#Oneshot of all time

[alwayshypedforhalloween]

Thinking about the Boys' Night one shot again

[tapenbreak]

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 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 . . . 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.

[stealthetrees]

Coming soon to ao3 near you,

Fox’s batch finds out what’s wrong with him, except “what’s wrong with him” is that Fox was dropped on his head as a child and terrorizes his (unknown to him) evil wizard boss with just his personality alone until he gets electrocuted. Spoiler alert: telepathic torture does not discourage him.

[starry-bi-sky]

mmmmmm read a disciple shen yuan/shizun luo binghe fanfic about two days ago where the first chapter was the Immortal Conference arc, and SQQ was the one who had to be pushed into the abyss (he was still the villain) except Luo Binghe was refusing and was like, lowkey losing his mind about SQQ being so close to the edge. SQQ ended up having to be the one to fall in himself because of the system's punishment system. The rest of the fic is leading up to that moment. But like, MMM i've been obsessively thinking about that first chapter for DAYS ever since.

now i've been in svsss for a grand total of *checks watch* a week. but god obsessed with that. I want to write/read a fic where disciple SQQ goes a little nuts down there. Like keep all of the things that make SQQ, SQQ, but just. Throw in a little bit more trauma in there. A little bit of a mental break. Let him go a little nuts as a treat. Just a tad unhinged. I wanna see him go, just a little, "god fuck it, i've tried so hard to change this shitty story's outcome and it feels like everything i've done has been for nothing. I'm going to die in this world no matter what I do, I've been doomed from the start, so might as well die the way I want to." and he just, breaks a little! Under all the stress.

He still retains the traits that makes shen yuan, shen yuan, like his overwhelming kindness. But he's just! yk. A little less patient. Paranoid. Jumpy. Colder. A little more aloof and closed off. A little more Shen Jiu. He's no asshole child abuser, but he was a Number One Hater in his past life and he's leaning into that old habit a little more now.

(On a totally coincidental not-at-all related note, there's not enough SJ-and-SY-are-the-same-people fics out there that i've found. This is totally unrelated...)

The Endless Abyss turns the mind into an over-sharpened blade, and SQQ is both fascinated and perhaps a little excited to explore a place that doesn't have a lot of info on it in the mortal realm, but still terrified out of his mind. And he's no Luo Binghe, he doesn't have the sheer brute strength and power to just bulldoze his way through, so he has to be a lot more sneaky and cunning if he wants to survive.

The fic itself role-swapped LBH and SQQ so that SQQ was the half-demon (which lowkey fucks) and LBH the human, but I'm equally-if-not-more obsessed with the idea that LBH remains the half-heavenly demon and SQQ the human. If only because I keep thinking about SQQ befriending some demons (particularly and specifically a group of succubi) and they grow very attached to this Human Cultivator so through magic plot stuff they create some kind of seal/illusion/talisman that makes SQQ appear as a demon because a human cultivator in the endless abyss may as well be the equivalent of putting a giant neon target on your back.

And iirc Shen Jiu was taught demonic cultivation by that one guy(?? i've only been here a week so im not caught up in ALL of the lore yet) so that could totally happen here.

(On the other end of the realms, poor Shizun Luo Binghe is just. losing his fucking mind over losing his most precious and beloved disciple. About .5 seconds from burning down the peaks himself. somebody sedate him.)

The Endless Abyss sucks and SQQ is having a really terrible time and can feel himself going lowkey mad, but also holy shit look at all this WORLD-BUILDING. look at all this flora and fauna, and oh if he had the equipment for it he'd be writing all of this down. ALL OF IT. He was kinda-sorta-already planning on never leaving the Abyss as some sort of fucked up self-exile and self-preservation thing, but now he might? actually just?? never leave if he can help it, like he lowkey likes it down here.

anyways the next time anyone ever sees SQQ again he's got hair so long its almost touching the ground and he's either in rags and half-feral or he's been completely dolled up by his adoptive succubi sisters and still about three seconds from biting anyone who tries to touch him. (he's also lowkey trying to book it back down to the abyss even if he has desperately missed all of his friends and shizun)

[etherealily]

​🇱​​🇮​​🇹​​🇹​​🇱​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​, ​🇩​​🇴​​🇳​❜​🇹​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇩​​🇴​ ​🇼​​🇭​​🇦​​🇹​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​​🇷​ ​🇧​​🇮​​🇬​ ​🇸​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​ ​🇩​​🇴​​🇪​​🇸​

Based on this request <3

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. SFW but discretion advised. Drugs.

I made this slightly dark because you know me.

A.N: No way I managed to write something with a happy, non-cliffhanger ending. Are you guys proud of me?

P.S : My love for Elvis makes a cameo AGAIN.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc.: "Hello, You."

════════════════════ 🔭 ═════════════════════

Joe Goldberg had it all wrong.

Sure, stalking people when you know nothing about them is rewarding, yes, but hard, and time-consuming. Good on you, Joe.

But Nate didn't have time. He wanted quick and easy.

And let me tell you something, nothing is easier than stalking a house you already know inside and out.

Nothing is easier than stalking an Instagram profile that you already follow.

Nothing is easier than stalking a girl you already know.

He hadn't exactly prayed for this, okay? But when it did happen, it hit him all at once, like a freight train. Obsession - love - is tricky like that.

What started as a way to check on Maddy after being blocked ended up with scrolling past pictures of her on others' profiles and zooming into yours. Hands in his pants.

It's not even like you reminded him of her, so it was genuinely starting to disgust him, as well, to give him the creeps. You were a junior, it was weird, but it's not like love cares. Heart wants what it wants and all that.

The last name you shared with his ex was the only thing that haunted him. Like actually, haunted him. Like, he'd have dreams about trying to erase your last name and put his instead but it stayed on, like a stain, like a reminder.

Not to mention, he was exactly the opposite of your type.

He'd liked to have tried to say he didn't fit that bill, that he was quote-unquote, not like the other guys, but he genuinely couldn't say that. He was a dick. And he knew it. Badge of honour, baby.

Fucking yay.

The badge didn't really do that great in landing him a date, though.

Yeah, a date, not even a hookup. That's what he'd been reduced to. A simp.

You weren't even all that great, either, and he was genuinely wondering if he was secretly being roofied, the way all great Kings are before attempted regicide. Sure you were hot and not a cunt, but like, that was it. Was Nate attracted to the bare fucking minimum? Is that what your sister had done to him?

No, but then you weren't just not-a-cunt. You were also genuinely kind. Charitable. Genuine.

Fuck. Fucking Perezes giving him migraines and whiplash.

════════════════════ 🔭 ═════════════════════

He was about ninety percent sure you'd be there. You were always there, he'd noticed, at about four thirty sharp, at the bus stop. Your stupid fucking wired earphones on.

Get airpods, you fucking nerd.

Knowing you, you probably didn't want to, lest someone think you were ignoring them when they were talking to you, but you actually had earphones on. Ugh.

The sheets of rain barely let him see you, let alone allow you to hear him, as he leaned with an umbrella on the side of the bus stand, his elbow almost recoiling thanks to the sharp cold. "Yo, Little Perez!"

What the fuck did he just call you? Okay, whatever. He slipped up. Happens to the best of us. Luckily, you didn't hear.

"HEY!"

You frowned, taking out one earbud and trying to look around for the source of the sound. The source waved at you with just his fingers. 'Cause he was cool like that.

"Hey!" Jesus, even with the thunder and the incessant shattering rain, he could swear your voice just changed his brain chemistry.

"You're wet as fuck!"

"That's not how you catcall someone! You fucked up the line!" Ha. Fucking amazing. THIS kinda humour, he could get by.

"Are you womansplaining how to catcall to a guy?!"

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. "What do you want, Jacobs?!"

"Having a little moment?!", he asked, nodding at your phone. "Or do you need a ride?!"

"Bus!", you called back.

"Which one?", he asked, before looking at the sign on the side of the bus stand. "Wait, 4A through Kemper?! It's cancelled 'cause of the rain!"

"What?!"

"Yeah, check it out!", he said, whipping out his phone as you moved closer, tilting it so you could see the bus schedule update. That he totally did not find from months ago and edit to pass off as today's.

Your eyes widened and your fists clenched. "Motherf--!", you cut yourself off, kicking the bench slightly. "Still offering that ride?"

"Sure, I'm going through Kemper, anyway."

"Why are you going through Kemper?"

"My Dad owns the apartment complexes past there, so I'm just doing the routine drop-ins and shit. Keep 'em scared of the boss or whatever."

You were being uncommonly attentive to his reasoning. He had not expected that. Good thing he didn't slack off on alibi prep.

"So. Whaddaya say? Need a ride?"

You nodded. "Of course I need a ride. This fuckin' town, man. Stupid bus schedules.", you muttered, following him - and his umbrella - to his car.

════════════════════ 🔭 ═════════════════════

"You sure it's okay?", you asked for the second time since you entered his car and graced it with your scent. "Like, it's all muddy."

He sighed, looking down under your feet. No, it irked him and if it were anyone else, he'd have tweaked out. Not you, though.

'And besides', he realised, grumbling as he looked down at his own feet, "I'm makin' it muddy, too.", he assured, completing his thought by saying it.

"Just this right.", you instructed, and he turned right. Where the fuck were you going?

"Where are you takin' me? Got a ransom or something?"

You smiled, rolling your eyes. "Left, then second right."

Okay, you wouldn't answer that, apparently. Fine. Elephant needs to be addressed, then.

"Aren't you supposed to hate me?"

You frowned, scoffing softly as you turned to him. "What?"

"I dated your big sister. All the shit that happened with us. No way she didn't tell you."

"Yeah, she did."

He waited for elaboration, but found none.

"So? You don't care?"

"Look, Nate, I think you're an asshole for what you did to my sister."

Yeah, you'd be weird as fuck to think otherwise.

"But I know my sister. She's not... she's not a complete saint, either."

Obviously, you're referring to the multiple times she's cheated on him. You're being deliberately vague because you think he doesn't know and it's that kind of concern for others' wellbeing that makes him want to tell you to do whatever the hell you want to him right now.

"So I'm just not getting into it, okay?"

Okay. "Okay."

"Yeah, right here. Right here's good.", you said, and he came to a stop, watching you gather your stuff and practically fly out.

"Rue Bennett?", you asked the - could he say receptionist? Or was this guy just out there with a ledger? - receptionist, breathlessly.

"She just signed in. Sponsor?'

"Escort."

Huh. Huh. WOW. You were charitable enough to fuck around with RUE BENNETT? Jesus, who were you, Mother Teresa?

"Hey, is this an AA meeting or something?", he called, elbow leaning out the window.

"Yeah, my friend doesn't have a good track record of attending, I gotta make sure she's there! But thanks, Nate, I owe you one big time, man!", you called back, scrawling your name onto the ledger before running into the building.

He watched you disappear until the ledger guy cleared his throat. "You an addict, too?"

Nate snorted softly, scoffing and shaking his head as ledger-dude started laughing. "Fuck off, man.", he replied, key in the ignition again.

"Don't blame you, kid!", he called, and Nate wanted to punch him. No way was he watching you go in, too. That shit was creepier than Nate wanting you. "Have a good one!"

Oh, he would.

════════════════════ 🔭 ═════════════════════

"Yo, hey. Little Perez." Fuck, why did he keep calling you that? It was fucking retarded.

"Hey, Nate."

"I think you owe me something."

"You know that's just a thing people say?"

"Mm, yeah, but...", he muttered, shrugging. "I'm a man of my word, so I think everyone else should be too. Unless you think not keeping up your promises is good?"

You rolled your eyes. "You don't need to guilt me into it. Just ask."

"There's a party. You're coming to it."

"Nah, no parties."

"What are you, gonna give me some bullshit 'I-don't do-parties-I'm-not-like-other-girls' excuse? Or the 'they're-so-overwhelming' excuse?"

"Next week's finals week."

Oh. Okay, well, now he just feels like a dick.

"Oh, shit, my bad. Forgot you little juniors have it a month earlier than we do.", he muttered, watching you for a moment before he decided enough was enough. He'd just ask.

"What are you even doing?", he asked, watching you take the last sealed box from your friend and place it in front of the notice board at the school entrance.

You looked back up at him, before unrolling the chart you'd been working on during study hall yesterday. "Hm? Oh, fundraiser."

"For this hellhole of a school?"

"Uh, no.", you replied, shaking your head. "For the soup kitchen, through the school."

He snorted. "Right. Who's even gonna sign up?"

"Hey, they signed up for the ASPCA thing last fall. Must be the community waking up.'

Or guys wanting to dick you down.

"Yeah, but that's 'cause it's you who asked them to."

"Hey, you wanna sign up?"

He scoff-laughed, raising a brow. "Me? For the soup kitchen?"

You knelt down, ironing out the poster with your palms, looking up at him expectantly.

No way you weren't doing that shit on purpose. No way. Wait... you- you weren't. That was a genuine fucking question and you didn't understand that there's no way he could say no to you when you look at him like that? Jesus.

He sighed, magnanimously. "What do you need me to do?"

"Well, you're tall. So just help us hang this thing up. Ladder's not tall enough."

Humming, he took the poster from you, giving it a once over. Jesus. "You made this?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah.", you nodded, hands on your hips. "Cool?"

"Couldn't make this shit if I tried."

"That a compliment?"

"Supposed to be. But you're right, it's a toss-up. I'd never try in the first place.", he mumbled, nodding subtly at you before he climbed up a couple rungs. "Here?"

"Mhm. Maybe like a tiny bit higher?"

He'd climb Everest for you. He just wished you'd know that.

"Here?"

"Yeah, perfect. You need tape, or do you think you can hold it up long enough to use a couple push pins on each corner?"

"I think I can handle it.", he replied, unamused, but he hid a grin at your laughter. Not to call the Lord's name in vain, but Jesus, were you fucking with him.

He leaned down to get the clear plastic box of colourful pins from you, placing it on the top rung of the ladder for a moment and taking a couple out. "So like, two on each corner?"

No response.

"Yo, Little Perez?"

"Uh... maybe three?"

That wasn't you. Who the fuck was this dweeb?

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Cole.", the kid said, still holding the ladder down securely, as if that was his life duty.

"Did I ask your fucking name?"

He's a dick, but this was too much, even for him. But you'd just gone AWOL, so yeah, he was kinda pissed.

"No, I...", the kid muttered, kinda pathetically.

He huffed. "Where is Y/N?"

"She's over there.", he mumbled, and Nate's gaze followed his scrawny little hand to see you talking to Maddy. Huh.

Yeah, Nate was the problem. Maybe he always was.

Why, in his stupid little mind, you guys were totally different universes, he didn't know.

Why his stupid little mind didn't expect for those universes to clash, he had no clue.

You were sisters! Stayed in the same fucking house, maybe even sometimes the same fucking room! What sort of idiot would hope for the opposite? Him, apparently. He needed you as far away from her as possible.

Hard task, but if Joe Goldberg could do that to a girl and her best friend, he could do it to a girl and her sister.

════════════════════ 🔭 ═════════════════════

"You're tweaking out, man, what is up with you recently?"

He rubbed his hands across his face. "The little sister asked me, okay, I didn't want beef with both Perezes, yeah? So just shut the fuck up and come."

"At least can we bring booze?"

"No, they're including East Highland Middle School, too."

Yeah, convincing an entire football team (plus Chris McKay, in hopes that he'd bring his college football gang) to take part in some soup kitchen fundraiser wasn't exactly simple.

Definitely not as simple as, say, mapping out your room in his head so that when the time came to inevitably kiss you against the door, he wasn't losing face looking for the bed or bumping into your snazzy little swivel chair.

Which he, of course, did a shitty job of. He refused, for his pride, to become one of those binoculars-using creeps. He considered himself more subtle than that. And sophisticated.

But anything was better than the mess he was making of this.

"What is this, like, a bowling thing? A raffle?"

"Car wash."

"With the cheerleaders in it?"

Maybe he should've led with that.

"I mean, maybe? I'm sure Y/N could convince them..."

"Shit, I'm down. It's one of those wet, soapy ass ones you gotta get into bathing suits for, right?"

Yeah, definitely should've led with that. He nodded.

He fist-bumped, dapped-up, and took as many shoulder pats as were thrown at him, before he raised a brow. McKay was still in there, his arms crossed.

"Was this what your whole question was about?"

"Huh?"

"You texted me last night."

Oh, yeah. Drunk.

"Shit, yeah. Just ignore that."

"Yo, McKay. Ever fallen for an ex's sister? How 2 deal with it? Lmk.", he read out, sarcastically trying to imitate Nate's voice.

"I was shitfaced, man."

"Right."

Nodding, Nate shoved his hands into his pocket. "You'll show up? To the fundraiser thing. I really am tryna be a good person, 'kay? Don't want to disappoint Perez Number Two."

"See, Nate, what's throwin' me off is that you're not saying you wanna fuck this sister, you're saying you're falling in love with her."

"Uh-uh, no, no, I said falling for her."

"Same thing, man."

"No, it's not."

McKay chuckled, and Nate couldn't help but reciprocate. "Seriously, Nate, I don't know if it's a good idea."

"She's completely fucking different, man, I'm telling you, she and her sister are, like... fucking worlds apart." Who the fuck was he trying to convince?

"That's dangerous, Nate, there's so much could go wrong--"

"Man, I just need some advice. I don't know how to do the boyfriend thing, clearly. I actually like this girl." Ew, what the fuck had you done to him?

"What are you, sweet on Lexi Howard, now?", he scoffed, clenching his jaw. "As if you haven't fucked up the Howards' life enough."

It's good that McKay thinks the ex he's talking about is Cassie. Actually kind of dumb.

He'd just tried to convince footballers to join a fundraiser for you, and he thinks it's Lexi Howard he wants.

Maybe this dumbassery is why he lost Cassie.

"Hey, Lexi did that on her own with that stupid fucking play of hers."

"Yeah? And it was the play that fucked Cassie for months?"

He fell silent. Yeah, McKay and him had never actually spoken about the whole fucking-his-ex-girlfriend thing, but he figured they weren't technically still together.

"Man, look, I'm not with her anymore. I- we're done. Yeah?"

"Yeah, I know.", he spat.

"She's all yours, man.", he muttered, before McKay scoffed.

"Like I want your sloppy seconds. And who the fuck are you, giving me permission?"

"If you think I still want Cassie, you're a fucking retard, McKay."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Chill, man, okay, I'm not gonna--", he cut himself off, rubbing his hands over his face. "We're cool, I just wish you'd have told me, and I didn't have to find out about it fucking... months later."

Huh. Wow. McKay was a better man than Nate was, for sure. If McKay had been fucking Maddy, he'd have committed double homicide.

"Alright, look, my advice is just don't put up a front. If you're a dick- which you fucking are - just own it, and make it cute."

"Cute?"

"Self-awareness. Girls love it. Pearl of wisdom, brother, you owe me with your life."

"Wait, so I'm just gonna have to continue being a dick?", he called, as McKay shouldered past him.

"Yeah, but consciously make an effort not to be. It's a delicate balance. But you'll find it!"

Either McKay had just ruined his life or given him the best advice in the world.

════════════════════ 🔭 ═════════════════════

"Jesus Fucking Christ."

Yeah, he was going to hell.

But what the fuck else could he say?

Who the hell would have thought the turnout for a fucking soup kitchen car wash would be this huge? Who even were half these kids?

Of course, nothing would beat the ASPCA thingie you'd organised in the fall, even Nate came to that. But that was just 'cause Maddy liked cats. Or whatever.

The fucking vibe of the place - you wouldn't think this was a school, no, it was some sort of car-washing-frat-party-cult. And you, absolutely fucking oblivious to this miracle you somehow conjured up, stood in the middle, with a clipboard and a very stressed out look on your face.

"Yo, Little Perez, you seeing this shit?", he mumbled, unable to force the awe out of his tone as he nudged you.

"Yeah, your little football friends are literally supposed to be vollunteers. Instead, they're paying more than actual customers."

"Money's money, hon."

"I suppose that's true. Horny teenagers are the best market."

There we go, you were a quick study, he'd give you that.

"Why do you look like you got a stick up your ass? Relax, maybe bring your car to be washed? It's a success!"

Normally, he'd have asked you to go topless and get to work. But something told him that kind of joke wouldn't fly with you. And besides, why the fuck would he wanna see middle aged men in cars grinning at you cleaning?

"People leave without paying sometimes."

"It's for charity, no one's gonna cheap out."

You snorted, loudly at that. "You'd be fucking surprised, man."

"Still, no need to be this stressed. You're fine. See? All that? You made it happen. Little Orphan Annies throughout the state owe their lives to you, or whatever.'

"It's not just for orphans, for like, anyone who's hungry and needs some food, so, like the--"

"Okay, so homeless people. The less fortunate. My bad." Dick, but consciously trying not to be.

You smiled softly, nodding. "Yeah. Precisely. And I just hope this is enough, y'know?"

He rolled his eyes, watching the footballers wolf whistle at the cheerleaders turning on the hose. "Money-making-machine right there."

"You know what would get more female customers?"

"I don't know, Brad Pitt? Penn Badgley?"

"The 6'5 star QB giving 'em a show."

He chuckled incredulously, raising a brow at you, arms folded. "Nope. No fucking way. You want me to strip? I already brought in so many people!"

"You're right, you're right. You've done enough. I was just kidding."

He grunted softly, though it was more out of amusement than frustration. "I do this, you'll come to the party?"

"Finals week. And I was kidding, man."

"If I host a party after finals week. Will. You. Come." , he asked, battling a grin. Yeah, he sounded annoyed but that's the last thing he could be when you stood there in flip flops with a pen tapping anxiously on a clipboard you've scribbled on.

"Sure."

"No bullshit?"

"No bullshit."

"And you'll drink and actually fucking participate? You won't try to turn the whole thing into an AA meeting?"

"Jesus, no!"

His hands moved to opposite ends of the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his body. "You are a fucking genius. Getting me to do all this.", he whispered, shaking his head before flipping you off as he jogged over to the next car in the lineup.

"You volunteered!", you called back, and he could hear the laughter in your voice. Fuck, RIP his brain chemistry.

════════════════════ 🔭 ═════════════════════

"What? No! You don't get it. None of my guy friends get it."

He's gonna pretend that didn't sting. 'Guy friends'. May very well be 'gay best friend'. Being reduced to a non-dateable-option wasn't the best feeling, but part of you was better than none of you.

And he couldn't blame you, even if it was you putting your guard up.

Everyone who asks you out is turned the fuck down. And they are all a very specific genre of human - sorry, subhuman. Jocks. No, sorry, that would make him fall into that bracket.

Idiot jocks. Who couldn't think about anything but fucking and fighting.

But luckily for you, he had the looks, the physique, and the smarts and sophistication that came with being a Jacobs.

Whole package.

However, the way this shit was going, he'd have to watch as some hippie tweaker who 'believes that animals are people, too, dude, go vegan or go home!' got to date you.

It's weird, right? How someone can change you so quick.

He just wanted you. Like, he wanted you.

He wanted to know your darkest secrets and never use them.

He wanted to know how tall your walls were and break through them.

He wanted to know why you were so fucking nice to people like Rue motherfucking Bennett, and he wanted to exploit it.

But most of all, he wanted to know what made you tick. What turned you off a dude. What could possibly make you blow a gasket.

What made you... You.

"I just think that you guys don't get how much like, potential Loki has. As a boyfriend."

"Yeah, but Thor's jacked, he's not fucking evil, and he's, like, a superhero!"

"Loki isn't evil, he's just--"

"If you say misunderstood, I'm going to crash out.", he muttered, pushing some hair behind your ear. With his luck, you'd ignore it, because of course friends help you when hair's getting into your eyes!

"But he is misunderstood, okay? Like, he was constantly made to feel inferior in every way!" See? Ignored.

He watched you take a bite of your pasta before taking a bite of his burger. "I swear, girls always do this, they go for the worst possible option and then justify it instead of going to the best option and enjoying it."

Shut up. Yeah, the irony wasn't lost on him. Hardy har har.

"Loki changed at the end. Okay? He'd just assumed that Odin's mistreatment was something Thor believed in himself, even though Thor thought of him as a brother!"

He groaned, a slightly pained laugh escaping him. "Next you're gonna say you're Team Cap."

"What? No! No, Tony was right."

He tilted his head. Huh. Brains. "Yeah. Good. 'Least you got something right, but now you got me thinking you have an aversion to blondes."

You chuckled and he swears he's going to lose it from your smile alone.

"How's finals going?"

"Good. Kinda scared for results, though.", you mumbled, shaking your head. "I'm so scared that every second I don't spend studying is another mark lost, and I'm losing it."

"Jesus, there's the fucking stick again. I swear, you should just--"

But it's like the universe was not okay with him winning, because in came your gang of nerds - sorry, your fellow student council members - to whisk you away.

"I'll see you later, Jacobs, okay?"

"Nate!", he called back, almost warning, before he was affronted with the sight of Maddy rolling her eyes at him. "Did you just call out your own name?"

"Shut up, Maddy. I was talking to someone."

"That's literally fucking pathetic."

Look who's talking.

════════════════════ 🔭 ═════════════════════

You didn't seem to actually do much to give him enough insight into your life, seriously.

You came to school, talking with your sister on the way.

You spent your school day doing nothing but going to classes and occassionally talking with Nate (fucking yay), and then you spent an extra hour and a half at school for some after school bullshit you did, he didn't care enough. And then you came home and studied.

Like, what a fucking nerd. What a sexy fucking nerd.

But finals week was over, and he'd even given you another week to wait for results, and now he was hosting a party.

Well, McKay was.

And you weren't coming.

One thing he couldn't stand for was you lying to him. Which was exactly what you did.

You had a date, you said, and that would have resulted in him getting into a car accident - that wasn't really an accident - on the highway if he believed you.

But he knew you weren't going on a date. You were going back to the fucking AA meeting for fucking Rue Bennett. There should be some limit to your charity.

But like the calm, level-headed individual he was, he didn't crash out, he simply schooled his face, took deep breaths - and maybe a can of beer - and parked his car gracefully.

His hand stilled on his seatbelt, and he looked down at the buckle for a moment, lost in thought.

No, no, fuck it. No second thoughts. He undid the buckle, getting out before locking the car with a beep.

The trees shrouding his sight slowly gave way as he walked, and right there, to his left, on the stairs, was you.

Ledger-guy wasn't there, and so you were aimlessly playing with the pen that hung from the spring tether attached to his table.

You watched it bobble around each time you pushed it away and then watched it swing right back to you, regardless of how hard you'd pushed it, albeit unknowingly.

There was a metaphor there. He was sure of it.

"Hey.", he said softly, carefully. "Thought I'd find you here."

You looked up at him, but didn't even seem to have the energy to act guilty. "Hey."

He sat down with a low exhale, his knees bending uncomfortably as he nudged your shoulder with his own. "Yo."

You turned to him, nodding.

"What's going on? How come you're out here? She could've snuck out by now."

"She won't. She's doing really well. She's been sober for almost two months now."

He let out a soft whistle, nodding, before looking back at you, frowning slightly. "So why do you look depressed?"

"Her withdrawals, y'know, um. They're gone, but like... this two month mark is usually where it goes downhill, so I'm, like... worried, or whatever."

"It's gonna stick this time."

"Told myself that last year."

"Look, we've all grown up together. Small town. I- I'm not, like, fucking 'BFFs'... ", he muttered, using air quotes, "...with Rue, but she's strong.", he continued.

You shrugged lightly. "I guess."

"Hey, look. She's been through a lot. Her Dad kicked the bucket a while ago, her little sister found her ODd, rehab, lack thereof, relapse, all that shit. She'll get through it. And she's doing well enough right now. I saw her at school yesterday, she looks good. Like, healthy."

He was seriously wondering if he'd been hexed, because here he was, admitting he'd noticed Rue Bennett's sobriety, and spoken in favour of her, all for you. To alleviate your worries. To get that sadness off your face.

You nodded. "But I'm just... I hate that I can't be there with her through every bad moment."

Like he wanted to be with you.

"Hey.", he sighed, shuffling closer, brushing hair from your eyes and moving your head to his shoulder both in one swift motion. "She's here, isn't she? In there? Talking about her sobriety? She's going to school, too. You got her there."

Scoffing, you shook your head. Your humility would be the death of you, he's sure of it. "No, her family did. Mr. Ali did."

"You escorted her to every single meeting, without fail. You don't miss a single week."

Please don't ask how he knows, please don't ask how he knows-

"I guess."

Phew.

"Right. Trust me, one step at a time. Okay? She'll be fine."

You hummed and he looked at his reflection in his phone screen so he could analyze what a fucking simp he'd become.

"Thanks."

"Oh, shut up.", he scoffed. "'Thanks' like hundreds of people - and animals - don't owe you one already."

"Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"Put me up on a pedestal?"

"You'd rather I treat you like everyone else?"

"How do you treat everyone else?"

"How you'd expect me to."

You bit the inside of your cheek. "Why did you strangle my sister?"

If he had a beer in his mouth, he'd spit it out. "Anger issues."

"Did you get help for them?"

Who the fuck were you? He tells you he strangled your sister 'cause he was pissed, you want to know if he went to a shrink to get that shit out of him. He shook his head.

"Why not?"

"It's just about the only defence mechanism I have."

He didn't like how your stupid questioning made him feel as if he really was talking to a fucking shrink. He'd never admitted that before.

"Oh."

He took a long, deep breath, before patting on the tops of his thighs, standing. "C'mon."

"What? Where? Rue's still in there.", you asked, looking up at him as he stood over you.

"We'll be back before it's over."

════════════════════ 🔭 ═════════════════════

The waves threatened to devour your feet, but didn't seem to have the power to actually make good on their threats.

"I'm driving Rue back."

"It's PBR. It's impossible to get drunk off it, trust."

You shrugged, taking the can and popping it open.

He watched your lips wrap around the edge of the can, and your throat as it cascaded down it. Holy. Shit.

Taking a sip himself, he shifted so that his elbow was resting loosely on his knee. "Never have I ever...", he mused, grinning as he watched your eyes roll.

"Oh, sweet Jesus.", you scoffed.

"You skipped out on the party. I refuse to let you spend tonight without a little bit of fun."

"And 'never have I ever' is the way to do that?"

He shrugged. "Never have I ever.... kissed a girl.", he finished, taking a sip.

He was pleasantly surprised to see you take one, too.

"Oh, this I gotta hear."

"Keep your panties on, it was my best friend, and we just wanted to practice kissing, get my first kiss over with."

What a liar.

"Your best friend?", he scoffed, raising a brow.

"...'s sister.", you admitted, biting your lip.

"There we go. Cassie Howard isn't a bad choice for a first kiss."

You shook your head. "Yeah, I know. Just felt weird. Like I was betraying Lexi or something. You never go for the sisters, y'know?"

Oof. Right in the heart. It was like it was directed at him.

"Yeah, but you weren't dating her."

"Well, yeah, but it's the principle."

He exhaled, before taking another sip. "Tell ya what. I'll drive Rue and you home. Get the stick outta your ass.", he muttered, pulling out a packet of pre-rolleds.

"Wh- no, what? You want me stoned in a car with a recovering addict?"

Okay. Fine. Fair.

"Fine, then here.", he replied, handing you his pocket flask. "It's whiskey, not poison."

You looked at it, contemplating for a while before sighing. "You know where she lives, right?"

"Uh huh."

"And where I- well, yeah, 'course you know where I live.", you mumbled, still gazing at the bottle.

"Don't you trust me?", he asked, softly, tilting his head.

════════════════════ 🔭 ═════════════════════

The door swung open and he stood face-to-face with Maddy, the ex he hadn't seen for almost the entire school year. Well, that she knew of.

"Hey."

"Jesus.", she muttered, gently grabbing you from his arms. You were - surprisingly- still coherent, but you couldn't really be trusted to stand on your own. "The fuck did you drink?"

"Whiskey.", he piped up, handing you over carefully.

"And you just happened to be walking by?"

"No, we were waiting for Rue's drug meeting thing to get over, and we just went a couple blocks away to the beach."

Maddy scoffed, still stroking your hair as she glared at him. "Where you gave her whiskey."

"Well, yeah, she's been stressed the whole week, which you'd know if you cared."

"Oh, please, like you care more about my sister than I do." she spat.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'll see you around, Maddy. Bye, Y/N.", he mumbled, turning around.

See, this was why he had to get you the fuck away from your sister. She'd never trusted anybody in her life, but you were different, you had a heart.

"What did you say to her?", she called as his key turned in his car lock.

To Rue? He'd said that you'd told him to tell you that you had an urgent emergency at the soup kitchen, and to walk herself the fuck home.

"What?"

"She'd never drink while waiting on Rue."

Huh. Okay, fine, so she knew some things about you. But she was your sister, so it was less impressive than how much he knew. So there.

Not that it was a competition.

"I didn't say anything. Told her to get the stick outta her ass."

"Did you like... how did you convince her?"

I asked whether she trusted me and gave her the most solemn look ever.

He shrugged. "Dunno. Guess she needed a break that bad and I'm the only one willing to give her one.", he responded, getting into his car.

That was so badass. Write that down.

════════════════════ 🔭 ═════════════════════

"What now? Does UNICEF need your help?", he groaned, barely holding himself back from yelling.

"I got grounded for being drunk. Maddy tried to sneak me up, but my mom caught me."

He doubted that. Maddy probably took you upstairs slowly on purpose so that you wouldn't be able to come to this party, either.

"Just sneak out. Come on. You've already skipped out on, like, two parties."

"Hey! The first one doesn't count, I wasn't coming to that, anyway, it was finals week!"

Rolling his eyes, he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. "If you come I'll donate to charity.", he whispered in your ear, breathing in the smell of your hair.

You laughed at that, exactly like he wanted. "Is that all you think my life is?"

"Come on. Do it for the kids."

"I've never snuck out before."

"Maddy'll teach you, I'm sure.", he scoffed, shooing you off to your next class. "She's coming anyway."

"You're an ass."

"Badge of honour, baby!", he called, waving. Okay. This was good. Finally.

---

Watching McKay do a keg stand wasn't exactly on his bucket list for the night, but hey, he had to do something until you arrived.

He looked down at his watch. When he'd passed by your house, he'd watched you getting dressed through your window. Maddy was doing her makeup in the room next to yours.

That was a half hour ago. The drive from your place to McKay's wasn't even fifteen minutes. So where the hell were you? He was looking around - had been since he'd arrived - for your blue dr-- oh.

What an idiot. It's possible you'd changed after he had left. Right. So blue dress not counted. Now he was left just looking for you.

Logical deduction suggested you'd already showed up, but then again, you could be in a bathroom, seeing as you seemed so nervous about sneaking out perfectly that you hadn't really had the time to put on makeup yet.

Not that you needed it. But still. Would look nice.

And he was right.

You were right there, cutting uncomfortably through the crowds, beelining to the bathroom. He called your name, but the music drowned him out. Fine. Whatever.

He stopped the bathroom door from closing behind you. "There you are."

You watched him through the mirror, before turning around. "Have you seen Rue?!", you called, your phone to your ear.

Unacceptable. Un-fucking-acceptable. You cannot be this selfless. It's actually unhealthy.

"No, why?" He fought a frustrated eye roll. Let her OD, at least the rest of the town could have some semblance of peace once she's dead!

"She's here, that I know, but she isn't responding to any of my texts! Or calls.", you added, gesturing at the phone by your ear. "Straight to voicemail."

"She's probably just having fun, like you should probably be doing.", he reasoned, gently taking the phone from you and ending the call, shoving the thing into his back pocket.

"I told her not to come."

"Then she should have fucking listened. Hey- hey, it's not your fault that she doesn't take care of herself.", he whispered, his thumbs rubbing arcs on your cheeks. "Why are you so... just relax.", he murmured, kissing your forehead.

"No, Nate, you don't get it, she came because she thinks she's ready, and that she knows if anything goes wrong, I'm right here."

"Look, you can't let people depend on you so much, you're going to lose your shit. Trust me, I know. My mother doesn't have anything but me and my brother, and it's hell. She doesn't take care of herself, she lets our Dad walk all over her-", he muttered, still wondering how you're, yet again, effortlessly making him say shit he's never told another soul.

"But what if something goes wrong?"

"Nothing's going to go wrong."

"Hey, last time she was at a party, she met this weird kid Elliot, who got her hooked again."

"She won't relapse. It won't happen. You're right here."

"I'm not with her, though."

"You don't need to be. She's a big girl, she'll take care of herself. And besides, you won't be there with her her whole life, will you? Making sure she's sober. She'll graduate this year and go to college. She isn't going to depend on a high schooler to keep her safe all the way in college, is she?"

He can tell that you fully understand what he's saying, and that you even agreed, to an extent, but he certainly didn't blame you for not accepting it. You were just unnecessarily caring, almost to a fault.

This was all you knew.

"You need someone to take care of you, too, sometimes.", he said, bending his head so he was now looking up at you, from where he had you perched on the countertop. "Yeah?"

"What? What are you even- look, you're wasting time, Nate, I don't want her relapsing, I cant- I know it's selfish, but I can't go through all that with her again, Nate--"

Selfish? You were the antonym of that word, and it was disgusting that you couldn't even see it.

"I get it. Sometimes you need a break, too. Need someone to love on you. Need to know that what you're doing isn't thankless."

You looked down at him, a soft frown on your face that he wanted to hug off you.

"I can see it. You're not denying it.", he teased sing-songily, tapping your nose.

You grinned softly, trying your damndest to hide it. "Shut up."

"You're a good person, whether you're on Rue-watch 24/7, or looking out for your sister so that she doesn't get abducted by the guys she fucks, or being the most charitable bitch this side of... well... Earth.", he chuckled.

"Do you have a point? Or are you just doing the pedestal thing again?"

"My point is this."

Kissing you was exactly how he'd imagined it would be. Smooth, slow and correct. Not correct as in he was doing it correctly - god, he fucking hoped he was - no, correct as in this was probably the only purpose he'd had for his life.

He could feel you shifting away, and he shook his head. "No. No, no, no. Don't. The sister card's not gonna work."

"But it's valid.", you murmured, trying to pull away as he pulled you closer.

"No, the fuck it isn't.", he replied against your lips, pulling you toward the edge of the counter. "Shut up."

"That's mean."

"Yeah? Well, so are you. How's that for a pedestal?", he asked, his lips on your shoulder. "Look.", he sighed, finally, finally able to bring himself to look at your face. "Just say yes."

"To what?"

He scoffed. "World peace. What do you think? Me."

"You?"

He nodded, attempting to fix your hair as best he could. "I care, see?"

"Oh, sorry, yes, messing up my hair is, like, peak boyfriend."

"Fixing it is. I don't do that for anyone.", he retorted, kissing your forehead again. "One date."

"'One date' is wild. Because that'll totally convince me.", you laughed, and he tsked, shaking his head.

"You're not funny. Seriously. Like, one date. And it's gonna be completely secret. No Maddy messing with us. No Rue messing with us. No Cassie. No... no one else."

It had just occurred to him how many people really had messed with his life so far. No longer.

"One date?"

Huh, wow. You were considering it. That's more than he'd expected from you.

"One.", he assured.

"One."

════════════════════ 🔭 ═════════════════════

"I am?"

"Yeah, like, way different than what I thought you'd be like. Your whole thing was like, asshole."

One date had turned to a second, a third, and now, here he was, on the same beach with you again, watching you smoke the pre-rolled cig you'd declined a couple months ago.

"Can't say you're that different than I thought, though. You're exactly who you seem to be."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I don't know, you tell me.", he grinned, taking the blunt back from you.

"Aren't you the expert on all this personality stuff?"

He chuckled. "There's only one thing I am - and want to be - the expert on."

"What's that?"

"You."

He was, and, if his plans went well, he would continue to be. He could one-up your sister, he could one-up Rue Bennett, he could one-up every single loser in town.

Because he'd know everything about you.

He'd know you.

[lotus-lamps]

tysm the weekly light for giving me motivation to draw LMAO

a lil messy but thats ok. it was a lot of fun so thats all that matters haha (I LOVE RENDERING AND DO THE LIGHTING AND ALL THAT SHIT ITS SO FUN) rip mothy gilbert also had too much fun ig lmao

[junosmindpalace]

MISTLETOE, BUT ACTUALLY HOLLY

☾ ft. tetsuro kuroo

☾ sfw. because who doesn't find the tradition amusing? 920

somebody on the nekoma boys volleyball team thought it would be funny to hang mistletoe above the clubroom door. it was all in good fun, taking advantage of a year old holiday tradition to laugh at the embarrassed and defensive expressions of his fellow teammates as they tried to escape from the obligatory kiss in a fluster.

it was kuroo. kuroo was the somebody who thought it would be funny.

it was actually holly, and he’d explain the differences in the plant without anyone asking or caring, but the tradition still stood. his mom had asked him to rummage around in a box tucked away with old decor to see if she could find anything remotely festive to celebrate the holiday season. as he was rummaging around through bunches of tangled strings of fairy lights with dead bulbs and old gingerbread kits, his eyes brightened in curiosity as he retrieved a small plastic holly plant from the very bottom of the pile. 

and he’s sure glad he went through with his plan to bring it into school, too, because the look on yaku’s face as he grew red with anger and shouted over his embarrassment at walking under the plant with lev was absolutely priceless. 

“now the two of you gotta kiss.” he laughed as he leaned against the lockers, arms crossed over his chest. yaku gave him a murderous look. 

“we aren’t doing anything!” 

lev, too amused with admiring and flicking the mistletoe (which was shorter than him), didn’t pay much mind to yaku’s disgust, though if had noticed, he probably would’ve taken a disappointedly offended stance at his suggestion. 

“guess you’re in a festive mood, kuroo.” kai muttered as he glanced at him with a sort of nervous smile, removing his jacket. kuroo chuckled. 

“just thought it would be fun. i thought you of all people would get a kick out of it, yamamoto.” kuroo turned toward his junior with the distinct blonde mohawk, who only scowled at him from over his shoulder as he opened his locker. 

“you better watch your back, kuroo. you’re next!” he pointed an accusatory finger at him, still disgruntled over the fact that he had (nearly) walked into the club room in sync with kenma. kuroo scoffed. 

“like you could get me!” 

“yeah? stand under the doorway, then!” yaku chimed in, shooting him an irritated glare. kuroo’s eyes darted between him and the mistletoe at the door. there was only a brief pause in between before kuroo strided toward the door and lingered at the threshold, teasingly taking steps in and out of the club room. yaku hissed. 

“see? can’t get me.” he smirked, and with that, the rest of his body, along with his face, disappeared behind the wall and heading to unlock the gym. 

on his return back, kuroo puffed out a breath of fog and shivered. it had snowed the night before, leaving a strong chill in the dry air, and he was eager to get inside the club room as quickly as possible to where the heat was. 

just as he was about to step inside, however, he heard a voice, and immediately recognizing it, his heart somersaulted in his chest.

“kuroo!” it cried, and it sounded close too, so close that kuroo instantly felt his face warm when he turned around and was immediately met with your face only inches from him.

your cheeks were rosy from the cold, even despite a scarf wrapped snug around your neck and a hat keeping your head warm. your jacket also zipped up to your chin, and he couldn’t help but grow increasingly nervous with every passing moment he spent looking at your eager expression. 

it only took kuroo a single semester’s worth of partnerwork for him to grow utterly hopeless around you--and everyone knew it. it was hard for anyone to miss his clumsy demeanour or tinted cheeks around you, so much so it was a miracle that somehow you hadn’t picked up on all the signs. 

fumbling with his hands, tripping over his words, prolonged eye contact; he shrinks when he thinks about how he's reduced to a klutz around you.

“kuroo, hey! i'm glad i was able to catch you! i have these papers from minaho sensei that you missed when you were on your away game.” 

you extended a hand to hand him said papers, slightly crumpled in your freezing grip. he quickly took them from you upon noticing. 

“oh, thank you so much. i don’t know what i would do without—“ 

“ooooooou, kuroo, you sly bastard! you had to have planned that!” 

the two of you both looked in toward the classroom at a disgruntled, shirtless yamamoto, who seemed so distressed you were almost taken aback. kuroo narrowed his eyes.  

“what the hell are you talking abo—-?”

and then the green above his head caught his peripherals, and amidst the cold, kuroo started to sweat. 

the two of you slowly looked up in unison at the mistletoe, the mischief device of kuroo’s own division, gleaming in the sun. you had stepped onto the threshold under the mistletoe, resulting in the two of you now both stuck having to fulfill in a year old tradition. 

truly, it was a miracle you didn’t catch the signs. 

yaku’s eyebrow shot up in satisfaction, fulfilling kuroo's previous position with his arms crossed over his shoulder and leaning against the lockers. “got you.” 

the two of you slowly turn toward one another with wide eyes and flustered expressions. 

truly, it wasn't so much a miracle that kuroo didn’t catch the signs either.

[moscnios]

          ✩༄ diet mountain dew ! | red-haired shanks.

☆ — pairing! . . .  mobster!shanks x bartender!f!reader.

☆ — summary! . . .  as a mob boss’s kid who is sheltered from the underground, there’s only a handful of things your old man wanted you to be aware of. one of those things were men you shouldn’t hang around. number one on the list was him, the one with the red hair, the mobster giving your old man the most trouble. you would never break your promise to your old man, would you?

☆ — cw(s)! . . .  mafia!au.  nsfw.  afab!reader.  ( “cunt” / “core” used to describe genitals among others ) no pronouns used.  reader wears a short dress.  age gap.  reader is implied to be in their early 20s.  sub!reader.  fingering.  oral.  ( f and m receiving )  facefucking.  overstimulation.  piv.  unprotected sex.  shanks calls the reader “angel” and “gorgeous”.  reader calls shanks “red”.  alcohol consumption. not proofread.  MINORS DNI. 

☆ — wc! . . .  3.4k.

☆ — notepad! . . .  i promised someone a shanks smut...i couldn’t stick to the original script so as an apology, i give you mobster!shanks and rival boss’s kid <3 wow! that summary was not good lmaoooo

You shouldn’t!

You can’t!

If they caught you like this! You’d be dead!

The voice in the back of your head grew stronger, and louder with every rough touch, every passionate kiss, every pretty shallow moan, and sigh that escaped from your bruised lips into his mouth. The voice of reason, screaming at you, to stop, to remember the consequences, as your hands found their way into his hair, gently tugging at his dark red locks, pulling him closer, deeper into you. The feeling of his strong chest finally pressed against yours, made you shiver.

You could feel the redhead smile briefly against your lips before finally breaking your kiss. You stared breathlessly at him. His dark, lust-filled eyes stared back at you with want, with need. Before you could catch your breath, he spun you around, entrapping you between his body and the cold bar. You could feel his bulge pressed against your ass.

With a light satisfied hum, you leaned over the bar, your bare cheek touching the cool surface. The redhead had followed suit, letting his broad chest press against your back. His lips grazed the top of your ear. “You look so fucking beautiful bent over this bar, Angel,” He whispered in your ear, sending chills down your spine, “I’m gonna take such good care of you.” The redhead kissed down to your neck that you would be covered in deep purple blotches, come morning. You could feel his smirk on your hot skin. Everything was pointing to this being a bad idea, to him being a bad idea.

There were many titles you had come to know the redhead by since you had become old enough to listen in on the family trade. Listening intently from behind the bar to the mobsters you had come to know as older brothers, sitting around the poker table with a cigar hanging from their mouths and a handful of cards.

The Red Devil. Eyes of Death.

But one stuck out to you the most.

“The bastard you should stay away from”, You remembered your father’s words, with that harsh glare that you and the others had become all too familiar with. You had nervously brushed it off, reassuring your father that you wouldn’t even dream of being in the same room with an enemy of the family, let alone him.

Nobody could be that stupid to just waltz into enemy territory so carelessly, let alone set foot in the speakeasy operated by the boss’ kid! It was suicide! Though you have never seen the things your father and his underlings do to those they call enemies, you heard a few of the gruesome rumors. Just what man would even risk that?

Who else than the fearless redhead himself?

The door to your bar opened and closed, as your back was turned. You could not help but roll your eyes, as you pointed to the clock on the wall across the room, “We’re closed, you know.”

“Aww, you close pretty early for a Saturday night, gorgeous,” An unfamiliar voice reached your ears. You could hear the playful disappointment in his tone. You nearly felt his pout through his words.

Your words did not seem to turn him away. You could hear the heels of his boots, getting closer before stopping altogether. You could hear the stranger plop down into one of the bar stools, making himself all comfortable right after you told him you were closed, “I take it you’re not a night owl then.” He teased.

“And I take it you’re not good at following directions,” You retorted, your back still turned to him, finishing up stocking the bar shelves.

“Something like that.” He laughed.

You were starting to get irritated, “Look. For the last time, we’re closed. We closed almost an hour ago. You can either come back tomorrow or I bring somebody in here to come retrieve you. My folks ain’t too friendly to people who...” You finally turned around, your eyes finally meeting his.

Shanks, the boss of that ragtag group of mobsters from the east side of town. The ragtag group of nobodies pushing themselves onto other families’ territories because they had gotten too big for their own britches, you heard your father say once. They wanted a hand in everyone’s business, by any means necessary. Even if it meant spilling a few pints of blood.

He was a dangerous man, even more so than the men you had known all of your life. And he stumbled his way into your speakeasy out of all of the ones on this side of town. He had to know what he was doing here. There was no way it was just luck.

“Your folks ain’t too friendly to people who do what exactly?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to finish your sentence, “Cat got your tongue?”

There was no amount of front you could put on that would fool him. The way his dark eyes bore into you, he could read you easily. He noticed you swallow shallowly. He almost instantly lost the intimidating aura that surrounded him, a playful one taking its place as he let out a hearty laugh, “I’m just messing with you, Angel.”

Angel.

Running this bar, you thought you heard all the pet names there were to hear. But Angel…felt different, especially coming from his lips. You almost didn’t mind it, but only from him.

You took a good look at him. You had seen pictures of the greedy bastard before. But seeing him in person you realize those photos weren’t doing him any justice.

He was a gorgeous man and by the way he carried himself, you knew that he knew it too. He was confident. He was mature. His rugged look and the aged scars that covered his tanned skin added a nice charm. The top buttons of his button-up were left undone, giving you a nice glimpse at his strong, hairy chest. He took very good care of himself. You wondered if he had done the same on the lower half.

“I don’t mind being gawked at by a pretty thing such as yourself. But I think a deserve a drink if you’re just gonna stand there and eye-fuck me, don’t you think?”

You dropped your eyes to your station. You could feel your body burning. He was vulgar and blunt. Something you weren’t used to in this business. Your father’s high rank often made others scared to even look at you when the boss was around.

No funny ideas about the boss’s kid! But him? He didn’t care. Maybe because he was older than most of these mobsters who worked for your father. Perhaps because he had much more experience under his belt. Whatever it was, it was doing something for you. And you wanted to have a bit of fun.

You fixed the redhead a glass of the strongest whiskey you have. You set the glass down in front of him, “It’s on the house.”

“Oh?”

“As a thank you for giving me something nice to look at,” He watched as your eyes traveled down his chest, before meeting his gaze again.

He couldn’t hold his chuckle, “Cute and flirty. I may have just found the best speakeasy and the sexiest bartender on this side of town. Maybe I’ll come back to see you.”

He sure knew how to make a person feel all giddy. As the drinks kept coming, the flirting continued. You were enjoying his company, his words, his eyes raking over your figure wrapped in that minidress that didn’t leave much to one’s imagination.

“You’re going to drink me out of business. That whiskey was expensive, Red.” You frown, shaking the near-empty bottle, to feel just how empty it was, “I should charge this to your tab.” You set the bottle aside, turning to the buzzed mobster sitting on the other side of the bar. After drinking nearly the entire bottle, he seemed only a little tipsy. Just how often did he drink?

“Aww, don’t be like that, Angel. You had a few swigs too,” He whined.

“But the difference is I own the place. You? You’re here to flirt your way into a few drinks and walk out without paying, huh?” You teased, boldly leaning over the bar top, your face just inches away from the most dangerous man in town. And here you were, welcoming said danger.

Shanks smirked, downing the last corner of the whiskey in his glass, leaning towards you until the tips of your nose had grazed one another’s, “Without paying? What kind of man you take me for? I’ll pay you back tenfold and then some in ways these little boys that run around here can’t. I’ll make you feel like the only one in the world.” His tone had darkened.

“Yeah? What kind of payment are you looking to treat me to, Red?” You played coy.

“Come around the bar and I’ll show you, Angel.”

Which is how you ended up here, bent over the bar with his body pressed against yours, his rough lips trailing down to the base of your neck. You wanted this. You need this. You craved this, you craved him. To hell with the consequences, you needed him.

He pulled away suddenly, straightening himself back up. He wasted no time, flipping up your minidress to reveal your ass, “Such a perfect ass. You wanted me to see you like this, huh? This little fucking dress you got on. If you can even call this little thing a dress.” His hands gently caressed your ass, as he focused on your already-soaked panties, “Never have I seen a dress so short. If you bent over earlier, I’d see everything. But you’d like that wouldn’t you, Angel? You’re already dripping. Slip out of these for me.”

You nodded your head, helping him pull down your drenched panties. You stepped out of them, letting them fall to the floor. You reached for the zipper of your dress next, “The dress too?”

“The dress stays on. Need to fuck you good in this so you remember me every time you put it on.”

You unconsciously squeezed your thighs together at his words, reaching around to capture his lips in a short kiss. He pulled away from your lips, giving your ass a tight squeeze. He placed two fingers on your bottom lip, “Suck. Get them all nice and wet for me.”

You took his digits into your mouth, coating them. Once they were drenched to his liking, he pulled them out of your mouth, replacing them with his lips on yours in a sloppy kiss. He used his foot, to spread your legs further, bringing his drenched digits down to your core. He slid his fingers up and down your entrance, before sliding them inside of you painfully slow, making you moan into his mouth.

He began to pump his fingers into you, pulling away from your lips, “This okay?”

“Better than okay. Your fingers feel really good.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

He latched onto your shoulder, sucking and licking at your skin, as he drove his thick digits in and out of you, curling them. His pace grew faster in response to your moans. He needed to hear more, he wanted you to be loud. He needed to hear just how good he was making you feel, letting all your worries wash away and be replaced with pleasure.

Your body began to wrench underneath him. You were close, so dangerously close. And he knew it. He could feel your walls contracting around his fingers. “Close, Angel?” He said into your shoulder, earning a frantic nod from you.

Very suddenly, his lips parted from your shoulder and he slipped his digits out of you. Before you could whine about the loss of contact, how you were so close, the mobster carefully dropped to his knees, shoving his face into your cunt, burying his hot tongue into you. Finally tasting you, he hummed in delight.

“Fuck!” Your body shuttered, reaching your high on his face. He helped you ride out your first orgasm on his tongue, but he continued to lap at your folds from behind, whispering praises you couldn’t even focus on due to the slight sting of overstimulation washing over your body. You tried to lean away from his mouth, though the mobster had other plans, wrapping his arm around to keep you moving too far. “I’m not finished with you yet. Be a good little barkeep and take everything I give you.”

You gripped tightly onto the edge of the bar, pushing your ass back to meet his tongue, fucking yourself on the muscle. Though you could not see him, from his delighted hums and the way his fingers gripped into the plush of your skin, you knew he was enjoying himself too.

It was not long before the second band of pleasure began to build up inside of you. Feeling you contract around his tongue, his large hand found its way back to yours, intertwining your fingers. You gave his hand a tight squeeze before cumming. Your second orgasm washed over you even more intensely than the first. Your legs had nearly given out, if you weren’t trapped between him and the bar, you would have likely fallen.

He helped you ride out your second orgasm, before letting go of your hand. His hand found the bar to use as a crutch to stand. He used the back of his hand, to wipe the glistening arousal still left on his chin, “You may taste much better than the whiskey. But maybe I need another taste to compare the two.”

After catching your breath, you slowly turned around to face him. You watched the redhead reach for the whiskey bottle, taking the last swig. He looked between you and the empty bottle, “I was correct, you taste better.”

You roll your eyes. “Even after all that, you’re still adding to your tab.”

“I can pay it off now, don’t you think?” He pulled you into a passionate kiss, leaving your hands pressed onto his chest. Everything about him was intoxicating. He was addicting. You just could not get enough of him.

Your hands had found themselves on the buttons of his shirt, undoing the rest of them. He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, helping you slip his shirt off. You fiddled with the button and zipper of his trousers, undoing them before palming his bulge. He sighed softly, his dark eyes never left yours. “If you didn’t owe me for the whiskey maybe I’d return the favor this time,” You teased.

“Oh, how mean,” He chuckled, “You’ll have plenty of chances to return the favor later.”

“Oh? I will?”

“Absolutely,” He placed a peck on the tip of your nose, sealing his promise. “Spin around again for me.” You spun around in his warm hold, finding yourself bent over the bar for him again. You flipped up your dress this time. Though a piece of you wanted to see him, all of him, you sure didn’t mind being bent over like this, with nowhere to run, the man you shouldn’t be with pinning you down. It was all just such a rush.

Shanks pulled his trousers down just enough to free his hardened cock. He suddenly guided his length along your folds, using your arousal as lubricant. The action made you jolt in surprise. Against your entrance, you could feel how thick he was. You could even feel the prominent veins running down his shaft.

“You feel me, Angel? What you do to me? Huh?” He purred lowly. You hummed in response, eagerly anticipating feeling him deep inside of you. Shanks lined his length up with your entrance, guiding his length into your dripping core. You both let out a drawn-out moan as he bottomed out. The stretch of his cock inside of you was delicious. You’ve never felt so full.

The redhead leaned down, kissing up from your shoulder to your neck, “Fuck, you feel better than I imagined. I should just whisk you away after this.”

You grinned, tossing your head to the side to give him more access to your neck, “I wouldn’t mind for a day.”

“All I get is one day?”

“Fuck me right and I’ll consider adding a second.”

“Such a fucking tease,” He whispered, kissing your lips as he began to rock his hips into yours. He rolled out, leaving the tip before sinking back into your cunt, moaning against your lips. He set a slow but deep pace into you, as he kissed you, swallowing every moan and whimper you were giving him.

His pace gradually grew. His thrusts had grown fast and rough. He let go of your lips, groaning a hushed fuck into your shoulder. Your speakeasy was filled with the sound of his hips pounding your ass into the bar, your moans, and his low curses and praises of you.

“You’re taking me so well. So fucking well,” He praised. His hand moved from its place on your hip, down to your clit to rub rapid, messy circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. He didn’t miss the way you shivered at the sensation. The way you gripped tighter onto the bar, the way your eyes had wired shut. “My pretty angel.”

He leaned close to your ear, “You like being fucked like this? Huh? Knowing anyone could just walk in and see you like this? To see you for what you truly are? I need your words, gorgeous.”

“YES! I LOVE IT, SHANKS!”

“Oh, so you can say my name. How cute.” He could feel your walls start to contract again. A cocky grin appeared on his features, “You gonna cum again, Angel?”

“YES! FUCK YES!”

“Cum.” He grunted into your ear, sending you over the edge once more. You shuttered underneath him with a loud cry of his name, coating his cock in your juices. Your orgasm had nearly brought him to his end. He shut his eyes tightly, as he focused on hitting that high. His thrusts were sloppy and uneven, he was so close, “I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?”

“My mouth.”

“Yeah?”

The redhead pulled out, stroking his cock, as he watched you spin around and drop to your knees. You swatted away his hand, replacing it with yours, as you took him as deep as you could into your mouth.

“FUCK!” He shivered under your touch, your hot mouth, shooting ropes of his warm cum down your throat. His hand found its way to the back of your head, pushing you further onto his cock, as he gently thrusted into your mouth to ride out his orgasm. After a deep sigh and a hearty laugh, he pulled his length out of your mouth. “Get your pretty ass up here.”

You climbed back up to your somewhat still wobbling feet, nearly falling into him, as he crashed his lips onto yours. You were the one to pull away this time, “You should get outta here, Red. I don’t want my folks to see you here.”

“You kicking me to the curb like that? I’m hurt,” He pouted, “Aw come on, the night is still young. We can do whatever you like. Hit up another bar, go for a nice drive through town…” He trailed off, reaching for the hem of your dress, “…maybe take this thing off back at my place. We can do whatever your little heart desires. Just be my angel.”

“You want me to be your angel for the night?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, my angel for a lifetime,” He clarified, stepping behind you, peppering your neck in open-mouthed kisses. You tried your hardest to act uninterested. You folded your arms across your chest, crossed your legs, and pretended to be annoyed at his affections.

A one-night stand was one thing, but being with him was something different. There was no turning back then. There was no telling what your folks would do if they found it, even if they found out about him being here. Could you risk it? Would you risk it?

He was no good for you. But it made you desire him even more. Just...just this once. Just...him. You needed to have him.

What the family didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, right?

© MANGEKYUOU — do not copy, repost, or translate my works.

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is a coffee shop au!

(596 words.)

Sirius Black is a heartbreaker.

James watches his best friend carefully, on date after date, leaving a string of broken hearts behind him. For a while, he thinks Sirius is just really quite picky, waiting for Mr Right, until James asks him how his last date went, and he just shrugs and tells him that he's just fucking around. Yeah, it frustrates him to no end, but what can he do? He wouldn't be as bothered if he didn't know Sirius as well as he does. He remembers Sirius back when they were in boarding school, talking about getting married one day, mentioning his future husband whenever he got the chance. It's just weird to see him throw all of that out the window.

Still, it's not like James can say anything. Sirius brushes him off whenever he tries.

He even stops talking about his dates altogether.

Whether it's because James kept pushing, or because Lily hates hearing it, he doesn't know. All he knows is that Sirius is staying strangely quiet about his love life. He can't push anymore, though. There's no point, it gets him nowhere.

"Afternoon, Remus!" James says brightly, shoving the door to his favourite coffee shop open and grinning at the barista. Remus matches his smile, before arching a wry eyebrow.

"Where've you been? Almost thought I'd leave without telling you my news!" Remus says, already wordlessly having tapped James' order into the till and getting started on it while he pays.

"Well, I'm here now! Out with it!"

He can see Remus smiling in the reflection of the coffee machine, which only piques James' curiosity. Finally, Remus turns with a to go cup, setting it on the glass counter and promptly resting his elbows behind it.

"I think I'm in love," he says simply, with a grin. "Actually, that's a lie. I'm definitely in love."

"Remus! That's amazing!" James says happily, grabbing his drink and beaming at his favourite barista. "Really, that's brilliant! Didn't you say you were off, soon? I need to hear all about this lucky person!"

"Oh, he's, er... he's actually taking me out again, today. He's picking me up in a few." Remus pulls his apron off, James following him across the length of the counter while he grabs his bag and waves goodbye to Marlene.

"I'm so happy for you, Remus. You deserve nothing but the best."

"Sap," Remus says with a smile, nudging his regular. Well, his friend now. "Oh, he's here!" He watches as Remus' face brightens, before following his movement with his head as Remus runs right over to-

"Sirius!" Remus calls, and Sirius smiles, arm immediately winding around Remus' waist and pulling him into a kiss.

Oh, fuck.

James told himself he wasn't going to intervene with Sirius' love life, but... it's Remus. Remus, who just told James that he's in love. He knows Sirius' track record, and he can't let Remus get hurt like that. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, to pull Sirius aside and give him a very firm warning, something makes him falter.

Namely, Sirius looking at Remus like he hung the stars in the sky.

Huh.

The way he looks at Remus is startlingly similar to the way he looked at his first major crush, the one he claimed to have fallen in love with. It's enough for James, to be honest. They're in their own world, like they're the only real beings in the universe. Sirius hasn't even noticed James yet, and that's really saying something.

Maybe he is just really bloody picky.

[winterrrnight]

rafe cameron loves to get lost in you. your velvety skin, your sweet as honey taste, your invigorating essence, your gentle feel… he gets lost in it. lost in such a way that he feels his mind getting dizzy with each passing second in close vicinity of you, and he just can’t get enough of you. lost in such a way that he can’t help his lips trace every inch of your skin, letting your taste linger on his lips. lost in such a way that he can’t help but deeply inhale your essence, wanting it to completely engross his mind. lost in such a way that he can’t ever help himself from touching you in any way possible, letting his fingers brush past your hands, your cheeks, your collarbone — just to feel your satiny skin under his fingertips. lost in such a way that each time he closes his eyes, all he can think of is you; your feel, your presence, your touch; that’s all that is ever on his mind. and he’s not complaining. why? cause he loves to get lost in you, and will do it any second of any day. <3

[k-nayee]

Saints and Sinners Devil All The Time

wc: 3.9k a/n: Song Inspiration: Take Me To Church by Hozier; recommend you listen while reading!!

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The heat clung to Arvin like a second skin, the late afternoon sun turning the school parking lot into a sweltering wasteland.

He stood next to his truck with a cigarette hanging from his lips, the brim of his cap casting a shadow over his eyes as he waited for Lenora—something he did every day, watching the doors of the school for her figure to appear.

His patience was wearing thin, the relentless humidity weighing on him, but he didn’t dare leave without her.

Not here. Not in this town.

His eyes scanned the yard, and that’s when he saw it: Lenora, standing off to the side, clutching her books like a shield.

She was surrounded by a trio of girls, their voices sharp and mean, cutting thick through the hot air.

Arvin could see the way she shrunk, trying to make herself smaller as their words slicing into her without mercy.

A surge of protectiveness flared—the same way he always did when someone threatened her,

He flicked his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with a curse under his breath.

Just as he was about to intervene when you appeared, striding through the dust and heat with the kind of confidence that turned heads and stopped conversations.

You walked right into the middle of the scene unbothered by the sneers and whispers thrown your way.

“Didn’t think she’d need a slut to protect her,” the leader of the group spat, her posse snickering behind her.

You didn’t even flinch. Cool as ever, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a effortless precision that had Arvin mesmerized.

“Slut, huh?” you echoed. There was something almost playful in your tone, like you were amused by her attempt to insult you. “Ain’t that what your boyfriend calls me when I see him?”

The girl’s sneer faltered, her eyes narrowing as she tried to hold her ground. “Wha...what’re you talkin’ about?”

"Your name’s Gina, right?" you asked, exhaling smoke into the humid air.

Gina stiffened, sensing the shift in conversation. "Yeah, why?"

You shrugged, flicking ash off your cigarette and giving her a once-over that made her bristle. "Just something your boyfriend mentioned."

Gina blinked, her face twitching with confusion. "And what the hell's that supposed to mean?!"

"You know you're cuter than I expected," ignoring her question you blew smoke into her face, making her take a step back. "Then again, don’t remember much he said when his face was buried between my legs."

The other girls gasped as the color drained from Gina’s face. She opened her mouth, but she struggled to find the words in a sputtering rage.

Arvin, caught between surprise and amusement, couldn’t stop the choked chuckle that escaped his throat.

His sudden sound made everyone turn, including you.

Your eyes landed on Arvin, still smirking as if you’d known he was watching the whole time.

Gina, humiliated and seething, took the chance to storm off with her friends trailing behind her.

"You...you disgusting WHORE!" she screeched over her shoulder, her voice cracking in anger.

You didn’t miss a beat. “Funny, that’s not what your boyfriend was saying,” you called after her, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Ate me up quicker than a sundae in July!”

Arvin shook his head in disbelief as the trio disappeared from sight, trying (and failing) to suppress his grin.

He glanced back toward you and Lenora, who was still clutching her books like a lifeline, her face flushed with embarrassment.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Lenora murmured, her voice soft, full of gratitude but laced with worry. “People already—"

"—talk about me?" you cut in with a shrug, flicking the cigarette butt to the ground and crushing it beneath your boot.

“Don't worry 'bout it Bible Thumper.” Your tone was playful, the nickname clearly something affectionate between you and her.

You lift your chin, gesturing toward Arvin’s truck. "Looks like your ride’s here."

Lenora gave you a small smile, casting a final glance at the ground as she shuffled over to the truck.

Arvin hadn’t moved though. He was still standing there, watching you.

You were dressed in a tight, low-cut top and a short skirt that hugged your curves—clothing considered vulgar by small-town southern standards, especially for 1965.

The bright red bandana you had tied in your hair made you look even more rebellious, standing out like a beacon among the pastel dresses and modest cardigans the other girls wore.

Then there was the fact your brown skin was a rarity in Knockemstiff, Ohio. The town wasn’t overtly racist, but had an undercurrent of prejudice was always lingering like smoke in the air.

You raise an eyebrow at him, catching him staring. "Got a problem with your vision church boy?"

Arvin flushed, realizing he’d been caught.

"No, uh... no problem," he muttered, fumbling with the brim of his cap before awkwardly tipping it in your direction and stumbling back toward the truck.

Lenora was already in the passenger seat, her wide eyes watching the exchange with mild curiosity.

He shot you a final glance before getting behind the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.

As the truck rumbled to life Arvin couldn’t help but steal one last look at you in the rearview mirror.

You were leaning against the side of the building with another lit cigarette, your form growing smaller as the truck rolled away.

The road stretched out in front of him but his mind lingered behind.

It wasn’t until a few miles down the road did Arvin work up the nerve to ask, “That girl...back there. She, uh...you know her?”

Lenora didn’t look up, instead trained on the frayed strap of her bag that she was nervously fidgeting with.

“Her name’s ____,” she said, her voice soft with fondness. “She’s been helpin’ me. You know, with the girls at school.”

Arvin frowned, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Helpin’ you? Didn’t seem like the kind of person who—”

Lenora snapped her head towards him, eyes fierce. “You don’t know her, Arvin.”

“She’s good!” She continued, more certain, like she needed to make it clear before he could form any more judgments. “She’s not what people think.”

Arvin raised an eyebrow, giving Lenora a sidelong glance. He wanted to believe her, but it didn’t add up—not with what he’d heard, not with what he’d seen of you.

“Doesn’t even come to church,” he tries.

Lenora shrug, facing the window. “Doesn’t make her bad Arvin. Jesus loved Mary Magdalene, didn’t he?”

The statement hit him harder than he expected. He wasn’t sure why, but the comparison lingered.

Lenora, despite being the town’s purest soul, seemed to see something in you that no one else did.

“Mary Magdalene,” he muttered, as if testing the words on his tongue.

“Mary was a sinner, wasn’t she? A woman with a reputation. Jesus showed her love and forgiveness. He saw her for who she really was, not what people thought of her.” She paused, her eyes back on her lap. “I think ____ is a lot like that.”

Arvin fell silent. He had grown up hearing stories of redemption, how Jesus saw past sins to the heart beneath.

It was one thing to hear those stories in church—to recite scripture and praise, but to apply it to someone like you? Could it be that simple?

He thought about the way you had stood in that parking lot and how you defended Lenora without hesitation.

You did cared about the insults thrown. You didn't falter when they spat the word slut in your face.

Then there was Lenora, tucked behind you, her wide-eyed innocence protected by someone the town swore was trouble.

Arvin didn’t know what to think. Part of him—the part raised under his grandmother’s strict moral code—wanted to reject it, to cling to the safety of what he’d always been taught.

People like you with a reputation weren’t to be trusted. They were trouble. They’d drag you into the dirt with them if you weren’t careful.

But another part of him couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The way you had looked at him, with that teasing smile like you knew something he didn’t. Like you weren’t afraid of him, or the town, or anything.

There was something so free about you, so untouchable...and it was dangerous.

It stirred something deep in him, something that had nothing to do with right or wrong.

“I don’t know,” he muttered finally, more to himself than to Lenora. “Just seems like the kind of person you shouldn’t be hangin’ around with.”

Lenora’s head snapped up at that. “I mean what would Grandma Emma say?” he added quickly, trying to justify his hesitation.

He didn’t want to sound like he was being overprotective, but the thought of Lenora getting caught up in your world—it didn’t sit right.

“She knows,” Lenora said, her voice surprisingly firm. “She doesn’t like it, but... she lets me. Because she knows that ____ is kind. She helped me, Arvin. No one else stood up for me the way she did.”

Now that stopped him cold.

If Grandma Emma with all her devoutness and strict adherence to Christian values could allow Lenora to be around you, then maybe...maybe there was more to you than what he thought.

Arvin glanced at Lenora then back at the road. The thought gnawed at him, your image lingering in the back of his mind like a half-formed idea he couldn’t quite grasp.

He was caught between two worlds—his grandmother’s moral code and the inexplicable draw you had over him.

Temptation, that’s what it was. Plain and simple.

It didn’t feel simple. It felt heavy, he wasn’t used to feeling that pull,

But maybe Lenora was right. Maybe, just like Mary Magdalene, you were more than what people said.

Maybe he’d been too quick to judge.

The drive home was quieter than usual, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The weeks that followed your encounter with Arvin in the parking lot slipped by slowly, each day dragging with the heavy heat of summer.

You had begun to linger in his thoughts, creeping into his mind in the quiet moments when he least expected it.

He noticed you more now. At first, it was accidental—a glance here or there when he’d pick up Lenora from school or drive through town.

Sometimes you’d offer him a nod, a faint smirk playing at the corner of your lips as if you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

You didn��t go to church, not like the rest of them.

Every Sunday without fail he'd catch you: leaning casually against the brick wall near the chapel as you waited for service to end.

It was one Sunday, Arvin stood with Lenora under the oak tree by the steps, half-listening to her talk about something from the sermon.

His eyes drifted across the street, scanning the quiet neighborhood out of habit—and there you were.

The sun caught the edge of your dress, and for a second, you looked like something out of place. Not of this town, not of its rules or restrictions.

Like you were from another world entirely.

Without thinking, his gaze lingered too long, and you caught him. Your eyes locked onto his, and for a split second, Arvin felt that strange tightening in his chest.

Embarrassment crawled up his throat, but you didn’t look away. Instead you smiled—the corners of your lips curling up as if you’d expected him to be watching.

He swallowed hard, quickly glancing back to Lenora who was still talking, completely unaware of the silent exchange.

He tried to brush it off—told himself it didn’t mean anything. But the feeling of being seen by you, noticed in that way, was something new.

The feeling stayed with him long after you were gone.

In the weeks that followed he caught himself looking for you more often. He’d spot you from a distance, sometimes walking by the side of the road as he drove by in his truck.

Your posture was always casual, unbothered. Your dress would sway with your movements, your hips rolling in a way that defied everything about this small, stifling town.

There was nothing modest or demure about you, and Arvin couldn’t stop looking.

And whenever you catch him staring, that same smirk tugged at your lips before you’d nod in acknowledgment.

At night, when the house was quiet and everyone was long asleep, Arvin would lie awake, your image burning in his mind.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to think about you.

His grandmother’s sermons about temptation played on a loop in his head, warnings about sin and damnation ringing out in her voice.

But you weren’t just a temptation; you were kind to Lenora, protective even. Arvin had seen it, the way you stood by her side without expecting anything in return.

People called you all kinds of names, painted you as something to be avoided, but none of that matched the way you were with her. It didn’t make sense.

As for Lenora, she spoke more often of you now. She adores you—admire even. That always struck Arvin as odd.

There were days when Lenora would beg you to join her in the woods, sitting under the trees while she read aloud from her Bible.

You were nothing like the type of person he imagined Lenora would fall in line with, but then again, Lenora was far more forgiving than anyone in Knockemstiff.

She defended you like she had something to prove, telling him how you’d been helping her and that people didn’t know the real you.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The afternoon sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky as you and Lenora walked toward the Russell home.

You’d just finished leaving the woods, her familiar chatter filling the silence between you.

Lenora (ever the sweetheart), had invited you in, mentioning that it was Arvin’s birthday and they were planning a small dinner to celebrate.

Knowing the town’s judgment followed you wherever you went, especially in public spaces like the Russell home, you turn it down.

It wasn't until you saw Lenora’s broken expression did you hesitate. Before you knew it, you were walking up the steps with her.

You didn't plan on staying long, just until dinner started.

The idea of sitting down for a family meal, especially at the Russell home, wasn’t exactly something you were comfortable with.

As soon as you stepped inside, the scent of warm bread and mixing chatter of the Russell family greeted you.

Grandma Emma was in the kitchen, her back straight as she prepared dinner. She gave you a brief, suspicious glance when you entered with Lenora.

Earskell seemed to take an immediate liking to you. He was lounging in his chair by the living room window with a grin spread across his face, looking entirely too relaxed.

Arvin stood near the doorway. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, clearly caught off guard by your presence.

For a moment, the room froze. Your eyes met his and the tension was immediate.

You hadn’t been this close to him since that day at the school, and it was clear he hadn’t expected you here—certainly not for something as intimate as a family dinner.

His gaze flickered over you. It was more modest than usual, a subtle nod to Emma’s old-fashioned ways.

With a black knee-length skirt, your light-colored blouse clung to your shoulders, the neckline dipping low enough to be daring in this town.

Arvin’s eyes traced the curve of your collarbone, his throat tightening at the sight.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Arvin muttered, low voice barely hiding the nervous tint beneath it.

You gave him a slow teasing smile, your eyes glinting with amusement as you stepped forward.

“Didn’t expect to be here either. Hope ya don't mind birthday boy,” you replied, the words rolling off your tongue with a soft lilt that made Arvin shift on his feet.

Earskell watched with a grin, clearly enjoying every second of the interaction.

Blissfully unaware of the tension swirling around the room, Leanora hurried back to the kitchen when Grandma Emma called for her, leaving you and Earskell alone with Arvin.

“Well, well, well. If it ain't miss ____." Earskell drawled, his voice carrying a hint of Southern charm laced with mischief. “Didn’t think we’d have such fine company tonight. Sure do brighten up the place.”

You grinned at that, makin your way to sit on the couch next to his chair, arms casually crossed. “You flatterin’ me old man?”

Earskell barked a laugh, eyes twinkling. “Just callin’ it like I see it. Ain’t often we get someone who can keep up with me.”

“You ain’t wrong about that,” you shot back, your voice low and teasing, the crassness in your tone catching Lenora by surprise as she returned from the kitchen. “Though I’m not sure your nephew here knows what to make of it.”

Arvin tensed visibly, his ears burning red at the way the conversation seemed to be shifting toward him.

He stayed quiet most of the time, barely able to meet your gaze. And now, with his uncle egging you on, he felt like a rabbit caught in a trap.

“Boy’s always been a quiet one,” Earskell said, waving a hand dismissively. “But I reckon he’ll come around, especially with someone like you lightin’ up the room.”

Arvin shot his uncle a sharp look, his face flushing even deeper. “Earskell,” he muttered, warning in his tone.

“Ain’t no need to be shy, boy,” he teased, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “Not every day a pretty girl walks through that door, is it?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, giving Arvin a sideways glance, watching him squirm. He was trying so hard to keep his cool, but the flush on his neck and the way his hands fidgeted gave him away.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” you say to him before giving a flutter of your lashes. “Unless you ask.”

Arvin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, the tension in the room thickening for just a moment.

He couldn’t bring himself to respond, instead opting to drop into his chair at the far end of the couch, avoiding your gaze entirely.

The older man didn’t miss a beat, clearly delighted by your banter.

“Now don’t go thinkin’ you can outtalk me, girl,” Earskell said, leaning forward in his chair with a grin. “I’ve got years of experience on ya.”

“I ain’t scared of a little experience,” you replied with a smirk, flicking your eyes over to Arvin long enough to catch him glancing away.

He was practically squirming now, clearly unsure of how to handle the banter and the easy way you seemed to command the room despite barely trying.

You stood after a while, brushing your hands off on your dress and glancing toward the kitchen. “I should get goin’ before dinner’s on. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Earskell laughed, waving a hand. “You’re always welcome here, girl. Don’t let these sour faces fool ya.”

Grandma Emma emerged from the kitchen just in time, wiping her hands on a towel and nodding toward you. “You’re welcome back anytime.”

You gave her a nod, offering a respectful smile despite the subtle weight of judgment that always seemed to hang around Emma.

She wasn’t cruel, not like the others in town, but she was set in her ways—rigid in her moral code.

You appreciated her decency, even if it was accompanied by a thin veil of disapproval.

Earskell leaned back in his chair, grinning as he turned toward Arvin to nudge him. “Why don’t you walk her out boy? Least you can do, seein’ as how she graced us with her presence.”

Arvin flushed at the suggestion, his hands immediately coming out of his pockets as he looked between you and his uncle.

“Uh... sure,” he muttered, the nervousness thick in his voice.

He rose from his seat and awkwardly motion for you to follow him to the door. The walk was short, but every step seemed to stretch out painfully for Arvin.

He could feel your presence next to him, the  faint scent of cigarette smoke and wildflowers clinging to the air.

It was intoxicating, and he cursed the way his skin tingled when your arm brushed lightly against his.

At the door, you turned to face him, your expression softening just a little.

The usual teasing glint in your eyes was still there, but something else had crept—something more intimate, more dangerous.

“Happy birthday,” you say quietly, your voice softer now, as if you didn’t want the rest of the house to hear.

Before he could respond you reach into your bag and pull out a small card, pressing it into his hand.

Your fingers brushed his as you passed it over, the contact sending a jolt through his body.

He stared down at the card, blinking as his mind scrambled to catch up. “What’s this?”

“Just a little somethin’ for later,” you murmured, your eyes locking with his for a heartbeat too long. “Don’t forget to read it.”

Giving him one last smile, you turn and walk out into the fading evening light.

Arvin stood frozen at the door, watching as you disappeared down the dirt road. He could still feel the ghost of your touch on his skin, the weight of the card heavy in his hand.

His heart was pounding, the familiar pull of temptation gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he glanced down at the card.

His name was written across the front in your neat handwriting. And when he flipped it over, his breath caught in his throat:

Meet me at the abandoned barn by the cornfield.

His mind raced, the invitation clear—undeniable. His heart thudded in his chest, and a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him of all the reasons he shouldn’t go.

All the reasons this was dangerous, reckless. His fingers tightened around the card, and for a brief moment he wondered what the hell he was doing.

But he knew, deep down, that he’d be there.

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silver-blue glow over the fields.

Arvin could hear the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears as he made his way down the narrow dirt path toward the barn, the folded card tucked tightly into his jacket pocket.

He’d read it at least a dozen times since you handed it to him, each glance sparking a new wave of heat that crawled up his spine. 

He should’ve stayed home. He knew that. He’d spent the last few hours after dinner sitting on the porch, wrestling with himself.

When he reached the barn door he stopped just outside.

His grandmother’s warnings about temptation played on repeat in his mind, endless sermons about purity and righteousness and the consequences that came to those who strayed.

It wasn’t just her voice he heard; it was the town’s, too—the collective judgment of the people he’d known his whole life.

They wouldn’t hesitate to condemn him, to call him a fool for even thinking about following you here.

Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about you

The way you’d looked at him when you handed him the card, the softness in your voice when you wished him a happy birthday.

The memory of it made his heart race and he hated how much he wanted more of that feeling. More of you.

His fingers nervously twitched at his sides as he took a breath, steeling himself before finally stepping inside.

You were already there, waiting for him.

[feroluce]

For reasons to be expanded upon at a later date (because I love the little bits about Boothill and possible paranoia/betrayal canon gives us so very dearly HNGH) I think Boothill like... He won't let himself fall into disrepair or anything of course, but he reeeeeeeeeeally does not like letting other people poke around at his body. It's a necessary evil to him. He does whatever maintenance and repairs he can himself. He started out with a massive knowledge deficit, simply because he didn't really have any exposure to that kind of technology until he left Aeragan-Epharshal, but he's taught himself a lot since then, he worked really hard at it!

Anyway, the point being, Boothill generally isn't super trusting of people.

But I think he would come to make an exception for Himeko, since he trusts Dan Heng a lot, and Himeko is one of Dan Heng's once-in-a-lifetime dearly beloved companions.

Himeko is so unflappable, I don't think she would even bat an eye about anything he throws at her, either. Like she enters the Parlor Car one morning (she's always the first one up) and Boothill is already there, waiting for her.

"Mornin', Madam Navigator."

"Good morning, Mr. Boothill."

And despite the fact that he blatantly broke into the Express (Pom-Pom is NOT happy about this JDKSAJDSKL), Boothill tips his hat, greets her politely, and is nothing but respectful when he says he has a favor to ask of her. Except it won't stay a favor long, of course- he has every intention of paying it back.

Himeko never agrees to things blindly, but she does bring up that all the knowledge Boothill contributed during the Charmony Festival was essential to preventing the universe from being pulled into Ena's Dream. And they were able to hold onto the Jade Abacus because Boothill used Tiernan's burial relic to summon the Galaxy Rangers instead. The Astral Express owes him a debt of gratitude, and besides, he's a friend of Dan Heng's. Of course she'll try to help him.

Boothill fidgets a bit, quickly brushes off the thanks, and tells Himeko he's having a problem with error codes. He keeps getting the same one, seemingly at random times, but the darn thing has no obvious cause. Dan Heng mentioned Himeko had been the one to rebuild the Astral Express. He knows it ain't the same, but it's not like he's askin' for any major repairs or nothin'. He was wonderin' if she could just take a look, maybe offer him some insight, since she seems to be somethin' of a mechanical wonder.

So Himeko walks him back to a another car, where she goes to tinker with machines without them crowding her bedroom. It's all neatly laid out and organized, and it only takes a second for Himeko to locate some specific device with a long cord. Instead of plugging it in herself, she holds the end of it out to him, like an offer rather than a demand, and Boothill visibly relaxes a bit. He still eyes it just a little warily for a second, but he accepts and plugs it into the port on his side.

Himeko pulls up the list of all recent errors, and they really are all the same. Boothill has had multiple temperature alarms over the past couple of weeks since the Charmony Festival, and they know it's not the environment, because Penacony is mostly dreamscape and kept mild year-round. The long-forgotten natural deserts are too far away.

Boothill is staring from the corner of his one good eye, so Himeko turns the hologram to let him see what she's doing easier. They don't appear to be false alarms. His internal temperature spikes and then slowly lowers again, high enough that if it lasted it would eventually cause damage.

One option is for her to start rooting through personal data, figuring out what he was doing at the time of each code, and tracing cause and correlation.

Instead, Himeko reads out the timestamps, and asks Boothill if he minds sharing what was happening around him when it occured.

Two weeks ago: He and Dan Heng went to explore Dreamflux Reef and found a bar- nice place, good atmosphere. Woman runnin’ it was a doll. Boothill left fer not even two minutes to get them drinks (Dan Heng knows like nothin’ about liquor, Madam Navigator, can you believe this guy) and when he came back, someone had already stolen his seat and was hittin’ on Dan Heng! Dan Heng didn't even care, just shooed ‘em off. Boothill laughed and said not to let him get in his way if he wanted to meet someone. Dan Heng looked at him like he'd grown a second head. Why would he want to leave with someone else, when he came here to be with Boothill?

Twelve days ago: While laying low- er, just rustlin’ up some grub- in the Moment of Blue, Boothill passed Dan Heng with March and Caelus playin’ on the beach, buildin’ sandcastles and the like. When he passed by again almost two hours later, they were still out there, with Dan Heng pullin’ March through the water on her inner tube and Caelus hangin’ off the back of it. He swam so fast! You'd think he was part water snake or somethin’. He looked happier ‘n a cat in a sunbeam… He has a nice smile, doesn't he?

Eleven days ago: Boothill was killin’ time in Dreamflux Reef when he turned the corner down a shady alley and saw Dan Heng, surrounded by three men demandin’ “protection money.” None of ‘em stood a chance, they were all on the ground before Boothill even blinked! So cool! Boothill wants to see that spear of his closeup- Anyway, Dan Heng stepped on one of ‘em on his way out, hahaha! Boothill stepped on the same guy a second time as he hurried to catch up.

Eight days ago: Here on the Express, actually. Boothill had mentioned bein’ curious about the archives, and Dan Heng personally invited him.

(“I remember that day, I saw you in the hall.” “Was there any problem with the heating that day?” “No, none. I don't think the temperature has anything to do with these error codes. I have a different theory, keep going.” “If ya say so.”)

Boothill was fascinated by an entry on aeons, and from a single question he asked about Lan, the two of ‘em ended up talkin’ fer hours. About aeons and Paths and Emanators, Acheron and Self-Annihilators, the Sea of Nihility, Tiernan, the Nameless and the Galaxy Rangers, their burial relics and their customs. Dan Heng finally just started writin’ and editin’ the entries in real time, with Boothill pointin’ things out and tellin’ him what to add in. They were at it so late that Boothill ended up sleepin' on a couch in one of the cars.

He'd figured there had to be something to make Dan Heng chatty- he'd caught just a glimpse of it that first night they met, sittin’ at the bar in the Reverie together. He'll have to ask about the archives more often, if it gets him all revved up like that.

One week ago: After that night of energetic discussion, Dan Heng was apparently hyped up, because after he'd downed some of Himeko's coffee (“You had some too, right? What did you think of it?” “It was great, even better'n chewin’ bullets!” "Thank you! That was my newest brew, I can't wait for everyone else to try it.") he actually asked Boothill to go hunting with him. Boothill asked who their target was, and was surprised when Dan Heng pulled out photos that looked like they were from March's camera, of all things, instead of a bounty or wanted poster.

And as he sat there, studying these pictures, Dan Heng explained that he wanted to hunt down these specific memory zone memes to record them into the archives. Planets with so much memoria are a rarity, especially with the Stellaron's activity thrown into the mix, which has surely affected the local “wildlife.” He might not get another opportunity like this for a long time. And Boothill had talked last night about his extensive expertise in tracking and hunting, so he should have plenty to offer here, Dan Heng would like to learn from his experience and see how he does things!

And oh, Madam Navigator, by the time Dan Heng was done speakin', his eyes were practically sparklin'! Just lit up like the sun! Boothill could scarcely believe it! The two of them couldn't even wait another day, they set out that very morning. It had been a long, long while since Boothill had tracked someone- er, somethin’- without the intent to capture or kill. It was…actually really nice. Nostalgic, but in a good way. It might even have been his favorite day on Penacony…so…far…

Boothill trails off as a couple of realizations crash into him. All the temperature alarms he's spoken about thus far- they've all happened in the company of Dan Heng. And now that he's thinking about it, he's pretty sure even the ones he hasn't yet talked about were with him, too. Dan Heng has been responsible for all of his error codes, every. single. one.

The screen in front of Himeko suddenly refreshes to the top of the list, displaying a new notification for the current time. Alert! Core temperature above normal range.

Himeko's knowing smile is sly as a snake.

Wwwwwelp, would ya look at the time, Boothill has some errands to meet, people to run, y’know how it is, he should really get goin'-

“Oh, Mr. Boothill? About that favor.” And Boothill jolts to a stop in the doorway because fudge, he can't just leave without hearing her out. He'd given his word. He has no problem running out on someone he thinks deserves it, but Himeko really had been kind to him to try and help him out. Her voice is just as knowing as her smile, Boothill can't turn around to look at her, or else he knows he won't be able to disguise the sound of his cooling fans kicking on.

“Don't make Dan Heng wait too long, ok~?”

“Y-Yes, ma'am.”

[itsgrimeytime]

When you need to be held... || Rick Grimes (TWD)

It wasn't long before the lamp by his bedside turned on -enveloping just a corner of the room in a yellow gaze, and blue eyes fixated on you.

"Hey," you whispered, in the dark of the bedroom -it wasn't yours, and you kind of felt like you were intruding but... you didn't know where else to go.

"Hey," suddenly, he seemed more awake, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and sitting up -concern furrowing his eyebrows together. The blanket (a white duvet) fell below his chest, and you saw the surge of skin there and felt somehow even more embarrassed, "-everythin' alright?"

You opened your mouth to respond, eager to explain yourself -instead, your eyes flickered to the window where the night sky was beginning to light up and guilt grounded your words to a halt.

"This is so stupid. Look, I'm sorry I'll-"

Rick was quick to cut you off, the gruff nature of his voice only exaggerating with the sleep slur, "No, no, it's not. I can... I can tell it's not. You wouldn't be here if it was."

You pursed your lips, the weight of your shoulders heavy as you stood in the doorway -hesitating, "I don't... Are you sure?"

"I wanna know," he was fully sat up now, awake and aware, "-if you wanna tell me."

"There's nothing to tell, I just... Shit-" you were rambling, your face turning a damning shade of crimson -afraid to voice what exactly you came here looking for.

It wasn't like it was unfounded, you and Rick had this... thing. You were dancing around it -letting him do things at his pace, and it was slow. Not that you minded, and normally, you'd be fine. It was just dawning on you that maybe it wasn't the same for him, maybe the slowness was a sign all on its own. Your thoughts had only spiraled from there. But this night... you'd taken a leap.

"Y/N, baby," he spoke (that was new), rubbing at his tired eyes with a sort of grin that sent butterflies to your stomach, "-I can't help if ya don't tell me what's wrong."

And without warning, it bubbled out of your throat -open and vulnerable, "I'm just lonely."

His look from that wasn't one you could read, everything was still new between you two after all. And the surge in your stomach of anxiety at his silence wasn't exactly helping; still, you waited, almost expecting him to quickly ignore what you'd said without so much as another thought.

"I'm sorry," you continued -before you could think much of it, "-I just... It's stupid, but I was just thinking if I'd ever been held. Like if anyone had, you know, held my hand, or cared for me in a way that didn't need words. It's been so long and I just thought- Well, I assumed which isn't fair to you-"

"Sweetheart," he was whispering now, the low tone fitting for the intimateness of the space -you could see his clothes from the day strewn on the floor and a few stray bottles of shaving cream on the bathroom sink just out of the corner of your eye (it was so him, you felt dizzy), "-there's nothin' to be sorry for. C'mere."

"Rick, you don't have to-"

"Look at me," he spoke, motioning you to his side -effectively stunting your train of thought, "-it's not a burden to help. It's fuckin' far from it, actually."

"Rick."

"Y/N."

"You don't-" you paused, stopping your voice in its tracks, and just looked at him. He was looking at you in a way you'd just barely gotten used to recently, eyes fuzzed over in that affectionate way, and he'd folded back the blankets delicately. The pillow was untouched, it was... like he had waited for this moment. And maybe he had.

"There it is," he spoke, a warm smile smoothing across his lips, "-you get I want you here now?"

"You..." you trailed off, it felt so new, and yet every fiber of your being somehow felt natural -why had you waited so long?

Your next few steps were slow and unsteady, as if he'd jump up and tell you to scram like an old man in a cartoon -which was quite the picture now that you thought of it. Sinking into the bed, you relaxed there -trying to soak in the well... Rick all around you.

Before you could even move, he pulled up the cover over you -the rush of his woodsy scent flying over you in what felt a bit like a warm hug. As if testing it out, he pressed his hand against your waist -brushing his fingertips up and down your side. It was gentle, careful, an opening -he was asking you.

"What do ya need from me?"

There was a spark of embarrassment there -thrumming under your quick heartbeat, but it was quieter, "Just... hold me."

"Okay," he whispered, not needing any more direction than that.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple -languid and slow. But the movement was right then, it felt as if he was treasuring you. His hands gently brushed over your shoulders -leaving goosebumps in his wake, and then the pads of his fingers detailed the curve of your nose, traced your eyebags, and fluttered over your lips.

You laughed, a bit astonished at the situation you were in, but he was undeterred -other than the smallest of smiles blooming on his lips at the noise.

Rick leaned forward, slowly, kissing your forehead before dipping to the right cheek and then left -his stubble leaving a pleasant buzz among there. It was like a sign he'd done it, a little aftershock -keeping you grounded.

You hummed, a bit out of natural instinct and he bit out a laugh from it -a pleased one like he'd done something he was proud of.

His hands found a place to brush his fingers through your hair -just a touch of smoothing down the mess you knew there was. But he was doing it in such a way that felt like you were fragile, breakable, precious-

You only leaned into his touch as a response, sinking into the rough texture of his hands without an extra thought.

Using the hand that he had previously trailing there on your side, he pulled you to him your face laying neatly on his chest. The gentle movement of his breaths soothed you in a way you didn't know you missed, the warmth of his skin against yours creating a sort of fog in your head -much like the fluttering in your stomach but... peaceful.

Rick chuckled, trailing his hand down your back and pressing his lips to your hair like it was the most natural thing in the world -you hoped it would end up being, "Better?"

"The best," you respond, voice slurred in a way that it hadn't been just a few spare moments ago.

And something in you told you then, maybe he truly didn't mind you asking.

[starry-bi-sky]

blood blossom danny except i briefly talk about his version of the accident

It all happened so fast that Danny doesn't really remember dying at all. It was like, one moment he was alive, the next he's dead. He remembers hitting the button, and the lights coming on, and then a great big flash.

Then he was outside of the portal.

He thinks he may have been screaming, but that's not true at all. The only sound he made was a split-second, startled gasp as the portal turned on, that was cut-off before he could finish the noise. The only ones who were screaming were Sam and Tucker; Danny was dead before he could feel anything.

The most vivid thing to him was the terror before the light. The blood rushing moment of mind-numbing fear and cold revelation that he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. A weird sort of resignation, desperation, horror, and static calm that hit him all at once.

He was extremely disoriented when he woke up. Like waking up from a long nap and struggling to comprehend what the day or time was, but knowing instinctively that time has passed. He didn't stay in his ghost form for that long either, further cementing his confusion.

From the moment he hit the button to the few minutes after he woke up is an unsolved jigsaw puzzle to him.

It took him about a day and a half to fully remember what happened beyond 'went into the portal, then suddenly i was out of it and everyone was freaking out', and then a week to process.

Sam and Tucker remember his accident better than he does. They say he was in a daze after he woke up, before he recognized where he was. And he kinda just... squinted at them like he didn't know who they were, and said something in a language they couldn't understand. He was terrifyingly calm and passive, and still smoking.

(They later find out its ghostspeak. He was asking them where he was.)

It was only the moment he realized where he was that he transformed back into human. That's the moment where Danny's memory officially cuts back in for him. His first time as a ghost, and he doesn't really remember it that well.

[three-realms-archive]

Relent

Belphegor waking up early isn’t entirely a normal thing.

Not unless it’s his turn.

Seven days in a week. And seven brothers spend their school vacation living in one Serenity Manor, with the human they love usually busy on errands. In the human world, the way the clothing shops, the grocery stores and the public transport all worked was so different to the Devildom - so it was typically up to you to go out in the morning and run chores. It was just faster that way; since not even Lucifer enjoyed fiddling with the buttons on the self-checkout screen very much.

That meant your mornings were packed. And, after much debate - and an enchantment preventing anyone from covertly changing the schedule hung up on the fridge for just this purpose - it was decided that you would wake up one brother each day of the week.

And today was Sunday. A whole six days, Belphie had to wait.

So he would make sure to milk his day for all it was worth - with the new, super-smart, super-sneaky plan he had spent all of yesterday putting together. It was concrete, fool-proof - and did he mention super-smart?

Because it was super, super smart.

“MC…” He whined as the door creaked open, slowly sitting up in bed. Out of the corner of his eye, Belphie peeked at the clock on the wall. 7am; two hours after he had actually woken up. You walked into his room, soft-footed as to not disturb the usually-asleep Avatar of Sloth.

Right on time.

He feigned sluggishness, nudging his blanket off his body with slow, deliberate movements. He even threw in a few, throaty coughs, for good measure. “MC… I don’t feel so well…”

He watched as your eyes widened, placing what you held in your hands down on his desk and immediately rushing to his side. The butterflies in his stomach fluttered with glee when he realised you had set down a tray of breakfast, made just for him… and he thanked the stars he could pass the blush spreading like wildfire on his cheeks as part of his pretend fever. Sighing contentedly, he let you coo and hover over him, not even needing to persuade you to climb under the covers and cradle him in your arms. He snuggled his head into your chest and squeezed you as tight as he could, savouring his success. Victory!

And the best part was, you had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

…

… You one-hundred percent knew what Belphegor was doing. It was his ‘super-smart’ plan; the one he always used when he wanted you to get into bed with him, or when he wanted an excuse to cuddle you longer. The first, few times he had feigned ignorance. Stubborn in denial, he insisted that he had a very, very bad fever; that he was very, very ill; and that he very, very much needed someone to take care of him.

So, like now, you relent and play along. After all - it’s not an entirely bad thing to have the demon you love press feather-light kisses up your neck, tracing his nose along your jaw. Groggy mumbles about how warm you are and how amazing you are made your face heat up and your heart beat faster.

And when Belphie smiled up at you, with a boyish smile shining as bright and beautiful as starlight, you both forgot to keep up your silly, little, pretend acts.

And you both realised that, when it comes to one another, you would always relent.

(current second place in the poll is fluff, so here it is - giving Belphie some love after starting an entire series dedicated to lesson 16 lollll. it's belphie being sleepy, petty and cuddle-y; and, really, what more could you ask for?)

[amaranthdahlia]

for valentines day have this cheesy mini animation of these two lol