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hiphop-rap-and-basketball · 3 years ago

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One Team, Two Players | LaMelo Ball + Jayson Tatum One Shot

Word Count: 2,570

Pairing: LaMelo Ball x Jayson Tatum x Reader

Summary: this imagine is set to take place the night of the 2022 NBA All Star Game. I’d imagine reader as kind of welll-known within their little group of players- maybe an IG model or something.

Warnings: All Characters involved are 18+ Minors DNI. Alcohol use, unprotected sex, NSFW Type beat, okay. Please don’t ever have sex unprotected with mfs who you don’t know of their body count LMAO especially NBA Players 💀💀💀

A/N: look man… all I’m saying is. I don’t even watch Euphoria but let me break down how my brain came up with this… the hot tub scene of everyone talking that was going around tiktok a couple weeks ago and seeing Melo and Jayson play on the same team at the All Star game = this one shot. Okay. That’s all I gotta say. Don’t ask me how my brain works but here we are. Plus I know there was a request for an All star game imagine so this is kinda close to that😏 also sorry if dialogue is iffy, there is a fine line between good dialogue and it getting cringe real fast lmao.

Another side note lmaooo when I write NSFW stuff I’m always like who tf am I ??? And what tf is this??? Like my mind did this this shit??💀 anyway enjoy ily 💖

After the 2022 NBA All-Star Game, some guys from Team Durant decided to get together and rent out a huge AirBnB mansion in Cleveland for the sake of the messy celebratory activities that would go down after the game. You had only come because you were friends with Devin Booker and some of your other girl friends were here as well. Although Team Durant lost, it still was a cause for celebration for it being Melo’s first All Star Game.

Most of the guests were inside socializing while you made your way out to the hot tub. Some were inside the house while others were chilling by the pool. The night had all around good vibes, but you needed a moment for yourself to recharge your social battery.

You sat in your seat, feeling the jets hit your back as you closed your eyes for a moment enjoying the warmth of the water as the air above you was cooling down now.

Your peaceful moment was quickly interrupted by splashing and your eyes shot open as Melo and Jayson hopped into the hot tub with you now, disrupting your peace.

“Ahhh what’s good, y/n,” Jayson nudged you before sitting down beside you. He was close enough for you to smell the alcohol on his breath.

You watched Melo as he did the same, sitting on the opposite side of you, making himself comfortable but keeping the bottle of Ciroc in his hand above the bubbling hot water.

“Shots all around,” Dejounte cheered, handing all of you guys mini red solo cups and leaning over the hot tub pouring up your shots.

“Woah woah, wait, should we?” Jayson asked Melo, clearly already tipsy.

“Fuck it,” Melo shrugged, settling aside the bottle he already had in hand.

You all took the shot at the same time and you made a face. Jayson called you out on it, nudging you to take another without making a face.

“Damn, give me a second,” you laughed.

Melo grabbed his bottle and poured you your shot in the same mini cup, slightly over filling it as some of it poured into the hot tub water.

“Aw shit,” he laughed. “My bad.”

You take the shot, feeling the warmth grow in your chest. They both studied your face awaiting your reaction. You sat back in your chair not giving them the satisfaction of them wanting to see you make a face.

“Awww shit, okay y/n,” Jayson chanted.

You shrugged, smiling at the pair. After how well they did after tonight’s game and seeing this all play out as how they chose to unwind after a national broadcasted game made you chuckle.

“What’s so funny, y/n?” Melo asked.

“Y’all are,” you replied while rolling your eyes.

Jayson wasn’t having your little attitude now, so he decided to tease you a bit.

“So you fucking with Devin now?” Jayson asked and you looked away, rolling your eyes.

“Shut up,” you sneered, looking the other way to peer around as you spotted Devin talking to Kendall in the distance of the yard.

They were happy and you knew they were. Having been together for over a year now. You tried your chance at Devin before he got with Kendall but it failed. You guys still remained close although it took awhile for you to get over your feelings for him.

“You’re fine as hell, y/n, if he won’t go for you I will,” Jayson shrugged, taking a sip out of his glass.

“Wow thanks, that means so much,” you reply sarcastically. Your eyes glanced over at Melo who was just sitting back processing the conversation. “He’s just my friend, I wouldn’t do Kendall like that.”

“Mmm, I’ve always thought you were so fine,” Jayson murmured, looking into your eyes now with full confidence. You weren’t buying into his act, although you know he’s insanely attractive and he was definitely loved by many, you knew he was kind of a whore.

But, if you got the chance to fuck him, you wouldn’t say no… so two could play at that game.

“You’re drunk, Jayson,” you mumbled, playfully pushing his face the other way.

“I’m good,” he chuckled, smiling sweetly at you. “I’m just being honest… you have options… Plenty of dick to go around.”

You glared at him then looked at Melo who was biting his lip and still remained silent, but refused to jump in and even attempt at defending you. You were ready to test the waters and walk away to attempt at exiting the conversation.

You got up out of your seat in the hot tub but felt one of them grab your hand.

“Y/N, stay,” Melo’s voice said. “Don’t listen to him he’s just talking shit.”

“I’m just trying to have fun and have a good night so…” you trailed off, still standing now.

Melo tugged your hand. “Go ‘head sit, it’s okay. We want you to have a good night. Jayson stop acting a damn fool, watch your mouth.”

“My fault,” he replied, lifting his hands up in defense, still with the smug grin on his face.

You were glad Melo finally spoke up, and you smiled proudly in response. They scooted closer to you now as you hesitantly sat back down and basically had to squeeze in between both their bodies in the water.

“Lemme try something,” Melo stated.

Melo hands Jayson the bottle and nods at him as if they agreed to something nonverbally. Melo uses has hand on your chin and tilts your head back slowly while Jayson poured the alcohol into your mouth. You swallowed all of it, using your hand to cover your mouth keeping any from escaping your lips.

“Aw shit,” you heard a voice from the pool say in reaction to the three of you.

You looked at the two of them, faces serious now as they had their eyes locked on your upper body, scanning their eyes from your exposed neck down to your breasts as they nearly spilled out of your bikini top, as you had not adjusted them after you had got out of the water.

They were both confident and fine as hell and they knew it. Thinking about how you would most likely not see them again after tonight, you didn’t seem to care about whatever the outcome might be. You wanted to make the best of it.

You don’t know where your sudden boldness came from but the heat of the moment and the alcohol in your system made you want both of them. With Jayson to the left of you and Melo to the right, you thought about the endless possibilities.

You looked at Jayson first, he caught on quick enough to the vibes and his lips found yours. His kissing style was very dominant, just as you suspected. His hand tugged at your hip in the water, pulling you closer. He was all about the soft lip biting in between kisses. Until you finally let go, the hunger was clear in his eyes.

You let go of the kiss then looked at Melo, devious grin already growing on his face anticipating the same thing coming for him.

You placed your hand on Melo’s shoulder. Jayson still kept his hands on your left thigh, rubbing on your smooth skin under the water before letting Melo take over. This kiss with Melo escalated quicker as he began using very much more tongue than Jayson. His hand slowly crept up as he gripped your upper thigh.

“That’s hot,” you heard another voice say from a distance and you giggled, wondering how many eyes were on the three of you at this point.

Feeling Melo’s lips and Jayson’s lips and comparing the two now made you think of all the ways you wanted to feel their lips on your body. You looked at the both of them feeling your heart rate increase as the desire you had for the two of them was growing by the minute.

At an attempt to get your lustful desires under control for a moment, You sank into your chair, closing your eyes and lowering yourself a little bit more to submerge your body into the water. You let out a small gasp as you felt kisses being planted on your neck for a moment, then they stopped.

A couple others hopped in the tub with you guys now, and the three of you decided to hop out and dry off. They stepped out first and helped you out, reaching out for your hand and having eyes connected to your breasts as they bounced as you wrung out your hair.

You all toweled off as those around you chattering drowned out the silence between the three of you. They looked at each other and nodded as if they both mutually agreed on something in their minds again. You looked up at how the two of them towered over you. Their chest were visibly still wet as the tiny beads of water shined in the darkness.

You knew this night was not quite done yet.

The three of you went inside the house and found one of the many empty rooms with neatly folded bedsheets as it had still been untouched by any other guests here tonight. The music playing from the main room slowly faded out as Melo shut the door behind him.

You fell back on the bed, watching the two of them wondering who would make the move first.

Jayson slowly pulled the string of your bikini top off as you used your hands to prop you up and you leaned back, they made their way closer to you now.

Their aroma was comforting, as they smelled like a mix of pool chlorine now and a lingering bit of both of their colognes.

Melo slid your bottoms off slowly as you adjusted yourself and laid back, he slowly lowered himself to meet face to face with your clit. As he started licking you slowly, you instantly let out a small gasp at the feeling. Your hands reached for his curls as you gripped them in between your fingers, arching your back in response.

Jayson sat beside you as he shook his shorts off his legs and he began to stroke his already hard dick, admiring the curves of your body and the look of your soft skin as you were laid out on the bed enjoying the feeling of Melo’s tongue devour you.

You turned around as you were on all fours now, as Melo began eating you out from the back while you started giving Jayson all of your attention. He rested his back against the headboard of the bed with his arm tucked behind his head. Your tongue grazed his tip and he licked his lips in response as his mouth was slightly parted now, quietly letting out soft moans.

You felt Melo adjusting himself behind you and as he did so, you slowly began quickening the pace on Jayson’s dick. He groaned softly in response, grabbing your hair as you slowly took more and more of him down your throat, he encouraged it with a gentle push.

Meanwhile Melo began slowly rubbing his tip along your folds, and you felt yourself grow wetter. As he entered all of himself into you, you moaned in response, and the vibrations of your soft moans sent waves of pleasure for Jayson.

“Fuck, y/n,” Jayson mumbled, pulling his lips between his teeth and tilting his head back admiring how good you looked taking all of him in your mouth now. You ran your free hand up his abs and grazed his chest. You glanced at the tattoos running up his legs, admiring his athletic build. His tan skin glowed even in the dim room.

Melo began quickening his pace now as he stroked into you, which led you to increase your pace on Jayson, he tugged you off of his dick and grabbed your face to kiss you again, as you continued to receive strokes from Melo, but Jayson wasn’t having it now and he wanted your pussy all to himself.

“C’mere,” Jayson demanded and you agreed without hesitation, Melo pulling himself out of you now, eyebrows furrowed feeling slightly annoyed as he wanted you to himself as well. You sat yourself on Jayson’s dick and moaned softly feeling him stretch you out in the place Melo’s dick was taking up space in, just moments before. His hands gripped on your hips now and his fingertips roughly pushed further into your skin as he couldn’t get enough of you.

You brought Melo’s tip to your mouth now, as you were already with a mouthful of spit, you licked on his tip and swirled your tongue around. His dick was longer but easier to fit in your mouth. You looked up at him through your lashes as he studied your pretty face, he smirked in response when he caught your glance.

“That shit feel good, y/n,” Melo said softly, taking his time thrusting into your mouth then quickly began abusing your throat rather than going slowly like Jayson did before him.

Riding Jayson grew more and more pleasurable as he heavily focused on making sure you felt good. He caressed your breasts from behind now, hands grazing your body as he kept his eyes on how your ass looked bouncing on his dick.

Melo’s hand gripped your throat and he forced you to look up at him, pulling his dick out of your mouth before leaning down to give you a long, wet kiss, spitting in your mouth before throat fucking you again, tears welled in your eyes as it all was growing to be too much.

It felt so good and you didn’t want to stop this moment.

Jayson was unable to hold back anymore as he pulled you off and came on your back as you leaned forward onto Melo’s dick.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Melo groaned, voice husky as he pulled himself out of your mouth and came on your face. Running his hands through his curls as he did so, you put him in your mouth one more time before he took himself out of your mouth again, unable to handle the feeling of your tongue on him again as his tip was already sensitive.

Jayson sat you on his face now, licking on your already overstimulated clit to make sure you wouldn’t walk away unsatisfied. Jayson kept going crazy, licking and sucking on your clit. Your legs shaking as you came but he kept going, way too dedicated in his role now but you weren’t complaining. You moaned louder as he increased his pace.

“Yeah yeah, we get it damn,” Melo muttered. Throwing his shirt back on.

You giggled, feeling your cheeks heat up as you processed how the heat of the moment just got the best between the three of you. They stood before you, chests moving up and down as they were trying to catch their breath.

“I told you there was plenty to go around,” Jayson finally spoke up as he shrugged. You threw the pillow that was on the bed at his face roughly before he could catch it.

The three of you laughed together. There was no way you would ever forget this night.

#lamelo ball #jayson tatum #charlotte hornets #boston celtics #imagines #lamelo ball fanfics #lamelo ball x Jayson Tatum x reader #Melo #nba player imagines

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years ago

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I.R.L.📷2

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, voyeurism/exhibitionism, slight stalking, masturbation, naughty talk.

This is dark!(camboy!)Andy Barber. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your guilty pleasures becomes and all too real terror.

Note: Okay, here’s the second and last part of this short little piece. Thanks for reading and the excitement. I’m sorry if I’m a bit blegh rn.

Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

Andy stared at the chat. He waited and waited but the green dot didn’t pop up. Maybe she was freaked out after meeting him. Or maybe she was over him. Her name hadn’t blipped up in any of his sessions in the last week and he even invited her to an impromptu private show after he got back from the café. He hoped her seeing him might nudge her but it only seemed to scare the fuck out of her.

He recalled how she nearly fell on her face running away from him. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. No preening or smiles, just terror and a quick escape. He didn’t understand. He was a good looking guy and she was obviously lonely. Hell, she was cute too. He was hardly disappointed.

He waited another fifteen minutes, distracting himself with the colour matching game on his phone but her status remained inactive. He scrolled through his bookmarks and clicked on her insta profile. She had commented on some DIY tutorials in the last hour but hadn’t posted. She only ever added pictures of flowers anyway; her last photo of herself was from a year ago. It was her and some guy but he could guess they were no longer together.

He was starting to get upset. She was ignoring him. He wasn’t stupid but what had he done? Their sessions were going well up until this week and he actually looked forward to them. He felt that same thrill he had when he first started his hustle.

He slammed his laptop shut and dropped his phone face down. Fuck it, he had better stuff to do.

He crossed the room and grabbed one of the boxes still stacked against the wall. He hauled it over to the empty bookshelf and flipped it open. He unpacked the books one at a time and the heavy bookend shaped like half a globe. He didn’t know why he brought all these things, he didn’t use them. He wasn’t a lawyer anymore.

He leaned against the side of the sofa and crossed his arms. He boxed up his whole life, or what was left of it, and drove halfway across the country. She couldn’t even give him a hello or her name. She could hardly look at him and she wouldn’t answer his goddamn messages.

He pushed himself straight and stormed over to his laptop. He ripped it open and clicked on the chat. Still, nothing. The invitation was scheduled for less than an hour. Well, if she wasn’t going to open it, he’d have to get it to her another way. He was done waiting on her and he was done playing with her through a screen.

He wanted the real thing and he knew she wanted it too.

📷

You were still slightly addled from your encounter at the café. After you got home and unpacked your groceries, you didn’t find your coffee again until it went cold. You dumped it and replaced it with a glass of wine. You bought the bottle a month ago, expecting to unwind and that time finally came.

You sat with the healthy dose of alcohol, almost to the brim as it darkened the full belly of the glass. You wore only a baggy Winnie the Pooh tee and panties as you lounged and flipped on the tv.

You rarely used the front room anymore, ever since your boyfriend moved out you spent most of your time in the bedroom, exhausted and lonely. It was easier to just linger there between responsibilities.

Your dainty sips turned to greedy slurps as you turned on an episode of Project Runway and lost yourself in the competition and drama of it all. Your ex hated that show and you hadn’t watched it in years. It was time to get caught up with what would forever be your unfulfilled dream of being a designer.

By the runway, your glass was empty and the television had a soft glare as you were slightly buzzed by the high potency. The dark blend had a percentage in the double digits and you were feeling it, delightfully so. As the designers came up for their feedback from judges, more so a roast, you leaned back and wiggled your hips as you stretched. You yawned and closed your eyes as you listened to a designer give cutting critique of a hem.

You peeked under your lashes as the camera panned in on the fraying stitches. Well, it looked alright from far away. You bent your arm under your head as you turned onto your side and your eyes closed again as you pondered another glass of wine. That might give you a decent night’s sleep.

You inhaled and sat up, intent on another indulgence but you stopped short as you blinked in shock. You hadn’t drank that much. You couldn’t be hallucinating. You pressed yourself to the back of the couch and shook your head as you gaped at the figure stood just beside the tv, eyes calmly watching you.

“What…” you gulped.

“Shhhh,” the man, the one you watched all those nights on your laptop, brought his finger to his lips as he hushed you, “it’s okay, honey.”

“I--” your heart leapt into your throat and you stood as you swiped up your glass, “get out. How did--”

“I sent you an invitation. Several this week. You haven’t answered--”

You hit the glass off the table so it cracked and left a jagged edge. You jabbed it out at him from the other side of the coffee table, your hand shaking as the shock turned to a jolt of adrenaline.

“Go! Get out!” you snapped, too terrified to think on how he found you or if your meeting that day was truly a coincidence. It didn’t seem like it, “you’re crazy, get out of my--”

He marched around the table as you backed up and swung the glass at him. He caught your wrist and twisted it as he wrenched you close to him and pointed the sharp edge at your throat. The scent of him filled your lungs and mingled with the taste of wine as the glass pressed to your skin.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he warned, “so don’t make me.”

“Please--”

He said your name, calmly, as you drowned in his oceanic eyes. You quivered in his grasp and tensed as you tried to lean away from him, “Andy,” he offered, “that’s my real name.”

“Please, I don’t know what you want--”

“You know exactly what I want,” he hissed as he pulled away the glass and tossed it to shatter against the wall, “the same thing I always wanted… that you want.”

You took a deep breath and he clapped his hand over your mouth and tutted. His brows wrinkled in irritation and your drunken fingers bounced futilely off his shoulder. He turned you and sat you down on the couch and knelt with you, shushing you again as he settled on his knees on the floor.

“Honey, aren’t you tired of this? Of being apart? Of just… watching?” his eyes strayed from yours and he smiled as he eyed the yellow bear on your shirt, “that’s cute.”

You shook your head and murmured against his hand. His lashes flicked up and his jaw squared. His lips thinned as he considered you.

“Thing is, honey, I’d love to talk but you gotta promise not to scream,” he said, “and I mean that because I don’t want to gag you… not yet, anyway.”

Your eyes rounded and you nodded fervently as your breath puffed under his palm. He narrowed his eyes and shifted his hand slightly, moving it just an inch at a time as he watched you. You sniffled as he let his grip fall to your knee.

“Why? How…” you stuttered, “it was a mistake. Just a show--”

“You were always there,” he said as his other hand came up to your other knee and he ran his hands up and down your legs, “it didn’t sound like a mistake.” He pushed his fingers along the top of your thighs, “you enjoyed it.”

“It wasn’t… like that, just…”

He squeezed your thighs painfully and you winced. His fingers crawled up under the hem of your tee to the elastic of your panties and he hooked them beneath the fabric. You grasped his wrists in shock at his sudden movement and he looked you in the face.

“Say whatever you want, make your excuses,” he snarled, “you said you wanted me, you said it a dozen times, and I know you do.”

He tore down the cotton and you flailed out and caught yourself against the back of the couch. He rolled your panties down and untangled them from your ankles as you tried to close your legs. He kept your panties around his wrist as he stopped your knees from meeting and moved between them.

“Honey, now, I think we’ve had enough build up--”

“Hel--” you screamed and he grabbed your chin and snapped your mouth shut so that you bit your tongue.

He growled and shook your panties down over his hand. He brought up the twisted fabric and shoved it into your mouth. You tried to turn away from his grip as he stuffed the panties in with two fingers as deep as they would go and you almost gagged.

“It’s too bad,” he said, “I wanted to try that mouth… next time.”

You batted at his arms and chest and his hand shot to your throat. You stilled as he choked you, just enough for lungs to burn. He kept his hand on your neck until you sat back and he let it trail down the front of your shirt. He groped you through the fabric, rolling his thumb around your nipples as they hardened.

“I know you can be good, honey,” he hummed, “you’re just… nervous. I know what it’s like, trying to get over someone else. Trying to move on from a life you built-- a break-up, right? That lanky guy on your Insta--”

You gave a terrified flutter of your lashes and he smiled, a tight-lipped sympathetic gesture.

“Look, we’re two lonely people,” he kneaded your chest as he spoke and leaned in, “so, it only makes sense, and I promise, honey, the shows are over. It’s all for you now.”

You trembled as he dropped his hands and pulled up your shirt. He tickled your stomach with his knuckles and framed your tits with his hands as he admired them. You squirmed as he flicked them with his thumbs and leaned into you. He took one in his mouth and suckled. You whimpered as you felt a pluck in your core.

He parted with a pop and licked his lips, “I never… it was always hard to think of what you’d look like but I couldn’t picture anyone so perfect.”

Your nails dug into the couch cushions as you tried not to flinch. The glimmer of delight turned to disgust as you watched this stranger fondle you and he sealed his lips around your other nipple. You bit down on the cotton and moaned. You were so pathetic. It was your stupid moments of lonely desperation that brought you to this, that brought him to you.

His large hands spread along your sides and he pressed his fingertips into you sharply as he toyed with your nipples. He grazed his teeth along each bud and pulled back to look at you again. You grasped his shoulders as you begged him with your eyes and shook your head.

“I… always wanted to do this in the bedroom,” he said, “that’s where you usually are, huh? Touching yourself for me all alone in the dark--”

You hung your head in defeat and he pulled you forward on the cushion. He lifted you onto your feet and spun you around in the space between him and the couch. He put one hand on your hip and the other on the back of your neck and walked you around the sofa. He paced slowly behind you as he urged you down the hall and paused to peer through your bedroom door.

“Here we are,” he said as he angled you through the door. You reached up as your jaw ached around the wad of fabric and he caught your hand and yanked it down, “I didn’t say you could do that.”

You dropped your arm and he let you go. He pressed his body to your back as he nudged you closer to the bed and stopped you right before it. He bunched your shirt in his hands and tugged it up until you raised your arms. He swiped it over your head and let it crumple beside your feet.

“Go on, sit nice and pretty for me,” he tapped your ass lightly.

Naked, you shivered as you stepped away from him and got onto the bed. You turned as you bent your legs over the edge and lowered your chin. You hugged yourself as he stood watching you with his hands on his belt.

“Don’t you worry, it’s still a show,” he said as his hands slid over to his buckle.

He winked and ran his fingers up the front of his jacket and pulled it off. He draped it over the folding stool by your bookshelf and bent each leg to tug off his shoes. His socks followed shortly after and he squared his shoulders before he scooped his shirt up and off. He returned to his buckle and tilted his head at you.

“Look at me, honey,” he said as you stared at the pile of clothing, “we both know you love to watch.”

You raised your eyes to him and clamped your hands around your shoulders, arms crossed over your chest. He grinned and unbuckled his belt, his zipper gliding down smoothly beneath his fingers.

“You got me hard as fuck,” he said, “I didn’t like that earlier, you know? The way you ran from me.”

You just sat and tried to swallow the hopeless acceptance. He pushed down his pants and stepped out of them, his arousal bulging against his boxers. Your fingernails cut into your skin as you curled your fingers.

“You’ve been so good to me, honey,” he continued as he rolled down his boxers, “you know, I only want to return the favour. I came all this way just to get close so that--” he paused as his dick sprang up before him and he kicked away his underwear, “I can take care of you now.”

He gripped himself and stroked his length with a hum. His stomach tensed and the lines of his muscles deepened as he groaned and played with himself as he would before the camera. You were mortified as you watched him helplessly and he got closer and closer.

“Now you get the live show, honey,” he reached out and took your hand, closing it around his dick as he guided it up and down.

He moaned and hung his head back as he used both your hands on his shaft. He shuddered and leaned into your grasp. You listened to his pants as they grew quicker and quicker and he stopped you abruptly. You looked down at the glistening pre-cum as it leaked from his tip and he trailed his thumb through it as he let you go.

You flinched as he moved towards you suddenly and grabbed your hips. He lifted you and dropped you onto your back. He took your ankles and placed them against his shoulders as he stretched your legs up his torso. His cock slid along your cunt and hovered over your folds.

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” he bit his lips and looked between your legs as he let go of one leg and reached down to guide himself between your lips, “oh, honey, your so sexy.”

He pushed apart your cunt with two fingers and slid in between his knuckles. He gasped as you stretched around him and you pushed your head back and whined around the fabric in your mouth. You whimpered as he drew back just a little and pushed in deeper. He rocked his hips, getting further each time as your walls strained around him.

He tilted you against him so that he reached his limit and slid his thumb along your bud. He swirled around your clit as he carried a slow motion, gliding in and out of you as you slicked around him. The tingle of his touch crept like tendrils beneath your flesh and made you clench around his dick.

He groaned and sped up, just a little as he played with you, pressing more firmly on your clit until your hand shot down over his. You didn’t move him away, only gripped his wrist as he toyed with you, fucking you deliberately as the sensation melded into a maelstrom. The twisting spring inside of you compressed and released suddenly in a ripple of sheer delight.

You groaned and bent your legs against him, raising your pelvis higher so he dipped even deeper. Your eyes rolled back and you ripped the panties from your mouth in your ecstatic trance. You balled them in your hand and writhed on his dick.

He grasped your hips and dragged your ass over the edge of the bed and rammed into you. You cried out and he did it again. It was as if he lost all control as his pelvis slapped against you loudly and his voice rumbled through the room. You gulped and gasped as he pressed the heel of his hand to your clit and rubbed harder, his fingers stabbing sharply against your flesh.

His other hand snaked up to pinch your nipple and cup your tit. He braced you as he bent over you and fucked you furiously. He stepped up onto the edge of the bed frame as he curled your body beneath his and brought both his hands up beside your head as he held himself over you.

He plunged down into you over and over and he huffed as he watched the joining of your bodies. He growled and pulled out of you suddenly, bending your legs up as you were contorted further. He grabbed your hand again and trapped it around his dick, moving it quickly as he muttered.

He came in thick ropes onto your chest and down the folds of your stomach as you were in almost a C beneath him, his knees around your thighs. You shook and lifted his chin as he snarled and kept your hand moving, still cumming over you. He tore your grasp from him as he grew over sensitive and hung his head as he quivered.

“Shit,” he swore as he backed off of you and stood, leaning on the bed to steady himself. Your legs fell over the edge and his cum cooled across your skin, “you look good like that, honey.”

He stepped closer and pushed his fingers through the mess. You shivered and stopped his hand as you slowly returned to reality. You lifted yourself on one elbow and batted your lashes in confusion.

“How did you even find me?” you uttered.

“Doesn’t matter how,” he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to sit up gruffly, “only that I did.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #two shot #one shot #defending jacob #dark fic #dark!fic #irl

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spiderlilyserendipity · 4 years ago

Note

omg violet you write so well!! if you can, could you write a taehyung nsfw of while on vacation, tae's girlfriend wakes him up early with kisses and promises to do "whatever he wants" if he gets up with her and explores the city and tae holds her to that promise when they get back to their hotel starting with some steamy (private) hot tub sex?

Anon, you are awesome but you have ruined my brain. I got so carried away writing this fic, it is double the size I thought it would be. Many thoughts, head full typa situation. Thank you. This one is titled Only One. Enjoy <3

WC: 4475

Genres: Smut, fluff, angst

Tags: established relationship, anniversary dinners, tae x oc take a trip to Paris

Warnings: dom/sub relationship, dom!taehyung, sub!reader, sir kink, punishment, praise kink, use of the word slut once, colour system as a safeword, insecurity, possessiveness, possessive sex, aftercare, taehyung is very 🥵🥵🥵 in this one y’all

(*Cis female reader*)

“Y/N, Y/N, should we take a picture over there?” Taehyung asks, batting his eyes cutely.

You smile but roll your eyes at Taehyung’s enthusiasm.

Not to be mistaken, if there’s anyone who loves their boyfriend, it’s you. You would live and die for Kim Taehyung, but there’s a special reason for your eyeroll today.

It has been only two weeks since Taehyung got off tour, and at that a world tour. You know Taehyung must be very tired from constantly travelling, hence why you let your boyfriend get his full rest the first week. But the thing is you haven’t seen your lover in a year, and you want to make some memories with him.

You know he will get too busy once the post-tour lull passes over everyone at the company and everything goes back to regular schedule. Then, Taehyung will get sucked away by album preparations, promotions once it’s out, and inevitably: another tour.

You love that Taehyung gets to do what he loves for a living. You also love how cool he looks on stage. But most of all you like getting to spend time with him.

To be honest, you were going to go see Taehyung in Paris during the European leg of the tour. It had been your anniversary, and the two of you had plans to get dinner together and enjoy the city. But then life happened and your plans came crashing down, preventing you from seeing Taehyung until the tour ended months later.

But past you had thought quickly, knowing the day Taehyung would return home and shifted your ticket instead of cancelling. So a week after Taehyung got home, you presented him with a second plane ticket to Paris, France that you bought last minute just for him.

You thought Taehyung would agree with making up for your missed anniversary, but Taehyung had frowned instead. “Babe, I seriously don’t want to go anywhere for a while. I’m sick of hotels and planes.”

“But I’ve never been there, baby. It would be so romantic!” You convinced him eventually, your pout winning him over. Taehyung had sighed, then called his manager to let him know.

So excited from Taehyung agreeing, you had leapt up into his arms and kissed him like crazy. “Ahhh! I’m so excited!”

Taehyung had held back a grin. “Okay. But no touristy stuff.”

You pout. “But that’s the most fun part!” When Taehyung pouts back, you try to convince him again. “Baby, I promise I’ll seriously do anything you say if you do all the embarrassing touristy stuff with me.”

“Anything?” Taehyung asked you, arching a brow.

You took his hand, nodding eagerly. “Anything. Let’s just have fun!”

Taehyung grinned at you. “You better keep your word.”

You had kissed him, grinning at him. He watched you with a fond smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You bet I will.” You vow.

It isn’t until you actually land in Paris that you realize what anything Taehyung is imagining.

For all his great qualities, Taehyung is not subtle about what he wants. Especially when he wants you.

The first three days, Taehyung lets you drag him around under the condition that you both wear disguises to avoid being noticed. You comply, picking odd hours of the day for activities that would be very busy at other times of day. You hit all the touristy spots in early mornings before the crowd, hide away in small tucked away cafes and restaurants with Taehyung during lunch hour, then spend the day browsing vintage stores for jewellery and clothes.

It’s all fun and games except for the teasing that Taehyung will not stop. It’s hard for you to name a time of day where Taehyung’s big hands hadn’t been resting on your waist or his lips idly pressing a kiss to your cheek in passing. You know very well the game Taehyung is playing. He is slowly working you up, getting you used to his constant touches. Then, he will withdraw them, leaving you needy.

Despite Taehyung’s teasing, the two of you still have a great time. You buy souvenirs for your friends and things for yourself. Taehyung also buys you clothes and jewellery, loving to spoil you. But what you love the most are the small establishments he brings you to, full of tasty food and where no one knows his name. You know the game Taehyung is playing, but you let him guide you to an isolated table towards the back and feed you food off his own utensils. You let him wipe the corner of your mouth for some smeared sauce, let him lick it off his thumb. Sometimes, you even get a little on your face on purpose. Taehyung notices when you do that, and lets you get away with it. After all, this isn’t a favour he’s doing you. This is your anniversary trip. He can’t be the only one getting away with teasing.

The following three days, the two of you hit the museums. Taehyung shows you around, explaining things he had seen on previous trips to Paris. You listen to him, happier to see him happy than to really look at the art. You take pictures of your boyfriend inside the museum and really anywhere it won’t catch too much attention.

Over those three days, Taehyung’s touches decrease. He reduces it little by little, but you know him well by now. Taehyung isn’t trying to be subtle, rather the opposite. He wants you to notice, to get riled up when his touch is gone.

You tell yourself you don’t mind it, but both of you know it’s a lie. You ignore the smirk on Taehyung’s face every time you intertwine your hands or wrap an arm around his waist to guide him through the back roads. You will get back at him at dinner tonight.

After lunch on the final day, you tell Taehyung to head back to the hotel on his own. You say you are going to buy a new dress for your dinner date tonight, and that you want it to be a surprise for him. Chuckling, Taehyung just passes you his blackcard and tells you to have fun.

You buy a dark green coloured gown, Taehyung’s favourite colour, and a matching necklace and earrings set of emeralds. You smile at the sight of your ass being cupped by the silky material. This is sure to drive Taehyung mad. After all, tonight is the final night. Both of you know exactly how tonight will end.

You catch a cab to the five star Taehyung made a reservation at. You pay the taxi driver excitedly, getting out in your all new outfit, new heels, and even a new purse! You were sure to impress Taehyung.

You walk into the restaurant, telling the waiter who you’re here with. He lets you in, guiding you upstairs to your table.

You frown as you see your table. From this angle, you can’t see who, but Taehyung is talking to a woman. You approach quietly, catching neither of their attention. Luckily (or unluckily) for you, they’re talking loudly. You don’t speak much French but you don’t need it to deal with this woman. You hear her mention the word “model” and a woman’s clothing brand. You hear her repeat “model” a second time as she blatantly roams her eyes down Taehyung’s figure, then up at him. That’s the part that makes your blood boil. You know she is aware of your presence. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of relationship you and Taehyung have.

But she still challenges you anyway, openly eyeing your man in public. If you could speak more French than basic small talk you would rip her a new one.

Fuck it. You think, making your way across the room. Who needs to know the language?

“Oh, baby.” You say in a sweet voice. They both look over at you. The woman looks visibly irritated, pursing her perfect lips in annoyance. What a shame you like to flirt with other women’s men. You think, slightly in awe at her beauty. I’d like you in any other situation. “Is this a friend?” You ask.

You see a hint of a smile before Taehyung bites it back. “No, Y/N. We just met tonight.”

You smile pointedly at the woman. She frowns at you. “Ah, I see. Well, it was nice meeting you. We haven’t had dinner yet, so.” You say, pretending to be apologetic for cutting the conversation short. All three of you know you’re not, but it’s the thought that counts. Or doesn’t. You couldn’t care less.

“Colour.” Taehyung asks the minute you’re back in the hotel room.

“Green.”

“Poor baby. Got so angry that I took my eyes off you, huh?” Taehyung teases, hooking his fingers in the band of your underwear. He pulls back, making it snap against your hips. You whimper. “What’s that? Are you trying to say something?” Taehyung taunts you.

He cranes his head to look at you. He cups your face and makes you look at him. He makes a fake-worried face. “That’s odd, you were talking perfectly fine a few hours ago. Was it something in the food that’s making you feel sick or are you just embarrassed from being a possessive little slut in front of sir?”

His words make you shiver. He grins as he feels it against his own abdomen. “It seems like you’re really sick, Y/N. I guess we'll just have to go to bed.”

He begins to unwind his arms from around your waist, but you grab them, holding them against your skin. “S-Sir.” You whisper.

“There’s my girl.” Taehyung says proudly, rewarding you with a kiss to your temple. “Let’s talk about what you did wrong tonight, shall we?”

“I-I was possessive. I got jealous because you were talking to that model.”

Taehyung’s eyes flicker at the last word. “Oh, you heard?” He snaps the band of underwear against your skin again. You wriggle, but he refuses to let you go. “What a bad girl. Eavesdropping on sir’s conversations. What if she had been a potential colleague and you ruined everything? But you didn’t think of any of that, only your. own. feelings.” He emphasizes each of the three words with another smack. “You’re just an ungrateful little slut, aren’t you? I bet you would open your legs for any man that offered you this kind of treatment, huh?” He growls in your ear.

“I-I’m sorry.” You whisper, voice cracking.

Taehyung stops. “Colour.” He says, thumbs gently stroking at your sides.

“Green.”

“Y/N.” He repeats more firmly. You sniffle. A tear rolls down your cheek. Taehyung thumbs it away immediately. “We don’t have to. I’m sorry. Do you want to take a bath together? We can cuddle after. Anything you’re comfortable with baby.”

You shake your head, looking away from him. “I’m really okay. I...I want my punishment.”

Taehyung turns you to look at him. He watches your face, looking for any unwillingness. He cups your face and makes you look at him. He smiles finally when he sees the familiar, hazy look in your eyes. You are already slipping into subspace.

“Follow me.” Taehyung says.

You walk behind him, still naked except for your panties. Taehyung is still entirely clothed in his suit and tie. He leads you to the fancy living room of the suite, and closes the curtains. You wait until he sits down to approach him. You observe his spread legs and the stern look in his eye. The air in the living room is freezing cold, but it only adds to it. This is one of the many things you love about Taehyung. How incredibly sexy he looks when he is in control.

Without being asked, you get on the sofa on your hands and knees. You drape your body over Taehyung’s lap, ass up in his lap. You fold your arms over the sofa’s armrest, turning your head to look at Taehyung.

Taehyung’s warm hand caresses your ass. He kneads at the flesh roughly without breaking eye contact with you. On the outside, he looks indifferent, dark eyes sultry. He makes it look like he couldn't care less if it was you or another sub being bent to his will. But you know it’s part of the scene, that he’s watching you this intensely for your reaction and it is only your reaction he ever wants in a setting like this.

“You can safeword out if you need to.” He reminds you. You nod, putting your head against the armrest. “Count.” He tells you, before the first smack comes down.

You flinch on instinct, but his arm pins the backs of your thighs down. “One.”

Another smack but to the other cheek. You hiss under your breath. “Two.”

Taehyung gives the next three in succession. “F-Five.”

“Colour?” Taehyung re-checks. You reply green again. He delivers two more. “Six, ah, seven.”

The next two smacks are harsher. “Eight, nine一!” As you’re counting, Taehyung gives the final one. This one is the hardest of all, making the two of you sink a little lower into the sofa. “T-Ten.”

You are crying now, falling deeper into your subspace. Taehyung’s warm hands smooth over the places they hit. His voice murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, reassuring you.

“S-Sorry.” You continue to cry. “I didn’t mean to be like that.”

“I know.” Taehyung reassures you. He helps you up into a sitting position. It burns to sit on your still painful ass, but you do so anyway because it’s Taehyung who asks you to do it. “You took my punishment very well, Y/N, just like a good girl.”

You shake your head, sniffling. “I don’t wanna be ‘a good girl’, I wanna be your good girl.” You say. Taehyung frowns slightly as he wonders what that means, then looks shocked when he realizes what you’re saying.

“You are my good girl, baby.” He says softly, wiping away your tears. “No one but you.”

“But i-it was our a-anniversary dinner and you were letting her flirt with you. You just一just let her do it. And when I called you baby at the restaurant, you only called me Y/N.” You confess, giving up your fake confident act. The truth is that despite your anger in the moment, you had felt very insecure. It wasn’t like you could blame the woman for finding your boyfriend hot, anyone would. But the fact that Taehyung never said anything back and just put up with it instead of correcting her bothered you. Was it embarrassing to admit he was dating you in front of a woman who was so obviously his equal in elegance? This thought bothered you throughout the whole dinner.

You didn’t plan on telling Taehyung about it, since he didn’t know you sometimes felt this way. One of the reasons you insisted on travelling to make up for your missed anniversary was this doubt. Maybe if you showed him around this fancy city and you made good memories with him, he might appreciate it. Maybe then it would ease your doubt of if you were worthy enough to be his.

You had never admitted this aloud to anyone, but you actually wondered If Taehyung had women in other countries that he went on dates with during tour. You know Taehyung is a good person but after all, he is a young man with sexual needs. And at that, a very attractive man who could get with just about any woman he wanted. So yes, seeing him talk to the very attractive woman had angered you, but it also made you feel like your worst fears might be true.

“Y/N, talk to me, baby.” Taehyung pleads you, his worried brown eyes searching your face for any answers.

“...Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, my love.” Taehyung responds. “Ask me anything you want, baby.’

You sniffle. You play with his suit blazer. “Can you promise to not get mad at me?”

Taehyung looks like he might cry when you ask that. “I promise.”

“When you go away for tour...is there anyone else?” You watch your own tears fall onto Taehyung’s dress shirt. Taehyung looks shaken. “It might seem random but I’ve always wondered. I promise I’m not just acting up because of tonight.”

Taehyung continues to watch you, looking worried and at a loss for words. You put on a fake smile. “Sorry, it’s probably nothing. Let’s just go to bed.”

Taehyung holds you by the waist, stopping you from getting up. “Y/N.”

“I said it’s fine. It’s okay. Really, even if you had another woman. I can’t control what you do when you’re not with me. A year is too long for a couple to spend apart anyway, it’s only natural that your feelings would change. It’s okay. Anyway,” You breathe shakily. “Anyway I’m still yours. As long as you like, of course.”

“Of course I like it.” Taehyung insists, tears glistening in his eyes. “I love you. Tell me how long you’ve felt like this.”

You hesitate. “Y/N.” There it is again, that firm tone that you hate outside of scenes.

You look down at your hands. “Maybe two years?”

Taehyung is crying now, and he cups your face in his hands. “You’ve been thinking like this for two years? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“...I didn’t want to burden you. You’re really busy on tour.”

Taehyung purses his lips. “Can I show you there’s no one else?”

You nod. Taehyung lifts you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He holds you by the backs of your thighs instead of your ass, careful not to hurt you. “The bed?” He asks. You consider the feeling of the rough sheets against your sore ass.

You shake your head. “C-Can we use the hot tub?”

Taehyung kisses your forehead. “Anything for you.”

Taehyung sets up the hot tub for both of you. He takes your panties off for you, sliding them down your legs. He kisses you deeply, sweetly. You whimper into the kiss, his tongue completely in control of your mouth. When you part, a strand of saliva comes loose. When you part far enough, the saliva ends up on your chin. Taehyung wipes it with his thumb. A darkness has entered his eyes again. “Get in. Let me show you how much I love you.”

You get in the hot tub, relishing the feeling of the hot water. It stings a bit, but it’s easier to sit then the bed would have been. You sit with your legs spread slightly, calves tucked under you and feet beneath your ass. Neat and pretty. Just the way sir likes it.

Taehyung strips quickly once you’re in the water. Your eyes roam over his beautiful body, at the hard muscle of his chest, his bulging biceps, his caramel thighs, and his rigid cock. “Come here.” Taehyung orders as he gets in the water. You do so, climbing up into his lap. He kisses you hungrily, like this is the first time all night. You are surprised at the intensity of this kiss. You cannot recall a time Taehyung has ever kissed you so passionately in your years together, even in your roughest scenes.

“So pretty.” Taehyung growls when you two part again. He wraps one arm around your waist to press your chest against his, then attacks your neck. You gasp as he makes love bites, all the way down your neck. He has never made this many before in total, yet he makes them everywhere tonight. He litters your collarbone and the top of your chest with them, making them bloom red at first but you know they will be a deep purple shade tomorrow. “How can you not know what you mean to me, when you’re this fucking beautiful? You drove me crazy in your dress tonight, no, you drive me crazy every fucking time I see you. Maybe even since the first time I met you.”

“S-Sir.” You moan at the praise, face heating up. Taehyung pushes you back against the wall of the hot tub. You tilt your head back against the tiles as he touches you everywhere. He uses his hands to tease at your nipples, making them harden. Even as he does it, he is grinding down on you. You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

“You fucking know I am.” Taehyung snaps, losing the careful composure he wears during scenes. “You’re my one and my only. Look at yourself, so fucking lewd, all worked up by my touch. You have me wrapped around your finger and you still think I’d have another woman.” He continues, cursing in between his sentences at your sweet sounds.

“S-Sorry.”

“Don’t ever be sorry.” Taehyung cuts you off. You let out moans as he starts rubbing at your clit, hard and fast. You grind against his hand. In his dom persona, Taehyung would never tolerate you doing this, but both of you are too far gone tonight to follow the rules to a T. “I will clear this misunderstanding tonight. On your knees, princess.”

You lean on top of the towel Taehyung placed for you on the tiles. Taehyung places his own knees outside of yours, and you feel his hard cock against your ass. Taehyung eases two fingers into you, wet from your arousal that it’s an easy fit. “Nnn, sir.” You plead, grinding down on him.

“You won’t get more until you say what I want to hear.” Taehyung says next to your ear. He presses his chest into your back, pinning you to the edge of the hot tub. “Who do you belong to?”

“Sir! I belong to sir!” You cry out, and Taehyung picks up the pace.

“So fucking pretty.” Taehyung praises, kissing the marks he left on your neck. “Only you get treated like this, understand? No woman could ever be loved like this by me. Every time you forget I will bend you over my lap and make you come on my cock over and over until you get it in your head.”

You let out a particularly loud moan at that, making Taehyung smirk. “Does my princess like that, hmm? You want to get bent over and take my cock all the time? Want me to fill you up with my come, plug you with a pretty little toy, and make you go about your day?” Taehyung inserts another finger and the stretch has you whining. “Answer me.” He demands.

“I do. Ah, fuck, Taehyung. Please. I do.” You plead, tilting your head to the side. Taehyung meets you immediately in a passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth, completely different from Taehyung’s usual style. Is this really what he can do when he lets go? You wonder, getting drunk on his kisses alone. You thought Taehyung had been rough before, but it’s nothing compared to tonight.

“Turn around.” Taehyung says, withdrawing his fingers.

He takes in your needy expression, leaning in to kiss you again like he can’t get enough of you. “Can I come in you, baby? Have you been taking your pill regularly?”

“Yes. Yes.” You chant. Taehyung laughs breathlessly, grabbing a fistful of your hip in one hand and lining himself up to your entrance.

When he enters, both of you moan. “So good. Whose are you, princess?”

“Yours, only yours.” You answer breathlessly. Taehyung grips your thighs and lifts you slightly, allowing him to enter you more deeply.

Taehyung abruptly picks up the pace of his thrusts. You grip at his shoulders for support, unable to stop the noises that fall from your lips constantly. Not only is Taehyung going fast, he is also going incredibly deep, rubbing right over your G-spot.

“C-Can I come, sir?” You beg.

Taehyung nods, and you move one hand between your legs to rub at your clit. As you tip your head back, Taehyung holds himself deep inside you. Both of you come at the same time, you clench hard around him and Taehyung pumps his seed inside you. He kisses at the marks on your neck as he comes, and you dig your nails into his back.

You move your hand to his hair once you finish, stroking it gently. Taehyung pulls back from the wall, his hand smoothing down your back to ease any discomfort you felt being pressed against it. You don’t even notice until the postcoital bliss dies down that your ass was now more sore than before. But Taehyung does.

“Let’s take a shower.” He tells you, helping you up. You both get out of the hot tub. Taehyung runs a small handcloth under the tap. He comes over and wipes your vagina down first, then cleaning himself.

The two of you get in the shower together. You let Taehyung wash your body down, scrubbing gently and avoiding touching your ass. You grab his shampoo off the ledge and put a good amount in your palms. “What are you doing?” Taehyung asks, surprised that you turned around while he was washing your back.

“Taking care of you.” You mumble, washing Taehyung hair for him. You grab the detachable showerhead from the side. You shield his eyes with a hand as you rinse the soap out.

Taehyung smiles fondly at how concentrated you look. “Baby, a dom is supposed to look after their sub following a scene. Not the other way.”

You shrug. You probably heard that somewhere. Your brain is too foggy right now to think. “But I want to.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” You answer, smiling at how nice Taehyung’s hair looks now that it’s clean. “Because I belong to you.”

Taehyung lightly pecks your forehead. “And I’m yours.”

Later, when the haze of your subspace wears off, you two are laying in bed together. You’re wearing one of Taehyung’s shirts and a pair of panties. Taehyung is shirtless and in a pair of boxers. Taehyung has just finished putting lotion on your sore bottom to ease the ache for tomorrow.

You lay on top of Taehyung’s chest, and Taehyung tucks the blankets tucked in around you. You snuggle up against his chest, content in his strong arms.

“Y/N, I know I already proved my point, but you really are my only one.” Taehyung tells you. You don’t reply so he cranes his head to look at you. Taehyung smiles fondly to notice you’re already asleep. He kisses the top of your head. “No problem. I guess I have the rest of my life to prove it to you.” He mutters to himself.

You smile to yourself with your eyes closed.

Requests are open (✿◡‿◡)

#bts smut #bts fanfic #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x you #kim taehyung smut #taehyung fanfic #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff

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just-a-creep-babe · 4 years ago

Text

Kinktober Day 31

Out with a Bang

Holy crap I finally ~finally~ finished it! This was not,,,,,,, the best of ideas I’ve ever had because holy fuck it was a lot

But I really really reALLY wanted to make something for the fellow simps (like yours truly) who just ~cannot~ decide which mans they want because, let’s be real, they’re all Snaccs and they all need that good lovin 😌👌

In hindsight, I wish I would’ve made Toby’s part a little longer, but alas, I think it might be too late to change that by now. Also, there’s a lot happening throughout all of this and it does feel rushed and just generally,, badly paced and stuff, but still, even if it might not be the absolute best, I’m relatively happy with the way it turned out :)

So, ah, anyways, quick warning for just,, more than I usually do for smutfics so read at your own risk!

And for those who do manage to get through this mess, well, I hope you can enjoy 😉💦

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

Any tips are greatly appreciated!

You squirm and try to suppress a whimper as strong, warm hands caress your front

You’re dizzy, nerves set ablaze with something hot and burning and wholly consuming—like nothing you’ve ever felt before

BEN tugs at your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, a wicked grin on his attractive features at the sound of your choked moan

“You like that, babe? Like being a little slut at the center of attention? Hm?”

His scarlet pupils flare mischievously as his free hand works to evenly pump at his cock

Before you can respond, your attention’s pulled away by Jeff jerking at your face, forcing you to look at him

You can barely react before he smashes his mouth against yours, chapped lips tasting of blood and something sweet

Your hands flutter up to him, fingers tangling into messy raven locks as you try to keep up

He wastes no time cramming his tongue down your throat, and the feeling almost has you forgetting about everyone else in the room watching

Almost

He growls against you, his body like a wall of muscle pushing you down harder against Hoodie’s lap—albeit probably unintentionally

Still, it has the proxy’s hard-on poking your naked thigh through the fabric of his jeans, his cock twitching eagerly in response

They’re all so hungry

Despite all the distractions trying to steal your attention away, you still reciprocate the kiss to the best of your abilities

It leaves you breathless and panting, your thoughts swimming, tugging at dark strands for a grip on something—anything

“Quit fucking hogging her mouth. I want those pretty lips wrapped around my dick”

Jeff grunts, pulling apart, breaking off a faint string of saliva in the process

There’s the sound of a belt unbuckling, and you look up, still dazed, just in time to see Masky undoing his pants and tugging himself free

“Fuck…” he breathes out a cuss, member springing out—just inches from your lips

He’s nice and thick with a prominent vein running along the underside of his shaft, and you can’t help but swallow thickly as he rubs at the precum beading up his tip

Despite still having his mask on, the bottom of it is still tilted up just enough to reveal his amused smirk

“You like what you see, sunshine?” he teases, slowly stroking over his length

When you bite your lip and nod, he takes it as all the permission he needs to wrap his hand into your hair, twirling a makeshift ponytail to use as leverage to bring you towards him

You accept him into your mouth without hesitation, swirling your tongue around the tip and watching as he throws his head back with a cuss, his fingers tightening in your scalp

You prop yourself up as best as you can, despite the others still gripping and groping at your body, to take him in all the way until he’s hitting the very back of your throat

Lifting yourself from Hoodie’s lap meets you with a strong smack! to your ass, followed by a husky chuckle as your hips buckle

Who you can only assume to be EJ, judging by the steadiness of his caress, trails his fingertips down the side of your torso and to the aching spot between your legs

Another pair of hands splits your thighs open, gripping flesh with a loving slap, before letting Jack take the lead and cup your heat, his thumb just barely teasing at your clit

Your eyes squeeze shut, a desperate muffled whimper sounding out from around Masky’s cock, which has him twitching and groaning huskily

Another harsh whap! stings the flesh of your ass and you whine again

“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” Hoodie snickers

You don’t have time to push away and respond—not that Masky would’ve let you at this rate—before someone takes one of your hands and hesitantly presses it to their crotch

“(Y-y/n), can you—can you p-please touch me?”

You wrap your fingers around Toby’s bulge and his hips buckle, an adorable moan spilling from his lips

He’s quick and eager to undo his pants, his dick springing free with a slap to his lower abdomen, before he’s guiding your touch back to his stiff member

Your second hand is brought up to wrap around another erection, and this time you can hear Jeff hiss in a breath as you give him a long, slow stroke

“God, that’s so fucking hot,” BEN groans

He tugs at your nipples again, then leans in to take one between his teeth, watching as your movements stutter and your whole form stiffens

A lewd moan wrenches itself free from the back of your throat before you can catch it

There’s too much stimulation—they’re overwhelming

You don’t know what to focus on; it all just feels so good—you’re absolutely powerless to do anything but let them have their way with you

Jack’s long, elegant finger prods at your entrance before slipping into your sopping cunt

He slowly twists his digit against your fluttering walls and then pushes in a second one

Your whole body trembles, and you choke on a moan as your cunt immediately clenches around him like a vice—all too eager

You’re out of breath, your throat’s raw and your lungs are burning

You’ve no choice but to pull away from Masky’s to cough and splutter, another string of saliva still connecting you to him before finally snapping off

The way their eyes roam over your form, drinking you in, soaking up every detail you have to offer, it’s borderline humiliating

Even the most seasoned sex worker would flush at the attention

“You feel so tight around my fingers” Jack’s voice is thick and husky, hardly above a whisper but you somehow hear him loud and clear

His fingers move slowly and methodically, coaxing a ridiculous amount of slick from your eager opening

It has you squirming, trying to get him to move faster because fuck, you need more, but Masky’s grasp tightens around the crown of your skull and it forces you still

You expect him to cram himself down your throat again, but instead, he just smacks his cock against your cheeks a good few times and it has you whimpering, muscles clenching madly in delight

“Such a good, eager little cockslut, aren’t you?” he chuckles

He releases his grip and instead strokes himself a good few times, using your own saliva as lubricant

“(Y-y/n)...”

Toby’s gaze suddenly catches yours, a light blush dusting his cheeks, his pupils blown wide and clouded with lust

He hesitantly comes closer until you manage to bring his member into your mouth, tongue flattening against the underside of his tip before taking him all in and swallowing him down

It’s difficult to work, to say the least, when BEN’s lavishing your chest with attention, Hoodie’s kneading at the fresh marks on your ass and Jack’s fucking you on his fingers, but you do the best you can

Toby unwinds into a shuddering, moaning mess at the command of your mouth

The way he squirms and gasps as you suck him off hard and slow, gazing up at his reaction through long lashes, is somehow both endearing and horribly sinful at the same time

You can tell he’s starting to get close when Jack hits something blindingly wonderful inside you, and it has you pushing away from Toby, your back arching with a breathless cry as adrenaline races up your system

“Here, (y/n)? That where it feels good?” he murmurs, his voice a low, deep rumble thick with arousal

You nod eagerly, trying to splutter out an affirmation, but the most you can manage are broken moans and pleas as he toys with the spongy spot deep inside your fleshy walls

“J-jack, fuck—s-shit!”

You try to hump against his fingers, your orgasm building way too quickly, and when Hoodie reaches around to jerk at your clit, your whole body buckles, core convulsing tightly and thighs shuddering on top of him

The others pull back, and you’re more than fully aware of how they’re all stroking themselves while watching you, but you’re far too horny to care

Your hands scramble to grip onto Jack and Hoodie’s forearms, feeling their muscles tense beneath smooth skin as they pump and rub your sopping sex until you’re throwing your head back and crying out from the stimulation

Euphoria reverberates throughout your whole body, but just as you’re about to cum, Jack pulls his fingers out and Hoodie quits playing with your clit, only to give a quick, light smack to your cunt and chuckle when you whine in protest

“N-no, fuck—please!”

You try to reach down to alleviate yourself but Masky stops you before you can, forcing your hand back to stroke at his member with a tsk

“Little slut’s getting impatient, aren’t you, baby?” BEN coos, “You want us all to take turns fucking you nice and good, don’t you? I bet your brain‘s turning to mush just thinking about it, isn’t it?“

He gives a good few mocking pats to your cheeks and chuckles

“I bet I can fuck her better than any of you shit-heads can”

Jeff’s gruff promise is all the warning he provides before settling himself between your split legs

He leans in and spits onto your cunt, not that you need the extra lubrication, before then rubbing the head of his member between your ridiculously slick folds

“You gonna be a good bitch at the tip of my dick, (y/n)?”

You nod eagerly, trying to hold back the obscenities threatening to spill

And then all at once, he snaps his hips forwards—shoving himself all in one motion without mercy

His scarred grin twitches at the way you cry out and moan around him

Your head rolls back, chest arching up, allowing different hands to roam over your tits and toy with your nipples, others wrapping around your neck and feeling your breath catch into your throat in response

“That’s a good slut~” Jeff snickers

He pulls out, ever so slowly, and then he slams back into you again

“Jeff—fuck!”

Your whole body’s burning up, tremors of arousal rolling through you with every ounce of attention you’re receiving

Jack snakes his hand back to your front, between you and Jeff, to rub at your throbbing bundle of nerves while Hoodie gathers up your slick between his fingers to envelop around his member

And even though you’re expecting it, it still knocks the breath out of you as he pushes into you from behind—and you’re absolutely stuffed with the both of them

“So fucking tight~” Hoodie groans

He palms up your thighs, gripping your flesh, forcing you to wriggle and grind against his pulsing cock nestled deep inside of you

BEN yanks your chin up to look at him, chuckling at the dazed, glossy look in your eyes and your parted lips

You’re nearly drooling at the feeling, thoughts completely fuzzy and overwhelmed

Your cheeks are squeezed together, the entity toying with your bottom lip with his thumb before he’s bringing his member to your lips and you’ve no choice but to take him into your mouth

You squirm, eyes squeezing shut, swallowing down the taste of his precum as hands—and you don’t even know whose they are at this point—wrap around your thighs and toy with various parts of your body

It’s too much

With every harsh thrust, Jeff forces himself harder and faster into you—practically ramming into you while Hoodie hits deeper inside you

The way they both fuck into you—and Jack’s steady hands rubbing at your clit, you can’t keep up

You’re breathless and shaking and gagging on BEN’s dick, tears blurring your vision, until all at once, you finally cum with a strangled, muffled cry

Your eyes roll back, lids falling shut, back arching and shudders rocking through your whole body

“Fuck—fuck she’s already fucking cuming!”

Jeff throws his head back with a snarl as you clench impossibly tight around him

Hoodie groans behind you as well, hands bruising your thighs as BEN thrusts into your welcoming mouth and his cock hits deeper down your throat

Your muscles seize, pleasure and euphoria rocking through your body in seemingly endless waves

The stimulation’s so overwhelming that it’s nearly painful

Your vision clouds, stars dancing behind your eyelids, until Jack finally moves his hand away from your throbbing clit

But Jeff and Hoodie don’t relent

Their paces only grow more frantic and eager, all the more desperate to fuck into your welcoming holes and feel you tense so wonderfully around them

You try to swallow back your cries but you can hardly control yourself—especially not with BEN twitching between your soft lips wrapped up so nicely around him

The other hands grasping at your form toy with your body like you’re theirs

Fingers wrap into your hair and twist at the roots of your strands, tugging and pulling until you’re forced to take the cock into your mouth even deeper

“God, you’re s-so fucking pretty~”

You can hardly hear Toby’s voice through your own muffled whines and needy pleas

Try as you might, you can’t stop squirming and jerking from the overstimulation

Your throat’s raw from being fucked so thoroughly, especially coupled with the shameless moans that keep spilling free

Everything’s too intense

Your hands are brought up to wrap around their throbbing members, coaxing quiet groans and hushed moans to accompany your own muffled mewls

Hoodie’s pace grows until you know he’s getting close, and already, you can feel your second orgasm just teetering on the verge of crashing into you

A hard smack to your ass has you jerking, skin burning and tingling and no doubt covered in red prints

Jeff then immediately slams into you—either jealous of the attention you’re giving the others or equally close to release

But either way, his relentless pounding is enough to have you cuming again already

And your second orgasm’s blinding

Everything inside you seizes

Your muscles recoil from the shock, adrenaline and ecstasy racing through your bloodstream like it never has before

Your toes curl, legs wrapping tighter around Jeff, who releases a string of filthy cusses and snarls

“God—fuck!”

A couple more mind-melting thrusts and he stutters inside you, hips movingly sloppily until you feel his seed filling you up to the brim

Hands tug at your nipples, stroking and savoring your skin, even as you’re pumped full of cum

Hoodie follows soon after—his strong, calloused palms forcing you down so that your seated on his throbbing dick and he’s as deep as he can get

He grinds up into you as he cums, hands moving up to briefly wrap around your neck before returning to settle at your waist

“Such a—such a good slut!” BEN pants, groaning and moaning, “Fuck! Fuck! I’m gonna cum!”

He throws his head back with a moan, hips jolting into your mouth until the taste of him fills up the back of your throat

You pull away from him, coughing and spluttering, only to notice the others also nearing their end

Toby whimpers, his cock twitching incessantly in his grasp, and when you glance up to look at him, it’s all it takes for him to come undone

He release all over your chest, painting white streaks of his seed, until Masky’s yanking you by the hair and bringing your face to his cock so he can cum all over it

You instinctively squeeze your eyes shut, lips falling open with your tongue out and ready to taste him, though most of it misses and hits your cheek instead

“Such a filthy little morsel~”

Jack’s voice is deep, dark and gravelly, his whole form shuddering from the pleasure raking up his system as he works his cock

You reach over to help him out as well, wrapping your lips around his tip to hollow out your cheeks and suck—hard

It has him making what’s possibly the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard

His hips buckle, pushing his member further down your throat, and the moan you make is finally what it takes to send him over the edge

There’s so much of it

Try as you might to swallow it all down, you can’t, and it ends up dripping down your chin and all over your neck, right down to your chest and between your thighs

You’re a mess

Your whole body’s slick and filthy and you’re absolutely spent

Jeff finally pulls out, leaving more cum dripping out of you, but you’re far too exhausted to care

Just as you’re about to get off of Hoodie, you feel him press you back down

“Ah ah ah, who said we were done with you just yet, Princess?~”

His voice is a low hum at your neck, followed by the soft warmth of his lips pressing to your skin

You squirm, feeling yourself flush even through your exhaustion

The only word you manage to pant out is a dazed and confused, pathetic little “W-what?”

Masky snickers

He rakes his hand through your scalp, tugging gently at the roots of your hair to pull your attention back up towards him

“Don’t worry sunshine, we’ll do all the work for you. You just have to be a good little girl and fucking take it~”

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader smut #creepypasta x reader #x reader smut #kinktober #creepypasta kinktober

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displacedentities · 4 years ago

Text

Night Out

My quickfic for @doodledrawsthings Coffee Shop AU! In truth I had this in the books for months and just never got around to finish it ;u; Unfortunately only the muse can decide when it’s time to slap me with enough serotonin to work on this, so I rode the high from recent art and wrapped it up! It’s not as clean as I wanted, but you know what, have it anyway.

-Myst -----

Finally. Another shift in the books.

With a heavy sigh, Luka stretches his back as the clock chimes up on the wall over the glass doors. Deft fingers untie the back before he slips the fabric apron over his head. A light snap of magnets punctuates the white noise of steaming coffee machines, and Luka stuffs his nametag into his pants pocket.

Luka was embarrassed to think about how much of a struggle it was to steady on for the entirety of the workday. Stress ate at him all the time, over so many things. Harriet was priority number one - did he remember to prep her meals for the day? Was she still ok, back in the apartment? Was Professor Popcorn in need of more repairs? Luka would happily handle such a task, of course, but...

He wasn't guaranteed to have thumbs when the evening finally came. There was his time limit to think about.

"Hey Luka?"

Damn, but being cursed was such a pain. Chopping vegetables was a particular bane of his existence. How could he trust himself with a knife like that? Ugh. He hated to make Harriet do it - no child should be wielding a knife before the age of 13, for any reason. He'd just have to MacGyver a solution or something.

"Luka..."

And on top of that, he had the upcoming bills to fret over. Rent was due in a few days, and he'd made a decent amount in tips, but they could not afford to have their upstairs neighbor burst a pipe again. He and Harriet had spent the entire afternoon toweling up their poor carpets to avoid getting mildew. Or worse, bugs. Luka was a fan of bugs, but not in his carpets, or sneaking into the mattress where they could bite his daughter.

"HEY!"

This time, the voice manages to pierce the haze of worry writhing in Luka's brain. Jolting to attention, the auburn-haired adult turns around, blinking owlishly at his colleague, Clover.

The braided redhead is giving him a wan smile, her brows furrowed in worry as she sets down a large bag of coffee beans under the counter.

"You spaced out again, buddy. Did you hear a word I said?" the barista asks, folding her arms over her stained apron.

"Uhh... you said my name," Luka replied, feeling a bit awkward as he chuckles once. "Sorry, I probably missed anything you might have asked me."

"I was asking if you ever go out."

"Ah- what?"

That was unexpected. Go out?

"You know-" Clover holds up her hands to gesture to the world in general, and beyond the coffee shop doors "-out! Like, with friends or anybody?"

Ah.

Luka laughs once, rubbing a hand on one side of his face.

"You mean since I moved into town? Nah, not really. Me and my daughter have only been here a few months - can't say we made many friends just yet."

Nor was that a risk they could take. Who knows how long they could stay here, before he was inevitably found out? One could argue it was a risk just- doing what he was doing now. Trying to hold a job, staying in an apartment; a semi-permanent living situation. They'd been on the road so long, old habits were quite hard to break. And if he was entirely honest with himself, Luka didn't know yet if he felt safe, even six months past the first day he arrived in the rural town of Subcon.

Clover's frown deepens, her arms dropping back to her sides. Her dropped guard betrays her worry, before she tries to play it off with another lighthearted smile and upbeat words.

"Oh come on, it can't have been that long since you've just done something fun for the sake of it. When was the last time you went out with friends and enjoyed yourself?" she asks.

"Why is this important?" Luka asks, his own guard slowly rising. He didn't quite see where she was going with this, but he wasn't sure he'd like it.

Oops- maybe not the most polite way to phrase that, as he sees an awkward flinch on Clover's face. Quick, recover! Luka chuckles once, also trying to lighten the mood.

"You and MJ never really asked me that kind of stuff before. I thought I was hired to serve coffee, not tea."

"We serve both, ya doofus," Clover smirks, rubbing one of her well-muscled arms with the other in a self-conscious gesture. "You should know that, since you've been working here almost four months now. And uh- well, MJ just kind of noticed you always seem very tired whenever you leave work."

Luka smiles back, but it's forced. Careful. Don't give any hints that it's anything serious. Don't be suspicious.

"Oh, that? I uh- I'm not used to the retail scene. I'll probably adapt to it soon."

Clover doesn't seem convinced. Still, her expression is sympathetic, rather than judgmental or suspicious. She leans her back on the counter, looking over Luka's exhausted demeanor and baggy eyes with a skeptical smile.

"I'm sure you will." She rests her hands on the counter. "In the meantime, you should go out for bowling with me and MJ! We were planning this outing for about a week, and maybe you'd wanna come with?"

Luka stops mid-folding of his apron. He turns toward Clover with surprise.

"Bowling? As in- knocking over pins in an alley, bowling?"

Clover rolls her eyes, amused. "No, as in rolling cereal bowls. Yes, that kind of bowling, Luka. It'll be fun! Eat some cheap pizza, knock over pins, watch the uncanny valley animations on the TV screen, the whole shebang. You up for joining us?"

"I uh- I didn't know there was a bowling alley here?" Luka says, his voice pitching up as he gives a sheepish laugh. "I- I don't know..."

Shit.

He could already feel the first touches of his curse starting to well up. A quick glance to his hands- okay, no purple yet. But it was coming.

Luka tucks his hands behind his back just in case.

"I'm not sure, I have Harriet to worry about..." he fumbles, rushing to think of excuses. It hurts his heart a little when he sees the disappointed expression Clover wears.

"Are you sure?" she asks, her tone gentle. "It'll only be a for a couple of hours - I could ask Cookie next door if she'd be willing to handle your daughter for the night. She's a fantastic sitter, and your daughter would have Mu to play with."

Luka opened his mouth, preparing to turn it down- then closed it again, brows furrowed as he chews over the thought.

Only a few hours... hm. His curse's current time limit was somewhere a little short of eight hours, he was sure. As long as he didn't have to pick up a shift at work, he would have most of his day free to spend out of the motel. An outing to a bowling alley couldn't possibly last eight hours, though he'd... never actually gone bowling before.

"I.... don't know... I've never been bowling, I'll just hold you back-"

"Nonsense," Clover says, waving off his excuse immediately. "MJ and I aren't professionals or anything, Luka - it's just for fun! You've never been?? That means you've gotta try it, at least once. Please?"

...mmh. Luka would be lying if he said he wasn't very tempted. But he had so much to worry about! His daughter, his curse... keeping his job, being able to support the two of them. Not to mention, getting used to his slow camaraderie with Clover and MJ. That sort of outing would throw their friendship into first gear.

"It's ok," Clover interrupts his thoughts, standing back up straight as she grabs a rag and finishes wiping down the counter. "You don't have to come, we just thought... you know, it might be fun. You look like you need some serious time to unwind, dude. All we ever see of you is showing up to work, dealing with customers, then you leave. And hey, if you change your mind, the offer's still open."

Luka curls his fingers, foot tapping the floor in small fidget.

"Well, I'm gonna start closing up the back," Clover says, tossing the rag into a laundry bin next to the employee break room. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Wait!"

Clover stops, turning around with the laundry basket.

"What day were you planning to do it?"

What am I thinking?? I can't go on an outing with them!

Unaware of Luka's silent stresses, Clover beams, her smile lighting up once again.

"Saturday! Would that work for you?"

"Mnhg- maybe?" Luka concedes, forcing his own sheepish smile despite his brain screaming No nO this is a bad idea! His mouth continues to run away from him. "Saturday is my errand day - me and Harriet go out for groceries in the morning, and eat out at whatever lunch restaurant she picks. I wouldn't be open until the evening, and Sunday's game day for me and my daughter."

Bad idea, what are you doing?!

"That's perfect!" Clover says, delighted and still not privy to Luka's inner struggle. "If we close the shop at five, we can drive to the bowling alley around 5:30, play a game or two and eat. Should go until about... eight-ish? How's that sound?"

Say no, say NO!

"Sure, sounds fun."

AGH!

"Great!" Clover says, a skip in her step as she lopes off to the back room with the laundry basket. "I'll text MJ to let him know - he's already gone back to his apartment."

"Yeah, I'll uh- I'll text him too," Luka chuckles, scratching behind his head with one hand- and immediately putting a stop to that action, as he feels the points of sharp claws dig at his scalp. Both arms are dropped and tucked behind his back, a big smile on his face. "Gotta give him the full details and everything, haha..."

"No problem- see you!" Clover bids Luka goodbye, waving one hand as she cheerily hauls the laundry bin off into the back.

"Bye!" Luka says, his voice cracking from nerves.

Oh thank god she's gone.

Luka pulls his hands back out into view, and sees the telltale purple staining begin to creep up his flesh. Peck. It was already starting- Clover left just in time. He could already feel the sharp ends of his canines starting to poke into his bottom lip. He didn't have much left of the day in human form- he had to get home right now.

Snatching up his belongings from his locker, stuffing his work apron inside, Luka loops his bag over his shoulder and leaps over the service counter. He missed the rack of sugar packets this time, thankfully, his sneakers squeaking on the tile floor as he bolts out the door. The bell rings as the glass entryway opens and shuts, signaling his departure. Car keys are whipped out of his bag, a slowly deforming finger just managing to push the button to unlock the vehicle as he clambers inside. Just five minutes- he could make five minutes.

The engine of the car roars to life, and Luka zips off out of the employee parking space, trying his best to ignore it as his fingers swell and fuse together, and his eyes reflect golden light in the rear view mirror.

------

MJ's car putters up to outside the bowling alley, fixing his blue-dyed hair with a sigh. Clover, in the passenger seat, drums her hand on the door handle with excitement.

"This is gonna be so much fun," she says, turning to look over her shoulder at the stiff and uncomfortable Luka in the backseat. "I'm so glad you decided to come, Luka- we'll show you the ropes of bowling!"

"Great," the young man says, putting up another shaky smile as his fingers tense around his kneecaps. "Can't wait!"

"That's the spirit," MJ speaks up, giving Luka a quick smile of his own before twisting the key in the ignition. The car's engine dies down, the doors unlocking as MJ shifts the gear into park. "Clover told me you were nervous about hanging out, and that's completely fine by me - if you feel uncomfortable and don't want to stay, just let us know, ok? We'll drive you back to the apartment building, no hesitation."

Luka inhaled deeply, letting out a heavy sigh from the back seat of the car. It felt like his nerves were trying to shake him apart. A glance at his watch-

Was he really going forward with this?

...Yes. He was. As much as Luka worried, Clover had been right. It'd been far too long since he'd taken 'me' time.

Luka puts a hand on the door and pulls the handle, stepping out of the car before he has a chance to psyche himself out.

It's just a couple hours. He still had plenty of time, after his midday outings with Harriet.

Stay calm. You can do this.

The sign above the brick building shines with neon lights, saying 'Pins & Cushions' in bright blue and red. The backdrop is a painting that Luka can swear was painted in the 80s, displaying a bowling ball as it barrels into pins and knocking them askew with a cartoony impact mark.

"Pins & Cushions?" he says aloud, smirking a little bit.

"Kind of silly, right?" MJ speaks up, locking the car behind him with a click. "Sounds more like a sewing parlor than a bowling alley."

"It's because they boasted having cushioned chairs," Clover says, snickering. "You've never been, but most bowling alleys have these awful plastic chairs that hurt to sit on for too long."

"You mean like the chairs in high school?"

Luka's joke earns a quick bark of a laugh from Clover.

"Couched seating areas in a bowling alley was, sadly, a craze that never caught on," MJ says, ascending the concrete steps up to the building. "But this one did, and the place is like forty years old and too stubborn to change, so your butt will thank you later."

When the doors open, Luka is immediately washed with a cocktail of smells he didn't think could- nor should- ever go together. First and foremost is the thick smell of plastic and rubber, followed by the chemical odor of cleaning sprays, and the sizzling smell of burning cheese. Air conditioning blasts them from above as the three young adults enter the bowling alley, the doors sliding shut behind their backs. The sounds hit next - a cacophonous mix of rubber soles squeaking on polished floors, heavy objects falling and rolling, and the clatter of pins falling into the trap at the far end of the establishment.

It was loud, smelled strange, and the carpet looked lifted straight out of an arcade.

Luka was torn between anxiety, and a strange sort of excitement he hadn't felt in a long, long time. This was something new, something unfamiliar- he had hours to enjoy himself, and spend time not worrying about stresses of life. Harriet had a sitter, paid in advance with an alarm for when he would return, and he was out with- friends? Had him accepting this invitation solidified their friendship at this point? ...the thought made a happy butterfly flutter in his stomach.

This would be a great evening, he could feel it.

"Earth to Luka." MJ's amused tone causes Luka to jump. "Something on your mind? You're smiling."

"Oh- uh- nothing," Luka says, scratching behind his head sheepishly. "Just- thanks. For inviting me. I think I really did need this a lot."

"YEAH you do!" Clover thumps him on the back with one hand. "Come on! You have to give your shoes to the clerk so they can give you your bowling shoes."

"Ah, what? I have to take off my shoes on this carpet?" Luka complains, lifting a foot with distaste. "I feel like I'm stepping on twenty-year-old candy."

"It's part of the charm!" Clover sings, already removing one of her sneakers. "It's either this, or slip all over the place on the actual alley floor. You're getting the full bowling experience whether you like it or not, coffee boy."

"Ex-CUSE me!" Luka says with a dramatic gasp, hopping on one foot as he works to remove his own shoes. "I think you will find I'm a coffee man, thank you."

"Coffee twink," Clover counters.

"No, that's MJ."

"HEY! I will call lion's share of the tips for that one," MJ shakes a sneaker at them both in a mock scolding gesture.

"YOU'RE BOTH COFFEE TWINKS," Clover declares to the entire establishment as she fights off her last sneaker, racing for the counter before the others can catch up. "HURRY UP, COFFEE TWINKS, WE NEED TO PICK OUT BOWLING BALLS."

"I have dibs on the galaxy patterned one!" MJ yells after Clover.

Clover gives MJ an evil grin as she takes her bowling shoes and pays the rental fee, tying them before sauntering over to the racks of bowling balls. Her hand hovers over the selection, giving a teasing pause over the bowling ball made with swirled star plastic.

"Don't you dare," MJ hisses from the counter, pointing an accusing finger at Clover as he hands over the money for both his and Luka's rental shoes.

"It's either the tips share, or the bowling ball! You decide!" Clover yells back, drumming her fingers on the coveted starry bowling ball.

"Fiiiiine," MJ says with a dramatic tone, though his smile gives away his mirth. "You know I wasn't going to take the tips anyway, Clo."

"I know~" she says, giggling while she moves on to a different rack of bowling balls. "And you know I wouldn't do that to your poor weak arms, either, Moonie."

Luka finishes tying his rental shoes, thanking MJ before he makes his way down the small stairway to the alleys. It's very bright in this section of the building, with cushioned couches surrounding tables and standing consoles. Metal railings and a chute of some kind were positioned at each alleyway, some with bowling balls sitting idle atop the metal racks.

"So, what now?" Luka asks, the excitement of wading into unknown waters welling in his chest again.

"Pick a bowling ball!" Clover says, gesturing to the racks of heavy plastic spheres. "You'll want a heavy one, but not too heavy for you to lift and throw."

"Go easy on us, Clover." MJ shakes his head as he picks up his favorite starry ball. "Ms. Gun Show and her fourteen-pound bowling ball."

The redhead leans over and scoops up a swirled green bowling ball, hefting it on one arm and pumping it like a weight.

"You might get some guns yourself if you helped me landscape and move sod around my garden, Coffee Twink #1," she says, flexing a bicep.

"I refuse to acknowledge that nickname."

"Sorry, it's our team name now," Clover laughs, "the Coffee Twinks!"

"Hey, I thought our team name was the Comets?!"

"That was before Luka joined the team - now it's a 2-to-1 twink majority, I don't make the rules."

Luka just has his face in his hands, laughing through the whole exchange as he leans on the metal racks.

"You're just as bad as Harriet!" Luka laughs, pushing his hair back out of his eyes with one hand. "I don't even know where she learned that word - Cookie's daughter, probably?"

"Definitely," MJ says with a thousand yard stare, earning more laughter from Luka. "Go pick a bowling ball, I'll get the console up and running for our game."

Wiping tears from his eyes, chuckling under his breath, Luka turns to the racks and peruses the selection. The bowling balls come in all colors - most are black or dark brown, but there's a rather delightful mix of brighter hues like pink, blue and yellow. Some are marbled, some have glitter in the plastic, and a few very beat-up bowling balls have graphics of cartoon characters that were popular in the 90s. Well-loved by the children who patronize this establishment, he was sure. Harriet would love the Scooby-Doo ball - oh no wait. The one themed after a Pokeball, for sure was her poison of choice. And clearly the pick of the litter for many other children, as it was covered in scratches and dents from decades of use.

Ah- there was one themed after a jack-o-lantern! How fitting. He loops his fingers into the grip holes of the bowling ball, and heaves it off of the rack- only to almost crush his toes as the weight yanks his arms to the floor.

That was- heavier than expected!

"Oooooh, nice pick," Clover says, spinning her own bowling ball in her hands. "You sure you can carry it, though? That's a 10-pounder."

"I'll be fine-" Luka says, grunting as he lifts it back up with both hands this time. "Just- caught me off guard, is all."

"Alright, game's all set," MJ announces from the console.

Above their heads, a large tube television flashes blue before displaying a score board.

A loud k-chunk k-chunk k-chunk of machinery draws Luka's eye toward the other end of the alley. Metal rigging and machinery descend from the covered roof of the pin trap. Resembling a large soda crate, the rig drops an array of ten white bowling pins, before unclamping and ascending back into the darkness of whatever creation of god resided in that ceiling.

"You're up first, Clo," MJ says, waving a hand to indicate she should move forward.

"Watch and learn," Clover throws Luka a smile, the competitive taunt dampened by her genuinely helpful tone. "You want to throw the ball so it rolls like this-"

Stepping forward onto the squeaky, smooth polished wooden platform, Clover lifts her bowling ball to her chest. With a quick inhale, she lopes forward two steps, swinging her arm back with the bowling ball, before reeling it forward on the last stride and underhand throwing it into the aisle. The heavy green bowling ball lands with a tHDD before skidding its way down the oiled track, rolling in a long, smooth line. The swirled green sphere smacks into the bowling pins with a loud tHWAKK!!, sending all but one of the pins flying into the darkness beyond. The ball disappears into the hole, and Clover puts her hands on her hips with a huff.

"Damn, almost got a strike." Clover snaps her fingers, shrugging. The green bowling ball clatters back up the chute. She grips her fingers into the trio of holes again, and goes for another throw.

The bowling ball rolls down the course, straight as an arrow for the last pin. The pin spins off the wooden platform into the darkness, earning a whoop from Clover.

"Nice, got a spare!" Clover declares, throwing her arms up in triumph. She sashays her way back to the couches. "Who's up next?"

"I'm up," MJ says, standing from the console. Looping his fingers into his own starry bowling ball, MJ rolls his shoulders and steps up onto the oiled wooden planks. "I'm going to get the first strike of the day, just wait."

"Sure you will," Clover snickers as MJ winds up.

When he releases the ball, it rolls at very high speed- before curving halfway down the track, the topspin he put on the ball causing it veer off course and land in the gutter.

Face flushed, MJ coughs into his hand, suddenly very invested in fixing his shirt as Clover grins. The galaxy ball returns to the trough, and MJ pointedly picks it up again, winding up for his second throw. The bowling ball rocks down the course, and knocks over about six pins, leaving a corner of the triangle still standing.

"Woo!" Clover cheers, clapping as MJ returns to the seating. She reaches over and nudges Luka on the shoulder. "You're up, Luke! Show us whatchu got!"

Heart in his throat, Luka stands from his seat and steps up.

The bowling ball grins up at him, daring him to chicken out. It was heavy in his hand. Still, he walked up onto the polished floor, feeling the rubber on the bottom of his shoes as it grips the oiled surface.

Fighting the weight of the heavy bowling ball, Luka takes a step forward, swinging his arm back before bringing it back around like a pendulum. The ball hits the track with a heavy thDD as it’s released, sent rolling off down the track. Around the halfway point, it spins off course and lands in the gutter with a clunk.

“Aww,” Clover says, leaning over the chair cushion. “And you had such good posture, too.”

“It’s ok,” MJ speaks up, seeing Luka’s visible embarrassment. “It’s your first time bowling! Nothing to be ashamed of. You have another shot before we rotate players.”

Disappointed, Luka rubs at his arm. Well, that was a less than encouraging performance. But he noticed the angle of the spin on the ball. Maybe he could fix that.

The ball clatters up the chute back into the return trough. Luka picks it up with a huff of breath, holding it to his chest as he does mental calculations. If he turned his wrist at just the right point...

Stepping forward, Luka swings back and releases the ball, putting a top spin on the ball at the last possible moment-

The jack-o-lantern face rockets down the alley, the path straight until the very last second. It curves to hit the front pin from the side, knocking every single pin into the abyss beyond.

"OHHHHH!" Clover and MJ exclaim, clapping with enthusiasm as Luka looks stunned.

"You got a strike!" Clover says, applauding with a big grin. "You were totally pulling our legs about being a newbie to this, huh??"

"I think I just got lucky," Luka tries to play it off, feeling an uncommon shyness as he smiles.

Clover shakes her head, not having it.

"Luck nothing! That was pure talent, and you got a strike, dude!"

"Technically that was a spare, but still a strike in my book," MJ says as he rotates the turn order on the console, giving Luka a smile and a thumbs up.

"Oh let him have it, Moon Moon," Clover laughs as MJ throws her a pout. "Our new boy's got game!"

Luka hunches his shoulders, an awkward smile curling across his cheeks as he walks back over to the couches. Clover jumps to attention and makes her way to the track, picking up her green bowling ball for another round as he sits down.

This was... much more fun than he had expected it to be. The background noise of the bowling alley was surprisingly pleasant. He found he could get used to the dull odor of plastic and cleaner- and honestly, that hot cheese smell from what must be the pizzeria was tempting his stomach. But best of all was the camaraderie he could feel sparking between him, Clover, and MJ. Were they officially friends now? Or had they been already, and he was just- in denial? If Luka was entirely honest with himself, probably the latter. MJ and Clover had been nothing but kind and understanding, to him. His sporadic hours and excuses had done nothing to faze them with regards to their treatment of him at work. They still offered him drinks and invited him on this outing, offering even to pay for his expenses, didn't they?

"Hey Luka!" A call from MJ breaks him out of the small reverie. "You're up, again."

"And after this round, we can hit the arcade! I bet I can out-dance you on DDR, Coffee Twinks," Clover smirks.

"No betting. I know you can."

Maybe- maybe he had nothing to worry about.

---

The evening is going fantastic.

The first bowling game had been a pretty close match between Luka and Clover. Clover had the arm strength to pull off some mean and fast throws, but Luka had developed a system. Figuring out how to spin the bowling ball just the right amount had made up for his noodle arms and less weighty bowling ball. It wasn't long before he figured out how to roll a pretty straight record of spares and strikes, with the occasional 7-10 split. After bowling around, they went into the arcade section, with an entire paper roll of quarters to blow on games. A vicious Ms. Pacman multiplayer match had led to MJ smoking all three of them, and as predicted, Clover out-danced both of the boys on the DDR and Stepmania machines. Luka had to collapse over a nearby chair with exhaustion after his matches. He'd finished off the arcade run with a very lucky pull from a claw machine, winning a black cat plush with big yellow eyes that he was definitely going to enjoy giving to Harriet.

The three of them sat around their table at the bowling console again, laughing over a hot cheese and pepperoni pizza.

"No way, you didn't!" Luka gasps, wheezing for air.

"I did! I punched his goddamn lights out!" Clover laughs, slapping one knee. "The guy was being a huge creep, so I introduced him to my fist."

"I hope you didn't get in trouble with the cops or something for that." Luka tilts his head, giving her an impressed and worried look.

"Can't get in trouble if nobody reports it," MJ chimes in, smirking past his soda cup. "He complained to me, but I had the security tapes AND plausible deniability because I wasn't on the floor. Corporate took our side on this."

"Nobody from the city wants to drive all the way out to podunk Subcon for a random dudebro's complaint." Clover sits back on her cushioned seat, chomping into her pizza happily. "Mmmmm- delicious melty cheese."

Luka chomps into his own pizza, exhaling and blowing on it as it nearly burns his mouth.

"Easy, tiger!" MJ smirks around his own mouthful of pizza.

"I know, it's just so good," Luka says, laughing into his hand as he sips some of his cola. "But in like- the way you know it's not that great? Does that make sense?"

"Night in the Woods taught me the Pizza Scale, and I stick by that," Clover says, crunching through her crust to grab up another slice, washing down the bread with some soda. When she reaches for another piece of the pie, she pauses, and lets out a huff. "Oh, that sucks. I guess they didn't clean the bowling balls that well this time. Gross."

"Hm?" Luka says through a mouthful of pizza.

"Your fingers are all oil-stained from the finger holes on the bowling ball, Luka. Big Al needs to wash the bowling balls properly."

Confused, the law student shifts his attention down.

The ends of his fingertips are discolored with ebony purple.

Luka can feel as his brain zeroes in on the first sign of his impending transformation, and begins to shift into emergency mode as it relays the steps he must take in order to avoid further exposure. He'd gone over this information with himself many times over the past five years. It was ingrained in his mind, what he had to do, the information practically screaming at him. But he can't hear it. His ears are filled with buzzing as reality breaks into the facade he'd slowly built up over the course of hours.

No-

No no no-

His pizza slice drops to the paper plate as he fumbles with his bag, pulling out the cell phone from the liner pocket. Shaking fingers tap the screen with frantic speed, trying to turn the damn thing on-

9:17?

They'd been here nearly four hours?!

He'd spent the morning out with Harriet, doing their grocery shopping and walking around the town's outdoor mall as much needed father-daughter time. Eight hours of being in disguise had long since passed.

His time limit was up.

This couldn't be happening. Yet the numbers stare back at him from the glare of his cell phone screen. They even have the nerve to tick over to 9:18 right before his eyes.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening! It wasn't fair!

"Luka, you ok? You're turning pale..."

Clover's question just barely manages to pierce the haze, causing Luka to jolt in his seat. Posture stiff and breath shallow, he lifts his head to meet Clover's questioning eyes. She's staring at him with building concern, her smile becoming a frown of worry.

The tension is palpable in the air as Luka struggles to find words. Finally, he manages to say something.

"It's- it's a quarter past nine-"

"Oh shoot-" Clover says, sitting up abruptly as she grabs her own phone.

MJ checks his watch, wincing. "Oof. Sorry, Luka. I guess we lost track of time passing. I'll apologize to Cookie for the overtime, we can finish this round and go-"

"Don't feel good- going to the bathroom-" Luka wheezes, scrambling to his feet as he scoops all of his belongings into his bag and races past MJ's seat.

"Luka!" Clover yells after him, her heightened concern audible in her voice. "Ok, we'll- we'll start cleaning up! Let us know if you need-!"

Her words are cut off by the slam of the bathroom door. Luka's bowling shoes slip over the slick tile floor, his hands gripping onto the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink to steady himself. He brings his shaking hands up to view in the mirror. The blackening purple skin was spreading up his finger joints, reaching his palms.

No- not now! Why now?

Luka clenches his fists and his jaw, focusing every ounce of his will on making the purple go away. He can almost feel a vein pop on his forehead- if he still had veins, anymore- as he strains to make his unwilling body follow his desires. The purple starts to recede at a caterpillar crawl... but it slows. And the harder he tries, the more he can feel his arms struggle to hold their shape - becoming less solid.

"No- no!" he whimpers, clenching his hands into the sink again. The action splatters small droplets of purple sludge against the porcelain, which vanish moments later as the purple staining once more consumes his fingers - and now his palms. "Stop it! Just- let me be human! Please!"

He lifts his head to the mirror. Despair fills his gut as he sees amber eyes staring back at him in the reflection, and the beginnings of an inner glow fighting to come out from the back of his throat.

Luka lets out a wordless sound of sorrow, lifting an arm to pound one fist against the mirror in vain. The reflection is unfazed in its destitution, tears beginning to gather at the edges of its eyes and mouth set into a sob of clenched teeth. The reflection's canine's lengthen several inches as the eyes stare back, accusingly. The purple was starting to spread up its neck, just poking out the collar of the shirt.

"No..."

This wasn't him. But it had been, years ago. This was SUPPOSED to be him.

He curls his fist, watching as the fingers start losing their shape. Fusing together, becoming single digits and his thumbs vanish back into the purple sludge of the limb.

"I was finally-..." Luka whimpers, "...I finally felt human again."

-bang bang bang-

The sound of a fist knocking on the bathroom door causes Luka to yelp and jump back from the mirror.

"Luka? You ok in there?"

It was MJ.

Peck!

Grabbing his bag, Luka books it into the furthest stall of the bathroom. He slams the metal door behind him, fumbling to lock it with his swelling mitten fingers. Alarm shot through his gut as his shirt felt tight around his torso. Already?? This was faster than usual! Had he really pushed it that much?

"Hey man, are you sick? Clover and I are really concerned. Do you need any help in there?"

"NO! NO I'M GOOD!" Luka yells from the bathroom stall, clapping a two-fingered hand over his mouth as he hears the slight reverb echo to his own voice. Dammit! "I'M JUST- I'LL BE FINE!"

He was not fine, he would most certainly not be fine!

"Luka, you sound croaky." It was Clover this time, probably a short distance behind MJ. "Dude, are you sure? MJ, maybe you should go in and check on him-"

"NO!"

No, the reverb was stronger!

"Luka, I'm coming in."

"MJ it's fine!"

Luka could hear the seams of his shirt starting to stretch and strain. The seconds were ticking by as strings started to pop at the neck.

Shit, shit!

Luka turned left and right, the stall cramped and uncomfortable as the ruff of fur around his neck thickens and threatens to burst his shirt open. He needed a way out!

Aha! A small window, to the outside! Wow, that was probably the worst location for a window. And it was so small-

The door creaked as MJ started to turn the handle.

NO TIME!

Luka makes a dive for the window. His fingers catch on the sill, and he hauls his body up onto the tiny ledge, his head pushing up the glass and emerging out into the open air. Squeezing through the narrow space, he struggles to pull his feet through, kicking off the bowling shoes and hearing them clatter to the tiles below.

The door comes unlatched, and MJ enters the bathroom, looking around with a frown.

Luka was gone. And for some reason, his bowling shoes were abandoned on the questionably cleaned bathroom floor.

Just outside the window, tucked next to the wall of the alleyway outside the bowling alley, Luka is panting with adrenaline. He can feel his chest expand further with each breath, the fur mane around his neck already splitting apart his shirt. His fingers had fully lost their human shape by now, coalescing back into the familiar mitts he hated so much. A reminder that, no, he wasn't human. No matter what those people in the bowling alley thought of him, and what he thought of them in return... no matter how much he wanted to be human, again.

"Luka?"

His entire torso now fully drenched in purple, Luka hangs his head, listening as he fights to strip off the shirt suffocating him.

Footsteps, in the bathroom.

"...Luka? What the-... Clover, he's not here?"

"What?? But he- went into the bathroom! He was just-!"

"His shoes are here..."

"His shoes??"

Luka forces himself to stand, wobbling a bit further away from the window as he focuses all of his efforts on keeping his legs. He can't lose his ability to walk, not in the middle of town!

God dammit... god dammit! Why couldn't he just enjoy his night? Now he was wandering alleyways, half transformed, and MJ and Clover were no doubt worried to hell and back. What could he even say? 'Sorry, had to take a break to wolf out in the bathroom'?

-brrring brrring-

The buzz of the phone in his pants pocket- which was getting tight against his waist, he noticed. Luka quickly extracts the phone before it can be damaged by the fabric.

MJ's caller ID stares back at him from the screen.

The decision to trust these two with his information was biting him in his rapidly purpling behind. He'd been so careful not to slip up, and the ONE TIME he makes a mistake... He had another decision to make. He could not respond, and just be a complete asshole, but he could protect his secret a little safer, for just a little bit longer. Or he could pick up, and... he didn't know. Bullshit something? Would they even believe whatever malarkey he could cook up in seven seconds for bailing out of a bowling alley restroom? God, he was terrible at improvised excuses! He was a lawyer, not an actor! But if he answered the phone call, maybe- maybe he could hold on to that feeling again. The warmth of companionship of peers his age, that he hadn't felt since law school. Since... Vanessa. But he couldn't think about her right now. What mattered was his safety- his daughter's safety.

Peck. He didn't even think about that part. Could he really rip Harriet out of a somewhat stable home life, again? She was just starting to get along with Cookie's daughter, and he didn't want to take that precious first friendship from her.

Luka was only pulled out of the downward spiral by the vibration of the phone, which he only now realized had registered a missed call, and was now on the second call. It was still MJ, the picture of him in his Horizon employee cap still smiling from the bright phone screen.

He had to do something. He could feel his legs protest the form they was struggling to hold.

Survival instinct set in. First, he had to get away from the scene.

Stumbling to his malforming feet, Luka jogs away from the alley, ducking away from the Pins & Cushions and avoiding the bright neon sign on the side of the building.

As he walks, a headache hits, and Luka just knows his face was losing more of his familiar features. Didn't need a mirror to know that he was definitely the shade of a bruised plum, and that his eyes were glowing like gold beacons. The sharp teeth at the edges of his mouth were digging into his bottom lip as he dodges and weaves to avoid line of sight from storefront apartment windows.

The woods were so close by, just a few more blocks.

Faster. He had to run faster. But his legs- were fighting him! Already he could feel his steps become lighter, movement more fluid. It was a struggle to keep a walking stride, rather than just- leap into the air. No way was he going to fly a block from pecking main street.

His phone continues to vibrate, threatening the call to drop.

Right when he reaches the sidewalk, Luka pants for breath, collapsing beside the pole for a street lamp while avoiding the amber spotlight. Taking one last rueful look at his phone, he sighs, and presses the answer button with a doughy purple finger.

"Luka?" MJ's voice patches through. The reception isn't great, but it's sufficient. Maybe that was a lucky break, considering what his voice was going to sound like in a second.

"Hey," Luka answers. Yep. He sounded like a toad that swallowed a brass tube. "Sorry- about that."

"Dude, are you ok?? Where did you go?" MJ spoke so quickly it almost interrupted Luka, concern clear and evident in his voice. "You ran or something and- you left your shoes at the counter, and the cat plush for your daughter. Clover got them for you-"

"It's ok," Luka says, wincing. "I can pick them up tomorrow. I- don't feel well, and I have to go get Harriet."

"Luka, we could have driven you home for that," MJ responds, a hint of hurt and confusion. "You know you can tell us if you're uncomfortable, and want to leave, right?"

"No- this- I was having fun," Luka responds, cupping a hand over his mouth to try to muffle the echo. He had to wrap this up. His voice was getting less natural by the second. He really hoped the poor reception would mask it. "Look- I'm sorry MJ. But I really had to go."

"You're not getting kidnapped or something are you?" Clover's distant voice suddenly patches through in the phone. MJ must have his phone on speaker. "Because if you are, I'll hunt them down! Just yell where the car is taking you!"

"I'm not- look, I'm sorry, but I just had to go, ok?" Luka says. "Harriet needs me."

"I thought you were feeling sick?" Clover says, her worried tone now tinted with... suspicion. "You ran to the bathroom, and we were all worried about you, dude." Her voice becomes just a bit distant, as she turns to speak to MJ, but the phone picks it up. “Actually, did we ever hear anything from Cookie...?”

"No- I am-" Luka can feel his lies crumbling, nearly becoming true as he experiences a sensation similar to his stomach heaving from the anxiety. "Thanks for the wonderful evening, I'll pick up my stuff later- bye!"

"Wait-!!"

-click-

MJ's protest is cut off, and Luka set the phone down on the grass, putting his head in the other hand. That was terrible. But he couldn't back out on it now. He would just have to deal with the consequences of that phone call tomorrow.

Not like having shoes or not bothered him, anyway.

Exhausted and resigned, Luka slides away from the lamp post into the chaparral, and begins rapidly pulling his shirt over his head. No way was he going to lose another shirt, not after the last one. This was his last nice shirt, and he intended to keep it as long as possible!

A quiet gasp jolts him out of his frantic folding.

Luka whips around, shirtless, half de-pantsed, and his body a full shade of deep shadow purple. His golden eyes glow in the reflected street light as he freezes on the spot, making eye contact with another human being across the road. It was the stocky mustachioed man from the coffee shop- the regular who came by and sketched quietly in a corner. Pinstriped suit- which seemed to be the only outfit anyone ever saw him wore- an apron, and grey khaki pants. The thick glasses would make it difficult to tell where he was looking, if the man wasn't standing with his square jaw hanging down at his chest, head angled directly toward Luka. Everyone dismissed him as a paranoiac, a hermit who stopped by for his morning caffeine fix and quiet atmosphere to indulge in his imagination. Rumors flew that he used to work for some sort of tabloid magazine, and was fired- or promoted?- for how crazy his stories were.

Whatever the reason, this man was now standing, groceries dropped to the pavement, and staring at Luka. A very half-naked, absolutely not human-looking Luka.

Face suddenly burning hot with embarrassment and fear, Luka grabs his belt loops and bolts into the trees.

The movement causes the man to only gape more, making a wordless noise of astonishment before the forest breaks their line of sight and Luka retreats into the safety of the woods. Luka just barely remembers to grab his shirt and belt from the bushes. Vanishing entirely from sight, stumbling over debris as his transformation takes full hold of his body, Luka wheezes as his heart beats in his chest. After all that, he was seen! Peck! Did he just ruin everything because he wasn’t paying attention? But- but it was just the local hermit, the resident conspiracy nut. That wouldn’t be so bad, right? This wasn’t as catastrophic as being spotted by a teen with a cell phone open. Surely, this was the safest possible person in town to accidentally spot him mid-transformation. Repercussions would be minimal.

Thank god the man didn't have a camera.

#Coffee Shop Au #AHIT #A Hat In Time #doodledrawsthings #Snatcher #Hat Kid #Moonjumper #Clover #noticed a couple mistakes and it's too late to fix em wHOOPS #OH WELL

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songbirdstyles · 5 years ago

Text

when i’m sixty four.

summary: a year in the life with professor harry, post graduation - part 1. (sequel to when i kissed the teacher & good vibrations)

pairing: professor!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, angst, smut

word count: 10.6k

song inspo.: when i’m sixty four - the beatles

“Are y’sure your parents don’t mind you coming here?”

You roll your eyes, unwinding your arms from around Harry’s bicep as you lean back against the wall, watching him pause his fiddling with the key to glance up at you. It’s such an innocent question and yet not, at all, if the rather mischievous glint in his eyes tells you anything at all.

“Doesn’t really matter.” You drop your head back against the wall, the smile that had been tugging at your lips for the entire evening seeming glued to your face. His smile is wide and disbelieving, as if he’d never thought you’d get here. Graduated, finally, after nearly a year and a half of sneaking around and secret rendezvous and feeling burning stares into the side of your face while you ate dinner in the cafeteria. It was over. “My mum, maybe. I don’t think she was having the time of her life at dinner - did you?”

Harry’s chuckle is soft as he finally pushes the door of his apartment open. Your hand drops down to grab his, intertwining your fingers as you pull him inside his darkened home, hand dragging up and down the wall beside the door to find the light switch - got it.

The door shuts and he locks it, turning around to face you, and you don’t spare another second - just take a step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing yourself as close to him as you could get. The entire evening, during dinner with your parents and Anne, you’d been finding excuses to touch him, to hold his hand or brush a stray curl out of his face, just to relish in the fact that there was no reason to hide anymore. That, even in a crowded Italian restaurant where you could easily recognize five of your classmates and their families dining post-graduation, it didn’t matter if you and Harry were affectionate.

And you’re not sure if he knows that’s the reason - never complained about how touchy you were, though you weren’t sure why he would. His arms wrap around your neck, pulling your head into his chest, fingers combing through the ends of your hair. Harry’s voice is soft when he speaks, cheek against your head, “Y’know, she seemed fine up until y’kissed me while we were waiting for our table.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, face burning, and as if he can sense your slight embarrassment, he’s speaking again - “S’not like I didn’t like it. Appreciated not being the clingy one, for a change.”

“Would you call it being clingy or being in love?” Your voice has a teasing lilt to the edge of every word, and you lift your head up to look up at him. Harry’s eyes hold a softly emotional glow, something you can’t quite decipher, and you’re sure yours have a similar glint. In lieu of responding he merely ducks his head down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and you sigh into it, “I just like not having to hide, y’know? Less than five minutes away from campus, and it didn’t even matter if people saw me kiss you.”

He hums contentedly. “Not sure we’re quite out of the dark yet, though. Should give it some more time before being too open with it all.”

“So I guess that means we can’t go shag in the middle of campus, then?”

Harry grins, taking a step back and bracing his hands on your shoulders. You squint up on him, trying to resist the smile begging to burn onto your face but - naturally - you fail. “Yeah, maybe a few more weeks for that, baby.” It’s then that he finally leans down to press another soft kiss to the tip of your nose before turning and heading off into the kitchen, dress shoes oddly loud on the hardwood, and you take the brief moment you have by yourself in the foyer to kick off your heels. “Got somethin’ special for you,” his voice calls from the kitchen, and you turn to glance at where he’s already walking out, one hand behind his back. “Little - little graduation gift, I guess.”

You scrunch your nose as Harry hooks his ankle around one of the chairs surrounding the kitchen table, pulling it out and plopping into it. You take a few steps closer to him and jump onto the table, shifting so he’s sitting between your legs. “You didn’t have to get me anything, professor. Would’ve been fine with just a celebratory fuck, y’know?”

He rolls his eyes at that, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of your knee. “You can have that, too,” he says, and you grin down at him. “But it is a big deal, you know?” But you’re barely listening as he removes his hand from behind his back, resting the small black box he’d been clutching on top of your thigh. You reach down and pick it up, testing the weight of whatever’s inside of it, though you reckon you already know.

And you’re right, as you slowly open the box and look at what’s inside. It’s a ring - the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen with your own two eyes - and you can feel a lump rising in your throat as you bring it closer to your eyes to examine the small diamond.

Harry’s hand rubs soft circles into your bare thigh, eyes on you as you reach to take the ring from the box, sliding it on your ring finger and examining how it looks on your skin. You can tell he’s nervous - nervous of what you think, but it’s entirely unwarranted. Tears burn the back of your eyes and you exhale softly, pressing your palms to his cheeks and finally meeting his gaze.

“Do you like it?” his voice is hardly more than a breath yet in the unadulterated silence of the apartment it’s just loud enough.

You smooth your hands back into his hair, fingers running through his curls, and you still feel just on the verge of tears but you swallow the lump in the back of your throat. “I love it,” you tell him, quiet and thick with emotion, and you can see the relief in his eyes, as if he’d ever thought you could dislike such a gift. “I love it so much. And I love you so much.”

At that, he pushes himself out of his chair, hands braced on your thighs as your lips slot together. His hands are slowly pushing up your bare thighs until his fingers have ducked ever so slightly beneath the fabric of the dress he’d helped you pick out, and you shiver at the feeling. “S’a promise ring,” he mumbles into the kiss, teeth clamping gently down on your bottom lip before he pulls away, forehead against yours. “Promise to love you forever an’ ever.”

You smile at that - forever and ever. As he leans in to press a kiss, soft as a butterfly, to the tip of your nose, you certainly think you’d be more than happy to have this forever and ever.

There’s another brief moment where your lips reconnect, his hands moving from your thighs up to your hips. Your legs wrap around his body, forcing him closer to you, and you can hear him chuckle into your mouth. Then he pulls away again, fingers drumming into your waist, and that same mischievous glint is back in his eyes from earlier. “Now,” he begins, as your fingernails dig gently into his scalp, just like you know he loves, “what were you saying about a celebratory fuck?”

—

There’s something about eating Chinese takeout on the floor that makes your lo mein taste that much better.

It’s not as though you and Harry can’t eat at the table, because it’s sitting hardly five feet from you and you’re perfectly capable of standing and plopping down in one of the kitchen chairs. But instead you and Harry had opted for the floor, sitting cross legged across from each other and picking at each other’s food occasionally.

It just feels more intimate. And you’d spent the entire weekend moving all of your stuff into Harry’s apartment (which was easier than you’d expected, because the majority of your things had wiggled their way into his home at some point, anyway) so you reckon you deserve to have this small moment of intimacy with the man you love.. Your name is on the lease and that means it’s not Harry’s apartment, it’s yours, too. You didn’t think such a simple thing could feel more extraordinary, but it just makes your heart race every time you look up at him and catch him struggling to pick up his sushi with his chopsticks. And there’s music playing softly from the kitchen - you think it’s Lovesong by The Cure but it’s just soft enough that you’re not quite sure.

“What’re you thinking about?” Harry’s voice is muffled as he brings the back of his wrist up to his mouth, wiping at the bit of soy sauce that had begun to drip down his chin. You reach beside you for the bag that had been strewn across the floor when you’d taken all of your food out, stretching so you can reach it, and you pull out the pile of napkins from the bottom of it.

You peel a napkin off of the stack and hand it to him, and he gives you an appreciative, sushi-filled grin before bringing it up to wipe at his mouth. You settle back in your spot, picking up your chopsticks and digging them into your noodles before shrugging. “M’not quite sure. Just thinking about everything, I guess.” He doesn’t speak and you know he’s waiting for you to say more, so you continue, “I’m just really happy.”

You can practically hear him smile, and you look up at him just to confirm your suspicion. His cheeks are tinged pink and there’s a soft grin on his face, and when your gaze finally meets his, his eyes are soft and light. “What about, baby?”

“Just being here,” you tell him, catching a piece of broccoli on your chopsticks and bringing it up to your mouth. “And my name is on the lease.”

Harry chuckles at that, resting his sushi on the floor between you two. “That’s what you’re so happy about? Your name on the lease? You’ve practically lived here for two years, y’know.”

“A year and seven months, actually,” you tell him, and you grin as he rolls his eyes. You place your takeout container on the ground, too, reaching out to grab his hand and he doesn’t wait to intertwine your fingers together. “S’just official now. An’ that means you’re never getting rid of me.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Harry admits, leaning in to brush a kiss against your nose. There’s a brief moment of softness between the two of you, and he says, “I don’t think there’s anyone else I’d rather eat sushi with on the floor than you.”

You snort, pushing yourself onto your knees and shuffling closer to him - he takes the hint and pushes your food away, letting you clamber into his lap. Arms wrap around your waist, pulling you to him, but instead of melting into his body like usual you keep yourself back so you can still look into his eyes, crinkled with the grin growing on his face.

Your palms press to the side of his face, squishing his cheeks together as you lean forward to press your forehead to his. From the kitchen, the song changes - You Make Me Feel So Young coursing through the air. “Can’t believe the semester starts next week.”

He hums in agreement, “S’gonna be weird, not seeing you on campus. Not as weird as last year, though - big change, not having you in m’class everyday.”

“Wasn’t too fun for me, either,” you tell him, hands sliding back on his face until your fingers are smoothing through his messy curls. “Just make sure you don’t fall in love with another student, alright?”

“Y’know, you said that one last year, too, and it hasn’t gotten funnier since.”

“It’s the only joke I have - cut me some slack, professor.”

With a loud, barking laugh, Harry leans in and presses his mouth to yours. The pair of you are still giggling and the kiss doesn’t go on too long before you’re pulling away, tugging at the messy curls at the back of his neck just to see the way his lips part at the feeling. Even in the goofy state you’re in, you know pulling at his hair never fails to have that reaction and you love it.

Harry rests his hands on the small of your back, briefly, and then slides them down to grope at your ass through the fabric of your joggers. The mood has changed entirely faster than you’d expected and you sigh as his head moves forward to mouth at the column of your neck. “Don’t think we’ve ever shagged on the floor before - have we?”

“Only once, after my birthday, and only ‘cause you were pissed.”

“Oh,” is his response, and he pauses his attack on your neck for just a moment. “Well, it’s our first shag-on-the-floor with your name on the lease, then.”

His hands have dipped beneath the hem of your pants, grabbing at your arse with no barrier, and you drop your head back with a moan. There’s no need for a response as he uses his grip on you as leverage to roll your hips back and forth against his sweatpant-clad cock, and you can hear the soft grunt he emits at the feeling.

There’s also something a bit more intimate about dry humping like this - perhaps because it seemed oddly adolescent, but it was one of Harry’s favourite things to do, even if he’d never admit it. It was the foreplay to just about everything you did, no matter what position, but you knew he liked it the best when you’re on top. When there’s barriers of clothing between you and it’s merely a preview of what’s to come - he loves that.

And if you’d ever needed more proof of how much he loves it, the way his eyes roll back into your head as you press your hips against him is all you need. It’s not entirely unlike the face he makes when he sinks into you for the first time and it makes your stomach flip, pressure shooting straight down to your clit like a bolt of fucking lightning.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, and you can feel his fingers hook into the elastic hem of your panties, picking them up off your skin before letting it smack back down. You jump at the feeling, pulling his head closer to yours, and just before your lips reconnect Harry pauses the roll of his hips up into yours. “Wait.”

And, with an arm hooked around your waist, he leans forward, and you can hear the crinkling of the paper bag your takeout had been delivered in. Finally you hear him gasp, “Aha!” and then he sits back straight, and you lean back in his lap to glance at what he’d got.

“Are you serious?” You glare down at the two fortune cookies in his hands, both of them cracked in their noisy plastic wrappers. “You stopped to get fortune cookies?”

He nods as if he’s proud of it and you grab the less broken one from him. As the pair of you begin to unwrap your cookies, Harry tuts, “I thought you were the one who said Chinese takeout night isn’t complete without reading our fortunes.”

You suppose he got you there - you did say that, and you still believed it, but considering you’d hardly been able to eat half of your lo mein, you wouldn’t consider it complete anyway. But you bite back your response as a smile tugs at your lips, tossing the wrapper of your cookie aside. Harry’s still struggling to get his open with one hand, arm unmoving from around your waist, and you wait with your broken treat in your palm for him to finally unwrap it.

“On the count of three, right?” Harry asks, and you nod, picking through the remnants of your fortune cookie to finally reach the small piece of paper that held your fortune. He does the same, pointedly squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t peek either of your fortunes. “Alright … one … two … three.”

You flip the fortune in your fingers, squinting at the small text. You can feel your heart swelling as you read it, and you look up at Harry with a bright grin. “A lifetime of happiness lies ahead of you. That’s so sweet, Harry - s’like they know me.”

Harry’s staring down at his fortune with an amused smile on his face, and you clear your throat as an indication for him to read it to you. “Mine says there’s no such thing as an ordinary cat.”

“Really?” You crane your neck to read his fortune, giggling slightly as you see that, sure enough, he’s right. “What does that mean?”

“I think it means that Marie’s the superior member of this family,” Harry tells you, and you roll your eyes playfully. He pops his fortune cookie into his mouth (which is starting to look much less broken than yours, oddly) and then glances down at your fortune, still clutched between your fingers. “But yours is good. Can’t believe you got such a bloody sweet fortune, and mine’s about cats.”

You hum softly, and then bring your palm up to your mouth, tossing the broken bits of your cookie into your mouth. You wait until you’ve swallowed to reach down, resting your fortune on the floor beside you, and Harry follows suit - waves his hand against the small slips of paper to send them flying across the floor, landing ten feet from you, and you watch them float back down to the ground before looking back at him.

“Anything else you need to do?” you question, bringing your hands back up to the back of his head. Fingers curl into his locks and he closes his eyes blissfully with a soft, pleased hum at the sensation.

He pretends to ponder the question, hands trailing along your waist to the bottom of your shirt (or, you suppose, his shirt) and tugging at the hem. “No - don’t think so,” he mutters as you lean back, sticking your arms up so Harry can peel the shirt off of your body. He tosses it off to the side of you, and out of the corner of your eye you can see the white fabric landing dangerously close to the small container of soy sauce Harry had been enjoying, but then his hands are groping at your bare tits, and you can’t find it in yourself to care. “D’you mean to tell me you haven’t been wearing a bra all day and I just found out about it now?”

It doesn’t seem like he cares too much as he lowers his head to your chest, tongue flicking at your nipple before his mouth closes in around your skin. You drop your head back with a cry, squeezing his hair in lieu of giving your affirmation. Your hips have resumed their rocking against his hard-on and you can feel him stiffening beneath you, moaning around your boob before pulling his mouth away. His lips form a small o as he blows softly on your saliva covered nipple, and he grins as you whimper.

“Would love to -” he pauses, swallowing thickly as you grind your hips against his, clit brushing against his cock and sending a shiver through both of your bodies - “would love t’eat you out ‘till you’re screaming, but I don’t think I’d last.”

You’re not sure you’d last either, and so you nod, dropping your hands to the bottom of his shirt, and you pull it off of him like he’d done to you only moments ago. When you lean back in to slot your lips together he makes a point of pulling your body closer to his, chests pressed together, and he’s hot where you’re cold - palms against your waist and yours dragging up his back.

“Don’t care,” you breathe, hot against his neck, “just need you t’fuck me.”

“First fuck with your name on the lease,” he says again, voice holding a teasing lilt even in the thick of the moment. You smile as you press a kiss to his lips, and for a moment that’s all you do - until Harry shifts, lying you down on the hardwood, body hovering above yours. And when his fingers start pulling at the tie on your joggers, you lift your hips to let him pull your pants down to your ankles. “Kick ‘em off for me, baby,” comes out in a soft breath against your neck, and you comply.

You drop your head back against the floor as you hear him shuffling above you, and you take the second to catch your breath. The apartment still smells distinctly like soy sauce, and you’re entirely too aware of the fact that, when you turn your head, your eyes are directly level with your abandoned takeout container.

It’s only when you feel his fingers hooking in your panties, pulling them to the side instead of down your legs that you pull your eyes back up to him. You’re soaked for him and he knows it, you can tell - but his knuckles still drag through your folds, collecting your wetness on his digits. His mouth opens into a satisfied grin and you have half a mind to roll your eyes at how smug he is, but then he mutters, “Hope it wasn’t your lo mein that got you this wet, baby.”

Just as you open your mouth to reply, Harry sinks into you with one long push. Your breath catches in your throat as you moan out, eyes squeezing shut, and he groans from above you - there’s always the second after he first pushes into you, where he whines out, “Bloody fuck,” and you can’t be bothered to do anything but cry out. Every noise the two of you makes mingles with the music still playing from the kitchen, contrasting the soft melodies of Close To You by the Carpenters, and you really think you’re as close to Harry as you can get, now.

His hand gropes at the soft flesh of your inner thigh, hoisting it up and around his waist, and the stretch makes him hit every sweet spot deep inside of you as he pulls out and thrusts back in just as fast. He’s still above you - too far away, feeling like a million miles, and you reach up to grab at his bicep, tugging him down to you. And he obeys - why wouldn’t he? - dropping down on top of you so your tits are pressed to his chest and his breath is burning against your collarbone.

You’re sweating, body coated in a thin layer of it, and when you bring your lips up to mouth a kiss against his forehead, he’s just as sweaty as you are. Every thrust has your body rocking back into the floor in a way that should be painful but you don’t quite mind, you realize. On the contrary, the way your shoulder rubs against the hardwood feels almost nice, combined with his hard thrusts. His rings - ones you’d got him after realizing how much you loved the first one - are cold against your thigh, grip tight and pressing marks into your skin.

All of the goofiness of the moments before this has evaporated in the blink of an eye. It’s all fast thrusts, quick and hips slamming into each other, sweat dripping in between the valley of your breasts even in the cold air of the apartment. His head is merely an inch above yours, and you lean up to close the distance between you. Harry’s lips are soft and moist, tongue swiping into your mouth, and one of his hands presses to the side of your head, holding you up ever so slightly off the ground until finally he rests your scalp back down against the ground, lips disconnecting as he returns his focus to his penetrating thrusts, hard and deep.

Usually he’s the one murmuring into your ear, telling you how tight you are, how fucking good you feel around him but his head has dropped into your shoulder, lazily groaning and crying out so you figure you’ll take over on that.

“So fucking big,” you whisper, and the words struggle to escape your throat because your vocabulary feels quite limited, especially as his hand snakes between your body and lands on your clit. One rub of your sensitive nub has your hips bucking up into his hand and, in turn, into his cock, still drilling into you, and whatever you’d been meaning to say slips from your mind almost immediately. “Oh - shit, Harry, do that - do that again -”

Lips press to your neck as he complies with what you’d said, fingers pinching gently at your clit and sending a rush of pleasure through your body. Your leg tightens around his waist, a wet moan getting caught in your throat, and you tug at his curls - slightly sweaty, knotted beneath your fingers. There’s another quiet groan against your neck and you could smirk at that but you hardly have the capacity to do anything except keep your leg around his waist and cry out.

“Gonna cum?” His voice is quiet, a hiss against your neck, barely audible against your panting whines. “Can feel you - fuckin’ clenching around m’cock like tha’. Cum for me, baby. Know you’re close - come on, now.”

It’s only a few more slow circles on your clit that releases the pit of pressure in the core of your stomach - eyes squeezing shut as your cunt flutters around him, feeling the euphoria in every single nerve of your body. Your breath rattles in the air around you, orgasm forced onwards by Harry’s soft praise directly in your ear as he lifts his head ever so slightly, pressing a wet kiss to the side of your jaw. Your leg unhooks from around his waist but his hand holds it steady, forcing it to remain around him even if you’re not much help in keeping it there.

He’s still thrusting, hard and heavy, milking every last drop of your orgasm until you’re fucking struggling to breathe, body jerking and seeing stars and galaxies instead of the ceiling above you. When you’re coming back around he’s whispering in your ear, through gritted teeth, “Taking me so fuckin’ good, fuck, gonna fill you up - you’d like that, hmm? Tell me.”

You’re at a loss for words, his fingers unrelenting on your clit, and you can already feel the pressure building again in your tummy. Harry’s hips are slowly, slowly, dropping in pace and you know he’s close - you grasp onto his curls again, tug his head up with what little strength you can muster to look straight into his lust-blown eyes, and breathe, “Want you to fill me up, professor. Please?”

It gets the exact reaction you’d desired - his mouth drops open with a breathy moan and, sooner than you’d expected, you can feel his cock giving its telltale twitch inside of you. You use your grip on his hair to pull his face to yours, smashing your lips together just as you feel him release inside of you. His hand on your clit slides out from between your bodies, palm pressing to the hardwood beneath you as he gives another low groan, warmth filling you up just as he’d promised. Harry’s eyes roll back when you pull away to look at him, gazing at the pure ecstasy on his face with a sort of childlike wonder. You’ve seen him cum more times than you can count but it never seems to stop amazing you - knowing you’re the only one who gets to see him like this.

“Jesus, fuck,” Harry grunts, green orbs rolling back down so he can see you. His face is sweaty and red and your hands in his hair slide down to his cheeks. He tilts his head to the side, pressing a sloppy kiss to the underside of your wrist, and his hand on your thigh slowly guides it down to the floor, relaxing your muscles. “You’re fuckin’ - amazing, baby. And s’not just the orgasm talking, I promise.”

You giggle breathlessly at that, shifting your hips where he’s still buried inside of you. You’d been so close - too close - to cumming for the second time and if you move your hips just right - just so - you know you’ll get there, clit brushing against his lower stomach.

Harry’s eyebrows crease ever so slightly, dropping his head so he can look down where your bodies are still connected. “What’re you doing?”

No point in lying, because he can always see right through you. So you give him a guilty grin and murmur, “M’so close, Harry.”

“Oh,” Harry replies, voice heavy and quiet, and just like that, the moment resumes. He could never let you go even slightly unsatisfied and you know that - not sure why you ever doubted it. He pulls out of you, leaving you whimpering as the sudden emptiness overtakes you, and begins his descent down your body - kisses to every exposed bit of skin he sees, swirling his tongue around your nipples.

Nights like this, lying on the floor of your apartment (yours, too, not just Harry’s) and feeling his tongue flicking on your clit, makes you just that much more positive that your fortune cookie will turn out to be right, after all.

—

You and Harry didn’t fight much, and it was one of the things you both prided yourselves on. He was a firm believer in never going to bed angry and you hated raising your voice at him and the two virtues balanced themselves out. You had your fair share of disagreements but they always worked themselves out before either of you could get truly angry or upset with each other.

Well - most times they did, you suppose. You can’t even remember what you and Harry had started bickering about, but it had escalated from something positively miniscule into whatever’s happening now.

He hasn’t spoken to you for six hours.

And you know that because you’ve been counting.

Some asshole comment you’d made, voice short and snippy as you’d announced to him that you didn’t fucking care if he’s upset, Harry, it doesn’t fucking matter. You’re being dumb. And you’d known as soon as you said it that it was too far, you telling him you didn’t care about his feelings, and he’d merely stared at you for a minute, jaw set, before standing up and walking out of the kitchen. The apologies you called out as he walked away went seemingly unnoticed, as if he hadn’t even heard them.

He’s on the couch now, head down as he types away on his laptop. His curls are messy, unbrushed from the morning, and you know he’d have gone into your shared bedroom to get his hairbrush off of the dresser if you hadn’t been residing on top of the bed for the past few hours. You’d love to walk up behind him now, brush your fingers through his locks until they’re smoother, listen to the way his breathing steadies as you do it.

But no, you won’t. Not yet, at least. You know he’d jerk away from you if you did, roll his eyes and shift to the other end of the couch and you can’t quite deal with that right now. All you want is to go back to the very beginning of the day, when you and Harry had woken up at nearly noon and planned to spend the entire Saturday relaxing with no mention of work related stuff and -

It just hadn’t turned out like that. Within nearly an hour he’d settled onto the couch with his laptop, determined to ignore every single thing you said, and you’d only just left the bedroom to try and fix dinner for the pair of you.

You clear your throat from where you’re leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, and you keep your eyes trained on the back of Harry’s head to see if he’ll react at all to the noise - nope. Doesn’t even tilt his head to acknowledge that he heard it, and, if anything, the furious typing gets even louder as if to drown you out.

“Harry,” you call, taking a step out of the doorway and padding closer to the couch. There’s absolutely no response, and you sigh softly. You hate this, everything about it, the silent treatment. You reckon you’d prefer if he were screaming at you, though you know he’d never do it. At least you’d know he was hearing you. “Um - I made dinner. S’just mac an’ cheese, though.”

His typing slowly stutters to a pause and you swallow thickly, crossing your arms over your chest. There’s a brief spark of hope that lights inside of you - maybe he’ll stand up, at least share a meal with you, and you can tell him how sorry you are, because you know he didn’t believe you before. But instead, he merely nods, a slow jerk of his head, and then mumbles, “Alright.”

Your hope, buried deep in your chest, deflates almost immediately. You can feel a lump rising in the back of your throat and you really don’t want to cry in front of him and you’re not even sure if he would care, but you would. So you merely nod, even though he can’t see it, and murmur, “Oh - alright.” If he notices the way your voice cracks he doesn’t mention it, and you take another moment to stare at the back of his head. Willing him, in some way, to turn around and say something else, or ask to have dinner with you, or do something.

But he doesn’t add anything else - you can just hear him resuming his typing as if you’d never spoken. You’re sure you could maintain some semblance of your dignity if you turned and walked away - scooped your mac and cheese into a bowl and sat to eat it by yourself. But, truthfully, you couldn’t give less of a shit about your dignity when Harry was still furious with you, and your shitty mac and cheese couldn’t taste half as good if you weren’t eating it with him.

So you take another step forward, your socks (or his - you’re not quite sure) muffling your footsteps on the hardwood. Your hands drop to the back of the sofa, on either side of his shoulders, and you can practically feel him stiffening even though you hadn’t even touched him.

“Harry.” You’re quiet and almost pathetic sounding, but not half as pathetic as you’re feeling. Your eyes drop to his fingers on his keyboard - they’ve paused, drumming ever so softly on the keys, and you take it as a sign to keep going. “I’m really sorry.”

He doesn’t speak for another moment, but just as you’ve opened your mouth to continue, he finally says, “S’fine.”

You could roll your eyes at that, but instead, you walk around the sofa until you’re in front of him. A mug of tea sits on the coffee table directly in front of him and you move it aside, taking its place when it’s out of the way. Harry’s refusing to look in your eyes and it makes you feel silly but you try not to let it deter you. “S’not fine. Don’t know why I said that, really - I care about you more than anything else in the world.”

That, at least, gets a reaction out of him, even if it’s not the kind that you’d wanted. He shuts his laptop and rests it on the couch beside him, and then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, brows creased. “Baby, you picked a fight over the way I made the bed, an’ then you said you didn’t care when I was upset about it.”

You wince at the reminder of exactly what you’d said, dropping your gaze down to your knees. They’re barely covered by the jumper you’re wearing - it’s Harry’s, one that’s just a bit too small for him, and you’d practically claimed it as your own. It doesn’t quite smell like him anymore but you still love to wrap yourself up in it, and so you tug the bottom of the sweater down until it’s fully covering your knees as you mutter, “I know. I’m really sorry, Harry. I know it doesn’t make up for it - I really don’t know why I said that.”

There’s a thick silence in the air as Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair. Then he leans back into the sofa, palms resting on his thighs, and you can feel the familiar lump rising in the back of your throat again. He’s taking too long to talk - and then - “I think you’ve been very on edge lately.”

“On edge?”

He hums in affirmation, and when your gaze meets again he has one eyebrow arched, as if waiting for you to speak again - when you don’t, he sighs again and says, “I don’t know. You’ve just seemed really different - that’s how I’ve been making the bed for almost 2 years an’ you never said anything, not once.”

You open your mouth to reply but quickly shut it - have you been on edge? You’re not quite sure. You’d been feeling a bit ill recently - perhaps it had made you snipper with Harry. But, no matter what the reason, it wasn’t an excuse to be an asshole to him. You’ll worry about that later, after the two of you manage to work through this. Put it behind you.

“Oh,” you breathe, and you’re not quite sure what to say. There’s a weird turmoil happening in the pit of your stomach and you swallow again, lips tightening into a thin line. “M’sorry for that, too. Really.”

“S’alright,” he responds, tone quiet and reassuring, and you still don’t believe him. As if he can sense your apprehension, he reaches out, palm resting on your knee and squeezing slightly. “But if there’s anything going on with you - if something’s wrong - y’can tell me anything, you know.”

I know, you want to say. Want to reassure him that nothing is wrong, that you’ve just been having a bad week, but you’re not so sure, suddenly. You’ve been sick and moody and now that you’re thinking of it, your boobs kind of hurt, too. Have they been hurting the whole week? You can’t remember, but they’re certainly hurting now. Earlier in the week, you’d had a headache, too.

Fuck. It all seemed to be coming together in the exact way you don’t want it to and yet now your stomach is sinking because what other explanation is there? It doesn’t make sense - you’d never skipped a day on birth control. You have reminders in your phone and Harry has reminders in his phone to ensure this internal freakout you’re having wouldn’t happen until you’re ready.

“Baby?”

And his voice is full of concern, laced with worry all around the edges, and your eyes snap back up to meet his. Harry’s looking at you with an unreadable expression, his brows furrowed, and you merely shake your head. Falsify a grin - no point in telling him your worries. You’ll deal with it tomorrow, maybe. Or next week. “I’m fine. Really, Har, I’m fine. Just been having a difficult week - y’know, at work and whatever.”

It seems to relax him just a bit, and you rest your hand overtop of his on your knee. There’s a slow smile spreading on his face and you bring your other hand up to his chin, making him look at you the way he always does. And then you say - in a voice far more confident than you’re feeling - “I’m really sorry. I love you a lot, Har. An’ I care about you a lot.”

There’s another pause, and then Harry leans in, pressing one light kiss to the tip of your nose. Your eyes shut and you can’t help but feel oddly overwhelmed by everything happening, even as Harry stands and grabs your palm to pull you up with him. You give him a grin, though, letting him throw his arm around you and pull you close.

“Really, honey, s’okay. We all have our bad days.” His reassurement could make you cry just on its own as he tugs you towards the kitchen, arm around your neck. “Bu’ I think you did say something about mac an’ cheese, and I haven’t eaten for hours.”

So as you enter the kitchen, his focus immediately dropping to the pot of macaroni sitting on the stove, and there’s something so wonderful about watching him go off to grab bowls for the two of you. You won’t mention it now. On Monday, you’ll buy the test from the store. Give yourself the weekend to calm yourself down about it. If it’s negative, there’s no harm done - and if it’s positive -

You’ll cross that bridge when you get there.

—

When Monday rolls around, you have not at all calmed down about the situation. If anything, it’s worse and it’s been fucking up your whole day - you hadn’t been able to look at your toast this morning without feeling nauseous, so you’d gone without breakfast, and you’d also zoned out at work while your boss was talking to you imagining what, exactly, you would do if the stupid pregnancy test came back positive.

It wasn’t as though it’s a secret that Harry wants children. He’d never bothered too much to make it anything less than painfully obvious, playing peek-a-boo with babies in strollers when you took walks at the park and dragging you into the baby aisle at the store to show you how small the clothes were. You’d never spoken about it directly but you know he wants them, and you do too - you’d just suspected you would have a bit more time before that part of your life comes. At least a year or two of living together, learning how to have a relationship with each other that isn’t confined to stolen moments in his office and his apartment, You’d barely been at your job for a month, and soon you’re going to be having to take maternity leave?

If you’re pregnant. If and only if.

You squeeze your eyes shut. The pregnancy test is shaking in your hand as you glare down at it, as if willing it to somehow give you your results faster than the general five minute wait time. Your timer, sitting on the bathroom counter beside you, shows you that there’s still 3 minutes and 48 seconds until you’ll be able to tell, but you can’t tear your gaze from the stick.

It’s been a much more hassling process than you’d expected, and you wish someone could’ve told you that beforehand. You weren’t sure which test to pick when you’d stopped at the grocery store on the way home, because there were so many brands and surely they all did the same exact thing, but you still felt like you chose the wrong one. And you’re a grown woman, of course, but it was still distinctly uncomfortable to look the cashier in the eye as he scanned the test, his gaze seeming to mock you when you finally looked at him to murmur have a nice day. The brand you’d chosen had ended up being Clear Blue, for no other reason than you’d liked the name, and the box sits beside you. The edges are worn and soft from where you’d been plucking at the white cardboard in the car and when you were squinting at the instructions, which told you - more or less - just piss on it, idiot.

Which is - well, exactly what you’d done.

And now you’re here. Your knees are tight to your chest and you’re clutching the stupid pregnancy test for dear life, and there are tears burning the back of your eyes. You wish, more than anything, that you had fucking told Harry so he could be here with you right now. Arms wrapped around you, chin on your shoulder, telling you s’gonna be okay, baby, no matter what the test says.

The timer ticks down to a measly 2 minutes before you’re supposed to see your results, and if you squint, you’re fairly positive you can see the lines, ever so faint, coming in - no. You stand up, dropping the stupid stick onto the bathroom counter, and it clatters into the sink. There almost seems to be a weight lifted off of your shoulders when the test disappears from view but it doesn’t last too long - just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not real. When you tilt your head just so, you can see it, resting on top of the drain, face down.

There’s a minute left, now. The seconds are passing faster than you want them to and you reach into the sink, grabbing the test and resting it back on the counter. Face down, of course - makes you too nervous to look at it.

You lean back against the wall, gazing up at the ceiling above you. Working on steadying your breathing is easier said than done but you try it, anyway. No matter what happens, you’ll always have Harry. And you both have good jobs - his better than yours, fresh out of college - and there is a spare bedroom that you could revamp into a nursery, and age it up as your baby grows. And Harry would be the greatest dad, you’re sure of it. You’re not quite as confident in your abilities to be a mother, but you know he’ll be the best. Thinking of the future, oddly, makes you feel significantly better than focusing on the present. You and Harry have just been able to come clean with your relationship and your mother still doesn’t like any of this and you’re not quite ready to see the look in her eyes when you tell her that he’s knocked you up. But - who knows? - maybe a year or two in the future, she’ll come around. Or even sooner. She’s always wanted to be a grandmother, anyway.

Only if you’re pregnant.

The timer dings and you turn your gaze back down to the test. The results face the bathroom counter and you reach out, stopping the dinging of your phone, leaving you in a brutal silence that fills the room and it’s nearly overwhelming.

Waiting won’t change the result, you tell yourself, so you grab the test and flip it around, staring down at the small screen embedded in the stick.

Oh.

It’s exactly what you’d expected, the two small lines, and yet there’d still been a part of you that hoped there’d only be one. That you’d be able to dump it in the garbage with a dry laugh, roll your eyes at the amount of worry you’d set yourself up for and never think about it again. Double down on your efforts with birth control - you still can’t remember the time that you’d missed a day but you must have, or you’d just fallen into the unlucky percentage that had it not work.

It doesn’t matter, though. Doesn’t matter if you’d skipped a day or merely just had a bout of bad luck. You are pregnant, and you’re not sure the reality of it has quite set in yet because you’re not sure how you’re feeling. If you’re scared or sad or happy or - or anything. Just feel slightly numb. You suppose it’ll set in later - everything you’re supposed to be feeling - perhaps when you tell Harry.

You squeeze your eyes shut, grip tightening on the pregnancy test. Telling Harry is something you hadn’t even started to think about yet but you suppose you’d better get a move on, because you’ve already felt horribly guilty hiding your suspicions from him for barely a day and a half. You don’t reckon you’ll make much more than an hour once you see him, holding onto a secret like this. It’s best to get it done as fast as you can -

So you pick up your phone, horribly aware of your hand shaking slightly, and tap into your texts with him. You’d last texted when you’d got out of work - he’d told you he was going to get home later because he was grading, and you suppose he’s still there now. If you know anything at all about Harry it’s that he won’t stop until he’s graded everything, and you also know that he’s just assigned the 1984 essays (which holds quite a special place in your heart) so your fingers fly across the keyboard, typing a message and sending it just as fast.

Y/N: can i meet u at ur office? maybe we can go to dinner or something?

You aren’t expecting too quick of a response but within just a few seconds the typing bubble pops up, and soon after that his reply rolls through.

Harry S.: Yes!!!!!!!!

Even in spite of everything that’s happened in the last five minutes his enthusiasm makes you grin, so you shove the pregnancy test in the pocket of Harry’s jacket that you’d thrown on the second you’d got home. It’s big and plaid and smells like him mixed with a hint of your perfume from how much you like to steal it from him, but you can’t help it - not that he’d ever complain. Loves seeing you in his clothes, you know, so you figure, maybe, donning his jacket while you tell him absolutely life changing news will soften the blow, just a bit.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you slide into your shoes, slipping your phone into the pocket of your jeans. As if anything could make this shit less drastic. But it soothes you, just a bit, as you grab your keys and leave the apartment, locking the door behind you and heading off down the hall.

—

From the moment you’d walked into Harry’s office, you’d felt a sense of dread, weighing you down with every step.

It had started the second you stepped foot outside of your apartment, feeling the late afternoon sun beating down on you. It was nearing the end of September, still with a dull chill, and you’d tugged Harry’s jacket closer to your body. Buried your nose in the fabric and sniffed, smelling his shampoo and his cologne that you’d gotten to know so well. It was fucking overwhelming, nearly leaving you lightheaded, and that was when you first felt it. Like a cloud, raining on top of you, where every other person on the street was surrounded by the sunshine.

And it had worsened the second you stepped into Harry’s office, catching the way his eyes lit up when he saw you. How he pushed himself up, making his way around his desk to wrap you in a hug. How he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose - if he notices the way you wince, ever so slightly, away from his touch, he doesn’t mention it. Because you had just made up after the fight on Saturday, and yesterday had been fairly awkward, too. Harry had chalked it up to you still feeling bad about what you’d said to him and, of course, you still do feel bad about it, so you let him coddle you, assuring you up and down that he wasn’t still mad. That it was fine. Hearing his reassurance, even if it was misguided, was easier than telling him the truth.

Harry had still seemed blissfully oblivious as the two of you left his office, headed outside where the slightly warm sun had dulled into a slight chill. It’s nothing you hadn’t expected - hence the jacket, pulled tight to your body - but when he reaches down, zipping his plaid jacket all the way up to your neck with a playful can’t have you getting sick on me, baby, it does overwhelm you. It’s just such a soft gesture, shows how much he loves you, and imagining him as a father is so easy and so beautiful and your head spins at the thought of it.

Now, though - he seems to be understanding there’s something wrong. The entire five minute car ride has been silent, save for Elvis Presley crooning how he can’t help falling in love at a dull, low volume. And the two of you are normally so talkative, him ranting to you about the terrible essays he’d read and you telling him about some asshole thing your coworker had done. Car rides are the places for easy conversations but there’s nothing easy about the forced small talk Harry is making and you can hear his concern growing with every soft, short response you give him.

It’s not your fault, you want to tell him. But you’re too scared you’ll burst into tears if you open your mouth for too long so you bite your tongue, rest your head against the cool window and glance at the shops he’s driving past.

“You know,” Harry says, voice strained and desperate and you turn slightly so you can see him from the corner of your eye. He’s staring at the road with a crease in his eyebrows and a frown tugging his lips down and you swallow at the sight, turning back to the window. It’s easier not to look at him, for now. “Think I’ve finally graded a 1984 essay worse than yours.”

You exhale dryly, breath fogging up the window ever so slightly. Swallowing softly, putting the lump in the back of your throat at bay, you murmur, “Hard to imagine,” and leave it at that. It’s the same sort of half assed response you’d been giving him the entire car ride and you hate it. Because - if this were any other time - you’d joke about it with him, laugh remembering how terribly you’d analyzed the easy book.

It’s difficult to bring yourself to do that now. Can’t quite get more than a few meek words in edgewise.

There’s a small pause, and then Harry chuckles, tells you, “Got a 66,” in a voice barely above a whisper. “And, before you ask, won’t fall in love with him. S’a promise.”

It’s a weak attempt to get you to laugh so you do - give him a soft giggle and you can sense the way it relieves him. Harry’s hand rests on the center console, fingertips drumming on the surface, and at any other time you’d reach out, grab his hand, squeeze your reassurance.

You’ve never felt heavier in your life. You’re not sure you could even make it into the Mexican restaurant you and Harry love, where you’d begged him to go, hardly five minutes from campus. It seemed the best spot for such a conversation but now, as Harry pulls into a parking spot just in front of the restaurant, the thought of going inside makes you feel fucking sick.

So you don’t make any move to unbuckle your seatbelt and neither does Harry, and there’s a moment where you both just sit in silence. Elvis switches to Can’t Smile Without You, playing so softly you can hardly hear it, but it’s the only distraction from the awkwardness settled into every nook and cranny in the car.

“Baby,” Harry begins, and you worry your bottom lip at his tone of voice. His knuckles are white, gripping onto the steering wheel, and you’re not sure what he’s thinking of, exactly, but it can’t be good. “Can you look at me?”

No, you want to say. You don’t, actually, think you can. So you shake your head, dropping your gaze down to your lap. Fingernails scratch at your jeans, swallowing the lump buried in the back of your throat, and then you sniffle, ever so slightly.

But Harry can pick up on your I’m-about-to-cry signals from miles away, and immediately he’s shifting in his seat, reaching over to you. Two fingers rest underneath your chin, tugging your face up ever so slightly to look at him, and seeing the anxiety burning in his eyes makes you feel ten times worse.

It’s now or never, you think. No amount of reassuring him that you’re fine, just had a long day, will make him drop this so you shove your hand into the pocket of his plaid jacket, fingers feeling the stick in the fabric.

“I have to tell you something,” you tell him, voice hardly louder than a whisper. You turn the pregnancy test over in your fingers a few times before grasping it fully in your clammy palm. It would be so easy to pull it out, drop it in his lap, but you don’t want to do that - want to tell him with your words. Control how, exactly, the message comes across.

“Okay,” Harry murmurs, fingers dropping from beneath your chin.

His hand lands back on the center console and your gaze lowers to your lap, fingernails drumming against your thigh, and there’s another thick bout of silence. Just for a brief second, besides Barry Manilow’s singing, and, finally, you say, “So - I don’t really know how to say this.”

If you were in a different state of mind you’d have immediately known what conclusions he’d drawn up in the back of his mind, hand retracting from the console and dropping into his lap. His head drops back against the headrest, gazing up at the ceiling. Harry’s breathing is soft yet ragged and you take it as the slight encouragement you’d needed to continue, so you do.

“Jus’ - don’t say anything until I’m done, alright?” You wait to see his head jerk up and down quickly, his eyes distinctly glassy in the reflecting light as the sun goes down, before continuing. “On Saturday, I - uh - I started to get really nervous, about everything that’s been happening in the past week.” You don’t think you’ve ever felt so overwhelmed in your life than right now but there’s no going back. So you take one final deep breath, pull your hand out of your pocket, test clutched in your hand. “So today, after work - I took a pregnancy test.”

It takes a few seconds for the effect of your words to hit Harry, so you pause and watch for when it does. How he lifts his head ever so slightly, turning to glance at you. His eyes are burning with confusion, brows furrowed, lips parted. There’s anxiety coursing through your veins, sending heat burning up your cheeks and bringing a fresh layer of tears to the forefront of your eyes as Barry Manilow changes to When I’m Sixty Four, background music to the situation at hand. And it doesn’t let up, fear settling into your heart, until Harry finally breathes, “What?”

You lift your hand up, resting the pregnancy test on the center console between you two so he can reach out, grabbing the test in a shaking head. You’re careful to observe his reaction, paralyzed with the force of every emotion running through you as he squints down at the small screen embedded into the stick. The two lines - the writing on the side, telling him exactly what the two lines means. And, though it doesn’t seem like it needs to be said, you whisper, “I’m pregnant, Harry,” and that’s when he finally looks back up at you.

Harry looks - God, you’ve never seen anything like it, a mix of emotions you’ve never encountered. You’re practically shaking and you’re finding it hard to breathe - you just need him to say something, anything, so you know how he’s feeling.

“Are you serious?” he finally asks, and you nod softly, voice hitched in your throat. “S’not a joke? You promise?”

“Why would I -”

But you don’t have time to finish your sentence before Harry has practically thrown himself over the center console. His arms are wrapped around you, face buried in your neck, and for a second you don’t know how to react - for every bad reaction you’d imagined this is what you’re getting, feeling his tears against your neck, and it’s so fucking good that you could cry too.

So you do, naturally, the dam breaking as you throw your arms around Harry’s neck, pulling his body as close to yours as it can get. Every worry that’s been plaguing you since you first took the test dissipates in fucking seconds at the feeling of Harry’s hug, warm and tight, where you’re shaking beneath him. And he’s murmuring words you can’t quite understand and you don’t try. It doesn’t quite matter to you, now.

“Oh my god,” Harry mutters when he pulls back, giving just a few inches between the two of you. His palms press to your cheeks, holding your head in his hands as he observes the tears streaking down your cheeks, similar to the ones gracing his own face. “S’this what you were so nervous about, baby? Having a baby?”

You laugh breathlessly, leaning in to slot your lips together in a short lived, passion filled kiss - to anyone passing on the sidewalk, the two of you probably look like any other couple getting a quick snog in. Only the two of you know the importance of this moment and that’s all that matters, you suppose. “Thought you were gonna be mad,” you confess, and it sounds just a bit silly, falling from your lips, now that you know how he truly feels.

He shakes his head, landing another kiss to your lips - then another - then another - and then he pulls you into him, your face burying in his neck. “Never,” he assures you as your arms loop around his neck, pushing yourself closer to him, and his arms wind around your waist. “Never, never.”

There’s a beat - one of pure, unadulterated joy - before Harry finally speaks again, muffled into your hair. “Bloody hell, thought you were breaking up with me. Was gonna start crying, right here an’ now.”

Slowly you pull back, letting your fingers comb through the short hair at the nape of his neck as you furrow your eyebrows at him. He looks almost guilty for thinking it and you shake your head firmly. “Don’t worry, professor,” you tell him. “You’re never getting rid of me.”

“Thank God,” Harry sighs, hands smoothing up and down your back. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so in love with him than in this moment, especially as he moves one of his hands to rest on your stomach, feeling around over the jacket he’d zipped up earlier. “I’m mad about you, y’know that?” he tells you matter-of-factly, leaving positively no room for you to confess to him how head over heels you are for him, as well, before he adds, “and I think we should move our celebration into the restaurant. Maybe they’ll give us free dessert, if we tell ‘em you’re eating for two, now.”

You could banter with him about it - you’ve got to be less than a month along, you reckon, not at all eating for two - but, as much as you love celebrating in the car with him, you can’t say that tacos wouldn’t add to the moment drastically. “Think that sounds perfect, professor,” and you lean in to give him one final kiss for good measure.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #prof!harry #i have caved here is half #so ill probably post the second half of this (which is gonna still b a lot longer)#ummmm later this week #!#i hope u guys like this and im sorry i had to divide it i just cant write concisely #I AM ALSO V AWARE that this is not that interesting #but it was the only place i could divide the fic without it being weird #im sorry its kinda boring but i promise the second half is more interesting

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elizabeethan · 3 years ago

Text

Rising Tide

An Overboard Addition

The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together.

Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them.

A/N: I wrote this because I felt like I was being too mean to Mary Margaret and decided to spread the wealth.

For @the-darkdragonfly for keeping my enthusiasm for this series alive, and for being the best beta around.

Rated M

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~~~~

There are too many people on this bloody boat.

Killian’s fishing vessel has comfortably held himself, his wife, and his two crew members on countless occasions, but something has shifted with the addition of a fifth person.

Or, perhaps, it’s the fact that his crew members have been traded for Emma’s entire family. Plus, there’s their dog.

Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them.

Leo has just turned 21, and is, according to his sister, soul searching. Emma claims that he isn’t sure what he’s doing with his life, what with his decision not to attend college and his struggles to find a steady job. She thought that maybe helping Killian this season would also help Leo, perhaps exposing some passion for fishing he never knew he had. But of course, Leo has never fished before, so his father is tagging along to make matters easier and safer. And why not throw Mary Margaret into the mix too… the more the merrier.

At least that’s what Killian thought until they all got onto his bloody boat and shoved off.

It really isn’t meant for five people. Plus a dog the size of a miniature horse.

Emma enjoys sunning herself on the bow, even in the winter, and Killian enjoys watching her. What he doesn’t enjoy is the quick and judging looks he gets from her father and the snickering and giggling from her mother each time he’s caught. He doesn’t enjoy the groaning and eye rolling he gets from Leo each time he kisses his wife, seen because of the painful lack of privacy on this bloody boat.

The whole journey down was near torture. Emma and Killian have grown accustomed to a certain amount of privacy, as well as a certain amount of pleasure for each of them. Everyone says the honeymoon phase will fade, and yet it hasn’t for them. Everyone also says that he will soon struggle to keep up with the energy of his much younger wife, and yet he has not experienced such a thing.

Killian’s always been a private person, preferring to love his wife in seclusion. At least when it’s Will and Robin on the boat, he can tell them to shove off if they’re caught in some unsavory position. But when her father does, Killian nearly jumps overboard.

It takes them about a day to sail into Wanchese, the harbor almost as accommodating as the one back home. They’re friendly here, but he can’t help but get a sense of competition burning between himself and the southern fishermen. Killian’s never been much for competition, but David is.

He says something cheeky and mildly ominous to the others in the fleet, something about catching the most tonnage this season despite not being from down here, and Killian stiffens beneath Emma’s hand on his back. She leaves warmth between his shoulder blades where he always seems to be stiff.

“It’s alright,” she says as she kisses his shoulder over his sweater, pressing up onto her toes. “It’ll be fun.”

“The season down here is short,” he explains, though she already knows. “But I have a feeling it’ll feel quite long.”

She hums and laughs, kissing him once more and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind him as he pulls away from the docks. When he hears her mother’s voice cooing at Ripple, “look at your mommy and daddy over there,” he stiffens again.

It’ll be a long season.

~~~~

He’s only glad for the hotel room that her parents have rented.

Leo’s still on the boat, of course, acting as Killian’s first mate, but he can handle that for the evenings. Leo does well preparing the lines and fishing for bait, and he tries to see the upside as Emma serves him spaghetti for the fourth night in a row and he realizes that they once again won’t have any privacy.

“Thank you, love,” he says softly to her as she hands him the floppy paper plate. “Smells delicious.”

She snorts, shaking her head as she takes a seat beside him on the bow. It’s become a favorite spot for them; a place where they can unwind together, make love to each other, console each other’s demons. “Don’t lie,” she says, bumping their shoulders together. “I’m a shitty cook anyway, never mind on the water.”

“You’re a brilliant cook.”

“Yes,” she laughs, nodding and twirling her fork in the flaccid pasta. “My recipe for peanut butter and jelly is award winning.”

“Aye, well, I do like when you sprinkle the potato chips in them.”

“That’s because we’re both eight-years-old.”

He leans towards her, securing his plate in his lap so that he can press a lingering kiss against her temple. “I should hope not,” he jokes.

They sit quietly for a while, enjoying the dinner she made for them despite her complaints that it’s mushy and watching the sunset. It’s beautiful here, he has to admit, and he can’t help but appreciate the way the pink sky bounces off of the sea and into his wife’s hair.

“It’ll be fine, you know,” she says softly, her lips pressing to his neck. “It’s only a few weeks, and I don’t even think they’ll come out most weeks.”

“Aye, love,” he murmurs into the top of her head. “You know I’m not upset about this, right?”

“Yeah, but I can tell you’re not completely comfortable either. I mean, my parents--”

“Emma,” he interrupts, although he doesn’t like to. He takes her face in his hands and gives her a smile. “I love your parents because I love you. I can handle a few weeks with them.”

“You promise you won’t gaff them if they mess up your boat?”

He laughs, if only to remove the image of such a violent proposition from his mind, and nods. “I promise, my love.”

~~~~

Things start turning south after a few weeks on the water, her parents, just as Emma had predicted, only making a few appearances. David was helpful enough teaching Leo the ropes, and he’s become an invaluable member of Killian’s crew. Now that he’s trained quite thoroughly, David and Mary Margaret have taken the opportunity to explore the Outer Banks.

Only today, they’re out on the boat, along for the ride since Killian suggested a shorter trip just past the sound. It was hard enough crossing the bar with Emma’s father’s watchful eye on him, and now that they've made it to deep enough waters, his anxiety is at an all time high.

Killian is a talented sailor. He knows this, and he also knows that he’s a talented fisherman. He’s earned himself a rather suitable fortune in his years catching tuna, and he maintains that he knows what he’s doing. And yet, having an audience-- especially one that seems to still be waiting for the other shoe to drop-- is making him entirely doubt himself. They’re waiting for their daughter to get hurt, either by him or because of him. He’s waiting for the doubt he has in himself to fade, and yet it never seems to unless Emma forces it away.

He would never hurt her. He would die if anything ever happened to her, especially if it was at his hands. If he were ever involved in any pain delivered to her, he isn’t sure how he would survive the guilt and anguish that would result.

Which is why he’s been so careful the entire trip, and each time she’s on his boat with him. He failed at his attempts to make her wear a lifejacket-- So what, you think I can’t swim? I’m a better swimmer than you, probably-- but he tries to take every other precaution. He’s even trained Ripple to bark when she sees a large wave incoming so that they can take cover. He keeps knives stashed around the boat so that he can cut any rogue line or rope, should anyone get tangled. He keeps lifepreservers as well, one on each corner despite the boat being small enough to reach one easily. Every sharp object has a home, a designated place to avoid accidents. He captains a very safe vessel any day, but when Emma and their Ripple are on board, it’s like his senses are heightened.

Which is why he watches her like a hawk each day, but especially now that her parents are on board. He just knows that one misstep will have them staring him down, judging his ability to care for their daughter, silently gaining confirmation that their marriage won’t make it. He knows it’s dramatic, and not entirely true, but he can’t help but fear that they think of him as too old for her. He’s not energetic enough; he can’t keep up with her needs. He can’t provide her with the life that she deserves.

They’ve talked about this, of course. But the reminders keep coming with her parents’ looks towards him, so his self-doubt flourishes.

They’ve only just hooked up when it happens. Leo is reeling-- he’s doing phenomenally as he works with the waves in an effort to drag the beast to them-- and Killian is driving. David stands at the helm with Leo, telling Killian when to go into reverse and when to go into neutral, when to turn left and when to turn right. They’ve almost brought the thing to the port of the vessel, and Emma stands diligently with a gaff ready to assist however she can. Killian can’t stop staring. Not only because she looks beautiful and strong, but because he worries for her too much.

He notices the rope on the ground quickly after it falls, calling to David to move it despite his distraction with the strained line. He kicks it away, a loop forming easily as he does so. He shouts once more, desperately as he watches Emma take a step to her left, and panics when he isn’t heard.

“Emma!” he calls from the wheel, turning towards her but unable to abandon steering the craft for fear of disaster. “Love, your--”

She starts to trip as David throws the harpoon, the line tightening around her ankle and pulling at her leg until she has to drop to the deck. Killian abandons his post easily, rushing towards her and shoving against David with too much force so that he can grab for a blade and cut her free.

She falls forward into his arms, her gasp coming out forcefully as she seems to piece together what’s almost happened as the adrenaline wears off.

“Woah,” she breathes, squeezing his hand in hers as he helps her to straighten.

“Are you--”

“The line!” David calls. “It’s-- Emma?” He hurries towards them both, finally abandoning the tool as Leo cuts the beast free and does the same and crouches by her side. “What happened?”

A sudden wave of disgust washes over him as an equally powerful wave from the sea crashes into his beloved boat. With the force of it, with his wife safe in his arms, he realizes he couldn’t possibly care less what happens to his fishing vessel as long as she’s alright.

“She nearly went overboard,” he spits. “Did you not hear me? Or were you too busy with the bloody harpoon?”

“Obviously I didn’t hear you,” he argues. “But I don’t need you blaming me when your equipment doesn’t work. This harpoon line is way too long.”

He breathes out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head and staring up at David. “Oh, so this is my fault? You aren’t watching your lines and nearly get your daughter killed and somehow it’s my fault?”

“Babe,” she starts, putting her hand on his, but he’s too angry and worked up and terrified.

“No, I'm sick of this,” he says. He hears Ripple finally bursting out of the cabin after far too many attempts to break free, and she hurries towards Emma, towards her mother, to lick her cheek. Emma giggles and cuddles with the pup, seeming to allow her breath to finally even. “Every chance you get, it’s a dig at my ability to keep my wife safe. And when I-- when your Captain orders you to move a bloody line away from her damn foot--”

“Killian!”

He can’t even respond, can’t do anything but take a heaving breath in hopes that it will calm him. He knows what she’s thinking-- that she wishes he would stop yelling at her bloody father-- but he can’t shake the feelings of rage coursing through him.

“I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles, finally able to turn his head and look her in the eye. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

She takes his hand and squeezes once more, nearly forcing him to maintain eye contact, and says, “I’m fine, babe. I’m okay.” he tries to ignore the discomfort written across her father’s entire being. “Let’s just go below deck and you can check my ankle, okay?”

“Is it hurting you?”

She blinks once and says, “It’s a little sore. Come on.”

They aren’t even able to shut themselves in before she tugs on his arm, dragging him close to her and wrapping him in a squeeze that he swears could kill him if it wasn’t exactly what he needs. It’s not as if she was dragged over the bow-- it’s not as if the rope truly cinched around her ankle and dragged her overboard, beneath the surface of the deadly crashing waves-- but she came pretty damn close. And now, as he comes down from the high of adrenaline of nearly losing his wife, his best friend, the most important thing in his life, he cracks.

He can barely breathe as his palms reach to cup her cheeks, if only to ensure that they’re still warm and pink and alive. He chokes when he has her in his grasp, his brows pinching together almost painfully and his teeth digging into the soft flesh of his bottom lip, likely drawing blood. “Love,” he stutters, his voice weak and small, and he nearly loses his balance as another wave crashes into them. She keeps him steady. “I almost--”

“No,” she insists. “I know, baby, but you didn’t. I’m right here, Killian. I’m not going anywhere.”

When his eyes meet hers, he says desperately, “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” she tells him with such certainty that he has no choice but to believe her. “Killian, I'm right here. I’m here with you, and I’m okay. You’re not gonna lose me.”

He shakes his head, and when he does, she creeps closer to him on the small captain's bed until her hips can straddle his thighs. His hands find her waist, unable to do anything but hold her and try to convince himself that she’s here and she’s fine. He didn’t lose her, although he almost did. The sea has given so much to him, but it’s also taken. It took his brother, or so he must only assume, and it almost took the love of his life. He knows now, now that it’s been proven to him, that he would gladly give himself to the sea if she took his wife. “Emma, my love…”

She hardly gives him a chance to answer, although part of him thinks she knows that he had nothing to say. Her lips cut him off, pressing to his and destroying any thoughts of negativity or anger or fear. They fuse themselves to his mouth and take from him every ounce of distress he could possibly imagine feeling. They give him every ounce of strength he could possibly possess. Her tongue slinks out over his own and sends small tingles down his back to the base of his spine until his grip on her tightens. Until his grip is tight enough to convince himself that she isn’t going anywhere.

“I love you,” she presses against his skin, her mouth somehow never leaving his.

“Emma,” he breathes again. With a gasp, he says once more, “Emma.”

“I'm okay,” she says. Then, with her hips pressing to his, she says, “Let me show you.”

In a move that he can barely perceive, one consumed with disorientation and a need to still feel her in his arms, she’s off of his lap and shedding her clothes. Her shorts were wet and difficult to peel from her legs, her-- his-- sweater, too, but her tight tank top, the one doubling as a bra, comes off of her easily. He reaches for her breasts, his lips finding her tightened nipple, and the moan that leaves her has him shaking.

She takes his clothes off, too, leaving hot trails of fire with her mouth each time she removes something from his skin. Her tongue follows a line between two freckles on his upper thigh and he throws his head back against the thin pillow that they share most nights. When her lips purse against the angry red tip of his cock, he grabs for her, fingers lacing through her hair and holding onto her if only so that he never has to fear letting her go. If he never lets go of her, he’ll never lose her.

She hollows her cheeks expertly, quickly working him to nearly his breaking point until he has to force himself to stop her. He wants her more than almost anything, second only to the feeling of finishing with the feeling of her walls reaching the same precipice around him. He thinks-- he hopes-- that the look he gives her conveys this, and when she releases him and licks her lips, smirking at him, he knows he’s succeeded.

Her fingers find her clit, although he’s quick to replace them with his own as she settles herself just above him. When she throws her head back with a gasp, her breasts swell and her long hair nearly tickles his kneecaps. When his fingers slide down from her clit to her entrance, smoothly spreading her arousal until he can tuck them inside, she lets out a moan that’s far too loud for their close quarters, so he sits up and fuses his mouth to hers. Her fingers grip the back of his head, holding him to her and tugging at his hair in a way that he knows means she’s mad with want.

His tongue traces her bottom lip in filthy need before he bites down on it, making her moan. “I want you,” she breathes as his mouth finds her earlobe. “Killian, please.”

“I need you,” he murmurs without meaning to, suckling on her ear in hopes to silence anymore foolish confessions.

“Take me. Take what you need, please.”

Her core is just above him, his cock throbbing with a need to be within the heat of her walls, to be squeezed by her until he can spill all of the love he has for her inside. When she drops onto him, her clit running along the length of him and warming him from the inside out, he grips her hips once again and helps to guide her. When she whimpers desperately, a moan escaping the back of her throat making him twitch, his mouth finds hers once again. With another move along his length, her fingers reach between them and guide him into her, making her hiss and whine and bite and hug him tighter.

“I love you so fucking much,” she says as she grinds down against him.

He can do nothing but consume her, taking her mouth against his again and moving into her until she lets out a breathless sound of need and desire. It drives him mad, his whole body shivering as he thrusts up once again, and when she props herself on her knees and moves herself up and down along his length, he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

The fact is, he nearly lost her. She’s fine, she wasn’t injured, nothing happened, but it could have been so much worse than it was. He praises himself for being quick enough to cut her free, but fears what could have happened if he hadn’t. But when she takes his face into her palms again and presses their foreheads together, when she whispers that she’s here and that she loves him, he knows that he can believe her. He knows that he can allow himself to move on from the absolute terror that comes with nearly losing the one thing he can’t live without.

“Emma, fuck.”

“Fuck me,” she says. Her grip on his hair tightens again and she commands, “Harder.”

So he flips them over, Emma landing on her back and gasping when he slams back into her, her ankles hooking around his back and pulling him deeper into her. She moans in his ear when he tucks his face into the crook between her neck and her shoulder and sucks what he knows will become a far-too-obvious mark there. She’ll likely have to keep wearing his sweaters to cover it, not that he minds.

She squeezes, and she pushes against him, and she cries out against the lobe of his ear, and before he knows it, his hands are finding the back of her shoulders and pulling her up towards him so that he can hold her as close to himself as he can possibly manage. When she’s seated upon his thighs, his hips thrusting so that his cock can slide into her and hit every perfect part of her, she bites her bottom lip and screws her brows so tightly that he wonders if she’ll have a headache.

He can’t speak, can’t put into words the love he has for her, so he kisses her again and she kisses back. And though it’s quick and dirty, it’s just what the two of them need. She’s alright-- she’s just fine-- but they need each other now. He needs her to show him that she’s alright. She needs him to show her that he believes her. So when they come together, Emma squeezing him forcefully and desperately, he spills himself into her with just as much neediness so that they’re falling together, holding each other, losing themselves in one another.

Eventually, he falls forwards, Emma barely catching him before rolling the both of them over so that they're on their sides and facing one another. Once they’re comfortable, both of them panting heavily, she lifts her hand and rests it on his cheek, a soft smile gracing her lips and brightening her eyes, and he knows now that she’s alright. She’s fine, just like she said.

“You’re okay?” he asks in clarification.

“I’m perfect, as long as you’re here.”

“I’m always here.”

“Then I’m always okay.”

He didn’t expect to be here with her, now, with her family above deck, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. When his palm lands softly on her cheek, the warmth of it heating his entire being, he smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you too, idiot. You’re my husband; it’s kind of a given.”

With a laugh, he answers, “You’re very rude.”

“Only because I love you very, very much.”

“I’m not sure how those two things are equivalent, but…”

She shushes him then, scooting closer to him so that she can press her lips to his. “Don’t overthink it, baby. You could hurt yourself.”

“You’re quite something.”

“Yes, I love it when they say that to me after a night of passionate lovemaking.”

“It’s only four thirty.”

She laughs softly, a warm breath pushing itself from her lungs and onto his face, his lips tingling in response to the heat of her presence beside him. He laughs, too, his hand brushing a rogue strand of hair away from her eyes. “Emma,” he whispers.

“Killian,” she whispers back, “I’m okay.”

He nods, because with her in his arms now, he knows. “I know.”

She kisses him one more time, then asks, “Now, what was it you always say to me? You’re only allowed to fuck me through your feelings if we talk about them afterwards?”

He sighs, nuzzling his nose against her own before it finds her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” she tells him, her exasperation clear in her voice. “I’m not mad, Killian. I just want you to know that it’s alright to feel angry about stuff that scares you.”

“When did you get so deep?”

“The ocean is pretty deep, right? And I almost got yeeted right into it.”

He wants to laugh, truly. He wants to make a joke about her idiotic, immature reference. But he can’t, for his fear of her actually going overboard takes over. And he doesn’t exactly know what the bloody hell that phrase even means. So he squeezes her tighter and shakes his head. “Hush,” he says, because he can say nothing else.

She whispers, “Killian,” and when he looks up at her, her eyes are deep and serious. “It’s no one’s fault. And nothing happened.”

He shakes his head. “Something very bad could have happened, love. If I ever lost you…”

“I know, I know,” she says, cutting him off with one more kiss. “And I know you’re mad at my dad, too, but it’s no one’s fault. That rope was there, and you cut it away.”

Truthfully, he’s almost surprised by her mention of her father. It’s true that he became too angry, too blameful of the man who could have prevented a disaster from taking place had he only listened. But Emma is okay, she’s fine, and David is probably just as worried as Killian was.

“I know,” he concedes.

“And I know you’re a little upset about him… I guess he’s been kind of doubting you, huh?”

He shrugs. She’s right, of course, but far be it for him to admit that he’s feeling this way. Why he can’t, he doesn’t know.

“It must get pretty tiring to have him always questioning you, especially since you're the captain. Your word goes, and all that.”

There’s no response, not without admitting that this is exactly the way he’s feeling, so he kisses her nose. She makes it easy, of course, and she’s completely right. He gave a command that wasn’t followed, and it could have cost him his life in the loss of her. “It’s just…” he starts, unsure if he’ll be able to finish.

“They’ve been doubting you all this time?”

With a sigh, he nods. How she manages to read his every thought, his every emotion, is lost on him. “We’ve been married quite a while.”

“Three years,” she confirms happily. “And we’re pretty content, aren't we?”

“Aye,” he laughs, pulling her close to him so that he can tuck her beneath his chin and press a kiss to the top of his head.

“They have this need, Killian,” she starts to explain. “They gave me up, and now they have me back. They have this need to protect me and take care of me so they don’t risk losing me again.”

“I know, I just--”

“And I’m sure it’s impossible to rectify how they could somehow not see you as the one thing that’s protected me more than anything. But they need to be the ones, I think.”

He shakes his head, unable to move past the point she’s trying to make as he asks, “So what, I can’t be the one to protect my wife?”

With a soft sigh, she suggests, “Maybe their doubts are rubbing off on you? Making you doubt yourself?”

“It’s not exactly difficult,” he says in spite before again trying to force away his irritation. Shaking his head, he says more softly, “I know that we’re perfect for one another, and that I can and will keep you safe above all else, but the constant distrust makes it difficult to believe that.”

Her fingers find the gray along his temple, scratching through it lightly in such loving gentleness. He’ll never tire of how much she loves his grays, his old age somehow feeling more manageable as her appreciation for it grows each day. She stays quiet, and he knows it’s because she knows he’s right. He’s said what he wants to say, and she agrees with him.

“You know,” she says, “you’ve known me as long as they have.”

“Aye, I know.”

“And you love me more.”

He clears his throat. “That can’t be true, love.”

“And yet, it is,” she laughs. “It’s okay, I like it. I’ve spent more time with you than I have them. I have more of a connection with you than I do with them, in a few ways,” she says with a chuckle, smirking and kissing him softly.

“Emma--”

“I spent my whole life craving a certain type of love from a certain type of person. I always thought it would be from the people who gave me up, but it turns out I was wrong. The person I was looking for was the person who would love me over everything. The one who would put me above everything. My parents did the right thing when they gave me away, but they still gave me away. You’ve never given up on me, Killian. All my life, I’ve been searching for this person, and I found you.”

All he can do is hope that the look in his eyes as he stares at her conveys the depth of what he’s feeling for her. She tells him things like this quite frequently, her comfort with him evident as she continues to open up. When they met, she was an open book, although the stories were written in another language. Now, nearly four years later, he’s fluent.

Finally, after much silence passes between them-- too much, considering her family is still just above them-- he sighs and fiddles with her hair once more. He’s said his piece now, able to get off his chest the anger and fear that he felt, but with Emma’s heartfelt confession, he feels a need to clarify some things.

“Your life as a child who was, well--”

“An orphan,” she tells him firmly.

“An orphan. It seems rather impossible. I just can’t imagine how hard that must have been, and how much strength it must have taken just to grow up.”

With a soft, sad smile, she nods. “Why do you think I don’t want kids?” she asks with a shrug.

His fingers dance along the soft skin of her temple, drawing trails down the side of her face and to the back of her neck before he pulls them together and kisses her lips gently. “It’s… It’s alright for that to be the reason, love,” he starts, hopeful that he can actually get his point across successfully. “But I just want you to know… I mean… you have a reason, but you certainly don’t need one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean not wanting a child is enough of a reason for you not to have one. I know you struggled growing up, and you fear you could subject a child to a similar fate, but you would also have the right to make this decision even if that wasn’t the case.”

She leans in close to him, their foreheads touching and her nose bumping his, and she whispers, “I know. And I know that if we had one, we would love it and everything but… we’re enough,” she shrugs.

“We are.”

“Are you sure?”

With a tender, lingering kiss to her lips, he whispers, “What we have is perfect. You and Ripple are all that I need. A baby would add to what we are together, but it’s not something that I need to feel fulfilled. It wouldn’t complete us because we’re already complete.”

She sighs softly and nods, kissing him again. “Okay, good. I agree.”

“I’m glad.” His hands cup her cheeks as gently as they can, all of the love he has for his wife washing through his palms and into her skin. “I love you more than anything,” he promises her.

“I love you more than everything.”

“Cheeky scoundrel, you are.”

“For you, babe.”

“When did you start calling me babe?”

She silences him with one more kiss, deep and passionate as their lips meld together and their tongues tangle briefly, before she pulls away from him with a salacious grin and stands up. “Come on,” she insists, holding out her hand. “My family is probably wondering what we’re up to down here.

He catches the small, genuine smile that graces her whole face, brightening her eyes as she says family.

~~~~

Dinner that evening is awkward. Despite having an unsuccessful day as far as fishing is concerned, they decided to call it a day and turn in early. The tension on the boat was too high, a conversation desperately necessary but not conducive to their environment. He needs to apologize to her father, he realizes, but he struggled to find the ability to do so while trying to captain his vessel.

When they got into the harbor and docked, they decided to go for dinner out rather than finding something to cook either on the boat or in her parents’ hotel room. The small local restaurant they came across just beside the harbor is quiet enough, the atmosphere relaxed and quaint, but it still feels too awkward to bring up his outburst of anger, no matter how justified it was.

Finally, after they'd each finished a glass of wine and gotten refills, he clears his throat. “Dave,” he says with little conviction. He scratches behind his ear, noting the way Emma’s left brow raises expectantly, and takes a swig from his glass. “I, uh, I’d like to discuss earlier.”

Her father clears his throat just the same as he had, pressing his lips together and earning a startlingly familiar look from his own wife. “So would I.”

Without making eye contact, he nods, trying to find the right words. “It’s come to my attention that I may have gotten a bit angry.”

David raises a brow, purses his lips as he stares down at the fish that KIllian can’t believe he has the ability to eat, and nods. “Me too.”

The silence that consumes their table is deafening, the restaurant suddenly seeming far too noisy against the stiffness between himself and David. Perhaps this will be enough, he thinks. Although, he’s proven wrong easily. Dropping her fork dramatically and rolling her eyes, Emma exclaims, “Are you both serious?”

“My thoughts exactly,” her mother agrees. “Do men not talk about their feelings, ever?”

“No,” Leo laughs.

Her mouth is agape as she stares between them, each of them looking to her as if hoping for guidance in how she wants them to move forward. “You’re both being idiots,” she accuses, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest as she shakes her head. “Just tell each other that you’re sorry, Jesus Christ. What are you, toddlers?”

“Sorry?!” her father exclaims in outrage. “What do I have to be sorry for? Your husband screamed at me!”

“Because you didn’t listen to an order and almost got her killed!”

“I think you’re forgetting that I know what I'm doing when I’m out there, Jones. You don’t need to have a power trip with me.”

“I think you’re forgetting, I’m the bloody captain.” He’s seething, leaning forward into the table and resting his elbows on the hard surface.

“Shut up!” Her voice is too loud for the quiet space, but truthfully, her words are necessary. “Dad, I know you were scared, and maybe you took that fear out on Killian. But he was scared, too, and he did the same thing. And Killian, I know you gave an order, but he didn’t hear you. So if both of you could chill out and stop blaming each other for something that didn’t even happen, that would be great.”

Killian stays quiet, his jaw tense and his teeth grinding together with too much force. She’s right, of course, they’re being childish. She had already tried to tell him that there’s no one to blame, and here he is blaming her father. It’s unnecessary, an excuse for him to ignore his fears a bit more. So he clears his throat again. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I was afraid I was going to lose her and I took it out on you.”

David takes in a deep breath and leans away from the table, the tension loosening slightly, and says, “I’m sorry, too. I did the same thing.”

In a moment of boldness, he says, “Although, it does feel like you’ve been doubting my ability to provide for her since we met, and it honestly feels like you aren’t in support of our marriage.”

He sees Emma squeeze her eyes shut, her hand cupping her forehead, but she makes no attempt to stop the exchange from taking place. Mary Margaret stiffens, so does Leo, and David takes a moment before even considering an answer.

“Killian,” her mother starts, placing her hand over his in an attempt at being comforting. It works, a bit. “Emma, are you feeling that way, too?

Though she’s clearly on the spot, Emma looks up from the table’s surface and shrugs. “I mean, yeah. I know you guys love us and support us, but he’s right. Sometimes it feels like you doubt we’ll make it.”

David sighs and shakes his head. “That’s never been our intention.”

“We both believe in each other, in our marriage, but to always have you in our ears about how Killian’s older, and his job is dangerous, and how I need stability… It feels like you don’t trust us to take care of ourselves or each other. And now Killian’s doubting himself and blaming himself for something that he shouldn’t be.”

She’s honest, almost too honest, and the tension is back.

David’s eyes seek the ceiling, his jaw tight before he says again, “It’s not our intention. I’m sorry that we’re making you both feel that way.”

Wiping at her eyes, Mary Margaret says, “Emma, honey, we just… we worry about you. We want to make sure that you’re getting everything you need and that you’re well taken care of, and we put pressure on Killian. I’m sorry.”

“I know that,” she answers in exhaustion, shaking her head. “I know you guys are putting pressure on yourselves, too, to make sure that I have a good life now that I'm here with you. But I do have a good life. I need you to trust that Killian and I have the best life I could possibly imagine.”

“We know,” Mary Margaret says softly, her head casting down.

“We don’t need different jobs, or a bigger house, or… or kids. We’re perfect just like this.”

There’s quiet across the table now, each of them seeming to settle and relax a bit with the truth out between them. It’s not like this isn’t something he and Emma have discussed-- they’ve talked at length several times about how her parents have a need to care for her. But having the words spoken aloud, having Emma ask them to tone it down, feels freeing.

“We’re sorry,” David finally says after a few moments of peace. “I’m sorry. I know I’m hard on you, Killian. I worry about my little girl too much, and it’s not fair for me to put that on you.”

It’s a big step. Truthfully, it almost takes Killian by surprise, considering the two of them couldn’t even look at each other a few moments ago. But now, David has acknowledged why he’s so upset, and he’s apologized for it. Her mother, too. Honestly, just them recognizing that this is the way they’ve been feeling is enough, even if they continue to doubt him.

“I don’t intend to let her down,” he finally says, earning a soft smile from her. “I-- Emma’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ll do anything I can to keep her safe. Always.”

She squeezes his hand and she bites her bottom lip, releasing it so that she can smile once more. “I love you,” she says softly for only him to hear. To her mother, she says, “I love him, okay? I’m fine; we’re fine. I promise.”

~~~~

The trip home has been a long one, her father constantly making jokes about how he’s driving that make him absolutely mad, although he knows them to be in jest. He taught Leo how to captain, showing him the ropes now that he’s used to the controls, so with only a few hours before they make port in Storybrooke, he’s able to meet his stunning, sundrenched wife on the deck of his beloved vessel. She tries to sunbathe, although it’s becoming colder and colder the further north they travel, so she’s wrapped in her blanket rather than lying atop it.

“Hey babe,” she smiles, tipping her sunglasses off of the bridge of her nose.

“Hi babe.”

The face she makes is priceless, her nose scrunching in disgust as she shakes her head. “No, don’t call me that. It’s all wrong.”

“And what shall I call you, if you can call me babe and I can’t?” he asks as he sits beside her and presses a kiss to her temple.

“You can call me… Darling, or my love, or the best thing that’s ever happened to me…”

“Those are my options?”

“Take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

His arms wrap around her easily, pulling her against him until she wriggles herself on top of him. They lie down, Killian on his back and his love resting across his chest, and he sighs happily. “Well, my love,” he starts, his fingers scratching against her scalp until she sighs and melts into him. “It seems to have been a successful season after all.”

“Just like I told you.”

“Aye.”

“You should listen to your wife, Jones.”

“I suppose you’re right, Swan.”

“It’s Jones, Jones,” she says softly, kissing his neck just above the hem of his sweater.

“My mistake, darling,” he almost whispers.

They’re quiet, so relaxed as they lie together, the swell of the ocean rocking them into a sense of serenity. Her breath is warm as it washes over his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as they travel north, back into the northeast winter. He pulls the blanket they share higher so that it covers her shoulders, and she hugs herself closer to him.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly after a while, her voice barely audible over the waves.

“Aye, are you? Are you cold?”

“No,” she shakes her head against his chest, “You're nice and toasty. But that’s not what I meant. I meant are you... okay?”

With a soft and understanding sigh, he nods. “Overall a successful season, my love, just like you’d predicted.”

“And you didn’t even gaff anyone,” she says with a grin he can hear through her voice.

“Well, no one messed up my boat.”

She laughs softly and squeezes her arms around him once more. “And you beat out those southern assholes.”

He chuckles and lets his fingers trail up her spine over his sweatshirt. He caught more than anyone else, earning more money and respect, along with a target on his back for next year. If he comes back, he’ll have to be careful to ensure that he succeeds once again.

“I’m glad we… I mean, we got a lot out in the open. Things feel simpler now.”

She nods and kisses the small patch of hair that peeks out from beneath his sweater. “I know, I feel it too. It’s like things have finally settled down, ya know?”

“Aye. Like we don’t have anything to worry about now.”

“Yeah.”

More time passes and the gentle hum of the motor lulls them as they skip over wave after wave.

“I love you,” he says softly, cutting through the comfortable silence lying between them. If he could whisper and she’d hear him, he would.

“I love you, too, babe. More than anything.”

He moves his hand from her back to the side of her face, the side that’s exposed to the chilled air rather than tucked against his chest. He lets his fingers trace gentle patterns along her temple until she presses up to look at him, her eyes fluttering shut as he cups her cheek. “God, how I love you, best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers.

She giggles and leans in, fusing her lips to his, their kiss pure and longing as she deepens it. She lets her hands cradle his head and hold him to her, her tongue sliding out of her own mouth and along the line of his bottom lip before she nips at it. With his hands beneath the blanket that conceals them from the wind and the sea spray, he squeezes her ass and pulls her hips down onto his, drawing a needy moan from the back of her throat.

She breaks away from him for just a second, taking in a deep breath without opening her eyes before she leans in again and meets him once more. With a whimper as he bucks his hips up into hers, he lets his hand begin to wander beneath the thick fabric covering her curves.

Her family is here, far too close for comfort, but even so, he thinks he would risk terminal embarrassment in favor of being with her if not for the rude interruption. They hear their angel, their Ripple, barking loudly from the rear deck, Leo unable to console her as she argues with the dolphins that greet her from beneath the water. Eventually, he calls for his sister for support, hopeful that Emma’s presence will calm the beast so that she doesn’t leap overboard.

Emma groans, breaking away from him and dropping her forehead against his in frustration. “Dammit,” she whispers. “I totally would have fucked you, too.”

He snorts, shaking his head and kissing her once more, and says, “I’m sure that’s true. I suppose we’ll just have to wait until we get home.”

She smiles softly as she presses another kiss to his mouth and says, “Know what’s funny?” When he hums in question, she continues, “We’ve been married for three years, but it still feels like we’re in our newlywed phase.”

He smirks, slapping her ass one more time as she moves to get off of him, and says, “I think we should stay in it.”

“Agreed.”

Apparently, their agreement is binding. He never does lose the absolutely need-driven desire to make love to his wife any chance he gets, no matter what they should be doing instead. No matter the things that could come between them, he loves her, and he’ll never tire of showing her any chance he gets. It’s enough, they’ve both realized. They're perfect.

The End

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nugnthopkns · 4 years ago

Text

it all pours out after dark

word count: 5.8k

warnings: insinuated!fem reader, cursing, mentions of alcohol (but no consumption), expressions of self doubt

recommended listening: the knife | maggie rogers

series masterpost: here

a/n: first installment of hiiapl!! very excited about what’s to come. here is some bffs/roommates to lovers with petey :))

Elias’s friendship was a welcome surprise.

You hadn’t expected much when you met the Swede – after all, you were serving at the annual Canucks charity gala and he was the rookie poised to win the Calder trophy. There were a million other things you would have rather done than spend a Saturday evening walking around in sky high stilettos and passing out flutes of champagne, but the catering company paid generously, and you needed to come up with the funds for your next tuition installment. Vancouver may be beautiful, but it’s incredibly expensive.

So you spent the night with a kilowatt smile plastered on your face, staying silent in the background and making sure no one’s glasses were ever empty. You were barely legal to handle alcohol, freshly nineteen and waiting for an opportunity to experience the city’s nightlife for yourself. There was no way you should be regulating the alcohol consumption of adults but you were doing it anyways. The tips were very generous, more than you should have probably been receiving, but you accepted them with a smile because the athletes making millions could certainly afford it.

No one paid you any attention, but you didn’t mind. The night was beginning to wear on you and the event didn’t plan on stopping for another couple of hours. You debated on what to do with your tray while you tried to work out the knots that were forming in feet from standing for so long.

“Let me hold that for you,” a gentle voice sounded from behind you.

When you turned around you were face to face with Elias Pettersson. “That won’t be necessary,” you stated, tone kind but firm. If your supervisor caught you, you would have been fired immediately.

He didn’t take no for an answer. “Please,” he urged, thick accent ringing out in the space between you. “Your feet are going to cramp. Take your shoes off for two minutes.” The English was broken, but you appreciated the sentiment. He really wanted to help.

After a little more insisting from the blonde you agreed, and he diligently stood watch to ensure you wouldn’t get in trouble. It was a relief to be out of the torturous constraint of your shoes for a few moments, and you thanked him profusely.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, a small smile on his face. Shouting erupted from some other players then, looking for him.

“You better get back before they miss you too much.” You nodded in the direction of the voices, to which he begrudgingly agreed. Elias handed you back the tray of champagne flutes before taking one for himself.

He was about to fade into the crowd when he turned to face you again. “I never caught your name,” he stated.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Elias.”

With that he disappeared into the throng of people. You never expected to hear from him again, chalking it up to a kind interaction with a stranger, but a day later he had messaged you on Instagram after searching through the countless profiles that shared your name and were located in the general Vancouver area. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, and you became fast friends.

☼☼☼☼

That first meeting was nearly four years ago, and countless memories had been made since then. You treasure your friendship with Elias, and truthfully it’s the one you hold closest to your heart. This could be because over the years you’ve developed a small crush on the lanky blonde, but it’s a secret you’ll take to the grave. No one knows of your true feelings for Elias, and no one ever will.

“E? I’m home,” you shout into the quiet apartment, wondering if he’s home from morning skate yet.

After you completed your undergraduate degree and your lease ended, Elias insisted you move into his spare bedroom. The offer was too tempting to resist – you got to live with your best friend and continue your education in a city you adore. Moving your stuff had been a bit of a pain, but your life fit seamlessly into Elias’s. The two of you worked well as roommates, and over the past few months the space began to reflect not just Elias, but you as well. Hair ties were randomly thrown on counters and the bookshelves began to fill.

You’re setting the few groceries you picked up from the local market on the counter when he comes down the hall.

“Hi sunshine,” Elias says softly, voice riddled with sleep. He must have returned home earlier than you thought and had a quick nap.

You smile at the nickname. Elias had gifted it to you early in your friendship when you were in a terrible mood. He had meant it sarcastically at first, but it stuck. Now he hardly calls you by your name.

“How was practice?”

“Really tough,” he admits, moving behind you to place the apples in the fridge. “Coach is being hard on us because we aren’t performing well.”

You frown but hold your tongue. Your degree in sports psychology tells you that isn’t the way to improve players’ morale, but Elias doesn’t like it when you lecture him on what the Canucks staff are doing wrong. He knows things aren’t perfect within the organization and hopes desperately the situation will improve when they start winning again.

The two of you put the rest of the food away in comfortable silence and then unwind by watching numerous episodes of House. You had recently decided to give the medical drama a rewatch, and Elias’s interest was piqued by the snarky physician who always saves the day. It’s become your favourite way to relax and it seems that both of you need it today.

“How does Wilson do it?”

You’re perplexed. “Do what?”

“Put up with House,” Elias sighs. “He’s an asshole.”

Laughter tumbles from your lips. “The same way I deal with you, grumpy.”

“No,” he scoffs, tossing a pillow in your general direction. “You’re House and I’m Wilson, sunshine. Being an asshole is how you got that nickname in the first place.”

You couldn’t argue with Elias’s point – he was right. Between the two of you, you’re the one most likely to be snarky with your anger and he’s more likely to shut himself off from the rest of the world. “Fuck off,” you giggle.

When Elias crawls on top of you and drops his weight you don’t flinch. You’ve become accustomed to his casual yet spontaneous displays of physical touch, and by now the two of you can frequently be found with your limbs tangled together.

The rest of your afternoon passes in the blink of an eye. You fall asleep a few episodes in, and you assume Elias did as well because when you wake up his body is still pressed against yours. Once your eyes adjust to being awake, you notice it’s well into the evening. Your stomach rumbles and you decide you have to get up.

“E,” you say softly, not wanting to completely disrupt his rest. The season is off to a rougher start than everyone hoped for, and he hasn’t been sleeping well.

There’s no response from the boy on top of you so you try again, voice a decibel or two louder. “Elias, please let me up. I’ve gotta start dinner.”

“Mhmm,” Elias murmurs, not opening his eyes. “Or you could just stay here. You’re so warm.”

You roll your eyes. “Dude, we’ve got to eat. Come on.”

He doesn’t move. In fact, he presses more weight on you, effectively trapping you on the couch. “We can just order food in a bit,” Elias suggests. “Please just stay and nap a bit longer.”

That’s all it takes to convince you, and you let your eyes flutter shut again. In the comfort of your best friend sleep comes easy, and neither of you move far from the couch for the rest of the night.

The next few days are incredibly busy, and you don’t see Elias much. School is heating up and you’re struggling to stay afloat. In an effort to get the team to put up a few wins, the Canucks organization is holding extra practices and development workshops in between games, so Elias is barely home. When he is he’s exhausted and spends most of his free time in his room, chatting with friends at home or playing video games.

You do your best to not let the distance bother you, but not being able to have a conversation that lasts more than fifteen minutes before one of you is running out the door is wearing you down. You miss your best friend.

Elias is set to go out with some of the younger guys on the team this evening, and though he invited you, you’re in a graduate student society meeting until well after they’re supposed to be leaving. He deserves the time to unwind, but a part of you is jealous he actually gets it. Both of you have been running around like chickens with your heads cut off and it seems like Elias can finally slow down. You on the other hand cannot.

Approximately twelve million things go wrong throughout the course of the day. First, you left your lunch and wallet at home, leaving you unable to eat. Then your advisor was late to your meeting and insisted it was your fault. To top everything off, the graduate student society dismissed your proposal for more funding into public outreach programs. You really, really wanted to be at home.

The door to the apartment is unlocked upon your arrival home, which you find strange. Elias isn’t one to forget to lock it on his way out the door. Brock was terrible about remembering that sort of thing, so you assume he was the last one out. You open it with a sigh and kick off your sneakers. It has been a long day, and you’re looking forward to opening the bottle of wine you picked up with groceries last week.

It doesn’t dawn on you that Elias’s shoes are still by the door or that the living room light is on. You’re so preoccupied with getting comfortable you don’t realize you aren’t alone until you hear a voice from down the hall.

“Rough day sunshine?”

Elias is standing at the end of the hallway, staring at you intently. It’s as if he can sense the tension rolling off your shoulders.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I thought you were going out with the guys?”

He just shrugs. “Didn’t really feel like it. Besides, I knew you were having an off day because you didn’t text me on your lunch break so I wanted to be here for you.”

You nearly tear up from his words. Elias is a lot of things, and kindhearted is certainly one of them. “Go have a shower,” he insists, “And I’ll start dinner.”

“Thanks E.”

A hand comes up to ruffle your hair on his way by. “Don’t mention it.”

The two of you spend the night tucked against each other, eating pasta and telling stories. You never make it to the fridge to get that bottle of wine, but you don’t mind because during your shower Elias made hot chocolate for you both. Conversation flows into the early morning, and by the time you head to bed you can’t remember why you were upset in the first place.

☼☼☼☼

The season drags on. The Canucks still aren’t playing well, and it’s beginning to wear on Elias. He’s spending more time in his room, reviewing tape and tweaking his workout regime to achieve maximum results. You worry he’s beginning to isolate himself and that it won’t be good for his mental health.

“Do you want to go hiking tomorrow?” you ask him at dinner. The team has a rare day off, and the coaching staff want them to decompress before leaving on a long road trip.

Elias shrugs, not looking up at you as he continues to cut his vegetables. “Not really sunshine. I have some clips I need to watch.”

You sigh loud enough to make him feel bad, and his eyes meet yours. “E, you need a break. Let’s go to that trail you like and just relax for a while. I’ll pack a lunch and we can just go slow.”

Whether or not he’s just appeasing you or genuinely wants to go you aren’t sure, but Elias agrees. He places a hand on your shoulder in silent thanks before loading his plate into the dishwasher and retreating to his bedroom. You take it as a victory, however small, and are glad he didn’t completely shut down the idea. The rest of the night is quiet, with you finishing a book and falling asleep on the couch.

Neither of you are quick to rise in the morning but it doesn’t matter. There’s no timeline for your upcoming adventure so long as you’re back before dark. You make it to the kitchen before Elias and take it upon yourself to make breakfast for the two of you. It’s nothing fancy, just oatmeal, but your best friend appreciates it when he finally makes an appearance. Elias looks like he slept for a maximum of three hours, and you have half a mind to tell him you’ll take a rain cheque, but you know he needs a change of pace.

The two of you chat idly throughout the meal but it isn’t tense or awkward. Neither of you are completely awake, and both like time to reflect in the morning. It’s nearly an hour later when you meet Elias at the door. You grab your keys, much to his surprise.

“What?” you shrug.

Elias cocks a brow in your direction. “You hate driving on the highway.”

He’s right – you have no issues navigating the traffic riddled streets of Vancouver, but as soon as you get out of the city and onto the freeway you freeze up.

“Gotta get over my fear at some point. Come on superstar.”

There’s no complaint from Elias, and you suspect he’s secretly relieved. Driving isn’t his strong suit either but you know he does it so you don’t have to. The ride is quiet, and once you hit the city limits the car feels lighter, as though Elias left all his stress behind. Some lo-fi playlist trickles through the speakers as you get closer to your destination. It isn’t your kind of music, or Elias’s for that matter, and you’re pretty sure Brock gave him the link. The parking lot is empty when you arrive, and you back into a spot with ease.

Usually Elias would comment on your driving quirk, teasing you because ‘no one under the age of sixty-five backs into a parking space’, but he’s quiet. You wonder if he even noticed. Nerves about the possibility of a far-away look in Elias’s eyes subside when he scrambles to get out of the car.

“First one to the top wins,” he shouts, metres ahead of you as you double check to make sure the car is locked. You let out a full laugh but don’t try to catch up – he’s going to win anyway so you might as well enjoy yourself.

The hike does wonder for Elias. Just being outside, in the fresh air that doesn’t hold any expectation of who he should be, is enough to lighten his mood considerably. You trail behind him the entire time, allowing yourself to marvel at his beauty from afar. The longer you live with Elias, the harder it’s becoming to mask your feelings. A couple of times he pauses to wait for you to catch up, and once at the top of the small summit he lifts you into the air in triumph.

“Alright E, put me down,” you giggle, squirming out of his grip. He obliges and places you back onto the rocky surface as though his previous act was the easiest thing in the world.

The two of you marvel at the view from the top of the mountain for a bit longer before making the trek back down to the car. Halfway down the trail you fall behind significantly, exhausted from not only hiking up a mountain, but worrying about Elias and stressing over some school deadlines that are rapidly approaching. Elias slows his steps so you can catch up, and insists you jump up to piggy-back the rest of the way. You try to protest but he isn’t having it. Eventually you give in and doze off with your face tucked into the crook of his neck.

You let Elias drive home, too worn out to think about the traffic you’ll inevitably hit. When you get home you allow him to tuck you into bed, and don’t tease him when presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

The road trip both flies by and drags on. At home, you're busy with school, work, and taking care of Brock’s dogs. Coolie and Milo have become a welcome responsibility, and truthfully you love having them around. They make the absence of Elias less apparent. Each night you curl up on the couch, a dog on either side, and watch the game intently. The Canucks seem to be on the up, winning the first three games with ease. It’s like something has clicked between them and on-ice communication is no longer a problem. However, that changes quickly, and they lose the entire back half of the trip.

You do your best to comfort Elias from afar – sending him periodic text messages of encouragement, random memes you find on instagram, and calling after every game. The streak of misfortune is getting to him, and it’s beginning to affect his play. He adds only one point the entire trip, an assist that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things since they were blown out of the water. When you talk to him it’s easy to hear how upset he is, and you imagine he’s hearing a lot worse than what you’re telling him from the coaching staff. It makes your blood boil – how they’re treating him – but you’re helpless. Nothing you can say will undo the potential damage.

The Canucks get back late, and you’re tucked into bed with the dogs, nearly asleep. You’ll return Brock’ pets in the morning. If you hadn’t had a disastrous meeting with your advisor you would’ve met them at the airport, seeing as it’s Friday and you often don’t go to bed until well into the morning, but your body is thoroughly exhausted.

You don’t hear the door open and are only alerted to a new presence because the dogs perk their ears. Footsteps echo through the silent apartment, and you think you can hear Elias grumbling in Swedish. He makes no attempt to find you so you assume he thinks you’re sleeping. You should be. Up until three minutes ago you were on the verge of sleep, but now you wait with baited breath to see if you can hear any indicators to Elias’s mood.

A door closes and seconds later the shower turns on, so you assume he’s feeling alright. Most certainly not great, but well enough to maintain his normal routine. You don’t try to move, knowing you’ll talk to him in the morning, and finally allow yourself to commit to sleep. There’s a few minutes of bliss where you’re almost unconscious, but your slumber is disrupted by a quiet knock at your door.

“Sunshine?”

Elias’s voice sounds like a different type of exhaustion that you’ve never heard, and you know right then that you won’t deny him entry to your room.

“I’m awake E,” you mumble, praying he can hear you because you spoke so softly. The door creaks open and you can just make out his facial features in the dark.

Standing tentatively in the doorway, Elias looks at you with tear-rimmed eyes. “Y/N, I think I’m going to get benched.”

☼☼☼☼

His suspicions were, unfortunately, right. The decision to bench Elias had apparently been made on the plane ride home, but he wasn’t informed until the team meeting after practice the next morning. You knew something bad had happened because when he came home there was no conversation. He slipped through the door like a ghost and disappeared into his room. You knew better than to go after him right away – Elias is the type of person who needs to process his emotions alone before sharing them with others.

You busy yourself with editing the chunk of your thesis proposal that has occupied your brain for the past few weeks. It’s getting closer to the end of your first year of graduate school, and you need to get approval for your topic soon. You hope to research the effects of locker room speech on athletes’ mental health. The focus group will be the Vancouver Whitecaps, and you’re excited to work with them. Your advisor has some personal connections and pulled a few strings to get you the gig and you’re extremely thankful.

An hour or two passes before Elias pads his way into the main living area. Wordlessly he flops onto the couch and holds his arms up in the air. You can read Elias like a book – you know he wants you to stop working and lie on top of him. The action brings him comfort, which he desperately needs in this moment, so you don’t have an issue with it. On your way over you grab a banana from the fruit bowl and offer it to him. He takes it, but sets it gently on the coffee table.

Once you’re settled, Elias wraps his arms around your body, holding you to him like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers otherwise. You absentmindedly trace patterns on his forearms for a while, letting the silence soothe him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

It’s a shot in the dark, you know, but you try anyway. Elias doesn’t answer, instead asking you what you did while he was gone. You indulge him, knowing it’s the only way to take his mind off the heartache, and narrate the menial chores you did in painstaking detail. It seems to help, and eventually Elias brings his own anecdotes into the conversation, telling you something dumb Brock had whispered in his ear at practice.

Eventually Elias has to get ready to go to the rink. Though he isn’t playing he’s expected to be there, dressed sharply and watching from the press box. You help him as best you can – ironing his favourite tie and filling his lucky mug with just the right amount of coffee.

He gives you a short hug in thanks before bending down to tie his dress shoes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” you ask. “I can easily get a press pass and we could sit together.”

Elias shakes his head. “You have work to get done. I’ll be fine sunshine,” he says, doing his best to convince himself along with you that everything will be alright.

You watch him open the door and gingerly blow him a kiss as he turns to wave goodbye. It’s a silly ritual the two of you started a few years ago, before you’d moved in with Elias. He insisted you spend time with him before each home game, which meant you wound up cooking dinner and making sure he drank enough water. To annoy him you started blowing him kisses as he left, and the tradition continued once his place became yours. Elias catches it with his left hand and blows one back.

Not much work gets done while Elias is gone. You’re too worried about him to focus on your proposal and end up with your eyes glued to the television as you watch the game. The Canucks desperately need a win, something you hope they can get so your best friend can be put back into the lineup. Your eyes zero on Elias every time the camera pans to him sitting in the rafters, and your heart breaks each time you see the defeated look in his eyes. It seems to have worsened since he left home.

The game does not go well for the Canucks. It’s as if the team isn’t communicating with one another on the ice, and a lot of passes don’t connect. Shots aren’t on goal either – you know Elias is fuming from within the press box. He feels responsible for the team’s deterioration even though he isn’t playing. You watch the rest of the game with furrowed brows and think of ways you could support Elias.

After sharing a space with him for almost an entire trip around the sun, you know Elias doesn’t like ‘grand’ gestures. He’ll hate if you draw him a bath, and besides, that’s not something roommates or best friends do for each other. That’s strictly reserved for romantic partners – something you’re sure you will never be to Elias. Ordering food is out of the question because he refuses to eat after nine-thirty, and sure it’ll be past ten before he walks through the door. You settle on warming up his favourite blanket in the dryer and making the both of you a cup of tea. If he wants to take them into his room to spend time alone and decompress that will be okay with you.

Your phone chimes from its resting place on the kitchen counter. Wondering if it’s a friend wanting an explanation to Elias’s absence from the game, you grumble on your way to the device. The notification is from Elias himself, and you open it with baited breath. You know he’s devastated and pray he’s only letting you know he’s on his way home, not sharing bad news.

Heading out now. Probably going to get stuck in traffic, got any sad song recommendations?

The message makes your heart break, but you respond with a playlist link that features your favourite songs to cry to. A short message is tacked on to the end to let him know you’re always ready to support him.

Hopefully this fits the mood. I’m here for you.

Elias’s response fills you with a small bit of hope.

I know.

You set your plan into motion, and finish pouring the boiling tea into your favourite mugs as the door opens.

“Hey,” you say tentatively, not sure what Elias’s mood will be like now that he doesn’t have to have his guard up. “I made you a cup of tea and there’s a blanket in the dryer that should still be pretty warm.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles, but it doesn’t make his words any less sincere. You can tell Elias is drained in every sense of the word by looking at him, and you decide you aren’t going to push him to talk tonight. The communication can come a bit later.

The blonde trudges down the hallway to the small room where you keep the laundry and reappears moments later wrapped in the plush navy blanket you had prepared for him. Elias doesn’t even bother to change, too exhausted to get out of his suit. You blow some of the steam away from his mug before picking it up and padding over to where he’s sitting on the couch. Elias takes the mug gratefully, and tries to smile at you in thanks. It comes out more like a grimace.

It’s silent as the two of you sit side by side, staring out the large window at Vancouver’s skyline. The absence of noise isn’t as unsettling as you feared but it still puts you on edge. You can tell Elias’s emotions are beginning to boil over, and you aren’t sure what to do about it.

“It’s my fault,” he says, voice small and fragile.

When you turn your head to see him, you’re met with two ice blue eyes brimming with tears. Your heart breaks for what feels like the hundredth time that night. “Elias, listen to me,” you urge, grasping his hands in yours. “The game wasn’t your fault. You not being on the ice did not cause the team to lose.”

Elias scoffs and rolls his eyes. For a split-second, hurt seeps into your bones, but you dispel it because you know he’s upset and didn’t mean to be so abrasive.

“Not the game!” he shouts, anger clearly winning the mental battle of what emotion to present. “The entire fucking season. We’ve played like shit all year and it’s my fucking fault.”

“Elias,” you say as calmly as possible, knowing it’s important for one of you to be rational. “You’ve consistently put up points all season, and you’re only going through a short dry spell. You pick up the slack where needed and try your hardest to succeed. You’re a damn good teammate and the best hockey player I know. Please don’t be so hard on yourself.”

It’s then he breaks, collapsing into your wide open arms and sobbing. You hold him close to your chest, afraid that if you let him go he’ll disappear in front of your eyes. The sounds of his ragged breathing and your gentle encouragement bounce off the walls until all you can focus on is his heart rate returning to something in the ballpark of normal. Elias cries for an unknown amount of time and you don’t even bother to calculate it. He needed to let everything go – hopefully he can now turn the page on the past couple of months.

When he seems like he’ll respond again, you speak. “I know they put a lot of pressure on you, and I know that you’re a professional athlete, but what they’re doing to you isn’t right. E, you don’t deserve to feel like this, regardless of how you’re playing or where the team is in the standings.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” Elias hiccups. “Everything has become a lot lately, and it keeps piling up. It’s affecting my play, and I just want the team to be successful. I want to be successful.”

You wrap your arms around him tighter and card your hands through his hair. “You are successful, and don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise. I’m always available to talk, but if you’d like I can book you an appointment at the clinic and you can talk to someone who’s actually qualified.”

“You’re so close to being fully qualified,” he encourages, always wanting to make sure you matter too. “But that would be really nice. Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

That phrase had first confused Elias when you first directed it towards him, but he now understands it’s your way of saying ‘Of course. I’d do anything for you’. You rarely use the phrase with anyone else, and it makes him feel special inside.

Eventually you untangle your limbs from Elias’s, getting up to refill your mugs and insisting he change into clothing that’s more comfortable. He’s gone a lot longer from the couch than you are, and you begin to worry he won’t be reappearing. The creaking of a hinge wrangles you free from your thoughts. Elias pads back into the living room, dressed in a pair of ridiculously patterned pyjamas you had bought him two Christmases ago.

“Hey,” he practically whispers. “Can I tell you something?”

You do your best to keep the alarm you feel from appearing on your face. After the conversation you just had, his mind could be going in a million different directions. “Always,” you reply, volume matching his.

“If it weren’t for you, I don’t know if I’d still be playing hockey.” You make a sound of protest, but Elias doesn’t let you form it into a thought. “I’m dead serious. The night we met? I was a wreck. Sure, I was in the middle of a rookie season most players dream of, but I was so miserable. I cried every night on the way home from the rink and felt completely alone. You were the first person in Vancouver that didn’t expect anything of me, that still doesn’t. I’m so fucking thankful for you. I love you.”

Tears flow freely from your eyes and you raise the sleeve of your sweater to wipe them away. Elias isn’t one for heartfelt confessions – that’s much more your style. He shows his appreciation through random acts of kindness, so you deeply treasure his words.

“I love you too E.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand,” he insists. “I really love you. I don’t mean it platonically, and I never have.”

You’re sufficiently shocked. “Don’t say something you don’t mean,” you mumble, pushing off the couch to go hide in your room.

It’s Elias’s turn to grab your hand. His grip is gentle but still firm enough to let you know he isn’t going to drop the conversation.

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?”

“Because,” you sigh, “You’re Elias fucking Pettersson. You’re the star centre of an NHL team and there’s a million other people better suited for you than me! Sure, I might be head over heels for you but we aren’t on the same level. I’m your best friend E, and that’s okay. I can live with that. What I can’t live with is you letting emotion get the better of you and confessing something that isn’t true. You’re grateful for my support, and I think we should just leave it at that.”

He shakes his head fervently. “This isn’t a spur of the moment decision Y/N,” Elias says. “I’ve been debating telling you for months, but the season kind of derailed my plans and got in the way. I love you.”

Before you can process the gravity of his words, Elias is pressing his lips to yours in an effort to show just how sincere he is. You falter for a split-second, shocked that this isn’t a dream – your best friend, who you’ve had a crush on for years, is in love with you and you’re in the process of kissing him – but you recover quickly. Kissing Elias feels like a long awaited homecoming. It’s as though you’ve found true peace, and nothing will ever be as good as your lips connecting. You lose yourself in him quite easily, and only focus to your surroundings when he pulls away to look in your eyes.

“So,” Elias sheepishly tucks a misplaced strand of hair behind your ear. “Think I could take you out, like on an actual date?”

You beam at him, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to his lips. “That can most certainly be arranged.”

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

#god i want to be petey's roommate turned lover so bad #elias pettersson imagine #elias pettersson x reader #elias pettersson fic #vancouver canucks imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #cwrites #hiiapl

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blueascend · 4 years ago

Text

Omura Aimi had been working at Toyokawa for roughly four days when she realized that their ace salesman, Kurosawa, had a boyfriend.

To be fair, she had been on the lookout for particular signs. Omura hadn’t been able to be out at her last job and she’d been hoping that Toyokawa would be different. She’d done her best to befriend everyone, keeping her ear out for office gossip, getting the lay of the land.

The first time she saw Kurosawa with his boyfriend, she breathed a sigh of relief. Surely, if the most popular man in the office could be himself so openly, Omura wouldn’t have any issues.

Unfortunately, it soon became apparent to her that most of their coworkers weren’t aware of Kurosawa’s relationship status. Everyone seemed to believe he was single and straight.

How? Didn’t they have functioning eyes?

It became a slight obsession for Omura over the next week, watching Kurosawa blatantly flirt with his boyfriend without anyone noticing. They even had matching red pens they kept waving at each other like the least secret signal in the world!

Then one day, someone caught her staring.

“You have a crush on Kurosawa?” her coworker, Nakamura asked. She laughed, not unkindly. “Better get in line, then.”

“Huh?” Omura furrowed her brow. Kurosawa was now fixing his boyfriend’s tie, standing way too close to him to do so. “No, not really.”

“No?” That was Chino, her voice bright and shocked. “But just look at him.”

Omura looked at her coworkers, a knot forming in her stomach as she saw their confused expressions. Uh oh. She wasn’t ready for that kind of suspicion, not when she had no idea how they would react.

“He’s not my type?” she tried. When they kept staring, she added, “I, uh, like someone else?”

Nakamura and Chino glanced at each other. “Don’t tell me,” Nakamura said. “It wasn’t Kurosawa you were looking at, was it?”

“You like Adachi!” Chino concluded.

Omura swallowed. Adachi. Right, that was the name Kurosawa’s boyfriend wasn’t it?

Well, if it would throw them off her trail. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Both women giggled.

“He is cute, I guess,” Chino said. “And much more attainable than Kurosawa.”

Nakamura clapped her hands. “We need to get you two together! An office romance, this is so exciting!”

They were gone before Omura could object, whispering between themselves. Omura groaned. That could’ve gone better.

Someone tapped her shoulder and Omura turned around to see Fujisaki. They didn’t know each other that well, as Omura had spent most of her time with the other women in her department, but she’d heard nothing but kind things about her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be nosy but I overheard you. Just so you’re not disappointed, I think Adachi is actually seeing someone.”

‘I think he’s seeing someone’ she said, but the glimmer in her eye very clearly stated ‘I know he is’. Had Omura misread the situation, was she actually Adachi’s girlfriend?

But no, then she would have said as much. She didn’t seem jealous or territorial either, only genuinely concerned that Omura might be in for a disappointment. How much did she know?

Deciding to test the water, Omura carefully admitted, “To be honest, I didn’t even know his name. It’s just easier to say you like someone when people are asking. I’m new here, I wanted to fit in.”

“Ah.” Fujisaki’s gaze turned curious. She looked at Omura for a few moments and Omura wasn’t sure what conclusion she reached, but she finally offered a kind smile. “I see. In that case, I’m glad I don’t have to worry.”

Omura smiled back. Maybe it was too soon to tell but she felt like she had an ally in Fujisaki.

“Omura, you are going to love this!”

Omura looked up from her laptop, seeing Nakamura and Chino approach her. “What?”

“We’ve just arranged for a group of us to go for drinks after work,” Nakamura said. “And we got Adachi to join! This will be the perfect chance for you two to spend time together.”

Omura’s stomach sank. “You - you did?”

“Don’t be nervous,” Chino said, misreading her expression. She reached over the desk, putting her hand on Omura’s shoulder. “We’ll be right there with you if you need help.”

Nakamura nodded, shooting Omura a finger gun. “You got this.”

“I got this,” Omura echoed faintly.

There were eight of them at the bar later that night; Omura, Chino and Nakamura, as well as Fujisaki, Adachi, Kurosawa, and two male coworkers Omura hadn’t learned the names of yet.

Chino and Nakamura, in full matchmaker-mode, managed to arrange the seating so that Omura and Adachi sat together at one end of the table, with Kurosawa and the rest of the women on the other.

Omura glanced at poor Adachi, who looked supremely uncomfortable to be there. Even if he didn’t know about Omura’s supposed crush on him, he didn’t seem like the type to enjoy these kinds of gatherings. Omura was sure he’d much rather be at home, unwinding with his boyfriend after work.

Sorry Adachi, she told him in her mind. She frowned, considering. But at least now I can try to find out if I’m really right about your relationship with Kurosawa.

“Have I introduced myself to you yet?” she asked him.

Even that polite question was enough to startle him. “What? Ah, I don’t think so.”

She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile and nodded. “I’m Omura Aimi, I started working at Toyokawa recently.”

“Adachi Kiyoshi.” Adachi nodded back. “Do you - do you enjoy your work?”

“Very much.” Omura looked over at her friends, who both gave her not-so-subtle thumbs up. “It’s a nice atmosphere, much more friendly than my old workplace.”

“I see.”

An awkward silence descended between them. Omura had a sip of beer as she wondered what to say next. She had no idea how to casually broach a topic like hey, are you gay like me? Adachi mirrored her, grimacing slightly as he drank.

This really wasn’t his scene, huh?

“What do you like to do outside of work?” Omura finally asked.

“I, ah,” Adachi fumbled as he placed his glass down, spilling a few drops of beer. “The usual things, I suppose. I like reading, drawing, playing on the Switch.”

“Yeah? I like video games too, I just started a new save file in Stardew Valley.”

Adachi perked up. “I’ve also been playing that. I got Kurosawa to join me in multiplayer but it’s been going kind of slow. He can’t master the fishing mini game and it’s been frustrating him. He’s not used to being bad at stuff.”

Omura giggled. “I can picture that. I love the multiplayer too, especially since I can use it to get married to-” my girlfriend, she barely stopped herself from saying. She cleared her throat, smiling awkwardly. “Anyway, it’s a lot of fun.”

“Mhm,” Adachi agreed.

Another awkward silence commenced. Omura looked to her friends again but they were busy talking amongst themselves. Fujisaki met her eyes and smiled. Next to her sat Kurosawa and he was glancing between Omura and Adachi, frowning unhappily.

Maybe Omura was reading too much into it but he looked almost... jealous?

She turned back to Adachi, the desire to confirm her suspicions growing stronger than ever. Screw subtlety, what she needed was privacy.

“Adachi?” she asked. “Do you mind if we talk alone?”

Adachi stiffened, eyes widening in panic. “Eh?”

Omura stood up. “It will only take a moment.”

Reluctantly, Adachi got up as well and followed her. As they walked away, Omura could hear her friends talking, the alcohol likely making them a little too carefree and loud:

“-so bold! But I guess with a guy like Adachi, the woman has to take charge.”

“Do you think she’s going to confess already?”

Their voices faded away as they turned a corner. Omura lead Adachi to the balcony connected to the bar. It was thankfully empty and as Omura slid the doors shut behind them, they had perfect privacy.

“What did you want to talk about?” Adachi asked, clearly dreading the answer.

Omura bit her lip. How to word this? “You... we...” she rubbed her hands together, finally settling on, “I think we might have some things in common. Besides video games.”

“Like- like what?”

Omura opened her mouth to answer but before she could, the doors to the balcony were shoved open. Kurosawa stood in the doorway, looking as much a mess as Omura had ever seen - that is, still very put together, but hair slightly ruffled and cheeks pink from either the alcohol or the warmth inside the bar.

“Don’t!” he cried and this was it, as blatant a sign as Omura was ever going to get.

“Relax, Kurosawa,” she said. “I’m not going to confess to your boyfriend.”

Kurosawa blinked. “You’re not? But they just said-” he stopped himself short, clearly realizing what he’d just admitted. “I mean-”

“He’s not my type,” Omura cut in before he could panic too much. “Besides, I doubt my girlfriend would approve.”

Both Kurosawa and Adachi stared at her. For a second, Omura feared she’d really misunderstood them after all, but then Kurosawa slumped against the door in relief.

“I see,” he laughed.

Adachi looked relieved as well. “So that’s what you meant by ‘things in common’, huh?”

“Yeah,” Omura said. “But sorry if I made you nervous.”

“It’s fine.” Adachi waved his hand in dismissal. “How did you find out, anyway? Did Fujisaki tell you?”

So Fujisaki really was in the know. “No, and I don’t think she ever would. You two are just really obvious to those who know what to look for. Especially Kurosawa.”

Kurosawa shrugged, not looking the least bit ashamed. Adachi rolled his eyes fondly.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go back inside,” Omura said. “I’ll tell them I chickened out on confessing to you or something. They’ll lose interest in this whole thing soon enough.”

She passed Kurosawa, who stepped out onto the balcony as she went inside. As she closed the door behind her, she could hear Adachi teasing Kurosawa lightly:

“Were you being jealous again, Yuichi?”

“Don’t be mean. How could I help it when Kiyoshi is so cute, I want him all to myself!”

Adachi laughed but it was muffled. “Not here, someone could see!”

Omura shook her head as the doors sealed shut, leaving them to their privacy.

She couldn’t wait to tell her girlfriend about this.

#cherry magic #30sai made Dotei dato Mahotsukai ni Narerurashii #kurodachi #fanfic #outsider pov

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jojoboisimagines · 3 years ago

Text

Johnny Joestar x Reader :: Wait for It :: Chapter 7

Previous chapter Next chapter

Summary: Gyro is hospitalized, and now Johnny has no one to turn to. That is, until a former female rider shows him a little compassion.

..::..

The atmosphere out in this grassy field felt much better to say the least. Probably the most comfortable you’d been throughout this whole race. No fighting, no people, and plenty of roaming space for your horse.

You and your riding partner, aka Johnny, had mostly eaten your leftovers in silence. He had devoured the meal a lot faster than you thought he would. He’s still growing, you guessed.

Laughing to yourself earned a side-eye from him, before wiping his hands of all the leftover crumbs. Johnny heaves a content sigh, staring at the empty to-go box. The man did a couple of arm stretches, seems like the food really wore him out. Or made him sleepy.

Now that you had a chance to unwind today, you couldn't help but realize how calm he was around you. He wasn’t wary or suspicious of you as far as you could tell, and he wasn’t really pushing you away when having conversations. He was just..doing his own thing.

Perhaps he was too busy missing his riding partner to even attempt to start any real conflict on his own.

Before you knew it, Johnny was back on his wheelchair, wheeling himself towards Slow Dancer to mount again. You were pretty much done with your own food as well. It was good, but not nearly good enough to start a bar fight for.

Standing on your feet, you dusted any excess grass from your pants. You knew you were probably gonna miss this spot, but it was better to go ahead and move on. There was still a lot you needed to learn, according to your ‘mentor’.

A cool, satisfying breeze passed by as you walked back up to your horse Soarin’. It really was a nice day out. You glanced over to Johnny, but he wasn’t on his horse yet. Actually, it looked like he was a bit angry. Furious even, if his face getting slightly red was any indication.

You looked up to see a familiar face, yet one you haven't seen since the beginning of the race.

What was his name again, you thought...DJ...Damon...oh, Diego.

You had practically no idea who this guy was, aside from the fact he was British and had stolen the lead for the majority of the race. You didn’t particularly know him because he was a foreign racer, you mainly focused on the popular riders in your own country.

Yet it seemed like Johnny had some prior business with him, evident by him almost literally seething in his seat.

"The hell do you want, Dio, leave us alone!" He pointed at the taller man, hoping itd emphasize how he wanted him to back off.

"Hmm..Where is the Italian idiot anyway? It's almost strange seeing you without being latched to his side like a Chihuahua." Diego said, dismissively of Johnny's threat.

The ex jockey gripped the handle of his wheelchair so hard his knuckles might turn white in a matter of minutes. Though his face said something different, like he was trying to keep his cool but his body couldn't help but demonstrate his frustration.

He swallowed a lump in his throat.

"None of your business. Don't you have anything other to do than bother me?"

The Brit opened his mouth to say something else, before you caught his eye. The blue orbs quickly scanned you before looking back at Johnny.

"Oh? Having other racers aid you? Are you that desperate for help since you can't do anything alone?"

Johnny sneered. Did this guy get off on confronting someone just to insult and degrade them? There was nothing stopping Johnny from punching Diego in the face (except for onlookers, which he could care less about honestly) so he wasn't sure where he thought his hubris would get him, but if Jojo has any say in it, it'll get him in the hospital.

He had been so far in his own mind after that remark that he hadn't even realized your presence beside him now. You had already spoken up before he got the chance to tell you it wasn't worth it.

"Actually, I'm not helping him, he's helping me." You corrected the arrogant man.

Raising an eyebrow at you, he places a hand on his hip in a way that implies he really didn't care about what you said.

In that case, you wouldn't hold back either.

Dio puts his hand on his chest like a petty rich girl in high school.

"Who are you again? In all my time in this race I haven't seen you."

You knew that was a subtle jab about him being first and you being so far behind you were barely noticeable. Fists almost automatically balled up at that, but you'd control yourself for now.

"I'm sure you hardly look at anyone except your mirror. By now it's probably been splotched in horse manure by now, so really it's showing you what you've looked like all along."

Johnny snickers, and it's probably the cutest thing you've seen all day.

..in a friendly way of course.

His lip twitches, showing his teeth, a fang pointedly sticking out. Weird, you thought. You hadn't seen anyone with a fang in years.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dio tried to interrogate, but you weren't scared at all. In fact, you were just getting started on this guy.

"It means you look like horse shit, duh." Johnny answered, folding his arms. A small smirk still on his face.

“Watch it, Joestar.” Diego sneered. For someone who dished it out like second nature, he sure couldn’t take it. “One wrong move and I can ruin your standing in the race, AND your reputation--or at least, what’s left of it.”

You roll your (e/c) eyes. You’ve had enough of this guy, what was this, a playground?

“Dude shut up, if you want to prove anything then win the whole damn race and stop talking like you already have.” One more retort and you’ll fly off the handle at him.

Diego stays silent for a moment, before leaning in to your face, his nose inches from yours.

“I already have. You’re welcome to join me when you’re done playing in the mud with poor Jojo.”

Before you could reply, he reeled back and turned on his heel. You wanted to punch him so bad, how dare he talk down to you and your friend like this..

“Don’t do it (y/n).” You hear Johnny behind you. “As much as I wanna see it happen, he’s not wrong about being able to sabotage both of us.”

You grunted. “What could you possibly care about our ‘reputations’, Johnny? That was pure disrespect, and I can’t let it fly!”

“...” He was looking at the ground now, seeming like he was trying to find whatever reason he could to prevent you from firing off. Johnny sighs.

“Look, I’ll be straightforward with you. I’m not in the race for money or status.”

You turned around at that, fairly confused.

“I’m in this race to..learn a technique from my friend, Gyro. I could care less about the stuff Diego desperately wants me to so he can have ammo to bug me with. However, you seem pretty set on trying to prove yourself that you can do this. I’ve seen it when we train.”

“..Seen what?”

Johnny pauses.

“Your determination. This is probably gonna sound dumb, but your eyes, they’ve been different. Like there’s some kind of fire in them now. Honestly, since joining this race, I can relate. Its part of why i’m still deciding to help you after you’ve..” His eyes become sarcastically half lidded. “Gotten me into almost two fights now.”

A scoff escapes your lips. What on Earth was this man saying anymore? Though you wouldn’t deny, it was a bit encouraging to hear.

The scoff was a bit off-putting to him, and he took another pause. He looked a little...flustered? You weren’t sure what that meant. Did you make him feel stupid on accident?

“That’s why...I’m not letting you take the chance to have Diego potentially ruin all your chances. This training would be for nothing.”

Something inside you suspected there was another reason, but you wouldn’t question it. Walking forward to him, you bent over to meet his eye level in his chair.

“Fine. I’ll beat up Diego after the race is over. Let’s get to our horses.” You take the wheelchair handles and starting walking towards Slow Dancer.

You couldn’t see it but, Johnny had a faint smile on his face.

#jjba #jojo #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #diego brando x reader #Johnny Joestar #diego brando #johnny joestar x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #Steel Ball Run #jojo part 7

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quickspinner · 4 years ago

Text

Not Exactly a Loophole (but he'll take it)

Luka's got a crush on one of his regulars, but there's just one problem. His mom may not be big on rules, but when it comes to her bar Nanarchy's, the few she has are nonnegotiable--including the rule that employees are not allowed to ask out patrons. With Juleka also pining for a cute customer, Luka's determined to find a loophole...but the universe seems to have its own plans.

Rating: T (mostly for language)

This one is a belated birthday gift, but not for me--for the lovely @mamanabeille! It was meant to be a meet cute featuring EMT Marinette, but bartender Luka kinda stole the spotlight, so it didn’t quite come out like I intended, but I hope you all (and especially MA!) enjoy it anyway!

The bar was nearly empty the first time she walked in, but Luka was sure he would have noticed her in the craziest crowd. She paused in her approach to the bar when she saw him, but when Luka gave her a friendly smile and simply asked what he could get her, she came the rest of the way over and slid onto a stool, ordering her drink in a quiet, hesitant voice, pulling out her wallet..

“I thought Juleka was working tonight,” she said as he took her card and opened a tab for her.

“She will be.” He glanced at the clock. “In about an hour.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “An—“ She frowned, pulling out her phone, and then something seemed to click and she folded her arms, pouting, as he set up to mix her drink. Luka felt like pouting, too, over the fact that Juleka had seen her first. She was really cute.

“They told me the wrong time,” she grumbled. “Because they thought I would be late. Which means I nearly killed myself getting home to change and get back here for nothing .”

“Not for nothing,” Luka said easily. “Juleka’ll be here in an hour. We’re not busy, I don’t mind if you camp out. You look amazing, I’m sure she wouldn’t want to miss you.”

She looked a little confused for a moment, and then her eyes went round and she touched her fingertips to her soft red mouth. “Oh, n-no, I’m not, uh—I mean I don’t um—“

Luka winked at her. “It’s okay, I won’t tell her anything.”

“Rose!” she squeaked, waving her hands so frantically that Luka instinctively slid her drink out of the way. “I’m friends with Rose! She wanted to come while Juleka was working, and I had a—a bad experience at the bar I used to go to, and she said that kind of thing doesn’t happen here, and a bunch of us were supposed to meet up so Rose could fli—TALK! To Juleka and the rest of us could have a drink and hang out in peace but they gave me the wrong time because I’m late for everything, but for once I’m not late and now I’m stuck here with you and—“ She slapped a hand over her mouth and looked so horrified that Luka could only laugh.

“Well, Rose is right, we don’t allow any kind of disrespectful behavior here, my mom’s very strict about it. She values Nanarchy ’s reputation as a safe space and she’s very particular about it. I promise you, being her son wouldn’t excuse me from an ass-kicking if I was inappropriate with you, or stood by while anyone else was, so feel free to hang out and wait for your friends.” He picked up another glass, flipped it in his hand before scooping it full of ice, and then he filled it with water and set it in front of his reluctant customer. “My name’s Luka, just let me know if you need anything.”

He lingered long enough for her to smile tentatively back at him, and then busied himself far enough away from her that she wouldn’t feel crowded, setting up the wells and making sure everything was stocked and topped off before the rush started.

Marinette nursed her drink and pouted, annoyed with her friends for wasting her time this way. Sure, she was always late, but her job was demanding and she wasn’t always in control of when she was able to leave. She couldn’t just ditch Adrien to handle it all, that would be mean. As it was, she’d been late leaving her shift today, and she had scrambled home to get home and get herself presentable and get here in time.

Then she walked in, triumphantly on time and not even in her work clothes, and those losers she called friends weren’t even here! And then she got all confused and tongue-tied and practically preemptively accused the cute bartender of harassment, even though in two minutes of conversation she could tell that he wasn’t anything like that guy that ran Graham’s and—

She groaned quietly and dropped her head on her arms.

Luka didn’t look back at her, but there was a slight quirk of his lips and the tiniest motion of his head in her direction that said he knew she was watching him. He set the two handful of beers he had just picked up on the bar in front of him and dipped a hand in his back pocket, coming out with a bottle opener spinning on one finger. He flicked the caps off the bottles in quick succession and then with another twirl, the bottle opener went back to his pocket like a six-shooter into a cowboy’s holster in some old western. Marinette giggled, and only then did he tilt his head in her direction and wink.

Marinette squeaked and buried her suddenly red face back in her arms. She was pretty sure she heard a low chuckle from down the bar.

Juleka walked in about forty-five minutes later. She took one look at Luka and asked, “What happened?”

“Hmm?” Luka looked up at her from where he was slicing limes.

“That’s the dumbest grin I’ve ever seen on your face,” Juleka commented as she tied her apron on. “And that’s saying a lot. What gives?”

“Nothing,” Luka said, resisting the temptation to squirt her with lime juice. It was too early in the evening to escalate that far. “I’m just in a good mood.”

Juleka’s eyebrows raised. “You’re always in a good mood. You don’t always grin like a dope.” Luka opened his mouth to say something rude when they were both distracted by a surprisingly strong but very feminine voice carrying the length of the bar.

“Luka!” Both of them looked down the bar to the pretty dark-haired lady waving at him (and wincing slightly as she realized how loud she’d been), and Luka’s grin grew wider as he waved a hand to acknowledge her.

“I’ll get it,” Juleka said as he reached for a towel to clean his hands.

Luka took a step back to block her from getting around him. “Oh no you don’t. She’s my customer.”

Juleka blinked at him in surprise and then smirked. “Oh. I see.”

“You see nothing,” Luka told her, tossing the towel at her face as he made a beeline down the bar. “Back off. You can serve their table later, but while she’s at the bar, she’s mine.”

“Never knew you were so possessive,” Juleka muttered, moving the towel aside with two fingers and dropping it into the dirty bin with a gesture of distaste.

“Laugh it up, I’m gonna get you back soon,” Luka called back, and turned to his customer. “Doing all right? What can I get for you?” he asked, smiling as he leaned his hands on the bar in front of her.

“My friends are almost here,” she said, setting her phone on the bar where he could see the message chain. “I was going to go ahead and order for them if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Luka said, looking at the list of drinks. When he was sure he had the order, he leaned back and smiled at her. “You can go find a table if you want, I’ll get the drinks ready and have Juleka bring them to you.” He winked, and she giggled.

“That would be perfect. And...thanks, Luka,” she smiled, blushing a little, and he thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest. “My name’s Marinette, by the way. Which...you actually probably knew, because you opened my tab, um...”

“I did,” he grinned, and began setting up glasses on the bar top. “But it’s nice to hear it from you.” Marinette gathered her things slowly; she’d spread out across the bar as she’d waited, with pens and a small notebook and a set of index cards with neat notes scattered across her part of the bar.

Luka pulled his mind to the task, picking up a jigger and flipping it in his hand. Realizing that Marinette was still watching him, he poured some liquor and then gave the jigger a flip around his hand as he made eye contact with Marinette. He had to chuckle when her eyes widened slightly and her face flamed up red. She forgot all about picking up her things as she watched him mix the drinks, and he struggled not to show off too much, amused at her fascination. He quirked an eyebrow at her and she suddenly remembered what she was supposed to be doing, and began picking her things up haphazardly. She reached for a pen, but knocked it with her fingers, sending it spinning off the back of the bar.

“Oh, I’m so sorry—” she exclaimed just as Luka’s hand snapped out and caught it before it could fall to the floor. Fortunately he hadn’t been holding anything liquid at the time, and he hastily picked up the shaker he’d dropped on the bar and set it back upright before handing Marinette her pen back.

“It’s okay,” he said soothingly. “No big, Marinette. Relax.”

She was staring at him, her blue eyes round, and slowly she took the pen back from him. “Thanks,” she whispered, and shrank a little, tucking the last few things in her purse.

“My pleasure,” Luka smiled. “Seriously, Marinette, you’re here to unwind. Don’t sweat the small stuff, okay? No pressure here. Just take your time.” He flipped a shaker up over his shoulder and caught it behind his back, and Marinette put her chin in her fist and pouted again.

“How do you do that?” she asked enviously. “I’m such a klutz when I’m not focusing.”

“Practice,” Luka shrugged. “I’ve been working here since I was old enough to be behind the bar, so. It’s not really anything special, but it makes pretty girls smile, so…” He grinned at her, and then motioned behind her. “Table six is the quietest, over there by the wall. I’ll have the rest of these done in just a minute, and—”

“Marinette!” someone squealed from the door and Luka chuckled.

“—And there’s your friends,” he said, as Marinette turned and waved.

She turned back and gave him a smile that nearly knocked him off his feet. “Thanks a bunch, Luka, really. You’ve been great.”

“Any time,” he barely managed to answer, and had to swallow quickly afterwards. He mixed the rest of the drinks on autopilot, his eyes darting back to Marinette as she and her friends settled at their table. He saw the petite blond with her raise her hand and wiggle her fingers, and a quick glance down the bar showed him Juleka standing as if she had been hit in the back of the head with a board, a faint rosy color tinting her pale cheeks.

Luka grinned and loaded the cocktails on a tray before carrying them down to her. “These are for six,” he told her, and she looked at him stupidly. Luka smirked. “You know that saying about people who live in glass houses?” he grinned, nudging her arm before he headed back to the next customer waving for his attention. “Don’t drop anything,” he called back, and heard Juleka snort.

***

Girls Night was no longer the trial that it used to be. Marinette loved everything about Nanarcy’s . Their aesthetic was cool and unique, their atmosphere was fun and chaotic in a controlled way, their live music nights were amazing, and they didn’t overpour, so everybody was only as drunk as they wanted to be at the end of the night.

And their bartenders were hot. Rose was head over heels for the quiet, dark-haired Juleka, and Marinette was pretty well smitten by the kind, gentle man with the shaggy hair and the soft eyes, who never seemed to take offense no matter how many times she put her foot in her mouth. She’d never been as early as she had that first day, but she did rush just a little to beat the girls there, so that she could sit and talk to Luka for a bit before the rush hit.

He was just so nice , and easy to talk to, and perceptive, and she always relaxed after a few minutes in his company.

Unfortunately Marinette couldn’t be early all the time, and the girls were already at their table and there was already a crowd at the bar before she arrived.

She stood on her tiptoes, looking over the crowd, and saw Luka about the same time he saw her. He flashed her a broad grin that set butterflies wild in her stomach. She gave him a small wave and then formed her fingers into a d, their sign that she was the designated driver tonight. She saw him nod, and started working her way through the crowd to the bar.

Luka picked up his napkin and did that funny flick with his fingers that sent it spinning onto the bar right in front of her. Marinette really wanted to know how he did that, but his hand moved so fast she couldn’t follow it no matter how many times she watched him. She saw him chuckle at her pout as he flipped a tumbler in his hand, filled it with ice and soda water, and then set it on the napkin. “Good to see you, Marinette,” was all he had time to say, but his warm, smooth voice still made her melt a little on the inside.

She lingered at the bar for just a moment, watching him joke and banter as he flipped and spun bottles and tumblers and shakers, dropping them to catch behind his back, his movements all smooth and practiced. He’d told her once that what he did wasn’t actually that hard, but it still looked like magic to her. It had surprised her at first; he’d struck her as a quiet, laid-back kind of guy, not someone who enjoyed crowds and attention—but then she’d seen him play with the band one night, and understood. Luka might be quiet on his own, but in front of an audience, he was a performer, and if she’d thought what he did behind the bar was impressive, seeing him on stage with his guitar was, well...breathtaking.

For all that flash, though, it was watching him shake a drink that made her go weak, eyes glued to the lines of his arms and the slight smirk on his face. Marinette picked up her soda and headed back to the girls’ table before she could embarrass herself by swooning on the bar. The girls gave her knowing looks when she arrived, but other than the smirks, they left her mercifully alone about her increasingly obvious crush.

Marinette felt fortunate that Rose was more fun to tease (and safer; Rose didn’t flail and knock over drinks when she got flustered). Rose blushed and denied and then gave herself away by sighing dreamily as she looked at the tall girl behind the bar. Marinette couldn’t help covering a snicker with her hand, though as her gaze followed Rose’s, her traitorous eyes snapped straight to Luka.

He seemed to be in some kind of one-up contest with his sister, the grin on his face positively wicked as he balanced a cocktail on a bar spoon on his forearm—which required to him to keep his arm flexed in a way that made the normally subtle swell of muscles along his arm much more obvious. Marinette groaned and leaned on Rose, who was peeking through her fingertips and trying not to squeal as Juleka rolled her eyes and set up a row of glasses in front of the bar. Twirling a bottle in each hand, Juleka smirked at Luka. Luka was good, but Juleka obviously outmatched him in this context. She was herself beautiful and elegant, with her hair tied back in a thick braid and perfectly done makeup that highlighted her fine bone structure. Her features were a little rounder than Luka’s sharp angles, and she was tall and slender without being as lanky as Luka. The pair of them together were unfairly attractive.

Juleka’s motions at the bar were fluid and graceful, without any wasted movement, and she was fast . She filled the cocktails on the bar in front of her, mixing them up first and then stacking the shakers to pour all four glasses at once. Then she turned to Luka, plucked the glass off of his spoon with a lifted eyebrow, and set it on her tray, swinging it up onto her shoulder. Luka made a laughing gesture that was clearly I surrender , and Juleka smirked as she went around the side of the bar.

“She’s so beautiful,” Rose swooned into Marinette’s side, and Marinette smiled, bumping her shoulder into Rose, who just flopped in the other direction to drape herself over Mylene and sigh some more. Marinette gave her friend an affectionate look, and then tried to school her expression as Juleka appeared at their table, setting cocktails in front of them with practiced ease and a quiet, “Welcome back,” with a subtle smile. Her eyes, though a different color, were as intense as Luka’s, and Marinette thought they stayed focused on Rose for a beat longer than the others. Then Juleka’s gaze flicked to Marinette’s drink and her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Refill?” she asked.

“No thank you,” Marinette said automatically, and Juleka nodded. Those amber eyes flicked back to Rose as she set the last cocktail down in front of her. “Enjoy,” was all she said, but there was a subtle quirk of a smile to her lips, and Marinette could feel Rose freezing like a deer in the headlights at her side. Then Juleka was gone again, her heavy braid swinging behind her, before Rose could even think of anything to say back.

“Ooh,” Rose moaned, frustrated, grabbing her drink.

“Next time,” Mylene said consolingly, patting Rose’s arm. “It’s busy here tonight. I’m sure she’ll be back when there’s more time to chat.”

That was true, Marinette thought, but still...they’d been coming here for weeks and things didn’t seem to be going anywhere. She’d thought Juleka was interested but maybe…

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind,” she said, picking up her glass and sliding out of her seat. “I think I do want a refill.”

“It just tastes better when Luka serves it,” Alix snickered, and Marinette pretended not to hear her as she made her way to the bar. She needed some answers, and maybe it was time to try the direct approach.

Luka was hopeless, he knew, watching Marinette’s table out of the corner of his eye even as he teased Juleka. He didn’t care if it made sense or not; he was crazy into the girl, and her mere presence made him feel more alive.

Juleka snatched his cocktail and Luka had to move quickly to catch the bar spoon and dump it in the bin. He waved Juleka off with a laugh and glanced back at the table again where Marinette was consoling her little blond friend, who was clearly suffering after Juleka’s display. That only made him grin wider.

Luka allowed himself one lovesick sigh. Marinette was so beautiful, and he loved the way she put so much individuality into the way she dressed, and the contours of the muscles in her arms as she waved them about, talking with her hands. She was funny, and she was sweet, and she was smart , and every time she came in he entertained fantasies of quitting on the spot, confessing his love, and running off with Marinette in the rain (he wasn’t sure why it was always raining in his fantasies, but it seemed to fit her for some reason). His mom would probably forgive him. Eventually.

Juleka would kill him though, and besides, he liked his job and he got to see Marinette almost every week. And...maybe he was a little bit chicken. Just a tiny bit. There was every chance that instead of falling into his arms and agreeing to run away with him, Marinette would be startled and freaked out and run away without him, and then he’d be out of a job with a broken heart in the bargain. Just because she liked joking around with him, and watching him (because he definitely didn’t miss her eyes on him, with as often as his were on her), didn’t mean she was interested in the reality of dating him—especially if he were suddenly jobless.

So the fantasies would stay just that for now.

Ugh, sometimes he really wanted to...hug his mother in a bone-crushing but loving way and tell her that for someone so hung up on freedom, her rules were a righteous pain in his ass.

That would probably get him fired too. If you fire me, I’ll have to come live back at home with you , he mentally argued with his imaginary mother, but it didn’t work any better in his imagination than it would have in real life.

Unfortunately Juleka didn’t seem to be having any better luck than he did. Luka had a half-formed plan to call in a favor so he could get Juleka cut early, so that she could run into Rose on her way out and get around Anarka’s rules that way, when he was startled out of his thoughts by someone calling his name.

Luka was moving down the bar to smile at Marinette before he’d even fully processed that she was calling him, but the crease between her brows made him hesitate slightly.

“Juleka didn’t get you a refill?” he asked, but Marinette shook her head.

“I told her I didn’t need one, and then I changed my mind.” She set her glass on the table and nudged it towards him. “Also...well, I want to ask you something.” She shifted uncomfortably, and Luka swallowed as if that would keep the sudden butterflies in his stomach confined there.

“Anything,” he said glibly, with a smile that showed no trace of his nervousness. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, it’s just...do you think…” She glanced up at him shyly, and looked down, cheeks pinking.

Luka leaned his elbows on the counter and lowered his head, cocking it slightly to show he was listening. His fingers laced together and squeezed tight in front of him.

“Does Juleka like Rose?” Marinette asked, glancing nervously back at their table.

Luka blinked. “Ah…”

“Before you answer,” Marinette said quickly, turning back to him. “It’s just that Rose really, really likes Juleka, but Juleka hasn’t...well she does flirt some, but Rose isn’t sure, and...I just don’t want to be encouraging her to pursue something hopeless, so I’d really appreciate it if you’d tell me now if Juleka’s not interested in her. I won’t say anything to Rose, not directly, I just...if it’s not going to happen, I can maybe get her to—”

“It’s not hopeless,” Luka interrupted, trying not to laugh, though whether at his own stupidity or Rose and Juleka’s, he wasn’t sure. “It’s definitely not hopeless. The only thing hopeless is my poor little sister.”

“Oh,” Marinette breathed, and then smiled. “Okay then. I’ll tell Rose not to give up?”

“Definitely not,” Luka confirmed, straightening. “But we’re not allowed to ask out customers, so she’s either got to catch Juleka on off hours or make the first move herself. Mom’s a real stickler about it. I’d get in less trouble for being high on the job than hitting on a customer.”

“Oh,” Marinette’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, I see. I...I guess that makes sense. And Rose hasn’t wanted to be creepy if Juleka was just…” She blushed, surprisingly intensely. “You know, being nice because it’s her job.”

Luka snorted. “Juleka’s not nice.”

Something hit the back of his head and Luka straightened to find Juleka glaring at him. “What are you saying about me, jerk?” she demanded, and Luka rolled his eyes, looking back at Marinette.

“See?” he grinned.

“Shut up and move,” Juleka grunted, shoving his arm until he stepped aside for her to get by.

“Someone’s in a mood,” he called after her, and she turned her back to the bar and flipped him off where only he could see.

“Rude,” he chuckled, and focused back on Marinette. “Look, I can’t speak for her, but as her brother...I don’t think your friend has anything to worry about, yeah?”

Marinette gave him a dazzling smile. “Thanks Luka. I really appreciate it.”

“Anything for you,” he grinned automatically.

“Send us another round for the table when you get a chance?”

“Sure. I’ll have Jules drop it off.” He winked at her, and her smile got even brighter.

“Perfect.” She gave a happy little bounce before she hopped off the stool and went back to the table. Luka watched her go, and saw her look back at him over her shoulder. He sighed.

“Dumbass,” he said to himself, shaking his head as he turned away to get their drinks ready.

Well, at least Juleka would be happy. If Rose still felt weird about asking her out, he could still try and get Juleka cut early the next weekend. Victor was always asking for more hours, surely he’d do Luka a favor if it meant weekend night tips…

Not that that helped Luka any. He looked back towards Marinette’s table and sighed.

Well, he’d get his own chance eventually—or he’d make one, if he had to.

***

“I’m missing girl’s night,” Marinette huffed, throwing herself behind the wheel. She was missing seeing Luka, she thought petulantly. Her one night a week to see him and she was missing it because Adrien had said something stupid to the person resonsible for their schedules, and she was his partner, so she was guilty by association.

“I said I was sorry,” Adrien sighed, hauling himself up into the passenger side of the ambulance.”

“Say it again,” Marinette grumbled.

Adrien groaned, slumping into his seat. “I promise that I have never in my life been more sorry than I am at this moment, facing this whole shift with you in this mood.”

Marinette glared at him, but the radio called their attention.

Their first few calls were simple enough, but the next one made Marinette suck in her breath sharply.

“What?” Adrien asked, looking at her.

“That’s my girls’ night bar,” Marinette breathed. “26-year-old male…it could be Luka...”

Adrien raised an eyebrow at her. “You want to pass it on?” he asked, not unkindly.

Marinette shook her head. “Nobody else is even close. Let’s go, but you take lead if it’s—if it’s someone I know.”

“It’s probably not,” Adrien reassured her, flipping on the lights and sirens.

Marinette made a noncommittal noise, trying to ignore the cold weight that had settled in the pit of her stomach. Adrien put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed—and then braced himself as Marinette pulled out into traffic.

When they walked into the bar, they had to shove their way through the crowd that had formed in a ring being kept back by a man and a woman wearing shirts that identified them as security.

“Marinette!” Rose cried, waving at her with one hand, and for an instant, Marinette froze.

Luka was sitting in a chair, looking dazed. He kept trying to get up, but Juleka shoved him back down with one hand. Rose was pressing a blood-stained towel to his head.

“Oh no,” Marinette murmured. Adrien squeezed her arm, and then moved past her, his stride purposeful. Marinette pulled herself together and followed, pressing her lips together. This was her job, after all, and she was good at it. It was just another call, and Luka would be fine.

Luka was confused as hell, and his brain didn’t quite feel connected to his body. He was vaguely aware that his head hurt, but he couldn’t seem to make sense of what was going on. He’d woken up on the floor, and then he’d nearly fallen when he tried to stand, and Juleka had shoved him into a chair and fluttered over him, alternately swearing at him and sounding at the edge of tears, and Luka still had no idea what was going on.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You’re a fucking idiot, that’s what happened,” snapped Juleka. “We have bouncers for a reason , dumbass.”

“Bouncers?” Luka asked, bewildered. He blinked, trying to focus and clear the fog from his mind. The room didn’t seem to want to be still. It wasn’t spinning, exactly, just tilted to the left slightly. A flash of white crossed his vision and he focused on it for a moment, and then blinked again, still confused and sure he couldn’t be seeing what he was seeing. “Marinette?”

“Hey, Luka,” she smiled, leaning over him.

Luka grinned. “Hi.” Then he frowned. “Thought you were working tonight.”

“I am working,” Marinette said gently, pulling something out of her breast pocket, and Luka vaguely registered that the white he had seen was some kind of uniform shirt. Then he jumped slightly and blinked as she shone a light in his eyes. “He lost consciousness?” she asked, but then Luka was distracted from Marinette as someone else took his arm. He blinked down at a blond man that had knelt next to his chair and was pulling... stuff out of a bag beside him.

“Yes,” Rose confirmed from somewhere behind him.

“Luka, was it?” the blond man asked. “I’m Adrien. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Kentucky sunrise,” Luka muttered. “Told Jules to keep an eye on the guy, he seemed shady.”

“He was shady,” Juleka said, fingers squeezing on his shoulder. “He got nasty and I told him to leave, and he grabbed me, and then this idiot jumped the bar to come get involved and—it’s kind of a blur after that, but he got Luka in the head with a glass or a bottle or something.”

“Where’s the guy now?” Marinette asked.

“Ivan’s got him in the back, waiting for the cops.”

Luka tried to follow the conversation, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate for very long. Adrien started asking him questions, and Luka’s world greyed out a bit as he tried to focus enough to give the right answer. They seemed like really dumb questions, and Adrien kept touching Luka’s head where it hurt. Luka tried to push his hands away, but Marinette caught Luka’s hand and squeezed it tight. Luka looked back at her, focusing on the cool blue of her eyes. She asked him something, but he didn’t quite catch it.

Fuck, he was tired. He just wanted to get somewhere quiet and dark and less peopled and go to sleep.

Marinette’s hand on his cheek brought him back to reality a bit. She was frowning. “Luka, do you feel sick?”

“No,” Luka sighed, eyes fluttering closed. “Just tired.”

“Luka,” Marinette said sharply, and he opened his eyes again. “Don’t go to sleep, okay?”

Luka whined, but tried to keep his eyes open. He leaned his head on Juleka’s stomach, and felt her hand stroke gently through his hair. He must really be messed up, he thought with mild amusement, for Jules to be that gentle.

“I think we better take him in for evaluation,” Marinette said to...someone. “He’s definitely got a concussion, and that head lac needs stitches.”

“Agreed,” said Adrien, and Luka began to lose the battle to stay awake. “Come on, stay with us.” Someone squeezed Luka’s arm, and Luka struggled to open his eyes again.

Luka lost track of what was going on after that, moving mechanically when someone asked him to and just trying to stay awake. The only thing he really registered was Marinette leaning over him in the back of the ambulance, stroking his hair back from his face and looking at him with such softness that his breath caught even through his fog. “I’ll drive,” she said. “Take care of him for me.”

Luka was confused until Marinette disappeared from his side and Adrien settled in next to him instead, a faintly amused look on his face. “She must really like you,” Adrien commented under his breath. “She hates to give up the action and drive.”

Luka smiled weakly.

***

The hospital was a confused sequence of waiting rooms and big noisy machines, but as they sat through it all, Luka began to regain some focus and clarity, and by the time they came to tell him that he was fine, he pretty much was, aside from the throbbing in his head where they’d stitched the wound closed and the anesthetic was wearing off.

“We’re going to keep you the rest of the night for observation,” the ER doctor told him, “But unless there’s any sudden changes, you should be good to go tomorrow. Just take it easy for the next few days.”

Luka didn’t bother to argue since the night was mostly gone anyway. All he really cared about was getting to a bed, now that they had cleared him to sleep.

When he woke up in the morning, Juleka was sitting next to his bed.

“Hey, dummy,” she said, when he turned his head to look at her.

“Hey,” he sighed. “Can I go home yet?”

Juleka snorted. “Knowing hospitals, it’ll take all day just to fill out the paperwork to get you out of here.

Luka made a face. “Probably true, actually.” He sighed and laid his head back, lolling it over to look at her. “Tell me you at least got a date out of it.”

Juleka blushed, and dropped her gaze, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “She’s a nurse at this hospital, do you know?” Juleka mumbled, fiddling with her fingers. “She stayed with me the whole time they had you doing all those tests. We’re...having dinner tonight when she gets off work.”

“Awesome,” Luka grinned, grabbing her hand and squeezing it.

Juleka took a moment to collect herself, and then she lifted her head and grinned at him. “Now it’s your turn.”

“God I wanna marry that girl,” Luka groaned, smiling dreamily. “Gorgeous and smart and funny and a badass. This is it. I’m totally gone for her, Jules.”

Luka didn’t need to see Juleka’s smirk, he could hear it in her voice. “What else is new?” she snorted.

Another memory surfaced and he grimaced. “I’m not sure puking all over her partner in the back of her ambulance made the kind of impression I was hoping for.”

“Don’t worry,” a male voice chuckled. “You’re not the first, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.”

Luka and Juleka both looked towards the door. Marinette and her golden-haired partner were standing there in clean uniforms. Luka felt a sudden flutter in his stomach. The EMT uniform didn’t do much for her, compared to her usual perfectly tailored clothes, but...she looked strong and confident and in charge, and it was definitely doing things for him. Her hair was tied back and pinned up, but that just made her beautiful eyes more prominent, and the same smile tilted her sweet lips.

He suddenly remembered what he and Jules had been talking about. Oh God, did she hear him? Luka swallowed nervously.

Marinette gave him a little wave, her shoulders hunched slightly. “I hope you don’t mind that we stopped by,” she said shyly. “I— We just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Adrien grinned broadly, clearly amused, and Juleka began to snicker. She leaned over and whispered to Luka, “Your heart monitor’s going crazy, dumbass.” Then she kissed his forehead. “Call me when they’re ready to let you out of here.” She walked away from the bed, and Luka realized too late that she was planning to leave him there with Marinette.

He registered about that time that the monitor behind him was indeed beeping frantically and felt himself flush. He fiddled with the clip on his finger, but if he took it off the nurses would come charging in, so he took some deep breaths, trying to get himself under control as Juleka stopped to exchange a quiet word and a hug with Marinette, with a quick handshake for Adrien.

Adrien and Marinette approached the bed and Luka reached up self-consciously to smooth his hair before remembering the bandage on his head. He extended his hand towards Adrien instead.

“Hey, man, I really am sorry for throwing up all over you,” Luka told Adrien. “I swear, I didn’t know it was coming.”

Adrien smiled ruefully as he shook Luka’s hand. “I’m used to it. Sometimes I think I have a target on my chest.”

“Serves you right for always wearing such expensive shoes,” Marinette huffed.

“They’re comfy!” Adrien protested.

Luka chuckled and looked at Marinette, taking in the uniform and trying to recalibrate his mental image of her to include this new information. It wasn’t as hard as it seemed like it should have been; she’d always had that something about her that said she could do anything, and she was certainly fit enough to be hauling people around, and the impulse to help people fit in with her sweet nature.

He really hadn’t thought he could fall any harder, but looking at her now—staring at her, he realized abruptly—he accepted that this hole was a lot deeper than he’d realized.

Marinette leaned over the side of his bed and reached toward his hair. “May I?” she asked, and at Luka’s nod, she parted his hair to peek under his bandage at the stitches. She was close enough that Luka could smell the faintest hint of sweet vanilla even past all the medical smells. The monitor began to beep warningly again and Luka thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. Her fingers skimmed his cheek as she lowered her hands. “It looks good. You probably won’t even notice it with your hair covering it.”

“Thanks,” Luka said stupidly, not really sure how one was supposed to react to a compliment on how well one’s head was sewn back together.

“How do you feel?” she asked, straightening a little.

“Not too bad,” Luka shrugged. “Still have a headache, but it’s much better.”

Marinette frowned. “What are they giving you for pain?” She looked at the board in his room without waiting for him to answer, and gave a slight sigh. “Well, that should fade soon, hopefully. As long as your imaging came back normal—” Luka nodded. “—it should just be a question of paperwork.” She laid her hand over his and squeezed. “You should be back behind the bar in no time. No more fights though, okay? You scared me, when we got the call for your address.”

“Sorry.” Luka gave her a lopsided smile. “Can’t say I wasn’t wishing to see you, but that wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Marinette giggled, her eyes darting away and her teeth catching her lip for a moment before she looked back at him, a bright smile slowly growing across her face. For a moment they just stared at each other. Adrien raised his eyebrows and put his hands in his pockets, wandering back across the room.

Luka barely noticed. Marinette was looking at him and he had never seen her eyes so soft before. Except—except that one moment when she’d been leaning over him on the gurney, and she’d promised him he was going to be okay, and then she’d looked up at Adrien and said take care of him for me…

He was so transfixed by her eyes that he didn’t react to her leaning over the bed until he felt her hand on his chest and her breath on his face, and then he only had time to gasp and close his eyes as her lips found and caressed his in a soft and tender kiss. He leaned into it as much as he dared, and managed to move his mouth to kiss her back, electric thrills moving through him.

He followed her when she pulled back, and opened his eyes to stare at her in wonder as her lips left his.

“I’m dying,” he said flatly. “I’m dying and no one wants to tell me, is that it?”

Marinette giggled. “No more than everyone else.” Then she actually blushed and looked down. “I’ve maybe been thinking about doing that for a while now.” She glanced up through her lashes and a truly wicked smile slowly spread. “And trust me, when you actually are going to die, you’ll know it.”

Luka’s attempt at a reply became a strangled noise at the back of his throat.

There was a quiet cough from the other side of the room, where Adrien was turning red attempting to hold in his laughter. “I’m getting the feeling you didn’t actually need a wingman here,” he said.

“Take a walk, Adrien,” Marinette said in a warning tone, and leaned in to kiss Luka again. Luka moved to meet her, lips parting eagerly as he buried the hand not covered in wires in her hair, only vaguely aware of Adrien’s gusty sigh and the sound of the door opening and closing, or the rapidly accelerating beep of his heart rate monitor again.

Somewhere in the haze Luka realized he wasn’t on shift, and anyway Marinette had kissed him first, and Anarka’s rules didn’t matter anymore.

“Hey,” he mumbled in between kisses. “Want to—mm—get coffee sometime? After they let me out of here.”

“I’d love to,” Marinette sighed, and kissed him again. She giggled. “You should have told me about that stupid rule sooner. All this time, I’ve been waiting for you to make a move.” She pulled back and blinked for a moment, and bit her lip. “Um. I should probably tell you that I told my boss you’re my boyfriend.” She shrugged. “If I start dating you after you’ve been my patient, it’s weird, but if we were dating before that, then it’s just unfortunate coincidence, so…”

“I’m cool with that,” Luka said quickly. “Very cool.” They grinned like fools at each other for a moment, and then moved to kiss again.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door, and a nurse poked her head in. “Mr. Couffaine? We’ve been getting an alarm from your monitor—” She paused, taking in Marinette’s wrecked hair and two blushing faces. “Oh.”

Marinette giggled, hiding her face in his shoulder, and Luka groaned. “How much do I need to bribe you to turn that damn thing off for the next f—” he glanced at Marinette. “Ten minutes?”

The nurse rolled her eyes, but winked at them. “Just remember you’re supposed to be taking it easy,” she admonished, crossing the room and unplugging the monitor from the wall. “If anyone asks, you’re in the bathroom.”

“Yes ma’am,” Luka grinned as the nurse shut the door behind her, pulling Marinette back in.

#quickspins #i'll never not know you #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #pro lukamari #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #birthday big bang

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years ago

Text

Switching Roles [Reid x Reader]

masterlist

Summary: Spencer has always been submissive when he's been with reader...but tonight he’s interested in switching things up.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Category: Smut with a dash of fluff

Content Warning: Oral sex (both receiving), soft Dom!Spencer, mild over stim, unprotected sex, dirty talk, spanking. I think that’s it. Just filth, y’all.

A/n: This idea was sent to me in an ask the other day and I forgot to write the user name down. If you send me a message, I’d love to credit you! I just have the memory of a goldfish. Anyway, I hope y’all like this filth that I’m slightly embarrassed I wrote.

--Switching Roles--

I knew my relationship with Dr. Spencer Reid would be unconventional when he got called away in the middle of our first date. He apologized profusely but I assumed I was being blown off.

Four days later he showed up outside my apartment after 11 pm with flowers and another apology.

“You could have just called,” I had said that night.

He just shrugged sheepishly. “I know, I know. I just…I just really wanted to see you.”

I think I fell in love with him the moment he handed me those flowers with a blush staining the apples of his cheeks. Everything was history after that.

The hardest part about being with Spencer was accepting his schedule. He was out saving lives and making the world a safer place, and I understood that I really did. That understanding didn't make missing him any easier.

Spencer had been gone for over 10 days and we were both feeling the effects of his absence. Phone calls and video chats could only do so much. I needed him.

He had sent me a text message about 30 minutes ago letting me know his plane had landed.

“Do you want me to come over after we debrief?”

For a genius, he asked a lot of stupid questions.

I jumped out of my seat a moment later when there was a knock at my door. He had a key; I don’t know why he never used it.

No sooner had I opened the door than he was on me. He shoved his way through the door. One of his hands tangled in my hair while the other cupped my jaw. I vaguely heard the door slam a moment before he turned us and pushed my back against it.

Very quickly in our relationship, we had discovered that Spencer really enjoyed it when I told him what to do when we had sex. I wasn't new to being dominant in the bedroom, but Spencer had never had a partner take control the way I did. Introducing Dr. Spencer Reid to the world of BDSM had been a treat for us both.

My tongue swept over the seam of his mouth, pulling a groan from him before he opened for me. His tongue slicked against mine while his hands moved down my body, brushing over my breast to my stomach, already set on undoing my pants.

When I felt the button of my pants open, I broke away from our kiss. “Hey, Doc,” I panted against his mouth.

Spencer just gave me a small smile, his thumb tracing over the lower part of my stomach. “Hey, Pretty girl. I missed you.”

“I can see that,” I rasped out, my hand coming down between our bodies to rub over the bulge in his pants. “Come on, baby.” I took a step away from him and extended my hand. His fingers laced with mine as we walked down the hall to my bedroom. I wasn’t sure what Spencer needed tonight, but whatever it was would be easier on the bed.

Once we arrived in my bedroom, I turned to face him, my arms going up around his neck, brushing through his soft curls at the base of his skull.

I was just about to kiss him again when I saw him hesitate; it was just the slightest bit, but I knew him.

“What’s wrong, Spence?” I questioned, my eyes searching his. “We don’t have to do a scene. We can just be together like this.”

“No,” he whispered. “It’s…I don’t want to…I want to do a scene but…”

I was thoroughly confused now, but I waited for him to gather his thoughts and push through his nerves.

“C-can I…”

"Can you what, Pretty Boy?" I moved my hand to brush my fingers across his sharp cheekbone.

“I want to try…can I try to be in charge?”

My eyebrows shot up. “You want to dom me?”

His cheeks were tinged with color. “I...I think so. But only if you’re comfortable with it.”

I had mentioned to Spencer before that I was technically a switch, but I didn’t sub very often. He had always been exclusively interested in being a submissive. While the shift was confusing, I wasn’t against the idea. The thought of my sweet pretty boy having his way with me certainly had its own appeal.

I rose up on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his soft lips. “Sure, baby.”

“R-really?!” he squeaked.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his tone before I nodded. “Where do you want me…sir?" I didn't miss the way he shuddered at my words. Even if he was in charge, I couldn't turn off the part of myself that was aware of every single part of him. His every reaction was so erotic to me.

Something in those warm brown eyes hardened. “I want you in only your panties. Then I want you to kneel.”

Well. "Yes, sir." I quickly lowered my eyes to the floor while my fingers unbuttoned my top before shrugging it off my shoulders. My pants and shoes went next, then finally my bra. My hair was in a bun at the back of my head and I almost released it. I knew he liked to grab my hair, but if he wanted it he could take it.

I dropped to my knees by the edge of the bed, my hands resting on my thighs. Loving Spencer Reid meant I noticed things about him, things that he might not even be aware of himself. He was still a little bit uncomfortable with sex, especially the kinkier stuff I liked to do; I knew that if he saw my eyes staring up at him, he'd get nervous and start to question himself.

Usually, I liked to watch in squirm…but not tonight. Tonight, I wanted to see what he had in him, what parts of him I hadn’t seen before.

The air felt thick while I waited to see what my pretty boy would do, I think I was just as nervous as he was. I heard the breath he let out before he started moving, followed by the rustle of fabric. His tie, maybe? I thought.

Spencer walked over to stand over me, his shoes in front of my knees. "Give me your hands."

I complied immediately, keeping my eyes downcast. I had never heard his voice sound like that before. It was raspy, thick, and commanding. It made the ache I felt for him so much more powerful.

He had me press my hands together like I was praying before he wove the tie around my wrists. The knot wasn’t great, I could have gotten out of it easily, but his meaning was clear.

“You’re to keep your hands there, Pretty girl,” he rasped out while I heard the unmistakable clink of his belt opening. “I know how much your hands like to wander. Look at me.”

My eyes slowly slid up his body. His belt was hanging open, his fingers still undoing the button of his pants, the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, and his tie was obviously gone. Those messy brown curls on top of his head seemed wilder than normal. None of those things are what made my breath catch in my throat.

His teeth were digging into his bottom lip while he looked down at me, his eyes blazed with desire, but his shoulders were set with a subtle confidence I wasn’t used to seeing.

Spencer Reid looked like a God, and I had never wanted anything more in my life.

After he lowered his zipper, he reached down to touch my face, his thumb running over my lower lip. I pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb that made him smirk. “Open.”

He pushed his thumb between my lips while his other hand freed his cock. I swirled my tongue around his thumb, my eyes never leaving his.

“Fuck,” he muttered, removing his thumb. “You’re always such an eager thing, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

My answer seemed to amuse Spencer, but he wasn’t deterred from his goal. He gripped his cock and brought it to my mouth. The head was wet with precum that he painted across my lips before his thumb gripped my chin.

I opened my lips and let him guide his cock into my mouth. He slowly moved himself in and out of my mouth at first, letting me get used to him. He was being so sweet, but the urge I felt to please him was overwhelming. I hollowed out my cheeks and started to bob my head.

One of Spencer's hands tangled in my hair while his breath hissed out between his lips. "Fuck, y/n." His head tipped back when I went further down, taking him until he hit the back of my throat. "You're so good at that," he praised.

His hips started moving of their own accord, making shallow thrusts in and out of my mouth. I relaxed my throat as much as I could, letting his cock slide deeper. I felt my throat convulse when I tried to gag around him.

My eyes were watering but I couldn't look away from Spencer. His gaze was fixed on his cock sliding in and out of my mouth, his hand balled up in a fist pressed against his mouth.

He knew how much I liked to hear him. Bastard.

With one final jerk of his hips, he yanked my hair, pulling me away from him. "Stand up," he commanded, his voice shaky but somehow still authoritative.

I stood before Spencer while he admired the mess he had made of me. Tears were smeared down my face, my lips were swollen, and my tongue felt numb.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed across my skin right before he brought his lips against mine. I tried to deepen the kiss, my bound hands coming up to grip at his shirt, but Spencer pulled away with a chuckle.

"Always so needy," he whispered slowly unwinding his tie from my hands. "Go lay on the center of the bed. Put your hands by your sides. If you touch yourself in any way, the next knot will be harder to get out of," he warned.

He watched me move towards the bed while he worked on the buttons of his shirt before pulling it off. Spencer wasn't overly muscled; his body was slim and well-toned, but he still had a softness to him that never failed to make my heart clench. He really was such a pretty boy. I laid in the center of my bed while he removed the last of his clothing. I didn't make it easy for him this time, I never took my eyes off of him.

“See something you like, Princess?”

I nodded my head, smiling at him. “Always, sir.”

Spencer laughed openly while he moved his body over mine, his face level with my own. "You're a brat," he huffed out before he gave me another kiss. This one was hungrier than the last, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip. My body was shifting restlessly under his, desperate for any sort of friction.

“I’ve got you, Pretty Girl,” he muttered against my skin while he kissed his way across my cheek and down the column of my throat. Spencer braced himself on his left hand while his right skimmed down my body. His thumb brushed over my nipple, pulling a gasp from me. He lifted his head from my throat to stare down at me when his fingers reach the waistband of my panties.

“Are you wet for me?” He slipped one finger beneath the fabric of my underwear, smirking down at me when he parts my folds. “You like this don’t you, baby?”

All I could do was whimper. The truth is I did like it, and I hadn't expected to.

His hand stilled. "I asked you a question, Princess."

Jesus Christ. "Yes, sir," I whined out. "I like it."

Spencer's hand moved further into my underwear. Two of his fingers sunk inside of me at the very moment his mouth closed around my nipple.

I couldn't control the way my back arched up at the sensation. "Oh my god.”

His fingers started to move faster inside of me while his thumb brushed over my clit. "How many times do we think I can make you cum tonight? Hmm?" Those long beautiful fingers curled up while they thrust into me, hitting just the right spot. "Two? I don't think we've ever had more than two." His brows quirked as he pretended to ponder his options. I couldn't answer, I could barely even think.

The sensations building inside of me already felt overwhelming. My hips moving to meet his fingers. "Please," I moaned.

“Please, what, Princess?”

My wide eyes meet his teasing brown ones. “Please let me cum.”

His head dropped back down to my neck, his mouth leaving a wet trail of kisses on my body as he moved down to my breasts again. "Cum for me, pretty girl."

At his words, the band that was tightening inside of me snapped. My thighs clamped together around his hand trying to hold the pleasure right where I wanted it. His fingers pushed against the flutters of my orgasm, working me through it while I came back down to earth.

“You’re so pretty when you cum.”

My eyes opened to see the smug, smiling face of Dr. Reid. I wanted to tease him but there's something in those eyes of his that gave me pause. This didn't feel over yet.

Spencer pulled his fingers from my pussy, apprising them before he pulled them into his mouth to suck them clean. He moaned at the taste, his eyes never leaving mine. Popping his fingers out of his mouth, he moved to grip the waistband of my panties before he yanked them down my legs.

I felt his nails rake over my skin while his head moved down my body.

"Spence," I whimpered. "I can't it's too soon."

He looked at me then, his face was slightly nervous. "You know the words."

He was absolutely right, I did.

“Are you using them?”

Do I want to? I thought. I'd never been able to cum more than once so quickly…but. "No," I said firmly.

Spencer shot me a smile a moment before he turned his head to the side and sunk his teeth into the skin of my inner thigh, causing me to yelp. "Good. Then don't interrupt me again."

Fuck that shouldn't have been as hot as it was.

He settled on his stomach between my thighs, his arms anchoring around my legs to hold me in place, his forearms on my hips. He watched my reaction when he pressed a kiss to my pussy, and he grinned when I jerked slightly.

I groaned when his tongue parted me, lapping gently against my entrance, tasting the orgasm he gave me a moment before.

My hips were already trying to shift under his hold. "Can I touch you now?"

He just shook his head, clearly amused at my needy question. I couldn't help it. I wanted to feel his curls in my hands, I wanted to hear him moan when I pulled his hair.

And the bastard knew it.

My fingers fisted in the bedsheets when his tongue flicked over my clit. "I can't, I can't," I muttered but even though I didn't think I could, my body didn't seem to agree. With every circle of his tongue, my hips moved to grind against him. He hummed against my pussy right before he took my clit in his mouth.

"Spence," I rasped out, my hands lifting from the bed for the briefest of moments before slamming back down.

He lifted his head and smiled at me, his mouth shiny with my arousal. "What, Princess?"

I thought it was torture before when he was touching me…but now that he stopped it was even worse. "I need…I need…"

His right-hand moved off of my hip to come between my legs. He cocked his head to the side while his index finger brushed up and down my slit. "You…what?"

Bastard. “I need to cum, please.”

He pressed a kiss to my thigh right above the bite mark. "You're so fucking pretty when you beg." His head moved closer and closer to where I needed him to be. "Say it again. Say it right, baby."

I tossed my head back on the bed, my entire body shaking. "Please make me cum, sir. Please. I want to cum on your face."

The room was silent for a beat, causing me to lift my head and look at him. His mouth was poised right over my pussy, his right hand back in its original position around my thigh.

"Good girl," he praised, looking into my eyes right before his face dove back into my pussy. He ate at my pussy like making me fall apart was his very mission in life.

My hips rocked against him while I babbled a refrain of his name and broken pleas for my release. Spencer finally took pity on me, wrapping his lips around my clit and sucking just hard enough to cause me to splinter apart. My vision went white as my entire body bent to his will.

Spencer's tongue flicked against me one more time before he pulled away to gaze down at me. He looked so pleased when he saw my boneless body beneath him. His arms braced on either side of my head while he laid his body on top of mine. I felt his hard cock brush against my pussy while he pressed kisses to my cheeks. "I love it when you say my name when you cum," he breathed.

I licked my lips, trying to focus on his face.

"Oh, my pretty, pretty girl," he teased. "You're almost wrecked for me." He tsked. "Where is the girl that always says that we're not done until she says we’re done? Where’s my girl?”

He was taunting me. He knew that's how he'd get me to do what he wanted. Because I still wanted him, and I never back down from a challenge.

"I'm right here, sir." My voice was hoarse from screaming for him.

Spencer smiled at me. "You've got one more in you, Princess. Get up on your knees."

My limbs felt heavy when I hurried to comply with his request, my elbows threatened to buckle when I braced my upper body on them. Spencer moved away from me, grabbing a pillow and putting is under my body.

"I know the second I put my cock inside that tight, pretty little pussy of yours you're going to collapse," he said while his hands ran over my body. "This way I can still fuck you the way I want to."

My pussy throbbed at his words. He was so…different like this.

And it was so fucking hot.

I felt the blunt tip of his cock brush against my slit, coating himself in wetness.

"Beg me for it," he teased, one hand anchored to my hips while the other is fisted on his cock. "Come on, baby. You've already screamed for me."

My head dropped down to hang between my arms. "I need it, sir. Please."

“You need what?”

“I need your cock, sir. I need it. Please fuck me, Dr. Reid.”

The honorific slipped out without thought. I usually called him Dr. Reid when he was submitting but judging by the groan that tore from his throat he liked it when I said it like this too.

Without further teasing his cock breached my opening, sliding into me in one motion until his hips hit my ass.

I tried to hold my body up, I really did. I wasn’t going to give up.

Spencer’s hand moved up my back, pushing my hair to one side. “I’ve got you, pretty girl. Put your upper body on the bed.”

His words weren’t teasing anymore, they were almost caring. He knew me well enough to know I was almost spent even though we had never done this before.

“I love you,” I whispered while I dropped my elbows. My upper body was on the bed while my ass was in the air, held there by a pillow under me and Spencer’s hand on my hip.

He leaned over my body, somehow causing his cock to push even deeper inside of me. “I love you too, y/n.” He pressed a kiss to the back of my shoulder before his arms came down on either side of me.

Then he started moving. His hips slapped against my ass while he rutted into me, our moment of tenderness long gone.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped out. “You always feel so fucking good.”

His hips started moving differently, his thrusts were harsher and more purposeful.

“Fuck,” I whimpered almost overwhelmed by the sensations he was bringing out of me. I felt his breath against my back, his body sliding against mine.

“You’re getting tighter, Princess. I know you can do it.” Spencer lifted up slightly until he could grip the headboard, totally changing the angle of his thrusts. “Reach down and rub your clit, pretty girl.”

I shook my head. “I can’t.”

Slap.

I yelped when his hand connected with my ass cheek. “That wasn’t a request, Princess,” he snarled, his thrusts never slowing. “I told you to reach down and rub your clit. Now.”

My pussy was already starting to spasm around him before I even brushed my fingers against my clit.

Spencer groaned. “You like that, don’t you? Such a dirty, needy little thing, aren’t you?”

"Yes, Dr. Reid." My hips started to shift back to meet his thrusts.

“I can feel it. You’re right there. Cum on my cock, Princess. Or do you want me to cum inside your pretty little pussy first?” Spencer’s voice was as dark and primal as his movements. “Because we both know how much you like it when I cum inside of you. It’s what I think about when I’m away. I fuck my fist and think about what a little cum slut you are.”

His filthy words were what finally drove me over the edge. I wasn't able to bury my head in the mattress quick enough to cover my entire scream when my pussy clamped down around his cock, cumming for him for the third time that night.

I heard Spencer’s hoarse exclamation when my release triggered his own. I felt him pulse inside of me while he gave a few more choppy thrusts.

He pulled out of me a moment later, moving my body on to my back. “Are you okay?”

Gone was the dominant man from a few moments ago. Here was my Spencer, my shy, awkward, wonderful man.

“I’m okay,” I said softly, my body shattered and sleepy.

Spencer’s eyes ran over every part of me. “You’re sure? You feel okay.”

I shook my head, smiling at how relieved he looked. Truthfully, I was relieved too. I knew Spencer would take care of me if I went into sub drop and he would do a marvelous job at that, but I was glad it wasn't something we had to worry about for his first time.

He moved to lay on the bed beside me, pulling my body against his side. “So, what did you think?” he questioned, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“You continue to surprise me, Dr. Reid," I answered sleepily.

Spencer chuckled as his fingers trace up and down the length of my spine. "I missed you."

The last thing I did before I fell asleep was smile and tell him, "I missed you too, Pretty Boy."

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