#He's always beautiful no matter the shot he's in

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𖦹. “𝐏𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, 𝐖𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔?” — (𝐒𝐘𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐘)

𖦹. — 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. as they say, every innocent church boy has once been fucked by their cute friend in a bustling cafe, at least once—right? or something along the lines of that. 8.4k words. (unplanned.)

𖦹. — 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨��𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 . . . purest of people, male sydney who so stupidly thought this was merely meant to be a study session, dubious consent that slowly morphs into full-on yearning, established friendship, cock sucking, fingering, anal fucking all in the holiest of pretext to teach, manipulative, model student, male reader (amab) that really just means well, yeah. least, sydney thinks so while being bent in half.

𖦹. — 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬, doc?: “I think he was cute to begin with, but then he patted at his belly spouting some shit about how ‘warm’ it was after my pc shot his load inside and I’ve never needed anything more than to bend some bitch over in the cathedral they pray to.”

Although it may have been unfortunately irritating to some, actually, more like many, really—he’s always truthfully prided himself for his unwavering professionalism and unmatched dedication when it came to school itself. More notably, his unending studies that seemingly only keep on piling up like an intimidating mountain never meant to be ultimately finished.

Or perhaps, what he’s naturally grown more accustomed to for having blindly pursued it for the entire span of his youthful, blossoming life; the Temple’s dictating principles—the questionable need and obligation to importantly preserve his untainted being, virginity, to be more precise. Dutifully stray himself further from the tempting sin that is, well. . . the numerous activities of life itself, most of which his peers mindlessly participate in themselves. As though they could hope to pitifully understand the church boy’s stifling path towards the underlying answers he continuously seeks, strives forward in an unnerved will to earnestly discover.

See, there’s undeniably no need to try and somehow explain the sheer amount of efforts Sydney irrefutably puts in to eventually achieve his long-term goals, correct?

At least, he’s positively and oh, so naively thought so up till now. Ah, brother Jordan’s perpetually warned him of others that may possibly lead him astray, whether intentionally so or not. Stray, golden, strawberry blonde strand of hair delicately placed behind the curved tip of his heated ear, well-preserved lips discreetly pursued inwards into a thinly veiled frown because honestly—he’s confidently speculated of you as otherwise, hm. And weren’t you supposedly meant to be his sole salvation of sparkling light and reprieve from that terrible and horribly selfish town you both regrettably reside in?

Which, couldn’t be more wrong for that matter—could he? Foolishly and frustratingly so, all too trusting that he can sometimes be. Consistently mindful of the potential threats that lay at bay, promising utter defilement if given the chance to swiftly sink their claws and pearly canines in the tender flesh of the boy’s untouched being.

Particularly, not this time it seems—not with your overly distracting presence perfectly positioned in front of his calmly seated own.

If it were anyone else, certainly they would’ve predictably seen this coming way before he has so, but pristine innocence itself—has always been the initiate’s first and foremost, silly shortcoming, hasn’t it? Oh, pointlessly stupid, Sydney. . . It’s inherently your fault for happily sticking along to the deceptively beautiful place that is, the starving tiger’s drooling maw, yeah?

So, really—it’s merely natural for it to have somehow derailed the way it did. An absently made lie to falsely convince himself of such, that he’s indeed above the rest of this sickeningly pervasive town in return, isn’t he? Right??

Unlikely. For as the all too well-known saying allegedly goes; the excessively ambitious bird unreasonably flew close towards the infinitely scorching sun, right?

Hah—

“. . .What are you doing?” Curiously peering upwards from the neatly laid and spread sheets of papers he’s meticulously sorted atop the creaking, wooden table. Almost faltering in the instinctual, heated sigh that’s bound to solemnly come out of his usually quiet mouth as his shimmering gaze automatically locks with your. . . annoyingly bored one, apparently. Since, what’s the exact point to be pleasantly inquiring him with the delightful idea to silently study together in some bustling cafe stationed nearby if you, yourself—won’t even tentatively participate in your aforementioned suggestion, huh??

“Studying.” Poorly fabricated falsehood at most, he can effortlessly see through that. Straying eyes sluggishly evading his as if to secretly rid yourself from some misplaced guilt incessantly residing within your thudding chest. Though, swiftly recovering with a quipped, cheeky retort of your own soon after—as it is so expectantly common of you to do, yet still. . . can’t truly bring himself to be sincerely annoyed by that endearing antic of yours. “—and modestly admiring the view in front of me. I can’t do that?”

Hmph, that sole and insignificant compliment shouldn’t have suddenly brought forth a crimson flush to his cheeks, beautifully painted his complexion a deeper hue for your. . . ah, so stupidly childish, cherry lips to unabashedly grin back at in muted satisfaction for his lack of response. Ahah, pretty please—do get a grip on yourself, Sydney, before he’s indecently ruined you too!

Seriously. . . For a well renowned model student collectively respected by most at the establishment you two simultaneously attend—you’re ostensibly quite the sneaky trickster on multiple occasions, aren’t you? Especially towards him for some particular reason which, he hasn’t remotely registered as to why yet. Yes, he’s been somehow oblivious to your unmistakably evident flirting during all this incessantly wasted time because well, that’s how he’s been continuously raised to be, despite the strikingly opposite demeanour of his other parent, Sirris.

However, fine. The religious boy might as well reluctantly grant you this momentarily acquired victory for his infuriatingly stunned silence to eventually catch up to, someday. Arrogantly emboldened by that mind muddling smile you oh, so proudly wear amongst your enraptured features—further pushed towards the edge by the reasonable expectation that he’s bound to similarly allow you to selfishly step all over him as so many others do, but no. . . Not today, considering the weighted amount of importance he relentlessly dedicates to maintaining nearly perfect grades amidst his plentiful classes.

Merely an exception made for that one tiring, swimming course however, as athleticism and specifically, raw stamina has unluckily never been his main strong suit. Truly no need to embarrassingly reminisce upon the various moments he’s nearly drowned in the incessant, violent waves of water within the limited pool, helplessly fought for his life in that surely. . . dangerous area. At least, he nearly thinks of it so—unless, some other snickering students were the guilty culprits responsible of disrespectfully splashing loads of liquid in his unfortunate direction? Oh, that too.

Though, that harmless treatment seemingly ceased altogether the second you consequently stepped into his previously mundane life. Huh. An enigma, indeed. Must be what gaining a friend in your reclusive bubble similarly does, probably. Yes, probably. Unbeknownst to the agitated huffs and shrill shrieks delinquents ultimately make at the sheer sight of your figure constantly sticking to his blissfully ignorant side, y’know—like a true, amiable friend does, right?

“You said we’d only be coming here to study, but all you’ve been doing for the past hour is just. . . staring at me! Do I have something on my face? Is that it?? Or is it—really, really that amusing to poke fun at me, huh??” Stubbornly settled upon the illogical fact that this is unquestionably a ploy methodically thought out by yours truly, objectively intended to spur him in a state of constant nervousness and mumbling bashfulness around you. Well, that is to say, he’s not sparingly letting you off the hook this time, no!

Conclusively blind to the sudden thump! he’s sorely responsible for by—of course, hastily slamming the dusty cover of his used, worn book downwards, fiercely landing itself against the furniture’s now disorganized surface. And there he inevitably goes as per expected, apprehensively jumping in fright to his own undoing with a clumsy huff. Immediate jolt coursing throughout the entirety of his curved spine upwards before finally, nearly losing balance of his glassed frames delicately placed atop the curvature of his pointed nose.

Oh. Maybe he’s—uncontrollably lost his cool there, huh. Talk about being humiliatingly disruptive in an otherwise, intimately tranquil space solely reserved for relaxing and such. Fortunately, it seems you’ve mainly reserved a private space firstly for that, having feasibly anticipated that sudden, usually concealed temper of his.

“Ah. . . Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud. I’m just slightly confused and frustrated at the same time because you said you’d—we’d study together for once, and I was looking forward to it, you know?” Ultimately deciding upon awkwardly easing the persistent prickle within the all-too delicate curve of his bobbing throat or, is it his ears, maybe? Forsaken by how sheer embarrassment comes to muddle his aimless apologies, strains his well-placed, intentional words in a desperate attempt at making you understand that first and foremost—he genuinely cherishes the preciously made, quality time you both simultaneously spend together. No matter how futile or short-lived it may be in the face of. . . unavoidable external factors like the distinctly noisy school bell, yet there’s no such rule when it comes to that, especially outside of the school’s limited bounds.

Although, evidently—he only intends for that to be solely interpreted as a friend namely would because certainly. . . the insistent butterflies that wildly flutter within the depths of his tensed tummy, has his thumping heartbeat hurriedly beating against the cage of the flustered boy’s chest is—something most friends frequently experience when the other is decisively near, yes?

. . .Certainly so. There’d be no other explicit reason as to why—the initial shock at his spurred reaction is soon dampened by a slight snicker from your cunning mouth. My, do you actually find the irritated pout presently adorning his puckered lips all that funny, too?

“You have a lot to say on the matter, I see. It’s true, I did make you come here to study with me—but, don’t you think your way of studying is pretty inefficient, Syd?” Purely uninterested in whatever recent remarks he’s made up till and, oh my god—do you ever faithfully listen to him or merely play coy with the poor, naive initiates to your hearts content? Incidentally irked at how a hint of curiosity tentatively peeks forward at your unforeseen commentary, has his nose scrunched upwards in utter bewilderment.

Inefficient? Him?? To say, he’s notoriously prided himself on swiftly achieving far more of the Temple’s various duties and additionally, more than a few unmotivated members that garner no interest towards the establishment’s dedicated ambition. Unsurprisingly so, preferring to sluggishly dust at some messied rooms laid askew, here and there—which, largely ends in one carelessly dozing atop the tousled beds, even going so far as to set the unused broom aside like it’s particularly nothing!

“M-Me?? You think my method of studying is inefficient? How so? What’s unfulfilling about it?” Overwhelmingly astonished, perhaps more taken aback as to why you might necessarily think so considering his sticking-to-the-books methods he habitually executes with thought out grace. Still, can’t stubbornly deflect such a statement if the model student himself is the one lamentably pointing that out. . . .Is he really, though?

“Hm, let’s put it this way—what’s the point of studying if the methods used aren’t efficient and doesn’t aid in easing your brain into learning, huh? Like for example, what’s your second weakest subject in school again?” Thoughtful mind earnestly coming into focus at the subtle nudge of your teasing foot provokingly pressed against his crossed one beneath the low-end table as if to. . . ahah, temporarily catch him off guard, impatiently center the focus of his working brain onto you—as if, he isn’t doing that already. Sometimes, or more like the majority of it all, you truthfully do act like a petulant child eagerly begging for its parents unwavering attention.

And that, he’ll happily give forth to you if such is needed. Solely if you wistfully promise to do the same in return, of course—fair trade and all, regardless of the inborn selflessness he proudly possesses. Properly trimmed fingertips timidly curling inwards in mild embarrassment at having to carefully admit this aloud to you, of all people, despite already consciously knowing it yourself, too.

“Well, I mean—you know what it is, it’s. . . science, I suck at science. Despite my mom’s teachings, I just can’t seem to grasp the material properly no matter how hard I study. Maybe, I’m just really bad at it.” Alright, honestly. . . that little sore admission of his, did somewhat drain whatever lingering aspirations he potentially withheld earlier in hopes of truly understanding the inexplicably difficult basis of that confusing subject. Shoulders sorrowfully slumping downwards, resembling that of a—funnily enough, dejected little puppy that’s been meanly kicked by its owner or better put, crudely denied a sweetened treat for its lacking efforts.

“But, ah—you’re pretty good at science, aren’t you? In fact, you’re my mom’s favourite! She talks about you nonstop, all the time. To the point that it gets a lil’ bit annoying, though I can’t really complain, can I? That’s just how good of a student you are, after all!” And there it comes, as endlessly expected. . . an unspoken plea for your eventual needed aid that’ll be so nicely granted in due time, since—well, that’s exactly why you’ve generously brought him here, correct?

“. . .So, is it fine if you taught me instead? I feel like I’d understand it better if it came from your mouth. Your way of explaining is more comprehensible than my mom’s weird—you know, comparisons to. . . uhm, uh. . . sex, every time.” Merely articulating that singular, oh so dreadful word causes a pronounced shiver to noticeably make its way throughout the passage of his tensed spine. Yes, yes, it’s expectantly natural to participate in these sort of activities—that he’s exceptionally informed of. Even if briefly envisioning your normally unperturbed self in those indecent situations further stokes the burning ache in his groin like no tomorrow.

God, coming forth to visit the confession booth would serve him some good right now, wouldn’t it? Enough of that, however—alternatively wishing to concentrate upon the more pressing matter at hand as he meekly regards you with irresistible, puppy doe eyes from underneath the reflective rims of his glasses. Oh, oh. Surely, you wouldn’t have the stone cold heart to selfishly refuse him of such?

“Pretty please? I’ll think of a way to repay you, I promise! Swear! We could. . . ah, even do a pinky promise if you wanna, too?” Candidly clasping his palms together with a resounding slap!—an ushered and frantic request for you to explicitly accept as though, you’re his sole remaining hope. Which sort of is the case considering his lacking amount of friends, unfortunately so.

Idiot. Haven’t your parents ultimately taught you better than to credulously place your barren trust in a deceptively attractive boy? One whose glimmering eyes shamelessly ogles at his silken skin like he were a freshly ripe, juicy peach shortly prepared—prettily available for the taking? Yours, especially.

Don’t think so.

“Sure thing, I could do that for you. What kind of friend would I be if I couldn’t, anyway?” Nodding pleasantly in return to the uttered query and to say, he admittedly didn’t expect to necessarily get this far with you when taking into account your supposed habit of—however irritating it may be, to gleefully demand some sort of payment in exchange. As to what that may conceivably entail? That, he’s thoroughly uncertain of in the worst way possible, to be fully left in the shadowed, lurking dark like this. . . But, no way you’ll likely insist upon a suggested favour for something this straightforward, huh??

“Though, you know—“ Oh, never mind! Legitimately, what did he wholeheartedly assume to himself to begin with?? “My way of studying when it comes to particular subjects like science is. . . pretty specific. I’m just letting you know in case, cuz’ knowing you—you’d start squirming at the mere idea of it, alright?” Slight prickle of hesitation finding itself within the swelling of his held breath, wondering as to precisely what you may perhaps, be indirectly referring to for an added precaution to be meticulously placed beforehand. “—And just an important reminder that you specifically asked for this first. . .”

“So, don’t back out on me now, Sydney.”

“Huh? What do you mean by tha—“ Hitched breath immediately faltering in its wake, momentarily tipping backwards to then, clumsily land atop the cushioned beanbags squishy exterior with a sudden, delicate oomph! Fluttering lashes and eyes instinctively squeezing shut out of pure, utter reflex on his end from mostly, having wrongly anticipated something else altogether. No, no—it wasn’t a melting kiss, at all!—what’re you talking about? Nevertheless, please wilfully ignore the modest pucker of his peachy, expectant lips.

And for a supposedly fast-working brain, it fails to rightfully catch up to the salacious absurdity of your inexplicable gestures in time—accordingly process the unforeseen, present warmth of your lingering palm neatly settled along the creeping edge of his inner thigh. Affectionately smoothing over the ruffled material of his perfectly fitted trousers poorly concealing the natural curve of the flustered initiate’s slimmer legs.

“W-Wha. . . ? What’re you doing??” Like that’ll presently answer the mind boggling questions hastily swirling throughout the crowded turbulence of his psyche, somehow appease the searing, unbearable heat intimately dusting his blooming face so—ah, damn it. You’re unreasonably too close to his dearly cherished proximity, you know that? But, of course you would, as you’ve always been pleasantly considerate of his preferred need to retract away from other’s unwelcoming touches—grazing nearly too close for his supposed liking before he’s mentally keeling over like a screeching, hot boiling kettle. And here he is, similarly blazing in that same hysterical manner from the mere dizzying proximity you’re now both sharing amongst two boys, which. . . really shouldn’t be remotely happening, at the moment.

Yes, honestly speaking—even if he doesn’t like to presently face the evident cues on their own, he’s got a semblance of a rather. . . lewd vision curiously peeking through the tendrils of the blonde’s usually enclosed mind. Sorrowfully rearing its ugly head towards a blissfully ignorant alternative as if to mock the very delicate fabric your esteemed friendship is crucially built upon.

Ah, really!—now isn’t the appropriate time to be embarrassingly sporting a straining hard-on crudely presenting itself before your very eyes. Incessantly throbbing like an insistent reminder as to why you two cannot ever supposedly call one another, simply ‘friend’, either. Nor should the even more humiliating way your expanding pupils are coolly drawn towards its shape that’s poorly hidden underneath the slim material, be his ultimate undoing. Akin to how a drooling predator has seized its prey right beneath the inescapable grasp of its unrelenting claws.

Speaking of such, he does somewhat feel that way right now, timidly shrinking in face of your sheer silence or perhaps, it’s another one of those meddlesome ploys of yours he’s grown familiar with—to further mess with him till he’s inevitably become beet in the fullness of his cheeks. Mhm, surely. . . That’s all there is to it and nothing more.

Although, he’d be more surprised at the clinically made statement that spills forth from your lips soon after, however.

“What does it look like? I’m tutoring you, obviously.” Peering your head slightly to the side as if it weren’t blatantly obvious that you were indeed, purely teaching him how to do whatever this is—and not well. . . however else you can call the current position you forcibly have him in. Noticeably firm grasp atop the pervasive spreading of his open thighs resembling one of those—ah, uh—various videotapes his parent, Sirris, withholds in the back of their popular shop which shall not be named. No, he’d prefer not to reminisce upon its increasingly erotic nature at a consequent time like this one. So irritatingly indecent that he cannot hope to regard you wholly in your eyes, too. Y’know, how is he allegedly meant to do so, anyway??

“A-Are you??” As though, further questioning you twice might potentially snap him from this daze spreading itself amongst his brain tirelessly working overtime—solely intended to make sense of this, even if he’s struggling to keep up with it, himself. “Because I don’t think. . . ah, I really don’t think this is how you usually tutor people.”

“That’s because this isn’t conventional tutoring, Syd. I guess you’ve never done it before, then—since you look. . . . ahah, got that look on your face, again.” Almost tempted to meanly huff back in return for your sheer audacity to snicker in a situation such a this one, yet he stops himself in time. Merely due to the relaxing sound of your laughter discreetly echoing throughout the confidential cubicle you’ve solely reserved for the two of you. Which, ah. . . was it intended to be scandalously used like this from the initial start? Between two promising students supposedly meant to be quietly studying amidst the bustling cafe’s welcoming environment—instead, settled atop each other like the obscure, romance films the initiate secretly views in tranquil privacy?

Oh, gosh—seriously, he cannot take any more of this. And neither can the thumping, warming blood making its way downwards to the swollen tip of his cock, apparently.

“How is this remotely meant to help me understand the teachings of my mother again??” Helplessly craning his neck sideways in a futile attempt to maintain eye contact with yours truly, that is—if you’d oh, so generously give him the time of day to do so. Though, something else subtly inches at him that you’re probably far more interested in reenacting the next unclear footage that’ll present itself in his mom’s class or something along the lines of that.

“Didn’t you know? The body tends to remember better than the mind and you know, you’re pretty forgetful, yourself, at times. I’m just helping you, that’s all. So, be more grateful, will you?” Obviously, no one save for yourself would have a cheekily made up response ready for his reasonable inquiry. Nonetheless, the indistinguishable puff of an unfinished giggle that spilled out of his poorly sealed mouth, wasn’t necessarily done on purpose, either.

Such a shame, yes, that one cannot help but to be intimately pliable under the methodical ministrations of your. . . almost reverent fingertips—not the least bit hasty in your movements and instead, mindful in how your softened palms perfectly cup the surface of the initiate’s quivering thighs. Nor should it further fluster him due to the seamless nature, in which his perched legs presently find themselves hooked along the curvature of your reliable shoulders. Always secretly liked the feel of them, didn’t he? Though, not like he’ll ever outwardly admit it for the life of him—regardless of whichever gruelling trial the Temple dutifully presents before him.

Truly, he should’ve initially seen through your deceptive methods from the mere start, shouldn’t he? But, what is there to do when he’s received such a sheltered upbringing from the slightest second he’s been brought into this tainted world, to begin with? Foolishly taught with repeated chants that certainly many shall eventually come for his pleasurable innocence—beautifully witness it fester underneath caring hands. For the addictive way it prettily spills itself from between bitten lips, nudging teeth poorly serving its purpose by failing to stifle disastrously wanton moans is too nice of a sight, isn’t it?

Yet, by god—could he not have fully anticipated how right it sinfully feels to experience the slippery tip of your tongue tracing across previously untouched skin. Unsure whether to direct his busying hands upon the parting of his open lips in hopes of partially concealing the needy whines your surroundings shouldn’t be privy to pervertedly hearing, by chance. Or, to where your head currently resides and that is, comfortably nestled between quivering legs bound to buckle beneath the sheer weight of your dizzying actions. One precarious moment you’re swiftly chucking the hem of his pants down—and the next, you’re boldly laving the flattening surface of your. . . ah, ah—oh gosh, warm tongue amongst the tensed muscles of his fluttering tummy.

Although, not quite for long as it seems your prime focus descends below to where a pretty, weeping cock embarrassingly greets your line of sight in turn. Inwardly irritated at this stuttering heart of his, beating within the confines of his ribbed cage as your attentive gazes—his, being far more blurry, at this point. Especially, with his unfound glasses laid askew somewhere around here, after being carelessly knocked forth thanks to your tactic pouncing. Quite the gentleman that you can be, at certain times. If not purely acting like an unabashed horndog, which he’ll never verbally say so, but doesn’t mind it in the slightest. Not that it withholds much importance for the time being, not when you’re simply a feathered breath away from making actual contact with his inexperienced cock , and—. . .

Ah, wait! You’re going to make genuine contact with his. . . hah—riddled with sheer and absolute embarrassment to even be uttering that one out in the plains of his clouded mind.

“Y-You’re going to touch there?? You know that’s a dirty place, though—!” Maybe it was an incidental mistake on his part, for requesting that he have his protective and reassuring chastity belt removed, after all. Solely for all intended purposes, of course; that occasionally didn’t have to do with any sinning, no—not due to the crude heat pooling at the bottom of his tummy whenever glimpses of you, by chance—filtered through his distracting brain during solemn prayers. Definitely not.

And yet, still—he makes no sudden movement to personally stop you from doing so, despite the jolting whine that ceremoniously slips past from between bitten lips. Head lolling backwards with a heaved sigh at your experimental lapping of his dribbling tip as though to test the waters, somewhat. . . ? That, or more along the insistent fact that a flicker of relief briefly flashes throughout the frantic beating of his thudding chest, only to immediately still upon your pretty mouth perfectly suited to envelop his length whole. Unashamed in the way you’re practically shoving the, well. . . nicely slim girth of his virgin cock past uncharted lips which, he may or may not have sometimes, fantasized about in the private remnants of his mind. Albeit, at ill suited times whenever you’d linger in the welcoming nature of his timid presence. But, certainly not like this! Truthfully speaking, he had envisioned it to be far more romantic than—ah, your unending exploration of his now vulnerable body bared for your grateful eyes solely.

Yes, not with your admittedly. . . soft lips thoroughly swallowing him down to the hilt that the initiate’s instinctually registered the surface of your throat merely bumping against the leaking head of his cock. Unable to cease the magnetic pull of his expanding pupils drawn to where you’re presently settled—that is, pervasively sucking on his cock and perhaps, either unbothered by the copious smearing of his translucent pre-cum glistening along the puffiness of your lips or, blissfully ignorant of its sticky texture adorning the bottom half of your pleasing face. Unconsciously admire the slight flutter of your twitching eyelashes temporarily caressing along your heated cheeks in sheer, utter concentration dedicated to pleasuring him so. Plus you’re evidently taking delight in the accidental squeeze of his soft thighs pressed against your head—like a pair of warming earmuffs meant for yours to wear, even though it’s the comforting heat of his naked skin instead.

Ah, remarkably so, he must be progressively turning into a pervert himself from the abundant amount of time he’s spent his free days with you. To genuinely revere your debauched state as such, wishfully yearn to bear witness to more of you like this. Considering how he’s grown accustomed to an unperturbed version of yourself delicately fabricated in his pictured mind, untouched by the degeneracy that others around him similarly indulge in. In spite of that, however—there’s an almost gleeful joy to know you’re no exception, divine being that’s shockingly immune to temptation laid at your reaching fingertips.

And you do so boldly reach—in your confident manner that he’s now used to. Stubbornly refusing to relent with the noisy suckling of your slippery mouth enclosed around his inexperienced cock, more like you’re openly relishing in each and every whine that threatens to alert unsuspecting and ignorant customers nearby. Repeatedly tugging on each and every individual strand of your now thoroughly messied hair in a vain plea to at the very least, ease up on that. . . ah, warmth surrounding his sensitive tip, further guided towards the edge from those drawn out slurps!

Oh, that’d be a shame, yes. To be precariously caught in a lewd position like this, for all to see—innocent, ol’ church boy receiving such treatment from the adored model student known by all. Gosh, the inexplicably absurd thought has him pathetically quivering underneath your lips, importantly dedicated to have him shyly swipe a taste of the addictive nature that is, none other than melding sin itself. Because if that is so, the cradling heat of your head preciously nestled between the comfy embrace of his spread thighs. Intimate hold of your fist deliberately stroking along the veiny base of his pulsing length to make up for what your undeniably tight throat unfortunately cannot reach, all the while paying devoted attention to his puffs or rolling breath. Quiver of his puffy bottom lip accompanied by the slight shudder in furrowed, thin eyebrows and noticeably tightening of his neglected balls. Then, he’d graciously welcome it so, with open arms, again and again.

Oh, God and heavenly deities watching from above; please do forgive him so, for the disgraceful noises that are rolling off his stuck-out tongue, too.

Restlessly echoing the methodical scripture of the Bible’s commandments won’t conceivably make up for the erotic act he’s indulging in—and neither for the incoming approach of his release, teetering over the steep edge.

“W-Wait, please—I think, ah. . . My tummy feels all weird and hot inside, a-and I think I’m gon’ cum—I’m cumming—“ Breathlessly announcing beforehand, lest he rudely spilled the sticky mixture of your slippery saliva along with a heavy load of his seed upon your pristine face. Surely, that isn’t his proper intentions whatsoever nor an actual way of repaying you back for coating the entirety of his weeping cock in your wet spit.

But, like the sneaky prankster that you are, that he’s so often reprimanded in the desolate area of the library; you disappointingly retract yourself away from his abused cock in turn, letting it slip free with an audible squelch! and an even lewder pop! to noisily ring throughout the confines of your shared cubicle. Cruelly deprive him of such a well-deserved orgasm that was soon enough, at stake, within reach for his shivering frame to melt into—whine at in sheer protest from the distracting press of your thumb atop his swollen cock head oozing creamy pre for you to appreciatively tut down at.

“Sorry, wifey. You don’t get to cum yet, not till I’m finished prepping you up for the most important part of the lesson. Just a little more. . . —and I promise it’ll feel even better than before, alright?” Behold what you seamlessly do—softly caressing away at the almost spoiled, hidden part of him that was bound to irritatingly swipe at your dizzying hold along his weeping length, though you somehow shush him first for such—as if happily conscious of that predictable response. And he, in turn, cannot hope to go against you for it, either.

Also, wait a second there—did you just casually refer to him as ‘wifey’? Akin to how a husband would’ve ceremoniously called along after his beloved and cherished wife on a sunny afternoon so that she may fetch him a cup of brewed coffee. A seemingly trivial nickname withholding all the spilling adoration one might possess by chance.

However, before he can remotely register that salacious statement and let the lavish heat of his churning bloodstream traverse towards the tip of his ears, you do the honours of redirecting the devious and moist surface of your tongue downwards—below; a forbidden place that he hasn’t necessarily explored due to the overwhelming guilt that’d perturb him in his nonsensical dreams. Resounding squeak at the foreign sensation of something else, something besides the overly nervous pads of his fingertips circling around that flushed rim—worming its way through his previously sealed, puckered hole. Smoothly breaching past what shouldn’t have been disturbed to begin with and, ah—ohhh, that certainly feels. . . weird. Shamefully pleasurable, type of weird, he mentally admits.

“Y-You’re really, hah, pushing it—. . .” If that was supposedly intended to be read as some dignified scolding then, it certainly falls short when wracked between muted babbles. So like you, to reduce him to a pile of mush, that is. Experienced thumbs inching forward, nudging upon the squishy flesh—spreading his asscheeks apart much to his humiliated bearings, in further pursuit of burying yourself in its velvety warm insides. Hot, slippery tongue laving across clenching walls that immediately twitch at your intrusion of the sensitive bundle of nerves, leaving behind crescent marks etched in the softening skin that’s unused to such treatment.

Oh, holy, holy Father—is this what Heaven feels like when you’re warmly enveloped in its comfortable embrace? Because if so, please do not stop until I’ve succumbed to this sinful pleasure.

And Gods from above, forbid that you stretch this on any further then it needs to, maybe due to a cautious need that he fully enjoys himself—however, what he salaciously desires at the moment is for you to remove those fingers that reach further than his does—sinking in the warmth of his greedy hole hungrily sucking at the feel of your two digits. Oh, perish that meaningless thought, now you’ve seemingly allowed another to join in, scissoring at the exceptionally tight ring struggling to adjust to its sudden intrusion. Seamlessly allowing you to be granted a full view of slicked and wet insides, sticky strings of fluids predictably snapping away once you’ve deemed his untainted hole to be sufficiently loosened.

Loosened? That’s—. . . Speaking of the devil, of what will be the one to ‘loosen’ him or perhaps, better put; ‘stretch’ his quivering entrance dumbly clenching around absolutely nothing whatsoever—‘course unless you grant him the selfless permission to be the one to adorably choke around your pretty cock. Dizzyingly bear witness to its pulsating girth imprint itself within the smooth surface of his tummy, bulge at the repeated snap of your hips, hah—that wouldn’t be so bad.

So, you do so—wordlessly gazing in absent thought at the debauched sight you’ve aided in creating. Stray strands of strawberry blonde hair splayed across the softened surface. For the delicate elastic that once held those docile locks have now unraveled anew; such as is the same with those glimmering eyes that would similarly stare back in an absent flush, reduced to a melding pool that wants to swallow all that you allow it to.

Truly, resembling that of a meticulously drawn out masterpiece meant for its sole purpose to be hung in a sophisticatedly built museum, thoroughly admired for all to potentially see. But, no. . . However else, it seems you’ll be the one to intimately keep this ruined appearance of his, to your egoistic self. And for that, he doesn’t withhold any sort of complaints, no—none at all, really.

“You look nice like this. With your loose hair down like this, I mean.” Puffing out almost. . . shyly from between parted lips, straying eyes traversing downwards to where his are, too—that is, your tented bulge showcasing itself through rustling trousers. Silently cursing him for being the sole one to blame for your unusually heated state. Although, there’s a twinge of smugness that secretly peeks through concealed uncertainty for knowing that he’s irrefutably responsible for this. For the fact that your length is dribbling out copious amounts of sticky pre to stain your underwear sheer in a similar debauched manner, restlessly throbbing underneath the weight of his tentative palm placed atop it. So, apparently; even you do get shy, too. Under the necessary circumstances like this one.

“. . . It’s so warm.” Outwardly shuddering at your poorly stifled hiss that drawls past bitten lips meant to fuck, furrowed deepening in dwindling concentration from those explorative rubs of his. Unable to help himself, that is—since it’s far too addictive to feel its hot outline twitching along careful stroking, circling around your leaking tip like a soothing balm dedicated to temporarily satisfy your aching cock. Not for all that long, it supposedly seems and he’s not vocally protesting either.

“Fuck, why do you think that is exactly?” Hitched breath barely slipping from an open mouthed ‘o’ at your snuffed annoyance, for it is so unlike you to be using such crass language to begin with. Albeit, it seems he’s come to unfurl at the methodically placed platitudes you roll yourself in—like a lovingly formed gift adorning a pretty bow atop it all. Maybe greedy of him, to eagerly scratch away at the useless plastic paper he bears no interest in and instead, peer in awe at the tainted sin that greets the church boy in turn.

And for that—he holds no particular answer because he does indeed know as to why you’re churning a heated mess in the depths of your tummy, precariously straining against swiping fingertips that experimentally paw at your now loosened belt. Absently leave it to jingle and sprawl along the carpeted floor to then, let your impatient cock finally spring free from beneath its restricting confines. Ungraciously land atop the flat of his tensed stomach with an even lewder slap! to stain its softness with a milky trail of sticky pre-cum. Oh, wow. Certainly didn’t expect for it to be. . . so pleasurably appealing to gaze upon as though it’d just about taunt him to dip it inside his needy, begging hole.

“I won’t lie. . . You’re really asking for it, Syd. Either that, or you’re just dumb. Well, you sort of are—who’s the one that had to pick up after your spilled pieces again? Me, of course. But, you’ve gotta know by now it wasn’t out of mere kindness, right?” Spilling forth from between open maw before he’s gotten the allotted time to potentially gasp at in fraught surprise—immediately process the salacious announcement which he’s been inwardly craving for. Ah, will you do so? Be so generous to grant him the rare opportunity within cupped palms or perhaps, obsessive hands that pinch and prod at unmarked skin? “So, I ask you this; and I’ll only ask you this once.“

“Pretty please, dearest Sydney—will you allow me to fuck your pretty pink, dripping hole? Because either way, I really can’t fucking wait, right now.”

Hah, it shouldn’t be so indecently effective to the warmth pooling below—for your vocal request of his uttered consent. Truthfully, is there any genuine need to secretly inquire what’s so painfully evident?? Teeth nudging atop his puffy, bottom lip that hopelessly quivers in face of your seriousness regarding the rather. . . embarrassing prospect at hand, here.

“Please—. . .” Eventually drawls out from parted lips, trembling arms hastily hung over fluttering lashes that don’t dare to steal a glimpse from angled gaps. No, for he wordlessly fears that if he were to catch a supposing glance of your strained expression within this very instant—the initiate wouldn’t be able to mutter another solemn prayer devoid of wanton desire, to be railed into the nearest surface below. Still, hung along a teetering thread that’s bound to disastrously snap under the guise of your undeterred focus. Urging him to mirror those spoken words in the filthiest manner possible considering his rare share of utilizing such disdainful vocabulary. But yet, nonetheless, he does between stuttering gasps. “—F. . . Fuck me.”

“That’s my good boy. I knew you had it in you after all, hm?” Unspoken sighs silently tumble forth from what supposedly must be your shared cubicle, but he cares no further at the mere idea of getting possibly caught in this form. Not with the dribbling tip of your eager cock lamentably dragging along the surface of his spread asscheeks solely presented for your intended amusement. Half lidded gaze inwardly pleading from under, at how each tentative nudge of your hot, red cock head momentarily knocks out each quivering breath out of him—deepens this burning urge to guide you in the intimate walls of his puckered hole.

Which, he so graciously does the honour of doing so by a shaky grasp held upon its throbbing girth. Tightening palm clumsily placed atop your hipbone for wordless support as you finally. . . finally—do continuously ease yourself in all at once, stretch the aching emptiness deep within his stirring guts that longed to be deliciously filled to the utter brim.

“H-Hah—you’re tighter than I expected, but that’s okay.” Muttering from between ushered curses, wistfully cooing down at the glistening droplets of shiny tears that threatened to spill past the entire length of his crimson cheeks. Of course, not due to some unsuspecting pain supposedly coursing throughout the hefty and sudden stretch of his now thoroughly defiled hole—no, because that’s where you surely belong. Or so, he’s subconsciously deluded himself of such. Nestled deep in the warm softness of his drooling insides that so gleefully welcome your veiny girth, like a comforting flesh light preciously suited to be molded to yours truly. He’d ask for nothing else, truly.

Instinctually, his sweating hands delicately place themselves along the reassuring curvature of your shoulders which he oh, so does adore to often rely on in times like these. Yes, supposed encounter where you’re dizzyingly getting fucked full within an inch of your life, now that your drooling tip has nicely settled deep in the melding suckling of his clenching walls. And he possibly can’t help the mutual huffs of shuddering breaths that collectively fall forth from both of you—resembling that of those foolish students that like to sneak around the peaceful library he dutifully manages; one telltale hand down each other’s pants. Gosh, even thinking back on it now—embarrassingly knowing he’s no better than those pervasive harlots that noisily fuck in semi public places, if not; then unabashedly out in the grand open. Unable to hopelessly lay off one another’s greedy touches in the same manner that he presently is doing so, but. . . please, don’t take pitiful notice of that minor aspect.

This is what it’s like, is it not? Straining features furrowing deeper in a scrunched expression of unadulterated bliss—useless, little finger that he has at his disposal, to barely stifle the pleasured moans that’s bound to roll past firmly pursued lips. Something about the affectionate way you shush that teensy, disruptive method away with a mouthful of your cherry-perfect lips enclosing themselves around his digit. Because even if he secretly wishes it so, those trained eyes of yours won’t dare to momentarily stray away from that scarcely concealed note of wracked gratification painted along the heat of his face.

“Don’t run away from me, Syd. Tell me—I wanna see it, I wanna see your face when I’m properly inside you like this.” Considerably gentle despite the undeniable amount of control which you possess in this unbecoming position, practically folded in half by the slight hunch of your heaving back looming over his ragged figure. That is, ignoring the miniature distance that only noticeably shrinks with each of your practiced thrusts inside his greedy hole—not to mention, sloppy squelches! loudly ringing throughout the limited confines of the cafe’s walls—that he blearily hopes no passerby catches note of. Merely millimetres away from ineffectively bumping your foreheads together in a connected touch. “The way your eyelids flutter, shit. . . hah, your hole is clenching in on my dick like the perfect cock sleeve. Does it feel that nice to have someone’s cock inside you like this—with your best friend being balls deep inside your hole??”

“U-Uh huh—“ Obviously can’t hear you when he’s helplessly babbling revised prayers, as though that might erase the sheer depravity of this situation—excuse him of the unbridled enjoyment he’s partaking in. Ironic in its nature, considering the holy pendant formed into a pictured cross, loosely hooped around his neck and continuously bouncing due to the precise humps your fat cock has to so kindly offer him in return. One hand splayed atop his marked waist as if in an afterthought, something to hold onto lest he ceremoniously was guided to the nearest wall—thanks to your eager fucks, too. Bump his precious head against, which you’re softly cradling in additional carefulness.

Judging by the whiny begging uncontrollably escaping in response, something along the lines of ‘please, don’t stop’ and ‘feels so good’—ah, he cannot distinguish much when reduced to he’s a cock-drooling mess, tattered shell of his usually composed self.

Ah, talk about sickeningly intimate it is to be unbearably connected to one another like this. Irrefutably against the sheer prospect of cruelly pulling out and Gods, he honestly doesn’t want you to, either. Please, please. . . heavens from above, don’t dare to cease in the repeated slaps! of your balls taut with sticky seed—against the receptive spreading of his open thighs. Nor mind the bold movement seamlessly acted out on automatic, to desperately hook the length of his legs—definitely unused to this much, of course—along your waist in a silent plea or rather, ploy to messily keep up with the slight roll of your untiring hips. Forbidding you from so much as popping your oozing tip out before then, soon enough; you’re savagely ramming it deep inside once more, hissing at the cushioned nerves that greet your tingling head and so forth.

Utterly smitten is what he is, so much so that he doesn’t remotely take notice of your fist now loosely pumping at the neglected length of his quivering dick between slippery skin. Oh, oh—y’know, that’s far too cruel to be simultaneously stimulating both ends of his overly sensitive, tingling body! “Hah, you can’t—ah, suddenly do that!” Open mouth unconsciously falling forth at the constant press of your flattening palm along his glistening tip. Head falling backwards in which his entire curved spine follows along to, arching in a way he’d never have thought possible if it weren’t for your cock driving itself deep inside his squishy, warm walls.

Still, in a vain and pitiful effort to alert you of such—fingertips digging deeper in the delicate texture of your flesh, almost deep enough to draw spilling blood. Though, not his intention at all to instil searing pain in you whatsoever. Not at all, truthfully! It’s just. . . ah, it’s becoming increasingly clear that he’s nearing inevitable release due to your added pleasure inducing actions from both sides. Inefficiently peering up from below lidded lashes and stray pinches of your now thoroughly marked back to signal his eventual descent into adoring defilement.

“S-Slow. . . down—“ He hadn’t meant to meaninglessly scorn you like you had any shred of chance of doing so—but, it’s ultimately humiliating to feel the teetering edge of himself reaching his dreaded limit. Glassy eyes stupidly rolling back to meet pitched darkness once that sickeningly long coil in his stuffed tummy finally snaps. Pink tongue prettily sticking out for your cherished gaze to etch into focus all while slobbering over the added thumb you’ve generously lent to suckle upon—drool over and coat it in transparent spit as the first load of milky cum uncontrollably squirts out of his swollen slit. Crudely stains the momentarily pristine surface of his clenching tummy and even going forward, to drip amongst his slackened jaw.

Ultimately, he must certainly appear as a wracked mess before you with dripping globs of his dirty release adorning the entirety of his upper body. Heaving chest puffing at each ragged gasp that crawls out of his sore throat from the sheer muddled consciousness he’s presently bearing, at the moment. Clutching onto the remaining familiarity there is and that merely happens, to be your observant self perched atop his bent figure.

But, that’s of no importance to you, is it now? For the entangled limbs you’ve now collectively fallen into—a heaping thread preciously formed from him to you, there’s no other way you would’ve gone about it, after all.

Here and now, he’s acknowledged it, too, himself—whether the Temple allows it or not, the distinct reverence in your eyes and the unspoken bond shared amongst you two. Uncaring for how twisted it may be in the critical eyes of his worshipped religion, the shocked gasps that will surely follow at the discovered ignorance of the strict restraints placed upon oneself.

Even if you haven’t properly spilled your seed in him yet, the mark has been done—effect irreversibly washing on his cracked perception. Since you’ve laid your claim, staked the original urge you’ve been meaning to this whole, extended time. Beared witness to the melded fluids you’re now licking along in renewed affection, brought upwards at his petulant tugs for your returned proximity near his own. Yes, he does indeed know it so and evidently, so do you.

And honestly, he doesn’t wish to let go of your warming skin closely held against his own anytime soon, either.

[haveihitanerve]

Controversial opinion Dick Grayson learned the bad habits of hiding his emotions, not dealing with his feelings and hiding things with a beautiful smile and looks from his parents and being a performer so young. You have to give the people what they want. And Dick is a Grayson. Grayson's smile with ease and happiness. He doesn't have any problems he's Dick Grayson.

I've honestly been saying this for so long, thank you!!!

Yes. Dick learned his "I'm happy all the time, i don't have feelings no I'm smiling nothings wrong" etc etc from being in the circus. -Speaking from a tiny bit of show business experience, you are always on stage

It doesn't matter if you don't currently have a line, or if you aren't on stage, you're in costume, so you're acting.

And for Dick, he has plenty of different costumes. As Robin, he has to be the Batman and Robin sharp smart duo sidekick- he calls the shots, is the experienced one, he has to control his team.

And as Dick Grayson- he's either playing the part of Brucie ditzo Wayne's son, or big brother, both of which aren't complete masks, but not his total true self either

Dick got his performative tendencies from the circus, because like duh, and no one can convince me otherwise

[deonn-jaelle]

Wash the day away

word count : 2,000+

warnings‼️: smut

pairing : husband aurelien x black fem wife reader

summary : a little something inspired by this dream i had

note: i was getting flashback about that dream for days and i was lowkey mad that it ended before the good stuff happened to i finished it here ;) this was lowkey like a opposite version of make love to me now that im reading it through again. anyway, enjoy and tell me what you think!!!!! (i think im gonna post a new levi fic next btw so i’ll be updating yall about that soon)

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

The sound of the front door clicking shut was a welcome relief after a grueling day. You kicked off your heels with an exaggerated groan, stretching your arms high above your head as the ache in your shoulders protested. From the kitchen, you heard the familiar shuffle of sneakers and the low hum of Aurélien’s voice.

“You’re home late” he called, his French accent laced with a teasing warmth. “Did you finally decide to take over the company today, or was it just a hostage situation?”

You dropped your bag by the entryway, rolling your eyes as you walked toward him. “Funny. You should consider stand-up if this football thing doesn’t work out.”

Aurélien turned, his tall frame leaning casually against the counter as he sipped from a glass of water. His eyes softened when they landed on you, taking in your tired expression and the slump in your shoulders. Without a word, he set the glass down and closed the distance between you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“You look exhausted mon amour” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “Tough day?”

You sighed, melting into his embrace. “Tough doesn’t even begin to describe it. I had back-to-back meetings, a mountain of emails, and let’s not even talk about the traffic on the way home.”

“Sounds like you need to relax” he said, his voice low and inviting. “How about we take a shower? Together?”

You tilted your head back to look up at him, a smirk playing on your lips. “Is this your way of telling me I smell?”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Of course not. But if you want me to be honest—”

“Aurélien!” you swatted at his chest, laughing despite yourself.

“I’m kidding!” he said, grabbing your hand before you could pull away. “Come on, let me take care of you.”

He led you upstairs to the master bathroom, his hand warm and reassuring in yours. The space was modern and luxurious, with sleek tiles and a rainfall showerhead that always felt like a small slice of heaven. Aurélien turned on the water, testing the temperature with his hand before looking over his shoulder at you.

“Hot, like you” he quipped with a wink.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to roast you properly” you shot back, unbuttoning your blouse.

His eyes lingered as you undressed, his gaze appreciative but not overbearing. “Let me help you” he offered, stepping closer to slide the fabric off your shoulders. His fingers brushed against your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

You returned the favor, tugging his T-shirt over his head and letting your hands wander over his chest. “You’re too good-looking for your own good, you know that?”

“I could say the same about you” he replied, his voice dropping an octave. “But you already know how beautiful you are.”

By the time you were both stripped bare, the steam from the shower had filled the room, curling around you like a warm embrace. Aurélien stepped in first, holding out a hand to help you over the lip of the tub. The water cascaded over both of you, washing away the grime and stress of the day.

As the water poured over his broad shoulders, you couldn’t help but admire him. His skin glistened, each muscle in his chest and arms defined, and yet his expression was soft, his brown eyes focused on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Come here” he murmured, pulling you close until your body pressed against his. The warmth of his skin and the heat of the water combined, creating a cocoon that made the rest of the world feel distant and insignificant.

Aurélien’s hands moved to your waist, his thumbs tracing slow circles against your hips. “You’re so tense” he said softly, leaning down to kiss the curve of your shoulder. “Let me fix it”

His lips trailed a line of heat from your shoulder to the hollow of your neck, where he lingered, pressing gentle, open-mouthed kisses that sent a shiver down your spine. You tilted your head back, giving him better access as your hands found their way to his chest, your fingertips exploring the firm planes of his body.

“I don’t know if this counts as relaxing” you teased, your voice breathless.

“Doesn’t it?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your pulse point. “You seem to be enjoying it”

You let out a soft laugh that turned into a sigh as his hands slid up your back, his fingers kneading the tight muscles there. His touch was firm but tender, each movement thoughtful and deliberate, as if he was mapping every inch of you with his hands.

“Thank you” you said, your voice catching as he kissed the underside of your jaw, his stubble grazing your skin.

“You don’t have to thank you” he countered, his hands moving to cup your face. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both gentle and intense.

The kiss deepened, the rhythm of it matching the steady beat of the water. His lips were soft yet insistent, and when his tongue brushed against yours, it sent a wave of heat coursing through you. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as his hands traveled down to your lower back, pressing your bodies even more tightly together.

“Aurélien” you murmured against his lips, your voice a mix of longing and need.

“I’m here” he replied, his voice low and reassuring. His lips moved to your collarbone, then lower, his kisses leaving a trail of warmth that made your breath hitch.

The kiss deepened, each movement slow and deep the rhythm syncing with the steady, hypnotic beat of the water lapping nearby. His lips, warm and supple, carried a quiet urgency, coaxing a response that made your pulse race. When his tongue teased against yours, it was electric—a flash of heat rippled through your body, leaving you breathless and yearning.

Your arms wound around his neck, fingers threading into the soft strands of his hair, tugging him closer until there was no space left between you. His hands traveled down the curve of your spine, the rough calluses on his fingertips contrasting with the silkiness of your skin. When they settled on the small of your back, he pulled you tighter, the press of his body against yours igniting a fire that burned away all thoughts but one: him. The scent of him—earthy, clean, and intoxicating—mingled with the faint salt in the air, grounding you in this perfect, searing moment.

You mirrored his movements, your fingers gliding over the hard planes of his body as though committing him to memory. Your hands explored the defined ridges of his chest, the taut line of his abdomen, and the powerful curve of his shoulders, your touch reverent and curious. Each muscle seemed to shift beneath your palms, a silent response to your exploration, as if his body spoke its own language, one only you could understand.

The intimacy of the moment enveloped you, amplified by the soft, rhythmic cascade of water around you. It streamed down his skin, catching the faint glow of light, making him appear almost sculptural, as though carved from stone but alive with warmth. The heat of his body seeped into yours, the press of his bare skin a perfect contrast to the coolness of the water.

The quiet mingling of your breaths was its own melody, each exhale matching the other’s, a rhythm that bound you together in ways words could not. The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the pulse of your connection, raw and unguarded. It was overwhelming, a heady mix of tenderness and intensity that made your heart race and your senses heighten, each detail burning itself into your brain like an indelible mark.

“I love you” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. The intensity in his gaze made your knees weak. “I love you more” he said, his voice steady and full of conviction.

“That’s debatable” you teased, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Then I’ll just have to prove it.”

Aurélien lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cool tiles. His lips found yours again, the kiss more urgent this time, as if he was trying to pour every ounce of his love and devotion into it.

Time seemed to slow, the rest of the world fading away until there was nothing but the two of you, wrapped up in each other. The shower wasn’t just a place to wash away the day—it became a sanctuary, a place where you could reconnect, laugh, and lose yourselves in the love you shared.

His lips closed around your nipple, his tongue swirling in slow, meaningful movements that sent shivers racing down your spine. He sucked gently, then teased the sensitive peak with the faintest scrape of his teeth, a mix of pleasure and sweet torment that drew a soft, trembling sigh from your lips. The warmth of his mouth was intoxicating, each flick of his tongue igniting sparks that traveled through your body, pooling low in your belly.

His hands, strong and sure, gripped your thighs with a possessive intensity, the pressure grounding you even as you felt yourself melting into his touch. With a controlled ease, he lifted you slightly, pulling you closer until his hard arousal pressed firmly against your stomach. The heat of his desire was palpable, a stark contrast to the slick, cool walls around you.

The hot water pounded against your back and shoulders, mingling with the rising steam in the air, wrapping you both in a cocoon of hazy warmth. The damp strands of his hair clung to his forehead, droplets sliding down his jawline and over the curve of his neck, a tantalizing sight that made your pulse quicken. Every sensation—the rhythmic beat of the water, the weight of his hands on your body, the insistent press of his need against you—heightened the pleasure coursing through you, leaving you utterly captivated by the intensity of the moment.

"You're so beautiful" he whispered, his voice rough with desire. His hands moved down further, cupping your ass and pressing you even more firmly against his growing erection. You gasped softly, your hands finding purchase on his strong chest. Water continued pounded against you, creating your own intimate world.

Aurelien's fingers parted you, teasing your most sensitive spots. He groaned at your responsiveness, feeling your wetness increase. "Ma chérie” he murmured approvingly, fingers circling your clit expertly, eliciting gasps and moans from you.

Aurelien’s fingers moved with intensity, plunging in and out, his touch unrelenting as he expertly stroked your inner walls. Each motion sent waves of pleasure rippling through you, his skillful movements igniting a fire that burned brighter with every passing second. His thumb pressed against your clit, circling with a tantalizing rhythm that had your body arching instinctively toward him, seeking more of the exquisite sensations he was so effortlessly drawing from you.

As his hand worked its magic, he leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear before his teeth gently captured your earlobe. The combination of the soft nibbling and the low growl that followed sent a shiver racing down your spine. “J’adore faire l’amour avec toi” (I love making love with you) he murmured, his voice rough yet full of adoration, each word dripping with the promise of devotion and unyielding passion.

Your heart swelled, a rush of gratitude and love mingling with the molten pleasure coursing through you. In his arms, the world faded to nothing—no worries, no distractions, only the overwhelming sensation of his love and the way he could make you feel entirely cherished. The thought struck you like lightning: how incredibly fortunate you were to have a husband who knew you so intimately, who took such joy in making you forget everything but him.

Every movement, every touch, every whispered word felt like a declaration of love, binding you to him in ways that words could never fully capture. His ability to make you feel seen, wanted, and utterly consumed by his affection was a gift—a gift you treasured more than anything in the world.

Your inner muscles begin tensing, your breath coming in short gasps. He curled his fingers inside you, pressing against that sensitive spot, and you cried out, your orgasm ripping through you. You could cry because of good it felt to release all the tension you’ve been holding all day. He held you close, his fingers slowing their motion but not stopping, drawing out your pleasure.

As the waves of your climax began to subside, your body still trembling from the aftershocks, Aurelien slowly withdrew his fingers. His movements were unhurried, savoring the moment as he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth. His tongue darted out to taste you, his eyes locked on yours, dark and smoldering with unbridled desire. He licked them clean with sensuality, as if indulging in the most delicious treat, the sight sending a fresh jolt of heat coursing through your veins.

Before you could catch your breath, he pulled you into a searing kiss. His lips claimed yours with a fiery intensity, the taste of yourself mingling with the faint, intoxicating hint of him. It was dizzying, a raw, primal sensation that left your mind spinning and your heart pounding. His tongue explored yours with a commanding hunger, as though he couldn’t get enough of you, drawing you deeper into his orbit.

As the kiss broke, leaving you breathless and flushed, he stepped back slightly, his gaze raking over your body with an almost feral hunger. His hand moved to grasp his thick, hard dick, stroking it roughly, the muscles in his forearm flexing with every movement. His eyes were hooded, burning with a need so intense it was almost overwhelming.

“You drive me crazy” he murmured, his voice low, the words thick with lust and adoration. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world he wanted, made your heart swell. The air between you was electric, charged with the promise of what was to come, every fiber of your being aching to close the distance once more.

With a deep, guttural grunt of effort, Aurelien pressed forward, his dick sliding into you inch by inch with a slow push. The sensation of him filling you completely stole the air from your lungs, and you gasped, your head falling back as your body adjusted to the sudden, intense fullness. The stretch was exquisite, leaving you trembling and clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. Your toes curled involuntarily, and your legs tightened around his waist, drawing him even closer, anchoring him to you.

His hands gripped your hips with a firm strength, his fingers digging into you just enough to leave the faintest sting—a delicious contrast to the velvety heat building between you. The cold tiles of the shower pressed against your back, a sharp counterpoint to the fiery heat of his body against yours. The water streamed over both of you, rivulets rolling down your intertwined bodies, adding a slickness that only heightened the raw intimacy of the moment.

Aurelien began to move, his hips grinding in a rhythm that was both unrelenting and intoxicating. His thrusts were slow and deep at first, each one measured, designed to make you feel every inch of him as he claimed you against the wall. His breath was hot against your neck, a mix of heavy pants and low, deep groans that gave you goosebumps.

The pace quickened slightly, his movements growing harder, more urgent. Each powerful thrust pushed you higher against the tiles, the friction between the cool wall and your heated skin adding to the overwhelming sensation. The slap of his hips against yours echoed in the small space, blending with the steady beat of the water and the desperate sounds spilling from your lips.

“Tu te sens tellement parfaite” (you feel so perfect) he growled, his voice rough and low, thick with desire. His eyes locked on yours, dark and blazing with intensity, as though he was determined to consume you entirely. The connection between you was electric, every thrust drawing you closer to the edge, every touch a promise of just how far he was willing to go to satisfy you completely.

The water rolling over your connected bodies, the heat from it mixing with the steam that now thickened the small enclosure, shrouding you both in a haze of raw intimacy. Droplets slid down his chiseled chest, trailing over the taut muscles of his abdomen before dripping onto your flushed skin, the warmth adding to the overwhelming sensations that consumed you.

Aurelien’s breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, each exhale brushing against your damp skin as he drove into you with unrelenting speed. His hips moved with a primal rhythm, each thrust deep and purposeful, his balls slapping against you with a wet, rhythmic sound that filled the space.

With a growl that vibrated against your ear, he leaned down, his lips finding the curve of your neck. His mouth was hot and insistent, his kisses a mix of hunger and tenderness. He sucked gently at your sensitive skin, his tongue soothing the spot before his teeth grazed it lightly, leaving you gasping and arching into him. The sensation was dizzying, every kiss and every thrust working together to unravel you completely.

“Je ne peux pas en avoir assez de toi” (i can’t get enough of you) he murmured against your neck, the words barely audible through his labored breathing, but the raw emotion in them hit you like a tidal wave. Despite the intensity of his movements, there was an unmistakable reverence in the way he touched you, the way his hands slid up your thighs and gripped your hips as though he never wanted to let go.

His pace quickened, the slick slide of his dick driving deeper, his thrusts more urgent yet still laced with that same overwhelming devotion. Each motion brought a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, the mix of his love and raw desire leaving you utterly undone, lost in the storm that was Aurelien.

“Do I make you feel good, bébé?” Aurelien’s deep, husky voice murmured right against your ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. The words were soft, but the intensity behind them was undeniable—he needed to know, needed your assurance that every touch, every movement, was bringing you pleasure. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke, the slight rasp in his voice betraying his own struggle to maintain control.

You moaned softly, your head tilting toward his voice, your body arching into his as if to answer him with your every movement. “Yes baby” you breathed, your voice trembling with raw emotion and pleasure, “You’re making me feel so good”

The words spilled from your lips like a confession, each syllable laced with breathlessness as the intensity of his touch consumed you. His hips bucked slightly in response to your admission, as though your words spurred him on, his need to please you driving him to pour even more of himself into every motion.

Your hands slid up his back, nails grazing his damp skin as you clung to him, the heat between you almost unbearable yet so addictively sweet. His lips curled into a faint smile against your skin, satisfied by your moans and your words, but his hunger to draw even more from you remained. “Good” he growled softly, his voice dripping with a mix of pride and desire. “I want you to remember that it’s me who makes you feel this way”

Every word, every movement of his body against yours, left you trembling, your heart pounding as he claimed you not just physically, but emotionally, with a devotion that took your breath away.

Suddenly, Aurelien pulled out, leaving you gasping at the abrupt emptiness. Your eyes flew open, searching for him, but before you could process, put you down, spun you around, pressing your lower back to bend you over. The cool tiles contrasted sharply with the heat radiating off your flushed skin. His movements were swift but controlled, his hands firm as they positioned you exactly how he wanted.

He lifted one of your legs effortlessly, hooking it over the built-in bench in the shower. The shift spread you wide, leaving you open and vulnerable, every nerve in your body igniting with anticipation. His heated gaze raked over your exposed form, the hunger in his eyes making your pulse race. Without hesitation, he drove back into you with a powerful thrust, filling you completely.

The force of it made you stumble forward slightly, your palms pressing against the wall for balance. A small gasp escaped your lips, but Aurelien was already there, his strong hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you in place with an almost protective intensity. “I’ve got you” he murmured, his voice a deep, reassuring growl, and the promise in his words steadied you even as your body trembled.

The rhythm of his thrusts was relentless, deep and forceful, each movement sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. The sound of wet skin meeting echoed in the small space, mingling with the steady rush of water pouring over you both. The streams ran down your back, easing the tension in your muscles and heightening the intoxicating sensations coursing through you.

His grip on your hips was ironclad, his fingers digging into your flesh as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. Each thrust pushed you closer to the edge, your body responding instinctively to his, matching his rhythm even as he maintained complete control. The heat of his body, the roughness of his hands, and the tenderness laced into his movements all combined into an intoxicating mix of pleasure and connection that left you utterly at his mercy.

Aurelien’s hands began their slow ascent up your back, his touch deliberate, savoring every inch of your skin as though committing it to memory. His palms were warm and firm, gliding over your slick, damp flesh, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He lingered at the curve of your spine, his thumbs tracing along it before his hands descended again, spreading over your hips and settling on your ass.

With a low, guttural groan, his large hands spread your cheeks wider, exposing you fully to him. His eyes dropped to where your bodies joined, his gaze locking onto the sight of his dick disappearing into you, stretching you open with every powerful thrust. The image seemed to almost make him completely lose control, a surge of pure hunger overtaking him as he began to move faster, his hips snapping harder against yours. The sound of his low, desperate moans sent you down a spiral, making you arch further into him.

You glanced back over your shoulder, catching the expression on his face—a mixture of ecstasy and determination. His head fell back, exposing the strong line of his throat, while his teeth clamped down on his lower lip in an effort to hold himself together. The sight was utterly intoxicating, a visual feast that made the heat in your core burn even brighter.

Seeing him like that, so consumed by you, sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through your body. You gasped as your walls tightened around him, the slick gush of your release coating him and making it even easier for him to slip in and out of you with each deep stroke. The wet sounds of your connection filled the steamy shower, mingling with his ragged breaths and the soft whimpers spilling from your lips.

“Fuck” he groaned, his voice hoarse, the single word filled with reverence and lust as his hands gripped your hips even tighter. His gaze flicked up to meet yours for a fleeting moment, his dark, hungry eyes locking onto yours as though trying to anchor himself in the intensity of the moment. The sight of you—wild, open, and completely his—spurred him to push you both closer to the edge, every thrust a testament to just how much he wanted you.

“I love you” he gritted out, he then leaves a stinging slap on your ass forcing out a groan. his voice hoarse with raw emotion as his hips moved faster, more desperate. The wet sounds of your pussy making a mess on his dick alongside the patter of water cascading over your bodies. His grip on your hip tightened, his strength grounding you against the slick tiles as he buried himself inside you with every powerful thrust.

His other hand slid down the curve of your waist, his fingers finding your clit with practiced precision. He circled it roughly in perfect rhythm with his movements, his touch sending jolts of pleasure rippling through your body. You gasped, your face falling forward against the cool wall as one of your hands clung to his wrist behind you, nails digging into his wet skin in a poor attempt to steady yourself.

The pressure in your core built rapidly, your body teetering on the edge of release. “Aurélien” you whimpered, his name a breathless plea that only seemed to spur him on.

“I can feel you” he groaned, his voice cracking as your walls clenched tighter around him, your body tensing as your orgasm approached. His thumb pressed harder against your clit, his teeth grazing the curve of your neck as his own control began to fray.

The coil inside you snapped, your climax washing over you in waves that made your legs tremble. A cry tore from your throat, and your body arched into his, the sheer intensity of it leaving you trembling in his arms.

Aurélien cursed under his breath, his jaw clenching as your pulsing heat dragged him closer to the edge. His movements grew erratic, his dick throbbing as his balls tightened. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself completely inside of you, his body shuddering violently as his release hit him.

“Fuck, fuck……fuck” he groaned, his voice deep and guttural as he spilled into you, his warmth filling you with each pulse of his dick. His head dropped forward, his breath ragged and hot, as his hands gripped your waist like a lifeline. His moans echoed off the shower walls, mixing with the sound of water as he held you close, pressing your trembling back flush against his chest.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies intertwined and still shaking with aftershocks. The water turned lukewarm, cascading over your slick skin as your breaths slowly evened out. Aurélien’s strong arms stayed wrapped around you, his hands stroking over your sides in soothing, lazy patterns.

Eventually, he reached behind you to turn off the shower, the sudden silence amplifying the intimacy of the moment. He grabbed a soft towel from the nearby rack, wrapping it around your shoulders before lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

“Feel better?” he murmured, his voice a quiet rumble, heavy with affection.

You rested your cheek against his damp chest, your heart still fluttering as his warmth enveloped you. “Much” you replied, your voice soft yet sincere. “But only because of you.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he pressed a lingering kiss to your damp hair. “I’ll take the credit” he teased, his tone playful yet tender.

He carried you to the bedroom, the cool air brushing against your flushed skin. As he set you down on the edge of the bed and began gently drying your body, his touch was reverent, each stroke of the towel a reminder of the care he had for you.

When he finally joined you under the covers, he pulled you close once more, his strong arms wrapping around you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. His lips found yours in a slow, languid kiss that spoke of more than passion—it spoke of love.

And as you lay in his embrace, tangled together with nothing but the sound of your hearts beating in sync, you knew that no matter how hard life got, as long as you had Aurélien, you could face anything.

[arsonistic-tendencies]

Nightmares, Dreams , What difference does it make if I'm Always ending up alone ?

CW: Death, Implied Violence

He shifted , Tossing and turning as he looked up at the sky. Something was wrong... The sky was dark and dreary, The bird perched on his shoulder... Something was wrong with him today?

He always had Painful memories ; Old Civilizations, Kind hands , cold eyes , Angelic beings , they were always the same. a familiar cycle , his death or others , It was confusing , It was always Dark.... like he shouldnt be there.... Something chasing him... or perhaps him chasing something?

It always followed a storyline. Constantly shifting unable to make up its mind

One thing was always consistent John would be there. stand there.... Waiting, Always waiting, Far away somewhere. he'd run as fast as he could upon realization, The Titans, The League All his friends, His family. they'd be there in the distance. once he finally caught up to cling to the father he'd been searching for. Gave up his ???????? for.

The earth crumbled beneath him. As it always did, He'd Fall. A green pit breaking his fall whispering him things. Things that hurt to think about

He'd stare at the empty void familiar and melancholy. Everyone always left. the cruel part of the wheel of life... No matter how dearly he clung to it. he was always left behind watching... Guiding. How he always longed to join them. And then he DID

"John!-... N-No no no no please!" He begged falling to his knees. Speaking with a voice and words he didn't recognize. He clutched at Devils Trumpets gripping the white flowers tightly as they turned to ash as he held them. "I - I just... I just got you back " He sobbed.

A dark figure approached him. Taking the shape of his sister Alazne she opened her arms offering comfort he immediately took it her gaze was sad as he felt the familiar prick. "Alazne?...." He asked quietly. he's been through this before? he looked around swaying his his vision swirled......

Right The battlefield.... Screams left and right as he collapsed to the ground. He should have DIED here. Along with everything else. Maybe thats why everyone left him.... Feared him even... He was an Anomaly, a cockroach as John liked to call himself it was in a Constaintine's blood.... Blood son or not

He acted too much like Him... Looked like him if he tried hard enough, Same gruff demeanor, Same cowardice... He was exhausted. how long had he been 17? How long had he spent making Deals, Contracts, For even the slim chance he'd find his john and it would all go back to normal... He wiped at the blood dribbling down his chin...

He fidgeted anxiously, Maybe it was out of a desire to feel loved... to feel wanted... to have purpose.... to not wander aimlessly. He'd been alone since the earth was created and he'd be alone when he saw the end of it. The Cycle of Life and Death was always cruel and unforgiving .... And yet so beautiful and peaceful...

He shot up awake looking around nervously... Was he sweating? His throat felt like it was closing..... where was he?!?? He looked around anxiously... His hair was a mess and he was covered in blood.... wonderful! He thought sarcastic, He fidgeted at the sleeves of his shirt placing the doll he clung to down before looking around.

[girl-lostconnection]

YOU ARE MAGIC LOVE NEVER FORGET THAT 🥹🥹🥹 WTFFF that was actually so soft and I’m crying salty tears heeeelpp!! that was amazing !! gonna make a little something in return for you 😚:

i used second person — might be strange?

he comes back from his first deployment — where he was unluckily shot in the thigh — and by some miracle, he manages enough strength to wobble off that bus as you stand on the sidewalk. he’s got crutches and for some reason no one’s helping him with his duffel bag and that sight alone is soul-crushing. you rush to him, angry and confused, grabbing his bag and forcing him to sit on the curb.

“simon riley! what the hell happened to you?” he has never seen you this angry, but the way you’ve got your hands on your hips is causing some tightness in his jeans. he wishes you were this type of spitfire back then.

“got shot, luv, won’t ‘appen again,” he chuckles roughly, as if you’d just asked him the weather.

“simon edward (i hc this as his middle name cause it’s so funny sorry) riley. you’ve just told me you’ve been shot and im not meant to worry six ways to sunday?!” you’re appalled, aghast even. “i let you go off for six months, maybe! and you’ve gotten yourself into a mess. bloody christ!” you speak as if you’re allowing him to breathe, and as if everything he does, he does in your name — and god, why does he love it? “nonsense.” and the whole way home — because you are his home, no matter the place — you’re grumbling about how he’s going to cripple himself before he’s 35 and he’s just snickering.

because regardless of his injuries, and his countless therapy (physical or otherwise) appointments that you’ll drive him to, you will always be proud to call him your soldier.

and your third book begins with:

“to my soldier. stay home and read more books, please. you can’t leave me here.”

Anon, I’m gonna cry that’s so cute. Thank you so much for writing this!!

Also it’s all right, I got your second message, I’m gonna tag this one as one of your asks.

But also…anon, I’m giving you a big smooch on your bright beautiful head — this is beyond sweet🥹 Your writing is great and it makes me feel so warm and soft, I can’tttttt

And I love how your Reader just keeps popping out books (our productive queen) and giving hell to this big man when he doesn’t take proper care of himself because how dare he get shot (I know right???).

The way Simon is like “won’t be happening again” CAN YOU GUARANTEE THAT BIG MAN, I love that part, you cooked there some very good very canonical Simon Riley

And no one helping Simon with his duffel bag? Anon, stopppp, the way Reader would snatch the thing off his shoulder — he’d be unsure whether or not it was there in the first place at all. And I love that that’s exactly the vibes I was going for in their timeskip because he’s simply home whenever he’s with Reader.

They are his home. He comes back to them and suddenly everything is lighter and better and he smiles more and he’s happier version of himself (my baby🥹)

[lacydollette]

TEAMING UP ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: exbf!dean x huntress!reader

warnings: heavy tension, mention of guns, dean being cocky, explicit language, lowkey a lil angsty, maybe fluff (?)

Dean moved carefully through the forest, keeping his steps light, always on high alert for any signs of the werewolf pack they were hunting. The brothers had tracked the attacks to this abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere. It was the perfect hideout—isolated, hidden deep in the woods, far enough from any town that no one would hear the screams. His grip tightened on the silver knife in his hand, they were close now.

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Sam wasn't too far behind. They had split up to cover more ground, but something about this hunt felt off. He couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't the only ones out here tonight.

That feeling was confirmed when he heard the faint rustle in the bushes ahead. Instinctively, Dean tensed, his body ready for a fight as he inched closer to the noise. He barely had time to react before something lunged at him, slamming him back against a tree with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs.

Before he could get a grip on what was happening, he felt cold steel press into his chest, and a fierce hand gripping his throat. Whoever had him pinned was strong and definitely a combat master. And as his eyes adjusted to the shadows, he recognized the face glaring up at him.

"y/n?"

His voice came out rough, startled. It had been years since he'd seen you—his ex, the one who'd walked out of his life after you’d both decided your worlds were too dangerous to pull love and feelings into the mix. The one who never left his mind, no matter how much time passed.

You blinked, shock flashing in your eyes before it hardened into something more familiar. You stepped back, releasing him, but the gun stayed firmly in your grip, aimed at him as you spoke. "What the hell are you doing here, Dean?"

Of all people to run into on this hunt, it had to be him. It was like the universe was playing some kind of sick joke on you. You hadn't seen Dean in years, not since you both decided to go separate ways. Too much baggage, too much history. You had moved on. At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.

He rubbed his neck, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite the fact that you had nearly taken him out. "Nice to see you too, y/n. Still got that charming bedside manner, huh?"

Your eyes were cold, all business, just like you had been when you first met on a hunt years ago. You hadn't changed much—still fierce, still sharp, still... fucking beautiful. The moonlight highlighted the determination on your face, and for a second, Dean almost forgot where you two were.

"I nearly shot you," you said frustrated, trying to get rid of the thought of almost killing your ex boyfriend. Dean shrugged, his smirk fading as he let out a breath. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Your jaw clenched, and he could see the wheels turning in your head. He didn't know whether you were more annoyed that he was here or that he'd caught you off guard. Definitely both.

"This is my hunt," you snapped, eyes narrowing at him. "I've been tracking this pack for weeks.", "Yeah, well, so have we," Dean replied, meeting your glare. "Sam and I are here to take them out. Same mission, different day."

Your eyes flashed with anger, and for a second, Dean thought you might shove him back against the tree again. You had always been like this—stubborn, independent, never one to back down. It was one of the things that had drawn him to you in the first place, even if it was also the reason you couldn't make it work. You were too much alike, both hunters, both living lives that didn't leave room for anything or anyone else.

You stepped back, shaking your head. "I don't need your help, Dean. I've got this." Dean crossed his arms, his expression serious now. "Really? You're gonna take on a whole werewolf pack by yourself?"

You glared at him, and he could tell you weren’t in the mood for his questions. But he wasn't about to let you get yourself killed, even if you wanted to do this alone. There were too many of them—he and Sam had already counted at least five, maybe more, and even someone as tough as you couldn't take on that many without backup.

"Look," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "I know you don't want me here, but we're on the same hunt. Let's take these bastards out together, and then you can go back to pretending I don't exist."

You scoffed, your grip tightening on your gun while you rolled your eyes at him. You didn't need anyone else. You had always worked best alone, and you weren’t about to let anything—or anyone—get in your way. Dean's temper flared for a second, but he held it back. "Look, I'm here to finish the job. That’s it.”

You both stood there, staring each other down, the tension between you thick. It was the same as it had always been, that push and pull that had kept you together—and tore you apart in the end. Eventually you gave in, at least it would be quicker this way, right?

Dean couldn't stop himself from watching you as you approached the barn. You moved like a shadow, silent and sharp, every step calculated, your eyes scanning the area like a hawk. You were damn good—one of the best hunters he knew. But that didn't make him worry any less. The werewolf pack all of you were up against wasn't just dangerous—it was reckless, and there were too many variables that could go wrong. Dean knew that better than anyone.

You had always been independent, always insisted on doing things your way, and normally, Dean respected that. Hell, he admired it. Yet he couldn't shake the knot of worry tightening in his chest.

It felt like old times, like you were slipping back into the partnership you used to have, it was like no time had passed at all. You still got under his skin, still made his heart race in ways he didn't want to admit. And as much as he tried to focus on the hunt, on the job, he couldn't ignore the pull he still felt toward you.

There was unfinished business between you two—there always had been. And deep down, Dean knew that no matter how hard he tried to move on, some part of him would always be tied to you. You weren’t just part of his past. You were part of who he was, whether he liked it or not and he had to keep you safe.

Dean glanced over at you, his jaw tight. "Get behind me." You shot him a look, the fire in your eyes flickering to life. "I don't need you to babysit me, Dean. I've got this." He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his voice steady, but the frustration was bubbling up inside him. "I'm not babysitting you. I just don't want you to get yourself killed." You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him. "You don't think I can handle it?"

"That's not what I'm saying," Dean growled, stepping closer. "I know you can handle it, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna stand here and watch you get torn apart." Your eyes flared with anger. "I don't need your protection."

“y/n I just want yo-“ he started, wanting to explain himself, yet you couldn’t help the frustration growing inside you. You always hated when he got too protective. For some it may seem caring and sweet, which it definitely was, but it made you feel weak, like Dean didn’t trust you. So before he could finish his sentence, you turned on him, shoving him hard against the nearest tree. He stumbled back, surprised, but he didn't resist.

Your arm was pressed against his chest, face just inches apart. "I've been doing this a long time," you hissed, voice low and dangerous. "I don't need you swooping in like some knight in shining armor. I'm not the damsel here, Dean." His lips curved into a smirk, the familiar cocky grin he knew would rile you up even more. "Never said you were, sweetheart. But if you wanted to get rough, all you had to do was ask."

Your eyes narrowed, he was so annoyingly attractive like this. Dean could feel the heat between the two of you rising, the space between you growing smaller, charged with a tension that had been brewing for years. You were still pressed against him, body close enough that he could feel the warmth of you against his chest.

"Don't start with me, Dean," you warned, but your voice had softened, just a fraction. Dean leaned in slightly, his grin still in place. "Who's starting? I'm just trying to be helpful."

You faltered for a split second, and Dean saw it—the brief flash of confusion in your eyes, the way your breath caught in your throat. You felt your pulse quicken, not from the argument, but from the way he was looking at you. That look—the one that always tore down your walls, no matter how hard you fought to keep them up. You hated that about him. Hated how, despite everything that had happened between you, despite how far you had come on your own, he still had this hold over you.

Your grip on his shirt loosened just enough that he could feel the tension in you melting away, little by little. For a moment, you stood there, locked in place, the world around you already forgotten. Dean's eyes flicked down to your lips, and for a split second, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—they could pick up where you two left off, despite everything that had happened.

His eyes pierced yours as you tried to remind yourself of the reasons the two of you didn't work, the reasons you had left. Dean was trouble. He was chaos. But when his eyes had flicked to your lips, every rational thought disappeared. It was like all those years apart hadn't changed anything. You still wanted him, still felt that magnetic pull whenever you two were close like this.

Your breath hitched, and you leaned in, your lips barely an inch from his. The heat between you was undeniable now, thick and electric, pulling both of you closer. Dean could feel his heart pounding in his chest, everything else fading into the background. It was just you and him, like it always had been. But just as you were about to cross that line, a voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Uh, Dean?"

You two immediately jerked apart, snapping back to reality as Sam emerged from the shadows, his face a mix of shock and confusion. His eyes darted between you two, lingering on your form, and the look on his face said it all—he hadn't expected to see you, not after all these years.

"y/n?" Sam's voice was thick with surprise, his brows raised. "What are you doing here?" You quickly pulled yourself together, straightening your stance as you brushed off the tension that had almost swallowed you whole. "Just... hunting," you said coolly, but your voice wavered just enough that you could tell Dean noticed.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to shake off the heat still coursing through him. He shot a quick glance at you, walls back up in an instant. You kept your face neutral, but inside, you were cursing yourself for almost letting it happen. You had almost kissed him. After everything, after all the time you spent trying to move on, you had almost let yourself fall back into Dean’s orbit.

Sam's eyes flicked to his brother, and Dean could see the question there, unspoken but loud. He didn't have an answer for him—not right now. All he knew was that something between you and him had shifted, and no matter how hard you both tried to deny it, you couldn't go back to pretending like nothing had happened.

Not after this.

links: dean winchester masterlist

tags: @gibson-g1rl @beausling @figthoughts @chevroletdean @titsout4jackles @deansbite @sugardean @deansbeer @supernatural-wolfie @hischrrypie @angelicjackles @littlelamy @nuemanfilms @starzify

[buckyandstan]

✪ pairings: Sebastian Stan x Fem!Reader

✪ summary: Reader and Seb can’t deny the tension that was created while shooting their last movie together

✪ warnings: adult content 18+, swearing, heavy flirting, use of y/n, friends to lovers, unprotected, general filth

────────── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ───────────

Everything was surreal.

The flashing of the cameras, the fans and photographers screaming your name, you’ve been through this, what feels like a hundred times, but you can never truly believe that this is your life.

You smoothed over the fabric, turning slightly to allow the photographers to get their shots of your custom gown.

“Beautiful. Beautiful.”

“Just a few more!”

“Turn slightly the other way!”

“Perfect!”

You smile, moving down to the next mark and suddenly the crowd grows loud once again. You look back, unable to fight the smile as you see Sebastian walking down the red carpet behind you.

It doesn’t take him long to find you, his eyes lingering on you until you look away to move down the line.

You go through a few more marks before you’re at your first interviewer, smiling and chatting, when all of a sudden, she gasps, “Oh my gosh, Hi!”

You go to look around, but stop when a hand lays on your waist, and lips press to your cheek, “Hello, hello.” Sebastian smiles, “You look amazing, doesn’t she look amazing!”

The interviewer nods, “Yes she does, but so do you!”

“Oh please, this old thing doesn’t compare to what she’s wearing, what is that custom?” He looks you up and down and you nod with a smile, “It sure is.”

He smirks, “Beautiful. Hey, I’ll catch up with you in a sec, alright? Don’t go far.” He points to you as he walks away and you smile, feeling the heat in your cheeks grow hotter as you look back at the lady in front of you, ���He’s such a sweetheart, is he not?”

She laughs, “Oh I just love him. Speaking of.” She smiles, “You two just finished up a movie together? How was that? Can you give us any insider tidbits on that?”

“I don’t think I can give away, too much, but working with Seb is always a pleasure. He’s such a sweetheart, and he’s so professional. He is always makes sure that when we’re shooting certain scenes that I’m good, everyone else is good. He’s just amazing all around.”

“By certain scenes.” She raises her brows, smiling as she leans in, “Does that mean we’re getting a y/n and Sebastian spice scene?”

You shrug, “I guess you’ll just have to find out when you watch the movie later on this year.” You laugh, “I gotta go. I love you!” You hug the woman and walk away.

Sebastian’s eyes never leave you as he speaks with other people. He motions for you to come over and you follow his motion, walking over and wrapping your arm around his waist, “Hi!”

“There she is! Sebastian here was just talking about how you’re a better movie star than him, I want to see if that’s true or not.” The guy asks, “What are your thoughts on that?”

“Oh, I mean. Come on. It’s a no brainer.” You laugh, looking up at Sebastian, “If he said it, it must be true, right?”

“I mean, he speaks pretty highly of you, y/n. How about you, do you think he’s one of the best actors to work with?”

You nod, “Oh yes. He’s by far my favorite to work with.”

“See.” Sebastian laughs, “I told you I was her favorite.”

The guy laughs, “I will never doubt you again, Mr. Stan.” He looks at you, “Where are you tonight? What table are you seated at?”

“Table six.”

“That’s where I’m at.” He pulls you in closer to him and you smile, “That’s where I’m headed in next.” You point, “I’ll see you later.” You squeeze the interviewers shoulder and walk away, Sebastian’s eyes burning into the back of you with such heat.

Ever since you started filming the movie that just wrapped, there’s been tension between you and Seb. A lot of heavy tension that clouds your mind no matter how hard you try not to think about him.

“Couldn’t have waited for me?” Sebastian laughs as he walks up to take your hand. You laugh, reaching down to pull up your dress so you don’t trip and fall down the steps, “I didn’t know you were done talking.”

He chuckles, “Yeah well.”

You reach the bottom and interlock your arm with his. As you make your way to your table, you stop and chat quickly with a few other nominees and what not.

Sebastian was always the first to compliment you, showing you off to others which honestly kind of confused you.

You and him were super close, sure, that’s what filming intimate scenes with someone does. A part of you thought he knew what was there, but you didn’t want to say or ask because you didn’t want to risk everything going awkward.

“Here we go.” He pulls your chair out for you, helping you move in and bending down to move your dress away from the foot traffic, “Do you need anything?”

You shake your head, “No, I’m good.”

“Alright.” He sits down next to you, and for the rest of the time between now and the award show starting, you both chatted with each other, other people who walked by and at the table.

You didn’t start to feel really nervous until the lights went down and the spot light fell onto the host.

“Good evening everyone, and welcome to the Golden Globes.”

You take a deep breath and Sebastian looks over at you, “Are you alright?” You nod, “I’m so nervous right now.”

He chuckles, “Trust me.” He takes your hand, giving it a squeeze, “You have this award show in the bag, sweetheart.” He gives you a wink and you felt a calm wash over you.

You held his hand all the way up to his category. When they announced his name, you were pulled up from your chair and into a hug and you were the loudest one cheering for him.

“Oh, my gosh. Wow.” He laughs, “I really wasn’t expecting this.” The crowd laughs and he continues to deliver his quick speech, ending it with a shoutout to you, “I have to dedicate this award to the costar that pushed me to do my absolute best. She worked with me day in and day out, and I just cannot thank you so being there every step of the way. Thank you, y/n.”

You smile, tilting your head as you watch him walk off stage. He walks back up to you and pulls you into a tight hug, “Now it’s your turn.”

You smile, sitting down in your chair, and your hand moves back to hold his. After a few categories, it was finally yours.

“And the Golden Globe for best lead actress in a drama goes to… y/n y/l/n!”

Your jaw drops and you look at Sebastian. He pulls you to your feet and kisses your cheek, “Did I not tell you!? Now go!”

He was the loudest one cheering for you as you made your way up to the stage. You accepted the award and walk to the mic, “Are you kidding me?” You pout, glancing down at the award in your hand, “This means the absolute world to me. Thank you so much for entrusting me with taking on this role. I will remember this role for the rest of my life, it has changed me in so many ways.” You sigh, “And since Seb set the bar, I just want to dedicate this to not only him, but the fans of this movie. Him and you combined, you both just pushed me to do my absolute best and I’m truly so greatful. I love you so so much. Thank you.”

You back away from the mic and walk towards the steps. You make your way back to the table and throw yourself into Sebastian, hugging him tight.

His hands press into your back and he sighs, “God, I am so proud of you right now.”

You smile, leaning back to smile and thank everyone around you who congratulates you. You sit back down and immediately feel his hand on your leg. You look over at him and he smiles, “How does it feel?”

“How does what feel?” You tilt your head he laughs, “Winning, of course.”

You laugh, “Oh, I thought you meant..” you point to his hand and he raises his brows, “Well now you have me curious about that, too, sweetheart.”

You smirk, “Oh yeah?”

He laughs, shaking his head as his thumb brushes over the soft material resting on your leg.

He definitely knew what you thought he knew.

After the show, you and Sebastian make your way to get pictures done. As you’re standing together, he leans in, turning his head back to whisper something into your ear, “What do you say, after this we skip the whole after party bit and go straight back to the hotel?”

You nod, clearing your throat, “Sounds like a great idea.” You smile, snapping back into your star side as the cameras take a few more snaps.

“Okay, now just y/n, please.”

Sebastian moves away, moving to stand to the side as he watches you bask in the love and fame.

You glance over at him, your smile growing bigger as he smiles at you. You were stuck in a trance, it took a few times of your name being called for you to snap back into it.

You laugh, covering up your nervousness of being caught staring at him, “Sorry.” You move out of the way, turning to watch him stand in your place, and your trance returned.

He was beautiful, inside and out. Being able to work so closely with him and discover his true personality was a godsend to you.

It’s not everyday you get to fall in love with a close friend and then retaliate with the same feelings.

You watch as he thanks the photographers as he walks towards you, his arm sliding around your waist as he guides you forward towards the doors, “I’m greatful, don’t get me wrong, but that felt like it took forever.”

You laugh at his words, “I know exactly what you mean, I love getting the awards, but I’d much rather be out of this dress and laying in a comfy bed.”

He leans in, his voice low, “Well you’re in luck, because I can help with both of those thing.” He leans back and all you can do is smirk, shaking your head as you make your way to his car.

The driver opens the door and Sebastian helps you in bexors getting in behind you, “Hotel, please.” The driver nods and Sebastian takes your hand into his, “Thank you.”

He looks over at you and you look at him, giving him a smile, “What?”

He shakes his head, “Nothing, nothing at all.” He chuckles, “I just.. can’t get over how beautiful you look tonight.”

“Oh, so I don’t look beautiful any other day?” You tease and he scoffs, “Don’t be doing that. You know you’re beautiful.” He looks away, “Partly why I can’t keep my eyes off of you.”

“I’m sorry, what was that last part?” You look over at him and he laughs, looking back at you. He doesn’t say anything, but as soon as you go to, he leans in quickly, cupping your cheek with his hand, “You heard me.”

His lips crash onto yours and you gasp against his lips.

He leans back, eyes moving from your lips to your eyes before you pull him back in by his suit jacket. He moves closer to you, hand on your thigh as his other slides around to grip the back of your neck.

You tilt your head to the side, biting down onto your lip as his trail down under your jaw. He kisses back to your ear, whispering lowly, “I’ve thought about you all damn night.”

“So have I.” You lean back, eyes staying on his before you close the space once again.

The car comes to a stop and Sebastian quickly moves to get out, taking your hand as you slide over to the open door. He helps you step out and you’re being led inside almost instantly.

You make it to the elevator, waiting patiently with you hand in his. His thumb gently moves over your hand, “Could this thing be any slower?”

You laugh, moving close to him and resting your head on his shoulder.

You stay close as you enter, your hand in his as he reaches with the other to press the button. He looks back over at you, instantly moving in to press his lips to yours.

Your hands slide up his arms, stopping to grip his biceps as his arm slides to lock around your lower back. You kiss until the ding of the elevator, and you make your way down the hall to his room.

You bite your lip at the beep of the door, looking up at him as he pushes it open.

He pulls you in, walking backwards as he pulls you with him, his grip on your hips tightening as your hands move up his chest to undo the buttons on his dress shirt.

“Impatient, I see.” He jokes, but you shake your head, “More like I’m finally getting everything I’ve ever wanted.”

He raises his brows, “I’m in the same boat as you.” He pulls you in, connecting his lips with yours as he reaches around to unzip the back of your dress.

You lean back, “Normally I’d want you to rip my clothes off of me, but I need you to be gentle with this one, please.”

“I’ll be as gentle as you want, baby.” He whispers, pressing a gentle kiss right below your ear, “Or as rough, whatever..” he drags the zipper down your back slowly, “..you desire.”

Your breath hitches as he slowly pushes your dress down your body. You step out of it, eyes on him as he lays it over the one chair beside him.

You walk over him to him, pulling him in for a heated kiss. He dips down, grabbing the back of your thigh to lift you up as his other arm starts firm around your waist.

He walks you over to the bed, laying you down as he kisses down your neck.

He sits up, eyes raking up and down your body as he works to undo the rest of the buttons before quickly shrugging that and his jacket off.

You sit up, eyes following his hands as they move to undo his belt. You reach down to take off your heels, but he stops you, “Uh uh, leave’em on.”

You smirk, laying back on the bed in nothing but your panties. He undoes his belt, biting his lip as he shrugs his pants down and steps out of them, along with his shoes.

He crawls back over you, lips connecting with yours as he grinds against you.

You gasp, letting a quiet moan slip. He does it again and you moan louder, “Fuck, Seb. Don’t tease me, I’ve waited long enough.”

He chuckles, “You’re right, you’re right. Sorry, baby.”

He reaches down, slipping his fingers into the band of your panties and glides his fingers down to your clit. He smirks as you gasp, hips rolling under his touch.

You tilt your head back, moaning out as his pressure grows harder.

“Fuck, you sound so beautiful.” He kisses up your neck, “Take them off for me.” You move quick, sitting up as he does. Your hands instantly removing the fabric from your body as he does the same.

You move up more on the bed, eyes on his as he crawls up to lay next to you. He pulls you towards him, and you roll over, your leg moving up to lay over his hip. He slides his hand over your leg, reaching down to guide cock between your folds and into you.

You gasps, fingers tangling into his hair as you smash your lips to his. His hand grips your thigh harder as the fingers on his other hand dig into your back,“Fuck, m’not even in all the way and you feel so fucking good, baby.”

He rests his forehead against yours, sliding the hand on your thigh up to cup your cheek as he thrusts into you slowly. Your nails dig into his shoulders, moans grow louder the deeper he gets.

“Feels so good.” You breathe out, “Fuck.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, groaning out as he pulls out and thrusts back in.

You tighten your leg over his waist, sliding your hand down and around to his back. You drag your nails over his skin, drawing red lines within their path.

He holds you to him, thrusting in a slow and passionate pace, “You feel so good, sweetheart. So fucking good.” His lips trail down your neck, his moans growing louder, “Been waiting so long for you.”

You moan at his words, tightening your grip on him, “I knew I wasn’t crazy.” You smile, biting your lip as your eyes flutter closed. He presses a kiss to your cheek, “Not crazy at all, baby.”

Your walls squeeze around him, “D-don’t stop. Please.”

He groans lowly as his lips meet yours, moving with them as he rolls you onto your back, his body hovering over yours.

You moan out louder, legs tightening around his waist, “Shit, yes. Just like that.” You look up at him, brows furrowing with pleasure as a string of moans leave your lips.

He brushes hair from your face, laying his hand on your cheek as he watches your face twitch with pleasure, “You’re even more beautiful like this.” His eyes search your face, “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You whine, nails digging into his back, “So close.”

“Come on, baby.” He whispers, pressing kisses to your cheek, “Come for me. I want to make you feel so good.”

You gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you squeeze his cock with everything you have.

He groans, “Fuck, don’t do that.” He chuckles before moaning, “m’going to be right there with you if you do that.”

“S-sorry.” You whisper, and he shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your lips, “Don’t be sorry.” He bites your lip and tugs, “Feels so good when you do that.”

You look up at him, back arching from the bed as he guides you right into that euphoric feeling. You cling to him, panting and moaning as he works to guide you through.

“There we go, that’s it, baby.” He whispers, a moan attaching to his words, “Fucking hell.”

You whimper, turning your head to kiss his lips. You tug his hair, swallowing his groan.

“I think about you all the time.” He whispers, “I’ve dreamed of finally having you all to myself one of these days.”

You nod, moaning out as you look up at him, “Me-me, too.” You pull him in for another kiss, “I thought about you with everything.”

He smirks against your lips, “everything, huh?”

You smirk, “Yes, everything.”

“You don’t have to do that anymore.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, and then your other, “I’ll take care of you anytime you need.”

You smile, gasping as he thrusts into you fully, “Fuck, fuck.” You breathe out, “M’gonna come again.”

“As many times as you want, sweetheart.” He kisses down your neck, moaning out as he feels you clamp down onto him again, “Fuck, just like that. Come for me.”

You moan out loudly as you feel that band in your belly snap once again, “Yesyesyes. Fuck, fuck.” Your legs tighten and moans fall from your lips in a long string as he guides you through a second time.

He groans lowly, “Where do you want me, sweetheart?”

“Don’t stop.” You gasp, “I want all of you.”

He groans as he presses his lips to yours, the pace in his thrusts growing sloppier by the second, “You’re incredible.” He rests his forward on yours, moaning louder as his cock twitches inside of you.

You gasp at the feeling, sliding your hands up to pull him into a kiss.

His thrusts come to a slow stop before it’s just his lips moving with yours. He leans back, eyes looking into yours, “did ghat live up to your standards?”

You smile, “I don’t know, might have to do it again just to make sure, you know?”

He chuckles, nodding his head, “We can do it as many times as we can.” He crashes his lips onto hours and pulls you with him as he rolls over, “This beats any and all after parties.”

────────── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ───────────

✪ Thank you for reading ✪

[gabaobab]

JO

[featherymainffins]

Trying to remember where I first encountered humanity as a horror to see if this has a root the same way you can trace literally all of my thirst for fictional characters back to WITCH, but ngl I genuinely cannot remember anything like that.

[devotedlystrangewizard]

the school arc to me is so good because it drags ciel out of his position as a powerful figure and literally places him in the shoes of the person he could have been. the circus arc ALSO drags him out of his position as big bad queens watch dog/head of the phantomhive estate but the school arc feels like a mockery of a future that never was. this is what he could have been had his parents not died. and even then its NOT because he will never be that kid.

he never was.

[northwest-cryptid]

Oh shit, fr?

[lokissweater]

sunday's 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

{yuta okkotsu x popular f!reader}

summary: yuta okkotsu has been in love with you since he started college— living in the shadows of your popularity as he watched from afar how your bouncy and genuine kind soul prospered and shined everywhere you went. but during one of his shifts at the 50s diner down the street from his campus, you walk in with you friends one sunday night and immediately bond over your shared love for elvis presley’s music, yuta stammering and fidgety at how pretty you are up close, and you falling fast for his pinky cheeks, sweet little words, and how he takes care of you every single day.

warnings: college!au, FLUUUFFF omg so cute, lovesick yuta he thinks you’re so prettyyy, no smut in this one!, popular reader, cursing, afab!reader, lots of mentions of elvis presley LOL, little bit of angst, clueless yuta, strangers to friends to lovers.

word count: 9.6k

authors note: THIS ONE HITS HOMEEE FOR MEEE AAAHHHH CAN YOU TELL I LOVE ELVIS PRESLEY? i live and breathe that man and oldies in general, so this is a love letter to him! :] this fic is all of my favorite things combined and it is SO FREAKING CUUTEEEE UGH i hope you all love it seriously <3333 MWAAHHH I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU—

yuta okkotsu had never seen a girl so beautiful.

you were breathtaking, watching from afar, it was truly as if the world revolved around you in the most positive way yuta could think of.

you were popular— a beam of gorgeous light following you everywhere you went as you were always just enveloped by people and strangers and friends, them wanting to talk to you, wanting to get to know you, wanting you to better their lives because that’s what you selflessly liked to do for everyone without knowing.

and every time he’d walk in between lectures and spot you— feeling in the dumps if on certain days he’d miss your presence entirely, he’d just stare. stare with pink cheeks and softened eyes as you laughed and messed around with your friends or did extracurricular activities around campus, always giving a helping hand to those who needed it no matter the status.

that’s what yuta admired the most about you. you didn’t treat anybody differently just because they didn’t stand in the same level as you. you didn’t care about things like that, and you spoke to people with such fucking class and poise, that he always dozed off picturing how it would be like if he ever had the privilege of actually speaking with you.

that’s how most of his work shifts went at the diner after his classes.

he would wait tables or be in the kitchen, wipe down the windows or run the hostess stand… and you’d be on his mind— permanently there to torment him in the loveliest way he knew how.

and on one sunday night, you were unexpectedly there right in front of him at his job.

“hello?”

you waved a gentle hand over his face, and he snapped out of it immediately, cheeks pinky and bright, your friends snickering.

“yes! s—sorry.” he reached behind the hostess stand. “how many are with you?”

“four!” you responded sweetly, yuta having to swallow the huge lump in his throat as he officially saw your smile up close for the first time in his life— a gorgeous contrast to what it looked like from far away.

yuta quickly grabbed the corresponding menus and stepped to the side of the hostess stand, leading you and your friends through the empty restaurant and to a big booth— placing two menus down on each side of the table.

a series of elvis presley oldies (a personal pick from yuta) played through the jukebox in the middle of the diner while you and your friends scanned the menu, yuta fidgeting and anxious with his pen and notepad, waiting for you to order.

“do you have a favorite milkshake from here?” your kind voice spoke, looking up at him.

“uh— milkshake?”

your friends snickered again, but this time, you turned to them and shot them all a menacing glare.

“hey!— stop that you guys…” you shook your head at them and turned back to a red faced yuta, smiling apologetically. “i’m sorry! i’m really sorry.”

your friends only looked annoyed as they buried their faces in their menus or looked away entirely— yuta shaking his head softly.

“n—no it’s alright. um— i usually prefer this one-”

he timidly pointed his pen downward, the words ‘elvis shake’ reading from it.

“it has uh— vanilla ice cream with peanut butter and bananas.” he pursed his lips. “if… if you like that?”

“oh i’m a whore for anything with peanut butter in it!…” your hands spread flat across the menu as you leaned closer, yuta shyly laughing a little at your wording.

you looked up then, your eyes bright and excited and yuta doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him the way you were at that moment.

“is that why you like it? because of the peanut butter?”

“yeah! yeah definitely... m— mainly because of the name though.”

you stopped and your eyebrows furrowed. “elvis? do you listen to him?”

his cheeks buzzed. “do you?”

“y/n!” one of your friends harshly whispered to you from across the table. “are we here to chit chat or are we here to eat?”

“fuck okay! jesus—”

you and the rest of your group ordered, yuta nervously scribbling down the names of various platters and drinks before silently excusing himself to send the note off to the kitchen staff.

and when it came around to serving your food, placing each individual dish down for each person— yuta gently settled the elvis shake you got in front of you, adorned with baby pink sprinkles over a mountain of whipped cream with a cherry on top, something that yuta did extra for you out of the goodness of his infatuated heart, since it didn’t come with the drink in the first place.

he didn’t know why, but he could tell that the energy was different between you and your friends the second time he came around, and after hiding in the kitchen for the entirety of the time you were there instead of outside waiting tables like he was supposed to, by the third time he came back around— you were fighting with them.

he quickly retreated behind the bar and made himself look busy, guiltily eavesdropping as he picked up a random salt shaker and falsely examined it.

“i don’t understand why you guys can’t just be nice!” you pushed. “is having a normal conversation with somebody that funny? every time?”

“y/n you always talk to a bunch of rando’s of course it’s funny.”

“what the hell does that even mean?”

“it means it looks odd and you’re embarrassing yourself every time you skip around not being mindful of who you’re having conversations with!” one of them seethed, their tone judgemental and rude and one yuta didn’t like at all.

“like— like the server today! i’m pretty sure i’ve seen him around campus, he’s odd. why were you asking him about— about— who the fuck were you asking him about?“

“elvis.” you spat. “i was asking him about elvis."

“that guy! who cares? he works here why do you have to always talk to people like that—”

“like what?!” you threw your arms up. “like a normal decent human being would? i can see why you’d lack that.”

“excuse me?”

“yeah. and it sucks for you.”

“sucks for?— okay. i think we’re done here.”

“way fucking done.”

as each of them scooched out of the booth, yuta watched with wide panicked eyes while you stayed seated and silent, arms crossed over your chest and lips tight as you glared.

“i don’t know why everyone loves you so much…” one of them muttered. “there isn’t anything to you.”

and they all walked out, the bell above the door chiming as they did.

yuta’s eyes darted from you to the exit and to them through the window outside in the parking lot, watching fucking gobsmacked as they all got in one singular car and sped off, leaving you there by yourself and with the responsibility of the bill.

soft sniffles reached him, and he turned then, your body hunched over on the table as you cried with your head down, yuta’s heart aching for you.

he put down the random salt shaker he was holding and walked around the bar, slowly making his way towards your table.

“you don’t—”

you shot up startled.

“sorry! sorry—” he awkwardly scratched his pinky cheek. “i was just— gonna say you don’t have to pay the bill… i— i can—”

“oh! no you don’t have to do that.” you wiped your cheeks. “it’s okay i can pay it.”

“but they left you the entire bill.” he said softly.

“i know… it’s okay! really.” you smiled a little through your tears, the sight making his shoulders slump.

how you could possibly smile at a time like this was beyond him.

yuta started clearing the empty plates from your table when you spoke up again.

“i’m sorry you had to deal with their attitude...” you mumbled. “and my ugly crying.”

he smiled softly and shook his head. “no it’s okay. you shouldn’t apologize for them.”

“i should though…” you whined a little. “they were being mean the moment we got here and were just straight disrespectful.”

you leaned back against the plush of the booth and crossed your arms, muttering. “it’s not like they were my friends either..”

yuta quirked a confused brow, setting the last of the plates away in the kitchen before coming back around. “they weren’t?”

“nuh uh.” you shook your head. “i had just met them today actually, from a sorority event. i thought they were nice at first but i started noticing they were a little bitchy.”

“bitchy?” he laughed a little, his heart leaping like a little leap frog at the realization that it was just you and him at the diner alone, the cooks having already gone home seeing as it was past closing time for the diner.

“yeah…” you sighed deeply through your nose. “they weren’t being very nice to the other girls there either… and— and when they asked me if i wanted to come eat here with them i didn’t really want to go but—” you pursed your lips, a sheepish look on your face. “i have a hard time saying no to people so…”

yuta’s eyes softened, leaning back against the edge of the long bar table as he eyed how resilient you tried to come across but damn well knowing you were hurting inside by their actions, your cheeks still wet and your bottom lip in a slight pout.

“what they said to you wasn’t very nice…” he murmured. “i’m sorry they did that.”

you smiled warmly. “it’s okay. i get it here and there.”

his eyebrows furrowed. “here and there? what do you mean?”

“from other people that i meet.” you perked up slightly then. “do you wanna sit?” you signaled to the seat across from you in the booth and he stiffened, eyes wide and cheeks pink as he reluctantly scooched his legs over and sat across from you.

“they just get a little mad when i don’t do what they want me to do.”

“like be mean? like them?”

you shrugged a little, but the way your gorgeous eyes peered up at him indicated that he was right. “i suppose.”

“are all of your friends like that?”

“oh no! thankfully not…” you fiddled with your fingers on the table. “a lot of them are really sweet.”

yuta never thought about how something like this could be a possibility, as all he saw was how much you were loved and idolized and sought after by literally anyone who knew your name— but he missed the mark on the logistics of it. he should’ve known certain girls wouldn’t be in favor of you and desired what you didn’t have to work very hard for to get.

he saw how you wiped the remnants of your wet cheeks and sniffed, looking like you had at least recovered from crying but still a little dejected as you slouched over the table, eyes down.

“do you want… another elvis shake?”

you looked up. “what?”

“a—another shake. do you want one?” he stood slowly from the booth. “or i could get you ice cream? we just have vanilla and chocolate but—”

“oh no! it’s okay really i don’t want to freeload over what you have—”

he giggled a little. “you’re not freeloading. i’m offering.”

and before you could reject him again, he was already making his way to the kitchen— hands skillfully prepping his favorite milkshake like he’d done so many times before since the age of sixteen, and now skillfully and lovingly preparing it for you, the girl he’s adored since the moment he started college.

you stood and timidly followed after him, but instead of fully going into the kitchen, you stopped in front of the vintage burgundy jukebox and scanned the selection of songs.

“you won’t get in trouble?” you worriedly called over your shoulder. “i don’t want you to run into issues with your job…”

“no it’s okay!” you heard from the kitchen, glasses and silverware clinking together. “i’ve been working here since high school and my manager doesn’t mind. i usually um— close on sunday’s on my own too.”

the blender went off as you spotted your favorite elvis presley song on the list of selections, perking up and quickly digging into your purse for any stray quarters you magically hoped would appear inside.

yuta switched the blender off and unhooked it from the base, pouring out the frothy liquid into a fountain glass cup.

“you close on your own on sunday’s?” your head turned to where he was, catching little glimpses of him from the doorway as he moved to and fro. “the entire restaurant?”

“yeah…” he laughed awkwardly. “well— all of the time.”

“all of the time?!” you gawked, popping your head into the kitchen and accidentally scaring him.

“oh shit!—”

“sorry!” you giggled cutely. “i’m sorry…”

he laughed with you and waved you off. “it’s okay.”

yuta looked down and proceeded topping your milkshake with baby pink sprinkles again. “and yeah we’re kind of… understaffed right now. it’s just me and another kid.”

you hummed understandingly, watching the way he finished off your shake with two cherries on top instead of one like last time, making you softly smile in response.

he plopped a straw in. “here you go.”

“thank you!” you bounced excitedly on your little toes and he grinned, handing the glass over to you gently.

“i hope you feel better…”

your milkshake filled cheeks made him laugh as you paused and swallowed, the sweetest expression ever on your face as your eyes flickered to his name tag and back to him.

“i do yuta… thank you!”

the way his name rang off your tongue, something he never ever would’ve thought to hear come out of your mouth, to come out from you, sent him feeling lightheaded as fuck as he dropped his head down to hide his rosy cheeks, walking out of the kitchen as you followed after him.

you paused in front of the jukebox again.

“oh! i didn’t get to hear your answer from earlier.”

he picked his head up. “from earlier?”

“if— if you listen to elvis?”

“oh—” his gaze drifted to where you had your focus on the elvis presley selection panel on the machine. “i do! i love his music.”

you beamed, eyes lighting up so excitedly as you looked at him.

“oh my god i love him too! so much!”

“really?” he smiled. “do you— do you have a favorite song?”

“yeah! i have a lot...” you giggled shyly. “but i mainly like ‘always on my mind.’”

“that one’s a good one!” his smile grew. “i love that one too.”

“right?!” you stepped closer to him, and his face flushed. “and you? what about you?”

“i uh— i like ‘moody blue’…”

you gushed. “i like that one too!”

you loved the way his pinky cheeks bloomed and how kind he was— the way he tried his best to make you, a stranger, feel better with a cute little milkshake, his stuttering and fidgeting something that you found yourself adoring and only made your heart mushy with the weird need to pinch his rosy cheeks.

and he loved elvis.

“i’m glad you like him.” you hummed, running the pad of your index finger mindlessly over the smooth glittery surface of the jukebox. “people don’t really listen to him or oldies in general now.”

you gently set your nearly finished milkshake on the bar table as he nodded his head in agreement, thinking he couldn’t fall more in love with you over the fact that you actually liked one of his favorite artists. “i didn’t—expect you to either…”

you tilted your head. “really? why?”

“because—” he stammered, eyes darting around your breathtaking face. “well you’re popular. and pretty. and in a sorority. and i just—”

“oh— i see!” you smiled with blushing cheeks at his quick compliment, but it didn’t really reach your eyes. “i understand.”

“no but!—” your eyes stayed glued to the jukebox, and he worried that he might’ve accidentally offended you as he frantically tried to get his words together.

“i know it’s all stereotypes and assumptions so i’m— i’m sorry.”

“it’s alright!” you giggled softly. “i just don’t want you or anyone to get the wrong impression of me because of those things is all…”

your eyebrows pinched in thought, and he quickly shook his head.

“i’ve never!” he reached and placed a hand on your shoulder, your cheeks growing hot as he did so. “i’ve never gotten the wrong impression of you…”

“no?”

“no.”

you peered up at him. “what do you think of me then?”

“what do i—” he gulped. “what do i think?”

“yeah!”

“i think uh… you’re really nice.” he mumbled. “really nice. to everyone.. to me. doesn’t matter who honestly. and… you’re not afraid to say something if someone is being rude.”

yuta shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he avoided your gaze. “and you’re helpful… you put a lot of care into the things that you do, which are always never for your own benefit but for the benefit of others.”

he froze. “i— i see you around campus! a lot— so…”

your doe eyes were soft and filled with affection and warmth, the weight of his words settling into your mind as if they’ve always belonged there. as if he’s always belonged there.

you wrung your fingers behind your back then and leaned up on your tippy toes.

“you think i’m pretty?”

beautiful.

yuta hadn’t even realized that he had called you that until the moment you mentioned it again, his eyes widening as his wobbly lips tried to form coherent sentences for you.

“well— well who doesn’t...” he squeaked.

“but do you?” you leaned even closer, your cute smile nearly making him want to blurt out that he’s in love with you and that he’s maybe thought about you being the mother of his children from time to time.

“i— i do.” his eyes flickered back to yours. “i do.”

you bit your bottom lip and gleamed, giving into your impulses and reaching up to gently squeeze his flushed cheek.

“you’re so cute yuta…” you murmured, arm falling back to your side and eyes casting over the jukebox again.

and he nearly just about died.

“do you want a little donut?” he asked. “i— i can get it from the back—”

you and yuta spent literally the rest of the night until two in the morning chit chatting, playing various oldies tunes on the jukebox that conspired of mainly elvis presley, and yuta literally feeding you and giving you anything he possibly could just so he could watch the way you beamed at him every time he did— even when at one point you literally begged him that it was okay, your tummy absolutely filled with sugary sweets and drinks.

you even helped yuta close— disinfecting and wiping down all of the tables, sweeping the floors, triple shining the little elvis mural the diner had by the hostess stand, and organizing the menu’s for tomorrow’s shift.

in the midst of you wiping down the last of the big glass windows by the entrance with him, you thought of something.

“oh my god yuta—” your head snapped in his direction, his eyes widening at your sudden outburst.

“what if i work here?”

he stopped.

“work here?”

“yeah!” you nodded vigorously. “with you!”

he bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from screaming. “with me?”

“uh huh!” you chirped sweetly. “i would love to wipe down tables and listen to music with you everyday..”

yuta’s ears went red as he heard your soft voice say something so cute, wanting to literally run into the kitchen to the sink and dunk his face in sink water to cool off his boiling face.

“if that’s okay!” you sputtered. “am i being weird? am i freaking you out—”

“no! no not at all!” the corners of his lips curled, and he smiled, genuinely smiled. a big loving one that made his cheeks hurt with how hard he was doing it, and one that made your heart lightly flutter inside your chest at the way he was looking at you.

“i can talk to my manager.” he spoke gently. “i’m pretty sure he’ll take you.”

you bounced excitedly on your tippy toes, unexpectedly throwing your arms around him and landing a big fat kiss to his cheek.

“thank you thank you!”

yuta kept true to his word and talked to his manager the following day, who barely even had to think about it since he trusted yuta more than his own damn kids, waving him off and giving him the all clear to have you start the coming week.

“look look! do you likkeeyyy?”

you twirled around in your waitress uniform, the frilly pink fabric moving and swaying with every spin you made as he casually tried to bite down on his thumb in stupid restraint.

“it’s great!” he muttered, teeth locked around his thumb still. “you look great y/n.”

“thanks thanks!”

and you hopped over, giving him another quick kiss on the cheek before skipping away to the kitchen, him ecstatic as he’d been wanting another one so fucking badly again since the first time you did it— him biting down even harder on his thumb when you disappeared from view.

“why do you look like you’re about to shit yourself?”

yuta whipped around and saw his other coworker, yuji, the kid who shares shifts with him sometimes and spills everything and anything that comes out of his mouth without thinking twice about it, standing next to him with a clueless face.

yuji then wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. “is it the girl? the pretty one? the one with the big ass—”

“knock it off—” yuta shoved him away lightly and walked off, crouching down behind the bar counter and sorting through piles of rolled up silverware and buffet napkins.

“do you like her? yes or no?” yuji leaned against the edge of the bar.

his cheeks went pink.

“because if not i’m gonna go try y’know—”

yuta scoffed. “yuji you’re a freshman in high school and we’re in college. she’s in college—”

“okay maybe she likes them young? cougar moment?”

yuta looked at him absolutely horrified and bewildered. “you’re fucking insane—”

his reaction and response only made yuji double over in a fit of laughter, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath as yuta looked at him with an unamused face.

“i’m kidding! i’m just kidding i know you like her you’ve been red in the face the minute she clocked in—”

“what’s so funny?”

you popped your head in from the kitchen, making yuta jump again and yuji double over laughing like before, you giving yuta an apologetic look.

“i wanna laugh!” you pouted. “what happened? what’s funny?”

“yuta didn’t like the joke i made.” yuji quipped.

“well what was it? maybe i will!” you smiled sweetly.

“i said—”

“don’t say it!”

yuji ducked as yuta threw a kids menu at him.

“yuta has a cru—”

“shut the fuck up!—”

you covered your mouth with your hands in a little fit of giggles, the sound halting yuta mid throw to look at you with wide dreamy eyes— not wanting to miss the way you laughed and the way your nose crinkled with every hiccup.

yuji snickered and he shot him a glare before standing and walking over to where you stood.

“you don’t wanna hear it…” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with a buffet napkin. “it was freaking weird.”

you settled your giggles down and breathed, nodding cutely. “i’ll take your word for it, yu.”

yu.

“eeehh?! look y/n! look at his face!—”

“shut up!”

for the rest of the days and shifts that you spent together, yuta made it his mission to do things for you to hopefully earn him a sweet cheek kiss in return like last time, all while desperately trying to avoid yuji and his big ginormous annoying mouth actively corrupting some of his attempts on purpose.

yuta would try and bring you any kind of pastry he could give away to you without his manager knowing, or make you milkshakes randomly throughout your shifts or small BLT’s during lunch time to feed you, all for the purpose of watching the way you’d smile and hug him gratefully each time, and if he got lucky, a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“i don’t get it.” yuji shook his head during one of your shifts, him shuffling through a movie magazine on his break. ��why don’t you just ask her for a kiss on the cheek? hm? i’d bet she’d do it! ooo better yet—” he looked at him with sarcastic laced excitement. “ask her out you little loser.”

yuta’s cheeks were hot as he listened, watching you from the kitchen take orders and scribble them down on a notepad.

“it’s been months yuta. months. i am in agony every day watching you follow her around like a lost puppy even though it’s the funniest thing i’ve ever seen.”

yuta rolled his eyes, but sent him a small sad smile. “can’t do it.”

“why not?” he whined. “she likes you too!”

“because she’s out of my league.” yuta pursed his lips. “and no i don’t think she likes me.”

“oh man—” yuji hunched over the sink, tossing his magazine to the side and gripping the rim in exhaustion. “she kisses your cheeks and hugs you and literally took this job because of you! what more proof do you want?!” he grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “a straight up confession?! a straight up kiss?!”

yuta’s heart accelerated at the thought as he pictured yuji’s words clear in his mind.

would you ever kiss him?… would you ever like him back?

“m—maybe?”

“what about school! do you guys not hang out or talk at school?”

“we do!” yuta perked up, but his shoulders quickly slumped. “we’re in different circles though so it’s always just for a little bit or casually.”

yuji groaned loudly and smacked a hand over his forehead. “it’s useless. you’re on your own man i tried i tried so hard i can’t help you—”

he continued to mutter under his breath as he picked up his backpack and walked out of the kitchen and out of the restaurant, the end of his shift drawing near as yuta laughed to himself over his words.

he appreciated how much yuji cared and how badly he wanted him to succeed, but even though his unrealistic expectations and hopes annoyed him most of the time as he blabbed on to him about them, yuta knew he was just a kid. so he valued it anyways.

“yu!” you spoke from behind the bar, him quickly rubbing his sweaty palms over his pants as he walked out of the kitchen to you.

“i’m so excited for tonight!” you smiled, your giddy little self practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation.

he laughed. “you’re excited to clean?”

“yup yup! i’m excited to clean with you.”

with him.

yuta adored sunday’s because that’s when you were both scheduled to close together on your own— just like the first time you did months ago, back when you weren’t working there yet.

there were no cooks, no yuji, no manager, and no customers. just you and him as you blasted elvis singles on the jukebox and got a sugar high from the ice cream machine as you wiped down tables and dusted off shelves— one time you literally slipping on the checkered tile by the entrance because you forgot you had just mopped the floor, yuta practically jumping over the bar counter to see if you were okay and him absolutely sick and worried over nothing as he showered you with more pastries and sweets to help you feel better.

that sunday night he got a kiss on the cheek.

so as you both bid the last customers a good night and got right to work, yuta considered yuji’s dumb words.

maybe he should just ask?

“if elvis was still alive i would probably sell myself to go see him.”

he let out a shocked laugh. “sell yourself? like prostitution?”

“mhm!” you hummed, wiping down the bar counter. “think about it— his tickets would probably cost like three thousand dollars. where the hell am i gonna get three thousand dollars? i’m broke and in college.”

yuta shook his head, his lips in an amused grin. “anything for elvis.”

“exactly!” you leaned over the counter excitedly, yuta on the other side with pink cheeks and a fuzzy feeling in his heart. “you get it. only you understand me.”

he laughed.

“i think it’d be cool if they brought him back as a hologram and did concerts that way.” yuta suggested.

you gasped incredulously as a hand flew to slap over your mouth. “yu! you little genius! oh my god i have to start pimping myself out now—”

yuta laughed again and shook his head. “don’t do that. we’ll find a way to get in.”

“we?!” you propped yourself up on the counter with your elbows and cupped his hands in yours, him stiffening with wide eyes and wobbly nervous lips. “you wanna go with me?”

“y—yeah.” he stammered. “of— of course…”

you squealed and nodded quickly, seemingly accepting the hypothetical proposal.

but then you settled down a little. your eyelashes slowly fluttering as you stared at him— a slow 50s love song statically murmuring through the jukebox adding to the atmosphere as you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

but this time it was different.

it wasn’t quick and cutesy and one that yuta barely had time to bask over before you pranced away. it was slow, tender, and yuta could feel the way your soft lips touched his skin and left behind a burn as he let his eyes close at the blissful gentle feeling, him finally able to relish in the rarity of it before you slightly began pulling away, eyes twinkling.

“…do you still think i’m pretty?” you whispered.

he swallowed thickly, your face so close he could feel your breath fanning across his lips.

“i do.” he whispered back, eyes locked on yours. “very much so.”

you bit your bottom lip as you smiled, ever so slightly leaning closer and closer to him as your lips nearly brushed against—

riinnggg!

you quickly pulled away and ran to the back to answer the phone, leaving yuta sitting there swooning and nearly collapsing on the table, his hands cold from not being encased in your own soft hands anymore.

but most of all… leaving him confused. he didn’t know why you were leaning in like that.

“i’m sorry we’re closed for the day!… uh huh… we open at eight am tomorrow if—”

yuta could still feel the blaze your lips left behind on his cheek as you spoke on the phone, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he tried to get his head back down from the clouds and simmer down the beating of his heart.

“someone wanted to come in right now!” you exclaimed, coming back over to your previous spot.

he furrowed his eyebrows. “right now? are you serious? it’s—” he spun around on the barstool and turned his head to the coca cola themed vintage clock on the wall. “it’s nearly twelve am?”

“i know!” you breathed out. “we closed four hours ago.”

“four?!—”

it dawned on the both of you how long you had been inside the diner, fully convinced it would’ve been longer if you hadn’t noticed.

so as the two of you mutually agreed to finish up and gather your things— the jukebox switched to an iconic elvis presley slow love song as you were just about halfway through the entrance double doors, eyes snapping to each other’s.

“aw i love this one…” you spoke softly, a little whine seeping through.

a small close lipped smile spread across his face. “i love this one too.”

“do you wanna—” you stopped.

his eyebrows pinched. “do i wanna what?”

“do you wanna… dance with meee?” you dragged out cutely, slightly bouncing on your toes.

“dance?” his eyes widened. “i— i don’t know how—”

“s’okay! i’ll teach you!”

you quickly pulled his hand and dragged him out, opening one door and jamming a door stopper underneath it so the music of the jukebox leaked out of the diner and through the empty street.

the pavement was a little wet from the morning rain as you took his hand again and pulled him to the middle of the dead empty street, the bottom of your shoes tapping and splashing a little with each tiny puddle you stepped in.

elvis presley’s voice softly hummed through the air, but it was loud and clear to the both of you as you gently took yuta’s hands and set them around your waist, his heart fucking palpitating and feeling like he was about to have a stroke when you wrung your arms over his neck and showed him that pretty smile he loved so much.

you both slowly stepped side to side, the air crispy and cold as your breath’s blew out foggy misty clouds due to the condensation, both of your noses and cheeks flushing red and buzzing warmly as you continued to slow dance— yuta’s grip slowly tightening until he was practically hugging you flush against his body.

out of anything that could possibly happen to yuta in his life, he wanted to remember this moment specifically— with you, dancing in the middle of the street listening to the man that essentially brought you both together in the first place, your beautiful beautiful face looking at him like he was the most important thing in your life… yuta wanting so badly for that to come true as he basked in this little made up scenario in his head that you were already his.

“yu…” you murmured.

he didn’t trust his voice.

“hm?”

“why haven’t you kissed me yet.”

what?

“kissed… you?”

“yeah..” you whispered, your bodies swaying. “don’t you like me?”

yuta let out a shaky breath. “i— i mean yeah… who doesn’t?”

your smile faltered. “i’m talking about you though…”

“oh. well you know i do. i’m sure a lot of other guys would want to kiss you.”

the song drawled to a gradual close and the jukebox reset, you both no longer swaying but still holding on to each other.

your eyes drifted to the side. “other guys?”

he pursed his lips, not really liking the thought of you kissing guys, but answering your question anyways. “yeah… other guys.”

his emphasis on other guys and not on himself left a bad taste in your mouth.

your eyes narrowed in confusion as you looked up at him, yuta a little shocked at your sad expression.

did he say something wrong?

“i thought—” you shook your head softly. “i thought you…?”

“…thought me what?” he cocked his head to the side, his genuine confusion solidifying his rejection in your eyes.

“i— i thought—”

your hands slipped from his shoulders and you stepped back, yuta sadly complying and letting his arms open and fall beside him as you rapidly blinked back tears, his eyes slowly widening once he caught it.

“hey— are you okay? what’s wrong?”

yuta went and reached for you, you backing away in response as you shook your head and gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes at all.

“why are you crying? did i say something mean? i’m sorry—”

“no no i’m fine.” your voice was quiet and sad. “i think we should go home now.”

his shoulders deflated.

“are you sure? we— we usually hang out until at least one in the morning on sunday’s…”

you walked past him and towards the double doors of the diner, letting your tears slip in secret as you picked up your school bag and swung it over your shoulder, quickly wiping your cheeks before picking up his bag and giving it to him.

yuta thanked you and hoisted his backpack up on himself, ushering you gently to step to the side as he pulled the door stopper from beneath and placed it in its corresponding place by the entrance, letting the door close on its own before pulling out the keys from the pocket of his jacket and locking the diner up.

he did all of this— completely unaware to the way you were trying to quiet down your sniffles behind him.

you were so sure he liked you back… now you just felt a little stupid.

of course— the one genuine guy you came across that you actually liked out of all the others that you’ve met, one that wasn’t like the rest and was sweet and funny and caring and so so attentive of you… didn’t like you back.

the one thing you truly truly wanted, you simply couldn’t have— you walking ahead of yuta in silence through the parking lot with your arms crossed as you wondered if the way he treated you was literally just because that’s how he was as a person.

a good person at that. way too good for this world, and way too good for you.

yuta didn’t know why you were so quiet, his chest a bit achy at the absence of your usual cheerful voice.

when you reached your cars, you barely even bid him a proper goodbye like you always did before you got in your car and sped away, leaving a perplexed yuta standing alone in the parking lot— eyebrows pinched together in clueless concern.

you were acting so weird, and you unfortunately continued to do so for the following week.

the next time you came into the diner (which was literally the next day), yuta was taken aback by how bloodshot and sunken your eyes were when you came in for your shift, not saying a single peep to yuji and him when you walked through the kitchen or through the bar counter like you usually did… and it was weird.

through the bustling of the busy restaurant, it was oddly quiet to the two boys, simply because you weren’t your usual boastful self.

and you were hardly talking to yuta either… which pained him the most. you kept it strictly casual— as if you weren’t completely tied together every fucking day for almost a year now, you just completely casual about your day and about the things you had to do whenever he asked you, your one word dry responses sending him through the worst confusing and sadistic loop of his life.

but it wasn’t casual at all. nothing about you was casual. so why were you acting like this? did you finally maybe open your eyes and realize yuta was a big fat nobody who didn’t belong with a girl like you?

yuta nearly cried at the thought. perhaps you had finally realized that.

but how fucking cruel was it that he lived a year of love and beauty and everything that was just you, getting a taste of what it would be like to live a life where you thought of him as something really special and a life where you wanted to basically do everything with him— only to be ripped away from him overnight? with no explanation?

by wednesday, yuta was dead inside.

you didn’t seem to want to do anything with him anymore like before. you didn’t excitedly jump and squeal and bounce on your little toes when it was time for the both of you to clean during your shift or restock the ice cream machine. you didn’t talk to him about elvis anymore or about another ludicrous idea on how to resurrect him from the dead— you didn’t smile like you used to whenever he tried to give you a small pastry, actually rejecting it instead, and you didn’t kiss his cheeks anymore.

by friday, yuji was fed the fuck up.

“what the fuck did you do?!” he whispered harshly at him from the bar, you somewhere in the diner taking orders. “that woman is like a walking zombie. her eyes have been red like red since monday, and she’s not yapping about elvis anymore.”

yuta leaned against the counter with a flat palm to his forehead in worry, feeling like he was gonna be fucking sick over you.

“i— i don’t know.” he stuttered. “i truly don’t know i don’t know what i said that’s making her act like that.”

“okay run it back for me run it back.” he placed both hands on his shoulders and roughly pulled yuta to face him. “explain to me again what happened on sunday.”

“we were closing…”

“uh huh?”

“she wanted to slow dance in the street so we did…”

“okay cute i love that part okay keep going..?”

“and then she asked why haven’t i kissed her—“

“she what?!” yuji choked, “you didn’t tell me this part! you fucking jumped to the parking lot!”

“my bad…” yuta muttered.

“shit— whatever keep going.”

“she also said that she thought i liked her and i said who doesn’t… and then i told her i was sure other guys would want to kiss her.”

“you said other guys?”

yuta’s eyebrows pinched. “yeah?”

“you. said…” yuji repeatedly slowly. “other. guys.”

“yes i did—”

“oh you’re done.” he rapidly shook his head. “i can’t help you i’ve done all i can you’re my buddy and i love you but i cannot take this anymore—”

“woah woah slow the fuck down—” he narrowed his eyes. “what’s so bad about what i said?”

“you rejected her.”

“what? no i didn’t—”

“yes!” yuji nodded frantically. “yes you did you freaking dingus! yuta she wanted a kiss from you a kiss! she literally said ‘when are you going to kiss me!’”

“i thought she was joking about that?” he answered softly.

“i might die early if you don’t figure this out right now.” yuji spat. “when you said other guys, she took it as you saying you’re sure other guys would want to kiss her and not you! do you understand what i’m trying to say?!”

yuta stayed silent.

“you said ‘i’m sure other guys would wanna kiss you,’ which is you indirectly saying ‘i’m sure other guys would wanna kiss you but not me.’ emphasis on others—”

“holy fucking shit.”

why was yuji kind of smart?

“oh thank god!” yuji breathed out, throwing his hands up in the air before clasping them together and looking up at the ceiling, his eyes screwed shut as he shook his interlocked hands and prayed.

“thank you! thank you elvis presley for finally making him see what a dumbass he’s been this entire year especially this moment your music has never been better—”

yuta shoved his fingers through his hair, his eyes bulging open. “holy fucking shit what the fuck did i do?!”

you walked past the bar just then and they both shot their arms down and tried to appear as nonchalant as humanly possible, you not even sparing them a glance as you walked over to the kitchen and disappeared from view.

“oh you have got to fix this.”

yuta spent the rest of the week trying to devise a plan to ease into the situation and have a conversation with you about it, but doing it fucking poorly as he miserably couldn’t come up with anything and yuji having even worse ideas— going as far as to suggesting he kidnaps you and takes you to elvis presley’s home in graceland and apologize there, yuji calling it a ‘grand gesture.’

by sunday, yuta was grasping at straws.

you slowly looked up from the bar as you saw a little sprinkled donut pastry slide across from the other side, your stinging eyes locking with yuta’s and feeling an immediate colossal pang through your chest when you saw him.

“you um—” yuta sighed softly through his nose. “you haven’t had a donut from here in a while…”

“oh.” your eyes stayed glued to the pastry. “thank you but i’m alright. i’m not that hungry right now.”

yuta bit his tongue. “please.”

he wasn’t pleading for you to eat the damn donut, but he pathetically couldn’t get the words out properly either.

“i don’t want it i’m okay.”

“why not?” he pushed. “you love donuts. you haven’t accepted my milkshakes either and you love those too.”

“i got sick of them.”

yuta froze.

you sounded like a completely different person at the moment, and yuta knew that your words held an entirely different meaning to them— his heart literally throwing up all over his insides in distress.

it was near closing time, the last pair of customers just about finishing up their meal as you both stared solemnly at the uneaten donut.

“are you—” yuta cleared his throat. “are you mad at me?”

the customers called you over then, and you quickly pushed yourself off from the edge and walked over as yuta heard your kind customer service voice from somewhere in the diner finalizing the bill for them, the bell above the door chiming as they left— you coming back around to stand back on the other side of the bar.

“sorry what did—”

“are you mad at me.”

you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “no. why would i be mad?”

“are you upset with me?”

you hummed a no.

yuta wanted to rip his hair out at the fact that he couldn’t fucking think of what to say to you— not wanting to accidentally say something that could offend you like last time without him even knowing, as he didn’t trust his mouth for shit.

“you haven’t looked okay since last sunday.” he murmured. “you don’t look happy around me anymore.”

you pulled your lips into a thin line and pressed hard, already feeling tears threatening to spill.

“it’s just school. it’s tough at the moment.” you mumbled.

“you’re lying.”

you slightly snorted. “okay thanks.”

“no— fuck i did it again.” he screwed his eyes shut. “i know you’re upset with me and i know you’re mad at me. you don’t talk to me as much, you don’t— you don’t take any of the sweets and drinks i give you when you always do, and you refuse to talk to me about elvis.”

“it’s school yuta i don’t know what else to tell you.”

he groaned and pushed himself off the bar, swiftly making his way around the counter to stand right in front of you as your pretty red eyes widened, your body immediately fidgeting.

“please… i miss you.” he mumbled, and your bottom lip started to wobble. “i miss when you wanted me around.”

“i— i do want you around.” you said, so so softly he could barely hear you.

“then please tell me what you’re feeling.”

you brought your hands up and pressed your fingers into your eyes, trying your absolute hardest to keep the tears inside as your body trembled.

“it’s all me it’s not you so— so please don’t worry about it it’s school and— and—”

“i love you.”

you paused.

yuta shakily pried your fingers away from your eyes, holding them in his hands as silent tears escaped down your cheeks.

you shook your head. “no you don’t. you’re just saying that—”

“i love you.”

“stop it you’re being mean i don’t need you to tell me you love me because you feel bad for me—”

you tried to tear your hands away but his grip only tightened as he shook his head and wrung you in, pressing your hands flat over his heart and holding them there as he leaned and pushed his lips to yours, the taste and feeling of you complete fucking paradise as he hoped that the weight of his lips were conveying how much he truly fucking loved you, how much he truly needed you in his life and how much he wanted you to treat him like he was something to you again.

he was tired of you carrying around the missing half of him, but not because he wanted you to give it back.

he wanted you to keep it. he wanted you to keep it forever and ever and not let it dangle over ineptly like you’d done for the past week. he wanted you to kiss it and shove it next to your heart and keep it there snug where it belonged until the day that he died.

the jukebox murmured another soft 50s tune, you slowly but surely letting your tense shoulders relax as you allowed your lips to move against his, your heart screaming and zooming through your bones at the fact that this man was kissing you like you’d wanted and dreamed for him to do so badly for the past year.

you both slowly pulled away with your lips quietly smacking apart, your stunning face finally looking at him the way you always did, the way you used to, even if it was a little timid still.

“are you lying?” you murmured.

his eyes softened as he gently shook his head.

“absolutely not.”

“but you rejected me.”

he sighed through his nose, his hands still pressing yours over his heart as you felt it beat rapidly under your palms.

“i— i didn’t mean to. i swear to god i didn’t mean to.” he gently dropped his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes. “i was being stupid and worded everything wrong. but— but i’m telling you now that i wanted to kiss you… so fucking bad. you’re too pretty for me so i honestly thought i just didn’t stand a chance…”

you couldn’t believe it.

“i don’t want other guys to kiss you.” he continued. “not at all… just me.”

“just you?” you murmured, and he nodded against your forehead.

“just me.” he propped his chin on the top of your head. “i’m sorry i hurt you and made you cry.”

“no yu…” you spoke gently. “i’m sorry too. and i’m sorry i said i was sick of the sweets you give me… i was lying i love them.”

he chuckled softly.

“it’s okay… i know.” yuta gently caressed your fingers with his thumbs. “but i love you pretty.”

“i love you.” you whispered, and you slid your hands up his chest and around his neck, pulling him down in a warm embrace as he copied and pulled your body to his so so tightly, your hearts beating in time with one another as he felt his fingertips go numb at your confession, kissing your soft little cheeks over and over and over again until he got giggles out of you.

yuta loved sunday’s… and so did you.

and when he asked you to be his girlfriend that same night while standing over the jukebox, staring at the elvis presley song selection like you’d done many times together before in the past, yuta for the first time realized that he hadn’t felt alone since the moment you came into the diner with your mean friends— finding himself actually thanking them in his head for that, realizing that if they hadn’t then you probably would’ve left with them and he would’ve never gotten the chance to speak to you that night.

the next time you both came into work, you back to your usual jumpy self as you took every pastry that yuta gave you again and babbled about elvis and how you were gonna spend your hypothetical prostitution money on a flight to memphis to see his grave and pay your respects, yuji was elated.

“what happened?! you have to tell me what happened come on you can’t keep it from me i’m just a boy—”

you skipped into the kitchen then and smoothly walked in between them, pressing a gentle cute peck to yuta’s lips before grabbing what you needed from the back and walking back out, yuji’s mouth flinging open and his jaw hitting the fucking floor.

“how— what— when— where—”

you stepped back in after a second and bounded over next to yuta, his eyes soft as he watched you lean your head on his shoulder.

“what?” you asked. “what’s wrong yuji?”

“oh god no!” he wailed, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes in agony. “i thought this is what i wanted but it’s not! i want a kiss like that man!”

he flew to his knees in front of you and took your hand in his. “y/n why can’t you just wait for me please?! wait five years you’re so pretty i won’t confuse you like this dingbat and i’ll give you better sweets and milkshakes than him please!—”

yuta took your hand and slapped yuji’s away. “you freak stand up man the floor is dirty—”

“i need a popular gorgeous girlfriend like you yuta! how could you do this?! i thought we were brothers?! what spell did you cast?! have you ever learned jujutsu?! what have i done!—”

your manager popped his head into the kitchen and you all stiffened.

“yuji why are you crying? everyone outside can hear you, kid.”

yuji flew to his feet and shook his head. “m’not crying sir. everything is fine just fine and dandy sir.”

“okay… well can you check on your tables? leave yuta and y/n to work.”

“yes sir i’ll check on them sir.”

your manager nodded, muttering something about today’s generation as he left and went back inside his office, yuji walking out of the kitchen shortly after with his head down as you both tried your hardest to keep your laughter in, hands tightly clasped over your mouths and silently snickering to keep yuji from hearing it on the other side.

“p—poor him.” you heaved, a hand over your chest. “i hope— i hope he finds his ‘popular girlfriend’ when he’s older.”

“i wish her luck.” he muttered, and your hand slapped back over your mouth again as you burst into another fit of giggles alongside him.

yuta sheepishly outstretched his arms for you once you both settled down, you perking up excitedly with a cutesy little grin as you skipped into them, your arms wrapping snug around his torso as he brought his around your shoulders and squeezed, earning a tiny squeak from you that made him laugh.

he hoped to god he wasn’t dreaming.

yuta started shifting his weight from one to the other, gently moving and swaying you side to side in the kitchen as you giggled and let him lead you like that.

“you slow dancing yu?” you murmured softly, head coming up to give him a kiss on the cheek as he blushed.

“yeah..” he hummed. “i like it when we do.”

“i do too yu… it’s like our little thing! we’re so vintage.”

he snorted, and a charming beautiful smile spread across your face— one that made him wonder how he ever managed to land you when all he did was wait tables and stutter foolishly and wasn’t anyone particularly special like you were.

but you. you were everything. everything and way fucking more as you looked at him like he built the diner himself brick by brick for reasons he still couldn’t understand why.

yuta spoke after a moment.

“…what do you think of me?” he murmured suddenly, cheek mushing up against the side of your head as your brows furrowed.

“what do i think of you?” you asked, your perplexed face slowly shifting to one of realization as it dawned on you how yuta was reiterating your words to him from when you first met.

he grinned. “yeah.”

you pulled back to face him.

“i think you’re kind… you always have been even when i didn’t deserve it.”

his jaw dropped. “what? didn’t deserve it?—”

“i’m not finished!” you pouted, and he playfully rolled his eyes as he shut his lips.

“you’re too good to me yu…” you sighed a little. “you’re so helpful and selfless, and even when things piss you off you still take the time to appreciate them… like yuji.”

you both snickered then, and yuta brought his head down and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“i love the way you love, yuta. i love the way you love me and take care of me and always feed me…” you giggled. “without me ever having to ask.”

you felt his arms tighten around you.

“don’t ever think that you aren’t special to me or anyone or i’ll kill you and go to graceland without you.”

he laughed loudly in your neck and pulled back, half lidded ditzy loving eyes staring back as he leaned in and kissed you— gentle and delicate, his hands coming up to cup your warm cheeks.

“jesus man table nine would not stop asking me for— oh god no!”

you and yuta jumped apart, yuji immediately wailing and crying again as he flung himself to the floor on his knees.

“really?! in my kitchen?! in front of my face?! how cruel can you be yuta?! y/n can you maybe give me a ki—”

yuta leaned down and smacked him upside the head.

“owwwuhh! what’s wrong with just one little kiss man?!—”

“cut. it. out!—”

and just like always, the week came and went, sunday fast approaching as the day eventually came to close the diner together like lovely clockwork— wiping down tables and sweeping the floors, organizing the menu’s and restocking the crayons for the little kids, gulping down milkshakes with yuta like water as you worked…

but most importantly— sharing long kisses in between each sweeping rotation, kissing and pinching his cheeks repeatedly whenever he asked or did literally anything, and slow dancing to the same 50s love song that played when you first tried to kiss him at the bar that one night, swaying together in a silly way and giggling whenever you’d both nearly topple over to the floor— yuta beaming and lovesick as he looked down at your gorgeous smile and your gorgeous face… it gleaming with so much purpose, so much pure love and importance and value for him as you danced—

that yuta decided he wanted you to keep the other remaining half of him too.

forever.

this! is the song that was playing when reader was about to give yuta a kissy kissy on the bar counter, and again at the end if you’re curious :3 it was playing when i wrote it and it literally fit so well and lifted my entire body and spirit and i felt like i was THERE MAN! <333

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @fushigurioo @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs

(HATE when tumblr doesn’t let me tag some of yall i don’t know why it does that!!)

[golden-redhead]

You see, the biggest problem with this is that Five HAD a love story all along.

His love for his family has been THE very foundation of the show and what kickstarted the entire chain of events.

He spent 45 years in the apocalyptic wasteland because he loved them too much to give up.

He found them in every possible timeline.

He reversed time for them.

He became an assassin to get a shot, however small, at coming back to them.

He’s been through countless timelines, doing his best to save and protect them in every single one of them.

No matter how dire the situation, he always pushed to find a way to save his family. His devotion was stronger than anything and there was no line he wouldn’t cross for his siblings. No matter how self-destructive the cost, he sacrificed himself again and again just for a chance at reuniting with them and saving the world so they could live.

It was a destructive kind of love, yes, but also inspiring. I think it resonated with many people because love can be intense, we love and want to be loved with this kind of intensity and dedication.

So, to throw it all away for a romantic subplot that no one asked for is not only a huge disservice to Five’s character but also goes against everything he represents. We already knew he’s capable of love and that he loves deeply.

I don’t understand how the showrunner who worked on the series for 5+ years can say that Five had to have an arc like this. It doesn’t make sense. He already had a love story. Arguably, the most beautiful and deepest of them all. He didn’t need more, what he needed was to have it returned and to finally settle down after multiple lifetimes of putting his life on the line to keep his loved ones safe.

To say otherwise means that the writers fundamentally misunderstood what made Five a great character and what fans loved most about the show. It feels like a betrayal, because it is one. It proves that the creators not only misunderstood the core character of the show but also never paid attention to the fandom and its preferences.

There’s a difference between catering to the audience and what they ended up doing, which is a character assassination at its worst. And it’s not just the character who was ruined but also the entire premise of the show, the reason why fans loved it in the first place. There’s no coming back from something like this.

[neo-nomatrix]

In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman

Luke Castellan x Apollo kid!reader

word count: a little over 1k

summary: you’ve had your heart broken many times, maybe the Hermes boy will be different

You have only ever wanted to be loved. For whatever reason you haven’t had much luck. Sure, there were many guys.

Callum from Ares. The only thing hotter than him was his temper.

Ryan from Hephaestus. He would forge copper to make you jewelry, little did you know three other girls had the same gift.

Ezra from Athena. Always thought he was so much smarter and better than you. Made you want to shoot your arrow straight at him.

Aiden from Hermes. A liar who couldn’t take anything seriously.

Elliott from Ares. Was dared by Callum to lock you in a dark room. And he actually listened.

Being the child of Apollo had its perks, but it more often had downsides. Your least favorite being your ability to fall in love so easily. After Elliot you swore off falling in love. A pain even you couldn’t heal. You couldn’t understand why nothing seemed to work out for you, you were a dreamboat!

A beautiful daughter of Apollo who glowed like the sun. Not only were you his daughter, you were his favorite, the hundreds of freckles on your face proved it. You were kind and generous, always willing to take in an injured camper from dusk to dawn. Your smile quite literally lit up a room. Perhaps you were too nice? Maybe they thought they could take advantage of your kindness?

Whatever the reason was doesn’t matter. You decided to take a page from your aunt Artemis’ book. No more boys, no more falling in love. Things will be easier this way. You know it.

You should’ve been at the bonfire with everyone else. You chose to skip it tonight because you wished to be alone, at the archery range. Maybe you’d earn another freckle if Apollo saw you practicing your already perfect shot. Luke should’ve been at the bonfire too, singing with your half-siblings and roasting marshmallows.

“Hey! I need some help!” A deep, painful cry said.

Immediately worried, you turned around and saw Luke Castellan holding his abdomen. You immediately run over to him, taking his arm over yours and getting to your cabin as soon as possible. You decided the infirmary was too far and you could use the cot in your cabin.

You slam through the cabin door and lay him on the cot in the middle of the bunk beds. “Lay down.”

You pull up his blood stained orange shirt to reveal a large gash on the side of his toned stomach. You held your hand on his abdomen for a moment to assess what happened. A second degree burn and large slices, as if by a horn, caused this.

“How did this happen?” You ask as you start to transfer some of the pain to a potted plant, causing it to wilt.

“Accident with a hephaestus kid, wrong place, wrong time I guess,” He says slightly wincing.

“I can take most of the pain but it’ll still take a while to heal,” You explain.

“Weren’t you supposed to be at the bonfire, leading a song with the rest of your cabin?” He asks.

“I could ask you the same thing, wandering around the blacksmiths. You know those things they make are pretty hot right?” You scoff at him.

“Yeah I guess I do now,” he rolls his eyes.

You begin to bandage the wound and give him a slice of bread. “Bread? What the hell is this gonna do?” he questions.

“My sister Melody made it, it can heal the burns for the most part,” you say.

“Aren’t you the girl who dated Aiden?” He asks bluntly, taking a bite of the bread.

“That’s none of your business,” You roll your eyes.

“If you ask me-” he begins to say before you cut him off.

“I’m not.”

“He was an idiot. All those guys were. I mean seriously, didn’t anyone teach them how to treat a pretty girl?” He continues, not fazed by you interrupting him.

“All those guys? You know about them?” You question.

“I guess. I mean after word got out about that shithead Elliot I did some asking,” he shrugs. You frown at the mention of Elliot.

“Whatever, they’re all in the past. No more guys for me,” you tell him.

“You shouldn’t give up entirely, these guys are stupid. There’s someone out there who deserves you, trust,” He assures you.

“Oh yeah? Tell me when you meet him,” You laugh.

“I think i know a guy, actually,” He responds, sitting up slightly.

“Oh yeah? Do tell.”

“Well, he’s tall, tan, and goddamn gorgeous. Has these soft brown curls, and I heard he’s the best swordsman at camp. Perfect for the best archer,” He explains to you, smiling.

“You seem to be fond of him, maybe you should go date him,” You joke.

“Nah, I think he likes this girl from Apollo. Kind, generous, beautiful, best healer and archer around,” He locks eyes with yours, darting between your eyes and your lips.

He holds your face in his hand, circling his thumb. His shirt rides up exposing his stomach and bandages.

“You like what you see?” He teases.

“You’re an idiot,” You smile.

“That seems to be your type,” he shrugs and knits his brows.

Before you can say another word he presses a kiss against your lips, moving them softly against yours. One of his hands stays on your neck while the other ventures down to your waist and then the chair you sat in. He pulls the chair closer to him and puts his hand back on your waist. You move one of your hands to his knee and the other to right beside him, leaning in closer.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” He’s whispers into the kiss.

You smile at him before pausing. “The bonfire’s almost over, maybe you should head back,” you say.

“Yeah probably,” he gives you one last hard kiss followed by another few pecks.

He stands up and steadys himself, the injury clearly still pains him. He starts to walk away but before he can leave he turns back to you and presses a few more kisses against you.

“Okay, I’m done. y’know for now,” he smirks.

“You’re welcome anytime,” You laugh and he leaves. He gives you two looks before exiting.

Maybe you’ll give this boy one more chance.

[jaylalolz]

hiii omg i think u should do a one shot w nicolas chavez and it should be like a honeymoon one! 🥹🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾

WIFE!reader x HUSBAND!nicholas 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

SUMMARY, how nicholas would treat his wife on their honeymoon

A/N, thanks for requesting, anon!! have fun reading

WARNINGS, none??

Nicholas had always been intense— whether on set, in the way he looked at you, or how he touched you-but on your honeymoon, he took it to another level entirely. The moment you arrived at the private villa, nestled on the edge of an untouched beach, Nicholas made sure you knew exactly what his intentions were. He had planned every detail, wanting to spoil you beyond your wildest dreams.

From the moment you stepped into the villa, it felt like a dream. The room was drenched in the soft glow of candlelight, and the sound of the ocean waves crashed gently in the background.

Nicholas had arranged for champagne to be chilling in the corner, and as you entered, he wasted no time pulling you into his arms, his lips grazing your neck in that way that made your skin tingle.

He handed you a glass, his eyes locking with yours as he toasted to forever-his voice low and seductive as he whispered promises of the life you'd build together.

He was different during this time— softer, more intimate. He insisted on pampering you in every way, starting with lazy mornings spent wrapped in silk sheets, where he'd trace the lines of your body as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. The way he'd look at you made it clear you were the only thing that mattered. Breakfasts were delivered to your room-luxurious spreads of fresh fruit, pastries, and champagne, though more often than not, they went untouched as you both got lost in each other instead.

In the afternoons, he would take you out on spontaneous adventures, sailing along the crystal-clear waters or exploring hidden coves where no one else could find you. His hand would always be on the small of your back, guiding you through every experience, whether it was a private wine tasting or a secluded dinner on the beach.

Nicholas would pull your chair close to his, his thumb running circles along your skin, his lips brushing yours between bites of dessert as if he couldn't get enough.

But the nights were when his intensity showed most. He'd draw you a bath filled with rose petals and fragrant oils, dimming the lights until the room felt like a sanctuary. He would sit beside you, his hand lazily tracing the surface of the water, his gaze dark and full of promise as he watched you soak. And when you were ready, he'd lift you from the water like you weighed nothing, wrapping you in a towel before carrying you to bed.

In the dim light of the room, he would take his time with you-slow, unhurried, his touch worshipping every part of you as though he was making up for all the nights you'd ever spent apart.

Nicholas's hands would move over you with a delicate reverence, his voice low as he whispered how beautiful you were, how lucky he was to have you. He wasn't just making love to you-he was claiming you in the most tender way possible, ensuring you felt adored, desired, and cherished.

Throughout the honeymoon, Nicholas was relentless in his devotion, showering you with lavish surprises— jewelry, designer dresses, and even a private concert under the stars where he played your favorite songs, his eyes never leaving yours. He loved to spoil you, but more than anything, he loved seeing your smile, knowing that every bit of happiness you felt was because of him.

And every time he looked at you, it was with the same hunger, the same fire. Because, for Nicholas, the honeymoon was just the beginning. The start of forever, where he could love you like this for the rest of your lives.

[strang3lov3]

Throat Coat

Joel doesn’t make your sore throat feel better, but he does make it worse.

Tags - smut, one shot, dark daddy!joel, rough blow job, facefucking, deep throating, cum swallowing, kissing, hitting/swatting, abuse, dubcon, daddy kink, dd/lg dynamics, thick n girthy (legal + unspecified) age gap, controlling!joel, Joel is all mean and grumpy and short with you, sexy comforting father figure!Joel, Joel feels guilty for hurting you and cries a little, so he babies you and you milk it just a little. you deserve it. hurt/comfort, dark fluff, non-graphic descriptions of illness (sore throat + strep), tommy makes an appearance...planting some seeds here... ;) 3.6k words A/N - heddo! if you're sick rn I’m hugging you. And if you’re not sick, you will be and I’ll hug you then too. Wash your fuckin' hands ya beautiful freaks

“Set the table f’me, pumpkin.”

Joel’s voice is low as he watches you slowly get up from where you sit on the couch, pausing in place to no-doubt roll your eyes before shuffling toward the kitchen. You don’t look right - you’re dragging your feet and your eyes are droopy, there’s a big pout on your lips. Shoulders are slouched forward like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world upon them. Brows knit in some kind of upset as you move lazily, and Joel’s jaw ticks as you let the cabinets slam shut instead of closing them gently, like he’s asked you to do. 

After setting the plates and the forks down at yours and Joel’s respective seats at the dinner table, you fill two glasses with water, bumping into Joel and splashing him as you move through the kitchen. “Hey - watch where you’re goin’, kid,” he gruffs, shaking his head as he bites his inner cheek in frustration. He narrows his eyes at the way you don’t say anything. There’s no sorry, no excuse me. Joel makes a note of this. “Gonna be one of those nights, huh,” he grumbles. 

You’re sulking in your chair now, making no effort to even glance at Joel as he brings the hot dishes to the table. Arms crossed, eyes fixed on the wood grain. Joel serves you first, a large helping of green beans and potatoes, an even larger helping of chicken. “I can already tell just by lookin’ at ya that you ain’t eaten enough protein today,” he grumbles, eyeing you. “Gonna be a peach for me, aren’t ya?”

“Mm,” you hum, the noncommittal noise dripping with defiance. You hate when he reads you like this. His unique ability to pinpoint your mood or your attitude, your state of being. Uncovering the things you seek to hide. Joel knows you better than you know yourself in some ways, and it’s as infuriating as it is validating at times. He understands you, all of you, and he’s always there, filling in the gaps of what you don’t tell him. You can’t get anything past Joel.

Joel serves himself next and begins eating, shoveling bite after bite into his mouth. He’d worked up quite a fierce appetite today, spending his time shoveling snow and doing other arduous housework while you sneakily evaded your own chores. You poke a little at your food with your fork, scraping the metal along the porcelain while ultimately deciding that you don’t want to eat. You push your plate away and lay your head down in your arms on the table. 

Joel’s hand lands firmly on your bicep. “Nuh-uh. You sit up at the table. What’s the matter with you?”

You groan as you reluctantly pull your body up, head throbbing with the action like a heartbeat. You can feel blood pumping in your face, a pressure behind your eyes and nose and forehead so awful you feel like your face could melt right off. “M’not hungry,” you grumble, voice thick with discomfort. 

“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second. Yes, you fuckin’ are,” Joel says, spearing a green bean with his fork. “I know you are, so don’t even try it. You’re gonna eat, ‘cause I already know what’s gonna happen: s’gonna be bedtime and you’re gonna be whinin’ ‘bout how your stomach hurts ‘cause you didn’t eat enough at dinner and who’s gonna have to fix you somethin’?”

“No one,” you mutter.

“Me,” Joel corrects, without missing a beat as he shoots you a warning glare. “Now you get to it. An’ I wantcha eatin’ everything that’s green on that plate, do you understand me?”

“Fine,” you sigh, dragging your plate back towards you. You pick up your fork but instead of actually eating, you just maneuver the food around on the plate a little. The green beans are cut into smaller bites, potatoes shoveled into a neat little pile. The occasional scraping sound your fork makes against the porcelain makes you wince, but you ignore it. Just killing time. 

Joel serves himself a second plate of food, fork hovering over his plate when he pauses and notices that you’ve still not touched yours. “What’d I tell you? Or are ya waitin’ to eat it cold?”

You shrug, earning another cold look from Joel. He doesn’t like when you waste your food, and his patience is wearing thin. “I just don’t feel so good,” you tell him, sniffling softly. Your throat’s been scratchy all day, and you can’t breathe too well. You feel awful. 

Joel drops his fork and leans forward, chair creaking with his shifting weight. He presses a calloused hand against your forehead, and the added pressure actually soothes your throbbing pain, just for a moment. His fingers travel down your face and with practiced ease, he presses two fingers just under your jaw, feeling your lymph nodes. “Feel fine t’me,” he says, pulling back.

Not the response you were looking for. “Daddy…” you whine, elongating the word in a bid for his sympathy.

“Mhm,” Joel hums, a knowing lilt to his tone. You claim to be sick a lot when you’re simply dehydrated or attempting to get out of something. “Heard this one before,” he says, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest. “You’re not pullin’ one over on me. I know you, pumpkin.”

“I’m serious,” you argue.

“So am I. Drink your water f’ya feel so bad. That’s your problem, sweetheart, you’re never drinkin’ enough water. I tell ya a hundred times a day to hydrate yourself.”

“B-”

“M’not havin’ this argument,” Joel cuts in, voice firm. He’s right, too. Nine times out of ten you’re poorly hydrated, which is usually the reason for when you feel like crap. Dehydration is certainly playing a role today, too, as much as you hate to admit it. “Drink.” He snaps and points to your glass, watching how you roll your eyes as you take it, just to needle him a little. “And adjust that fuckin’ attitude a’ yours, ‘fore I adjust it for you. S’that what you want?” 

“No,” you mumble into your glass. You drink about half the water, then set the glass down and stare at Joel pointedly. 

“Keep goin’. Drink it all, kiddo,” Joel urges gently, taking himself down a notch as his voice loses its edge. You obey him, finishing the glass. “Good girl.” You smile a little, just a momentary little curve of your lips. The praise feels good. For as stern as he can be, Joel is quick to let go of anger. Patient, to a point. But not always. “Bet you’re feelin better already, aren’t ya?”

“No,” you whine, though Joel is right that the water helped. Can’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing that, though. “I still feel like shit.” 

“Watch the language,” Joel scolds, anger renewed. “Y’feel like shit ‘cause you’re tired. Spendin’ too much time watchin’ that goddamn TV. And I know you’ve been sneakin’ down here to watch it after bedtime. Did it last night too, didn’t ya?”

“N-” 

“Don’t even try it,” Joel bites, his glare pinning you in place. A warning. 

“Yeah…I did,” you admit. He’s right again. “But I’m serious, Joel, I really don’t feel good.” 

“Tough,” he says, no sympathy in his tone. “Let it be a lesson to ya. Take care of yourself and you won’t feel so bad. Now you quit your cryin’, sit up straight, and eat your damn food, or so help me god I’ll shove somethin’ else down your throat of yours. S’your last warning,” he adds as he stares you down. Eyes still fixed on you, he raises his brow and points at you, “Don’t make this a bad night, now, pumpkin.” 

“You’re not f- you’re not listening,” you seethe, frustration bubbling over. You plant your elbows on the table and bury your head in your hands to stand your ground, refusing to back down. It’s his short temperedness to your stubbornness, your oppositional defiance. Things work out better for you when you listen to him, and you know this. But you can’t help yourself but to buck him anyway. Joel always tells you that he gives you an inch and you take a mile. 

“Oh, s’that’s how we’re doin’ this?” Joel snaps, and you’re in for it now. “Fine.” He grabs you by the forearm in a bruising grip and yanks you out of your chair, forcing you over the table. “Go ‘head, keep fuckin’ testing. Watch what happens.” He pulls down your pants and panties unceremoniously, giving you less than a moment’s notice before he smacks your ass, hard. His large hand on your head, pressing your face into the wood so hard that the pattern of the grain will be imprinted on your cheek. You cry out as he slaps your flesh, each hit worse than the last. He leaves you bruised and raw by the end of it, sniffling as the sting bites your skin. Usually he rubs you to soothe the ache... 

…But not tonight. Tonight, Joel pushes you to the ground, knees scraping on the hardwood floor as he drags you where he wants you. Eyes wide, mouth open as your bottom lip wobbles. Joel palms his growing erection, momentarily massaging himself over his jeans before unbuckling his belt. He tosses it on the ground, that metallic clanging sound piercing your ears. He unzips his jeans next and pushes them just enough down his thighs to free his cock, fully hardened now. He holds it menacingly between his thumb and his first two fingers, heavy balls sitting above the waistband of his boxers. 

Joel reaches forward and tangles a hand in your hair, looping his fingers around the strands to pull them tight. “Open,” he barks. You part your lips a little, and Joel fits the thick, blunt head of his cock between them. “That ain’t enough,” he says, slapping the tip against your bottom lip. “Wider. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

After you open your mouth wider for him, Joel begins sliding himself down your throat. He’s met with a little resistance as you pull back, wrapping your hand around the base of him in attempt to temper the force of which he fucks your mouth with. Joel slaps your cheek, “Don’t,” he warns, and pulls your hand away.

He forces himself down your throat entirely, the hand on the back of your head keeping you still even as you gag and choke on his cock. You’re panicked, pulling back but Joel holds you firmly, unwavering in his strength. “Stay,” he says. “You’re fine. Breathe through your nose.”

You open your jaw and your throat, surrendering to it as Joel begins fucking your mouth, drawing in and out of your mouth inch by inch. Tensing up makes it worse, makes it hit you harder. He tastes salty today, smells headier than usual. His graying patch of pubic hair scratches your nose, and if he fucks your face any harsher it’ll rub your skin raw.

Joel grunts loudly, growling your name and a series of words that he doesn’t let you say. None of it feels pleasant for you, not that you can vocalize that. His cock’s down your throat, further irritating what’s already scratchy and sore. You feel so…used. 

You’ve told Joel that before, that you feel used when he does things like this to you. He says he understands, but it’s not supposed to feel good. It’s a punishment. It’s discipline, and he disciplines you out of love. He loves you, pumpkin. 

Joel fucks your mouth with abandon, and you can’t control those choking, gurgling noises you make. Drooling all down his shaft, down his balls. Your eyes start to water before you cry freely, not that Joel cares. “Cry all ya want,” he grunts, and you whine in discomfort. Joel ignores that.

You have to hold his twitching, meaty thighs for stability as he moves your head back and forth on his cock repeatedly, clutching him tightly. Your jaw aches with the ferocity of how he moves, ferocity that borders on violence. 

“Look at me,” Joel pants. “Look at Daddy.” 

He strokes your cheek tenderly for a moment, a brief reminder that he loves you, even if it hurts sometimes. Still fucking your face, Joel reaches between his legs and cups his balls, squeezing them a little as your throat pulses around his length, tongue massaging that thick vein that climbs the underside of his cock. “Almost there, pumpkin. Be good for Daddy. Stay like that,” he groans, signaling release is near. 

You whimper as his cock twitches in your mouth, and with a few more hard, deep thrusts, Joel feels that warm, sticky feeling. His balls tighten, his muscles tense and release as he lets out a deep, guttural groan, pulling out of your throat to paint your tongue in his come. “Swallow it,” he instructs softly, pulling back the rest of the way. A bit of come spills down your lips and onto your chin. 

Joel’s chest heaves with heavy breaths, watching you swallow his load. Your cheeks are hot and sweaty, hairline damp with glittering sweat. Joel drops to his knees then, joints cracking while sinking to your level. He pushes his stray come past your swollen lips, “Lemme see,” he says. “Show me that tongue, pumpkin.” 

It’s routine. You always take what Joel gives you, always. You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, and that’s when Joel sees it. The angry redness, the swollenn tissue, the white sores on the back of your throat. His breath catches, a quiet gasp escaping him as his face softens in an instant. He whispers, voice thick with guilt, “Oh shit, kid. Fuck. You weren’t lyin’.”

“Told you, Daddy,” you reply, feeling both hurt and validated.

Joel nods, clenching his jaw as regret floods his face. “Yeah, you did,” he murmurs, guilt filling every corner of his mind. You really did tell him, and you told him multiple times. “Did I make it worse?” he whispers, holding your face in both of his hands, rough thumbs caressing your skin as his eyes search yours. Hesitant to answer, you pull away from his gaze. 

“You can tell the truth,” he urges, and his voice is both soft and insistent. “You won’t be in trouble. Cross my heart, baby girl.” 

You pause. Finally, you admit it. “...Yes,” you whisper. 

Joel’s face crumples. “Daddy’s so sorry, kiddo.” His voice cracks. “I really am. I shoulda listened to ya. C’mere, pumpkin.” His hands fall to your shoulders before he pulls you into a tight hug, and it takes you no time at all to hug him back just as tightly. This is all you wanted - his warmth, his comfort. 

After holding you there on the kitchen floor for a while, Joel sniffles and presses kisses to the top of your head, one after another. “With me,” he says, and his voice sounds thick. He doesn’t let you see the tears he wipes away as he leads you to the upstairs bathroom. 

Joel sits you down gently on the lidded toilet, opens the bathroom vanity and pulls out an old Walgreens thermometer, the once-bright red paint all but worn off. He washes it with soap and hot water, then brings it to your mouth. “Open up,” he says, cradling your jaw tenderly in his hand. “Goes under your tongue.” 

You open your mouth and lift your tongue, wincing when Joel slides the thermometer into place. “Ow,” you whine. “You poked me.” 

“I apologize. Was an accident, baby,” Joel murmurs, adjusting the thermometer. “Close your mouth and keep it there a minute.” 

You wait in silence as the device takes your temperature, and it makes a quiet, rhythmic beep when it’s done. Joel pulls it from your mouth and squints, jaw dropping a little as he reads the tiny number on the tiny screen. “Shit,” he mumbles. “Lemme see your throat again.” You open your mouth wide for Joel, and he tilts your head back and faces you toward the light so he can better see, a worried furrow in his brow. “Mmm…m’wonderin’ f’ya don’t have strep throat,” he says with concern. “We’ll keep an eye on it, though. You tell me if you start to feel worse, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” 

Joel eyes you, wondering how you could’ve caught something like this under his watch, especially when he’s not been sick lately. “How’d you get sick, huh? Been sneakin’ outta the house? Got yourself a boyfriend you ain’t tellin’ me about?”

“No,” you insist, and Joel doesn’t fight you hard on it. It was mostly a joke anyway. 

“Maybe Uncle Tommy brought it in when he stopped over to check on ya the other night,” Joel says. And he might be right. You don’t have a secret boyfriend you’ve been kissing, but…

Uncle Tommy did visit not so long ago. Joel was on an overnight patrol shift and had felt nervous leaving you home alone, as he so often does. He’d asked Tommy to swing by to check up on you. 

It was late when he entered through the back door, walking in on you curled up on the couch, a romance novel in your hands. Joel says he knows what goes on in those books and doesn’t like you reading them. You gasped, “Fuck, Uncle Tommy!”

Tommy wore that disarming smile of his. “Language,” he chastised, with no real anger in his tone. You scrambled to get back upstairs, but Tommy waved his hand. “Ain’t gonna rat you out,” he said, taking a seat next to you. His eyes twinkled as they dropped to your book, “Whatcha reading?”

“Nothing.” You shrunk under his curious gaze.

“Mm-hmm,” he smirked, taking the book out of your hands to inspect the cover. “This certainly ain’t nothin’.”

“I know, but–”

“You’re not in trouble.” 

Tommy smiled kindly at you, dark eyes sparkling and warm. You’ve always found him handsome, handsome like Joel. Pretty in the same ways, age softening his features. You like his freckles, his long, black hair. 

“M’just checkin’ in. Don’t get to see enough of ya, you know that?”

“I guess,” you said quietly, looking down at the pages of your book. You always have a hard time looking at him. He’s so…something about him feels like trouble. He makes you breathe funny, but not in a bad way. Not always. 

Tommy tilted your face up then, ran the back of his knuckle across your cheekbone. “Whatcha shy for?” 

You didn’t know what to say. Tommy knew the truth and chuckled, kissed your cheek to make you even more bashful. “S’okay f’ya got a crush,” he whispered, tracing your lips. Tommy kissed you then, just a small one. Just to hear you gasp and feel you squirm, that little moan you let slip as he stole the breath right from your lungs. 

“I’m not supposed to–”

“I know, I know. You ain’t supposed to do this, not supposed to do that. Your daddy’s got you on a tight fuckin’ leash, sweetheart,” Tommy said, caressing the side of your face. “But I ain’t gonna tell your old man nothin’. An’ you don’t need’a tell him nothin’ either, hm? Joel doesn’t need to know everything that goes on with you, honey. S’okay to keep things secret, sometimes.”

-

“I still want you eatin’ something tonight,” Joel tells you, tucking the thermometer away. “I’ll heat up some soup. Will you have a couple of bites?” 

You shake your head, pouting. “But I already said I’m not hungry.” 

“I know,” Joel replies softly. “But ya gotta eat. Please, kiddo? Bet it’ll make your throat feel better. Do it for me, pumpkin.” Joel pokes your face a little, flutters his fingers around your neck and chin, tickling you. Teasing. It makes you giggle. 

“Stop!” you laugh, pushing his hand away. “Fine. I’ll eat.” 

“Attagirl,” Joel says. 

He tells you to get changed into pajamas and downstairs, to get comfortable on the couch. Put on whatever dumb, girly movie or show you want on the TV. You follow orders, and Joel meets you downstairs with extra pillows and blankets clutched under his armpits. He makes you nice and cozy, then heads for the kitchen to clean up and prepare you that soup, which’ll be lighter on your stomach and easier on your throat. It’s just a matter of heating it up, as it’s jarred and ready to eat. Simple veggies and broth. 

Joel sits next to you on the couch and feeds you a spoonful, your favorite bowl in his hands. You love the little pattern on it, chili peppers dancing on the porcelain. You wince upon taking the first bite, “Too hot,” you complain.

“Then I’ll blow on it.” 

Joel blows on each bite of soup as he feeds you, the warm broth soothing your burning throat and clearing up your sinuses. “Thank you.”

“One more bite,” he tells you. “Last one.”

“You said that last time.” 

Joel smiles. “Think I’d remember sayin’ somethin’ like that, pumpkin. One more, now.” You finish the last bite of soup, then roll your eyes when Joel gives you a new glass of water to drink. “I know. Your old man’s the worst, ain’t he?”

“He is,” you mumble, but you take the drink anyway. Joel seems pleased, happy. He tells you that you can stay up late tonight so long as you rest tomorrow, but you don’t make it past 8:30, asleep in his lap as he strokes your hair and listens to your rhythmic breathing. 

-

more of this joel here

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