#Does it spread (I hope not god that’d be bad)

[coconut530]

Stephpotterdrawtober & 31 Days of Nevermore Day 26: Decomposing & Haunted

[lovebugism]

oh my god absolutely feral for the cynical prompt list PLEASE!!! maybe like bad at feelings/grumpy!r x steve with these vibes?:

• "you.. LIKE ME???" "i'm a little wary but so far, yes."

• "you're my favorite person. i didn't know you could have those."

• i love the idea that although they're cynical they would simultaneously not care to admit it ^ like "okay, yeah, i fell in love. so what???? people fall in puddles, and pools, and you know, other things!!! don't hold this against me!"

or literally anything from that list like i just know you’d eat

hope you like it angel xoxo — you tell steve you love him for the first time in front of all your friends who didn't even know you were dating (grumpy!r, fluff, 1.3k)

Eddie drops off a few Hellfire stragglers at Family Video after a lengthy campaign, you among them. Robin watches you file in with a freckled chin nestled in her palm. “Stevie! Your children are here!” she singsongs in the otherwise empty store, flipping unenthusiastically through an old magazine.

Dustin and Lucas grumble under their breaths about being called children, though you think they’re still very much deserving of the term. Eddie, meanwhile, crosses his leather-clad arms over his chest. “You know I’m older than him, right?” he monotones with squinted eyes. “So that’s, like, scientifically impossible.”

You deadpan from beside him, somehow more stoic than the raucously dressed metalhead. “And also, I’m dating him,” you frown. “So that’d be, like, extra weird.”

Everyone looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, then. Like you’ve just said something awful. 

Steve’s presence saves you, but only for a moment. He comes out from the back wearing a stupid grin on his scruffy face. “Hey, babe,” he greets you first, with a wide hand spread warmly over your back. 

When he ducks down for a fleeting kiss, you can taste the Cheetos he’d been snacking on and the wintergreen gum he’d just plucked into his mouth. The concoction is strange. Maddening, still.

All of your friends leer at you for several long moments. They gape at the two of you in horror, as though there was some kind of truth in what Robin had just announced moments ago — as though you and Steve shouldn’t be kissing at all.

“Wait,” Lucas mumbles, filling the heavy silence. His face twists in confusion a second later. “What?”

Eddie’s pale face contorts in something short offense, like you’ve betrayed him somehow. You sort of did, in a way. You’re Hellfire’s prettiest, grumpiest, weirdest member — you’re not supposed to be dating Steve The Hair Harrington. It goes against, like, every unwritten rule in the handbook. 

“Is this why you wanted me to drop you off here?” he questions, palpably heartbroken. “So you two could— suck face?”

You shrug, emotionless. “Sorta.”

“We have a date tonight,” Steve announces with a proud smile. He squeezes gently at your shoulder, then cowers at the glare you give him. He clears his throat and corrects himself. “Not date.”

You’ve noticed his very strange tendency to call any time you spend together a date. You don’t like that. It makes you feel it’s some kind of appointment you have to book with him — an engagement you have to put too much effort into. Sometimes, you don’t want to go on a date. You just want to sleep over at his place, steal one of his shirts, and raid his kitchen in your underwear. 

Eddie does everything but pout. “But I thought… I thought we came here to bother Steve until he let us take something home for free?” he confesses in a quiet voice.

“We can still do that if you want.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” he frowns.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Robin shouts, abandoning her magazine and waving her hands in front of her face. “How did I not know about this?”

Steve bounces his shoulder, jostling the nametag pinned to his chest. “You don’t know everything about me, Buckley,” he sasses.

“So… you like him?” she presses, pointing to you and then the boy beside you. “You like Steve? Steve Harrington?”

You swallow hard and hope you don’t look as anxious as you feel. You shrug to feign an air of nonchalance. “I’m still a little wary about it, but, yeah… So far, anyway.”

Dustin’s senses return to him, then. He shakes his curly head in disbelief. “That is just… confounding,” he mumbles to himself.

“And how long has this been going on, exactly?” Robin squints.

“Couple months, I guess,” you monotone.

Steve has a much different, much more enthusiastic answer. 

“Well, if we’re going by the first time I knew she liked me, it’s been five months. But if we’re going by the first time we kissed, it’s been four,” he rambles with his honey eyes flitted to the ceiling. “But if we’re going by the first time she actually admitted she liked me, it’s been… A wonderful six days.”

He flashes you a grin, which you meet with a hardened scowl. “Shut up…” you grumble, but don’t push him away when he cuddles you closer to his side.

“You? And Steve Harrington?” Eddie gapes. “You’re kissing?”

Steve scoffs. “Well, we’re dating Munson. So obviously we’re kissing. Among other things…”

You dig an elbow into his ribs to shove him away. “Do you have a death wish?” you spit, eyes narrowed and bitter, while the boy just chuckles to himself.

“It’s just… weird,” Dustin remarks.

“But, like, a good weird,” Lucas nods. “Like a solar eclipse, sort of weird.”

“Or, like, that one in a billion chance of atoms aligning and your hand going directly through a solid object, sort of weird,” the curly-haired boy adds, punctuating his sentence by slapping the front counter. His palm collides with the hard surface with a resounding thud.

“What did you think was gonna happen?” Steve monotones when Dustin winces.

“Well, impossible things happen all the time, Steve. Including now.”

You start to choke on the attention. The stares are borderline suffocating. A bunch of wide-eyed gazes holding yours until you feel like you can hardly breathe. 

“What’s the big deal?” you blurt before you mean to. “We fell in love. Who cares? Dustin fell into a puddle earlier today— how’s that any different? People fall all the time.”

Dustin’s eyes narrow. “I thought we agreed not to bring that up.”

“Wait…” Steve mumbles, pink lips quirked in a crooked smile. His chocolate gaze glimmers with hope and confusion, eyes darting back and forth between yours. “You’re… You’re in love with me?”

“Yeah?” you shrug, trying not to cower at the way he looks at you. “So what?”

His grin widens. It takes everything in him not to kiss the life out of you then. He settles for a warm squeeze at your shoulder for now. “Nothing. Nothing, I just— I love you back. That’s all.”

The honeyed moment is ended bitterly by the sound of Eddie’s fake gagging. Robin gripes beneath the horrid noise, “You guys are gross…”

Lucas smiles. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Only ‘cause you’re more lovesick than these two idiots,” Eddie scoffs. He saunters away from you and takes the two Hellfire boys by the shoulder, leading them inevitably to the Sci-Fi section. Robin has no choice but to fix her frowning face and smile when a customer walks in.

With the crowd freshly dispersed, and the attention no longer on the two of you, you look up at Steve with a softer look than you’re used to. “Why did you look so shocked?” you murmur, eyes all squishy around the edges. “When I told you that I— that I loved you or whatever.”

“I wasn’t shocked,” Steve laughs and turns to face you fully. “I just… wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

You squint. “So you were shocked?”

“…I guess so. Yeah.”

“Well— you’re like— my favorite person or whatever,” you stumble over your words, finding it suddenly very difficult to meet his gaze. You gesture wildly with anxious hands. “And I didn’t even know you could have one of those, so… By that logic, I figured I must be in love with you.”

Steve grins, maybe bigger than he realizes. It’s all plush and pink and petaled, dripping with an adoration you’re not sure you deserve. “Well, by that logic, I must be in love with you, too, then, huh?”

“Guess so…” you grumble under your breath.

Steve smiles at the distant look of disgust scrunching your pretty face. “You’re so cute…” he mumbles under his breath, pressing a kiss to your pout before you can blink.

[wickedscribbles]

Flowers in the Scorched Earth

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Surprise! This popped into my head yesterday and I wrote it all in one sitting. Hope you like hurt/comfort 😭

Summary: Pregnant with Arthur's child, you appreciate how careful he is with you -- though sometimes you find yourself smothered. One night in the middle of an argument neither of you meant to start, you find out just why he feels the need to handle you so delicately.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x AFAB Reader, she/her pronouns (Second Person Perspective)

Rating: Teen and Up 

Tags: SPOILERS, do not proceed if you haven’t played the game, pregnancy, high honor Arthur, protective Arthur, angst, hurt/comfort, grief, childbirth, fluff 

Word Count: 2.2K

Requests are currently closed! Thank you for understanding!

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~ Another reminder that there are spoilers for the game within! Proceed with caution!~

Not even born yet, and this baby’s a wild one. Kicking you at all hours of the night, sitting right on your bladder, making you crave the most irrational things. You’re swollen up everywhere – all the places you’re supposed to be, and in places you didn’t even consider. Your ankles are so big and puffy you can’t even wear your shoes. You had no idea that your body would be working this hard, changing so much, yet you wouldn’t go back and do things over. Not ever.

You’re overjoyed to be pregnant with this child, with the baby you and Arthur made together. When you told him, when you were certain – you were scared. You’re running with a gang of outlaws, for God’s sake, and at the time you were nowhere near ready to bring a baby into the world. All it’d taken was one time, one slip, to create a life.

The plethora of emotion that’d gone over Arthur’s face, on the other hand, numbered in the dozens. Disbelief. Terror. Hesitation. Happiness. Joy. And every shade in between until he was taking your hands, asking you over and over if you were sure, were you really sure. He’d gone to his knees where you sat and spread his hands over your stomach, trying to feel for some small bump.

From that day forward he looks after you first, and does the gang’s dirty work second. There’s no room for argument. For a while before either of you knew you were pregnant, there’d been idle talk of going away, of getting out of the gang and building a life together somewhere, but now the matter is far more pressing. You know that Arthur’s working himself ragged trying to earn extra money, enough to get some land for the two of you to settle somewhere, build a house. He keeps telling you he’s “going to do things right”.

He looks so tired, but whenever he’s back at camp, he’s never off his feet for a minute. Not if you’re trying to do something like get your supper or help the girls with the wash. Arthur doesn’t want you going anywhere on your own, doesn’t want you hauling your round self up on your mare for a ride out of camp to clear your head. Even when he’s gone, you know he tells the girls to keep an eye on you, not to let you work yourself too hard.

It’s beyond exasperating. As the weeks go by, you’re getting your energy back, eager to do more around the camp again, to move. The nausea of the first few months is fading, and you’re not anxious to just sit around like some little wife. You’re bored out of your mind. Bad enough that you’re stuck in camp, no longer allowed to go out robbing.

You know he means well. You do. Every look and touch he gives you is soaking in love and gentleness, and how can you fault him for loving you too much? But somewhere, you have to put your foot down. You’re still a human being, beyond the pregnancy, and you’re so damn tired of being pent up.

The words just slip out one night when you try to get out of bed for a drink of water. You’re tired, lower back aching from the weight of the child you’re carrying. The crate with the water pitcher is on the other side of the tent, and you brace yourself against the edge of the cot to get up, to roll yourself into a sitting position. You’d thought Arthur was drowsing behind you, breathing deeply. He falls asleep almost as soon as his body hits the bed, these days.

The frustration of waking him up – or him never being asleep in the first place – is what does it, you think. Of him still putting your needs so far above his own, when it’s so obvious that he’s exhausted. It makes you feel angry and useless. When Arthur’s groggy murmur comes from behind you, telling you to lie back down so that he can get what you need, you’re quick to snap back.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur, I can get my own water! I’m pregnant, not an invalid!”

A thick silence trails in the air where you’d spoken, and your eyes fill with tears. Why would you say that? He was only trying to help you. He’s only ever trying to help you. You turn from where you’re perched on the edge of the cot, throat thick with wetness, unable to see him in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m – I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

You feel the cot shift as Arthur moves to sit up. “S’okay,” he mumbles. “You’re allowed to have your emotions. It’s a lot to do.”

Of course he would let you off that easy. You rub the heel of your hand at your eyes, angry at the tears flowing down your face, and fumble for the lantern. At least he lets you light it, perhaps afraid that doing it himself would spark another outburst. The soft glow makes the circles under his eyes look even darker, and you lean forward with trembling fingers to brush the hair off of his face.

“Arthur, why are you doing this?”

He leans into your hand, eyes closed, like the softness of your touch is something he’s been craving. “Doin’ what?” Even his words sound weary, and if this weren’t a conversation that needed to happen, you’d dismiss it, tell him to lie back down and get his rest. Too soon, he’s looking back at you, brow furrowed, upset that you’re sitting there in a mess of tears and sorrow. “Sweetheart, please don’t cry. I’m okay. It’s okay.” His big hand cradles your face, thumb tracing your cheek, and your lip wobbles.

“You’re n-not.”

God, you hate to cry, hate to be seen as the emotional pregnant woman who can’t keep it together, but you’ve reached a breaking point. Because the man you love isn’t taking care of himself, and you can’t stand it. He’s never been one for self-preservation, but this is terrible. You aren’t even certain he’s eating more than once a day, and for what? You don’t want to thrive if it means he suffers.

The baby isn’t happy either. They know you’re awake and agitated, and one little foot goes kicking out in your stomach. You place a hand there, trying to soothe them, and Arthur’s eyes trail down. You can see the worry in his face plain as day as his hand goes to cover yours.

“Are they –?”

“They’re fine, Arthur,” you say wetly. “I’m not worried about them. They just know I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“You’re workin’ yourself to death!” You don’t mean to say it that loud, with that much emphasis, but that’s the way it comes out. “Every time you come back here you look more exhausted. You’re losin’ weight.”

“I’m doin’ it for you,” he mutters, going defensive. “For us. For them.”

“I know damn well what you’re doing it for,” you answer through a biting sob. “But could you maybe just – I don’t know – not kill yourself in the process? It’s bad enough I’m stuck here, all the goddamn time, worrying about you getting shot. Now I gotta worry about you straight up dyin’ of stress?”

“I ain’t dyin’,” he growls. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m doin’ right by you, darlin’, and – I don’t want –” Arthur sighs, frustrated, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to worry about anything. That’s what I’m doin’ all this for!”

“Well, it’s not working.”

Another silence.

Arthur places his hand on your knee. “I…I’m sorry. I don’t want to let you down. If anything happened to you, I don’t know…don’t know what I’d do.” He drags a hand down his face, looking far older than you’d ever seen him. “I jus’ want you – and the baby – to have the life you deserve. I’m not gonna let anything happen. I won’t.”

He keeps saying that. The look in his eyes almost scares you, and you thread your fingers up through his in a heartbeat. Arthur isn’t looking at you, isn’t looking at anything. His leg bounces off the side of the cot, shaking you in place a little, and you have to call his name four or five times before he blinks and comes back to the world. When he does, it’s slow, his expression still not right. Haunted.

“Arthur,” you say again, your sorrow and anger replaced with cold fear. “We’re – we’ll be fine. It’s gonna be fine. I trust you.” You take a deep breath. “Please, what’s wrong? What do you think is going to happen?”

He bites his lip, hard, and shakes his head. That leg is still bouncing, bouncing, nervous energy. The baby seems to like it, at least. They’ve stopped kicking. You don’t say anything else, don’t know what to say.

Arthur puts a hand over his mouth, takes a shuddering breath in, and mutters something very quiet to the ground. He’s blinking too fast. When you ask him to repeat what he’d said, your voice gentle, his own trembles.

“I said, I’m not – not goin’ to let you get killed too. Wasn’t there for them and I lost ‘em.”

Your stomach drops. The pain in his voice is insurmountable. You have a feeling that this is something he’s been carrying with him for a long, long time, and would’ve kept with him even longer had you not asked. Even spitting out the words seems to have hurt him, brought a dozen buried worries and shame to the surface, and you struggle for what to do.

“Lost…who?” you ask, dreading the answer.

Arthur tells you everything.

And it breaks your heart. He has to stop so many times, and you let him lean against you. You let him grieve them, this lost woman and her poor, poor child. Arthur’s son. How long has he locked them away? How long has this been his burden alone to bear? How long has he shouldered the blame, as he’s prone to do? Jesus – it all makes perfect sense.

He’s so afraid of doing one single thing wrong because he’s worried it’ll happen all over again. Like a curse. You want to say so much to him, about how he couldn’t do wrong by you and this child if he tried. How you know he’s going to be the perfect father – hell, how he already is. How you’re so sorry he’s had to carry this grief alone.

For now, though, you hold each other, the drink of water and your argument long forgotten. In the weeks to come, he’ll be easier about letting you go where you want to go, do what you want to do. Arthur will be easier on himself, too, and you’ll be more than relieved, able to breathe a little better. You don’t speak of it again for a long while, but the knowledge hangs between you; the mother and child that came before.

Early summer has you as round as a ball and sweating your life away. But now you’re not doing it from camp – you’re doing it on a pretty little piece of property in the Big Valley, thanking every breeze for drying the sweat on your neck. Arthur and a few of the men spend their days busting ass building a house, and with every sunset, you can see it come into shape a little more. Home.

Thank goodness your unruly babe deigns to wait until the roof is on before she makes her way into the world. You’re not sure who’s sweating more throughout the whole thing – you or Arthur. He grips your hand tight, shushing you as you pant and cry, and finally – there. There she is. Real and whole and healthy and yours, her tiny face scrunched up in fury, fists waving and flailing.

You’ve never been more tired, but you have to keep your eyes open. You don’t want to ever stop looking at her. Arthur lays her on your chest, and you can see that he, too, adores her instantly. His gaze is so warm and fond as he touches her little head with his big hand, so delicate, like he’s afraid of hurting her.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers to you, as the pair of you watch her learn her way to your breast. “You did so, so good.”

At age four, she’s got opinions for miles. Almost every other sentence seems to start with Daddy. She loves helping with chores and insists that when she grows up, she’s going to be a conman, like Grandpa Hosea. (Should’ve seen Arthur’s face when she announced that.) She’ll talk your ear off about horses or stars or the color blue – or anything that falls into her mind, really. She looks just like Arthur when she pouts or smiles, has his eyes and his build.

Her middle name is Eliza. And she won’t be an only child for long.

Users Tagged: @mrsmorgan7​, @bandersnatchmywigho​, @hansonveggieclub​, @amorgansgal​, @chalkicharli​, @bamiwijf​, @farbenfux​

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LUNATIC PARADE ;; Kanato Route ー Sub Scenario w/Kou

–> In between the main route chapters, the player is taken to the area map of the Parade where you can freely roam around. There are four different places to visit, each with different mini games and sub scenarios to enjoy.

AREA: GLIMMER MAIN STREET

CHARACTER: KOU

 ー The scene starts inside Sapphire Sweets Shop

Yui: ( We’re standing in line over here to try and get one of the strawberry tarts distributed only to the first 300 customers but... )

Kanato: ...What a crowd.

Yui: Yeah, I just hope we’ll be able to get our hands on one...

( Seems like it’s almost our turn. Let’s see how many tarts there are left... )

Ah! Kanato-kun, seems like there’s still a few left!

Kanato: Really? ...Phew, thank godーー

*Ring ring*

???: Hooray~! Thank you so much!

And this is the final one too? I’m so lucky!

Kanato: ーー !?

Yui: ( Eh!? N-No way...! )

Kou: M-neko-chan and Kanato-kun? What’s with those looks on your faces? 

Yui: K-Kou-kun...!?

Kanato: ...Kou. Return that tart to me.

Kou: Return...? Even though I’m the one who got it? 

Kanato: I was waiting in line for it as well. However, right before it got to my turn, you...!

Kou: Ehー? Not my problem. It’s not like I cut in line or anything...

Besides, if you wanted to eat this tart that badly, you should have just queued up sooner. 

Yui: Y-You’re not wrong but...

Kou: I’ve always wanted to try this one! The most famous strawberry tart of the whole Demon World!

...There you have it, so without wasting any more time, let me dig right in...Nn...

Kanato: ーー Kou!!

Kou: Nn~ ...Haah, what’s this? It’s delicious!

Yui: ( He ate it right in front of our eyes...!? )

Kou: The tartness of the strawberries combined with the sweet flavor of the custard spreads on my tongue...No wonder it’s so popular!

Ahーah. Too bad. You would have been able to try it as well if only you had gotten in line a bit sooner. 

Kanato: ...Kuh...

Kou: ...Ah, right! M-neko-chan, want a bite?

Yui: Eh? I-I...

Kou: No need to be modest! Come on, say ‘ahn’...Ow!?

*Woosh*

Yui: ーー Are you okay!? 

( Something hit his head just now...!? )

*Woosh*

Kou: Owow...Kanato-kun? It hurts...It really does!?

Kanato: ...Unforgivable.

I’ve wanted to try one of those for so long as well...Yet...Despite that!!

*Woosh woosh*

Yui: ( Kanato-kun’s hurling random objects from inside the store at Kou-kun!? )

Kou: ー Wait! Watch out! Cut it out...!!

Yui: K-Kanato-kun! You shouldn’t throw the store’s goods! You’ll get scolded by the staff...!

*Woosh*

Kanato: Shut up! It’s Kou’s fault for mocking me!!

*SPLAT*

Kou: ーー Uu!?

Yui: Kou-kun!?

( This time he grabbed a slice of cake from a customer’s plate and threw it at Kou-kun’s face...!? )

( The customer in question is sitting there dumbfounded... )

Kou: Uu...I’m covered in sticky whipped cream~ ... I’m an idol, remember...!? 

*SNAP*

Kou: Eh!? 

Kanato: Fufu. ...Caught on camera.

Kou: Camera...Eh!? You took a picture of me!? While looking like this!? 

Kanato: Yes. I took a photo of your cream-covered face. 

I wonder if people will be able to tell it’s you? Fufu...You are making quite the interesting expression. 

Kou: Eh? No way! Delete that photo right now!!

Kanato: Let’s go, Yui-san. Our job here is finished. 

Yui: But shouldn’t you delete the picture? 

Kanato: Now why would I do that? I’m going to print a bunch of copies and distribute them amongst the people at the Parade. 

I’ll say that I managed to take a funny picture of a wildly popular idol. 

Kou: Eh!? 

Kanato: I will up your popularity even more! Fufu...You should be grateful to me. 

Come on, let’s go. 

Yui: Eh? K-Kanato-kun!?

ー The two of them leave the store

Kou: Eh? Wai...Hold up!!

That’d be seriously bad! My career as an idol...!

Give it back...!  Give it back, pleaseー!

ー He chases after them

ーー THE END ーー 

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 23 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Spencer’s birthday plans get interrupted by a case. Frustrated by Reader’s busy schedule, Spencer finds a unique way to spend time with her. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Mild exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Dom/sub, light choking, degradation/praise, sub space Word Count: 7.3k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

Waiting for Spencer Reid was an interesting position to be in. It was also, unfortunately, very, very common. You would think the IQ points would translate to efficiency, but you’d be very wrong. The only thing that boy does fast is read, and even that didn’t follow through to text messages, considering he’d read none of the six I’d sent him in the past hour.

So, naturally, as one does in an emergency, I called him. Unsurprisingly, the phone barely rang a second time before he picked up. Talking was, as we were both aware, his forte. Without even waiting for my greeting, his groggy voice came through the receiver with a song-like sound.

“Hello, little girl.”

But it wasn’t his turn to sing, and he knew damn well why I was calling. I could hear the smirk on his face so well that I could also envision exactly what he looked like in that moment, with his fluffy hair sticking up from constantly running his hands through it and his eyes only half-open as he tried to finish reading whatever horrible thing that he had in front of him.

It wasn’t how anyone should be spending their birthday. Especially not him. There wasn’t really anything I could do about it, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear the exhaustion and sadness behind that scratchy voice.

“What’re you doing up late? It’s past your bedtime, you know,” he chastised before I even had a chance to speak. He wasn’t wrong — It was 3AM where I was. But where he was, it’d just hit midnight.

“I just wanted to wish a happy birthday to my favorite old man,” I purred back once I’d managed to calm my fast-beating heart. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the brief rush of adrenaline and relief when I heard his voice for the first time after some time away.

I hoped not.

Spencer didn’t seem impressed by my reasoning, though. “You’re sweet. Go to sleep.”

“You’re up, too,” I whined, still picturing the way he would undoubtedly pull the phone further away to lessen the noise. I almost asked if he was also picturing me but stopped when I realized that whatever he had in mind was probably a lot more exciting than reality. Then again, he often told me that moments like this were his favorite. When we’re both too tired to keep our eyes open but too happy to be with each other to let them close all the way.

“Barely,” he corrected.

“Besides, I had to stay up. It’s your birthday.”

I’d meant to lift his spirits, but the long pause after I finished made it evident that my efforts were for naught. He almost seemed even more upset than when he’d answered, and I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t that hard, considering he was probably staring at images or words of dead people.

“Yeah, sure feels like it.”

His tone alone ensured me it was worse than my imagination.

“Put your work down and pay attention to me instead,” I suggested as softly as I could with the neediness bleeding through, “That’s the first part of your present.”

“You’re my present?” he asked through a gruff laugh that made my heart skip a beat, “I like that present.”

He was trying. I could feel it in his voice, and I wished more than anything that I could teleport to where he was and hold him until it was too difficult for his mouth to form a frown.

“You already have me. That’d be like regifting,” I pointed out with only a pinch of self-deprecation. It was still too much for Spencer, though, who swiftly shot back the ever cheesy, “Every day with you is a gift.”

“Gross, don’t get all sentimental with me,” I ordered playfully.

He returned the energy with all the sass I always knew he was capable of. Once his whining ceased, he mumbled, “Do you come with a gift receipt?”

“No returns or exchanges allowed, I’m afraid.”

Spencer just let out a strained sigh, and in my head, I imagined how it would feel to climb onto his lap as he leaned back in his chair. I could almost feel his arms wrapping around my waist and his lips peppering kisses wherever he could reach. I could feel his love for me flowing across the country, persisting past the cell tower obstacles to make its way back to me.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispered, his first purely sincere statement of the night.

It was an unfortunate choice, too, because it also reminded me of the biggest bummer that I unfortunately had to share.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, it’s midterm season, so…”

He was, thankfully, not as bummed as I was expecting. He was almost certainly thrilled to have a chance to sleep spread out on his bed without having to satisfy the very needy girl beside him, but he still managed to come up with enough bratty energy to scoff, “Are you telling me that I don’t get my gift when I get home?”

“It’ll just be a few days. Promise,” I spoke through the biggest, cheesiest smile I’d had yet. “You’re very distracting, Dr. Reid.”

“When are your exams?” His enthusiasm gave away just how disappointed he was with the news, but any frustration was clearly aimed at my poor professors.

“My last one is on Wednesday.”

The gasp that left him was too funny not to laugh, followed by exasperated, blubbered nonsense that didn’t ever get much clearer. I barely managed to understand him when he cried, “Don’t they know Halloween should be a national holiday?!”

“You should call my professors and yell at them.”

He actually considered it for a moment, but then returned the same silly intonation, “Maybe I will.”  

“Do it. You’re probably more qualified than them to teach me, anyway.”

After a short silence that was filled with more sexual tension than I’d expected considering how the phone call started, I heard Spencer gruffly comment, “You’re a cocky little brat tonight.”

It was so familiar to me that I jumped on the opportunity, giggling through my sleep deprived delirium, “I’m in rare form for your birthday.”

The explanation earned me a chuckle, but not much else. At least, not that I could see. The static on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like the way it looked when Spencer leaned his face against his palm and tried to see something that wasn’t there.

But I was there. Sort of. We’d done a lot more with a lot less, after all. So, that’s what I offered him.

“You know… we could have a redo of the last time I called you late at night on a case.”

“That did not end well for me last time,” he droned. I tried not to laugh at the manufactured memory of Spencer holed up in a hotel bathroom because he just had to have me in whatever way he could.

“Only happy endings for your birthday. I promise.”

But then, as it always did, work got in the way. Filled with only the greatest sadness and regret, Spencer quietly but honestly replied, “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it’ll be possible on this case.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Unfortunately.”

I bit my lip because there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t help Spencer with his work any more than I could fix the distance. All I could offer him was a safe home to return to. He would always find that with me.

“Well, in that case, I will be equipped with cartoons and kisses upon your return,” I offered with grace.

But I wasn’t the only one in rare form. Without skipping a beat, Spencer corrected with a smug sadness, “You mean your return. Considering you’re abandoning me on my birthday.”  

“Oh my god, the drama!” I cried before remembering that it was, still, in fact, 3AM. The light grimace I gave after remembering would be the only apology my neighbors would get from me. I was too busy building a narrative happy enough to drown out the horrors in front of him. “You’d think I was the one who was away all the time.”

“I’m allowed to be selfish; it’s my birthday,” he sang, and I soaked in the sound, storing it away for any rainy days.

“Fine. What do you want, brat?” I asked in the worst attempt at an impression I’d ever given.

He was just waiting for the question. Drawing out the first couple of syllables, he laughed through the stupidest birthday wish of all time.

“I want… you to go to bed.”

“Ugh!” I yelled again, not even bothering to feel bad about it that time. My exasperation fell on deaf ears, both from a willful desire to ignore my suffering and a literal ringing from the constant yelling.

Still, that impossible man drummed up enough compassion to gloat with a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, jerk,” I grumbled, only to be swiftly corrected with a playful, “Try that again.”

“I love you, too, old man.”

He was satisfied enough with that answer, despite the sarcasm dripping from it. He still knew that the words were true, and that was all that mattered. Any punishments that might be necessary for my broken promise to behave for his birthday could always be doled out later. When the distance between us was narrowed to inches and clothes could be removed like cheap wrapping paper.

“Thank you, little girl. Sweet dreams,” he whispered, reminding me once more of just how empty my bed felt without him. I stared at his pillow for just one second before I threw myself into it. He chuckled at the sound of rustling sheets over the receiver but said nothing else.  

“You get some sleep tonight, too, okay?” I asked, uncharacteristically and openly vulnerable in a way that used to scare me.

Spencer’s voice was filled with pride and love as he answered, “You can’t see it, but I am giving you a pinky promise.”

“Good.” Burying my face in his pillow again made it easier to remember that it wouldn’t be forever when I said, “Bye, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, little girl.”

—————————————————

Autumn on campus felt pretty similar to the rest of the year. I wished that it were different, a little more exciting, to reflect how I felt about the impending holiday. But no, it was just students stumbling into their usual classes and hectically scheduled midterms with hangovers and a total lack of holiday cheer.

It was, in a few words, a complete bummer. The only thing that kept me going through the last of my exams was the knowledge that I’d be seeing Spencer. Unfortunately, he was still doing that rather annoying thing where he refused to answer my text messages. It wasn’t until he ignored even my most ridiculous threats that I realized something was going on.

The ‘Read’ notification sat menacingly on my screen, and I was so fixated on it that I almost didn’t notice the familiar mop of brown curls visible in the front row of the auditorium. But once I saw it, the phone was forgotten faster than ever before. I ran down the steps at a ridiculously dangerous pace, dodging the others still grumbling from their previous exams.

I landed in front of him with only enough breath left to sneer, “You’re in my seat.”

“Surprise,” he said with my favorite smug, self-assured smile.

“Adorable. Now move,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. As much as I loved the guy, I wasn’t about to change my seating arrangement for him. It was beginning to make sense, though, why my friend told me that she wouldn’t be sitting with me today.

“Fine,” he sighed, taking his sweet time moving seats and watching me happily bounce on my feet in the meantime. I snuck behind him into the seat before he’d even fully stood up. That little amount of friction between our bodies seemed to be enough to cause the tension to mount. It’d only been seconds, but I was already seriously considering abandoning the class. To hell with the professor who’d already seen me.

But Spencer’s eyes locked on mine, and he leaned onto the armrest with that same silly smirk.  

“It’s a workday, Dr. Reid,” I whispered, forcing my arm next to his and watching the way his pupils grew as I came closer.

“I might have pulled a few strings,” he replied just as quietly, keeping the illusion of secrecy despite many prying eyes around us, “Might’ve told Hotch I was invited.”

“But you weren’t,” I snorted.

Spencer’s head hung in just a little bit of shame, but his wide smile never waned. It was still there, bright and pure in its simplicity as he softly admitted, “Yeah. I lied. But I’m here now.”

There were no complaints about that fact, either. His pinky reached out to mine, twining together in the dim light of the auditorium. Somehow, for a brief second, I forgot about everything else. The noisy chatter meant nothing to me, the two of us lost in some alternate pocket universe that felt safe and warm from the cold air outside.

But time resumed, and I watched as Spencer took his eyes off of me first, turning instead to the lecturer watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Good morning everyone! We have a special guest with us today.”

I wanted to pay attention to his little introduction, but I couldn’t. Every word that was said about him sounded so clinical. It felt so empty compared to the truth I knew about him. He was so much more than a collection of publications and PhDs.

He was… indescribable. Even as his mouth formed a flat line and his awkward handshake was granted to the crowds of disinterested students, all I saw was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if it was only from the shadows of his greatness. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me feel that way.

Speaking of…

"Dr. Reid, the only thing I ask is for you to give these wonderful students a chance to show you what they know,” my professor started with a laugh before he so kindly continued, “So go easy on them." 

In any other situation, I might have let it slide. I would have accepted the fact that Spencer was far beyond my intellect and not stand up for myself. But this time, Spencer was on my turf.

"All due respect to Dr. Reid, I don't think he needs to go easy on us,” I called from the front row, only audible to the other dutiful students that cared enough to sit up front. I heard Spencer laugh beside me, shaking his head just a little bit at the challenge. He didn’t say anything though, and I returned my eyes to the professor who was already familiar with my antics as I boasted, "At least not on me." 

While Spencer caught on to the fairly obvious double entendre, shifting his crossed legs closer, the professor just wrote it off as my usual academic pride.

“I did try to warn you that that one might get competitive,” he commented. At this point, everyone had definitely figured out my relation to the man next to me. It was kind of hard to hide a bullet wound from your school. But again, I was so caught up in the man beside me that I didn’t even feel a little shame at their playful teasing.

Spencer’s commentary was the only thing that mattered, and he gave it with a dreamy sigh. "I'm not offended at all. I'm sure she's very clever." 

The little bit of light left in the room started to fade, and once I was shrouded by the shadows, I felt confident enough in my plan to dig through the bag at my feet to pull out probably the nerdiest item in it.

A fucking back-up clicker. Which, I promptly handed to the man beside me.

“You’re in seat B4,” I whispered gruffly, earning yet another snarky chuckle from my boyfriend.

“Is that a challenge?”

I didn’t answer. Not him, anyway. What I did answer was the question that had appeared on the screen.

“Ms. (Y/n)?” My professor called, recognizing my seat number without even looking up.

Luckily for me, today was nothing but a review day of the midterm I’d already taken. While I knew all of the questions and, what I’d hoped were the right answers, Spencer had to read the questions from scratch. Really, it didn’t give me an edge. It just put us on equal playing ground.

As I gave my answer, I watched in my peripherals as Spencer’s eyes narrowed and tongue peeked out from lips that I still hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss today.

It was a bad thing to think about, because my brief reverie of the things that mouth was capable of reminded me of another one. I didn’t even notice another question had appeared on the screen, and when I heard the familiar buzz of an attempted answer, I shared my Professor’s temporary confusion.

“Ah, Dr. Reid,” he laughed, probably already regretting welcoming the bastard here, “Please explain the answer.”

But there was another thing working in my favor: My boyfriend’s giant fucking ego. Really, it should be impossible that someone who was normally super insecure could enjoy showing off as much as he did. My professor didn’t mind, because Spencer’s long-winded answer was a wonderful review of… basically the entire course, and I didn’t mind because it granted me the one thing I needed.

Time. Time to slowly remove my jacket and reveal the sweater underneath. Spencer’s eyes caught the motion, glancing over only a couple of times while he managed to give his answer. It wasn’t until I started to remove the sweater that he cut his answer short.

His throat clearing told me he wanted my attention, but I was still just too distracted for him. I fanned my chest that felt warm for reasons other than the temperature of the room, guaranteeing his eyes would stay there long enough for me to catch the next question before he had a chance.

Or so I thought. Because before the question appeared, I made the positively stupid mistake of meeting his gaze. As soon as I did, my mind was stuck there, drowning in molasses and honey and—

“Dr. Reid, please feel free to continue to do my job for me. Lord knows I would love a break,” the professor joked, and I almost felt guilty for just how genuine he sounded. Not like Spencer would have noticed passive aggression if it existed.

Not like either of us would have cared. Per usual, we were so lost in the space of B4 and B5 that we didn’t care about the rest of the alphabet. All we cared about was winning. It was growing more and more obvious to me, though, that I would have to become a little more ruthless if I wanted to bring down the bona fide genius.  

The sound of his voice rang through the auditorium loud, clear, and confident. He didn’t need to worry if he was right or not, because he knew he was. The smugness was grating to my ears. I knew I couldn’t trick him into making a mistake, but there was one thing I could do.

I’d learned one thing very well in my time with Spencer, and that was how to manipulate that pretty little voice of his.

For example, if I wanted to hear it catch in his throat and come out a few pitches higher, all I would have to do is touch him. The riskier the touch, the higher his voice would go. Which was why I spread out the jacket over my lap, making sure that our legs were close enough that it covered him, too. Then I waited, calmly and kindly listening to him drone along until there was a natural enough inflection to hide evidence of any nefarious actions. Just as his voice started to rise, I slid my hand over his knee.

Spencer barely stuttered, just enough for me to know he was affected, but not enough for anyone else to notice. He took the loss with grace, quickly ending his answer with a summary that contained only half as many words as he would have normally provided.

He kept a few for me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, shifting close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my ear.

“All’s fair in love and war,” I hummed. His breath caught again when I began stroking my thumb over his leg that had just started to bounce.

“This is wildly inappropriate.”

“How perceptive,” I returned with my own little smirk. The interaction caught us both, trapping us in the alternate dimension that existed when we held each other. His hand found its way to mine, and his thumb brushed over the back and sent goosebumps shooting over my skin.

I’d practically abandoned our pursuits altogether when I heard my friend’s voice as she took the question that we’d both missed. I should’ve been upset for losing after all that I’d gone through for my strategy to succeed, but it was hard to feel anything other than butterflies when Spencer was still looking at me like that.  

Even when I looked away, he stayed, patiently waiting for me to take the final question in the review. I granted him a chance to take it, but he just shook his head, implicitly asking me to take the win for the both of us. Even when we were competing, we were always on the same team.

There were no more distractions as I explained the answer as simply as I could. I was positive the rest of the class was tired of hearing our voices, but Spencer never stopped smiling. I could feel the pride rolling off of him, his hand growing tighter around mine as he took in a deep breath.

“Very good, (y/n),” my professor announced, signaling the end and initiating a large sigh of relief from everyone else.

Spencer sighed too, although his was with a different kind of relief; a dreamy, soft sound as he muttered under his breath, “Just like I said. Very clever.”

The air felt positively electric, and I never hated my class more than I did in that moment. The rest of the period ticked by so slowly that I almost swore the clocks were broken. Once we were allowed to leave, Spencer insisted on sticking around to thank the professor for his hospitality.

I knew it was necessary, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I tried to be as patient as possible, even though it seemed pointless. Spencer’s little grin told me he knew very well what he was doing. The conversation had dragged on for practically five minutes of agony while I idled by the door.

But then my professor passed, and I felt the adrenaline course through my veins in seconds. As anticipated, we didn’t even make it out of the building before the tension broke. We’d barely even made it down the goddamn hallway before I shoved his scrawny ass into the first empty classroom I found. Once the door clicked shut behind us, the roles were quickly reversed.

I hadn’t seen him that excited in so long that I’d almost forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in his undertow. I couldn’t keep track of his hands or his mouth as they marked any bare skin they could find. But no matter how frantic and uncoordinated the movements were, they never ceased to send chills down my spine.

“This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Reid,” I managed to slur between sloppy, heated kisses. It was barely comprehensible through the pent-up lust that had driven us there in the first place, but it still felt worth saying.

Spencer, however, made his feelings very clear with a gruff, forceful, “I don’t care.”

His hands were already roaming over my hips, pulling me so close to the edge that I nearly fell off the counter entirely. While I was laughing at his haste, he was busy leaving angry marks on my collarbone, pulling the top of my shirt down to grant him more access. And despite how badly my body burned with desire and need, I drummed up just enough self-preservation to force out a few, regrettable words.

“Take me home.”

Even though I tried to make it sound more seductive than a normal request to stop, it brought the momentum to a halt. Spencer immediately stopped his kisses, but let his hands continue to stroke loving patterns over the sides of my thighs.

“Don’t you have other classes?” he asked. The feeling of his breath against my ears making me second-guess my already voiced decision. But as enticing as the idea was of having him now, having already waited over a week, I knew we could have so much more fun with a little bit of privacy.

“Don’t you have work?” I teased, hoping that it would spur him to take the action we both knew was safer. At the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to poke fun at the academic in him.

“Unless this is your way of telling me you've always wanted to fuck a girl in a lab because, I must admit I'd be more than happy to oblige." 

Spencer’s whole body tensed as he imagined just what it would feel like to take me in such a public place. After a couple seconds that I can only imagine were filled with fantasies and a reasonable fear, he pulled me from my seat on the counter and placed me back on the ground.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling me by my wrist towards the door.

I only barely managed to stop him with both hands on his arm. He turned back to look at me like I’d done some horrible thing, but I was too busy trying to stop the laughter that was spilling from my chest.

“You’re uh—” I cleared my throat, pointing to the very noticeable tent in his slacks before I keened through the giggles, “You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

With a quick glance down, Spencer remembered the very unfortunately obvious trait of the male anatomy. “Fuck,” he stated plainly.

I couldn’t resist.

“I mean, I’m down,” I joked one final time.  

“Shut up!” Spencer laughed, too, trying and failing to adjust himself in his pants while I just enjoyed the show.

After all, we both knew that once we were alone, he would get a reprieve from my ridicule. He would get whatever he wanted.

—————————————————

The chaotic clashing of hands and mouths continued seconds after we’d reached our destination. The empty apartment had all of the sounds of our desperation echoing back to us, and after soaking in the melodious noise for a few seconds, I snapped back to reality.

“Okay, she doesn’t get home for another 30 minutes at the earliest so, we’d better hurry,” I urged, trying to shove Spencer off of me to convince him to move. It barely worked, with his arms clutching tighter the harder I struggled to get away.

Wrapped together just like that, the two of us barely made it a few feet before we almost tumbled to the ground. That was just enough of a reminder of our lack of coordination for Spencer to finally, begrudgingly, release me. Kind of. His hand still held tight to mine, and our laughter still combined the whole way to our bed.

From there, Spencer felt confident in our privacy to answer, “That’s fine. I usually tear open my gifts pretty quickly.”

It was a very good metaphor for the way his hands worked over my clothes. I didn’t even try to pinpoint the moment where being naked no longer made me feel nervous. I let the scar tissue show because neither of us were going to look at it, anyway. We were too caught up in the slight shifts and nuances of our faces as we rushed towards our one mutual goal.

“I missed you,” I mumbled, the words feeling as natural as breathing itself.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, and I felt the raw emotion, the sincerity and desire in every syllable. But once it was over and he had finally managed to remove everything but my underwear, all that was left was an all-encompassing, mind-altering level of lust.

“God, watching you in class was so fucking frustrating,” he strained, his upper lip curling with disdain as he watched my body squirm against the sheets.

“Why’s that?”

“I wanted you so badly.”

There was no denying that it was the honest truth, and I didn’t even want to try. I wanted to gloat and bask in the confirmation that his presence was dangerous for my academic career. Not to mention my sanity.  

“Like I said. You’re very distracting.”

Then, to prove my point, that brilliant bastard shoved his hand under the band of my underwear. He only held me softly for one second before he slid his fingers through the slickness and thrust them roughly into me. It hadn’t been that long, but the emptiness I felt before was even more apparent now that I had any part of him inside of me again.

“Am I?” he chimed with a smile.

I wanted to be bratty, to fight the tension that was building and appear unfazed by his ministrations, but there was simply no pretending. Not when my body was already on the verge of spasming around his fingers that seemed to stroke the perfect place within me with every movement.

“Jesus Christ,” I sighed. I should’ve known better than to give him ammunition.

“You’ve resorted to blasphemy already?”

Spencer partnered the tease with a ruthless thrust, burying his fingers to the knuckle inside of me and holding them there. He waited until I ran out of breath and struggled to take another while also trying not to scream in a mixture of frustration and devastating need for more.

“I thought I told you we had to hurry?”

“We’ve got time,” he shot back without pause, “You’re just being a needy little brat.”

“Yes, I am,” I whined just as quickly, “I’m a fucking brat and I need you.”

He almost seemed disappointed in my compliance. His fingers began moving again, eliciting noises that were louder, higher, and sweeter after the anticipation. He tried to draw the attitude out of me by stopping again, waiting for a quip that didn’t come.

“Awww, no fight?” he cooed.

“I can’t. It’s your birthday,” I grumbled before biting my tongue. The pressure was becoming so unbearable I thought I might honestly draw blood. But after another few seconds of torture that felt like a lifetime, Spencer withdrew his hand completely.

He was testing the limits, watching how far I would let him go before begging. But even when he took the same soaked fingers and began rubbing me from the outside of my underwear, I only opened my mouth to steal quick, soft breaths and give pitiful whines.

“Oh, I like this…” he laughed, apparently having gotten past his concern about my sudden compliance, “I could get used to you behaving.”

The song-like cadence got to me, threatening to spark and ignite everything I was holding back. I almost bit back. I almost let the desire scorch my throat with a few choice words for the very rude genius, but I didn’t. The only thing that stopped me was the feel of cotton sliding down my thighs as he removed the final barrier between us.

“You’d miss my misbehaving,” I said with a chuckle. The sound mixed with another, a deep moan that filled my chest when I felt him press himself against my entrance. My back arched, causing him to slip inside of me just enough for us to both lose our words.

“I don’t know…”

If I’d wanted to say anything, my mouth wouldn’t have let me. It was too busy singing his praise while simultaneously begging him to silence it. My lips floundered for a kiss that he hung just far enough away from me to deny. Satisfaction was painted over every feature as he started to enter me, brushing his lips against my mouth every few seconds just to pull away before I was granted the intimacy I sought.

“You do look rather cute when you’re begging.”

It was strange, the way my body started to predict his movements. I met him in the middle of every motion, and I swore even our breath became synchronized in its rapid firing. It wasn’t until his hand rested over my throat we broke the rhythm. I wasn’t going to complain, letting the energy flow down my spine that arched towards him on instinct. His hips never stopped, and I could tell by the way his breath hitched and his fingers grew tighter around my neck that the new angle was as wonderful for him as it was for me.

“You look so sweet when you let go of every ounce of self-preservation and dignity you have and put your life in my hands,” he whispered with an affection that almost seemed odd considering the context. But then there was something else in his moans, a genuine gentleness that made my already arrhythmic heart beat faster.

“You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he asked as his movements stayed calm and careful. Loving and safe.  

I didn’t even notice my eyes had closed, but it ultimately didn’t matter. Because when I opened them, I saw the same man that existed in every image behind my eyelids. The only indication he got that I was still capable of communication was the gentle curve of my lips that dropped open in a pleased sigh as his hips continued a slow, tender pace.

It still felt like too much, but not in a bad way. It was too much in the sense that I was reminded once again just how ruined he’d made me. And the smug little shit knew it, too.

“You don’t have a single thought in that pretty little head, do you?” he cooed, dragging his hand up the column of my throat to force his fingers against my tongue. True to my word, I didn’t try to fight back. I soaked the digits that still tasted like me with my jaw left open. His pupils dilated as he watched the spit pool in my mouth that awaited his instruction.

“You just want to be used. Like the perfect little doll you are.”

Unlike my own, his smile was more of a smirk. A crooked, ever so slightly wicked quirk that made my muscles tense around him in their own version of an affirmative answer. He took it, happily. His body crashed into mine, but it merely felt like an extension of myself returning home like the waves meeting the shore. I could feel him claiming his rightful place at the deepest parts of me, making his home with every powerful motion of his hips.

I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I didn’t want to. It felt unnecessary.

“My sweet little girl,” he muttered with an unbelievably chaste kiss in the center of my forehead, “You’d do anything to make your daddy happy.”

I felt detached from myself in a way that didn’t feel me with fear or pain. I could feel myself through his hands, strong and working the pliable flesh of my thighs as he held them up so that he could drive into me harder.

His eyes, also only half open, burned with intensity. I could feel the determination, the undying desire to grant me a serenity that no one else could. His need for me to feel safe and loved with the seemingly contradictory brutality.

But it wasn’t contradictory. The power behind every movement, the insistence on being as close to me as he possibly could, might have caused some physical pain, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of sharing this space with him. Of sharing my body with him just to see what he would do with it. I already knew, but I wanted to feel it again and again. Because with each stroke of his hand and thrust of his hips, I felt it.

Spencer had free rein to do whatever he wanted, and he chose to love me.

“I’m so close. You know what I want,” he pleaded despite holding all of the power. He handed it to me with a low groan, trying to kiss my lips while he commanded, “Do it. Come for me.”

My body obeyed his command, falling to pieces around him with shockwaves breaking over every inch of me. My vision went white, crafting a halo of light around him as he also found himself reaching a peak that seemed different than the times we’d shared before.

I tried to figure out what had changed, what about this time made it unique. But as the euphoria faded, all I saw staring back at me was the same face as always, radiating a joy and understanding that warmed damp, chilly skin. Spencer’s release provided a similar warmth within me, and my body clung to him even tighter despite the exhaustion.

My breathing took its time to even out, but I was in no rush to leave him. I would have stayed like that forever, with Spencer covering me like the silliest, boniest blanket. If it wasn’t for the dead weight he eventually dropped on me, we probably would’ve spent the whole day lost in the covers. But he could thank the scars for me being a little less forgiving.

Of course, thankful is not the word to describe him at all. Whiny was more like it. Even as I turned our bodies together so that I would still be sitting on his lap, he did nothing but groan and bitch about it. That is, until I silenced him with a kiss that barely brushed over his lips.

That was enough to turn his frown back to the dopey smile I loved so much.

“Happy birthday, old man,” I purred, enjoying the way his hands grabbed me tighter at the loving nickname. But age wasn’t what was on his mind. I could see it in the way his eyes tore past my defenses and he held me closer like we could actually become one if he tried hard enough.

“I’m so in love with you, it’s infuriating,” he whispered.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Spencer wasn’t in a joking mood, though. All of his humor seemed to be expended earlier in the day, and now he was just left with all the mushy, romantic innards that I normally kept at bay.

It wasn’t that bad, though, I thought as his hands framed my face so our foreheads would touch. There were worse things to be trapped with.

“It’s true,” he mumbled with his voice still high and slurred together, “I look at you and there is just… nothing that can be said that would ever explain the way it feels.”

“Gross,” I joked.

“Get used to it,” he returned. And if that wasn’t enough to make me laugh, he stuck his tongue out in the most childish display I’d seen from him since he’d fucking licked my hand on our picnic. It was also just charming enough that I was willing to let the sappy stuff slide.

“I’ll be nice to you this time,” I grumbled. “But also, speaking of time, you’d better hurry up if you don’t want to do the walk of shame with an audience.”

Spencer’s arms fell limp with a dramatic cry before he used them to cover his face once more.

“Ugh. Go,” he ordered. Despite his words, he still made me fight against greedy hands to wrestle my way out of bed. It would have been smarter to let me go quickly. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but he would learn his mistake soon enough. Because as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard a very amused voice chiming down the hall on the other side of the door.

“Good afternoon, Spencer.”

I debated not opening the door and freeing Spencer from the unbelievably uncomfortable position he’d just found himself in, but ultimately decided it was too cruel. Still, the stalling had taken up enough time that the poor guy felt compelled to reply.

And, of course, the only thing he could think to say was a pathetic, high pitched, “Hi.”

Somehow managing to contain the absolutely riotous laughter I felt in my gut, I opened the door with the straightest face I could muster.

It wasn’t enough. Spencer saw the pleasure I took in his humiliation and practically shoved me out of the bathroom to take my place behind the doors. While I found the action endearing in the most awkward way, my roommate was mostly just confused about how the fuck I’d managed to find someone as stupid as me.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said once she managed to smile at the silly situation.  

Clearing my throat, I tried to sound sincere in my bullshit apology. “Me either, sorry.”

In a way, I think the fact I couldn’t pull myself together worked in my favor. Normally, she would have scolded me (albeit playfully) for not alerting her of what she might be walking in on, but this time, she just tried to withhold the smile that still stretched over her cheeks despite her best efforts.

“You’re fine,” she sighed, giving in to the desire to go against her usual grumpy demeanor before retreating to her own room. “Have fun, you hooligans.”

Once her door clicked shut, I heard shuffling on the other side of the door next to me. Spencer’s shadow was visible from the light peeking out underneath, and I waited a few more restless seconds before I announced, “You can come out now, Spencer.”

Cautiously, the door creaked open just enough for his head to poke out and confirm that I wasn’t trying to trick him.

“I’ve never been a hooligan before,” he said with a bounce in his step and his eyebrows halfway up his face. To think that he was the same man who threatened to arrest me for existing at a nightclub was, in a word, hilarious.

“Well, good news for you,” I purred, and the sound must have reminded him of my more devilish nature, because his jubilance quickly shifted back to an obvious anxiety. I wrapped my arms around him even when it meant that his muscles tensed, dragging him down so I could whisper in his ear, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to help me play hooky.”

“And do what?”

It felt strange to say that I hadn’t really thought about it. That the second I’d seen him I knew that the day would be good and free and fun. That everything felt so perfectly fine that I didn’t even want to challenge it with a schedule.

Spencer looked at me, his answer apparent in the way he started to relax the longer we stayed wrapped up in a shitty apartment hallway. It didn’t matter what I said. Spencer would have followed me, just like I would have done for him.

And without the angst or uncertainty of what could go wrong, there was only one thing left for us to do. With a shrug and pout, I proposed the riskiest plan we’d had yet.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

| Finale |

[yoichichi]

To Call You Mine

college!tsuki x reader series

Ch. 1 - study buddies

warning(s): swearing, early early mornings 😵‍💫, second hand embarrassment LOL

a/n: ahhhhh!! Here’s chapter one of my first series!! I have the masterlist and details linked above but for some quick info: this is a college!au multi chapter fic about tsuki and the reader :) if you’d like to be added to the taglist let me know!! And as always I really appreciate your thoughts and comments n all that :) my inbox is always open!!! Enjoy <3 psps - don’t forget to check out the playlist linked above hhehehe

You’re not sure what woke you first; your alarm, the pain shooting up your back from the stiff cot your university has the audacity to refer to as a “bed”, or your own sour attitude from having to be up so early.

Five am. Five am. It takes a certain kind of sick and twisted individual to suggest meeting up to study at five in the morning. Although, you have to admit, it does take a different kind of person to actually agree to those terms.

Why, why, why, why, why.

Is the mantra you chant to yourself while you mindlessly dress and pack your bag, not even bothering to snatch a power bar from your nightstand for breakfast. Water will have to do.

You make an effort to click the door shut behind you quietly, not wanting to wake up your more than sweet dorm mate who’d surely be focusing on being just as careful as you were right now.

“Oh my gosh, don’t you have that study date in the morning sweetie? You should be sleeping right now.” Bonnie, said dorm mate, leans over the back of your desk chair to peer down at the page of your calculus ll textbook you’ve been staring at for the past ten minutes. Concern is evident in her voice and her body language as she brings up a hand to gingerly rub your shoulder, hoping her small sideways smile will give you a sense of comfort. Or maybe even convince you to give it, and yourself, a rest.

“I know, I know. I just want to be prepared is all. I’m already dropping past a C at the speed of light and I’m sure my professor thinks I’m an idiot, hence him actually setting me up with a tutor, and I don’t need this guy to think I’m one too.” Your head falls in your hands at the end of your sentence, a dramatic groan feeling needed to really emphasize your point, too.

“Okay, just head to bed soon.” She placed a kiss on the top of your head before crawling into her own bed, using a storage container to prop herself onto it properly. She almost made you homesick with the way she doted on you like she was your mother.

You looked over and tapped the screen of your phone to see it read 9:14, not too late. You could reasonably cram in one more lesson.

You scoffed at yourself with the door fully shut and locked. You should’ve listened to Bonnie when you had the chance, it was just past midnight when you finally tore yourself away from last weeks review and decided to get ready for bed. Barely even four hours later and you’re up and getting ready to look at it all again.

You could at least appreciate how quiet the dorm hall was this ea-

“Mornin’, you!”

You internally banged your head against the wall at the bright voice that came towards you with such heavy and loud footsteps, how can someone’s footsteps manage to be so loud on carpet?

You substituted a hello with a gentle smile and wave as your R.A., who definitely didn’t remember your name - which is fine cause you didn’t remember theirs either, rushed past you.

Sighing deeply, you left the warm confines of the dorm building and stepped into the cold and brisk morning, starting your trek to the library.

He couldn’t have even chose a coffee place or something?

You had some, thoughts, about this guy. You didn’t know much about him, only two things.

One, his name: Tsukishima Kei.

Two, he was a good enough student to be assigned to you as a tutor.

You swallowed your slight embarrassment at the thought of your professor reaching out to someone on your behalf and instead chose to focus more on how weird this guy has to be.

Waking up before the sun rises on a Sunday was not something you looked forward to, you don’t think anybody would truly; especially to meet someone for the first time; yet this guy thinks it’s a great idea. So much so he didn’t even think to ask first, just tell you when and where to meet.

Thursday 4:14 pm

- ‘It’s Tsukishima. See you at 5 in the library this sunday.’

- ‘Oh hi!! Oh ok, am or pm?? lol’

Thursday 7:43 pm

- ‘am.’

- ‘Ok cool, see ya then!’

And that was it. Neither of you have texted since, which was three days ago on a Thursday afternoon. It kind of bothered you really, I mean, what kind of self righteous ass-

You took a deep breath and chose to think happy thoughts instead. You’d much rather be in a somewhat pleasant mood when you meet this guy than have some grudge against a stranger. And he probably talks different than he texts, right? You’re sure he didn’t mean to sound like a complete jerk.

You shook your head as if you were shaking away your thoughts as you started to walk along the path to the library. It was a fairly nice walk, about five minutes, and being alone was kind of peaceful on the way there this early.

Your feet shuffled only slightly on the cold concrete surprisingly enough considering the way your fatigue was starting to creep into your joints - but surely the cold wasn’t helping.

It was that kind of morning cold that stung your nostrils when you breathed in and tickled your cheeks and ears. It made your hands clench and unclench in your coat pockets, debating whether or not it’d be worth it to pull the cold metal of your jacket zipper just a centimeter higher in hopes of keeping your neck warmer. The morning fog leaving droplets on the synthetic material of your coat, making it squeak awfully when you moved your arms. And there was the dew on the grass that’d cling onto the tops of your shoe when you had to walk through it.

But the way the old fashioned light posts lit your walk and illuminated the fog kind of made your slight discomfort worth it. And by the time you reached the tall brick library, you could almost say you were in a pleasant mood, almost. And then you remembered why you were here.

You took one final deep breath as you reached the heavy doors of the university library. It was a grand sight really.

The building had its own separate spot on campus, towering at about four stories high, which although didn’t sound ginormous, it definitely felt that way when you had to climb those stairs to the top floor for a book you really didn’t even want. The brick with the foliage creeping up the sides to cover some of the lower windows even gave it an almost magic feeling when you took it in from the outside, it’s too bad that sense of wonder couldn’t be mirrored on the inside.

It was too quiet, especially this early, it smelt almost stale, and everything seemed to have a layer of dust no matter how new a book was. And the bathrooms? Old. Most stalls didn’t even have usable locks at this point. It’s arguably all apart of the charm of such an old building, but it’s not as charming when you have to reach out to keep the stall door closed with your fingertips just to use the restroom. And the water from the sink that never seems to get warm enough when you wash your hands doesn’t help either. Yet the water fountains are always too warm curiously enough.

You made little to no noise besides the occasional rustling of your jacket and squeaking of your shoes as they padded across the dingy off-colored carpet towards the back of the first floor.

There were various sizes of tables spread out throughout the space, few actually matching in color or style. The chairs varied less - but you could still find the oddball desk chair, or the chair with the wooden frame just a tad to wide to feel like a normal seat but just as evenly too small to be a bench.

Your heavy eyes surveyed the dimly lit space in hopes of finding any sign of human life when you finally noticed a backpack haphazardly tossed onto a table, still zipped open. Pens were splayed across the table with a single notebook, scribbles scrawled across the pages too far from you to be read. Not seeing anyone occupying the seat pulled away from the tables edge, you took out your phone to take a peek at the time.

4:58 am

Wow, I’m early?

Shoving your phone back into your pocket you began to make your way towards the (un)occupied table, debating whether a seat closer or farther would be more polite.

If I sit too close that’ll definitely be-

“Hey.”

You felt your shoulders hunch up to your ears and a small gasp leave your mouth at the way the voice behind you so suddenly interrupted your train of thought.

You turned around to come face to face with the voice.

“Are you (y/n)?”

Damn. He’s kinda tall.

Kind of was certainly an understatement. God he was definitely above 6 feet, 6’2” maybe? No, maybe even a little taller.

A single earbud was still in his ear as the other hung down and rested against his chest. He took the time to take the other out and wrap the cord gently around his middle and index finger before shoving it into his coat pocket, presumably the same one with his phone, in an effort to prevent them from getting tangled most likely. He took a deep breath and eyed you up and down before chuckling softly to himself.

“Okay.”

The tall man, who you’re now beginning to realize is Tsukishima, gives you a quizzical stare with a quirked eyebrow as he looks you up and down one last time, definitely judging you and your silence at this point, before turning around and making his way to a table.

Well it’s a good thing he stopped you before you sat at some other strangers table. You don’t think your heart could’ve taken that today.

You watched his back as he made his way towards a table farther into the back, closer to a window peering out onto the foggy and barely illuminated field.

Oh shit

“Oh, sorry!” You clear your throat and begin again, your own sudden volume startling yourself for a moment, as you double your pace to catch up and walk beside him towards a table,

“Um, yeah. Sorry, it’s a little early, brain hasn’t woke all the way up.”

Silence.

At the lack of a response, you decide to awkwardly laugh rather than wallow at the fact he didn’t even give a pity chuckle at your bad attempt at a polite joke to ease the seemingly tense vibe between the two of you.

Okay, well he definitely seems to talk the way he texts.

Clearing your throat again, you tried once more.

“I’m (y/n) by the way, it’s nice to m-“

“I know your name.” He stopped at the table and turned to glance down at you over his shoulder, the tiniest of smirks resting on his face with raised eyebrows, before pulling out a seat to sit in.

Yeah, maybe being quiet for a bit would do you some good. You’ll try again later.

Still trying to shake the embarrassment, no humiliation at this point, you busied yourself with taking out all the proper materials and waiting while he did the same. Sitting patiently opposite of Tsukishima, you decided to finally get a good look at him. Take in what you see and make some judgements.

He shook off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, showing you his wide shoulders underneath the simple grey t-shirt he wore. You didn’t fail to notice how the sleeves were cuffed, either.

Hm. Nice look.

Points for Tsukishima.

His hands and ears were slightly pink from the weather outside, contrastingly sweet against the paleness of his skin.

Kinda cute, in like a Keebler elf kind of way.

More points, you guess, for Tsukishima.

He sighed as he opened up the calculus ll textbook, adjusting his glasses with long and slender fingers before flipping through the pages. You decided it’d be best to do the same.

It was quiet for a moment too long when you thought it might be a good idea to try and speak again, but apparently he must’ve had the same idea.

“So, why d-“

“Thanks for-“

Cutting each other off, you pursed your lips as he gave you some emotionless stare, one of you waiting for the other to start back up again.

Andddd, another awkward beat of silence.

Jesus, this was gonna be the longest hour of your life.

—————————

AHHHHH HERES CHAPTER ONE - I promise the next one will be full of tsuki and tsuki content ok, I just had to get the ball rolling and really wanted to post smth!! I hope you guys like and please please leave your thoughts or anything in my ask box or anywhere!! I’d love to talk :D MWAH I also have little footnotes in my tags too :) (more like commentary but yeah)

taglist for series: @plutowrites @c0rncheez @ruetaro @daniagabriela48 @toyas-wife @devilkou @anime-and-kpop-trash (if you’d like to be added or removed let me know! And if ur crossed off tagging didn’t work!)

[obeymeluv]

Random Lipstick Headcanons

I like red lipsticks and I like wearing lipstick when I want to feel like a bad bitch. Or when life’s being a badder bitch than me. I can at least struggle pretty ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is the bros reactions to you wearing a very complimentary, alluring lip color. Or power lip color. I don’t know what to call it. I guess this is gender neutral? I’m not trying to mention gender specifically.

They TOTALLYYYYY have a crush on you at this point. They just haven’t owned up to it. May take a crack at writing a second part for the Undateables. I’m at chapter 21/22 and feel like they’re not really mentioned :/. Not enough for me to really know what they’re like.

Lucifer

Is very surprised to see you wearing lipstick. In fact...it’s the first time, isn’t it?

His heart stutters, almost as if the color scares him. 

It doesn’t. It excites him. More than he imagines. There’s something about the pop of color that draws his eyes in immediately, like a moth to a flame

Or so he thinks. Lucifer thinks that sounds nicer. In truth, it’s like a magnet trying to drag him closer. Your lips are just suddenly...very enticing. He’s thought about kissing you a few times before now but he certainly doesn’t want to feel his resolve crumble because of some color!

And yet, it is the essence of beauty itself. He feels as if you should be immortalized in a painting. You exude a classic kind of charm that makes his dusty heart squeeze.

He’s a bit behind on human fancies, but is this an attempt at courtship?! You certainly have his attention! 

Mammon

WOAH, WHAT’S THIS? WHY YOU BEING ALL FANCY, HUMAN?!

It doesn’t even have to be a glossy lip. No matter how tsundere Mammon acts, he’s INCREDIBLY perceptive when it comes to you. He notices the minutest of changes. 

THIS IS A BIG CHANGE! IT’S BASICALLY A BEACON!

Your new lip color makes you a cool, shiny thing and Mammon LOVES shiny things.

He’s gonna be stealing so many glances! 

You don’t even have to be trying for a sexy vibe to be sexy in Mammon’s eyes. You take his breath away with this lip color. He just---boy has to turn around and bite his lip.

His heart’s doing stuff it hasn’t done in centuries and oh baby, he wants that lip color all over him!

Will either act like you wearing lipstick is nothing special (like he doesn’t notice) or goes into mild interrogation mode. It’s not for some other demon, right?!

Wants to touch your lips and see what it feels like, but doesn’t.

Might try to drag you along to be a makeup rep for one of his photoshoots. Then you can try on lots of lipsticks and pose with him. They can do a kiss photo for swatches, right? Prove it’s transfer-proof or something?

His attention’s on you AAALLLLL day--especially your lips

If he notices it’s smudged, he’ll try to wipe it away or fix it with his finger. Might almost out himself with how gently he does so.

Levi

He’s no stranger to watching people do makeup--he’s a big fan of cosplay makeup and body paint transformation

There’s just...something different about when you do it. He tries to tell himself it’s because you live with him, but that doesn’t feel quite right

His eyes light up when he sees the way the color compliments your skin. It makes your eyes twinkle but he’s really focused on your lips

It wakes up something ancient and irrational in him; he wants to give you a pretty shell or rock for some reason??

He just gets all excited and wiggly. Even his tail wants to wiggle!

You’re just pretty, okay?! Not that you’re gonna know, dummy!

Subconsciously, he thinks it reminds him of beautiful, vivid scales. Then that sends him down a rabbit hole of how pretty you’d look if you had scales  

In general, I headcanon that Levi can see the slightest differences in colors. He and Asmo are basically tied in this, and they far outpace the other brothers. 

He’d be extra stoked if the color is from the blue or purple family because those can be hard to pull off but they often make really good looks

Being Levi, he can’t outright compliment you. He’ll just say ‘it’s probably good for a normie human lipstick, but have you seen THESE?!’ and shows you some of the flashier Devildom ones

HE SHOWS YOU A BUNCH AND GOD HE HOPES YOU GET AT LEAST ONE BECAUSE HE WANTS YOU TO WEAR IT! DON’T THINK HE’S WEIRD BECAUSE HE SAVED MAKEUP, OKAY?!

Get one with a slight shimmer or color change. Or better yet, do a gradient!

Levi would absolutely explode if you wore his colors!

If you do a TSL-inspired look, he’s going to die. And have dreams of you saying sweet things to him, the yucky otaku, with your pretty, pretty lips

Satan

Much like Lucifer, he’d want to wax poetic about how the lip color gives you an enchanting aura

Quite stricken, very flustered. He can hardly muster a witty remark.

Satan is basically grasping at straws and hoping his usual cool, toothy grin hides the fact that he’s ready to blush himself straight into a sunburn

Mild teasing, all of it good natured. He’ll pepper in comparisons to Helen of Troy or historical figures that resemble you. It’s mostly to see you blush, but it’s his way of saying it indirectly

He hasn’t quite come to terms with how much he likes you yet but he knows when he sees that lip color, he wants to smear it all over your cheeks and down your chin.

The idea of making a mess of something so pretty and carefully crafted just really gets his blood going. It’s a wicked thing, isn’t it? Symbolism for a demon corrupting a human? You could be his pretty human, yes.

If he wants to think or make a coherent sentence, he can’t look at you when you’re wearing lipstick

Subtly moves one of the books from a nearby stack into his lap because boy has a boner.

If you decide not to hang around or get pulled away by one of his brothers, Satan will disappear to indulge his fantasies of you wrapping those pretty lips around his cock. He’s not even mad about it. Not in the moment; he feels bad a few days later.  

Asmo

His darling human is spreading their little beauty wings? Oh be still his beating heart!

He’s the first to compliment you and actually takes an analytical approach before the idea of genuine compliments pop up in his head. It’ll take him an hour or two to start getting a little flustered by you ‘dressing up’ and silently tormenting himself with ‘Is it for me? Is it for someone else?!’

Asmo can’t help but coo over how well you know your color wheel and how you match your undertones

The type to hold your face in his hands and pat your cheeks or squeeze them a little

Teases you about making lipstick swatches on his lips or his arms (”Or, you know, wherever. You can kiss me anywhere you like!”)

Wants to drag you away and see if any of his colors will look good on you

You will soon have a matching lip color! He’ll make sure of it!

BEGS you to let him swatch his lip colors on you, or apply them. He’ll make sure to take care of your lips in between--a lip mask, exfoliation, the works! (”I’ll even kiss them for you!”)

He wants you to try on all his lip colors because he wants to memorize how breath-taking you look in all the colors. Even if it’s platonic with some lusty teasing, Asmo has a genuine love for bringing beauty to people

In some ways, it makes his heart ache. It reminds him of when he was Heaven’s Jewel.

But now he’s here in the Devildom, and he doesn’t really regret it because he met you. You can be his jewel now, and maybe he can be yours. Maybe it all starts with some lipstick, hm? 

Beel

He notices it but doesn’t really get the significance of it

Is there a reason? Is it for an event? Is this a dominance thing? An attraction thing?

Demon can see from a great distance, far greater than humans, and there’s a chance he sees you before you see him

In all honesty, he probably thinks you have something on your lips, like a sauce or something

It isn’t until you get closer that he realizes it’s some kind of lip product

If you’re happy, he’s happy

You always look cute but this color seems to make you happy and it gives you this bouncy glow about you. That makes Beel all warm inside, to the point where he wants to purr.

Sometimes when he gets really excited his wings want to buzz. They kind of want to buzz.

Doesn’t mean to, but can’t stop staring at your lips. It’s a color he’s not used to seeing on you and his brain recognizes that change

Wouldn’t be against you kissing him. What? It might transfer? He gets food and crumbs all over his face on the regular so it’s not a big deal.

You might be shy about it? Don’t want him to get teased? Well...you can always practice. You know, somewhere he can hide it. Just to test it, that is.

KISS HIS STOMACH! He’d be so damn close to a nut Beel would have to bite his own tongue or shove something in his mouth before you do it

Would wear your little kiss marks like a badge of pride so slap ‘em on wherever you want!

“Do they have orange lipsticks?” he asks. Blushes deeply immediately, not realizing he actually said it out loud. You should try one of those, he thinks. You know, because that’s his color and it’ll match his nails. He thinks that’d be neat.

Just wants you to kiss all over his chest and stomach. 

Belphegor

Wary of the lipstick. Doesn’t trust it

Looks like a nightmare for his pillows. Paranoid about you getting it on his sheets

If he’s half asleep and notices it, the color change will jolt him awake long enough to really observe it

“For me?” he teases as he rolls over or pull himself from under covers and pillows to really look at you

It’s pretty, for sure, but you’re not coming anywhere near his bed unless you can prove it’s not coming off on fabric!

What’s that? You can?

Belphie probably says something sarcastic and mildly asshole-ish but you defend your precious lip product, talking about human reviews and tests and things. “People have kissed their boyfriends and girlfriends on camera! It works!”

He makes you kiss your arm (he’s a fucking idiot, should’ve asked you to kiss HIS arm) to prove it won’t rub off before he lets you rest on his bed with him

Snuggles into you like he always does, playing with your hair just the tiniest bit. 

Belphie hopes it’s subtle but he’s slowing twining and inching his fingers closer to your face. Your lip color is almost mythical and he kind of wants to touch it after all the fuss he made.

Does it make your lips feel different? They look different. Would it react differently to demon skin?

Will tell you it looks nice and that you look pretty but if you ask him about it later, he totally denies it. Insists he must’ve been talking in his sleep

He dreams of you kissing him awake or kissing him to sleep with gentle cuddles and pretty lips

[getouisms]

[ - 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

𝐂𝐇 𝟎𝟓 - Loud Laughs

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Y/n, a 22 year old successful model is tired of the tabloids shaming her about her dating status when she’s seen out with her friends. Unsure of what to do to stop the gossip, Oikawa suggests a fake boyfriend. Fortunately, Kenma knows the perfect person who’d go for an idea as stupid as that one.

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 … 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 … 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 

“You’re being stupid,” you whisper to your reflection, watching your hands shake from nerves.

It’s stupid to be so nervous after spending almost the entire day with Kuroo yesterday and feeling so relaxed. Is it because you’re going to be one on one with him? Kenma was there yesterday, easing most of the tension if there was any. A soft sigh left your lips as you walked away going to your bedroom, deciding to at least be in a comfortable spot for this phone call.

He didn’t have to call; you mull over as you lie down. You don’t call to talk to your friends about their day often unless it’s a bad one. He’s probably nicer and calls his friends. A smile finds its way to your lips upon thinking that maybe he’s only nice like this with you. You wipe that away quickly, shrugging the thought off and dismissing it. He is just a friend, and you have no business getting into anything like that, anyway.

The phone vibrating against the soft comforter interrupts your train of thought. Swallowing the lump of nervousness, you pick it up and accept the call.

“Hello,” you start, voice laced with a thin veil of nervousness.

“Hey,” Kuroo’s voice sounds deeper on the phone, but he sounds relaxed, tired even.

It took his voice to wash over you for you to relax. Reminding yourself that no, it wasn’t Kenma that made you feel so comfortable, but Kuroo who made you feel relaxed. Any nervousness went out the window when he almost snorted Sprite out his nostrils.

“How was work? You sound tired,” you comment, smiling as he chuckles; laying back against the mattress.

“God, it was good but tiring. I want to hear about your work instead,” he asks, making you hum out faintly as you look over your nails.

“There isn’t a lot to it, really. I have a gig tomorrow, which consists of taking pictures and following pose guidelines. The rest of it is maintaining brand deals or updating my portfolio, auditions, socializing with fans, always looking marketable pretty much,” you conclude. A thoughtful hum fills your ear from the other side.

“Does the drama prevent you from appearing marketable?” Kuroo asks, and you can’t help but note the genuine curiosity in his tone.

It’s not like no one has taken an interest in your profession, but it is the first time someone’s cared enough to ask questions. Or appear genuinely interested besides seeing you model or asking if any other models are single. It’s pleasurable to have someone ask you about the in’s and out’s of your job.

“Not really? It is embarrassing when people I work with are dragged into it, but they understand, it’s not their first rodeo with a model. It’s a personal annoyance above anything else,” you mumble, sighing out quietly but feel a small smile returning once his warm laugh fills the microphone.

“Why are you laughing?” your smile turned into a laugh as you ask.

“I just got the mental image of a rumor about you and Kenma dating,” his laughs wheeze as they break up his sentence.

You already know he has a loud laugh that people could perceive as obnoxious, but his laugh only encouraged your own. It’s nice to laugh alongside him, plus he says nothing about your own loud laugh. He couldn’t say anything really, he sounded a little demonic if it was a laugh from the gut you’ve noticed.

“Oh my god, he’d stop being my friend for sure,” You laugh alongside him.

Your laughter continues for a few more moments, but when it quiets down, it isn’t awkward on either end. Your stifled laughter fills the call with little small giggles as you go back and forth telling one another to cut it out. Your laugh makes him laugh, you’ve noticed. When his laugh cools down, and you laugh, his laughter starts right back up again.

It took you both a few extra minutes to get yourselves together, but eventually, the stifled laughter turned into silence. A comfortable silence, and finally, Kuroo clears his throat with a relieved sigh.

“I thought my stomach was going to fall out from how funny that was,” He comments, making you giggle softly.

“Kenma’s hilarious, that’d be a funny situation for him. How long have you guys been friends?” You ask since Kenma didn’t tell you much besides playing volleyball back in high school.

“Since middle school. I didn’t really leave him alone, but he’s the person I can count on for anything. Hopefully, he knows it’s the same in return,” Kuroo mumbles, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You’re nodding along, forgetting he can’t see you, which makes your hand slap across your forehead; a small wince spreading across your face.

“I can’t believe we haven’t been introduced,” you smoothly deliver, but you can hear the faint chuckle on the other line when the slap reverberates through the microphone. If he heard it, he won’t say anything.

“He’s a private guy, I didn’t even know he was friends with you. Bokuto almost passed out since you’re his favorite model,” Kuroo chuckles out, making you laugh softly.

“Atsumu is on his team, I can’t believe he didn’t tell Bokuto we were friends either. I’d like to meet your friends sometime,” your voice comes out hopeful, a hum of agreement emits.

“You can meet them anytime. How about your friends? I need details on Kenma’s secret life,” Kuroo’s voice raises out of intrigue, making you playfully roll your eyes with a growing smile.

“I met Kenma by tweeting that I really liked his stream, and he thanked me for the support, and I guess I grew on him. Tendou I’ve known since we were kids, our moms are friends, he’s that friend you can make peace signs with and cry taking selfies,” Kuroo’s laughter makes you pause, a faint flutter of your heart has you skipping a beat, “Oikawa and I met at a networking event. His agent wanted him to model my agent was trying to market me, and we both ended up meeting and hitting it off. Atsumu actually slid into my DMs to ask me on a date, I rejected him but we became great friends,” you finish, smiling at his faint laughter.

“I admire the guy for staying your friend after being rejected. They sound cool, I’d like to meet Kenma’s double life friends. He’s like Hannah Montana, I feel like Lily when she found out,” he sounds remorseful, voice wavering to not laugh at his own joke, but thankfully your laugh covered it.

“You can meet Kenma’s secret organization of friends. They’re all amazing, I just have to give Atsumu a stern talking-to since he can be an asshole sometimes,” you mention, voice soft.

“Protective asshole or just an asshole? He can’t be as bad as Kenma,” Kuroo jokes, it doesn’t fall flat on you.

“Protective. He’s smelly, but he’s one of my most cherished friends,” your voice is soft still, Kuroo matches it.

“I know we called to talk about our day, but I’m glad Kenma introduced me to you. Talking to you is relaxing,” he pauses, you feel your cheeks heat, “it was crazy in the office today so you took the edge off if that makes much sense,” he finishes.

“It makes sense, I’m glad Kenma introduced me to you too,” you agree.

“Awesome, talking to you saves me time from listening to Boyfriend by Big Time Rush for some stress relief,” he sighs out, as if genuinely relieved.

You didn’t know, but he grins on the other side of the phone upon hearing your loud laugh.

𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭: Kuroo told Y/n one chemistry joke, don’t believe atoms they make up everything, and she did laugh. 

𝐚/𝐧: Greetings!! So this was a fun write, don’t be shy send me asks and let me know your thoughts! I love reading all your comments it’s so fun thank you guys for reading!! 

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 [𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃]: @tepescelsius​ @elianetsantana​ @honeymoneyy​ @a-wannabeweeb​ @oceanblooming​ @princeabomination​ @kagebunshiin​ @tadashi-simp​ @unicorngluttony​ @tamaguchi​ @sunflowerirl​ @snowsmuse​ @cherrytiara​ @tsukkisbean​ @iwaizoom​ @aegeanblues​ @angyboibakugo​ @manic-punker​ @miyayassy​ @kozumecuddles​ @starry-magicshop​ @agaashesmilktea​ @amarillyis​ @saturnfarie​ @yamaita​ @ptv-hades​ @runningwitches​ @missalienqueen​ @fo-love​ @shiningstar-byulxx​ @appleciderslut​ @amberisnotcrazy​ @drizzlenfizzle002 @satorisupremacy​ @vicassa​ @angrylittleriri​ @vyisa​ @boosyboo9206​ @skylarkalchemist​ @yeahhemmings-​ @akaashikeijisthighs​ @bellesowl​ @yakus-yakult​ @shut-your-eyes-kiss-me-goodbye​ @heyyourecute​ @fi16ns​ @yuuuumiiin​ @carpecaelo​ @awkwardly-anxious-latte​ @crybabbicus​ @felix-issimus​ 

continued in comments

[jayaury]

Door to Door Demons

Author’s note: Contains fdom, bimbo, seduction, mind control, and naughty uniforms. All characters are eighteen or older. Art by @Moth_Maid

More stuff on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/JayAury

 ~ ~ ~

The silhouettes in the foggy glass made Lukas groan when he got up to answer the doorbell. Great. Jehovah’s Witnesses. He thought about pretending to not be home, but by now they’d have seen his silhouette too, and he couldn’t stand rudeness. With a sigh he opened the door.

Then sucked the breath back in.

True, the pair before him were wearing the familiar uniforms of the group. Those rigid little white and black suits were impossible to mistake.

But those suits were generally not wrapped around such… ample figures.

Nor were they so tight.

And Lukas wasn’t a hundred percent on this, but he was pretty sure no Jehovah’s Witness would ever sport horns, yellow eyes, a spaded tail. Nor would they have skin sultry red or deepest purple.

They could have been twins but for their colouration. The same ample figures. The same beaming smiles and the same flowing blonde hair that framed faces of stunning beauty. The red one flashed a grin with a hint of fang. Her breasts threatened to burst out of her white shirt, her tie attached to a studded collar. “Hi!” she said, stepping closer. “I’m sister Rouge!”

“And I’m sister Violette,” the purple skinned demon said, crowding her partner in the doorway.

“And we were wondering if you’ve heard the good word?” Rouge asked.

Lukas stared, his jaw slack with shock. “Th… the word of… of god?” he asked dumbly.

The pair rolled their eyes, exchanged a glance, and giggled. “Of course not, silly,” Violette said.

“Absolutely not! We’re spreading the word of Beelzebub,” Rouge said.

“Can we come in?”

“Um…”

“We won’t be long.”

“And dearly want to tell you the word.”

“Um… I… ah… O-okay.”

The pair giggled again, pushing inside. “Thank you!” Rouge said, taking his arm, leaning against him, her large breasts squeezed against his chest. “So kind of you.”

“So polite,” Violette added, attaching herself to his other side, sandwiching him between the two sulfuric beauties. So close, Lukas realized that they were about half a head taller than him, threatening to put their busts at eye level. He felt his cheeks flush as the two spun him around, walking him back into the living room. “And what’s our polite young man’s name?”

“L-Lukas.”

“Lukas!” Rouge said. “What a wonderful name.”

“A handsome name,” Violette put in.

“A pretty name for such a pretty boy.”

Lukas cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject. “I uh… w-wait. I um… What exactly is… is the word?” he asked.

“Why, it’s the word of course!” Rouge said.

“The word that will help you live your life without sin,” Violette added.

“W-without sin?” he said. “But… I mean… aren’t you um…”

“Demons?” Rouge said.

“Devils?” Violette added.

“Pretty girls?”

“Lovely girls.”

“Soft girls.”

“Beautiful beauties?”

“How kind of you to say!” Rouge said.

“He really is such a lovely young man,” Violette giggled.

“I um… But, don’t demons like sinning?” Lukas said.

“Oh goodness! Of course we do,” Rouge said.

“But we hate it when humans do it,” Violette added.

“You do?” Lukas said.

“Let us explain,” Rouge said, and gave him a push.

Lukas grunted as he landed back in his easy chair. He realized they’d entered his living room. He also realized that the two beauties had taken a seat on the arms of his chair, leaning against him, smiling down at him with dazzling beauty.

“Sin is so lovely and naughty, but our lord Beelzebub hates it so,” Rouge said.

“He does indeed,” Violette giggled. “Because that means that silly humans are using free will.”

“And that’s so very wrong,” Rouge cooed, her fingers teasing his hair, making his scalp tingle. “It’s just so… naughty…”

“O-Oh,” Lukas gasped, trying to follow them, but finding himself distracted. Their perfume was extremely heavy. Extremely potent. And extremely pleasant. He looked up at the demonic women, feeling small. Feeling uncertain. Feeling… Feeling…

Silly.

“’Oh’ is right!” Rouge giggled. “Well done! And our lord hates people being naughty.”

“People shouldn’t be naughty,” Violette agreed.

“And there’s really only one way to prevent them from sinning.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Th-there is?” Lukas said.

“Absolutely!” the pair chimed. Violette suddenly shifted, sliding from the seat, oozing into his lap. She smiled down at him, her chest pushed out. So big. So soft. The jacket strained around her bust, the neckline plunging, revealing the depth of the valley of her tits. Her weight pressed him down, her smile dazzling him. “Our lord thinks sinning is so very wrong. But there’s only one way to stop it!”

“Just the one,” Rouge crooned, suddenly behind him, her hands on his shoulders, gently massaging.

“Th-there is?” Lukas said, looking between the two, trying to keep track. Trying to suppress the erection that strained his pants with Violette’s firm bottom pressing down on it. His face reddening. Getting him flustered and hot and bothered. God, what was that scent they wore? It was making his head feel so heavy and woolen.

“Oh yes,” Violette said, leaning in closer. “See, sin needs choice. Needs free will. So if we get rid of free will, no one can sin!”

“Isn’t that clever?” Rouge giggled, nipping his ear, making him start.

“C-clever? Oh, uh, I mean… um, I guess so…”

“So glad you agree!” Violette giggled. “But then, how do we do this? How do we prevent people from making silly decisions? How do we keep silly humans from sinning? And then, our lord hit on it!”

“Oh he did!” Rouge said, and Lukas gasped as her soft lips pressed a kiss to his neck.

“Mnnn!” Lukas moaned, her lipstick tingling like ginger.

“Do you wanna know what he realized?” Violette said, leaning in closer, her breasts nearly reaching his face. Her finger rising, teasing those perfect purple orbs, stroking the ample mounds while her dark lashes fluttered, her finger brushing the top button, slipping under it, flicking it open.

Lukas gasped as her breasts bounced, pushing a bit more into the air. A little more revealed. A little more to tease him as he stared at them in awe.

“Do you really wanna know?” Violette cooed, flicking open another button.

“Gotta know,” Rouge cooed, peppering his neck with tingling kisses. “Gotta ask. Gotta know.”

“H-how?” Lukas said, his eyes riveted to her breasts. How they strained, bounced with every button, every one edging her a little closer to freedom. Edging her breasts towards him. Edging him as her hips slowly rolled, slowly rubbed her ass against his bulge until he whimpered.

“Oh my, but it’s so simple,” Violette said. “So very simple. We just gotta take away that free will. Just gotta make all of humanity silly…”

“Mindless…” Rouge cooed.

“Brainless…”

“Eager…”

“Bimbos,” Violette sighed, snapped open the last button, and released her bust into the open air.

They were everything Lukas dreamed. Firm yet soft. Perfect without a hint of sag. Nipples dark points begging for a pair of soft, whimpering lips to wrap around them. They filled his view as they gently bounced, settling. Too perfect for the mortal world.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Rouge said, again licking his ear. “Poor Violette has been so cramped in her jacket all day. Her poor breasts were just aching to be released. Just begging to be let into the open. To be stared at by some nice, silly boy.”

“M-mind?” Lukas stammered, finding it hard to look away. To tear himself from those perfect tits.

“You don’t, do you?” Violette said, wrapping her arms beneath her bust, cradling those perfect orbs and fluttering her lashes at him. “I mean, if you do, I could always put them away again…”

“No!” Lukas said, then, meekly. “Um, I mean, I don’t… um… don’t m-mind at all…”

The two demons exchanged a look. Their smiles widened. “I’m sooo happy to hear that,” Violette said as she moved her arms, let her breasts bounce back into place as she leaned forward again. “Aren’t you, Rouge?”

“So pleased,” Rouge said, her hands moving down Lukas’s chest, her own breasts pressing into the back of his head.

“Because you know, there’s a certain kind of person who just loves to watch my breasts,” Violette giggled, her hips lazily working, rubbing herself against his bulge.

Lukas whimpered, his cock twitching in his pants, his eyes enthralled with those perfect breasts as they were teased back and forth. Back and forth. “Wh-what kind?”

“A pretty boy who knows sinning is so very wrong.”

“So very bad,” Rouge added.

“And staring at my breasts isn’t a sin.”

“Of course not,” Rouge cooed, kissing his neck again, her tongue teasing the sensitive flesh, the vein, tasting the way his pulse hammered under his skin as his face grew nearly as red as hers.

“But… you know… doing other things with them would be,” Violette said.

“Oh such sinful things,” Rouge whispered. “Tell him about them, sister.”

“Like burying his silly head between them?” Violette cooed, giving her naked breasts another bounce. “Or kissing them? Kissing them and licking them and worshipping my big, purple breasts? Oh Rouge, that’d be very naughty. Very sinful.”

“And we can’t have that,” Rouge said. “We’re good girls! We don’t want to sin with anybody.”

“Oh no,” Violette said, even just nodding sending her breasts wobbling. “Can’t do it. Can’t let you bury your silly head between my big, mind melting tits. Can’t let you kiss and lick and love and swoon and beg for more. And I certainly can’t play with your wonderful cock.”

“We can’t?” Rouge gasped.

“Oh no, sister! We could never,” Violette said. “That’d be so very sinful! Riding a poor mortal’s cock? Why, that’d damn them for sure!”

“Oh no!” Rouge said, and Lukas could feel the smile as she kissed him. “What can we do? Because… Oh sister, I think Lukas wants to do all those things!”

“You do?” Violette said, looking down at him, her eyes flashing, her lips curling in a smile.

“Um… um…” Lukas gasped, so red, so confused, so horny and desperate, his pre staining his pants, his eyes locked with those big breasts as they rocked. As they bounced. As her ass rubbed and teased and played with his poor, throbbing cock.

“Be honest now,” Violette cooed. “Good boys are always honest. Polite boys always answer questions from pretty demons. Are you horny, Lukas? Do you want to play with my big breasts?”

“Y-yes,” Lukas whimpered.

“You do! Oh, Lukas. I’m so sorry. But I can’t let you do that. But…” Violette said, looking thoughtful. “Hmm. But… maybe there is a way…”

Lukas looked at her hopefully, panting, drooling, mind swimming in perfume and lust and desire for the two beauties. But especially Violette. Violette’s big breasts. Her big, purple, perfect breasts that filled his world. His mind. His silly little head with desire and need. “H-huh?”

“Why, if you were a brainless bimbo, then you wouldn’t have to use free will! Why, you’d do just anything we told you. You’d be incapable of sinning! Dumb bimbos can’t be held responsible for doing what their mistresses tell them.”

“Oh no. No responsibility at alllll,” Rouge cooed. “Just being a silly bimbo for mistresses.”

“Silly bimbo.”

“Brainless bimbo.”

“Handsome bimbos being played with.”

“Toyed with.”

“Silly bimbos burying their empty heads between big breasts.”

“Between soft thighs.”

“Silly bimbos getting fucked.”

“Getting their bimbo cocks sucked.”

“And fucked.”

“And all you gotta do is convert!”

“It’s so easy,” Violette said, giggling. “Gotta be. Can’t make it too complicated. Boys can be so silly.”

“So dumb,” Rouge cooed, making him shiver and moan as she gently sucked on his earlobe.

“You just gotta kiss my big breasts,” Violette said, leaning in closer. So close. Her breasts so big before him. And looking closely, he could just make out the faintest imprints of other lips on her soft skin. “Can you do that, Lukas? Can you kiss away your mind? Your free will? Can you be a silly bimbo for us?”

“We just want to help you,” Rouge said, her fingers undoing his shift, her hands ghosting across his chest, his ribs, his pounding heart. “We just want to save you. Save your soul from sinning. From freedom. From being anything but what all mortals are born to be. Silly…”

“Mindless…”

“Lovey…”

“Dovey…”

“Bimbos…”

With every word Violette had leaned in closer, her breath warm, scented, perfumed. Lukas moaned softly, her breasts an inch from his lips, wobbling tantalizingly. Teasingly.

“So please. Won’t you hear the word?” Violette said, smiling.

“The word of Beelzebub,” Rouge whispered.

“The word,” Violette said, leaning in a little closer, “is… obey…”

Lukas tried to see the downsides. He wasn’t dumb. Or, maybe he was. Maybe he was always dumb. Because he was feeling it. Feeling so dumb. So eager. So much like a silly, brainless bimbo. Especially with Violette rubbing his poor cock. His silly cock. With his neck tingling with Rouge’s kisses. With his breath panting. His mind spinning.

And those breasts so near.

So perfect.

So begging to be kissed.

To be obeyed.

To make him the perfect.

Wonderful.

Mindless.

Bimbo.

He didn’t even need to think. Because thinking was so far beyond him. All Lukas had to do was lean forward, and press a kiss to those wonderful breasts.

“Mmmmm!” Violette moaned, arching gently as Lukas kissed her breast, his lips tingling, leaving behind the faintest mark among all the others. He knew this, because a second later, Violette’s arms wrapped around his head, and pulling him into the wonderful softness of her tits.

“Good bimbo,” she cooed.

Lukas moaned. He couldn’t answer. He was in heaven. In sweet, perfumed, softest heaven. Her breasts swallowed him up. His lips kissed them.

Loved them.

Adored them as only a mindless, brainless, silly bimbo could.

“Mmmm. Good boy,” Violette moaned as she reached down, her ass lifting just enough for her hand to tease open his pants. To draw out his poor, throbbing cock into the open. “There we are. Now, let’s milk that silly mind right out of you, hm?”

“Yessss,” he moaned, his eyes lost, misty, drowned in obedience. In pleasure.

Rouge giggled. “Silly bimbo. You don’t have to agree. You’re ours now, remember?”

He didn’t remember. But as Violette’s pussy moved down, enveloped his cock, he knew this, at least, he’d never forget.

“Ooooooh,” Lukas moaned into Violette’s wonderful breasts as she bounced on his lap, his sensitive bimbo cock tingling in her tight, hot depths. His moans muffled by her bust. His mind melting as she rode him, panting, gasping.

“Mnnn! What a gooood bimbo. Such a good bimbo. That’s it, baby. Oh yes. Oh hells yessss! Give me that bimbo cock. Let me milk out your silly mind. Oh yes. Yessss! Baby yessss! Cum in me, darling. Cum your silly brain out. Cum in mistress. Yes. Yessss!”

Violette moaned, burying him beneath her breasts. Her pussy. Her ass. Riding him down into the chair. Riding him into oblivion. When at last Lukas came, it was like she was taking in everything from him. All his memories. All his thoughts. All his will. His every bit of self as he came and came and came, pumping all his seed into the hungry depths of the demoness.

And he loved it.

Moaning, kissing, adoring Violette, he gave everything up to his wonderful mistresses. His goddesses. He sank into the chair under her, head empty, filled with pink clouds of perfect submission. Distantly, he heard the two demons giggle.

“How wonderful! Another convert.”

“We’re doing marvellously, Violette.”

“Magnificently, Rouge. But there’s so much more to be done. So many other poor souls needing to hear the word.”

“Too true, sister. But ah, I believe it’s my turn with our new toy?”

“Ah! Silly me. Of course, sister. Here.”

Lukas gasped as the plush purple breasts departed, then moaned as a pair of perfect red ones took their place. Rouge giggled, then moaned as she sheathed herself upon their new slave, her hips lazily bouncing atop him as she buried his whimpering face beneath her perfect breasts. Another eager convert to the church of bimbo.

[five-rivers]

Snow and Song Chapter 5

About five seconds after Danny registered the huge crowd of people gathered in the park (and why were they there?  Had there been some kind of event he forgot about?), it began to snow.   Danny looked around himself in alarm.  He was often insensitive to temperature changes (and a few other things, according to his sister), but it wasn’t nearly cold enough snow.  It was September.

He looked up.  There weren’t even any clouds.  

A snowflake, perfect and crystalline, stuck to his eyelash.  

Alright.  When something weird and unnatural started to happen in Amity Park, usually there was a ghost involved.  All Danny had to do was find the ghost causing it to… snow…

Oh.  Right. He was a ghost that could make snow.  

He was an idiot.  He hadn’t even noticed his core activating.  His cheeks flushed with cold.  This was so embarrassing.

Wincing, he looked back down at the crowd.  Only about a tenth of the people had phones in their hands, winking camera lenses pointed up at him, but that was more than enough.  He felt entirely too visible.  

… Which he could fix because he was a ghost, darn it, something that he kept forgetting about tonight.  Berating himself, he adjusted his visibility down to zero and flew away.  

Almost at once, all the birds took off, the sound of wings obscuring whatever the humans down below were saying.  

Danny didn’t stop until he got home, trailing snow all the while.  He was not looking forward to tomorrow, but for tonight, maybe, he could forget what had happened.  

He went human, phased off his clothes, laid down on his bed, closed his eyes, and started to-

“Maddie!” shouted Jack.  “The ghost-kid is on TV again!  He’s in the park!”

“Oh, good!  Go start up the GAV!  This time, we’ll catch him!  I’ll be with you in a minute!”

Danny let out the breath he had been holding since his dad startled him from his doze in a long sigh.  He resigned himself to being woken up at least once more that night.

.

.

.

The first rays of sunlight filtering through Danny’s window brought with them something that would have chilled Danny to the core if his core weren’t naturally frosty.  

Music.  

He peeled his eyes open slowly, grudgingly, because it was still September, and sunrise was still quite a bit before the time he had to get up in the morning.  Hoping he was hallucinating, he trudged over to the window and pulled back the curtains.

Ah, yes.  He hadn’t quite expected to find a bunch of cultists standing outside his house with a boombox, playing back a rather scratchy version of Tale as Old as Time, but, somehow, he was unsurprised to do so.  What exactly were they attempting to accomplish here?

One of the younger (about six years old) cultists waved up at him.  Resigned, Danny waved back, then let the curtain fall back down.  

He rubbed his eyes.  Normal teenagers didn’t have to deal with cults that worshiped them as a god.  Even that dude from Nazareth was a full adult before he got hit with the heavy stuff.  

(Yeah, because it wasn’t at all a sign of megalomania, mental instability, or good old-fashioned insanity to compare himself to that guy.)

(He didn’t want a cult, darn it.)

What did they want, anyway?

He got dressed and started downstairs.  To his horror (but again, not surprise) he heard more music emanating from the kitchen.  

“What are you guys doing?” Danny asked.  

“Oh, morning, Danno!” boomed Jack.

“Shh, shh,” said Maddie.  “We need to go over that last part again.  There are pancakes on the stove, sweetie.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  “Thanks. But, really, what are you doing?”

“Analyzing the sound patterns of Phantom’s voice!” said Jack.  “We missed it before, but he must have a low-level mind control power!  Just like that Rockstar ghost!”

“Sneaky post-human ectoplasm glob,” muttered Maddie. “That’s how he’s got so many people on his side.  He’s brainwashing them.  But don’t worry, sweetie.  As soon as we figure out how he’s doing it, we’ll be working on a cure!”

“Well,” said Danny, trying not to sound bitter. They had made him pancakes. “That’s news to me.”

.

.

.

Danny stepped out of the house and sighed in the general direction of the cult.  

As always, acknowledging them in any way shape or form proved to be a mistake.  They rushed at him.  

“Daniel Fenton,” intoned today’s leader, a man wearing robes colored in an approximation of Phantom’s suit.  His beard was… interesting.

“What?” asked Danny.  If only there was a way to skip through awkward conversations like this, like there was in video games.  But, no, life was like one, huge, un-skippable cutscene.  Tragic.

“Last night, our Lord Phantom gave us a message. A message, and a divine task.”

Danny was pretty sure he’d remember that.  “What task?” he asked, resigned.

“To spread his word through song!  And you, his prophet, his chosen, his blessed consort, shall reveal his intent upon the stage of the Casper High School Musical!”

“I’m begging you, call it anything but that.”

“We will do anything to make the Casper High School Musical go well!  We are at your command!”

“Please stop picketing my house and harassing me on the way to school.”

“We have fine members of our choir here to audition for you!  Please take word of their worthiness to our Lord Phantom.”

Several of the cultists began to sing.

“Danny!” called Jazz from the driveway.  “Stop feeding the cultists, or we’re going to be late for school!”

.

.

.

“So,” said Sam.  “The Ghost Watch feed blew up last night.”

“I know,” said Danny.  “I feel so stupid.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” said Tucker.  “But we really do have to put some time aside to test whether or not you really do have a pied piper ability.”

“I made it snow while I was singing,” said Danny.

“Ah.  We’ll have to look into that, too,” said Tucker, making a note on his PDA.  “Who wants to bet that the ‘Phan Club’ will try to incorporate last nights performance into the play somehow?”

“That’s not funny,” said Danny, closing his locker. “Guys, what if I accidently mind control the audience?  Or start a snowstorm inside?  The cultists are already on top of this.  They were outside my house this morning.”

“Again?” said Sam, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, again.”

“What did they want?”

“They seem to think that there’s going to be some kind of revelation in the play,” said Danny.  He caught the look in Sam’s eye.  “Sam.  No.”

“Sam, yes.”

“Cults are not a toy,” cautioned Danny.  

“Not the way you’re using them, they aren’t.”

“Seriously, Sam.  No matter how much you want to change the world, do not use a cult to do it. It never goes well.”

“Christianity started off as a cult.”

“And would you say that went well?  I’m asking you this as a Christian.”

“Are you a Christian?” asked Tucker. “I’ve never seen you in a church. Can you go in a church? Have we tested that?”

“I—What?  I’m not a demon, Tucker.  I went to church, uh…  Last Easter. I can totally go in a church.”

“You had to think of that for an awfully long time.”

“What about a synagogue?” asked Sam.  “Or a mosque?”

“I don’t know.  But you’d think that if I could go into a church, that’d mean I could go into the other ones.”

“But what if you couldn’t?” asked Sam.  “Would that mean that religion is more right than the others?”

“Or more wrong,” said Tucker, “since Danny is a good guy.”                                                                  

“I—” started Danny.

“PHANTOM!” screamed Wes from down the hall, interrupting whatever revelation Danny could potentially have had.

“Oh, great,” said Danny.  “I’m not Phantom, Weston!”

“Kids,” said Miss Lyn, poking her head into the hallway.  “Please don’t shout in the halls.  Class is about to start.”

“I have proof, this time!” crowed Wes.  “I have video.”

“Oh, no,” said Danny, with perfectly flat affect. “Are you here to harass me with yet another badly photoshopped, grainy, vertically filmed, twenty-second clip of me ‘transforming’ into Phantom like some kind of anime heroine?”

Wes reared back, face coloring and nostrils flaring.  

Danny would feel worse about what he had said, if half the videos in Wes’s last ‘Fenton is Phantom’ presentation hadn’t been exactly that.  Tucker had made several of them and stealthily dropped them in various chat rooms for Wes to find, as something halfway between a joke and an exercise in misdirection.  

As soon as Wes had included one of those in his presentation, it was doomed to be a laughingstock.  Again, Danny almost felt bad.  

“No!” said Wes.  He puffed his chest out.  “From Ghost Watch!”

“Uh huh.”

“I kind of feel like we’d be hearing about it from more than just you,” said Sam.  

“Yeah,” agreed Tucker.  “If the news decided Danny was Phantom’s dead twin or whatever, you’d think some of his groupies would be swarming.”  He pointed at a pair of Phan Club members who were having a sedate conversation near the water fountain.  “Where are the groupies, Wes?”

“Did you not learn your lesson from the beauty pageant?” asked Sam.  “Or Egypt?”

“I don’t know, didn’t you learn yours from Desiree?”

“Who’s learning what from Desiree?  Because you should ask her for a better naming sense.  I mean, you just copied.  Lame.”

“You’re talking to me about copying?  You vegans are the copiers!  Vegetable burgers, tofurkey, where does it end?”

“With the abolition of the cruelty of MEAT!”

At this point, most people would have started edging away from Sam and Tucker’s patented and infamous meat vs. veggies argument.  However, Wes had long since proven himself to be of sterner stuff, and Danny wanted to hear what he was on about.

“Guys,” he said, “guys, it’s not working.  He’s still here.”

Sam and Tucker turned back towards Wes.  “Bummer,” said Sam.  

“Yeah, Wes, why do you have to be such a bummer?” asked Tucker.  

“Let him speak,” said Danny, magnanimously, twirling his hand.  

Wes glowered.  “Well, now I don’t want to,” he said, mulishly.  

“Come on, Wes, what’s the video, don’t leave us in suspense!”

Wes attempted to glower harder but failed.  Grudgingly, he held up his phone, which did, indeed, play a video from Ghost Watch.  Danny watched himself singing for several long seconds before returning his gaze to Wes.

“I’m not sure what this is supposed to prove.”

“The song, you idiot!  It’s from Beauty and the Beast!  And I know the drama club gave you that music.”

“A movie that thousands of thousands of people have watched and know the music for?”

“That doesn’t matter!  You’re the only one who has any reason to sing it.”

“You mean, other than everyone else in the drama club?” asked Sam, bored.  

“Or anyone who likes Disney?” said Tucker.  

Wes opened his mouth to make some kind of riposte.

The warning bell rang.  

He closed his mouth.  “I’m watching you, Fenton!”

“You and everyone else,” muttered Danny as Wes retreated down the hallway, pointing at him.  

Why was everyone around him so ridiculous?

.

.

.

“We’re doing Snow White, not Beauty and the Beast!” howled Razor, baring his teeth at the hapless Phan Club member that had suggested adding ‘Tale as Old as Time’ to the song list.

“If you guys had taken that bet, I’d have so much money right now,” said Tucker.  

“Students, please,” said Mr. Lancer.  “We can’t have any actual copyrighted music in our play. Not without paying for it.  And I’m not negotiating with Disney.”  He looked into the distance.  “Not again.  Never again.”

Danny did not want to know the story behind that, but nevertheless, he had to ask… “Are you okay, Mr. Lancer?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Lancer.  “Thank you for asking.  In any case, my lovely drama students!  Today, we are going to do our first round of auditions!”

“But, sir, we haven’t finished the script, yet!” protested Mikey.

“Right you are!” said Mr. Lancer.  “But I have found that things go more smoothly when we have people already in the main roles.  There’s less… outright sabotage and script jockeying.”

“What does that even mean?” whispered Samhain (aka Kevin) loudly.  

“People trying to change the script to fit a certain person so that person gets the role,” said Paulina.  “Or exclude a certain person.  Which I would never do, Mr. Lancer.”

The covetous glare shot in Danny’s direction indicated that Paulina’s words might have been less than truthful.  

Mr. Lancer chuckled.  “I didn’t think you would, Miss Sanchez!”  He began writing on his whiteboard.  “Now, we already have our Prince Snow White, our Princess Charming, and our Evil Queen.”  He nodded at Paulina as he wrote the roles on the board.  “Now, we need our seven dwarves—”

“Ghosts!”

“Excuse me, yes, ghosts.  Thank you, Mr. Baxter.  Our Huntsman—”

“Or woman!”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Thunder,” said Mr. Lancer. “Huntsman, or Huntswoman.  And… Let’s see…  Snow White’s parents, for the prologue, Princess Charming’s retinue, and… I think that’s it.  Alright, let’s start with the ghosts.”

“Shouldn’t they have names?” asked Mia.  

“Well, sure,” said Mr. Lancer.  “But we can’t use the Disney names.  You’ll have to come up with your own.”

“Phantom!” screamed Paulina.

“Here we go,” said Danny, burying his head in his hands.  

“You want to bet that we’re going to wind up with your whole rogue’s gallery?” asked Tucker.  

“If you need money, Tucker,” said Sam, “you just have to ask.  Rates on my loans are very reasonable.”

“Isn’t usury against your religion?” asked Tucker.

“Nope,” said Sam.  “Not at all.”

“I am incredibly against this development,” said Danny.  “The cults are going to have a field day.”

“Ember!  Ember! Ember!”  Chanted the punk goth crowd, which had split off from the larger goth subgroup.

“I am somehow even more against this development,” muttered Danny.  “Mr. Lancer! I don’t think it’s a good idea to include a ghost who gets power from people saying her name!”

“Shut up, Fentonnage, what do you know about ghosts?”

“My parents study them.  I know a lot.  More than I ever even—”

Danny narrowly dodged the workbook Dash flung at him.

“Mr. Baxter!” scolded Mr. Lancer.  

Sadly, when everything shook out, Danny did not get his way.  One of the seven ghosts was named Ember and was going to be played by Star.  Because why not?

“At least the Box Ghost and the Lunch Lady aren’t on the list,” said Sam.  

“But ‘Hamlet, father of Hamlet,’ is,” said Danny.  “Why does that bother me more than Ember?”

“Because you hate Shakespeare?”

“No, I don’t,” protested Danny.  “Shakespeare is a perfectly nice person.  I just don’t like how his writing is taught in schools.”

“You’re going to break Mr. Lancer’s heart saying stuff like that,” said Tucker.  

“He wrote love poems to boys.  Why do they skim over that?”

“Excellent point, Mr. Fenton!” exclaimed Mr. Lancer, who had somehow materialized behind them.  “Shakespeare was definitely bisexual.  I wi—”  The teacher stopped.  “Nope, can’t use that word.  It would be nice if the state let me teach it like that.  Along with the crossdressing.  School board won’t let me.”  He shook his head.  “Dale Baxter. Someday, someday he’ll lose an election. Eventually.”  He took a deep breath.  “Next time we meet, we’ll be doing auditions, okay?  I want you all to think about what parts you would like! And, Miss Gray, I’d like to have a word with you about your role in our production, alright?”

[gingwrites]

Always Have, Always Will (Namkook)

Whumptober Masterlist | BTS Masterlist

Summary: Jungkook has hanahaki and tries to hide it, but it doesn’t work when the man he loves won’t leave him alone.

or, whumptober prompt day 2: choking/gagging

Tags: mentions of death, small amounts of blood, choking/gagging, sick fic

.

Jungkook was dying, that much he knew. It had been weeks since he coughed up the first flower petal. Now, the vines were embedded in his lungs, making it hard to breathe, let alone sing and dance. He’d somehow been able to keep it hidden from the others, but he didn’t think that’d last much longer.

As it was, Jungkook had already faked being sick that morning to get out of dance practice, though faking didn’t take much work with how bad he was feeling. The others took one look at him that morning and pushed him right back toward his room. Hoseok brought him breakfast, Jimin brought him plenty of water, Yoongi brought him medicine, all while Namjoon texted their managers letting them know that Jungkook was out for the day.

Starting his day surrounded by the petals that he had coughed up during the night, Jungkook had looked like he was in some ritual or funeral scene from a movie. He had never been more thankful for having separate rooms and bathrooms. He definitely wouldn’t be able to explain himself out of that one. He was surprised that he hadn’t woken himself (or the others) up with all the coughing he must have done in the night, but he must’ve been used to it by now. Or maybe his body was finally giving up because it was so exhausted.

The others left for the studio not long after Jungkook had settled back down into bed. Taking the day to try and catch up on some much needed sleep, Jungkook spent most of the morning in bed, tossing and turning, sitting up to hack up a few petals every once in a while.

After eating some soup for lunch, Jungkook decided to move to the living room. At least if he was going to have trouble sleeping, he could do it with the TV on in the background.

Not long after Jungkook had settled on the couch, huddled under a blanket, only his head visible, the front door keypad beeped, causing Jungkook to glance at the clock. It wasn’t near late enough for anyone to be back home yet. The door opened, Namjoon quietly stepping through.

“Hyung?” Jungkook questioned. “What are you doing home so early?”

Namjoon’s head shot up, now giving up on his task of attempting to close the door quietly.

“Oh! You’re awake! I wasn’t sure if you would be sleeping or not,” Namjoon explained. “And I ended up finishing the song I was working on earlier than I had planned, and the others still had some vocal practice, so I decided to go ahead and come home early and keep you company!”

Jungkook’s heart dropped. As much as he loved to spend time with Namjoon, it wasn’t very helpful in trying to hide his hanahaki. 

“Thanks, hyung,” Jungkook hid his fears with a smile, moving over on the couch to make room for the older man.

It was two hours later that Jungkook knew he was in trouble. Namjoon had suggested that the two of them play a board game since they had plenty but rarely ever had the chance to play them. They were sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table, game spread out in front of them, while Namjoon read the question on the card he had just picked up, but he apparently thought it was too funny, so he could stop laughing.

This spelled trouble for Jungkook because he couldn’t stop staring at Namjoon laughing, thinking about how adorable he looked. He couldn’t stop noticing the dimples on Namjoon’s cheeks, or the fact that he held onto his stomach while he laughed. He couldn’t stop thinking about all these things, and Jungkook could feel the petals crawling up his throat, begging for a release.

But, Jungkook was stubborn. He wasn’t about to out himself without a fight. He didn’t want to run out of the room, pretending to be sick, because he knew Namjoon would follow him and would see all the petals once they finally came out. Jungkook could hold it in. He was going to hold it in. There was no other option. He’d hold it in, wait until they finished their game, and then excuse himself to go take a ‘nap’ and then let it all out in the privacy of his own bedroom. This could work. This was going to work.

It was not working. This much was obvious to Jungkook not even a minute later. He could feel the amount of petals steadily growing, slowly closing off his airway. It all came to a head when Namjoon finally gathered himself together and looked back over at Jungkook. His face quickly became serious, taking in Jungkook’s wide eyes.

“Hey, are you okay?” Namjoon quickly got up and came and sat next to Jungkook, placing a hand on the younger man’s arm.

Oh god, why does he have to be so caring? Jungkook thought. That just makes me love him more!

As Namjoon started rubbing his hand up and down on Jungkook’s arm, frantically searching for what was wrong, Jungkook felt his airway close. Looks like his plan to hold it all in failed.

Jungkook tried to cough and dispel the flowers, now uncaring if Namjoon saw them, but with no air in his lungs, it was impossible to cough. All he wanted to do was breathe. He didn’t want to die. He was too young to die! Jungkook knew that Namjoon was speaking to him, but he couldn’t make out any words, his own heartbeat in his ears drowning everything out.

Jungkook brought his hand up to his neck, almost trying to claw the petals out of his throat, when Namjoon seemed to understand what was happening, though he didn’t know why. The older man started to pound his hand on Jungkook’s back, terrified of how quickly Jungkook’s face was turning red.

After a few slaps, the petals dislodged themselves and came tumbling out. Jungkook started to cough, trying to catch his breath and spit out the flowers at the same time. Namjoon continued to pat his back, though not nearly as rough, wanting to make sure that Jungkook was still breathing okay.

“Jungkook?” Namjoon whispered a couple moments after Jungkook spit the last flower onto his lap. Jungkook couldn’t take his eyes off the flowers, too scared to look at Namjoon’s reaction and because there was blood on the flowers. That was new.

“Jungkook?” Namjoon tried again after receiving no answer. Jungkook was still breathing heavily, but at least it felt like his airway was clear. At least as clear as it’d been since he’d discovered he had hanahaki.

“Um,” Jungkook tried, but couldn’t find the words. He knew he needed to tell Namjoon what was going on, that Jungkook was in love with Namjoon, really had been since he’d met the older man, though he hadn’t really realized it until recently. Jungkook didn’t want to end up like those sad stories on the news, everyone asking why the person didn’t just tell the other one that they loved them. Jungkook really didn’t want to die, but he just had trouble finding the right words.

“Who is it?” Namjoon tried again.

“You,” Jungkook spoke quietly, voice breaking. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s you, hyung. It always has been and it always will be. I love you, Namjoon.”

Jungkook finally dared to take a peek at Namjoon’s face, hoping that he wouldn’t see disgust. What he saw instead was relief.

“Oh thank god,” Namjoon sighed heavily, pulling Jungkook closer to him. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, you idiot! You never would’ve had to go through this if I’d have known!”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed.

“What?”

“I love you, too, Jungkookie! I have for years! I honestly thought you didn’t love me like that, so I was fine pining from a distance!” Namjoon gushed, a massive smile on his face.

“Wait,” Jungkook couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Years? And you didn’t tell me?!”

Namjoon opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off by Jungkook bending over, breath caught in his throat again. This time, it didn’t feel like petals. It was scratchy and Jungkook hated every second of it. He started coughing, trying to get the feeling to go away.

“Jungkook? What’s happening? I thought confessing my love was supposed to fix it!” Namjoon frantically asked, not knowing how to help Jungkook this time.

The younger man continued coughing for another moment, feeling something crawling it’s way up his throat again. Namjoon sat next to him, ready to grab his phone and call an ambulance if it didn’t stop soon.

Letting out one final hack, Jungkook looked down at his hands and let out a sob. The vine. He’d coughed up the vine, which meant it was all over now.

“Jungkook? Jungkook? What- oh,” Namjoon let out a whoosh of air, shocked at what he was seeing. The vine was out, which meant Jungkook was cured and his body recognized that the love was reciprocated. The disease had healed on its own. “You’re okay. You’re okay. It’s all going to be okay now.”

Namjoon pulled Jungkook into his lap, holding the younger man to his chest. He wasn’t going to let go anytime soon after that scare.

“I have one request,” Namjoon said after a moment of silence. Jungkook hummed in acknowledgment. “Never, and I mean never, hide something like this from me again, okay? I never want either of us to go through that again.”

Jungkook sat up with a small smile on his face.

“On one condition. Can I have a kiss?”

.

.

Soooooo, whumptober is going great since this is day 2 and its already October 4th. Don't look at me. I legit had plans to get this out yesterday, but my day was ruined by a terrible phone call with a parent, so it didn't happen. I'm attempting to get caught up, though it probs won't happen until a weekend.

Also, if you have ships requests, or ideas/requests for future days, please let me know!! I've figured out that I'm probs not all that good at whump since I don't want to be super dark and always want a happy ending, but I love all that hurt/comfort, so I'm rolling with it.

Let me know what you think! And follow me on twitter @/yoongismandu.

[spidercakes]

Have some type of AU where Peter and Tony have met online (although its never specified where), but when they choose to meet in person its a little um. Different, from the usual.

Warnings: (canon typical but Peter is 19) age difference, bondage, blindfolds, (sort of) anonymous sex, slightly under negotiated kink, 

*

Peter can’t believe he’s doing this, laying on a bed with his head and chest on the mattress and his ass up in the air. His hands aren’t tied down at the moment but he’s already managed to get the restraints on the bed so each cuff is sitting in the corner looking lonely. He might have gotten a little ahead of himself anyway if it were possible to cuff both his hands but also he doesn’t want to screw himself over if he has to like, go to the bathroom or something.

Or if he gets stood up, not that he wants to think of that at the moment. He doesn’t think Tony would anyway, there’s not a whole lot of reason to miss a booty call. He can’t help but be a little paranoid at the moment when he’s wearing nothing but a butt plug, a pink blindfold, and a pink collar. The cuffs are pink too, because he kind of has an obsession with the color. That’d been partially what started this whole thing, that and his taste in sex toys.

More accurately he has expensive taste in toys and a small wallet, not that he tells people that. But he’s managed to acquire a rather large collection over the last couple years with what he can spare here and there plus a few more expensive additions from Tony. Its not the kind of thing Peter would normally do but he’d indulged Tony too much pretty much right away and in his defense it paid off. It might have helped that the first thing Tony did was compliment the Batman poster he’d vandalized in the background of one of his pictures. He likes to think he’s funny and no one ever comments on the surroundings in his pictures, just his body, so it’d been something new.

That’s how Tony ended up seeing his collection, which is how he ended up adding to it, and how they ended up in regular communication. He shouldn’t be nervous after all the stuff he’s done with Tony anyway, but also none of that was in person. Its one thing filming yourself jerking off for someone and sending them a video, its another to actually sleep with them. But the difference makes Peter giddy as he waits.

It feels like forever but its probably only a couple minutes before Tony shows up, Peter had timed it like that on purpose because that’s what they talked about. Peter works not to wiggle in anticipation or nervousness as the door to the room opens and in theory it could be anybody. Its not lost on him, the danger he could be in but that’s all part of the fantasy. He’d always been a little ashamed of this fantasy of his, wanting to be used by a total stranger he’s never even met previous to the encounter, but Tony had reacted immediately well to it. Peter had warmed to him after that and when Tony sent what he’d do to him back Peter had gotten hard pretty fucking quick.

He’s hard now too, a little desperate to be touched but Tony hasn’t come closer yet. He can hear fabric sliding against fabric, presumably Tony taking his jacket off, but he doesn’t get much more than that at first. Once again he suppresses the urge to squirm around and he can’t tell if its some misguided pride or if its some desire to behave for Tony. Either way he manages to suppress the need to shift around uncomfortably in his spot as he listens for any kind of noise that’ll indicate what’s going on.

It takes a moment for the foot falls on the carpet but when Peter hears it he lets out a soft noise that thankfully goes unheard. Its not until a hand lands on his back that he jumps a little from the unexpected contact. “Okay?” a soft, deep voice asks. Peter recognizes it from the videos Tony has sent him and relaxes some.

“Yeah,” he says softly, shivering a little when Tony touches him again. He slides his hand down Peter’s back until he circles his hand around the back of Peter’s neck for a moment, pushing his head further into the mattress before letting go and sliding his hand back up Peter’s back and over his ass.

“Pretty little ass like that, you're begging to be fucked,” Tony murmurs, voice low and attractive. He gives Peter’s ass a sharp smack that makes him gasp slightly. He pulls away again but his touch reappears fast at his wrists. He lets Tony move his wrist the way he wants it, wrapping the cuff around it before closing it tightly. He can hear Tony walk around the bed as he makes his way to his other wrist, doing pretty much the same thing. He circles back, stopping in the middle of the bed before Peter feels the telltale feeling of someone crawling into bed. Tony feels at his ass when he reaches Peter, grabbing at his cheeks greedily as he spreads them apart.

When he lets go of Peter’s cheeks he starts toying with the plug and Peter moans softly and then a little louder as Tony pulls it out a little and back in. “That looks like a pretty big plug, baby,” Tony says. 

“I like to feel stretched out,” he admits, moaning as Tony pulls the plug out a little more this time before pushing it back in. Peter loves the feeling of being stretched out over the plug as Tony fucks him with it, moving it in and out of his hole quickly.

“Fuck, I bet you take cock real good,” Tony murmurs, running a hand up and down Peter’s ass. “Bet you’re still tight, too.”

“Fuck me and find out,” Peter tells him, getting antsy for it.

Tony laughs, pulling out the plug but leaving Peter empty long enough that he makes a disgruntled noise. “Shh, baby, I’ll take care of you,” he says, fingers swiping his hole a few times before he fucks his fingers into Peter. “Mmm, yeah you’re going to feel fucking amazing on my cock. You do this a lot, let strangers fuck your hole?” Tony asks.

He knows Peter has never done anything like this before, but he hasn’t filled Tony in on all the details of his sex life. Just the ones he thought Tony would find hot. He nods, “used to have a thing for hookup apps,” he says. Shortly after moving out of May’s he decided he liked his freedom and he liked that he had his own room with no risk of anyone walking in. He maybe abused that a little for awhile.

“So you’re a slut,” Tony states, not asks. Peter doesn’t expect the sharp feeling of arousal at that but his cock twitches anyway. “You like that, hmm? Being called a slut?” He nods because unexpected or not he likes the way it feels when Tony calls him that. Tony pulls his fingers out of Peter’s ass, “with a body like that I’m grateful you aren’t too picky about who fucks you.”

Peter moans, “please.” He’s not sure what he’s asking for but he knows he wants it bad.

“Desperate for it, aren’t you, baby?” Tony asks him, running a hand over his ass.

He nods, “please, Mr. Stark.” He knows Tony likes it, he’s pulled that on him before and it always goes well. This time it results in Tony leaning over his back and curling a hand around his neck, pinning him harshly to the bed as he grinds into Peter’s ass. His cock is hard and Peter moans just feeling it through what feels like dress pants.

Tony lets up for a moment, just long enough to unzip his pants and pull himself out Peter is hoping, but when he leans back in he gets his answer. Tony presses into him almost roughly, hand on Peter’s hip to steady himself as he fucks into him. Tony’s cock is thick and Peter moans as he feels himself stretch over it, and he can’t help the small noise of pleasure he lets out as he feels Tony throb inside him.

“That’s right, take my cock,” Tony tells him. “Pretty little slut, you’re going to love this,” he adds, fucking into Peter faster. Tony leans forward, pressing a hand into his back and pushing him into the mattress as he moans. “You feel fucking amazing,” Tony says, “so damn tight.”

Peter relaxes fully and lets Tony fuck him however he wants, taking what he needs from his hole. Tony fucks him fast and rough, clearly after his own pleasure and it makes Peter’s cock twitch, thinking about Tony fucking his hole for his own pleasure. He doesn’t mind when Tony fucks him harder, easing up on his back for a moment before Tony moves his hand into Peter’s hair. He grips the strands tight and Peter isn’t expecting the extra weight added to it as Tony forces his head further into the mattress but it results in him squirming.

“‘M’gunna cum,” he says, gasping harshly as Tony fucks him hard. “Oh my god I’m gunna cum!”

“Like being used like that, don’t you baby? Like knowing that your tight little hole makes my cock feel good?” Tony asks, sounding a little breathless. 

“Yes!” Peter says enthusiastically. “Yes please, m’so close Mr. Stark.”

Tony stammers in his rhythm and Peter makes a disgruntled noise. “Fuck, you’re a hot little tease, aren’t you? Keep that up and I’ll cum inside you,” Tony tells him, fingers in his hair tightening for a moment.

“Cum in me,” Peter tells him, “fuck, please Mr. Stark I need it please.”

Tony swears loudly and fucks into him faster, “that what you want baby, you want me to cum inside you?”

“Mr. Stark, please,” Peter says, voice almost whining but he can’t help it.

If Tony minds he doesn’t say anything, he just presses Peter’s head a little further into the mattress and fucks into him hard. “Gunna cum,” Tony tells him, “fuck, you’re good.”

Peter doesn’t expect to cum at that but he does, moaning loudly as his toes curl. He pants harshly, having a hard time catching his breath as Tony fucks into him. Tony cums too, fucking into him deep as he moans.

*

Peter is sitting in his desk chair spinning around aimlessly when his phone vibrates. He picks it up idly, spinning around in his chair again as he looks at who text him. He grins when he sees Tony’s name.

How are you doing baby?

He’d been worried that Tony would lose interest after their little encounter but he hasn’t. If anything he’s more interested than he was before. Peter bites his lip and texts back.

Would be better with you inside me ;)

[dadsbongos]

School Worker AU fic(?)

Movie/Game/Show: Danganronpa (just in general) Dynamic: idk fuckin everyone is in their senior year though Warnings: all of the danganronpa cast - unless otherwise specified - is in their senior year of hs Summary: Tsumugi makes a documentary. AU: Hope’s Peak is a shitty public school that makes their senior students work around the district in self-made or pre-existing programs in order to earn a crucial credit they need for graduation. A lot of the students want a “raise” in their wages because of the work they do, even though “raise” just means any money at all. ~~~

Maki twirled a long strand of her brown hair around her finger, eyes flickering over it boredly, “Yeah, I want to get paid for this.”

Kaito’s eyes widened, an uneasy smile crossing over his lips and nervously looking between his girlfriend and the camera, “Oh, c’mon, Maki-roll, it’s not about money! It’s about the kids!”

“It’s about the money,” Maki glared at the camera, “Pay me.”

~~

“How do I feel about being paid?” Kaede giggled nervously, looking to her other two bandmates, “Well, it’s not about the money, we like playing for kids and the elderly.”

“Ibuki mostly agrees,” the girl with wildly multi-colored began, “However, Ibuki would also like to be paid for our hard work.”

Sayaka nodded shyly, a small smile on her lips, “I like working for the kids and elderly, but I also would like to have said work rewarded, if I could.”

~~

“Yeah,” Hajime picked up yet another empty plastic water bottle with a gloved hand as he responded to the question, “I would love to get paid but nobody gives a shit about the kids cleaning.”

Chiaki, who wasn’t even holding her trash bag - preferring to have her face stuffed into her handheld, “Not paying us is the school’s way of preparing us for the years of unpaid extraneous labor ahead of us in an adult working environment… I think.”

~~

“I should be gettin’ fuckin’ paid,” Mondo grit his teeth, no longer soaping up his math teacher’s car with Kazuichi and just looking at the camera, “I don’t get stared at by those fuckers,” he jabbed a thumb in the direction of a small gaggle of giggling freshman, “for free. I hate this shit.”

Kazuichi nodded, “I don’t even get to remodel the cars! I just wash them, that’s so lame!”

~~

“Duh - yeah, I wanna get paid!” Junko scoffed, rolling her eyes, “What am I? Twelve? I don’t do this shit for nothing!”

Mukuro sighed quietly, practically elbow deep in the dirt, “You don’t do anything…”

“The hell did you say to me, you fat, ugly, skank?” the blond pressed a stiletto boot into her sister’s back, shoving her face-first into the flower beds Mukuro would now have to redo.

~~

“So,” Tsumugi Shirogane held a mic to her mouth as she stared into the camera, “with so many students demanding a raise in wages, which would mean any wages at all, let’s get to the core issue of why these students feel that their work is so reward-worthy.”

A few feet away, Mikan was watching the hostess of the documentary with nervous eyes, her heart racing as she turned to Rantaro, “Oh my God, is she g-gonna ask us questions? I’m n-not good at speaking. I-I’ll stutter and mum-mumble and she’ll ask me to re-repeat myself, oh God…”

“Hey,” Rantaro gave the girl a small smile, carefully setting his hand on her shoulder, “it’ll be okay. I can do most of the talking, if you want?”

Mikan nodded shakily, fingers intertwining and scrambling apart repeatedly, “Th-that would be p-preferred, tha-thank you…”

As Tsumugi crossed towards the students, she stuck a microphone into Rantaro’s face first, thankfully. Quick to the point, she asked him the question of the segment, “Why, exactly, do you think your work is worth the funding of payment?”

“We do basically the same amount of work that the ordinary school nurse does under regulation and we’re certain our efforts are worthy of payment,” in order to avoid the awkwardness of Tsumugi having to ask Mikan, he gestured to his partner in nursing, “We both are.”

Nodding, Tsumugi moved to place the microphone into Mikan’s face anyway, “And your thoughts?”

“Uhhhh,” Mikan froze up, patting the tips of her fingers into each other, “y-yeah?”

“Yeah, what?”

“Yeah with Rantaro…”

Tsumugi blinked at the girl, standing there for a minute before slowly nodding and turning back to the camera to continue her segment.

Mikan turned to Rantaro with wide eyes, tears already bubbling at her waterline, “Oh my God… I just did that… I just- I - oh my God…”

Rantaro nodded, crossing his arms with a pitying smile, “Yeah, that was pretty bad.”

~~

A loud, resounding thud was the opening sound of the shot, a girl landing flat on her back on a gym mat is the scene. The gymnasium is filled with a multitude of students in fighting stance - a tall girl with red eyes and a short boy with blond hair standing at the front.

Tsumugi narrowly dodges stray hits and flying bodies being tossed over shoulders as she approaches the two senior students. She judges how confrontational they both look and decides to not hastily jam her mic into either of their faces as she asks, “And what is the program you two have picked up for your required credit?”

Peko doesn’t look away from the students as she answers, “Self-defense.”

Fuyuhiko nods, “Any-fuckin’-body can sign up but most of these kids are girls and LGBT+. They’re who mostly comes.”

“Which is a whole different problem on its own,” Peko added, “The fact that they feel the need to learn self-defense rather than trust that nobody will try attacking them for simply walking down the street is rather saddening.”

“Oh, well that’s incredibly noble of you,” Tsumugi breathed out, slightly surprised - she hadn’t expected such mean-looking students to care so much

“Someone has to beat up scumbags,” the taller of the pair shrugged, “My arms were getting tired.”

“Right…” Tsumugi nodded, “uh, you two share this gym with another group, correct?”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Fuyuhiko glanced to one of the clocks encaged on the wall, “They should be back in- “

“We’re here for the gym!” a voice boomed out in the space, “Move out!”

“No!” Fuyuhiko shook his head, charging towards the pair and the volleyball team they were coaching that day, he jammed a finger into the girl’s shoulder, “You asshats are always too early! Peko and I got another ten minutes, at least!”

“Well, they need the gym now!” Akane gestured to the team, which was awkwardly standing around and waiting for the approval of Nekomaru and Akane to spread out to the gym, “‘Sides, it’s just five minutes!”

“Eight, now,” the blond crossed his arms, “They continue, you guys wait your turn.”

Seeing no soon-to-come resolution from the pair, Nekomaru moved past Fuyuhiko and Akane as they argued and towards Peko at the front. He rubbed the back of his neck, “We really need the gym right now. You can take our last ten minutes tomorrow if that’d be fair.”

Thinking over the proposal, Peko nodded before picking up the whistle from around her neck and blowing into it before calling to the self-defense class, “Alright, dress out and head home! Remember what you’ve learned and stay safe! Tomorrow, we’ll be meeting out by the baseball field!”

Fuyuhiko sighed, clenching his eyes shut to avoid looking at Akane’s smug grin, “You’re lucky Peko stepped in or I would’ve laid your ass out on the mat.”

“Whatever you say, baby face,” the girl snickered, strolling by to join Nekomaru’s side.

“What did you call me?!”

Tsumugi looked to the new faces, “Do you two fight like that often?”

Akane nodded confidently, “Constantly!”

Sighing, Nekomaru lowered his head, “That’s not a brag.”

“And you two do what around the school?”

“We pick up the school’s teams when the coaches are busy,” Akane pat her outrageously buff partner’s back, “You should see coach Nekomaru out there! He’s like a pro!”

“Well, that’s certainly something!” Tsumugi giggled, “And I can assume you two want to be paid for your efforts?”

“We’re supposed to be paid for this?!”

~~

“Oh my God, leave us alone, you guys are so mean, assholes!”

“Don’t say that, we’re on school grounds! A teacher could walk by at any time!”

“Can you two please be quiet? They’re not even responding to you at this point.”

“We must focus on this column entry!”

“Y-yeah… so s-stop bothering us…”

Tsumugi hesitated, looking at the camera with furrowed brows, “Do we even want to go in?”

The camera shifted with the director’s nodding, the girl sighing loudly before quietly agreeing and pushing the door open to see a classroom with only five people in it. A short boy with untamed purple hair being held back from clawing at the back of a girl with long braids and glasses by another boy with greenish hair… God, what color was that?

Another girl looked up from the desk she was sitting at, “Are you here for the documentary on student payment for their work efforts involving school credit?”

“Yes, I am,” Tsumugi was incredibly tempted to lie, say she got lost, and run out - but she didn’t. Instead, she asked them to introduce themselves.

“Kyoko Kirigiri,” the girl at the desk introduced herself with a solid nod before returning to her work.

The boy holding back his friend finally managed to calm the purple-haired one down before shyly waving, “Shuichi Saihara,” to prevent the other boy from talking, Shuichi clapped a hand over his mouth with an exhausted look, “This is Kokichi Ouma. Us three solve ‘mysteries’ around school, it’s mostly just stolen items. They,” he pointed to the pair on the other side of the room, “write the school newspaper.”

Kokichi managed to release himself from Shuichi’s grasp, immediately rushing towards Tsumugi and grabbing her long skirt between his hands and throttling her, “Help! They’ve kidnapped me! I’m being held against my will!”

“Ah!” Tsumugi screamed, looking up to Shuichi, “What is he talking about?!”

“He’s a liar,” Kyoko piped up, “He’s annoying but he gets the job done quickly so I haven’t kicked him out yet.”

The girl across the room huffed, “C-can you s-shut up over there? And you,” she pointed at Tsumugi, “hurry up and get over here s-so we can get b-back to work…”

“Right,” she nodded slowly before going over to the pair, “You two write the newspaper, that must include some interesting stories.”

“N-not really… I’m T-Toko Fukawa. That's Hi-Hifumi Yamada…” she gave the boy a side-eye, “Don’t say anything w-weird…”

“Never!” he cheered, turning to Tsumugi, “I am Hifumi Yamada- “

“Yeah,” Tsumugi sighed, already rather exhausted with his loudness, “Toko already introduced you.”

“But you may call me by my online dubbing - The Alpha and The Omega!”

“Alright,” Tsumugi dryly replied - he didn’t seem awful, but he definitely wasn’t for her.

“Wait!” Kokichi whined as the girl was leaving, grabbing at the tail of her skirt, “Didn’t you hear me earlier?! These creeps kidnapped me! They’re gonna kill me!”

“Stop talking,” Kyoko mumbled.

Shuichi sighed, running his hands through his hair, “Please, Kokichi, you’re giving me grey hairs and I’m barely eighteen…”

Tsumugi rubbed over her eyes, exhaustion ringing over her, “Me too and I haven’t even known you for ten minutes.”

~~

“No more crazies… no more crazies… no more crazies…” Tsumugi repeatedly murmured to herself as she rubbed her temples. Finally taking notice of the camera pointed at her, she hissed, “You better cut that.”

Once again, there was the motion of a nod from the director before following Tsumugi around to the back of the elementary school neighboring Hope’s Peak to find two more groups. This time, however, the two groups were working together extremely well and weren’t fighting whatsoever. Who knew how refreshing it could be to not hear yelling for five minutes?

It seemed that the third-grade student body had been split in half between a group of two and a group of three. The two were monitoring as kids ran around the large field - the three had kids standing at canvases with just a few bouncing around one with long hair tied in what appeared to be fishtail braids.

“Aw,” Tsumugi smiled at the sweet sight, “Okay, let’s go over there.”

A voice popped up from behind the camera, “I heard about these girls from the headmaster. Those two,” he pointed over to a muscular girl picking up kids on her arms with a shorter girl trailing behind her, “are Sakura Ogami and Aoi Asahina. They go around to closeby elementary schools and set up field days for the kids,” then to the group of three, made up of a white-haired girl in a long yellow overcoat, a redhead with extremely pointy boots, and the fishtail girl throwing obviously fake hits with some kids, “They’re Angie Yonaga, Himiko Yumeno, and Tenko Chabashira. They teach kids about the arts. Except for Tenko who teaches them her made up Neo-Aikido, something about controlling emotions and all that junk.”

“Wow,” Tsumugi breathed out, still approaching the two groups, “that’s so great. They seem like a fun- “

Then, out of nowhere, Tenko suddenly tossed Angie over her shoulder, causing an eruption of cheers to burst from the children.

Tsumugi’s face fell, she turned around and nearly ran out from behind the school and towards the car. Chants of “no, no, no, no” leaving her lips.

~~

“Oh, finally, normal people…”

The two boys in the copy room looked up at Tsumugi’s sigh.

“You must be the documentary girl?” the brunette smiled slightly, unevenly, “Sorry, I don’t know your name,” he lifted up a stack of papers, “Kyoko probably mentioned it but I was grading.”

“Tsumugi Shirogane!” the white-haired boy cheered, setting down the papers in his hands, “You’ve come to get my worthless opinion on whether or not student workers should be paid?! How incredible!”

“Sorry about him,” the shorter of the pair chuckled, “He has an inferiority complex. We’re working on it.”

“Uh-huh,” not as bland as she thought, apparently, “You two are… TAs?”

“Yeah,” the shorter nodded once again, “We work under Miss Yukizome, but lots of students everywhere are TAs, so I don’t think we should really have a say in this…”

“Especially me!” the other one butted in, “I barely help at all… I’m just garbage…”

“Nagito, you’re not garbage, and you do a lot!”

“With all respect, Makoto, the only reason you’re stuck with me is because all the other teachers can’t stand me!”

“Well, the only reason I’m here is because nobody else had a spot open.”

“Do you two just comfort each other about your hang-ups?”

“Yeah,” Makoto nodded, already pulling Nagito into a hug and patting his back, “it’s nice. Like super amateur therapy.”

“Painfully normal in comparison to the others,” Tsumugi turned to the camera, “Almost as plain as me.”

“No,” the voice from behind the camera peeped up again, “You’re still definitely the plainer one.”

~~

“We duel-work animal care and the occult,” Sonia cheered, holding a small puppy in her arms as Gundham fed hamsters in the back of the room, “It’s quite a bit of work but we manage, don’t we?”

Gundham nodded silently.

“Does…” Tsumugi gestured to the boy, “Does he ever speak?”

“You haven’t built enough resistance to the poison that would slip from his lips, unfortunately,” Sonia shakes her head, frowning slightly, “He doesn’t speak to people unless they’re immune.”

“And you are?”

“Surprisingly, yes!” eyes lighting up at the question, Sonia nodded excitedly, “It seems that I have managed to build up an immunity to his poison without even realizing it! Is that not amazing?”

Refraining from rolling her eyes, Tsumugi merely glanced between the beautiful blond and the boy hiding his bright red face in his scarf, “It truly is amazing, yes. How wonderfully random.”

“Wanna go?” the director asked.

“Yeah…”

~~

The camera aimed at a downcast Tsumugi, a frown depressingly obvious over her features. The voice behind the camera popped up, “Wanna try Celestia at the math club again?”

“And get told that only people she hates more than her own clubmates are theatre kids and then get called theatre kids and yelled at to get out again?” the girl grumbled, letting her microphone fall down into her lap as she sat slumped against the wall, “No thanks, Monokuma.”

“I mean, she’s not wrong,” the camera turned to show off the boy going by Monokuma with heterochromatic black-and-red eyes, half-and-half dyed hair between white and black. He snickered, “Yeah, I’m a big theatre kid. It’s unfortunate. You are, too, just let it go.”

“She might be right, but it’s still mean!”

[joaquinwhorres]

Best of Friends (Ch. 1) {Bucky x Reader}

SUMMARY ››››› When your best friend steals marries Bucky's best friend, the two of you are left with only one solution: to become best friends yourselves.

PAIRING ››››› Bucky Barnes x Reader

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,916

WARNINGS ››››› There is no abuse in this story, no drug use, no depression, and as the only warnings worth putting up throughout the series, will be based around major plot points and surprise, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG. 

A/N ››››› So I love and adore this story so much. I originally wrote it as an OC story and you can find those versions of the chapters on AO3 or FFN​

The pounding on the door was seriously the last thing you needed right now. 

The first thing you needed was a drink.

Unfortunately there was no way on God's green earth you were going to successfully parallel park that UHAUL, and the idea of going to a liquor store within walking distance of your new place seemed about as safe as letting in the person on the other side of the door. Something told you it wasn't the UPS guy causing the door to rattle against the frame.

You sent up a silent prayer that whoever it was would just go away and leave you to the excellent pity party you had been throwing herself.

The banging grew louder. Which was about right for today.

Since dying probably couldn't make you feel any worse than you did right now, you strode across the apartment and wrenched open the door. In the next second, you were pushed back into the apartment as someone hurled themselves at you. 

"You're here!"

Thank goodness. Bernadette. 

Your shoulders dropped as you wrapped your arms tightly around your best friend, squeezing your eyes shut and willing yourself to relax into the wave of relief. "Hi," you mumbled.

"Took you long enough to open the door," Bernadette complained, but you could hear the smile in her voice as she rocked you from side to side.

"I thought you were a crazy person."

Bernadette let out a wild laugh right in your ear, and you flinched but refused to let go. 

"She is a crazy person," a male voice interrupted your moment, and you opened your eyes to find two hulking figures leaning against the wall behind Bernadette. The brunette smirked at you--or maybe Bernadette--as the blonde seemed preoccupied with scanning the hallway. 

"Fuck you, Bucky," Bernadette lifted her middle finger for him to see without releasing you from the hug. 

Bucky just laughed in response. "I suggested texting you that we were on your way, but she thought you'd enjoy the surprise." His eyes glimmered with amusement as your eyes rolled on their own accord. 

"And you did, right?" Bernadette asked, pulling back enough to look at you eagerly. 

"Maybe we should get out of the hallway," the blonde suggested, putting a stop to the bickering and saving you from having to pick sides.

"Yes!" Bernadette's attention shifted as she released you from the hug. "Let's see it!" 

Your stomach constricted. "It's pretty rough."

"Of course it is. You just got here like thirty minutes ago," she dismissed, pushing past you. You sighed, opening the door and letting the men enter. 

“Hi Y/N. Sorry we didn't text,” the blonde greeted, giving you a quick hug on his way in. 

“It's fine, Steve,” you patted his back before dropping back down onto your feet.

“Your Honor,” Bucky grinned, entering the apartment. 

“Your Bestness.” You smiled back, following him in and closing the door behind you to keep anyone else from seeing the depressing state of your new reality. 

The three quickly fanned out to survey your apartment.

"This is a .....nice place," Bernadette smiled too brightly as she circled a pile of boxes in the kitchen to flip on the tap water. You watched as it sputtered a few times before picking up into a yellow-ish stream. She quickly flipped it off, turning to face you and see if you had seen. Making eye contact, she shrugged. "That clears up." 

Bless her. She had to be the best friend to ever exist. Because if you were her, you totally would have hit her with an 'I told you so' by now.

Bernadette had warned you that an affordable single apartment was suspicious. That sometimes landlords blurred the neighborhood lines. That you may need to fix it up in order for it to even be considered a fixer-upper. Everything she warned you about was true.

You had thought you were going to Williamsburg. Instead you were in Bed-Stuy.

The picture on the listing must have been from like 10 years ago. Or maybe it was a neighbor's place. Or straight photoshopped. Because exposed brick was one thing but crumbling walls were another. 

Add to that the three locks on the door and the fact that you were eight hours away from pretty much everyone you knew and loved, and you were feeling super great about this life decision. 

"Does it?" you asked, making your way over to the living room area where about half of the floor seemed to have been ripped up. 

"Sure," Bernadette nodded, moving out of the kitchen. "And if it doesn't, that's what Brita is for." 

"You locked the truck, right?" Steve asked from where he stood by a window, staring out to the street below. 

"Stop, the neighborhood's not that bad," Bernadette waved at Steve. She made a show of rolling her eyes as she moved past you to open the door to your bedroom."You did lock the truck, right?" she paused to whisper in your ear. You hummed a yes and turned to follow her. 

The bedroom was less depressing than the rest of the apartment in the way Mount Everest was less dangerous than K2. It was still a fucking mountain.

"Interesting paint job," Bernadette remarked, staring at the wall which was half royal blue and half blood red. And not even artsy diagonal halves. No, of course not. Vertical halves. "I think I've seen something like this on Pinterest." 

You groaned. 

Bernadette tilted her head slightly, considering the room. "I think you probably have enough room to fit a twin and a dresser in here if you line them up against the wall." 

"It's terrible," you whined. "The whole place is a complete shithole."

Bernadette gave you a sad smile. "It's better than I thought it would be,"  she brushed past you, walking back  into the living room. 

"There's a random hole in the kitchen ceiling!" You flung an arm out gesturing vaguely towards the kitchen. 

"It could have been way worse. I was expecting it to be like a fourth of the size or for there to be a random dude you had to share it with. And anyway, Bucky's handy."

Your eyes flicked to Bucky, who was surveying the hole in the kitchen ceiling.

"You can't see into the apartment upstairs, so that's good," he commented and Steve snorted. Bernadette slipped off her shoe and chucked it at Bucky. He ducked, and it hit the wall of the kitchen, knocking loose part of the wall. 

Whatever. 

Bernadette winced. "Sorry," she apologized to you, meekly, shuffling across the apartment to retrieve the shoe from Bucky's outstretched hand. Taking the shoe, she whacked him in the arm with it. Bucky laughed again, making eye contact with you and shaking his head. You allowed a single exhale of amusement to escape you. But that was pretty much all the humor you had to spend on the situation.

"Do you have the keys to the truck?" Steve asked, and you nodded, patting your pockets before finding them and offering the small keychain to him.  "Alright, Buck," he nodded with his head towards the door, and Bucky moved around Bernadette, giving her a wide berth as he went to follow Steve. 

She started to follow when Steve stopped her.

"We got it. It's just the heavy stuff, right?" he asked you. 

You nodded. "Yeah, I got most of the boxes up before you came." 

"Are you saying we can't handle the heavy stuff? Did I secretly marry a misogynist?" Bernadette asked, putting her hands on her hips. 

Steve shook his head, smiling. "We need someone to watch the stuff up here since the door's going to be open." 

"Steve--" Bernadette started to protest again. You weren't sure if she was about to argue about her physical prowess or the apartment's safety, but regardless of the argument this eternal optimist wanted to make, you were fairly sure Steve was right.

"That'd be great, you can help me figure out where to put things as we unpack."

Bernie brightened at the prospect. "I'm glad you said that, because I already have some ideas." She turned back to face Bucky and Steve. 

"Bucky, make sure he doesn't overexert himself. I need him fully functional tonight." You hoped that everyone mixed the grimace that crossed your face. Steve blushed slightly, and leaned down to whisper something in Bernie's ear. A grin spread across her face, and you were very thankful Steve was not one of those people who couldn't whisper.

"Ah newlyweds," Bucky made eye contact with you again, and you couldn't read the look on his face. He seemed almost like he was waiting for you to get the punchline of a joke. Maybe if your brain was operating at all correctly, you would have gotten it. Instead, you snorted before turning to Bernadette.

"Kitchen should be easiest and least in the way, right?"

"As long as we get it done in time for Bucky to take a look at the ceiling. And the bit of wall he knocked off." 

You knew Bernadette well enough to see the red herring for what it was. You were not going to get distracted with holding her accountable for further destroying your shitty apartment.

"I'm not going to ask Bucky to fix my ceiling," you said, gathering the utensils out of the box and sticking them in a drawer by the stove. 

"It's not a big deal--" Bernie dismissed, crossing paths with you to take the utensils and stick them in one of the mason jars you'd already unpacked.

You shook your head, "It's weird to ask one of your friends to fix my ceiling--"

"He's your friend too," Bernadette argued, taking the napkins out of your hands and disappearing with them. 

"I've met him twice." 

Bernadette came back and rustled through the open boxes, the sound of glass clinking and metal shifting against each other in her wake."Yes, but the second time you spent four days practically attached to the hip with him." 

"Because he was the best man, and I was the maid of honor. It was our job to be attached at the hip and make sure everything went well."

"Was creating cute little nicknames part of the job as well?" Bernadette asked, pausing to pin you with a look.

"It's just an inside joke, and they're not that cute."

"Oh, they're pretty cute," Bernie smirked, bending back down to go through a box. "Where did you put your dish towels?" 

You stood up from your box, coming over to join her in looking through the box. "I mean he calls you Bernie."

"Everyone calls me Bernie now," Bernadette dismissed. "Besides he has two nicknames for you." 

"K is not a nickname. It's a taunt."

"You mean flirtatious teasing."

"I mean a jab at how I'm a shit texter."

Bernadette looked you dead in the eyes before shooting you what was probably supposed to be a sultry wink. " 'k." 

You threw the dish towels you'd just dislodged at her and she laughed, picking them back up from where they fell in the box, and moving over to the open drawer. "Setting aside the two nicknames and their quality, he volunteered to come help you. I don't think he'd mind taking a look." 

"Maybe," you conceded, knowing Bernadette wouldn't stop until she'd had some measure of success. It's what had to make her such a good law student. You had given in enough times on the promise of maybe that with a glint in her eye she dropped the subject.

It took Bucky and Steve a little over an hour to unload all of your things from the truck. It was another forty-five minutes of Bernadette reimagining the floor plan and forcing the four of you to continuously shuffle the furniture around before she was satisfied. When all was said and done, the apartment did look marginally better. At least some of the punched in outlets were hidden and the worst of the floor was covered.

"Well," Bernadette said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "That's it. You're officially a New Yorker." 

"And you can officially stop sending me those sketchy Craigslit ads and Monster listings," you nodded, placing your hands on your hips and surveying the apartment. 

"Neither of you are New Yorkers," Bucky shook his head, navigating the words around a hair-tie as he fixed his bun. Bernadette turned to glare at him, and he laughed, slipping the hair-tie around the bundle of hair.

"You married in. Doesn't count."

"Excuse you, I’m fluent in Subway Announcement and I’ve had a rat steal some of my food. If that doesn’t make me a New Yorker then I don’t know what does,” Bernadette huffed.

"You're a New Yorker," Steve soothed, putting an arm around her, and kissing the top of her head. 

"Well," you sighed, hoping to stop another bantering fight from breaking out between Bucky and Bernadette. "I need pizza. And beer. And to get out of this apartment. Anyone else?"

"Oh," Bernadette's face fell as she glanced quickly up at Steve and then at you. "I wish we could, but Steve and I have reservations. I wasn't even thinking when we made them, and it's such a long wait list…" she trailed off, frowning sympathetically "I'm so sorry, babe."

"I'm free," Bucky offered. "And I actually know a decent place that's not too far from here. Since I'm a real New Yorker." The jab effectively stopped the sly grin that was growing on Bernadette's face.

"I--"

"What line did we take to get here?" Bucky asked, and Bernadette sulked. "It just slipped out."

"It's a tourist mistake," Bucky shook his head, tsking. "The green line." 

"Well," Bernadette hmphed, "Steve and I are going to take the G train back home to get ready for dinner." She moved over to you, placing a kiss on your cheek. "I will see you for lunch sometime soon because we can do that now that we live in the same city!" 

You smiled, and reached up to hug Steve as he bent down to say goodbye. 

"Bucky, please do not take my best friend to any godforsaken hole in the wall back alley pizza joint that's definitely just a front. I don't care how good their pizza is," Bernadette cut off his protest and he smiled, shaking his head. 

"You're missing out on all of the best food."

"Ok," Bernadette dismissed, her disbelief dripping from each syllable. She took Steve by the hand, and you and Bucky walked them to the door. "Love you both." And with that, Bernadette and Steve were gone, leaving you alone in your apartment with Bucky. 

He sighed, running a hand through the roots of his hair, despite the fact that it messed up his perfectly done man bun. 

"You don't have to get pizza with me," you said, flashing a quick smile at him. 

"Trying to get rid of me?" Bucky asked, looking down at you amused. 

You shook your head, turning away from him quickly to try to locate your purse amongst the boxes. "No, I just--didn't want you to just come along to be nice. Or because you felt bad that Bernadette ditched so I'm all alone."

"How could I feel bad when you put it like that?" 

"I didn't mean it like--" you started, stuttering and Bucky stopped you, coming up beside you with your purse hanging from his finger. 

"I know. Just rest assured that I'm happy to put up with you for pizza." 

You snatched the purse from him, slinging it across your body as Bucky laughed at you. "Ready?" 

You nodded and the two of you headed out the door.

For all of the inconveniences and tragedies that had befallen you today, the walk to the pizza place was not one of them. In fact, second to seeing Bernadette at your door, it was probably the best part of the entire day. The walk was short, and the September evening air was pleasantly warm. With Bucky and his MMA fighter build next to you, navigating through the neighborhood didn't wrack your nerves as much as it could have. Although, it might not have been Bucky's muscles as much as his easy conversation that provided the comfort. He told you about his job, where to find the best bodegas, and one embarrassing story of Steve growing up. By the time you arrived at Tony's Pizza Spot, you had almost forgotten about how awful your day was.

"Hey Tony," Bucky called out, entering the place, and the owner looked up from where he was cutting a pizza. He jerked his head up in a nod. It was a small wood paneled shop with no tables or counters to sit at. Instead, there was one large display case with different meats and breads. You looked up at the simple menu, and Bucky stood closely next to you despite the fact that you had a feeling he didn't need to look at the offerings.

"Pepperoni and sausage ok?" Bucky asked, and you nodded, scanning the drink refrigerators for any sight of beer. "And for your milkshake?"

You raised your eyebrows at him. "I'm getting a milkshake?"

"You are," he nodded. 

"Well," you looked up at the board. "Cherry vanilla." 

"Excellent choice," Bucky smiled, approaching the counter as Tony tied off the pizza box with twine and then approached. 

"What can I getcha?" he asked his eyes flicking between you and Bucky. 

Bucky placed the order quickly, and Tony nodded, quickly tallying it up on the register. You reached into your purse for your wallet, but Bucky waved you off. "I got this."

"Pretty sure it's customary for the person who just subjected you to two hours of moving stuff to pay for the pizza. "

"Nah," Bucky shook his head, already handing the cash over to Tony."Think of it as a housewarming gift." 

"Just moved to the neighborhood?" Tony asked, passing back Bucky his change, and you nodded. "Welcome." 

"She's right down the street," Bucky said, dumping the change into the tip jar and stuffing the bills back into his pocket. "Figured I'd show her the best pizza spot in town."

"Damn right," Tony grinned, moving away to grab out an already prepped cheese pizza.. "How's Clint doin'? Didn't see him last week."

Bucky shook his head. "Broke his wrist last week, so Kate's placed him under house arrest to make sure he doesn't make it worse like last time. I'm guessing one of them will be in soon." 

Tony had the same look of exasperation as Bucky as he ladeled sauce onto the pizza. "It's always something with him. Broken bones. Concussion. That boy's a walking accident."

You sorted through your memories trying to remember if you had met Clint at the wedding or either of the times you had been up to visit Bernadette at school. The name sounded familiar enough, but you couldn't picture the face. If Bernadette was here she could jog your memory. She'd remind you who Clint was give you a few facts about his life and a quick story so you felt like you knew him already. But she wasn't here. She was off being married, and you were in this tiny pizza shop with a boy you hardly knew who was doing his best to keep you company.

"You ok?" Bucky bumped shoulders with you. You hadn't realized their conversation ended and Tony had moved away to make the milkshakes.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you shook your head trying to clear your thoughts. 

Bucky shot you a very disbelieving look. "I can't tell if you're a bad liar or just too tired to try to be good at it."

Your shoulders dropped. Frankly, it was both. "It's nothing...it's stupid," you dismissed.

"Bummed you're stuck here with me instead of Bernie?" Bucky guessed. Very correctly. 

"No," you sighed.  "I just wish she was here too."

"Yeah, I get it," Bucky nodded, facing back forward to watch Tony making the milkshakes. 

You felt bad. After all, Bucky had volunteered to give up his Monday evening to helping you move in. He probably had a whole list of things he'd rather do after work than lug a bookshelf up your stairs, but he'd done it, hadn't complained, and then treated you to pizza. And here you were wishing he was Bernadette. 

"It was kind of rude of your best friend to steal my best friend," you commented with a half smile.

Bucky snorted. "Sorry, your honor, but your best friend stole my best friend."

"What?"

Bucky looked back down at you. "You weren't there. He was gone long before she was. Pretty much the second he met her  it was over for him."

"What, and you were there the second they met?" you sassed back, placing your hands on your hips. 

"Actually, yes," Bucky said, reaching forward to grab a milkshake Tony placed up on the counter. He peered into the top of the cup and passed it over to you. "Steve volunteered both of our services to move in Bernie's stuff."

"I didn't realize you were there," you said, accepting the dessert from Bucky.  "She only ever mentioned Steve."

"Maybe he did steal her away fairly instantly then." Bucky shrugged. "Anyway, you realize there's only one solution to our problem, right?"

You gave him a flat look. "I'm not going to kill them."

"Holy shit, no," Bucky laughed. "That's where you went first?" Your face heated up, and you quickly busied yourself with a sip of the milkshake which was very good. Better than alcohol good. "And?" Bucky asked. 

"It's delicious," you said, returning for another sip before looking back at him. "But what's the solution?"

"We'll be best friends."

"You want to be my best friend?" you asked, with a small smile.

"More like I want you to be my best friend," Bucky said. "Steve's been doing a shit job recently, and you moved all the way from North Carolina to be with Bernie--I like that kind of effort." 

You laughed, and Bucky grinned back, taking his milkshake from off the counter.

"Alright," you agreed, feeling a little bit lighter. "I'm not replacing Bernadette though. You'll just have to be the substitute for when she's not up to par."

"I can work with that," Bucky nodded. "And as my first act as your substitute best friend is to demand to throw you a housewarming party. Don't make plans for next Saturday."

The smile slid off of your face. "No, thank you.  I don't want anyone walking into my trap house apartment."

"Your apartment is not that bad."

"Bucky. It's terrible."

"Your Honor, Steve and I shared a glorified closet for our entire sophomore year of college. We couldn't both stand in our kitchen." Bucky leveled you a glance. "And our friends still came over to visit us."

You mulled it over, stirring your milkshake with the straw. It wasn't a terrible idea. It was bad,, uncomfortable, ill-thought out, and overall not good, but it wasn't terrible. You nodded. "Alright, Your Bestness. Saturday."

"Excellent," Bucky grinned, grabbing the box Tony slid across the counter. "We'll discuss details over pizza." 

Masterlist

[bvckiesbarnes]

does that make me crazy?

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: Reader is a waitress at a seedy bar. Bucky comes in to collect some payment and talk business with your boss. Things go wrong, and Bucky tries to get the truth.

Themes/Warnings: Mafia!Bucky, slight gun violence, slight swearing.

A/N: Requests are open! This is also my first Bucky x Reader fic so please be kind :)

You wipe down the bar top, idly trying to count in your head how many tips you got. You weren’t great at math but you still wanted to try. It was a slow night, typical for a Tuesday.

The bar you worked at was pretty seedy and it was situated on one of the many streets run by the Mafia. They were relatively safe if you payed the protection fee and didn’t make stupid decisions. You didn’t know exactly how much that fee was, but it wasn’t enough to go bankrupt, that’s for sure.

Just as you were finishing with the till, three people walked in. Two of them walked slowly, obviously assessing the room for threats. A woman with red hair and the type of attitude that says she could kill you with a single look inspected her nails, whispering something at her companion, an extremely muscular blonde man trailing two steps behind.

The man in the middle, though, is what makes you pay attention. He has full lips, artfully tousled brown, almost black hair and the most piercing set of blue yes you have ever seen. His jaw is sharp as a knife, broad shoulders filling out his jacket nicely.

You feel your mouth run dry and you immediately swallow, trying to get your tongue to work.

When you finally speak, you try to address all of them, your eyes lingering slightly on the man in the middle.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” you say, smiling apologetically.

The man in the middle doesn’t even miss a beat. “It won’t take a minute,” he says, a Brooklyn drawl lacing his words.

The moment he speaks, you recognise him. James “Bucky” Barnes. Notorious leader of the Mafia. The Mafia.

You are so fucked.

Trying to keep your voice steady, you straighten your back, trying not to betray anything. “Can I help you?”

“Is there any chance your boss is around?” Bucky asks, inspecting the bar and wincing slightly at the state of the stools, “I need to have a little chat with him. Tell him Bucky’s here.” His smile was all teeth, predatory and dangerous.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I think he’s in the back. Should I get him, or..?” You say, gesturing with your thumb.

Bucky just smirks, a lopsided thing that was far too innocent to be anything but. “That’d be great, doll.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile and rush to the back, not wanting to keep him waiting.

Your boss—Mike—wasn’t the best, but he wasn’t the worst, either. He usually pays on time, which is nice, and he only sometimes uncomfortably flirts with you. He’s only harassed you like, once. In New York that’s pretty good.

The world is fucked.

You quickly push the back door open. “Hey, Mike? There’s someone–oh, what the fuck.”

There’s a gun. Mike is holding the gun. In all your years in New York, this is actually the first time you’re getting a gun pulled on you. Fun. If you had a bingo card, you’d definitely win it with this.

Mike is breathing harshly, red in the face. Sweat drips down into his eyes. How he’s keeping them open is a mystery to you. “I know who’s here,” he whispers harshly, finger shaking on the trigger, “and I don’t wanna see him.”

The smart thing to do is back away. Tell Bucky to come back another time. For some reason, your brain wholeheartedly disagrees and decides to speak. “I don’t really think you have a choice,” you retort, voice steady.

Mike just turns even redder. You didn’t know a person could even have this much blood in one area. It seems unhealthy. “I swear to god I will shoot you,” he practically barks. “Tell him to go.”

“Okay, okay, let’s think for a moment here–”

“I am warning you–”

“I’m going!” You say, hands up in a placating motion. “Don’t shoot.”

You back out, keeping your hands up the entire time. You try your hardest to look normal when you go back into the bar, hoping that Bucky and his group don’t see through your façade. The moment you step back into that room all eyes are on you.

Except only Bucky is there.

This is gonna be bad.

You speak before Bucky can say anything.

“Hey, sorry, I think you just missed him, but I could leave a message or–oh you are very close.”

With each word you spoke, Bucky stepped closer, backing you into the bar. Your back hits the corner and suddenly you’re aware of just how close he is, the scent of his aftershave spicy and clean. It was intoxicating and, quite frankly, you didn’t mind it.

“Now I’m gonna ask you a question and I expect you to be honest with me, darlin’,” Bucky said, his voice low enough that you needed to concentrate to make out the words he was saying.

You swallow, catching the way his eyes follow the movement. He was a head taller than you, emphasising the feeling of being caged in. It made your heart race—and if you were being truthful—not just from fear.

He leans in a little closer, his hands coming up to rest beside your head. “Where’s your boss?”

Each word was spoken softly, but he may as well be shouting them for how loud they seemed in your ears.

“Not here—” you start to say, but Bucky just clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

“Now, I don’t get pissed off, easy. I like to think myself quite reasonable, actually,” he twirls a strand of your hair, playing with it idly. The casualness just added to the butterflies in your stomach which you firmly told yourself was panic and not anything else.

“Lyin’, though,” he continues, “gets on my nerves, and you don’t wanna be on my bad side.” The low, almost growl of his voice shivers down your spine. You look away, trying to break the tension.

Bucky gently grabs your chin, making you look at him. His grip is calloused yet soft. You could break out if you wanted, but something about him traps you in his gaze.

“So I’m gonna ask one more time,” he says, piercing blue eyes boring into yours, “where is your boss?”

A voice in your head tells you to shut up and avoid getting shot. Another voice tells you to answer, because something tells you he could do a lot worse than shoot you. A part of you also wanted to see how he’d react to your honesty, if he’d smile a genuine smile or if he’d just back off.

“He’s in the back,” you say, voice quiet but surprisingly steady.

A grin spreads across Bucky’s face, boyish and pleased. “Thanks, doll.” For a second it seems like he’s going to lean in, maybe drag his lips across yours, but the moment is broken when the door to the back room opens.

You startle, eyes immediately looking over to what moved. Bucky leans back slowly, unperturbed. The two people he came in with were holding your boss between them, bruised and bloody.

Bucky makes some quick hand gestures, obviously telling them to take care of it. How, you didn’t want to know. They left quickly, speaking in low hushed tones, strangely jovial considering what they just did.

Then, something clicked. “Hold on, he’s—”

“Yup,” Bucky says, popping the ‘p’.

“Which means you already knew where he was,” you say, the realisation slowly dawning on you.

“I wouldn’t be good at what I did if I didn’t,” he grins, leaning on the bar next to you. You’re relieved for the space it puts between you, since your cheeks were absolutely burning. Why was he so hot? Why couldn’t you be attracted to, like, an accountant, or something?

“So, if you knew, why did you ask?” You say, crossing your arms, trying to regain some dignity.

Bucky shrugs. “Wanted to see if you told the truth.”

Your brows furrow, and in a fit of boldness, you take a step closer to him. His eyebrow quirks up at that, smiling rakishly and running his eyes over you.

“And you needed to see that because..?” You ask, slightly annoyed now that the shock of the night was gone.

“Because I wanted to ask you to dinner,” Bucky says, writing something on a bit of paper he fished out from his pocket.

“You—I—what?”

“Dinner,” Bucky says, slow, as if he was speaking to a child, “it’s a meal you eat with someone you wanna get to know better.”

“Yeah, I know what dinner is,” you snap, annoyed at his condescending tone. This only makes him smile wider, making you bristle. “What I wanna know is why do you want to ask me to it.”

Bucky just smiles wider. “Come to dinner and I’ll tell you,” he says, sauntering over to you and handing you the piece of paper. “This number doesn’t connect directly to me, so don’t get any ideas, doll.” He stood just a bit too close, but you refused to take a step back. Instead you looked him in the eyes, straightening your back.

You were just about to ask about what you could do with a number before realising the world he comes from. Maybe it’s best to keep this to myself, you think, pocketing the piece of paper.

“I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow,” Bucky says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Before you could answer, he was already walking away, leaving you with the residual warmth left behind from his touch.

What a weird fucking night.

[heroloverangel]

Caught Red Handed

Look at me, finishing something before the last day of the month. You’re just trying to borrow some class notes when you go knocking on Tamaki’s door.

You’re just trying to look out for your grades, that’s all. That’s definitely the only reason you find yourself wandering down this particular floor of the dorm, hoping to borrow some class notes. Tamaki never speaks up during lessons, but you’ve always noticed him writing down more than anyone else. You’re sure he’s the key to your academic success.

“Amajiki?” You knock firmly and wait, hearing him fumbling around on the other side.

“Just….just a minute!” Curious, you press your ear against the door to listen harder. He sounds even more flustered than normal, and it’s more than a little adorable. You can’t quite make out what he’s telling himself, but you’re sure you hear something like “C-coming,” and expect to be let in. When he doesn’t appear after a few moments, you turn the knob anyways and peek into his room.

“Hi, I was hoping I could use-” Your words are abruptly cut off when you get a look at him. Normally you’d think it was cute to see him sprawled on his bed, red faced and hard at work. This time, however, you catch sight of his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, stroking himself with something red and lacy. He freezes in place, meeting your eyes with a look of absolute horror. “Oh...oh my god, I’m sorry!” You slam the door in your haste to escape, and you’re halfway down the hallway before something familiar clicks in your mind and you turn back around.

You open his door again without warning this time. He hasn’t moved a muscle, but snaps out of it and frantically yanks a blanket over his lap. “Stop doing that!”

You step fully into his room and close the door behind you. “Those are my panties,” you say, pointing to the fabric bunched up in his hand. You look at him expectantly, waiting for a response.

If you thought he was embarrassed before, he may be actively dying in front of you now. “I...you weren’t...it’s not…” You see tears in his eyes but as bad as you feel for making him suffer, it’s too late to forget what you saw. “It’s...it’s n-not what you think,” he finally explains and takes a deep breath. “I didn’t steal them, or anything weird. You just, well...we both did laundry last weekend. And I used the s-same dryer after you were done, and when I put my clothes away, I just found your...y’know, those in my hamper. I g-guess you forgot them, I think.”

That makes sense. You remember seeing him in the laundry room, and that pair of underwear missing when you folded your clothes. “Why didn’t you just give them back?”

He’d been staring at the floor, but his gaze pops up as if you’d just suggested he eat the actual sun. “Are you crazy? What if you thought I took them on purpose?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Because that’d be worse than keeping them to jerk off with?”

Tamaki looks back at the ground. “I-I’m sorry. I thought I could throw them back in your washing machine next time,” he reasons. Then he mumbles, more to himself than you, “I just...wondered what they’d feel like.”

“And how did they feel,” you ask quietly, staring at him with open interest.

He swallows, fingers twisting in the blanket. “Really, really good.”

You let out a sigh and sit down on the edge of his bed; he scoots further to the side, as far away from you as possible. You give yourself a second to choose your words carefully, figuring out a plan before glancing at him. “Tamaki, do you like me?” 

He gulps loudly. “Y-yeah, I do. I’m sorry-” he says again but you shush him.

“That’s good. I’m not mad, you know.” He steals a hopeful glance at you, but you continue before he can relax. “But you did something bad, and you need to make it up to me.”

“A-alright. What do you want me to do?”

With a smile, you reach over and squeeze the hand still holding your missing panties. “Keep going. I want to watch.”

Tamaki looks at you in shock, but after a minute to compose himself he cautiously moves the blanket out of the way, wrapping the lace over his dick and pumping himself back to hardness. He keeps his eyes closed, breath deeping while he works and making little whines at the back of his throat. You watch precum leak out from the tip to stain the soft fabric and slip closer next to him.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself?” “...You.” He clears his throat, blushing scarlet. “Kissing you, and... you t-touching me, and...and...things like that.”

“Like this?” You kiss his neck and his eyes snap open just in time to see you reaching for him. One finger traces lightly along his shaft, just enough to tease and you can feel him twitching at the attention. “Does that feel good?” You stroke him gently, waiting for an answer and he bites down on his lip and nods. “Is it better than using my panties?” He shudders, giving you a moan that’s far too arousing for his own good.

“S-so much better,” he finally stammers out, bucking his hips instinctively into your touch.

“Good boy,” you coo, admiring the blush splashed across his face all the way to the tips of his ears. “You wanna know something?” He whines in response as you give his aching cock another squeeze. “I like you, too.” You don’t give him the chance to say anything; your free hand reaches for his chin and brings him in for a long kiss. Tamaki’s dick throbs eagerly against your palm and you pull away to hear another cute little whimper. “Should I keep going?”

“Please,” he huffs out, gripping the blanket tightly with his unoccupied hand. “Don’t stop, I think I’m gonna-” Your name comes out as a shanky whine and you’re very aware of the wetness in your current underwear.

“You want me to help you come?” He doesn’t give you a real answer, only rutting harder against your fingers and gasping when your thumb presses along the slit of his cock, but you get the point. “You’re so cute, Tamaki.” You lean in and press quick kisses along his jaw and throat and enjoy how the thrust of his hips speed up to match the pump of your hand. “Go on, come all over my panties.” You feel it, the unmistakable shiver that runs down his spine and then his dick twitches hotly in your grasp, cum leaking through the soft lace to smear over your fingers.

Tamaki slumps against you heavily, panting like he’s just run a marathon and you smile down at him. There’s a brief moment of peace between the two of you, and then he glances down at his mess. “Oh, god. I got...it’s all over you. I didn’t mean-” He stops abruptly when he sees the mischievous look in your eyes and just lets out a tiny, embarrassed squeak as he watches your tongue slip out and lick your hand clean.

“It’s alright, I like the way you taste.” You watch his brain short-circuit and he sits there stuttering, and you make a wicked decision to push your luck tonight. “Do you ever think about touching me?”

It takes several seconds for him to process the question and he’s back to staring at the floor. “Yeah. A lot.”

“Do you want to?” You fidget with your clothes and he looks back up at the sound, just in time to see your shorts hit the floor along with the underwear you’ve been making increasingly damp with arousal. He swallows, trying very hard to keep his eyes on your face and you offer him an encouraging grin. “It’s okay, you can look.”

His gaze drops between your legs in a heartbeat and you almost have to laugh at his sudden eagerness. You shift yourself to face him, opening your thighs wider to give him a better view. “Look at me,” you coo, spreading your folds. “See how wet my pussy is?” He nods wordlessly and leans in closer. He’s fascinated as you press a finger inside yourself and let out a little moan of your own, withdrawing to show it covered in your juices.

You tease your cunt like this for him, adding another finger and noticing his cock growing hard again. Your thumb runs over your clit; it makes your hips jerk forward and you see him reach out for only a second before stopping himself. Oh no, he’s not getting away that easy.

You move your hand away, grabbing his instead and guiding it towards you. “Are-are you sure you want this?”

“You have no idea how much I’ve fucked myself to the thought of this,” you answer, and his mouth sets into a determined line in response. “Just touch me, like I was doing.”

Carefully, as if he’s afraid he might break you, you feel Tamaki slip a single finger into your waiting body. “You’re so warm,” he groans, wiggling it gently inside you. Your inner muscles clench around him for more but he resists the urge to rush. His touch is feather-light, almost unbearably tender and you’re practically a dripping mess by the time his second finger probes at your entrance.

“Fuck,” you gasp out and he pauses. You already know what he’s thinking and shake your head before he can ask. “No, it feels amazing. Don’t stop.” You stroke your clit along with him and you’re getting even wetter at the combined attention. “You’re making me feel so good,” you whisper. He drags his eyes up from your pussy, following the free hand you use to pull your shirt up above your chest. You yank roughly on your bra until you manage to free yourself and there’s a very obvious throbbing in his cock at the sight of your bare skin. He watches you grope your soft breasts and pinch your hard, sensitive nipples and something in him snaps.

You’d never expect he’d get so distracted that he forgets to be shy. It’s a welcome surprise when he drops his head to your chest and draws your nipple into his mouth, and your cunt squeezes tight around him at the feeling. “Tamaki, just like that,” you pant out, knowing he’s going to push you over the edge soon. “Here, move your fingers up a...a little bit. Yes, god, right there.” You fumble awkwardly for a second until you’re able to wrap your unoccupied hand around his shaft once again. It’s a little uncomfortable how the two of you have to bend to wrap around each other, but the pleasure more than makes up for it.

You feel the sweat trickle down your back as he plays with you, moving faster at your request and your fingers at your clit speed up to match. He works you over perfectly, exactly how you ask and you rapidly lose your composure. His hot mouth on your nipple, paired with one last firm stroke deep inside your pussy, just where your body demands, shoves you over your limit and you spasm around his fingers, crying out an unintelligible sound that goes straight to his dick.

You ignore your own task as you writhe against him and he lets you tire yourself out, staring hypnotically at your orgasm and feeling a flicker of pride in his heart. You come down soon enough, breath ragged and face flushed, and pull him in for another deep kiss before you can stop yourself. “C’mon, let me finish you,” you demand breathlessly, an redouble your efforts to get him off again.

It doesn’t take much this time. Touching you was so arousing to him, he’s already well on his way to another climax. You let out a lewd, satisfied moan when he removes his soaked fingers from you and watch as he brings them to his mouth to taste you. You squeeze your hand tighter around him, pump him just a little faster and he’s coming again for you. It’s less intense than earlier, cum dribbling down his cock and onto your wrist and he lets out a satisfied sigh.

Both of you need a minute to recover, and you’re in the process of cleaning up before his brain hits the panic button. “Was-um, was that okay?”

“That was better than okay,” you assure him with a kiss to his sweaty forehead. “Oh, right! Can I borrow your history notes? That’s kinda what I came down here for.”

As weird of a night this has been, he can’t help but laugh a bit. “Yeah, I guess. They’re on my desk.”

“Thanks so much! You’re the best, Tamaki.” You quickly pull on your shorts, tossing your underwear on the bed next to the original pair.

He glances at them, usual nervousness already returning so quickly. “What about your...well, you know?”

You grab his notebook off the desk and shrug. “Don’t worry about it. You can just wash them and give them back next time.”

“Next time?” He sounds surprised, but there’s a hopeful note in his voice.

“Of course there’s a next time!” You pet his messy hair before heading to the door. “I meant what I said, I really do like you.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly, unable to hide his small, adorable smile.

“And you can use my mouth if you want!”

You cackle as you walk out, leaving flustered and stammering mess of a hero behind you.