#anyway. lime stays there with her

[musubiki]

its been a while since my last summer mochi 🌺🏖️

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I 2.1k I different first meeting I modern au I one sided enemies to lovers I rated T

“I mean, if looking like a dyke is the goal, you're nailing it,” Steve tells Robin as she holds the phone back to showcase her date outfit. “Change the belt, I think-”

He hears a throat clear behind him and spins around to find Eddie the bar manager standing behind him, a blank face and closed off body language.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Rob, I have to go. I'll text you after work.” He hangs up on her and stuffs his phone into his back pocket. “Sorry about that. Hi, you must be Eddie.” He holds out his hand to shake but Eddie just looks at it. He lowers it, the sting of rejection biting low in his stomach. “Um. Harvey said you just got back from a tour? That's cool.”

“Mmhmm.” He sniffs. “You're on garnish duty,” he says, cold and succinct, before turning away.

It's only Steve's third day behind the bar but he'd been slinging drinks with Rachel the night before. Barback duties are beneath him, he's got six years bartending experience. He doesn't want to complain though, not to Eddie who hated him on sight, and not during his first week.

They stay out of each other's way for the first half of the night, Steve relegated to the back, slicing limes and making the pre-mixes.

He's not used to being hated so thoroughly like this. Eddie hasn't uttered a word directly to Steve since sending him to the back, but he catches Eddie's eye a few times and it's like ice water down his back. The people-pleasing little boy in him wants to cry but he's a grown fucking man, he's not going to let this bother him. Just because he was looking forward to meeting Eddie, wanted to make a friend here, wanted to get to know the guy who managed the bar when he wasn't shredding across the country. Maybe if the owner hadn't talked Eddie up like he was the next Chris Martin…or whoever the metal equivalent of that would be. And, yeah, he'd seen the photos of Eddie, the Polaroids behind the bar of him with staff and guests, and thought he was stupid hot, with his tangled curls and the dimples, and maybe he'd had some inappropriate thoughts about his in absentia boss, and maybe he'd fantasized about flirting at the end of the night, and maybe-

Anyway, it's all good. Eddie doesn't owe him kindness or friendship or a single dimpled smile. Sometimes people just don't get along and that's okay.

“Your Fernet,” he mumbles as he sets the bottle at Eddie's elbow, head down like a dog that's used to booted feet. He feels like an idiot but Eddie's frosty demeanor feels like it's balanced on a knife's edge, like he could tip over into a blazing explosion if Steve says or does the wrong thing.

Eddie doesn't thank him, just snatches the bottle and walks away.

“You're welcome,” he snarks under his breath after Eddie's well away.

“Can I get a rum and coke?” A guy asks over the counter.

Steve hesitates. He's not welcome at the bar, Eddie has made that abundantly clear, but he wasn't hired as a barback, he's a bartender, so he smiles at the guy and starts making the drink. Eddie is busy at the other end of the bar anyway.

“You're new,” the guy says, making conversation as Steve works.

“Yeah, it's my first week.”

“You liking it so far?”

Steve glances down the bar, watching Eddie shake a cocktail like he's fucking Tom Cruise or something. His face lights up at something the woman he's talking to says and the crack of his laugh travels the length of the bar, punching Steve right in the stomach. His dimples are really something to see in motion.

“Jesus Christ, I wanna wrap you in tinsel.”

Steve whips his head back around. “Huh?”

The guy chuckles. “Because you're pining so hard. Get it? Pine-ing.”

Well shit. He deflates. “That obvious, huh?”

The guy accepts his drink with a shrug. “Maybe not to everyone but to a…certain demographic…” He gives Steve a little limp wristed wave, which makes Steve crack a laugh.

“I'm Steve, by the way,” he holds out his hand, which the guy takes easily, unlike some people.

“Cary, like Cary Grant.”

“Or Cary Elwes.”

“Exactly.” He leans a ways over the bar and mumbles, “Don't look but your boy is watching us.”

Steve forces his body to not stiffen up. “Does he look mad?”

“No. Confused if anything. Pretend like I just said the funniest thing you've ever heard.”

Steve, always down for shenanigans, tips his head back and fakes the loudest howl he can without being too over the top.

“Oh, you're good. He's got his eye on you, doll. Make the most of it.”

Steve leans into the shared space, eyes half-lidded. “I hope he's seething with jealousy. He could've had me six ways from Sunday but instead he decided to hate my guts at first sight.”

“What an absolute dumbass.” Cary reaches up and taps Steve's collarbone. “If I wasn't already taken, and you weren't pining like a Christmas tree, we could've ridden into the sunset together.”

“If only,” Steve agrees with a soft laugh.

“We're out of Matcha.”

Steve jumps out of his skin. Eddie is standing three inches from Steve's side, eyes burning into him like he just caught Steve keying his car.

“Make your own Matcha,” Cary snarks, “Steve and I are getting to know one another.”

Without breaking eye contact with Steve, he growls, “I think Tony, your fiance, would prefer it if Steve made the Matcha.”

Chills run down Steve's back and arms but he maintains composure. “On it, boss.”

He slips out from under Eddie's gaze, finger waving to Cary on his way back to the kitchen. He can hear Eddie chastising but he chooses to ignore him in favor of hyperventilating in the walk-in.

“What the fuck.”

Eyes like black flames, licking up the side of Steve's neck. Collarbones raising and lowering in the light of the bar as his chest moved with each breath. Hands clenched at his sides, white knuckled.

That wasn't cold at all.

He moves on autopilot for the rest of his shift. Eddie doesn't talk to him again but Steve can feel his eyes on the back of his neck, raising the hairs and keeping him from forgetting Eddie’s existence.

Towards the end of his shift, just before midnight, he hears Robin calling his name from the bar. He comes out of the kitchen, happy to see her waving him over, excited to introduce her date. He probably shouldn't encourage this behavior, it's his first week after all, but the restaurant is closing and the bar is empty.

“Hey, you must be Chrissy,” he greets the petite woman at Robin's side, takes her tiny hand in his and gives it a firm shake. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Same! I couldn't believe it when Robin said you'd just started here. Like, it's a crazy coincidence.”

He cocks his head but before he can ask, Eddie comes bounding over from the other side of the bar and lifts Chrissy up off her stool, swinging her in a circle while she shrieks with laughter.

“Apparently Eddie is her best friend,” Rob fills him in, sort of unnecessary at this point. Steve wouldn't have been able to imagine Eddie looking so happy, he'd been so sour faced all night. Even when he'd been laughing with the customer earlier, it was only a fraction of this.

“Tell me everything,” Chrissy is saying after he puts her down. “Last I heard you loved Cleveland and hated Boston, which I maintain is insane.”

“And I maintain you didn't have to navigate the Boston roadways with Boston drivers,” Eddie argues, still grinning. “But it was great. Exhausting but…yeah, fucking awesome.”

“I'm so proud of you, Eds. You deserve it.”

He actually fucking blushes, which is devastating to Steve's crush. Just devastating.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “Oh, sorry, you must be Robin. Thanks for bringing Chris to see me.” He shakes her hand, not hating her on sight, Steve notes.

“No problem, but I didn't, she brought me here to see the Dingus.” At Eddie's confused look she throws a thumb back at Steve, who waves.

“Yeah, hi. Your best friend is dating my best friend. Sorry. Guess that means you're stuck with me.”

His frown doesn't abate with this explanation.

“Because they're lesbians. She's gonna have me helping her move into Chrissy’s place in, like, a week.”

“Shut up!” Robin reaches across the bar to slap the shit out of his arm and then tosses a lemon wedge at him when he jumps back out of swinging range. Chrissy giggles at them.

“Knock it off, I worked hard on those.” He picks the wedge up off the floor and tosses it into the trash. Three points.

When he looks back up, Eddie is staring at him, wide eyed.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Steve questions.

“Ohhh.” He presses his wrists into his eye sockets.

Steve looks at Robin and Chrissy in confusion but they're both as lost as him.

“I'm an asshole.” He hasn't removed his hands yet.

“Yes,” Chrissy agrees immediately, “what did you do, Eddie?”

He finally looks up at Steve, who takes a step back, involuntarily. They stare at one another for thirty seconds. Or two days. He's not sure.

“Eddie?” Chrissy prompts again.

“I-” He turns around and walks away.

Chrissy rushes after him and yanks him back. They get into a tug match, which Chrissy wins, somehow.

“I love her,” Robin mumbles.

“I fucking said. Less than a week.”

She slides a look his way, one that reads ‘Like you're any better.’ He shouldn't have told her about his plan to seduce his boss, who he hadn't even met yet.

“Whatever you did, you apologize right now,” Chrissy commands to a pouting Eddie.

Steve stands there, eyebrows up, as Eddie grumbles an apology that would do an eleven year old Dustin proud.

“What is happening right now?” He wonders aloud.

Eddie folds his arms across his chest, his black button down stretching across his shoulders beautifully. “I heard your conversation with Robin earlier. You said something about her looking like a dyke and…I made an assumption on the kind of person you were. And I was an asshole to you because of it. I'm sorry.”

“Oh,” Steve whispers in understanding. A weight lifts off his chest. “Fuck. That's hilarious.” He can't stop the giggles from erupting.

“Okay, in my defense, most straight guys don’t get a pass.”

Steve and Robin look at each other and crack up. He wants to ask what Eddie thinks was going on with Cary if he assumed Steve was straight but Robin shrieks, “You think I would hang out with a straight man!”

“Hey! You did hang out with me when I thought I was straight!”

She shakes her head like a smug asshole. “Debatable. You've always been a lil fruity. Tommy H? Whatever that was with Billy? C'mon.”

Steve takes a turn at slapping her. When he looks back up, he finds Eddie looking at him like a kid who just found coal in his stocking, dark eyes wet and bottom lip desperately trying not to pout.

“Holy shit, stop making that face,” Steve begs.

“I can't.”

Chrissy leans up on her knees, wobbling precariously on the stool, to physically push his lip back where it belongs. He smacks her hand away and then puts his own back up to his eyes, pushing hard.

“This is divine punishment. The universe sensed I was too happy so they sent you to test me. Big fat F, just like always,” he mumbles, nonsensically.

Steve looks to Chrissy to translate.

She puts a finger to her chin, looks between the two of them, and then concludes, “He thinks you're hot and that he ruined his chances by being a prick.”

“Chrissy!” Eddie's shriek puts Robin's to shame.

But he's not denying it.

Steve makes extremely pointed eye contact with Robin and says, “It's getting late. Eddie and I have to close the bar. You should see Chrissy home.”

She nods, slow and then quick, as the message lands.

“Yes! Yes, let's get going. Leave these guys to…close the bar.”

Smooth.

They giggle the entire way out the door but Steve ignores them. Eddie is staring again, dark eyes pinning him to the mirror behind the bar.

“I was going to ask earlier but I didn't think it was appropriate…”

Eddie swallows, throat bobbing. “Ask what?”

“What's the company policy on fraternization?”

As a former jock, Steve is thoroughly impressed by Eddie's form as he vaults the bar.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which people assume what they don’t know

The sun clung to the edges of the day, dripping gold down the walls of the Malibu rental like it was trying to stay just a little longer. The pool glistened, untouched for now, calm and glassy. Paige had already posted the photo by the time you emerged from the kitchen with a coconut clutched in one hand, its pink straw slightly tilted, a wedge of lime sliding slowly toward the rim. You hadn’t known she’d taken it—not really. She’d been sprawled out on the lounger in her oversized Wings tee and basketball shorts, halfway between sunbathing and napping. But apparently, sometime in the last hour, she’d raised her phone just high enough to snap a picture with you in the background, just enough distance between you and the camera to look untouchable.

You were leaning against the pool ledge in that shot, sunglasses on, mouth parted, face tilted toward the light. Hair slightly damp. Black bikini top tied at the shoulders. There was nothing overt about it. No posing, no filter, no carefully arched spine or coy glance over the shoulder. You were just… there. Radiant in a way that didn’t ask for attention but collected it anyway.

Paige posted it like it was nothing. Just another off-day in California. Just her and her girlfriend doing what they always did between travel and games and press, soaking in a moment, clinging to ordinary. It wasn’t ordinary to them.

The comments came fast, and then they came cruel.

“She def got an OF link in bio ” “LMAO who’s the pornstar Paige is dating?” “No hate but she kinda looks like she sells fit teas and takes thirst traps for rent.” “Tell her to turn around next time.” “I’ve definitely seen her before… ” “She’s TOO hot to be just a random. Link please??”

You hadn’t even noticed until later that night. Paige had fallen asleep early, curled into your side, the soft ache of an afternoon swim having tugged her eyelids closed while you were reading. Her breathing was slow. Her hand, always searching for contact even in sleep, had found the hem of your shirt and slipped beneath it. A grounding kind of possessiveness.

Your phone buzzed. Once. Twice. A third time. A string of notifications from apps you never really used. Mentions. DMs. Tagged stories. Twitter threads. Reddit screenshots. Someone had slowed down your laugh in a video from Paige’s story and compared it to a clip from a cam site. You weren’t on the site. But the internet didn’t seem to care. They weren’t really looking for truth. They were looking for confirmation of their assumptions.

You scrolled in silence for a long time. Paige stirred once, shifted, buried her face in your neck. She didn’t wake up.

You could’ve posted something right then. A denial. A correction. A humble brag, even. You could’ve flexed your Ivy League diploma, dropped your patents, posted that photo with the Vice President from the clean energy summit last spring. But what would’ve been the point? The people guessing didn’t care if it was true. They didn’t want your story. They wanted a fantasy they could poke holes in.

And some part of you—a small, sharp part that you’d buried under silk and discipline—liked that they didn’t know. Liked that they couldn’t imagine you as anything other than beautiful and blank. Let them misunderstand you. Let them spin circles around a silhouette they’d never catch up to. You’d always lived behind the curtain anyway. It was better this way. Quieter.

You turned your phone over and slid it off the bed.

Across your chest, Paige exhaled and whispered something unintelligible in her sleep. Her body folded into yours like a promise.

You’d tell her in the morning. Or maybe not. Maybe you’d wait until it got worse. You knew it would. Everything did once the world decided it wanted to know you.

It hadn’t always been this way. There was a time when people saw you for who you were. Or at least tried to.

You met Paige two years ago, and she hadn’t recognized you.

It was a Nike-sponsored thing in New York. Athletes, influencers, vague celebrities all crammed into a downtown loft with too much light and not enough air. You’d almost backed out. You were in town for a conference and had been dragged there by a friend who swore the food would be worth it. It wasn’t.

Paige was in a corner by the exposed brick wall, picking at a piece of flatbread and looking vaguely traumatized by the DJ’s remix of an already overplayed song. You hadn’t watched much college basketball. You were barely on social media. You just saw a girl who looked like she needed a rescue.

You handed her a glass of sparkling water, mostly because it gave you something to do with your hands. She blinked at you, surprised. “Thanks,” she said. Her voice was lower than you expected. Steady.

You nodded and almost left. But then she tilted her head, gave you that soft, unreadable look she does—the one like she’s trying to memorize something without letting anyone else know—and said, “Are you famous?”

You’d laughed. “No. Just rich.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. Then she grinned. “Fair.”

It was the first time in three years someone had asked without already knowing. 

And maybe that’s why you stayed.

Maybe that’s why, even now, with your name face and your body dissected by people who’d never spell your last name right, you still hadn’t said a word. You weren’t hiding. You were waiting.

Waiting to see if Paige would stand still in the storm.

Or if she’d hold your hand through it.

It didn’t take long for the narrative to spiral. By the end of the week, there were entire TikTok accounts dedicated to you—slideshows of blurry screenshots, slowed-down clips from Wings games where someone thought they spotted you in the background, Discord servers full of internet detectives trying to piece together your identity. They mapped the stitching on your handbag. Claimed to trace your earrings to a custom jeweler in Paris. One video, with over three million views, confidently declared, “This girl is either the daughter of a Saudi billionaire or has an OnlyFans that pulls six figures a month.”

There was something both absurd and tragic about it. They needed you to fit into a box. And when they couldn’t, they just made one up.

You’d never been a mystery in your own life. Your name—on paper—was public record. Your companies were incorporated. Your board seats were listed. But you didn’t give interviews. You never posed for features. The only time your face had made the news was in a blurred corner of a shareholder event, and even then, they’d cropped you out. You’d built your world on silence and clean lines. And now, the messiness of fame was seeping in through cracks you didn’t even know you’d left open.

Paige didn’t say much. At first, she joked about it—sent you TikToks with increasingly deranged theories and typed out her laughter in all caps with too many crying emojis. “You’re trending,” she texted once during practice, attaching a screenshot of someone calling you “a glorified sugar baby.” You responded with a meme. It was easier that way.

But beneath the jokes, there was a tightness around her eyes. You caught it when she thought you weren’t looking. You heard it in the edge of her voice when she read the word “gold digger” out loud in an article that speculated whether you were funding your lifestyle through her rookie contract.

The internet didn’t care that you lived in the penthouse. They didn’t care that the Cartier watch on your wrist had been a graduation gift from a board you chaired. They just saw her—soft spoken, loved, powerful—and you, sharp and stunning in a way that felt too curated to be accidental.

Too good to be normal. Too good to be real.

The team found it hilarious.

In the Wings locker room, Arike passed around a meme of you with the caption, “This Paige’s girlfriend. She could be at brunch. But she stealing yo fans instead.” DiJonai snorted so hard she almost choked on a protein bar. Azzi, visiting from Connecticut, just said, “Honestly? It tracks.”

Paige laughed too, but not all the way. She glanced at her phone, at the muted home screen photo of the two of you standing barefoot in your kitchen, tangled in flour and sunlight, and said, “They really don’t get her at all.”

None of them did. Not really. They knew you as “that girl Paige is always texting.” A couple of them had met you once or twice. But they didn’t know how still you got in the mornings, how you drank your coffee half cold because you got distracted reading policy reports. They didn’t know about your lists—handwritten, always—where you tracked every dollar donated to rural solar initiatives. They didn’t know about the callouses on your hands from old tools you refused to stop using, or the way you cried silently when a start up you mentored went under.

They didn’t know you the way Paige did.

And Paige didn’t need you to prove anything. Not to them. Not to the internet.

But still, one night, after a game, after another flood of tweets dissecting the slope of your back in a paparazzi shot, she sat across from you on the couch and said, “You know you don’t have to let them say that shit.”

You looked up from your laptop. “It’s just noise.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Until it’s not.”

Her eyes were tired. Her hair was still damp from the shower. She looked like she wanted to fight someone. It made your chest ache.

You closed the screen. “I don’t want to feed it.”

Paige leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her voice low. “Babe… I can take it. I’m used to it. But you? This isn’t your world.”

You reached for her hand. “It’s not about what I can take. It’s about what I want to give.” You paused. “I didn’t get here by explaining myself to people who doubted me. I won’t start now.”

Her grip tightened. She nodded. But the worry didn’t leave her face.

You could feel the shift coming, though. It was in the air, in the way people started poking around your past with more urgency. They were looking for the gotcha moment. The damning evidence. The link that didn’t exist. But all they found were more questions. Why weren’t you tagged in anything? Why was your name redacted in a legal filing about corporate IP? Why did no one in Paige’s circle ever post about you?

You’d built your life like a fortress.

And they hated you for it.

Because you were beautiful. Because you were private. Because you were Paige Bueckers’ girlfriend and still somehow out of reach.

And when you didn’t flinch, when you didn’t play the game—they started turning.

From curiosity to contempt. From fantasy to fury. You could feel it building. The silence before a storm. The moment before the curtain falls. It wasn’t fear that held you back from speaking. It was restraint. You weren’t hiding. You were waiting.

It started with a phone call you didn’t take.

Your assistant left three voicemails before 8:00 a.m. She knew you didn’t do mornings—your mind didn’t settle into full clarity until after a shower and a single espresso in the glass mug Paige had accidentally chipped last fall and that you still refused to replace. The fourth time your phone buzzed, Paige groaned against your shoulder and reached blindly across the comforter.

“Do you want me to throw it out the window,” she muttered, voice hoarse.

You cracked one eye open. “Is that… my phone or yours?”

“Most likely your assistant.”

You chuckled and pulled her closer, breath catching in the familiar groove between her neck and shoulder. “Just five more minutes.”

Paige huffed but didn't argue. She liked mornings like this—slow, folded into you, safe.

She liked pretending the world outside your penthouse didn’t exist.

It did.

It existed in screaming headlines. In news channels across climate startups and clean tech newsletters and the inboxes of business analysts who woke to the same notification… Forbes has dropped its latest cover story.

The image hit the internet at 8:15 a.m. EST.

“Meet the Youngest Female Billionaire in Renewable Energy. How Y/N Built a Global Empire by 23.”

It didn’t feel real at first.

The cover photo had been taken two months earlier, in the garden of a rewilded property you helped convert in Santa Barbara. You were seated in a low white chair, legs crossed, wearing a structured navy suit and no jewelry. No expression, either—just a small, knowing half-smile. Like you were letting the world peek into something it wouldn’t fully understand.

Your phone rang again.

This time, Paige grabbed it. Still bleary-eyed, she flipped it over, squinting at the name. “It’s Cassie. Again.”

You groaned and sat up, rubbing your face. “Tell her I’m not dead.”

“She says you’re trending.”

You paused. “From the bikini photo?”

“No,” she said, her tone shifting.

When she turned the screen toward you, everything inside you stilled.

It was you.

Front and center. In serif font, bold and breathless. The Youngest Female Billionaire in Renewable Energy.

Paige’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t tell me it was this big.”

“I didn’t want to make it a thing.”

“A thing?” she repeated, staring at the article. “This is everything. This is… you’re a billionaire! This is empire shit.”

You didn’t speak. The air felt too heavy. She scrolled down, scanning.

“They’re saying you developed some framework that’s being adopted in six countries.” Her voice lifted. “That you hold thirteen patents. That you were on the White House task force for clean grid expansion.” She looked up. “You’ve been to the White House?”

You gave a weak shrug. “Not since the oompa loompa moved in.”

Paige didn’t laugh. Not yet. She blinked down at the screen like it might vanish. “You’re a genius.”

You reached for her hand. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel small next to it.”

She jerked her gaze toward you, wounded. “You think I’d feel small? Babe. You could build a fucking satellite and I’d still be the proudest person in the room.” You swallowed hard. She looked down again, quiet for a beat. “You didn’t hide this because of me. You hid it for me, didn’t you?”

You nodded.

“I didn’t want them to twist it. I didn’t want to make you the ‘arm candy’ of someone they didn’t understand.”

Paige exhaled. “Too late.”

A notification buzzed at the top of the screen. @/PaigeBueckers has been tagged in 4,137 new tweets.

She unlocked her phone and opened Twitter. She stared for a few seconds. Then, slowly, she typed.

Y’all thought.

She attached the Forbes cover. Hit send. And the internet erupted. It was seismic. Humbling. Violent in its speed.

People who had once speculated that you “sold feet pics for rent” were now frantically deleting tweets. Threads unspooled where former critics tried to backpedal. Comments flooded in beneath Paige’s post.

“I called a literal billionaire a clout-chaser. I need to lie down.” “She was quiet because she didn’t need the spotlight. I’m sick.” “We bullied the love of Paige Bueckers’ life for being beautiful and mysterious. And she was running global infrastructure reform.” “Imagine having THAT face, THAT body, and ALSO solving the energy crisis???”

It didn’t stop there.

Old clips surfaced—grainy videos from years ago, now reframed through a new lens. A low-quality YouTube video from a 2021 TEDx talk in Cambridge. A photograph of you shaking hands with a prime minister. A blurry shot of you walking behind the Secretary of Energy. Suddenly, all the pieces snapped into place. You weren’t hiding. You were just busy. Quiet. Precise. Impossible to pin down because you’d always been moving.

The article confirmed everything.

You had founded tech company at 19. Closed a $70 million deal before turning 21. Your algorithm was already being implemented in low income neighborhoods across the nation. You’d been offered a buyout for $300 million and declined. You lived modestly for someone of your wealth, the article said. You were photographed in vintage boots and off the rack cashmere. You drove a ten year old electric car. You once donated an entire bonus to funding indigenous land repatriation.

And yet—you were the same girl who slept with one leg flung over Paige’s hip. Who burnt toast more often than not. Who still didn’t know how to fold a fitted sheet.

You were you. The world was just catching up.

The day you finally spoke, it wasn’t planned.

You hadn’t scheduled an interview. You hadn’t approved a press release. You hadn’t dressed for it, or set your lighting, or even thought about what to say. The camera on your laptop was still tilted slightly upward from a late-night strategy call the night before. You didn’t fix it.

You made a TikTok account, stared at your own reflection for five long seconds, and hit “Go Live.” You didn’t announce it. And yet, the view count ticked into the thousands in seconds.

At first, you said nothing.

Just sat there, hoodie pulled over your head, hair messy, eyes dark with exhaustion. You looked nothing like the girl from the Forbes cover. No makeup, no smirk, no steel in your spine.

Just you. A deep breath. Then, slowly, you spoke.

“Hi.”

Another pause.

“I didn’t plan to say anything. I thought the article would be enough. But maybe it wasn’t.”

You blinked down, mouth tightening. “I know what people said about me. I read it. I read all of it, even when I said I didn’t. And I get it. I do.”

You looked up, gaze steady.

“I don’t look how you expect a billionaire to look. Or a founder. Or a policy advisor. I look like someone who posts thirst traps and takes private jets to brunch. I look like the girl you only date for the photos. I get that.”

Your voice didn’t waver. But it got quieter.

“And I know why people said what they said about Paige. About us. Because for most of my life, I’ve been taught that I have to earn the right to be loved. That my worth had to be written in numbers, in accolades. And Paige…”

You exhaled slowly, lips trembling just for a second.

“She never asked for any of it.”

You stared down at your hands.

“She didn’t fall in love with my résumé. She didn’t care about the articles, the patents, the board seats. She just… loved that I loved her. That I didn’t flinch when she was quiet. That I was the same with her whether we were in a stadium or on the couch.”

A long silence.

“I didn’t post her. Not because I was hiding her. Because I was protecting her. I’ve watched what fame does to people. To love. People twist it. Makes it transactional. And I didn’t want that for us.”

Your mouth twitched into something like a smile.

“I didn’t correct the rumors because—truthfully—I didn’t care what strangers thought of me. I built my life in rooms you don’t get into by chasing validation. I let people misunderstand me for a living.”

You leaned closer, voice almost a whisper now.

“But Paige? She saw me. Before all this. Before the noise. And she’s the first person who didn’t need a spreadsheet to believe I was worth something.”

Your eyes glassed over.

“So if you think I’m just hot, or just lucky, or just riding someone else’s fame—fine. But don’t call her naïve for loving me. Don’t make her defend something that’s never needed proof.”

You sat there for a moment longer.

Still. Bare.

“I owed her my silence. But I owe myself this voice.”

And with that, you ended the live.

You closed your laptop. You sat on the floor, curled knees to chest, breathing like something inside you had cracked open. Not broken—just unlatched. Vulnerable in a way you hadn’t let yourself be in years.

You didn’t hear the front door open. Didn’t hear Paige set down her keys. What you did feel—almost immediately—was the weight of her presence, the shift in air as she stepped into the room and dropped to her knees in front of you.

“I saw it,” she said, voice thick. “All of it.”

You didn’t look at her right away. Couldn’t. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she cut in. Her hand found yours, held it tightly. “You told the truth.”

You nodded. Swallowed. “I didn’t want you to have to carry any of it.”

She smiled then. Shaky, but real.

“I’d carry all of it. Twice over. For you.”

You let out a breath that felt like it’d been stuck in your lungs for months. Then, finally, you met her eyes.

“I love you,” you said. Not like a confession. Like a fact.

She nodded, eyes glossy.

“I know. I’ve always known.”

And then she kissed you—not for the camera, not for a crowd, not for the world that had spent so long trying to define you.

Just for you. For the girl who brought her water when she didn’t ask. For the girl who built the world in silence. For the girl who chose love over legacy—and found both anyway.

The night of the gala, the air smelled like fresh roses and new money.

You weren’t supposed to go. Not really. The invite had come weeks ago—courtesy of a foundation you’d quietly helped fund—and you’d tucked it under a book on your nightstand, meaning to decline. You didn’t do galas. You didn’t do red carpets. You didn’t wear name tags or step into press walls where your face would be frozen in someone else’s narrative.

But Paige found the envelope. She lifted it up one evening while folding laundry and asked, “Are we going to this?”

You blinked. “You want to?”

“I want to stand next to you,” she said simply.

So you let her pick your outfit.

The gown was black. Simple but devastating. Silk. Clean lines. No jewelry but a thin silver ring Paige had slipped onto your finger one morning while you were brushing your teeth. You’d looked up in the mirror and caught her watching you. “Don’t make it a thing,” she said then. “It’s not that kind of ring.”

But you both knew it was.

She wore a tailored navy tux. No tie. Her curls were loose, her eyes steady, her smile a quiet weapon. She held your hand the moment you stepped out of the car. Not for show. Not for cameras. Just because she could.

Flashbulbs didn’t change the way her fingers laced with yours.

Inside, the gala shimmered with polished names and strategic conversations. CEOs made the rounds. Senators smiled too wide. Champagne sparkled in flutes held by people who didn’t care about clean energy unless there was a tax incentive.

You didn’t smile much. You didn’t need to.

Paige did enough of it for both of you.

She kept you anchored, tethered to something real while everyone else spun around each other like planets in search of gravity.

You weren’t nervous about your speech.

But when the foundation director introduced you, you caught Paige’s eye from across the ballroom—and the rest of the room blurred.

You didn’t talk about the Forbes list. Or the money. Or the attention. You talked about power grids in rural communities. About the cost of energy poverty. About the little girl in Nebraska who wrote you a letter last year thanking you for the solar heater your company installed in her school.

You talked about infrastructure.

But you meant love.

And when your voice cracked at the end, it wasn’t nerves. It was her.

Later, when the room had thinned and the cameras had stopped clicking, Paige pressed her forehead to yours under a string of overhead lights and said, “I’ve never been so proud of someone in my life.”

You blinked against her shoulder. “I just want to go home.”

She smiled. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

In the car, she reached for your hand again. Turned it over. Studied the line of your palm like she was still learning it, still memorizing something she never wanted to forget.

“You think they’ll leave you alone now?” she asked.

You leaned your head against the window. “I don’t care.”

She nodded. “Good.” Another beat. Then she added, “You know, you kind of do look like someone with an OnlyFans.”

You turned to glare at her. “Are you serious.”

She grinned, unrepentant. “The people weren’t wrong, babe. Just... misinformed.”

You shoved her shoulder. “I should’ve let them keep thinking I was a trust fund bimbo.”

She shrugged. “Nah. Let them Google.”

You got home late.

She pulled you out of the car, her arms winding around your waist the moment the front door closed. Shoes kicked off. Jacket slipped from her shoulders. She kissed you like the world didn’t deserve you—because it didn’t.

In the bedroom, her fingers traced the outline of the ring she gave you. Her voice was soft against your mouth.

“You’re mine, you know.”

You nodded, kissing her again.

“So are you.”

The next morning, a photo made the rounds.

You, on the balcony, champagne flute in hand, as you look out onto the city. Paige behind you, arms around your waist, pressing a kiss into your shoulder. A quiet moment. Unstaged. Someone at the gala had caught it by accident, framed in the open doorway as you slipped away from the ballroom.

It went viral.

But this time, there were no conspiracy theories. No bitterness. Just awe.

The caption was simple.

She never needed to be seen. But now that she is, we can’t look away.

[enha-stars]

✧ Matchy, matchy ; S.J

Pairing: Bf!Jake x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: To be loved is to be known. And you were. And he was, too. You knew him and he knew you, and neither of you would have it any other way.

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, down bad jake, down bad reader, freak: matched (lovingly), abandoned food, kissing, suggestive, gift giving as a love language,

A/n: happy anniversary to my beloved, @karinasbaby . My love for her inspired this, so… comeback?? Possibly. Stay tuned.

In the dimly lit, slightly damp hallway, Jake carefully turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open with the gentlest of nudges to avoid any noise. He slipped inside his apartment, his footsteps silent against the hardwood floor. The soft glow of evening light filtered through the curtains, casting a warmth hue over the room.

He was about to head to your shared bedroom when an enticing aroma caught his attention, causing him to stop mid-step. His heart skipped a beat as he realized the source of the delightful smell was in fact, coming from his kitchen.

Tip-toeing closer, Jake poked his head into the kitchen to the sight of you standing at the stove, your back turned to him. You were humming a soft tune, completely absorbed in your cooking. The sight of you, dressed in one of his old t-shirts, hair loosely tied up, glasses resting on your head, made his heart swell until it almost burst out of his chest. 

Jake’s lips curved into a bright smile as he quietly moved towards you, setting the gift bag down by the wall. Careful not to make a sound, he reached your side and paused for a moment, taking in the scene. The table was set for two, candles ready to be lit, and the counters were adorned with fresh ingredients. Jake recognized the variety on the table and his smile widened. He knew what avocados and limes meant and his stomach rumbled.

Unable to resist any longer, he stepped forward and gently wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. You let out a small gasp of surprise, dropping the spoon you were holding as you turned your head to look at him, heart beating rapidly and eyes wide.

“Jake! Oh my gosh,” you exhaled, trying to catch your breath. “You scared me.” The smile that had twisted onto your lips and the sparkle in your shiny eyes told him that he had the same affect on you that you had on him. 

Jake kissed your cheek softly, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, angel.” He did, and she knew it, too. “I just couldn’t resist.” 

You laughed, a sound he was sure the tides pushed towards because you were a celestial being to him, bright and unearthly. If he could bottle your laugh and drink it, have it swim in his veins forever, he would. 

“Well, I missed you and I wanted to surprise you. How was the harbor?” You picked up the spoon once more and stirred the pot of beans and ground meat. Knowing this mood of his, you turned off the stove. 

You wouldn’t be eating anytime soon, anyways. 

“It was okay,” he murmured, tightening his embrace. “Riki fell into the water but it only reached his hips.” He grinned against your skin when you snickered. He could feel your body shake beneath his hands and he pressed himself against you tighter. “I missed you, baby.” 

You turned in his arms, facing him fully. Your eyes met his and you could feel every ounce of stress, every fleeting miscellaneous thought, fade away. His eyes, shiny and sparkling, held yours with nothing but heat and affection. 

Jake swallowed, afraid to blink. He was afraid that if he blinked, you may disappear. It didn’t matter how long he had you, he wanted you for longer. He wanted forever. Eternity, even, if he could ask for it. 

Your eyes glazed over his face, taking him in after not seeing him for a few hours. There was a small smudge of dirt under his right eye and you did the only thing you could do. Holding his chin in place, you licked your thumb and rubbed the dirt off his face. 

Jake stared at you feverishly, eyes on your face; taking in the way you slightly pouted your lips, sticking your tongue out a bit. It was a habit you had learned from him, one he cursed himself for all the time.

“There,” you mumbled to yourself. “All clean.” You dropped your hands to his chest and met his gaze. The warmth in it almost made your legs buckle but his grip held you upright. 

“I love you,” he said. Before you could say anything, he dipped his head towards yours. His lips hovered above your own as he whispered, “I got you something.” 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you tilted your head up, trying to meet his lips but he stayed slightly out of reach, forever teasing you. “Yeah? What’d you get me?”

Jake almost gave in, feeling your warm breath against his lips. He wanted to kiss you until you forgot your name, but he enjoyed this. He enjoyed making you wait, the push and pull.

“It’s a surprise,” he mumbled. “You have to sit on the couch.” His lips briefly, for the lightest of seconds, brushed against yours and you almost whined out his name. 

“Jake,” you exhaled, eyes squeezed shut. Jake loved you like this; all bothered and slightly desperate for him. Usually, he was the one like this, the one on the cusp of begging and asking. When he got you like this, oh, you looked stunning. “Come on,” you tried. “Tell me.” 

Jake simply shook his head, his lips brushing against yours tantalizing. “Gotta wait, angel.” His lips curled upwards at the small noise of frustration you made and he stepped back, hands dropping to his side. He watched with heated eyes as you blinked back into yourself. He loved being the only one to have you like this. 

Before he could take another step back, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards you, smashing your lips together. You swallow his slight gasp of surprise and smile against his lips as he melts into it, hands cupping the sides of your face as your lips move harshly against each other. 

Unable to help himself, Jake steps forward and pushes you backwards until your back is flush against the counter. The slight dig makes you gasp in pleasurable pain and he slips his tongue inside your mouth, laying claim to what already belongs to him. He grips the counter, caging you in.

You clutch his shirt, lips moving roughly against his. Jake slots his knee between your legs and the new pressure manages to pull a breathy moan out of you. Jake pulls away, eyes still shut as he tries to catch his breath. There’s a string of saliva that connects your bruised lips and he presses his lips against yours softly, licking your lips clean. 

“Fuck,” he exhales. He opens his eyes and almost groans at the sight of you; breathing deeply, lips red and plump, eyes slightly dazed. You looked almost fucked out and he hasn’t even touched you yet. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.” 

You laughed at his words and slid your hands up to the base of his neck. “So, this gift…” 

Grinning, Jake nipped at your lips before stepping back. “Go sit on the couch, pretty.” He simply shook his head when you frowned at him and he watched you reluctantly walk out of the kitchen and into the living room with eyes filled to the brim with adoration. 

He waited until he heard you fall back onto the couch. Even then, you called out and let him know you were sitting. He was sure his heart was going to burst out his ribs and break through his skin with the amount of love and affection he felt for you. 

Grabbing the small gift bag, Jake made his way to you. When you heard his footsteps, you straightened your back and turned to face him, giving him your utmost attention. Jake often gifted you small, minuscule things, and you loved and appreciated every single thing. It was how he loved, and so you always made sure to focus on him and what his gift was telling you. 

Kneeling down in front of you, he looked up at you as you shifted to the edge of the sofa. You spread your legs a bit and he shuffled between them. His lips twisted and you pinched his nose, immediately seeing the flicker of heat and desire that spread through his eyes. “Don’t even think about it,” you warned. 

“Jokes on you,” he smirked. “I’m always thinking about it.” 

You raised an eyebrow at him and traced the outline of his lips. “Freak.” 

“Matched,” he countered, licking your finger when you pressed it down on his bottom lip. 

You both grinned at each other before he cleared his throat and lifted the gift bag, moving it towards you. Gently, like it was made of gold, which to you, it practically was, you grabbed it and set it down on your thigh. 

Jake watched you curiously as you picked the gift wrapping sheets out of the bag. He stopped breathing momentarily when you reached into the bag and pulled out a small, coffee coloured teddy bear plushie. 

His eyes, which could never and would never stray from you, focused on your expression; the way your eyes widened in surprise and then fondness, the way your small smile twisted into a wide grin before your lips parted in content. He watched as your eyebrows raised in surprise, the way your eyes crinkled. 

You looked so happy, so adorable as you gently patted the bear's head. Lost in the gift, you barely noticed Jake’s warm gaze and the way he shuffled forward, resting his cheek against your other thigh. He was more than pleased with staring at you like this forever. 

“Jake,” you whispered, pulling him out of his staring. He blinked and lifted his head, shaking the hair out of his face. With one hand, you held the bear tightly. With the other, you brushed his hair out his face, smiling a little wobbly. “I love him. What’s the special occasion?” 

Jake shrugged, slightly overcome with emotion. He didn’t think he would be, but you had that effect on him. “It’s uh, well,” he licked his lips. “I saw him at the harbor and thought of you. I knew I had to win it for you.” 

You stared at him, eyes widening at his words before you bit your bottom lip. You glanced at the bear in your hands and let out a quiet chuckle. At the sound, Jake looked back at you, eyes sparkling. 

“Jake,” you sighed. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. His eyes shut automatically and he breathed out in content. “This is actually really funny,” you murmured against his skin. 

“Hm?”

Pulling away, you set the bear down beside you and tapped his head twice. He opened his eyes and frowned in confusion when you motioned for him to move. Looking like a kicked puppy, he shuffled backwards and gave you enough space to get up. 

From the carpet, he watched you as you walked to the breakfast table. You pulled a chair back and grabbed something he couldn’t see. Hiding the item from his sight, you turned to face him. There was a twinkle in your eye, one he loved to see but didn’t understand. 

“Sit up on the couch for me, baby.” You motioned him to get up with your head and like the obedient boyfriend he was, he pushed himself off the carpet and fell back onto the sofa. 

Satisfied, you walked towards him, hiding the item behind your back. Jake tried to glance around you but with one look, he sulked into the couch, crossing his arms. Tsking, you sank to your knees and he immediately spread his legs. 

Your eyes traveled from his thighs up to his eyes and his eyes crinkled in amusement, an arrogant smirk ghosting on his lips. “Thinking about it, aren’t you, angel?”

You licked your lips, trying to focus on the present in your hands. “Don’t be freaky right now, Jake. We’re trying to be sentimental.” 

“So you are thinking about it,” he mused, spreading his legs further. You blinked and tried to ignore his tactics. It wasn’t even your fault really, not when his feelings and excitement were practically staring right in the face. 

Clearing your throat, you pinched his thigh to get his mind out of the gutter. Once the lust in his eyes died down a bit, you smiled bashfully at him. 

“What’re you hiding, angel? What’s in your hand?” He tried to hide the curiosity in his voice but you caught it. Because, while he liked to give you things, you also liked to give him things. Despite his calm demeanor, you knew he was always excited. Just like you were. 

Gosh, the stars really did love you both. 

“Well,” you started. “It’s funny that you got me that bear because I…” When your explanation fell short, you brought the bear in your hand towards Jake, handing it to him. He stared at the chocolate covered teddy bear in pure astonishment, almost like it couldn’t be real. 

You shuffled forward, resting your hand on his thigh. Rubbing small circles on his skin, you tried to ground him. Despite getting small gifts from you all the time, he took them each to heart. You wondered when he would accept the love he deserved. 

With a gentleness that made your stomach tingle, he held the bear carefully in his hand. It was small in his hands, but the weight of it felt almost overwhelming. You watched as his eyes glistened with something adoring, the way his lips parted prettily, curving into a smile so bright and beautiful it could have blinded you. 

“Angel,” his voice was hoarse with emotion, “why did you… how?” With soft, featherlike fingers, he caressed the bear as if it was your skin. His eyes were filled with wonder and if you could have captured this moment in its exactness, you would have lived in it. 

“I saw it the other day while I was shopping. It reminded me of you so I bought it.” 

Your words snapped something in him and he set the bear down, eyes ablaze. You barely got enough time to look at him before he scooped you into his arms and set you in his lap. Blinking, you stared at him, dumbfounded. 

With your legs on either side of him, you shuffled a bit closer until you were comfortable. Then, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed yourself against his chest, his hands wrapping around your waist. 

“Hi,” you whispered. 

His lips wobbled and he brushed his nose against yours. “Hi, angel.” 

“So, do you like the bear I got you?” 

Pressing a kiss to your jaw, he nodded. “I love it so much. So, so, much. I can’t believe we got matching plushies accidentally.” 

You laughed and kissed the edge of his smile, wanting to bask in it forever. “We match each other's freaks so well. We’re practically soulmates at this point.” 

Pulling away, he gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “The fuck you mean practically? We are soulmates. I’m marrying you. We’re going to die together and be buried together in one casket.” 

“Oh.” You grinned at him. “Okay, baby. Whatever you say.” 

He tiled your head upwards and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Then, he grabbed both of the bears and handed you yours while he kept his close to his chest. “What are you naming him?” 

You hummed in thought and stared at the bear in your hand. Naming your plushies was important to you. Names were important, and they had to be meaningful. Jake shouldn’t have been so turned on while watching you think of a name for a plushie, but he was. He knew you could feel it, but, having your priorities straight, you ignored him. 

“I kind of like Buoy.” 

Jake blinked at you before he softly laughed, amazed at your naming ability. “Buoy?” 

“Yeah, Buoy. Named after that slightly orange buoy by the harbor. That, and you’re my anchor. Always keeping me afloat and all.” 

Jake wasn’t a crier, but the amount of times he had almost burst into years tonight had hit a new record. Trying to swallow the emotion that bubbled in his throat, he rested his head against your chest, hiding in your embrace. You laughed at his antics and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

“What about you? What are you naming her?” 

Jake lifted his head and the look in his eyes made you hold your breath. You could feel every single vein in your body vibrate and you knew you were in for a long night. 

“I’m naming her Quesadilla.” The seriousness in his voice threw you off and you weren’t sure if you should laugh or clap him on the back. Instead, you simply raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Why Quesadilla?” 

“I’m naming her that in honour of the quesadillas we won’t be eating tonight.” 

“What are you–” You were cut off by Jake tightening his grip on you and flipping you over. A surprised laugh escaped your lips as you found yourself lying beneath him on the couch, his body hovering over yours.

You weren’t sure where your bears had gone, but that was the least of your worries. Jake leaned down, his face inches from yours, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart beat in your ears.  “I’m only hungry for you tonight, pretty girl.” His lips hovered above your own and your throat went dry. 

You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek as you smiled up at him. “Have me then, Jake.” 

Jake’s expression softened and he closed the distance between you, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. It was a simple tease, a highlight as to how the night was going to go, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You would, after all, have your fun after he had his. 

[clemswinecorner]

Neat [George Clarkey]

Summary: George and Y/N are dating, but no one is aware. It can make going out with their friends a bit... weird, a bit risky, but it works.

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: sexual innuendos and alcohol, other than that it's fine

I'm in love with this man so here's a fic!

masterlist - main masterlist

Gif from @g-xix

“We’re getting drinks, are you staying here?” Chris shouts over the loud Spanish music of whatever club they are in. Y/N looks around, seeing Arthur Television chatting with a couple of friends and Callum and Chip laughing with some guy they met when they went out some other time. “I’ll go with,” she gestures, and Chris nods as he follows George to the bar, occasionally checking if she’s still behind him. Although it was a Friday night, it was still relatively early, so the club wasn’t extremely busy yet. It was busy enough to have fun, but early enough to still be able to have a conversation with no interruptions, so they easily made their way over to the bar. As they arrive at the bar Chris starts speaking to the bartender, having heard everyone’s orders, and she softly puts her hand on George’s shoulder. He turns to her surprised, relaxing when he sees her. “Oh, I didn’t know you were walking with us!” She smiles, “Yeah, the rest was all in conversation anyway,” she explains, and he nods. Chris turns to the pair, “Do you want a pint?” He asks George, who contemplates his options before nodding. “Yeah. You as well?” He looks at the girl next to him, nodding. “Yes, but I also want to do tequila shots. Oh, and did you get a Guinness for Hill?” Chris looks at her surprised, “Wait, no, I didn’t, where is he anyway?” He asks before moving back to the bartender. “Could I get another 3 pints and a Guinness, please. Are we doing the shots now?” Chris turns to George and Y/N, who quickly make eye contact, before nodding. “Yeah, I’m down,” George answers, and Chris turns back to the bartender. “And three tequila shots, please, we’ll do those first and then take those other drinks back if that’s alright,” You look at George as you wait for the bartender. “Arthur went to the bathroom. You enjoying your night so far?” She asks, leaning closer. He nods, looking down at her, their faces a little too close for it to simply be friendly. Y/N glances towards Chris, tapping his phone on the card reader with the shots and limes already in front of him. “Yeah. What are you doing tonight, going to Becky’s?” She shakes her head, “No, she has to leave early tomorrow so she wouldn’t stay out too long. I’m not sure, why do you ask?” He shrugs, with a hint of a smile on his face. “Just thinking,” he says, moving away from her as Chris turns around. She sends him a knowing smirk as Chris hands out the shots. “Salt, babe, we need salt,” she tells him, and George is already leaning over the bar to grab one of the salt shakers. Y/N and Chris lick their palms and George twists some salt on them, “Okay, you do it for me,” he says, looking at the girl next to him. “What, d’you want her to lick you?” Chris chuckles, making a blush appear on the younger’s face, not realising the implications. “No, I meant like, the salt, not, what?!” He stutters, and Chris laughs even harder as she smiles, taking the salt from him. “Hurry up then, I want to take these shots!”

It’s busier by the time they’ve had a few rounds of drinks and shots. George was still relatively sober looking, having a fairly high tolerance, and Y/N wanted to be semi-responsible, going a bit easy. Unlike some of their other friends, who were already dancing— most of them dragged away by a drunk Chris, telling them how boring they were sitting around. Because their friends were all on the dance floor —or god knows where else in the club— George and Y/N didn’t really try to hide their affection. They were sitting together, her leg on his lap, one of his hands on her thigh and a drink in the other. “Are you staying at mine tonight?” He asks, and she nods. “Yeah, if the other boys don’t mind. Can’t really do anything then, though,” she says, and he shrugs. “It’d be weirder if I went to yours, I think, and with your roommates and stuff. Either way, I was thinking, maybe we could go out tomorrow? Grab a coffee, maybe have a cute little date?” He asks, just loud enough for her to hear. She chuckles, “You can’t get enough of me, can you? My roommates will be out tomorrow night, if you want to come over. We could make that taco thing you send me?” She suggests, and now he’s the one teasing her. “What were you saying about can’t get enough?” She rolls her eyes as he squeezes her waist. “Whatever, then I’ll make it by myself,” she says, and now he’s the one rolling his eyes. “I do have to hit the gym tomorrow, but you can leave whilst I’m gone, and we’ll meet for coffee after. Then do groceries and go back to yours?” She nods at his suggestion, “Yeah, sounds good. I have some work I planned to do tomorrow so that works perfect for me as well.” He frowns when she suddenly moves her legs away from his, turning towards him in a more casual way as she looks towards the dance floor. He follows her line of eyesight, explaining her change in behaviour, and looks back at her. “Are we letting Chris drag us away?” He asks as the mentioned man makes his way over. She smiles at their friend's clearly drunken state, “Yeah, someone has to look out for him. I could use some fun as well,” she says, and he fakes offence. “Is sitting in the corner of the club with me not fun enough for you?” She laughs, “Of course it is,” she leans closer to his face, as they both laugh, ready to kiss, before Chris’ voice brings them back to reality. They share a quick look, realising they almost got caught, and look over at their friend, that bumped into one of the tables and was cursing it out. They both have to hold in their laughs, as he makes his way over. “It’s funny, it almost looked like you were kissing from there, imagine how crazy that would be,” The two share a look once again, both aware Chris will have forgotten this by the morning. “Yeah, imagine. Hey, do you wanna dance again, or did you come here just because?” She asks, brushing off his comment. George chuckles as Chris enthusiastically nods, “yeah, c’mon!” He says, already turning around. George follows, holding his hand for her to grab, in order to not lose each other. No other reason, of course. She takes it with a smile, as Chris leads them through the crowd. Right when they reach their other friends, the first notes to Maneater are heard, and George turns around, already expecting the big smile on Y/N’s face. “Oh my god, this is a banger!” 

The way home went by fast, if you asked Chris and Arthur. They split off relatively quickly with their other friends, some staying at the club and some sharing an Uber home. Chris, Arthur, George and Y/N decided to simply walk back since it was, in theory, only twenty minutes, and it was nice to be in the fresh air for a bit. Chris and Arthur, both still in a drunken state, were giggling joking around, as George and Y/N walked behind them. “I feel like we’re very much being the parents, right now,” Y/N jokes, already on their way for twenty minutes and still being at least ten minutes away, and George chuckles as they walk with their arms interlocked. They knew their friends wouldn’t think much of it, both of them always being affectionate with their friends even sober, and the pair were also too drunk to realise it could mean something. “Don’t act like it hasn’t been the other way around, do I have to remind you of the XIX party two weeks ago?” She gasps at the memory, where she was in a very similar state as Chris was right this moment, and he was making endless fun of her. “Okay, well. You didn’t have to say that. Next time, I won’t come back to your place then,” she says, reminding him of what happened the morning after. “Hey, I wasn’t complaining!” She chuckles, as she looks at the boys in front of them crossing the road.

They walk in silence for a while, before Y/N speaks up. “Do you think they have any idea this is happening?” She wonders, looking at him. He looks at his roommates and back at her, confused by her question, “About what?” She looks at the boys. “Us. That we’re like, dating,” He turns to her as they stop at the traffic light, waiting for the cars to drive by. “I don’t know. Do you want them to?” He studies her face, trying to find an answer somewhere. She shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s more like… I don’t know, Chris comment made me think. They’re your roommates, I know we’re being a bit careful, but they know the both of us so well. But also, if they knew, would they have said something?” George takes in a deep breath. He looks at the boys walking a couple of meters in front of them, not having realised the other two had to stop at the crossing. “Sometimes I think Arthur might know, from my side at least. He hasn’t said it, but I think he just thinks I haven’t realised, but I obviously have,” she looks up at him curiously. “Realised what?” He turns to her with a soft look in his eyes. “How in love with you I am,” he simply says. Her eyes widen a bit— this was unfamiliar territory for them. He realises too, as he looks away from her again. “Shit, sorry, that, okay, that was quite-,”  She immediately interrupts, as she stops them from walking any further. “I’m in love with you too. Like, actually,” He looks at her, a genuine smile on both their faces. “Okay. Okay, good,” he simply says, as they get closer to each other. She giggles, “yeah?”, she asks, and he nods, “yeah, very good.” They both smile as they kiss each other, lost in their own worlds, before they hear their names being called. “Oh my god, I forgot about them,” George says annoyed, but still with a smile. She laughs, “Yeah, okay, maybe this wasn’t the best place and time for this, but it’s fine. We should definitely get to them before they take the wrong turn,” he laughs and nods, giving her one last quick kiss.

George grabs her hand, but quickly lets it go again as they go around the corner, where their friends are waiting. “Finally!” Arthur exclaims as Chris is leaning against him. “Jesus, what were you doing, shagging each other? Should’ve done that in the bathroom,” Chris jokes, and they awkwardly laugh. Their friends were too drunk to remember the specific comment in the morning, but Y/N doesn’t miss the way Arthur inspects George's face. “Traffic light. Alright, c’mon boys, I want to sleep,” Y/N answers, getting the group to walk on again. “I think you’re right about Arthur,” she softly tells George, who looks down at her with a questioning face. “That he knows you like me. Doesn’t have a clue we’re actually together though, I think,” she explains, and he nods, sighing softly before turning towards her again. “Do you want them to know?” He asks, and she’s somewhat surprised by the question. “I don’t know. I mean, I wouldn’t mind them knowing, like, I don’t care, but… I think it’s neat, us being like this — without anyone interfering with our relationship. I love them, but I also love this little thing we have going on, you know,” she explains, and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, me too,” she inspects his face, trying to find a sign of dishonesty. “You know, if you’re sick of having this relationship being a secret I don’t mind telling them, if that’s what you want,” he looks over at her with a smile. “No, it’s not that. It would make things easier, but once they know we can’t go back, you know?” She nods, looking at their friends, oblivious to the conversation the couple behind them is having. “I think we should just… Let them figure it out. Hide it, but you know, care a little less? If they find out, they find out,” She suggests. He nods, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “Yeah, that sounds great. When they ask why I’m so happy tomorrow I’ll say it’s because I had some godly pussy,” she rolls her eyes and pushes him away chuckling. “You’re horrible,” she exclaims, and he just laughs, “You love me!” He says as they approach the boys' flat. She shakes her head, “Unfortunately, I do.”

[howi99]

Jaune: you know, staying in the ever after made me realize something.

Blake: The importance of letting go?

Jaune: AH, no! Also, ironic coming from you.

Blake: *frown* Rude.

Ren: But not inaccurate.

Jaune: So anyway, did you know that Aura also repairs teeth?

Ruby: *perplexed* How did you learn that?

Jaune: How long do you think my toothpaste lasted? And it's not like i could find a brush anywhere once mine broke.

Weiss: ... But your mouth didn't smell bad?

Jaune: Well, i still rinsed my mouth and used lime grass as dental floss. It only protects against gingivitis and cavities after all.

Yang: ... How did you know about his breath not smelling bad?

Weiss: None of your business, fishy breath!

Yang: *goes to speak, then takes a second to smell her own breath* ... You win this time.

Nora: ... Wouldn't that be Blake?

Ren: *whispering to Nora* She just called her a carpet eater.

Nora: ... I don't get it.

[incendiobrock]

Drunk Confessions {Chris Sturniolo}

Summary: Chris, Nick, and fem!reader attend the Tara Yummy party and some drunken confessions are made later on in the night.

A/N: I kinda hate how I wrote this but my account is seriously lacking Chris content so hopefully you will enjoy anyways lmao, if it's not too shitty lmk if you might want a part 2

Warnings: drinking, mentions of throwing up, super sweet, fluffy chris 🥹

“Alright, you guys have fun!” Matt said as he dropped you Nick, and Chris off at the front of the building. You could hear the music blasting through the walls as people celebrated Tara. Matt wasn’t really feeling up to going to a party which worked perfectly in your favor knowing you had a reliable DD to pick you up later in the night. Chris and Nick wouldn’t drink either but you would never trust them to safely operate a vehicle so Matt was the best choice for the job.

Nick walked ahead of you as Chris stayed by your side, his right hand lightly touching your lower back as he guided you both inside. You all had smiles etched onto your face as you entered the upbeat atmosphere filled with some of your influencer friends. Tara immediately saw you guys and pulled you into a hug, “Thank you so much for coming!” She shouted over the music.

“We wouldn’t miss it!” You replied, congratulating her on hitting a million subscribers. Your eyes scanned the room noticing the bar, officially deciding that would be your next stop. Chris’s hand never left your lower back as he and Nick continued to talk to Tara. “I’ll be right back,” You said into Chris’s ear, departing the group.

The bar was filled with people trying to order different drinks. A special menu placed in the center with some specific drinks for Tara. You ordered a vodka cran and even got roped into taking a shot with some others that were at the bar. Without your knowledge, Chris kept a close eye on you from across the room. He loved seeing you have fun, especially knowing that you had been stressed with other things the past few weeks.

You needed to let loose and have a little fun, he thought. The liquor burned going down your throat as you took your shot, using a lime wedge as your chaser. Before you knew it, you were a few drinks in, and maybe a couple shots.

You felt like you were floating through the crowd as you made your way back to your friends. You wrapped an arms around both Chris and Nick’s shoulders, standing in between the two. “Heyyyy,” You slurred slightly.

“Where have you been?” Nick chuckled, trying to keep you supported as you swayed slightly into his side. “Yeah, you’ve been all over the place tonight. I saw you over at the bar and then over by the-“ Chris began before you cut him off.

“I wanna dance! Can we please danceee?” You begged, dragging out the end of your sentence. “You guys got this,” Nick said, passing you off to Chris. “Good luck kid.”

You looked up at Chris with big puppy dog eyes, silently restating your request to dance. “Of course, let’s go dance.” He said, placing his hand out for you to take hold of. His fingers interlocked with yours as he pulled you to the crowd of other people dancing. One of your favorite hype songs came on and you felt like you were on top of the world. You were facing Chris with a hand placed on each of his shoulders while his held your waist. You were both jumping around and singing the lyrics to one another. You couldn’t help but admire him as the flashing lights illuminated his face. Maybe it was the alcohol running through your veins but you wanted nothing more than to pull him in for a kiss.

After dancing for a few more songs Chris leaned down to your ear and yelling over the music, “You ready to go? Matt is here to pick us up!” A soft smile played on your face as you nodded, head still spinning from the drinks.

Chris had to practically lift you into your seat as your body stumbled to step up into the vehicle. “Okay- Okay sit still let me buckle you in.” Chris laughed, watching as you immediately started to fill Matt in on the night. The seatbelt buckle latched into place and Chris went to shut your door and hop into the passenger seat. “Chris-“ Your voice comes out in a whine, he glances behind his shoulder looking at you worried. “Are you gonna be sick?”

You shook your head ‘no’, staring into his eyes as he searched your face trying to figure out what was wrong. “Can you sit with me?” Nick agrees and switches seats with his brother, taking over the passenger seat. Chris’s fingers found your hair as he playfully brushed his fingers through it. The drive home was about twenty minutes and you didn’t know if you would make it. Nausea settled in your stomach as the alcohol mixed with the moving car. You ended up rolling down the window to get some fresh, cool air.

As soon as Matt pulled into the garage you were lunging out your door and inside the house. You ran to Chris’s bathroom, not having enough time to shut the door before you were over the toilet bowl. This wasn’t how you were planning on ending the night. Embarrassment started to settle in when you heard footsteps entering the bathroom. “Go awayyy,” you couldn’t lift your head up but you knew who stood in the doorway. The presence was by your side that very next second, “I’m not leaving.” His voice was barely above a whisper, trying to be gentle with you knowing you weren’t feeling well.

“Chris please, this is so embarrassing. I’m okay, I promise.”

“I know you are kid. I brought you some water, do you need anything else?”

“Maybe a shower.” You grumble.

Chris stood up and turned on the hot water for you, letting it heat up before you got in. Delicately, he helped you get out of the outfit you had on as you faced away from him, not wanting to expose yourself. His hand on your bare back as he helped get you into the shower.

Chris stayed right outside the shower, scrolling on his phone but making sure he was readily available if you needed anything. After the shower, you were being dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers.

Your body collided with his mattress as you pulled the covers over your body. Chris got in bed beside you, laying flat on his back and keeping a healthy distance between you two. “Can we please cuddle?” You whisper. Without any hesitation he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your torso.

“Thank you, Chris.”

“Don’t mention it kid. It’s no problem.”

Kid. That stupid nickname fell out of his mouth again for the second time tonight. It definitely didn’t feel very nice to hear him say it. You might regret this tomorrow but you were still feeling brave right now.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, what’s up.” He asked, looking down at your face as it continued to rest on his chest.

“I love you.”

A chuckle escaped past his lips, “I love you too-“

“No Chris. Like, I love you… I have for so long.” You watched as he tried to process the new information, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“I was scared to tell you because you’re like my best friend and I didn’t want to ruin that but, it’s true. I love you so much.” You finished your little spiel.

“I feel the same way about you, but please let’s talk about this tomorrow. I want you to be able to remember this.” He was so gentle with you, he always was. You had such a special spot that he held in his heart for you. You were sad that he didn’t want to talk about this right now but you knew he was probably right, he normally was. You wanted to remember this conversation and you weren’t certain that you would remember anything when you woke up the next morning.

“Go to sleepy pretty girl, I will talk to you about this in the morning. I want to be able to kiss you when you’re in the right state of mind.” His lips pressed a soft kiss on your cheek, lulling you to sleep.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 3: The Ones Who Died Without A Name]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Holiday” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

The Tahoe runs out of gas just west of Ashland, Ohio, coasting to a stop along the shoulder of State Route 96, sapphire skies and cotton ball cumulus clouds, emerald fields of Swiss chard and beets slowly being nibbled bare by deer and rabbits, the inheritors of an abandoned earth.

“Well, that’s it,” Baela says, offhand, blasé, as if it’s not a disaster. You’ve sorted this out, it didn’t take long: there are people who aren’t allowed to panic. If they do, it’ll be like a dam crumbling, and the flood will burst through to drown everything, like when Noah’s wrathful God decided it was time for the world to start over. Baela can’t panic. Aemond can’t panic. And maybe you can’t either. Rio gives you a skeptical look—Are we really about to walk to Oregon?—and you slap his thigh encouragingly as you climb over him and out of the Tahoe.

“Everyone gets a gun,” Aemond says as he starts distributing them: Rugers for Rhaena, Baela, and Helaena (although she winces as she obediently takes the revolver, immediately tucking it away into her burlap messenger bag), .22s for Daeron and Aegon, Remington 12 gauges for Jace and Rio, who gives you his M9. You’re better with it anyway. Aemond’s Glock 20 is in a handmade leather holster he took from the cellar of the house back in Distant, Pennsylvania. Luke, still a potential zombie, will not be armed; but Aemond slings the strap of a .22 over his own shoulder for in case Luke recovers.

“Safeties on, right kids?” Rio goes down the line checking everyone’s gun. “Remember what we practiced, use your sights, don’t go pointing the barrel at anyone unless you’re okay with blowing a hole in them. The noise is risky, but getting bit is worse, so use your best judgment.”

“I don’t have any of that,” Aegon says, grinning.

Rio grabs Aegon’s sunburned face roughly and smacks a kiss onto his cheek. “I know, Honey Bun. Don’t you worry. Stick close and I’ll do your thinking for you.”

You spy it up the road a ways on the right, half-obscured by tree limbs: a white and orange sign, a logo shaped like a diamond. “Oh my God. It’s a Stewart’s.”

“A what?” Aemond asks, squinting at the sign. It’s late afternoon, and soon the sun will be sinking into the west like a drowning man through deep water, and like all prey animals you are restless without the promise of shelter.

“A Stewart’s Root Beer. They used to sell hot dogs and barbeque and all these neat soda flavors like key lime and black cherry. We had one where I grew up. That was the fancy place. You knew it was a good day if you ended up at Stewart’s for dinner.”

Aemond considers you, that subtle ceaseless curiosity. “We can stay the night there.”

“I thought we didn’t want to waste any daylight, Aemond,” Jace jabs as he helps Luke—miserable but presently human—out of the Tahoe. “That’s what you said when I wanted to check out that Barnes & Noble, Aemond.”

“What the hell do you need books for?” Aegon says. He’s grabbing clear CD cases out of the center console of the Tahoe. He pounds on the eject button and then punches the CD player when he realizes he won’t be getting that particular disk back. “Oh, you bitch! I had Shakira on there!”

“I would like to preserve my ability to read at higher than a fifth-grade level. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I was going to work for Sullivan & Cromwell, you know.”

“And now you’re a jobless loser just like me. Isn’t life funny?”

“You can’t be serious,” Baela says to Aegon, his arms full of CD cases. “You’re going to carry all those to California? You don’t even have a way to listen to them.”

“I’m not leaving my mixtapes.” Aegon shoves them into a U.S. Army backpack he found at Fort Indiantown Gap and then hoists it onto his back with a grunt.

Aemond tells Jace: “We only have a few hours until the sun starts going down. We don’t know what’s up ahead. We should take advantage of a safe place to sleep if it’s available. Getting caught out in the open after dark is the worst case scenario.”

“Whatever, Aemond. It’s your call. Everything is your fucking call.” Then Jace plods out into a field of rabbit-ravaged Swiss chard to relieve himself semi-privately, his back to the Tahoe.

“Hey, Chips Ahoy,” Aegon says, taking the folded-up map out of the pocket of his shorts, mint green plaid. “Want to tell me if there are any nuclear power plants near our route so we can steer clear of them and not get irradiated?”

“Uh, well, I don’t exactly have them all memorized…” You examine the map, hoping the black-ink cities will jog your memory, trivia you catalogued years ago, snippets you’ve heard from your fellow seamen. “Perry’s in Cleveland. We won’t be anywhere near that one. Fermi is up by Detroit.” You hesitate as your fingertips skate past Chicago. “Braidwood, LaSalle, and Byron are someplace between Chicago and Peoria, but I’m not sure where. And then there are a few others around the border of Illinois and Iowa. West of that, I don’t know. Rio?”

“Cooper’s in Nebraska, dead east of Lincoln. That’s all I got.”

Aegon is nodding, making notes on his map with a glittery forest green gel pen. “Cool, cool. If I don’t end up eaten or a zombie, I can look forward to being a sterile, glow-in-the-dark mutant.”

Luke frets: “What if we accidentally drink contaminated water or something?”

“Then you die an agonizing death, kiddo,” Rio says. “Your cells dissolve and you turn into human Jello and there’s nothing anybody can do about it.”

Luke swallows noisily. “Awesome.”

“You might just get cancer if the dose is small enough,” you tell him. Luke does not seem pacified. Rhaena gives him a sip of warm Coca-Cola from a plastic bottle from the Wawa.

Jace comes trudging back to the road, zipping up his khaki chino shorts. “Alright, are we ready?”

Helaena is gazing solemnly out over the fields of green leaves, red roots that grow like arteries into the soil. “We should try to find antivenom.”

“Antivenom?” Aemond asks, distracted as he makes sure nothing of importance was left in the Tahoe. The keys are still dangling from the ignition; you won’t need them. There’s no breathing the Tahoe back to life. There’s no returning to Aemond’s house back in Boston. There is only the West, beckoning you to cross rivers and plains and mountains to join her, and to do it as people did two hundred years ago, no cars, no phones, no escape hatches. The only way out is through.

“For the snakes,” Helaena says.

Aemond stares at her. The stitches in his face are dissolving as the flesh weaves back together, jagged maroon scar tissue, beautiful savage ruins, landscapes of improbable survival. “Helaena, antivenom has to be refrigerated. Even if we miraculously found some, it wouldn’t be useable.”

She nods, eyes wide and glazed, still peering into the fields, into the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

A hand brushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, a whisper through the dissipating indigo of sleep: “Guess what today is.”

You startle awake and yelp as you bolt from your assailant. Aegon is watching you without any shame whatsoever. People are laughing as they gather up supplies so you all can get moving again, brushing teeth, arranging hair, drinking glass bottles of Stewart’s soda found last night in crates in the storeroom, snacking on bags of Utz chips. Sunlight is streaming in through the windows; specks of dust glimmer in the air like comets through the inhospitable void of outer space.

Luke says from where he is sitting on the floor, his arms and legs tethered: “Hopefully the day when somebody’s going to untie me.”

“It’s my birthday!” Aegon announces.

You’re still blinking at him, disoriented. “What…?”

“Aegon, I told you,” Aemond says, sipping a bottle of Stewart’s key lime soda. “It’s not your birthday. It’s not the 23rd.”

“It’s the 20th, right?” Rhaena says.

Rio looks to you, bewildered. “Isn’t it like the 25th?”

“We’re still in June?” Luke says. Now Aemond is hacking through his ropes with a hunting knife from the cellar in Distant, Pennsylvania.

“Your hand is healing up. Your color is good, your temperature is normal. I guess we can officially declare you human for the foreseeable future.”

“I knew it,” Jace says, combative so no one will see the desperate relief underneath.

Aemond examines your hands next, calloused over where the heat of the transmission tower burned the skin. There is no pretext for needing to tend to them any longer, no antiseptic or ointment or gauze. Aemond nods somberly at your palms, as if he isn’t entirely happy to pronounce them cured. His hands linger on yours for slow, unnecessary seconds.

“So what are we going to do special for my birthday?” Aegon presses eagerly.

“We’re going to walk between ten and twenty miles towards California,” Baela says.

“That’s not a birthday activity!”

Daeron groans as he inspects the screws and bolts of his compound bow. “Aegon, it’s not your birthday!”

“Shut up. You can’t even apply to get a credit card.”

“No one can get a credit card now! Currency is worthless!”

Rio offers you a cherries and cream soda. You take it and say: “Aegon, how old are you? On today, your alleged birthday?”

He hesitates. “That’s not the important part.”

Aemond smiles as he tells you, mock-whispering: “He’s thirty.”

“Thirty?!” Rio exclaims. “That’s like, an actual adult age. Marriage and a mortgage, shit like that. What were you doing before everything went insane?”

Aegon gestures vaguely. “I was considering a number of opportunities.”

“He was living on my couch,” Aemond says.

Rio shakes his head, grinning. “No job? No school? No nothing?”

“I wasn’t doing nothing. I played a lot of golf.”

“He was totally doing nothing,” Jace says. “I was in my third year of law school at Harvard, Baela was getting a master’s in Aeronautics and Astronautics at MIT, Rhaena just started an Anthropology PhD, Luke was getting a master’s in Screenwriting at Boston University—he was going to be very sad and very broke, but still, he had a plan—and Aegon was doing…nothing.”

“I’ve never had a real birthday party before,” Aegon tells you; and there is something in his murky blue eyes that is tremendously sad, wounded, childlike. “I might not get another chance.”

“What do you want to do?” Now people are alarmed, skittish glances and mouths open to object. You are encouraging him.

“I don’t know yet,” Aegon says. But he’s glad you bothered to ask. You can see it on his face.

It’s not until several hours later—after noon, the sun high and blazing, everyone’s unpracticed feet aching and blistering in their shoes—that Aegon experiences a revelation like the angel Gabriel appearing to the Virgin Mary or Sir Isaac Newton extrapolating gravity from an apple falling on his head. Aegon’s epiphany appears in the form of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio called Luxury Lanes. It is remarkably unluxurious, a nondescript black rectangular building with a few doors in the front, one small tinted window on each, and no other openings. To Aegon, it is an oasis in a desert.

“I want to go bowling!”

“Aegon, we’re not going bowling,” Baela says, breathing heavily but trying to hide it, her hands massaging the small of her back. Aemond is watching her worriedly. Baela is the only person not burdened with carrying any supplies beyond her hammer and shiny new Ruger—and she resisted this accommodation at first—but still, she suffers more than anyone.

“Once again, it is my birthday—”

“Aren’t bowling allies soundproofed?” Rio asks Aemond. “You know, so they don’t get noise complaints?”

“Uh, I guess so…?”

“It’s kind of a fortress, isn’t it?” Rio continues. “Not many ways in or out. We wouldn’t be seen or heard. Might be a good place to stop for the night. ”

“Yeah!” Aegon says. “Right, Aemond?”

Aemond looks at you. It takes you a moment to figure out why. “I think the bowling alley is a good idea,” you tell him. “It’ll be safe, assuming we can clear it. And Aegon can have his party.”

Aemond is skeptical. “A party?”

“Survival isn’t just about not dying. It’s also about holding onto the things that make us human.”

“Like bowling!” Rhaena says excitedly. “It’s preserving a tradition! And I used to be so good at bowling. I bowled a 250 game once.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Aegon says, still delighted to have her on his side.

“There’s a sign for a Walmart maybe half a mile up the road,” Daeron points out. “We could search it for supplies and then double back here.”

Aemond polls the audience. Everyone agrees.

Shenandoah is tiny, rural, religious, and out of the way from the major highways. The Walmart doors are chained shut with padlocks, and amazingly no one has taken that as an invitation to drive their car through them or otherwise shatter the glass yet. Rio is honored to be the first. He takes the butt of his Remington shotgun and punches through the glass of the locked doors, kicks away loose shards, whistles and shouts to lure out any zombies. A dozen of them come reeling out of the aisles and towards the doorway. Daeron shoots down most of them with his compound bow. Rio kills two with the butt of his Remington, his new favorite toy. Aegon, the birthday boy, uses his golf club to beat in the skull of a teenager who is still wearing glittery pink nail polish and fake eyelashes. According to her nametag, her friends and family once called her Raelynn.

Inside the Walmart, Jace and Aemond take one side of the store, you and Rio the other, doing a quick sweep to make sure you didn’t miss any undead employees or customers waiting for the chance to sink their teeth into you. And when that’s done, you begin shopping.

The shelves are probably two-thirds empty, but there are still treasures to be found. You push carts through the aisles and fill them with candles, lighters, Chef Boyardee, Doritos, canned soup, fruit snacks, tuna pouches, 5 gum, bottles of Snapple, socks and underwear, hair ties, t-shirts and shorts, Kleenex tissues, pads and tampons, toilet paper. Baela finds some cute maternity dresses. Helaena picks through the pharmacy for useful medications, Aemond shadowing her with a baseball bat in his hands and his Glock at his waist.

“Chips, they got Cheddar Whales!” Rio exclaims, tossing several boxes into your cart.

“I miss grocery stores,” Rhaena says as she climbs the shelves to get the last box of Teddy Grahams.

“I miss going to the mall and getting Auntie Anne’s pretzel nuggets,” Aegon commiserates. Then he stumbles upon the liquor aisle and his eyes light up like high beams. “Aemond!”

Aemond appears—perhaps a bit flustered—and deliberates for a while as he browses the selection, Aegon waiting anxiously, before he decides: “Since it is allegedly your birthday, you can drink tonight. And you can pick one other person to drink with you. But only one.”

“Rio,” Aegon says immediately.

“Come on!” Daeron whines.

Aegon is already putting bottles of Captain Morgan rum into a cart. “Sorry. Illegal. Underage.”

“I’ve helped you butcher countless zombies, but I can’t drink?!”

“Just Say No, as Nancy Reagan would tell an innocent child such as yourself.”

Jace strides over, sly and playful, gnawing on a Twizzler. “Aemond, were you over there rummaging through the medicine aisles again? What do you keep looking for? Condoms?”

There is an awkward silence, an extremely awkward silence. Aemond glares at Jace. Jace’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, I, uh…I was definitely joking. But…congrats on the possible future sex!”

“I already checked,” Luke tells Aemond apologetically. “You know condoms were the first thing to get bought up or looted everywhere.”

“Okay, great,” Aemond says quickly, willing the conversation to be over. There is blood, hot and mortified, flaring in his cheeks. He was thinking of you, he had to be; the only other single woman here is his sister, and obviously that’s not an option.

Jace takes another bite of his Twizzler. “Just pull out, man.”

Baela, incredulous, gestures to her belly. “Because that worked out super well for us.”

“I told you to stop riding me!”

“Yeah, a whole two seconds before you impregnated me with your super-swimmer Michael Phelps sperm.”

“Please don’t make me listen to this,” Luke begs. “I’m starting to wish I really was bitten.”

“Don’t you know all the tricks to not getting someone pregnant, Aemond?” Jace says. “Wasn’t that going to be your specialty? You wanted to be a vagina doctor? So don’t you know all the mysteries of the vagina, Aemond?”

“He was going to be an OB/GYN,” Baela says, unamused.

“Really?” Rio turns to Aemond. “Why would you want to do that?”

“So he gets to look at pussies all day,” Aegon says morosely, as if heartbroken that such a path is inaccessible to him.

“That’s not why,” Aemond insists, mostly to you.

You smile. “I didn’t think so. What’s the actual reason?”

“Interns do rotations in different departments so we can figure out what we enjoy and what we’re best suited for. I knew within two days of my OB/GYN rotation that that’s where I wanted to be. Giving birth is the only life-threatening trauma that is necessary for humanity to continue. I wanted to help people get through it as safely and painlessly as possible.” Then his gaze darts to Baela. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound worse—”

“No, it’s okay, I’m very much aware. It hurts like hell, people die. Believe me, I’d be thinking about that even if you hadn’t said it. I think about it all the time.”

“I have an idea you’re not going to like.”

“What?” Baela says. Aemond nods to the nearest shopping cart. “No way. You’re not going to push me around in one of those.”

“I believe it’s an adequate solution until an alternative appears.”

She sighs. “I’ve lost my body, my career, my society, my parents…must I lose my dignity too?”

Aemond winks. “Only when you’re too tired to walk.”

“Alright, Aemond. I realize you’re under the impression that this is a favor. So thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Let me give you a favor in return.” Then Baela begins shooing everyone except you and Aemond out of the liquor aisle. “Grab anything else you want, we’re leaving in five minutes! Jace, come look at the baby clothes with me…”

When the two of you are alone, Aemond says: “I really hope that didn’t make you feel too weird. I’m not someone who gets uncomfortable about the…um…the subject matter in general. But I wouldn’t want you to think that I was trying to…I don’t know. Assume anything or pressure you into something that you weren’t already open to. Obviously I like…um…I mean, enthusiastic consent is essential, and I just…I would never try to convince anybody or…you know what, I’m just going to stop talking now. Okay?”

“Aemond, I’m fine. I didn’t think it was weird.”

“It’s a compliment,” he confesses, flushing pink again, touching his chin, perspiration gleaming at his temples.

Now you have to show interest so he knows you’re on the same page. You’ve never had to think this way before, you’ve never liked anyone enough to play the game. “So hypothetically, if someone didn’t want to get pregnant but there were no condoms, pills, etcetera…what are the options?”

He looks at you, pleasantly surprised. “Well, there’s the rhythm method. It’s not perfect, but it’s been around forever and is reasonably reliable if done correctly.”

You are only vaguely familiar. “We didn’t get a lot of sex ed down in Kentucky.”

Aemond chuckles then leans in, a mischievous curl of his lips, a craving in the crystalline river blue of his eye. He grips the shelf above your head, his arm a canopy. His voice is hushed. The front windows of the Walmart face west where the sun is setting; golden light floods in to illuminate the store. “Is your cycle regular?”

“It is, actually.” This should be embarrassing, but it’s not; it’s exhilarating. You’re imagining him seeing you, touching you, unearthing secrets you’ve never been tempted to share with anyone else.

“So if we imagine it like a circle…” He draws one on the back of your hand, invisible, mesmerizing, blue-white lightning crackling up the path of your metacarpals, wrist, ulna and radius, humerus and clavicle, descending ribs like the rungs of a ladder to jolt the sinus rhythm of your heart. “The start of your period would be Day One.”

“Okay,” you say, hypnotized as his fingerprint skates in an arc across the bumps of your knuckles.

“Ovulation doesn’t happen until around Day Fourteen. You might have noticed some increased arousal and…wetness. Clear in color, elastic consistency.”

Your eyes are trapped in his face, smooth skin, jagged scar tissue. You tease him back, stepping closer. You can hear people snickering in the next aisle as they eavesdrop. You don’t care about them, and neither does Aemond anymore. “Now that you mention it…”

“That’s nature trying to trick you into reproducing. Day Fourteen is crunch time. Once ovulation occurs, the egg is only good for up to twenty-four hours. And then the rest of the cycle you’re effectively useless, as far as making miniature humans is concerned.”

“Wait, you’re telling me people can only get pregnant one day a month?” This seems improbable. “How has the species managed to survive this long?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Aemond admits. “Depending on the health of the specimens, sperm can survive up to five days inside a woman’s body. And it’s difficult to tell exactly when ovulation occurs. So, in practice, there’s basically one week a month when you’d want to avoid a man…completing the act, if you will.” He’s still smiling, taunting, famished, imagining the same scenes you are. You know this with a categorical certainty, as if you’re reading his thoughts like stark stripes of distance on a measuring tape. “And that’s also the week when your hormones are demanding you have sex, inspiring you to make all sorts of impulsive yet extremely consequential decisions.”

“Don’t I know it,” Baela laments from the next aisle, and there is a rupture of wild giggles.

“Anyway.” Aemond lifts his finger from the back of your hand and you have to stop yourself from reaching for him as he recedes from you. “There’s a basic overview.”

“It was very educational.” You follow him out of the liquor aisle.

“I’ve used the rhythm method for years,” Rhaena says as everyone makes their way towards the front of the store with their carts. “Clearly that’s just anecdotal, so don’t think I’m officially endorsing it. When I’m in my fertile week we add condoms. Well…we used to. Back when we could get them.”

“Ugh, I hate condoms,” Baela grumbles.

“We can tell,” Aegon says.

“I hate the way they feel, I hate the way they smell…”

“They’ve never bothered me,” Rhaena says. “I don’t notice that much of a difference. And it can be fun to try different kinds.”

“Are you on drugs?” Baela whirls to you. “Seriously, what is wrong with her? I’m right, aren’t I? Condoms are awful.”

Rio gives you a cautious look, uncharacteristically reticent. He’s not going to be the one to reveal it. He doesn’t know if it’s something you’re willing to share. But if anything is going to happen with Aemond—and you want it to, already you know you want him—then it’s something you think you should be honest about. You want him to know about you. You don’t want to have to create some false version of yourself to wear like a pelt, heavy, smothering, something that will inevitably need to be taken off.

“I am regretfully not qualified to say.”

“You’ve never used condoms?” Baela asks, a bit dubious.

“I’ve never done any of it.”

Everyone freezes at the defunct checkout counters and turns to gawk at you. “No sex?” Jace says. “No nothing?”

You shrug, smiling a little self-consciously. “I made out with a guy once.”

“The Marine from Corpus Christi?” Baela asks. They’re obsessed with him, they’re convinced there’s some lore to be excavated, translated, displayed like a relic in a museum. There isn’t. Sometimes people pass in and out of your life as seamlessly as shadows or sunlight, no weight, no indentations, nothing to recall or relay. He existed and then he didn’t. He was an airplane drawing contrails in the sky that faded before the blood red fire of dusk filled the horizon.

“No. Someone from home. Just a guy, not even worth mentioning.”

“Girl, you gotta fix that, soon, pronto, like yesterday.” Jace seems genuinely horrified. “You can’t die a virgin.”

“You really can’t,” Daeron adds, and Aegon pretends to be distraught over the loss of his youngest brother’s virtue.

“That’s what I’m always telling her!” Rio says.

“Not everybody wants to have sex,” Helaena murmurs as she records today’s findings in her spider notebook.

“True,” Jace concedes. “And that is totally legit. Mother Teresa, Queen Elizabeth, Jesus Christ, Buddha, Joan of Arc, Sir Isaac Newton, Nikola Tesla, the Jonas Brothers for a while, all great people. But Chips is not celibate by choice, correct?”

“Buddha had a wife and son,” Aemond says, preoccupied. He isn’t looking at you now, which is concerning; he’s peering down at where his hands grip his shopping cart, his brow creased with…what is that? Unease, disapproval, concern, thoughtfulness, fear?

“It’s not some big thing,” you backpedal. “I don’t have a hangup about it, I just never met a guy I liked enough, and enlisted men, they’re…well, a lot of them are taken, or cheaters, or idiots. Or all three.”

“Not to worry, Chipper.” Aegon claps a hand on your shoulder; and you aren’t sure if it is his purpose to break the tension, but he seems to have that effect regardless. “If you ever wish to be initiated into the art of lovemaking by a slightly below average and entirely unintimidating penis, I’d be thrilled to assist you. I love condoms. But in their absence, I am the king of pulling out. 100% success rate. Zero bastard children running around to my knowledge.”

“You should give Jace lessons,” Baela says.

And the last thing Aegon takes from the Walmart is a green battery-powered Toshiba CD player so he can blast to his mixtapes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Flickering candles lining the middle lane, drinks and snacks strewn across the tables, Rio’s Moonbeam propped up so it’s aimed at the disco ball still hanging from the ceiling from a time before the dead started devouring the living. Daeron is at the end of the lanes to reset the pins after each player’s turn. Helaena is keeping score in her notebook; Rhaena is currently in the lead by a massive 80 points. Aegon is wasted, dancing on a table and crunching Cool Ranch Doritos beneath his bare feet, his blonde hair flopping. Each time it’s his turn to bowl, Aegon has to roll the ball down the lane with two hands like a child. Rio, several shots deep but unable to feel much shy of half a bottle, is singing along with him to Cruise by Florida Georgia Line, but it’s really more like shouting, each sentence an off-key monstrosity that makes you laugh.

“Baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise!

Down a back road, blowin’ stop signs through the middle, every little farm town with you!

And this brand new Chevy with a lift kit, would look a hell of a lot better with you up in it!

So baby, you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise!”

You cleared Luxury Lanes easily; the only difficult part was figuring out how to get into the area called the pit where, in normal times, felled pins were mechanically collected and sorted. There were two former employees roaming around back there in their tattered uniforms, snarling and drooling blood. Both were rapidly neutralized.

Someone always has to be by the front doors, watching through the small tinted windows for signs of trouble, whether from zombies or living humans. Aemond is currently on guard, nursing a Snapple. According to the bottle, the flavor is called Takes 2 To Mango. You grab your own Snapple—plain and simple Lemon Tea, no charming gimmicks—and walk over to join him.

“So now I guess it’s my turn to say I hope that conversation didn’t make you feel weird.”

He smiles politely, glancing out the window. “No, I’m completely fine.”

“Good. Because I don’t want you to look at me differently than you would any other girl, like I’m better than them, or worse than them, or like there’s anything wrong with me, because it really isn’t something I consider to be paramount to my identity, and people always seem to get all twisted up about it, but it’s a pretty boring story, I just…”

“You’ve never liked someone enough to take the risk. I get it. I don’t think you’re a freak or anything.”

“Okay. Good.” The next song on Aegon’s mixtape is Shaboozey’s A Bar Song. Jace is dancing with Baela, spinning her around as she giggles. With Rhaena’s coaching, Luke bowls his first strike. You rest your head on the door as you gaze up at Aemond, the phantom of a smile on your lips. “I might like you enough.”

And he says as if it’s the worst thing in the world, a plague, an infection, an apocalypse: “You’d fall in love with me.”

It hurts, of course it does, this flippant rejection. He burns you, he cuts you, he stitches you up with no anesthetic. You try not to show it. “You’re…confident.”

“No, I don’t mean because of anything specific I would do, it’s just…it’s natural to form a certain…attachment. To the first person you’re with. It leaves an impression.” Not an impression like a first judgment, superficial and swift; an impression like an imprint, a hollow, a prehistoric fossil that is preserved through eons. “That was already true before. And everything is more intense now, because life is so…” Aemond takes a while to settle on a word. “Precarious.”

You say like a challenge: “Are you still in love with the first girl you slept with?”

A shadow that ripples through his face, a flinching he tries to hide. You shouldn’t have asked. Still, you feel like you need to know, like you’ll run out of oxygen if you don’t. “I think I’ve gotten enough distance from it to realize that she wasn’t…wasn’t good for me in a lot of ways. It was an unconventional situation. But I still carry all these pieces of her around with me, yes. I don’t think that will ever go away.”

“Aemond,” you say gently. “Who was she?”

He is evasive, smirking. “It’s a cliché.”

“Was she a patient? That’s very Grey’s Anatomy of you.”

“No. She was my professor.”

An older woman, wise and experienced and captivating and sophisticated. He’s cut you again, a blade slicing effortlessly through veins like soft butter. “Oh. From med school?”

“Undergrad.”

“You were really young,” you say, a little startled.

He nods. “I was eighteen when it started. I was this shy, insecure, friendless freshman, she was married with two kids around my age. And it was off and on, but there was never anyone else for me, she took up too much space in my head, in my chest, like I couldn’t breathe unless I knew we were okay.”

“It went on for seven years?”

This seems to stun him, hearing how much of his existence she bottled like a terrarium. “I guess so.”

Is she dead? Missing? Safe somewhere with her husband and kids? “Is she…gone?”

His gaze drops to the floor. “Yeah.”

“Did you see it happen?”

“I was the one who killed her when she turned.”

It’s indescribably horrible; you don’t know what to say. “Aemond, I’m…I’m really sorry…”

He is abruptly nonchalant, the blue of his eye cool and dispassionate. “Look, I’m not prepared for this to be anything more than casual. And I don’t think casual is really in the cards for us. So it’s probably best to leave it alone.”

“Right,” you agree numbly, not meaning it.

“We’re headed different places, I’m going to California, you’re planning to end up in Oregon, it’s just…a bad idea to muddy the waters, I think.”

“Because I haven’t done this before.”

He shrugs ambiguously. “It’s a contributing factor.”

“Well you seemed pretty interested before you found that out, so.”

“I don’t mean to offend you.”

“You aren’t offending me. You’re disappointing me.”

Now Aemond is offended. “By trying to protect us?”

“No, by saying you don’t think I’m a freak when you clearly do, and by having some savior complex, or a whore-Madonna complex, or whatever’s going on in your head, it’s always such a mystery to everyone else.”

He downs the rest of his Snapple and shoves the bottle into the nearest trash can. You hear it thump against the bottom, no garbage bag. “Alright. This was fun.”

“Maybe you’re afraid of making a mistake, just like I always was.”

“Maybe I don’t want to have to teach you how to do everything,” Aemond snaps.

“I taught you how to shoot.”

“The fact that you don’t realize how wildly different those two situations are proves you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, bye. Sorry about your zombie girlfriend.”

Aemond glares at you, shocked, furious. “That was so fucking low.”

It was. You regret it. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him that. You flee to the far end of the bowling alley and sit alone at a table draped in shadows. After a while, Rio notices and ventures over to see what’s wrong, a bottle of Captain Morgan swinging from one hand. He’s tipsy now.

Rio sighs as he takes a seat beside you, reaching over to rub your back. His hands are large and indelicate; what he means to be comforting is more like getting manhandled. Sometimes he leaves bruises, but it’s not his fault. Nature gave Rio the body of a killer. If anyone is going to survive the zombie apocalypse, it’s him. “What’s going on, Chips?”

Your voice breaks as you say it; tears sting in your eyes. “I hate caring about people.”

He bursts out laughing. “Yeah, it’s the worst, isn’t it? But once in a while it works out.”

“Bryan.”

And now he knows you’re serious. You have his full attention, large dark eyes fixed on your face, lines etching into his brow beneath the artificial starlight of the disco ball. “What are you asking me?”

“We can’t leave them and walk to the West Coast ourselves, can we?”

“I mean, technically we could, but it would be really stupid. Everything’s so much easier with ten people. And also I think I’d have to kidnap Aegon and take him with us, I love that little dude. Why? Do you really want to leave them?”

“No.”

“I figured.” He offers you the half-empty bottle of Captain Morgan.

“I’m not drinking that.”

“Come on. It’ll take the edge off.”

You look at him. Rio looks back, smiling now.

“I’ll watch out for you,” he says. “And if you get bit I’ll shoot you dead, no hesitation, swear to God. I remember our promise. I won’t let you die alone.”

“You’re a good guy.”

“I know.” He nudges your arm with the bottle of Captain Morgan. “A few swigs won’t hurt. It’ll help you sleep.”

You take the bottle, twist off the cap, drink down amber-gold poison that burns like gasoline, like fire.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic june 9th — lip gloss — 1017 words — cw: slightly nsfw brought to you by james' dirty mind, tw: amab term used for reg's genitalia aka mtf regulus, red heart shaped sunglasses and james potter's thoughts about kneehigh boots

The lights in their flat are dim, music is playing and the air smells faintly of tequila and lime already.

James has been staring at Regulus reapplying her ‘lip combo’ for the past five minutes without blinking. One could reason it’s because Regulus is literally using his sunglasses as a mirror but James argues he wouldn’t have let himself miss out on this for any money in the world either way. He would have found a way to get a front row seat.

The red, heart shaped glasses on his nose do nothing to help him see but that’s why he’s got his contacts in. There’s a cool hand at James’ stubbled jaw, angling him this way and that because Regulus needs proper lighting, Jamie. Stop moving into the shadow! 

First she’d fished around in her small ass purse—how does anyone even fit anything in these little things ever?—and procured a thin, dark red looking pencil of sorts. Regulus has gotten all up in his face, wiggling closer where she was sitting on his leg, rubbing her ass all over James’ lap and by God, James has never felt so lucky and tortured simultaneously. 

Anyway, Regulus had started following the shape of her cupid’s bow, outlining her lips. Her hand had rested right between James’ pecs at first to steady herself, right in the middle of his chest. James hoped she couldn’t feel the wild beating of his heart, the irregular heaving of his torso. She was talking to Pandora while doing so, about some mutual friend James has no clue about but he wasn’t registering any of the words either way. Much too fascinated by the small moles next to Regulus’ left eyes, by her dark lashes, her icy blue eyes. Ruthlessly captivating, breathtaking and immobilising like the bone deep chilling northern sea. 

James isn’t sure he remembers how to swim.

Next is a red lipstick. Regulus’ parts her mouth and James has to suppress a groan. He’s only mildly conscious of the way his palms make their way up over Regulus’ hips, coming to rest in the dip of her waist, thumbs windshield wiping over the silk of her green dress. It’s some sort of nightshirt, actually, with black lace detailing and clearly thrifted. Well loved but in good condition and James has been breaking his brain over what she might be wearing underneath for the better part of the last hour. Ever since Regulus had stepped over the threshold of their flat in her kneehigh boots and that flimsy excuse of a dress that James wants to see crumpled on the floor of his bedroom rather than anywhere else. Preferably while Regulus is splayed out naked on top of his sheets, tits out, cock out. The boots can stay on.

“Fuck,” present James mutters quietly, blinking himself out of his obscene fantasies. Regulus’ leg adjusts and brushes against where James is starting to fill out in his pants. 

James squirms.

“Stop that,” Regulus tsks, tightening her hold on his chin.

The yes, ma’am on the tip of James’ tongue nearly tumbles out but he manages to swallow it back in time.

James tries to glance around the general area around them out of the corners of his eyes, “Is your brother around?”

“Why?” she asks immediately. Her lips are completely filled out with a deep berry sort of red now. Then Regulus is digging around in her purse again.

“Just ’cause,” James replies offhandedly, shrugging.

Regulus hums, low and deep, sceptical and it’s so unfairly sexy. James licks his lips and sighs a long breath out. Level head, Potter, he tells himself. Level head.

The final step seems to be lip gloss. It’s not clear and translucent but rather has a bit of a milky quality to it.

James chokes on nothing. 

Regulus takes it up to her lips and spreads the fluid on her full red lips. It creates a foggy sheen and James is powerless against the mental images of cum slick lips. Both of their cum mixed, James licking it from Regulus’ stomach and then climbing back up. Hovering and tugging at her lower lip until she opens obediently like a good girl and lets James spit it right onto her mouth. 

Regulus leans closer and makes some little p-p-p noises where she smacks her lips together to even out the gloss, presumably. James doesn’t know. Don’t ask James anything right now because the gloss is kind of pulling strings and James is this close to doing something violently indecent to his best friend’s little sister.

Regulus puts the gloss away and then taps against James’ cheek, announcing happily, “Thank you.”

“Any time,” James mumbles.

He expects her to stand up now, join Pandora where she’s conversing with other people on the sofa, but instead Regulus wraps her arms around the back of James’ neck, keeping the close distance. “Y’know,” she starts, shifting in James’ lap, “I haven’t seen Sirius in a while. In fact, I think he might have gone off with Loopy.”

“Lupin,” James corrects automatically, trying to make sense of what Regulus is saying. She’s so warm and soft pressed against him, it’s distracting.

Regulus makes a whatever noise and tilts her head, “I’m guessing they went to his flat instead. Rumour has it, it’s close by.”

James nods in affirmation because that’s true. Remus does live close by.

Regulus’ fingers wind themselves into the curls at James’ nape, “Smart lads. Going somewhere a little more private.”

James nods again, numbly. He feels stupid in the head. 

“By the way,” Regulus keeps going, “Have I seen your room in this flat yet?”

And James might be stupid but he’s not an idiot.

A slow grin spreads over his face and then James has to lean forward to muffle an equally happy as aroused groan into the crook of Regulus’ pale neck. 

“Is that a yes?”

James leaves a kiss on her cheek when he pulls back, squeezes her hips and then lifts them both off the chair, ushering Regulus through the crowd and into his room.

When they come back out, Regulus’ legs are wobbly and there’s red lipstick stains all over James’ mouth and neck and the heady taste of cum in his mouth.

[faghubby]

ANYTHING FOR YOU

"Yes just like this, he had me right here on the the rug you bought me on that trip to California" Beth told me. As she pushed my head down and drove her strapon hard into my ass. "He was fucking my pussy, while you jerked off in your room. I know you did. Do you lime that other men get to fuck my pussy and you get to jerk off thinking about it?" I just grunted as she pounded away. "I think you like experiencing how they fucked me more" she laughed. She suddenly pulled out and grabbed my hair. "He then came in my mouth" she told me jerking her fake cock off with one hand holding me by my hair with the other. She then rubbed her cock across my face. She then just got up. Unbuckled her toy. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. I laid there for a moment. Before I got up knowing Beth would be back soon.

Thus had all started over a year ago, we had been on vacation. One night after too much to drink. I confessed how I would love it if she was more demanding. More in control especially in bed. Little did I know where that would lead. My once reserved quiet wife started to experiment. She found she loved being in control. The more she did the more she read and studied on how to be in control.

It wasn't long till she started to tease me about being unable to please her. She gave me tasks to do instead. I could please her outside the bedroom. I found myself unable to preform sexually at times. I had lost my confidence in bed. Beth bought up taking a lover. Before I knew she was going on dates with other men while I stayed home.

One night she came home, a little drunk and freshly fucked. I wanted her so bad.

"Stop, you can't make me cum anyway, well you can but only with your tounge" she laughed. I didn't hesitate I dove between her legs. I was surprised as my tounge found a huge glob of cum. I was going to pull away.

"That's right you never finish the job" Beth laughed. I almost cried I would show her. I locked and sucked her till she came on my face twice. I had eaten every drop of her lovers sperm. After that Beth wouldn't let me near other other then to lick her cunt. She called me her closeted fag husband. Was I gay. I started to believe her. Devouring every drop of her lovers cum after everyone of her dates.

So when she introduced the strapon I didn't resist. She would tell me about herlovers, their cocks what they did as she fucked me with her plastic cock. She even had me set up the spare bedroom to sleep in so she could bring home friends if she wanted to. I told her how I would play with myself thinking about her out on dates. Which led to her acting them out with me playing the part of her.

"Paulie" I heard Beth call out. I rushed out to see what she needed.

"Wow, that was fast" Beth giggled. "You can't wait to see how you can make me happy can you?" It wasn't really a question.

"I was thinking my car is a mess" Beth smiled. I just nodded and took her keys. I wasn't allowed to drive her car. Other then to back it out of the garage. I wasted no time detailing the car inside and out. It was a hot sunny day. I spent hours getting it to look perfect. I came inside all sweaty. I headed straight for a shower. Beth hated when I was all hot and smelly.

Beth was sitting on the bed waiting for me when I got out.

"I was wondering is there anything you wouldn't do for me?" She asked.

"Nothing" I assured her.

"I belive that" she smiled. "Have you ever thought about sucking cock?"

"What?" I said nervously

"You heard me" she grinned

"yes" I muttered softly

"Really!" Beth said excited. I looked at the floor.

"ever since you, well I just" I muttered

"So it's my fault!? That you want to suck a big thick yummy cock!" Beth said sternly.

"No. I just" I was shaking . Beth pulled my towel away. I was rock hard. She paid it no attention.

"I want you to get dressed, no I want you to dress like a faggot, like you are on the prowl for a big think juicy cock to suck" she told me. She stood and stood very close her hand sliding across my ass.

"You would be the bitch everytime wouldn't you, the little twink always wanted more cock" Beth smiled she gently smacked my ass and left. Leaving me to figure out what she meant as a faggot on the prowl. I found a pair of pink shorts. They had come in some multi pack years ago I had never worn them. I was searching for a shirt when Beth returned.

"You are worse then me" she told me. She dug into my drawer and pulled out a jock strap.

"Put this on" she told me. I did as told my ass exposed as the little pocket held my dick and balls tight. I then put on the shorts.

"These don't fit" I told Beth she reappeared from the closet.

"They fit fine" she told me. They where very tight I had gained weight since I had bought them. But they where tight every where. Beth gave uo looking thru my clothes for a shirt instead she pulled out a pink spaghetti strap tee shirt of hers. I must of made a face.

"Don't pout" she told me. I put the shirt one. It too was very tight. She added a pair of her socks a flash of pink peaking out at my ankles as I wore my sneakers. She then spritzer me with her perfume.

"You look and smell yummy" she told me. "Now when YOUR date gets here I expect to see you on your best behavior" Beth said as she did the doorbell rang. I grabbed Beth's hand.

"You will be fine" she told me. As she led me to the front door. I almost fell oved when she opened the door. My best friend Nick stood there. He stepped in gave Beth a hug. Then smi,Ed and pulled me into a hug as well.

"You smell nice" he told me.

"Okay you too, I am going to make myself scarce." She grabbed my hand "I'll be just in the guest room" she assured me patting my hand. She grabbed her phone and skipped off.

Nick still in the front hall pulled off his shirt. He pulled me close. God he smelled good too, and he must of been working out lately. He led me to the couch. He sat down pulling me to him. He spread his legs. I knew what he wanted. I kicked off my sneakers and he led my head to his crotch. I unzipped his shorts.

"Beth loves to suck my cock" he told me. I swallowed hard and pulled his shorts off he wore no underwear his cock still soft was bigger then mine hard. I took it in my mouth as it grew hard in ,y mouth I grew hard in my shorts. I was soon sucking on the head as I stroked the rest of his cock. I tried my best to make him cum. But Nick was in charge he stopped me and had me stand.

"Take off your shorts for me" I did as he said trying to do it as sexy as I could he just laughed a little.

"Go ahead ride my cock" he told me. Using only my own saliva as lube I eased him into my ass. I faced him. As I had him buried in my ass I kissed him. He just smiled as I started to work my ass. Fucking myself with his cock.

"Turn around. Bill wants to see" he told me. Bill what did he mean. I noticed he had his ear bud in his ear. I got up spun around and buried his cock in my ass again I opened my eyes to see a camera pointed right at me.

"Streaming live" Nick told me as he pinched my nipples. He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. I was watching myself fuck my friend.

"Look 30 people watching. Go ahead play with yourself for them" I touched my dick just touched it and shot my load. It dribbled down onto the couch. I felt nick getting close suddenly he stood pushing me off of him he shoved his dirty cock into my mouth just as he came. He pumped his load into my mouth, he held my hair making me take it all. I chocked and gagged cum even coming out of my nose as he finally pulled back. I noticed his face was blurred on the screen while mine wasn't. Nick made me lick his cock clean before he got dressed and left. The live stream stopped. Beth appeared on cue. With a huge smile.

"You are right you will do anything for me" she smiled. "You just made $200. I guess we will have to get you some more little faggot outfits for next week"

Within a few weeks fans had requested to see me shave, so Beth had all my body hair removed. Dress in lingerie, so I now have a whole collection (fans even send me outfits they like to see me wear, or toys they like to see me use) Beth has found quit a few men to use me. Some two at a time. I live in the guest room full time. I haven't even kissed Beth in months. I know bow what she has been telling me all this time. I am her little faggot. Just now I get paid to be

[woso-dreamzzz]

Pregnant II

Hardersson x Baby!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Pernille's pregnancy

During the first month, you're about the size of a poppy seed.

Pernille's fine on her own during this period. She has a little bit of spotting and feels a bit more tired than usual but she's mainly okay. Since the announcement, her teammates have been more careful on the pitch with her.

Everyone knows that the risk of miscarrying is higher before the third month so they all take care not to knock into her as much or, at least, to not hit her head on.

Magda, it seems, is the only one completely stressed out of her mind. She sends regular texts to check in with Pernille. She calls every day (once in the morning and once in the evening).

If she didn't have commitments in England then Pernille's sure that Magda would have flown over daily.

By the second month, you're the size of a kidney bean.

The symptoms have gotten a little worse by now. The tiredness has been replaced by sore breasts and the spotting by morning sickness. It's still manageable and Pernille doesn't even think to tell Magda until she misses a morning call in favour of hunching over the toilet and spewing out her guts.

"Her heart's developing now," Magda's voice comes through the phone, echoing around the tiled walls of Pernille's bathroom," And her brain too. Do you think she'll be smart? I think she'll be smart."

"We don't know if it's a girl yet, Magda," Pernille says. She's still leaning against the toilet but Magda's voice is safe and soothing.

"I know it's a girl," Magda replies, an air of finality in her tone," A little Pernille."

"She's your egg. She'll be a little Magda."

Pernille can hear the smile in Magda's voice as she replies," I made you admit she's a girl."

At the end of month three, you're the same size as a lime.

The morning sickness is extremely bad now and Magda even flies out when she hears from Nilla that Pernille had thrown up on the side of the pitch one morning.

"This brings back memories," Magda quips as she holds Pernille's hair back.

"Of what?"

"Crazy parties in our youth."

"We're still young, Magda. Becoming parents doesn't automatically make us old," Pernille sits up and takes the washcloth from her partner.

"Yeah, but we're more mature now. No more crazy parties and throwing up."

"None recently," Pernille corrects. She smiles for a moment before hunching over the toilet bowl again.

Magda rubs her back. "I've taken a few weeks off," She says," You keep getting sick."

"Magda-"

"No, I've already made my decision. International break is soon anyway. Our next match isn't too difficult. They don't really need me."

Pernille can't find it in herself to argue about it much, with the way that she sags against the wall and stays within arm's length of the toilet.

Magda kisses her stomach. "You're making your Momma sick," She says," You've got to leave her alone. You're still growing in there."

At month four, you're around the size of an avocado.

The morning sickness has stopped completely now but the soreness in her breasts doesn't subside at all.

It's completely coincidental when, one evening as she's changing her shirt, Pernille catches the sight of herself in the mirror.

She's got a baby bump now.

Instantly, her hand goes to touch it, as if she could feel exactly where you are.

She takes a picture and sends it to Magda.

She can see that it's been read but Magda doesn't reply for hours until finally...

MAGDA ❤️ you look so beautiful that's my new lockscreen

It's month five. You're the same length as a banana.

She could have found out earlier but Pernille waits until Magda can make the trip to find out your gender.

"A girl." Magda is still convinced as they sit in the waiting room, her hand stroking over Pernille's knuckles. "I know she's a girl."

"We'll see."

Pernille feels a bit vindictive so has the doctor write your gender on a scrap of paper, folds it up and hands it to Frido (who has come to visit).

"Huh?" Frido says as she looks down at the scunched-up ball of paper.

"You're in charge of that," Pernille says," Magda doesn't see it, she doesn't take it before the gender reveal."

"You guys are planning a gender reveal?"

Pernille shakes her head. "No. You are."

By month six, you're as big as an ear of corn.

You move around a lot now and Pernille never forgets the look on Magda's face when, one evening, Pernille grasps her hand and places it over her swollen stomach.

You kick almost every day and Pernille rubs her stomach softly as Frido hands her and Magda a knife.

"I bought cake," Frido proclaims," Because this is a celebration and you can't go wrong with cake."

Someone (Pernille's not sure who) on the Wolfsburg team rolls it out.

"If it's blue, it's a boy. If it's pink, it's a girl," Frido explains even though it really didn't need explaining. She's taking her role as future moster very seriously and it's slightly amusing.

"It'll be pink," Magda says," I know it will."

Frido rolls her eyes. "Then cut it. But...just wait until the camera's on. Okay! Ready? Ready!"

Magda's hand is warm around Pernille's, who is holding the knife in her own. They make two cuts into the cake, one after the other, and then pull out the slice.

"A girl," Pernille says softly, smiling as her team celebrates around her. She looks up at Magda, whose eyes are glistening with unshed tears.

"A girl."

Month seven and the only thing different is now you're the size of a large aubergine.

Her doctor has said that you can hear now so she spends countless nights with a pair of headphones on her stomach, playing voice notes Magda has sent throughout the day for you.

It's amusing. They're mostly nonsense, Magda just talking about her day and all the things she looks forward to doing with you but it's incredibly sweet and Pernille ends up crying every time.

Month eight comes around and now you're the same size as a cabbage.

Pernille's back aches more than ever and you enjoy sitting on her bladder so she has to take a bathroom break more often.

The highlight of the month comes when Magda comes over and lifts her bump, allowing Pernille to sag against her and feel slightly weightless for a little bit.

At month nine, you're the same as a head of lettuce.

She and Magda have been arguing over names for months now. There's a list pinned to the fridge and each of them takes a lot of pride in crossing out the other's suggestions in healthy competition.

Your last name is still up for debate too, as is your middle (but, somehow, Frido's gotten in on that action and has been texting Pernille suggestions for weeks now).

Pernille's having trouble getting to sleep too and you get more active than before. Rather than kicking though, it's your little fists thumping against her stomach (something that, many years in the future, she will tell Zećira was you foreshadowing).

Her doctor told her it was normal but it's still a bit disconcerting to see the tiny imprints of your even tinier fingers poking from the inside out.

By month ten (and Pernille hates that she's been lied to and pregnancy does not, in fact, end in the ninth month), you're the same size as a pumpkin.

She feels ready to pop but restless at the same time.

Magda's meant to be flying out later today but Pernille is in desperate need of some fresh air so she pulls on some clothes and gets herself ready to head to the Wolfsburg grounds.

[potatoplace]

Let's Dance

💖 Valentine's Collection 2025: Dancing 💖

Morsta x Reader, Azris x Reader

Summary: You and your friends, Mor and Nesta, go out drinking and dancing, though not for long. | Your mates have been neglecting you recently, so you dress up and go out on your own when they don't show for dinner. They find a way to make it up to you.

Warnings: pretty suggestive, smut-adjacent but not smut, flashing ass

Words: 1,423

Author's Note: this was fuuuun I enjoyed the Azris one bcuz I got some mild angst in there lol. Morsta was soooo fun too omg I LOVE THEM. I hope you guys like this one!! Read it on AO3!

18+ only pls

🤍❤️🤍🩶🤍

“You look fantastic tonight, Y/N!” Mor yelled over the music in Rita’s, her eyes roving over you appreciatively. “Let’s dance!”

“Let’s get a drink first!” Nesta suggested from behind you, her hand already on your lower back and guiding you towards the bar. “You know Y/N doesn’t dance unless she’s had three shots!”

“That’s true, Mor, soon I’ll be tipsy enough to let you drag me on the dancefloor for a few hours!” You said to Mor as you leaned against the bar, your blonde friend waving over one of the bartenders.

“We’ll take… eleven shots of tequila, please!” Mor told him, smiling prettily at him to convince him to hand over so many at once. He poured them out, left you some salt and lime wedges, and left the three of you to your business.

Within ten minutes all of the shots were gone, with your two friends having taken an fourth shot. Ten minutes after that and the two of them had dragged you onto the floor with them, you sandwiched between them as the three of you danced to the fast beat pulsing through the club.

Mor’s hands were looped over your shoulders, and Nesta’s resting on your waist for a while before Mor went to get another drink. Nesta pulled your back against her, pressed into her chest as her arms snaked around you, one hand resting between your breasts and the other laying low on your stomach, sending butterflies through you as you swayed to the music, letting yourself follow her lead.

It was always best when you followed her and Mor’s lead, after all. That ended with nights between the sheets, tangled limbs and pleasure beyond what you’d believed possible.

You stayed that way, your eyes closing as you let Nes guide you, until Mor returned, her hands taking residence on your waist, thumbs rubbing teasingly into the fabric of your dress.

“You two look very pretty over here,” Mor said, grinning at the blush that covered your cheeks.

“You’d look even prettier with your mouth on mine,” you said boldly, blushing more when you realized what you’d said. Oh well, it’s what you wanted anyways.

“I’d have to agree with Y/N, Mor. Let’s see it,” Nesta said lowly, her head resting over your shoulder, your mouth brushing against your hair as she spoke.

Mor’s smile only grew as she leaned in, melding her lips to yours in a searing kiss, your hands coming to wrap in her hair, pulling her closer.

You stayed like that until Nesta lowered her mouth to the skin of your neck, nibbling on the sensitive area and making you break away from Mor, breathless.

“Your place?” Nesta asked in your ear, and you nodded. Mor wrapped her arms around the both of you, and soon Rita’s was far behind you.

So much for a long night out…

🤍💙🤍🧡🤍

You were standing at the bar, attempting to wave down a bartender when they found you, all dolled up.

You’d put on your best dress, a ruby red halter dress with a low cut neckline, and a hem that just barely covered your ass. You had even slipped into your most uncomfortable but sexiest red pumps, the ones that Eris had bought you for your 234th birthday. Your hair was curled and makeup was bold, your favorite perfume sprayed over yourself just before you’d left your home.

You felt more beautiful than you had in years, to be honest, what with the two of them so busy with politics and bickering.

So you were teaching them a lesson.

Azriel and Eris both hated it when you wore an outfit like this without them there to protect you, or help you remember to cross your legs.

Tonight, though? You didn’t care.

“What are you doing here? I thought we were having dinner?” Eris asked in your ear, trying to keep the attention to the minimum.

You shot him a surly look. “We were supposed to have dinner, three hours ago!” You hissed at him, glaring at Azriel as well. “So I decided to go out instead, since the two of you can’t be bothered to show up on time.”

Azriel had the decency to look sorry, but Eris didn’t. “We had an important last minute meeting to attend, bunny. I am sorry, but you know that my duties as a High Lord can cause things like this every now and then.”

Your eyes only narrowed further at him, and you moved closer to Azriel. “Every now and then,” you scoffed. “Every now and then has turned into every night, Eris!”

Azriel’s wings twitched, and you saw his shadows head towards Eris, though his foot made contact with Eris’s boot before they reached him. Eris shot him a dirty look, but his demeanor changed.

“I know, princess, and I’m very sorry about that. I promise, I swear that I will do whatever I can to spend more time with you from now on, and at least send a note if I’ll be late,” Eris said, stepping closer to you, a hand offered to you in surrender.

“And I vow to do the same, and help Eris get home in time,” Azriel whispered in your ear, his arms encircling you gently.

It didn’t take more for you to melt into Azriel’s hold and grasp Eris’s hand, tugging him in to you. “You better be telling the truth,” you said before you kissed him softly. You turned your head to claim Azriel’s lips as well. “You too.”

“We are, little mate,” Eris reassured you, his other hand stroking your cheek with a tenderness he rarely showed in public.

“We should have realized sooner, but we will not let you down in the future, Y/N,” Azriel said.

“Now… Would you join me for a dance?” Eris asked, his amber eyes glimmering.

You couldn’t help but smile at that look, and you nodded. “As long as Azzie joins us,” you said, tugging Azriel to the dance floor with you.

The Shadowsinger merely huffed in amusement and took his place behind you, his large wings shielding you from view of most of the bar. Eris stayed in front of you, your eyes locked on his for most of the night as he lead, occasionally dropping you into a dip or spinning you around.

Though once he’d spun you around, Azriel had grumbled about you not wearing any damn panties in such a short dress.

Normally, you’d let the pair of them winnow you straight into the bedroom and use their jealousy for a spicier night in bed, but tonight?

They still needed to be punished.

So every few songs, you’d dance a couple steps away from them and spin before one of them pulled you into their chest, usually Azriel.

Eris, though, was glaring flaming daggers at every male whose eyes lingered on you for more than a second, which you thoroughly enjoyed.

It was a small price to pay for all the dinners that had gone cold and the nights you’d fallen asleep alone.

Near closing time, Azriel had lowered his lips to the shell of your ear, softly brushing against your skin as he spoke. “Have I mentioned just how gorgeous you look tonight?” You shook your head. “Well, you are irresistible in this lovely little outfit, my perfect little mate.”

You blushed as you melted further into him. “Thank you, Azzie.”

“You’re welcome, bunny,” he said before nuzzling his face into your neck, scenting you deeply.

“I agree with our dear Azriel, Y/N, you look absolutely ravishing in this dress, in my color,” Eris murmured in your other ear, his hands running up and down your thighs, thumbs drifting underneath the fabric teasingly. “I’d love to show you just how much I appreciate it.”

You bit your lip and looked at the clock. Four hours, they’d watched you flash other males and had done little more than glare and huff angrily at any males that dared to look at you.

“Why don’t you, then?”

In an instant, you were in Eris’s bedroom, already being laid down on the bed.

Shadows wrapped gently around your wrists and ankles, a favored technique when they planned on edging you for bad behavior.

Their behavior was far worse, but… You couldn’t deny the heat that rushed to your core as you watched the two of them looming over you, eyes hungry.

You had a feeling that tonight would last until dawn, possibly later if you and your mates felt it was necessary.

❤️🩶🤍💙🧡

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare @wrenisrad

[rrenzwrld]

secreto de amor

connie falling in luv w his bsf sister ; a series? idk

enjoy! it’s been a while i’m sorry😔

“con, this is my sister— step sister, y/n.” jean introduced you to the shorter dude with his buzzcut dyed lime green. “y/n, this is my friend, constance.” jean smiled because he knew he was about to piss connie off.

“nice to meet you, constance—“

“don’t call me that.” he glared at you whilst he spoke in a cold tone. jean snickered as your friendly smile dropped.

“is that not your name?”

“it is but you can call me connie. don’t let your brother get you fucked up.” for it to be the first time meeting him, he was kinda mean. but you guessed you had to respect his boundaries if you two were gonna get along, even if he was rude in establishing them.

jean shoved connie to the side. “don’t talk to her like that. keep on, i’ll kick the shit outta your lil ass.” but all he did was shrug and walk away.

“sure.” jean turned to you with a sympathetic look on his face.

“sorry bout him. he’s an asshole.” you glared your brother down.

“figures.”

jean obviously wasn’t your blood brother but he was your older brother through marriage. his dad married your mom a few years ago but you two had been around each other for longer than that so the marriage brought you closer over time. jean had moved out when he finished college and invited you to move in with him so you did. he was the only man in the world you trusted enough to live with. connie was younger than jean but a little older than you so he was friends with jean for a while. you just never bothered to meet him when he came over and stayed in your room instead. but it was different this time because jean actually asked you to meet his friend this time so you didn’t see a problem with it.

“your sister’s cute.” connie took a hit of the blunt he had in his hand. jean kicked him in the leg.

“you know how i feel about that.”

“what?” he looked clueless but he knew what jean referred to.

“you hittin on my sister and you don’t even do relationships—“

“whoa.. i didn’t say anything about relationships. literally just said she was cute, calm down.”

“i don’t even want you thinking she’s cute. think she’s ugly or something.”

“but she’s not though.”

“oh really? i—“ jean was about to pull out his phone and show the most embarrassing pictures he had of you, but luckily you had walked into the room before he could.

“jean, can i borrow your car?” jean looked at you like you were crazy. the only reason you were asking was because your car was in the shop so you had no choice but to utilize the brother you had. you just hated asking or relying on people for things.

“uh no. take the bus.” connie let out a snicker before your eyes darted to his reaction. all you did was roll your eyes and continued the conversation with jean.

“i haven’t rode public transportation since high school. you know i’m only asking because lola in the shop right now…”

“…lola? you named your car?” connie felt the need to comment for whatever reason.

“shut up. yes, i did. you got a problem, baldy?” connie didn’t respond with anything else. “yeah. anyways, jean?” jean smacked his teeth before allowing you to get his keys.

“thank you, thank you!” you pulled your brother in for a hug. “love you, i’ll be back!”

“you better..” he mumbled.

“it’s the way you actually let her use your car. your dumbass didn’t even ask where she was going.” jean paused because he realized how right connie was. he was going to regret it but felt no need because the deed had been done and he’d deal with it whenever you came back.

“shut up. it’s the way you actually don’t know how to mind your fucking business.”

[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 35

Part 34

“Least favorite citrus?”

“Hmm, limes.”

“Limes? Really? Over grapefruit?”

“Limes are too small. Too small for anything. Too small to be of any use.”

Steve shook his head but was smiling through it. He hadn’t expected Eddie to have an answer prepared. But it wasn’t about the question, rather it was about how the person answered. They’d been playing the game of questions for a couple of days now and he learned that Eddie preferred nights over days, that he’d read nearly all the books in the library, and that he had once grown his hair out long enough to reach his feet. But he was more than satisfied with the shoulder-blade length it was now.

He had told Eddie that he liked to eat soup even on the hottest of days, that he’d rarely read for pleasure, and that he’d always wanted a younger sibling. But even as they learned about each other through these games, there was a question that stayed on Steve’s tongue.

For as much as Eddie would kiss and touch, he still kept himself from kissing and touching too much. Whenever Steve tried to take it further, Eddie stopped them in their tracks and came up with some kind of excuse. Steve had been with people who were hesitant due to inexperience, but this didn’t seem like that. And how could Eddie be inexperienced? The legends of him went at least as far back as his grandfather.

“Wait, how old are you?”, Steve asked.

Eddie paused in the middle of his writing and looked up from his desk. Steve was in the middle of penning his own letter. Another message to his parents. But the question came to him because he realized he didn’t have quite the definitive answer. He was lounging on the couch that Eddie had brought in when he realized he could have Steve here more often.

“How old do I look?”, Eddie asked with a grin. Steve had come into his study to get some writing done and Eddie never turned down his company. He hadn’t expected the question though. 

“Hmmm, fifty-five?”, Steve guessed with a grin.

Eddie’s head fell onto his desk, the bun his hair was in flopping as he shook his head from side to side before he lifted his head again. “You wound me. Do I appear that ancient?”

“You call fifty-five ancient? I know for a fact that you are much older than that!”

“Is that really the question you wanted to ask?”, Eddie asked. He had noticed Steve had a furrow in his brow for a while and he was sure the letter had little to do with it.

It wasn’t the only question Steve had. But it was something on his mind. Maybe Eddie thought Steve was too young for him somehow? Even though Eddie looked to be the same age as him, there was a significant age gap. Maybe that was the reason? But if it was, Steve couldn’t imagine that Eddie would have started anything to begin with. Not if he thought he was robbing the cradle.

Steve was saved from having to answer by Jeff and Nancy coming in. At first, Steve didn’t move but then Nancy gave him a look. And if she wanted him out of the room, that could only mean one thing.

“You’ve decided? You know who has passed and who has failed?”, he asked, getting to his feet.

“We have and it’s not for you to know yet”, Jeff said.

Steve looked to Eddie, not afraid to pout. Eddie didn’t even take a second to break and he looked to his advisors, also pouting a little. Jeff sighed and Nancy rolled her eyes and eventually, Steve had to see himself out. He couldn’t be too upset. After all, he was still an outsider. He went to find Lucas to tell him that good news was probably imminent anyway.

Those that passed the trials were told through letter and told to report for the official ceremony. Steve was so proud of Lucas that he didn’t even mind when the boy seemed to break a couple of his ribs barreling into him when he got the news.

Steve met Lucas’ parents for the first time at the ceremony. Lucas had pointed him out as the one who had helped him train these past few months and they were ever so grateful. The ceremony was held in the throne room and this was also the first time Steve had seen Eddie so…regal.

He was announced, there was fanfare and there he was. The knighting ceremony came on the day that fall first touched them with a chilly morning. It would still be some weeks before everything began to cool in earnest, even so Eddie officiated the occasion with the colors he wore. He usually kept to black but today he wore mostly red with just accents of black. His ensemble included a cape and a crown. But this crown wasn’t made of gold or silver. It wasn’t adorned with jewels. 

Instead, it appeared as if branches were wove between his curls. There were even leaves showing throughout, the first of the season to begin changing from green to amber. He looked like a herald of autumn and Steve couldn’t tear his gaze away. He was able to when Lucas was knighted though, his face nearly breaking in half from how big he was smiling. Dustin and Will were nudging the others pretty hard and even Max cracked a small smile. Which meant she was absolutely elated.

After the ceremony, there was a feast and dancing and Steve didn’t have to look too far before his hand was in Eddie’s. He had shed his cape but the crown still hung on his head.

“May I have this dance?”, Eddie asked.

“You may”, Steve said, allowing himself to be led to the dance floor.

Even though Steve’s wardrobe had been elevated recently, it still didn’t compare to a king’s finery. Eddie was looking at him like he always did, though. Like Steve was the most eye-catching person in the room. Steve was used to being the center of attention. And the whispers had only gotten louder since Eddie went public about courting Steve. Maybe…perhaps that was why? Kings usually expected their intended to be virgins, even if they weren’t themselves. Steve didn’t think Eddie would be a king like that but maybe it mattered to him. Maybe Steve’s lack of virtue was why Eddie never let things progress.

“There’s something on your mind, my love. I can tell”, Eddie said.

His words snapped Steve back to reality and made him realize he’d literally just been going through the motions of a dance without really enjoying being this close to Eddie. 

“Yes, I mean no, I um, I’ve gotta go and congratulate Lucas again.” 

Steve’s stomach suddenly rolled but he knew if he admitted to any sickness, Eddie wouldn’t leave his side. And he needed a moment to compose himself. Steve got lost in the crowd but found he didn’t want to sit anywhere for too long. He went outside instead. Fresh air felt good. Steve didn’t want to imagine that Eddie cared about virginity, but despite outward appearances, he was still a king. And the court of public opinion could only look past so many things.

Disregarding Steve’s status as a disowned royal, what did he bring to the table? He wasn’t exceedingly smart. He still had a lot to learn about the lands here. And he had no useful talents outside of fighting. Steve ran his hands through his hair as he leaned against a wall. Where was all of this headed? Was Eddie truly intending to marry him? That was where most courtships ended but did Eddie really well and truly want to be married to him?

“Steve, my darling, my light, have you been here the entire time?”

Eddie’s face came into view, making Steve aware that he’d been bent over. He stood up straight and took a deep breath. Eddie was a vision and he deserved someone as incredible as him.

“I did have a question”, Steve confessed.

Eddie stood next to him and leaned into his space as if he were sure Steve was going to share a secret with him. Steve turned into him. While they were alone, people were always listening. Steve looked into Eddie’s eyes, steeling his nerves. The only way to know was to ask.

“Why won’t you have sex with me?”

Ths misgivings Steve had seeped away just a bit when he saw how red Eddie’s face got. He cleared his throat and fiddled with his hair before answering.

“Are we still playing our game?”

“Do you not want me?”

Eddie cradled Steve’s face and kissed him three times. “Don’t ever think that. Ever. My desire for you knows no bounds.”

“I seem to have noticed a few boundaries”, Steve wasn’t afraid to pout at this point.

Eddie sighed. “I know I have seemed…restrained. I have my reasons.”

“May I know them, then?”

Eddie’s hands went from Steve’s face to his waist. “I will tell you. But later. The story is long and you’ll want to be comfortable. And it’s only a matter of time before one of those kids-”CRASH “-do something like that.”

He offered his arm to Steve and the prince took it. They re-entered the throne room and Eddie threw his free hand up in the air, projecting his voice to get everyone’s attention.

“Everyone knows it’s not a real celebration until something breaks!”

---------------------

That night, Steve was dressed for bed, brushing his hair in front of his vanity. He felt Eddie’s presence at his door before he heard the knock on it. When he answered, he saw that Eddie had dressed for bed as well. And yet he still looked just as handsome as earlier.

Steve followed Eddie without a word as they walked the dark halls. Eddie led Steve to his bedroom, a room Steve hadn’t really seen before. There were a few candles lit but most of the light seemed to come from the moon itself.

Eddie led Steve deeper inside and soon he found himself right in the king’s bed. Eddie’s gaze was intense and Steve got the sense he’d walked into a lion’s den.

“You look like you want to eat me”, Steve said, his voice hushed, feeling that if he was too loud he would break the moment.

“I could”, Eddie replied. “I could devour you and not leave a crumb.”

Steve swallowed. “I bet you say that to all the princes.”

“Never had anyone as pretty as you in my bed. Never had anyone I wanted as much as you…But-”

“But?”

“But I can’t. And I want you to understand why.”

“I’m all ears.” This must be why Eddie had brought him here tonight. He had said the story was long and that he should be comfortable. And he was more than comfortable with Eddie stroking his hair.

“This all started about three hundred years ago…”

Part 36 coming soon

Taglist CLOSED

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@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-steve

[allfallsdown]

tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway.

Pairing: John Carter/Abigail Lockhart Word Count: 3,650. Rating: Explicit--car sex, swearing, and one vague nod to Abby's alcoholism.

Summary: Mark's passing puts Carter and Abby in a vulnerable space. Outside the tiki bar, sad and smoking, they seek comfort in each other. There's been two years of complicated friendship and mutual pining; but it's all coming to a head. Lots of talking, lots of fucking!)

The more you know: I moved the conversation they have at the end of 8x19 ("Brothers and Sisters") to their scene outside the bar in "The Letter." I can't shake the feeling that Mark's passing would have put them in an emotionally volatile space, and it would have ended differently aka how I wrote it!It's stated a few times, but Abby doesn't get drunk with Susan in this.I borrowed some of the dialogue from both 8x19 and 8x20, but most of it is my head cannon.

Excerpt: “What us? Is there an us?” He refuses to let her hide deep inside herself again, to escape into the recesses of her mind, where he can’t chase her. (He would if he could.)

Something in this moment has them trapped in a shimmering chimera of sincerity, floating around them, through them. It feels like they are the only two people in Chicago—standing in a dirty, deserted alley. Flaying themselves open for each other. 

Maybe, it’s because Mark is dead, and all of Carter’s feelings are rubbing a little too raw, that he is able to, finally, get out: “I want there to be.” 

Tell me something I don't know,                                                                    and lead me to the place where no one ever goes.

Let me go under your skin, and let me find the demons that drive those heavenly limbs.

With your fingers in my mouth, I fail to see your faults. So, please, don't let me fall. Please, don't let me fall.

An icy breeze blows hair wildly around her face.  Abby takes a slow, grounding drag of her cigarette. She’s inhaled two smokes, and none of her co-workers have left the bar to check on her—not even Susan.

A car rumbles down the street, before slowly driving away. It’s a lot easier to sit in silence and think about the invariable truth that Mark is dead. She has always felt panicky in group dynamics--especially when grief is involved. There’s an uncomfortable pressure of what to share, what not to share. It didn't take Abby long before she had excused herself from the table of her depressed and drunk co-workers.

Another car crawls down the street, flooding the alley with light. It shakes her out of her herself. This time, she pays attention as it’s parked near where she sits on the edge of a loading ramp. The driver door opens, and she stares blatantly because she knows his car—a black Jeep desperately in need of a wash.

What Carter does see: a towering brick building across the empty street. Music is escaping through an open window into the night, backed by a laugh track of voices.

What he doesn’t see: her sitting statue still, smoke wafting lazily around her head in spirals.

The last time they had spoken to each other, he had lectured her on the breaking of her sobriety—(it was a beer, to celebrate returning to her apartment, for fuck’s sake). She played it safe tonight, only ordering a coke with lime. Carter will show up at some point in the night. She couldn’t deal with his burning, sanctimonious stares, if he had found her drinking. 

She should just leave him alone—luxuriate in this tiny sanctuary she has carved out for herself. Stay until she fears she's being too anti-social, and begrudgingly goes back inside.

But. Carter's presence is familiar and comforting. There's a sadness that is eating within them both. Maybe, they can just meditate in this awful feeling together, smoke the rest of her pack--misery loves company. She knows he is upset with her, but she tries her luck and breaks her silence, “Nice jacket. Is it new?”

He turns towards the direction of the voice, but his expression is unreadable. Carter has the choice to go inside, sit with his co-workers, and listen to stories about his dead mentor. Probably the safe, predictable choice.

He stares down at the ground, and takes a few slow steps towards the alley. 

“Do you have E.S.P.?” Banter is safe; banter is their benchmark. She wants to smile, but hides it behind her hand, instead. 

“No, your car’s right there. I saw you circle the building twice.” She laughs nervously, pointing out his car parked on the street.

There’s a defensiveness to his posture—arms crossed, heels rocking against the pavement. The tension in his body is always visible to the naked eye—bubbling just below his skin. He feels like a part of Mark’s letter is living inside him, and it might take an exorcism to get it out.

“Abigail Lockhart sits alone?” There are veiled layers to his question; so she goes for a loaded response. (It’s only fair.)

“Well, I’m the only person at that table who isn’t drunk, and I needed a break from that.” She expects him to give something away in his expression—a lilt of his brows, a widening or narrowing of his eyes—but she gleans nothing.

She is picking at a frayed edge of her jacket, and he can’t stop staring. The wild curl of her hair in the wind, the line of her neck as she holds a cigarette lovingly between two fingers, the moodiness reflecting in her eyes—dark as the moonless night.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the other day,” she runs a hand through her unruly hair, “but I don’t want you worrying about me…not you. It’s too complicated.” She can barely meet his eyes, and there’s a burning in her chest, that feels like guilt.

“What’s so complicated?” He quips, shaking his head at her, holding his ground.

A moment of hesitation, and a hit off her cigarette. 

“You and me..us.” 

He steps a little closer to her, and like a reflex, she reaches for his hands. He gives. She gives. When did this dance start?

“What us? Is there an us?” He refuses to let her hide deep inside herself again, to escape into the recesses of her mind, where he can’t chase her. (He would if he could.)

Something in this moment has them trapped in a shimmering chimera of sincerity, floating around them, through them. It feels like they are the only two people in Chicago—standing in a dirty, deserted alley. Flaying themselves open for each other. 

Maybe, it’s because Mark is dead, and all of Carter’s feelings are rubbing a little too raw, that he is able to, finally, get out: “I want there to be.” 

The bottom of her stomach drops outs, a pulse is pounding in her head, but she can’t break her eyes away from him. He is crowding her now. His legs are brushing against hers, while their hands are entangled like vines in her lap.

“I know I wasn’t clear enough in past on what I wanted…and that’s on me, but I'm saying it now. I want you, Abby.” She feels the heat of his unwavering gaze.

Her eyes go wide; even in the dim light he is able to see all the facets of color swirling within their depth—honey brown with veins of shining gold. It’s a pool he wants to slowly drown in.

There is an ancient part of her that wants to shut down and hide from this, from him. It’s coded in her genes, a survival mechanism, that has protected her. She owes her life to it, but it has become her default operating system.

In the years she has known Carter, their connection has ebbed and flowed, filling some of the cracks inside her. Even when they were not speaking or pissed at each other, they couldn't, wouldn't stop caring. She is drawn to him deep within the base levels of her brain: 

To his brain, his beauty, his struggles.

His honest, bleeding heart. 

How he sees his short, time on earth—(with her in it)

The depth of their connection scares her, and she is terrified of hurting him, of suffocating his kindness and patience, his light with her shades of darkness and unpredictability.

“I’m not a happy person, Carter. I want to be; I try, but doesn’t come naturally. I’m a drunk. My family is fucked.” 

He scoffs, “You don’t hold the monopoly on fucked up families.” She wants to laugh and cry.

“I have been drawn to you for two years. I have seen you laugh and cry and scream and smile—the entire fucking spectrum of human emotions, and I have accepted all of you, Abby. Yeah, I don't agree with you drinking again, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve happiness. And I just want to try to give that to you. Because it's what you deserve...what we both deserve.”

She is chewing her bottom lip between her teeth so hard, it draws blood.

For years now, there has always been a current buzzing between them. Most of the time, it had flowed slowly or nearly stagnant. Once in a great while, it would rush angry as rapids. Now, they are diving in, consequences be damned.

It feels like she is swallowing on a stone, and she hides the tears pricking uncomfortably at her eyes.

“Okay, John.”

Abby has run so many times—from family, from herself, from him—and he is terrified of scaring her away. That’s why, when Carter presses his lips against hers, it is with the softest pressure. She smells like cigarettes and the leather of her jacket. 

She sighs softly in contentment, and he can’t go another moment of his existence without knowing how she tastes.

Carter is running his fingers through the silken, curls at the nape of her head, angling her neck to perfect the slide of their mouths against each other.

Abby opens her mouth against his for the first time, soft and pliant. His pulse is beating in staccato against his throat. She tastes like the coke she drank earlier and tobacco. The pressure of her legs wrapping tightly around his waist is crushing him even closer.

The door to bar opens with a bang against the wall. A man emerges from the bar, trash bag in hand. She drops her hands from Carter’s shoulders, and he takes a quick step away from her. They can feel the man’s burning scrutiny. 

“Everything okay out here?” He eyes them suspiciously.  

“Yeah.” Abby puts her hand against her mouth, snorting with laughter.

The employee tosses the bag into a nearby dumpster, and giving them one more glance, goes back inside.

As soon as she hears the door slam, Abby snakes her hands around Carter’s shoulders again, rubbing her palms against the bristles of hair at the nape of his neck. Her eyes are light, sparkling and blinding him.

“Hang on.” There’s no time to process.

Abby feels herself being lifted up, his strong arms catching under her thighs. She clings to his chest. 

“John!” A gasp in his ear.

He carries her like this until they reach his Jeep. Carter gently lowers her onto the hood. She is scowling at him, “When you said ‘hold on’, I didn’t know you meant literally.” 

He grins at her, “it was just faster that way. And more fun.”

“Was it? You could have dropped me, Carter.” He steps up between her legs.

“But, I didn’t.” His solid hands are massaging her jean clad thighs. Now that he can touch her, it’s going to be hard to stop.

“Well, you could have.” He is distracted by the light glistening off her full, pouting lips.

“I would never drop you, Abby.” His voice drops, though, and whatever witticism Abby is working on dies in her throat. 

She rolls her eyes, pulls him to her--kisses him hard. Her small frame is pushing as close to him as possible without falling off the hood of the car. Her hands run under the back of his shirt, up and down his jaw, through his perfect hair.

“Are you okay?” Carter asks in between her mouth on him.

“I mean, yeah, mostly. I’m still upset about Mark obviously.” 

“We can stop.” He’s searching her eyes for any sign of hesitation.

“God, no.” It slips out without before she can even realize.

“No need to give me a messiah complex, now.” A shit-eating grin.

She groans, “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“God, no!” he mimics her. She withdraws her hot hands from his shoulders in protest, “I hate you.” 

He is nuzzling into the crook of her neck for warmth, but also because she smells so fucking good. He laughs roughly, and she feels the vibration against her skin, making her shiver.

“Unless, you want my ass frozen to the hood of your car, we should move.”

He has to lift her again, in order to lower her from the hood. This time, when he braces her in his arms, she jostles around in his hold, squirming against the line of his cock, straining against his slacks. 

“Not fair,” he groans.

Carter enters through the driver’s door. He turns the car on, and the running lights off. The stereo is blasting the last bit of music, he listened to on the drive to the bar. He cranks the heat—“let me know when your ass is defrosted.” She flips him off.

By the time he is situating himself in the backseat, Abby has already shed her leather jacket and sweater. She is looking out the window, and the streetlamp cast lines of shadow across her face. Her hair is messy and dark; he can see the rise of her nipples through the thin cotton of her tank.

She is beautiful, a Goddess, he is unworthy of. But he knows he can't say that. For how much he wants this, Carter is still fumbling to take his jacket off. He rolls the sleeves of his button-down past his forearms.  

She turns from the window, and catches him staring at her raptly. She feels her heart pounding nervously in her head. Sliding slowly, Abby moves closer and closer and closer. Finally, when she is within arm’s reach, Carter grabs her the rest of the way, pulling her onto his lap with a sound low in his throat.

The immediate warmth is exquisite. Her senses are completely flooded out by the proximity of him. Her head is resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder.  Abby luxuriates in the faint scent of cologne he probably put on 12 hours ago. The starchy, laundered smell of his shirt. 

Carter rubs the exposed skin he can feel between her jeans and the bottom of her tank reverently. He hears her sigh; and he pushes further, playing his fingers under her tank top, up her lower back.

She pulls back from his neck, and he takes the opportunity to pepper kisses along the tops of her chest and collarbones. 

“I need your teeth, Carter.” It’s matter of fact. She rends her head back, giving him more canvas to work on.

“And you called me the masochist.” It rumbles against her chest. Carter methodically starts nipping and sucking and laving over her perfect, creamy skin.

He pulls back, and the air is knocked out of his lungs. Abby has her fingers locked in her mouth, in an attempt to stifle little gasps of pleasure. There are small, red welts already starting to bloom over her chest in a mesmerizing pattern. This time he can’t stop himself:

“You’re beautiful.”

She shuts him up with a kiss. This time when they touch, it’s frenzied and bewitching--tongues plundering, teeth knocking. There is no space for air between them.

When, Abby’s hips move against him involuntarily, he can’t help but grab her ass and counter her with his own upward thrust. It’s dizzying, and dangerous. He drags his mouth off of hers. 

“Stop, stop, Jesus, I need a second.” 

She scoots a little back towards her side, shooting him a self-satisfied smirk. He takes several slow, deep breathes, until he feels his pulse start to slow just slightly.

Carter is just staring at her in a way that makes her stomach pool with arousal and nerves. His eyes look black in the near darkness. He scoots over until he is pressing against her side.

“Don’t move.” 

He runs his fingers slowly, around the angle of her jaw. When he brushes his fingers over her kiss-swollen lips, she opens her mouth in anticipation. His gaze darkens, and he files that fun fact away in his brain for later rumination.

Instead of giving her what she wants, he carefully explores down her neck. His hands are spidery; fingers splayed wide over her heated flesh, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Carter pushes her tank down roughly. Her chest is heaving, and he hasn't even touched her. He teases with a finger, ghosting slowly up and down her tits, until they are covered in tiny gooseflesh. Finally, he grabs both of them roughly, tweaking the nipples. 

“Harder,” she commands. He pinches just the swollen buds hard enough that Abby’s hips buck off the seat. Fuck.

He motions with his hands for her to lift her hips. Carter pulls her jeans down over her ass, until they are puddled on the floor around her feet.

His fingers ghost now over her stomach, and her muscles clench involuntarily. Carter is such a delicious dichotomy. He’s sewn in stitches, saved lives administering CPR. Now, those same dexterous fingers are possessing her in ways that make her gasp and squirm beneath him. She’s creating a mental note of where she wants them next.

He’s mesmerized by the fullness of her hips, straining against a pair of sheer black panties. There is one hand on each hip, and he is massaging the curves of her, committing them to memory. Slowly, slowly, he begins teasing her over the panties. Trailing his finger up and down, rolling and pinching her flesh.

Her panties land in the passenger’s seat. Seeing her splayed out for him in the backseat of his car, is going to give him an MI. Teasingly, he runs two fingers over the swollen flesh of her. Just missing where she desperately wants him over and over and over again.

Abby is getting impatient at this point. Half of her wants to speed this up, but the other half loves his tortured teasing. Without thinking, she reaches a hand down in an attempt to get at her clit. He bats her hand away, and gives her a stern look, “What did I just say? Be patient.”

She rolls her eyes, but listens, withdrawing her hand.

Suddenly, he dips a finger into the soaking heat of her. It’s distractedly wonderful how wet she is—(for him). Gathering some of her slick, he, finally, hones in on her aching clit. Slow, slow circles at first. Spiraling up to a rhythm that has her squirming again.

Using his other hand, he thrusts two long fingers inside her. It’s fucking sinful, as he easily slides in past the knuckles. He angles and crooks his fingers inside her, rhythmically, and that’s when she loses coherency.

His right hand never stops rubbing circles over her clit. Before long, she’s bracing herself, grabbing at any part of him that she can reach. Her breathe catches, and then she goes completely silent. He feels the rhythmic contractions of her cunt on his fingers, and hears her babbling—“fuckfuckfu.” He fucks her through it, until her hands are pushing him away.

Carter is sitting with his head back, eyes closed, so he doesn’t see so much as feel Abby invade his personal space. 

“Hey.” Her voice is rough silk. She is pressed up into his side, nuzzling into his neck, sucking open-mouthed kisses down his throat.

Slowly, she starts palming him through the material of his slacks. She can feel the heat he’s giving off, and it only makes her wants to stoke the flames.

 A clink of metal, and the belt of his pants is open. Frantically, he helps her drag down his slacks and boxers. At this moment, he thinks he might actually pass out from the ravenous way she is looking at him, looking at his cock. 

Abby keeps watch on Carter’s face—she loves this part, gets off on being in control. As she spits into her hand and grabs him at the base of his cock, there are minute flickers of expression across his face that tell a story.

She just holds tight for a moment, getting used to the heft and blaze of him in her palm. Carter is holding his breath, head thrown back, hands resting behind his head.

She gives him an experimental stroke, and he groans. There is already pre-cum weeping from the thick head. He gives her a pleading look.

Abby sets a steady, unrelenting pace. Every time she drags her small hand up the aching, length of him, she twists her wrist around the sensitive tip, until he feels dizzy with pleasure.

She looks back to his face; and his eyes are closed, brow furrowed. All he can hear is the salacious sliding of her hand on him.

Slowly, his eyes open, and the half-lidded gaze he gives her, nearly puts her in an early grave. They crash together, tongues tangling, panting into each other’s mouths. He moves his hand to tangle in her hair; experimentally, he gives a tug at the roots and she keens.

“Carter,” her voice is wrecked, dark and warm as melted chocolate. Seduction in it’s unadulterated form, haunting him in both his dream and waking hours.

And that is his undoing. She feels his body tensing against hers, his cock pulsing hotly under her touch. His hips are skipping off the seat, chasing her hand on him. He comes with a loud moan against her mouth. She strokes him slowly, slowly through his orgasm, until he’s pushing her hand away. 

They fill a pleasantly exhausted silence, by passing a half empty water bottle back and forth like a life line.

There's an aura to her, in this moment, that is other worldly. Her chapped and swollen lips red as pomegranate, flushed face, and pupils still fucked out. Nyx emerging out of the inky depths of Chaos--terrifying and beautiful. She is magickal, and he is already hopelessly bewitched.

They sit next to each other on the loading ramp, bumping shoulders, and smoking one of her cigarettes to mask the smell of sex.

The door closes behind them, and the music feels somehow even louder. Susan is waving at them with a confused expression--how long have they been gone?

Walking slowly back to their table, Abby turns to look at him, "I forgot my underwear in your car...You should give me a ride home.”

“Oh, I''ll give you a ride for sure,” His voice is gravel against her ear, "damn succubus."

“Honestly, not the worst thing I’ve ever been called."

The smile she flashes him, just before sitting next to Susan, ruins him.

Notes:

I'm realizing I accidentally set this up for a sequel? One in which they head back to her apartment and she gets her ride. I'll definitely write this at some point.

Title is by Sade Andria Zabala.

Opening lyrics are from Beige by Yoke Lore.

Fun fact: The way Abby smells/tastes was subconsciously inspired by my favorite candle in all of the world. It's sold by a queer, women owned shop, called The New Savant. It's called Dreamgirl, and the scene profile is literally cherry cola, leather, and tobacco.

[starrclown]

Yall I like this duo a lot I don’t know why.

Random lime soda headcanons but it’s Litteraly 1:14 am and I’m not proof reading ANYTHING.

(Yall I searched for that photo of Mei and Wukong smiling together but I couldn’t find it)

They go shopping together. Both have money and both have enough to spend it.

Wukong sees bits and pieces of Ao Lie in Mei. It’s mostly their personality’s match up at times and it brings Wukong comfort.

Girls night is very important to them. Sometimes Redson and Bai He join.

Mei is an artist like Mk but she does more digital stuff. She taught Wukong how to draw with a iPad and he LOVES it.

Wukong is Mei’s vent buddy. Even though Mk is her best friend, some times she needs to talk to someone that can relate. She feels Wukong can relate to some of her issues and self esteem problems. Wukong lets her stay on the mountain and cry into his shoulder,

Wukong fixed Mei’s dragon plushie when it ripped.

Wukong is better with technology than someone like Macaque but he still struggles. So when he gets mean comments on photos he takes (mostly by Macaque let’s be real), Mei gets PISSED. She isn’t above doxxing.

Mei is SEVERALY critical of Wukong’s exes. She thinks Ao Lie was the best option (obviously)

They go to the arcade sometimes. Wukong LOVES the claw machine.

Mei FUCKS UP Wukong’s cooking. She LOVES it. She is ALWAYS getting seconds.

Mei LOVES horror movies. Wukong doesn’t but he’ll push through and watch them.

Mei made Wukong a friendship bracelet once. He has it hung up on his vanity so it doesn’t break it.

Guys I’m so sleepy and I’m breaking out and my iPad hit my face so I now have a bump on my lip.

Anyways you guys should watch Scream Queens. It’s free on YouTube with adds. It’s such a trashy tv show and it’s so stupid but it’s so fun.