#That one scene in A Fistful of Dollars

[fragmentedblade]

"Though I don't know exactly what you are or what you're up to... My bullets will find you — until then, you best find a casket store in Penacony, and ask the owner to reserve a good quality casket for you, imposter!"

Hardly could get more Western film than this

[blondedsixties06]

I love him so bad yall

[kitten4sannie]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝟏 - 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐞

pairing: mafia! ot8 x undercover officer! reader (fem)

genre: mafia/organized crime au, drama, angst

w.c: 3.3k

ch. summary: after countless months of preparation and ensuing anxiety, you finally revisit the infamous Black Pirates, but from the other side of the law, and it’s almost as if you’ve never left.

ch. warnings: not too many….uhhh very light depictions of violence, a bit of blood, a bit of manhandling (not the sexy kind), mingi is unhinged (?) and has a gun lmao, no smut this time but just you waittttt

a/n: hi thereeeee i cannot tell you how excited i am to share this with you all 🥹 this is my first mini series and i’ve never tackled anything this big before so please be patient with me when it comes to updates~~ (also this chapter will be the shortest of them all given it’s the intro hehe) but aaaaaaa i’m so happy we can go on this journey together >w< now sit back, relax, and enjoy ~ and if you like, please pleasee share your thoughts and feedback with me <33

song rec: scene 1 - value ~ ateez, concrete jungle ~ bad omens

fic masterlist

“Are you ready for this?” 

All you could hear was your heart thumping inside your ears, unable to focus on your Commander in Chief’s loaded question, tuning into the sounds of keyboard tapping and faceless chattering about the current crimes and cases that were plugging up the figurative drain of your local prescient, rather than what he was saying to you. Were you ready to infiltrate one of the most prevalent crime families your law enforcement agency has come to know and loathe over the better part of the year? Not as their friend, but this time, as an enemy? They had half your city in the palm of their hands and were itching to take it over, pushing the drug and gun trade into overdrive, washing countless loads of dirty dollar bills, and in turn, leaving you and your agency to clean up the mess they left behind — and what a mess they always made. Bullets, bodies, and broken dreams. Crime and punishment. Officers, regulations, and yellow tape. An endless game of chess that nobody ever seemed to win. The perpetrators of this game, their faces never left your mind, etching their likeness inside the grooves of your memory even after being away from them all for so long, at least, until now — if you stopped being such a goddamn pussy and answered your boss. 

“Y/N…? You can back out if you need to…” He gave you an apologetic smile. “Given your history, I know it might be a lot on you. We can always put somebody else in instead.” 

“No..!” you suddenly protested, bringing a closed fist near your mouth as you forcefully cleared your throat. “With all due respect, sir, I’ve been preparing myself for this since you helped me…change course and join the academy.” Realizing you were digging your nails into your palms, you relaxed your grip, leaving red idents behind. “And, of course, when we realized what the Kim Estate was actually doing behind closed doors.”

“It certainly wasn’t tennis,” the seasoned man chuckled softly, leaning back slightly inside his fraying office chair, rubbing at his eyes from underneath his reading glasses, not aware of how prominent his eye bags were becoming. He let out a small sigh. “Y/N, I have a lot of trust in you. Going back into that world as an undercover operative is not a walk in the park under any circumstances, but this…they have proven to be unpredictable. I’ll ask you once more. Are you sure you can handle this case?” 

In all honesty, you were never too sure what you could handle, both in your professional and personal life, but the uncertainty never stopped you from diving in headfirst. And this, this case, being one of the dominos that would knock them all down, well…it was simply too delicious to pass up. 

You stood up, bowing your head to your superior, before giving him a knowing nod. “I’m ready, sir.” 

-

Your closest friend back in your police academy days and fellow undercover partner, Yeonjun, was the first person you spotted upon exiting your boss’ office, well, specifically his bright red hair, slowly navigating past the maze of desks and whispering coworkers to make it over to him, privy to the looks some of them gave you as you slipped past them — though it didn’t phase you anymore. Your past did not define you. At least, that’s what your therapist had been telling you the past few years. 

“Hey, partner,” Yeonjun greeted you with a smile, reaching out to hand you a paper cup full of freshly steeped coffee, leaning back to sit down on the crowded surface of his desk. “Tomorrow’s the big day. You ready?” 

You took the steaming cup, your jaw tensing as the bitter liquid hit your tastebuds. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Choi.” You always thought of someone else when you uttered that surname. He was the complete opposite of your partner here: calm and collected, soulless when he wanted to be and full of love the very next moment, erratically ticking between the two like a malfunctioning metronome. You hated him for it. 

“Hey, it’s just Yeon, now. Come tomorrow, I won’t be my normal sexy self.” He pulled his freshly printed fake ID out of his t-shirt pocket and held it up to your face, replicating the toothy smile he had inside the picture. “Well, still sexy, yeah?” 

Chuckling, you leaned in, studying the fake ID, impressed by how real it looked. “Very sexy, Yeon, but remind me why you dyed your hair red? Is it the quarter life crisis settling in?” 

Yeonjun rolled his eyes, tucking his ID back into his pocket. “Ha-ha, funny. I just thought I should look the part if I’m going in as some renowned hacker.” 

You pushed a few files out of the way to lean against Yeonjun’s desk beside him. “Have you been studying up on your skills then?” 

“Of course, I have. I know I joke around a lot, but I’ve  dedicated my life to this, Y/N…” 

You looked down at Yeonjun’s hand, the one that rested on the desk in between you, his fingers drumming against the surface. “Good, because they don’t play around…”

The drumming stopped. Yeonjun turned his head to look at you, a flicker of light inside his brown eyes, like he was trying to understand you. “Do you…ever think about your life before the academy? Before this? Do you wish you could go back?” 

You bit into your lip, gazing past Yeonjun’s hand at one of the files that contained information about the very people you would be betraying. “I…just want to be good. Do what’s right…That’s why I left all of that. It’s why I’m here now.” 

He leaned over slightly until his shoulder pressed into yours, using his pinky to nudge at yours. “Not many would do what you’ve done, y’know. Giving up their way of life for something like this.” 

You nudged back, staring into the half empty cup of coffee you were still holding onto. “Not many people are this stupid.” 

“Not stupid.” Yeonjun pretended to clink his empty paper cup against yours, giving you a soft smile. “Brave. You’re the key component of this entire operation, Y/N. That’s huge. You’ll make a difference. Isn’t that what this is all about?” 

“Maybe…you’re right,” you replied softly, once again distracted by the folder from before, the one that was slightly open just enough to reveal the image of a man with slick back hair, dressed in quaint Victorian style clothes, with a big bow wrapped around his neck. Kim Hongjoong, owner of the Kim Estate and leader of the Black Pirate Organization. You knew him all too well, and all his closest cohorts. Would they recognize you? You hadn’t seen them since you were a young girl, forgotten by most and lost inside a system that didn’t care about you, except for the ambitious young man that swore he would one day be sat atop his ivory tower with those that followed his path. And now there he was, living the high life inside his big shiny mansion, sipping on fine wine, while you were still forcing down bitter instant coffee day after day, surrounded by people that looked at you, but never really saw you for what you were, whatever that was. Maybe Hongjoong knew. 

“Y/N…? You’re staring off into space again…” Yeonjun whispered near you, getting up from the desk once you came back to Earth. “Anyways, it’s late, and we have a lot to do tomorrow. We should get going.” 

“You’re right, we need as much rest as we can get.” You stretched out your legs before standing back up, just now noticing that you were the only two left inside the workspace, the light from your Chief’s office still peeking out past the dusty blinds. Maybe your Chief knew. 

Packing up your briefcase, you smiled at Yeonjun. “Should I dye my hair too?” 

Yeonjun pouted, resting his own briefcase against his hip. “That’s my thing.” 

-

Particles of dust and dirt filled your lungs, joining the blood that you began to choke on. It hurt to breathe, but your body carried on supplying oxygen to your lungs, not giving you a choice in the matter. You rolled over onto your back to face the night sky, your teary eyes focusing on the twinkling stars and the bright blue moon that loomed over the town, storm clouds rolling past until they blocked out the pretty view. Heavy rain began to pour down, soaking you to the bone. Even though you were losing the will to live, you still held onto the silver pair of scissors that you used to prove a point, even though it might’ve cost you your life. That was still something. However, your dear mentor still stood over you, his neck being clutched tightly by his trembling fingers, crimson slowly slipping past them. 

“See what happens when you bite the hand that feeds you? Ungrateful brat,” he choked out in between shallow breaths. Frustrated, he let out a gurgled growl, tossing his bloodied shank onto the dirt road beside his feet. You could’ve sworn you saw tears slip down his flushed cheeks, but then again, it was raining. “I didn’t want to do this…but you gave me no choice.” 

His closest companion took a step forward to securely grasp his upper arm, urging him, “Sir, we need to get you to the nearest hideout. I won’t let you bleed out like this.” 

The disheveled man’s other trusted subordinate placed a gloved hand on one of his shoulders, squeezing into it with urgency. He surveyed you past his foggy glasses, pushing them up the slope of his nose. His eyes were once filled with a sense of endearment when he looked at you, but now, they held contempt. “She made her decision, sir.” 

The struggling leader turned his head to look back and forth between his dear followers, then at his men who all waited behind them, their rain-streaked faces contorted with conflicted apprehension. They stood perfectly still like statues, until the all too familiar sound of sirens rang out in the distance. That’s when they all scattered, like rats, escaping from the flashing lights and disappearing into the dark of the night.  

Your soon to be killer was the last one to leave, looming over you as though he was Death himself, beads of rain, sweat, and blood dripping from his chin and down onto your face below. “Just one question, darling…” He held his neck tighter than before, growing dizzier from all the blood loss. “Why?” 

A small, self-satisfied laugh painfully bellowed from your chest, causing you to grab at your stomach where it had been sliced into. “The blade cuts both ways, sir. I was just following your lead…” You weakly lifted your hand up in the air, as though you wanted to reach him, but simply couldn’t. “Why aren’t you proud of the monster you created?” 

The man began to beam at you, but the corner of his lips stretched to an unfathomable degree, as though he had carved a smile into his own face. He lifted his chin up just enough to rid himself of the shadow that was cast over him, his brown eyes now void of anything, simply black. Soulless. “Oh, darling…the monster was always there. I simply dug it up.” 

You suddenly woke up and sat upright in your bed, your entire body covered in a layer of sweat, leading you to desperately kick off the comforter that had trapped you inside the sweltering heat. Upon realizing you were no longer caught inside a warped memory from your adolescence, you looked down at your stomach, lifting up the edge of your shirt to see if your scar was still there, sighing softly when you saw the jagged patch of skin. 

Your past doesn't define you. He doesn't define you — none of them do. And, now, you had the opportunity to create your own definition, and get a little revenge while you were at it. 

-

“Do we ring the doorbell…?” Yeonjun asked from beside you, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot, getting a bit dizzy from trying to take in all of the glory of the Kim Estate. 

You were too busy studying the faded stains of blood left on the stone floor below to notice how out of character Yeonjun was already behaving, not that you could blame him. A similar prick of anxiety was already embedding itself into your mind, but you waved it away as soon as it made itself present. “We may be entering a lion’s den, but we won’t behave like them. I’ll knock.” 

Yeonjun nodded swiftly, clutching the handle of his messenger bag tightly inside his sweaty hand. “Hopefully they don’t eat us alive.” 

You gently pushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, making sure you didn’t disturb the positioning of the micro earpiece that was sitting just behind your tragus. “They won’t, as long as we prove our worth.” 

You grabbed onto the obnoxious ivory door knocker, and just as you were about to make your presence known, you found yourself being yanked into the mansion by someone much bigger than you, Yeonjun’s squeaks of protest becoming background noise as soon as the man slammed you against the nearest wall. What felt to be the cold barrel of a compact handgun pressed up into the bottom of your chin with a click, your assailant’s focused, deep-set eyes boring into your own. “Is this how you welcome all your guests?”

“Not all of them…some I leave dead on the doorstep before they can even get a chance to beg on their knees,” the man muttered in a distinctly gravelly voice, a small chuckle bubbling out of his throat. Usually, the people he dealt with would be pissing themselves at this point, but it just seemed to be another day for this strangely familiar visitor. 

You could almost see your partner out of the corner of your eye, already on his own knees, his distinctively red hair being held onto by a nameless man in a 3-hole knit balaclava. It was then that you angled your head up slightly to get a good look at your old friend, feeling the barrel push harder into your skin. “Every guard dog has to have their fun, right? And, if you blew my head off now, well, where’s the fun in that?” 

“You’re right, doll.” The tall man’s plump lips quirked up into a smirk, slowly dragging his gun past your chin, down your neck, and along the softest parts of your body, poking and prodding at you in an attempt to humiliate you. “Should I see how many new holes I can give you? Fill them all with hot lead?” 

“At least buy me a drink first,” you said through gritted teeth, trying not to show any discomfort when he pushed the loaded gun roughly into your abdomen, directly into your scar, not that he could’ve known it was there. 

He seemed to enjoy your pained response, leaning his head back to let out a sudden laugh, one that was short and abrupt like a bark. “You’re one crazy bitch…” The man licked over his plump lips. “I like that.” 

It was just then that somebody else entered the foyer, their presence so distinctly powerful, the lot of you couldn’t help but notice before he even stepped foot in the room. “Is that any way to treat a valued guest, Mingi? I thought I trained you better than that.” 

Mingi immediately de-cocked the gun and brought it behind his back, tucking it away inside the waistline of his tailored pants. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Seonghwa patted Mingi’s shoulder with a gloved hand, giving him a small nod of understanding, before turning his attention to you and Yeonjun, the both of you cautiously standing with your backs against the paneled wall. “I do apologize for my guard dog. We try to keep him on a tight leash, but sometimes…he gets loose.” His shifting eyes formed half crescents. “You understand.” 

Yeonjun glanced over at you for guidance, and you responded with a small smile, before nodding your head obediently at Seonghwa’s words, Yeonjun following your lead. “It’s not a problem.” 

Seonghwa clasped his hands together, shaking his head slightly, a strand or two of raven hair falling past his forehead from where the rest of it sat perfectly still. He couldn’t seem to understand why he was experiencing a bout of deja vu. “Where are my manners?” He pressed his palm into his chest, and gave a small bow. “I’m Park Seonghwa, the second in command, if you will, here at the Kim Estate.” 

Yeonjun bowed back instantly, pushing his dyed hair behind his ears as he stood up straight. “My name’s Yeon. That’s what I go by online.” 

Seonghwa’s eyebrows raised up slightly. “Ah, I know you.” He chuckled to himself, glad that he was able to pinpoint the air of familiarity, but still annoyed that something wasn’t quite right. “You’re that hacker that’s going around and fucking with the local government, aren’t you?” 

Yeonjun was glad he didn’t eat too much that morning, otherwise he would’ve already thrown it up by now. He brought a peace sign up to his face and smiled. “That’s me, professional shit-stirrer at your service.” 

As more men began to trickle into the foyer to see what all the commotion was about, Seonghwa slowly turned his attention back to you, the true object of his frustration. It’s like he had seen you many times before, in a dream, perhaps? In the casino they ran behind closed doors? Or maybe you were one of the many playthings that were brought in to appease the voracious appetites of his degenerate cohorts. Either way, Seonghwa both loved and loathed the way you were already inside his mind, like you had already lived there, and your existence had simply been unearthed by the sands of time. 

“And, you are…?” he asked in a slow, calculated manner, his head tilting to the side. 

“I’m a diamond expert,” you explained vaguely, motioning to the large suitcase of supplies you were holding. “I can see the value of most things from a mile away, much like your dear leader.” 

Hongjoong was already aware of your arrival. You could feel it in your bones. 

Seonghwa brought a closed fist to his chin, nodding at your words, still not completely sure why he felt so uncomfortable. “But, who are you?” 

Your bubbling amusement was starting to rush to the surface, unable to keep yourself from smiling. And, just like that, you reunited with your dear mentor, except on opposite sides of the chess board. You were delighted everyone was there to witness the beginnings of your awaited rematch. “Why don’t you ask him? I think he’ll have an idea of who I am,” you replied giddily, prompting you to motion your head to the man that stood above the rest of you. 

You felt something stir within the men that looked at you, as though what had been hidden for so long had finally come to light. You weren’t a ghost, much to their surprise — well, at least, not yet. You were, of course, taking a gamble with your life, and your partner’s as well, but risks were meant to be taken, rules were meant to be broken, and strings were meant to be cut.

As though right on time, Hongjoong dug his nails into the mahogany railing of the expansive landing, his free hand unconsciously adjusting the bow that was wrapped securely around his neck. He understood the most out of all them. Value. You looked up to him, moving your fingers as though you were using a pair of scissors. 

“Remember now?” 

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[teamchasezwrites]

Taste

Word Count: 7,527

Characters: Roman Reigns/OC

Genre: Smut

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Shameless Smut

Summary: Roman works to undo what an ex boyfriend did.

Author's Note: Just shameless smut here guys. Enjoy!

The door to the hotel room closed with a soft click. The sound echoed in the silence of the room, encased in darkness except for the glow from the digital clock on the bedside table. The red illuminated numbers spoke of the late hour.

Roman grimaced. It was much later than he planned on getting back to the room. Usually his matches fell last on shows and in the event they didn’t, he championed on being the first match. That way he could leave immediately after. With it being the first episode of Raw on Netflix, there was no leaving early.

It almost felt like a movie premiere backstage full of both current and old roster talents. Every WWE and TKO big wigs as well as seemingly every single employee from corporate Netflix and then some. He must have shaken hands a hundred times with faceless, nameless people. It almost felt like a meet and greet with the way people were ushered to and from him.

At least with meet and greets, the people there saw him as something other than a face to make money. Their smiles were genuine. Their eyes filled with awe when they step up to him and not dollar signs.

It was part of the business though. He was just happy he wasn’t the one being paraded around as the company man anymore. He passed that torch last April when he finally lost his status as Undisputed Champion to Cody Rhodes.

Forced to stick around for the entire show, led to after parties that stretched on further than he liked. The mindless small talk, the fake laughter. Slimy smiles and blatant looks of interest. When he caught another hand brushing too low on his stomach with a tight hand, he knew it was time to leave before he created a scene.

Luckily Seth Rollins had enough at the same time and they both caught an Uber back to the hotel.

A smirk curved on his lips. If the Internet Wrestling Community seen him leaving with his former stablemate their heads would explode. He and Seth were supposed to be mortal enemies but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Close friends though not best friends as they once were back where they were new in WWE. Time did that to people and neither held any ill will toward the other. Same with Dean.

Roman let his bag fall from his shoulder. It hit the ground with a soft thud. He braced a hand on the wall and toed off his shoes before making his way into the bathroom. He showered at the arena after his match so he quickly went through his bedtime routine – going to the bathroom and brushing his teeth. He pulled the black band from his hair allowing it to fall just below his shoulders. He ran his fingers through the locks then leaned close to the mirror and inspected his face.

There was a minor gash on the left side of his forehead near the hairline. He wasn’t sure what caused the wound. It happened sometime when Solo threw him over the announce table and hit him with the monitor followed up by the steel steps to the head. Lucky it didn’t bust open. He was certain Netflix wasn’t looking for a blood bath on their first episode. Who knows; maybe they would have liked it. His bloody face would have driven clicks.

He ran a hand over his beard. Trimmed just that afternoon before his match. It was starting to turn a little grey at his chin; two thin streaks near the corners of his mouth. He struggled with letting it go and embracing the grey and getting it dyed to hold on to a youth that his body didn’t feel anymore.

He pulled the black t-shirt over his head and fisted it in his hand as his eyes wondered over his chest. No new bruises developed since he looked back at the arena. He had a nasty one on his shoulder blade and another on his bicep right above his elbow from a shot with the kendo stick. All in all, he came through relatively unscathed.

Heading back into the room, he stopped to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The t-shirt dropped to the floor near his bag. He dug his phone out of the pocket of his black joggers. The display lit up with notifications he hadn’t gotten to yet after his match. He walked around the side of the bed to where his charger hung off the table from the outlet built into the lamp. Before placing it face down, he turned on the ‘Do-not-Disturb’.

Facing the bed he stared at the mound buried underneath the blankets. His stance softened and his lips twitched with a smile. Her face hidden from view; her head tucked down with the blankets pulled to her chin. The mess of blonde curls fanned out over the dark comforter and pillow. He was shocked the heat wasn’t turned up to a stifling, unbreathable temperature despite being in Los Angeles. He’d never met anyone who was naturally cold in all temps as her.

Sophia Grace.

Their relationship was new. Not quite three months. A wrestler in her own right, Sophia wasn’t on his radar. By the time she made her debut on Raw in 2020, he was moved off the titular show to Smackdown the year before. She was billed as a princess – a snobbish, spoiled, socialite. Until The Judgement Day got ahold of her. With Rhea’s torture and torment, her character eventually turned dark and joined the faction.

That lasted in the months leading up to WrestleMania. Sophia – with the help of Becky Lynch who used her in her feud – finally turned on Rhea to break away from the cruelty inflicted upon her from the onset. Then she was gone from TV until the draft where she was moved to Smackdown. Back to the pink princess-like ring gear and blonde hair but skittish and low self-esteem.

When he returned to Smackdown after surprising everyone at Summer Slam, he noticed the new face and was drawn to the quiet girl with sharp eyes. Roman found himself lingering at the arenas not quick to leave anymore in order to watch her matches, backstage interviews, and in-ring promos. He’d never forget the look on her face when she’d come back through the curtain to Gorilla after facing off with Chelsea Green. He met her eyes while he was putting on his gloves and told her ‘nice job’. Her eyes had widened comically and her face blushed the prettiest color of red. She stuttered out a ‘thank you’ while ducking her head before quickly leaving.

The following week he sat down across from her in catering with nerves in his belly he hadn’t felt in ages. That opened the door to eventually exchanging numbers and texting a lot since he wasn’t at the arena every week. To a first kiss before Bad Blood when she slipped into his dressing room unseen before his match to wish him luck.

Roman pushed his joggers down his legs and stepped out of them as he pulled the blankets back. He slipped beneath the covers and turned onto his side, pulling Sophia back to his chest as he gathered her in his arms. She didn’t wake but shifted against him, pressing her ass into his crotch.

The delicious movement had him flexing his hips, pushing back against her. His cock twitched behind his black Nike briefs showing interest. His fingers caressed her hip displacing the threadbare t-shirt she normally wore to bed. Soon his fingers met warm skin and he pressed his face into her neck. It took him a few back and forth movements on her hip to realize he was touching skin the whole way. That it wasn’t broken up by cotton fabric.

He dropped his palm to her hip on a mission. Up her hip. Down her hip and around to slide over her ass checks. Sweet bare skin welcomed him everywhere. His groan was low at the realization she was naked beneath the t-shirt. He pressed his cock into the soft flesh of her ass once again as his hand dipped down to her stomach beneath the shirt.

His fingers trailed up her belly softly brushing against the underside of her breast free from the restraint of a bra. He nuzzled her neck as he continued to move his hand over her stomach. The tangled mess of hair kept him from pressing his lips against skin. Forced to remove his hand from her shirt, he swept his fingers across her neck, brushing the hair away. With her neck free, he dropped his face again, nuzzling the warm skin. The hint of perfume still on her skin.

Open mouthed kisses peppered her neck. He ducked his hand back beneath her shirt on a mission. His fingers brushed against that round globe, kneading the flesh. Her nipple was pulled in a taunt peak by the time his finger and thumb found it. He rolled the pebble between his digits, giving a small pinch.

Roman’s hand traveled south down her stomach until it encountered the soft curls framing her center. The dark brown a contrast to the blonde on her head. His fingers dipped between her legs, sifting between her folds until he encountered the hidden nub. His fingers teased, circling her clit before slipping his index finger further between her folds until he met her opening, already slick.

Sophia’s hips pressed back against his now hard cock. Her breathing shifted as he pulled her from sleep.

“Roman…” she breathed and parted her thighs allowing his fingers more room between her legs.

“If I knew you were waiting for me like this, I would have followed you right out the door,” Roman murmured against her neck. The newness of their relationship… his status in the company were all reasons they’ve kept their relationship under wraps. They made sure to stay away from each other all night though their eyes met plenty of times across the room. Neither wanted any rumors to start.

Roman didn’t have the heart to tell her both Jimmy and Jey suspected something was going on.

“I thought about sending you a naughty photo to hurry you along…” Sophia cocked her arm behind her to thread her fingers in Roman’s hair. Her leg lifted to cross over Roman’s opening herself up even more. A low moan released from her parted lips as his finger pressed into her. Her insides fluttered around him.

Roman shivered at the thought. “Naughty girl,” he whispered. His pulled his finger out, slick with her juices before pressing back in, groaning feeling her clenching around the digit. “Seeing you in that dress was more than enough motivation to get me back here.”

That red dress Sophia wore had no reason to be as sexy as it was. A simple floor length satin gown with a slit up her thigh. A halter top leaving her back bare with a small plunging neckline to tease the hint of cleavage. When he saw it on her, it took everything he had to force himself to leave the hotel room. He wanted to press kisses on the back of her neck to start, then move down her back to just above the curve of her ass.

Earlier, after the show, he had designs on falling to his knees in front of her where she was seated in a chair with her legs crossed talking to Natalya. That slit freeing her leg. He wanted to hold her foot in his hand and kissed along the delicate ankle bracelet with butterflies all around and up. Feel that smooth skin on his lips. His nose tracing up that perfectly toned calf, his breathing ghosting lightly over her skin, drawing goosebumps. Over the knee to her thigh on display with the daring slit.

“You liked that huh?” A ghost of a smile appeared on Sophia’s lips. Her hips moved with Roman’s finger. Still just the one pressing in and out of her.

“Liked it hell. I’m half tempted to make you put it back on right now,” he growled and nipped at her ear when she turned her head.

Sophia moaned his teeth sank into her lobe. She arched her back sending her ass into his crotch, feeling his hard cock. “That what you want to do? Put more clothes on me?” She rolled her hips in teasing movements. The near growl Roman released in her ear caused warmth to rush through her and liquid to pool at her center.

“What I want you to do, is come all over my fingers.” Roman withdrew his finger from her wet cunt. His finger slicked with her essence. Scooping up that liquid heat he ran up her slit to her clit – swollen with need. His fingers circled around the nub in teasing strokes. He smirked hearing her moan as her hips moved and worked to get his fingers where she wanted them. “What do you need?”

“Please…” Sophia begged. She gripped the blanket in a fist, using the anchor to send her ass deeper into the v of his thighs. She ground her ass into his cock wishing it was skin against skin.

“Please what?” Roman murmured against her neck, nosing along the skin. His hot breath fluttering over her skin. His fingers dipped through her folds, gathering up her wetness before he circled her entrance once, twice then sank two fingers home. His moan blended with hers as her muscles fluttered and clenched around him pulling him deeper inside that heated heaven.

It was hard to get as deep as he wanted from the angle, but he continued to pump in and out of her. He placed kisses on her neck then sucked on that spot directly behind her ear drawing out another moan. Her fingers twisted back in his hair, tangling in the strands to pull his head closer. He rocked against her. His cock trapped beneath his briefs. Hard and ready to replace his fingers.

But he had something else in mind.

Roman withdrew his fingers and shushed her moan of disapproval. “I’m not done with you yet, Baby Girl.”

Sophia let her self be turned over onto her back. Roman came into view for the first time. His face hidden in the darkness of the room. She lifted her hands to cup his cheeks and draw him down to her. Their lips collided. A mesh of teeth and tongues, hot breaths and soft moans. Lips parting, his tongue stroked hers. Long, velvety, hot strokes that caused warmth to coil deep in her belly. Wetness slicked her thighs and she pressed them together searching for friction to alleviate the tingling building.

“Fuck,” Roman tore his lips from hers, gasping for breath. He sat up and tossed a leg over her prone body. His pushed her shirt up her body, tugging at the material caught beneath her. “Lift up,” he whispered.

She lifted the top half of her body enough for Roman to push the shirt up where she gripped the hem and lifted it over her head. Before the article of clothing was even tossed away, Roman’s arms were around her back drawing her to him. She moaned as his hot mouth closed around a nipple. Her arms cradled his head, fingers tangling in his hair as she held him to her breast. Her head fell back, mouth parting in a moan as his tongue swirled around her nipple.

His name left her mouth like a prayer when his teeth bit down causing a zing of pleasure to shoot through her. His tongue offered soothing strokes against the stinging pain. His hands ran up and down her back in teasingly light touches. She let him lay her back on the bed as his arms slipped from behind her. Her back touched the cool sheets as Roman’s mouth switched breasts. His tongue whirling around her nipple before drawing it into his mouth.

As he flicked his tongue over her nipple, his hand palmed her free breast. His finger kneading into the soft mound. He rolled her taunt nipple between his thumb and forefinger, drawing moans from Sophia. Her hips rolled up into him catching air as he held his weight off her. He released her nipple from his mouth, blowing softly over the moistened tip. Sophia shivered beneath him. He placed an opened mouth kiss between her breasts.

Sophia tightened her fingers in his hair to bring his mouth back to hers. Their lips met and she wasted no time licking into his mouth. Moans of pleasure were swallowed. Her tongue stroked and twirled with his as they feasted on each other. Hot and wet they dueled neither relinquishing dominance.

Roman broke the kiss, his body humming with pleasure. He trailed his lips down her cheek to her neck. He smiled against her skin as she arched her neck to him. He placed opened mouth kisses to the skin, leaving behind moisture to dry in the air. He nipped at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, drawing a hiss from Sophia.

As he moved lower, her hands brushed over his arms, down to his elbows and back up. They dipped beneath his arms to his back where her fingers dug into those hard muscles as he latched onto her nipple again. The smell of her arousal hung in the air. Her pussy clenched frantically, desperately begging to be filled. For his thick cock to sink in to her, stretching her in a delicious manner.

“Roman…” she whispered her hips rolling into the air. Her fingers trailed down his back, teasing at the waist band of his underwear. Those tight Nike briefs fit him like a second skin. Hugging the swell of his ass and encasing his large thighs. They left little to the imagination. Showing the outline of his cock. More than once she caught herself licking her lips as he walked around their hotel room wearing nothing else. A few times she actually dropped to her knees in front of him to mouth him through the fabric.

Her hands were unable to grasp his ass where she wanted to use the leverage to press him down on her. “I need you…” Her voice pleading in hopes to entice him to give in.

“Soon,” Roman murmured against her skin as he continued moving down her body. He placed kisses and tiny nips to the skin on her belly. The skin warm and flushed. His intentions clear the lower he got. His tongue dipped into her belly button causing a soft moaning chuckle from her lips. He smiled at the sound. His tongue traced the small butterfly tattoo on her hip. Tracing the lines much like he did the first time he’d seen the delicate tattoo, hidden from the masses. A little secret shared between them.

As he moved lower, her hands gripped in his hair. Painfully as she refused to let his head go lower. He sighed, his gut sinking as once again his plans of burying his face in her sweet smelling pussy was thwarted. “Soph…” he pleaded, tilting his head up to look at her. “Let me eat you…”

Roman couldn’t believe the words even had to be spoken. Never had he ever had any issue with not being able to eat a woman out. The one night stands always sang his praises with his oral activities. All of his girlfriends practically begged him to get between their legs. There was nothing he loved more than shuffling down the bed, parting soft thighs, and burying his tongue deep between swollen, wet folds. Teasing the clit, drawing it between his lips with little sucks. Long licks between the folds from entrance to clit. Burying his tongue so deep inside, his nose pressed against their clit. Feeding off her orgasm as he lapped up every bit she had to offer him.

That was second to laying on the bed and pulling a woman down on his face – her thighs on either side of his head as she gripped the headboard. Her sinking down on him, stealing his breath. Her hips inundating on his face as she rocked against the feeling of his tongue buried up in her. His arms wrapped around her thighs holding her to his face not allowing her to get away even as his lungs burned and started to burst from lack of air.

But she wouldn’t let him. Ever since their first time back in early November after he returned from Crown Jewel in Saudi Arabia, he was unable to get her to let him bury his tongue inside her. His fingers could bring her powerful orgasms that had her screaming out his name. He could send his dick home with one single hard thrust. Anytime his mouth got close to the forbidden fruit between her thighs, she’d redirect his advances.

He tried not to take it personally. It was possible Sophia didn’t like oral sex. That would have been easier to believe if she hadn’t dropped to her knees in a shared shower swallowing him whole. Allowing his fingers to tangle in her wet hair guiding her movements on his cock until he was exploding in her mouth. If she hadn’t nudged him out of an angry frustration in his living room by nuzzling her face into his clothed crotch, mouthing at his cock until he was moaning in tiny gasps, his head tossed back against the cushion when she finally drew his joggers down and taken him inside the warmth of her mouth.

Roman couldn’t see the look on her face in the darkness of the room. Her head was a mix of shadows and he watched as she turned it to the side hiding from him. A feeling a dread settled into his stomach. The last thing he wanted to do was push her into something she didn’t like. If he never got his lips on her pussy so be it. He wasn’t ready to give this woman up.

He lifted himself from her body and crawled back up the bed to lay by her side. He worked his arm beneath her and rolled her into his side. Tucking her head on his shoulder he kissed her forehead as he breathed deeply in hopes of calming his body down. His cock pulsed still trapped beneath his briefs. Hard almost to the point of painful. Begging to be freed. Begging to slip between her thighs.

“Roman?” Sophia’s questioning voice echoed in the silence of the room. Her brows drawn down in confusion at him putting the breaks on their coupling. Her hand moved across his chest, her fingers dancing over the warm smooth skin.

“It’s okay Soph,” Roman cupped her hand and brought it to his lips to press a kiss on her knuckles. He rested their entwined hands back on his chest, blowing out a breath as he stared up at the ceiling.

“No,” Sophia pushed into a sitting position. Goosebumps broke out over her skin against the cool air in the room and loss of Roman’s body heat. Her own body heat cooling with Roman pulling away. “What’s wrong? Why’d you stop?” She waited for his answer, a lump rising in her throat the longer he stayed silent. The thought of their relationship teetering on the brink of a crack had tears building in the corner of her eyes. “Roman…”

The uncertainty in Sophia’s tone had Roman coming to a seated position. Placing his weight on an outstretch arm behind her, he cupped her chin. His fingers moving lightly over the skin as he brushed her hair from her face. He lowered his head and softly kissed her lips. His tongue licked a tender stripe across her bottom lip. When her lips parted on a sigh to let him in, he met her tongue with long, gentle strokes as he lazily explored, stroking the embers of the dying heat between them.

“Roman,” Sophia whispered again when the kiss broke as slowly as it started. “Please tell me what’s wrong…”

“I need to know something,” Roman started. His mind worked furiously to put the words he wanted to say in the correct order and with the correct meaning. He didn’t want to come off as smarmy douche who was only looking for a way to push her into a position she doesn’t want to be in. “Since we’ve been together…and I mean intimately…every time I get close to going down on you, you push my head away. You offer up very persuasive distractions that I usually don’t realize I’ve fallen for until we’re both on the verge of falling asleep that you’ve once again derailed my intentions. I just want to know why you won’t let me eat you out. I’ve been dying to get my mouth on that pussy Soph…”

Sophia’s eyes widened momentarily at Roman’s unexpected words before they glazed over. Her skin flushed warm. Her body tingled at the raunchiness. Heat coiled deep in her belly. Wetness gathered at her center. “Roman…” she moaned softly. Her body warmed by his words.

“Just tell me. If you don’t like it, that’s okay. I won’t push…”

Sophia dropped her chin to chest. This time the flush on her cheeks came from embarrassment. She’d known this would eventually come up. After all, she’d given him a blow job plenty of times. Had explored his body with her hands and lips equally. Yet she never let him do the same. Always thwarting his advances when he neared her center. “I…it’s my ex…He didn’t like it.”

“Well he’s obviously a douche,” Roman said matter-of-factly. He couldn’t imagine not liking it. It’s like a powerful drug, loving a pussy with your tongue. The ability to bring pleasure with the flick of a tongue. Bringing her so close to the edge and backing off with soft lazy strokes. Kissing her thighs, nipping at the creases, watching as she gets slicker. Licking through her arousal and the heady scent that fills his nostrils, completely consuming him.

“But what does that have to do with me?” Roman’s voice was rough. Just imagining the act had his cock coming back to life. It was hard and heavy in his briefs.

“He... he didn’t like how I tasted and smelled…” Sophia wished the floor would open up and swallow her. The only reason she was even able to get through the conversation was the fact they were shroud in darkness. “He also had a beard and would… get angry because it… my smell would get c-caught in it. He’d have to shower immediately and even then… he’d complain about still being able to smell it and I…I even went to the doctor’s thinking something was wrong with me, but everything came back clean. So I just…” she shrugged, at a loss for words. “You have a beard. And I would never ask for you to shave… or even assume I had the right. I didn’t want to go through that again. So I just tried to let you think I didn’t like it, hoping you would stop trying…”

Roman was surprised the bed wasn’t vibrating from the uncontrolled anger currently rolling through his body. “Your ex was a fucking douche.”

Laughter sputtered from Sophia at Roman’s words. “I can agree to that.”

“Do you like it?”

“Like what?” Sophia’s eyes narrowed in confusion. She wasn’t sure what Roman was talking about.

“Do you like it when a man buries his face between your legs like he’s dying for a drink and your sweet nectar is the only thing available?” Roman’s voice was low, nearly a growl. He was done letting that asshole stop her from experiencing immense pleasure. He smirked hearing her breath catch in the quietness of the room. “Because Sweetheart that’s what I feel like… dying to get my lips on your pretty pussy.” He leaned forward his breath dancing over her ear. He trailed his fingers over her collarbone and down her arm. Light, fluttering caresses. “Dying to split you with my tongue as I lap up your juices like a starving man. I want your taste to explode in my mouth. I want to be completely consumed by your scent.”

“Roman…” she gasped her body trembling with need. Her cunt slick with arousal.

“Let me go down on you,” he whispered hotly. His hand palmed the back of her neck, his fingers tangling with her hair as he laid her down. “Let me get my beard between your thighs. Let me lick that pussy from slit to clit. Let me tease your clit with my tongue. Let me feel your come on my tongue. Coat my beard in your pussy juice. I wanna be able to catch a hint of your sweet perfume tomorrow on the plane ride home making me hard as a rock… Let me baby…”

He trailed a hand down her body and through her curls. He moaned as he fingers encountered her drenched pussy. “Oh Baby, you’re so wet for me…” He slid two fingers through the wetness to her hole where he slowly pressed inside. Her body once again greedily accepting him. Each clench of her inner walls pulling him deeper into her heat.

“Roman… please…” Sophia moaned rocking her hips into his hand. His palm sitting just right over her clit. The friction releasing shockwaves, zapping down her legs moving against the sheet in jerking motions in search of pleasure.

“Please what Baby?” He whispered in her ear, trailing his nose over her cheek as his fingers rocked in and out of her. His lips hovered above hers. Both mouths parted, breathes mixing. His hair falling down around his face hanging almost like curtains. He watched her eyes clench shut and he wished for a light so he could watch the emotions shooting through them.

“Roman…”

“Tell me…”

Sophia gasped as Roman’s fingers curled forward pressing against that rigid piece of flesh hidden on her front wall. Swollen with need. She released the bedsheet from her fisted hand and fisted the back of Roman’s head. She yanked him down to her lips. Taking advantage of the way his lips parted, her tongue shot forwards, twisting and twirling with his. Seeking and exploring every inch. “Put your mouth on me,” she said against his lips. Her breath coming in hot gasps as she nipped his bottom lip. “I need it…God please…” She tossed her head back. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Her impending orgasm rising rapidly from deep within.

Roman’s smile was nearly predatory at her words. His eyes darkened in desire. His cock pulsed as come beaded on the tip soaking into his briefs. Saliva settled on his tongue at the impending feast about to come his way. “Fuck,” he groaned as he pulled his fingers, slick with her arousal, from her body.

There was no time for soft kisses and teasing nips as Roman made his way down her body. Next time he swore he would give her the royal treatment of working his way down her body before he reached her center. But he was too far gone. Almost feral like. He needed his face between her thighs immediately.

“Turn around, let me suck you,” Sophia whispered as Roman settled between her thighs.

“Oh no Baby Girl,” he placed a kiss on the inside of either of her thighs. He called himself names in his head for once again bypassing the teasing strokes of his beard against those sensitive patches of skin. ‘Next time,’ he told himself firmly. Next time when he started kissing down her neck he wouldn’t stop until she was trembling in his arms, gasping for breath with her taste on his tongue and her slickness covering his beard. “This is all about you.”

Then he dove in.

He nearly wept in pleasure the moment his tongue met those swollen puffy lips, slicked with her heady, musky scent. He did release a low grown as his tongue swiped through her folds, picking up her tangy essence. It exploded on his tongue and he was hooked. He pressed his face deeper into her. His nose brushing against that swollen nub hiding up at the top of her folds. Right now, he had other plans. Sticking his tongue out, he speared her hot center. His tongue sinking into her heat. Like an explorer mining for minerals, he lapped and teased every inch of her heat, extracting that gooey goodness.

Sophia’s eyes slammed shut as a loud moan filled the room. Hers. Roman’s mouth was otherwise occupied. She’d blush at the thought if she could pull her faculties together. Her brain went offline the moment he buried his tongue deep inside her sex. Synapsis firing and misfiring sending short little zingers to every hidden recess of her body. Her body arched up, her back bowing off the bed, sending her hips further into his mouth. Her mouth open in a soundless scream as he licked and slurped at her pussy.

“Oh God Roman…” Sophia panted. The fingers of her right hand tangled in his hair in a stinging grip. She held him to her center as her hips rocked into his tongue. That wicked little muscle swirling and twirling in tantalizing motions up and down her swollen lips. Pressing deep into her slit like a starving man receiving his final meal and her body responded. Releasing that molten liquid on his tongue in an effort to satisfy.

Roman moaned as the liquid gushed from Sophia coating his beard. He drank everything she had to offer. He wrapped his arms under and around her thighs. His hands pressing down on either side of her hips to quell some of the movements. He couldn’t wait until he could get her to sit on his face with the way her hips swirled and rocked. Riding his face the same way she rode his cock, except it would be his tongue deep inside her body with her come saturating his beard.

He licked up her folds, gathering up every bit of her essence her body offered him. His tongue danced around her clit. He gave the nub a nudge with his tongue. The reaction was instantaneous of her thighs closed around her head and her hips bucked into his face. Her moan was low and he heard the swish of movement across fabric. He raised his eyes and once again wished for light. He could make out her head tossed back. Her breasts two soft mounds jutting up from her chest. Each nipple pulled into stiff peaks. Her arm was cocked next to her head, gripping the pillow in a death grip.

He was consumed by her. Every single one of his senses was her. The taste of her on his tongue and in his mouth. Her intoxicating scent burying itself deep within. The feel of her soft skin beneath his hands and her rocking against his face. Her breathy moans and soft gasps filling his ears. The sight of her body in the throes of passion, muscles rigid as the tension built up within. It would keep building and building until it finally snapped and that’s what he wanted. That tension to snap to send her spinning on clouds of ecstasy. Where her body would ride on a wave of euphoria until it crested sending her crashing back down where he could catch her with soft kisses and languid strokes of his hands to quell her quivering body.

“Give it to me,” Roman growled. His strokes turned stark and true. On a mission to bring her into sweet ecstasy. To rid her mind of the horrid ex who made her feel like she couldn’t enjoy something her body so clearly loved. “Give it to me Soph… I want it all.”

“Roman…” She moaned deep and long, her head tossed back. The tendons in her next stretched taunt. The heat in her belly deepened with every lick and nip of Roman’s mouth. His tongue dipped into her quivering hole before swiping back up through the folds slick with not only his spit but her fluids. His hardened tongue licked over her clit, swollen and pulsing. A direct line to the tension in her belly that kept winding and winding.

The assault on her clit continued and her hips jerked wildly. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to get away from the stimulation or press closer. Roman held her hips to the bed in a tight grip. His fingers pressing firmly into her skin she was sure he’d leave bruising behind. The thought caused her to gush. The warm spurt of liquid rolling down from her hole to the bedsheets beneath her. She clenched at the emptiness inside of her. She wished he’d send his cock home with one snap of his hips. She whined at the thought just as Roman’s lips closed around her clit and sucked.

The tension snapped free and she shouted out his name as her body jerked. Her hips rocked wildly on his face as her thighs clamped shut, trapping Roman in place. Her pussy convulsed releasing a gush of liquid that was quickly lapped up by a warm tongue. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she gasped for breath as the tension slowly released from her body. She melted back onto the sheets. Almost in a dreamy, drowsy-like state. After shocks caused minor tremors. Little twitches on her feet and hands.

“Fuck,” Roman groaned when he finally pulled his head away from Sophia’s pussy after he finished drinking what her body had to offer him. Quivering through the intense orgasm. He placed soft kisses on the insides of her thighs and on top of her mound. He just found his new favorite past time. Sophia would be having a hard time keeping him away from her pussy going forward. He couldn’t get enough. He ran a hand over his mouth and down his beard in a chin cupping motion. The soft hairs on his chin were drenched. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Her intoxicated scent filled his nostrils from where it lingered on his moustache. His whole body shivered before heading back at his cock. Weeping and painfully hard.

He pushed himself from the bed to push his briefs down. They fell to the floor forgotten. He took his cock in his hand and groaned at the feeling. His member was hot and hard in his hand and he bit his bottom lip in an effort to keep from coming. From spilling his seed all over his hand and the floor.

“Roman come here…”

His eyes opened at the soft whisper. He could see Sophia leaning up on an elbow with one arm stretched out to him, beckoning him. Like a leash around his neck, he couldn’t refuse. Roman kneeled on the bed and crawled over her body as she lay back. Her thighs parting on either side of his – welcoming him.

“I’m not going to last long,” he whispered, his body trembling with built up desire.

“I don’t care,” Sophia stated as she raised her hands to cup his bearded cheeks. Her thumbs ran over his lips. Meeting in the middle then fanning back toward her index fingers. The pads moving over those soft lips moistened with the telltale sign of her orgasm. She almost felt embarrassed by the fact, but instead she felt embolden. Lifting her neck she met those lips with hers.

His lips parted in offering as she licked along his bottom lip giving a soft moan as she chased her taste into his mouth. Her pussy filled with slick once again, her body trembling with need. “I need you in me…”

Roman reached down between them, gripping his cock in his hand. He ran the head through her folds causing her to moan from his heated arousal. He placed his head at her open and lifted his head, to stare down at her.

“I don’t need soft.”

With a groan Roman’s hips snapped forward sending his cock in to the hilt with one thrust. Their moans blended together as his hips rest against her. Her pussy stretched around him. His jaw clenched as he breathed heavily in an effort to stop himself from coming immediately. Her legs wrapped around his hips, allowing him to sink further and he tossed his head back.

“Fuck me Roman,” Sophia whispered, squeezing her thighs around his waist. “I need you.”

Roman pulled out slowly his cock covered in her slick creamy juices. He thrust back in quickly and set a torrid pace. His biceps were bulging, rippling corded muscles with throbbing veins holding his weight. His ass clenched with each snap of his hips. His length sliding in and out of her pussy, clutching his cock so tightly each time in an effort to keep him deep inside. The fluttering of her muscles around him nearly made him cross eyed.

He slammed in to her with a bruising force but her legs only tightened around his waist. Her fingers clutched at his biceps. Her nails nearly piercing the skin leaving behind almond shaped divots. Roman’s face contorted in pleasure. A sheen of moisture layered his body. He lifted his right hand from the bed threading it under Sophia down to her back where he pressed up, changing the angle of his thrusts.

Sophia screamed as an orgasm ripped through her like a wave tossing a ship at sea. Her pussy clenched down hard on his cock and her body spasmed.

Roman’s hips snapped forward once twice more before he slammed home a third time. A roar was ripped from the deep trenches of his soul as his orgasm crashed over him. His vision whited out. His cock pulsed and pulsed as his come shot out coating the inside of Sophia’s pussy. He moaned against the spasms of her pussy around his cock as she suffered through her own orgasmic pleasure.

Then the tension was gone as quick as it arrived. Roman slipped from her body falling onto the bed beside her. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. Little tremors still coursed through his body. He was covered in sweat. Heat radiated off his body and he wanted to turn the AC in the room down to arctic temps. His hair clung to his neck in a bothersome manner. He couldn’t move. His muscles no longer worked. His brain felt like it was offline and it needed time to reboot.

The bed shifted and he blinked his eyes opened to see Sophia staring down at him. It took all the strength he could muster to thread his fingers through her hair and pull her down to rest her head on his shoulder.

Silence filled the room as they laid pressed against each other. Their heart rates slowly returning to normal. His fingers combed through her hair, enjoying the feel of the soft strands gliding between his fingers.

“So I was thinking…”

“How are you thinking already?” Roman murmured his eyes closed just enjoying the feel of her next to him.

A cocky grin grew on Sophia’s face. She turned her head and pressed a kiss to Roman’s slick skin. “We’re both supposed to check out of here tomorrow… maybe we check in to somewhere else a little more private before I need to fly to Portland Friday morning.” She was scheduled to appear on Smackdown that Friday. Roman however wasn’t scheduled to appear on the show until the end of the month right before Royal Rumble.

“What do you propose we do to entertain ourselves for the next three days?” Roman smiled at the idea. He was flying back to Tampa the next day while Sophia was choosing to hang out in LA for the next few days instead of flying across country to turn around and fly back across it a few days later.

“I have a few ideas… the first one being to sit on your face.” Sophia shrieked when he moved with a quickness she didn’t know he had at the moment. She found herself under him with his body pressing hers into the mattress.

“Sit on my face huh?” Roman leaned down and pressed a teasing kiss to her lips. He angled his head before pressing his lips to hers again. A sweet kiss with soft brushes of tongues against lips. Her arms wound around her neck anchoring her to him.

“You’ve unleashed a monster…” Her eyes widened feeling his hard cock pressing into her belly.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Roman smirked as he rubbed his awakened cock along the curve of her hip. “Sophia,” her name dripping from his lips like velvet as he once again pushed into her drawing a moan.

Sophia hummed in response as lightning flooded her core.

“Book that fucking hotel.”

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 9 part 2

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

I'm glad nicky came up with a cool new tune because according to period movies and shows greensleeves is the only song anyone ever knew

look at that meek little smile, ughhhh. nicky is like two days old and this asshole has already figured out he's the perfect prop for her murder sprees. and these poor women are calling her sister and are willing to help too.

the spell is te accipimus in circulum, we accept you in the circle, and yes that makes me cry a little. we accept you in our community. and the spell is yellow air magic, which sounds like the most empathic kind if Lilia is any indication.

that's interesting, you can't really tell that well from screencaps but go rewatch the scene, this witch is making mushrooms grow with yellow magic instead of green?? is it just a spell (she is holding a book) or have I been getting it all wrong and color has nothing to do with the type of magic one has?

or maybe??? the color depends on the coven you're in?? the salemites all had blue magic for example. and now that I think about it the stone circle is a protection spell but it's not red/orange.

the meaning of this scene is so glaring dear lord. agatha was never going to give these women a chance to prove that yes, there are people out there who could love and help and accept her. she has shut herself up to that possibility a long time ago.

and she stole the soup too. awful.

I've seen all the different theories about nicky needing to feed on witches too, or nicky needing soul sacrifices to survive because he's the son of death etc. we don't have enough evidence to prove anything yet, but personally I headcanon nicky as a totally normal kid, that makes this story even more tragic.

and aww that baby suckling on the little pudgy fist

nicky doesn't look that happy about what he's been asked to do, does he?

we establish that nicky was sickly (maybe he was born with some internal defect that rio temporarily patched up?) we also see him steal the bell agatha will use for her Road scam in the future.

and we meet yet another witch being kind and wanting to help.

agatha: I love this six year old so much I'm gonna make him accessory to murder

dO yOU ShaME YouR MOtHER

and the big fake gasp too. as usual this bitch has conned a whole community

like, she's convinced herself that other witches are bad and are after her WHILE relying on witches's good hearts to con and kill them. what sort of mental gymnastics???

color goes from yellow to purple. nicky waits outside while his mom commits murder, it's not a good look on agatha. completely fucked up, actually.

(I'm terrified that the goat will end up being an agent of mephisto or something idiotic like that, lemme tell you. I hope they're just keeping it for milk and company.)

and here's the million dollar question. nicky has seen his mom kill literally since he was born, and now he's old enough to start realizing what that means.

oooh I know that look, that's agatha when she's put on the spot. she avoids his gaze, she can't be sincere with him.

and of course she's teaching herself spells from a book. nerrrrrrd

nicky, bless his soul, appears to give it a good thought and then offers a practical suggestion. I guess he wouldn't mind to have a roof on his head and some friends too.

GREAT acting from kathryn here. the quick OH SHIT face followed by the super final NO, with her jaw so rigid. in typical agatha fashion, when she's upset she becomes avoidant.

this is evanora's legacy. despite agatha's immense love for nicky, she is passing all that pain down and inflicting it on him.

remember when she called billy a survivor? this is the greatest asset in her opinion, the one she wants to teach her son. the truth is, she is angry at witches because she is scared of them, she's scared of being targeted again. but look at that kid's dark circles, I can't believe she's making him sleep in the woods, sick as he is!

really really fantastic subtlety. agatha wants to sound wise and strong, but she looks scared, uncertain, guilty.

see how nicky looks at agatha while he sings? he's checking to see if she's noticing, because his mom likes music and likes his voice. he's afraid he has upset her and wants to make her smile. he tried to reason with her, and now he tries to soothe her. this is what happens when you have an immature parent, a child will want to help, they will try to fix things. they'll end up parenting their parent, and it should always be the other way round.

agatha takes the bait. she's relieved that the conversation has moved to a safer subject. but oh, this script is so good. this is a mostly innocent, mostly sweet remark, but with a possessive undertone. don't forget that you are mine, she says.

and still, the love is real. even in a fucked up situation like this, these moment of happiness are precious and genuine and will linger on. look at how adoringly nicky looks at his mom, she's literally the sun and center of his small world, and that's how agatha likes it: she created nicky because she needed someone who could be hers without any baggage or consequences. but it turns out that raising a child is not a cheat code for love, it's one of the most difficult, most significant and impactful decisions a human can make.

go to episode 9 part 3

[gingeralecranberry]

CHAPTER 1

𝟐-𝟏 ; 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

AS YOU’RE RIPPING ME TO SHREDS

☺︎ cw:

mentions of death, fighting, canon-typical violence, gojo may be ooc he's a lil bit of a weirdo, sukuna and gojo both deserve their own warnings, scarring, brief mention/description of injuries, Megumi is an edgy teen, that one scene were itadori is chained to that weird ass pole, mentions of executions, semi-graphic descriptions of Sukuna's finger (cause it really is disgusting)

"Under Jujustu regulations, Itadori Yuji, I will exorcize you as a curse!"

Under the shrouded night sky, the moonlight blanketed the scattered chunks of jagged debris strewn across the school rooftop in a soft radiance. The holes in the structure croaked with a melancholy groan, the noise swept away by the sound of the wind. Spiderweb-esque cracks stretched their slender fingers across the concrete, across the pale gray walls, across the splintered siding of the building.

"Wait, really, I'm fine!"

Across the expanse of carnage, the two teenagers stared each other down.

The older of the two boys sat on the far end of the building, laying in a pool of his own blood. Spiky black hair matted to his forehead, both from sweat and his injuries, he raised both his fists in a false circle. The heightened collar on his gakuran cast an intimidating shadow over the lower half of his face, highlighting the kindlings of desperation burning in his muted green eyes.

The younger of the two, a much more spritely and jovial personality, raised both his hands in mock surrender. The pink hair that'd previously been ruffled to stand up nearly straight cascaded down towards his forehead again, the ominous black markings all over his body seemingly being swallowed by the flesh tone of his skin. The sharp black talons on the ends of each finger dissolved, almost as if they'd never been there in the first place.

"More importantly, you and I are both pretty beat up, let's get to a hospital."

Stuck at odds with his logical rationale and his gut feeling, Megumi Fushiguro could feel the familiar feeling of frustration welling up in his throat.

'I can't tell if the one speaking right now is Itadori or the cursed object! Damn it...'

His hands were stationary, still in the same faux circle he'd arranged them in earlier. He hesitated to drop the stance, fearing an ambush.

'...What should I do?!'

In the near deafening silence, both of the combatants failed to notice the presence of a third person on the roof. As if it were just any other day, the new guy waltzed in seemingly without a care.

"What's the situation?"

Fushiguro immediately dropped his hands in favor of whipping around to look behind him, jaw dropping open as his eyes settled on the familiar sight of his teacher. His internal wheel of emotions seemed to spin back and forth between horror, relief, and utter mortification. Eventually, his wheel settled for a nightmare cocktail blessed by all of the above! "Wha... Gojo-sensei?! What are you doing here?!"

Kitted up in his signature gakuran, blindfold, and a bag from the local pastry shop, his white hair stuck up from the pressure of the blindfold on either side of his face.

Leisurely, he greeted his student with a smile, "Hey." He stood idly on the sidelines with his hands shoved in his pockets, "I wasn't planning on coming, but man, you're roughed up..." As though a million dollar idea flashed on a big screen behind his blindfold, a cruel grin ran its way up the man's cheeks, "I should show the second years."

His student grimaced, doing his best to twist his broken body away from the camera. He hissed through gritted teeth, swallowing both his physical AND mental pain in an effort to keep his dignity. Still, Gojo persisted, leaning in close as he began to snap what the Sendai-student assumed were dozens of pictures. "Hahaha! Face this way!"

Itadori could only stand by and watch in what he described as abject horror-fascination.

Eventually, when it seemed the older man got his fill of amusement, he stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "The higher-ups wouldn't shut up with a special-grade cursed object gone missing, so I stopped by while doing some sightseeing." Curiously, he examined the surrounding area through the confines of the black fabric pressed over his eyes. "So, did you find it?"

"..."

"..."

The teenagers exchanged glances momentarily.

"Um..."

Oblivious to the situation at hand, Gojo tilted his head to the side, "Hm?"

"I-"

"He ate it."

Collectively, all heads turned towards the voice originating from the huge hole in the concrete wall of the school.

"Huh?"

Quiet footsteps resounded against the desecrated rooftop in the dead silence of the encounter. Peeking from the shadows cast by the ruined architecture, a tall man in strange attire stepped into the low light of the moon. Donning a pair of black hakama pants and a matching plain black haori jacket, he traipsed towards the trio missing the common trepidation one would have when confronting the strongest curse alive.

He raised a finger, matter of factly, "The finger, he ate it."

The two teenagers blinked at him stupidly.

Gojo's posture, on the other hand, straightened with excited recognition, "Sensei!"

'Sensei? That guy barely looks any older!'

Before Itadori could think about it any further, the white-haired teacher disappeared from view before reappearing on the other side of the rooftop. In the blink of an eye, he was already falling into stride alongside the newcomer with an eerily calculated ease. "What are you doing here?"

Still, the stranger paid no mind to the sudden change in position, walking forward at the same measured pace, "It's been 10 years since you graduated Gojo. You don't need to call me Sensei, especially since we're coworkers now."

The other sorcerer hummed, "Well, calling you by your last name feels too formal, but I don't wanna say your first name..." He trailed off, letting the silence hang in the air for an uncomfortably long amount of time.

"..."

Finally, he tacked on, "So... What are you doing here? Did you miss me so much you had to visit? No need to feel embarrassed!"

Fushiguro could feel his nose crinkle in disgust.

'God, he's humiliating.'

Completely unphased, the older man's eyes were still trained forward and locked on target. "When one of Sukuna's fingers goes missing, it doesn't take a genius to figure out the higher-ups are going to panic. I was sent in as back-up." Finally he came to a stop in front of the pink-haired teen in quest, "Itadori, was it?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

The 15-year-old gulped down a lump of spit, tilting his neck to look up into the other's (eye-color) pupils.

Instead of trying to kill him (like expected), the stranger offered a hand, "(name) (surname), may I?"

"..."

"..."

"...Huh?"

"Oh, uh-" The man shook his head, cringing a little at his own lack of decorum, "Sorry, I should probably explain myself first." He retracted his hand in favor of letting it fall to his side again. "I'm a cursed object specialist. Since you swallowed a cursed object, I want to do a quick check to make sure nothing's wrong with you."

"Oh," Yuji murmured, "Yeah... yeah, that's fine."

(name)'s neutral face shifted to a grateful smile, doing a quick visual inspection first.

'No signs of markings... but what are those?'

Without warning, the older man's hand gripped the teen's chin gently, tilting his head to the side to scrutinize the new scarring on his cheekbones.

A moment of silence passed among the group.

Finally, the specialist's arm returned to his side, "Fascinating..." He placed a hand on his chin, sitting on any potential questions before asking, "Does anything feel off with your body?"

The teen glanced over his appendages, looking for any injuries, "Not particularly."

He hummed again, satisfied, "Truly fascinating."

Laying a hand on (name)'s shoulder, Gojo moved his former teacher out of the way before inspecting the teen himself. "Damn, it really did combine with you... That's hilarious!" He trailed off, continuing to scan the composition of the teen's newly concocted and brewed cursed energy. There seemed to be a particularly mischievous idea forming in his head, indicated by the curling of his lips. "Say, can you swap out with Sukuna?"

Itadori blinked, "Sukuna?"

Gojo nodded, "The curse you ate."

The teen paused, "Oh... Yeah, I think I can do that."

Upon being given the greenlight, the white-haired menace started to stretch. Rolling his shoulders and squatting to open up his legs he continued, "Then give us ten seconds."

Megumi opened his mouth to voice protest, but (name) simply shook his head in response.

The teacher righted his posture, shaking out his arms, "Once ten seconds are up, come back to us."

Seemingly already familiar with the danger pertaining to the entity inside him, the younger teen also seemed hesitant to comply, "But..."

Immediately, he was cut off, "Don't worry. I'm the strongest." Upon seeing the boy's shoulders relax a little, he called over his shoulder. "Megumi."

Fushiguro gave a small grunt in response.

"Hold on to this."

Despite tossing it to his student, (name) ended up catching the bag in one hand and shifting to wedge himself between Megumi and where the fight was going to take place.

Fushiguro's eyes trailed up to the bag, gesturing towards it with his less injured arm, "What is that?"

"Kikufuku from Kikusuian!" As if he wasn't about to go up against the King of Curses, Gojo smiled eagerly and started to make over the top gestures with his hands as he spoke, "It's Sendai's speciality, and it's super good. I personally recommend the zunda and cream flavor!"

Quietly, the eldest of the four released a tired sigh, holding the twine straps in one hand. Megumi, though, narrowed his eyes, mumbling a rather pissed off, "This guy actually went and bought souvenirs when people were out here dying...!"

As Gojo went on to argue about the specifics of his souvenir shopping with his student, (name) closed his eyes, allowing the thrum of cursed energy to trace the outlines of his feet where they connected with the ground. Despite having fought special grade curses as a special grade sorcerer, the man still hadn't ever faced such... malicious decadence twisted into the very source of the energy itself.

Undoubtedly, the King of Curses was only a handful of yards away.

Then he wasn't.

Megumi's body surged forward in alarm, "Behind you!"

His teacher paid his cry no mind, wagging a finger at him with a hand on his hip, "Kikufuku's not like other souvenirs-"

The large cloud of dust exploded from what little remained of the concrete floor, brushing against your closed eyelids. As if tapping into your third eye, the outline of the battlefield appeared like a blueprint before the expanse of darkness in your head...

...two large husks of cursed energy gave particularly strong outlines.

"--And the whipped cream inside is simply exquisite."

You fanned away some of the aftershocks of the explosion with your hand, opening your eyes.

Not even a foot in front of you, the Ryomen Sukuna was hunched over... with your former student perched on his back.

The curse gave an angry laugh, immediately weaving to strike Gojo again. He wasn't expecting the man to match his pace, ducking and sliding out of the way with every fist that came soaring his direction. Eventually, instead of dodging, the man parried, sending the Curse hurtling through the air to the other end of the rooftop.

Another plume of dust flew up like a smoke wall, obscuring the King from view.

"My student's watching, so I'm going to show off a little."

Ah... something about hearing his own former student saying that made a little memory in the recesses of (name)'s heart flutter with bittersweet nostalgia. He remembered when he would've done the same thing.

Oh, to be young and stupid.

With something akin to a groan, Sukuna advanced again.

'He's unbelievably fast? No, that's not it.'

The two met midair, the curse finding itself on the receiving end of a fist straight to the face. Once agaain thrown nearly head first into the decaying building, he clicked his tongue in annoyance, just barely managing to correct his footing before landing, "For crying out loud... You jujutsu sorcerers are always trouble, no matter the era!"

Following his proclamation, he leapt into the air, bringing his wrath down onto the roof where his opponent stood. Before he could make contact with the floor however, it seemed the concrete hardened and reinforced itself with an electrifying concentration of cursed energy. Two of his four eyes glanced to the source, widening.

'That volume of cursed energy... and yet it doesn't feel as though he has any.'

(name) stood to the side, hands behind his back. His eyes were, once again, closed.

"Seven... Eight... Nine..."

Sukuna let out an exasperated growl, chest heaving with the excessive exertion.

"Should be time."

Instantaneously, all muscle control seemed to slip through the curse's fingers like sand through a sieve. Any attempt to grasp at motor function only served for it to escape him quicker.

'Damn it... Again? I can't take over. Who the hell is this... Itadori... brat?'

(name) peeled his eyes open, enamored as he recollected his cursed energy from the environment. He watched the malevolent aura of the King dwindle and dwindle until it was no more than a blot of the outline of Itadori's soul.

The teen's body slowly returned to normality, tattoos and nails regressing to that of the average human. The eyes on the side of his head closed into scars once again, "Oh, was everything okay?"

From the heart of the explosion, the remaining sorcerer sauntered back over the group. Gojo gave a lopsided smirk at the sight, looking over Itadori again with his Six Eyes. "I'm shocked. You really can control it!"

The pink-haired teen nodded, hitting at the side of his head with furrowed brows, "He's kind of annoying though, I can hear his voice."

(name) hummed, "That's to be expected when you're a vessel."

The other teacher expressed his own agreement, "It's a miracle that's all he's doing."

Just like the cursed object specialist had done earlier, when Gojo approached and outstretched his hand towards Yuji's face, the highschooler didn't pay any mind. This time however, when two fingers made contact with his forehead, something didn't quite feel right. With maybe a millisecond to register the strange sensation, his eyelids started to droop. Fighting to keep them open, he made a noise between alarm and discomfort, instantaneously confronted with the creeping, rapidly expanding feeling of his body turning to lead.

"What did you do?"

The youngest of the four crumbled, chin unceremoniously knocking on the sorcerer's sturdy shoulder.

"Knocked him out," he rearranged the Sendai student's body to drape across his back. "If he isn't possessed by Sukuna when he wakes up, he might have potential as a vessel. Now, Megumi, I have a question for you."

"..."

"What should we do with him?"

(name) grimaced, watching the uncomfortable bend of the teenager's spine over the curvature of the other man's back.

Like the responsible kid he was, Fushiguro ruminated on his thoughts before he made a final decision. It was almost as though his eyes reflected each and every one of the potential outcomes while his brain parsed through the best and worst what-if scenarios.

"Even if he is a vessel, Jujutsu regulations demand Itadori be executed."

The cursed object specialist hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath the entire time he observed the first-year. Whether out of interest or apathy, he couldn't tell. Still, he offered a small sigh.

"...However,"

(name) paused.

Fushiguro's eyes met Gojo's, piercing through him with a thousand-yard stare, intense and packed with conviction, "I don't want to let him die."

"..."

"..."

His teacher's lips peeled back into a coy smile, "Personal feeling?"

The young man nodded, completely resolute in his decision, "Yes. Please do something about this."

His teacher's smile only grew wider, a single hand reaching up to brush through his untamed white hair with a quiet snicker, "Now it's a request from a precious student... Leave it to me."

"Wait."

Teacher and student whipped around to the other man situated just a few feet away.

The man cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed that all attention was situated squarely on his shoulders.

"..."

"..."

"...Let me carry him, Satoru."

"..."

"..."

A breeze drifting by was seemingly swept up in the silence that wrapped up the destroyed rooftop like a blanket.

There was a snort.

Then Gojo broke out into laughter.

(name)'s cheeks sprouted a flustered pink hue, extending from the roots to fan the flame over his nose and cheekbones. "You're holding him like a sack of potatoes," He averted eye contact, looking towards the waning moon, "he's already going to be sore after being thrown around like a ragdoll, I thought I would at least spare him the unnecessary back pain."

The sorcerer, despite his blindfold, made the motion of wiping a fake tear from his eye as his boisterous laugh echoed into a near silent chuckle. He took another deep breath, resting his hand on his stomach, "Always so doting to students... I wonder where all that was when you were teaching me."

Fushiguro felt like he wanted to vomit.

'God, he's so fucking cringe.'

"But... the recap and current events don't line up."

The room was dark, its only challenger being the gentle light offered by a generous collective of candles haphazardly stationed around the gloomy chamber. While their burning wax dripped onto the dirty concrete floor, the flame dancing at the end of each wick revealed the hundreds--thousands--of sigils and talismans looming above. The pages, yellowed with age, acted like impromptu wallpaper. A few corners beginning to peel, a few ink-stained fingerprints on others, the imperfections in the calligraphy didn't stifle the atmosphere in the slightest. The energy seeping in from the unknown, shadowy corners of the room was suffocating.

“Hey, I did my best.” 

Sitting with his front pressed against the back of a plain wooden chair, Gojo observed the teenager through his blindfold.  His Six Eyes traced over the intricacies of newfound cursed energy, almost mesmerized by the twisting, turning, warping of the two souls manifested in his singular body.  He rested his forearm against the back of his seat, “The execution’s still on, but I managed to get your sentence suspended.” 

“Suspended?”

Itadori sat flat on the ground, leaning against the room’s singular pillar.  Large, steel manacles weighed heavy on his wrists.  The chains that bound his cuffs to the room’s far wall were thick like pythons.  Wrapping around the pillar like a pair of constrictors, they criss-crossed over one another in an x before melding into their respective anchors. 

“So you’re not killing me right away?” 

Staring into Gojo’s blindfold felt weird and unnatural, but the teen didn’t really have any other options. 

“Yup,” The man would be the one to break eye contact first, maneuvering to reach into his gakuran’s pocket, “I’ll explain it from the top.” 

His slender hand returned with something that looked very familiar.   He presented the object proudly, holding it up in front of Itadori’s expectant face.  “This is the same as the cursed object you ate.” 

Amber eyes raked over the grotesque appendage.   Ugly, wrinkly purple skin scrunched around the knuckles in an uncanny manner that sent uncomfortable tingles down Yuji’s spine.   The texture was only made worse by the lack of a clean cut, bits of flesh left hanging off the finger.  Being this close to it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

“There are twenty in total.  We currently possess six.” 

Looking at it was like watching an accident.   It was deeply disturbing but it retained this all powerful magnetic quality that made it near impossible to look away. 

“Twenty?” 

Fighting his compulsion to stare, Itadori made eye contact with the sorcerer sitting in front of him, “Each finger and toe?” 

Gojo’s smile only grew wider and more unsettling in the low light, “No, Sukuna has four arms.” 

Without a heads up, the older man tossed the cursed object into the air.  In the nanosecond it took the Sendai Student to glance at the sudden movement, an abundance of cursed energy crackled to life like electricity.  It snapped like a whip, launching the finger in a cloud of smoke. 

“...”

“...As you can see, we can’t destroy them.  The curse is just that powerful.” 

The boy’s jaw hung open like the fat koi fish in the pond he’d pass on the way home.  Staring at the fresh crater in the previously unblemished wall of talisman, he failed to notice the teacher standing up from his seat. 

Delicately plucking the curse from the steaming indentation he’d lovingly branded into the side of the room, he sauntered back over to his wooden chair.  Completely relaxed, his airy lilt carried through the room, “The curse grows stronger every day, and the seals of modern-day jujutsu sorcerers just can’t keep up.” 

Tucking the finger back into his pocket, he threw his leg over the wooden seat, “That’s where you come in.” 

Finally closing his mouth, the teenager blinked at him. 

“...Huh?” 

“You see, when you die, the curse inside you dies as well.”  Dramatically, the sorcerer slumped forward with a sigh, “Our elders are total cowards, you know? They’re demanding we kill you right away.” 

“...”

Gojo pursed his lips, “But that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?” 

Itadori cocked his head to the side, struggling to process the clusterfuck of information he had unceremoniously dumped onto his unsuspecting lap, “A waste?” 

Resting the side of his face against his palm with an awkwardly cheerful ‘mhm!’, the white-haired stranger went on, “There’s no guarantee another vessel capable of handling Sukuna will ever be born again, so this is what I proposed,” he held up a pointer finger, waving it around to punctuate his statement, “If we’re going to kill you anyway… why not kill you after you’ve absorbed  ALL of Sukuna?”

“...”

“...”

Gojo crossed his arms over the back of his wooden perch, offering a non committal hum, “It took a lot of convincing, and Sensei had to pitch in, but eventually, the higher-ups agreed… so now you have two options before you.” 

Staring into the blank darkness of the black blindfold, Itadori finally seemed to notice how dry the inside of his mouth was.  

“You can either die right now…”

He swallowed.

“…or you can find all the parts of Sukuna and die after you’ve absorbed them.” 

JAZMIN BEAN : FAVORITE TOY

☺︎ taglist:

@angelkazusstuff @ahoeindeedinneed @wutap @mysouleaten @ilovebattinson @satansdaughter123

masterlist ☓

[kingkat12]

dressing room (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, semi-public sex, fingering, foul language, quickie, slight voyeurism, piv sex, and roman is a bit of an ass LMAO

summary: shopping with Roman can be hard (pun intended)

word count: 2,968

"No, I don't like that either,"

At this point, those words were starting to feel like nails against a chalkboard. I clenched my teeth together, not wanting to let out the string of curses that befell my mind. Shopping with Roman was absolute hell— I had told him not to come, but he insisted; "How are you going to go without my card, anyway?"

Seething, I gave the shop assistant a look as I turned on my heel, walking back into the changing room. Why didn't he like anything? Ever? It was making me grow more and more insecure by the minute, and I hated it. I hated that he had to come. I hated that I was dependant on him to buy nice stuff for myself. 

Without even asking, Roman suddenly stuck his hand into my dressing room, handing me a dress. "Try this on," he said, voice rather harsh.

Still not saying a word, I accepted it, fussing with the dressing room curtain as I grew further annoyed. I took another glance at the dress; I couldn't deny it was nice. It was short, black— a classic fuck-me dress. Of course he wanted me to wear this. Rolling my eyes, I changed into the dress, mumbling several curse-words under my breath as I zipped it up.

Walking out of the dressing room, I felt my heart beat hard in my chest. I wasn't ready for another rejection from Roman. I stepped in the middle of the fitting-area, checking myself out in the big mirror on the wall in front of me— I liked this one. My nervous gaze flickered over to Roman in the mirror, watching his attention move from his phone and to me from where he had sat himself down in a comfortable chair. 

Roman shifted, grounding his long legs on the floor, leaning forward to get a good look. "Turn around,"

Adhering to his orders, I did as told, doing my best to not look too angry with him. 

Roman's eyes scanned me thoroughly as he hummed, thinking. "I like it. We'll take this one,"

Letting out a sigh of relief, I couldn't believe he finally liked something. It irked me that he didn't ask what I felt about it, but I let it slide. I didn't want to provoke him in any way, especially not now.

However, Roman could read my face like no other. He always had the ability to know exactly what I was feeling— it's just that he didn't give a damn most of the time. "What?" he said, brows drawing together as his mood worsened. "Why do you look like that?"

"Like what?" It was the first thing I had said in about an hour.

"Displeased," Roman kicked back into the chair, his green eyes narrowing as he looked at me. "What is it?"

"It's nothing—"

"What is it about the ten thousand dollar dress that I'm about to buy you that displeases you?" His eyes were truly drilling into me now. 

I clenched my jaw, hoping to keep my mouth shut. I didn't want to do this in front of the workers in this shop, I didn't want to do this in public. "I'm just tired, Roman, could we just—"

"Tired of what? Shopping?" With a displeased huff, he shook his head in denial. "Talk to me about being tired when you start doing more than sitting around all day."

I let out a short gasp, feeling more than offended. Not wanting to cause a commotion, I lowered my voice before I spoke; "Roman, I'm in college. What I do when I'm 'sitting around all day', is studying!"

Roman snorted, rolling his eyes; "Do you want the dress or not?"

Enraged, I let in a big heave of air. Drilling my gaze into his, seeing the patronizing shimmer in the green of his eyes, pushed me over the edge. "No!" I sneered, balling my fists. "I don't want it! I didn't even want to come here, let alone have you come with me, but you never listen! Selfish fucking!—" I caught the eyes of one of the saleswomen, and it made me realize that I was making the scene I told myself I wouldn't make. Not daring to look at Roman, I stormed back into the dressing room, angrily closing the curtains.

With angry tears pressing up against my eyes, I struggled to open the zipper as my vision blurred. I hated this. I hated every minute, every second of this. Out of sight from everyone, I let a small tear run down my cheek, feeling beyond frustrated with both Roman and the zipper.

However, as the curtains drew apart and I felt his presence behind me, my breath hitched as I quickly wiped away the tear. "Get out—"

"Shut up," Roman stepped forward, swatting my hands away from the zipper, taking matters into his own hands. He opened it with ease and proceeded to watch me sniffle as I took off the dress. "What's your problem?" he said, voice low.

Feeling defeated, I let out a shaky sigh as I arranged the dress back on the hanger, not really caring that I was in my underwear and a pair of high heels in front of him. It's not like he hadn't seen me like this before. "I don't think you're allowed in here," I mumbled, not meeting his gaze.

Letting out a short, low groan, Roman rolled his eyes, clearly fed up. "I don't get why you're upset," he said, leaning against the wall as he watched me like a hawk. "I basically give you an unlimited budget to shop at fucking Dior, and you're sulking. Sulking!" 

Finally turning to him, I let him see how glossy my eyes were from the tears I was holding back. "I just wanted a day to make myself feel better, Roman," I said, keeping my voice down, fighting the rush of water coming to my eyes. "To look at myself and not hate what I see because of what I've become for you!"

Roman's eyes narrowed as his chest rose high with every breath he took. Stepping away from the wall, he took a few damning steps towards me, towering over me in intimidation. "You can't even imagine how many girls there are out there that would give up everything to be in your position," he said with a low growl. "Why can't you just be grateful?"

"Grateful for what?" I snapped back, feeling my frustration rise. "To be treated like some trophy you parade around town? Just a prop you bring around to social events? It's you who should be grateful I haven't left your sorry ass!"

Clearly growing further agitated, Roman's eye twitched. "No one's holding you back, sweetheart. You're free to leave,"

Taken aback, I stared back at him with a hollow feeling in my chest. Why were his words so venomous? Did I really mean that little to him, after all this time? My face fell a little, clearly caught off guard. He had never been so... welcoming of that idea. Feeling more tears well up in my eyes, I continued to stare at him in disbelief. 

And something about the look of defeat on my face seemed to satisfy Roman. Something deep, something dark inside of him. With a victorious smirk, he leaned down, tilting my chin up to make sure I wouldn't look away as he came closer. I could feel his hot breath against my skin as he spoke softly; "You can be a brat and complain all you want, but after I'm done with you here, I'm going to go pay for that dress while you fix yourself up. You're wearing it to the gala tonight. Got it?" 

Not knowing what else to say, feeling everything all at once, I mumbled; "It's too short for a gala,"

"All the better," Roman whispered, a flaming shimmer in his green eyes. He snaked one arm around my waist, tracing the bare skin of my back as he slowly pulled me even closer. "What do you say about a little peace-offering?"

Oh no. I knew what that meant. "I'm still mad at you,"

"Sure, stay mad," Roman leaned down, his plush lips now pressed against my neck in a hot, wet kiss. "Be mad at me all you want darling, take it out on me." 

Confused, I shivered as he kissed down my neck. This was quite a turn of events. "Roman, not here—"

"Yes, here," Gently biting down on my shoulder, hoping to get a reaction, he pulled me flush against him. Feeling my breath hitch once more, I put my hands on his broad shoulders, ready to push him away at any second. This was highly inappropriate, and I was suddenly hyper-aware of how little I was wearing compared to him, all dressed up in his usual suit.

"You need to stop fighting this," Roman murmured, moving from my neck to kiss the shell of my ear, making me shiver once more. "Stop fighting the life I want to give you. Don't you think I know what's best for you?"

Having him whisper in my ear like this was making my brain short-circuit, no matter the circumstances. I batted away my tears, sort of frozen to my spot. 

"You need to let me take care of you," he whispered, his hands now travelling down to my hips. "Let me buy you that stupidly expensive dress. Let me parade you around. It makes me feel good, don't you see? Don't you want to make me feel good?" With those last words, one of his hands slipped between my legs, ghosting over my underwear with one finger. 

I shivered— oh God. "Roman, I—"

"Don't you?" It didn't take long before he dipped his hand into my underwear, slowly rubbing my clit as I squirmed, hips bucking against his hand. My mind was far gone at this point; "I do,"

"Yeah?" Roman let me grind against his hand (for once), pulling away to find my eyes. "That's my girl."

Feeling my breath hitch against his lips, I felt a familiar warmth spread across my chest. "Roman—"

"See what I can do when you just listen?" He gently traced my entrance with his finger, a smirk forming on his lips at the sound of my wetness. "I can be very, very nice, you see." Roman dipped his finger into me with ease, making me part my lips at the sensation. My eyes were wide open now, still shocked that this was happening. I did my best to hold back a slight tremble as he curled his finger inside of me, knowing just how to touch me as always.

My heart was racing; was anyone taking notice of this outside the dressing room? I hoped not. But all thoughts of clarity flew out the window when I felt his thumb back on my clit, still pumping his middle finger into me. "Roman," I echoed— was it a moan?

"I will dress you as I please, and fuck you as I please," he whispered against my lips, denying me a kiss. "Because what pleases me, pleases you. Correct?"

Fuck, he was trying to re-wire my brain, wasn't he? At some point, I knew I would give in. Was this the moment? I didn't really know what to say, staring up at him with round eyes of disbelief. 

But my whole belief-system came crashing down when he added a second finger, making my hands clutch the fabric of his suit, losing myself more and more. 

"Use that pretty mouth of yours," he said, looking into my eyes with a looming darkness. "Say it or I'll stuff it."

Fuck no. "You're being mean,"

"Mean?" Roman feigned innocence, batting his long lashes at me with a twinge of a chuckle. "I'm being really fucking nice. Let me show you." He pulled his fingers out of me, which made my breath hitch— I felt surprisingly empty now. Grabbing my hips, he turned me around, making me face the wall as he hooked his fingers around my panties. "Mean," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as he dragged down my underwear, now reaching for the zipper of his pants. "When am I ever mean?"

I huffed— always? 

"Compared to many others, I'm a saint," Roman continued, almost as though he was convincing himself more than me. "Here I am, trying to please my girl... Mean, my ass." 

I was about to clap back at this point, until I felt the head of his dick rubbing against my entrance, making me lean my head against the wall in defeat and anticipation. 

This was seemingly not allowed— I let out a tiny squeak as Roman wrapped his hand around my neck, pulling me flush against him away from the wall. With his thumb, he forced my chin in the direction of the mirror in the dressing room. "Watch," he growled, holding me in place as I squirmed.

My breath hitched as he entered me, the sight of it making the whole thing even more lewd. I did my best to not let my eyes roll back, not wanting to show too much too early. Usually, I'd close my eyes, fight him somehow, refuse to watch— but this time, I just gave in. 

I watched as Roman buried his face in the crook of my neck, feeling his hot breath against my skin, letting out a sigh of relief at the feeling of being inside me again. "Fuck," he whispered, bucking into me slowly.

Letting my lips part at the sensation, feeling how big he was inside me, I did my best to fight against the instinctual shut-down of my brain. It was always a stretch, every damn time, which left me with slight remnants of tears in my eyes— but he knew this. I clawed a little at the hand he had around me, hissing slightly, not wanting to make too much noise, but he didn't need the reminder to take it slow with me. Despite our fights, despite the tension, Roman never hurt me. 

And the burning sensation didn't last long, anyways. It never did. I felt myself push down against him, meeting his hips, and that was all Roman needed to know before letting his instincts take control.

My heart sped up with his thrusts, giving in to a slight quiver as I let him fuck me, eyes still glued on the mirror even when he let go of my throat. "You're so wet, God," Roman kissed up my neck, panting slightly against my skin. "Feels so nice and tight..."

I shivered, giving into a smile as I felt him throb inside me. "What pleases you, pleases me," 

Roman chuckled slightly against my neck, his brown hair which was usually styled and proper now kissing his forehead; "Yeah? You like being fucked like this, hm?" 

I couldn't even lie. "Yeah... A-Aah—"

Quickly clasping a hand over my mouth, Roman made sure I kept my volume down. "Careful," he whispered, hips continuously meeting mine. "You close or something?"

I shook my head, letting out a muffled moan against his hand. This was getting too good. It made me almost want to cry again, just by the sheer feeling of him moving in and out of me at this pace. Was it maybe a little thrilling that we could be caught at any moment?

However, I should've known Roman would do this next; "Let's fix that, then," With his free hand, he reached down to rub my clit, making me cry out against his palm. 

Fuck, fuck— This was too much. My hands were now almost clawing at the wall, a familiar feeling pooling between my legs, which slowly traveled up my spine and up into the tips of my fingers.

"You know you love me," Roman whispered, leaning down to kiss the shell of my ear, making me shiver. "And you know I love you and your wet, little pussy... All mine, hm?"

I nodded against his hand, feeling my body quivering beneath his touch— the hand he had on my clit only made everything feel a thousand times stronger. 

"No matter what, you'll always be mine," Roman whispered into my ear, voice dripping with pride, pleasure and victory. "All mine... Fuck—"

If he hadn't had a hand over my mouth, I'd have agreed— rather loudly, in fact. But I didn't have the time for words, feeling my orgasm come crashing down on me, letting out a muffled, broken moan against his palm, feeling him fuck me through my high. 

As I clamped down on him with my orgasm, I felt him spill into me as well, thrusts growing more erratic as he bit down on my shoulder to muffle any possible sounds; it had me thinking it was definitely going to leave a mark.

I let out a defeated sigh as he pulled out of me, doing my best to not fall limp to the ground. Once again, he had somehow managed to completely fuck my brains out, leaving me a shivering mess. I slowly turned to Roman, trying to catch my breath; "Do you think they heard?"

Roman smirked, fixing his belt. "Definitely,"

Horrified, I felt my face flush, the consequences of our actions dawning on me. I did my best not to wobble on my high heels, letting out another sigh; "We're not doing that again,"

Looking down at me with a cocky smirk, he shook his head before leaning down to kiss my forehead. "We so are," Roman reached for the dress that was hanging next to me on the wall, holding it out in front of him to look at it once more. "You looked ravishing in this, by the way. Can't wait to watch my cum drip out of you in this dress all night." 

With a look of pure shock and horror on my face, I watched him leave the dressing room with a smug smile, wondering how on earth I had allowed this to happen— again.

[abibliophobiaa]

right where you left me;

chapter one: ticket to anywhere

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut in later chapters; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series (11k words).

steve harrington x f!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods. inspired by this edit from @somnambulic-thing.

masterlist | next chapter

——

October, 1990…

——

Everything is wrong.

It hits you, sitting there in front of the vanity mirror, voices swirling about the room full of your girl friends. Your gown, the colors of the bridesmaids dresses, the venue. It’s too lavish, too over the top. Not the small, intimate feel you imagined ever since you were a little girl, friends surrounding you, watching as you married the man of your dreams.

But then again, the groom isn’t who you imagined either. That’s the first of the many issues with this day that jump to your attention.

Clark is fair haired and light eyed. Handsome, in the way that you can tell he spends thousands of dollars on clothing to do so. More acquaintance than the man you always envisioned standing beside you on this day.

This same man, who you found only moments ago seemingly in a passionate argument with one of your bridesmaids. Both of them touching one another in a way that seemed too familiar, like they’d done this dance, had this same conversation at least once before. She begged for him to leave, to get away now, to back out of the marriage. Pleaded with him to consider love, instead of some business endeavor.

Had reached up and kissed him bruisingly, his hands fisted in her gown. The same wrinkled one that stares at you now as your fingers toy with your bouquet, her sad eyes plastered on your face.

You know you should feel something. Anger, betrayal, hurt, resentment — but instead you feel nothing at all. You’re not in love. Haven’t been. Now your mind only buzzes, someone calling your name bringing you to attention, head lifting slightly.

“Are you okay?” they ask, “can I get you anything?”

And it’s two words.

A name, really, that pops into your mind.

“Can you see if Steve Harrington is here yet?”

——

Steve’s not sure what to think when a bridesmaid he barely recognizes — likely because he’s only met them once or twice before — barrels toward him, an intensity in her eyes that has him worrying something has gone wrong.

Everything is wrong, though. Because he’s here, in this ridiculously huge wedding venue, standing in for those in Hawkins who couldn’t make the trip, about to watch as his best friend marries a man who isn’t Steve Harrington.

And as much as it pains him, loving you means doing anything to see you happy — even if it kills him in the end. It’s all he knows, all he has done for as long as you’ve been a friend to him, two wide-eyed eleven-year-olds sitting in some fancy ballroom as you watched your parents parade themselves around like the elite that they deemed themselves to be.

What he doesn’t expect, however, as he’s practically dragged into a room, is to find you standing there pacing back and forth, beautiful as ever and not at all happy for someone who is about to be married.

“Stacy, a moment?” you ask, lifting your head enough that he can see you fully.

You’re absolutely breathtaking, in a way that’s almost cruel, because after today you’ll officially be a wife. After today, he’ll have to accept that his feelings that are not at all platonic toward his best friend he still harbors all these years later can only ever just be that: feelings.

As the door shuts behind Stacy, you rush forward and slam into his chest, and he’s immediately there to wrap his arms around your waist. You’re a vision in a fluffy tulle skirt, the veil on your head brushing against his chin, and it’s then he feels the frantic flutter of your heart against his sternum. It’s then he can feel your fingers curl around the lapels of his suit — can see the flash of tears swimming in your eyes.

“I need to get out of here,” you whisper hoarsely.

Breathlessly.

“What do y —”

“Please…take me away from here. Anywhere, I don’t care. Please,” you beg, and though he has more questions than answers, he dips his head. Because again, he’ll do anything to make you happy.

Even if that includes helping you run from your own wedding.

With a long exhale, Steve steps back a bit, fingers carding through his hair. He moves to the door, head tossed over his shoulder to glance back your way.

“Give me a second,” he says, slipping from the room into the hallway.

There’s no one in the nearby vicinity, this room far enough away from the rest of the guests that escaping shouldn’t be a problem. His eyes catch on the glowing exit symbol in the distance, and he knows his car is a few blocks away, but it’s better than nothing and will have to do.

When he slips back into the room, you’re wiping your hands along your dress, clasping one around his as he extends a palm your way.

He can’t deny the ache in his chest as you take it, the electric jolt that courses through his body, but now isn’t the time. If you’re going to get out without anyone noticing, you’ll have to do so now — and quickly.

“Come on,” he urges, and you’re both off, rushing down the empty hallway unbeknownst to your waiting guests, the world bursting to life in color as the exit doors swing wide open.

——

“Remind me to never run in heels again,” you gasp out, hand tight in Steve’s as you dart through busy city streets, avoiding bodies along the way.

All around, people honk their cars, citizens whistle and congratulate you as you run on by. And you know it’s because you and Steve, for all intents and purposes, look as though you’ve just married. Him in his suit, and you in your poofy wedding gown, the edges now stained a murky soot color.

“And I want this stupid thing off my head right now.”

Steve pauses on the side street as you come to a halt, his chest bumping yours at the abruptness as your fingers reach up to unclasp your veil from your head. Balling it up in your hands, you toss it into the nearby garbage can. Pigeons scurry away in haste, a squirrel skittering away from its hard earned meal.

“How do I look?” you ask, hiking up the edges of your gown as someone nearly trips on it, making their way towards the crosswalk.

“Like a runaway bride.” He laughs, shaking his head. “My car is another block that way. Let’s go.”

He grips your hand again, and you know you really don’t have to hold it, but it brings you comfort all the same. The further you run away from the wedding venue, the more you realize what exactly you’ve done. You’ve run out on your intended husband, on friends, on your family who has spent the money to make it all happen — and everyone will have something to say about it. Word gets around quickly in your social circle.

But it’s a decision for yourself. The first in a long long time.

There’s something so liberating about it — about rushing after Steve as he loops you around other bodies, as he opens the passenger side door for you and helps push your frilly skirts inside, before dropping down into the driver’s seat and shoving his key in the ignition.

And as he turns the key, peeling away from the busy side street, and heads toward the nearest highway, you know it’s the right decision.

——

Neither of you speak for the first half hour driving. The roads are busy, traffic bumper-to-bumper in the city, Steve’s grip a white knuckled one around the steering wheel. There’s also the suddenness in which your reality comes crashing, dress still on your form, the edges sodden around your ankles, the ring on your finger glinting in the slowly setting sun. Every part of this day has done a complete one eighty.

“We’ll probably have to stop in a few hours,” Steve says, a little more to himself, the hum of the radio spilling into the quiet car, “where do we want to go anyway?”

“I still can’t believe you drove all the way here,” you tell him softly, head turning a bit to take him in.

He’s loosened the tie around his neck, his hair is a little unkempt now, the suit jacket long tossed into the backseat. Those bare forearms of his ripple with each turn of the wheel, your eyes dragging along hair-dusted skin. You’ve missed him; more than you ever could realize, his presence a comfort after being surrounded by people who don’t understand you — not really, at least — for so long.

“I wanted to be here,” he says, “I don’t mind driving, you know that.”

You did. You’d spent many nights circling the familiar streets of Hawkins over the span of a few years once you’d both been able to drive. Those same streets that are unfamiliar now, mere memories in your mind. It had been a few years since everything that happened with Vecna, and a few years since you watched your childhood home grow smaller and smaller in your parent’s rear view mirror, Steve along with it, waving from his parent’s driveway.

“And I wanted to see you,” he adds, glancing your way, those hazel eyes bright in the setting sun.

The idea dawns suddenly, lips moving to form the words before you can think otherwise, “Hawkins. Take me to Hawkins with you.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, a little hesitantly, weariness seeping into his tone. “It's about…a twelve hour drive. I think we can make it to Ohio before getting some sleep for the night. You’ll just need to direct me with the map.”

You answer with a smile, reaching into his glove compartment and pulling out the map, the weathered corners bent like they’d been the last time you’d gone on a road trip with him. After everything had gone to hell at Starcourt, you needed to get away, the two of you taking to the road, a finger swirling around until it landed upon a random state.

It feels like old times, sitting here in the car with him, the windows down, his hair blowing in the wind, and the crisp smell of fall air to greet you.

The drive is quiet for the most part, other than the small exchanges here and there of roads to take, giving him enough time to make sure he’s in the correct lanes and the like.

It dawns on you then how long it’s been since the two of you really talked. Your exchanges throughout the years have been sparse, at best. Always meaningful, but moving twelve hours away has put a strain on your relationship from the get go. Initially you’d aimed for one phone call a week, which had soon turned into once every two weeks, and then down to once a month.

And once Clark had stepped in six months ago, your conversations were even less frequent, and always cut short — Clark never having understood why the two of you were so close.

So you suppose you shouldn’t be too surprised when Steve suddenly asks, “What happened back there?”

“I didn’t want to marry him,” you admit in a whisper, training your gaze ahead at the streets, leaves golden and amber flashing by the passenger side window. “I couldn’t marry him. I didn’t love him — I never loved him.”

It had been an added blessing that it seemed Clark felt the same, his mouth preoccupied with your friend’s minutes before you made your escape out the back door.

“Then why agree to marry the guy?”

It’s an innocent question, but it has your stomach lurching all the same, your lips parting slightly, heart pounding in your throat. “Steve…your parents are like mine. You know why.”

Because it had been arranged that way, Clark’s path pushed in front of yours, the pressures of your parents and their business ventures breathing down your neck. That and Clark had his own goals, as did you, and marrying would help you achieve them.

It wasn’t like you’d ever love him, either.

Love had only been reserved for one man in your life, and he’d never loved you back.

“So you marry some uptight rich guy to make your parents happy? What about how you feel?” His fingers tighten around the steering wheel, voice rising in volume. “And you were going to just go along with it?”

“Stop judging me! It’s not that simple.” His eyes dart to yours, unused to you ever raising your voice at him. “You don’t get it. You gave up that life. I had no choice but to go with them when everything happened the way it did in Hawkins.”

“Yes, because I was tired of feeling like a failure of a son,” he grumbles, carding his fingers through his hair, “tired of being looked at like I was Jonah Harrington’s biggest mistake.”

“You’re not a mistake.” Your fingers reach over the center console, briefly hovering above his bicep before resting there gently, feeling the tension in his form dissolve. “I thought I was doing the right thing for my family. I was trying to buy time and get my inheritance so I could be done with it all eventually. It was stupid, I know. But I’m making this decision right now, running away with you, for myself.”

His hand slides down to grasp yours, bringing the back of your knuckles to his lips to press a kiss there. He’s done it thousands of times over the years, but it has your heart skipping like it does every time, chills dancing along your spine.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, dropping another gentle kiss to your knuckles, “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Me too, Steve.”

——

The moon comes out to play, and the two of you stop at a gas station just as Steve’s watch reads eight at night. The place is dilapidated at best. Neon glowing lights flickering along the top of the pump, the numbers worn away by weather, the inside of the building covered in inches of grime.

You’d intended to grab some snacks and water bottles, but the lack of sanitation efforts has you wanting to wait for the next convenience store instead. So as Steve pumps the gas, you lean onto the hood of the car, skirts spanning around your thighs, thanking someone as they pass and comment on how beautiful you look.

“You do look beautiful, you know?” Steve lifts his head, those corded muscles on his forearm drawing your attention once more. Head shaking, you tip your head up, eyes narrowing on his face curiously. “A shame you got all dressed up for that guy though.”

“Shut up,” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him, propping your map up on your thighs. “So if my guesses are right, we’ll be getting to Ohio in a little less than three hours. Hopefully the hotels in Powell aren’t full. I’m already pretty tired.”

“If worse comes to worse, we could always sleep in the car —”

“Steve.”

“What?” He raises a hand in surrender, smiling at the angry furrow of your brows. “Wouldn’t be the first time we camped out in the back seat of it.”

“I’d prefer a mattress after the day we both had,” you tell him, folding the map and tucking it beneath your thigh. “We also need to keep an eye out for a store. Pretty sure I saw a cockroach in the gas station, so I’m not trusting anything in there. Plus pork rinds and jerky didn’t exactly sound appealing to me.”

Steve grimaces in agreement, the gas pump clicking, signaling his full tank. He replaces the nozzle on the holder and pushes the flap back into place, snatching the map from your hand as he passes around the front of the vehicle to slide back into the front seat.

You follow suit, shoving your skirts about your thighs, finger toying at a hole in the hem that you must have made while running through the city streets. The realization of thousands of dollars, all for naught, with the lingering fear of your parent’s disappointment swirling in your gut has your stomach churning uncomfortably. But there’s little time to linger on those worries, as Steve slides a finger along your forearm to draw you back to reality, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Look at me,” he demands softly, hazel eyes glowing in the seedy gas station light that flickers above. Lips twitching, you meet his stare, chest warming under the burn of his affection, “there’s that smile I love. Everything is fine.”

There ends up being a small grocery store at the next exit, a little family owned thing, with very few shoppers lingering inside. You offer to go in alone, but Steve insists you’re in another state and he’s not about to leave you by your lonesome. So you end up standing beside him, him all tousled in his dark pants and wrinkled dress shirt, and you in your dress, drawing the attention of curious customers.

“We got lost on our way to the airport for our honeymoon,” Steve tells one person who wanders a little too close for his liking as you grab bags of chips off of a rack, tossing in a jar of salsa for good measure. “Going to stop at that hotel down on Verdant instead. Really want to go above and beyond and treat my wife, you know?”

The one that looked all seedy, like it was practically falling apart, windows broken and covered with wooden slats. The customer eyes the two of you wearily, offering well wishes, sounding a little uncertain as they slowly but surely back away, not wanting to talk any further.

Nothing quells your giggles at that, head pressing into the bag of marshmallows you found, eyes pinched shut to keep your tears at bay. “Steve, they probably think we’re crazy.”

“Speak for yourself, honey,” he chuckles, reaching over to snatch the bag from you, “why do we need these?”

You pluck it back, pouting. “If you must know, they’re for me. I don’t share with guys named Steve who have too many opinions.”

“If we’re getting marshmallows, we need graham crackers and chocolate too,” he points out, reaching over to grab the other two s’mores ingredients from the end cap you’re standing in front of, tossing them into your shopping cart. “For two adults, it looks like we’re buying for a bunch of kids about to enter into a sugar coma.”

“Look — we’ve had a stressful day,” you huff out, pushing the cart further down the aisle, “we’ve earned s’mores and snacks. Plus we need it for the rest of our trip. I saw a coffee shop next door too. I’ll buy it. I feel bad you drove all the way to the city, only to leave again.”

“If I have coffee now, I’ll never fall asleep,” he exhales, shoulder brushing yours as you meander through the aisle, snatching a package of water bottles for the car off a pallet. “I do think we should grab breakfast tomorrow morning. Maybe do a little touristy stop before heading back to Hawkins. What do you think?”

Time alone with Steve? Time you haven’t had in way too long, if you’re being honest with yourself. Even now, standing in the store with him, getting gas with him before that, you realize just how much you’ve missed your best friend. Things like this, so banal and generally uninteresting, have you smiling until your cheeks hurt, brimming to overflow with excitement.

It’s an easy choice, really. “Sounds perfect.”

——

One room. There’s only one room with a single bed left in the whole damn hotel. You suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise, because nothing has really turned out how you anticipated today.

Still, you ask the woman at the front desk again, and she arches a brow in confusion — likely assuming you and Steve are already having marital issues merely hours after you tied the knot. There’s no use explaining it to any more people tonight. For now, you’re a newlywed, and Steve is your doting groom.

“Not like we’ve never shared a bed before.”

Steve’s voice is a low rumble near your ear as you stare at your distorted reflection in the silver wall of the elevator across from you. The thing is you have shared a bed with Steve numerous times over the years. As teenagers, when you often snuck over to Steve’s, after your parents left for business trip after business trip. He’d leave the window unlatched, a hand there to grab you as you scaled his trellis, blankets already pulled back on your side of the bed.

But for some reason this feels different. Hours ago you’d been engaged to another man — hours ago, after you’d caught said man in an affair, you’d only had one thought. And it had been this man standing before you; though then again, it had always been that way.

Steve Harrington, your beautiful best friend with a big personality and even bigger heart. Steve Harrington, the one that you always wanted, but also the one that never was.

With a steely sigh of resignation, you watch as Steve swipes the key card, flicking the light on in the doorway. It’s a simple room, not the upscale hotels you’re accustomed to. There are no lavish furnishings, no glittering chandeliers. Instead you’re met with a dresser and a dilapidated television. Against the back wall is a bed, the linens starchy beneath your fingertips, though you suppose they’ll have to do.

Steve whistles, glancing up at the popcorn ceilings. “Could be worse, right?” It’s an awkward chuckle, his hands reaching down to undo the buttons around his arms, hair on his chest visible a moment later as he unbuttons the top of his dress shirt. “Shit — just realized we don’t have any clothes. Should have stopped somewhere.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, because he’s seen you in nearly every state of undress at this point.

In bathing suits over the summer, sitting atop his bathroom sink in your bra after Billy Hargrove had shoved you particularly hard at the Starcourt mall while under possession, your ribs scraped against the hard ground. And you’d seen him the same, beaten and bloodied after his altercation with Jonathan, after the Russians had taken him for questioning and beaten him to a bloody pulp, after the events with Vecna that had left his skin raw and battered.

Though you suppose this is a little different, as it’s the first time he’s going to be undressing you, despite being under different circumstances than those you dreamed of throughout the years. Fantasies you’ve long pushed aside in the catacombs of your mind, to be filed away as ‘things that’ll never happen since he’s your childhood best friend.’

Your fingers tremble as you turn in front of him, exhaling deeply as you mutter out, “I can’t reach the buttons. Could you…please?”

There’s a sense of awareness that settles over you as he approaches from behind. Broad, battle-calloused hands rest at the nape of your neck, drifting lower where they settle on the endless row of buttons there. His breath prickles along your skin, those nimble fingers of his toying with that first button, his inhale shaky as he undoes another, and then another, and another. With each button, more flesh is revealed, the ghost of his touching a phantom along your spine, the dress starting to sag around your breasts, your hands coming up to cup the gown close to your chest.

Steve’s eyes meet yours in the mirror affixed to the wall in front of you — hazel, and sparkling in the ethereal moonlight that pours through the softly parted curtains, tinged with an emotion you can’t quite put a name to. A deep exhale falls from gently parted lips as his knuckles drag along your spine, a delicate line that stops once he reaches the base, freeing you from the last of the buttons. White tulle drops to the ground beneath you, toes kicking it out of the way, leaving you standing there in a cream nightgown, lace detailing around the edges hugging the sumptuous curves of your breasts.

Steve’s throat bobs, clearly not wholly unaffected by all of this, as he peers at you. Your feet carry you backward toward the bed, legs curling beneath your form as Steve moves to unbutton his own shirt, tossing it haphazardly into the corner once it’s free from his torso. He’s the same and different than you remember. All broad chested, a dusting of hair along his upper body, a line from his naval down beneath the dark pants hugging a pair of toned thighs. Scars line his sides where the demobats had bitten into his flesh, his shredded back a tapestry of markings that catch your eye as he walks around the opposite side of the bed and slips in beside you. You avert your eyes, trying to not draw attention to the fact you’ve been ogling, ignoring that simmering ache low in your belly that forms.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing, only settling down on the mattress and shifting so his thighs brush your hips, his head resting on a pillow as he gazes at your profile.

Rolling onto your side, you reach over and trail your fingers along the forearm he tucks under his head, thumb running gentle stripes along the width of it. “Thanks for saving me today.”

“You know I’ll always be there for you,” he whispers back, reaching over your form to turn off the bedside lamp. “Always.”

——

Stones knock against the bedroom window. Rouse you from bed. Head poking up from your pillow, you wander over to the windowsill, hand covering your heart as Steve’s head appears in the opening, body practically thumping against the floor in his hastiness.

Broad palms settle on your biceps, the backs of your thighs pressing into your mattress as he leads you to sit down, hazel eyes meeting yours. Your fingers reach up to glide over his chest — to feel the rapid thump of his heart in his chest.

He’s real.

He’s here.

After worrying for days that something has gotten him too, he’s right here in the flesh.

Alive.

“I saw the news,” you gasp out, swallowing the harsh knot growing in the back of your throat, “Do they really think Eddie Munson did it? Do they really think he killed Chrissy? Fred? Steve, what’s going on? Is it the Upside Down? Let me help you.”

“It’s bad this time. Like — like really bad.” His fingers touch along your temples, poking and prodding, gauging your reaction. Your only reaction, however, is to grip at his wrists, fingers bracelets around his pulse points, head tilting to the side. “Are you in pain anywhere?”

“Steve, I’m fine,” you reassure him, pushing forward to loop your arms around his waist. To push him back against the bed so he can settle down a bit, his thighs against yours. “Your heart is racing. What’s wrong? I’m coming to help next time —”

“You’re not helping this time. Last time was a mistake.”

You’d been driving in the rain one evening back in July and saw Max and El walking on the streets, looking a little dejected, and ended up peering in the window at the Holloway’s when something had gone wrong and demanded the girls tell you what was going on — especially when you were El’s tutor and she usually told you everything. Once you’d found out Steve was missing too, all bets had been off the table for staying out of whatever was bump in the night.

He rolls over onto his side, hand coming up to cup your cheek, smothering your grimace under the softness of his touch. “I can’t…I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you.”

“Steve.”

Your hand rests over his, eyes boring into his, noting the flush on his cheeks, the glittering lower line of his lashes. Whatever this is, whatever he’s dealing with…the weight is crushing him, and your heart breaks with the immensity it.

His fingers reach over to grasp at your Walkman laying on the bedside table beside your bed. He drops it down onto the mattress between the two of you, a pleading look in those hazel depths.

“Put your favorite song on loop. Keep batteries on you at all times, and keep the headphones nearby until I tell you it’s safe.” Your mouth opens to speak, but he continues, “Please, just trust me. It’s safer for you this way. People are dying.”

“Let me help, Ste —”

“Please,” he begs, dropping his forehead against yours, “just trust me, okay?”

You nod, and in the morning, as you start to feel your body coming to wake, his fingers trace your temple. Like he’s trying to memorize every detail, the calluses on his fingers from years of baseball soothing your soul.

“I love you,” he whispers, like he always does.

I love you, in the way he loves Dustin and Robin or any of the other kids.

I love you, in the way he’s loved you since you were eleven.

I love you, in the way you always tell one another you do.

I love you, in the way he always has, but not in the way you always wished he would.

“I love you,” he says once more, and you slip back into sleep.

——

Went to try and find us some clothes. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you. Be back soon. - Love, Steve.

With a yawn, you roll over in bed, clutching the note to your chest. It smells like your best friend — that warm vanilla scent with something minty beneath. Comforting and completely him. The space beside you is still warm, the imprint of his body a reminder that he’d even been there at all. Popcorn ceilings meet your field of vision as you flip onto your back, holding aloft your left hand, light coming through the window catching on the glittering diamond there.

“Never thought you were one for a rock that needs an insurance policy,” Steve teases, appearing in the doorway with bags of clothes and other products in hand. “Then again, never thought you’d marry a guy named Clark. What is he, Spider-Man?”

“You mean Superman?”

He shoots a mocking glare your way and settles down beside you on the bed, pulling out various articles of clothing.

“It’s not designer, I hope that’s fine.” You shove at him lightly. He’s gone with a pair of black leggings and a chestnut colored sweater for you, along with a pair of boots that’ll be nice for the fall weather outside. “I eyed the shoe size. Hope they fit.” The shoes are a size too big, but they’ll work, and you laugh as he pulls out a bra and a pair of underwear. His eyes narrow a bit your way, “Just wanted to make sure I covered all the bases. I already got judged enough at the store by the cashier, so do not even go there right now.”

You snicker, tucking the clothes against your chest gratefully. Honestly, nothing sounds better than a new pair of comfortable clothes, ready to be rid of the flimsy dress dancing along your thighs.

“This is perfect,” you tell him honestly. Steve himself went for something similar — a pair of dark blue jeans, a black sweater, and a pair of simple shoes. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” he says, stopping you from reaching for your wallet. “You couldn’t exactly walk around in your dirty wedding dress for another day.”

“Yeah, but you’ve already done too much for me —”

“You’re my best friend. Stop acting like you’re inconveniencing me. I asked for this. Plus we haven’t hung out much in…oh, I don’t know, two or three years? That’s a lot of lost time to make up for.” As your features soften at his words, he adds, “Now hurry up and get dressed. There’s a diner around the block that looks nice enough and I’m starving.”

——

Fifteen.

You’re fifteen and it’s a dare.

Tommy and Carol think it’s funny.

Seven minutes in heaven with Steve Harrington.

The room is silent, all eyes on you. And maybe it’s the cheap liquor stolen from Steve’s parent’s expensive cabinet running through your system, but when Carol points at you and laughs that you won’t do it, you grip Steve by the collar of his shirt and stomp off to the nearby coat closet.

Steve’s breathless behind you, body thumping yours as you both stumble inside and the door is shut. Without hesitation, you tug on the rope chain connected to a single lightbulb and squint as your eyes adjust to the orange glow radiating off Steve’s golden skin, flushed by the summer sun.

“Time is ticking and we don’t hear kissing!” Tommy cackles, though it’s muffled through the wooden door separating you from the rest of Steve’s guests.

The rest of the room dissolves into fits of giggles, drowned out by the harsh thump of your heart pounding in your ears. The light flickers up above, and part of you wonders if it’s the only imperfection in the Harrington home. Something so trivial, and yet it distracts you from this nerve wracking moment, in this closet, with this boy.

“I’ve — I never…” you babble, feeling your chest heat, embarrassment choking off the rest of your words. “So, like, if we…do this…I don’t really know what I’m doing. And I think if I’m going to get it out of the way, I’d want it to be with someone I trust, and there’s no one I trust more than you. So, like, why not, right?”

Steve’s grinning. A goofy little thing that grows as he steps a little closer, one of his palms curling around your hips, toying with the belt loop on your jean shorts. “You want me to kiss you, hmm?”

Steve’s different now. He’s grown in the four years you’ve known him. He’s handsome, not that he hasn’t always been. But there’s more of him now. His chest is broader, his hair is longer, he’s popular now. By default, you are too. None of that has ever mattered; as long as you have him, you’re happy. But it’s at fifteen that you really understand the love you feel for him isn’t wholly platonic. In fact, the older you get, the more time you spend with him…it only solidifies in your heart that whatever his soul is made up of sings to your own.

It’s equal parts surreal and terrifying.

“Hey…hey,” Steve whispers, voice a coo that he only reserves for you, “what’s the pout for?”

“You’re teasing me,” you tell him, tipping your head up a bit, the fire in your eyes clashing with the worry in his, “and I already told you I’m nervous. You only have one first kiss and I —”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I'm being an asshole. Let me start over again, yeah?”

You nod, swallowing thickly as he lifts a hand and cups your cheek. The pad of his thumb runs over your bottom lip, parts you for him gently. Shaky breath skitters along your bottom lip, heart thrashing wildly behind your sternum as he takes another step closer and tilts his head down a bit, the warmth of him permeating your thin tank top when his chest brushes yours.

“It’s just me,” he breathes out, noting your trembling, taking another step closer.

His hips bump yours and linger, all the butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. A steady beat of ‘kiss me, kiss me, kiss me’ in time with their wings throbs in your blood.

Steve’s thumb strokes back and forth against your lip, drags it down further as your breath mingles in the middle, as you lean up onto your toes and meet him there, humming into his flesh.

The space between you shrinks and he’s there, warm and gentle against your flesh. You barely have time to register the fact he’s kissing you, because a knock sounds from the other side of the door, signaling your time is up. Both of you jolt apart, a little breathless, your hand coming up to rest against your mouth. He swallows thickly and opens the door, the closet awash in bright light, and though he seems mostly unaffected, a solid realization drops into your gut.

You’ve never loved anyone before, and maybe people will say you’re ‘too young’ to know anything about it, but you know with absolute certainty you love Steve Harrington.

——

Steve’s beaming because you’re glowing. Practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you wander through the park you’d stumbled upon shortly after breakfast, shoes crinkling against fallen leaves as you kick them into the air, glee personified. He wishes he had a camera, if only to capture the way you look right now. You, with your head tipped up to the sky, arms out at your sides, catching the small droplets of rain that began falling only minutes ago on your upturned palms.

He’s already suggested heading back to the car and getting on the road for the remainder of the trip to Hawkins, but the more it rains the happier you seem. As though you’re shedding your old life, a little lighter than you had been hours ago.

He hates that Clark’s ring is still on your finger, especially when he feels the way he does simply looking at you in this moment, but he can only imagine the enormity of the emotions welling in your system. You walked out on your family and your marriage; he knows your family, and knows what consequences might come from your actions.

Maybe you need a moment before popping the bubble and accepting fate? And who is he to hinder your joy? He’d spend every day trying to get you to smile like you are right now, having done so all the years of your friendship, only now it twists his gut tight. A harsh coil, curling around his esophagus, robbing him of his voice and air.

“I love how free and open everything feels here,” you tell him, practically skipping over to his side, shoulder brushing his. “I’ve been in the city so long I forgot what it’s like.”

He knows exactly what you mean. It’s quiet here. Peaceful. For a moment he can pretend you two are the only people in the world. “And soon you’ll be back in Hawkins,” he says, curling an arm around your shoulders, tucking you in close. “Are you excited?”

“A little nervous to see everyone,” you admit, resting your head against his shoulder. “It’s been…”

“Almost three years since you visited.”

He’d come to visit you in the city, on weekends where he could get away and book a plane ticket. But even then, he’d only see you for a weekend at a time. Nothing like before, when you’d spend nearly every day with him, and then once Robin joined the picture, she’d become the third part of your trio.

He can’t wait to have the both of you back together in the same state again.

There is so much he already imagines doing, places he wants to show you, things he wants to share with you.

“Everyone misses you, though,” he reassures you, hating the way your features drop when you whirl around to face him, the amber leaves wrinkling around the edges of your shoes. “They’re going to be so excited. Swear.”

“Pinky promise?” You hold out the sad little pinky, eyes leveling with his.

“We haven’t done one of these since we were seventeen when you asked me to teach you how to parallel park and promised to write my science paper if I helped you pass —”

“Yeah, because I failed the road test and was the only one in our class to not pass on the first try. It was embarrassing.” And you’d been miserable about it. Made it everyone’s problem. He’d thought it cute, the way you’d ripped Tommy H to shreds when he said it was okay you failed because Steve could always chauffeur you around, and you’d flipped the guy off with your favorite finger to throw his way.

Still, he curls his finger around yours and grins, “How do you feel about getting on the road? If we leave now, we should be in Hawkins by dinner time. Maybe we can bother Eddie for a free drink. You know he owns the Hideout now? Expanded it, so it’s a restaurant too now. The owner had passed and trusted Eddie would take care of it. Everyone’s really proud of him.”

You don’t. He’s never told you. It happened the past year, and with Clark entering your life, communication had dwindled a bit. He tried to hide his upset with those first few phone calls. Tried to pretend he never noticed how you’d spoken quicker, as though you were trying to speed up your catch up sessions, as though someone were looking over your shoulder.

It hurt to have the little bits he got to keep of you — the parts he liked to think were for himself — cut even shorter.

Things are different now, he reminds himself. You’re here, with him, heading back to Hawkins.

But for how long…that weary part in the back of his soul whispers. Just as quickly as he has you back, he knows he can lose you now. The thought alone stirs dread within him.

“Do you mind if we stop at a phone booth first? I want to call my family. Make sure they at least know I’m okay.” You’re already gesturing to the booths he can see in the nearby distance, hidden under a halo of golden and flame colored leaves dancing on tree branches.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” He knows them. He knows it’ll be anything but civil conversation.

He watches a grimace flutter across your features. “I think I owe at least that to them.”

——

Calling is a mistake. A huge, unfathomable mistake. The phone booth rests on the outskirts of the park, leaves falling to the ground around you, the fall chill in the air adding to the drop in temperature once you step beneath the awning and dial the number you know by heart.

Steve remains behind you, a comforting hand on your shoulder you accept by lacing your own fingers atop his. There’s a quick greeting, a simple ‘hi’ that spills out from you in a nervous rush, and then the phone blares to life. What feels like dozens of voices burst on the other end. You can hear your father shouting in the distance when your mother says who is calling.

Clark’s voice also appears in the background, and you wonder why he’s with them. It’s not like you ever spent much time with him outside of family obligations.

The relationship had been a ruse, a predisposed desire foisted upon you both by affluent families in want of furthering their ‘prestigious bloodlines,’ a result of societal pressures becoming too much. Many had insisted many married for less, that these arrangements were more common than you were led to believe, that love wasn’t afforded to people ‘like you.’ You hated it — hated all that it stood for.

Your relationship with Clark had never been deeply emotional or physical. A kiss on the brow or a peck on the lips for appearances sake, but you never allowed him near your heart. He was a friend, sure; someone you could talk to, could vent to — but that was all it ever had been.

You were merely upholding the optics your families expected of you both. The plan all along had been to eventually separate after Clark received his promotion within your father’s practice, and you obtained your inheritance before finally deciding what you wanted to do with your own life. Figured it was the least owed after throwing away everything you once knew to play a role you detested as a ‘perfect daughter’ to one of the largest plastic surgeons in the country.

“Where are you?” your father demands, voice a gruff bark, “You must have some grand explanation for walking out and throwing the thousands of dollars I threw into your wedding away.”

“I’m safe,” you tell them, smiling softly to yourself as Steve’s fingers squeeze tight around your shoulder.

“Don’t think we didn’t see you run out with Harrington's son. I had the venue pull the security footage —”

“With Steven?” your mother gasps. “You didn’t tell me that, dear.”

“If this is some affair, you and Clark will deal with it in couple’s counseling. I expect you back here this instant, young lady. I did not raise you the way I did just for you to run back to that hell in a handbasket town —”

“I need time away,” you say, a little bite to your tone you don’t expect, heart hammering away, “I don’t know how long. But I need this, okay?”

“Sweetheart.” Clark’s voice pours through the receiver. It’s fake, you know it’s fake. All appearances because he knows his promotion is in jeopardy. He can’t be sole heir of your father’s practice without the wife needed to secure the deal. “Let’s think rationally here. Come back home, I miss you. Please, my love.”

Steve stiffens behind you, his ear having lowered down to the earpiece. You shake your head and he softens when you tug him nearer by his sweater, relishing in the warmth of his body to block out the cold.

“I only wanted to call to tell you all that I'm okay. And I’m okay. I promise.” Voices start to rise in volume, but the phone slams against the holder and the line grows dead, ready for the next caller. Fingers rise to pinch at the bridge of your nose. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill out. Steve opens his mouth to speak, but you offer a stiff shake of the head, murmuring, “Can we just…go? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, sliding a hand down to take yours in his, pulling you from the phone booth. You follow listlessly behind, free hand toying with the edge of your sweater. For someone who always takes up a room with her personality, you seem so small now. Deflated. He hates it. Hates that they hold this power over you, knowing he escaped the same thing years ago now and never looked back. “I love how they still think I’m some shitstain on my family legacy even after all these years. Kind of funny, right, seeing how those people are so miserable, and yet for the first time in my life I’m actually happy.”

You laugh at the blasé nature of his words. He always knows what to say to make you laugh, always has. “I’m glad one of us is.”

He stops, whirling around to cup both your shoulders. “You’ll figure it out too. This will all blow over. It’ll be okay. Do you want me to take you back home?”

The word sinks deep in the pit of your stomach. Home. Is it home, though?

“No,” you mumble, sounding a little forlorn, “no, I want to stay with you.”

“Okay, well…I have one rule when we get back into the car.” His hair dances along his brow as a stray wind picks up. There’s a shadow of stubble along his jaw, and the urge to run your fingers along that new part of him rises up within you. Head tilting to the side curiously at his words, he continues, “Your life back in the city? Doesn’t exist right now, okay? All of that — leave it right here on this walkway. Think you can do that for me?”

You nod, the city laid there to rest on that sidewalk in the middle of Powell, Ohio.

——

Steve visits the first winter after you leave Hawkins. Feels a little out of place as he appears at your parent’s doorway, holding out a bottle of wine he grabbed from a supermarket, in a suit that he knows is ill fitted on his body because he borrowed it from Eddie Munson. Your home is huge; towering white walls, marble floors, a sprawling staircase. But it’s cold and it’s empty and feels empty, without memories to fill it.

Not like your home back in Hawkins, where he spent his days laying on your bed as you studied, or on the couch watching movies, legs tangled in blankets, chairs set around to make silly forts. He misses baking in the kitchen — or rather you baking, while he prattles on about anything that comes to mind as you tossed ingredients together with love and care.

His heart swells as you rush forward, practically leaping into his arms, perfect as you’ve always been. All beaming smiles, melodious laughter, and that incomparable beauty that radiates from within you.

You feel like home — like his; and yet, you’ve always felt that way.

But you’re here and he’s in Hawkins and you’re miles apart now.

And the way your father pulls him to the side after dinner for a not-so-innocent glass of whiskey outside reminds him exactly of that.

“This childhood crush you have — I always thought the two of you would grow out of it. But it’s clear that is not the case.” It’s a dark sound, a sound that has Steve swallowing thickly, fingers tightening around his glass. “We allowed it for as long as we did because it was good for the two of you. Having friends in that town. These are the people my daughter needs to be around. Her peers, her friends, people that she can grow with.”

Steve swallows again. It’s not unlike the conversations he’s had with his own father before his parents left Hawkins. ‘You’re not good enough for her, you’re not good enough in general, you should have scored that hoop, should have won that baseball game, should have gotten better grades, should have joined the family business.’

Should have, should have, should have.

“I love your daughter, sir.”

He’s always dreamed of telling you first. But the moment was never right, sometimes you’d be dating someone, or he would be. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if your feelings were the same. If he learned anything from the knock on his head thanks to Nancy Wheeler, it was that life only passed you by if you waited.

The older man leans back on his chair and sips his drink, the air bitingly frigid, and yet Steve feels hot beneath his clothing. Can feel every wrinkle of fabric against his slick skin. “You know I can’t allow that.”

“Not to be disrespectful, sir, but she’s her own person —”

“That may be true. She has her free will, and both of us are well aware how stubborn she can be, but sometimes that clouds her judgment —” Steve’s mouth opens, but he’s cut off, “What will you be able to provide her? Where are you working these days? That movie shop?”

“I’m — ah —”

“If you were to marry her, how would you provide for your home? For your children, should you have any?”

Steve flounders on the spot. He has his job, and maybe it doesn’t pay what he would like, but he’s also taken up working side jobs with a local contractor. Has started learning how to build, how to fix, has started remodeling Hopper’s old home that he bought off of him when he married Joyce. It’s a fixer upper, but it’s one of the few things he has that he can fully say are his and his alone.

Maybe he doesn’t have everything now, but in a few years…

“Imagine in a few years. You might make her happy now, but what if she wakes up one day and realizes love isn’t enough? When the bills come in and finances are tight — it creates a strain on a relationship, a stress that I don’t think your childhood whims can even sustain. Not forever, at least. She’s used to this.” He waves his hands to the lavish home you live in. “All she knows is this.”

And he cannot measure up. He can’t provide this. Will never be able to reach this unimaginable wealth. Can’t take you to fancy five-star restaurants, still drives the car he’s had for years now, lives in a home that doesn’t have fully functional windows. A home where when it rains he lays out buckets to catch the water droplets that dribble inside through the roof that still needs a ton of love. He has no pension, no fancy 401k, and the barest of savings to his name.

Not enough, he’s not enough, not good enough.

It’s the words that are unsaid that speak the loudest.

He understands immediately what the older man means.

He’s not enough for you.

He’d never been enough for his own family, so why did he assume this would be any different?

“I know I cannot tell you what to do,” the man across from Steve says, a smug grin across his lips that has his blood running cold, “but I would like to make it very clear you will not have my blessing in the matter. Is that understood?”

Steve says nothing, because the door slides open and you’re there in your sparkly dinner dress that likely costs more than what he makes in a week. The differences in your classes have never been so firmly drawn in the sand. You take his hand and urge him inside, smiling at him like he hung the moon, and your father presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Steve, remember what we talked about, son.”

And he’s gone, but his words remain. Swirling, swirling, swirling around inside Steve’s mind. Like little crystalline shards, little daggers, that sink into his skin and twist. Barbs, tangling within him, leaving him reeling and aching.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, brows furrowing, hands cupping his cheeks. “Hey, are you okay?”

You’re warm, stroking his skin so comfortingly, and he smiles down at you, forces it onto his face for your sake. “I’m okay,” he lies, but though you frown a bit at his reply, you smile weakly when he adds, “Missed you, that’s all.”

“There’s a movie playing tonight that I think you’d like. Come with? For old times sake?” Hopeful. You sound so hopeful.

“Sure,” he says hollowly, the mantra of ‘not good enough’ echoing impossibly loud as you walk him down the hall.

——

The rain falls harder now. Thicker droplets that drop against the windshield, little tracks like tears falling down the glass, pushed away a moment later by wipers.

You tug your thighs up closer to your chest, head nodding along to the song playing on the radio. Steve seems far away — lost in thoughts that form a haze over his eyes. Moments ago you’d run your fingers over the backs of his knuckles and he’d offered you a smile, but that wouldn’t do.

“This mountain I must climb,” you sing out, filling the car with your off-key notes, “feels like a world upon my shoulders.”

“What are you doing?” Steve chuckles, head turning your way. There’s a nervousness about him that feels unfamiliar. A conscientiousness that’s usually not there when it comes to him.

Trying to break him out of whatever spell he’s in, your hand splays out, clutching at the sleeve of his sweater dramatically, waving his arm in the air.

“Through the clouds I see love shine —” Another grand swirl of your free hand, and a laugh bursts from him. “It keeps me warm as life grows colder. Come on, Steve!”

“In my life, there’s been heartache and pain,” he mumbles beside you, thumb tap-tapping against the steering wheel. From where you’re sitting, you can see the twitch of his lips, the corners climbing upward. “I don't know if I can face it again.”

You both break into a fit of giggles as the next lines come through the speakers. And then, with your hand against your heart and his waving out in a flourish that teasingly thumps your chest you both cry out in equally as horrendous voices, “I wanna know what love iiiiis. I want you to show meee.”

You turn to face him, staring intently in his eyes, both of you wailing from deep within your bellies, “I wanna feel what love is. I know you can show meee.”

Your head falls against his shoulder, both your shoulders shaking as the song continues around you, eyes following the tracks of the raindrops spilling onto the glass. Comforting, it’s comforting and feels like home.

The chorus blares again and you catch Steve mouthing the words to the song, his eyes a little misty, your heart splintering down the middle.

Trying to break the quiet tension in the car, you tease, “Is that a tear in your eye I see, Steve Harrington?”

He shoves you lightly, though he makes no effort to move you from his shoulder, sniffling noisily. “Shut up.”

“It’s an emotional song. I don’t blame you,” you giggle airily, looping an arm around his waist, the gearshift digging into your middle. You’re about to ask him what has him in his thoughts just as a rectangular object flashes by your side of the car. “Oh! Was that the —”

“Welcome to Hawkins,” he says softly, your head whipping behind you to catch the back of the sign declaring your entrance to your childhood town.

“I’m back?” You breathe out, nose nearly pressing up against the windshield, despite Steve trying to pull you into your seat by the back of your sweater. “Steve?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles breathily, “you’re home.”

“Home.” Endless rows of lush trees fly by, the rumble of distant thunder drowning out the Foreigner song blaring through Steve’s stereo system. “It’s been so long. Still kinda smells.”

“Definitely still smells over here,” he admits, finally managing to get you to rest back against your seat. “Calm down, you dork.”

Wrinkling your nose at him, you suddenly jump, clapping his forearm rapidly with your excited palm. “Oh my gosh — I get to finally see your place!”

“You get to stay at my place too,” he muses, smirking in a way that has your toes curling a bit in your shoes.

You watch as familiar buildings come into view. Different than they were before the town had been devastated by Vecna, but they're all the same. He winds down roads with names you can still remember, weaving along streets until making his way down the path toward where you knew Hopper’s old cabin to be. Only as you pull up, glancing out the window up at the beautiful trees above, it’s much different than you remember. Gorgeous, nestled away as it is in the middle of one of the most peaceful places in all of Hawkins. Larger and triangular on top, with wide windows and a wrap around deck. Beneath a wooden awning are two wooden chairs, facing your direction. A porch light glows with a yellow light, illuminating the deck and the car just feet away from where Steve parked.

“Were you expecting company?” You push the clasp of your seatbelt free, grabbing your things and pushing the passenger side door open. Leaves crinkle and crunch beneath your feet as you step out, rain droplets falling onto your head.

“Looks like Eddie is still here. That’s his fiancée’s car.”

“Eddie’s here.” He nods at your query, stepping in closer, arm there to loop around your shoulders. “Your home…it’s so much different than it was. It’s — it’s amazing, Steve.”

“Figured it needed some remodeling, seeing as monsters had ripped through it.” He grins to himself at your compliment, though, pride radiating off of his form. “It does look pretty great, doesn’t it? I’m proud of it. Mr. Lafferty gets all the credit. He taught me everything I know.”

“Mr. Lafferty…” The name sounds familiar. He’d been one of the few carpenters in town.

“He passed away a few months ago.” Steve grimaces. “But he helped a ton. We expanded the place, added some rooms, and updated it. It’s…well, it’s home.”

“Show me?”

He nods, pulling you along the makeshift walkway beside him. Rocks shift and move as you follow him, shoes tapping against the wooden steps leading to the front door. Steve pushes it open and you’re greeted with high ceilings, wooden beams along the walls, a fireplace set in the far right corner, two gray couches nearby with a wooden table in the middle of the space. There’s a television in the corner, and set back against the far wall is the open kitchen area.

“You are…not at a wedding,” Eddie murmurs, appearing from within the refrigerator, open beer can in hand. “Thought you were getting hitched.”

“Decided marriage wasn’t for me,” you laugh, rushing forward to slam into the man, sighing happily into his chest as arms loop low around your waist. “But Steve tells me you’re getting married.”

“Yeah, somehow tricked a girl into saying yes,” he chuckles, taking a step back to look at you. “You look great.”

“You do too!” His scars look faded by time now, his hair longer than you remember, earring twinkling behind those dark curls of his. “And who is this?”

There, on a little mat in the corner of the kitchen, is a little orange kitten. It peers up at you with honey colored eyes, a little nervous as it pads closer to Eddie. The metalhead scoops the kitten in hand, little kitten limbs spilling over his forearm.

“This is my nephew, Garfield,” Eddie says, rubbing at a tiny furry ear. “Steve found him behind the Hideout. I managed to convince him to keep it. Poor guy is out here living all on his own, it was only a matter of time before he started talking to the trees. As his best friend, I needed to look out for him, you know? So I figured talking to a cat would be more acceptable.”

“Very funny, asshole.” Steve plucks the kitten from his friend, holding it between the two of you. Your eager fingers reach out to pet it, the little head tilting upward to maximize chin scratches, a rumbly purr vibrating against your fingertips. “You fed him?”

“Fed him, cleaned up after him. By the time you have human babies, I’ll be a pro.” Eddie clapped his best friend on the back, giving you another hug. “I should get back. Promised Abi I would grab pizza on the way home. I’ll see you both around. Enjoy your night, kids.”

His ringed fingers waggle and your cheeks burn. “Oh, it’s not like —”

He offers a parting bow and slips out the door, his boots thundering on the front steps, leaving you alone in Steve’s home. Alone again, you take another glance about the space, noting the staircase against the opposite wall.

Raising a finger in the air, you ask, “Your cabin has a second floor?”

“Yeah.” He nods, jerking his head in the direction of the stairs. “Come on.”

Following him, you walk the few stairs leading to his bedroom, taking in the large king bed set against more windows that bleed moonlight into the otherwise dark space, the tan and cream pillows piled high against a dark comforter, his closet in the corner. There’s a woven basket in one corner, various plaid and knitted blankets poking out. To your left is what he tells you is the bathroom, door closed for now.

Even without the fire presently burning in the fireplace, the home feels warm. Like something Steve has put his heart and soul into to make it exactly what he envisioned. Proud doesn’t even start to touch the emotions welling up within you for the man.

All of this. He’s done all of this in the years since you’ve been gone.

“So, uh, you can use the bed? I have a ton of blankets, so I can always sleep on the couch. For however long you want to stay.”

“Steve, no.” He arches a brow. “This is your home. You didn’t plan on hosting. You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Or…” Steve places Garfield down on the edge of the bed, the kitten curling up into a content ball, paws kneading into the comforter below. “we just…share? Again, nothing we’ve never done before. Just like the thousands of other times we’ve done it.”

“I mean. Hell, we did that last night too.” You shrug, because he’s not wrong to suggest simply sharing again.

“Exactly.” Steve watches as you walk around his bedroom, taking in the sights. “I got you pajamas. They’re in the car, so I’ll just have to run out and grab them quickly. We can go shopping for more stuff in the morning. If you’re…planning on staying for a bit.”

“Yeah…I mean, I haven’t thought about for how long, and I don’t want to put you out for longer than I —”

“You can stay however long you need to. Or want to. Not a problem.” Steve clears his throat, hand coming up to run along the back of his neck.

“Okay.” You nod.

“Okay,” he echoes.

That’s that.

And later, as you both curl up beneath the blankets, Garfield lying comfortably near Steve’s feet, you whisper into the darkness.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

You can feel him in the bed behind you. There’s enough distance between you that it feels like a chasm, though.

“I’m cold.”

He exhales a yawn. “Do you want me to throw more logs on the fire?”

“No…” You shift backward a little, your frigid feet touching his warmer ones. “Can you, uh…get closer? Like when we were younger.”

Bandaged knees. Summer slick skin. The smell of sunblock in the air. Bodies huddled together, legs tangled and arms wound right. Nights where you fell asleep against him on the couch during winter, his heartbeat a lullaby. Laying under the stars at Lover’s Lake, losing track of time, and having to rush back home as the sun set to get ready for school, his hair a wreck. Images flicker in your mind, memories of times long ago.

It feels different now. Changed, as his body sidles in closer, a muscular arm coming to curl low around your waist. A hum pours from you as he tugs you against his chest, the feeling of his breath at the back of your neck a comfort that has your head nuzzling further into a fluffy pillow.

“Is this good?” he asks, resting his forehead against the back of your head, the rumble of his chest vibrating along your spine.

“Perfect.”

And as his breathing slows and he starts to drift off to sleep, you can’t help but to think about how warm he feels. About how easy it would be to lose yourself in this fantasy — of staying here, in this home, with the person you love.

Therein lies your problem.

——

please please interact if you like. it means the world to content creators. and as always, i am so happy to share a new story with you all. 🩷

[bullet-prooflove]

The War Correspondent: Russell Shaw x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @Claymoresofinfamy23 @mqdhvtter @bribow010 @encounterthepast

Companion piece to: Home

Russell’s relationship with you starts because of mysterious message left on his cell phone by Marcus Madden, a retired war correspondent who used to be attached to his unit in the Army.

“Russell, I need to see you. It’s about Dex…”

Dex was a Lieutenant that was killed during a firefight back when they were deployed and one of Russ’s closet friends. Russell had been the one to escort the coffin all the way back home, to stand guard until the funeral.

When Russell turns up at Marcus’s house, he’s greeted by an inferno, cloying smoke and flames licking their way up into the night sky. The fire crew are already on the scene trying to put out the blaze but Russ already knows there won’t be any survivors.

It’s a day later that he turns up at your door. He knows Marcus had a daughter who was a Medic in the service, that when she left, she set up shop as a P.I. It’s taken him a while to track you down because you’re unlisted.

When you open the door he doesn’t expect you to be so breathtaking. You must take after your mother, he thinks as he introduces himself.

“Your father left me a message.” He begins and he’s granted access almost immediately.

It turns out you’ve been looking into articles your father was working on before he died. His laptop and hard drives may have burned up in the fire but you have access to his cloud. The two of you compare notes, he fills you in about Dex and you manage to narrow down the story your father was working on.

A motivational speaker whose earned hundreds of thousands of dollars describing his experiences as a veteran. His name Dex Hutton.

“It’s not him.” Russell tells you as he studies the documentation and images of this assholes. “The events he described are the same but Dex is dead, he has been since 2016.”

You spend the rest of the evening investigating the impostor. You manage to ascertain his name is Ray Smyth, that he worked in admin services during his time in the Army, typing up mission reports before he was rewarded with an honourable discharge, never seeing combat. He started attending veterans meetings using Dex’s name, telling his war stories before he was asked to speak during a fundraiser and his career took off there.

“He has an event tonight.” You say and Russell is already pulling out his credit card to book tickets.

The two hour session is the most excruciating thing that Russell has ever had to sit through. He listens to this asshole dictating his friend’s life, recounting those stories as if they were his own and it sends a pulse of rage through him. It isn’t until your hand comes to rest on his clenched fist, fingers slipping into the grooves of his knuckles that he allows himself to exhale because no matter how bad this is for him, it’s much worse for you.

It's at the end of the session when Smyth is signing books that he’s arrested for your father’s murder. You’d sent the evidence you’d collated to the police before you’d entered the conference room. Russ would have preferred to kill the motherfucker but this punishment is much worse for a man of Smyth’s character. He’s being eviscerated in the press, his lies exposed. It’s the humiliation that will kill him, you tell Russ and it does long before the trial starts when they discover him hanging in his cell.

Before he returns to his life with The Horizon Group, Russ leaves you his number, jotting it down on one of your post it notes.

“Just in case.” He says, squeezing your hands between his.

You don’t expect him to attend the funeral, but he does with the other surviving members of his unit, all clad in their dress blues to honour your father. He stays behind in the aftermath, helping to clean up the remains of the wake. He ends up sleeping on the couch because you spend the night drinking bourbon and swapping stories. When you wake up the next day he’s gone, the sheets and pillows neatly folded up on the arm of the sofa.

He checks in often after that, dropping by for coffee, taking you out for lunch. He tells himself it’s what your father would have wanted but the truth is he enjoys spending time with you. You don’t pull punches, your wicked smart and you make him laugh. Just the thought of your smile is enough to make his heart beat a little faster in his chest.

Lunches turn to dinner and before he knows it, Russ is in falling in love.

It isn’t him that makes the first move it’s you. He’s too aware of the circumstances of how all of this started, he doesn’t want to take advantage of the situation. When he walks you to the doorstep, he says goodnight but before he can leave, your hand slips into his pulling him back to you and that’s when it happens. You kiss him and Russell, he’s never felt anything like it.

You take him to bed that night, undressing him slowly, hands chasing all over his body with delicate, lingering touches that set his nerve endings ablaze. Everything before you has been fast, hard, rough but this is soft, tender, reverent.

He spends hours tangled up in you, his name on your lips as he loves you like he has never loved anybody else. When he wakes up the next morning, he sticks around, making coffee and breakfast because for the first time in his life Russell doesn’t want to leave, not until he has to.

“The next time you’re back in town…” You begin when it is his time to go and Russell’s palm comes to rest upon the nape of your neck, drawing you for a kiss.

“Oh honey.” He whispers against your lips. “I’ll be here at weekend if you’ll have me.”

“Always.” You promise him, your fingers running through his hair. “There’ll always be a place for you, right here with me.”

Love Russ? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[wildlife4life]

8x01 Fuck-it Friday Coda

I'm back!!! The writing beans came to me and I had to write a post b-day scene. Hope ya'll enjoy!!! (Using this as my Fuck-it Friday as well!) Posted to A03 as well.

Tommy tried to apologize, tried to offer to help clean up, and suggested to give Buck a ride home. 

“Don’t” was Eddie’s first response before the apology could even get past the older man’s lips.

“I’ll deal with it later.” Was his second.

And Buck, merely shook his head and lead the pilot to the front door, hugging him in the doorway with too soft words Eddie doesn’t even try to catch.

He stays seated on the couch, laptop still closed, cone hate crushed in his fist and the stupid noise maker at his feet. Another birthday passing through a lagging computer screen. Another person he loves upset and angry for his choices.

Except there’s silence that echoes around him instead of the bustle of an army encampment. His body isn’t weighed down by miliary gear and the ever presence fear of dying in the sands of war.  Eddie is no longer that man in his early 20’s, running from his problems. Now he’s just a man in his mid-thirties, watching his son run away from him.

The couch dips to his right and warmth seeps into his numb body.  It spreads around his back and over his left shoulder.  The band of muscles around him, flex, pulling Eddie deeper and pushing the numbness further away.

Eddie doesn’t even try to fight it.  He closes his eyes, tipping his body sideways and burying his face into his best friend’s shoulder.

Buck doesn’t say anything.  He doesn’t try to apologize or offer to help clean, and he doesn’t suggest leaving Eddie to wallow alone. Because he doesn’t need to say any of those things.

Apologies from Buck aren’t going to salvage the failed birthday surprise.  Offers to clean the dollar store decorations and store-bought cupcakes will in no way make a dent in the disarray that is Eddie’s relationship with his son. And Eddie knows better than anyone, Buck is never going to leave him alone in this mess.

Side by side they sit in the silence that has been lingering since Christopher left for Texas.  Eddie breaths in the mixture of Buck’s cologne, laundry detergent, and something that is just uniquely Buck.  He takes breath after breath, and Buck matches each one with his own. Same rhythm. Same speed. Same heartache.

They sit there for minutes, hours, maybe even the rest of evening. The time didn’t matter, but this moment did, and Eddie needed to stay in it for just a little longer. He needed the line of warmth from Buck to chase away the remaining ache. He needed just a few more deep breaths with Buck’s scent lingering in the back of his throat. He needed Buck to keep holding onto him. He needed the silence to try and remember the echoes of previous birthdays where Christopher didn’t scoff, but smiled and laughed and returned his father’s hugs. He needed his son back.

But at this moment, his son didn’t need him.

It sobers Eddie, admitting that and he comes back to himself, breaking the bubble he secluded himself in with Buck.

He pulls his head from Buck’s shoulder and with a squeeze of his hand to Buck’s knee, Buck drops his arm, but the strength of his support remains. And when Eddie rises to his feet, disconnecting himself from Buck’s side, his warmth, his love, clings and doesn’t allow the numbness to return.

The silence is still there. The hurt and echoes of laughter’s past still resonance around them. There is still a mess. But Eddie isn’t alone with any of it.

Buck grabs the trash bag he laid out earlier and plucks the crumpled party hat from Eddie’s laxed grip. It makes the slightest rustle when dropped in the bag and again when followed by Buck’s red one.

“No cone hats next year, they’re uncomfortable.” Buck states as he tosses Tommy’s discarded blue hat in.

He reaches for the noise maker on the floor and Eddie manages to allow the smallest spark of hope to erupt with a tiny smile, “What do you suggest instead?”

The noise maker disappears into the trash bag and Buck’s eyes catch Eddie’s, lighting up with giddiness, “Depends.  Disney has the mickey ears, but what about universal? Shrek ears? Troll hair? Minion bald caps?”

A grand birthday plan is already in the works for Christopher’s 15th. Because Buck could see past pool clubs and renovation talks. He is seeing past the tangles in Eddie’s and Christopher’s distant relationship, beyond the anger and sadness.  His hope is larger than a single spark and one day, it will charge Eddie’s own.

One day, but not today.  So, Eddie shakes his head at Buck’s hat contemplations and makes his way over to the cupcake stand that is only missing one. “You’re baking these next year.” Eddie says softly.

Buck comes up behind him beaming, “You’re helping.”

Exactly what he needed to hear.

Tagging for fuck-it friday (no pressure): @colonoscopys @mattsire @bigfootsmom @tidesreach @kitteneddiediaz

@inell @pansysgothgf @smilingbuckley @shitouttabuck @dangerpronebuddie

@bucks-daddy-issues @tizniz @aroeddiediaz @cal-daisies-and-briars @lemonzestywrites

@diazsdimples @daffi-990 @diazheartsbuckley @transboybuckley @rainbow-nerdss

@theotherbuckley @lover-of-mine @jeeyuns @watchyourbuck @exhuastedpigeon

@spaceprincessem @starlingbite @glorious-spoon @jesuisici33 @hippolotamus

@prosperdemeter2 @try-set-me-on-fire @homerforsure @bekkachaos @honestlydarkprincess

@thekristen999 @sibylsleaves @mellaithwen @lonelychicago @tawaifeddiediaz

@fruitydiaz @monsterrae1 @elvensorceress @gayhoediaz @captain-hen

@eddiebabygirldiaz

[rvmanoffbarnes]

Only you || The Void x reader x Bob Reynolds

Summary: Bob's dark, evil entity, The Void, appears when you least expect it. The rest of the team must be prepared to confront him and his prevailing malice. However, there is only one person on the team with whom he has a soft spot. And it's her.

Author's note: this is an anonymous request that i needed to write inmediately. So, here you go. Enjoy it!

《tags: fluff, curse words, the void having a soft spot for the reader, thunderbolts being kinda like a 'found family' trope》

Bob watched the girl from a distance while she prepared dinner.

It wasn't a secret to anyone that Bob was attracted to Y/N. The whole team used to tease him about it, until his ears turned red. John was more insistent on it along with Alexei, who motivated him to ask her out. After meeting them and fighting the group, they decided to put their differences aside and help the man who only wanted to control his powers. Or rather, control him. The Void.

The entity that used to control man when he least expected it or felt like it. He had dark desires and every time he appeared, the rest of the group had to confront him and try to bring him back. However, it was in vain. His powerful entity wouldn't allow a group of powerless people to lock him up like that. When he appeared, he stalked them through the corridors of the compound and often mock them.

Before it was much more chaotic. The first few days Bob tried to prevent the entity from invading him from the inside, but it was impossible. When he came back to himself, he was greeted by Y/N who tried to hold him by the shoulders to stabilize him, while she watched behind the girl's back how the compound was in a mess and, sometimes, on fire.

He didn't remember much of what happened when The Void consumed him. But it always happened that John showed up with a bleeding nose and Bucky adjusting his metal arm.

Somehow, they got used to it and prepared for the worst.

Alexei walks up to the brunette and pats his shoulder gently, scaring him away in the process.

"Shit," Bob says, turning to look at the bearded man, who laughs.

"Seriously, you should try to approach her," he says with an accent. "It seems like it's something mutual."

"Who? Bob and Y/N?" John joins the conversation.

Alexei nods "Oh, yeah. You should try it," John advises with amusement and mischief in his tone.

Bob takes one more look at the girl, who is chatting with Bucky and Yelena, animatedly. Although Y/N ​​had always shown him to trust him, Bob couldn't give himself the pleasure of approaching her so soon and in that way. He wasn't sure, and he didn't want to hurt her, especially if he decided to have The Void appear at any moment.

"You should do it before a certain soldier tries something with her," John scoffs, seeing if he gets a reaction from him.

An annoying feeling arises in his chest and he swallows as if this act will make it better.

"I've seen a lot of closeness between Bucky and Y/N." Bob frowns as he watches Bucky gently place his hand on the girl's arm.

"You should actually worry about your other... ugh!" Alexei receives a punch to the back of the head from John "Why did you do that?"

John rolls his eyes in annoyance and curses under his breath. Then, he looks at the brunette and sighs. "You should go for it"

He feels an evil sensation slowly invade his body, and he is aware of what is about to happen. He continues to look at the scene in front of his eyes and clenches his fists tightly. John watches the scene with amusement as he feels Ava position herself next to him and whisper to her, without her reaching Bob's hearing.

"Are we still with the bet?" Ava smiles with amusement and shows him a 20 dollar bill. "Only if it turns out that the other one always shows up when he sees that Y/N is close to Bucky. And of course, if he treats us like shit at the table while being soft for her"

"You bet," John says confidently.

Alexei frowns and crosses his arms.

"What did you bet?"

"20 bucks that Void treats us like shit while he treats Y/N so softly" Alexei laughs unamusedly and shakes his head.

He watches as Bob gets up from the couch to slowly but surely approach the rest in the kitchen.

"That's impossible. That thing is crazy, I don't think it's like that"

Ava raises an eyebrow. "Do you want to bet?"

Alexei just smiles.

Void was at the table with them.

It was no longer Bob who was in the room. The man's evil personality looked closely at each of them, who sensed a change in the environment. Void looked at Alexei who was happily eating his plate, and then turned his gaze to Y/N.

John cleared his throat and turned to look at Bob.

"Bob, aren't you going to eat?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. Void looks at him with seriousness on his face.

Suddenly he makes a grimace of disgust on his face that does not go unnoticed by the others.

"I don't feel like eating anything you guys have made," he spits firmly. He pushes the plate away and crosses his arms.

"Oh, what a shame," Ava intervenes. "Y/N spent a lot of time preparing this dish. It's one of her special recipes."

The named woman opens her eyes in surprise and looks at Bob. Y/N is looking at the man carefully, and realizes that it is not Bob's bright eyes that are watching her, but the other him.

"Shit" Yelena curses.

"We've got Void here, guys," Alexei announces, munching on his food.

Void narrows his eyes and looks at Y/N, asking:

"Did you prepare dinner?" Y/N nods her head.

"If you want I can prepare something else" she says. Yelena snorts and looks amused at the scene in front of her eyes.

"You better behave, Void," the blonde warns.

"This could get messy" Bucky gulps his drink.

Void with an automatic movement, brings the plate closer and takes the fork to bring the food to his mouth. Savoring the dish prepared by Y/N. He couldn't let them see him enjoy the dish, he wouldn't allow it. But seeing how Y/N's eyes looked at him expectantly, he allowed himself to nod his head.

"It's good," he says coldly. Y/N smiles and continues eating.

“Wow, who knew the monster himself could enjoy a meal prepared by Y/N,” John scoffs.

Void raises his hand and throws him away from the table, making him crash against the wall. Void continues eating, under the watchful eyes of the rest.

"If someone doesn't want to end up like the soldier, I would suggest you to keep eating," he warns.

"Whatever you say, pal" Yelena says, sipping her drink.

Alexei grimaces as he sees Ava's triumphant face.

Something tells him, he's gonna lose that bet.

Yelena and Bucky had joined the bet, while Taskmaster decided to stay out of the whole thing. As always.

The next thing the group saw was when they were fighting some smugglers of the Super Soldier serum.

Bucky was trying to fight against the leader of the gang, while Ava hit some men with precise and agile movements. Alexei was punching, enjoying the moment, while John and Taskmaster were in charge of knocking down everyone who crossed them. Yelena, Y/N and Bob were trying to take the serum samples that were hidden, but eight armed men entered the room.

"Take care of the serum, we'll keep them busy" Y/N says, occupying her powers.

Bob started fighting alongside her, trying to take them down and make sure she was okay. The duo was winning the fight, but without noticing the bullet that one of the bad guys had fired, it had grazed Y/N's arm, causing her to curse and stop using her powers, while receiving a punch from a man. The girl falls unconscious to the ground, while Bob grunts and feels Void's presence take control of his person.

He screams and feels it take over him, losing control. Void glares at the one who hit the girl, while with a wave of his hand, he sends the guy he was fighting with into complete darkness.

"You...." points to the man, who swallows nervously about what will happen next. "You shouldn't have done that." And he destroys him with his hand.

Yelena observes the scene as she returns with the serum case in her hand. Void doesn't look at her, his attention is focused on taking Y/N into his arms. When he takes her against his body bridal style, he raises his dark, dominant gaze to the blonde.

"Is she okay?" Yelena asks referring to the unconscious girl. Void clenches his jaw and walks past her while replying that the girl is fine now.

Now that he has her safe.

The rest of the group arrives agitated and they can see how Void doesn't even spare them a glance, he is worried about holding the girl tightly in his arms and then leaving through the balcony of the building and flying away.

John narrows his eyes and watches with an amused grimace as Alexei curses.

"It would be 40 bucks, Alexei," he pats his back, "I suggest you break your piggy bank."

When Void arrives with Y/N ​​at the compound, he immediately heads to "Bob's" room to leave her lying on the mattress. He watches as her chest rises and falls calmly, while he clenches his jaw and sees the cut on her temple.

He could have unleashed all his power to destroy the bastards who caused that, but he knew—as crazy as it may seem to him and he is against the idea of ​​controlling himself—that he could have killed the group, even Y/N. And he didn't want that to happen. Unlike Sentry, his dark side couldn't hold back and always got out of control, but when he met Y/N everything seemed to calm down a little for him. No matter how crazy it seemed.

Void observes Y/N's sleepy figure and crouches down to her level to bring his face closer to her hair, sniffing the scent of her shampoo. Vainilla with coconut. That seemed to calm him down.

A few hours pass and Void takes it upon himself to still maintain control of Bob's body to keep an eye on the girl. The rest arrived at the premises with injuries and barely walking, they stopped as soon as they saw the man's dark suit.

"How is she?" Bucky asks. Void crosses his arms and looks at him with his usual coldness.

"She's sleeping," he answers bluntly.

Yelena points her head to the door of the room. "Is she in Bob's room?" He nods his head.

Bucky sighs and takes a few steps until he walks into the room. "I should go check on her."

However, he is stopped by the other's hand, earning a confused and disapproving look. "

What's wrong with you? I want to go check on her" Void smiles coldly.

"It won't be necessary. She's with me." Bucky snorts and looks at him defiantly.

"She's my friend. I should check on her."

"Guys...." Ava warns.

Void laughs with amusement.

"Don't make it any harder, Barnes," he points out. "You know how this will end if you confront me."

Bucky sets his jaw and clenches his metal fist.

"Guys" a female voice is heard. Void turns around instantly and sees Y/N touching her head.

"Shit, this hurt" she complains.

Bucky looks at her and goes to her, while Void follows him without taking his eyes off the girl.

"Do you need me to bring you ice?" Yelena asks going to the refrigerator.

"Please," she asks.

"I'll do it," Void orders firmly. Y/N looks at the man and is surprised to see Void. Lately she has been seeing him more than Bob himself.

Alexei curses and goes to the room, thinking that he will have to pay more money to the rest.

"Shit"

Void takes the ice pack from the blonde's hands and Y/N walks over to gently hold it out to her. Ava watches the scene carefully as she sees how he acts with the other girl on the team. Yelena stands next to Ghost and arches an eyebrow as she holds the side of her rib.

"Who knew Void could have a heart after all" she says mockingly.

It was a rainy night and everyone in the compound was sleeping peacefully. Everyone except Bob, who wandered through the hallways without being able to fall asleep.

He didn't remember much from the previous days, only that he had worried that Y/N had a small cut on her temple. He sat on the couch and listened to the rain fall, while behind him Y/N approached with a smile on her face.

"There you are" Bob jumps and turns to see Y/N sitting next to him, a blanket surrounding her body "I was starting to wonder when would you come back"

Bob smiles nervously.

"It wasn't me. It was..."

"Void," she finishes, with a slight smile. Bob tenses.

"I hope he hasn't caused too much trouble," he murmurs.

Y/N shakes her head. "You'd be surprised, actually."

He frowns.

"Why?"

"He helped me when I got knocked out the time we went on that mission," she reminds him. Bob begins to remember and remembers that the last thing he saw that day was Y/N falling unconscious to the ground.

He looks at the girl's already healed cut.

"Are you better now? Do you need anything?" Y/N smiles and plays with her fingers under the blanket.

She moves closer to him and hears him swallow.

"Actually, i do. I needed you to tell me if..." she lowers her voice "you feel the same way"

Bob widens his eyes.

"What? I...."

"I know you have feelings for me, Bob" she confesses.

"Shit. I-I can explain it" he says hurriedly "I didn't want you to know, but the boys knew and...."

She interrupts him with a kiss on the lips.

Bob freezes for a few moments and then gently reciprocates. He raises his hands to the girl's red cheeks and lets himself be carried away by the kiss. He adores the feeling, and he doesn't want to stop.

They both separate and a shy smile appears on Y/N's face.

"Is it clear to you now that this is something mutual?" she asks him.

Bob nods his head eagerly, and dares to ask: "Could you make it clearer to me?"

She smiles and kisses him again. He gladly reciprocates, but within seconds he feels how the other takes control of him. Void is in charge of lowering his hands from the girl's cheeks until he slides them around her waist and sits her on his lap, an action that surprises the girl. Especially when "Bob" decides to bite her lips gently, making the girl moan. She separates instantly and notices how Bob's nervous face becomes confident and mischievous.

"What? I couldn't let him enjoy you all to himself" he says grimly.

“God,” Y/N murmurs, letting out a sigh.

"No, I'm just Void. But thank you" he pulls her close to his body and looks into her eyes "I must say that you captivated me to have me under your control, sweetheart"

She swallows and licks her lips. Void can't help but look at her.

"I'll have to get used to this, right?" she asks, leaning on the shoulders of the entity taking over the boy's body. He nods smiling.

"Promise me something"

"Anything, dear," he says against his lips.

"You're going to calm down with the others" Void rolls his eyes and doesn't like the plan, but seeing the pleading gleam in the girl's eyes, he curses and responds in disgust.

"Okay," he says, "Only because you asked me to. Now could we get back to kissing?"

She shakes her head in amusement and captures his lips in another kiss. Hoping that Bob will also enjoy this when he takes control again.

"Oh, c'mon!" Alexei exclaims.

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Venus

Good afternoon people of Hawkins I take hammer and I fix the canon so that Eddie and his love are there to save the day.

Alternatively: fuck people like Angela. Throw rocks at them.

Trigger Warnings: vomit mention, pregnancy

****

“What the hell are they doing to Mike’s girlfriend?!”

You sat up ramrod straight, looking directly at Mike Wheeler’s little flame as she’s accosted by a group of leering little bitches led by a trashy looking blonde named Angela. After being accosted one day in Bradley’s Big Buy, fate found you and your fiancé chaperoning Mike’s little trip to see his girlfriend and friend in California. Mrs. Wheeler had paid for the plane tickets and paid you and Eddie two hundred dollars, trusting you to take care of her baby boy and his little friends. Responsibility was something you took seriously. You felt protective, a far cry from your usual antisocial and avoidant demeanor.

The minute you landed in California was when you imprinted on the kiddos like a broody hen imprints on baby chicks. You took a particular liking to Mike’s little girlfriend: she was awkward and scared much like you were once upon a time. Jane Hopper was mousy and shy, and had been trying to be bubbly throughout the trip even though you kept insisting to Eddie something was wrong. You could recognize the signs of someone trying to hold it together. Eddie had insisted you were wrong. Despite his efforts to calm you down, nothing could make you feel safe.

You had been off the whole trip, and the way you were on high alert, the more it seemed like Eddie was right about the cause.

“Hey! Take it easy…” Eddie soothed, pulling at the hem of your Motörhead ringer tee, “Let’s not go berserker on them.”

“I don’t like the way they’re crowding her!” You hissed, pounding your clenched fist on the booth table.

Mike and Will Byers jumped, glancing from you to Eddie then to each other when you immediately stood up out of the booth seat. You were bouncing on the balls of your feet, crouched as though you were going to pounce on someone.

Everyone was already on edge because of you. Going to Rink-O-Mania had been an entire ordeal. Before you entered the parking lot, you were already bitching and moaning about the drive over. Then you started complaining that the rink smelled like feet, and then you complained that the grease from the hot dogs was too overpowering. Eddie had tried to be the peacekeeper. Settling your raging stomach with a thick strawberry milkshake when you started whining about wanting one, and then complaining that the chocolate and vanilla smelled rotten.

The shake helped settle your stomach, but once the nausea was gone you just got more broody and hypersensitive.

“Babe, take a second, okay?” He soothed, pulling you back down into the booth with him, “You’re gonna cause a scene.”

“I don’t like how they’re just grabbing her and lugging her around like a suitcase!” You said.

Will’s hands were shaking, and you could hear him whispering with Mike.

“What’s wrong with her…?”

“How the hell should I know?! She’s been insufferable ever since she got on the plane to California!”

Eddie glanced over at Mike, shaking his head and frowning.

“Mike, take it easy. She’s not feeling well.” He said.

“Eddie, this is stupid!” Mike said, “She complains about every little thing, whines that she doesn’t feel good, then snaps at you if you don’t answer her right away or do what she wants. I swear she’s on the rag! Now she won’t even let El hang with her friends.”

“Mike chill, you don’t understand-…”

You immediately snapped your head towards Will when you heard him make a strangled noise in his throat at the mention of Jane’s “friends”.

“What’s wrong?!” You demanded.

“Nothing!”

Will looked like he had a gun to his head. Hyperventilating. Pure panic on his face.

“Will…” you growled, moving in like a tiger.

“Sweetheart, please. Everything is fine. Don’t start up with the stress.” Eddie begged.

“Yeah, man! Stop freaking everyone out!”

Mike stared you down while Will looked left and right, as though hoping to be saved. A storm was brewing, both in your face and on the roller rink. And unfortunately he didn’t have the spoons or the know-how to quell both at once.

You glanced hatefully at both Eddie and Mike.

“Shut up.” You hissed, before turning back to Will.

He shrank in the booth, the faux leather squeaking.

“Those girls are not her friends… are they?” You whispered dangerously to Will.

He was avoiding your gaze. Fidgeting in his seat. You continued to stare him down until he finally, finally shook his head and muttered.

“No… they’re not her friends. Those are the ones that bully her at school…”

The air surrounding the booth seemed to shift; a cold front of anticipation hitting everyone. You began to quiver, while Mike and Eddie rounded on Will.

“Why didn’t you say something?!” Mike demanded.

“I promised I wouldn’t tell!” Will countered, while Eddie simultaneously tried to pacify Will and soothe Mike.

But you were done. You were so fucking done.

“Fuck this shit.”

You moved out of the booth and sat astride a nearby bench, kicking your shoes off and tying on your black skates. Your face was dark, stormy and murderous, and you looked like you were puffed up and ready to kill someone.

“No, no, no!” Eddie was scrambling out of the booth after you, trying to grab your arm, “Sweetheart, we need to stop and take a breath-…”

“Eddie’s right! What are you even doing?!” Mike demanded.

“I’m going to get my fucking kid.” You said.

“Since when is she your kid?!” Mike snapped.

“Since your mother told me to take care of all of you on this trip.” You snarled, nearly snapping the shoestrings on your skates as you tied them with a vengeance, “If anything happens to any of you, Eddie and I are the ones that are gonna catch hell.”

“You think I’m afraid of Karen Wheeler?!” Eddie interjected, trying to drag you back over to the table, “I get that we have a responsibility, but we need to take a deep breath and not go apeshit on a bunch of kids. You need to think of the situation we might be in...”

His voiced dropped to a whisper.

“I don’t want either of you getting hurt.”

“I’m just going to go get Jane.” You said.

“Dammit babe you can’t just go charging in-…”

Before Eddie could do anything, you had already secured your skates and began gliding out onto the rink. Vaguely over the sound of Bananarama, you could hear Eddie calling your name. You were skating a bit like shit. The motion was a little disorienting, and out in the middle of the rink you could smell everything mixed together with body sweat.

You whipped your head this way and that, before spotting Jane. Cornered by Angela, that bleach blonde jackass.

“Excuse me.” You called out, bumping the blonde with your hip.

The motion was so fluid it simply looked like you were just gliding on by, taking Jane by the upper arm and coasting with her for a turn around the rink. It was done swiftly, no muss no fuss, but you knew from years of experience that girls like Angela wouldn’t let you go so easily.

Jane looked a little frightened, and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a mirror. Your teased hair was waterlogged with sweat, and your sharp winged eyeliner was dribbling down your cheeks and getting into your sleep deprived red rimmed eyes. To Jane, you must have looked like a demon.

“Are you okay, sweetie?!” You called out to Jane over the intro to ‘Venus’.

She waited until the iconic screech passed before responding.

“I’m okay…” she nodded, clinging to your arm when she realized you had come to save her, not scream at her.

“What were they doing to you?” You called out, only to see the intended plan a second later as Jane’s bully and her cronies started tailing the two of you around the turn. You locked eyes with Eddie across the room, watching him stand up from putting on his inline skates and gliding towards you two.

“Don’t panic.” You told Jane, “Just skate towards Eddie, okay?”

She nodded and went forward obediently, nearly falling into his open arms when you gave her a little push. Jane’s bullies were closing in on either side of you, and just as you made for Eddie, you felt a tug at the back of your hair. It was soft at first, then someone yanked you backward.

You landed hard on your wrist and ass, and when you looked up, you were doused in chocolate shake.

The smell was more overpowering than the laughter of Jane’s bullies. Angela stood triumphantly over you, her friends circling all of you as they laughed and pointed.

“Look who it is!” She laughed, “The loser’s fat little mother hen!”

You didn’t say anything as you got to your feet. Watching the girls circle you was giving you motion sickness, and you slapped a hand over your mouth as the sickening smell of cheap cocoa ice cream and curdling milk invaded your nostrils.

“Aww look, she’s not saying anything.” Angela sneered, getting into your face, “Is Mommy feeling queasy?”

The hot dog grease, burnt popcorn, oil, Angela’s Love’s Baby Soft perfume, and the insoles of skates that had been sweated in since the sixties, were cumulatively gathering together into one rank whiff to make your stomach turn violently. The feeling of saliva flooding your mouth meant the end was nigh. You looked up at Angela, a sly grin on your face as one of her female friends went up behind you with a fist raised.

“Oh, Mama’s feeling queasy alright,” you hissed, spit dribbling out of your mouth.

“You stuck up little bitch.”

Angela only had one moment to react before her friend hit you hard in the middle of the back. The floodgates opened. The punch to the back knocked you forward, and you immediately threw up all over the front of Angela’s blue shirt.

You finally understood the meaning of a Kodak Moment. Her face changed in the span of a second from superior, to shock, to horror and then fear as she began gagging as the smell of vomit hit her nostrils. You coughed up the remains of the shake while her friends immediately vacated the rink, the music stopping mid riff and everyone clearing off the minute “ralph” was heard echoing through the roller rink. Angela began screaming as Eddie nearly bowled into you, laughing so hard he was crying.

“Holy hell!” He cried, his face red with laughter and his smile wide as he led you out of the rink by the arm, “Did you have to do that?!”

“She shouldn’t have doused me in shake.” Was your smug response.

“YOU DIRTY BITCH!”

Angela shrieked, alone in the center of the rink, covered and stinking, “You’re fucking gross! You’re disgusting!”

“Word of advice, sweetheart,” Eddie called over his shoulder, a smug smile on his face while leading you into the waiting arms of Will, Mike and Jane.

“Next time: don’t pick a fight with a pregnant woman!”

[beansprean]

It WAS Panera! Guillermo b like I'm gonna take this full circle djdjdjd

My Familiar’s Ghost part 39

Masterpost

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Wide shot of a Panera Bread in a strip mall, flanked on one side by a closed Family Dollar and an empty space for lease. The sky is heavily clouded but it has stopped raining, the moon glowing brightly above the restaurant from beneath the gloom. Nandor, dressed and dry again and wearing his black and gold traveling cloak, stands in the foreground alone, facing the building. 1b. Close up of Nandor looking up at the Panera with a fond, nostalgic smile, murmuring to himself, 'Very sentimental, Guillermo. 1c. Close up of Nandor's boot as he steps forward across the asphalt. He announces, 'I'm coming for you.' 1d. Close up on Nandor's hand reaching out toward the double doors. The building beyond is dark, and there is a closed sign on the door with a few smears of blood along the bottom in the shape of fingers. 1e. Repeat, 14 years earlier. The scene is now in sepia tone, and Nandor is wearing different clothes. The closed sign now says open, and the building inside is lit up. Nandor's hand curls into a fist and he knocks twice on the glass. A voice from inside hesitantly says 'Come in?' 1f. Shot from inside the Panera as past Nandor pushes the door open to step inside, expression serious. A voice offscreen says, 'We're closing soon, but-' 1g. Reverse shot of Guillermo, 19 years old, hair in an overgrown style with floppy side bangs, oval wire rimmed glasses, a few pimples on his chin, stepping out from behind a curtain that leads to a hallway behind the counter. He is wearing a Panera apron over a black polo shirt. He startles when his eyes meet Nandor's, cheeks flushing red, and interrupts himself with 'Uh...'

2a. Wide shot in profile as past Nandor approaches the Panera counter from one side and past Guillermo approaches from the other. On the counter between them is a thick computer monitor, a card reader, a large tip jar with some change and crumpled bills, and a few flyers and tea samples. Nandor stands tall and imposing as looks down at Guillermo with something between indifference and boredom, cape flaring behind him. Guillermo places one hand on the counter, the other clutching at his chest, and stares up at Nandor with wide admiring eyes and flushed cheeks. He says, 'What...what can I do for you?' 2b. Repeat, 14 years later. The sepia tone disappears in favor of a heavy darkness. The scene is now covered in a thick layer of dust, the computer monitor now a dark flat screen, tip jar smaller and empty. A wall painting in the background hangs crooked. A corner of the wall behind the counter is smashed in and smeared red. The curtain to the back is half ripped down. Present day Nandor stands exactly where he once stood, but appears smaller, more hesitant, twiddling his fingers together as he stares longingly at where he had first seen Guillermo. /end ID

[twyftwyt]

Warnings: slight smut, anger

Noah Sebastian x fem!reader

Authors note: this is a little something I found in my drafts that I’m debating on continuing (as a one shot tho)

“I thought we talked this through. Stop acting up. Not in public. Not right now.”

And he had a point. He really did. We both hated making a scene in public and we rarely had spats. We knew better than to throw fits and fists at each other, but my vision was so blurry from all the hurt and anger that my brain went blank the moment we stepped out of the restaurant.

We had a small argument before we left the hotel, to grab dinner with everyone else, but we agreed on postponing the conversation for later. For when we’re alone, between the comfort of the four walls of our hotel room. But things didn’t go as planned and escalated pretty quickly when something in me snapped the moment he made a sarcastic comment towards me, at dinner. I bit back, of course, and he didn’t like it. We were both on edge the whole evening. I could see him fidgeting a lot, tapping his knee, looking over at me and I purposefully ignored him. Which steered the pot even more.

“You know better than to act like this. Please, I don’t have the patience to do this tonight.”

That was the last text message that I got from him. At one point I got up and went to the toilet only to come back and sit on the other end of the table. As far away from him as possible. A change he noticed in an instant. I was too far gone to start acting right so I just grabbed my phone from where it was laying on the table and started typing away as fast as I could. My annoyance visible to those around me now.

“So you get a free pass in the asshole department and I don’t?!”

The moment I hit sent and my message displayed as “Seen” my eyes shot up at him. And he was already glaring at me. His eyes were low and darkened. I knew I hit a nerve. And I knew that I knew better than to do that, but I was seeing red at this point. I saw him move in his seat till he got his wallet out and put a 50 dollar bill on the table.

“That should cover our dinner. We’re going back to the hotel, because whatever was in that salad is not doing my stomach any good right now.”

What a decent liar. He got up from the table and motioned at me with his index finger. A lump got stuck in my throat, cause I knew what was coming. I hated fighting with him. Especially in cases where the fight had gotten so stupid that we’ve both already lost sense of reality and the thing we were fighting over.

I excused myself from the table and followed in his footsteps quickly. The air outside was cold and dry and I felt his arm wrap around me. His hot breath tickled my hair when I felt his lips press against my temple.

“You wanna finish that conversation in person?”

He felt hot to the touch and his body was starting to shake. Not from the coldness, I knew I had pressed a sensitive button.

“I don’t wanna fight, Noah.”

My tone was more desperate than I intended it to be.

“Then why do you keep saying silly shit?”

“Because you push me, Noah. I don’t even think you realize how you push my buttons at times and it takes all the strength I have in me to not go back to my old ways and tell you to go fuck yourself. It’s stupid, the shit we’ve been fighting over, these last few days. Have you noticed that?! We’re not fighting over little scenarios and situations, it’s deeper than that. But I’m not ready to talk about it and apparently so aren’t you. And that’s okay. We’ll get to it at some point, but we.can’t.keep.doing.this.”

I blurted out the whole thing in one breath and got dizzy shortly after shutting my mouth. We had picked up the pace and he was gripping my arms so tight that I felt like I could fly off the ground if I lift my feet.

“I think we trigger unhealed parts of our brains, thus we go back to old ways and I hate it. Sometimes I don’t even know what to do with you.”

I didn’t know what to do with him either.

“I don’t want fight over silly little things, cause we’re just gonna get tired of each other at one point. But you’re right. We do trigger each other in a way that I can’t understand neither explain and I don’t know what to do with us.”

I knew we weren’t gonna solve this overnight. So we spent the rest of the walk to the hotel in silence. We got in the elevator and as he was fumbling for his key, I leaned on the wall behind me. His tall frame was hovering over me and I could see his shoulders were tense. We were both worked up from tonight. The moment our elevator announced our floor and the doors opened, he grabbed my hand and lead me to our room. He was always firm but gentle. He was quick in his reactions and he kept his composure at all times. I admired him a lot for that. But he was too calm sometimes. Too composed. Too silent. Too much in his head. I was an anxious over thinker and he was avoidant. And we were trying so hard to give each other the needed space and reassurance, but there were times like this, where our worlds crashed. When all we wanted was to just collide peacefully.

He threw his hoodie on the couch and got out of his shoes as soon as we closed and locked the door behind us. The room was dimly lit by only the nightstand lamps and the orange light illuminated off of his body.

“I’m getting in the shower. Do you need something?”

“From the shower?”

He rolled his eyes at me and I smiled at him.

“I wanna take your tank top off.”

And I didn’t mean it in a sexual way. I just wanted to feel him close, to feel the heat emanating from his body.

“Go on then.”

He lifted his arms in front of me.

“You have to sit on the bed, babe. I can’t reach that high.”

I rolled my eyes at him this time. He stepped backwards a few times until his legs hit the wooden board of the bed and he sank down on the soft cushions. I straddled him and untuck his tank top from his sweats, lifting it slowly from his torso. I felt his hands slide down my waist and my breath stuck in my throat. I removed his tank top and put it on the bed beside us, looking down at him, running my fingers through his hair.

“You’re giving me the eyes.”

His own breaths were coming out short.

“What eyes?”

“The “fuck me” eyes. You’re giving me the “fuck me” eyes.”

“I am not.” A lie.

“Don’t play.”

“Or what?”

I saw him clench his jaw and his hands slid down to my thighs, gripping them hard, pulling me down on him.

“You’ve given me plenty of reasons to not be gentle with you tonight. Don’t give me more, Y/N.”

At this point I was grinding my crotch against his, feeling his erection grow behind the three pieces of fabric separating us. So much for staying mad or talking things through.

“I can handle your worst, Noah.”

We were both still coming down from that fight earlier and I knew what to expect. But then again, I think always know with Noah. I’ve studied and learned his ways so well, that I can tell what he’s thinking about the minute I look at him. It’s crazy to think that we’re here now, looking back at what we started as. Just two shy people brought against our will to a friends party.

I felt his slick fingers unzipping my skirt and lifting it up higher around my waist. The button on my white shirt flew, because apparently he didn’t have the patience to unbutton them one by one and I awed in surprise.

“I need you to be a good girl and get on your knees for me.”

His voice was huskier than ever, his eyes darkened. That was the Noah that took over when he couldn’t handle his emotions at the moment and left them for later. And I gave in, cause I was the same in that sense. So I obeyed and slipped down to my knees in front of him, looking at up with deer eyes. What next, my love? What else are we gonna bury with sex?

[that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict]

SIC PARVIS MAGNA Pt.1: "Streets"

DC Birds of Prey x ATEEZ

an AU by @that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict & @seventhcallisto

Masterlist & Character profiles

Heavy edm booms throughout the night club, barely heard over screams of distress, punches landing and the shattering of glass bottles. You winced in pain as you nursed the bruise on your knee, a souvenir of your clumsy attempt to get to the bar counter that you were now crouched underneath. You tugged off your heels, knowing that they would likely cause more trouble for you than protection from whatever miscellaneous trash was littered throughout the checkered nightclub floor. The mahogany counter you were leaned up against suddenly shook with a loud ‘thud’, causing you to jump backwards in your hiding spot. Cautiously getting on your knees, you peeked over the counter top, in hopes of at least locating your friends. The scene before your eyes was chaos, a blur of fists and bright disco ball lights flashing inconsistently, doing little to help your eyes navigate the already dimly-lit room. Looks like you were gonna be there for a while. 

Your thoughts were interrupted when a large black figure was thrown over the counter and against the wine cabinet behind it. Glass shattered everywhere, prompting you to gasp out loud and shield your face from any flying shards. The figure slammed to the ground, and awkwardly rolled under the counter next to you. A sigh of relief escaped your chest when you realized it wasn't one of the tattooed thugs that had come barrelling through the club's entrance earlier on. It was a man with flaming, yellow-streaked orange hair, dressed in long drapes of dark fabric. His lowered face was obscured partially by a black cowl with pointed tips. As he tried to push himself up, he shook violently and doubled over even more, evidently reacting to a painful injury. You instinctively reached out to try to help, but he didn't notice you, instead ripping off his bat-shaped cowl and disorientedly raising his head. 

Oh my god.

Nothing could have prepared you to see the face behind the mask. 

One day earlier…

“Hand over what's in the cash register, and no one gets hurt!!” 

Shit. Not again.

Turning around in your spot from behind the cashier, you came face to face with the poorly-dressed man who had entered the store just a few minutes ago. His bloodshot eyes raked your raised hands as he brandished his scratched-up pistol at you. 

Fuck, I knew he seemed off when he walked in.

You mentally cursed yourself for not refusing service to him the moment your gut feeling had kicked in. Now you were stuck behind the cashier of the convenience store, having to choose between forking over the little money in the register and being shot at the scum standing in front of you. Not that this was new to you. In fact, having lived in the crime-ridden city of Seoultham for long enough, you're rather desensitized to being robbed. It just sucked that it had to happen when you were working your shift at the local 7-11. For the 3rd time in a week. When your rent was due in a few days.

Despite the familiar anxiety that overtook you whenever you were looking down the barrel of a shooter's gun, you managed to reach into the beat-up register to grab the few dollar notes, while hardly breaking a sweat. You stared longingly at the crumpled notes as you handed them over to the thief. 

Guess I'm not getting paid this week. Whatever… I'll just ask Taehyun-oppa to send some money early. 

A cry of dissatisfaction broke your thoughts, bringing you back to reality. The thief had counted the money, and he looked nothing but happy. 

“What the fuck is this?! There's barely enough money ‘ere to rent a whore!”

“That's all there is, man, I swear…”

“Yer lyin’! Scoot over and lemme see the register, or I'll shoot!!”

“Dude, it's 11am on a weekend- This place hardly gets any business in the morning! You got some money anyways, so just get out!” 

You eventually gave in (persuaded more by the gun than the obviously uneducated fellow that wielded it), moving aside to let him rummage through the register. He gave a huff of displeasure at the empty metal drawer, before making his way out of the automatic doors. You let out a sigh of relief.

Fucking finally.

☆☆☆

A visit from the patrolling policeman, a couple texts to your boss, and a few hours later, you walk past the next shift's staff and out of the store. Relief washed over you as you walked the familiar path home. 

What a day.

Pulling out your phone, you turned off the Do Not Disturb setting, and was immediately met with the buzz of groupchat messages. The notification bar was flooded with texts from your girl friends. You couldn't help but smile a little at the most recent ones. 

Nayeonnie 🐰: KANG Y/N AND YOO JEONGYEONNNN

Nayeonnie 🐰: Answer ur phones RN. 

Nayeonnie 🐰: omg don't leave me hANGING 😭😭😭😭😭😭

The moment you clicked the notification and opened up the group chat, Nayeon’s contact number popped up on screen, causing you to nearly drop your phone. You quickly stuffed your coat into your tote bag so that you'd have a free hand to answer. 

“Hello? Nayeon?”

“Y/N you're alive!!!”

“I was at work, dude, my phone was on silent mode.”

“Aww you can't even look at your texts while manning the counter?”

“I would if I could, trust me. Anyways, I would've been screwed today if my phone was buzzing with notifications during work.”

“Whaddya mea- Ohhhh shit, did the store get robbed again?!” 

“Why do you sound so surprised?” You murmured, Nayeon sighing out loud on the other end of the line. 

“You really gotta find a safer place to stay. Jeongie and I's door is always open for you. I gotta go now, but I'll text you about this new club I wanted to check out later!!”

She ended the call, and you stuffed your phone inside your pocket, looking up as you turned round a corner. The sight of a dilapidated 4 storey building up ahead greeted you. Home sweet home. 

Halazia Apartments was dead as usual. The apartment complex is still standing on bare concrete and broken foundation, which you doubted you'd come home to because of said things, but with it still standing everyday you were pleasantly surprised that it wasn't rubble and dust. Maybe you're not giving the place enough credit. As you take your steps up the entrance stairs a familiar shadow is on the other side of the door, pushing out. 

“Oh hey,” Your sweet old land lady's only daughter, Chungha, greets you, phone in one hand and her thick brown braid twirled around the other. Despite being older by a fair amount, she looked effortlessly gorgeous yet laid-back (as usual) in her pastel tracksuit. A stark contrast to your windblown hair and wrinkled tee that still had a few glass pieces from the earlier break-in. What wasn't usual, was the stranger standing next to her; a tall, thin man with faded red hair. Something about him made him almost fade into the background, you didn't even notice him at first. His pale skin had a slight tinge of green to it, and his eyes looked like bottomless pits. Not creepy, but more mysterious.

Is that her new boyfriend? 

Your eyes flicker between the two for a moment, internally deciding not to question one of your very few friends. This doesn't go unnoticed by the cute stranger. His figure shrinks a little and he moves closer to Chungha, his big frames almost sliding down his hooked nose. She doesn't react, as if she was used to it, and instead spoke to you again. “If you happen to see that Song guy, let him know the elevator is getting maintenance and he shouldn't try to use it. Don't want a lawsuit." Chungha crosses her fingers and clicks her tongue, as if the problem isn't as serious as it is. Considering you'll have to walk up the many flights of stairs. Fuck, could it get any worse? “Yea sure,” you nod and slip past the tall man (who's still clinging onto her). 

“Thanks, sweetie. Hwa, c’Mon, let's go,” Chungha hums a word of appreciation as she tugs on the man’s baggy sleeve. He was quick to react, eagerly following her out of the building. You could hear her infectious chuckles outside as you started to walk towards the staircase. Shaking your head, you push the mystery man out of your thoughts and headed to the row of mailboxes next to the staircase. 

Multi-colored graffiti decorated the once-blank walls that surrounded the mailboxes. Not that you minded. It gave a somewhat lively feel to the still and dead air of the place. You reached for your assigned mailbox that was labeled ‘#03-01’, only  half of the ‘3’ was scratched off. 

Inserting and turning your key, a grumble escaped your throat when you realized that the mailman had mixed up your mail for the nth time. The heavy envelopes inside were all addressed to ‘Song Mingi’, aka your infuriatingly absent neighbor that lived a level below you. 

Whatever, I had to go tell him about the elevator anyway. If he's even home this time.

Jogging up the stairs to the 2nd level, you crossed over to the first door in the pin-drop silent hallway and knocked, expecting to be met with even more silence . To your surprise, there was a ‘click’ followed by the door squeaking open. Your giant of a neighbor stood in front of you, looking like a lost puppy. He scratched his flaming yellow-and-orange hair, muttering, “Can I…help you, Kang?” 

Honestly, you were taken aback for a moment. It was the first time you'd seen him up close before, heck it was one of the first times you'd ever personally seen him at the apartment. He lived there, but rarely left his unit from what Chungha told you. You didn't see or hear much of him, besides clunking of machinery, aggressive clacking of keyboards that you could hear through the thin floors, or occasional loud conversations between him and the friends he had over. You couldn't help but let your eyes rake over his sharp features for a moment, before snapping yourself out of it and showing him the stack of yellow envelopes addressed to him.

“Our mail got mixed up…again.”

“Oh shit, ‘m really sorry you had to go through the trouble-”

“It's fine. At least you're here for once to actually receive your shit. I wouldn't wanna leave it outside your unit again like some threat from a loan shark. By the way, uh…the elevator’s down again. Chungha said to use the stairs for now.” 

Mingi offered you a crooked smile and took in his mail, nodding and mumbling a low “thanks” before clumsily re-entering his apartment. 

Well. That was awkward. 

And this leads you to where you are now. 

Caught in the midst of an intense nightclub fight, crouched beneath the bar counter with increasingly sore legs, and face-to-face with that exact same downstairs neighbor; holding a cowl in his hands, looking absolutely petrified as he stared right back at you.

The two of you gawked at each other like goldfish, the loud music and fighting nothing but white noise in that moment. 

Just as Mingi was about to speak up, there was a shrill cackle coming from the front of the bar.

“Batsy!!! Where ya at??? The cops are coming, we gotta bounce, you fucking beanstalk!!” 

You could hear a deranged man speaking and punctuating his words with punches and crashes of bar stools. 

Mingi's eyes lit up at the sound of his companion's voice and he quickly shoved his cowl back on, tugging up a baggy hood over his striking mop of hair for extra measure. He caught your gaze, offering a “please pretend you didn't see anything” look back in return. And in the blink of an eye, he was gone. 

Soon enough, the rowdy bar fight was broken up by the cops. Police sirens and yells of “Freeze!” rang throughout the room, prompting both innocent bystanders and troublemakers alike to attempt to flee. You stayed exactly where you were, too shocked by the revelation that you'd just made. 

What the hell was Mingi doing here? Is he a vigilante? Why'd it have to be him to run into, out of all people? 

It wasn't long before a police officer found you huddled under the counter. He'd asked for your name, but took your silence as a sign of shock from the night's events. As you were being escorted out of the club, you could hear groups of police officers discussing in hushed tones as they tried to round up as many thugs as they could. Amongst these officers, you spotted Officer Seo, your elder brother’s friend. Curiosity overcame you and you broke free from the officer's hold to clumsily hobble over.

“Changbin oppa!”

The beefy policeman whipped around at the sound of your voice, and caught you just in time before you tripped. “Y/N! You were caught in the fight??” “N-no, I mean yeah, but I was hiding behind the counter most of the time…” Officer Seo heaved a sigh of relief at your response, muttering, “Taehyun would've killed me if you got seriously hurt.” You couldn't help but smile as Officer Seo waved off the officer who had been escorting you out. He'd always looked out for you, ever since he got to know you and your elder brother through a mutual friend, Yeonjun. “You were here with your friends?” “Yeah, only I don't know where they are…I lost them in the crowd ‘cause I was on my way to the toilet when the fight started. And I left my phone with one of them, so I can't exactly make a call.” You ranted. The reality of your situation was sinking in. The man sighed in exasperation this time, sweeping off a few shards of glass that were stuck in your hair. “Give me their names and a description. I'll get my colleagues to find them. We're holding witnesses outside for questioning, I'm sure they're there.” Officer Seo chuckled at the relieved look on your face. 

“Do you know what happened, Changbin?”

He scratched his head at your question, evidently irritated at the mess surrounding him. “Yeah, buncha thugs came in to stir shit with the club owners. Witnesses say the Birds of Prey had arrived and were tryna take out the troublemakers, but they clearly,” he waved a hand at the ruined bar, splintered chairs, and smashed disco ball before adding on, “left behind a huge mess for us to clean up. As usual.” 

Officer Seo continued to ramble as you gathered your thoughts on everything that had happened. Birds of Prey? Seoultham’s infamous group of vigilantes that would disappear as mysteriously as they came? You chewed your lip and you couldn't help but ponder.

Is Mingi part of them? 

After the nightclub had been cleared out, Jeongyeon and Nayeon had came running, nearly suffocating you with their tight hugs and cries of “Thank fuck you're okay!!” (Jeongyeon was crying). Officer Seo had personally driven the 3 of you back to your respective apartments; Jeongyeon and Nayeon to their shared unit in another part of the city, and you to Halazia Apartments. By the time you got home, it was almost 2am, and you'd quickly gotten ready for bed, exhausted from the night. Right as you were dozing off, you swore you could hear some commotion from Mingi's unit on the floor below…

The next morning, you were still deep in thought. Even as you were making your way to school. Before leaving the building, you'd considered going to Mingi's unit to interrogate him, but decided against it after the complete silence at his level. Normally, in the mornings, you'd hear some sort of heavy machinery operating. God knows what that computer science student, and apparent vigilante, was doing. 

As you turned the corner to walk out of Felony Alley, a man with red-streaked black hair practically threw himself at you. “Y/nnie!!!” The two of you fell to the ground with a thud. Hearing the familiar voice, you immediately relaxed. It was just San, the sweet and bubbly (and very affectionate) mechanic from the nearby bike shop. He snuggled into you as you struggled to get up. “Hey- good morning to you too, San…Can you get off me?” Once you two were up, he hooked a muscly arm around yours while you walked along the sidewalk, eventually leading you to the small shophouse that he lived and worked at with Yunho, who was crouched over a red motorbike at the entrance. “Good morning, Yunho,” you greeted him as usual. Limitless Mechanics was located almost right outside Felony Alley, meaning that you'd pass by it everyday while leaving for college. Over the years, you'd befriended the two mechanics that worked there, and you and your busted-up bike became regular customers. 

Upon hearing his name, the lanky man leisurely turned in your direction. But his face dropped for a second when he realized it was you. “Oh. Good morning.” A wave of uncertainty washed over you at this. Yunho wasn't as physically affectionate and bubbly as his business partner, but he always greeted you with a warm smile. A warm smile that was nowhere to be seen at that moment. You bit your lip out of anxiety, wondering if you'd done something wrong. San seemed to notice, and he quickly started talking to bring focus away from the weird tension. But even he sounded nervous about something.

“So, Y/n! I heard that you were caught at Arriba's bar fight last night…did you- see anything out of the norm?”

“Uhm…” 

An image of Mingi's stunned pikachu face flashed through your mind.

“...as unusual as a bar fight gets, I guess.”

“Ah, I see…glad you're safe.”

The air went stagnant between the 3 of you. Between Yunho's unusually stoic demeanor and San's fidgety yapping, it was nothing but awkward.

Fuck, how many times have I been put on the spot these past few days? It's getting ridiculous. 

“Well, I'll uh…be making my way to college now. See you guys…”

San opened his mouth, presumably to say goodbye, but a look from Yunho made him opt for a wave instead. You turned and walked away as fast as your battered sneakers let you, feeling Yunho's piercing gaze stabbing daggers at you from behind. 

Talk about uncomfortable…

Thankfully  your mood had lifted a little once you reached the college campus . Meeting with Jeongyeon and Nayeon for a light breakfast at the campus’ cafe took things off your mind a bit before you could head for your lecture. The two girls had avoided discussing the previous night's events, likely still shocked at what had transpired. Not that you minded. You'd had enough of weird happenings and situations for the day. Or so you thought, when you ended your lecture on DNA analysis and started heading for the biology lab. 

Since you only had one lecture on your schedule, you'd opted to go help out at the biology lab as the professor's assistant, as usual. A side gig to earn some extra pocket money. You walked into the small storage room connected to the lab, stretching slightly as you put down your bag in a chair, grabbing one of the lab coats that was hanging from the clothing rack next to the door. The biology professor hadn't briefed you on what lecture he was carrying out for the day, so you'd have to wait. A clammy hand suddenly reached out and touched your shoulder.

“AH WHAT THE FUCK-”

You jumped forward, screaming out in surprise at the same time. Whipping around, you came face-to-face with a man that you hadn't even noticed when you'd entered the room. It took a moment for you to realize that it was the same guy that was leaving Halazia Apartments with Chungha just yesterday. He was wearing a baggy brown plaid vest, and a few pins in his faded red hair to hold stray strands in place. His eyes were wide, clearly more scared than you were. “I-I'm sorry…you were standing in front of the test tube cabinet, and I need to get to it…” 

You quickly moved out of the way, muttering an apology as you watched him gingerly open the wood cabinet. Were his hands shaking? Now that you saw him up close, he seemed rather timid and soft-spoken. His bony hands didn't have much color on them. 

“Sorry, I didn't get your name…” “O-oh. That was rude of me. I'm Park Seonghwa…” “Well, nice to meet you, I’m-” “Kang Y/n. Halazia Apartments level 3, right?”

He blurted out suddenly, taking you by surprise yet again. A few cogs seemed to turn in his head at your reaction, and he quickly started stuttering.

“C-Chungha told me! I'm friends with her, and I ran into you yesterday, r-right? She told me you were one of her mom's tenants at Halazia…” “Ah, don't worry, man, I didn't think you were like a stalker or something.” 

Seonghwa looked visibly relieved at your response. Your eyes traced over the test tubes that he was now clutching tightly. “So why're you here?” “Uhm, I got a job as a lab assistant here…” “Really? Same here. I've been working as Professor Li's assistant for some time now. Guess we're colleagues now!” Your attempt to sound chirpy went unnoticed by your new associate. He was just as nervous and fidgety as the day before. Clearly, it wasn't gonna be easy to get to know each other. “Are you Chungha's new boyfriend? Your two seemed,” the memory of him clinging desperately to the older woman flashed through your mind,”...close.” Seonghwa looked uncomfortable at your question, and his figure shrank even more. It reminded you of a plant wilting. 

The room went silent for a moment before he spoke up again. “Professor Li said…you don't need to be here today. He told me to inform you if y-you came around… I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier.” You let out a breath that you didn't even know you were holding. Deep down, you felt alleviated that you didn't have to spend 2 hours working with such an introverted, withheld colleague. Not after the chaos and rapid fire of uncomfortable situations that had ensued in the last 48 hours. It was draining. You shook away those thoughts as you hightailed it out of the college building. You sent a quick text to Jeongyeon and Nayeon that you were going to miss out on your usual lunch, noticing a new text notification. 

Tae oppa (personal atm💵): dongsaeng-ah

tae oppa (personal atm💵): come down to the museum

tae oppa (personal atm💵): I'm in the city for a bit so hurry up or you'll miss me 🙄

Perfect timing on his part. Taehyun, your one and only elder brother, messages just as you're heading home. With a quick-witted response back (A thumbs up emoji) you're on your way to see him. The museum, that he would go to whenever he was in town, was thankfully nearby your apartment. God, you haven’t seen him in a while. You should probably thank him for covering your rent this month. Like he has for the past couple of months… yeah. An in-person thank you was long overdue.

The doors rattle as you push forward into the Visage of History Museum, aged over time. And in the center, after a few steps in, you notice the familiar jet black hair of Wooyoung talking to Yeonjun. Yeonjun was yours and your brother's childhood friend, as well as his current business partner, so Yeonjun would be around whenever your brother came to visit. Wooyoung, on the other hand, worked at Seoultham’s museum, which was a business partner of Taehyun and Yeonjun. “Oh! Y/n!” Yeonjun flashes his signature smile, and during that split second after your name was called, Wooyoung's head whips your way. “Hey Yeonjun oppa, hi Wooyoung..” you toss your head in acknowledgement, glancing at Wooyoung. His stare - unlike his usual playful one, is wide and clouded in an emotion you can't quite tell. You flinched slightly at the suddenly defensive look in his eyes.

Seriously, what is up with everyone today?

The awkwardness of the unnerving stare makes your eyes flicker back to Yeonjun. “Where's Taehyun oppa?” You mumble, rounding the counter to meet them on the employees only side. Yeonjun clicks his tongue but doesn't mention it. “Wow, only a hey? Not even a hug or anything?” Yeonjun pouts. And unlike usual, Wooyoung doesn't interrupt his friend, only observes with his arms crossed over his chest. Your eye twitches in worry, but instead of mentioning it, you pull Yeonjun into a side hug to shut his whining up for the moment. For a second he’s tamed, and just as he goes to speak once more, Taehyun is rounding the corner to one of the art exhibits. You quickly turn, hoping to briefly step away from Wooyoung’s stony stare.

“Here's the man of the hour,” Yeonjun gestures, patting your back heavily - an irritating thing he's done since you were young. Your older brother's eyes meet the edge of the counter before settling on you, a satisfied grin spreading over his cheeks. “Oppa” you yell while waving enthusiastically, and Taehyun grins back, jogging up to the counter to bring you into a full fledged hug. “Have you eaten? It's already lunchtime.” His grin is contagious, and you scratch the back of your head, laughing nervously. “Uh, no.” 

Taehyun scolds you with a small ‘aigoo’, clicking his tongue. “It's a good thing we ordered pizza!” Yeonjun piped up, waving his phone, which had a delivery app opened up on it. “Pizza? In a museum? Wow, Jun, I thought you'd be more responsible,” Taehyun rolled his eyes at his colleague before adding on, “I'm kinda craving a coffee, honestly. Jet-lag is crazy. Y/N, what's the name of that place you bought me that really good black coffee the last time I visited? The one with that barista who called you a caffeine-addicted ninny?” “...you mean Nightbrew Cafe?” 

You plastered on a smile, trying to ignore how Yeonjun had doubled over in laughter at how your brother remembered your favorite cafe. Nightbrew was the local cafe/coffee shop, and was located practically in the middle of the college, Halazia Apartments and the museum. Naturally, when you first moved to Seoultham, you had started frequenting it as it was convenient. Over time, you even befriended the main day-shift barista, Jongho, who took a liking to you the first time he served you and you blurted out a “You too!” when he said “Enjoy your cake”. It was awkward and embarrassing, but it did lead to you becoming good friends with the muscly man. 

“Jongho didn't call me that, by the way!” You fumed, smacking Taehyun's shoulder defensively. “Oh, is that his name? But I remember it so clearly! He definitely did. Maybe I'll ask him, I wanted to go down to grab another one of those delectable coffees anyway. Go with me, sis, I don't know where it is.” Wooyoung had been quiet this whole time, but he suddenly blurted out after hearing that Taehyun and you intended to interact with the barista.

“H-he’s not working today!” 

“Who?”

“Uh- Jongho… he took an emergency leave today….”

You crossed your arms, looking suspiciously at Wooyoung. He immediately avoided your gaze, opting to state at the ground and shift slightly in his platform sneakers. 

“You know him?”

A hint of panic flashes across Wooyoung’s face. His eyes darted around hesitantly for a few moments, almost as if he was thinking of a lie.

“We…we're neighbors.”

“Hm. Okay.” You noted his odd behavior, once again reminding yourself that it was a far cry from the usual flirty and big-mouthed man he was.  After living in Seoultham for a few years, it was odd to you that your favorite barista and Wooyoung knew each other, and you didn't know. After all, the city population was generally low, and most people knew each other. 

Taehyun and Yeonjun looked uncomfortable as the two of you exchanged blank stares, before Taehyun hesitantly spoke up. “Dongsaeng, I'm actually not craving coffee anymore…let's go grab some snacks at a convenience store?” He rubbed your back soothingly, obviously trying to cut the weird tension between you and his business partner. Both him and Yeonjun could tell that there was something unpleasant going on between you and Wooyoung. You brushed off your elder brother. “Sorry, oppa, I'm kinda tired after my lecture. And Beomgyu said he wanted to play an online game with me too.” You quickly made up an excuse to leave as you added on. “By the way, thanks for paying my rent again, there have been way too many robberies at my workplace lately.” “Hah! You'd think with so many vigilantes here, there'd be fewer of those incidents,” Yeonjun scoffed jokingly. 

Wooyoung subtly chewing his lip in response to Yeonjun's words didn't go unnoticed by you. 

Later on in the evening…

“Beomgyu! Dammit! The guy on the left!” You yelled in frustration, the controller beginning to creak under your harsh grasp even as you slammed the buttons. The distant crackle sound of Beomgyu cut through your headset, his loud voice booming in your ears. “My left or yours!?” and bam! You were suddenly shot and dead, you tossed your controller next to you in anger, groaning into the microphone when your revival rate depleted when the guy who'd shot you started t-bagging your downed body. “What a dick.” You grumbled, groaning once more when your partner, Beomgyu, had died just as suddenly as you did. The screen flashing to whoever won the match when they got the final kill. “Dude, you suck.” Beomgyu’s static voice irritated you. 

“Shut up, it’s your fault we lost” You mumbled, throwing yourself the rest of the way onto the couch you currently sat at. “Excuse me!?” he retorted, but you drowned him out, glancing to the clock. There was a knock on your door. 

“Someone's at the door- I gotta go, bye oppa-” “Dude! I'm not done-” you shut off your console. Stretching before another set of knocks rang through your quiet apartment. 

“God, who the fuck’s here at this time-?” you fumed under your breath as you crossed over to the doorway. The handle of a battered baseball bat snug in your hand as protection in case whatever behind the door was trouble. You yank open the multiple locks on your door, a little harder than you intended, still agitated at your last game. You weren’t prepared to come face to face with one of the people you’d been dreading to see. 

“...Song?”

“Uhm, you can call me Mingi…” 

Mingi fidgeted under your heavy gaze as you looked him up and down. He took up nearly the entire door frame, but seemed to shrink in front of you in that moment. Your eyes lingered on his wringing hands and crumpled t-shirt. Almost as if he suddenly remembered something, he straightened up. “We- we need to talk. Can I come in?” You hesitated before stepping aside, allowing him to make his way into your apartment. Whatever he had to say, it was definitely going to answer some of your suppressed questions. 

Minutes later, Mingi sat on your two-seater couch, looking impossibly tense. He was fiddling with a piece of paper that he had produced from his pocket, putting it away when you’d re-entered the room with 2 mugs of barley tea. Was he looking at a fucking script?? You scoffed under your breath at the idea, before sitting in the armchair opposite the couch. 

“So? What’d you want to talk about?” 

“I…uhm…the bar fight at Arriba! You were there, right-?”

“Yes, I was there.” You decided not to give any confirmation that you’d indeed seen him that night. You still didn’t know why he’d come to talk to you about it. Shouldn’t he be informing his fellow vigilantes? Or…is he taking out the witnesses? Your grip on your lukewarm mug tightened, secretly preparing to smash it on your neighbor’s head at the first sign of threatening movement. Mingi’s jaw visibly shifted at your short answer, but he pressed on. “Did you…did you see anyone or anything weird, by any chance..? Anyone…familiar?” 

Wow, straight to the chase. 

You opened your mouth, ready to give another vague reply, when you fully took in Mingi’s form. You’d been so focused on watching out for danger, that you didn’t notice his expression and the look in his eyes. The poor guy looked like he was about to cry. You couldn’t help but feel bad for him, so you let down your guard. “Song, if this is about me seeing you without your mask, I-” 

*BANG!!* The door to your apartment suddenly slammed open, prompting you and Mingi to whip your heads toward the red figure that was barrelling through. 

“OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FU-” 

Before you could even fully process the situation, you were dangling by your sweater collar, pushed up against the wall. Your eyes raked over the rainbow-streak-haired man who was holding you up. The man who currently had a jagged knife pressed against your throat. Mingi was hurrying over from behind, yelling in protest at his apparent associate. “Joong-hyung, put her down! She doesn’t mean any harm!” “Ha! We don’t know that yet! You were takin’ too fucking long to interrogate her, so I had ta’ step in. You’re welcome, Batsy!” The (obviously deranged) stranger punctuated his last word by applying just the slightest bit of pressure on his weapon, drawing a drop of blood from your neck. You cried out loud at the sting. You were beginning to feel dizzy from how fast everything was going, not to mention from the sharpness of the blade on your skin. Is this it? Is this how you were going to die? 

No. Hell no. 

Sudden adrenaline rushed through you, fuelled by desperation to survive the situation you were involuntarily put in. You sent a kick to your captor’s stomach, forcing him to loosen his grip on your collar and drop you. Landing on the hardwood floor with a thump, you rolled away. The escape drills that Changbin taught you a few years back were being put to use. Your baseball bat, leaned against the couch, came into view, and you immediately dived towards it. “Kang- Y/N, please calm down-!” Mingi attempted to grab you, but not before you got your hands on the bat and brandished it at him and his associate. “I swear to fuck, Song, I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I took Judo for like, 5 months when I was 14, so you better keep your hands off me.” He stared helplessly in response, his associate hobbling over to him. A combination of scattered voices and hurried footsteps at the doorway pulled your attention away. A spark of hope, albeit rather preposterous, bloomed in you, deep down hoping that it was Chungha, or your friends, or your brother - anyone who could get help. 

Oh my days.

Instead, 6 men came jostling in, and your grip on the bat tightened. They were all dressed in variations of dark-colored clothing and masks, yelling different things at the one that had almost killed you just a minute ago. A red-haired man draped in an oversized, dark green suit, who was the only one not wearing a mask, irritably waved a hand at the other 5, effectively silencing them. He stepped forward with a hand out. “Miss Y/N, please calm down, I assure you that we mean no harm, and we just want to talk…” You were distracted by his features for a moment. His skin was almost glowing, prominent cat eyes and a hooked nose, his hair a bright red. He looked like an olden day Greek sculptor’s rendition of a siren; alluring and mysterious. The hand that he had extended towards you had tiny vines entwined around them, twisting around at his fingertips. It didn’t take a degree in criminology to figure out that he was one of the most prominent names in Seoultham’s vigilante scene. “Y-you… aren’t you-?” “Yes, that’s me, I’m Ivy.” The infamous hybrid vigilante, known for his captivating charm and plant-like abilities. His voice was silky and had an aura that made you relax. Just a little, though. You were still on guard. After all, there were 8 strangers in your house, one of them being your neighbor who you’ve barely talked to. Ivy lowered his hand before approaching the man on the floor. 

“Quinn, are you okay?” “Don’t use that name, V, we don’t know how much this chick knows!” Quinn, the rainbow-streak haired man, scoffed at Ivy as he stood up from where he was crouched earlier. “She’s no harm, dude, I sweat!” “Its ‘I swear’, Hawke.” “Oh, sorry…” You had to do a double-take at the 2 who spoke next; a tall masked man in a coat, and another who had a pair of large, feathered- are those fucking wings?? You couldn’t help but gawk at him. The rest of the group included a feline-like man wearing a cat mask, a silk-masked man in a dark leather jacket, and a brooding, hooded figure with their face concealed entirely by a stitched-up mask. Mingi stepped out from a corner, hesitating before speaking up. 

“Can we…can we talk to you?” 

Christ. What have I gotten into? 

[genandguice]

𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞. ryan gosling

warnings: i do not condone these thoughts or actions….

infidelity. smut. and with plot 👎🏼 also reader smoking cigs. female reader. oral m receiving, piv, little bit of breeding

𝐰𝐜: 4.7𝐤

Ryan’s touch on your abdomen is so slight that it tickles, and you find yourself smiling against his lips as they move sensually against yours. Every faint movement from him sends a tingle across your stomach. For a moment, you’re distracted from the heat and the pulsing between your thighs, you let yourself moan into his mouth just to keep from giggling, until his hand starts to travel further north. His fingertips are destined to grip the curve of your breast, and you tremble in the anticipation, your moans become unsuppressable. The muscles in his back stretch and flex under your hands and your legs tighten around him as the notion of his strength settles in your mind; how deeply, how harshly he could ram his hips into you, how tight he could hold you down, or how easily he could hold you up, how these very muscles would feel under your hands, using all his brawn to lift you up and down on his cock.

“Cut!”

“That’s lunch everybody! 2 hours today!”

The sound on set resumes around you as your costar lifts away from his position above your half-naked body, taking his body heat and his natural, masculine smell with him. A pang of disappointment replaces his warmth as he leaves you, perfectly chipper and unaffected by the sudden halt as he pulls his t-shirt back on, bringing you back to reality. You aren’t a controversially-aged couple dramatically kindling a resisted desire, but an unknown actress and her married A-list costar.

You’d always heard he was great to work with, a gentleman and a sweetheart, that he had great chemistry with everyone on set, but that wasn’t the case with you- he hardly spoke to you.

You give a multi-million dollar performance moaning and writhing underneath him, and he doesn’t seem to notice you at all.

You think he must be desensitized, all the roles he’s played with so many women, a scene is just a scene. But more likely, he just loves his wife.

Either way, it seems you’ll never have the chance to abolish your yearning for the real thing.

Your silk robe is handed over by a nearby assistant and you wrap it around yourself, deep in racing thought, hoping no one had noticed the ever present wet spot in your sole article of clothing. You’ve been shockingly invisible to most of the crew, despite being the leading lady, and most currently one of only two nude bodies in the room, but it finally pays off as you’re able to scurry to your trailer unbothered. With your cunt literally weeping, screaming for attention, you’re thankful for an extra long lunch. Maybe if you take care of yourself the next take won’t be so stimulating. It’ll be nice to spend some hours locked away.

Trailer locked, blinds shut, robe open, panties down, and you’re in wonderland. It’s almost embarrassing to be so worked up like this over someone you’re working closely with, but as your middle finger seamlessly and mercilessly glides over your slippery bundle of nerves, you couldn’t give a shit. The mental images of Ryan pounding into you, the guttural sounds he’d make as he hits that spot deep inside you, earnestly driving you toward a life-changing orgasm, it was all you could think. Your back arches up off the dark leather couch, your moans heighten in pitch, volume, and frequency even as you try to hold them back, and you’re finally at the edge.

And then someone is knocking at your door.

It takes everything in you not to scream. It’s as if everyone you work with is cock-blocking you at every step. You throw a quick, silent tantrum, kicking your feet and punching your fists in the air, furiously grieving the second suspension of your pleasure, before you tie your robe to hide your body and stickiness once again. You kick your panties to the side before you crack the door.

“Hungry?”

Of course it’s him.

“Kinda thought I felt your tummy rumbling so I brought you something.” Ryan gestures to the bag of takeout he shakes in his other hand. You want to be frustrated, the ache between your thighs is painful, but he just has a way about him that cheers you up. You crack, and you snicker, and it pulls a smile from him.

“My tummy?”

He shrugs and looks at you as if you’re the one who’s ridiculous while he opens up the bag. “Your tummy.”

His terminology makes you feel like a little girl, and it’s conflicting. On the one hand, it makes you feel precious, and desired, as if he’d eagerly sweep you up in his strong arms, pet, caress and cradle you like a kitten, call you a “cute little thing”, but on the other hand, it’s just more evidence that he’ll never take you seriously. You are just a little girl to him; too young and silly to garner any real attention.

“It is reportedly- reported by you, your favorite.” You inspect the bag with one arm slithering through the door, while Ryan waits patiently and confidently for you to approve.

“It is my favorite, where did you hear that?”

Again, he shrugs, but this time with a humbly accomplished smirk that blesses his features all too well. “I have my sources. But you can only have this food on one condition.”

You huff a laugh. “What condition?” What could he want from you?

He gives you that “you’re ridiculous” look again. “You let me eat with you.”

Immediately your mind has returned to its racing, but one thought stands out among the others. “Ryan, I’m still in my robe.” You laugh nervously, feel your cheeks getting hot as your thoughts turn dirty, the confession turning your attention back to your bare crotch lingering underneath the garment. But he’s oblivious to that, and consequently unfazed.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. And I do not believe in the sexual objectification of female nudity.” He points a finger at you as he corrects himself, “Or near nudity.”

He’s dangerously convincing; finally giving you that characteristic Gosling charm and the attention you’ve wanted for, and although it’s almost alarmingly sudden, it’s irresistible.

“Alright.” You open up the door and let him in, cheeks still burning. You feel more naked and displayed like this than you do when you aren’t wearing it, the fabric highlighting and accentuating every curve of your body. But Ryan walks right past you as if it’s nothing.

He takes a seat on your dark leather couch, freshly dry of your sweat, but not before covertly noticing the discarded panties behind the door.

The twitch is his pants makes him second guess himself, maybe he shouldn’t have done this- but nobody will know about a slight involuntary reaction to finding out the young girl in front of him was truly naked beneath a single, thin layer. He has plenty of control over himself. You’re his costar, he can’t avoid interacting with you just to subside meaningless temptation forever.

But his doubts linger back as his eyes lift and land on you. The way they’ve done your hair up for the movie, how the color of the silk compliments your skin tone, how the fabric hugs your thighs with each movement. His minds eye shows his hands sliding up the inside of them, bound for the sole part of your body still unknown to him. Though you settle into the opposite end of the couch, as far as you could be, he finds the proximity intoxicating, and his thoughts difficult to purify.

“Why’d you wanna eat lunch with me anyway?” Your legs are carefully tucked under your knees to shield your undress, arm resting on the back of the couch, resting your head on your hand, cigarette delicately balanced between your fingers on the other. The food has long gone, and you still have nearly an hour left for lunch, but for whatever reason, he’s stayed; sitting, legs spread wide, listening, laughing, blabbering back, occasionally slapping his hand on the couch, so close to touching you, to emphasize his sentences.

And with every passing minute, you feel the pull between you growing stronger, more tangible. The air around you is static, you can barely look him in the eyes, and he can’t allow his gaze to linger anywhere but yours.

“We hardly know each other. It’s a little un-gentlemanly of me to touch you the way I do and not know anything about you.” He laughs, and you swear you see a rosy hue spread across his cheeks. “But I also thought you could use a friend, you know. You must get lonely in here all by yourself.”

“What makes you say that?” You look at him curiously as you drag from your cigarette.

He’s taken aback by the question, as if he doesn’t have an answer, he just assumed you must be lonely, and his demeanor shifts as he spends a short moment reflecting. His body tenses, almost imperceivably, he guards himself up, and then it’s over as fast as you could notice it.

“Well,” he laughs, “Maybe I’m projecting.”

“…Are you lonely?”

“Everybody gets lonely sometimes.”

It hurts to hear that he hurts, but it downright sickens you that it gives you a flush of hope. Why would he come here now, confide that in you, if not to act on it? It was a reach, but one to give you just enough reason to abandon all shame and morality standing in your way.

“Your family doesn’t travel with you?” You cautiously elongate your legs out toward him as you put out your cigarette, careful not to flash him. When he delays to answer you, eyes lingering on the hemline lying in just the right position to keep you covered, you know you’ve trapped him.

“Ryan?”

He shakes his head, eyes unmoved, and softly speaks. “No.”

He’s faired no better, made no progress clearing his thoughts since he stepped foot in your trailer. He can’t explain the effect you’ve had on him, not anymore, not with the way he’s half-hard in his pants and remains seated, gazing at the apex of your thighs, hoping the robe would rise just a few inches higher. But no, it’s only his cock that continues to rise, and at this point, he’s a willing participant.

“That must be hard.”

As you make your risky, but valid remark, his eyes finally meet yours, and the state of them confirms your suspicions; dark and hooded, he’s voluntarily trapped, with no ambitions to escape.

“It is.” His gaze lingers on you, almost daring you to continue, and the atmosphere thickens. Where your attraction was once unrequited, it was now matched, filling the air with a steaming fog of sexual tension.

“Your wife doesn’t get nervous about you being so far away, and lonely? Getting close with other women?” You edge closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you.

“It’s not usually such a problem.” His eyes are everywhere, rapidly roaming your body with a hunger that makes your skin tingle. From your lips, to the slope of your shoulders where your robe threatens to slip, to the gentle swell of your breasts against the fabric, back up to meet your own ravenous gaze, traveling in a never-ending loop.

“Usually?” Your voice is raspy with need.

“This is different,” he admits, barely above a whisper. You can see now how his breathing is quick and heavy; the rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to control it, mirroring your own arousal.

“How so?” You shift onto your knees, now mere inches away from him and the erection straining against his pants.

“I’ve never been in such… irresistible company.”

Ryan is a good man. It was something you’d always known, something you were always told. You still believed it. Just as you believed you were a good young woman. But everyone has their weaknesses. And yours just so happened to be each other. All the time you’d spent together on this movie, trying desperately not to indulge this very feeling. What if something cosmically, intensely amorous lie on the other side of it?

“So you want me to… help with your loneliness?” Your tone eases into a seductive tenor that fuels the sinful craving taking over him.

Ryan’s adam’s apple bobs as he gulps, and he nods, silently pleading for you to relieve him.

“Are you sure?” You ask, closing the gap between you and snaking your hand over his thigh, feeling how it trembles at your touch. You lean in to whisper, lips gently brushing his tragus, “I wouldn’t want to desecrate your vows.”

Your freshly-manicured fingers massage the tent in his crotch, stroking every ounce of hesitation right out of him. He couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to.

“God, yes.”

You hum in his ear, giving him a squeeze, feeling the thickness of him. You’ve thought about it so many times, fantasized about this very moment where he picks you over it all. The weight of endless possibilities presses down on your mind as you sift through every dream, looking for a perfect place to start. To taste his cock, to feel his tongue lapping at the puddle between your thighs, to prolong the anticipation until he’s begging for you, or just to kneel below him and ogle his stiff, robust, burly form.

His eyes have fallen shut as he relishes in the motion of your hand. With each touch, he's consumed by impure thoughts he’d never allowed himself to give into before. And after truly indulging his fantasies for the first time, he blurts exactly what comes to mind, with a grunt, as if he’s read your thoughts; “I want you to put me in your mouth.”

Your body responds instinctually, a moan escaping your lips at the mental image he created, and the realness of the sound reverberates in his ear, seeps into his bloodstream and gets him addicted to it. He feels his urges thundering through him, fingertips prickling with restlessness, ready to finally act on his instincts and pull every wanton noise you have to give until you’re hoarse.

You move with an enticing grace, slinking down into the floor between his knees as if it were your natural place. Ryan’s eyes track you all the way, completely enraptured in you, as if the moment might cease altogether if he blinked. His cock jumps as you settle into your position at his feet, so eager to unleash him.

Your eyes are locked as you slide your hands up his thighs, the width of his quadriceps dwarfing them. The fabric around his crotch is taught and strained. Your mouth waters knowing what waits for you there.

The zipper gives without a fight, the pants themselves ready to be free of him. It’s the sound that draws your attention to his cock, the heavy thump of it smacking up against his stomach. It’s every bit as impressive as you imagined; thick, veined, glistening at the tip, and you moan at the sight of it alone.

A tentative hand reaches for your neck, gently petting you with his thumb, but the anticipation mingling with the skin-to-skin contact ignites some kind of impatience in him.

His hand reaches up into your professionally done hair and tugs it tight, sending your head back with a gasp.

“As much as I’d like to take my time with you,” he speaks lowly as he guides your lips to his cock, “we don’t have that luxury.”

His commandeering tone somehow gives you that precious and desired feeling. So hopelessly hypnotized by him that you need his guidance to properly do your job, and you gladly accept it, like the distracted little girl you are.

Your lips wrap around just the very tip of his engorged head, swiping your flat tongue over his slit and savoring the taste of the droplets that soak into it. Ryan shudders and he grips the leather with his free hand as you take him further, quickly growing hungrier, suctioning his cock into your wet mouth and stroking your tongue on the underside of it. He’s heavy on your tongue, tastes of salt and sweat and daydreams come to life and you want more.

One of your hands grips him, sturdy and pulsing in your hand as you pump him up into your greedy mouth, and a needy groan rumbles from his chest.

“Fuck, yes,” he speaks behind grit teeth, steadily pushing you further onto him with the hand buried in your hair.

The more he fills your mouth, the more your own arousal pools between your thighs, begging for attention. But this moment was about him. The man who’d always put others before himself, who’d always chosen his career and his wife over his own desires. Your talented tongue massages the thick vein throbbing against it, milking him towards a newly free ecstasy with every motion. The hand that supports your mouth drips with your spit, drooling down his cock and soaking him at the base, properly drowning him in pleasure.

“God, I knew you’d be good at this,” he gasps, unable to take his eyes off the sight of you giving him a fresh new world. The idea of him thinking about you that way, trying to imagine how he’d feel in your mouth, just how well you’d please him, makes your pussy flutter.

You moan around him, spurring him on further as his hips jump and twitch. You find a rhythm, swallowing him down and slurping him back up, letting your wrist fall slack and sloppily twist around him. The sound is fucking obscene, wet squelches of your hand and your throat, sighs and expletives shoving their way past his lips. His hand shoves your further and rougher as he loses himself in the feeling, stealing the air from your lungs and replacing it with the feeling of his cock pounding the back of your throat. You’re enthralled, all of your senses filled to the brim with him, tears blooming in your ears, cunt empathetically throbbing with the weight of his impending orgasm, until you’re overflowing.

You pull back at a particularly harsh and deep thrust, gagging, coughing, gasping for air, but pumping him through it all. Your mouth is smeared with a shameful amount of slobber, but you wear it graciously, thirsty for his seed. But after all the time you’ve pined after him, the amount of wanting proliferating inside you just today, you need it spilled and planted elsewhere.

Residual groans and twitches flee his body, fueled the sight of you on your knees before him, wide-eyed, cherry-lipped and needy, still dutifully stroking him. It’s a feat for him not to just hold you in this position until he blows all over your pretty face. The way you worship him, the way you crave him, it fulfills his ego, reaffirms his dominance over you. He makes a mental note to mention how much it truly means to him to be treated with such reverence as your hand slows to a stop, but for now, he has a painfully hard cock to attend to, and a surely leaking cunt awaiting his discovery.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He commands, his hand loosening in your hair, returning to its gentle caress.

The aching in your core becomes all-consuming as your deliverance draws near, and you whimper like a neglected pet.

“I want you inside me,” you plead. “God, Ryan, I want you deep and raw,” he grips your hair for purchase as your filthy words thrill him, and you gasp before he loosens again- “Ah! Oh, I want you to make me sorry for tempting you,” you’re panting, “I want to feel everything you’ve waited to do to me.”

He leans forward with a sigh, aiming to sound displeased, but the excited glint in his eye exposes him.

“You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You nod vigorously, thoroughly shameless, and he hums in approval, and then-

His lips crash into yours and you’re both reborn. It’s real, and intense, and passionate, and you can feel how much he’s needed you too.

His hand begins to flow down your back, not bothering to pull your robe off, beelining for the curve of your ass, large hand brushing down and over the skin there with a tantalizing touch. Creeping between your thighs, sneaking up the inside, soaking up your expecting whines. The largest swell of your inner leg is sticky with your arousal and Ryan groans into your mouth as he lands upon it- and then he’s there.

Spreading your pitifully slick labia with his middle finger, circling your clit just once, sending your hips lurching forward, then continuing to tease your folds. You grip his muscular arms to keep yourself steady and they flex marvelously under your palms with his movements, stretching, bulging, hardening like those of a Greek god. You’re whimpering in his mouth, desperate and insatiable, until his finger suddenly plunges inside your gushing hole. Your mouth falls open with a gasp and he groans low and long, slowly fucking his finger into you, carefully stroking your walls and exploring the steamy sanctuary your body had tailored for him.

“So fucking wet.” His voice has regained a softness, as if he’s grateful. He kisses across your cheek and down to your jaw,“Gonna be a good girl?” He wants to sound patient, like he’s in control, like he could walk away if you can’t properly hold yourself together, but his aching tone and his now harsh, deep thrusts prove otherwise. “Can’t have you makin’ too much noise.” He huffs. “Need you to tell me you’ll be good for me.”

“I will.” The words rush from your mouth at a shameful speed. “I will, I will, I will.” You mumble and whimper, clinging to his biceps. “Please just fuck me.”

His impatience climaxing once again, Ryan effortlessly scoops you up like a ragdoll and drops you to lie on the dark leather, strong hands preventing you from bouncing on the furniture to return you to the lewd position you held just before he joined you.

He’s breathtaking above you. He always is. But this time he’s primal, any ounce of his normally cheeky self ceased. A tower of a man, staring down at you with black eyes, wide chest expanding further with his labored breathing, cock standing impressively between you, demanding attention, ready to claim you and reclaim himself.

He pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, shifting your hips up, vulgarly unveiling your cunt to his hungry eyes. He showers your calf in kisses and growls in praise of the display below him; swollen, saturated and leaking, calling out to him without a sound.

“Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

You must have been seducing him this whole time, winding him up with a vengeance until he had no choice but to give in to keep his sanity. How intensely and honestly you beg for him, how you submit to his will, how your body naturally composes in just the way to please him. He’s lost all resistance to your siren song. And so he wastes no time pressing his cock past your folds, drinking up your breathy, relieved whines as he stretches and plugs your tender hole.

He releases a stifled, husky grunt when his dick is fully buried, rolls his hips against you until he’s perfectly sheathed and settled. You can hear him shuddering while you faintly struggle to adjust to him, uncontrollably clenching around him, unknowingly driving him mad. He’s stiff as a steel rod inside you, so snug against your pillowy walls you can feel him pulsating, every tiny shift and twitch in his hips. You can’t help but be stimulated, you’re so full you can feel it in your lungs, and so you clench, and every little breath makes it worse, your body only mustering tiny, pitiful whimpers.

“Relax.” He hisses through his teeth, massaging your lower stomach where it bulged with the heft of his erection.

“If you don’t stop squeezing me like that I’ll cum fast.” But as much as you can’t stop the fluttering of your walls, he can’t stop his cock succumbing to it, hips subconsciously answering the primal beckoning and starting a slow rhythm, unintentionally forcing you to feel every inch steadily slotting in and out of you. So started a viciously stimulating cycle.

“I- can’t help it,” you whine, “so full.”

His dick twitches, his hips stuttering deep into you, “Fuck yes you are.” Still barely holding himself together, his hips just slightly speed up, gain a momentum, gently knocking into your cervix with his force, jostling your body on the couch. He doesn’t retreat more than an inch or two before hinging back into you, determined to keep you stuffed.

“You like it, don’t you? Like being so full of me you can’t control yourself, like making me lose control.” His hands grip your thighs, white-knuckling, imprinting his nails into your skin. It’s inexplicably sensual the way he fucks you, taking his time to ensure your bodies feel and remember every stroke, despite how close he is, and how little time you have left.

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip to quiet your noise, muffled squeaks garnishing his thrusts, the pounding on your cunt sends you tightening around him again, all your muscles contracting as he pummels you and-

He whimpers, a strained sound, stilling his hips, eyes shutting tight, orgasm almost overcoming him.

He’s panting as his forearms descend to either side of your head, resting his weight over top of you until his breath is fanning across your lips, your one leg still wrapped over his shoulder and now pinned to your chest.

“Squeezing my cock like this,” his hips resume their leisurely rolling, his cock sinks impossibly deeper with the new angle, he grunts with every thrust, “You want me to cum inside you. Want me to ruin my marriage knocking you up.” The sound you let out is profane, met with a growl from him as he covers your loud mouth with his hand, the impending threat of his orgasm surging once again, but this time it neglects to stop his movements and spurs them instead.

“Be good and quiet for me, baby.” He whispers, catching your lips in a short kiss to make his words stick in your fleeting mind.

“Tell me,” His eyes study yours closely, his shoulder muscles flex as he shifts his weight and his hand slides down your torso, thumb joining with your clit to swirl over it in tandem with his pelvis, “Were you touching yourself thinking about me fucking you like this?” The image of it makes his cock swell inside you.

The way your eyes unfocus for a millisecond is almost enough of an answer for him, but he needs to hear you say it.

“Tell me.” He repeats, voice shrouded in anguish, pleading with you to verbalize how deeply you desired him, to make it all real.

“Yes.” You whine, weakly, brokenly, as you admit your deepest secret, paralyzed in the pleasure of his thumb and his thrusts catalyzing your climax.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he echoes you earnestly, voice straining, “Oh, fuck, yes, yes.” Ryan spends his last spur of energy slamming deep into you, smushing and kissing your cervix, as he begins to peak, pulling you along with him into the powerful, electric whirlwind of finally having every inch of each other.

He’s groaning and cursing feverishly as his cock embeds inside you, spouting, leaking, and twitching right against your deep, needy organ, “Yeah, take it- take it, fuck- fuck, so tight, fuck yes, cum, yes,” his hips stuttering, your legs trembling, juices pouring, you milk each other for all you have. A few gentle kisses on the neck bring you back to earth, and when you turn to him, Ryan gives you one more, real, passionate and lasting on your lips for a while after he pulls away.

“Well the afterglow scene is gonna be authentic.”

FORGIVE ME </3 💋