#and i’m really trying not to be mean by saying all of this

[be4chywritez]

red red wine | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x fem!reader

the week leading up to Quinn proposing to you, and the chaos that follows him.

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

One Week Before

You stand in the kitchen of the lake house, absently scrolling through your phone while Jim and Ellen sit at the table, chatting over their morning coffee. Quinn is perched on a stool at the kitchen island, Jack and Luke beside him, all three listening in as you think out loud.

“I think I’m gonna get my nails done,” you say, mostly to yourself, glancing up from your screen. “I found this cute place nearby on Instagram. Might go check it out.”

Quinn freezes. Luke and Jack do the same, exchanging quick glances before all three of them force identical, strained smiles.

“Here?” Quinn asks, a little too casually.

You nod and turn your phone to show Ellen the pictures. “Yeah, thought it’d be nice to get a little pampered. Ellen, want to come with?”

For a split second, her eyes flick to Jim before she shakes her head with a warm—if slightly nervous—smile. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I think I’ll stay back, got a few things to tidy up around the house.”

You frown slightly, glancing between them. “I mean, I don’t have to go either. I could just hang—”

“NO!”

The entire Hughes family responds in unison, voices overlapping in a loud, comically panicked outburst. Even Jim, who’s been silent all morning, leans forward, wide-eyed like you just suggested setting the house on fire.

Quinn is the first to recover. He clears his throat and plasters on a quick, reassuring smile. “No, honey, you should definitely go. Treat yourself.” He waves a hand toward the door, trying—and failing—to sound nonchalant. “Have a nice day out.”

Your eyes narrow. “Okay…?” You drag the word out, suspicious, but slide your phone into your bag anyway. Grabbing your keys, you head for the door, throwing one last curious glance over your shoulder before stepping out.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Luke lets out a long breath. “Close call.”

Jim shakes his head, grinning. “She almost caught on already. We need to be more careful, boys.”

Downtown is quiet, the main street lined with flower boxes and little local shops. Lakeside Nails sits nestled between a café and an old bookstore, its windows decorated with delicate white lettering.

A nail tech waves you over with a friendly smile. “Hi! You must be my one o’clock.”

“That’s me.” You settle into the chair as she sets up.

“I’m Maya. What are we doing today?”

You pull up a photo. “Something like this? Just a clean, neutral look.”

Maya nods approvingly. “Pretty! So, just a little solo pampering trip?”

“Sort of. I’m staying at the lake house with my boyfriend and his family. Thought I’d take a little break and explore.”

Maya hums, focusing on your nails. “How’d you two meet?”

You smile, thinking back. “Through mutual friends. He was quiet at first, but then he made me laugh when I wasn’t expecting it. I don’t know… I just felt comfortable with him.”

“Those are the best ones,” she says with a grin. “Sounds like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, warmth blooming in your chest. “He really is.”

When you walk back into the lake house, Quinn is stretched out on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He glances up as you come in, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

“Hey,” he says, sitting up. “Let’s see the nails.”

You plop down beside him, holding out your hand. He takes it, running his thumb lightly over your fingers. “Looks good,” he says, approving.

“Glad you think so.” You lean into him as his arm wraps around you, the warmth of his touch settling you into an easy quiet.

The rest of the evening is simple—pasta and salad for dinner, laughter when Quinn drops a handful of cherry tomatoes and watches them roll across the counter. Later, you curl up under a blanket with an old movie on, his fingers absentmindedly running through your hair. The house is peaceful, filled with the soft flicker of the TV and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

You don’t notice the way he looks at you. The way his gaze lingers, like he’s memorizing everything. Like he’s counting down.

Five Days Before

You wake slowly, the warmth of morning light filtering through the curtains. Quinn’s arm is draped over your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip, his breathing steady and close. He stirs, his nose brushing against the back of your neck as he pulls you closer.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

You smile, rolling over to face him. His eyes are still half-closed, messy hair falling over his forehead. You trace your fingers along his cheek, feeling the scratch of stubble. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Good morning,” you whisper.

He catches your hand, lacing his fingers through yours before bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You don’t realize how he looks at you—like you might disappear if he blinks.

“Honey, we’re on breakfast duty,” you remind him.

Quinn groans, shoving his face into your collarbone, stubble tickling your skin. He mumbles something, voice muffled.

You laugh. “No, we can’t let your brothers do it. Unless you want the house to burn down.”

Another grunt, but this time, he shifts, reluctantly getting up. You follow, falling into your usual morning routine.

As you pull on a sweater, he watches from the bathroom mirror, hoping you don’t dig too far into his sock drawer.

Hoping you don’t find the velvet box.

You don’t thank the higher power, but it only puts more pressure on Quinn to pop the damn question.

Four Days Before 

The lake house hums with its usual morning energy—Jack and Luke bickering over who gets the last pancake, Ellen moving around the kitchen with effortless ease, and Jim sipping his coffee while reading the newspaper like he’s immune to the chaos around him.

Quinn, however, is focused on one thing.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you sit at the kitchen table, scrolling absently through your phone. Every few seconds, you look up to add something to the conversation, laughing as Luke launches a grape at Jack’s head. Quinn should be listening, should be jumping in with a comment of his own, but instead, his mind is caught on a single thought: How do I get her to buy the dress?

The dress—the one he wants to see you in when he finally asks the biggest question of his life. He saw it a few days ago when you were flipping through your phone, showing Ellen some boutique you wanted to check out. You hadn’t bought anything yet, just admired a few pieces before getting distracted by something else.

Now, with only four days to go, he needs to make sure you pick the one.

Quinn exhales through his nose and glances toward his brothers. Perfect.

Jack notices first, eyebrows furrowing as he watches Quinn silently glare at him. What? he mouths.

Quinn jerks his head toward the living room, signaling them to follow. Jack and Luke exchange a glance but don’t argue, trudging after him as he disappears down the hallway.

Once they’re out of earshot, Quinn turns to them, hands on his hips like he’s about to give them the most important assignment of their lives.

“Alright, I need you two to do something for me.”

Jack immediately groans. “Oh my god, what now?”

“It’s important,” Quinn says, leveling them with a look.

Luke raises an eyebrow. “Like, life-or-death important? Or are we talking Quinn-important, which means it’s about the love of your life?”

Jack snorts. “Yeah, do we need to prepare a eulogy?”

Quinn ignores them. “I need you guys to get her to buy a dress.”

Both of them stare at him.

“A dress,” Jack repeats flatly. “You dragged us away from breakfast for that?”

“Not just any dress,” Quinn says, rubbing the back of his neck. He feels stupid saying it out loud, but if there’s anyone who can pull this off without making it suspicious, it’s these two. “She was looking at this one the other day. It’s perfect for when I—” He stops himself before finishing the sentence, clearing his throat.

Luke catches on first. His eyes widen slightly before he grins. “Ohhh. You mean the dress.”

Jack still looks lost. “What—Oh. Ohhh.”

Quinn nods.

“Okay, so you want us to, what? Trick her into buying it?” Jack asks, crossing his arms.

“Not trick her,” Quinn corrects. “Just… steer her in the right direction.”

Luke grins. “You want us to gaslight her into thinking she needs it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You basically did,” Jack says.

Quinn sighs. “Can you two just do it?”

Luke claps a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Q, we got this. She’ll be buying that dress by the end of the day.”

Jack cracks his knuckles. “Time to be annoying.”

“Just don’t make it obvious,” Quinn warns.

Luke grins. “No promises.”

Later That Day – The Shopping Trip

You hadn’t really planned on buying anything today.

The town’s little boutique district is charming, with its cobblestone paths and flower boxes hanging from the windows, but you were mostly browsing—taking in the sights, enjoying the crisp summer air, and, apparently, getting bombarded with very strong opinions from Jack and Luke.

“I’m just saying,” Jack starts, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets, “you’ve been talking about wanting a nice dress for a while.”

“Have I?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Luke, walking on your other side, nods solemnly. “Oh yeah. All the time. Constantly.”

You snort. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t.”

Jack ignores you. “And look at this!” He gestures dramatically toward one of the boutique windows. “A whole store dedicated to dresses! What are the odds?”

“Crazy,” Luke deadpans.

You give them a suspicious look. “Are you guys okay?”

“We’re great,” Jack says. “But you’d be even better if you had a new dress.”

Luke nods. “The best version of yourself, really.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “What is wrong with you two?”

“Nothing,” Jack says quickly. “We just care about you. And your wardrobe.”

“Especially that one dress you liked the other day,” Luke adds casually. “That was a good one.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you even know about that?”

Jack elbows Luke. 

He gives you a pained smile, “intuition?” 

Luke sighs dramatically, turning toward you. “Look,, all I’m saying is that you should try it on. No pressure. No commitment. Just try it on and see how you feel.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. “Worst case? You hate it, and we all move on with our lives. Best case? You look amazing, and you thank us forever.”

You roll your eyes but, against your better judgment, let them lead you inside. The boutique is small but elegant, with soft lighting and carefully arranged racks of clothing. A sales associate greets you warmly, and before you know it, Luke and Jack are pushing you toward the exact dress they’ve clearly been scheming about.

You sigh, running your fingers over the fabric. It is beautiful.

“Just try it,” Luke urges. “For science.”

“For science,” Jack echoes.

You huff a laugh. “Fine. But if I don’t like it, you both owe me coffee.”

“Deal,” they say in unison.

Ten minutes later, you step out of the dressing room, smoothing your hands over the fabric. The dress fits perfectly, hugging in all the right places, flowing just enough to feel effortless. You glance at your reflection in the boutique mirror, tilting your head slightly.

“Well?” Jack asks, leaning forward eagerly.

Luke grins. “Yup. That’s the one.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You guys are the worst.”

“And yet, we just helped you find your new favorite dress,” Jack points out.

You sigh. “Fine. But you’re still buying me coffee.”

Luke claps his hands. “Worth it.”

Meanwhile, back at the lake house, Quinn gets a text.

Luke: Mission accomplished.

He exhales, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Three more days.

Three Days Before

The morning sun spills through the windows of the lake house, casting warm golden hues over the kitchen. You hum softly to yourself as you pour a cup of coffee, the scent of roasted beans filling the air. Ellen is at the stove flipping pancakes while Jim reads the newspaper at the table, occasionally sipping his coffee. Jack and Luke sit across from him, bickering over who gets the last piece of toast.

Quinn stands by the fridge, looking unusually tense as he scrolls through his phone. You don’t think much of it—he’s always been the quiet, deep-in-thought type—but there’s something about the way he keeps glancing at you that makes you pause.

"Morning," you say, leaning against the counter as you take a slow sip of coffee. "What's up?"

Quinn's head snaps up like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His fingers tighten around his phone, and for a second, he looks almost guilty.

"Uh—nothing. Just checking something." His voice is too quick, too casual, and you narrow your eyes.

Before you can push him further, Ellen calls over her shoulder, "Sweetheart, could you grab the syrup?"

You nod and step toward the pantry, but just as you do, Quinn leans closer to Ellen and whispers something.

You freeze mid-step.

It’s barely audible, just the faintest murmur of his voice, but you catch it. Ellen’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she quickly schools her expression into something neutral.

Jim, who’s been mostly uninvolved in the morning chaos, suddenly folds his newspaper with a snap and clears his throat. Jack and Luke immediately stop arguing and sit up straighter, the air shifting ever so slightly.

You narrow your eyes. "Okay, what was that?"

Quinn immediately shakes his head. "What was what?"

"The whispering. The weird glances. Why do you all look like you just got caught committing a crime?"

Jack lets out a bark of nervous laughter. "Pfft, what? No crime here."

Luke elbows him, and he winces. "We were just—uh, talking about, um—"

"The weather," Jim supplies, nodding sagely.

"The weather?" you repeat flatly.

"Yup," Quinn says, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl and peeling it aggressively like that’ll somehow sell the lie.

You cross your arms, skeptical. "And what, exactly, about the weather required a top-secret family meeting?"

Ellen waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, just—just how lovely it's supposed to be this weekend! Perfect for, um, outdoor activities."

Jack nods. "Yeah, so perfect. Like, suspiciously perfect."

Luke elbows him again.

You squint at them, taking a slow sip of your coffee, watching as they all sit a little too still, looking a little too casual.

Something is definitely going on.

But before you can press further, Quinn suddenly steps forward, wraps an arm around your waist, and presses a kiss to your temple.

"Hey, didn’t you want to go into town today?" His voice is soft, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hip.

You blink up at him. "I mean, yeah, but—"

"Perfect," he says quickly. "You should go. Take your time. Enjoy yourself."

Jack and Luke nod in unison. "Yes. Enjoy. Take hours if you need."

Your eyes dart between them. They are terrible liars. But you sigh, deciding to let it go—for now.

"Fine," you say slowly, grabbing your bag. "But if I find out you guys are hiding something from me—"

"You won’t!" they all chorus at once.

You stare for another long beat before shaking your head and heading for the door.

As soon as it closes behind you, Quinn lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair.

Luke whistles. "That was way too close."

Jim chuckles. "You boys need to step up your game. She's sharp."

Quinn groans, rubbing his face. "I know. And we still have two more days of this."

Jack claps a hand on his shoulder. "Good luck, bud. You're gonna need it.

Two Days Before 

The lake stretches out before you, calm and glassy under the moonlight. It’s late—too late to still be outside, but the warmth of summer lingers in the air, and neither of you wants to go in just yet.

You sit beside Quinn on the dock, your legs dangling over the edge, bare feet skimming the cool water. The night is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of crickets and the distant rustling of trees.

Quinn hasn’t said much in the last few minutes.

He sits close—so close that your shoulders press together, his warmth seeping into you. His hand is resting between you, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you but is too lost in thought to do it.

You nudge him gently. "Penny for your thoughts?"

He exhales, a soft, slow sound. "Just thinking."

You tilt your head, watching him. His profile is illuminated by the glow of the moon, sharp angles softened by the night. His jaw flexes, and his fingers tighten slightly against the dock.

"About what?"

He hesitates, then turns to you. "The future."

Your chest tightens, a warmth blooming there. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His voice is quiet, thoughtful. "I was just thinking about... where we'll be, years from now." He swallows, his throat bobbing. "What it'll look like."

You smile, leaning into him. "And? What does it look like?"

He glances down at his hands. "Us," he says simply. "Still together. Maybe a house. Maybe a dog." His lips twitch. "You always talk about wanting a golden retriever."

Your heart stutters.

"You actually listen when I say that?"

His brow furrows. "Of course I do."

There’s something so earnest about the way he says it—so completely sure.

You take his hand in yours, threading your fingers together. "I like that version of the future," you say softly.

Quinn looks at you then, his eyes dark and unreadable, something heavy sitting behind them. For a second, you think he’s about to say something—something big.

But instead, he squeezes your hand.

"Me too."

He presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles, then rests his forehead against yours.

You close your eyes, breathing him in, feeling the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart.

Neither of you says anything else.

But Quinn’s already made up his mind.

Tomorrow, he finds the perfect spot.

And in two days, he asks you to be his forever.

One Day Before 

The lake stretches endlessly before you, a shimmering expanse of deep blue beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun. A gentle breeze tugs at your hair, and the rhythmic rocking of the boat lulls you into a peaceful state. The water is calm, only disturbed by the occasional ripple from a passing jet ski or the soft lapping against the side of the boat.

You inhale deeply, letting the fresh air fill your lungs as you lean back against the cushioned seat. The warmth of the sun kisses your skin, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like time has slowed down.

Jim sits at the helm, hands steady on the wheel as he navigates through the open water. His expression is relaxed, a rare sight considering the chaos that usually follows whenever all three of his boys are together.

Ellen sits beside you, sunglasses perched on her nose, a soft smile on her lips as she watches the water shimmer.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” she muses, her voice light with contentment.

You nod, shifting slightly to soak in more of the sun. “Yeah, it really is.”

It’s not often that you get moments like this—just the three of you. Usually, Jack and Luke are wreaking havoc, Quinn is rolling his eyes fondly at their antics, and everything is a blur of chirps and laughter. But today is quiet. Peaceful.

You glance around the boat, taking in the emptiness where Quinn should be.

Your chest tightens slightly.

This morning, when you asked him if he was coming, he had been vague—mumbling something about needing to run an errand and promising he’d see you later. You hadn’t pushed, but now, with the afternoon stretching on without him, you can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Ellen asks gently, tilting her head toward you.

You blink, realizing you had been staring at the empty seat beside you. Forcing a smile, you nod. “Yeah, just thinking.”

Ellen hums knowingly. “Quinn will be back soon, don’t worry. He’s probably just making sure whatever he’s doing is absolutely perfect.”

Jim chuckles from the driver’s seat. “Sounds about right.”

You frown slightly, narrowing your eyes. “Do you guys know something I don’t?”

Ellen and Jim exchange a quick glance, but Ellen’s smile doesn’t waver.

“Oh, honey,” she says, reaching over to pat your hand. “We always know something you don’t.”

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of warmth and comfort. You soak up every moment—the way the sun reflects off the water like scattered diamonds, the sound of Jim’s easy laughter, the way Ellen insists on reapplying sunscreen to your shoulders even though you swear you’re fine.

And for a little while, you let yourself forget the strange feeling in your chest.

Meanwhile, deep in the woods, Quinn is on a mission.

Your absence is a weight he feels in his chest, but he knows this is worth it.

His boots crunch against the forest floor as he makes his way through the secluded clearing he stumbled upon earlier. The air smells like pine and fresh earth, the quiet only disturbed by the rustling of leaves in the wind.

It’s perfect. Tucked away from the main trails, surrounded by towering trees, with a small opening where the lake peeks through.

This is it.

Carefully, he unrolls the string of photos he printed last week, each one capturing a frozen moment in time—the two of you at your first hockey game together, laughing with noses pressed close; a blurry snapshot of you mid-laugh, taken when you weren’t looking; a quiet moment in bed, tangled in the sheets with sunlight painting your skin.

Every single one tells your story.

His hands shake slightly as he fastens them to the branches, adjusting them until they drape just right.

“Dude, this is insanely romantic,” Jack mutters behind him.

Quinn steps back, hands on his hips as he surveys the clearing. The photos sway gently in the breeze, catching the fading sunlight. Everything is almost perfect.

Except for Jack, who is standing in the middle of the setup like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“This is so weird,” Jack complains, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t know why I have to be her.”

Quinn sighs, rubbing his temples. “Because I need to make sure everything looks right, and you’re the closest to her height.”

“That’s actually so offensive,” Jack deadpans. “I don’t even know how, but it is.”

Luke snorts from behind the camera. “Just shut up and stand there, man. You’re ruining the vision.”

Jack groans dramatically but doesn’t move. “You owe me for this, dude. Big time.”

Quinn ignores him, stepping closer to adjust the positioning. He takes a deep breath, trying to picture you standing there instead of his little brother, who is doing a horrible job of being still.

“This is where I’ll kneel,” Quinn murmurs, mostly to himself. He drops down, testing the angle, the feel of the moment. His heart races, imagining the way you’ll look—eyes wide, lips parted in surprise, the way your breath will hitch right before you say yes.

Jack stares down at him, unimpressed. “I feel like I should be flattered, but mostly I feel like an idiot.”

Quinn huffs, looking up at him. “Can you at least pretend to be in love with me?”

Jack stares blankly for a second before bursting out laughing. “Dude. Dude. I cannot take this seriously.” He turns to Luke, who’s adjusting the camera settings. “Are you getting this? The absolute desperation in his eyes?”

Luke barely glances up. “You’re making it worse.”

“I’m making this worse?” Jack gestures at the setup. “Quinn is professing his undying love to me right now, and I’M the problem?”

Quinn groans, running a hand over his face. “Just shut up and look moved or something.”

Jack schools his expression into something vaguely serious and stares dramatically into the distance. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he says, voice overly soft. “We’ve been through so much together.”

Luke nearly drops the camera laughing. “Oh my god,” he wheezes.

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose. “I hate both of you.”

Jack smirks, but he does settle down a little, standing a bit more still as Quinn makes the final adjustments.

After a few minutes of adjusting the lighting and the placement of the photos, Luke finally lifts the camera. “Alright, let’s get a test shot.”

Jack sighs dramatically but stays put. Quinn watches as Luke moves around, snapping photos from different angles. He frowns slightly, tilting the camera to check the preview.

“It looks good,” Luke says slowly, adjusting the focus. “But I think we need—Jack, stop standing like that.”

Jack scoffs. “Like what?”

“Like a dude who is about to ask another dude to prom,” Luke deadpans. “You look so uncomfortable.”

Jack throws his arms out. “Because I am uncomfortable! I am literally standing in the middle of a fake proposal, playing the role of my brother’s girlfriend.”

Quinn shakes his head. “Fine. Just—stand normal.”

Jack exhales sharply but follows instructions, his posture finally settling into something less stiff.

Luke snaps a few more photos before nodding. “Okay, that’s it. That’s the shot.”

Quinn steps back, taking in the clearing one last time. The photos, the lighting, the atmosphere—it’s all exactly how he pictured it. His heart pounds as he exhales, the reality of it hitting him all at once.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, you will be standing here.

Tomorrow, you will be the one in front of him when he kneels.

And tomorrow, you will say yes.

Jack claps him on the back, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Alright, Romeo. Can we go now? I have literally never felt more single in my life.”

Quinn rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness behind it. “Yeah, we’re done.”

Luke stretches, shoving the camera back into his bag. “You better make this the best proposal of all time, bro. Because if we went through all of this for nothing—”

Quinn grins, confidence settling in his chest. “She’s gonna love it.”

Jack sighs dramatically. “You owe us.”

Quinn just laughs, already imagining how perfect tomorrow will be.

That night, you’re curled up in bed when Quinn finally slips into the room. The warmth of his body presses against yours as he slides beneath the covers, pulling you into his arms.

“You have fun today?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Mmm,” you hum, half-asleep. “Missed you.”

His chest tightens.

He buries his face in your hair, arms tightening around you. “Missed you too.”

You sigh softly, relaxing into him.

Quinn stays awake long after you drift off, heart thudding with anticipation.

One more night.

Tomorrow, everything changes.

Proposal Day

The morning sun filters through the kitchen windows, casting a golden glow over the lake house. The scent of fresh coffee lingers in the air as you lean against the counter, watching the Hughes family settle into their usual breakfast chaos.

Jack is the first to steal the last piece of toast off Luke’s plate, and Luke retaliates by flicking a grape at his forehead. Quinn sighs, stirring his coffee like he’s debating whether it’s worth intervening. Ellen is at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, while Jim nurses his coffee at the table, reading something on his phone.

Ellen turns toward you with a smile. “I was thinking,” she starts, “since everyone’s here, we should do a nice family dinner tonight.”

Luke perks up. “Ooh, like a fancy dinner? Do I have to wear a button-up?”

“Yes,” Ellen says firmly.

Jack groans dramatically. “Can I at least wear my nice hoodie?”

Jim barely looks up. “No.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you sip your coffee. “A dinner sounds nice.”

Ellen nods. “Good, because I already bought all the stuff.”

Quinn finally speaks, glancing at you. “You should wear that dress you got.”

You arch an eyebrow. “The one you definitely weren’t scheming to get me to buy?”

Jack and Luke both snicker, and Quinn glares at them before turning back to you, feigning innocence. “What? I just think you’d look really nice in it.”

Luke leans in conspiratorially. “You should do it. Mostly because if you don’t, Quinn will spend the entire dinner sulking and staring at you like a sad puppy.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Jack smirks. “Nope. That’s how we end up with emo Quinn, and nobody wants that.”

Quinn groans. “I hate all of you.”

Ellen hides a smile as she flips another pancake. “You love them,” she corrects.

Quinn sighs, shooting you a hopeful glance. “So, the dress?”

You shake your head, amused. “Fine. But if I do, Luke and Jack owe me dessert.”

Luke claps a hand over his heart. “Done.”

Jack nods. “Easiest deal of my life.”

Quinn smiles to himself, satisfied. One step closer.

Dinner starts out promising enough. The table is set, the food looks amazing, and the sunset paints the lake in warm hues. It should be perfect.

And then… things start to go sideways.

First, Luke—being Luke—tries to help bring the dishes to the table and nearly drops the salad bowl. In his panic to save it, he elbows Jack, who’s carrying a basket of rolls. The bread goes flying, one roll landing directly in Jim’s drink.

“Nice,” Jim mutters, plucking it out with a sigh.

Ellen shakes her head, clearly unimpressed but used to this kind of chaos. “Can we go one meal without something ending up on the floor?”

Jack, unfazed, shrugs. “Technically, it landed in Dad’s glass.”

You try to hold back a laugh as Quinn pulls out a chair for you, but the moment you sit, you realize something is… off. The seat wobbles, just enough to be noticeable, and before you can react, one of the legs gives way entirely.

“Shit—”

You barely manage to catch yourself before fully hitting the ground. Quinn moves fast, steadying you before you can completely fall, but the damage is done. Luke is doubled over laughing, and Jack is wheezing so hard he can’t breathe.

“I—” Jack tries, but he’s laughing too hard to finish. “I swear—we didn’t—touch—that chair—”

Quinn glares at them before looking at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, face burning as you straighten up. “Just my pride taking a hit.”

Ellen sighs. “That chair was wobbly this morning. I told you boys to fix it.”

Jack wipes a tear from his eye. “Well, now we know it was definitely broken.”

Dinner resumes, and for a few blessed minutes, everything is normal. The conversation flows, the food is delicious, and you almost forget about the earlier chaos.

Until Luke, in all his wisdom, decides he needs more steak sauce. He reaches across the table, miscalculating just how close his elbow is to your glass of wine.

The second the glass tips, it’s over.

Red wine splashes everywhere—your dress, the table, Quinn’s sleeve.

“Oh my God,” you exclaim, pushing back from the table as the cold liquid soaks into the fabric.

Luke freezes. “Oh—oh, shit. Oh, no—”

Ellen is already up, grabbing napkins. “Luke.” Her voice is the kind of exasperated that only comes from years of dealing with sons who can’t sit still. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Luke looks at you with pure panic. “I—I can fix this—”

Jack leans back, shaking his head. “Man, you just ruined her dress.”

“I know!” Luke groans, looking like he genuinely feels terrible. “I’ll—uh—I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

Quinn, who’s been silent through all of this, takes one look at you and then turns to Luke with the calmest voice imaginable.

“Get up.”

Luke blinks. “What?”

“Get. Up.”

There’s a long pause before Luke, sensing the very real possibility of Quinn throwing him into the lake, slowly pushes his chair back and stands.

Quinn doesn’t hesitate—he grabs Luke’s napkin and dabs at your dress, his brows furrowed in frustration. “I told you not to sit next to her.”

Luke throws his hands up. “How is this my fault?!”

Ellen sighs again. “Alright, alright, it’s just a little wine.” She turns to you. “Honey, let’s go see if we can salvage your dress.”

You follow her inside, but despite her best efforts, the stain refuses to come out.

You sigh, looking at Ellen through the mirror. “Ellen, I think it’s unsalvageable.”

She looks up at you, guilt evident on her face. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s fine, really.”

When you return downstairs, Luke looks like a kicked puppy, eyes glued to the floor. Quinn scans your dress, his jaw tightening.

“Goddammit, Luke,” Quinn mutters.

You step beside him, nudging Luke lightly with your foot. “It’s fine, really,” you say softly.

Quinn exhales, rubbing his jaw before looking at you. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

You blink at him. “Right now?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice quieter now, more certain. “Right now.”

You hesitate, then nod. “Okay.”

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and the lingering warmth of the lake. The sound of crickets hums in the background as you and Quinn walk in comfortable silence, his fingers laced through yours. The chaos of dinner fades into the background, replaced by the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath your feet.

“You okay?” you ask softly, glancing up at him.

Quinn exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Just… today didn’t go exactly how I planned.”

You squeeze his hand. “You had a plan?”

His smile grows slightly. “Believe it or not, yeah. Kind of.”

You smirk. “Well, that was your first mistake.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Tell me about it.”

You keep walking, but the farther you go, the more familiar the path becomes. It’s only when the trees thin, revealing a quiet clearing, that you realize where he’s leading you. Your steps slow as you take it in.

Strung between the branches, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon and the fairy lights Quinn must have set up earlier, are dozens of photos—memories captured and preserved in time.

Your breath catches as you step forward, reaching out to gently touch one of them. It’s a picture from your first hockey game together, noses nearly pressed together as you grinned at the camera. Another of you mid-laugh, eyes crinkled with joy. One from a lazy morning in bed, sunlight spilling across your tangled limbs.

Every single one tells your story.

You turn back to Quinn, your chest tight with emotion. “You did all this?”

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I—I wanted you to see what I see. Every time I look at you, it’s just… it’s all of this. Every moment, every memory, everything that makes us, us.”

Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“I wanted everything to be perfect,” he continues, voice quiet but steady. “I had this whole idea in my head—this big, perfect moment. The dinner, the dress, the way tonight was supposed to go.” He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “And then Luke knocked wine all over you, and Jack wouldn’t stop chirping, and everything kind of fell apart.”

You smile, tilting your head. “Sounds about right.”

Quinn looks at you, his blue eyes searching yours. “Yeah. But then I realized… this is perfect.” He lets out a small, breathy laugh, almost like he’s realizing it in real time. “The chaos, the interruptions, the fact that nothing ever goes exactly how we plan it. That’s us. That’s our life.”

Your breath catches slightly.

He takes a deep breath, then lets go of one of your hands, reaching into his pocket. And suddenly, he’s kneeling before you, a small velvet box in his palm, slightly illuminated by the moonlight.

“I don’t need the perfect moment,” he says, looking up at you. “I just need you.”

Your heart pounds, your vision blurring as you try to take in everything at once—the way he’s looking at you, the way his fingers tremble just slightly around the box, the way the entire world feels like it’s tilting on its axis.

“Marry me?” he asks, voice soft but sure.

You let out a shaky breath, a laugh breaking through the tears already forming in your eyes. “Quinn, of course I’ll marry you.”

A breath of relief escapes him before he grins—grins in that rare, open way he only does when he’s truly happy. He stands quickly, slipping the ring onto your finger before wrapping his arms around you, holding you close.

You bury your face in his shoulder, laughing through your tears. “God, I love you.”

His grip tightens around you, his voice warm against your ear. “Love you more.”

By the time you and Quinn make it back, hand in hand, the Hughes family is waiting—Jack and Luke perched on the couch, Jim leaning against the counter, and Ellen practically bouncing in place.

Jack spots the ring first. “Oh my god—”

Ellen claps her hands together, her eyes shining. “You said yes?”

You hold up your hand, and the room erupts.

Jack groans dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “I can’t believe this. Quinn won at life.”

Jim claps Quinn on the shoulder with a proud nod, and Ellen pulls you into a tight hug, murmuring how happy she is for you both.

Luke hangs back, hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes darting toward you before dropping to the floor. His face is tight, like he’s been debating something in his head.

You don’t give him the chance to overthink it. Without a word, you step toward him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug.

Luke stiffens in surprise before slowly relaxing, exhaling a breath. “I—I really didn’t mean to ruin your dress,” he mumbles, voice small.

You smile against his shoulder. “I know, Luke. It’s just a dress.”

He hesitates before hugging you back, his grip a little tight, like he’s still worried about the whole thing. “I felt really bad.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. “Well, you can make it up to me by giving a really good speech at the wedding.”

His eyes widen. “Wait—I can do a speech?”

Quinn sighs, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I never said that.”

Luke smirks. “You didn’t have to.”

Jack groans. “Oh god, this is gonna be unbearable.”

Quinn shakes his head, pulling you back to his side. “I should’ve proposed in private,” he mutters under his breath.

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Nah. This is perfect.”

And as the Hughes family falls into their usual rhythm of chirps and laughter, as Quinn’s hand tightens around yours, you know that nothing—no chaos, no spilled wine, no wobbly chairs—could have made this moment any better.

[ebodebo]

meet ugly with simon!

You’re late.

Like really, really late.

You were supposed to be heading into your lecture right about now, but instead, you're dashing to your car, struggling to balance the heap of items in your arms.

The lady in front of you at the grocery store insisted on having all her items perfectly bagged, and now you're running late.

Go figure.

You hurriedly toss your groceries into the passenger seat, forgetting all about connecting your Bluetooth.

With a swift motion, you buckle your seatbelt and shift into gear, only to roll backward instead of moving forward.

A yelp escapes you as you feel the sharp impact of colliding with a parked truck behind you.

"Shit!" You curse, slamming the gear into park before struggling to open your door, muttering another string of expletives as your seatbelt nearly chokes you.

As you step out, you're met by the sight of a man emerging from the truck you just bumped into.

He stands tall and imposing, a mask covering half his face, making it difficult to gauge his emotions.

His bright blue eyes are striking yet carry an unsettling darkness that raises the hair on the back of your neck.

“Oh my God!” You exclaim in a fluster, rushing to inspect the damage on his car. You run your fingers through your hair anxiously, trying to regain some composure.

“I’m so fucking sorry! I—I was in such a rush,” you blurt out. “The woman at the grocery store took forever; it’s ridiculous! Who needs groceries bagged just right? And my clothes, ugh! I forgot to start the dryer, so they’re still sopping wet! Just my fucking luck!” You throw your hands up in a mix of frustration and false enthusiasm, your words tumbling out in a frenzied stream.

“I’m definitely going to miss my lecture because of this, and my professor is already on my case, so this is just the cherry on fucking top of my terrible day. And—” You suddenly stop, realizing that you’re venting to a stranger whose truck you’ve just hit.

"Sorry," you say quietly. "I'm just having a really shitty day, full of shittiness."

"Shittiness?" He replies, a hint of humor creeping into his raspy English voice, catching you off guard since he had been silent until now.

You glance up at him, your lip twitching slightly.

"Yeah," you respond softly.

He pauses for a moment, taking in your sheepish demeanor.

"You hungry?" He asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

You raise an eyebrow, caught off guard by the question. "Hungry?"

He nods.

"Well—I mean…" you trail off, noting the damage before looking back up at him.

His expression is serious.

He’s serious.

Is he actually asking you out after you just fucked up his car?

"Are you serious?" You ask, hesitation clear in your voice.

"Do I look like the type to joke?" He replies, his tone dry.

A smile breaks across your face.

"No. Not really," you admit, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

You take a moment to soak him in.

He’s pretty…attractive now that you’re really looking.

Quite built and definitely older than you.

You wonder what he does for a living.

Or if he lives around here.

"Diner's right across the street," he says, nodding toward the quaint little eatery nearby.

It’s clear he’s trying to ease your worries.

You don’t have to get into his car with him; you could just walk over where there are onlookers.

Fuck it.

You’re already late for your lecture.

Might as well make it worthwhile.

"Okay," you say, your enthusiasm a bit more pronounced than you intended.

Your cheeks warm, but he remains silent, though you catch the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Let me grab my wallet," you say, reaching for your door handle, but he gently places a hand on it to stop you.

"Don't need it," he dismisses.

Your lips pucker in confusion. "But, I—"

"Come on," he replies, tilting his head towards the diner.

"Alright..." you say, slowly realizing you don’t even know his name.

"Simon," he provides.

You smile.

"Cute name," you compliment as you turn on your heels to head towards the diner.

Oh, now he's definitely smiling under that mask.

He takes you to the cozy diner and covers the cost of your meal, much to your dismay because, 'I really should be paying; I messed up your car.'

He brushes aside your attempts to pay him back, insisting that you should never front the bill.

"If you ever want to talk about your shitty day, just give me a call. Yeah?" He says, scribbling his number on a napkin from the diner.

"Yeah, I will," you promise as you reach for the napkin.

After your meal, Simon walks you back to your car, even opening the door for you as you part ways with a quiet 'goodbye.'

"See you later, Simon. I’ll text you later!" You exclaim, beaming with excitement. "I’ll send my insurance info tonight," you add.

He simply nods, fully aware he’ll delete that message later because he couldn’t care less about his car.

He’ll pay to fix it, along with your car.

Even if you fight him on it, he'll still do it.

He’s just so thrilled that a pretty girl like you fell into the palm of his hand

What a lucky bastard.

a/n: bring back meet uglies!

divider by @saradika-graphics

[salemlunaa]

﹏𓊝∘˚ THE SUCCESS OF SHIFTING: THINK AS IF 𓇼∘˚

two things i love doing when it comes to my desires

i know, i know, you’ve heard that phrase more times than you can count. But i’m asking you, think of the person you want to be, the person you are yearning to be. Congratulations, that’s you now. I don’t care what you’re seeing with your physical eyes. However so many people ask “BUT SALEM HOW DO I ASSUME?”

well, i’m gonna give you two steps to success:

1. WRITE A SUCCESS STORY

if you succeeded you would write one right? I’m not telling that you must feel it real but you would be proud of yourself and so so happy, or even have a surreal natural type of feeling in you when you wake up in your desire state? Whatever feeling, you would write a success story, because you… succeeded? No one is telling you to go lie but go into your notes or whatever you use and write a success story.

Look back on the story every time something comes up and remind yourself that it’s already happened. I mean of course it did, you wrote a success story. Feel that feeling again and let all your worries wash away.

2. IMMERSE YOURSELF IN YOUR NEW POV

suggest you do this while inducing or tryinh to shift or even trying to flip your thoughts: Close your eyes. I want you to envision a pov of your desired self. What are they doing, or should i say, what are YOU doing? are you on a date with your s/o. Are you chilling in bed, a private jet. Are you with family, whatever it is, envision a point of view from your desired self, as if you’re looking through the eyes of your desired self. You have to really really feel it, the warm sun, the laugh of your friends, really immerse yourself

Feel the feelings of calmness, it’s already done and you’re so happy. Now I want you, from the point of your desired self to think about the worries you have now, from your old life your old story. Like an inner monologue, repeat your worry but now from the point of view of your desired self. How would you react?

If you’re looking at life from the point of your desired self, who has everything, would you be worried about getting your summer body? Would you be worried about not getting your dream life before a certain date if you’re living it?

For example Angelica wants to induce pure consciousness, in the dream life that she has scripted, she’s a teen actress.

Angelica is worried about not manifesting her dream life before March. She closes her eyes and imagines life from the pov of her desired self’s eyes. She’s in her trailer infront of the mirror getting touch ups on set. She’s repeats her worry “What if i don’t get my dream life by spring break?” Angelica, now in the state of her desired self laughs at that. “I’m literally getting my makeup done on set, what am i even yapping about?” “Lmfao why am i scared of not living the life i literally have right now?”. And all of Angelica’s worries fade away because she knows she’s shifted.

Jaime wants her dream body but fear is creeping up that she won’t be able to manifest it by summer and will go another year avoiding all the cute clothes and bikinis she wants to wear. She closes her eyes and envisions a pov of her dream self looking in the mirror with her new body. She repeats the worry, and now find it silly because “why would i be scared of not getting something i already have”, she then looks at her success story reminding herself of what’s true.

And when it comes to manifesting, shifting and inducing the void, you already have your desires, so just tell yourself you’re going to relax Procrastinating because you’re scared of failure? Why would you be scared of failing something that’s already happened, so there’s no need to procrastinate. You’re confident in your abilities because you were able to produce success, that success story of yours is proof. Why are you upset about how you “just can’t do it” when you literally have a success story under your belt. Go look at it. Why are you scared of not have something YOU ALREADY HAVE.

There’s no need to rely on the void for your dream life, since you’re already living it. By tricking your mind into thinking that you aren’t reliant on the void, reliant on that shift, since you already have what you want, will make the void way easier and more accessible and natural to you. It won’t be on a pedestal and it won’t take forever for you to finally relax and let go.

Look at your worries from the perspective of your dream self and you’ll realise how pointless worrying is.

IMMERSING IN YOUR POV + REVISITING THAT SUCCESS STORY = SUCCESS

[sepdet]

Oh but this is fascinating.

If "it's fictional because it doesn't exist in nature," then anything that exists through human intervention doesn't exist!

house. Eiffel Tower. crime. tin. Australia. bread. dog. ink. oranges. music. job. tunnel. Sony.

Have they' conflated fictional with fabricated, meaning both "made" and "made up"?

That's an example of polysemy, a word containing multiple meanings.

Polysemy is common in most languages. Less so for English, which is about 5 languages in a teenchcoat, so it has a huge vocabulary. Different shades of meaning have become associated with different words, and the scope of each word has tended to shrink.

I wonder if that contributes to some English-speakers' literalism.

Here's another example of polysemy from [problematic] Joseph Campbell, whose descriptive ideas about mythology tend to be misapplied proscriptively;

The [interviewer] began argumentatively, “The word ‘myth,’ means ‘a lie.’ Myth is a lie.”

So I replied with my definition of myth. “No, myth is not a lie. A whole mythology is an organization of symbolic images and narratives, metaphorical of the possibilities of human experience and the fulfillment of a given culture at a given time.”

“It’s a lie,” he countered.

“It’s a metaphor.”

“It’s a lie.”

This went on for about twenty minutes. Around four or five minutes before the end of the program, I realized that this interviewer did not really know what a metaphor was. I decided to treat him as he was treating me.

“No,” I said, “I tell you it’s metaphorical. You give me an example of a metaphor.”

He replied, “You give me an example.”

I resisted, “No, I’m asking the question this time.” I had not taught school for thirty years for nothing. “And I want you to give me an example of a metaphor.”

[...]

Finally, with something like a minute and a half to go, he rose to the occasion at said, “I’ll try. My friend John runs very fast. People say he runs like a deer. There’s a metaphor.”

As the last seconds of the interview ticked off, I replied, “That is not the metaphor. The metaphor is: John is a deer.”

He shot back, “That’s a li v e.”

“No,” I said, “That is a metaphor.”

And the show ended. What does that incident suggest about our common understanding of metaphor?

It made me reflect that half the people in the world think that the metaphors of their religious traditions, for example, are facts. And the other half contends that they are not facts at all. As a result we have people who consider themselves believers because they accept metaphors as facts, and we have others who classify themselves as atheists because they think religious metaphors are lies.

This argument goes all the way back to Plato and Socrates, who redefined mythos "story, utterance, thing said/told" as pseudos "lie, falsehood,"

It seems to me the problem is not only literalism, the refusal to recognize polysemy or nuance, but a tendency to insist on one meaning of a word when, in context, it means another.

Campbell was concerned with literalism in religion. Now, it's creeping into science, which you'd think would be a better fit for literalism, but not if we latch omto the wrong meanings of words.

Think of the scientific use of "theory" to mean a widely-accepted explanation of something supported by evidence, experiments, and a large body of scientific research by many different research, vs the general public's dismissive use of "theory' to mean hypothesis.

If we've got a lot of people who think scientific theories are unproven guesses, and even that fabricated materials are imaginary, no wonder trust in science is eroding.

or else I'm reading way way way too much into one person's post. 😅

i logged on to twitter.com and saw somebody say “plutonium is fictional because it doesnt exist in nature”. which, one, i dont think is entirely true, im fairly certain trace amounts of plutonium exist in natural uranium deposits, and two, that is such a frankly wonderfully incorrect definition of fictional and im deeply intrigued by the implications. concrete is fictional. polyester doesnt exist

[hitlikehammers]

POV: when you overhear your boyfriend’s bandmates who ⛔️do not like you⛔️ talking to him—about YOU

“Be real though, Ed. Harrington? You can’t actually be serious, here.” Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle. Which is to say he totally does it. He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it. “You got me,” Eddie sighs, longer and deeper than can be taken wholly seriously. “I’m running my longest successful con to date.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, established relationship, corroded coffin, as in: the gang’s all here and being VERY JUDGEMENTAL of eddie’s taste in men, and maybe steve had to pick eddie up from practice today so he overhears it WHOLLY WITHOUT INTENDING TO OKAY?, no one ever REALLY want to hear what the people they love really think of them when said people don’t know who all’s actually listening, true love, declarations of feelings, it’s actually really fucking hard to stand up to your friends, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day ten: "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." —Dr. Seuss

also! Unnamed Freak is Doug for the purpose of this fic because the book can fuck itself I say so 🖤

“Be real though, Ed,” the voice that filters through, and holds Steve’s hand from pushing the car door shut loud enough to notice, is fairly reasonable, like trying to talk down a suggestion absurd enough to send someone to the ER—which means, of the subjects at hand? It’s gotta be Jeff.

“You can’t actually be serious, here.”

Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle.

Which is to say he totally does it.

He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it.

“You got me,” Eddie deadpans, but it’s like, venom-laced. It stings just to hear and Steve’s struck with how much his life’s changed since Spring Break, and more still since…well.

Since Eddie.

Because Steve is well aware the man can cut glass with how sharp his tongue can get, they did go to high school together whether they ran in the same circles or not.

It’s just strikes Steve in the moment that not once since Vecna, has Eddie turns that tongue on him.

Now, other uses of his tongue—

“I’m running my longest successful con to date. Yep, totally pulled it over on all you bitches,” and where it could be playful, every single word is sharpened to stab, to pierce, to drag the wound out so it bleeds, like a shiv to remind someone where they fucked up, in perpetuity.

“Please applaud.”

And oh, even Steve flinches at that tone, and he’s not even the target. Hell, he’s still in the driveway—he doesn’t make a rule of crashing band practice, no matter whose parents’ garage they’re using; Eddie’s van is just regularly in the shop for one thing or another, so he’s gotta come get his man. But he doesn’t, like, push his way in. Sometimes doesn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. He knows Eddie would more than welcome him; has the handful of times he’s ventured to step in to apologize for interrupting but remind him they have to pick up the shitheads. But one: Eddie is alone in his welcome, and like, the polar opposite of the other three guys, who range from staring daggers at Steve to sneering so scrunched up to the nose that it’d give Carol Perkins at her snittiest a run for her money.

And Steve wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t know how to recognise where he’s not wanted, and learn how to make the calculated decision of whether to walk or push his way in. And much as he loves Eddie? Steve actually wants his friends to eventually come around from probably, like, muttering ancestral curses under their breaths at him or something.

Plus, from what Steve understands? Jam sessions are personal. Sacred. Eddie had blushes and stammered the first time he let Steve listen in on works in progress; and Steve had rewarded him for the gift of it liberally and with genuine gusto. It’s earned him repeat performances on the regular, but Steve gets it’s a private thing in general. And these guys don’t know him, don’t presently care to—don’t trust him.

He figures it’s like…masturbating in front of someone. The art thing, the depth of making music and stuff. Showing your soul a little bit, losing control for the betterment of the final product.

Now, he and Eddie definitely have masturbated together, it’s actually fantastic foreplay, or even just a deliciously sloppy go on its own. But that’s neither here nor there. And also totally fucking different.

Steve really doesn’t want Eddie masturbating in front of anyone other than him, ever again. Steve’s sure as shit not looking to on his end; definitely not with the other members of Corroded fucking Coffin.

The metaphor might have gotten away from him. But you get the picture.

“No, man,” and that’s, that’s Gareth’s voice, Steve’s almost sure. Sharper. Concerned but also caustic on the undertow. “It’s just,” he snorts, the disbelieving sort: “this can’t be real.”

Okay, yeah. Tone plus actual words add up.

“Yeah, just,” Doug laughs a little nervous, like of all of them, Eddie’s verbal attack had the most weight in tempering his response of the three of them; “blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”

They all chuckle, but it’s toned down the whole way around—even Steve can clock that. These guys are boisterous when left to their devices, Steve’s taken note of that. Mostly watching from the sidelines—almost exclusively when they don’t know he’s there to watch.

Again: does not condone eavesdropping.

Does not try at all to refrain from doing it.

“I mean, you don’t expect us to believe you’re actually fucking him,” and oh, yeah, okay: Steve was pretty sure he was the topic conversation here, and despite some of the setbacks of recent years, he’s not insecure when it comes to relationships especially.

He’s definitely the only one fucking Eddie. And Eddie’s the only one fucking him.

And while he doesn’t really hold it against these guys for being wary of him—he wasn’t really a perpetrator of their high school woes, but he definitely didn’t do anything to make them less…woeful—so he’s mostly bummed about it for Eddie’s sake, and on principle, but like, seriously.

Doubting Steve successfully scoring Eddie Munson? Like, Eddie’s a catch, Steve of ll people is well aware, but. Steve’s also been long past fishing the shallow end of the pond, y’know?

Give him some credit.

“Right,” Steve narrows back in on what’s happening in the garage that he’s definitely feeling less guilty bout, seeing as he’s definitely a subject of the debate unfolding, but Eddie sounds…angry. Pissed off in that way he gets when he’s fed the fuck up.

“I’m out,” Steve hears scraping of equipment, the guitar case flipped open; “can’t actually make it next week,” he adds like a footnote.

It’s clear within a second he’s the only one who takes it with that same…energy.

“But we have to practice before the open mic—” Jeff, ever the voice of reason, sounds baffled; on his way to ticked off but not quite there yet.

Eddie, however—as is his wont in this type of mood—could not give two shits where the people around him land on the anger-o-meter; he’s exceeded them, even if only in his own head, and they are all therefore irrelevant to his very responsible decision to put distance between himself and doing something stupid he can’t take back.

It’s not the nicest way to deal but, honestly? Steve’s mostly just proud of Eddie for sticking with a coping mechanism that, while not without consequences, generally works better than most.

“I’ll see you guys in two, then. Probably.” And the case clicks shut, definitive, and Steve’s proud of that too; that Eddie’s not digging a hole when the guys re trying to bait him, intentionally or not, over Steve.

Steve doesn’t need Eddie to complicate his band, his friendships, over what the two of them have. One, it’s not their fucking business. And two?

Steve doesn’t thing he’s being self-important in saying he and Eddie…are bigger, and more, than even the very beat high school band.

Not that Steve would ever ask Eddie to choose or some bullshit like that. And he really does believe Eddie’s going places, if that’s what he decides he wants. But…there’s that.

Then there is them.

Different, like, stratospheres.

“What the fuck came up that you can’t make it next week? When we’re staring down our first actual shot at Battle of the Bands this year,” and yeah, of course, if anyone’s gonna try to drag the whole thing out, it’s Gareth. Kid’s got a fucking temper.

“Something more important.”

Which yeah, that’s what was going through Steve’s mind, basically, but—

“The hell could be more—“

“I have plans,” Eddie hisses, viper-quick and fucking deadly, shuts them all right up for it, but then he spins a 180–preens so big Steve swears he can hear his shoulders go back and his chest puff out:

“It’s my anniversary.”

So…yeah. Just because it was where Steve’s head had just been at doesn’t mean his whole chest goes all gooey to hear it said out loud.

And in front of Eddie’s band, who…they aren’t hiding from, but they have discussed keeping kinda mum around. For the same kinds of reasons Steve’s been privy to just in the past couple minutes.

But then Eddie’s voice follows the feeling in Steve’s chest like they’re tethered there, and honestly, more times than not?

Steve thinks they just might actually be, and he’s not proven wrong with the way Eddie halfway coos:

“Our anniversary.”

“Your what?”

Jeff, again, is that middle ground: actually confused, laced with being angry that Eddie’s ducking out.

“Six months,” Eddie answers, soft-like, a little dreamy but in this way that’s rooted somehow still, and in being struck all over again by a level of shock Steve understands, sometimes feels in reverse, but still doesn’t understand being felt so deep as it sounds, now, when it’s applied to…him.

It’s wild y’know?

“I’m like,” Steve hears Eddie’s curls brush against something as he shakes his head—Steve’s money’s on him crouched by his case, or having it already slung over his shoulder:

“Never thought I’d get something to celebrate like that in the first place, but get to keep it, that long without fucking it up?”

Steve, again, wants to give up the pretense and walk the fuck in there and kiss the shit out of his boyfriend because one, same, but two?

Dumbass.

Steve goddamn adores him.

“You mean, with Harrington?” Gareth’s spitting and Steve just shakes his head, a little sad—he doesn’t know what’s crawled up that kid’s ass about him, man; he’s not so much younger that Steve never saw him or didn’t know of him but godDamn: the circles he ran in at the time weren’t the ones doing shit yet when they were in the same elementary school, Steve was barely popular in middle school, and come high school the worst anyone he knew did to the frosh was bang them into a locker—not great, but.

Not worth this shit. And the worst part is if he doesn’t know what’s crawled he did to really piss Gareth off this bad? He can’t even try to Harrington-charm his way back into the guy’s tolerable category. Like, even his best fucking not-pot brownie recipe didn’t sway the fucker.

“Yes,” Eddie is answering, the answer emphatic, like he’s brimming with feeling over it, but then clipped too, like demonstrating that he was brimming and is now being forced to clip it all backis very much the intent: “of course I mean with Steve, who the fuck else?”

It’s not lost on Steve how Eddie says his name. Ever. All the name.

But right now, how he’s making a point to say it in that warm, kinda…beloved way, when anyone else uses his last name in a way that’s anything-but.

“You cannot be—” Gareth scoffs, Steve can imagine him throwing up his hands, that sort of deal, but then Eddie comes in, and it’s a tone Steve’s only ever hear when he’s about to run a campaign into the ground where the characters may never recover, and if somehow manage it, they’ll wish they hadn’t:

“Oh, I am deadly serious.”

Because it’s not Steve’s character, but in defense of Steve’s relationship, that tone trickles something molten through his veins and prickles up his spine and…he’s gone have to stick that one in his back pocket to explore at a later date, for sure.

“Six months?”

Jeff—and Steve kinda likes Jeff, and not for the reason his bandmates would like, that he kicks around Hawkins after graduation, too, but more because Steve knows why; that’s to make more money for a college outside Indiana, and Steve thinks that’s fucking cool—but it’s here where Jeff dips fully away from being angry to being stupefied. Steve lets himself smirk at nothing because fuck yes: him and Eddie.

Six whole goddamn months.

“I was actually gonna ask you guys to come over soon, introduce him properly and stuff,” Eddie says, the disappointment in his voice again; Steve’s niggling desire to go and hug him from behind, maybe kiss under his ear a little, back in full force.

“He picks you up from practice, we see him,” Doug pipes back up, likewise confused, but Steve just takes the useful confirmation that no one did catch on that he pulled up ages ago, now.

“We know who Steve Harrington is—” Gareth snaps, protests in the way that betrays his eye-rolling, his thin-wearing patience.

“No!”

And that comes out of Eddie fierce enough to echo down at least half the block they’re on—seems like Eddie’s patience was worn out a while ago.

“You don’t!”

And everyone is silent in that way Steve knows all too well: when shit’a gone down but now you’re waiting in the edge for the worse thing to hit.

Then it does:

“And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it up because you dipshits aren’t ready,” Eddie snaps, says dipshitso different from how he does with the Party, theirParty, their kids; he says it here with something real fucking close to disgust.

“Asking hostage questions, fuck off,” he huffs, and Steve hears Eddie’s footsteps, can’t tell if he’s gonna leave it at that, come find Steve and know he’s been standing there but that’ll be fine, it’s not like Steve wasn’t going to let him know as soon as they left—but then:

“Look,” and Eddie sounds the way Steve sounds when he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to fight a growing migraine, the sting of tears for all sorts of pain behind his eyes, and that hurts to hear from his boyfriend, like, a lot.

It fucking hurts.

“I am not just fucking him,” Eddie growls through the bridge-pinching pain; “I mean, fuck yes, I am, but,” and Steve hears the way he swallows all the way down the drive:

“I’m in this for the long haul,” Eddie tells his bandmates like throwing down a gauntlet; “and if you can’t respect me enough, and my choices, that stings,” Steve knows Eddie shrugs then: “but I’ll live.”

Steve’s about a millisecond from saying fuck it, opening the door just to slam it to announce his approach, and then going to physically grab his boyfriend, drag him to the car, and park in the abandoned lot down from the Wheelers’ neighborhood to kiss him senseless because that’s the closest place he can think of and he doesn’t think he’ll make it to either of their homes before he can’t fucking handle himself.

“But if you are gonna disrespect the man I love, no. Absolutely not.”

Eddies voice is a deadly sort of whisper. Steve would cower at it, the way it washes through a person, if he hadn’t just…said.

That.

“You love him?”

And for what Steve thinks is the first time since he climbed out of the car and committed to listening where he wasn’t invited, Gareth sounds…muted. Genuinely asking a question.

Steve, for his own part, kinda expected that he’d be more breathless, heart racing and shit, to hear the answer but in reality?

“Of course I love him.”

Steve already knew that in his cells, in his bones.

In his steady, not all-that-fast but particularly-especially-happily beating heart.

“Have you guys, like, said it and stuff?”

And of course Steve already knows that answer, both the literal one and the one that matters more, but he does perk up a bit, curious to hear what—if anything of note—Eddie chooses to give away here.

“He has,” Eddie says, and now…now maybe Steve should stop listening because this part, the way Eddie says that as flat fact—Steve doesn’t knowthis part beyond speculation. But…

“I wanted to, like,” and eddies voice can’t hide the way he’s gotta have that soft smile, the one he used to hide behind his hair before Steve started pulling it back to see in full, so now he only brings his hair out just to tease, to okay.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted much in my whole life, but he’s,” and Steve thinks he hears how Eddie chews his bottom lip for a second, in the subtlest click of how it slips free before Eddie takes a deep breath and—

“He doesn’t know what he’s worth,” Eddie starts, a little mournful almost, even, and Steve is unexpectedly glued to the spot in his fucking Nikes.

“He doesn’t understand that I’d sell the sun and the moon just to keep him,” Eddie’s saying, and with passion. With whole-ass honesty. And here, maybe, is where Steve gets to have some of the heart:fluttery feeling after all:

“He comes out the gate with the whole you don’t have to say it back and I just,” Eddie sighs, sniffs a little before heaving another breath deep enough to stretch his shirt, which Steve’s not imagining or anything, at all;

“I couldn’t say it, not right then, and risk him everthinking it was something I’d done to like, match. Like that I didn’t mean it with everything I’ve got, when I mean it with everything I’ve got and then also everything else. Like, anywhere. Ever.”

Steve realized he’d stopped breathing at some point when the little dots start floating in front of his eyes and he sucks in a shaking breath because: he’s known Eddie loves him. Unshakeably.

But, but all this—

“I couldn’t say it and have him ever wondered if I wouldn’t rip my heart out of my chest just to keep his safe.”

And of-fucking-course Steve’s pulse is running fucking riot about how much he’s in love right now, make no goddamn mistake. Jesus, he—

“Fuck.”

And Steve has never heard Gareth Emerson pushed just this side of speechless but: that’s the best way Steve can describe the kind of breathless wonder he says it with, like watching a rare bird take flight.

“You mean it.”

And Steve can pick out Eddie’s huffs and categorize them, on demand at this point: he doesn’t need to see the eye-roll to know Eddie’s deemed the expression of pure shock to be so beneath him in this specific context that he’s deemed it unworthy of any more attention.

His heart’s not jumping that loud to have missed it. So.

Steve just kinda grins toward the blacktop under his shoes.

“Why didn’t you,” Doug starts, still—usually, really, in Steve’s limited experience at least—the peacekeeper, the one who’s most invested at the human level when he’s not getting swept up in whatever the rest of the gang has deemed the cool thing to laugh at or make fun of at any given moment.

The huff Eddie gives this time is his incredulous one, which allows for just the slightest bit more consideration:

“The fuck do you think?”

The slightest bit, being the operative point.

“I’d hoped you’d take it better but,” Eddie adds, and there’s less drama in it than Steve might have expected. He’s being serious with them, and he sounds…disappointed.

Steve kinda want to make some kind of noise, give away his position, and just…hug Eddie tight from behind, if nothing else. Be there. Solid against him, wrapped up around him. Never wavering. Always at his back as much as at his side.

But Eddie’s not done:

“I’m not even asking you to like him, just be decent,” and it sounds like it hurts him to say as much, and Steve knows why; he genuinely despises when anyone thinks Lea with a the very beat thing about Steve. Steve believes this to be n unreasonable standard, and has expressed as much to Eddie who nods and smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and does absolutely nothing to change his stance, but deep down?

Steve fucking feels so…loved for it.

“And like I said,” Steve can hear the judgement in Eddie’s tone clear as day; “you’re not ready, and I’m not putting him in that kind of situation.”

Steve sucks on the inside of his cheek, lest his grin at the way Eddie is not just defending him, but…protecting him, not his honor but his heart…

No ones ever even tried that before. Steve may not need it, or maybe he just learned he couldn’t survive needing it.

Getting it now…now it’s just…

Wow.

“And I’m in this for keeps, like, this is a forever type thing, so long as he wants it,” Eddie saying, explaining the color of a sky to a small child like what these words are that fundamental, that unalterably true. “So—”

“We’ve known each other forever, man,” Gareth eventually mutters, sounds indignant, but mostly gutted.

Steve knows before it happens that it’s not gonna make a difference.

“And we can still know each other. Just not everything, anymore,” and Eddie does sound a little sad but he’s…he’s a monolith, unshakable. “I don’t trust you with the parts that revolve around him, yet,” and Steve feels more than hears the ways his friends deflate, maybe shrink for being deemed so…insufficient. In the eyes of their ostensible leader, no less.

“Eddie, we didn’t,” Jeff starts, slow, and he doesn’t sound remorseful but—Eddie has all those coping mechanisms for a reason, right?

Because he’s quick to feeling, good and bad, and sometimes neither is fit to the moment.

Steve can’t help but be kinda glad Eddie doesn’t bother with those mechanisms just now, though, if it means he gets to hear this part:

“I know you didn’t, that’s the fucking problem,” Eddie groans, Steve can see the way he lens, bends at the knees and throws his body around a little in sheer, undiluted exasperation. “

“Because I could tell you he’s changed since school, and that’d be true, but that’s not even it,” and there’s more of the frustrated stomping round, Steve can hear it, but he’s…he’s ready distracted by that thing in his chest that has to has to be tied up in Eddie’s, too, that thing tugging on him to pay the fuck attention.

And who is he to ignore it?

“he was never who we thought he was in school in the first place. He is,” Eddie licks his lips, just to snack them loud:

“He is kind and funny, and goofy, and such a fuckin’ nerd, and he’s smart in these incredible ways where he’s sees what everyone else misses, and he’s protective as fuck and he’s got a heart of gold,” and Eddie’s voice only gets more heartfelt in its own right that longer he goes and Steve just, he’s, it’s—

“And I would tear my skin off just so it doesn’t get so much as a scuff on it,” Eddie ends with the most scathing delivery imaginable: he fucking meansthis shit. And Steve is going o live and die next to this man, scuffed heart still kept safe to the fucking end, he will swear that shit to anyone who needs to hear it.

He is going to have a whole fucking life with Eddie Munson, and love him for every single breath of it.

“And I don’t trust you guys yet not to tempt me to tear off my skin,” Eddie says finally after enough silence to catch his breath, and temper his tone just enough to sound tired; a little dejected. “I don’t trust you with him, and until that changes, we’re still friends,” Eddie sniffs, breathes out long; “you just won’t get to know about that part of me.”

He says it so simple, like he’s not half-cutting off some of the longest, closest friendships he’s ever had, and for Steve.

Steve doesn’t know if it makes him a person, or a really selfish one or whatever, if he doesn’t feel any urge to talk Eddie down, to make him walk it back just a little.

He doesn’t think he cares, though, either way.

“Seems like a really big part of you,” Doug says, deflated entirely.

“It is,” Eddie answers, unapologetic in a way that swells and sparkles in Steve’s ribs. “He is.”

“You’d walk from the band?” Of course Gareth asks, but it’s the first time he sounds small in his words. Like he maybe knows the answer, and isn’t so okay with how he got around to it even before Eddie wishes all doubt:

“In half a fuckin’ heartbeat.” Boom. Done. No hesitation whatsoever.

Less than half-a-fuckin’-heartbeat.

“That’s not what I’m saying I’m doing right now, but,” Eddie laughs a little, and that probably cuts deeper than anything for the boys, Steve suspects, especially when Eddie makes it unquestionable:

“It’s not even a question.”

And…maybe that drives a knife deeper for the band, but for Steve?

Steve kinda wants to…giggle, or some shit. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted someone who answered a question like that, exactly like that, who talked about Steve exactly like that, without anything to gain, just because they…believed it.

“Jesus,” Gareth mutters, sounds kinda blindsided, kinda thrown and then some.

“If we,” Jeff clears his throat after a long period of quiet; “if we do better, could we meet him someday?” And the way he says it, earnest and shit:, like he wants to at least think about, at least maybe try:

“Like, really meet him?”

Like Eddie means enough that he’ll try, and that sings sweet in Steve’s veins because goddamn straight, his Eddie deserves that from the people hecares about. No matter who or what Steve is, Eddiedeserves that much, and so much more.

But he sounds like even just this is something amazing, Steve can hear the smile in his voice:

“Yeah, man,” he answers Jeff, claps him audibly on the shoulder; “I look forward to it.”

And shit, y’know what?

So does Steve.

“See you in two weeks,” and Eddies footsteps follow, guitar slung over his back for the way his weight falls with each one, but then:

“Eddie!”

That’s Doug; the footsteps stop close to the edge of the garage door as another set rushes to catch up, where he’ll see Steve if he walks much farther, where Steve’s got his hand on the door handle of the car, slowly inching it open to push shut and look wholly-unsuspicious now that Eddie might be followed out to his ride:

“Get him flowers. For your anniversary,” Doug says, tone low like a secret; “I know, like, it might seem like guys wouldn’t want flowers, but,” and Steve actually has to strain to hear the next part:

“My mom gets my dad flowers on his birthday every year, and he lights up like the Fourth of July.”

Steve remembers the first time he ever got flowers. His favorites, even if he thinks he only knew it subconsciously because they were handed to him with the stammering explanation of I don’t even know if you like flowers, or like these ones, but you look at them when we’re out, like, just walking or something and your eyes linger, and these ones just remind me of you and—

Apparently, Steve loves hyacinths. And sunflowers make Eddie think of him.

Because of course Steve’s first gift of flowers came from Eddie.

“Thanks man,” Eddie sounds the lightest, most genuine Steve’s heard him since he pulled up and got out of the car; “they’re already ordered.”

And Doug chuckles, and Steve?

Steve bites down his smile to less exploding-star levels—if he’d just pulled up he doesn’t have a reason, save that Eddie is enough of a reason in Steve’s eyes, his mind, the way his chest expands just thinking on him—as he pulls the car door closed again, loud enough to be noticed.

For Eddie to walk out of the garage fast as anything and meet Steve with a smile of his own that justifies the fuck out of where Steve’s had started, anyway.

All star-bright and everything.

♥️🎸♥️

✨also on ao3✨

btw this is either titled ‘halcyon shoegazing’ or ‘heart in your shoes’ so if you have an opinion you should maybe tell me or something, my brain’s tired and is resisting decisions rn

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here

[moonstruckme]

Here’s my idea for Spencer and intern!reader if you’d be so kind to write it <3 something like Spencer comforting reader after she saw/experienced something rough and is trying not to show emotion bc she thinks that’s what being on the team is

Thank you for requesting!

cw: crime scene, no descriptions but there is a body and the killing is discussed in vague terms, nausea, reader is a bau intern but also an adult

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’re all bottled up. Spencer should be listening to the police officer telling them about witnesses who discovered the victim, but you’re distracting him. You’re breathing deep and slow, intentionally, and your gaze flickers between the cop and the body like you’re not sure which deserves your attention more. Your skin looks waxy in the morning light. 

Spencer is able to step away fairly easily, leaving JJ and Morgan with the officer as he grasps your elbow to pull you with him. 

Closer, your breaths are audibly stilted. “What’s up?” you ask, sounding remarkably composed despite how your eyes are still moving between Spencer and the victim. 

He walks you away from the crowd, back towards the SUV. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” 

You say it too fast. Spencer watches you realize this, and in the same moment you know of course he has too. 

Still, he says gently, “You look like you’re going to faint. If you are, it’s better if you tell me.” 

You reach the SUV. Spencer opens the passenger side, expecting you to sit in the seat to steady yourself, but you only take refuge behind the door. Away from the eyes of the rest of the team, you close your eyes, sucking in another deep breath. 

“I’m not going to faint,” you say on the exhale. This time, with enough conviction that Spencer believes you. “I’m really sorry, I just—I feel sort of sick.” 

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. 

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine in a minute.” 

“Do you want some water?” Spencer reaches into the glove box to find an unopened bottle. “Here, drink small sips of this.” 

“I’m okay,” you say, twisting the cap off to do as he says. 

“It’s okay if you’re not,” he offers. “I know it’s not your first crime scene, but it can be disturbing, the things we see. You know, for most people, even smelling a dead body without seeing it is enough to…” He slows when he can hear his team groaning at him in his head. Spence, JJ would say, in her fond and motherly way, not helping. “...to…well, you know. It’s a lot.” 

You give a little laugh. Fortunately, you seem not to be affected by Spencer reminding you of the smell. Unfortunately, you now look closer to tears than vomiting. 

“I know we have to see this stuff all the time.” Your voice is choked down to a whisper, face pointed at the ground. Spencer finds himself leaning closer to hear you. “And I know that none of the deaths are pretty, or…or easy. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to let it affect me.” 

“That’s nothing to be sorry about. We’re all affected.” 

“But you don’t show it.” 

“We have…we have practice. But we all show it sometimes. Some cases are worse for some of us than others.” 

“I guess I just haven’t—” Your voice splinters, and Spencer’s heart does a poor mimicry of the sound. “—haven’t seen one this…intentional yet.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as two tears streak down your cheeks. You look frustrated and afraid, and even younger than usual. Spencer has his arms around you without knowing how he got there. 

He understands what you mean. The cases you’ve worked so far have been awful in their own ways, but this killer took his time in a way the others didn’t. He left his victim mutilated, torn apart with a cold-hearted meticulousness that would be enough to horrify even the most seasoned agent. By your anguish, Spencer knows you’ve probably seen it all play out in your mind a dozen times. 

Spencer thinks of himself as an empathetic person. He’s seen some terrible things, but he still tries to meet people, especially people at his job, with compassion and kindness. It doesn’t explain why he’s so startlingly desperate to soothe you. 

He holds the back of your head and keeps you folded into him, his other hand rubbing your back as you take in a wet, shuddering inhale. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.” 

Your voice is a choked, fraught thing. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” 

“I want to be professional.” 

“Sweetheart” —it slips out without him meaning for it to; Spencer ploughs ahead before either of you can think about it— “you’re not being unprofessional. This is…this is what we do. It’s hard sometimes. Everyone here understands that. Everyone on our team has done what you’re doing.” 

Another short, soft laugh, followed by a sniffle. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Is that why you’re so good at this?” 

Spencer pauses. “No, I’m…well, I wouldn’t say I am good at this, actually. I’m glad you think so, though.” 

“Yeah, you are.” You straighten, wiping underneath your eyes with a knuckle. “God, everyone is going to know I cried.” 

He can’t deny that. “They won’t care,” he promises you instead. “No one will ask questions if you don’t want them to. We all get it.” 

“I knew there were some really fucked up people out there,” you say in a small voice. “I just haven’t really thought as much about the people who…” Your gaze shifts, as if drawn by a magnet, through the tinted window of the SUV and back toward the crime scene. Your expression goes haunted. “...who they…” 

Spencer puts his hand to the side of your face. It’s not like him, and your eyes widen at the contact but you let him direct your attention away. Your skin is warm and tacky against his fingertips.

“It might help to sit down for a minute,” he suggests gently. You’re pliable, allowing him to nudge you back into the passenger seat. “Drink some more, okay? Do you still feel sick?” 

You think about it, then shake your head. “Not really.” 

“Let’s wait a bit anyway.” 

You swallow some water. Worry your lip. “You shouldn't have to coddle me.” 

“It’s not coddling,” Spencer says quickly. Too quickly, maybe. Luckily, you’re not as skilled a profiler and you don’t catch him. “It’s okay to step away sometimes. They don’t need us over there right now.” 

“Yeah.” You breathe out. “Yeah, okay. Thank you, Spencer.” 

He gets called lots of things. Spencer is one of them, of course, along with Reid, Spence, Kid, Boy Genius, and sometimes even Professor. None of them sounds as heavy sweet as his name on your lips. 

“We can wait here.” He decides it as it comes out of his mouth. He’ll have to get the details of the crime scene secondhand, might even make a trip to the coroner’s later to inspect the body himself, but in this moment Spencer can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do to make you comfortable. Inconveniences are trivial. “They’ll come find us when they’re ready to go to the station.” 

You look conflicted, your dedication to the team warring with your obvious desire to avoid being near the victim again. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” Spencer’s own voice sounds distant as he tries to make sense of the unfamiliar tug in his middle. “I’m sure.”

[lynnieverse]

Hey GORGG

I was wondering could we get a fic where bsf!rafe is an ass to his baf bc he’s going through shit and he’s just ghosting her and is mean and when she does the same he realizes he fucked up? Angst ans fluff?

tysm luv!

ooo I got you! thank you for this rec!! :)

ghostin' // rafe cameron

oneshot

asshole!bsf!rafe cameron x reader

You knock loudly on the large wooden door of your best friend’s house before stepping back, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Rafe had been going ghost for days––ignoring text messages, skipping out on plans––and while it had concerned you in the beginning, now you’re just pissed. You tap your foot impatiently as the minutes pass, and eventually you pull out your phone. You call him five times. Five times before he answers. 

“Yes?” his tone was sharp, clearly annoyed. 

“Open the fucking door, Rafe Cameron.” 

“Why are you here, Y/N?” 

“Why do you think I’m here?! You’ve been ignoring me for days, dude. What the fuck is your problem?” You start pacing around his porch, looking in windows trying to catch a glimpse of his stupid ass. 

“Maybe take a hint then.” The words are like a slap to the face, lips parting slightly. What the fuck? After a beat, you go cold. He’s messing with the wrong bitch. 

“Alright, sure. You go off and do your little broody, pouty, ‘woe is me’ routine because daddy doesn’t love you, and see where that gets you. Meanwhile, the people who do love you, that you couldn’t give a shit about, are worried and just want to talk. Not me. You’re not going to treat me like the dirt on the bottom of your shoe and think I’ll stick around. Have a nice life.” You end your rant with a satisfying jab and end the call. You shove your phone in your pocket and storm to your car, immediately driving away without a second glance. 

Within five minutes you hear a familiar ringtone and roll your eyes. This is what he always does. He pushes and pushes until people break, and then tries to make up for it with pretty words. Not today, not ever again. 

You send him to voicemail, immediately getting a second call. Then another, then another. Eventually you resolve to turn your phone off, cutting all contact at the source. Sighing, you pull into your driveway and rest your head on the steering wheel. You could do this. 

It was his turn to be ignored. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Rafe expects you to call back. You always do. 

But you don’t. 

He wakes up to silence. No missed calls, no texts…nothing. He can’t help but sigh at his own stubbornness. 

At first he tells himself it’s fine, that you’re just giving him space and you’ll come around. 

Then he sees you out with your friends. 

You’re laughing, head tipped back, smile wide. Instinctively he wants to approach, but knows he shouldn’t. Not after what he did. 

He really fucked up this time. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Three Days Later

Rafe shows up to your house shortly after the sun dipped below the horizon, draining all the light from your street. His hands are shoved deep inside his pocket, head hung low. 

He knocks. 

No answer. 

He knocks again.

Silence.

This continued for a few more minutes before your muffled voice could be heard through the door. 

“Go home, Rafe.” 

His stomach twists painfully. He doesn’t know how to deal with you shutting him out. It was always the other way around. 

“I was an asshole. Please, Y/N, just talk to me.” The words felt like ash on his tongue. He never apologized, not to anyone. “I took my bullshit out on you and I shouldn’t have. I messed up, but this can’t be how it ends with us.”

Silence surrounds him once more. He sighs in defeat before turning around, ready to lick his wounds back to his house. As he stepped off your porch, the lock clicked.

You open the door just enough to fit your frame, arms crossed over your chest. “Do you even know what you did?” 

Rafe swallows hard. He looks at you, really looks at you—the tired set of your shoulders, the frustration flickering behind your eyes.

“I pushed you away,” he says finally. “And then when you tried to pull me back, I hurt you.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, searching for something. He looked sincere, shoulders sagging and eyebrows scrunched. 

“Yeah,” you say, voice quiet. “You did.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Okay.” 

It’s not forgiveness, not yet, but it’s enough for now. Enough to know you weren’t completely done with him yet. And Rafe will take whatever he can get. 

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ be my valentine? ♡ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆First Years x gn! reader

𓏵 729 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcannons, no pronouns used, fluff, a bit ooc(?)

Second Years and Third Years coming up next! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

I think Ace would pretend he doesn’t care about Valentine’s Day, but he actually thinks about it way more than he lets on. He’s the type to act like he totally forgot, just to see your reaction, only to pull out a small but thoughtful gift at the last second.

Ace likes to tease and play it cool, but deep down, he actually gets a little nervous. He doesn’t want to make it too obvious how much he cares, but if you show genuine happiness over his gift, he’ll get all smug about it—though his ears might turn a little red.

"Hah? You really thought I forgot? Please, I always come through! Here, take it. It’s not a big deal or anything, just a little something I threw together... H-Hey! Don’t look at me like that! Ugh, you’re making me blush or something!"

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I think Deuce would take Valentine’s Day way too seriously. He’d spend weeks planning, overthinking every detail because he wants to impress you. He probably buys a classic box of chocolates but then panics because he feels like it’s not enough. So, he adds more—a handwritten note, maybe even a little charm or trinket he thought you’d like.

Deuce likes to be upfront, but when it comes to romance, he gets so flustered. He stumbles over his words, gets embarrassed over small things, and is a total mess when handing you the gift. If you thank him sincerely, he might turn bright red and awkwardly try to downplay it.

"U-Uh! Here! I mean—um—I got you something! Wait, I’m saying this all wrong—ahem—I just thought, y’know, since today’s special, I should get you something nice. Uh. Do you… like it?"

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I think Jack would pretend he doesn’t care about Valentine’s Day, but he totally does. He doesn’t like all the flashy, romantic gestures, but he does want to do something special for you. His way of showing affection would be through actions—like carrying your things, helping you with a task, or offering you a snack from the cafeteria.

Jack likes to act tough, but when it comes to romance, he’s a total tsundere. He’ll say it’s not a big deal, but his tail betrays him by wagging slightly when you accept his gift. If you call him out on it, he’ll get so flustered and grumble about how you’re "imagining things."

“Here. It’s from my hometown. Don’t think too much about it—I just figured you’d like it. …What? Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not blushing. You’re imagining things. Seriously, quit laughing.”

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I think Epel would want to be smooth and romantic, but he struggles to pull it off. He tries to write a love letter? Ends up crumpling it up because it sounds too cheesy. He thinks about giving you roses? Freaks out because it feels too formal. In the end, he sticks to what he knows and gives you something handmade—like an apple-based treat from his hometown.

Epel likes to play it cool, but if you compliment his gift, his accent slips out, and he turns into a flustered mess. He wants to be the cool and mysterious type, but deep down, he’s just a sweet farm boy who cares about you a lot.

"Here. I made this myself. And before ya start teasin’ me, I was not thinkin’ too hard about it! …D’aww, quit smilin’ at me like that! Yer makin’ me feel all soft ‘n stuff."

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I think Sebek would treat Valentine’s Day like a sacred ritual. He’d act like he’s doing you a great honor by acknowledging this "human tradition," but truthfully? He spent hours making sure his confession was perfect. He’d go way too formal with it, talking like he’s making a grand proclamation, only to panic if you tease him even slightly.

Sebek likes to be loud and dramatic, but when he’s truly flustered, he does not know how to handle it. If you thank him sweetly or call him cute, expect him to go completely red and start sputtering about how he is "a knight of unwavering resolve" (while avoiding eye contact).

"Human! You should consider yourself fortunate to receive my affections on this day of sentimentality! I—WAIT, STOP SMILING LIKE THAT! I AM BEING COMPLETELY SERIOUS! H-Hey! D-Do not pat my head!! I am not blushing!!"

[babyleostuff]

― MEETING OF THE CENTURY

choi seungcheol is about to embark on his scariest life quest yet: meeting your older brother.

🍵 THEME: fluff, nervous and stressed cheol (which equals pouty and clingy cheol), comfort 🍵 PAIRING: idol!seungcheol x fem!reader 🍵 WORD COUNT: 601

"i’m sick."

you crossed your arms over your chest, looking down at the blanket-burrito on your bed that was your boyfriend. any other day, this would mildly worry you, because despite being blessed with many things—like his thick eyebrows and long lashes—a good immune system was not one of them.

"you’re not, cheol."

a sliver of brown hair peeked from under the blanket. "well, then i’m going to be sick."

for all of the months that you’d been dating seungcheol, you never really paid much attention to the fact that he had never met your older brother. obviously, he was busy, and so was your brother; it was only natural for them to have never had the chance to meet before.

now, you were starting to get the gist of what the real reason for that was.

you sighed and sat next to him, placing your hand on his back. "i know that you’re nervous, honey." earlier that day, when you were getting ready, you noticed that cheol had pulled up your brother’s Instagram account with one of his ootd’s. as much as you wanted to tease him for that, your heart only warmed at the thought of cheol trying to get into your brother’s good graces, even putting together an outfit similar to his.

"he’ll love you, i swear," you ran your hand back and forth, matching your touch with your gentle tone.

"everyone says that," he mumbled.

you sighed and scooted down the bed to lift up the blanket. if not for the pouty lips and big eyes, you’d laugh at his shrimp-like position, but you realized that’d be the worst thing to do.

once seungcheol gets whiny, there’s no going back.

"but it’s true. you have to believe me."

and you really meant it. your brother was in love with seungcheol already. who wouldn’t, honestly? sure, he’d probably give him the typical big brother talk, with the “hurt her and i’ll kill you”, but that was a canon event, anyway. 

“baby,” you sighed, and ran your thumb over his cheek. “i promise you’ll be fine.”  

cheol buried his head into his pillow and muttered a quiet okay.

“h-hi.” 

you had to press your lips together not to smile. or worse. laugh. 

after giving him two more pep talks before getting in the car, kissing his pouty lips on every red light, and promising him that you’d take the next afternoon off to cuddle him and kkuma, cheol seemed to be a bit more okay with the daunting fact that he was about to meet your older brother. 

but now, as he was actually standing in front of him… 

you had never seen seungcheol standing so stiff and straight. not even putting your hand on his lower back helped him relax; and when he extended his arm, he kind of reminded you of a lego. or a barbie doll. “it’s such a pleasure to meet you,” he said.

your brother looked at you briefly, a glint of amusement sparkling in his eyes. 

“oh, come on,” he said, and put his hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder that made his already wide eyes go even wider. “let’s ditch the formalities. i’m so happy i can finally meet you.” 

“uh, yeah,” seungcheol said and nodded. “you too. i-i mean me too. i…” 

“should we just get inside?” you asked, leaning closer to your boyfriend. his cheeks were raging red and you had a feeling the icy wind had nothing to do with it. 

“sure, it’s freezing.”

cheol gave your boyfriend an awkward smile. 

oh, this was going to be a long night.

[carriesthewind]

When I first read this post, before I decided to dig in and try to find the sources for these claims, I intended this response to be a gentle correction of a very common misunderstanding about an aspect of the U.S. legal system.

And I’m still going to do that; we’re going to start with some general education about Miranda warnings – what they are, what they mean, and under what circumstances should you talk to the cops? (Spoiler: Don’t talk to the cops.) But let me do a quick skip to where we are going to end up, to hit the main points before a way-too-long post (and to just go ahead and let the conspiracy theorists block me in advance):

Don’t talk to the cops.

The cops have to give you the Miranda warnings before they interrogate you (ask you questions related to a criminal investigation/case) in a custodial setting (a situation where you are not free to leave.

If they don’t do that, you may be able to ask the court to prevent the prosecutor in your criminal case from using any of those statements at your criminal trial. (The judge cannot and will not do this on their own.)

Even if the court agrees with you and stops the prosecutor from using your statements, the case doesn’t just go away. The prosecutor can still use other evidence to try to convict you. This can include other statements you made.

The Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS) did not recently say that you no longer need to be read your rights, or that you don’t have your Miranda rights, or you only have to be read your rights under certain circumstances that are somehow different from #2 above. SCOTUS ruled in Vega v. Tekoh that if the police do not read you your rights, you cannot file a civil lawsuit (aka a lawsuit where you are asking for money) against the police. This case is a travesty against the idea of justice, rights, and the rule of law, because it makes it much harder to hold the police accountable for their misconduct. However, it does not affect the application of the Miranda rule in criminal cases.

There is literally no evidence, zero, nada, none, that Mr. Mangione “was never read his miranda rights and was under the impression at that time that he was being denied the right to a fair trial, an attorney, or any legal representation," nor that his lawyer claimed this to be the case. @saint-luigi-of-fiji just literally made this claim up. Didn’t misunderstand, didn’t make a mistake, just straight up lied.

And on that point: fuck you, @saint-luigi-of-fiji, you lying asshole. How fucking dare you. How dare you farm people’s real pain, real outrage, and instead of directing it somewhere real, somewhere meaningful - instead of giving people real information about how fucked up the criminal injustice system is for the individuals - including Mr. Mangione - caught in it, or even just keeping your fanfic to yourself and your ao3 account, you decided to fucking lie, to deliberately spread misinformation both about his case and the legal system.

Right. Okay: let’s loop back to what I originally wanted this post to be about. Looking at OP’s original posts, there are three problems with them:

There is no source, and it is not true. They do give a “source” in the reblogs, and we will fucking get to that in full, trust me. But in short: there is simply no evidence at this time that Mr. Mangione’s Miranda rights were violated, much less that he hadn’t been read them at all, or that his attorney ever made that claim. This is just a straight-up fantasy made up by OP to spread conspiracy thinking. This is why I strongly advise not reblogging posts purporting to contain real-life information unless they both have a source and you have personally checked that source. It’s hard to do consistently (I know I’ve accidentally spread misinformation before!), but this post is a really good example about why you need to do both. Especially because:

This post is spreading a common misconception about what your Miranda rights are, when they apply, and what they mean. And people in the notes are really, really confused, in a way that – speaking from experience – can do real harm.

(And disclaimer up top: This post is about U.S. law. As such, I’m going to be addressing the parts talking about the law to folks living in the U.S. None of discussion about the law here applies outside of the U.S.)

(Second disclaimer: I am an attorney, but I am not your attorney. I outline some theoretical situations below purely as illustrative examples to make some of the explanations more accessible. Every factual situation is different, the law in every jurisdiction is different. Please do not avoid getting legal advice about your specific situation because you think this post is enough - this is information, not legal advice. If you are arrested and you begin a sentence to your attorney with, “I read on tumblr…,” I will personally come and haunt your dreams.)

Let’s start with a basic question: what are your Miranda rights?

(And I know, you know what your Miranda rights are! You've seen it on TV a dozen times! They're that speech the cops give you when they arrest you!...and if you just agreed with that last statement: please keep reading. Because the cops don't need to read them to you when you are being arrested, unless they are about to start questioning you right then and there.)

This post by the ACLU has a good, simple summary of what are commonly referred to as your Miranda rights, or Miranda warning:

“The Miranda rule, which the Supreme Court recognized as a constitutional right in its 1966 decision Miranda v. Arizona, requires that suspects be informed of their Fifth and Sixth Amendment rights "prior to interrogation" if their statements are to be used against them in court.”

I think it is helpful to think of your Miranda rights as two overlapping things:

The right to be informed of your rights before being asked questions.

The substantive rights you are being informed of.

That is, you have the right:

To remain silent, because anything you say can (and likely will) be used against you in a court of law.

To the presence of an attorney during law enforcement questioning.

And if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you prior to any questioning.

These rights derive directly from the constitution of the United States. They exist independently, regardless of whether you are told about them.

In Miranda v. Arizona, SCOTUS held, “without proper safeguards, the process of in-custody interrogation of persons suspected or accused of crime contains inherently compelling pressures which work to undermine the individual's will to resist and to compel him to speak where he would not otherwise do so freely. In order to combat these pressures and to permit a full opportunity to exercise the privilege against self-incrimination, the accused must be adequately and effectively apprised of his rights, and the exercise of those rights must be fully honored.” Miranda v. Arizona, 384 U.S. 436, 467 (1966).

Essentially, SCOTUS said, look. These rights exist on paper. But if there aren’t procedural protections in place, including and especially telling people that they have these rights, the cops can and will just steamroll over people.

And this is true. Even with Miranda, cops pressure people into false confessions.

So you also have the right to be informed that you have the right to remain silent and you have a right to an attorney before you are questioned by the police while you are in custody.

This is a good place to pause and look at the dependent clauses in that last sentence.

First: You need to be informed of your Miranda rights before you are questioned by the police. Like most rights in the U.S., your Miranda rights exist to protect you from government action. There is not a loophole where you can scream confessions to any crime you want and then when the police come to silently arrest you, they can’t do it because they didn’t read you your rights before you started talking. You always have the right to remain silent (don't talk to the cops, even before they read you your rights); before you are questioned by the police, it is up to you to exercise that right (or not).

Second: While you are in police custody. Again, to quote from Miranda, “An understanding of the nature and setting of this in-custody interrogation is essential to our decisions today.” Miranda 384 U.S., at 445. This doesn’t mean you have to be arrested, but, you do need to be "not free to leave." (This is also why you should also clarify, if you have not already been arrested, "am I free to leave." Because you can be "in custody" before you are arrested. Asking this question puts the burden on the police to either let you leave or trigger your Miranda rights.) For example, this is why if your new buddy Bob in your direct action group asks you all sorts of questions about your protest activities and plans, and then Bob turns out to be an undercover fed, your statements to Bob can be used against you in trial when the government says you were committing crimes. Bob, in fact, did not need to tell you he was a cop, and he did not need to inform you of your rights.

Finally, let’s talk about what happens if your Miranda rights are violated: either because the police didn’t read you your rights and obtain a waiver, or because they did not fully honor the execution of those rights. (For example, you said, “I am invoking my right to remain silent. I am revoking my right to an attorney,” and they locked you in to a room and badgered you with questions until you talked.)  

Again, from Miranda: “Our holding will be spelled out with some specificity in the pages which follow, but, briefly stated, it is this: the prosecution may not use statements, whether exculpatory or inculpatory, stemming from custodial interrogation of the defendant unless it demonstrates the use of procedural safeguards effective to secure the privilege against self-incrimination.” Miranda, 384 U.S., at 444 (1966).

That is: if your Miranda rights were violated, any statement you made as a result of that violation can’t be used against you in your criminal trial. Those statements would be “suppressed,” which means the jury would not be allowed to hear that you made them.

What could this look like in practice?

Let’s say you are arrested for "possessing illegal drugs" and brought to the police station. You walk into the interrogation room, and before the police say anything, you say, "I didn’t know possessing testosterone was illegal!” (Statement 1) The officer then asks, “Where did you get the testosterone?” And you reply, “I bought it on the internet.” (Statement 2).

If I was being asked to analyze this scenario on a law school exam, I would say that Statement 2 probably couldn’t be introduced at trial. You were in custody, and your statement was in response to a direct question by a police officer, asked before you were read your Miranda warnings.

So, your attorney could file a motion, asking the court to “suppress” the statement. And, assuming the court agreed, the jury at your trial would not hear that you said you bought the testosterone on the internet.

But what about Statement 1? Your attorney could still try to suppress the statement, but there is a strong chance they would lose, because when you said you didn't know possessing testosterone was illegal, it wasn't in response any question. So technically, your rights were (probably) not violated, according to the law.

Shorter version of what this means in practice: Don’t talk to the cops! Ever! Invoke your rights and say nothing else!

This is especially true because if you read Miranda, you may have noticed this line:

“If the interrogation continues without the presence of an attorney and a statement is taken, a heavy burden rests on the government to demonstrate that the defendant knowingly and intelligently waived his privilege against self-incrimination and his right to retained or appointed counsel.” Miranda, 384 U.S., at 475.

This “heavy burden” element of Miranda has been, in my opinion, nearly completely whittled away. It is, in observed practice, normally sufficient merely for an officer to testify that of course he read the suspect his Miranda rights, and then the guy just kept talking after making some weird statement about a “lawyer dog.” And the courts will agree that yep, that’s a sufficient waiver! (For more, if you are interested, this publication by a California DA’s office is a bit old, but includes examples of a bunch of circumstances in which courts have found someone waived their rights. Don't talk to the cops. Invoke your rights and then shut the fuck up and keep shutting the fuck up.)

If you can’t tell from my tone, I think this is a horrendous miscarriage of justice that is both baked into our system and that is enacted against far too many people every day. It is something I care, very deeply, about. I think you should care too – as a citizen, because you should know what is going on in your country, what is being done to other people here; and because you may one day be on a jury – and because someday it may be done to you.

And spreading conspiracies about how unusual all this is, how this one saintly man is being targeted – this doesn’t spread awareness of the real problems with the legal system. It allows the impression that the system is otherwise working fine, justice is being done and the only people being treated this badly are the really really bad ones,* and the ones that are being targeted by Them.

*This is not be reading between the lines and extrapolating. OP literally straight up make this claim in another post. We will go into more detail on that later.

And if you want this all in a shorter and more digestible form: this tumblr post has a good breakdown, and I specifically recommend the video at the end.

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Right. So. Now that you have read over a thousand words of background, read a legal decision from the 1960s, read several articles and another tumblr post, and watched a 45 minute video, let’s return to OP’s posts, and the misconception they are spreading.

We are going to put aside for the moment the lie that Mr. Mangione's lawyer said he was angry “because he was never read his miranda rights, etc.” – again, we will get back to that. The underlying idea of these posts is that because Mr. Mangione supposedly wasn’t read his rights, 1) the police didn’t follow basic procedure and 2) therefore, the entire case must get thrown out.

I hope that after reading all of the above, you understand why this is incorrect. But just in case:

The police did not need to read him his rights unless they conducted a custodial interrogation. We have no idea if they did so or not (as OP admits elswhere).

Even if his rights were violated, there is nothing “defacto null and void” about any interrogation. His attorney would have to file a motion to suppress any statements that resulted from that interrogation.

Even upon motion by his attorneys, the judge would not and could not throw out “this entire case.” If he made statements during a custodial interrogation after the police failed to advise him of his Miranda rights, his attorney could file a motion to suppress those statements, and the judge would decide if those statements could be used at trial. Other evidence could still be introduced, including other statements he may have made in other contexts. The posts gesture in the direction of this reality – (“any interrogation they did of him is unlawful, and inadmissible in court”) – but this gesturing is overwhelmed by the rest of the posts (“they have failed to follow basic procedure”; “This is a major red flag of police corruption”; “that alone can get this entire case thrown out”; “[the interrogation is] defacto null and void”).

And indeed, looking through the notes, a large number of people do have this misunderstanding. For example:

 “#They quite literally have to throw your case out if they don’t read you your Mirandas”

“#any 12 year old kid can tell you that the first thing that happens whene you get arrested is your rights!”

(I generally don’t recommend taking legal advice from 12 year olds, especially since most of their experience with the criminal legal system should be coming from media. That said, unfortunately there are far too many 12 years old who do have real life experience with the criminal legal system. That is one of the many fucked up things about the criminal injustice system.)

And I care, because this misunderstanding can do real harm!

I want to return to a sentence I quoted from Miranda earlier: “In order to combat these pressures and to permit a full opportunity to exercise the privilege against self-incrimination, the accused must be adequately and effectively apprised of his rights, and the exercise of those rights must be fully honored.” Miranda, 384 U.S., at 467.

When people don’t have full information about their rights, when they misunderstand them, it makes it much less likely that they will be able to fully and effectively exercise those rights.

For example, someone may feel like it’s okay to talk to the police as long as they haven’t been charged, or their Miranda rights haven’t been read to them – because before the police use your words against you, they have to read you your Miranda rights! This may not even reach the level of a conscious thought, but exist as a general impression that your right to remain silent only matters, is only important, after the police read you your rights.

Or they may, like many people reblogging this post, think hey, wait, isn't it true that if you're arrested and the police never read you your Miranda rights, your case needs to be thrown out!? I was never read my rights, and so my case needs to be thrown out!

And then have to find out they are wrong.

(And if you don’t think that is a real harm – I can tell you, from being on the other side of that conversation as a defense attorney – yes. Yes it is. Part of why I’m being so vitriolic in this response is my knowledge that the spreading of this misinformation makes it more likely that more of those conversations will happen.)

Speaking of the notes: several people in the notes are repeating some variation of the claim that SCOTUS decided that “Miranda rights aren’t required anymore.” This is a misunderstanding of Vega v. Tekoh, 597 U.S. ___ (2022). As I stated up at the top of this post (remember the top of this post? I swear to god this was supposed to be a short response), SCOTUS ruled in Vega that if the police do not read you your rights, you cannot file a civil lawsuit (aka a lawsuit where you are asking for money) against the police. This case is a travesty against the idea of justice, rights, and the rule of law, because it makes it much harder to hold the police accountable for their misconduct.

Multiple people in the notes cited to an ACLU article about the case, including some who actually quoted the article.

And almost every single one of them misunderstood it.

This decision had zero legal effect on how failing to inform someone of their Miranda rights would impact that person’s criminal trial. It has to do with whether the person has any civil remedies. 

And. I think everyone who did this honestly meant well. And I know that understanding the law is really hard – there is a reason law school takes three years and rewires your brain in the process. But. It’s in the article: “While the court’s decision does not as a formal matter reduce the police officer’s obligation to issue Miranda warnings — or what individuals in police custody should do or say (or not do and not say) — it cuts off a critical means by which people whose rights have been violated can actually vindicate the promise of those rights.” (I'm keeping the link from the original because it's a very helpful know your rights article.)

My best guess is that this misunderstanding (to the extent it’s not just people remembering poorly-reported news, or other misinformed social media posts) comes from reading the quoted bit of Kagan’s dissent, where she said, “The majority observes that defendants may still seek ‘the suppression at trial of statements obtained’ in violation of Miranda’s procedures. But sometimes, such a statement will not be suppressed.” And they thought this meant that the case means that statements wouldn’t be suppressed? But that’s just no true: Kagan is just describing a thing that sometimes happens. As in, it is the thing that literally happened to Tekoh, the guy who tried to sue the officer who violated his rights. The statements should have been suppressed, but they weren’t, and so the jury heard the statements.

And, look. There is nothing wrong with not understanding the law. Or even articles talking about the law. The problem is that you need to recognize when you might not understand something, and don’t make claims about the thing you don’t understand.

Because. Again, going back to the bit of Miranda that I keep quoting: you don’t meaningfully have a right if you don’t know about and understand that right. When you go on the internet and spread misinformation about the state of people’s rights, you, in effect, are helping perpetrate the denial of those rights. 

________________________________________________

Alright.

So that is where I originally meant to end this response. But I wanted to know what OP’s source was, so I dug through the notes.

And I found this reply by OP confirming that someone else had found their source in this post.

And. Well.

I normally would give credit to someone for actually having a source. In this case, I’m not even going to credit them with this actually being their source at the time of their original post – their post begins, “Update!," but this article is from early December, and they don't mention it until someone else links to it. But this is what they are claiming as their source.  

And: The article and the attached video interview don’t say what OP says they say. They just. Literally don’t say that. So why does OP claim they do? Let’s look at their post. It begins:

“Some clarification: Miranda rights are the right to know that you have access to legal representation and that any police questioning and interrogation they subject you to are optional, that you are a willing participant of any police questioning and interrogation, that you are not being forced to speak to police or otherwise being interrogated under duress, that you confirm you are not being coerced or threatened by police into providing incriminating information, and that the interrogation can be ended at any time at your request by asking to speak with the legal representation you have the right to call upon. They also detail that if you don't have a private attorney to request, they have to appoint you a public one.”

Now, this is not a terrible description of the *contents* of your Miranda rights. But as we went through above, Miranda held that you have the right to be informed of these rights, which themselves derive from the U.S. Constitution, before being questioned. In fact, the Court in Miranda specifically held, “The Fifth Amendment privilege is so fundamental to our system of constitutional rule, and the expedient of giving an adequate warning as to the availability of the privilege so simple, we will not pause to inquire in individual cases whether the defendant was aware of his rights without a warning being given.” Miranda, 384 U.S., at 468. That is, it doesn’t matter if you know your rights – you still have to be read them. (I’m nitpicking here, I know, but if you are draping yourself in expertise in order to spread misinformation, I am going to nitpick your “clarifications.”) This distinction is important, and actually OP’s next sentence is a good example as to why:

“So for Luigi to not be aware, he would have had to have not even been read those rights.”

“Not to be aware”? Not to be aware of what? Presumably that he had a right to an attorney, I guess?

But the cited article and interview just show his lawyer saying that he didn’t have legal representation until he went into court. (Again, fucked up, especially under the circumstances - but also, many of the clients I had as a Public Defender met me for the first time a few minutes before their first court hearing. Far less unusual than you would hope.) It doesn't say he wasn’t aware that he had the right to an attorney!!

I could go through the poor reasoning here, of assuming that because Mr. Mangione (supposedly) didn’t know he had a right to attorney, that means he wasn’t read his rights, when (again, even if that was true) there could be plenty of other theoretical explanations. Some much worse scenarios, in my opinion! For example, maybe he was read his rights, and asked for an attorney, and was told one wasn’t available and the thought…AND OH MY GOD WHAT AM I DOING – this goes beyond speculation! This is just fanfic! We have literally zero reason to believe any of this happened! The poor reasoning and jumping to conclusions is irrelevant because the thing you are jumping off of is literally just a fantasy you made up in your head!

“It's not clear if he has been interrogated or questioned by police, but it's likely.”

And you know it! You know you are just making stuff up!

“It does mean that if he was questioned or interrogated without being read those rights, anything he said at that time is inadmissible in court and cannot be used against him.”

This is true! It’s also fucking proof, @saint-luigi-of-fiji, that you are a fucking liar, purposefully spreading misinformation. You KNOW what the remedy for a Miranda violation is. You know, or should know, it doesn’t mean “that alone can get this entire case thrown out.”

“Luigi's attorney is explaining that Luigi is fearful and stressed in this footage and during his initial arraignment because he was somehow able to be lead to the conclusion he wasn't going to have legal representation or his own right to a fair trial whatsoever.”

That’s not what he says.

Just.

You can listen to the audio yourself. I’ve roughly transcribed the relevant portion below, but please, please check it out yourself. Don’t take my word for this either. The speaker is Mr. Mangione’s attorney:

“Yeah - that - so, first of all, about this outrage. Uh, you know, he’s irritated, agitated about what’s happening to him and what he’s being accused of. He never had any legal representation until he walked into that building yesterday. Um, and I talked to him. And if you notice - look at the film - look at the difference between when he went in and when he come out. So once he got in, he finally had legal representation. I’d like to think that he had somebody that he can trust, and has faith in. And now he has a-a-a spokesperson. Someone that’s gonna fight for him. Um. And so I think you’ll see a big difference in the demeanor. And I think that part of that - uh - whatever you want to interpret that as yesterday was a lot of the frustration of being a young man thrown in jail, uh, and being accused of very serious matters.”

[News archer speaks, asking if the attorney met Mr. Mangione after the video clip of Mr. Mangione shouting.]

“That’s correct. I...[speaking over each other]…no actually, that was in the holding area. And I was on the other side of that. So my first contact with him, visually, was before I even had the chance to speak to him, was him coming through that door, and you, you saw the interaction between he and the sheriff’s department. And – and – then, look at the, look at the video of him coming out, and look at the difference. He’s now had legal counsel. I, I was upset that he didn’t have any legal counsel prior to that. That extradition hearing came upon pretty quick. And he hadn’t talked to anybody.”

(emphasis added by me)

The claim that OP is making is specifically about why Mr. Mangione was upset. So I added, for emphasis, every time the lawyer made a claim about someone being upset, and the reason. His attorney says repeatably that Mr. Mangione was upset because he has been arrested, held in jail, and been accused of very serious matters. The lawyer also says that he, personally, is upset that Mr. Mangione did not have an attorney prior to their meeting.

There is not even a whisper of an implication of a suggestion that Mr. Mangione “was under the impression at that time that he was being denied the right to a fair trial, an attorney, or any legal representation.”

This is just a fucking lie. It isn’t in the article, it isn’t in the video, it is literally just stuff you made up, and are pretending is reality. This isn’t a misunderstanding, this isn’t a game of telephone - it’s just a lie.

YOU ARE LITERALLY STRAIGHT UP LYING. AND FOR FUCKING WHAT. Is it because you believe that the injustices of the criminal legal system are fucking fine when they apply to other people, people who aren’t “saints”? (Because actually the bad people, the really guilty people, should just be killed.) Or because you have decided to form a parasocial bond with a man experiencing some of the worst things this country does to people, making up fantasies about him, and his personal life, and how he really feels.

Other people’s real suffering is not a playground for you to write your fanfic* and pretend it is reality, especially when in doing so, you spread real misinformation and harm.

*To be upfront on my biases and clear on my objection: RPF is very much not my cup of tea, but I don’t think it is inherently immoral. My specific objection here is that this person is collapsing reality into their fanfic, specifically spreading misinformation and encouraging conspiracy theories to make reality more like their fun, consumable escapism.

And again, to be clear: OP knows they are making this up. In another post, they say, “Source is CNN, and here's daily beast reuploading the CNN interview. It might not be coming up because the words "Miranda rights" weren't used, but they are the rights that haven't been given to him if he was not at any point aware he was going to have access to attorneys or legal counsel.”

OP could try to argue they misunderstood, but again, in his interview, at no point does his attorney even suggest something that could be reasonably construed as implying “he was not at any point aware he was going to have access to attorneys or legal counsel.”

“Thankfully he now has four attorneys, including Dickey, who are defending him and you can see he is no longer having 'outbursts' out of fear.”

Point me to the time stamp in your "source" where his attorney suggests Mr. Mangione was doing anything “out of fear.”

“Whatever happened during his arrest and detainment, he wasn't given any indication of his rights. But he thankfully does have those rights, and attorneys.”

Again, this is just…fanfic. There is no other word for you. You are writing fanfic (fine) and passing it off as reality because…it matches the dramatic narrative you want? It makes your uwu hotboy a real martyr, unlike all those vicious “cannibals” who are usually charged with crimes?

And yeah. That’s really what OP thinks. From another post by this asshole: “Was then placed in solitary confinement for weeks. Something extremely damaging psychologically to be exposed to for even just a few days. Something usually reserved for cannibals.”

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Look. I actually went back and revised this post to make it less vitriolic, OP, because my goal is not to hurt you.* I hope you have no idea of the kind of harm you are causing. But my god, you are saying and doing monstrous things, and you need to fucking stop.

*I will also haunt the dreams of anyone who harasses OP. Don't even think about going into their inbox.

_____________________________________________________

Ok.

So just to round things out, I’ll quickly address the rest of the claims in OP’s second post above:

 “You didn't DNA test him because New York sidewalk is too contaminated, didn't fingerprint him because you don't have usable fingerprints at the scene,”

According to the police, they did take his fingerprints. I don't trust statements by the police, but this is a routine part of booking, so I would be surprised if they didn’t.

I don’t know if they took his DNA. But for what it’s worth, it’s currently not legal in Pennsylvania for the police to collect routine DNA samples upon arrest. So I’m not sure what the objection is here..?

As far as I can tell, although I don’t know where OP is getting this because they don't cite a souce, this claim appears to originate from people misunderstanding the “Defendant Identification Information” section of the Pennsylvania complaint.

“you have no way of knowing he's even the right guy, no one can identify that it's him in the footage, even fbi facial recognition software can't recognize him as the cctv suspect”

Look. To give you an idea of the problems here: let’s say this is all true. All of the reasons the police have given as to why he is the person who killed that evil CEO are dismantled by his legal team.

The place to do that, in our legal system, is the trial. These are questions of fact, which are decided at trial. I don’t want to say trials are a good way of finding fact. In fact, they often result in miscarriages of justice. But in our legal system, facts are decided at trial. Even if the judge agreed with all of the above, they wouldn’t and couldn’t throw this entire case out, because that’s not how this works!

I also want to emphasize, again, that this isn’t the system targeting Mr. Mangione. There are people every day who you don’t care about (“nobodies,” to use the term OP used to refer to ordinary people who are shot in the post linked above - because literally they don’t care about anyone except their fantasy version of Mr. Mangione) who are charged, and held, and convicted, on very little evidence. Which is a grave injustice that should frustrate and incite you, not lead you to post conspiracies and misinformation.

“you interrogated him under duress, and that's the ONLY thing you have on him? The thing that's defacto null and void because none of you can follow even basic procedure?”

And we’ve gone through this exhaustively, but Jesus fucking Christ.

You l know that you’re just making the “interrogation” up. Like, yes, maybe there will be evidence in the future there was an interrogation! And maybe there will be allegations or reason to believe there was impropriety and/or illegality in that interrogation! But right now, this is just your fantasy, and you're passing it off to thousands of people as real information

And like, I agree with his defense attorney! I take claims of evidence, especially from the police, with enough salt to brine a boar! But there is a massive difference between, “I will wait for confirmation of actual evidence before I believe any claims” and just…claiming the opposite is true without evidence.

____________________________________________________

I will end with this coda:

There is plenty of bullshit to talk about regarding this situation. Both in how it is being talked about by the news, and how it is proceeding (and especially in how he is being charged). But part of that bullshit is this rampant conspiracy theorizing.

If this situation leads to people recognizing the problems with the criminal injustice system, great! But:

Conspiracy thinking is bad, no matter where it is directed. And there is reason to believe that thinking conspiratorially (in general) is strongly predictive for believing in other conspiracy theories.

The impression I’m getting from many people, not just OP, is less, “it’s terrible that people accused of crimes are treated this way” and more, “the fact this [both innocent and morally good] person is being treated this way indicates that he is being specifically targeted by the System.” [Implied: it either doesn’t happen to other people, or it does happen to other people and they deserve it.]

And on that note, I do not "hope [it] is true" that Mr. Mangione’s rights were violated. Because he's a human being, not just a guy who represents something people support; their uwu hotboy; their real life blorbo.

I hope that if he did not do it, he is not convicted. Regardless of whether or not he did it, as someone who believes in prison abolition, I hope he does not have to spend one more day incarcerated. I wish all of the attention and resources being dedicated to catching and prosecuting and covering him in the media (and more) were being dedicated to doing something – anything – against the murderous for-profit healthcare system in the U.S.

And in conclusion:

Check the sources before you believe or spread a claim.

Don’t make claims about the law if you don’t really understand it.

Don’t make up facts.

Don’t talk to the cops.

Update! Luigi's Attorney Dickey confirms that his "outburst" where he tells the cameras that this is unjust, was because he was never read his miranda rights and was under the impression at that time that he was being denied the right to a fair trial, an attorney, or any legal representation.

He is angry and terrified in that footage because they have failed to follow basic procedure to inform him that he has any rights at all. This is a major red flag of police corruption. This is UNACCEPTABLE and further means any interrogation they did of him is unlawful, and inadmissible in court.

[mulloey]

1:43am

super soft dom!yunho x innocent subby!reader, kind of corruption, implied virginity maybe?? yunho is HUGE,, lots of praise #mulloey is beating the ‘only writes mean yunho’ allegations today!

rqs open :)

—

“that’s it.” it comes out as a grunt, his face flushed as he forces his way inside you. your walls are clinging to him, strangling really, and it takes every ounce of strength not to drop all pretence of gentleness and just fuck you senseless right here and now.

but you’re too sweet for that; the look in your eyes is too loving and innocent for him to possibly hurt you in that way. you’re sniffling, teary-eyed with wet lips as you suck his thumb like it’s the only thing keeping you from breaking. “oh, fuck,” he groans. “so tight f’me, aren’t you?”

you whine, shaking hands clasped around his arm as he stretches you open. “y-yuyu,” you gasp. “nngh, hurts..”

“i know, baby,” he coos. “won’t hurt for much longer, yeah? just be good and open up for me, i’ll take care of you.”

you’re trying your best, he knows you are, but you’ve never taken anything like him before. he curses under his breath; at this rate he’s going to cum before he’s even started moving. you’re just too tight.

“baby,” he says. “gimme my hands back, okay? need em to push deeper, honey.”

he pulls his thumb from your mouth; you don’t have time to whine at the loss before he picks up your own hand, pushing your smaller fingers past your lips. “there’s a good girl,” he says. “suck your fingers, sweetheart, i’ve got you.”

he presses both of his hands down on your hips, holding you still and steady so he can finally get all the way in. he feels the moment you relax around him; the loud, pained squeals soften into low, pleasured moans and he smiles, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “there we go,” he coos. “you did it baby. i’m so proud of you.”

you grunt, squeezing your eyes shut. “yuyu, fuck— please move, i need—”

“sh, sh,” he smiles. “don’t worry, baby. i’m gonna fuck you now, gonna split you the fuck open. you want that?”

“please,” you groan. it’s muffled by your fingers still stuffed in your mouth and he can’t help but coo. he loves his pretty girl so fucking much. “please, yu. wanna— wanna feel you.”

“just relax,” he says. “don’t tense, pretty. just let me use you and you’re gonna feel me everywhere.”

—

didn’t tag ppl cus this is super short n im not sure if ppl would wanna be tagged in short things or only my full fics.. hope u liked tho!

(as a side note,, for all my girlies/whoever who have struggled to make it fit at first this one goes out to u:)) it’s a super normal problem, with my first bf it took me several months to be able to fit him in at all even tho he was average! not every ‘first time’ (or even times after that) goes as well as it does in fics so you could easily imagine this as being their 10th, 11th time trying this bc sometimes ur body just won’t cooperate with ur brain ! see a doc if it’s bothering you but it’ll get better<3 love🖤🖤🖤)

[illbegottenfaith]

kiss me better, love

as the two of you stumble into bed after a Valentine's dinner date, theo realises it's not fair how much he loves you (theo nott x reader)

a/n - valentines fic #2 !!!! thought of this idea in a class literally 5 hours ago and idk if its the sleep deprivation but this is sooo self-indulgent writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet frfr 😭 all I have to say is if this isnt me and my future partner I dont want him I send him BACK

tropes/warnings - physical touch as a love language, angry theo but also soft theo 🥰🥰 no (read: minimal) proof reading we die like men etc etc

word count - 1.5k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @ebriton @thaliashifts @friedfreyfries @allie-sturns

The door shuts behind you both, plunging the room into near-darkness. You barely take a step before bumping into Theo, your knee knocking against his thigh, your hands flying to his shoulders as you stumble.

"Merlin,” he mutters, steadying you with a grip at your waist. “Can you - ”

“You're the one barging into me,” you shoot back, tucking a lock behind your ear as you tighten your grip on Theo’s shoulder, making him wince.

“Anyway, like I was saying, it hasn’t even been a week since Missy - ”

Theo exhales sharply, blindly reaching for the zipper at your back. “Is this something I really need to be hearing right now?” he asks somewhat waspishly.

“Yes.” You barely register his tone, still preoccupied. “So I walk into Charms in Tuesday, expecting to find Josh understandably distraught and/or in mourning. But who do I see him chatting up instead?"

"Hair."

You gather your hair up in one hand to hold it up and go right on talking. You barely notice Theo's largely ineffective attempts at pushing your sleeves off your shoulders.

"Pansy Parkinson! Pansy flipping Parkinson. What, does he think he's a free man now or something? Melissa's halfway across the world, she's not dead."

"Mhm."

You sigh exaggeratedly at his lackluster responses.

“Well? Don't you have to anything to add?"

“Yeah - hold still.” You This is just ridiculous, Theo was thinking. What kind of dress needed buttons and a zip?

You huff, switching your hair to your other hand. “Honestly, Theo, have you listened to a single thing I’ve been saying the past hour?”

Theo groans, still fumbling at your lower back. He had figured out the buttons were decorative, bless him, but your dress was on the more delicate side, and if he ripped it, he'd never hear the end of it. “Uh, yeah, that Abernathy guy...he’s two-timing Melissa?"

“He is not,” you say, peering over your shoulder to see what was taking Theo so long. Seriously, what was going on back there? It doesn't help, though, not when you can barely make him out in the dark. “not yet at least. He might. And if he's going to, well, isn't it better she finds out now rather than ten years down the road? Or am I an awful friend for thinking that?"

"Thinking what?" Theo asks distractedly.

"Willing my best friend's boyfriend into cheating on her."

Before he can formulate a response, your stubborn zipper finally decides to cooperate and moves down an inch - snagging at his finger. A sharp hiss cuts through the dark, followed by some emphatic, muttered swearing.

You pause.

“…what was that?”

Theo slips his injured finger out of his mouth briefly, his voice strained as he struggles to keep the pain out of his tone. “Nothing.”

You shift slightly, trying to catch his expression in the dark, but he’s suspiciously still now, his hands nowhere on you anymore.

“Theo.”

“I’m fine.”

Your brow furrows. Then, his suddenly subdued demeanour and oddly neutral tone clicks in your head.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

There’s an immediate rustle, followed by Theo’s very delayed attempt at nonchalance.

“…no.”

Oh, you could throttle him. “Was it the zip again?”

“You keep saying that like I do it intentionally - I never mean to-”

“And now you're trying to suck the pain away like a child?”

“Would you rather I bleed all over your dress?”

“I’d rather you watch what you’re doing so you don’t get maimed by a bloody zip in the first place!”

Theo exhales sharply, his frustration palpable. “I keep telling you - I don't-”

“You never mean to, but here we are.” You cross your arms. “Third time in two weeks, Theo. This is getting ridiculous. Should I hire a nurse for our dates? A medic? Do you need to start taking my clothes off under medical supervision? Is that what we've come to?"

Theo glares at you (or the shadowy figure he was mostly sure was you), trying to pull his attention away from the stinging pain. “Oh, don’t start - ”

“You don’t think before you do things.”

Theo groans. “I think plenty.”

“No, you rush plenty. Really, it’s a miracle you still have all your limbs -”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

“First, you burn yourself on my curling iron -”

“Okay, one, you shouldn't be leaving your things out like that.”

“Then you cut yourself opening a tin of biscuits -”

Theo tips his head back in exasperation. “You sh - you literally shoved it at me!”

“ - and now my zipper is out to get you?” You throw your hands up. “What are you telling me, Teddy? That every item I own has a personal vendetta against you?”

"Mattheo agrees with me, you know," you continue smugly, in a so-there kind of tone. "He told me about that time you nearly broke your neck falling down that flight of stairs on the way to Transfiguration, which wouldn't have happened if you weren't - "

"Rushing, I know." Theo steps back as if to escape. “Merlin, you are insufferable - ”

“And you are reckless.”

“I don't need you to lecture me.”

“You’d be fine if you just listened to m - show me your finger.”

A brief struggle ensues.

You lunge; he sidesteps. You fumble blindly for his hand; he twists out of reach.

“For fuck’s sake -”

“Stop being so difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult, you’re being a menace.”

“At least I don't get mauled by zippers.”

“I'm telling you, that zipper has it out for me."

“Well, maybe if you weren’t always in such a bloody rus - ”

“Enough with the rushing!”

“I can't help it if you never learn - ”

“I do learn,” he snaps, stepping back further - only for you to grab onto his wrist and pull.

There’s a shuffle, a scuffle as Theo stumbles back into the dresser with a thud.

“Oi - ”

“Oh, stop squirming, you big baby.”

“You stop grabbing- ”

“Theodore, you are injured. Act like it.”

“I am n- ”

“Then give me your hand.”

A long, heavy pause. Then -

“No.”

You groan, exasperated. “Merlin, you are the most - ”

“And you are relentless - ”

But at last, in an impressive show of determination, you manage to latch onto his wrist, wrenching his hand towards you before he can twist away again. Theo groans in frustration, but you’ve already found the wound—his fingertip, warm and damp against yours.

“Oh, for - ” You tighten your grip as he tries to pull away. “You are bleeding!”

Theo tenses, his entire body bristling. “It’s nothing.”

“On my zipper,” you say incredulously. “Again.”

He exhales sharply as if this is somehow your fault. “You don’t need to make a whole production of it - ”

“I told you to be careful - ”

“And I was - ”

“Clearly not enough!”

Theo groans, tipping his head back against the dresser. “I’m buying you a tear-away dress next Valentine’s.”

You bite back a smirk. “I’d like to see you figure that one out.”

He mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but you’re already bringing his hand up, brushing your lips over the wound.

He stills.

The fight, the irritation, the tension - all of it dissolves instantly under your touch.

You press another kiss there, softer this time. Through a sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains, he sees your face - your impish expression, your eyes, alight with amusement and plain adoration. You watch his face too - his furrowed brows relaxing, the slight part of his lips, his sharp features softened by something indiscernible.

His eyes flick to yours.

And Merlin, it’s not fair, he thinks. It’s not fair how you can drive him to the brink of insanity one second and then look at him like that the next, like you could never get your fill. It's enough to make him think you're worth all the trouble you put him through. It's enough to make him want to slow down. Merlin knows the last thing he wants is to rush through his days with you.

“…better?” you murmur against his skin after a moment.

Theo exhales, rolling his eyes as though he isn’t already relenting. "It's a start," he says grudgingly.

Your smile widens as you bring his hand up again, pressing another kiss there, then another, then another.

Theo groans, tipping his head back again, his frustration dwindling with every sympathetic brush of your lips.

“You like this,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, but his voice has softened, his body relaxing into yours.

You grin, pressing a kiss to his wrist. Then his palm.

Theo groans again, for reasons unrelated to his earlier irritation, his fingers curling at your waist.

You laugh softly. “Want me to kiss you better everywhere?”

Theo smiles weakly, pulling you closer. “That's the best idea you've had all night."

[henry7931]

Billy’s College Adventure Part 3

Samuel:

“Good Morning,” says Billy to me from my body.I almost have to do a double take after seeing myself laying next to me.

“Morning,” I say with a grin.

“So it’s Saturday, what do you have planned for us Mr. Bodythief?,”

“Well you’re gonna just have to dressed to find out,” I say back.

“Booooo!!!”

I stand up and Billy tosses a pillow at me.

“Relax! I’ll tell you more, let’s just get ready,” I say winking at him.

We both get dressed and it took all of my energy not to ask him if we could hook up in the shower.

I’m starting to really like Billy but I have this weird thing about getting too attached to a guy. Especially with the assholes I’ve dated in the past. I’ve just been burned too many times although Billy seems different…

I don’t know…I just don’t want him to think I’m too clingy. Which I now realize is an oxymoron since we are literally in each other’s bodies.

Anyways enough about my feels.

Billy and I head back to my apartment.

“This place looks familiar,” says Billy sarcastically.

“It’s not much especially compared to your place but it’s my temporary home,” I say back.

“Ohhh come this isn’t bad at all!”

“Billy you’re in a full ass house,” I say rolling my eyes.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m just the rich privileged kid.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re at least aware,” I say pushing your shoulder.

“So what’s the game plan? Are we just gonna stand around in your apartment?”

“ No. I need the book that my great uncle left me.”

I head into my room and open up my closet. I grab the book from the top shelf.

“So Billy, are you ready to put your powers to test?”

“Geez, I think so.”

“Good!”

I start scrolling through the book digging for the part where it talks about the power of having to swappers.

“Here it is!”

I’d start skimming through it and get to a specific part.

I start reading aloud, “ one swapper is powerful, but their abilities can be limited… but with two swappers now that’s some real power. Rarely in our culture you will see two swappers who are capable of getting along… But if two swappers can conjoin powers together, they can do some really interesting things. For instance, swapping and creating a new reality . Two swappers have the ability to swap two individuals bodies, and change the perception of reality where both individuals think that the body they are in has always been their body. Essentially, neither one of them know that they are swapped and everyone else around them thinks that has been their body the whole time.”

I stopped reading for a second and look up a Billy to see what his thoughts were about what I just read.

“ are you gonna keep going?”

“ well yeah, what do you think though?”

“ I think that’s pretty freaking cool. I mean it could be a little bit messed up, but I’m kind of interested to try it.”

“ Really? Are you 100% sure?”

“ yeah let’s do it!”

I continue to read the rest of the page and I get through all of the instructions.

“ OK Billy, now we have to find some guinea pigs.”

“ I mean, should we start with someone we know or try it with a stranger first?”

“ Well I think I controlled environment would be best. Somewhere where we cant let them walk away and lose them immediately after the swap.”

“Smart!”

“ I’m a genius right? Also, Billy, this doesn’t have to be the first one we try.”

“Wait, what else can two swappers do?”

“Do you want me to tell you about all the other swap powers or can I jump right to the one I really want to try?”

"HOW MANY MORE ARE THERE?!?"

"Let's start with this one, third party possession. Or I like to call it-- a person puppet. Basically one of us can take over someone body without leaving the one we are in habiting. It's like two bodies at once."

"Does that person know that you or I have taken over their body?"

"No... I have read this one over a couple of times now. Basically they will be in a unaware state while one of us are in control."

"Okay, I guess that one sounds less chaotic. Who should we try it on?"

I thought about it for a minute and then I had someone in mind. I peaked out at the window to see if my neighbor was home.

"I got someone who could work," I say with a mischievous grin.

“Who?”

“My neighbor Reid, you’ll like him or at least his body lol.”

“Wait am I going to possess him?!?”

“Yeah, I think you’ll like it.”

“Fuck, fine! Let’s do this!!”

I grab Billy’s or I guess my hands and say, “I want you to focus. Thinking about all of your powers almost like you’re about to swap with someone, okay?”

“Got it.”

“Now close your eyes and picture a part of yourself floating out of my body, not all of yourself… just a part.”

“Okay…”

“Can you see it?”

It takes a minute for Billy to focus but then I see our hands and they start glowing a bit.

“I can see it,” he says softly.

“Great, now picture that second half of you floating out the window to the house door.”

Billy’s closed eyes move shut.

“I’m in the neighbor’s house… I can see everything inside. Wait, I hear someone… sleeping… now I’m in his room. Holy shit! I can see him!!”

“Really?!? Now Billy this is what you’re going to do next, float into him. Doesn’t matter how you do it.”

Billy’s eyes spring open and he says, “I’m in him. I feel his body… it’s so strange Sam. I’m him and I’m me.”

“Well come on over lol!”

“Okay one sec.”

A few minutes later and our front door swings open. It’s my neighbor’s body.

“What’s up you sexy fellas!!”

I turn to Billy and then back at Reid’s body as they are both grinning cheek to cheek.

I watch as Billy coordinates Reid’s body over to a chair.

“Look at these muscles Sam!,” says Reid’s body

“Fuck this is so hot! I’m watching myself control him, it’s like I can do some kind of strange role play. Wait a minute!!”

Reid’s body tugs off his tank top and then his shoes and socks.

He stares down at the giant feet and says, “they’re big.”

I watch as he picks up foot and smells it. He rubs Reid face all over his massive foot.

“This is so wrong but I’m so turned on. You’re gonna either have to watch or join us.”

Billy still in my body walks over to the giant hunk and reaches into his shorts.

They say in unison, “that feels good.”

I was starting to get hard just watching both bodies interact. Billy started running my hands over Reid’s muscles.

He pulls off Reid shorts and underwear. His dick comes out and both of us marvel at the giant cock.

“Let’s take turns with it,” he says from Reid’s body. “Shit I meant to say that from your body!”

We both laugh and I say, “All good lol, bedroom?”

“Great idea! You fellas are gonna have fun with me aren’t you? Especially this giant cock!,” says Reid’s body standing up while shaking his dick.

“Yes sir,” I say to him.

Billy picks me up in Reid’s arms and carries me to my bed.

We all three climb in and Billy asks me, “could you tend Reid’s junk.”

“Sure!!”

I grab onto the massive dick girthy dick. It’s surprising to see just how big it is.

“Are you gonna just stare it or suck it?,” says Reid’s body.

I turn to Billy down by Reid’s feet. He’s giggling and says, “sorry, I have two hard dick right now!”

I try to take as much of Reid’s I could fit in my mouth. It’s just so big. I get the entire thing wet and use a hand to work the shaft and his big hairy balls.

Billy on the other hand pulls off my pants and begins using Reid’s feet for a foot job.

Both of them moan in unison and say, “FUCK! You have no idea how amazing this feels!!”

I pump Reid’s dick faster and faster…

Both of them moan louder and louder….

Billy in my body reaches up under his ass cheeks and fondles his my body’s cock for me.

“LET ME FINISH IN MY MOUTH PLEASE SAM!,” he screams out.

I’m forcing Billy’s throat down on Reid’s dick.

Both of them scream out, “FUCKKKKKKKK!!!!”

That’s when rounds of cum squirt down my throat. It fills my throat and I can’t take anymore.

I look down at Reid’s dick and it’s still pouring more and more out.

Billy in my body cums all over Reid’s feet both of them grinning.

I fall back on the bed and both my body and Reid’s body with Billy still in control use themselves to give me every inch of pleasure.

Billy in my body climbs to my face and start making out. He twist’s his actual body’s sensitive nipples. Meanwhile Reid’s body sucking me off and tickling Billy body’s ballsack.

I can’t only take so much before I blew my load into Reid’s mouth…

All three or two… I don’t know… we just lay back cuddled up.

I turn to Billy in my body and say, “That was amazing.”

Billy grins and says, “we are definitely going to try this again!”

[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

He’d do anything to please her.

YES. I WANT HIM, CARNALLY. PLEASE 😭

“Dimitri, I’m the former best friend.” 

There's a reason why its former, bitch.

“Yeah, well, not anymore.” You say softly, feeling smaller and smaller under his gaze. You take a small step back, and you feel Billy’s hand find a spot on your back to remind you that he’s here.

If i could posses Billy to smack the ever living shit out of this fucker, I would. Get him, pookie~

“I was,” the other man states, “but she’s got some problems and I just wanted to give you a heads up, man to man.”

Bitch does not know what the meaning of friendship is. Please kill him.

“Go home and cut your arm off.” Billy says, watching the man’s eyes widen in shock.

AYEEEEEEE

“Billy, no.” You murmur, finally finding the words to interrupt him.

AYEeeeee? why?!?!?!?!

Perhaps you should have been angry with him.

Girl .......lesbihonest, come on 😂 That was peak Billy Russo right there.

Or was this just you trying to excuse your involvement in Dimitri’s punishment?

Tbh, it wasnt that bad. If Dimitri died, no one would miss him. It's fine.

“Is that what you think I am?” You ask softly, “A lesson to be learned? Something to be taken away from you?”

BACK TO THE SMUT. BACK TO THE SMUT!!! This is not fair 😭😭😭 why must you hurt us this way????

“I should have killed him.” Billy finally says, and when you finally meet his eyes, you see them red, angry on your behalf.

True, bestie. You're already accustomed to Hell anyways, what's one more sin?

“Nah, killing him would be too easy. Having him live to see me happy would be way worse outcome for him. People with those kind of mindsets, well, they have ways of making their lives worse all on their own.”

......have you ever thought that they wouldn't care? That they're too self obsessed to care? I really want him dead. Can you tell? 😭😭😭

Omg, I can finally read fics again 💖 Billy Russo, I missed you 💖

An Altar For Our Sins

Part 8 // Masterlist

Demon!Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral (both f and m receiving), fingering, edging, bondage, cum swallowing, heavy angst, talks of murder and (mild) decapitation, mind control, psychological torment, mentions of toxic and manipulative friendships.

Your arousal burns through him.

It’s not like your pain, it doesn’t slide like a needle between the layers of his skin, awakening discomfort that makes his heart beat in a worrisome rhythm.

Your arousal is different. New to him, and still a little unfamiliar, but he knows it when he feels it. It’s like a soft hand on his skin, the ghost of your touch trailing from his ear down his neck. It’s the sensation of your fingers drifting into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp and makes the hairs on his arms stand on end.

That’s how he knows you’re aroused, when it feels like you’re touching him all over all at once, when realistically, you’re currently just holding his hand.

He finds great appreciation for the feeling, as you tug him through the busy streets. He doesn’t know what you’re looking for, too caught up in your emotions to focus on the destination. 

It’s odd, he’s never felt someone else like this before, never given anyone the opportunity to. 

A strange pleasure courses through him, that he’s the one responsible for your arousal, that his earlier actions have made you excited, and desperate for him. 

His mistress wants him.

He’d do anything to please her.

.

.

TEN MINUTES AGO.

Billy has seen his fair share of assholes to know when he’s looking at one.

He’d almost wiped the six-foot tall man clean off the face of the earth for trying to hug you, before absently remembering he was in a public place.

If that wasn’t enough of a reason, he could see the way you were discomforted by the brunette’s appearance, the faux pleasantness of your smile, the stiffness of your shoulders. Billy was aching for blood just at the idea that you might not want to interact with this human at all.

When the man had asked about him, you’d glanced back with that same forced smile.

“Oh, this,” you'd said with barely any hesitation, “This is Billy, my boyfriend.”

The words echo in his head. He looks down at you, feeling his mind rage with the desire to take you. He’s surprised he’s still able to formulate a thought with the way he wants to drop to his knees and sink his tongue into your cunt.

He feels something expand in his chest. His mistress, claiming him in front of others so easily, so readily, made him into a beast of a man, filled with so much want for just a few moments.

The man extends his hand to Billy, and Billy at least musters the courtesy to shake his hand without shattering all the fragile bones beneath the skin, introducing himself.

“Dimitri, I’m the former best friend.” 

He nods in acknowledgement, thinking that it’s a little odd to go around introducing yourself like that.

He looks at you, takes a deep breath.

“Wow, you look amazing.” Dimitri says, and Billy wants to rip his eyeballs out of his skull for even daring to look at you.

.

Your skin crawls at his comment. You swallow, smiling and try to accept it, wishing for this interaction to be over with.

“Thanks, Dima.” You whisper softly, using his nickname accidentally.

His smile widens.

“We should hang out sometime, catch up, you wouldn’t believe the things I have to tell you.”

You blink, wondering why he was so friendly to you, as if the last time you’d spoken had never happened.

You try not to think about it.

“That might be nice,” You say politely, “But, I’m so swamped with things I have to do, and I might be travelling soon too.”

“Really? Where do you work now?”

Fuck, how do you get out of this one?

“I’m not really working anymore, just sort of… freelance.” You hoped it was enough to deter him from asking any more questions.

Dimitri only tilts his head in confusion.

“Really? That’s a bold move. I remember how much you used to struggle with being independent back in college.”

You swallow forcefully.

“Yeah, well, not anymore.” You say softly, feeling smaller and smaller under his gaze. You take a small step back, and you feel Billy’s hand find a spot on your back to remind you that he’s here.

Dimitri looks up at Billy, and you can almost tell that something awful is about to be said.

At the same time, you notice the woman helping you from before approaches, and it somehow helps to see her coming your way.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says with an easy smile, “I just need confirmation of a contact number?”

You nod at her, knowing that Billy doesn’t have that information.

“I can help,” You offer, following when she angles her body to head back to her customer help desk. 

“Bye, Dimitri.” You say quickly, hoping he takes the hint and leaves. 

.

Dimitri doesn’t leave.

Instead, he turns to Billy.

“I don’t know how long you’ve been with her, but I have to warn you. Honestly, I wish someone had warned me before I put so much effort into getting to know her.”

Billy sucks in a deep breath, glancing at you, before looking back at the man in question.

“Warn me about what?”

“She’s got… issues, big ones, and she leads people on and then gets upset when they… respond… if you know what I mean.” Dimitri says.

Billy’s trying hard not to lose his cool.

“I thought you were just her friend.” He says easily.

“I was,” the other man states, “but she’s got some problems and I just wanted to give you a heads up, man to man.”

.

You’re waiting patiently for the woman to enter your number into the system when you feel uninhibited rage swell in the back of your throat.

Your mouth falls open in surprise, breath halting in your chest as raw anger claws its way into your head.

You turn your head quickly to glance at Billy, who’s got his eyes fixed on the shorter man, the look on his face is calm rage, like a snake, coiling tight before an attack.

The woman at the counter, having no idea of the rage swarming your system, smiles at you and thanks you for your time. 

You can only give her a distracted nod, walking back to Billy quickly. He looks down at Dimitri, raising an eyebrow casually.

“I don’t see much of a man.” Billy says, and you blink in surprise, wondering what was said when you weren’t there.

Dimitri, not one to swallow insults easily, straightens, squares his shoulders angrily trying to make himself look bigger, more intimidating. You stand a small distance away, too stunned to interrupt the conversation fully.

“Go to hell. I was only trying to give you a heads up. She’s going to smile at you, and beg for comfort and make you think that she’s in love with you, and the minute you take her seriously, she’s going to push you away.”

You blink, looking away, a sharp spear in your chest at the reminder of the things he’d said all those years ago.

It’s the look on Billy’s face that holds you transfixed. He’s angry, his body completely still and for the first time you’re not sure about what he’s going to do next.

Shamefully, the look in his eyes goes right down to your core. This was the man that was capable of taking lives, and though you had somewhat domesticated him, this was what lay beneath the surface at every waking moment. This was the oncoming devastation, and you could feel the rage, his rage, hit a breaking point inside of you.

“Go home and cut your arm off.” Billy says, watching the man’s eyes widen in shock.

“Billy, no.” You murmur, finally finding the words to interrupt him.

He huffs, looking down at you for a second.

“One hand?” Billy offers, and receives a shake of your head.

“Two fingers?” he tries again with the same reaction.

“Fine,” Billy sighs, “One finger, but that’s as low as I’m going.”

“Billy.” You admonish.

He looks back at Dimitri angrily.

“You have no idea how amazing she is.” he says, anger rolling heavily in his words, the colour of his influence cloudy in Dimitri’s eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with her. There never was, and there never will be and you’re lucky that she’s so kind cause I’m ready to make you eat your leg off for her entertainment.” He watches Dimitri swallow.

“So go home, cut your finger off, wrap it, and go to a hospital, and you better thank whatever god there is, that she doesn’t hold grudges.”

When Dimitri is two steps away, Billy speaks again.

“Oh, and Dima?” Billy says mockingly, watching the man turn back with a terrified expression on his face.

“Let’s forget about this, yeah?”

He only nods before scurrying away.

.

.

Perhaps you should have been angry with him.

But there was something about the coolness of his anger now, the way you could almost feel the fire burning inside of him, like red hot steel being plunged into frigid water. 

The way he’d acknowledged your protests, but still finding some way to punish your old friend, like a balance being struck between your disposition and his. 

In truth, you knew it was a very wrong thing, but you also found yourself barely caring as you reached for his hand, and pulled him out of the store.

You try to be reasonable in your head about it, Billy could have killed him out of your sight and you would never know, so this had to be a better alternative…

…right?

Or was this just you trying to excuse your involvement in Dimitri’s punishment?

Regardless, you couldn’t feel your morality at the moment, all you could feel was the empty space inside you, begging to be filled, to be used by him.

And you needed it now.

.

You tug him into the first cafe you find. 

With a lovely outdoor theme to the interior, earth tones and the smell of coffee in the air, you definitely make a little note in your head to come back later.

You’re not thinking too much about anything though, simply following the signs that point to the bathroom.

Billy doesn’t even question when you tug him into the ladies’ room and then into a spacious stall with a door that goes all the way down to the floor.

The stall door barely has any time to close, before you’re pressing your body against his, rising onto your toes and holding on to the back of his neck to bring his face down.

Your eyes close as your mouths mesh together. You hear a little groan slip from the back of his throat.

His hands grip your hips, and when it’s not enough, his arms encircle your waist, crushing your body to his in one swift move.

You can't help the little laugh of surprise that leaves your mouth at his display of enthusiasm, grinning against his eager mouth for a moment. He returns your amusement with a smile of his own, and a dark promise in his eyes that reminds you of who he is, and what he's capable of.

It happens like a switch flipping inside of you, in one second you’re eager to kiss him, blissful with the idea of finally getting his mouth on yours. But it’s the way his mouth feels, the way his hair catches on your fingertips and his beard scratches your cheek that turns gentle need into something indescribable.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, leaning into him, little whines slip from your mouth when you feel like he’s too far away.

Like a burning in your head that demands him, in every way possible.

As high on your toes as you can get, you wobble a little when you try to get even higher, feeling his tail reach out in response to that, wrapping around your leg in an attempt to keep you steady. You groan when his tail brushes between the apex of your thighs. Pulling back for a quick breath, you raise one leg to wrap it around his hip, his hand sliding under your rear smoothly to support you. 

His mouth is hot against yours, matching your fervour, an amused chuckle against your mouth when you whine. 

He moves so passionately, fingers on your chin to tilt your head up so you can feel the searing heat of his desire for you.

You finally build up the courage, gripping his jaw tightly, encouraging his mouth to open so that you can press your tongue into his mouth teasingly.

He lets out another low groan that goes right to your core, shredding at your sanity when he pulls you even closer.

"Mistress-" Billy attempts to speak, trying to inquire about doing this in a more comfortable spot, instead of the bathroom stall of the cafe you'd just tugged him into.

You're not having any of it though, hands gripping the back of his neck roughly, tongue delving into his mouth with so much wanton need that he can't think to deny you.

You can't seem to stop, or focus, your only desire is to show your appreciation, despite how empty your cunt feels.

You move from his mouth, kissing over his cheek and over to his neck, delivering open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin, hearing the heavy labour of his breath increase.

“Does that feel good?” You ask, teasing him, daring to press your teeth into the column of his neck. 

His hiss delights you, hands tightening their grip on you, showing you how much he really likes what you’re doing to him.

When the edge of his shirt gets in the way, you huff angrily, tugging at it so that you can bite down on his collarbone.

"Take this off." You command , tugging at his shirt.

“Mistress,” He tries to protest again.

“Billy,” You hiss, “Now.”

His shirt disappears in a puff of purple.

You drag your short fingernails against his skin, groaning in delight at the opportunity to have him, rubbing your face into his chest, appreciating the feel of his hot skin on your cheek, touching his body the way you always dream of. When you want more balance, you drop your leg from around his hip so that you’re on your own two feet.

You reach for his belt next, tugging at the leather, before reaching a hand down to cup at his erection through his pants.

“Wait.” He sighs, and it stops all your movement. You look up at him with wide eyes.

It takes you back into your head for a moment. Were you going too far?

He’s leaned back against the door,  breathing in large heaves of air.

His hands cup your face, fingers tingling against your cheek, you wait patiently for his words.

“Are you sure?” He asks, dark eyes studying you.

Oh. Oh.

“Very.” You reply, “Are you?”

He inclines his head.

“Good.” You utter, keeping your eyes on his as you drop to your knees in one swift movement.

His eyes go red.

You reach for his belt again, and this time he doesn’t stop you. You undo his button and zipper in record time and gently tug his boxers down, salivating at the first sight of his cock.

Billy groans, he senses the increase in your arousal, feels it like you’ve got your tongue dragging on his neck while you’re eye level with his cock.

His breath stutters when your mouth seals over the head of his cock.

“Mistress.” He shivers, head hitting the door as he drops his head back.

You take your time, moving slowly, remembering the way his cum makes you feel, thinking about pleasing him this way, your cunt sticky under all your clothes.

Jaw open wide to accommodate his girth, you hum, taking him down as far as comfortable, listening with delighted ears at the sounds he makes in response.

He’s perfection, you acknowledge, he’s yours.

You take your time, bobbing your head slowly to a quiet drumming inside you, keeping a steady rhythm that you hope he likes.

You raise a hand to pump the rest of him slowly, as you angle your head to slide your tongue along the underside of his cock.

A soft sound leaves his mouth, and you keep looking up at him when your tongue dips even further to touch his balls.

He looks down suddenly, hair askew with the sudden movement, eyes shining red as you sway your tongue from side to side at the base of his cock.

Billy reaches down, and grips the back of your head harshly.

“Mistress.” He utters breathlessly, bending down, he tugs a little painfully on your hair to bring your mouth to his.

Your lips against his feels so sinful, you straighten as much as you can from your position on the floor, humming, delighted that he’s interested in kissing you like this.

You keep pumping your hand on his cock, eager to keep him in that blissed out state, but you realise he might be stalling you when he refuses to release your hair.

You pull away from him, and when he tries to bring you back for a kiss by tightening his grip on the back of your head, you raise your free hand to uncurl his fingers from your hair.

“You’re distracting me.” You complain, looking between his cock and his face.

“Let me take you home. I’ll let you ride my face till you can’t breathe.”

“Later,” you hum, “I want your cum on my tongue.”

He grunts, straightening to allow you more access to his cock.

You immediately take him into your mouth, more eager than ever, need pulsing inside of you, pumping the rest of his cock that you can’t get your mouth on with your hand.

He groans, and it goes straight to that spot inside of you that aches for him.

Something shifts inside of you, and acutely, you’re aware of something else you can feel.

It glides through your body, like two fingers tracing itself over your skin, beginning at your core, it slips over your clit and upward to your ribs. You moan around his cock at the phantom sensation, pushing your head down until he’s at the back of your throat.

Up, over your breast, to your neck and over your cheek, you hum around his cock, as the touch tingles over your scalp.

You don’t know what you’re feeling, not sure what caused the sensation of this invisible touch so you pull back for a moment, looking around for his tail.

When you don’t see any presence of his tail, you look up, searching his eyes for an explanation.

“I feel… what is that?” You ask.

He tilts his head, red eyes flashing purple for a second.

You watch him swallow.

“My pleasure, mistress, you can feel it.”

Your lips part in surprise. The ghost sensation traces its way down your back.

A small smile graces your lips, before you kiss the tip of his cock.

“I like it.” you say to him, licking teasingly at the head of his cock and feeling the way the sensation travelling along your skin heightens.

You close your eyes, and hasten your rhythm, the smooth head of his cock gliding along your tongue and you think you’ve found a little bit of heaven at his feet.

“Mistress.” He groans, a little too loud for the space you’re in, and you think that might be his way of warning you that he’s on edge.

You only hum on his cock, hearing his breath stutter as you hollow your cheeks while taking him down as deep as you can.

You feel his body tense, the muscle of his thighs hardening until it’s stiff as a rock, and then his cock twitches, a small movement, before he begins to spill into your mouth.

You feel it, his orgasm, it rattles through you, makes your eyes roll back in your head at the sensation. It’s like the rush of a heated wave, originating from the deepest spot inside of you, unfurling all the way down to your fingers, and the very tips of your ears. 

He moans, it’s a low, euphoric sound, that makes your body tingle from the experience of it.

You swallow his cum eagerly, milking every drop from him, making sure he’s got nothing left to give you before you release him from your mouth.

You can still feel his pleasure, the aftermath of it is just as strong as it was during, and as it settles inside of you, you can’t help the little giggle that leaves your lips.

His eyes still red, your legs wobble as you do your best to stand. He extends his hands to help you, and you grip his forearms tightly for balance.

“Did my lovely demon like that?” You ask, feeling your head begin to swim peacefully, the effects of his release beginning to affect you.

He studies you closely, hands cupping your cheeks to look into your eyes. You can only chuckle more.

Absentmindedly, you lick your lips, savouring the taste of him on your tongue, closing your eyes in bliss, swaying in his arms.

With your eyes closed, you feel him guide you into a very deep sway, and the next thing you feel is your back being pressed against cool, soft sheets.

You sigh happily, your skin sensitive, head lost in a daze.

“Mistress?” Billy whispers softly into your ear.

You smile, eyes still closed, raising a hand to cup his bearded cheek, the wiry hairs tingling along the palm of your hand.

“Yes, Billy?” You hum easily.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to lick your little cunt now.”

Your eyes peek open in confusion, feeling something smooth wind its way around your wrists, pulling slowly at your arms until they’re pinned beside your head.

“What?” you ask in surprise, not fully understanding where this is going in your semi-inebriated state.

“And I’m sorry, but I’m not going to stop until I’m satisfied.” He continues, as if you haven’t spoken.

You can’t do much in your state, relaxed as you feel him carefully tear your shirt in two, exposing your warm skin to him. He snips the straps of your bra, tugging the material down so that your nipples are exposed to the cool air.

You gasp, whining as you pull a little on your restraints, a muted fire burning inside of you from the way he treats you as if you’re his plaything.

His hands are on your pants next, and he at least takes his time to unbutton them, peeling them off your legs, before something begins winding around your ankles too.

“What're you doing to me?” You whine, body aching more and more for each touch.

You turn your head to the side, noticing that the things holding your arms in place are just soft purple ropes. You give another tug, you feel your desire increase as you become aware of your inability to move.

You pant as your legs are pulled apart, you whine pitifully as you realise how exposed, open, and vulnerable you are to him. There’s a sweetness to it, something that makes your body yearn. It’s the thought that he could do anything he wanted to you at the very moment, and you would be helpless to stop him.

Usually that would scare you, but with your demon, you trusted him, wholly, maybe more than you should have.

Finally, you look up at him. His large frame hovers over you, between your legs, looking down at you with something fierce behind his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, and a pleased smile rises to his lips.

“Poor mistress,” Billy hums, raising a hand to flick gently at your nipple, making you gasp in response, “All wet and helpless and at my mercy. Do you want me to stop?”

Your head shouts the answer, but your mouth can only whisper.

“N-no.” You reply.

His other hand raises to touch your next breast, both hands toying with your nipples easily. You hiss, dropping your head back in bliss.

“No?” He mocks, “You want me to keep going?”

“Yes, please.” You breathe.

His grin deepens.

“You really trust a demon like me that much? Do you have any idea how badly I want to ruin you?” 

“I want you.” You whine, closing your eyes eagerly when he brings his face in close, hoping that he’s going to kiss you.

“I’d let you ruin me.” You continue, hearing a little grunt leave his throat in response.

“Open your mouth, mistress.” He says darkly, and you obey, parting your lips for him.

He hums, before sealing his mouth over yours, his tongue immediately meeting your own.

You moan, flicking your tongue upwards, delightfully rubbing your tongue eagerly on his, unable to move in any way. 

Your head fills with the worst ideas, that if he wanted, he could keep you here, bound, and still somehow you find that appealing. 

There’s a drumming in your head, a heat on your skin, the taunting ghost of a phantom touch as his pleasure swells within you.

He begins kissing you softly, his mouth fixed to yours as one hand flicks at your nipples, the other hand supporting his weight so that he doesn’t crush you.

He drops his hips, so that he can press his stiff erection between your thighs. You clench involuntarily, angling your hips as best as possible to feel him.

When you whine against his mouth, raising your head to increase the pressure of his lips on yours, he stops touching your breast to grip your jaw harshly. He squeezes, keeping your head still as he kisses you hard, his rough tongue delving into your mouth easily.

He pulls back with a grin, looking at you with red eyes as you pant.

“Are you still cum drunk, mistress?” He asks.

You swallow, nodding your head.

“Good.” 

Without any further words, he kisses your neck.

You hum, tilting your head to the side in a silent plea for him to keep going, a sharp gasp when his teeth drag along your sensitive skin.

You wriggle, but you’re unable to move, your bra is uncomfortable on your skin, and you hope he tugs the material off of your body soon. 

His tongue is wicked, sliding over each collarbone, before they connect with the stiff peak of your nipple.

Billy moans, the flat of his tongue gliding over the underside of your nipple, before being flicked meaningfully by the tip of his tongue.

He repeats the motion several times, before tearing the ruined fabric of your bra off your skin, and circling his tongue around your other nipple.

You cry out, blubbering, his arms sliding under you to encourage your back to arch, making it that much harder to move as he circles his tongue around each nipple.

“Mine.” Billy growls, and you feel your eyes almost roll back in your head at the way you feel- debauched and desperate, for him and all the wicked things he does.

He’s not very nice, his tail sliding around your thigh and pressing gently against your panties, rolling in gentle waves over your core, tormenting you, making sure you feel each caress. 

You feel his pleasure increase, like a breath over your skin, telling you that he enjoys this, having you helpless at his mercy below him and you crave the feeling of that like never before.

You know from past experience that if he wanted to ease your ache, he could easily increase his pressure to help alleviate your need, instead he only makes it worse.

After a moment, you gasp in surprise as you feel his tail work its way under the fabric covering your cunt.

You whimper, tossing your head from side to side, trying to find a way to get him to touch you where you need it most, but being unable to do much with the way you’re bound. 

When you try to close your legs, you feel his ropes snake higher up your ankles, and loop over your calves, stopping right above your knees.

“Billy.” You beg, “Please, I need you.”

“Shhh, mistress,” He soothes, “This is what you get for riling me up so badly.”

“I didn’t-” You try to argue.

“No?” he asks, his tail skirting your slit, offering only a small amount of friction, “Getting down on your knees, licking my cock like that, swallowing every drop of my cum- that wasn’t supposed to make me feverish with desire for you?”

“I only wanted to thank you for sticking up for me.” You whine, trying to argue as he presses his face to the plush underside of your breast, beard scratching deliciously over your soft skin.

“Thank me? Do you have any idea what seeing you like that does to me?” His hands cup your face, and you part your lips as he kisses you softly, “On your knees, looking up, that sweet mouth sucking on my cock like you need me?”

When you don’t answer him, he hums, biting softly on your bottom lip.

You groan, struggling against his bindings for show, knowing that you’re not getting free unless he wills it. 

“I’ll show you what it does to me.” He says softly, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

You feel his tail drag upwards under your panties, hovering over your clit, and you sob desperately, yearning for him to touch you where it hurts.

Your thigh twitches involuntarily, body shuddering at how close he is.

“Please.” You gasp, tilting your hips up, sobbing as he moves his tail back too.

“Aw mistress, am I being mean?” He teases rhetorically.

You open your eyes, looking at him, his eyes have remained red the entire time. You think about what you could possibly say to get any semblance of relief.

“I loved sucking your cock, Billy,” You mumble, watching the red in his eyes darken, “I’d do it every day if you let me.” 

His mouth parts, and you note the sharpening of his teeth for a brief moment.

Before you can even focus on any one thing in particular, his tail begins to slide easily between your thighs.

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling the appendage slide up and down, catching on your clothed clit, using the slickness of your arousal to move. You clench around nothing, gasping, aching for more, aching for it faster, and getting nothing but his slow, steady pace in return.

Suddenly his tail pauses, and you almost want to cry, only having a moment to open your mouth to beg when you feel his tail wrap around the waistline of your underwear, and pull it harshly till it rips.

“That’s better.” He murmurs, ridding you of the flimsy material, keeping his eyes locked to yours as his tail goes right back between your legs, grinding more purposefully on your cunt.

You drop your head back temporarily in defeat, arms and legs bound, unable to do much moving, all you can do is try your best not to squirm while his tail makes a mess of you. 

You’re forced into looking at his gorgeous visage, his arms braced on either side of your head, he looks at all the expressions on your face as you struggle against his bindings, failing miserably at your attempt to stay still.

He speeds up, and your mouth falls open at the delicious feeling, the steady touch on your swollen clit.

Your pleasure swims in his head, drunk on the power he has over you, enjoying every moment of watching you. There is nowhere he'd rather be right now than right here, not even the promise of Heaven could tear him from you.

He slows his tail not long after, watching the torment cross your face, feeling delighted that he can do this to you, that he can make you want like this.

“I should’ve left you hard,” You grit out angrily, groaning inwardly when his only answer is an amused chuckle.

“You talk too much, mistress,” He taunts, before taking his tail away from your dripping core to press it against your lips.

You only hesitate for a moment, opening your mouth easily, and letting his tail, wet with your own arousal into your mouth. 

The taste of you is tart on his tail, and you wrap your lips around the leathery appendage, giving it the same treatment that you gave his cock not too long ago.

“You look beautiful like this,” He breathes, red eyes memorising you, “Mouth full like a good mistress.”

Your chest flutters, but you can’t say or do anything except continue sucking on the tip of his tail. It helps distract you from the raging firestorm of desire inside of you.

He drops his head once more, and you gasp around your mouthful of tail as his rough tongue ambles over your sensitive nipples. 

You feel the vibration of his groan against your breast, and suddenly you let out a sound of surprise when the rope wrapped around your legs begin to pull them up and further apart.

He raises up, pulling away, his tail leaving your mouth empty as he leans back to look at you. The remnants of his saliva cooling on your breast, the lips of your cunt spread with the further parting of your legs. 

Vaguely, you’re aware that he can see every intimate inch of you, and you think you love that. You keep your eyes on his face, making sure he’s looking at your centre when you clench your inner walls. 

He looks up at you, his gaze is full of something familiar, something you’re acquainted with intimately at the back of your head, where all your sacred thoughts lie. It’s a look that promises pleasure, above all else.

He leans in slowly, and you watch carefully as the six-foot tall demon bound to you for eternity, dips his head to place a gentle kiss between your breasts.

Your mouth parts in surprise. 

He kisses over your stomach, over your belly button, scratching his beard along your skin, teasing you with the sharpness of his teeth.

It feels like nothing before, the careful attention he pays to each inch of your skin, feels like nothing short of worship to you. 

You shake, gasping, desperate, tears pooling in your eyes on the brink of crying.

He trails a line of kisses between your hip bones, your body screaming with need and your inability to touch him. When he's not satisfied, his rough tongue retraces the path, your stomach tightening as he leaves pleasure in his wake.

How was he doing this so easily? Playing with you? Toying with your body as if he'd been doing it for all his life?

You make a little sound when he kisses the inside of your thighs.

He hums, drawing away from your thigh to press his lips to the seam of your cunt, staying like that for long, torturous moments.

“Billy please.” You beg on a meaningful breath, desperate for him to do something after he continues to place soft kisses on your pussy for longer than you like.

“I love hearing you beg.” He hums, kissing over your mound gently, slowly, as if there is no rush. You can feel the truth of his statement through your connection, feel the way his pleasure heightens when you make any kind of sound.

Your breath catches in your throat, unable to form a coherent thought in your head that would be enough to push him into pleasuring you the way you’re desperate for. All you can do is lie here, with your arms and legs bound while he places delicate kisses onto your wet pussy.

Your body burns with desire, something dangerously hot, that can only be soothed by his touch. You can feel yourself clench, feel the breath of his laughter on your skin, the way your demon loves tormenting you.

You close your eyes, and you focus on him, you think about all the things you want him to do, all the ways you need him, you hope that the bond between you will help persuade him to have mercy on you.

You imagine him over you, cock pumping between your thick thighs while his tail fills you up. You think about the way you’d kiss his beautiful form. You think about exploring his broad chest with your mouth, tracing the veins on his hands, the way his cock feels, heavy and unapologetic on your tongue.

Between your legs, he lets out a low groan. His skin is hot with your desire, he feels it, the way you need him, the way you ache for him, and he can’t get enough of it.

He’s never felt anything like it, in his centuries of existing, he’s never felt someone as much as he feels you. He knows that he never wants to feel anyone else like this, like he can’t tell where the essence of your soul ends and his begins, or maybe there’s an overlap, a blending of the two of you.

He darts his tongue out, sinks it into your cunt, trails upwards until he meets your clit, savouring the way you taste, your arousal on his tongue, all for him. 

You gasp, tugging on your restraints, fighting his hold, and wanting to fight the featherlight touch of his tongue as well. Delight explodes behind your eyes, but it’s not yours you realise, it’s his. He gets enjoyment from tasting you. It makes you whimper, makes you need.

He torments you with his coarse tongue, like the demon you know him to be, gently moving across your clit, exciting your senses, winding you up like an object for his play.

You whine at the very idea of it, being used like this, giving yourself into the reality that he’s in total control of you, that it doesn’t matter what you want, your only purpose is to please him, to let him lick your cunt for however long, however roughly he wants.

It makes you that much wetter.

He takes his time, tongue slowly increasing its speed, moving in every angle over your clit, his careful precision to working you up, ensuring that your body feels good but not too good, a desperation being seared into your bones, or maybe even deeper, a place inside of you that belongs to only him.

His hands trail up from gripping your hips to explore the space beneath your breasts.

You gasp, feeling the tips of his long fingers tease the underside of your breasts, roaming even higher till he can roll your nipples between his fingers.

You say his name, pulling half-heartedly at your restraints, skin searing with open desire, gasping at the way he trails his hands lower once more, his fingertips ghosting over your skin, savouring the way you feel.

The phantom touch of his pleasure is all around you, trailing over your bound hands, up to your shoulders and neck, lingering on your lips.

You gasp, eyes rolled back in your head, lost in the feeling of his tongue when you realise you’re experiencing a clarity that you weren’t before.

You groan sadly, registering that while you’ve been captured in endless bliss, the effects of his cum had worn off.

You try to think about what it means, and what you want Billy to do about it, but it’s hard to focus when his tongue licks over your clit so often. It’s like he’s found the spot on your body that scrambles your thoughts and he’s been abusing that knowledge.

“Billy.” You sigh, calling for your demon, in hopes that he can pull himself from your dripping cunt for long enough to allow you any semblance of thought.

He only moans, rough tongue continuing its constant pace.

You shiver, raising your head, trying to get his attention away from your centre. You watch his head move down, the flat of his tongue connecting with your entrance before his head glides upward, pulling his tongue to meet your clit. He glances up at you with half-lidded red eyes, and as you look down at him between your thighs, he pauses, sliding his tongue slowly from side to side over your clit.

He looks lost in you, nothing registering behind his eyes except the taste of your cunt. You bite down on your lips at the sight of him like that.

You forget what you were thinking about, pulling your restraints taut in desperation, keeping you eyes locked on his as he continues to work his tongue sideways over your clit. A tilt of his head, and you watch his eyes close momentarily as he focuses solely on your clit, giving it soft attention, the perfect combination of right there and not enough.

You make a sharp cry of desperation, and he still doesn’t stop, his tongue speeding up, your toes curling as you begin to feel the burn of a slow oncoming orgasm.

He feels it, because he can feel everything you do, feels how badly you want him and he’s incapable of denying you anymore. He’s eager to taste your orgasm, feel you shiver on his tongue, he can’t stop thinking about it now, but he knows he has a point to make and he’s not stopping until you understand.

His pace doesn’t slow, licking you effortlessly, plump lips pressed together to trap your clit between them, using not just his tongue, but his lips as well to heighten your pleasure.

You shudder out a gasp, and then a little sob, dropping your head back, unable to think anymore. You take what he gives happily, because you have no choice in the matter, you’re at his mercy, despite how badly you yearn for release.

He hums, lips pressed to your clit, your body pulls tight in warning, mouth dropping open. 

You only feel a puff of air on your mound, as if he just let out a little breath of amusement, at the way your body begs for him.

He flattens his tongue harshly to your clit, rolls his tongue quickly from side to side, listening to the sound of your whimpers increase. 

You want to tell him how close you are, how desperate you are to come all over his tongue, almost ready to cry if he stops. The only thing that leaves your mouth is unintelligible sounds of insanity.

He knows though, he wants it too. To please you, to be owned by you.

Your toes curl, back bowing off the bed, everything held taught by the whims of your demon’s tongue.

And then he stops, detaches his mouth from your dripping heat and listens to you cry out in denial.

You open your mouth to beg him, but he’s already hovering above you, blunt fingers pressed into your jaw to turn your head to the side so he can whisper in your ear.

“Do you feel that?” He hisses, his lips right against the shell of your ear, “Do you feel how desperate you are? How bad it burns in your chest? That’s how I feel every second I’m not touching you, mistress.”

You gasp, trying to wrap your head around his words.

“That’s how I feel when you look at me, that’s how I feel when you kneel for me.”

He leans in even closer, till his nose is pressed to your temple, his lips right in your ear, his voice is a low grovel that thrums against your skin.

“Every time you wrap those perfect lips around my cock, you make me burn.”

“I’m sorry.” You finally say.

He raises his head, turning your face back to his.

“You are?” He asks.

You nod, trembling.

“I d-don’t mean to torment you.” You whisper.

The corner of his mouth lifts, you can see some semblance of sanity reappear.

“You don’t.” he states, as if this is news to him.

“I don’t.” You confirm, “I just want to make you happy.”

He grips your jaw tighter, leaning in.

“Why?”

Was that what this was? Insecurity?

“You do so much for me, Billy, and I like doing things for you too.”

“And if I couldn’t give you anything. Would you still…” His voice trails off, looking away.

“Yes.” You say swiftly, confidently, not letting the fear inside of him take root. “I’d want you even if you had nothing to give.”

Obsidian- the colour his eyes go next. You swallow, a tightness in your throat at the way he looks.

He looks back at you, eyes fixed on yours, dark veins spreading out from around his eyes as he tilts his head slowly.

He looks a little scary, the darkness of his eyes spreading out over his face, but like before, your body holds no real fear of him.

You don’t get a chance to say anything, before he’s leaning forward to kiss you hard.

You tilt your chin up, returning his fervour with need of your own, desperate to show him that you were his, just as much as he was yours. When you can see his face again, the black veins framing his eyes have receded, leaving just his dark eyes.

You wanted to touch him, you pull at the ropes with all your strength.

You don’t get a chance, he moves down your body once more, his head buried between your thighs in seconds.

You gasp when you feel his tongue again, you want to cry with relief.

“Oh god, Billy yes.” You moan mindlessly, tossing your head from side to side.

You tremble, hot tears spilling from the corners of your eyes, every nerve in your body on overdrive, trying to process how one person's mouth could have so much of an effect. He licks over you slowly, kissing your clit, wet sounds of his dextrous tongue filling the room.

What’s worse is the physical need for him, to touch every inch of his skin, to feel him, really feel him, and try to wrap your head around having a person to call your own.

He grips your thighs, squeezes your hips, makes you look up at the ceiling and feel the thoughts drain from your head like it’s a real, physical sensation.

He delves lower, tongue against your entrance a low groan from him as you endure the slow glide of his wet tongue against your walls, shallow, and yet desperate to get as deep into you as possible.

Your hands curl into fists, your eyes screwed shut as your shallow breaths grow loud in your ears.

You say his name but you don’t think he’s capable of hearing you, of pausing the motions of his tongue on your wet cunt.

He holds your pleasure hostage, and once more you feel the fight build inside of you.

You pull at your restraints, crying out when his tongue punishes your sensitive clit with a harsh lick, followed by tender kisses, right on your aching bud.

“I’m sorry.” You gasp, wriggling on the bed, “I’ve learnt my lesson I swear.” You say, trying to bargain with him.

He doesn’t answer, he just keeps going, hot tongue swiping over your clit, again and again, plump lips both a blessing and a curse.

He licks you for long minutes, until you lose control of your limbs, until they ache from being still, until you tremble, desperate to come.

“Pl-ease.” You draw out, voice shaking, your body begging, a roaring in your head that aches so badly you could almost cry.

Your mouth drops open when you feel two of his thick fingers press against your entrance. It hits you like lightning, and all of a sudden, you’re no longer in burning desire, but in a hazy rapture.

“Billy.” You cry, as he takes his time, working his fingers into you. You can hear and feel how wet you are, your head filling with absolute bliss, washing away any semblance of need you once had, any frustration that was being nurtured inside of you.

He keeps his strokes short, drawing out the pleasure you feel each time the thickest part of his fingers threaten to stretch the rim of your cunt, moving so rhythmically, lulling your body into a placid state. He gives you exactly what you need, filling you, licking you, delivering absolution from your burning.

You can’t feel anything except this pleasure, and a connection somewhere deep inside of you, that pulls you to him, draws you near, begs to be each beat of his heart, yearns to be each breath he takes, all paired with the feeling of his tongue lapping softly at your aching clit.

There’s a stuttering in your chest, one that you can feel pulsing in your nether regions as his pace increases. Your body gives no resistance to him, accepting him greedily, wanting more and more and more.

He’s there, giving it all to you, licking you to his heart’s content, pressing his fingers ever deeper, curling them a little, massaging the deepest parts of you, making sure you know that no one will ever make you feel like this.

You gasp in a big breath of air, pulling on the ropes still holding you firm, he lets out a low groan below you and you raise your head to look down at him.

His eyes are still wholly black, a void that pulls you in, the longer he holds eye contact with you.

Billy’s fingers hasten, and all of a sudden you’re right there, on edge again, losing any approximation of time, little whimpers leaving your mouth as you lose all semblance of sanity.

“I- I’m-” You whimper, trying to warn him that it’s all too much, that his touch is unravelling you in the best way possible.

Eyes rolling back into your head, unable to think or breathe for a few seconds, locked in a sharp stasis, balancing right on the brink of euphoria.

And then on your next breath, a release like no other. You hadn’t even realised how tightly you were wound until your orgasm washes over you. You can’t stop the sounds that leave your lips, or the very first squeeze of your cunt around his thick fingers. 

One wave of bliss triggers another, and another, until you fall apart completely against his perfect, rough tongue, no hope of keeping your sanity amidst the oncoming flood of pleasure.

It takes you a moment of floating, before you can come back into your body again, only to realise that he hasn’t stopped licking you. You’re almost obsessed with the sensation of his touch, the deep press of his fingers inside of you, soft and languid, bringing you down almost as slowly as he’d lifted you up.

And then there’s the feeling in your head, pleasure swimming through your brain, tingling deep in your bloodstream, wave after wave of mindless, hazy bliss.

The ropes from around your arms and legs loosen, withdrawing, giving back the autonomy it had taken. You sigh with ease, squeezing your hands into fists, to remember how to move once more.

You can’t do much more than little flexes of your muscle, your body is too relaxed, unwilling to move.

He licks you one last time, before you feel his fingers withdraw, his mouth departing from the apex of your thighs.

His eyes are back to their regular red, and you sigh happily as he moves his way up your body.

“How was that, mistress?” Billy asks softly, his body over yours, his fingers sinking into your hair.

“Amazing, Billy, thank you.” You respond in a soft whisper.

He smiles, brings his head down to meet your lips with his.

You get a taste of yourself on his lips, and you make a sound of discomfort when his wet chin touches yours.

You press against his shoulder, breaking the kiss.

“Gosh Billy, your chin is so wet,” You complain, wiping what you assume is a mixture of your arousal and his saliva off your own chin, “We could really use a bath.” 

He gives you a slow smile, a potent delight in his eyes that makes you so happy in return.

“Yes, mistress,” He agrees, sliding his other hand below your body, beginning to apply a little force to pull you up toward him.

“One bath coming right up.” Is the last thing he says before he pulls your face up to his. 

His kiss distracts you, enraptures you, you hum happily against him, eyes closed and trying to ignore his sticky chin.

He dips you again with a smile against your mouth and the next thing you know is that your bodies are submerged in tepid water.

You don't startle, continuing to kiss him under the water, hands raising to grip his shoulders automatically.

You gasp when he pulls you up, and right into a sitting position on his lap.

He keeps the back of your head gripped in his palm, kissing at your cheek and jaw while you turn your head to the side with a little laugh.

You blink in surprise when you notice unfamiliar surroundings. You're seated in a moderately sized pool, right beside a beautiful open concept house. You turn your head the other way, feeling Billy's lips adapt to kiss your other cheek, noticing that the house is surrounded by thick jungle vegetation.

“Billy?” You ask, feeling his mouth kiss its way down your neck. His only acknowledgement that you've spoken is a curious hum.

“Where are we?” 

“Phuket.” He says, voice muffled against your chest.

“Thailand?” You say in surprise.

His only response is another hum.

You grip his face between both your hands, tilting his head up to meet your eyes. He gives you almost the same look that he was giving you before- when he was looking up at you from between your thighs- half lidded, calm.

“Why are we here?” You inquire softly.

“Bath.” Is all he answers, leaning in to kiss your chest again.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, looking down at him, trying to figure out why there was such a spaced out feeling in the back of your head.

“Mhmm.” He replies, lips on your breast, kissing your nipple gently, “Happy.”

Happy. That’s what it was. Like a flutter in the back of your head, behind your eyes, you could tell he was drunk on his contentment.

“Why happy?” You whisper, hoping not to break into his haze.

“Happy to… provide, mistress.”

You feel a tightness in your throat, an inundation of emotion, threatening to choke you with the fierceness of it.

You tilt his head up again, looking into his glassy eyes, before kissing him with all the fire you have inside of you.

You know if you could, if you weren’t afraid of the pain of it, you would slide onto his cock right then and there.

He moans against your mouth, probably receiving some indication of where your thoughts have taken you.

Your hands smooth over his neck, down to his shoulders, fingers feeling over his collarbones. 

“I’ve never swam naked before.” You say against his lips, feeling him laugh in response.

“Me neither.” He answers.

You push away from him playfully, smiling as you turn around to dip your entire body below the water, feeling the way the water moves around you. When you break the surface of the water for a breath, pushing your hair out of your face, you look back over your shoulder at him.

He’s in the same spot for just a second, before he’s in front of you, moving at speeds beyond your understanding.

You gasp in surprise, his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you against him. He lowers himself, pulling your legs around his hips, you let out a surprised gasp when his cock slots right between your thighs, tapping against your sensitive clit.

He kisses you again, mouth eager on your own, turning you and walking you to a place you can’t see, his hand gripping your damp hair, angling his head to deepen your kiss and leaving you struggling to catch up with his fervour.

He lifts you, resting your naked body on the edge of the pool, your bare ass warmed by the sun-heated wooden deck.

“Need another taste.” He says against your mouth, his tail wrapped around your thigh, gliding gently along the seam of your cunt. You gasp in amazement at his desperate display.

“What?” You ask, not understanding what he’s saying with the way you’re exposed, naked in the open air. The only thing stopping the sun from hitting you directly in the eyes is an overhead umbrella.

He pulls you forward a little, tossing your legs over each of his shoulders, muttering something that you can’t make sense of.

A quick kiss to your inner thigh and then his rough tongue sinks into the seam of your cunt once more.

His tongue moves a lot more meaningfully this time, no attempt to torment you, his only goal is tasting you.

You gasp, arms buckling from where you’re trying to hold yourself up, his tongue once more attempting to make quick work of you out in the open beside the pool.

You don’t try to stop him, or resist him, simply keeping your thighs parted so that he can have his fill of you, willing to give your demon anything he desired.

.

He hadn’t stopped until you were boneless, barely able to keep your head up, almost on the brink of passing out. 

It had been a really long day, and at the end of it, after he’d cleaned you up and tucked you into bed beside him, he’d hand fed you fruits while you were close to sleep.

“Thank you,” You breathe, face tucked into his chest while you chew on a grape, the sweetness of it is delicious.

His tail flicks happily against your thigh, swaying while your legs are tangled in the sheets of the bed.

“You’re welcome, mistress.” He says softly, kissing the top of your head.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You want to tell him about Dimitri, but you decide that maybe tomorrow would be better. You didn’t want to interrupt the peace right now with those stories.

Sleep comes easy, when you don’t know exactly where you are, and you don’t even have to worry about it.

.

You're not sure what wakes you. If it's the lack of his heartbeat, or the coldness that seeps into your skin.

Maybe it's something else, a feeling, deep in your chest that something is not quite right.

You're immediately alert, blinking and looking around as if you hadn't been asleep at all.

You take a deep breath, let out a little hum, checking the time.

A little after one in the morning.

You look around for your demon, unable to find him.

You want to call out for him, but something in your head says not to do it.

He’s nearby, you can feel that too, in some kind of distress.

You look around for something to pull on, sighing when you can only get a hold of a satin robe, tugging it on quickly and also grabbing the folded blanket at the base of the bed and throwing it over you.

As expected, outside is cold, and you tug the blanket tighter to you, making sure it’s not dragging on the floor as you try to quietly look for Billy.

He’s not in the immediate vicinity, so you close your eyes, and you reach for him in your head.

Suddenly you feel a connection, like a tether in the air that guides you in his direction. You follow where it leads, taking you down a flight of wooden stairs, illuminated only by the light of the moon. 

With the forest on either side of you, you try not to focus on the possibility of any critters showing up, not wanting to think about what you’d do if you saw a lizard.

Or worse yet, a snake.

You take a deep breath, squashing your fears, determined to find him.

The stairs take you down to a little beach, with soft blue lamps at the end of the stairs. It’s so dark here that the stars shine brighter than you’ve ever seen.

There’s a jetty, stretching out onto the open sea, and a small open air hut at the very end, with a roof of something you think is straw above.

You take your time, stepping onto it, appreciating how sturdy it is, watching a little crab skitter away as you approach.

You can see him now, his hunched figure seated on a wooden bench looking out at the dark sea.

He doesn’t turn his head when you approach, and you worry that you’re encroaching on his personal space.

“It’s cold out here.” You whisper, referring to the chilly ocean breeze that washes over you both, you sit beside him, raising the blanket to rest one side of it on his shoulder, hoping to warm him up.

He doesn’t look at you, he doesn’t say anything.

You want to speak, to say something to comfort him, but you're so caught up in saying the wrong thing that you say nothing at all.

Instead, you rest your head against his arm, breathing in the dark sea air with him.

The crash of waves calm you, rids you of any lingering worry and fear you once had.

You can feel his though, something whirring like a broken clock inside of his head, a fear he's too scared to talk about.

You take slow calming breaths beside him, pressing on that connection in your head, soothing over it like it's a knot in a muscle that you're trying to unravel.

“Hell,” Billy finally says with his voice shaking imperceptibly, “Is not hot.”

You smile thinking that this was an odd way to begin a story.

But you don't speak, you don't want to distract him, or break the cadence of his thinking or his words.

“From the second I died, I woke up in the same spot Frank had killed me in, except I wasn't really there.”

He takes a shaky breath.

“I went straight to Hell, and I stayed there for a long time.”

You raise your head to look at him, to watch him as he stares out at the dark ocean.

“My punishment was, understanding exactly what I had done, from every point of view that I had wronged. I lived through all of their lives, I felt their pain, their fear- so much fear, I watched myself kill them, I felt the helplessness of each life I’d taken. Maria, Frank Jr., Lisa, and the countless other people I’d killed- I relived their deaths, over and over again until I could only see a monster where I once saw my face.”

“I guess that’s how it starts, Hell shows you who you are, and by the time the punishment comes around, you know you deserve it with every atom in your body.”

Your lower lip trembles, sad, for your demon.

“They made me relive that night so many times, I can still feel the fear in Lisa when I found her, like lightning running down my spine, freezing my limbs in place. She was just a little girl, and I took the rest of her life from her without a second thought.” 

It gets hard for you to breathe at the very thought of it, your heart breaks for the people he’s hurt.

“Maria had only ever been kind to me. She’d taken me in like her own brother without a second thought, she’d given me a home, and I’d torn hers to pieces.”

You feel hot tears slip down your cheeks, unable to speak now, listening to him.

“What would you do to a person like that? A traitor, in every sense of the word. Frank was the closest thing I’d ever had to family, my brother, my best friend, he would have died for me. How would you punish me?”

You don’t want to say it, you don’t want to speak it into existence.

You stay silent.

“I’d tell you how I’d do it. I’d give that monster hope. I’d make him believe in something, believe that he could be better, that he could change. I’d show him what being wanted could feel like, and then when he was at his highest point, just as he believes that everything he’s ever wanted could be his, I’d take it all away.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, the pain of his words is almost too much to bear.

“Is that what you think I am?” You ask softly, “A lesson to be learned? Something to be taken away from you?”

“What if you are? What if I’m still in Hell?”

“Which one are you more afraid of? That you are… Or that you aren’t?”

He shudders out a breath, unable to answer.

You wipe at your tears suddenly, sitting up.

“Billy, I can promise you that I’m a real person. I’ve lived through so much pain, and heartbreak, and loss and betrayal. It haunts me all the time. I don’t know if I’m a good person, but I definitely think I’d know if I was being used to punish you.”

“This is real, those stars up there are real, that moon, the ocean, the wind, the island- all of it is real and I’m real too, so are you and I know that because when I touch you,” You move your hand, reaching for his, “When I put my hand in yours I can feel you-” You suck in a breath, your watery vision meeting his.

“-I can feel you in my head, in my chest, under my skin and I know that you’re real because I know you can feel me the same way I feel you.”

He blinks, his hand tightening its grip on yours before he leans forward, pressing his lips to yours harshly.

A cascading ripple of desire in your head, you raise your hand to cup his cheek.

“You have to remind me.” He says in between kisses, “That I’m real, and this is too.”

You smile into his mouth, fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck.

“Of course, Billy. I will.”

He sighs, pulling you tight against his chest, his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

“My mistress.” He sighs.

My demon, you think.

.

You lie beside him, fingers tangled together while you look up at the stars.

He'd used his influence to get a cozy mattress onto the jetty, and you'd taken up a space in it easily after sitting on the wooden bench for so long.

The ocean makes its relaxing sound below you, rhythmic and soft, daring you to have any bad thoughts here.

“Will you tell me about… Dimitri?”

A sad smile pulls onto your face, you nod, knowing that at least your bad experiences will help ground him.

“We met at the start of college. He was a friend of my roommate, so he was kind of always around, and we just became good friends over time. I never really… liked him like that, but I guess he must have seen things a different way. He was really interested in the fact that I'd never had sex, and he always asked me about it… about my plans for losing my virginity. I didn't know at the time, but I guess looking back at it now, there were a lot of conversations we'd had that had made me super uncomfortable. I thought I was uncomfortable because I was inexperienced, but I think that those were uncomfortable situations to begin with.”

“What do you mean?” Billy interrupts.

“Well, he asked about porn preferences, and odd things like if I'd ever used my fingers- and we've spoken about the same things, you and I- but the context, the situations were totally different. I just wasn't interested in him like that, and he would just keep pushing me more and more each time.”

You shudder, remembering some of the ways Dimitri had made you uncomfortable.

“It wasn't… all bad, he really was a good friend at times, helping me out, being a real friend when I was sad, he even brought medicine for me once when I was too sick to move. But… one night we'd been hanging out, and he leaned over and he'd kissed me. I was so shocked, and I didn't really know if I'd wanted to do this with him or not, and it took me a little too long to figure it out. He was, on top of me, reaching for my jeans when I'd made up my mind.”

You pause, blinking, trying to stop the tightness in your throat.

“He got angry. He told me that I'd just been stringing him along this whole time and that I was a shitty person for making him try so hard to be my friend to get nothing in return.”

You take another slow breath, running your thumb over the back of Billy’s hand.

“It wasn't a scary kind of angry, he was just talking loudly. I just kept saying I was sorry, but I wasn't interested like that. Eventually he stormed off. But… in the aftermath, he'd made it seem to all our friends like I was some girl that enjoyed getting attention from boys, and enjoyed hurting them by making them invest time into getting to know me, only to reject them. Some of them didn't believe him, but the ones that did convinced the others to stay away from me and my roommate got so hostile that I ended up finding another place in the middle of the semester just to get away.”

Your stomach twists, not enjoying having to relive this.

“We'd been such good friends too. I could tell him anything at one point and he'd understand me, that just became another weapon used to alienate me.”

“I should have killed him.” Billy finally says, and when you finally meet his eyes, you see them red, angry on your behalf.

You let out an amused breath, followed by a little laugh. You lean in to press your face into his chest.

“Nah, killing him would be too easy. Having him live to see me happy would be way worse outcome for him. People with those kind of mindsets, well, they have ways of making their lives worse all on their own.”

He cups your cheek, his hands are warm, holding you so gently, tender in a way you've only ever dreamed of. He tilts your head up, so that you can look into his eyes.

“I'm sorry this happened to you.” He murmurs.

“Thank you, Billy.” You lean up to place a little kiss on his lips.

“And I'm so angry on your behalf, mistress. Believe me when I say that you're the only thing keeping him alive right now.”

You laugh, leaning in to kiss him again.

You toss an arm over his body, pulling yourself closer to him, his tail adjusts itself around your thigh as you move. 

“Tell me something nice.” You murmur into his chest, breathing in his scent, wishing it would stick to your skin, “Tell me about your childhood.”

It's uncomfortably silent for a long moment, you get the feeling that maybe you've said something wrong.

“You can have something nice, or something about my childhood,” he makes an amused sound, “Not both.”

You groan, squeezing him tightly.

“That bad?”

“I'll put it like this, Hell could have punished me by making me relive my childhood and it didn't.”

“Oh.” You hum sadly, “I'm sorry.”

He sighs, reaching to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head back so that he can place a soft kiss on your lips.

“Don't be sorry. I'll tell you about it another time. But right now I have a surprise for you.”

“Yeah?” You ask, smiling as he kisses your mouth again.

“Of course. Look.” He says, angling his head in the direction of the ocean.

It's dark, and you have to squint your eyes to focus on anything. You wait for a moment, seeing absolutely nothing.

It's just the dark ocean, and the pretty stars in the sky. You feel your eyes adjust to the almost pure darkness that you were looking at, you swear you could almost see a very subtle cloud of light in the sky that you think might be the milky way.

“It's very beautiful, Billy, I love the stars.” You state, studying them as best as you could.

He chuckles beside you, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

“So cute, mistress, but I meant the water.”

You blink, confused, you look down.

Suddenly, a streak of blue lights up in the ocean quickly.

What the hell was that? You think, pushing the sheets off your shoulders to stand, walking to the edge of the jetty and looking over.

Your mouth drops open.

Like the sky, the ocean is filled with twinkling light, but it's not a reflection of the stars, but the presence of something bioluminescent in the water.

“Oh my god.” You say excitedly, kneeling on the cold wood, leaning over to see as much as possible.

Any kind of disturbance in the water makes the organisms light up for a small moment. There's a ring of cerulean around the pillars of the jetty, glittering like living stars in front of your eyes.

Another streak of blue illuminates, and you gasp in surprise. You realize that they're fish, lighting up the water as they pass by.

You sit there, hypnotized by the look of the water for a long moment. Billy steps up beside you, and drops a pebble into the water, disturbing the surface so that it glows for you.

You giggle, looking up at him, extending your hands for pebbles as well so that you can toss them in.

He uses his influence to manifest a bag of pebbles that fit perfectly into the palm of your hand.

You feel like a child, transfixed with wonder as you dig into the bag for a few stones to toss into the water.

The ocean ripples with blue light whenever you drop a stone in.

The waves look alive with lustre, and you feel so small under the stars, staring out at all of it, feeling something deep in your chest that you've never ever felt before.

You finally find a way to ask a question that has been on your mind for a while.

“Matt… said that you were trying to corrupt me. Is that still true?”

“Yes.” He says with no hesitation, making something deep inside of you pulse.

“Why?” You ask softly.

“I told you before, I want to own you, the way you own me.”

You find that your arousal is more potent than your fear.

Your lips part, hesitant to ask.

“So, h-how do you intend to do that?”

You feel amusement cascade through your bond.

He leans in, his mouth pressed against the shell of your ear.

“You don’t need to worry your pretty little head, mistress. It’s all going according to plan.”

Your eyelids flutter, your core tightens with excitement.

Perhaps you should be more afraid than you actually were… but where was the fun in that?

.

.

.

[neferaskingdom]

Valentine Hotline | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Running a Valentine’s hotline was supposed to be fun—until she accidentally helps Bob plan the perfect date… for herself.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

The last thing she expected to be doing this Valentine’s Day was running an anonymous emergency hotline for lovesick fools, but here she was—headset on, taking call after call, all in the name of charity. Her best friend had roped her into this, promising it would be “fun,” but so far, all she had done was talk panicked men out of buying last-minute gas station flowers.

Her latest call came in with a hesitant, almost nervous greeting. “Uh… hi. Is this Cupid?”

“That’s me,” she said, suppressing a laugh at the ridiculous alias she’d been assigned. “How can I help you, caller?”

There was a pause before he mumbled, “I need help asking out my crush.”

She smiled, already endeared. “Of course! What’s your name?”

A beat of silence, then—“Bob.”

She snorted. “Bob, huh? Okay, Bob, tell me about your crush.”

Bob sighed dreamily, and when he spoke again, it was with a kind of reverence that made her heart melt. “She’s amazing. Like, so cute, but not in a way that she even realizes. And she’s really smart—like, she remembers the smallest details about people, and she’s kind, too. Like, the kind of kind where she doesn’t even think twice about it, she just does things that make life easier for everyone around her. And she’s so funny, sometimes without even trying. I mean, she makes me laugh over the dumbest things. And—God, she’s way out of my league, but I really, really like her. It’s ridiculous how much I like her.”

Her heart melted. “That’s adorable. Have you spoken to her before?”

“Sort of,” he admitted. “We work together, but I don’t talk to her a lot because… well, I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid. I get irrationally shy around her.”

That piqued her curiosity. “Coworker, huh? What do you guys do?”

“I can’t say too much, or it’ll be obvious who I am,” Bob said quickly.

She nodded, intrigued but respecting his anonymity. “Alright, Bob. First things first, you need to start interacting with her more—test the waters, see how she reacts to you. Start flirting a little.”

“Oh God.”

She laughed. “Relax! I’ll help you. We’ll come up with a plan.”

And so, over the next few days, she helped Bob craft the perfect approach. They planned small conversations, little ways for him to test the waters—compliments, inside jokes, light teasing. He seemed enthusiastic yet nervous, but she assured him he was doing great.

Strangely, around the same time, Lando Norris—someone who had never gone out of his way to talk to her before—started showing up more often. He’d stop by her desk with a cheeky grin, making flirty comments that left her flushed. At first, she chalked it up to him just being friendly, but it kept happening.

“Looking good today,” Lando said one afternoon, leaning casually against her desk.

She rolled her eyes but felt her face warm. “Are you just going around giving out compliments to everyone?”

“Only to the pretty ones.” He winked, and she nearly choked on her coffee.

It was weird. But she couldn’t say she hated it.

A few days before Valentine’s Day, she was finishing up some work when Lando hovered nearby, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He shifted from foot to foot before finally clearing his throat.

“Hey, um… can I talk to you for a sec?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

She turned in her chair, surprised by his serious tone. “Sure, what’s up?”

He exhaled, looking at the floor before meeting her eyes. “I… uh, was wondering if you wanted to go out with me. Like, on a date. For Valentine’s Day.”

Her brain short-circuited for a moment. “Wait. You’re asking me out?”

Lando winced. “I mean, yeah? But you don’t have to say yes, obviously, I just thought—”

She cut him off with a grin. “Lando, I’d love to.”

His eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she laughed.

The relief on his face was almost comical. “Oh. Oh, cool! That’s great. Okay, um, yeah, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He left looking a little dazed but incredibly happy, and she couldn't help but smile to herself.

That night, Bob called her one last time.

“She said yes!” he practically shouted through the phone. “I asked her out, and she said yes!”

She grinned, heart swelling with pride. “Bob! That’s amazing! I told you she’d like you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Seriously, if—no, when—we get married, you’re getting an invite.”

She laughed. “I’ll hold you to that. Have fun on your date, Bob.”

“Thanks, Cupid. You’re the best.”

And with that, her hotline duties were done.

The next evening, she met Lando for their date, dressed in a pretty outfit and buzzing with anticipation. He looked a little nervous, which was unusual for him, but she found it endearing. The restaurant was charming, the table setup romantic—candles, her favorite flowers, the works.

She took one look at it all and hesitated. The setup felt oddly familiar. Too familiar.

The restaurant. The flowers. The exact order of events.

Her stomach flipped as a ridiculous but nagging thought entered her mind. She looked at Lando, who was focused on cutting his steak, completely unaware of her staring.

“This is going to sound weird,” she began slowly, watching his reaction, “but do you know someone named Bob?”

Lando’s knife froze mid-slice. His head snapped up so fast she thought he might get whiplash. “W-what?”

She gaped at him. “Oh my God. You’re Bob, aren’t you??”

Lando opened and closed his mouth like a fish, looking utterly horrified. “H-how do you—how do you know that?”

She let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Because I’m Cupid.”

Lando choked on his water, coughing as his eyes widened in horror. “No. No way.”

“Yes way,” she said, grinning at his absolute mortification. “I can’t believe I spent days coaching you on how to flirt with me.”

Lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God. I’m never living this down.”

She reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “Lando.”

He peeked at her between his fingers. “Yeah?”

She smiled softly. “So… all those sweet things you said about your crush… they were actually about me?”

Lando groaned again, face going bright red. “I—uh—maybe?”

She felt her heart flutter, warmth spreading through her chest. “That’s honestly the sweetest thing ever.”

Lando let out a breath, rubbing his temples. “You must think I’m such a loser. Calling a hotline of all things just to figure out how to ask you out.”

She shook her head, squeezing his hand. “No. I think it’s endearing. You went out of your way to make sure you got it right. You wanted it to be perfect. That’s really, really sweet.”

He looked at her, expression softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Their dinner was filled with laughter and easy conversation, and by the time he walked her to her door, she felt lighter than ever. He hesitated on her porch, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So, uh… goodnight?”

She rolled her eyes, stepping closer. “Goodnight, Bob.”

Before he could groan again, she kissed him, soft and sweet, smiling against his lips as he melted into it. When she pulled away, he was grinning like an idiot.

“Best Valentine’s Day ever,” he murmured.

She laughed. “Yeah. I think so too.”

[littleindulgences]

Your day was going pretty good for once, all things considered—you woke up feeling rested, it was your day off, you even finally managed to finish the errands you were forced to put off all week!

…Then you get home. Your fridge is dead.

Of course it is.

You stand in front of the open door with one hand on your hip, the other on your chin, contemplating when the fuck, how the fuck, this could have happened. Your fresh groceries sit on the counter behind you, stuff you just went out to get because you assumed your fridge would still be operational when you returned. It’s your fault, really, for putting the bar so high.

Finally, after a whole three minutes of bemoaning your luck, you resolve to pull out the old cooler you shoved into your closet and put everything that would turn into a food poisoning nightmare on ice. Once you get everything put away, and the puddles of water mopped up, you put in a maintenance order and pray the landlord actually sends someone this time.

You leave the cooler in the corner, crack open a bottle of wine, and mourn the loss of your good day.

A couple days pass and you forget all about the work order. You figured out the next morning that the fridge wasn’t dead after all, it just got unplugged…somehow. Just added fuel to your “the building is haunted” fire. You simply plugged the fridge back in and went about your life, no biggie.

It was a big biggie.

You’re just out fetching the mail when it happens.

“Hello? Maintenance! Is anyone home?” The gruff, deep voice carries easily down the hall. You don’t register it at first, flicking through your mail, until the voice calls out again: “Hello? Maintenance, comin’ in!”

Wait. Maintenance.

The fucking fridge!

You dash down the hall, practically skidding to a stop in front of your apartment where two large—and you mean large, damn—men hover.

You avoid looking them directly in the eye as your pulse throbs in your throat, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. You’re sure the whole hall must’ve heard them, fuck.

“I’m so sorry!” you say, awkwardly pushing yourself between the biggest man and your doorway. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing actually wrong, I fixed it already! There was nothing wrong with the fridge, it just came unplugged.” You force a laugh, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. You still don’t look at them.

“‘S alrigh’ ma’am, no problem at all,” says the man, and wow his voice is nice—

“It’s just, there wasn’t a way for me to cancel the work order,” you explain. “I’m so sorry you had to come all the way up here.”

Oh God, what if they try to come inside to double check? You’re cursing yourself for picking today to go out in your house clothes—short shorts and a tank that doesn’t completely cover your stomach—but the building was always so hot and you would’ve melted if you stayed in your work uniform—

“It’s okay, ma’am, really,” he’s saying again, “We’re glad there’s not an issue. You live on the second floor with no elevators, we didn’t want to bring a new fridge up anyway.” You giggle for real this time.

Then you risk glancing up at them.

Oh God…

They’re fucking beautiful. The man in front of you—his name tag reads John—is an absolute bear. Thick and broad, covered with hair, smiling gently at you like he really doesn’t blame you for your mix-up. And the guy behind him, you think his tag says Kyle, could be a supermodel: smooth, dark skin, a little leaner than John but still mouthwatering. The lopsided grin he’s giving you makes your heart race. The cap he wears makes him look almost boyish.

“Right,” you say, hoping you don’t sound as breathless as you feel. “Sorry again.”

Kyle absently licks his lips and you think you might pass out.

“Here. In case something else happens, you can reach me directly.” John hands you a crisp business card, lingering just slightly when your fingers brush his. They’re rough. Makes sense.

“Thanks,” you breathe. Kyle looks at you like he’s suppressing a laugh, then taps John on the shoulder, signaling him to leave.

“Take care, love.” John turns away from you with a wink, and you watch his arm flex as he hoists his toolbag and follows Kyle to the staircase. Kyle waves cheekily back at you before he descends.

Once you’re safely inside the apartment, you bury your face in your hands with a deep groan. And if you already begin brainstorming other things that might mysteriously break in the near future, well, that’s your business.

@beloveds-embrace ✨