was three years ago now, but the memories were still fresh in his mind. He’ll admit that Geralt had probably been his first crush, before he really knew what that meant, but now that Jaskier had spent a year at the university learning more about himself and about love, looking back on his time with Geralt was a real eye opener.

He had hoped that Geralt would return again before he headed off to study at Oxenfurt, but he had left home with a heavy heart. He wondered whether Geralt would be able to find him here in the city.

On top of his studies in music he had also been badgering the medical students and professors to show him what they knew. None of them knew anything about witcher potions which had been very disappointing but he did know basic alchemy and he knew how to stitch up some smaller wounds.

It had taken him a while to get that one right. The first time he’d tried on the dead pig he threw up all over the floor, but that had been a long time ago. The skills had also saved his own arse a few times. He did have an unfortunate habit of finding trouble. He’d been kidnapped by bandits once when he’d left the city to stroll through the local woods. He’d ended up with a nasty stab wound in his leg but once he’d finally managed to escape his bonds and get back home, he’d treated the wound himself with only a little help from one of the professors.

The next time he had left the city he didn’t forget his sword and bow. When the bandits attacked he’d been ready and they were left dead, or near dead, in their camp.

Geralt would have been proud of him.

Only Geralt was still nowhere to be found.

He pouted and sipped his drink. “Stupid witcher.” He grumbled.

“Julian!!”

He groaned and hit his head on the table. He was too drunk to deal with Valdo. He just wanted to be left in peace and pine over his witcher by himself.

“Fuck off!” He called back.

“Come on, you noble prick!” Valdo smiled too sweetly at him. “Play that song about that witcher of yours.”

“Not my witcher.” Jaskier grumbled.

“If you play, it’ll make my set sound so much better.” Valdo cackled.

Jaskier grumbled. It took every ounce of his control not to throw his dagger at Valdo’s head. He took a deep breath and plastered his own fake smile on his face.

“The only reason it will make your set better, darling,” He stroked a finger along Valdo’s cheek. “is that you will inevitably steal all my ideas. Now fuck. off.” He poked the wannabe troubadour in the chest and went back to drowning his sorrows.

He was sixteen for Lillit’s sake! He was a fucking grownup. Geralt should have come for him by now.

Valdo didn’t back off. “Julian!” He whined and Jaskier glared at him. The idiot had gone through his records in first year and discovered Jaskier’s real identity, he now refused to use Jaskier’s chosen name. “My sweet, sweet Julian.”

“Fuck off!” Jaskier snapped.

“Such a spoilsport, always with that sword of yours strapped to your waist. Can you even use it? Did your lover, the witcher, give it to you?”

Jaskier saw red and he had his dagger at Valdo’s throat in an instant.  

Geralt had given him the sword on their last day of training. It was gorgeous and it was sharp as a razor. He’d almost killed Master Rhindon the next time they’d trained together. The sword master hadn’t been expecting Jaskier’s newfound skills and Jaskier had easily landed a blow on the man’s arm, nicking an artery. It had only been Jaskier’s quick thinking that had saved the man. He’d pulled off his shirt and made into a bandage, wrapping the wound tightly before calling for a healer. He had been more careful with the sword after that. He stopped using it in training when he was sparring against a partner until he was sure they would be able to defend themselves properly.

“Help me!” Valdo cried helplessly.

Jaskier growled and pushed the man away. “I told you to fuck off!”

Valdo collapsed to the ground, panting heavily and glared up at him. “You little shit. I’ll report you for that!”

“Be my guest.” Jaskier tucked his dagger back into his boot. “And I’ll tell the Chancellor that you’ve been shagging his daughter.”

Valdo gaped. “How did you—”

Jaskier grinned. “I have my sources.”

His sources. The Chancellor’s son, who Jaskier may or may not have also shagged.

But Valdo didn’t need to know that.

“You bastard.” Valdo hissed through gritted teeth.

“Write a song about it.” Jaskier smirked. “You won’t have to steal one of mine for a change!”

Valdo launched at him and they ended up brawling on the tavern floor until they were pulled apart by some local guards and dumped into he street.

“Julian?”

Jaskier gasped and scrambled to his feet. He knew that voice!

“Geralt!” He cried and flung his arms around the witcher, not realising that the man was covered head to toe in monster guts. “Oh fucking hell, shit, Geralt!”

He heard Valdo’s laugh behind him and grinned. Valdo Marx was a lover of finer things, just like he was, only Valdo had no stomach for the rougher things. He spun round and pulled the other bard in training into a hug.

“Isn’t this nice, Valdo?” He cooed.

“Oh gods, I’m going to be sick!” Valdo whined… and then did just that, all over Jaskier’s feet.

“Oi! No. Oh cock!” Jaskier hopped around. “Geralt, help me!”

The witcher was scowling at him but Jaskier saw the faint smile on his lips. “Hmm.”

“Oh fuck off, then. Actually, no, don’t.” He pulled off his boots and threw them into a nearby bush. He hopped bare foot over to the witcher. “Come with me. My dorm is nearby, you need a bath.”

Geralt grunted. “So do you.”

Jaskier put one hand on his hip and tilted his head. “And whose fault is that?” He pointed accusingly at the witcher.

“Yours.” Geralt said flatly.

Jaskier considered that. He had been the one to hug Geralt. “Fine.” He mused. “But you at least owe me a drink!”

“A bath first.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier grinned. “Yes. Right. Yes, follow me!”

Jaskier prattled away as he led Geralt through the streets of Oxenfurt, catching his friend up with the last three years of his life. Geralt hummed and grunted in more or less the right places but didn’t say anything, not offering up any tales of his own. Jaskier didn’t care. He carried on with his monologue quite happily. It was obvious the witcher had had a rough day. Jaskier’s talking was mostly for himself, he didn’t require a response. He easily ignored the stares they received from strangers in the street. Even in Oxenfurt, a city known for its liberalism, witchers weren’t exactly welcome, especially not ones covered in monster guts.

“Sooo…” Jaskier nudged his shoulder against Geralt’s, he was almost as tall as the witcher now, only a few inches shorter. “How have you been?”

Geralt grunted and glared straight ahead.

“That bad huh?” Jaskier sighed. “Well, after a nice long soak you’ll be right as rain!”

“I didn’t come here to find you, Julian.” Geralt snapped.

Oh ho ho. He was definitely a grumpy witcher today. Jaskier couldn’t remember seeing him so grumpy before. He’d always been gentle and caring. Perhaps he was kinder to children and Jaskier was hardly a child anymore.

“It’s Jaskier.” He hummed, feeling slightly dejected.

“What?” Geralt turned to face him with flaming golden eyes.

“My name. I never liked Julian very much, so I thought… university!” He gestured widely to the surrounding city. “No better place to be reborn! I went through a few names. I wanted something sweet, something lyrical and warm like the music I want to bring into the world. Why not flowers? I thought. Everyone likes flowers.”

“I don’t” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier scoffed. “Yes you do. You know this whole ‘I am night itself’ thing you’ve got going on, I’m not buying it.”

Geralt grunted.

“Anyhoo! Flowers, I thought Marigold at first. I wanted a yellow flower.” He didn’t add that the yellow reminded him of Geralt’s eyes. Oh no. That would be ridiculous. “But that was shit. So I tried Dandelion. That was better. Dandelion lasted a few weeks. Then one day I walking through the market and saw a patch of buttercups by the edge of path and that was it. Jaskier was born!” He grinned widely at his old friend.

“Hmm.” Geralt was still scowling but there were signs of a smile there.

“I knew you’d like it.” Jaskier winked.

“I never said that.” Geralt grumbled.

“My dear witcher, you never had to.” Jaskier patted his arm and then grimaced at the blood covering his hand.

Geralt stopped abruptly and stared at him, amber eyes studying him like he was some kind of animal in a cage. Jaskier tilted his head and then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the blood off Geralt’s face.

“You’re a mess, Geralt.” He laughed with fond exasperation.

“You’ve changed.” Geralt stated, tilted his head. “You seem… lighter?”

Jaskier put a hand on his hip and tossed his fringe from his eyes. “And you’ve become all cantankerous in your old age.” He teased.

Geralt, to Jaskier’s surprise, laughed. “You sound like Lambert.”

Jaskier stared up at Geralt wide-eyed. The witcher was finally opening up! Oooh this was good.

“Fuck!” Geralt strode off down the road, in the opposite direction to the university.

“No, no, no. Geralt!” Jaskier trotted after him. “Geralt! Wait. You’re going the wrong way!”

“I don’t need a bath.” Geralt grumbled.

“Oh fuck that. Look at you, you brute.” Jaskier grabbed the witcher’s arm. Geralt could have pulled away but he didn’t. He let Jaskier lead him back to his room.

The bath was a messy affair. Jaskier went first. He only had to wash off the blood that had transferred from Geralt in the hug. Geralt waited on the bed, facing the wall whilst Jaskier cleaned up, and then it was the witcher’s turn. It took multiple buckets of water to get all the gore from Geralt’s silver hair and the witcher protested when Jaskier dumped his clothes in the bin. He tucked Geralt’s armour in the corner of the room but the shirts underneath just had to go. Under his clothes, Geralt had a deep cut on his side.

“Geralt!” Jaskier pouted. “You didn’t tell me you were injured!”

Geralt grunted and Jaskier flitted around the room to gather up his medical supplies. He felt a bubble of excitement in his chest. This was it. He was finally able to prove he could be a companion to the witcher. Once Geralt was finished in the bath and lying on the bed with a towel wrapped around his waist, Jaskier tended to wound. Geralt winced as Jaskier stitch it up as carefully as he could but stayed silent until after the bandages were in place.

“Thank you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier patted the witcher on his shoulder. “No problem, Geralt. Stay here for a few days. Rest.”

Geralt opened his mouth to protest.

“Stay!” Jaskier insisted, putting his hand over Geralt’s mouth.

Geralt glared but nodded.

In the end Geralt stayed with him for two days whilst he recovered from the fight. It had been a giant centipede apparently. Geralt had been taken off guard when the insect had burst free of the ground underneath his feet and gored him with its pincers. Geralt had managed to slice his silver sword through the beast’s belly whilst it had been caught in a magic trap and the guts had covered the witcher as the centipede died. Apparently, Geralt had been lucky not to have been poisoned but the witcher mentioned that he did have a potion for that, in small golden bottle.

Jaskier devoured up the information like a starved dog at the butchers. He scribbled down notes the whole time that Geralt spoke to him. He wanted to know everything. The gory details made his stomach turn a little but he was determined to get better with that so he didn’t protest.

On the second day, Jaskier trailed Geralt back to the stables near the edge of town. He still had Roach, although she was looking more frail than she had last time Jaskier had seen her. He offered her an apple which she took greedily before nuzzling Jaskier’s hand.

“Hmm.” Geralt watched the interaction carefully. “She hates people.”

“I wonder wherever could she have learnt that from.” Jaskier gave Geralt a wink and continued to pet the horse.

“You’re not coming?” Geralt asked for the second time.

Jaskier reluctantly shook his head. “Not this time.”

He had to laugh at the irony. He’d been begging Geralt to take him away for years and now the witcher was finally offering it, he was turning it down, but he wanted to finish his studies. He still had a lot to learn about all manner of things, but mostly about himself. The boy from Lettenhove was gone. Julian had been trapped under his father’s thumb until the age of twelve and then controlled by his mother until he’d escaped to Oxenfurt at fifteen. Julian had just needed an escape and Geralt offered that, a shining hope, a purpose. Now he was at Oxenfurt he was learning who he could be without the demands of Lettenhove, and he found he rather liked that person. Geralt was no longer is only option in life and that somehow made him want it even more.

It was now his choice.

He could be anything. He could return home to be the rightful Viscount de Lettenhove. He could stay in Oxenfurt and teach once he finished his own degree. He was good enough, his professors had already mentioned it as an option. He could become a bard and sing in court, like Valdo wanted in life, or travel around the world singing his creations and entertaining the masses all around the Continent. He could focus on medicine and become a healer. With his skills of persuasion and swordsmanship he could probably even become a spy!

But he still wanted Geralt. He wanted to experience the world by the side of the witcher.

Geralt hummed and nodded as he mounted Roach.

“I’ll find you.” Jaskier promised, grasping the witcher’s hand in his. “Once I’ve graduated and seen some of the world for myself. I’ll find you.”

They shook hands and then Geralt was off.

Jaskier watched him go with a flutter of regret in his stomach. He was sure in his decision. He knew he needed this, but he couldn’t help but wonder whether he would see the witcher again.

Gods, he really hoped he would.

Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard @genkitaco @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato

[grapesodatozier]

I Knew You’d Haunt All of My What-Ifs

madwheeler pining!! max is drunk and calls mike to drive her home. title from cardigan by taylor swift (yes it came out 17 hours ago and i have already named a fic after it lmao)

rating: teen and up

tags: underage drinking, almost confessions, high school, modern au, pining

words: 2,247

read on ao3 or below!!

The room only spun a little as Max washed her hands. Mostly it was a pleasant, fluid, buzzing feeling. It was warm and she grinned to herself as she swayed a bit. Parties were fun, but there was something about being drunk in a stranger’s bathroom that made her giggle. It was just fun, and it was the point when she realized how truly far gone she was.

Once out, she quickly found her friends in the throng of people in the crowded house. They were friends she’d made in class and known for a few years, and they were getting a few parties in before they went their separate ways for college. Max really liked them, but she had her doubts about how well the relationships would hold up after college. The only people she was really sure she’d always be friends with were the other party members. Still, she liked these girls, they were nice and funny and went to parties that her closest friends were too shy to go to, so she wanted to make sure she got some time in with them now. 

“Max,” one of them, Katie, said, “I think we’re gonna head out now, do you have a way to get home?”

Shit. No, that had slipped Max’s mind. She knew if she asked that the other girls would walk her home, but they all lived on the complete other side of town, and she didn’t want to triple their walk. “Yeah, my friend’s picking me up,” she lied. “I’ll see you soon?” And then they were all hugging her goodbye and disappearing.

Max sighed and waited a bit before heading outside. She may have been better than the rest of the party at socializing, but she would never be a mingler, and most of the people at this party she hoped to never see again. So she walked to the curb and sat at the edge of the property, grateful for the fresh air that filled her lungs and cooled her heated cheeks. She pulled out her phone; it was nearly one in the morning. She knew that in the grand scheme of things, any of her friends would be happy to help her out—a party member requires assistance, yada yada, sweet nerd sentiments. Still, she felt bad calling so late. So she wasn’t quite sure why she was calling the person who would express that annoyance most freely, but the phone was already ringing.

“Max?” Mike’s confused voice came through on the second or third ring. He sounded so cute. As much as sober Max would never admit it, she really did love Mike’s voice. Even when he was whining he sounded kind of adorable, especially when it was over something small.

“Heyyy,” Max drawled, giggling a bit. Okay, so maybe she was a little drunker than she had thought. 

“Oh my god, are you drunk?” Mike asked, exasperated.

“Maybe a little.”

She could hear Mike sigh. “And you’re drunk calling me why?”

Max’s heart was racing now. She shouldn’t be asking this, but it was too late, and the thought of seeing Mike, of being alone with him this late at night had too strong a pull for her drunk self to resist. “I kind of need a ride home. If you’re up, that is, if you’re in bed it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” As her cheeks heated up, she began to ramble: “Honestly, actually, I should just walk, it’s not that far—”

“Where are you?” Mike cut her off. Max leaned over and found the green street sign, reading off the name. “Max, that’s like a forty minute walk from your house, you’re not doing that by yourself at night while drunk. I’ll be there in like five or ten minutes, okay? Just stay there.” 

“Okay,” Max said. She figured she wasn’t in any position to tell him not to tell her what to do, and she found that she didn’t want to. 

She lay back when she heard him hang up, staring up at the stars to pass time. It made her smile to remember what Mike had said, that he wasn’t willing to let her walk home by herself. She knew that he cared about her, but hearing him make it so explicitly clear had her blushing and grinning up at the stars like a middle schooler. 

The time became liquid as she thought about Mike while absently tearing at the grass beneath her. She began to worry that he would be mad at her. But when his car rolled to a stop beside her, he was climbing out of it immediately, calling her name as he rushed to her side. “Max? Max, oh my god, are you okay?”

Max giggled as she smiled up at him, still lying in the grass. “I’m super,” she grinned. The world spun as she sat up, and she had to lean into Mike to not fall over again. His t-shirt was thin and soft under her fingers, and she could feel how warm his skin was under the fabric. It made her head swim, the thought of touching his chest, running her fingers over his skin, feeling his heartbeat under her palm. Her eyes focused on his neck as she caught her bearings again, then looked up into his eyes. The deep brown seemed to glow gold under the streetlight.

“You almost gave me a fucking heart attack!” Though his voice was chiding, he was incredibly gentle with her as he helped her up. Max smiled when she noticed the blue plaid pajama pants he had on. God, he was cute. “Don’t fucking lie on your back when you’re drunk, you could choke on your own vomit! I thought you were dead or passed out or something!”

“Aw, were you worried about me?” Max sing songed as she walked around to the passenger side. She tried to make it teasing, but the vodka softened it, revealing how touched she was by it. Blushing, she hastily climbed into the passenger seat to escape the look Mike was giving her.

“Of course I was worried about you,” he said as he got into the car beside her. His voice was exasperated, but much softer than it had been. Max busied herself with putting on her seatbelt so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” she whispered as Mike started the car. “I’m sorry I made you come out.”

She shouldn’t have been, but she was surprised to hear Mike say, “Don’t be. I’m glad you called me.” 

“Yeah?”

“Of course! I don’t know what kind of friends you hang out with that would leave you at a party, but I’m glad you know I’m there for you even if they’re not.” 

“It was my fault,” Max explained, “I didn’t wanna make them walk me home and then walk all the way back, so I told them I had a ride.”

“They should’ve stayed with you. What if some creep had found you alone? What if you were drunker than they realized and went running off somewhere and got in trouble?”

Max was taken aback by the venom in Mike’s voice. Sure, she knew how protective he was—hell, it was pretty much his biggest defining trait—but he’d never directed it so fiercely at her. He chided her for taking turns too sharply, or being careless on her skateboard, but it was never with more than a shake of his head. But now she could see his fingers gripping the steering wheel just a little harder than he needed to. Now other people had been careless with Max, and apparently that made a world of difference for Mike. The realization made Max glow.

She looked at his face. He was watching the road. It was dark in the car, but she could make out his profile, illuminated by the street lamps and moonlight and the glows that came from the houses around them. His hair looked fluffier than usual, a little messy, and the fuzzy, liquid warmth that encompassed Max drove her to run her fingers through it. 

“Max!” Mike swatted at her, but he was laughing. “Stop it, I’m driving!”

“But it’s so soft!” Max giggled, resting her hand on Mike’s shoulder. God, Mike was cute. Why was he so cute? Why did he have to have such soft hair and such a nice voice? “So is your shirt,” she added, playing with the material between her fingers. She shivered as her knuckles brushed against the warm, soft skin of Mike’s neck. 

“Wow, you are drunk,” Mike grinned. There was a light blush in his cheeks that made Max want to kiss them. Luckily, she still had some self restraint. 

She didn’t want this moment to end. She so rarely got moments alone with Mike; she never knew how to ask for them. And now here they were, alone in a car on the deserted streets of their suburban town, college looming over them. She’d be in California soon, and while the warmth and the waves were a welcome future, she couldn’t help but mourn all of the memories she had here, all of the moves she’d never made. All of the maybes she’d never chased.

“Mike?” she said softly, her hand still on his shoulder.

He must’ve sensed the shift in the mood, as he was just as quiet as he gave a small, “Yeah?”

“You know I love you, right?” The words came spilling out. Not a confession, not the whole one, but nothing sober Max could ever find the words or the courage or the moment to say. “Like, I know I give you a hard time, but I love you. You’re a really good friend.”

Mike smiled the bashful smile that made Max’s heart flutter; he smiled like he’d never gotten a compliment before, like he couldn’t believe it. “You’re a good friend, too.” He didn’t say it back. It made Max sad for a moment, but she understood. Neither of them were good at explicit iloveyous, and he was sober. He was telling her he loved her by driving her home. Max understood the way he worked by now, so she was more than happy with what she got, really. But the melancholy, the time ticking down, it still weighed on her. 

“Will you still be my friend after college?” Max didn’t mean for her voice to be so watery, she really didn’t, and she wasn’t crying, but maybe her lower lip was shaking a little. 

For the first time since he’d started the car, Mike turned to look at her. He had the sweet little furrow between his brows, a calculating look in his eyes. Concern. He was looking at her and he cared, and Max wanted to melt into that feeling and stay there for as long as she could. “Of course we’ll still be friends,” he said. Max loved that passion that was in his voice, she loved hearing Mike talk about stuff he cared about, stuff he really meant. He had such a fire that stoked Max’s, and she liked to think she knew how to get him riled up as well. But that wasn’t what she wanted right now. What she wanted—well, what she wanted the vodka gave her. She leaned over the center console to rest her head on Mike’s shoulder. “Max, I’m driving,” he said, but it was half hearted this time, his voice soft, and he didn’t make her move. He took his turns gently, let her rest. Max closed her eyes and let it sink in: the way he smelled like laundry detergent; how warm and soft he was; the car vibrating softly around them. She tried not to kick herself for not seeking this out sooner.

Far too soon for her liking, they rolled up to her house. She sat up with a sigh, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t look at Mike either. She just. Stayed for a moment before shifting back a bit to look at Mike. He looked so beautiful, even if it was dark in his car. She could see his eyes roaming over her face. The air was still, the houses all dark, no one on the street. It was like they were the only two people in the world. 

“Thanks for driving me home.” Her voice sounded all too loud as it broke the silence between them.

“Of course.” Mike surprised her by running his thumb lightly over her hand. God, Max wanted to know what his fingers would feel like laced between her own. “Text me in the morning to let me know you’re alive, okay?” he asked with a smile. Max rolled her eyes but grinned back at him. 

“As long as I’m not dead.” 

They stayed still another moment, Mike’s hand still just barely on hers. Leaning into the warm liquid courage, Max leaned forward and kissed Mike’s cheek, quick and panicked. Then she was saying goodnight and climbing out of his car, rushing inside. From her living room, she watched his car linger for a moment before pulling away. And as she brushed her teeth, and changed into her pajamas, and fell into bed, and lay awake, the whole time she felt the downy soft feeling of Mike’s skin tingling on her lips, the warmth of his blush spreading through her chest.

[wistfulcynic]

...and held her in my arms (CS January Joy Day 9)

HAPPY JANUARY EVERYONE!!

So. This fic. I was not going to write it. I’ve had little ideas in my head for a while of a CS college/university AU but I didn’t really want to dive into anything new. But then the thing I intended to write for @csjanuaryjoy​ just began to feel a bit uninspired and uninspiring so I thought what the hell I’ll write down some ideas for a college AU and somehow it turned into this monstrous one-shot. (Yes I know there are one-shots longer, but this is GARGANTUAN for me.) It has some smut and some misunderstandings and miscommunication and mutual pining by the truckload, plus Captain Book because they are my forever BroTP. 

I hope you enjoy!! 

Gratitude as ever to @thisonesatellite​ for whipping this into shape and also just general awesomeness. 

SUMMARY: Emma Swan does not want to think about Killian Jones. She doesn’t want to think about his eyes or his face or that time he pressed her against a wall at a frat party and made her forget her own name. She definitely does not want to think about that. But when they are partnered with each other on a project they both are determined to ace she can’t avoid him any longer... or the feelings growing between them. 

@thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu​ @stahlop @mariakov81​ @kmomof4​ @shireness-says​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @teamhook​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @snowbellewells​ @snidgetsafan​ @tiganasummertree​ @shardminds​ @jonirobinson64​ @jennjenn615​ @superchocovian​ @courtorderedcake​

ON AO3

-

She’s pressed against the wall, the sounds of the party fading into the background as his lips devour hers. He tastes like beer and corn chips and God that shouldn’t turn her on nearly as much as it does. She clutches at his hair as his hand slips beneath her shirt to cup her breast, the other digging into her thigh as she hitches her leg over his hip and grinds against him. He tears his mouth from hers and stares at her, panting, pupils blown, and then she pulls him back down to her lips…

“Miss Swan?” 

The sound of the professor’s voice snapped Emma from her memory and back into the small seminar room, made warm and slightly stuffy by the early afternoon sun slanting through its tall windows. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t hear the question.” 

“Perhaps because I didn’t ask you one,” said Professor Gold, fixing her with that unblinking stare of his that had been setting undergrads quaking in their boots for twenty-five years. “I merely wished to confirm that you are in fact present in this classroom. In mind as well as body.” 

She could feel heat creeping up the back of her neck and had to force herself not to squirm. “Yes, Professor. Sorry.” 

Professor Gold stared at her for another painful moment then looked away. Emma sighed in relief. “As I was saying,” the professor intoned. “Your pair research papers will constitute twenty-five percent of your final grade, something I’m sure you are already aware as no doubt you have all read the syllabus with great care and attention.”

Emma could tell her classmates in the Political Science seminar wanted to groan, but didn’t dare do so in front of Professor Gold. As and nor did she. 

“I do not wish to have any bickering about choosing partners so I have chosen them for you myself,” Professor Gold continued. “You will find this list—” he held up a sheet of paper “—affixed to my office door should you have need to reconfirm the pairings that I am about to announce.” His gimlet stare swept the room. “Are there any questions?”  

There weren’t. 

He nodded. “Excellent. Now, Mr Booth, your partner will be...” 

Emma listened as the professor read out names, trying not to fidget but feeling herself grow increasingly tense as name after name was called but none were hers… or his. 

“…and last, but I feel quite certain—despite this morning’s momentary lapse—not least, Miss Swan you will be working with Mr Jones.” 

Breathe, Emma. 

She glanced across the conference table to where Killian Jones sat slouched in his chair. His posture was relaxed but a pink flush began to creep across his cheekbones as he sensed her gaze on him and then his ridiculous eyelashes fluttered and their eyes met.  

Memories assailed her again—of those eyes dazed and wanting… her fingers in his hair… his tongue in her mouth… his hand between her legs… She tore her eyes away and focused on her notebook as Professor Gold reminded them of the requirements and due dates for the pair project, then quickly gathered her things and fled the room as soon as he dismissed the class. 

She was halfway down the hall before Killian caught up with her. 

“Swan!” he called, “Wait!” His fingers snagged the sleeve of her jacket and she spun around and yanked it away. 

“What?” she snapped. Knowing she was being ridiculous and that she couldn’t run away or avoid him when he was her damn project partner made her extra defensive.  

He looked taken aback by her tone, then resigned. “I just—” he attempted a smile “—I just thought perhaps we should exchange numbers. For the project.” 

She scowled. “I’ll see you in class on Tuesday.” 

“But we’re going to have to work outside of class as well,” he pointed out. “You heard the crocodile, this is a quarter of our final grade and I don’t know about you but I intend to ace it.” 

“The crocodile?” 

“Gold.” 

“Yeah, I got that from context but why do you call him a crocodile?” 

“Don’t you think he looks like one?” 

He did a bit, in his cold, reptilian eyes, but she’d be damned if she agreed with Killian Jones about anything. “Not scaly enough,” she retorted, and he laughed, a deep, rich laugh that settled low in her belly and throbbed there. 

“So,” he said, still with a wide smile and eyes bright with mirth, “…numbers?” 

Emma hesitated, scrambling to come up with a reason, any reason, not to give him her number. “I just—I don’t think—” She stumbled a bit as the light went out of his eyes and his smile faded.  

“All right,” he said, taking a pen from a pocket on the side of his satchel and grasping her hand firmly before she could snatch it away. His fingers were warm and slightly rough on the inside of her wrist as he held her hand steady and scribbled some numbers across the back of it. She held her breath, her heart racing, watching the tip of his tongue play at the corner of his lips as he finished writing and looked up, straight into her eyes. His face was inches from hers, his breath warm on her cheek as it had been that night, his touch on her skin achingly familiar. Emma swallowed through her parched throat and forced the memories away.  

Killian blinked rapidly and gave himself a small shake, dropping her wrist like it burned him. He cleared his throat. “There,” he said. “That’s my number. Do with it what you will. But let me reiterate, Swan, we will need to work on this outside of class. I’m going to get an A out of that old reptile if it’s the last thing I do.” 

His expression was dark and stubbornly determined, a muscle ticking in the corner of his jaw. She watched it dance, mesmerised. 

He frowned. “Is there something on my face—” he began, then from down the hallway someone called “Jones! Hey, Killian!” and he turned to see who it was. 

A leggy brunette sauntered up and kissed Killian’s cheek, then made a production of wiping her lipstick off it with her thumb. “Hey, Ruby,” he greeted her, submitting to both the kiss and the cleanup with a fond smile that made Emma’s teeth grind. “What’s up?” 

“Oh my God, you’ll never guess who just agreed to play at my party on Saturday!” Ruby waved her phone under Killian’s nose. “DriftWood! That band, the one we saw at the festival last month, you remember?” 

“Aye.” Killian took the phone and smiled as he read the screen. “Ah, brilliant, I liked them.” 

“I fucking loved them, gah I can’t wait!” She took her phone back from Killian and did a little dance. “This party is gonna be so amazing. You and Belle are coming, right?” 

“Of course, lass, we wouldn’t dare miss it.” 

“Smart man.” Ruby grinned her megawatt grin then appeared to notice Emma for the first time. “Hey,” she said. “Um, Emma, isn’t it? Mary Margaret’s roommate?” 

“Yeah,” said Emma between clenched teeth, wondering why the hell she was still standing there. 

“I thought so. You can come too, if you want. Open invite, and MM will be there.” 

“Thanks,” said Emma shortly. “I’m busy.” 

“Oh.” Ruby glanced at Killian but he said nothing. “Well, if you change your mind—” 

“I won’t. I’ll see you in class on Tuesday, Killian.” She turned and stalked down the hall, fingernails digging into her palms as she clenched her hands into fists to stop them shaking. 

~

“Ugh, I don’t know why you like her,” said Ruby, watching Emma disappear around a corner. “She’s such a bitch.” 

“She’s not a bitch.” Killian could still feel the softness of Emma’s skin, the thrum of her pulse beneath his fingertips in tune with his own pounding heart. His whole hand was tingling, and he flexed his fingers absently. “She’s just—closed off. I think she must have been hurt in the past.” 

Ruby snorted. “Haven’t we all?” 

“I’m not just talking about your girlfriend of five minutes breaking up with you, Rubes,” Killian chided. “I mean real pain.” He saw a lost girl behind Emma Swan’s eyes, someone who’d been left alone. He was all too familiar with how that felt, but it wasn’t something he could talk about with Ruby. “Anyway, never mind,” he said, smiling at her. “Have you had lunch?” 

“Why do you think I came to find you?” Ruby grinned as she wrapped both her arms around one of his and rested her chin on his shoulder. “You owe me ten bucks from last weekend and I will totally accept payment in the form of cheeseburgers.” 

Killian laughed. “Cheeseburgers it is then.” 

~

When Emma got back to her dorm apartment that afternoon she scrubbed Killian’s number off her hand. But not before she programmed it into her phone. Just in case, she told herself. In case she got on a roll with the project and had something to discuss with him before Tuesday’s class. She held her breath as she saved the new contact then turned her phone upside down on the side of the sink as she washed her hands. 

She only had one class on Fridays so the next afternoon she went to the library to get started on her research. She was heading back to her table with an armload of books when she caught a glimpse of a black leather jacket in the corner of her eye and ducked back into the stacks just in time to avoid Killian as he walked by. Peeking around the corner of the shelf she saw him sling his satchel onto a table just two away from where she’d left her things and shrug out of his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair. 

He wore dark jeans and a grey t-shirt with ‘Bristol Rowing’ in faded letters on the chest and before he sat down he rolled his neck and shoulders, the muscles across his back visibly flexing beneath the worn-thin fabric of his shirt. 

“Ugh, seriously have mercy on us,” groaned a voice to her left. Emma turned to see two girls with their heads close together, books clutched against their chests, watching Killian intently. 

 “He’s just unfair,” said one, by the sound of her voice the same one who had just spoken. “No guy should be allowed to look that good.” 

“Right?” replied the other. “He’s in my American Lit class and I swear I want to die every time he talks. That accent. Is he still with that Belle chick, do you know?” 

“I think so. I see them together like all the time. Last week on my way to work I saw them going into the history museum, if you can believe it. I guess that’s his idea of a fun date.” 

“Ugh. Too bad.” 

“So too bad,” agreed the first girl. “I wish she’d share. They can go to boring-ass museums together in the day and then at night I’ll take that home and climb it like a tree.” 

“Ride it like a bronco,” giggled the other. 

“Bang it like a screen door in a hurricane.” They collapsed against each other, laughing, and Emma saw that Killian had plugged some headphones into his laptop and was tapping his foot as he opened a document. He didn’t even notice his fans, she thought snidely, firmly ignoring the twisty ache of regret threaded with guilt that thinking about Killian’s girlfriend always caused her. When she was certain his attention was fully on his writing and music she slipped quietly into the study area and over to the table where she’d left her things. Quickly gathering them along with the books she’d selected, she headed for the checkout desk. She’d study at home, she thought. 

~

Emma worked on her various papers and projects all Friday evening and most of the day Saturday, and late Saturday afternoon found her sitting on the couch in her pajamas with her glasses perched on her nose and her hair in a messy bun, a book balanced on one knee and her laptop on the other, typing frantically, so engrossed that she didn’t notice Mary Margaret until her roommate plopped down on the sofa next to her. 

“Are you still working?” she said, by way of greeting. 

Emma peered over the tops of her glasses. “I have eighteen credits this semester, MM,” she replied, “it’s a lot of work.” 

“I know, but you push yourself too hard,” said Mary Margaret, frowning in that mother-hen way that Emma found both comforting and deeply irritating. “You need to take a break, Emma, or you’ll break yourself. Why don’t you come to Ruby’s party with me, have a night off?” 

“I’d rather write all my essays twice,” muttered Emma, glaring at her screen. “The second time in pig latin.”  

Mary Margaret’s expression shifted into one of fond exasperation. “Don’t be like that, it’ll be fun!”

“No, it’ll be fun for five minutes then you and David will disappear into a dark corner and I’ll be left alone with Ruby who hates me and—her friends,” retorted Emma.  

“Ruby doesn’t hate you!” 

“Every time she sees me she pretends we’ve never met before.” 

“She—” 

“And you know she does, Mary Margaret, you’ve seen it yourself!” 

“Well, okay, that’s not very nice,” Mary Margaret conceded, “but she’s really great once you get to know her.” 

Emma snorted. 

“And what’s wrong with her friends?” Mary Margaret continued, then her eyes narrowed. “Or by ‘friends’ do you actually mean ‘Killian’?”

Emma shrugged. “It’s just… awkward with him.” Seeing him with Belle, she didn’t say. 

“What, because you two kissed once? Emma that was way back last semester, he probably doesn’t even remember.” 

“He doesn’t.” 

“So what’s the proble—oh. Oh. OH. Oh I see.”

“What the hell does that me—”

“You like him.” Mary Margaret’s eyes were wide. “You like him!”

Emma scowled. “No I don’t.”

“Yes you do! You like him and you hate that he doesn’t remember making out with you! Oh my god this explains so much!” 

“It doesn’t—look, MM, look.” She closed her laptop and her book and set both on the coffee table, then turned to Mary Margaret with a pleading gesture. “Look,” she said again.  

“What? What am I looking at?”

Emma took a deep breath. “Killian and I, we—we didn’t just make out,” she said. 

“What!” Mary Margaret’s shriek nearly rattled the windows. “What did you do?”

“He—got me off. With his hand.” She winced as Mary Margaret’s jaw dropped and barrelled on before her roommate could ask any questions. “And I absolutely intended to return the favour, at least,” she said. “Though really what I wanted was to find someplace private where I could fuck him stupid.”

“Well. Naturally.” 

“And you’d think,” Emma continued, “that in a damn frat house there would be an empty room somewhere, but on the way to look for one we sort of got distracted by, well…” she waved her hand and Mary Margaret nodded eagerly. 

“So what happened?” she asked. 

“What happened was the party got busted and everyone scattered. We were in an empty hallway that was suddenly full of people running and in all the confusion we got separated. I looked for him once I got outside but I couldn’t find him and so I just—went home.” Emma shrugged again. 

 “But—why didn’t you ever talk to him about—” 

“I did,” Emma interrupted. “I saw him the next day, outside the library.” With Belle. “And he—well, he made it clear that he didn’t remember, or didn’t think it was anything worth remembering.”

Mary Margaret frowned. “Are you sure? That really doesn’t sound like him. Maybe he was just being—“

“I’m sure,” said Emma flatly. She could still feel the hot humiliation of it, the crushing sensation in her chest when she saw Belle clinging to his arm, laughing at something he’d said. Could still hear the dismissive words he’d spoken, annihilating the fragile hope she’d been stupid enough to let herself feel. 

She swallowed past the hard lump in her throat and gave Mary Margaret a tight smile. “So you can see why I’m not exactly eager to be around him,” she said. 

Mary Margaret was still frowning. “I guess so,” she replied. “But there will be loads of other people there, you know, it won’t be hard to avoid him. And Ruby’s booked a band that’s supposed to be really good.” 

“I know, but—” 

“And you could really use a night of fun, sweetie.” 

Spending the night dodging Killian and Belle was hardly Emma’s idea of fun, and when you added Ruby to the mix, plus the fact that she wouldn’t be able to drink because she could not trust herself in the vicinity of Killian Jones if she were in any way impaired, and it began to sound like actual hell. She shook her head firmly. 

“I’m sorry MM, but I really don’t want to go.”

“But—” 

“Look, I’m going to finish this history paper then work for a few hours on my PoliSci research and after that I promise I’ll watch a movie or do something else relaxing, okay?” she said. “You go to the party and have a great time. And tomorrow maybe you and David and I can have lunch together.” 

“Well, okay, if you’re sure,” said Mary Margaret, still with her worried frown. 

Emma forced a smile. “Definitely. Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

~

She texted Killian on Sunday afternoon. As much as she hated to admit it the unavoidable fact was that he was right. They were going to need to meet outside of class to get this paper written if they wanted a decent grade and she was just as determined to get an A as he was. Professor Gold was a notoriously tough grader and even if Emma wasn’t currently rocking a 3.8 GPA with only a semester and some summer classes left before graduation, she would still want to get an A from Gold, just to prove she could. For the challenge. 

She had a sneaking suspicion that Killian’s motivation was the same. 

She texted him not really expecting a reply; he was surely hung over and in no mood to think about studying, she thought, and so the buzz of her phone less than a minute after she’d sent the text took her by surprise. His message said that he had also made a start on research and was available on Monday afternoon if she wanted to get started on the project. Emma didn’t need to check her schedule to know that she was available at the time he suggested but she did anyway, and debated for several minutes before finally replying that was fine and she’d see him tomorrow. 

Her stomach was twisting with nerves when she arrived at the library and saw him waiting for her in front of the check-out desk. He gave her a bright smile which just made it twist harder. 

“Hey, Swan. I’ve staked out a carrel for us,” he said.  

“Already?” 

“I, uh, had some other stuff to work on so I got here an hour or so ago.” He scratched at a spot behind his ear and Emma frowned. He wasn’t lying but her internal lie detector was telling her it wasn’t the whole truth either. There must be another reason he’d gone early to the library. 

She followed him up to the fifth floor, where instead of communal study tables small clusters of carrels were scattered among the stacks, a perfect haven for people who preferred to study in solitude. Emma loved it there. 

Killian headed straight to a carrel in the farthest corner of the floor, just beneath a large window where sunlight dappled by the early-spring buds of an ancient oak tree made shadow patterns on its scarred wooden surface. 

“I hope this is okay,” he said, scratching behind his ear again. His other hand was shoved deep in the pocket of his jeans and his shoulders tight with tension, and Emma realised with a jolt of surprise that he was nervous. Flirty, confident-to-the-point-of-arrogance Killian Jones was nervous. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. 

“It’s good,” she assured him with a small smile. “Perfect actually. I love this corner, it’s so peaceful.” 

His smile bloomed again. “That’s it precisely. I come here as often as I can.” 

“Mmm, me too.” Emma declined to mention that she’d seen him there more than once and resented his presence in her preferred space. Or that she’d wished, deep down, that they were the kind of friends who could share it. 

She swallowed hard as they sat next to each other at the small table, its high walls protecting them from the view of anyone who didn’t expressly look to see if the carrel was free. They were sure as hell sharing the space now, and she wasn’t sure her heart could take it. Of course, it would help if she could look at his hands without thinking about where they’d been and what they could do there, or his lips without remembering them trailing fire up her neck as she clutched at his hair. 

She cleared her throat and looked away. “So,” she said, to fill the silence as she pulled out her books and laptop. “How was the party?” 

“Oh, uh, it was fine. Fun. DriftWood was great, and apparently they’ve just been scouted. I have a feeling they’re going to be big.” He shot her a grin. “Selfishly, I hope they are so I can be smug when I tell my grandchildren the tale of how I saw them before they were famous. Beatles at the Cavern Club for our generation.” He laughed, and Emma couldn’t suppress an answering smile. 

“You like music then?” she asked. 

He nodded, a bit warily. “I do, but I don’t really like talking about it. People get so passionate about what they like and don’t like, and it tends to make them judgemental.” 

“Yes!” Emma turned to face him, forgetting her nerves in her excitement at someone saying what she’d always thought. “I hate that so much, when people make judgements about me as a person because of the music I like. So I listen to the Jonas Brothers sometimes, so the fuck what? I listen to other stuff too!” 

Killian bit his lip and she froze. Fuck. 

“You’re judging me about the Jonas Brothers, aren’t you?” she said. 

“I’m not.” 

“You so are!” 

“Honestly, love—” 

“You’re such a hypocrite.” Emma glared at her screen as she opened the document with her project notes, slamming on the keys far harder than necessary. She didn’t see Killian’s hand twitch towards her, just a shiver of movement before he deliberately closed his fist and pulled it back. 

“I’m not judging, Swan, truly,” he said. “I agree with you completely, we like what we like and that’s fine.” 

Emma shot him a glance from the corner of her eye. “You’d be a lot more convincing if you didn’t look like you were trying not to laugh,” she retorted. 

He laughed. 

“Oh my God I should never have told you anything,” she groaned, letting her head fall onto the table. 

Killian leaned closer, still not touching her but close enough that a tingle spread across her skin at his nearness. “Okay, look, the Jonas Brothers are not something I personally am into, but if it will make you feel better I’ll confess that in certain moods I like to play Taylor Swift at an obnoxiously high volume,” he said, and when she dared to peek up at him his expression was open and earnest.   

She sat up. “Seriously?”

“Oh yes. Sometimes I even dance.” He smiled. “Is that an embarrassing enough admission for you?” 

“Oh, more than.” 

“Good.” His smile widened into a grin, and she felt her own lips curl in response. Their eyes held for a moment, their hearts pounding, until Killian blinked and made a gruff noise in his throat. “Anyway, um, the band.” He opened his laptop and typed in the password. “I chatted with them a bit after their set and they were talking about going on to a club, but I ended up having to leave early because Belle wasn’t feeling well.” Emma stiffened, the smile fading from her face. “Which means I was far less hung over yesterday morning than I expected,” Killian continued, “and was able to spend the afternoon getting started on my research, and—Emma? Are you okay?” 

She forced her lips to curve. “Fine,” she replied, “I’m fine. Show me this research.” 

He did, and she was surprised by how good it was, then surprised at her surprise. Of course he was good at research, she thought, almost in despair. Everything about him seemed expressly designed to check every box on her ‘perfect man’ list. Everything except his beautiful, smart, elegant, charming, and very nice girlfriend. 

He had come up with ideas and conclusions that were exactly in sync with her own, even filling in some of the gaps in the reading she’d done, and in her enthusiasm about finally working with someone whose intelligence and engagement in the project was equal to hers Emma completely forgot her hurt and resentment towards him, forgot Belle, even forgot their kiss. She forgot everything, in fact, except Killian’s smile and the blue of his eyes, his razor-sharp mind and how damned much she enjoyed his company. They talked through the plan for their whole project, divided up the research and brainstormed ideas, and wrote their outline. It was the most productive group project meeting Emma had ever experienced, and when her phone alarm buzzed to remind her of the time she felt genuinely disappointed that it had to end. 

“I have a class at four,” she told Killian almost apologetically. “So I should probably be going. Um, do you want—should we check in again on Wednesday?” 

He nodded eagerly. “Aye, let’s. Same time and place?” 

“Works for me.” She gathered her things together and put them in her backpack, slung it over her shoulder then turned to look at Killian. He was watching her with a soft expression that made her chest flutter and her belly clench. 

“This was—well it was—great,” said Emma. 

“It really was.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite a team.” 

She tried not to smile, but the tug at her own lips was irresistible. “You might be right,” she conceded. “At least for PoliSci projects.” 

“It’s a start.” The look in his eyes was so familiar, the same look he’d had at the party. She still remembered it, all of it with perfect clarity, despite all she’d had to drink. The heat in his eyes and how they seemed to caress her face, the way they kept darting to her lips as he licked his own until she couldn’t take any more and had grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him upstairs to the empty hallway and giving in to the lust that she’d felt since the first time she saw him.

“Hey, you guys.” They started in surprise and turned to see Belle approaching, strolling gracefully in those towering heels that Emma could never quite get the hang of. Her warm smile encompassed both of them. “How’d the meeting go?” she asked. 

“Great.” Killian grinned at her. “We got a lot done.” 

“So are you ready for a coffee break?” 

“Absolutely, I could use a shot of caffeine. Swan, would you like to join us? You should have time to grab something before your class?” 

Emma felt like she’d been doused in icy water, so numbed that she missed the eager note in Killian’s voice, the hopeful yearning in his eyes. Silently she cursed herself for getting caught up, again, in her attraction to him, letting herself forget that there could be nothing between them except this project.

“No,” she snapped, and suppressed a flinch at the looks on their faces. She could hear how rude she sounded and as much as she hated it, she needed that rudeness, needed the distance it put between her and people who had the power to hurt her. People like Killian, who got past all her defences without even trying and left her far too vulnerable. “I should go. I’ll see you in class tomorrow. Bye Belle.” She turned and left, forcing herself not to run. 

~

Killian watched her go, his heart in his throat and his blood still humming with the effects of two hours spent tucked away with her, so close that he could feel the heat of her skin and smell her hair, and see the gold flecks in her eyes whenever they met his. He felt dazed and off kilter but also triumphant, certain now that everything he’d always suspected about Emma was true—that behind those walls she kept so firmly between herself and everyone else there lay a woman worth knowing. A bloody brilliant woman whose wry sense of humour matched his own and whose perspective and ideas challenged him in a way he couldn’t remember ever being challenged before. It was exhilarating and intoxicating and glorious, and he was so, so fucked. And so not in the way he wanted to be fucked by Emma Swan. 

“You know you’re ridiculous, right?” said Belle, observing him with an amused smirk. 

He scowled at her. “Are you mocking my pain?” 

“I’m mocking your Victorian-maiden pining,” she shot back. “It’s been months since you got off with her and I bet you still think about it every day, don’t you?” 

Killian could feel himself turning red. “Maybe.” 

“Still sneak glances at her across the table in your seminar, still get coffee every morning at that place you hate because it’s where she goes,” continued Belle. 

“Shut up.” Killian shoved his laptop into his satchel and flung it across his shoulder, avoiding Belle’s eyes. 

“Still do most of your studying in the library, hoping you’ll see her here.” 

“Bloody hell, you make me sound like a stalker,” he grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.  

Belle’s smirk softened into sympathy. “No, just a guy with a serious crush,” she said gently.  

“Aaand now I sound fifteen.” 

She snorted a laugh. “What you are is smitten, Killian, actually smitten, and that’s not a word I ever thought I’d need to use in real life. It’s adorable and also deeply pathetic.”

“Thanks a lot, mate, you’re always such a comfort to me,” he snarked as they began to walk towards the elevator. 

 They were halfway to the ground floor before Belle spoke again. “You know you could just ask her out,” she said. 

“I did!” Killian threw up his hands in an exasperated gesture. “You were there, and I’m sure you remember that her refusal was pretty unequivocal.” He could still feel the pain of it, of all his hopes of finally having a chance with her ground to dust under the heel of her boot. 

“Maybe if I hadn’t been there it would’ve gone differently,” Belle muttered under her breath. 

The elevator dinged as she spoke and Killian frowned. “Sorry, what?”

Belle shook her head. “Nothing. But I do feel I should remind you how you’re always the one who says that if you want something you have to fight for it.”

“That doesn’t apply to people, though, unless they want it too. If she wanted me…” He remembered the party, remembered the struggle to control his racing heart when she appeared at his elbow smiling a wicked smile and flirting back at him, remembered losing his breath and his sanity as she leaned in close and let her fingertips trail up his thigh. He remembered the sizzle of the connection he’d felt between them, the understanding he could have sworn she’d felt too. If Emma wanted him, if she gave even the smallest hint that she was open to something happening between them, he would fight like hell for her. 

If. 

“But she doesn’t,” he continued gruffly, “she’s made that perfectly clear.” He swallowed hard as the familiar ache squeezed his chest. 

“But if you—” 

“Belle, please, can we talk about something else?” he implored, and after a short pause she nodded. Killian hunched his shoulders as they walked the short distance to the coffee shop. He could still feel Belle’s eyes on him and sense her concern. But there was nothing she or anyone else could do. Emma had made her decision, he just had to find a way to live with it. 

~

To Killian’s relief Emma seemed fine in class the next day, smiling softly when he entered the seminar room and their eyes met, setting his heart racing again. The seat next to her was empty and he hesitated just inside the door, debating whether he should sit in it. Before he could decide if she would welcome or retreat from him, August swaggered into the room, plopped himself right down in the seat and proceeded to attempt to flirt with her. 

At least she wasn’t any more receptive to August than she was to him, thought Killian crossly as he sat in his accustomed seat across the table from her, watching the scene play out from the corner of his eye. August’s philosophy-and-creative-writing-double-major pretensions never failed to get on his nerves and from the look on Emma’s face whenever the other man opened his mouth they got on hers as well. 

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed that he was apparently lumped into the same category as August bloody Booth. 

The subject of their seminar class was Topics in Political Philosophy, and despite Professor Gold’s cold eyes and often cutting remarks Killian had always enjoyed it. The crocodile was a brilliant mind, one of the reasons he’d chosen this university for his year abroad, and debating him was the kind of fierce challenge Killian lived for. He knew Gold liked to bait him, to play devil’s advocate and watch him squirm, and he prided himself on never giving in. 

Ordinarily when he and Gold got caught up in one of their sparring matches the other students would sit back and listen, not daring to venture a remark. Today, however, as he was catching his breath after an impassioned argument in favour of migrant rights and waiting for Gold to fire back, he was astonished to hear a voice, cool and confident, coming to his defence. 

It was Emma. He spun in his seat to look at her and she caught his eye, giving him a little smile before refocusing her attention on Gold. The professor turned to her with a raised eyebrow and slightly bared teeth. 

“Interesting point, Miss Swan,” he said. “And why do you think that?” 

It was Gold’s most terrifying question, one that pinned the student on the spot and forced them to support their argument with solid evidence. Most crumbled beneath the pressure of it and of Gold’s unblinking stare, but Emma sat up straighter, green eyes glinting as she threw down a Plato quote and followed it up with Rousseau, smoothly shoring up the weak points of Killian’s own argument with irrefutable authority. 

Gold stared at her in silence for so long the tension in the room became unbearable, drawing out endlessly as the rest of the class waited, barely daring to breathe, until finally he gave a brusque nod. “Well argued, Miss Swan,” he said. 

As one the other students turned and gaped at Emma, who herself turned to Killian with a triumphant grin that was also, somehow, shy. 

You are amazing, he wanted to say, wanted to shout it, wanted to leap across the table and kiss her. But Gold was already moving on to another topic, and Emma returned her attention to her notebook, and Killian released a shaky breath and tried not to wonder what the fuck he was supposed to do with all these feelings.

~ 

Emma normally fled the seminar room as quickly as she could once class ended but that afternoon she gathered her things slowly and timed her exit to coincide with Killian’s. He noticed of course, and gave her a bright grin. 

“That was sheer brilliance in there today, Swan,” he said. “You are officially my hero.” 

She shrugged, ducking her head to hide her pleased smile. “Professor Gold always says I should talk more in class, so…” 

“You absolutely should,” said Killian vehemently. “Especially if you’re going to be saying things like that.” 

“And now I’m worried I’ve set the bar too high,” laughed Emma.  

“Nonsense. I’m sure that was only scratching the surface of what you have to offer. Remember, I know how you research.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, managing to infuse the word research with such suggestive inflection that Emma felt herself blush. 

They walked in silence for several minutes, Emma simply following Killian where he led without really noticing their path as she steeled herself for what she had to say to him. 

“Look, Killian,” she said finally. “I want to apologise.” 

He frowned at her. “Apologise?” 

“For how I acted yesterday,” she clarified. “I was rude to you and to—to Belle, and I’m sorry.” 

Killian shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “You have nothing to apologise for, love.” 

“No, I do,” she insisted, and rushed on when he opened his mouth to argue. “Please, just let me say this. I know I can be… hard sometimes. I push people away. But I don’t want to push you away. I mean, I want to... I want… damn it!” 

Killian stopped and turned to her, and she noticed that they were standing in front of the main doors to the student union. “What do you want, Emma?” he asked gently. 

“Can we—” she twisted her fingers together, avoiding his eyes. “Can we be friends?” 

She looked up at him just in time to see something flash across his face, something that looked almost like hurt. But then he smiled. “Of course we can. I’d be honoured to call myself your friend.” 

She huffed a breath as her stomach fluttered and jangled with pleasure and nerves. “I don’t really know how to reply when you say stuff like that,” she said.  

“You could just say ‘yes’.” 

She frowned. “Yes?” 

He nodded. “Yes.” 

“Yes to what?” 

“Well,” said Killian, striding to the door of the union and opening it for her with a small bow. “First I say ‘I’m going in here to get some lunch would you care to join me,’ and then you say…” he gestured at her, eyebrows raised. 

“Yes,” she said, fighting a smile. 

“Brilliant.” He grinned at her as she preceded him through the door. “How does pizza sound?” 

“Sounds great.” 

Time to put the past behind her, Emma told herself firmly as they stood in line for pizza. What happened happened and she couldn’t undo it, but she had to find a way to work with Killian and also, damn it, she liked him. And he seemed to like her. That was enough. It would have to be. 

~~

Killian slammed his book shut, shattering the studious silence of the library and making Emma jump. Another student in a nearby carrel shot them both a dirty look and she shrugged apologetically. 

“What are you doing?” she hissed. 

“I can’t do it any more,” he declared. “I cannot study another moment, Swan! I protest! I revolt!” 

She rolled her eyes. “Bit dramatic.” 

“Emma. Look at the weather today,” he said, gesturing to the window behind them, where the oak tree had sprouted tender, pale green leaves and the sky was a blinding and unclouded blue. More than a month had passed since they’d started their regular library study sessions and during that time spring had decidedly sprung. “It’s gorgeous out there,” Killian continued, “we are all but finished with this project—which is a work of sheer and unadulterated brilliance, guaranteed to knock the crocodile’s socks off—and I refuse to remain indoors any longer. Let’s take the afternoon off.” 

“I have a class—” 

“Skip it.” 

She stared at him, mildly shocked. “I can’t skip a class!” 

“Why not? Will you fail if you’re not there on this one occasion?” 

“Well, no.” 

“Will the professor die from missing you?” 

She snorted. “No.” 

“Skip it! Take the afternoon off. Come for a walk with me.” 

“A walk?” 

“Aye, Swan, a walk. Where you put one foot in front of the other and propel yourself forward.” 

“I know what a walk is, Killian.” 

“Really? Because you sounded uncertain.” He smirked at her and she rolled her eyes again even as a grin tugged at the corners of her lips. 

His grin dimpled his cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes and made her stomach clench in a way that was by now so familiar she hardly noticed it. “Let’s get coffee and walk down to the pier and look at the sailboats,” he said eagerly. “I’ll show you the one I intend to buy someday.” 

“You want to buy a sailboat?” she asked in surprise. This was the first she’d heard of any such intention, though she knew Killian so well now she sometimes forgot they hadn’t always been friends. 

“Oh yes. And sail it around the world,” he replied. 

Her eyes widened. “Really?” 

He nodded. “I’d like to, anyway. Liam naturally thinks that would be a foolish waste of time. But if the sailboat were mine, well, he couldn’t do anything to stop me, could he?” 

Emma smiled and shook her head. “Liam just worries about you,” she said. “You’re lucky, to have someone who worries.” 

Killian was instantly contrite. “You’re right, of course, love,” he said, with that look in his eyes that always made her want to throw herself in his arms and just sink into him. “And in truth I will probably not go around the world on a sailboat, but instead find a job after graduation and settle down to fifty years of grind like a good little cog in the machine.” He grinned as Emma laughed. “But let’s go look at the sailboats anyway.” 

“But—” 

“No arguments, Swan, we’re having an afternoon off.” He stood and slung his satchel over his shoulder. “Come on.” 

~

They got coffee from the little shop just off campus that they now considered their regular place, where they went every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after their study sessions and before Emma’s four o’clock class. Cups in hand, they strolled through the small, residential neighbourhood where student rentals sat alongside slightly run-down family homes until they reached the water.  

A weatherbeaten wooden pier stretched out before them, with a small rocky beach on their left and a marina far in the distance to their right. They went to the end of the pier and sat, their feet dangling just above the surface of the water, and watched the boats out on the blue horizon. 

“That one,” said Killian, pointing. “That’s the sort of boat I want.” 

Emma looked at the one he indicated, a sleek and shiny sailboat that was certainly attractive but not nearly as much as Killian’s face, with its soft, wistful expression that to her surprise she realised she’d never seen before. She shook her head, a wry little smile on her lips. Months of struggling to avoid looking at him, she thought, and now after four short weeks of friendship she knew all his faces, every subtle nuance of his expressions. She knew what he looked like when he was happy, when he was frustrated, when he was angry, when he was lost in daydreams or when he was about to say something outrageous. She knew what he looked like when he was listening to her with that focused attention that made her feel like she mattered, and when he wanted to take her hand but held himself back. 

Because he wasn’t sure how she would react, Emma knew, and she couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t sure how she would react either. For as much as she still wanted him and wished things between them could be different—a feeling that only grew stronger the more they learned about each other—the idea of making herself so vulnerable to him again was terrifying.  And, of course, there was still the small matter of his girlfriend. 

Belle had never again shown up at the library when they were studying, and Killian rarely mentioned her. When he did it was always casually, in passing: a story she had told him when they were having dinner, or something funny they saw at one of Ruby’s parties. Parties Emma herself could never bring herself to attend despite Mary Margaret’s repeated pleas. Her friendship with Killian had become so precious to her and her feelings for him so deeply personal that she couldn’t stand the idea of exposing any of it to the eyes of Ruby or Belle. Even Mary Margaret didn’t know how close she and Killian had become, or that much of the time she spent at David’s, Emma spent at their apartment with Killian.

“Swan!” Killian chided, giving her an exasperated frown. “You’re not even looking!” 

“I am!” Emma pulled herself from her reverie and looked back at the boat. “It’s—okay, I don’t know anything about sailboats but it looks… nice?” 

He laughed. “One of these days, woman, I will take you sailing, and teach you how to appreciate a vessel such as that one.”

Emma smiled as a rush of warmth flooded her. She doubted she would ever get tired of hearing him say things like that. Things that suggested they would stay in each other’s lives once their project was finished. That he treasured their friendship as much as she did. That he wouldn’t leave her. 

~

They sat on the pier for nearly two hours, watching the boats and talking aimlessly until the breeze off the water grew too brisk and they wrapped their jackets tightly around themselves and headed back to campus. 

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then?” said Killian when they reached the corner next to the sciences building where he had to turn left to get to his apartment and she continue straight to go to hers. “Your place?” 

“Yep. Come by about four.”

“I’ll bring the beer.” 

“Killian, we are still going to have to get some work done, especially since we wasted today.” 

“Wasted?” He raised an eyebrow at her. 

She huffed. “You know what I mean! It was fun and yes, we probably did need the break but it’s put us behind schedule.” 

“Never fear, Swan,” said Killian with a smile, leaning in so that their heads were almost touching. “We’ll be able to get everything finished tomorrow. And then, beer.” 

She laughed, her heart pounding as she watched him lick his lower lip and then bite it. “All right, all right. See you then.” 

“See you then, love.” 

Emma headed home, still with the silly, happy smile spending time with Killian always put on her face. She let herself drift into daydreams as she crossed the campus and was just cutting through the small lawn behind the library when she caught sight of Belle and Ruby sitting close together on the grass. Emma stopped abruptly, wondering if she should turn around and go home another way. They hadn’t noticed her yet so she still had time, and after the lovely afternoon she’d just had she really didn’t want to get stuck making awkward small talk with Killian’s girlfriend and someone who always pretended not to remember her name. 

Before she could decide what to do, Ruby wrapped an arm around Belle’s shoulders and pulled her into a kiss. A soft, deep kiss that looked well-practiced, with Belle’s hand fisted on the sleeve of Ruby’s jacket and Ruby’s fingers twined into her hair. It was intense and intimate, comfortable but also hot, the kind of kiss that only happens between people who have kissed before and intend to continue doing so well into the future.  

Emma gasped and then she reeled, stumbling backwards and around the corner of the library where she leaned weakly against the wall, struggling to get her head around what she’d just witnessed. 

Killian, was her first and frankly only thought. What am I going to say to Killian? 

It wasn’t her business, obviously. What went on between him and Belle was between them, and Emma very decidedly did not want to get involved. But she couldn’t bear the idea of him being hurt, and if Belle was lying to him, running around with Ruby behind his back, then his heartbreak was all but inevitable. 

Her own heart was already hurting for him. 

What was the right thing to do here, she wondered frantically. Would it be better for him to find out from her or from Belle? Was Belle even planning to tell him? Was it a case of ‘he deserves the truth’ or ‘keep your nose out of other people’s business’?

Emma’s mind raced as her feet carried her blindly back to her apartment where she smiled vaguely at Mary Margaret and waved away her attempts at conversation, then retreated to her room. Dropping her backpack carelessly on the floor, she kicked off her boots and her jeans and crawled into bed, wrapped the duvet tightly around herself and tried desperately to think.

~

She was no closer to a decision about what to do the following afternoon, and as the clock ticked ever closer to Killian’s arrival her thoughts became more  and more muddled. Surely it was best to say nothing, she thought. Leave it between Killian and Belle. But could she? Could she spend the evening with Killian, listening to his gorgeous voice and looking at his precious face, all the while knowing he was about to have his heart broken? 

But could she bear to be the one to break it? 

Her bell buzzed and she took several deep breaths before opening the door to see Killian standing there with a wide smile and a six-pack of brown bottles which he presented to her with a flourish. 

“Wait till you try this beer, Swan. It’s made in this place not far from—what’s wrong?”

“What?” She attempted a smile. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Love, you’re practically vibrating with tension, it’s clear that something’s troubling you. You can talk to me about it you know.” 

Emma laughed a bit hysterically. “I really can’t,” she said. 

“Of course you can,” said Killian softly. “You can tell me anything.” 

There was the faintest note of hurt in his voice, a tiny furrow between his brows caused by her reluctance to confide in him, but he couldn’t know just how much more painful the secret he was trying to pry from her would be. 

“I can’t tell you this,” she whispered. 

His frown deepened and he looked at her for an uncomfortably drawn-out moment before giving a small nod. “As you like, Swan. But you know I’m always here if you need someone to talk to.” 

She forced herself to smile, digging her fingernails deep into the skin of her arms to stop herself from grabbing him, from wrapping her arms around him and shielding him from every hurt. “I know.” 

Fuck Belle, she thought with a sudden fierce fury. Fuck her for doing this to him, for treating his heart so carelessly, for hurting him. Emma couldn’t imagine letting Killian go. If he were hers she never, ever would. 

God she wanted that so much. Wanted the freedom to touch him whenever she liked, to rest her head against his shoulder as they sat on the pier, to let her hand brush his as they said goodbye. Just those small, casual touches that carried so much intimacy. She wanted the freedom to tell him how she felt, to hold him in her arms and kiss him as she had before, to feel his hands on her again and to finally get hers on him. 

Belle had had that freedom and she’d thrown it away, and the unfairness of that, the waste of it, made Emma so angry she couldn’t stop tears from welling up in her eyes and overflowing onto her cheeks. 

Her habit of angry-crying was seriously inconvenient. 

Killian had his back to her as he set the six-pack on the counter of her little mini-kitchen. “Anyway, about the beer,” he said, glancing back with a grin that fell from his face at the sight of her tears, replaced by a look of panic.  

“Emma!” he choked, almost stumbling in his haste to get to her side, stopping just shy of touching her and flexing his hands helplessly in the space between them. “Emma, love, what’s the matter? What’s happened?” He lifted his hand as though to touch her cheek then yanked it away and stuffed it in his pocket. “Please talk to me,” he implored. “Let me help.” 

Emma wiped furiously at her cheeks but the tears kept falling. “You can’t help,” she said. 

“But why? Has someone done something to you? Has—” 

“No! No. I’m fine.” 

He scowled. “You are obviously not bloody fine.” 

“No, I am, really. I cry when I’m angry, that’s all.”

“Well then, what’s made you angry?” 

“Killian, please,” Emma swiped at her cheeks again, and in frustration turned away from him. “Don’t push me on this, it’s something I just—I—I won’t tell you.” 

She heard him gasp, a sharp, hurt intake of breath that she could swear actually cut into her. “All right,” he said. “If that’s what you want. Perhaps I should just go.” 

“No!” She spun around again, her heart cracking at the sight of the blank expression on his face and the pain in his eyes. “You don’t have to.” 

“I think it’s best, Swan, as you clearly don’t want me here.” 

“No, I do!” she implored. “That’s not it at all, I just—it’s just this thing I can’t tell you about—” 

“This thing that’s upset you so badly it’s made you cry.” 

“Yes it has, but I—it’s not my business.” 

“It must be, or it wouldn’t bother you so.” 

“It—concerns someone I care about. But if I tell them, it will hurt them.” She met his eyes, silently pleading for understanding. “If your friend saw something that they knew would hurt you to hear about, would you want them to tell you?” she asked him. “Even if it wasn’t really something they should be involved in?” 

“Without knowing the precise details of the situation it’s hard to say,” replied Killian. “But I think yes, I would want to know the truth. Regardless of the source.” 

“And you wouldn’t blame the source for telling you?” 

“No, of course not.” 

“Okay.” Emma nodded. “Okay.” She pressed her hand against her stomach and drew a deep breath. “I saw Belle kissing Ruby,” she said, watching carefully for his reaction. There… wasn’t one. 

“Where were they?” he asked.

“In that little grassy area behind the library.” 

“Ha,” he said. “Well, it’s about bloody time.” 

“It’s—what?” 

“They’ve been sneaking around for months, I’m glad they’re finally taking it out in the open,” he said. “Belle had her doubts; she was hurt badly in her last relationship and with Ruby being… well, Ruby, she didn’t want to jump in too quickly.”   

“Wait, wait… you knew about them?” 

“Of course I knew, they’re two of my best friends. They thought they were being so covert, but you can’t play a player,” he said with a faint grin. 

Best friends. Emma struggled to process precisely what he was saying. “But—isn’t Belle your girlfriend?” 

Killian stared at her. “No.” 

“Since when?” 

“Since… always?” 

“But I thought… everyone says… what?” 

Killian scratched behind his ear. “We went out a few times at the beginning of last semester,” he said. “I’d just started here and everyone I met seemed to think we’d be perfect together and they kept trying to set us up, so we gave it a shot. But there was just no spark, though we really liked each other so we agreed to be friends. At no point was she anything like what I’d call a girlfriend.” 

She continued to gape at him and he scowled. “Emma, I asked you out,” he said, with an edge of anger in his voice. “When Belle was standing right there. Do you really think I’d do that if she was my girlfriend?” 

Emma felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. She had thought that, in fact, and had continued to think it even after she got to know him well enough to see that he wasn’t at all that kind of guy. 

“You told her I was just someone you met at a party,” she said in a small voice. “It sounded like you were saying I wasn’t anyone important, or that you were trying to explain me away so she wouldn’t suspect you’d—” she broke off as the creeping heat turned her cheeks pink. 

His ears had gone bright red. “I’d what?” he asked gruffly. 

“Nothing.” 

“That I’d kissed you?” he pressed. “That I’d watched in awe as you came on my fingers?”

Emma gasped. “You do remember!”

“Of course I bloody remember! Several times a day, usually. I can’t get it or you out of my damn head, and believe me I have tried. You’re not an easy woman to forget, Swan.” 

“But you always acted like—you never said anything!”

“What was I supposed to say? ‘I fancy you madly and still dream about my fingers in your cunt, please let me fuck you before I lose my mind’?” 

“I mean, you could have started with coffee.” 

“I tried!” 

“You gave up awfully quick!” 

Killian huffed in exasperation. “Call me old fashioned, love, but when a woman says no, and especially when she says it as emphatically as you did, I take that as her final answer!” 

“Which means you thought that that I was the sort of person to just screw someone against a wall one day and then spit in their face the next?” she snapped. “Why would I do that?” 

“That is precisely the question I’ve been asking myself for months now.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, tugging at the dark strands. “I thought—I hoped—at the party, before we kissed… I thought that we had a connection. That you might actually be interested in me. And what I said to Belle the next day, about how we met… I was trying to tell her that I had actually met you, properly I mean, and that I’d talked to you, because she knew how I—” he broke off with an uncertain glance at her. 

“How you what?” she encouraged, barely daring to breathe. 

“How I had a thing for the gorgeous blonde in my politics lecture,” he said softly. “The one who never even looked at me and disappeared after every class before I had a chance to talk to her.” 

“I looked at you.” 

His eyes widened. “You did?” 

“Well yeah, I mean, you’re not exactly hard on the eyes. But I—I saw you. In class, whenever you talked the things you said I just—I always felt like you got me. Like we were coming from the same place, you know?” 

“Aye, I definitely do know. I felt the same. I tried so many times to catch you so I could introduce myself but you always ran off straight after every lecture and I never seemed to be quick enough.” 

“I had another class right after that one, on the other side of campus. I had to run to get there.” 

“So you weren’t running from me?” 

“No! I wanted to talk to you too. To get to know you. Why do you think I approached you at that party?” 

“Well, you did seem to have rather more than conversation on your mind.” 

“Okay, fair enough. But we talked, didn’t we? Before, er—” 

“Before you dragged me upstairs and had your wicked way with me?” 

“Oh my God.” She pressed her palms to her flaming cheeks and he laughed. 

“Aye, love, we did talk.” 

“And I felt that connection, just like you. Enough to make me want to… you know.” 

“Drag me upstairs and have your wicked way with me?” He was smiling a smile she hadn’t seen since the night of the party, the cocksure one with the predatory edge that made her thighs clench. 

“Yeah… that,” she replied in a breathless voice and watched his eyes darken. 

“Emma, does this mean—” His smile faded into something far more yearning and he reached up, slowly and with a wary caution that squeezed her heart, and brushed his fingers across her cheek, wiping away the lingering dampness from her tears. She drew a sharp breath and pressed her face against his palm, shivering at the electric tingle his touch sent dancing across her skin. He hadn’t touched her the whole time they’d been working on their paper, she thought, not once. Not so much as a brush of elbows in the study carrel. He’d been so careful to respect what he thought she wanted.  

She looked up at him, at his eyes so soft and hopeful. “Does this mean what?” she whispered. 

“Does it mean you might want to—that we could, perhaps—” 

She closed her fist into the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. He groaned into her mouth as his arms wrapped tightly around her, his fingers sinking into her hair. She hummed and twined her own arms around his neck, opened her mouth beneath his and let herself be swept away, her blood pounding with the need to get her hands on him, get as close to him as she could, the same desperate urgency she’d felt at the party compounded now by all the feelings that had been slowly growing between them over the past four weeks. 

When they broke for air and he leaned his forehead against hers his eyes were almost the same as they had been that night, dark and alive with heat and desire but this time completely sober. There would be no forgetting this, for either of them, and no turning back from it once they’d taken this step. 

Emma wanted to take it. She was ready, more than ready, and he was—

“Emma,” he murmured once he’d recovered enough breath to speak, and the gravel in his voice made her ache. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Please let me fuck you before I lose my mind.” 

She laughed and grabbed him by the shirtfront again, tugging him behind her  and into her bedroom. The minute they were through the door she pulled the shirt up and off him, tossing it aside. 

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to see you naked?” she asked as she trailed her fingers up his chest. 

“I hope at least six months,” he replied, snaking an arm around her waist and yanking her flush against him, pressing his mouth to her neck.  

“Longer. Since—oh, God—since the first day of class last semester.” 

“What a coincidence,” he murmured against her collarbone, hands sliding beneath her shirt and snapping open the clasp of her bra with a deft twist of his fingers. “That’s precisely how long I’ve wanted to see you naked.” 

“Well then.” She pushed him away and held his gaze as she whisked off her shirt and bra in one move, smirking as his jaw slackened at the sight of her bare breasts. He stepped closer again, letting his fingertips trace along her collarbone and over the curve of her breast, across the hardened tip of her nipple. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “I’ve dreamed of this.” 

“Me too.” She trailed her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, over the smooth skin and muscles firmed by rowing and into his hair, pulling him close and thrilling at the hiss of his breath through his teeth when her breasts pressed against his chest. She kissed him again, open-mouthed and hot, as his hands roamed her back and downwards to curve over her ass and pull her hard against him. The feel of his erection cradled between her thighs drew a ragged moan from deep in her throat and she clutched at him with desperate fingers, trying to pull him closer. But Killian, despite the dazed lust in his eyes when he broke the kiss, was not a man to be rushed. With a wicked smirk he sank to his knees and pressed his face against her belly, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her yoga pants and pulling them down, following their progress with his lips. 

She gasped. “Killian—” 

“Hmmm?” He buried his nose in the soft patch of curls between her thighs. 

“Oh my God.” 

“You smell so good,” he growled. “I could smell you on my fingers, the morning after the party. I’ve never been so sorry to wash my hands.” 

Emma clutched at his hair, her head spinning, and at the first stroke of his tongue through her folds her legs nearly collapsed beneath her. She could hear herself moaning, needy, desperate cries that grew louder as he licked deeper, his tongue stroking and pressing against her clit until she came with a hoarse scream, gripping his head to keep herself upright. 

He stood quickly, catching her as she stumbled and collapsed against his chest, pulled her head into the crook of his neck and tangled his fingers in her hair. She could feel his cock pressing insistently against her hip and she couldn’t wait to get her hands on it.

Just as soon as she got her breath back.  

“That’s two,” she gasped when she could speak again. 

“Two what?” he murmured into her hair.

“Two times you’ve made me come. I feel like I owe you.” 

He chuckled. “The night is young, Swan.” 

“Considering it’s like five in the afternoon.” 

“Exactly.” He leaned back to look down at her, grinning that cocky grin that had lust stirring in her belly again. “And I have many, many suggestions for ways you can make it up to me.” 

She let her hand trail down his abs, beneath the waistband of his jeans to wrap around his cock, a saucy grin of her own curving her lips when he gasped. “Oh really,” she purred. “Do tell.” 

~

The following Monday morning Killian met Belle for coffee, like always. 

“Hey,” she said as he got in line next to her. “I wasn’t sure you’d show. You went dark all weekend, is everything okay?” 

“Aye.” He could feel himself flush and rubbed at his neck behind his ear. “Never been better.” 

Belle’s eyes widened. “You slept with Emma!” she cried. 

“I—what makes you say that?” 

“Oh my God, you did! You actually did!” 

“All right, okay, I did,” he hissed. “Keep your voice down. How the hell did you know?” 

Belle grinned smugly. “You have the worst poker face ever, that’s how.” 

“It’s why I prefer dice,” he muttered. 

“So tell me everything,” she said, clapping her hands together. “All the details.” 

“I am absolutely not going to do that.” 

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Okay fine, but at least tell me she isn’t going to blow you off again. This isn’t another one-time thing?” 

The door opened with a jangle of its bell and Killian looked up to see Emma, slightly breathless and with a shy smile on her face as she approached them. His heart soared, and the smile he gave Belle was pure happiness. “Definitely not just a one-time thing,” he said. 

-

[johnnydoe69]

Shedding the Old Skin

Timothy sat on his boyfriend’s couch exhausted. His head throbbed, his pits stank, and sweat continued to pour down his face and neck. Timothy had spent the last four hours handing out Kevin Thompson re-election flyers in the sticky New York City heat. A pile of untaken flyers mocked him from the coffee table with the profile of Kevin Thompson seeming to glare at him. 

    Meanwhile, Timothy’s boyfriend, Freddie, strolled around his kitchen in nothing but a pair of stained underwear, grabbing bags of chips and a bong. Timothy wasn’t the biggest fan of smoking pot, but he was afraid that Freddie already saw him as a pussy and he didn’t want Freddie’s opinion of him to sink any lower than it already was.

Not that it seemed to matter. Timothy figured it was only a matter of time before Freddie left him for someone more confident and more open about their queerness. Freddie had come out as a trans guy at 16 and gay at 24, while at 28 Timothy was still in the closet. He didn’t even want to hold hands with Freddie in public, let alone do any of the reckless shit Freddie wanted to do like fuck on a park bench or giving each other hickies on the subway. 

Timothy was constantly aware of straight people’s opinions of him as he went about his life and he did everything in his power to hide from them. He made sure his voice was low and masculine whenever he spoke in public. He only wore button-up shirts and khaki pants, he kept his blonde hair short and trim, and he made himself as quiet and small as humanly possible to avoid attention.

Freddie plopped himself on the couch next to Timothy, spilling the bags of chips on the coffee table, and once he got comfortable, lighting his bong with a rainbow lighter. Once he had smoked enough for a good buzz, Freddie passed the bong over to Timothy who took a quick whiff and coughed out most of it. Freddie laughed, his voice deep and melodious, “I can’t believe you're in your twenties and you smoke like you’re 15.”

Timothy shook his head sheepishly and said, “I only started smoking when I met you. You can’t expect me to be an expert at this already.” 

He handed the bong back to Freddie, the both of them knowing he wouldn’t take a second whiff until it was almost empty. Freddie took another inhale when he noticed the huge stack of flyers underneath the bags of chips on the coffee table. He put the bong down and picked up one of the flyers. Plastered across its design was a smiling man in a suit and tie, surrounded in a semi-circle by a group of working-class people looking to him with awe. 

“Please tell me you didn’t spend 4 hours handing out flyers for this choad,” Freddie said, turning to Timothy with a crumpled expression.

“It really wasn’t that bad. I grew up in the Jehovah’s Witnesses, I’m used to standing in the hot sun trying to save people from themselves.” Timothy said, suddenly deciding he needed to take another hit from. Taking Freddie’s lighter, he lit the bong and inhaled as much weed as he could, desperately trying to ignore the worried expression on his boyfriend’s face. Freddie crumpled up the flyer and dropped it to the floor. 

“Timmy, I’m fucking worried about you. You let people walk all over you and you end up working yourself to death. Did they even give you water to drink? Or breaks? Or Hell, a motherfucking chair to sit in?” 

    Timothy kept silent, knowing the answers to Freddie’s questions would make him more upset. Freddie shook his head and looked away, his fists clenched and his head-turning red. With his sharp yellow mohawk, he looked like a phoenix ready to tear into Kevin Thompson’s perfectly manicured face. 

    “Change requires sacrifices. If we want our political machine to change we have to be willing to put up with some unpleasantness.” He didn’t want to add the next part, but he was too exhausted and annoyed at Freddie to hold it in, “You don’t want real change. You dress like a thug and think the masses will come flocking to you. It’s pathetic.”

Timothy gazed at his boyfriend’s strong muscular back as it clenched up like a fist. He realized that he might have said the wrong thing, but at that point, he was exhausted and unwilling to put up with whatever huff Freddie got himself into. 

“At least I’m honest with who I am and what I want,” Freddie said in a quiet voice. He spun around and stared directly into Timothy’s eyes, making Timothy reflexively move away from him on the couch. 

“When I go outside with my dyed hair and leather jacket and I say and do whatever the fuck I want, I get to know that I do that on my terms. If people want to stare, call me a faggot, fine, fuck them I can take it. What I can’t do is hide in thirty different layers of respectability and delude myself into thinking that makes me better than everyone else.” 

Freddie got up from the couch and paced around the cramped living room, kicking furniture and clothes out of the way to make room. 

    Freddie couldn’t make sense of his boyfriend. When they had first met, Timmy had practically shoved his hand down his pants. It was at one of those seedy gay bars where the lighting was so bad it was hard to see even in the middle of the day. He didn’t remember what he had first said to Timmy, but soon they were making out in his van. Timmy’s warm, thick tongue sliding down the back of Freddie’s throat. 

    By the time he was able to peel himself away from Timmy’s mouth to drive them to his apartment, Timmy was half-naked, having shed most of his clothes in the car. Timmy tore off Freddie’s clothes as they struggled into the apartment, Timmy ripping them to shreds to get at him. When they collapsed on his bed, Timmy let out an ear-piercing roar as he let Freddie enter him. 

    “You like that baby,” Timmy cooed as he ground himself on Freddie’s dick and all Freddie could do was nod in awe at this sexy and intimidating presence that had ended up in his life. Timmy howled with an intensity Freddie had never heard in another man before. His kisses sucked the life from Freddie’s throat, leaving him gasping for air and begging for more. Timmy clawed at Freddie’s skin like a wild animal, the trickle of blood going down Freddie’s back and arms turning him on even more. During sex, Freddie swore that Timmy’s eyes blazed red as they deeply stared into his, making him think that he was high, dead, or fucking a demon.

When they finally finished it was the best orgasm Freddie had ever experienced in his life. Both Timmy and Freddie collapsed together in a heap on the bed, snuggling until Freddie lost consciousness. When he woke up, his blankets on the floor, bed torn apart, bong smashed to pieces, he found Timmy fidgeting with the broken stove in the kitchen. 

Freddie just wanted Timmy to be happy and he never saw him as carefree and as willing to enjoy himself than that first night they had sex. He knew that wild beast that lurked in Timothy’s heart was there, he just had no idea how to release it from the bedroom. 

He stopped pacing and looked at Timmy, almost passed out on the couch at this point. His dazed eyes staring at the ceiling with a sleepy smile on his face. Freddie knew that like most of their fights, they would end up snuggling on the couch before Timothy went to the bathroom and cried his heart out in the bathroom sink.

Freddie sighed, he knew of one way Timmy could be happy, but it came at a cost. 

Timmy noticed Freddie had started to stare at him and whimpered, “Babe, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m only trying to help people in my own way. I wish I could be like you, dressed in leather and punching cops in the face, but I just can’t.” 

Freddie shook his head and took Timmy’s hands in his. “Okay, I know of a guy who can help you. His name is Johnny Cocksucker. He’s a prophet of sorts in the queer punk scene.”

“Do I have to let him blow me or something?” Timothy asked.

“Just buy him a pack  of cigarettes and he’ll help you find what you need.”

Later that day, after Timothy had sobered up and had a good cry he walked over to the 7/11 parking lot Johnny Cocksucker hung around. In the lot, Timothy saw around three people sitting on the hood of someone’s truck. Two men and one woman dressed in leather with wild colored hair shared a bottle of liquor someone stored in a brown paper bag. 

Timothy wasn’t sure what to expect. Was Johnny going to give him some kinda pep talk or was this some weird initiation thing where Timmy would get beat up in an alley somewhere? Would Freddie do something like that to him?

He came to the three punks and waited until one of them noticed him. At first, they ignored him making Timothy stand there awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. Eventually, the girl noticed him and asked, “The fuck do you want?”

“Hi, I’m looking for a guy named Johnny Cocksucker. I was told he could help me.`` Timothy stammered. The three punks glaring at him made him feel like he was going to shit himself. 

Then one of the men smiled, “My name’s Johnny Cocksucker. You want a tarot reading or something more?” 

Timothy hesitated, he wasn’t sure what Freddie meant by Johnny helping him find himself, but Timothy trusted Freddie and he did want to know himself whatever that meant. So Timothy said, “I want something more. My boyfriend, Freddie, said you could help me find myself.”

“You got me a pack of smokes?” Johnny asked, leaning back on the truck hood. 

Timothy nodded, supplying a box of cigarettes from his sweatshirt pocket, “Marlboro, right?”

Johnny nodded, got off the truck, and swaggered over to Timothy. 

“Alright, sweetie. Let’s do this.” He took Timothy by the hand and him across the street into a dark alley. It was narrow and cold, but Timothy found himself getting turned on by Johnny. His dick got a little hard and if he wasn’t with Freddie he would have gladly given or received head from this man. 

Once they were out of earshot, Timothy started talking. “I got into a fight with Freddie and I know I’m not super great at communicating my feelings and I was kinda condescending to him, but I’m just not comfortable-”

Johnny put a finger to Timothy’s lips. “Honey, I’m not your fucking therapist. Do you want to know what you want or not?” 

Timothy nodded eagerly. 

Johnny lit a cigarette and blew some smoke in Timothy’s face. Timothy wheezed, but noticing Johnny’s eyes he suddenly stopped. Timothy felt rooted to the spot, Johnny’s brown eyes drawing all his attention.  

Johnny smiled, “you love him don’t you?”     “Yes.” Timothy replied, “I love him a lot.”  Timothy felt a strange heat coming from his dick, it prickled and burned.     “And you want to help people, instead of pussyfooting around with shitheads who don’t give a flying fuck about you?” Johnny Cocksucker asked, dangling the cigarette from his mouth as he pressed his hands on Timothy’s shoulders.     “I wouldn’t call it pussyfooting rather attempting to engage the electorate-”     “Do you want to help people or not?”     “Yes.” Timothy agreed again. Timothy’s erection pressed up against his pants, making it too painful to keep on. He undid his belt and dropped his pants to the floor with a deep moan. 

“That’s it, bitch. That’s it.” Johnny Cocksucker said, nodding at Timothy’s progress. Cocksucker continued, “And you want to live as yourself and not what everybody wants you to be?”

“Yes, please,” Timothy moaned, his dick was so hard he had to take his boxer briefs off, leaving his hard six-inch dick out in the breeze. 

 Cocksucker spit into his hands and rubbed them viciously before putting his hands on Timmy’s cock. His hands were calloused and hard but in a satisfying way. The odd bumps and dry skin against his dick only made Timothy harder. 

Cocksucker got on his knees and placed Timothy’s dick in his mouth, his soft lips massaging Timothy’s throbbing cock. With every thrust of Johnny's head on his cock, Timothy felt layers of himself getting peeled away. 

No more working with politicians, no more canvassing, stickers, and plastic straw boycotts. He would fight and do shit that helped people now, not maybe four years down the road. He would organize with Freddie and fight against police oppression. The rage that had been building inside of him his entire life was forcing its way through. He would no longer be held back by fear. 

Timothy growled and moaned as Johnny worked his magic on Timothy’s dick. Timothy’s fear and layers of respectability heading into his dick. As Timothy’s mind changed, so did his appearance. His lanky frame that served him well in avoiding public scrutiny was filling up with muscle. His button-up shirt was replaced with a ripped t-shirt and a leather jacket, his khaki pants and boxer briefs replaced with stained jeans and filthy red boxer shorts. Two solid black boots replaced his polished brown oxfords. 

His short blonde hair grew and became spiked, turning a dark shade of green. Black nail polish appeared on his fingernails and silver rings materialized on his two middle fingers. Then sharp pinpricks of pain stabbed through his ears, mouth, and nose making him let out a small scream. Piercings were ripping through Timothy’s flesh until his entire face was coated with them. With his new look and personality came a new name, Viper. It was a name that intimidated the right people, but for Freddie, it would always mean his thick now nine-inch dick. 

    He cummed in Cocksucker’s mouth. His old life and insecurities disappearing down Johnny Cocksucker’s throat.  

Needing to take a breath, Viper leaned his head against a brick wall. Johnny Cocksucker stood up and wiped his mouth.

“You good?” Johnny asked, taking out a cigarette. 

Viper nodded in a daze, “I have to find my boyfriend.” 

Johnny smiled and patted him on the shoulder. Viper stumbled a few steps forward when Johnny said, “Hey, pull your pants up. You got your dick hanging out.”

Viper looked down at his thick nine-inch dick hanging in the air and he chuckled. 

“Still a little fucked up, I guess,” Viper said, pulling up his pants and underwear. Then he staggered out of the alleyway, his dick still hard, as Johnny Cocksucker took out a cigarette and watched. “Freddie owes me big time for that shit,” Johnny said, lighting his cigarette. The taste of cum and Timmy’s fear still hanging in the back of his throat. 

Viper struggled to make his way to Freddie. He had an insatiable desire to fuck Freddie just the way he wanted. Rough and intense, like the time they first fucked, only this time Viper wasn’t going to freeze up every time after they had sex. It was going to be crazy and uninhibited the whole way. the way that he had never been fucked before. It felt like miles before Viper ended up outside an old theatre. In the haze of Viper’s mind, he knew that Freddie had a gig there tonight. 

That’s when he realized it was dark out. Had six hours passed that quickly? Then Viper watched as a bunch of roadies with band equipment were leaving the venue, including Freddie.

Freddie looked over and saw a man waiting for him. He didn’t know why, but he had the sudden feeling that the green-haired punk was his boyfriend.

He dropped what he was doing and ran over to him. Viper jumped up and wrapped his legs around Freddie’s waist kissing him on the mouth.

“I know Johnny did a number on you, but holy shit you’re hot,” Freddie said in-between kisses. 

“Can you faggots get off the sidewalk?” an old man screeched at them. 

Viper flipped the old fucker off and lost himself in Freddie’s passionate embrace. He would never take a straight person’s bullshit ever again. 

[dcmidivine]

onwards and upwards | rosie & graves

Rosie traps Graves somewhere he can’t escape for an interrogation.

Knocking on Graves' door would ruin the point of a surprise attack, so first Rosie slowly tested the handle to see if it was locked– nope! What an idiot. She slammed her body into the door as she opened it and tumbled into the room, finding her footing within seconds and launching herself onto where her brother was sleeping peacefully. "¡Despierta!"

It wasn't until 3 AM that Graves finally fell asleep, mid-reading, his tarot deck strewn across his comforter. He was sprawled in the middle of his bed, out cold, without a care in the world. A card was stuck to his cheek. He was drooling - that is, until Rosie landed on him and yelled right in his ear. Graves sat bolt upright, eyes wild, his mind taking a second to wake up. "Gods, Roz. A simple knock wouldn't have worked?" He looked at his sister, using his arm to wipe drool off his cheek.

Rosie rolled off of him and onto the floor. She sat up and grinned at him, reaching forward to prod one of his cheeks. "Gross. You're drooling." Scooting backwards away from him, she clambered back up to her feet and started to look around his room. "Nah, boring as fuck. Wanna go for a drive?"

"I know I'm droolin'. I was asleep before someone barged in. " Graves stuck his tongue out at his sister, before grinning. He ran a hand through his hair in a failed attempt to tame his bedhead. "Oh hell yeah, where to hermana?" He rolled out of bed and started rummaging through his dresser.

"Oh yeah? Who?" Rosie snickered and leaned against his dresser as he began to go through it. "So rude of them. I want somewhere to stretch our legs! Somewhere out of the way. And ice cream, I for sure want ice cream."

"My punk ass sister, that's who." Graves snapped a t-shirt in Rosie's direction, but made sure it didn't hit her. He resumed his search, digging through a second drawer to find a pair of pants. "A hiking adventure! I'm in. And you know I never turn down ice cream." He laughed, "I never turn down any food, let's be honest. Alright, give me two minutes." Cam shooed his sister from his room and quickly got dressed. When he opened the door again, he was in his usual ripped jeans and tee, a flannel tied around his waist. His boots were in his hand. "I gotta put these on, do you wanna grab some snacks from the kitchen?"

Rosie yelped and skipped out of the way of the t-shirt, continuing on out the door as he ushered her out to change. When he emerged, she feigned a yawn as though she had been waiting for hours. "Yeah, yeah, make me do all the hard work. Meet me in five." With a laugh, she spun around and dashed to the kitchen.

Graves let out a loud laugh as he sat down to pull on his boots. "I'm not makin' you do the hard work, I'm lettin' you pick your favorite snacks!" He called to her retreating form. He tied his shoes and pulled his phone out of his pocket, looking up nearby hiking trails. "Am I drivin'?"

"Whatever!" she called back as she gathered armfuls of snacks and started shoving them into her backpack before scampering back to her brother. "I can drive if you want a thrill!"

He waved his keys in the air. "I'll let you drive when I want a heart attack. You're navigating. C'mon, Loretta's parked over by the vans." He grabbed his water bottle and backpack before standing. With a smirk on his face, Graves looked over at Rosie. "I'll race you there."

“Coward,” Rosie teased, slinging the backpack over her shoulder. As soon as he mentioned the word ‘race’ she shoved him, then took off in a sprint.

"Woah, hey! False start ref!" Graves stumbled, laughing, then bolted after his sister. "I'll get you back for that, Roz!"

“Gotta catch me first!” she yelled back, ducking her head and maintaining speed. “You’re too slow!”

"C'mon, I haven't played lacrosse in two years. I used to be faster!" Graves could see his truck in the distance, his sister a few yard ahead of him. Laughing, he ran a little faster until he was just behind Rosie and reached out for her backpack to slow her down.

Rosie yelped as she was yanked backwards and dove to the side to try and slam into him as he passed her. "Fucker!"

Graves lost his footing when her shoulder crashed into him. "Shit!" He righted himself, watching as Rosie reached his car first. "For the record, Roz, I let you win." He was laughing and reached out to ruffle her hair before tossing his backpack into the truckbed and swinging himself into the driver's seat.

Rosie grinned and ducked her head when he touched her hair. "For the record, you're a fucking dick. I'm faster." She hopped into the passenger's seat and put her feet up on the dashboard as she got comfortable. "I got a question for you once you start driving and can't escape."

Graves exhaled, "Oh gods, I don't like the sound of that." He turned the key in the ignition and buckled his seatbelt, looking over to make sure his sister did the same. He tossed her his phone. "You're navigating and interrogating, don't forget to tell me where I'm going."

Rosie rolled her eyes but fastened her seatbelt anyway. She flicked her sunglasses down over her eyes and caught his phone, tapping in the passcode and pulling up google maps. "I can multitask. Head towards the highway first."

Graves flicked on the radio and followed her directions, driving out of camp and onto the road that would take them to the highway.

Rosie waited until they were on a stretch that didn't require directions for a while and twisted in her seat to face him. "Alright, tumbitas." She pointed at him. "What's your relationship with the wicked bitch of the west?"

Graves gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and flicked Rosie a cool look. He'd anticipated the question but hoped he'd been wrong. "Sorry, hermana, I've never been to Oz." He tried to flash her a grin but her expression was unreadable through her sunglasses.

Rosie raised her eyebrows, still casually sprawled across the seat despite the edge in her voice. "I'm talking about Cleo Bancroft." She pronounced the name with disdain.

"Ah." He said, tapping the steering wheel with his index finger. "I...don't know? Relationship feels like a strong word." Graves shrugged, acting indifferent.

"Are you friends?" Rosie crossed her arms.

"We..." He squinted, trying to think of the right word to describe what he and Cleo had. "We're friend-ly? Ish?"

With a scoff, Rosie sat up, pulling her feet off the dashboard. "That's it? I don't believe it."

Graves shrugged again, visibly uncomfortable. His expression said he was calculating any possible escape route from this situation: there were none. He glanced at his sister again. "I don't know? Gods, Roz."

Rosie scowled. "Oh my gods, I'm not going to flip shit on you. I just want to know."

"Is it that big of a deal if we are?" He asked, getting defensive.

"Uh, kinda? Since the rest of us hate her?"

"For something that happened, what? Five years ago?"

Rosie threw her hands up in the air. "Yeah! 'Cause it fucking sucked and was a shitty thing to do!"

"I-" Graves looked at Rosie. "I wasn't even here for it, Rosie!" He pressed his lips together. "I'm sure it sucked and it was shitty but...I'm just supposed to hate someone because y'all do? What is that?"

"Yeah, kinda!" Rosie frowned at him. "I'd hate anyone you wanted me to."

“I wouldn’t ask you to hate anyone!” He fired back. “I-sorry. That totally wasn’t the point.” Graves sighed. “It’s just- I don’t know. I’m being a dick, aren’t I?”

Rosie blew a piece of hair out of her face. “Ugh. Shut up, you’re so fucking-“ she motioned towards him. “Nice. I just wanna be annoyed.”

Graves chewed his lip. “Nah, I’m not that nice. I know she hurt you cari. You have every right to be mad.” He glanced down at the maps just to make sure he was going the right way. “If I said we were friends, what happens?”

Rosie kept half an eye on Graves’ phone. “Still five mins until the turn.” She slid down further in her seat. “I dunno. I guess I just wanna know. Are you?”

He nodded, appreciative of her directions. “I honestly don’t know? She’s not awful and we talk sometimes?” Graves offered vaguely.

“Erre es korakas,” she cursed at him, her momentary calm already gone. “Just answer the fucking question.”

Graves winced when Rosie cursed. When he answered, his voice was quiet. “If I said yes, are you going to tell all our siblings to hate me too?” He stared at the road, expression tense.

Rosie rolled her eyes again and leaned against the window, pressing her temple against the glass. “You really think I’d do that?”

“If I called Cleo my friend, yeah. You hate her so much. Miranda too. I don’t know.” Graves ran a hand through his hair.

Rosie hunched her shoulders defensively and looked back at him. “I wouldn’t. And even if I told them to, they wouldn’t.”

He glanced over at her, not believing her fully. “I don’t want you to be mad at me. I know how long you can hold a grudge, Roz...”

Rosie frowned at him. “I can be fucking pissed at you and still love you to death, idiot.”

Graves’ expression was filled with doubt. “Do you want me to stop talking to her?” He realized he still hadn’t answered Rosie’s question.

“Yeah, no shit.” Rosie looked back out the window. “But I’m not gonna ask you to. I’m sick of pulling you guys into this shit, it clearly just fucking spirals.”

“I let you down at Cyrus’ party, fuckin’ losing my walkie talkie. And inviting Cleo. I don’t want to let you down with this too.”

Rosie was silent for a few long seconds. “You invited her?”

“I-“ Graves racked his brain, trying to backtrack. “I didn’t invite her, exactly? Invite us a strong word. Nah, I-uh, I ran into hear that day and uh, we were talking and I said I had to go get ready and she asked what for and...” He trailed off. “A party for Cy is public knowledge, right? He’s the party king. Everyone knew......right?”

Rosie slapped a hand to her forehead since she couldn’t smack him without causing a car crash. “Are you fucking serious, Cam? She wasn’t invited for a reason! Because it was Cyrus’s fucking birthday and obviously a fight was gonna start with her there! It wasn’t just a party, it was a party for his birthday and because she was there I almost fucking ruined it! None of us wanted her there!”

"It wasn't on purpose, I swear!" Graves looked at Rosie and shook his head, eyes wide. "I didn't think about it! Also didn't think she'd show up, that's insane! And," he paused and sighed. "You didn't ruin it. If anything, I did. I was too busy flirtin' with Casey, I didn't even see Lisette hit you."

Rosie felt like tearing her hair out or bursting into tears, she couldn’t tell which. “You’re not helping your case here.”

"It was a game!" He said, exasperated. "You came up with the game, you hit Lisette, she hit you back.  Isn't that how the game worked? I'm pretty sure yes because I hit Tai and he fuckin' wailed on my jaw. Hit for hit!" Graves could feel the hole he was in getting even deeper." I don't even know how to help my case."

“Oh my fucking gods you don’t get it!” Definitely leaning towards tears now. Rosie could feel herself getting choked up, which only made her more angry. “I don’t care Lisette hit me! Good for her, it was part of the game, which I said at the time if anyone would just fucking listen to me!” She pressed her fingers under her eyes. “I know everyone thinks I’m some fucking psychopath who’s gonna snap at anything but I said it was fine, I told the others to back off, I didn’t hit her again or yell at her or anything! I just wanted to keep going with the game and everyone else was making it worse but of course it was Rosie who lost her temper and interrupted the game, and had to be told to calm down and have the water gun confiscated, of course.” She slid her hands down her face, exhaling hard. “I’m not fucking mad I got hit. Okay?”

"Ah...shit," Graves wilted as Rosie got choked up. He was not good with crying so he hoped Rosie didn't cry, especially because it would have been his fault and he would officially win 'Worst Brother of the Month.' He looked over at her, eyes full of concern. "No, Roz. Rosie, I-I know you're not mad you got hit. I know you told everyone to stop and I know no one listened to you. I also know it's my fault. Cleo and Lisette wouldn't have been there if I hadn't opened my big fucking mouth and I-I'm sorry..."

Rosie turned her head to face the window when he looked over at her and rolled it down a crack. The breeze was bracing, and gave her a chance to catch her breath enough to clear the lump from her throat. She looked back at him. “Whatever. You didn’t know.” Deciding to risk it, she punched his shoulder. “Fucking look at us. Ridiculous.”

Graves had been prepared for Rosie to hit him since the conversation had started, so her punch only made him swerve a little. He made a face, "I forgot how hard you can hit, damn." He exhaled, watching Rosie look out the window. "Ridiculous," Graves agreed. His next words came out in a rush. "Do I make it better or worse if I say that we're kinda friends and I feel bad hiding it from you and Miranda but I don't want to hurt you by being friends with her and I don't want to her by lying and saying she's not...my friend." He bit his lip, afraid he'd escalated the situation again with his confession.

Rosie would have laughed if she wasn't still upset. "You could've started with that." She looked back at the window. "I'm pissed you're friends with her but I'm not gonna make you stop. Just... it's not all me, okay? She's really fucking good at playing the victim card and making me look like the villain in this whole shit, but it's not just me."

"I didn't want to start with it because I honestly...didn't plan on telling you yet. But I just feel like a fucking dick." Graves shrugged, he looked like a kicked puppy. He could tell Rosie was still upset with him and he didn't know how to fix it since all he was saying were hurtful things. "I never thought it was all you, Roz. I promise. She doesn't talk about you either, if that helps. I mean," he chose his words carefully. "It's not like we hang out and she shit talks you. I think I'm the only one that's ever really brought you or Miranda up and it's to tell her that I don't want to upset either of you. Which is true. I don't and I've never wanted that. But leave it to me to befriend the one person you hate the most. Great fucking brother, huh."

Rosie half smiled. It was hard to keep being mad at him when he seemed to be doing her job for her. "Leave it to you," she agreed. "Fucking terrible taste in people. You're not crushing on her, right? Honestly."

“She’s not terrible,” Graves laughed and shook his head. “We’re just friends. Gods, don’t worry about that. Don’t joke about that. I’m sorry, again.”

Rosie pointed at him. “Hey. You’re still on thin fucking ice.” Despite her words, she was smiling. “Take the next exit.”

Graves smiled back at his sister, taking the exit as directed. "Thin ice, got it. How do I get to solid land? How do we...navigate this?"

Rosie pushed her sunglasses back on top of her head. She had wanted to clear the air not have a discussion, but it did seem like the mature thing to do. "Ugh. Just... don't invite her to the cabin, okay? I don't want to have to go full hippie cleanse mode and burn some sage."

"Do we even have sage in the cabin?" He laughed. "I don't picture you as the hippie type."

Rosie made a gagging sound. "I'm not. I burned that out of my system when we broke up."

Graves rolled his eyes. "Well, thanks to Gran, I don't have sage, but I do have crystals, so if you really need to cleanse the cabin, I'll let you borrow them."

"Turn left up here." Rosie rolled the window down the rest of the way. "Good to know." She glanced over at him. "You got anything you wanna say to me?"

He took the turn Rosie instructed, pulling smoothly into the parking lot of the hiking area. Graves looked at his sister. "I'm sorry again. And I'm treating you to ice cream after this."

Rosie laughed and sat up to unbuckle her seatbelt. “I was asking if you’re pissed at me about some shit but I’ll accept free ice cream.”

Graves unbuckled his seatbelt and slid out of the truck in one fluid motion. He shut the door and leaned over the truck bed to look at Rosie. He rested his chin on his arms. "I don't know. I just figured you were pissed at me and that I'd be kicked out of the cabin or something."

Rosie snorted and hopped out of the car. “I’m thrilled you’re that scared of me. C’mon tumbitas, I’m always pissed at you and you still got a bed!”

Graves fished his backpack out of the truck bed and slung a strap over his shoulder. “Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared of the Hermes girls.” He grinned. “Is there anything I should be pissed at you about, since you asked?” He waited for Rosie to grab her bag before walking to the trail.

Rosie followed after him, skipping to catch up and walk beside him. “Nope! I’ve been an angel, as always!”

Graves snorted. “Right, I believe that. What’s the most recent wild thing you’ve done?”

She pulled a baseball cap out of her bag and put it on. She winked at him. “Forgiving your terrible judgment.”

Graves bumped her shoulder with his own. "My judgement's better than yours. I didn't date her." He stuck his tongue out and grinned, making sure she knew he was only teasing. "Honestly, I fully expected you to punch me once we go out of the truck. Loretta could only protect me for so long."

Rosie laughed and tugged his sleeve so he would stop for long enough for her to clamber up onto his back. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re such an idiot,” she said fondly.

"I know I am. You still love me, hermana?" Graves adjusted his arms so he could carry her properly and set off on the trail.

“No shit, tumbitas.” She rested her chin on his shoulder. “Onwards and upwards.”