#before it turned out it wasn't resolved at all of course

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

Dustin shows up at his house the next morning.

"You have a concussion," Dustin says when Steve answers the door.

Steve squints at him. "Did you get your medical license when I wasn't looking?"

Dustin rolls his eyes. "Haha, very funny. Are you going to let me in?"

Steve doesn't really have a reason not to.

All right, well, he's got several reasons not to, starting with the fact that Steve isn't actually feeling so great and ending with Dustin being like thirteen and somehow always around when the world is ending.

But Steve is lonely, and feeling kind of pathetic, and none of them seem like good enough reasons, so he opens the door and lets Dustin in.

"From my mom," Dustin says, setting down a Tupperware of brownies on the coffee table.

Steve immediately knows he's made the right decision, taking a massive bite of chocolate, fudgy heaven. It's only after he's devoured one and he turns to Dustin to ask him to tell his mom thanks that he sees that Dustin's plopped his heart onto the coffee table, too.

"Hearts out, Steve," Dustin says matter-of-factly.

"Why?" Steve bitches. "What do you even need to look at it for?"

"You're in the Party now! Party rules, you have to show your heart before you can get your walkie," Dustin says.

Steve pulls a face, and immediately regrets it as it makes his eye and nose burst with pain. "Who says I even want to be in your party?"

Dustin's face falls. "Don't you?" he asks, sounding hesitant and uncertain.

It makes Steve's resolve crumble immediately.

"How about we start with friends?" Steve offers.

The kid's face lights up at that, giving him a gap toothed smile, but then he nudges his heart closer to Steve and looks at him expectantly.

Steve sighs and takes his own heart out, wincing a little as the motion twinges his bruised ribs. He sets it on the table next to Dustin's.

"There you go," Steve mutters.

Now that the light's better, he can see a hole right in the middle of Dustin's heart. It's small, but it goes all the way through, and it makes Steve's own heart give a soft pulse in empathy.

Dustin catches it, looks up to follow Steve's gaze, and drops his eyes. "My dad," Dustin mutters.

"Hey," Steve says softly, reaching out without even thinking about it to turn his heart a little.

There's two overlapping holes in the same place on his own heart, and Steve rubs his thumb over them, biting the inside of his cheek at the way it still prompts a soft echo of longing. "My parents," he tells Dustin.

Dustin looks around, like he's only just now realizing that there's been no sign of them since he rang the doorbell. "Oh," he says, soft and full of understanding.

It's honestly the most understanding he's ever received about his parents choosing to be mostly absent from his life, which makes him feel kind of pathetic, but also makes his heart warm in a way he's not sure it ever has before.

Dustin reaches out, stopping just short of touching Steve's heart as he gestures to the jagged line cutting through it.

"Nancy?" Dustin asks.

Steve's jaw sets.

He doesn't want to talk about it.

Dustin seems to take that as answer enough, though, because he just goes back to eagerly examining both of their hearts. Steve's is bigger than his - of course it is, because Dustin is thirteen, but they're both the same deep, vibrant red, and they both beat strong and steady.

It's barely any time before they're beating in unison.

Dustin looks back up at him, beaming that wide, goofy smile of his. "Cool," he proclaims.

—

Every time Dustin comes over after that - and it's a lot, honestly, Steve still doesn't know what to make of it - he plops his heart onto the coffee table and waits expectantly until Steve takes his out and puts it next to Dustin's.

They never touch each other's hearts, they never even talk about it, but at least twice a week Steve's able to breathe a little easier, able to actually relax.

—

He waits at the picnic table in the woods after school on his first day back.

Munson looks bored at first when he gets there, but then he does a double take, like Steve's injuries are worse now than they were at lunch.

Or maybe it's just that he's up close now, instead of on the other side of the cafeteria, or maybe it's just that Steve's tired and in pain and he doesn't give a shit about pretending like he isn't.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” Munson mutters, dropping his lunchbox on the table.

Steve shrugs. “I'd say you should see the other guy, but everyone did already.”

Munson is looking at him with suspicion, eyes narrowed as he takes him in. Steve wonders if he doesn't buy the story that's been floating around, if it's too easy to see that he and Hargrove both look pretty fucking bad for just blowing off steam and getting carried away.

Wonders if he'll call him on it.

Munson's expression smooths out, though, and he flips the lunchbox lid open. “How much do you want?”

Steve's eyes flick down to the chains on Munson's leather jacket, but no heart there today. Not that he could see anything if it was - Munson's been wearing his heart pinned to his jacket off and on since the last half of Steve's freshman year, but it's always wrapped up tight in chains or leather so that no one could get more than a glimpse of it.

Everyone said it was a flaunt of defiance against tradition and a way he could cheat people in his deals while maintaining the appearance of a fair exchange, but Steve always kind of figured it was just because he was tired of people demanding to see it whenever he sold to them while being reluctant to show theirs.

That, and it was like everything else Eddie Munson did - loud and in your face and purposefully drawing attention to what he wanted you to see, while guarding what he didn't close to his chest.

Steve's never bothered with attempting a mutual show of hearts the handful of times he's bought from Munson before - they aren't exactly new business partners, not even the first time he actually bought from Munson himself, and frankly Steve's never needed to see Munson's heart to know he's trustworthy enough that he's not going to give him bad shit, even if he does overcharge him.

But today's different.

He gently pops open his own chest, ignoring the faint twinge of his ribs, and takes his heart out, setting it on the table next to Munson's lunchbox.

Munson's eyes widen for a moment before his jaw sets, lips thinning out in a flat line as he looks down at Steve's heart and then back up to his face. “What the hell is this?”

“My heart,” Steve replies evenly.

Munson looks unimpressed. “I'm not showing you mine.”

“I didn't ask you to,” Steve says, unable to stop himself even though he knows he's being kind of a dick.

Munson looks at him for a moment. Then, “Whatever. How much do you want?”

Steve opens his mouth to say he isn't here to buy today, but - actually, no, he could probably use some weed to dull the pain and help him sleep. It's routine for a moment, both of them ignoring Steve's heart beating on the table next to them as they make the trade, until Steve's baggie is tucked inside his jacket and Munson's shoving cash into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Your Majesty,” Munson says, doing a little bow.

“Munson, wait,” Steve says.

Munson straightens, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Hargrove tried to blame this on you.” Steve gestures at his face. “Told me you sold him some bad shit.”

Munson goes very, very still. His eyes flick down to Steve's heart, so quick that Steve's not sure he would have noticed it if he wasn't watching Munson so closely.

“That so?” Munson asks. There isn't an edge in his voice - if anything, there's such a quiet neutrality to those two words that it almost feels more dangerous than if he'd tried to put a warning in them.

Eddie Munson's never scared Steve the way he does half the school - honestly, shitty as it is, Steve doesn't exactly think of him all that much - but there's no denying that Munson is no pushover. He can't tell if Munson is afraid, or angry, or just itching for a fight, but Steve didn't come here to freak him out.

He holds his hands up, palm out, and purposefully drags his gaze down to where his heart is beating calm and steady. “I don't believe him.”

Munson looks down at Steve's heart, lingering for a moment before darting back up. His expression is still unreadable. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he said he was going to spread it around, that you were lacing your stuff with something,” Steve says. “I'm pretty sure I convinced him it was a bad idea, but just in case.”

“You convinced him it was a bad idea,” Munson repeats flatly.

Steve shrugs. “I told him he should be nicer to you, that you always sell me the good shit.”

That gets a little snort out of Munson, startled and almost amused, and Steve grins at him.

“It won't be hard to tack that onto the rumor if he tries to spread it,” Steve says. “So you should be safe.”

Just like that, the amusement in Munson's expression is gone. “Yeah?” he asks, disdain clear in his voice. “And why does King Steve give a shit if I'm safe?”

It's an obvious challenge, and for just a moment - for just a moment, Steve wants to tell him.

To tell him how the King Steve shit first came about because Carol loved fairy tales when they were little and his parents were gone so much that Tommy called him king of the castle, that he has tons of people who call him their friend but the only people who come close to understanding him are his ex, her new boyfriend, and a gaggle of middle schoolers who're waiting for him to come pick them up.

That he's more tired than any seventeen year old should ever be.

“What kind of king would I be if I didn't protect my people?” he says instead of any of that, refusing to look at whatever his heart is doing.

It's high school, it's politics, it's bullshit, but it's still a game he has to play for a little longer.

Munson is watching his heart, now, and whatever he sees makes something complicated cross his face. For a moment, Steve picks up a hint of longing, but it's gone by the time he looks back up.

“Well then,” he says, wide grin back in place as he bows again. “Consider this court jester protected, Your Majesty.”

—

The phone rings at one am a few days later.

He isn't asleep - had been, earlier, but a nightmare had tipped him quickly into wakefulness, and he hadn't gone back - so he answers it almost immediately.

Nothing good comes from one am phone calls.

“How many teeth do you think those things have?” Max demands without so much as a hello.

“I don't know,” Steve bitches before he's thought better of it. “You want to come over and count the bite marks on my leg?”

There's silence for a moment.

“Yeah,” Max says, and Steve's gut twists.

“It's one in the morning, Mayfield,” he says. “What are you going to do, skate over? It's dark and cold as shit out there.”

“Didn't stop us at the junkyard,” she shoots back.

He's quiet for a moment. Then, “I'll pick you up.”

She snorts. “You're going to show up at my house at one am and pick me up? Yeah, that'll be a great look for you.”

“Then it looks like you're out of luck, and you'll have to pick out the teeth marks on my leg tomorrow.”

She doesn't say anything for a while. He doesn't rush her, just settles back with the phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear.

“Why'd you do it?” she asks eventually.

“I ask myself that about a lot of things,” he replies. “Which one?”

He half expects another snappy retort, but her voice just goes even quieter.

“Put yourself in front of me. Stand up to him.”

Oh.

“I don't need protecting,” she adds, and yeah, there's the attitude.

“I know you don't need it,” he says, even though that's a lie. She does need it, they all do. “I know you can look out for yourself.”

That's not a lie.

“But you shouldn't have to. You should have someone who'll look out for you.”

She scoffs. “And that's going to be you?”

He shrugs, even though she can't see it, and it hurts a little. “Why not?”

She's quiet again. “You don't even know me.”

He does, is the thing. He knows the way her eyes looked when she said Billy was going to kill her, he knows not being able to rely on the people you should count on most, even if it's not the same.

He knows how he felt the summer before high school, when his father finally grew too frustrated with waiting for Steve's heart to change, how he picked it up and nearly threw it across the room. He knows the sound of his mother yelling, how viciously they fought. How his father never touched him or his heart again, but Steve now knew what lurked behind his eyes when he smiled too big.

He knows how his mother has looked at him with disappointment more times than anything else, after that.

But he doesn't say any of that. Instead, he says, “So let's change that. Skate park or arcade tomorrow?”

“What?” she asks, clearly thrown.

“After you're done staring at my leg wound and counting teeth like a creep,” he clarifies. “Am I taking you to the skate park or the arcade?”

“Hawkins doesn't have a skate park,” she says dismissively. “It has abandoned parking lots and dirt holes.”

He waits.

“Arcade,” she says. “And I want popcorn.”

—

His walkie flares to life at night, sometimes.

After the first time, he leaves it on a different channel than their usual one - makes sure the kids know which one it is, if they need to use it - and sometimes, they do.

Okay, more than sometimes. It's not like Steve's sleeping all that well, though, so he doesn't mind when it happens almost every night for a few weeks.

“Steve, you awake? Over,” Lucas says one night.

“Yeah, I'm up,” he mutters into the walkie. Then, after a moment's pause, “Over.”

There's silence, and that wakes him up more than the walkie itself had.

“Lucas?” he asks.

“What if you weren't there?” Lucas says.

“What?” Steve asks.

“At the junkyard. With Billy. What if you weren't there?”

“But I was,” Steve says, frowning.

“I know, but what if you weren't?”

Steve sits up, rubs at his eyes a little. “I'll always be there when you guys need me, okay?”

“You can't promise that!” If it was Dustin or Mike it might have been an angry bite, but Lucas just sounds frustrated. Maybe even a little scared.

“Sure I can,” Steve argues, even though he kind of knows Lucas is right. “I have the walkie, right? You guys call me, and bada bing bada boom, I'm there.”

Lucas is quiet for a moment. “Are you still trying to get Nancy back?”

“What? No, of course not. Why?”

“Dustin said you were bringing flowers to Nancy when he made you help him look for Dart.”

Right, of course he did. Do these kids keep any secrets from each other?

“This isn't about Nancy, okay? This is about you guys. I showed my heart to Dustin and I have my walkie and everything, doesn't that mean I'm in your party?”

“You actually want to be in the Party?” Lucas asks, sounding skeptical. “But you're Steve Harrington.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Steve asks.

“Aren't you way too cool to hang out with us?” Lucas retorts.

This is - quickly becoming a conversation that Steve doesn't really want to have over a walkie talkie at past midnight on a school night. He huffs out a frustrated breath of air, then pushes the talk button on the walkie again.

“This weekend. Arcade or shooting hoops?”

There's a pause. Then, “Really?”

Steve swallows down his urge to be a dick. “Yeah. Really.”

“Basketball. The park?” Lucas asks.

“Nah, we can use the hoop in my driveway. Come on by whenever.”

—

Lucas is good. Unpracticed, especially at any kind of teamwork, but good. Steve has to be careful, with his injuries, but they still get some good work in, and it's fun.

It's not until they're finished and raiding the kitchen for some snacks that he asks, “So what was that about, a few days ago?”

Lucas noisily pops open his can of New Coke, and takes such a long drink that Steve's pretty sure he's doing it to avoid answering. Steve just raises an eyebrow.

“Nancy used to hang out with us,” Lucas says, almost reluctantly. “She even played D&D with us a couple of times. Then she went to high school, and then she started dating you, and suddenly she's too cool to hang out with us. Then - then everything with Will, the first time, and she promised Mike they'd spend more time together, but she didn't. Just kept dating you.”

That's - a lot. He hadn't known that about Nancy, except that she wasn't as close with Mike as she wanted to be, that she didn't know how to talk to him about everything that happened. He thinks about protesting that hey, he's the one who got Nancy to talk to Mike about Will - and had to be a part of it, ugh - but again, he's trying not to be a dick.

“So you're, what, worried that I goaded Nancy into not hanging with you guys?”

Lucas makes a face at him. “No, Nancy doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do. I believe you that you'll be here if we need you for Upside Down stuff again, but why would you hang out with us for the in between?”

That's a fair question. He wants to be flippant, wants to deflect with something like because Dustin keeps showing up at my house and won't leave me alone, but -

He remembers how terrified Lucas looked with Billy pinning him against the cabinet. He kind of wonders if anyone's talked to him about it, or if it got lumped in with all the other weird terrifying shit going on.

“Because it isn't always Upside Down stuff,” Steve says softly.

Lucas goes quiet. “El says Hopper told her you guys fixed it so Billy would leave us alone.”

“I think Max did that well enough, but yeah, Hop and I had a plan.”

“How?” Lucas asks.

Bullshit, is how, Steve wants to say, but he doesn't. “Billy's on the basketball team, and he wants to stay on the basketball team.”

Lucas frowns. “So?”

“So I've been on the team longer than him. Coach knows me better, the guys are used to looking to me. Well - some of them.” In all fairness, the basketball team's been kind of split - some of them gravitating to him, some to Billy, some trickling back and forth like kids with divorced parents.

“So… you're one of the cool kids, and you like us, so the more douchebag ones stay away from us?” Lucas asks.

Steve's nose scrunches a little as he considers that, but it's… not wrong. “Yeah, I guess so. Most of them are good guys, they don't like bullying anymore than I do. It doesn't stop the ones who are assholes from doing it where we can't see it, but it helps.”

Lucas looks like he's considering that for a long moment, until finally he nods.

Steve thinks that's the end of it, but later, as Lucas is heading out to leave, he asks, “So what happens if you're not there, and you can't see it?”

Steve resists the temptation to pinch the bridge of his nose - mostly because he knows it'll hurt like hell.

“The Y is offering self defense classes,” he says, when he's gotten himself under control. “I was thinking about taking one. You in?”

Lucas is in.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

-----

Part 4

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy

[canarybell]

Sometimes I think about how liberating that moment must have been for Aziraphale:

Like yeah, scary too, I'm not trying to paint Aziraphale's experience in Hell as some kind of a fun trip.

But also.

Angel spent most of his existence (since Before the Beggining!) fearing something would happen to Crowley. With a big part of this 'something' coming from the very fact of them being close - can you imagine living with the knowledge that you are one of the reasons why your loved one is perpetually in a mortal danger?

And here? Aziraphale has a chance to change it. Maybe not forever (though I think Aziraphale would want to believe it is possible), but for a while for sure.

Scare all of Hell's demons away from Crowley. Make Michael of Heaven aware that holy water won't work on him. Convince everybody that Crowley has a lot, a lot more to offer, and he's the one to be feared. Make people who might hurt Crowley- Beelzebub, Hastur, Dagon, Michael - agree to left him alone for foreseeable future.

Can you imagine - living with a fear so big that it has become basically a part of your identity, and then get a chance to laugh the sources of that fear in their faces? Break away from that constant feeling of terror and hopelessness, believe that you can finally save your loved one in a way that matters most to you?

Yes, it didn't last long - for 4 years at most. Then all that happened in S2 made it clear they won't be left alone by their higher-ups, and that their de facto partnership is still something that can be used to put a collar of fear on angel.

But that exact moment? I think it was everything for Aziraphale.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

reunion

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: Slow burn; unrequited love; angst; yearning; divorced Art Donaldson; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; safe sex

Summary: It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

"Did you hear Art Donaldson is supposed to be here?"

The question is whispered behind you and makes your hand freeze in its signing. You're half-bent over the table at reception, fingers tight around a pen as your mind is jogged.

No way was he turning up, that's what Anne had said.

Tashi will be there, she's the head of the goddamn reunion committee, the ink is still wet on their divorce—that's what Anne had said. Hell, she'd sworn it.

So what the hell is he doing here?

The sound of your name jogs your attention and you manage to finish signing in. You straighten, taking up your name tag and haphazardly slapping the adhesive onto your top. You need a drink, and quickly. You're halfway to the bar before you feel someone wind their arm through yours.

"Okay, I know you didn't wanna come—"

"Anne."

"And I so appreciate you being here so that I didn't have to come alone—"

"Anne—"

"But I got some news and it's going to be a little shocking so I think you should hear it from me—"

"I know he's here."

"What?" Anne freezes, her arm dropping from yours. You turn to see her looking stricken, her cheeks pinking with panic and embarrassment. You sigh softly, glancing around your fellow alumni. Less than half of them look familiar; your eyes catch on the odd face before you realize that you're inadvertently looking for him.

"Look, there are, like...Five hundred people here, alright?" You add. "I probably won't even see him."

"We can go."

"Look, we made the trip, we're here, we may as well stay. It's fine, okay? We're all adults here! It doesn't matter!" Your insistence is chased by a slightly hysterical laugh. "It was, like, a hundred years ago."

"...You're sure?"

"I am positive."

Positive that you need a drink, and positive that you're going to regret agreeing to stay.

--

It wasn't that Art Donaldson was the one that got away. It was more like Art Donaldson was the one that never really knew you existed.

You were friends, sure. You palled around, had a few classes together, hung out at a few parties—but he was so in love with Tashi Duncan that you'd never made his romantic radar. You'd forced yourself to believe that that was for the best, that you didn't need his love or romantic validation to be happy. But you couldn't pretend that wanting him didn't sting.

He'd had a couple of girlfriends while you were at Stanford, but you could always feel, always see that they were never really his priority. It was Tashi, then tennis, then them.

The two of you had kept touch a little after college, but you'd pushed yourself to move on. Conversation had begun to fade, and when he hadn't tried to keep it up, you had resolved to let him go.

You'd avoided his name in the news as much as you can, but it had been hard. He was on billboards, packaging, tv—it was like you couldn't escape him.

Want melted to sadness; sadness shifted to annoyance; annoyance hardened into disdain. You couldn't see his likeness or hear his name without rolling your eyes. It wasn't his fault, of course, but the prospect of running into Art fuckin' Donaldson made you queasy.

Still, you put on a brave face for Anne, forcing your focus into conversation.

It's a struggle to keep your gaze from seeking him out. You take each sip with a little white lie, convincing yourself that you're looking to make sure you can avoid contact. You spot Tashi a couple of times, but you don't go out of your way to say hello. She's surrounded by a cloud of people—taking pictures, signing programs and name tags and old Duncanator shirts.

When Anne insists on going to say hello, you force a small smile.

"You, um—you go ahead," You nod, taking a couple of steps back. "I'm gonna get some air."

Anne's dark eyes flit over you questioningly before she blessedly lets it go, nodding and going on her way. You turn, swiping a fresh drink off of a passing waiter's tray as you leave.

It takes a few moments for the buzz of conversation to clear from your head. You take a gulp of the prosecco, wrinkling your nose. It's a little sweeter than you usually like, and doesn't mingle well with the three other drinks that you've downed. Tashi's not going to find your lack of presence or greeting conspicuous; you'd been cordial and on speaking terms in college, but the two of you had never been close.

Damn, but it's chillier outside than you thought it would be. The reception had been so warm, so crammed with people. Paired your head being near-permanently on a swivel, you hadn't realize how hot and tense you'd been.

You frown at the waft of cigarette smoke that catches your nose. Who the hell is still smoking in this day and age—

"Are you hiding, too?"

Maybe you can feign that you didn't hear him—that the sound of his voice didn't jog a hundred memories and trigger a flurry of butterflies. But before you can stop yourself, you turn, the words, "I thought you quit smoking," tumbling out of your mouth.

Art's smile widens as he draw the cigarette back from his lips, a stream of smoke pushed out of the side of his mouth.

"I did. Quit quitting, though." He takes one more puff before he flicks it away, drifting closer. "Hi."

Hi, like it's not the first time you've seen him in the better part of a decade. Hi, like neither of you are oceans from where you where when you last saw one another.

"Hi," You manage. He doesn't hesitate to draw you into his arms; he seems to almost do it without thinking. You only allow yourself a moment of resistance before you raise and curl your arms around him. The clean scent of his pressed jacket and woodsy cologne are muddled with smoke. The fingers of one if your hands curls covetously in the fabric of his jacket as his palms smooth gently over your back. You hear him draw in a deep breath, feel him hold it, and then release it with a soft hum.

"How the hell are you?"

Probably better than you are these days.

You shrug a little, mumbling, "Fine."

He draws away, eyes skating across your face.

"You don't sound so sure about that."

"I'm sure."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

You can feel him winding up for another pass at it, but you hold your glass out before he can. His fingers brush against yours as he drains it.

"Why are you hiding?" You ask. He shrugs, nods toward the door.

"It's a lot in there. I forgot what these events are like."

"People wanna congratulate you. They're proud."

"Are you?"

"I am, but I'll hold off. Don't wanna crowd you."

Your attention is drawn from Art's smile as you hear someone clearing their throat over the speaker system inside:

"If we could have the reunion chairpersons to the stage, please!"

You glance toward Art and find him fidgeting, his thumb smoothing across his bare ring finger.

"…Do you wanna go back in?" You offer. He considers before he says, "Wait here."

You watch curiously as he darts inside, and are stunned when he reappears a moment later. You just barely catch a glimpse of the bottle of champagne clenched in his fist before he rests his other hand on your lower back, steering you away with an urgent murmur of, "C'mon."

--

"I'm surprised you came," You tell him. Art doesn't look at you for a moment, and you take the chance to lean back against the hard plastic seat. He's as beautiful as he was the last time the two of you were together, the night before graduation—practically in the same seats. You don't know if he was thinking about that when he'd led the way into the stands, chosen where to sit. Maybe it was pure muscle-memory.

Either way, you don't know how long the two of you have been sitting out there, knees bumping, passing the bottle back and forth. You take in his profile—the slope of his nose and cut of his jaw; the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows.

"My therapist said it would be good," He finally admits. "Told me I needed to get out more, start getting back into events, work at the foundation...What about you, huh?" He turns, brows raising. "You always told me that you hated this stuff."

You're surprised he remembers.

"I do hate this stuff, but," You shrug. "Anne didn't want to come alone."

"You're a good friend. I never forgot that." He sits up and passes the bottle back to you. "What happened to us, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did we stop talking?"

I couldn't keep begging for scraps of attention.

"I don't know," You deflect. "Guess we just lost touch. It happens."

"I shouldn't have let it happen to us."

You look down at the bottle, sweeping your finger across a slipping drop of condensation.

"You were busy."

"You weren't?"

"Not in the same way," You laugh self-consciously.

"What were you busy with then, huh?" He shifts, thigh pressing against yours. "You used to always say you'd uh—burn out by twenty-six."

"Yeah."

"Did you?"

"Oh, it didn't take nearly that long."

"What!" He laughs. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know what to tell you, man. A girl can only take a soul-sucking marketing job for so long."

"So what do you do now?"

"Still in marketing, but I'm a manager, so. Still soul-sucking, but making a little more money."

"You like it?"

"God no, but I don't know what else I would do." You pass the bottle back.

"Could find something for you at the foundation."

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head as Art sputters a laugh, asks, "What?"

"Don't do that, Art."

"Don't do what?"

"I don't need, you know—"

"We could use you—"

"You don't even know what I do at work."

"I bet it's great—"

"You don't even know if I'm a good worker—"

"Sure I do, I know you."

"No, you don't!"

You know it's a mistake the second it leaves your mouth. Art's smile wavers as he leans away again.

"I just mean—" You try.

"I know what you mean. It's been a long time."

"...Yeah, it has." You take the bottle back, drawing deeply from it before passing it back. "I should get going. I'm sure Anne's looking for me."

"Sure."

You don't say goodbye or tell him that it was nice to see him. You just make as hasty a retreat as you can without tripping over your feet.

--

@ a_donaldsonofficial requested to follow you. 3h

You're not sure what surprises you more—the follow request or the message in your DMs: Dinner?

--

His groan is sinful and low, and makes you rethink ever losing contact with the guy. Under the warm glow of the diner's lights, his eyes slip shut, fingers tightening around the bun.

"...When's the last time you had a burger?" You finally manage to ask.

"I can't remember." He admits it through the mouthful, and you don't begrudge him the couple of flecks of food that land on the table. You smile, plucking up a couple of fries.

"Art?"

"Mm."

"Why'd you ask me to dinner?"

Art sets the burger down as he swallows, taking off his napkin to clean off his hands.

"I was thinking...About what you said at the reunion."

"Mhm."

"About me not knowing you. You're right. But you know what?" He presses on before you can process your surprise. "I don't think you know me, either."

You think for a moment, brows furrowing. He's right. You know the image of Art Donaldson that's been projected to you over the years—on tv screens, in magazines, in online clips.

"...I don't think I do," You agree.

"Figured we should fix that. Catch up, fill each other in on what we've missed."

"Okay."

"So, after college..." He trails off, waving his hand. "Fill me in."

"Moved to New York."

"Uh-huh."

"Working in marketing."

"Burned out before 26—"

"Yeah, hit my capitalistic peak at 23."

"That fast?"

"I mean, that's the last time I remember giving a shit about work, so. Yeah."

"Relationships?"

"...A couple," You admit.

"Serious?"

"Yeah. One."

"Married?"

"No. Engaged." His eyes drop to your bare left hand, and you hurriedly tuck it into your lap. "Formerly engaged."

"What happened?"

"It just didn't feel right. I don't think either of us were ready."

"...Was it anyone I knew? I don't remember you dating much at school."

"Guess I didn't."

"You weren't shy."

"Well no, but—"

"So what was it?"

"I had the worst crush on you, dude!" It's another mistake, but where the last one seemed to make Art retreat, this one leaves his gobsmacked. His eyes widen, mouth opening in a wide smile.

"You what?"

"Oh, kay, you know what—"

"I had no idea!"

"I was very subtle."

Art leans back in the diner booth, watching you openly. You can see the gears turning in his head, and you wonder what he may be remembering, holding up and twisting about in this new light.

"...Huh," He mutters.

"You can feel free to forget that at any time."

"I don't think I will...I wish I'd known."

You consider for a moment before you shrug. "I don't know. I'm kinda glad that you didn't."

"Really?" His brows knit with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't like coming second, Art."

Art nods slowly, and you see something tight pass across his face before it's smoothed away again.

"You know what?" He smiles bitterly. "Neither do I."

You nod toward his plate.

"Your burger's getting cold."

--

"So, uh..." Art clears his throat as the two of you take slow, drifting steps to your car. "I'm gonna say two things, and I don't want you to think that they've got anything to do with what you said earlier."

You know exactly what he means, but you just grumble, "I said a lot of things earlier."

"I think we both know which one I'm talking about."

"Uh-huh. So what's up?"

"...I wanna see you again."

"Okay."

"But things are a little...Messy right now. Tashi and I are working on getting Lily into a regular rhythm and it's harder than we thought it would be."

You lean back against your car, tucking your hands into your pockets.

"Mhm...I hesitate to ask."

"Yeah."

"How does this have to do with what I said earlier?"

"I just don't want you to think that this is—"

"A consolation prize?"

"Something like that."

"Whatever you need to do to get in a good place with Lily is fine, Art, you don't need to justify that to me."

"Even if it means you come second?"

You tip your head to the side, pursing your lips. "It's different when it's your kid. I meant that I didn't want to be second to—You know."

"...Yeah," He mutters, looking at his feet as he takes another foot forward. "And for the record, I was thinking of asking you out again by the time we sat down."

"You could've changed your mind."

"I didn't. And I don't want to."

You smile, nodding. "Well I don't want you to, either." You straighten up as you fish into your bag for your keys. "Call me the next time you're in New York."

"Sure."

You reach out, cupping his cheek and leaning in, pecking his cheek. You pull away, smiling at the flush creeping across his face.

"Goodnight, Art."

"Night."

--

It isn't easy at first. Messages are far and few, mostly how are yous and how was your days. You think that as nice as the little swell of contact has been, that's all it'll be—but the two of you both start to really try. The odd text becomes the weekly phone call. Weekly phone calls become daily FaceTimes. On the nights when he has Lily, they're late, usually when you're getting ready for bed. On the nights when he's on his own, the two of you eat dinner together and chat over your calls. It isn't always perfect, but it's more than you could've anticipated from that dinner a couple of months ago.

--

"She down?"

"Yeah."

"Are you in a hotel again?"

"...Yeah." Art seems to admit it grudgingly, and you smile a little as you take up your toner and a cotton pad.

"There's nothing wrong with leaning into it if it's working," You argue. "And not to be that bitch, but you're not exactly broke."

"Might be if she keeps ordering room service and movies on-demand."

You laugh softly, turning your attention to your reflection as you swipe the toner across your face.

"How's your day been?" Art asks.

"Fine, standard. I had to fill out an assessment ahead of my annual review."

"When's that?"

"End of the week."

"How do you feel about it?"

"Mm," You shrug reaching for a serum. "Fine, I guess. I'm doing okay, my team's hitting their targets."

"You're doing better than okay."

"Art."

"You are."

"Well. Thank you for that." You glance over as he goes quiet, catching a glimpse of him as you smooth the serum into your skin. You raise your brows at the sight of his gentle, warm smile. "What is it?"

"You're beautiful."

Your face goes warm at the compliment, and you bite the inside of your cheek to tamp down your wide, idiotic smile.

"You are tired, huh," You deflect.

"I mean it."

"...I know," You murmur, reaching for your moisturizer. "Tell me what you got up to today."

"I had a meeting at the foundation. We're starting planning for the gala."

"Oh yeah? Have you done them before?"

"We've had three before, but I was usually playing or training, so I haven't been as involved in the planning."

"How's it been?"

"We're still in the preliminary stages, but it's been interesting, you know, seeing how the pieces come together before I usually see them."

You nod, picking the phone up from the mirror holder and heading into your bedroom.

"Where are you gonna have it?"

"We're still scouting locations...As a matter of fact," Art adds, "We're considering a few in New York."

"Oh?"

"I'll be down there for at least a few days, and I wanna see you."

You grin bashfully as you climb into bed, settling against your pillows.

"I wanna see you, too. Are you gonna, um—I mean, is Lily gonna be with you?"

"No, it'll be Tashi's weekend."

"Okay, cool. Just wanna make sure I don't mess up your time."

"I appreciate that." Art's tongue swipes across his lower lip, eyes sweeping across your face. "I gotta say..."

"Mmm?"

"I'm looking forward to seeing your apartment."

"Oh, really?" You chuckle. "Why's that?"

"It'll be interesting, that's all. I mean, you already take me to bed every night."

You laugh, covering your eyes as you groan, "Oh, god, shut up!" as Art chuckles.

"Let me know when you're free," You add. "Your schedule's gonna be weirder than mine."

"Yeah, I will, as soon as I know what it is." You watch as Art lays down, propping his phone up on the nightstand. "...Can you stay on?"

"Yeah," You soothe, setting your phone on the nightstand in suit. "Until we fall asleep."

"Okay," He murmurs. The two of you settle in on your sides, watching one another on the phone.

"Night, Art."

"Sweet dreams."

--

The restaurant is picked. Your nails are done, your hair is done; you get a new dress, new shoes, a new bag. You're going to have an amazing night—a good dinner, a great conversation, and, if you have any luck, an amazing good night kiss.

--

You know the minute you see him that you're not making it to the restaurant. Art's eyes sweep over you in covetous wonder when you open the door. He closes the gap between the two of you, drawing you into his arms, and this time you go without a second thought. He presses his face into your neck, letting out a gentle hum at the scent of your perfume. The tip of his nose trails up over your jaw, his lips brushing the corner of your lips as his forehead rests against yours. He sighs as you draw in a nervous breath, and he sways in, lips pressing to yours.

You raise your hand to cup his neck, shivering as his hands smooth over your hips. He guides you deeper inside, blindly reaching back and shoving the door shut behind you as you fling your purse toward the bench in your entryway. His kisses grow hungrier as he steers you down the hall. You slip your tongue along his, smoothing your hand up to grasp his hair. Your fingers fumble with the buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his pale, muscled chest to you. He slides down the zipper on the back of your dress and leans away just long enough to draw the dress up over your head. His eyes sweep across you, taking in your lingerie.

You hook your thumbs under the band of your underwear, giving them a teasing wiggle as you back further away from him. You expect him to follow, but he steers you back against the wall, dropping his head to suck hot kisses along your neck and down to your chest. He yanks one of the cups of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. You bite your lip, tipping your head back against the wall and whining as he slots his knee between your thighs. You roll your hips down against the hard muscle as he laves and teases your nipple, reaching up to thumb and tweak the other.

"Art—Mm, god that feels so good."

He groans against your skin, trailing his kisses further down as he lowers himself to his knees. You look down as he curls his fingers around your panties—and waits. You smile softly, nodding, murmuring, "Please?"

Art grins, pressing a kiss to your hip before he gently eases the fabric down, waiting for you to lift your feet so he can fling them away. He leans in, swiping his tongue across your aching clit. Your knees would knock if he wasn't wedged between them. You draw in a shallow breath, letting your head tip back as he draws your leg over his shoulder. You shiver at the feeling of the chilly air against your heated, slick flesh. He nuzzles and laps against your cunt, taking each tip of your hips in stride. His hand smooths up your trembling inner thigh, giving your ass a gentle squeeze before he teases a finger into you. You whimper at the touch, unable to help the way your pussy clenches around it.

Art groans at the feeling, turning his head to smear his lips slips against your hip.

"Goddamn," He breaths against you.

"More."

You feel more than hear his gentle chuckle as he eases another finger in.

"Need it bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"I'm getting a pretty good idea." He turns his head, leveling a sucking kiss to your clit that makes you cry out. You tighten your grip on his hair as he pumps his fingers harder, curling and scissoring them as he pushes you closer to the edge.

"Art—Mm, god, fuck, yes—Yes—" Your toes curl in your shoes as your hips rabbit down against his face and fingers, chasing the swell of your orgasm. You look back down as he draws back and find his lips and chin shining with your juices.

"Bed," He urges.

"You can fuck me right here."

Art laughs, standing and smoothing his hand over your thigh.

"We're doing this right."

"We could be doing this right...." You slid your hand down his chest to palm his cock through his pants. "Here."

You grin as Art's eyelids flutter, his dick twitching against you.

"Bed," He insists again.

It isn't far to go, and the two of you are entirely bare by the time you get there. You scooch back onto the bed, spreading your legs as he rolls on a condom. He's over you a moment later, and you watch the bulge of his biceps as he braces his hands on either side of your head. You bite your lip as you feel the brush of his cock against your entrance. You reach down, grasping his cock and guiding him closer.

You tip your head up, tongue teasing the seam of his lips as he eases into you. You melt into the mattress as he crushes against you, filling you completely. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, sliding your legs over his, as if you'll manage to fuse the two of you together. Art's tongue swirls around yours before he captures your lips in a kiss, rolling his hips slowly.

"More," You plead, but Art keeps his pace achingly steady, even when you try to pick up the pace.

"You feel so fucking good," He breathes, "Even better than you taste."

"Harder, Art, please, god damn, please," You whimper. He tips his head to the side nipping at the hinge of your jaw as he reaches down, hiking your hip up even higher. Your mouth fell open with a stunned moan as he presses deeper, the slap of his hips filthily filling the stifling air around you. You arch up against him, nails raking down his back as you feel the swell of another orgasm.

"Art."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm—Fuck, almost—"

"That's it." He sucks his fingers between his lips before he slips them between your bodies, swiping across your tender clit. You begin to close your eyes, but he tuts softly.

"Don't—Don't close your eyes—Look at me," He orders between breaths. You force yourself to focus on Art, taking in the flush on his cheeks, his almost dazed eyes.

"You, too—" You urge.

"Yeah—"

"Oh—yeah," You gasp, unable to keep your gaze on his you cum. You feel Art's hips slap roughly against yours before he slows, groaning low in his chest. You draw in a deep breath as your heart pounds in your chest, sinking back against your pillows as he settles down over you. You smooth your hand over his nape, smiling as he nuzzles against your shoulder, dropping tender kisses to your skin.

"...Art?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we're going to be late for dinner."

--

"You know, I've been thinking."

"You've been doing a lot more than thinking, mister," You mutter, and grin as Art laughs. You cuddle closer against his side, nuzzling into his chest as he tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"I'm glad I didn't know you liked me in college."

"Really?" You tip your head up, brow furrowing. "Why's that?"

"...I wasn't ready for you back then." He smooths his fingers along your jaw, eyes wandering your face contemplatively. "It's like you said, you know. You would've come second."

You nod, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

"I don't think I was ready for you, either," You admit. Art smiles.

"And you are now?"

"More than."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[dearaceofhearts]

you walk out after an argument

characters: husk, alastor, angel dust, vox, lucifer word count: 2.9k genre: angst to fluff summary: after an argument with them, you walk out and don't come back for a few days. how do they react? author's note: hello yes this is my first time actually posting something. erm, i think i wrote too much (sorry) but hey we roll with it!! also dude i accidentally posted this before it was ready twice and i had a heart attack oh my god. anyways i don't think vox's is really fluff (oops) but everyone else's is

♡ husk

when you slam the door shut on your way out, husk lets out a low grumble, setting down the glass he was cleaning onto the bar counter with a quiet sigh. it was one of the first arguments you'd had in a long time. although he wasn't usually one to get riled up so easily, the two of you knew each other well enough to know just what buttons to push to get under the other's skin. that, alongside him already having a bad day, had been a recipe for disaster.

in the few days that pass by, it's hard to tell just how affected he is by your absence since he does a pretty good job of keeping a cool facade. to anyone looking, he wouldn't appear any different than usual, just idly cleaning bottles as he always does.

but it's the small things that give away just how much husk cares and worries for you, like how his eyes flicker towards the door whenever someone comes in, his ears perking up slightly. he hates the twinge of disappointment that follows when it's not you, a slight scowl curling at his lips as he takes a swig of alcohol from one of the many bottles on the shelves of the bar. he misses talking to you. you're his favourite drinking buddy, after all.

his gaze always seems to wander back to the front door of the hotel, lingering for just a little too long before he eventually turns back to the bar, expression settling back into its usual grouchiness. but underneath that lies a hint of worry that gnaws at him in the back of his mind, even though he knows you're more than capable of handling yourself. at the end of the day, you can never be too careful in hell.

husk won't force you to come back, but he just wants to know that you're safe and sound. he trusts that you'll come back when you're ready so that the two of you can talk it over and hopefully resolve things. he doesn't want to leave it like this, and he's sure you don't either. you mean a lot more to him than he'd like to admit.

when you decide to finally return to the hotel, he pauses upon catching sight of you stepping through the doorway. he can't help the small wave of relief that washes over him, though you wouldn't be able to tell by the way he smoothly resumes restocking the bar. when you approach the counter, he looks up, giving you a short nod. "hey." he greets you, tone surprisingly softer than you're used to, "you're back."

husk's not really the type to beat around the bush, so he'd likely address the argument pretty quickly. he's also not particularly one for verbal apologies, so he'd probably be more willing to show it through his actions. you see it in the way he lets you cling to him a little longer than he normally does, leaning into him as he wordlessly holds you, his tail loosely curling around your leg. if you listen closely, you can hear some faint purring, too. it makes you smile slightly.

"alright, 'nuff of this sappy stuff." husk grumbles after a few more moments, patting your back gently before pulling back. "i'd kill for a drink right now. care to join me?" he raises a brow, a familiar glint in his eyes as he slides back behind the counter, already moving to make what he knows is your favourite drink.

you grin as you meet his eyes, expression softening. "of course. i'd love nothing more."

♡ alastor

"you're not listening, al." you murmur, exhaling quietly. this makes him pause for a moment, head tilted. your voice sounds different to what he's used to — you're not even angry, no — you just sound... tired. the argument had been going on for a while, and neither of you were getting through to the other.

when you move to leave, he makes no move to stop you, simply watching you with an intent gaze. his voice rings out clear as day in the empty silence. "where do you think you're going, my dear?"

he falters ever so slightly when you turn back to face him with a sturdy, stern gaze, responding with a flatly spoken "out", leaving no room for anything more to be said before closing the door behind you with a quiet click.

alastor won't chase after you, because he expects that you'll come back to him of your own accord. to him, it's basically guaranteed how this'll play out. he's used to demons falling right into his hands without having to exert much effort on his end, and believes that this would be no different.

so when a few days pass by with you not approaching him at all, he finds himself slightly irritated and mildly perplexed, eyes narrowed as his clawed finger taps against his cane with idle impatience. why haven't you sought him out yet?

he's seen you around the hotel, but you've never once acknowledged his presence even if the two of you were in the same room, breezing past him while he's left staring, watching you converse with everyone except him. his eye twitches in irritation, the perpetual smile on his lips strained.

...eventually, after playing a long waiting game to no avail, he decides that perhaps rosie would be able to offer some helpful advice on how to approach this situation, since he's not used to actually handling delicate emotional matters without the— well, the manipulation and deal-making.

one of the main issues is his massive ego. it's that unfaltering pride that gets in the way of him apologising. he may be the radio demon, but all that power can't help him here. and he'd never openly admit to such, but he truly is at somewhat of a loss here. he's already tried most things that he's sure would usually make you forgive him, though for a reason unbeknownst to him, it's not working this time.

"oh alastor," rosie shakes her head with a small huff, "a lady's heart is to be treated with care." she lends some further words of wisdom and encouragement that he listens to with great attentiveness, since he does (begrudgingly) enjoy your company, and it would be a shame if it was lost over such a, in his eyes, trivial matter.

upon his return to the hotel, he manages to get you to sit down with him (after much polite pestering and insistence) to have a chat over some tea. when all is said and done, the two of you sit in a comfortable silence. you sip your tea, watching the blazing fires of hell from the balcony.

"refill?" alastor offers, glancing at you briefly through a sip of his own tea.

"much appreciated." you hum, legs crossed as you throw him a small, slack smile.

♡ angel dust

his frustration slowly fizzles out as the door closes behind you, and the guilt slowly starts to creep in. he knows he shouldn't have said what he did, and he wants nothing more than to apologise and make it up to you — but he understands that it's probably better to give you some time to cool off before trying to approach you again.

despite the argument and the harsh words exchanged between you, the fact that he cares for you with his whole heart will never change, and he hopes you know that too.

while you're away, angel always finds his thoughts drifting to you, wondering how you're doing. are you eating okay? are you drinking enough? sleeping enough? with a shake of his head and a small sigh, he tries his best to return his focus back to the task at hand, whatever it may be.

he knows you can take care of yourself perfectly fine, but he just... misses you. the guilt eats away at him when he's reminded of the look on your face when you left, the brief glimmer of hurt in your eyes before you masked it with anger and tore your gaze away.

one particular night, angel heads over to your room in the hotel out of habit, not really thinking about it when he raises a fist to knock on the door. he had been hoping to spend some time with you, since today had been a particularly rough day for him. he's also been craving for one of your sleepover nights for a while, those nights where you two would stay up to talk about anything and everything until dawn rises. those times were comforting for him — a rare moment of respite in his life.

but then he stops abruptly, remembering that you're not there. he lets his hand fall back to his side, expression quietly downcast. he stands alone in the silent, empty hallway. has it always been this cold?

after a few days, he's just about damn ready to go looking for you, making his way down the stairs as he prepares to head out. he's so focused that he almost misses the sight of you seemingly casually sitting at the bar, nursing a drink in your hands whilst exchanging low murmurs with husk.

he freezes momentarily, taking a deep breath. while he mentally debates with himself whether to approach you or not, husk notices him hesitating on the staircase. he catches angel's gaze, giving him a subtle nod. that's all the affirmation angel needs.

he slides on his usual relaxed demeanour, though it's a little weaker than normal, as he approaches you. he's admittedly a little nervous, but he's determined to work things out with you. he puts a gentle hand on your shoulder to catch your attention. "hey, darlin'. can i talk to you for a minute?"

the two of you head back to your room, where heartfelt apologies are exchanged and a long overdue conversation takes place. at some point during the talk, his hand had found its way on top of yours, thumb brushing over your skin gently. at the end of it all, he gives you a small, content smile. "...baby, you have no idea just how much i adore you." he whispers into the quiet, running his fingers through your hair comfortingly as your head rests on his shoulder.

it was an unspoken agreement that tonight was going to be a sleepover night. prepare for lots of cuddling and gentle, soft kisses.

♡ vox

he's the type to go "ha, see if i care!" when you leave, but he'll still check on you occasionally through the various cameras and electronics around the city — he swears it's just because he's making sure the new limited edition voxtek product he had given to you isn't damaged.

(...it's totally because he's looking out for you, by the way. even if it's only a little. you are his darling, after all. and uh, you'll never know what happened to that guy who tried to hit on you that one time).

(vox made sure not even a trace of that bastard remained).

his obnoxious pride makes him reluctant to reach out first. that, and he's a petty little shit. so everyone around him, whether that be the other vees or his employees, is stuck dealing with his foul mood. he's become even more irritable and susceptible to lashing out than usual since you left.

he'd rather die than admit it, but you were a calming presence in his life that he hadn't realised he needed until you were gone. he hates just how much power you have over him, though you may or may not realise it. he's supposed to be the one in charge. when did you manage to sneak into his heart? his mind is occupied with thoughts of you.

and it only frustrates him more, because you're not here.

all his employees are left on edge, even more so when he takes his anger out on some poor soul who had gotten the numbers wrong on the report they handed in. "clean this mess up." vox snaps, glowering as he fixes the cuffs of his sleeves. the demon at the door hurriedly moves to do as he says, not wanting to risk meeting the same fate.

"what? what are you looking at?" he turns, eyes narrowing at the rest of the employees who flinch, hastily turning their eyes back to the screens in front of them. "get back to work." he mutters sharply, an unspoken threat in his words.

his volatile temperament goes on for a while, until velvette decides she's finally had enough and sends you a (not so) polite text to resolve your little lover's spat before she takes matters into her own hands.

meanwhile, vox is in his office. nothing seems to be going his way, and he's just about to blow another fuse when you nonchalantly throw open the doors, inviting yourself in. he freezes, staring at you for a few moments. you raise a brow. "...so. i heard you were throwing another hissy fit."

vox scowls at that, grumbling under his breath. "oh yeah? and what'd you come back for, you prissy little princess?" he sneers, clawed fingers digging into the desk with a quiet screech. "couldn't go without me for long, huh?"

"ha. you wish that was the case." you scoff, rolling your eyes with a half-amused, irked smile curling at your lips. things escalate into another argument pretty quickly, with the two of you at each other's throats. he towers over you, eyes narrowing as his grin widens in mild irritation.

it's a back and forth for quite some time, until you get sick of it and grab him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer until you're glaring at one another face to face. "what the fuck do you think you're—" he starts, but he's quickly cut off when your lips crash into his. vox is stunned for a few moments but soon snaps out of it, swiftly returning your kiss with equal, if not more, ferocity and intensity.

"finally got you to shut up." you murmur, grinning as you part to catch your breath and release his shirt from your grasp. before you can pull back completely, however, his hand reaches up to rest against the back of your neck, the other firmly on your waist. it takes another long, drawn-out kiss for him to finally let you go — though not really, since he's still holding you close in his arms.

"...that was hot." he whispers breathlessly, staring down at you with a somewhat satisfied glint in his eyes. but you both know that there's more to come.

suffice to say, the two of you sorted things out.

♡ lucifer

he would regret everything almost instantly. lucifer realises just how badly he fucked up when you leave without looking back. he's not even quite sure what happened as he stands alone in the room, blinking as he's left to process everything on his own. his mind is a jumbled mess, and he can't think clearly.

all he can feel is a suffocating rush of fear as he snaps out of his daze and hurries after you, desperate to find you before you're gone. he doesn't want to take his chances. what if you don't come back? what if—

he had said things that he didn't mean, and now the weight of it all feels crushing on his shoulders. he's torn between wanting to reach out to apologise and giving you time to cool down. he doesn't want to be a bother, but also really wants to make things up to you.

most of all, he just wants reassurance that you'll come back to him and that he hasn't messed things up for good. he doesn't want to lose you. you're too precious to him for that, and he's mentally kicking himself for ever making you question your importance to him for even a second.

thankfully, you haven't gone too far so he's able to catch up to you, taking a hold of your wrist firmly. however, when you turn to look at him, he falters, the words dying in his throat. he swallows, softly clearing his throat as he scrambles to say something, anything to stop you from leaving. to reaffirm his love for you.

"...sweetheart, i'm so sorry," he whispers, expression twisted and heart heavy with remorse and sorrow as he brings you close, grip subconsciously tightening because he's afraid to let you go. "i'll do anything, i'll make it up to you, i—" he trails off, burying his face into your shoulder, "just, please... don't leave. i'm sorry."

you really can't stay mad at him for too long after seeing his genuine sincerity. he acknowledges his wrongs, wanting nothing more than to make up for his mistakes and make you feel as appreciated and cared for as you've made him feel over the course of you two knowing each other. you sigh gently, thumb lightly brushing over his cheek. "...alright, silly. let's go home."

his eyes light up at that, and he's reminded of just how grateful he is to have you here by his side as you guys make your way home together. he holds your hand the entire time.

after the two of you make up, you find that he'll leave little gifts and cute trinkets around for you despite your gentle assurances that he doesn't have to. he also gives you lots of forehead kisses. he just wants to make sure you never forget how much he loves you, and that you mean the world to him.

© dearaceofhearts ー all rights reserved. please do not steal, use or modify my works!

[onmyyan]

So I'm imagining a bit of a silly concept, but imagine delivery driver!reader with yanderes Dick and Jason. Like they'll keep ordering from the place reader works in hopes that reader will show up (and she will - your boss got fed up with all the 1 star reviews when anyone other than you shows up) but they act like creeps trying to get you to join in on their movie night or whatever. They totally don't realize they're being creeps, though - this is their darling! They would never scare her! But like reader gets fed up with them "propositioning" her so she has her boss put them on the do not deliver list. The boys are surprised (they knew her boss was sending all those other drivers on purpose! 🙄), but it's nothing a call to Barbara can't fix (she wants to be an Auntie ASAP - platonic yan Barbara, perhaps?)

It starts with a simple delivery to Wayne Manor, one insignificant package set their sights on you, but could you blame them? That smile when you handed Dick the package, the pretty laugh you let out when Jason said something witty, it wasn't their fault you enamored them with a single meeting, and it didn't help when you delivered their second package, about a week after the first, and remember their names, the audacity to do such a thing and not expect them to fall in love.

Anytime someone other than you shows up they're met with the coldest glares, Dick is short with them, no banter no charm, Jason straight up doesn't speak to anyone that isn't you.

They don't start to get creepy until about week three, that's how long their resolve lasts before Dick is inviting you in for a drink, you must be hot in that uniform of yours, why don't you come inside? It's cool in the manor and he's sure your boss wouldn't miss you for a few minutes.

Jason, to his credit, really does try to be casual about his interest, of course it's anything but casual, he pretends to be working on his bike when you come to get his signature, purposely showing off as he takes his time signing, intense blue eyes staring at you with an intensity that made you sweat. He says a pretty girl like you shouldn't have to work so hard, that you should have someone to take care of you, you grit your teeth biting out a smile as you snatch the tablet back as soon as he finishes signing.

It isn't until your latest delivery do you put them on the do not deliver list, as usual they were together when you rang the doorbell, Dick smiles so brightly at you, you'd think you were delivering the stars in a neatly wrapped box. "Hey (y/n)!" He greets you like a long time friend instead of someone you'd only spoken to a handful of times, "You mind bringing that inside?" He asks the question and despite its oddity, you comply bringing the package inside.

Jason closes the door behind you, causing you to jump, when the hell did he get here?

"Good to see you bunny." He was always calling you pet names, far too intimate for your liking, he smirks before taking the box from your hands, his fingers purposely brushing against yours. "You're like a little messenger fairy."

You choose to ignore him, turning to Dick, you hold out the tablet for him to sign. "We'll get to that in a minute- why don't you sit down for a sec?" He sits on the couch patting the spot beside him. "I gotta get back to my route-"

"it's midnight, you guys stop delivering after midnight right?" Jason speaks up causing you to look at him, he looks way too satisfied with himself, catching you in a lie. Feeling trapped you sit on the couch reluctantly. "What's up?" You ask looking between the two, Jason remains standing his beefy arms crossed across his chest. God he made you uneasy.

"we've noticed how hard you've been working lately and since we're friends-" you don't hide the confusion on your face at the proclamation, "-We figured you could use a break." Dick spoke almost as if he was nervous. "Come on bunny, take a load off." Jason finally sat down sandwiching you between the two.

"or- and hear me out on this one, you sign for your package and I leave?" They share a look before Dick is almost sadly signing the tablet. "Well if you ever wanna just chill or something-"

You don't hesitate you leap off the couch and run out the door, heart slamming so hard in your chest you felt the rumble in your throat.

You thought you'd be done with them after putting their names on your company's do not deliver list, and for about a week you are, until they realize what's going on and collectively lose their minds.

Barbara couldn't stand seeing two of her closest friends so down, so unlike themselves, once they explain the situation to her she's quick to act, understanding their... particular intensity when it came to love, and clearly you'd stolen their hearts, she couldn't stand to see them so upset so she quickly devizes a plan to get you back where you belong.

All it takes is hacking into your company's files to find your route and schedule, it's like child's play to her to set up the meeting, she ordered a shit ton of stuff all for you unbeknownst to you of course, all items you'd need for your upcoming vacation, Bruce had a few private islands for situations just like this one, and it be the perfect place for Dick and Jason to break you in. By the time you left the little slice of paradise, you'd be a perfect little darling.

With a smile too pretty for her deeds, she presses confirm on the order and sends a text to the guys.

"Your Darling is approaching with your order."

[justawritterwithideas]

law in pink | s.r

♡ next part ♡

summary: when the BAU needs an extra helping hand, Washington decides to send the best of the best, but what they didn't expect was to see... pink.

warnings: a bit of stereotypes, beyond that a bit of comedy and fluff. there may be mistakes in writing because I wrote it too fast :(

this story is spencer reid (season 7) x ssa elle woods!reader

words: 1,649 words.

a/n: elle woods from legally blonde comes to my mind constantly because is one of my favorite movies, so I wanted to make a mix called "ssa elle woods"; I hope you like it and you can understand the idea of reader as elle woods, I also hope I didn't portray it wrong and that it will be misunderstood T T

The BAU needed a hand with the rising crime wave, so, straight from Washington they sent the best of the best from their office.

And of course Penelope had to investigate.

According to her research, you had graduated from Harvard with honors and had given the honorary alumni speech at your class graduation. In addition, you were a part-time Harvard professor of Political Theory during the fall and part of a prolific group of researchers in your Washington office, which had the highest rate of successfully resolved cases in the last 5 years.

In addition, you had achieved on your LSAT a score of 179 out of 180 points.

Something inside Penelope reminded her a little of her friend, Spencer Reid, in you.

But what she didn't expect to see when she looked you up on the interwebs was the fashionista and family friendly life you had. The way your apartment was decorated with a pretty pink aesthetic, your outfits videos that reached millions of views and your day to day routines were the mantra of many girls, being all perfectly edited.

With that and more, anyone would think that your job was not to be a federal agent, but an influencer.

Penelope was already smelling perfume from her computer, and that made her more than eager to meet you.

It was seeing one just like her in front of her screen.

You were the perfect candidate to be her new best friend.

The clacking of your heels and the smell of your Chanel perfume filled the entire BAU office, causing the complicit glances of all the workers who were there.

"Have you seen Barbie yet?" "Is the model missing?" "What about her? Maybe she's a lost intern. First-timer problems."

Everyone was making comments you'd heard more than once in some police office, maybe it was the way you dressed didn't go along with the aesthetic they had or how feminine your attire might be, but that's who you were and for a couple of comments about your appearance and the stereotype they had they weren't going to sour your day.

"Excuse me, are you looking for someone?"

You turned to see a tall, dark man, who was watching your outfit from last season's Prada fit you to perfection.

"Oh! Finally someone nice." You commented with a smile. "Yes, I'm looking for Agent Aaron Hotchner."

"He's my boss, would you like help finding his office? I can help you."

"That would be great, thank you very much..."

"Agent Morgan, Derek Morgan."

"It's a pleasure, Agent Derek. I'm Y/N, nice to meet you."

You didn't like to introduce yourself officially as an agent, it made you look rather intimidating if you did, and that was what you didn't want.

It wasn't a long walk to the wooden door which was adorned by a plaque with the name of the person you were looking for.

"This is it, you come for a case? Any family members involved?"

"No, I'm coming to help. Thank you very much, by the way."

You gave him one last smile before knocking on the door, hearing a "pass" from inside.

"Who was the girl you were escorting, Derek?" Emily watched the man reach them, peering curiously inside Hotch's office.

"Her name is Y/N, she said she was coming to help, but... I don't know, she doesn't look like someone coming to help, maybe she's a witness."

Spencer's eyes scanned the situation, trying to conclude who the mystery woman inside his boss's office was about, but coming up with nothing on the spot. Like his friends, they were all searching for an answer to the abiding doubt in his head.

Who exactly was that girl and why had she said that? She didn't seem like a person whose job was an office job, but not one that was very risky either.

But before they could say anything, Aaron came out of the office with his ever-serious face.

"Meeting in 5" was the only thing he announced, so the group took heed and went to the place.

Once inside the office, Penelope found herself with her dear friends, who were trying to figure out the causes of the recent meeting.

"You don't know Pen either, do you?" J.J. was the first to speak.

"No idea, Hotch just asked me to be here."

"Just like everyone else." Rossi replied, settling around the round table with his coffee cup.

The conversation didn't last long when Hotch entered the boardroom.

"Good. I know there's no case yet or apparent reason to get them together first thing." Hotch began. "But as you may know, the last couple of months have seen an increase in crime for the BAU, which is exactly why we've been given extra funding to bring an extra agent onto the team."

Sounds of excitement came from everyone's mouths.

"So I've been contacting old colleagues, who recommended the best of the best. So they've transferred an agent from Washington to help us."

"Boy, they must be desperate." Derek's comment drew a few chuckles.

"I'd like to introduce you to the SSA, Y/N Woods."

Everyone's countenance changed to one of surprise when they saw you walk in, smiling in the friendliest way possible.

The same girl who looked like a model fresh off a runway was the newest member of the BAU.

"It's nice to meet you all, I hope we can work well together." You set your Prada bag to the side, being able to scan each of the members quickly.

"Woods, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi, dr. Spencer Reid and our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia."

"Hey, I know you." You commented in the direction of Garcia, who was smiling politely. "You were the girl who commented on my recipe for the vegetarian tacos."

"Yes! They looked exquisite."

"Thank you very much, I hope they were helpful. We need to be a little more conscientious with our four-legged friends."

Spencer didn't know if he was dazzled by the whiteness of your teeth or the warm way you had entered into trust with Penelope with a simple recipe.

"Woods, Garcia. You'll have time to talk."

"I'm sorry, sir." They both replied at the same time.

"Fine, I'll go prepare the case, Garcia come with me."

They both walked out of the meeting room, leaving you alone with the rest of your new group of colleagues.

"I didn't know you were an agent." Derek was the first to break the silence surrounding them, causing you to turn in his direction.

"I didn't mean to mention it, I'm not a person who usually blurts it out just like that on the first interaction. You never know what kind of person a stranger is." You commented before you could look at him again. "No offense."

"No problem."

"From Washington, right?" Your gaze went to the blonde, who was watching from her position with a warm smile.

"That's right, even though I'm from California but I moved to Massachusetts after getting into Harvard, and then to Washington when I got an opening in the federal office there. So I'm from here, there and over there, but I'll always be a California gurl." A chuckle came out of your mouth after making a reference to the Katy Perry song, bringing your hands to your sides.

"Harvard? What did you study?" Spencer looked more and more interested.

"Law." You commented offhandedly. "I actually studied Fashion Merchandising at UCLA with a 4.0 GPA. But I wanted to prove myself and decided to get into Harvard Law."

"Switching from Fashion Merchandising at UCLA to Harvard Law is a big jump, how much did you get on your entrance exam?" Rossi asked.

"179."

Everyone's surprised face made an impression on you.

"What, like it's hard?" your eyelashes fluttered softly, before you remembered what you were holding as a "peace offering". "By the way, I made cookies yesterday for being the first day and making a good impression." Your hands went to your bag, pulling out a heart-shaped tupperware. "They're lavender and butter, it's a recipe I read on a fairly well known blog forum, they say Paris Hilton gets her recipes from there."

You held out the tupper to each of them to take out a cookie, leaving it on the table in case they liked to take out more.

"If they like more, just pull out. There's enough for everyone." A little smile tugged at your mouth. But before you heard any response from either person, the catchy ringtone of Gwen Stefani's "Rich Girl" interrupted any culinary criticism. "Excuse me..." Your hand went for your phone, which didn't surprise others by being pink, and you left the room letting out a "Woods" as you answered.

"This is new." Derek said.

"And delicious." Emily took another bite of her cookie.

"She's different than what we usually know." Rossi looked at the rest, taking a second cookie out of the tupper. "But I don't mind at all, in fact, I think new always comes in good."

"True, it's always good to have someone new and with a different vibe."

The group turned to look at Reid, who was holding the cookie with his right hand. The young man wasn't usually one to blurt out a comment, just like that, least of all referring to a girl.

"Oh kid, you find her attractive." Derek was the first to smile in amusement.

"What, no." The voice in a higher pitched tone than normal was what gave Spencer away.

"Spencer likes Y/N." J.J annoyed, walking out of the office laughing along with Emily.

"That's not true!"

"See ya, lover boy." Derek commented along with Rossi, who was gently patting his shoulder with a knowing smile.

And so it was that Spencer was left in the meeting room with his cheeks as pink as his new co-worker's heels.

♡ next part ♡

If you like it, don't forget to like and repost it.

a lot of love, alme. ❀

[shockercoco]

Only Pleasure Remains

Feyd Rautha x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, squirting, penetration, dirty talk, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, basically enemies to lovers

Word count - 3608

a/n - this was supposed to be posted over a week ago, but I kept procrastinating on finishing it. This is also my longest imagine so far lol. Disclaimer: I haven't read the books yet I've only seen the movies, but I just ordered the first one. I hope you enjoy :)

You’re currently pacing back and forth in one of the vip suites, waiting for the fight to start. It’s the fight that will determine whether or not you’ll have to marry the most deranged person you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Feyd Rautha is known for being unhinged in and out of the arena. It could be because of his past that he lacks compassion, or he just has no regard for anyone other than himself. He’ll kill anyone in an instant without blinking an eye, but sometimes he’ll take his time to enjoy the moment.

You’ve never talked to Feyd and have only looked at him from a distance each time you visited the planet for your father to discuss business matters. When he would join the meetings you would avoid eye contact, but he would always watch you. When you guys would pass each other in the corridors you would keep your head down and walk faster, but you knew he was looking at you. You never knew if he was looking at you like a piece of meat or an actual human being. What really made you sick is that, despite his horrific personality, you still found him attractive.

Recently your father and Baron Harkonnen had a huge argument and couldn’t come to an agreement, and of course the only way to resolve the issue is with a battle with you as collateral. It wasn't completely out of the blue since  your father was somewhat close to the Baron, but it was a terrible proposition. Baron Harkonnen wants to make sure his bloodline is secure before he dies and Feyd takes control, but of all the women in the universe he had to pick you.

So now here you are a week later, along with the other citizens inside the arena, waiting to see the outcome of the fight. You already know what it will be though, everyone knows it, but you’re hoping that just this once the outcome will be different.

Eventually, you hear Feyd’s name being announced to the crowd followed by him strutting into the arena with no emotion on his face. You can’t bring yourself to watch the fight so you turn your back as soon as it starts, not even bothering to take a seat. The arena is dead silent once the fight starts, allowing you to hear the clashing of swords and the shouts coming from each man. 

It’s not long before Feyd’s announced as the winner, as usual, and the crowd erupts in cheers. You turn back around and catch sight of the dead bodies splayed around Feyd who's basking in the praise from the sea of people in the stands. Turning your head to your left you lock eyes with your father who gives you an apologetic smile, but you just shake your head not knowing what to say to him. You take one last look into the arena and at Feyd’s face, before leaving.

The guards already knew of the arrangement and wouldn’t let you stray too far from the grounds of the house. It didn’t take long for you to find out about the several lady’s maids you now had – more than back home – because they basically circled around you until you finally told them that you didn’t need them at the moment. One remained close behind you though.

When you were shown to your room, you were met with one that was far from small. You had a king size bed, a spacious bathroom with a walk-in shower, and a balcony that allowed you to look out into the distance at the skyline. You notice your knick knacks and personal items were scattered around the room on tables and shelves, and your clothes had already been unpacked and inside the closet.

They really don’t waste time here.

As beautiful as the room was, it couldn’t replace the one you had back home – the life you had back home.

Later that night after you bathed, you were about to call it a day and just crawl under the covers, but you decided against it. Luckily there was no one standing outside of your room or lurking in the hallway, but there was still a chance of you getting caught by one of the guards or by one of the Baron’s henchmen.

Even though you’ve been here many times, you have only gone to the places that were necessary: the throne room, restrooms, dining hall, and the room for meetings. As you walked you noticed that many of the rooms were either locked or empty. You did manage to find a room full of paintings and another resembling an armory that seemed to be for display only. 

Some of the items were tarnished, some looked extremely fragile, and some still had the blood on it from the time it was used. When you heard a pair of paced footsteps, you decided to make your way to the other side of the house to continue your exploration and to avoid being seen.

The other side gave you a completely different vibe, mainly because the corridors were barely lit. The main source of light came from the fireworks exploding outside, an applaud for Feyd. You started to wish you had brought a candle or anything that could grant you more light since the ceiling lights weren’t helping much. The farther you walked, you started to feel more and more uneasy. You felt like someone was watching you, which is ironic because this wasn’t the best lighting for seeing.

Feeling it was time to end the exploration, you turn around and start to head back but stop when you hear something. Or, at least you thought you heard something. It was dead silent except for the faint sounds of explosions. You were about to keep walking when you felt someone wrap their arm around and press a blade to your neck. The person’s scent is familiar though, reminding you of what you would smell every time you walked past Feyd.

Was he just casually hiding in the shadows?

“What are you doing here? How did you get past the guards?” you hear Feyd ask from behind you in his usual raspy voice, the rasp that you love but will never admit outloud.

You're relieved that it’s not a random person, but still a little fearful given the fact he could end your life at any second. The thought practically paralyzes you.

“I was just about to head back to my room,” your response is short.

“That doesn’t answer what I asked. No one’s allowed this way,” Feyd says as he circles around to stand in front of you with the edge of his blade still pressed to your neck. “Wait a minute, I’ve seen you around. Aren’t you that lord’s daughter, the one I’m so supposed to be marrying?”

You were about to just give him a simple nod, but then remember the blade pressed against your throat. “Yes.”

He waits a moment as he looks at you before moving his hand away and leaving it to hang by his side along with the blade. Despite being surrounded by darkness, his blade still manages to shine. You automatically take a step back.

“I could’ve killed you, why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, though his tone makes it clear he doesn’t care too much.

“To be fair you had a blade pressed to my neck,” you answer as Feyd’s dark eyes stare into yours. He doesn’t reply right away as he looks you up and down. His stare makes you feel exposed considering you’re only wearing a thin nightgown covered by a robe. Unconsciously, you begin to play with your fingers behind your back. Feyd notices your fidgeting though.

“Are you scared of me?” he suddenly asks, and you’re not sure how to reply. Everyone is scared of him, but is he genuinely asking or is he trying to get a kick out of this?

“No,” you choose to say, and he smirks.

He starts to slowly walk around you as he continues speaking. “No? Do I just make you nervous then? It has to be something because you’ve always avoided eye contact with me, and I know how you would distance yourself from me on purpose. In fact, this is the first conversation we’ve had. Come on now, we’re going to be married soon, we should be able to talk to each other,” he smirks.

Well, what the hell am I supposed to say to that?

“Isn’t that how you want people around you to feel? Everyone has their weakness, what’s yours?” you question as he continues to circle you.

He doesn’t hesitate to say, “I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has one,” you pause as you think then say, “what about the women you always have around? Everyone knows you’re a playboy, that sounds like a weakness to me.”

He stops in front of you to look down at you and into your eyes with the smirk still on his face. “That sounds like jealousy to me.” 

“It’s simply an observation,” you shrug. 

“You know, I usually don’t let the women I sleep with talk to me like this,” he says with a tilt of the head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that for you I guess I will make an exception, given the fact you’re my bride and all,” he says before he circles behind you again to press his body up against yours. He leans into your ear to whisper, “but just this time.”

You wish you could stop the goosebumps from appearing on your skin or the shiver that works its way through your body. You thought Feyd wouldn’t notice, but he must’ve because he leans back with a light chuckle. Right now all you want to do is slap him across the face for his arrogance and yourself for the way your body reacted to his words. 

“I won’t sleep with you just yet, my darling, but it will happen soon because it’s obvious you can’t wait,” Feyd says as he slowly backs away from you. You turn around wanting to say something else, but before you get the chance he says, “run along now, it’s getting late.”

He keeps that smug look on his face as you give him one last look before leaving. Your mind tells you to hate him, but your body says otherwise as a warm feeling travels through your core as you walk back to your room.

You also hate how every night after part of you expects Feyd to walk through your bedroom door. He didn’t come the night after your encounter in his corridor. He didn’t come the next night either or the night after that. You knew it was foolish waiting for a man that has his own sex slaves – a man that you’re supposed to detest.

It isn’t until the fourth day that Feyd arrives at your door; little did you know Feyd was having his own internal conflict. He hadn’t used any of his slaves since that night he caught you in his corridor, not feeling the need for them. He also was not a fan of his feelings toward you.

You were standing out on your balcony enjoying the night breeze when you heard a knock on your door. You knew it could only be one of your lady’s maids at this time, so you didn’t hesitate to tell the person outside the door to come in as you took a couple steps back into your room. In walked a lady’s maid that you have grown quite fond of over the past couple of days.

“There’s a visitor here for you, would you like me to send them in,” she asks.

You wanted to say no given the current time, but you nodded anyway and watched as she walked back out. Not even a few seconds later, Feyd replaces her spot covered in a black robe, a stark contrast to his pale skin, and closes the bedroom door behind him.

Your body stiffens, nearly stuck to the ground, as you quickly try to figure out your emotions in your head. Feyd takes his time walking towards you as he looks around your room, and this gives you enough time to pull yourself together. You step back out onto the balcony as he gets closer and closer, and he follows you out there.

“Nice view don’t you think?” he asks as he stands next to you, looking out into the distance.

“Did you really come here to ask me about the view?” you look up at him.

“Straight to the point, I like it,” he smirks.

“Straight to what point?” you act dumb and put some space in between the two of you.

“Why do you think I’m here?” he tilts his head down at you.

“Apparently to talk about the view,” you reply in a joking manner and look out into the distance to avoid his gaze. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his jaw tighten.

“You’re making this hard.”

“What?” you ask, still not looking at him. You want him to hear him say outloud what he wants.

Except he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he quickly closes the distance between the two of you as he places his lips on yours and his hands on your cheeks. The force he uses startles you and pushes you back a couple steps, but you recover and grab onto his wrists as you begin kissing him back.

You wonder for a second if you’re giving in too easily, but the feeling of Feyd’s grip on you tosses the idea out of your mind.

Feyd hated how needy and desperate he felt as his lips attacked  yours. The kiss was rough, but Feyd was trying to hold himself back from going too far. Normally he wouldn’t care about how rough or gentle he was with a woman because his slaves never complained — not like they had a choice — and some of them even came to him first to satisfy their own needs. This time though, it was him coming to you.

Feyd deepens the kiss, keeping his hold on your face firm, as he starts to push you back into your bedroom. Once your legs hit the bed, he unties the knot on your robe before slowly peeling it off your shoulders leaving you nothing but your nightgown and undergarments. He breaks the kiss to push you back, and you scoot your body into the center of the bed.

 The way he focuses on you as he stands at the bottom of the bed makes you feel like one of Feyd’s opponents in the arena. The thought sends warmth between your legs.

He takes off his own robe leaving him in only his underwear before he starts to crawl on the bed, trailing a hand up one of your ankles up to your thigh, until he’s hovering above you. Your breathing is shallow and your heart races in anticipation for what’s to come. The only other person you've had sex with was one of your close friends back on your home planet, and you enjoyed it, but that friend wasn’t Feyd. He wasn’t a murderous maniac known for his sexual relations like Feyd was. Another wave of electricity passes through your body.

Feyd dips his head down and starts placing kisses on your neck from your ear to your collarbone,  making a low whine escape your lips. All the while, the hand gripping your thigh inches farther north until it reaches your panties and begins to touch you through them. It doesn’t take too long for a wet spot to appear on the fabric, and it’s obvious that Feyd notices too, seeing as how you can feel a smirk form on his lips. You squeeze your legs together wanting more from him, but Feyd pushes your legs back open and bites the skin on your neck.

You draw in a breath as he whispers into your ear, “be patient.” His voice may be light, but you can hear the firmness behind it.

He moves his face away from your neck and takes his time as he moves his body lower and lower until his face is between your thighs. He pulls your underwear down your legs before tossing them to the side, and helps you dispose of your nightgown revealing your bare body to him. You start to wish that your bedroom lights were off as you look down to see Feyd’s dark eyes taking all of you in.

A smile spreads across his face once he notices you shying up. “There’s no hiding from me now.”

He says nothing else and dives right into you. His movements are rough yet gentle as he eats you out, resembling hunger. The way he flicks his tongue over you like a snake has your back arching while you let out a consistent string of moans. You tightly grab hold of the blanket beneath you with both hands as you move your hips into his mouth. You can’t help but roll your eyes from the speed of his tongue.

Feyd places one hand onto your stomach before moving it up to one of your breasts to grab hold of, while his other hand joins his lips between your thighs. He wastes no time slipping a finger into you as he moves his mouth up to suck harshly on your clit.

“Oh my god,” you say breathlessly. One of your hands lets go of the blanket to join Feyd’s on your breast.

The finger inside of you pumps into you at a measured pace before gradually getting faster. He decides to add another finger without letting up on his speed. You can tell that him pleasuring you gives him satisfaction, noticing the fact that he’s in his own world. Naturally, your body starts to move away from his mouth and your legs start to close as the pleasure becomes more intense.

Feyd releases his hold on your clit and lifts up his head to make eye contact with you. “I need you to stay still,” he tells you in more of a warning tone and pulls you back to his mouth before continuing, not waiting for you to answer.

Once you feel your orgasm nearing your moans get louder as they turn into whines. Feyd notices the way you become shaky and how you start writing around more so he moves his mouth away and pulls his fingers out of you. Your mouth falls open as you look down at him, the warmth previously building up in your stomach slowly starting to fade away. You’re about to say something when he looks into your eyes and shushes you.

He then moves his hand on your breast and places it on your stomach, gently adding pressure. You’re confused and you expect him to say something, but he doesn’t. 

Then suddenly you feel his fingers start to move inside you again, except this time at a different pace. He begins to quickly pump his fingers in and out of you, causing you to throw your head back as your back lifts off the bed. You feel yourself getting close to tumbling over the edge again, although this time it feels different. It’s unlike all the other times you have brought yourself to an orgasm.

Right as your orgasm hits you, you feel a gush of liquid squirt out of you. You cum with a loud cry, forgetting the fact that the doors to your balcony are still wide open. When the thought pops into your mind you don’t even care about anyone being able to hear you.

Feyd stops when you move your hands down to try and push him away. He looks down at his chest to see the mess you created and lets out a low laugh. As your body starts to relax, you look down to see Feyd standing at the bottom of the bed pulling down his underwear to reveal his hard length to you.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet,” he tells you as he positions himself between your legs.

He rubs the tip of his length up and down your slit spreading your arousal around. You let out a whine at his teasing and he says, “ready for another one, are we?”

He doesn’t stop right away, but when he finally glides into your soaked opening it pulls a moan out of both of you. He places his arms on either side of your head and leans down to connect his lips to yours. The kiss is rough and sloppy, and you tightly wrap your arms around his waist pulling him closer to you. You don’t even care if you seem desperate anymore.

You’re still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but Feyd doesn’t care as he ruthlessly pounds into you. Once he finds the spot inside of you that makes you gasp, he makes a mental note of it as he repeatedly thrusts into it.

It doesn’t take long for your next orgasm to build up, releasing it with a silent cry as you unintentionally dig your fingers into Feyd’s back causing him to groan in your ear in pleasure. He keeps his thrusts consistent as you begin to leak around his cock and onto the blanket beneath you. There’s no doubt you’ll have to change the bedding later. 

With another smirk he firmly grips your jaw and says, “I hope you can take a few more, my darling.”

[bunnysbrainrot]

Friendly Competition

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Content: Explicit sexual acts, Jackson!AU, no use of y/n, jealousy and angst, mentions of alcohol consumption/intoxication, kissing, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, soft dom Joel (lowkey)

Summary: It was difficult, but Joel had to set a boundary, one he's having trouble adhering to. And back in Jackson, things aren't any easier. When an old friend comes around, it muddies the waters. Joel tries his best to assure you that it's not what it looks like, but you won't be easily swayed.

Word Count: 5.4k +

Looking for the other chapters? Click here to find them on my masterlist

The ride back to Jackson was much brighter than your journey out. Fluttering in your chest kept you on edge, buzzing down to your fingertips, coursing through you like small bursts of lightning. All over one simple kiss.

Though it had been anything but.

Twenty minutes ago, Joel had you pinned on the wooden fence, moving his lips in tandem with yours, shattering your plaguing tension. Joel wasn't sure when, or if, he'd have made a move if he didn't seize that opportunity. He would've cursed himself if he hadn't tried.

And to his surprise, you had given him everything in return. You accepted his kiss with a dying thirst, and the passion had been for him. Someone, knowing so little of his sins, of his regrets, would give their love so freely. Someone wanted him.

His hands gripped the reins as the edge of Jackson came into view. He had a thousand things to say but didn't know where to begin.

He detested that it had to start here.

He spoke up finally, breaking the calm silence, "Listen, I think we should talk."

It didn't take you by any surprise. Even still, your heart sank.

You made the daunting choice to face him, inviting the conversation. You were asking for the dagger of newfound love to pierce your chest, for it to carve you open.

"Okay," you replied, coaxing your voice into neutrality.

The effort was in vain. There was a tightness in your throat that couldn't be shaken. Your voice shrank, barely coming out as a squeak. The sudden shift didn't go unnoticed by him. What expression of joy that had been there before had been replaced with worry. Joel's eyes averted to the ground. He hated this. Knowing that he spurred on this whole... situation, and worse, that he'd be the one to shatter the hope.

And fuck, the look on your face.

Joel made himself bear it. This was his punishment.

He sighed, "This... what happened back there.." He gestured between you, his words failing him.

The birds chirped happily around you, the only sound filling stagnant space. His half-dead sentence hung with his head. With aching pain in your chest, you finish it for him. You stilled your expression and resolved yourself to turn away. The words feel distant as you say them. They weren't yours - borrowed from the times you'd been through this before.

"It was a mistake."

He was thankful you weren't able to see him wince. Joel digested the words, but showed no agreement to them. He refused to let that be the truth. His breath came out slowly, exasperated.

"You got a habit of finishin' people's sentences, y'know that?"

The jab would've made you laugh were it not for the hole in your chest. And despite the effort made to lighten the mood, the pang of regret in Joel's chest grew.

He continued, voice terse, "If you think it was a mistake, then we can forget it. But, regardless-" he stopped himself, searching for the gentlest words. A way to make this painless.

"It can't happen again."

Telling yourself it was a mistake had not made it true, and had not prepared you for those final words. They were a death sentence.

You still held the lead, but you no longer feel his stare, the occasional glance. You were thankful for the distance, for the small amount of privacy it gave you to let welling tears fall. Jackson loomed even closer, just minutes away if Belle were to go at full speed. A frantic urge tore at you to race ahead, like breaking away would erase what happened - like it would take back what was already said and done.

There were a million things to say, but you knew it wouldn't change his stance. You mustered a small, simple nod. Joel didn't expect much after a blow this low. He understood the silence, for whatever reason you needed it - he anticipated anger, hoped for it, even. Welcomed it. It would give him closure after the shitshow he created.

If you left, forgot about all this trouble he caused, Joel could shift his focus elsewhere. It had been a futile effort since you came to town. You were a distraction. The worst kind.

It was enough justification, Joel thought, to be okay with this. To let things between you go stale. Untouched.

Dismounting Belle back at the ranch relieved your body, but your mind and heart were different matters. Joel dropped from his horse without a word, already started on the process of unloading his gear. You watched him as he's turned, noting a lower slump to his shoulders.

You shifted your attention back to Belle, mindlessly disassembling her gear. Your fingers fumbled dumbly with the buckles of her saddle, new tears blurring your vision. The silence between you and Joel this morning had been uncomfortable, but this....

Silence like this was far too heavy. It held too many unspoken words, and even more questions.

The quiet was no longer an issue when a new voice rung around the stables, cheery and bright.

"Joel!" It was the voice of a woman, "Oh my gosh, back already?"

You peered around Belle just in time to see her arms wrapping around Joel's neck, giving him a close hug. The stranger let out a delighted giggle before she nestled her face into the crook of his neck. Joel murmured something inaudible that broke the embrace.

Her small talk was empty save for obvious flirtations, her voice turning whiny and playful as she spoke. You couldn't help but cringe at her sickly sweet tone, the incessant pushing. Joel said very little, but that stupid grin never fell from her face. Her wide, green eyes drank him in. As if you weren't even there, ten feet away, privy to it all.

Bitch.

With an undetected sneer, you finish unloading and take Belle's lead in hand. You settle your rage to simmer beneath the surface while you lead Belle out of the stables.

--

This was the last thing he needed right now. But here she was, thrown around his neck unashamedly, as if she'd been waiting so impatiently for his return. A slap in the face, compared to the situation he'd put you in an hour ago. You had truly been waiting for him. It had to be some sort of cosmic joke.

Joel placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a wry smile.

"Wasn't gone that long, Georgia."

Her eyes brighten hearing her name on his lips. The smile she wore was a stab to the gut. It shouldn't be her that was beaming, welcoming him, showing concern for his safety. Hers was not the face he wanted to fantasize about throughout his day. To come home to.

He patted her shoulder, hiding his contempt with a softer, weary smile, "Pretty tired after today, sorry. Not really feelin' it."

This wasn't the first time Georgia had been this doting. But the openness of it irked him, especially with the present company.

"Hmmm.... Sounds like someone needs to unwind," she suggested, lips tugging into a smirk. A serpentine look with her eyes crinkling proudly while a greedy smile formed. She always had a deeper motivation. He saw that spark igniting in her mind.

In the past, they had shared their need for intimacy - they fulfilled that need many times. She was a nice enough girl, he supposed. Joel thought it would be simple. No strings attached.

If he didn't turn her away soon, there was no telling how this evening would go. His need for a distraction almost tempted him into agreeing, but a flare of guilt in his chest instantly washed away the idea. It was unfathomable to think of this woman when you were so close by. And not when he was trying to still the feelings you'd brought about for him.

He stiffened, crossing his arms over his chest, "Tonight's not the best night. Gotta do a raincheck this time."

Even still, her smile didn't falter. If there was one thing she was worst at, it was taking a damn hint.

Georgia's eyes dart to the horse that started to leave the stables. She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, her eyes wide in amusement. She whispered to him, pointing to the horse and who was guiding it outside.

"Uh oh, apparently we had company~"

Joel knew of said 'company'. Glaringly so.

He steeled himself as he joined Georgia in watching you leave. He noted how she watched you go with satisfaction, how her smile grew once you rounded the corner. Her joy was in such stark contrast to the anguish that flooded through him, seeping into his bones.

You didn't look back as you left.

I'm lost in admiration Could I need you this much? Oh, you're wasting my time- "You're just - just- just wastin' time-" you sang out, the lyrics slurring together. You refused to let yourself wallow, so you opted for the best way to forget. Alcohol.

It was better than dealing with stupid Joel and his stupid rules.

Plus, it detached the meaning of the lyrics, the ones about being overwhelmingly in love, being completely enamored with someone, unable to be without them. The cassette tapes you had collected were few, but Tears for Fears were a classic you played the most often.

"Something happens and I'm head over heels-" you sang out, swaying your hips with the beat. A brief fantasy flashed in your mind of Joel joining in from behind, holding you while you danced and sang. You envisioned him singing along, his voice low and gentle, even though you'd never heard him do so.

Yet the lyrics carried you away alone. You closed your eyes, letting the rhythm take you, a cup of mead in hand. Granted, it was probably a poor decision for Pete to give you a whole bottle to yourself, probably worse for you to have downed two glasses. But you felt free right now, blissfully ignorant to the outside world.

Until it came, quite literally, knocking at your door.

The rapping broke you out of your dancing. You panted softly as you paused the cassette player, the room growing uncomfortably still in the silence. Perhaps you kept the neighbors awake with your singing. Frosted glass on the front door revealed a familiar silhouette, making you freeze. Heat coursed through you as you reached for the handle, pulling the door open just enough to see your visitor.

Joel stood at the top of the steps to the house. He wore his usual serious expression, though it eased at the sight of you.

Whatever confidence the mead gave you earlier had vanished - the sudden appearance was sobering enough on its own. Your flushed cheeks were clear evidence of how you were dealing with this afternoon, that you wanted to forget what happened. Joel clenched his jaw, remorseful yet again. He was causing this, but had been desperately searching for a solution, in his own way. Unfortunately, 'his way' hadn't earned him many favors in the past. Joel knew that his abrasiveness would wear you down, your bright spirit, that light in your soul. If that didn't, then learning of his past certainly would - the heinous things he'd done to survive, the lives he'd ruined. They hadn't all been guilty, either, so the validity of 'survival' was in question. Those years held the most regret. Now he stood on your doorstep, carrying this invisible burden. He straightened his spine and squared out his shoulders, shifting nervously on his feet.

Maybe seeing you was the worse option. Maybe he was rubbing salt in the wound.

You straightened, frantically building your composure. Blush crept onto your cheeks as you greeted him in your bedclothes, glass of mead still in hand. Your oversized shirt and sleep shorts did little to help you look presentable and ready for the unexpected company.

"Hi," you greeted softly.

The smile you were longing to see was back. A rare softness had returned to Joel's features. He placed his hands on his hips.

Joel smiled down at you, his gaze tender, "Evening."

His damned voice could get you drunk on its own. That intoxicating Southern accent was as sweet and deep as whiskey.

The hair on the nape of your neck stood on end. This was the exact opposite of what you wanted. You needed the space and freedom to forget about Joel, and he landed at your doorstep.

He'd changed out of his old clothes, his hair tidier than before. Though he wasn't close enough to tell, you swore you caught a brief whiff of cologne. And here you were, in your pajamas, hair loose and unbrushed, completely unprepared.

You stammered, "Do- uhm... do you want to come in?"

Affection shone in his eyes at your flustered state; he gave you a once over, chuckling slightly. Joel prepared himself for this - truly prepared himself, in ways he hadn't done in months. Hell, he even found himself putting on cologne. He'd just gone to change his shirt, but the thought of seeing you after the fiasco from earlier had him fully prepared. Fully presentable.

There was a beat of silence that let Joel's eyes wander over your form. His gaze burned through your thin sleep shirt, roving over your bare legs with a greed that slipped through the cracks in his composure.

You stood in front of him with wide eyes, holding yourself around the waist, a new type of vulnerability you hadn't yet shown. He eyed the way you bit your lip, his focus whisked away by desire. Your outfit didn't help suppress Joel's imagination, either - it was the most exposed you'd been in front of him. He found himself selfishly taking you in, fully and properly.

Those shorts did no favors in hiding the curves of your thighs; your shirt did even more disservice to his willpower. It was thin, too thin. It hung off one shoulder to reveal your collarbone to him, hanging loosely at your chest, displaying your nipples poking against the fabric.

He snapped back to attention, clearing his throat before making his way inside, "Sure, thanks."

The door snapped shut behind you, keeping you and Joel in the new stifling proximity. You motioned generally to the space.

"Make yourself at home," you told him, the awkwardness slowly easing away. You made for the kitchen sink to return your half-downed glass of mead, breathing away your nerves. Joel took the cue in his own way, finding himself leaned comfortably against the kitchen counter, feet away from you.

His stare had hardened. You braced for another lecture.

"What happened back at the stables, I-"

Reintroducing the events erupted jealousy in your chest, and the residual buzz from the mead aired it out. You snapped, though the hurt was still evident in your cracked voice. There was no time for small talk. There could be no casual 'how was your day?' after what happened.

"Who was she?" Your demand struck him. He knew this would come.

Joel pressed his lips into a thin line before answering.

"Her name's Georgia. We've been friends for a while." He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, avoiding your stare. He didn't want to confront the reality of his words, how they would pain you.

The words were chosen carefully, cherrypicked to be as vague as possible. He didn't want to explain Georgia when all he wanted was to dissolve her from his memory. Didn't want to see the hurt in your eyes, searching to understand.

It wasn't enough for you. It was a bullshit answer.

"Friends is the right term for it?" You pressed. Joel's eyes dart to yours before he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

The term was empty as Joel's feelings for the other woman. He didn't spend much casual time with Georgia; he didn't enjoy her company. In truth, she was irritating - her only humor was harsh jokes, she was too invested in drama. But she was available at the time.

He should've waited. He didn't want to believe anyone else would come along, let alone as alluring as you. If Joel knew Georgia would've become such a pain, he wouldn't have entertained her to begin with.

His eyebrows knit together, "Do we really have to do this right now?"

"Yes, Joel," you hissed, "You're not gonna bullshit me - I already know. I know she's not a friend. People who are 'just friends' don't... act like that." You quote the words in the air. The anger had bubbled over the surface, just as Joel had anticipated.

In contrast to your outburst, Joel stood unyielding in his story.

He began, "We have history, alright?"

Your face flashed to frustration, but he continued, raising a hand to stop you. "It's been over a year. She had it out with her fiancé couple weeks back - she's just... dealing with it in her own way."

You scoffed, "So, you're fucking someone else's fiancée. Nice, Joel."

Joel's features hardened. His morals had been perpetually grayscale, so he didn't pay mind to the consequences of his choices. Georgia had been his escape, his secret, and now his biggest mistake.

"Was. Was fucking."

You countered, "Like that makes it better."

Joel doesn't expect his correction to change your feelings, but it's something. You snapped your mouth shut, exhaling deeply as you followed his suit, leaning against the kitchen counter. You took a deep breath before carrying on.

"So, what changed?"

It could've been a one word answer if Joel had the balls to admit it right then. His efforts had been to avoid complication. But he knew what he said next could shape everything.

So he opted for honesty. A vulnerable admission. The slight numbing in his fingers and pounding heart made him feel young again, in a way. He hadn't felt this jittery in decades. Joel wrung his hands together, nodding once. He'd made his choice.

"You came to Jackson."

Joel recalled the day you approached the massive gate, hobbling from a sprained ankle that wouldn't heal properly. He took watch from the wall, observing Jackson's newcomer from the vantage point, watching you depart with Maria. Despite your obvious injury, you kept a smile on your face, being grateful to have found safety.

It wasn't until your first group patrol that he saw you again. That time you were closer, and he was finally able to make out your features. Your wide eyes and a growing blush gave him a warm confidence. None of the other newbies had looked at him like that before. But, that time as well, he turned away.

He would be a fool to do it again.

"Things changed when you showed up, and I've been doing my best to keep things normal. I wanted to think that, at first, it was just some... y'know, mild flirting. And I liked that, I really did," Joel slowly inched closer as he continued. "I tried tellin' myself that it was nothing, but I can't find truth to that anymore."

Your legs turned to lead, unable to move, unable to deny him. Each nearing step heated your stomach, flipped it over itself, and shot your heart to your throat. Joel now stood inches away, pinning you against the counter like he'd done at the fence.

"I tried convincing myself a lot of things. That you wouldn't feel the same, that maybe I was misreading things, or maybe it was all just- just some dumb crush, or whatever." It felt stupid to say it, but that was the feeling. A crush.

It was laughable, an old man like him feeling that young love again. Yet, here was someone who could consume his full attention with a single smile. You had a depth of feeling and care that he couldn't measure up to, not in a lifetime. There was no undoing his damage.

You didn't share that belief.

Your eyes flickered to his as you raised a hand to his cheek. The scruff of his beard itched into your palm, your fingers carding into the salt-and-pepper hair. His skin was weathered and warm, tanned from years under the Texas sun. The crinkles around his eyes displayed both his age and his affection. They tightened a certain way when he smiled - you wondered if he knew that about himself, the simple beauties of him. Subtle details that only one in love would notice.

You lowered your voice to a whisper, "Well, do you think you have it figured out now?"

His stare lingered on your lips too long. As good as his poker face was, Joel's eyes gave his desire away. Your gentle touch thawed out his hardened look. He sighed softly.

Joel knew that his answer would seal his fate. He would have to accept any 'complications' that followed.

Wordlessly, Joel dipped his head lower, brushing his lips tentatively over yours. Your hand slipped behind his head to draw him in, to take those last few millimeters and shove them aside, to take it all.

You released a wanton moan past Joel's parting lips. He took it on with his own low groan - a deep, possessing noise that pooled heat between your legs. It was Joel's body pressing you to the counter that kept you stable, but his adventurous hands did you no favors. He broke his mouth from yours, panting.

"Do you have any idea how hard this's been for me?" His breath was hot against your neck, slowly creeping to your ear. "With all your damn teasin', it's been hard to hold myself back. Shit, I tried."

His words melted your core. You shifted your thighs together to find the evidence of your desire, just how wet you'd gotten.

A warm, open kiss landed under your jaw, making you shudder. A small moan left you involuntarily. Such a bright, mystifying, intoxicating sound that had Joel breathless against your skin. His hands found your waist, gaining purchase on the fabric of your shirt, tugging desperately at its hem.

You bucked your hips forward, only to find a growing bulge in Joel's worn jeans, firm and warm against your belly. Drool pooled in your mouth at the feeling of him, and your hands itched to reach downward.

Joel's hands cupped under your ass, kneading into the soft flesh before he hoisted you up and onto the kitchen counter. The biting cold of it pressed into your legs, quickly replaced with Joel's warmth gliding over skin, each shuddering breath coursing through you.

His mouth worked down to your collarbone, his sentences were broken between kisses laid along your collarbone.

"You knew it, too, didn't you, sweetheart?" Kiss. Joel's hands still idly toyed with the hem of your shirt, slowly inching his fingers under it. You throw your head back against the cabinet, rolling your hips forward as invitation.

"You knew what you were doin', flirting with me like you've been-" He lowered himself down, kissing over the fabric of your shirt, letting it stand between you for now.

Greedy hands crept up your thighs, igniting your skin along the way. Tightness grew in your abdomen while he moved along, planting hot kisses across your chest. Joel worked meticulously to deny you and keep you waiting for more. His mouth landed kisses below a nipple, then on the right, then on the left, before repeating the moves on the other breast.

He didn't leave you unattended. Joel cupped your neglected tit, working it slowly in his hand, reaching for your perk nipple. His fingers work it thoroughly, pinching and twisting, listening to your beautiful noises.

"Joel," you cried out, your hands finding his broad shoulders. His muscles flexed and stretched under your fingers, his chest rising and falling in time with your hurried breaths.

This is what he'd been wanting to hear: you saying his name. Not from Georgia, not from anyone else's lips. And now you laid here beneath him, uttering it like it was holy.

It was music to his ears.

Joel hummed lowly, the sensation reverberating through your entire being. A teasing warmth played with your nipple - Joel's tongue had come out to play. He laid it flat against the sensitive bud, still through your thin shirt, but it gave little barrier. You could still feel his tongue circling your nipple before lapping slowly, drawing out a new shuddering moan. He groaned beneath you with great satisfaction.

"That's it, sweetheart," Joel murmured, "lemme hear you. Tell me how good it feels, baby."

With your senses alight, you couldn't form words. Instead, you let out another cry as Joel caught your nipple between his teeth. He chuckled softly at your noise, replying with a gentle smack on your ass. This was far more tender than how he'd normally be. It would be his biggest lesson with you - restraint. Until you told him otherwise, he'd tread carefully.

Your hips widened to invite him closer, yet Joel left the distance as it was, taking the opportunity to bring his hand to your front. His mouth found yours once more with great desperation, as if the only clean air was what you shared. His teeth tugged at your lower lip, pulling away just enough for you to start to whine.

"Joel," you whimpered weakly, "Joel, I need more."

The request lit a fire in him. It was more than just permission, you were just as deprived as he was.

"More?" repeated Joel. You nodded quickly. He leisurely stood with a wide smirk, towering over you, his hand gliding lazily along your inner thigh. Joel mirrored himself on the other side, working his hands up the inside of your legs, so close to finding home. It's hardly enough, and yet too much. Your legs splayed out on either side, quivering, as you look up at Joel.

The neediness of your expression would've had Joel undressed in seconds, but he needed to take his time.

His gaze stripped you bare. He met your eyes as one of his hands meandered up your thigh, securing its spot at the waistband of your shorts.

Joel spoke idly while he hooked his rough, calloused fingers at the band, "Needy lil' thing, aren't ya?"

There was no time or breath to reply. Your breaths began to shudder as Joel used both hands to work your shorts down. The seconds feel like hours, but neither of you are willing to rush this. After holding back and stifling your feelings, this is what you deserved.

Quickly, Joel's lips wander down your neck, just as he helped you shift your legs out of your sleep shorts, slowly but surely. You kicked them off, letting them fall at Joel's feet, baring you before him.

He didn't know how to place it, but keeping your shirt on added to the seduction, still having part of you hidden from him until later. Another surprise would be waiting for him. For now, there was work to do.

"Don't worry, honey, I'll give you watcha need. I'll take good care of you," cooed Joel, who now led his index finger further up your thigh. It wasn't until he broke away that the praise began to flow.

Holding your thighs splayed out, Joel hissed through his teeth. Your pussy was on full display for his viewing, bare and dripping. He dropped to his knees before you, leveling himself at your entrance, his parted lips inches away from your needy hole.

He exhaled, parting your slit with a thumb. You were beyond what he imagined. Your pussy pathetically clenched down on nothing, desperate to be filled.

"Ain't that a pretty sight," Joel teased, suddenly running circles on your clit with his tumb. You whimpered into your palm, trying to stifle your sounds.

Pleasure coiled persistently in your stomach, creeping up your spine. Joel eyed your cunt as it trembled under his touch, smiling in awe - he'd never seen a body so beautiful.

Joel observed your writhing under his touch, memorizing every movement, burning them into his memory. Which touches made you arch your back, which ones made your thighs tremble. Your body, all on its own, ached and throbbed for him. He was the luckiest man alive.

And that desperate, pleading look on your face... God damn him.

This was far beyond what he had anticipated for this visit. If he had a lick of sense in him, Joel would've stayed at his own place. But even as he sat on his couch with his guitar on his knee, you wormed your way into his train of thought. Hell, you were the damn conductor of it. It wasn't until the sixth slip-up that Joel resolved himself to do something. The thought of you infiltrated everything - his work, his hobbies, his sleep.

Sleep had been most difficult, given that Joel pictured you there, too.

He couldn't have predicted this outcome, though. Joel leaned closer to your needy pussy, hovering his mouth over your swollen clit, relishing in the small moans you produced. His hands found your waist and gripped securely, testing the security of your position.

"Joel, please," you begged softly, "I can't take this anymore."

Your whining brought out a low chuckle from him, to add to your frustration. You groaned, bucking your hips forward. If he wasn't going to give you what you needed, you'd do your best to take it.

The grip on your waist tightened. A warning.

You looked down to find his stare intently on yours, his eyes overcast with lust. Speechless at the scene before you it was impossible to move, to look away. Joel kept your stare as he parted his lips to reveal his tongue, dipping lower and pressing it flat against your clit. The warmth was an instant, white-hot pleasure that drew your body into him.

"Oh, fuck-" you gasped. Joel hummed happily against your clit in response, swirling his tongue gingerly. He tested your waters once again, switching directions and rhythm, slipping his tongue around the entrance of your cunt.

He broke away with much protest on your end. Before you could utter a complaint he melted you once more.

"You sound so goddamn beautiful," muttered Joel. "You have no idea how many times I thought about this, pretty girl."

You mewled at the praise as Joel introduced a finger at your entrance, tending to your deprived hole as he showered you again.

"The number of times I pictured this moment... it's almost shameful. But I just couldn't help myself," he inched his finger deeper with each pause, drawing out your hissing breath. "And believe me, I tried to fight it back, but then I'd see you again, and it started all over."

With that, Joel curled his finger to greet your sweet spot. Crying out, you bit into your hand.

"Awh, what's wrong, sweetheart? You feelin' shy?" Joel teased darkly, "Don't want the neighbors to hear how good I'm making you feel?"

He savored the sound that fell from your lips, and he added a second finger. Curling masterfully like before, you were slowly stretched around him, walls fluttering as the coil in your belly tightened. Joel worked his fingers dutifully, angling deeper, he needed to hear you again - fuck the neighbors, let them find out. They'd get a good show, that's for sure.

His fingers' occupied state let Joel stand again, his lips and mustache glossy from your slick. A sly, devilish smile was your only sign to prepare yourself. Joel watched your face contort as he found a quickening pace. There was an obscene harmony filling the room - your sweet noises, and the sound of Joel's fingers plunging into your pussy.

"Hah.... hah... fffuck... Joel-"

"I know, pretty girl, keep it up. You can do it."

"I can't... I think I-I'm gonna... hah... I'm gonna-"

He commanded, "Give it to me, sweetheart. Show me whatcha look like when you fall apart."

You were pushed to the edge, and Joel sent you tumbling over it. Your climax slammed through you with a barrage of stars scattered across your vision. The world around you muffled, and while you couldn't make out what Joel said, you could see the satisfaction on his face.

Slowly, the world came back, and your breath began to slow. A satisfied grin plastered on your face, your body sated and languid. Joel tilted his head, smirking. The question begs an answer.

"Oh, honey, what am I gonna do with you?"

Y'all.

All honesty, this chapter took SO long to finish, my brain is now oatmeal. But the gremlin in my brain has been ITCHING to write smut, and we're FINALLY HERE RAHHHHH

(I'm sorry I stopped it here, but to be fair it's not the first cliffhanger I've done. Nor will it be the last. The next part will be out asap my loves!)

And if you liked this chapter, be sure to read the others! My masterlist is linked in the top of this post :)

xoxo, Bunny

[lemoncrushh]

This Is Me You're Talking To

Summary: You and Harry are divorced, but you both still have feelings for each other.

Warnings: Divorce, smut (sex with the ex), angst, lots of feelings

Word count: 3924

A/N: Written in 2016. Inspired by the song of the same name by Trisha Yearwood. Obviously, this isn't for everyone, but it's very personal to me and one of my favorite things I've written. Please be kind.

Hate is a strong word. At one time you might have felt like you hated him. But it had been a year now since the divorce and you'd both moved on. You'd resolved that you just weren't meant to be together and were never really on the same page. In the beginning of the relationship, you'd convinced yourself that you were okay with his busy lifestyle and the fact that your time together was limited. But after five years of marriage and two kids, you'd come to resent him for that exact fact, and you finally agreed it was time to separate.

Two months ago, you were out with friends for a long overdue girls' night out, the kids staying the night with your mother. You hadn't expected to run into Harry. You saw him regularly when you would drop the kids off for their time with him, but other than discussing their needs, you didn't speak to him very much. It just wasn't necessary. Knowing what he was doing with his personal life was no longer your business and frankly you didn't care.

So, when you were about to make your way to the bar behind your friends, you stopped in your tracks when you saw Harry slipping his arm off the back of a beautiful brunette. One of your friends twirled around to give you a wide stare, the other muttering "oh shit" and asking if you were okay. You rolled your eyes and assured them you were fine before continuing to the bar.

After ordering your cocktail, you caught a glimpse of Harry looking your way out of the corner of your eye. Quickly turning back to the bartender, you gave him a smile and a healthy tip when he handed you your glass.

"Y/N," you suddenly heard in an all too familiar voice.

"Hi, Harry," you sighed, barely looking at him.

"Out with some friends?" he asked with a weak smile. You knew that smile. You knew all of his smiles, actually, and what each one meant. This was his nervous smile.

"Yeah," you replied emotionlessly before taking a sip from your straw.

"You look amazing," he commented, stepping closer to you.

You shut your eyes for a moment, telling yourself his words didn't mean a thing. "Thanks," you said, eyeing one of your friends in hopes that she was ready to move to a table.

"How are the kids?"

"Fine," you nodded. "They're at my mom's."

"Good. I'm looking forward to seeing them next weekend."

You continued to nod, having nothing to add.

"How've you been?" Harry inquired.

"I-"

"Baby..." you heard a female voice from behind Harry. You saw her painted nails on his shoulder before you saw her face. "Let's go sit over there."

"Love, this is Y/N," said Harry, gesturing toward you. "Y/N, this is Sharla."

It took all you had not to quirk a brow, but instead you extended your hand, shaking the other woman's.

"Lovely to meet you," you smiled with pursed lips.

"You too," she said nonchalantly before releasing her hand from your grip and placing it on Harry's bicep.

"Well, I guess I'll...see you..." Harry grinned shyly.

"Yep," you nodded once more.

"Good for you," you suddenly heard behind you as Harry and the brunette walked away.

"I'm proud of you, Y/N," your other friend said as she wrapped her arm around your neck.

You let out a breath. "Gotta admit," you muttered, "that was harder than just seeing him when I drop the kids off."

"Well of course it was. Is that the first woman he's dated since you?"

"I have no idea," you replied, turning around. "But that's the first time I've met one."

"C'mon hon," bestie number one looped arms with you. "We're gonna find you another man."

You chuckled as you walked with your friends to the other side of the room.

"What the fuck kind of a name is Sharla?"

"Desiree had a little cold this week," you explained as you handed your two-year-old to Harry's open arms. "She seems okay now, but I put some medicine in the bag in case you need it."

"Alright," nodded Harry before turning to his daughter. "You feeling better now, Desi?"

Desiree beamed her angelic smile. "Better."

Harry gave her his mini version of a fist bump before giving her a kiss on her forehead. "Wanna watch TV with your brother?" Bringing the little girl into the living room, he set her on the sofa next to her four-year-old brother.

"Cameron, get your shoes off the couch, please," you instructed.

The little boy kicked his shoes onto the floor without prying his eyes from the cartoon he was watching. Crossing your arms, you turned to Harry.

"Something smells good," you commented.

Harry grinned. "Thought I'd make some spaghetti."

"Look at you," you quipped. Then you gazed around the room. "Where's Sharla?"

Sharla had been at Harry's the last two times you'd dropped the kids off. Though she'd been pleasant enough, you could feel her eyes throwing daggers at you the entire fifteen minutes you were there.

"Um...dunno," replied Harry with a shrug.

"She was busy?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "We broke up."

"Oh," you said softly. "I'm sorry."

Harry raised his brows and quickly looked away. "Yeah."

Biting your lip, you watched Harry turn for the kitchen where he stirred the contents of a large pot.

"Well, I guess I'll be going," you muttered.

"You um..." Harry stumbled, "wanna stay? For dinner?"

"Oh, I don't-"

Your words were quickly interrupted by the buzz of a timer.

"Damn, forgot about the garlic bread." Harry hastily opened the oven door and grabbed the baking sheet, not bothering to put an oven mitt on.

"Shit, bloody he-"

"Harry!" you exclaimed, just as he dropped the baking sheet on the counter.

"Sorry," he said, thinking you were upset at his cursing in front of the children.

"What do you think you're doing?" you scoffed.

You grabbed his hand and pulled it to the sink, running cold water over it. You could hear Harry's heavy breaths as he stood next to you, his chest heaving.

"You can't just grab something out of the oven without gloves, Harry," you scolded.

"I know," he mumbled. "I was..."

You lifted your eyes to him, his pouty lips partially open as heavy breaths continued to puff out.

"You were what?" you inquired.

"Distracted."

Exhaling slowly through your nose, you averted your gaze and returned to the task at hand.

"Looks okay," you cleared your throat, turning off the water. "Doesn't seem to be burned too bad. But you might wanna put some ice on it."

"Thanks," Harry said so low that you barely heard it.

Reaching in the freezer for an ice pack, Harry turned his back to you as you dried your hands on a dish towel.

"Daddy!" squealed Cameron as he came trotting into the kitchen. "Are we having pasketti?"

"We are, little man," Harry confirmed.

Cameron danced to the table, taking his seat without being told. Walking over to him, you kissed him on the cheek.

"Goodnight, baby, Mommy's going." Giving him a hug, you walked past Harry to kiss your little girl goodbye.

"You sure you don't wanna stay?" you heard Harry ask.

Lifting Desiree in your arms and propping her on your hip, you returned to the kitchen. "I don't know..."

"There's plenty of food," Harry gestured toward the pot. "Way more than we'll eat."

"It does smell good," you hesitated.

Harry gave you a smile. This was different than his nervous smile from earlier. This was his 'c'mon, you know you want to' smile. Stepping up to the stove, he grabbed the wooden spoon he'd been stirring the sauce with, bringing it over to you, his hand underneath to catch any drops.

"Give it a taste," he said.

You let him gently lift the spoon to your mouth as you tasted the delicious Italian seasonings.

"What do you think?" he asked.

You swallowed. "I think I'm staying for dinner."

Harry continued to smile as you walked over to the table and set Desiree in her high chair. Harry got a bowl ready for Cameron and set it in front of the patiently waiting boy. Then he did the same for Desi, giving both children a sippy cup of juice. You sat next to your daughter as you watched her starting to make a mess.

"Desi, you're gonna get more on your tray than in your mouth," you chuckled.

"She likes it that way," joked Harry.

You couldn't help but beam at him as he laid a plate of spaghetti and garlic bread in front of you, another plate for himself next to you. Returning to the kitchen once again, he uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two glasses.

"Cheers," he said when he handed a glass to you and sat down. You clinked glasses and took a sip.

"Oh that's the good stuff," you commented.

Harry winked. "You noticed."

Early in your relationship you'd confessed to Harry that you had a weakness for red wine. One night he surprised you with an expensive bottle that knocked your socks off. After that, he always made it a point to get it again for special occasions.

"What did you get this for?" you inquired.

"No real reason," Harry shrugged.

You eyed him as he took another sip and set his glass down, digging his fork into his spaghetti. Raising a brow, he looked at you out of the corner of his eye until you quickly picked up your own fork.

The four of you had a pleasant dinner. For some reason it didn't feel odd or uncomfortable. It felt like old times, although your kids were a year older.

After the meal, you helped clean up, wiping Desiree's face and setting her down to let her run back to the living room. Just as you were cleaning off the table and Harry had put the leftovers in the fridge, you turned around to find him pouring more wine.

"I hope you're not pouring that for me," you scoffed.

"Why not? You always used to drink two glasses. Sometimes three."

"That's when I didn't have to drive home," you rolled your eyes.

"Who said you have to now?" Harry asked before taking a sip from his glass.

You narrowed your eyes. "Harry."

"Wha'?" he sounded.

Shaking your head, you were about to reach for your purse that you'd left on the counter when Desiree emerged from the living room and took your hand.

"Mommy!" she said with excitement.

"What baby?" you asked her.

"Sit wiv meee," she replied, tugging on your fingers with her tiny hands. You followed her lead into the living room where she pointed to the sofa and demanded for you to sit. When you obliged, she climbed into your lap. Looking up, you saw Harry with a massive grin on his face. Then he crossed to the room to Cameron's other side and sat down beside him.

"What are we watching?" you whispered in Desiree's ear.

"Pooh bear!" she answered.

You and Harry sat through the rest of Winnie The Pooh and half of some other program that came on after it until you realized both kids were asleep. With delicate precision, you rose from the sofa with your baby girl in your arms, and Harry scooped up a sleeping Cameron. He followed you down the hall until you stopped at Desi's room and laid her down in her bed. Pulling the covers over her and pushing her hair back from her face, you kissed her temple. Then you met Harry in the hallway and traded places, giving Cameron a goodnight kiss. Shutting their doors, your eyes met Harry's and you gave him a tight-lipped smile before heading to the bathroom. When you came back out, he was standing in the kitchen again.

"Thanks for the dinner," you said softly. "It was nice. You know, to be with the kids and put them to bed."

"Yeah, usually I have to read them at least two stories each," he smiled. "Just something about their mum, I suppose."

You blinked, lowering your gaze. "Well anyway, thanks. I'll come pick 'em up Sunday."

"Wait..." he insisted when you turned for the door. "You're not gonna finish your wine?"

You twirled back around, the full glass of wine still sitting on the counter. "Um..."

"It's your favorite," said Harry, lifting the glass. "It'd be a shame to waste it."

"Harry," you shook your head, "what are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Wha'? I'm not doing anything. I just thought you'd like to have your wine. Just because we're divorced doesn't mean we can't be in the same room, does it?"

Licking your lips, you dropped your bag and keys on the counter again. He was right. It wasn't like it meant anything. You could be civil. "Okay."

Taking the glass from him, you followed him into the living room and sat on the couch.

"How's work?" he asked you.

"Ppppffff" you sounded, nearly spitting out your wine.

"Was that not a good question to ask?"

"You wanna talk about my job?" you rolled your eyes.

"I just wanna know how you're doing, Y/N," Harry remarked. "I know you don't believe it, but I do still care."

You sighed, sitting back in your seat. "It's fine. Work is good. No major complaints."

"Good," Harry nodded, "I'm glad."

His eyes seemed to be burning into yours so you had to look away, taking another sip of wine.

"Have you been seeing anyone?" you heard him ask and you flinched.

"Why?"

"I just wondered. You deserve to be happy, Y/N."

You huffed and shook your head.

"What did I say?" he looked taken back.

"Sorry, I just don't get out as much as Harry Styles. I don't have the opposite sex throwing themselves at my feet. Or the same sex, for that matter."

"Y/N..."

"What happened with Sharla?" you asked, rolling your eyes again as you pronounced her name.

Harry let out a low, short chuckle. "Sharla...was...not for me."

"But she seemed so perfect for you, Harry," you teased.

He narrowed his eyes. "No, she wasn't. Far from it."

Your expression softening, you tilted your head. "So what did happen?"

"She didn't want to be with someone who had kids," he swallowed. "Simple as that."

"I'm sorry," you muttered.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "It's alright. There were other things too, but that was sort of the deal breaker."

"What other things?" you asked curiously.

Harry looked at you and puckered his lips in thought, no doubt trying to decide whether he wanted to divulge this information.

"She wasn't very bright," he stated matter-of-factly.

You let out a giggle, covering your mouth with your hand.

"She once asked me what country Alaska was in."

"Oh my god," you laughed harder.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I know. That shoulda been a red flag."

"Poor thing," you said.

"Who? Her or me?"

You threw your head back laughing some more until you realized you should keep your voice down since the children were sleeping. You finished the rest of your wine in one large gulp, setting the glass on the coffee table. It was then that Harry got up from his seat and walked to the kitchen, returning with the wine bottle.

"Harry!" you exclaimed when he started pouring into your glass.

"Not much left," he insisted. "We need to finish it."

With a scoff, you took the glass. You figured you might as well. You were already feeling tipsy, so it wasn't like you'd be driving right then anyway. Besides, as much as you wanted to deny it, you were feeling comfortable with Harry for the first time in over a year. Maybe it didn't have to mean anything. It was just...nice.

"Oh hey, I wanted to show you something," Harry finally said after you'd been sitting in silence for a few moments. Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he swiped the screen until he stopped on something that made him smile. "Here."

You took the phone from him and noticed it was a video. Pressing the screen, it came to life. In the center was Cameron sitting on the floor, a toy drum between his legs. You could hear the sound of a guitar strumming in the background and a voice singing, no doubt Harry's. As soon as Cameron started banging on the drum, little Desiree showed up in the screen, doing her best to dance to the mixed rhythms. You watched the video in awe, smiling from ear to ear. By the end, you were all choked up.

"That was great," you commented, handing the phone back to Harry. You sniffed and wiped your eyes.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

You nodded. "I loved that. You're..."

As your voice trailed off, you felt Harry shift on the sofa, sliding closer to you.

"What was that, love?"

"You're such a great father," you declared. "They love you so much."

"I love them, too."

"When did you take that?" you asked.

"Bout a month ago," he replied. "I kept meaning to show you, but forgot."

You nodded silently. Looking into Harry's eyes at that moment, you felt a sudden wave rush over you, like you were being pulled under. It was like the feeling you used to get with him, when things were good. As you lifted your glass to take another sip, Harry reached for it, stopping you. Taking it from your hand, you watched him set it on the coffee table. Then scooting even closer to you, he slid his hand under your ear. When he tilted his head to kiss you, you didn't stop him. You'd known it was coming, it was one of his signature moves. But you allowed his lips to press against yours. Even when he continued with the kiss, slipping his tongue inside, you didn't stop him. Instead, you allowed your body to come alive, urging him to keep going.

Dragging his lips down your neck, he felt him hum against your skin. His hands encircled your waist, the pads of his fingers traveling up your back as your own hands got tangled in his hair.

"Harry..." you finally sounded, not really sure how you planned to end that sentence.

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice low and raspy in your ear.

"What?"

"Tell me you want me," he finished. "Just like you used to. I need to hear it again."

You swallowed hard, not immediately fulfilling his request. When he lifted his head to look at you, his emerald eyes looked dark and full of fire.

"Tell me, baby," he repeated.

"I want you, Harry," you admitted. "I want you to make love to me."

With a nod, Harry kissed you passionately before rising from the couch and reaching his hand out for you to take. You followed him into the bedroom where he kissed you again, lifting the hem of your shirt until it was over your head and dropped on the floor. You fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and removed it, adding it to the pile. You wasted no time removing your jeans and underwear before you lied down on the bed.

As Harry hovered over you, warnings began to go off in your head. It had been so long. Your body missed his so much it ached. But your head was telling you this might not be a good idea.

When his lips met yours again, however, your body won out. You were so thirsty for him, you knew you had to have him, even if it was wrong.

Neither of you said a word. Your actions and your eyes spoke everything. With heavy eyelids, slid down your body, licking and sucking your nipples the way you liked. Everything he did was the way you liked. He knew your body better than anyone had or ever could.

When he made his way between your legs, you gasped and closed your eyes. His hands on your thighs, he nipped at your clit before sliding his tongue up your slit. He worked his magic, moving in circles, slowly at first before picking up speed. You grasped at the sheets beneath you as you felt yourself reach the edge, your toes curling.

"Oh my god," you finally sounded, a low deep moan rising in your throat as you felt the orgasm rip through you.

It wasn't until you were coming down, catching your breath, that you took in your surroundings and realization hit you. This wasn't your husband. He hadn't been for a long time. You had moved on a while ago. Yet, here you were in his bed.

Kissing your inner thighs, Harry lifted his head and returned to hovering over you. You legs trembled from the aftermath as he gave you a lopsided grin.

Harry didn't ask if you were ready for him. In all your time together, he just always knew. He didn't need to ask. You were always ready for him. Your body craved him. Swiping his hand up your wetness, he used it to lubricate his erection before entering you. He thrust a few times before you turned your head to stare at the wall. You weren't sure why, but you could feel the tears coming. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, you told yourself.

Grabbing hold of your thigh with one hand, his other next to your head, Harry moved in and out at a steady rhythm until he finally slowed to a stop.

"Look at me," he breathed.

Your head still turned to the pillow, you fought back the tears.

"Please," he begged. "I'm inside you baby, you can't look at me?"

Your chest shook with sobs as you finally lifted your eyes to look into his. Although they were dry, they revealed the same feelings and emotions as yours.

"I love you, Y/N," he declared. "I never stopped."

As another tear trickled down your cheek, you lifted your hand to touch Harry's face.

"You still love me too, don't you?" he asked.

Biting your lip, you nodded. Harry leaned his forehead against yours.

"Then what are we doing? We should be together."

A tiny sound rose from your throat as you threaded your fingers through his hair. Lifting his head slightly, Harry looked at you.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," you heard yourself agree, making Harry smile.

"God, I've missed you," he groaned, his hips slowly pumping once more. "So much."

"I missed you too," you admitted, your eyelids fluttering from the sensation.

"Feels so good."

You nodded again. You couldn't deny it. He felt incredible. He'd always been the best, the only one who could make you feel this way. So loved, so desired, so wanted.

You came together within minutes, panting with clumsy kisses. Afterwards, Harry turned out the light and pulled the covers over you. He didn't have to ask you to stay the night. Once again, he knew. He always knew.

As you lay there in the darkness, you wondered what this meant for the future, for your family. Maybe you didn't need to decide right away. Maybe you could start over, take it step by step. But one thing was certain. Wrapped up in Harry's arms was like home. And that's where you wanted to be.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

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[darkshelbyfiction]

forced to serve (p.1)

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Smut, Forced Prostitution, Dub-Con, Butt Stuff, Ass to Mouth

Written for and with my sexy wife @queenshelby, luv you bae

Summary: Your husband forces you into prostitution and your client is Thomas Shelby 👌

After you were told to prepare for your first client that evening, you found yourself nervous about what would come. This wasn't how you wanted things to turn out - not by a long shot! It was your very own husband who forced you into prostitution and desperate times called for desperate measures, right? You somehow had to feed your young child.

Dressed in your most provocative attire, your heart raced when you heard someone approaching your door – it was him. Tommy Shelby. A man whose reputation preceded him. From stories whispered around town, he always demanded something different and intense from those he interacted with. He enjoyed intercourse that was rough and forceful and demanded complete submission from those who served him.

He paid well and he was informed by the madam of the house that you would be obedient and allow him to penetrate you in whatever way he wished, for at least two hours.  

It was all part of the deal you had made before entering this world where men like Tommy Shelby roamed free, dictating others' lives, desires, destinies.

The moment he entered the room, he immediately began taking off his shirt, exposing himself without shame or embarrassment. His muscular body gleaming under dim lights only intensified the raw power emanating from him. There was no mistaking whose presence filled the room now.

"Get on your hands and knees and crawl over here, my pet!" Tommy commanded without bothering to formally introduce himself.

"You want me to crawl towards you, on the floor?" you asked hesitantly, unsure whether you really understood his request correctly.

"Yes, Love," he barked back at you impatiently. "And don't ask questions. Just do it."

Your heart thumped rapidly against your ribcage, adrenaline coursing through your veins, heightening your senses. As you scrambled across the floor, getting closer to his towering frame, a strange mix of fear engulfed you.

"Good pet", he growled softly, taking notice of your compliance. Then, gripping your wrist tightly, he pulled you up onto your feet and led you towards the bed, commanding you once again to get on your knees, facing away from him.

Without waiting for your response, he spanked your bottom harshly, sending a shockwave of pain throughout your entire body. As tears welled up in your eyes, you felt a sudden surge of anger rise within you.

"Your safe word is red. Use it when you can't take it anymore and I will stop," Tommy spoke, his voice hoarse with lust. "I am not going to be gentle. In fact, I am going to hurt you, but this is what I am fucking paying you for, eh?"

As he roughly grabbed your hips, lifting you off the ground and positioning you into a standing doggystyle, you couldn't help but feel utterly overwhelmed by his brute strength. With one hand firmly grasping your waist, he used the other to pull your skirt higher, baring your bare behind for him to see. 

Your stomach twisted with nerves as he swiftly removed his trousers, releasing his enormous erection from its confines. It stood tall and proud, almost taunting you. 

Tommy reached forward and, without warning, he pushed your head down onto the mattress. "Open your legs wide and stick out your ass, sweetheart," he ordered.

Reluctantly, you did as instructed, feeling humiliated and afraid of what might happen next. Toying with your tender flesh, he slapped your ass repeatedly until it stung fiercely. He then took hold of your waist once more, pulling you further into the position he desired. Your face flushed crimson with anger and shame, yet your resolve remained unbroken. If anything, these brutish acts fueled your determination to endure. Tommy leaned in close, speaking directly into your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps along your neck.

"Don't worry, love," he whispered huskily, "This won't last forever." He punctuated his words with a sharp slap to your ass cheek, eliciting a whimper from you despite your best efforts to suppress it.

"Now tell me how badly you need my cock inside your cunt, little bird," he said in a low, threatening tone.

"Please, sir..." you murmured, trying hard to maintain composure. "Just please make sure it doesn't hurt too much…"

At this point, his expression changed, morphing into pure malevolence. He knew just how far he could push you without crossing the line marked 'red'.

"That's my good pet, eh" he snarled approvingly, rubbing his cock against your still dry entrance. 

Realising that you were not ready yet, he removed his cock temporally and spat some saliva onto his fingers and pressed them against your moistening hole, massaging and stretching it slowly while occasionally glancing at you with a look of hunger. You clenched your teeth together, fighting back the urge to cry out from the burning sensation spreading through your insides.

Finally, he stopped and held his manhood upright, his gaze fixated upon yours. "Are you ready, love?" he questioned with anticipation evident in his voice. You nodded mutely, unable to find the courage to speak aloud.

Unable to bear the intensity of the pressure building inside you, you finally gave consent, letting out a soft whimper that seemed to excite him even more. Grabbing you tighter by the waist, he thrust violently into you, causing you to gasp involuntarily.

Despite the initial discomfort, the familiarity of the rhythm gradually allowed you to become accustomed to his size. However, you struggled to regulate your breathing, hyperventilating as you tried to keep pace with the increasing speed of his movements.

Clutching the sheets tightly, you winced every time he drove deeper into you, the pain shooting through your loins growing stronger with each thrust.

Tommy loved watching his partner squirm beneath him, submitting to his every desire. 

"Isn't this what you wanted?" he taunted, pounding into you relentlessly.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as the intensity continued to increase, leaving trails of salty residues on your skin. Each stroke felt like an invasion, deepening the connection he sought.

You bit your lip, determined not to let your cries escape. Instead, you focused on counting the number of strokes, trying to block out the searing pain with numbers. Your throat became parched as sweat trickled down your forehead, making it difficult to swallow.

"You are married aren't you?" Tommy suddenly interrupted your internal struggle, his heavy breath echoing in the silence of the room.

"What makes you think that?" you managed to choke out, trying to hide your feelings behind innocuous indifference.

"The ring on your finger gave it away," he replied smugly, continuing his thrusts, groaning loudly.

"Y-yes, sir. I am married" you mumbled weakly, your whole body trembling slightly from the assault.

He paused briefly, admiring your vulnerability before continuing mercilessly.

"Tell me Love, does your husband fuck you like this?" he crooned, driving his hips harder into you.

You cried out involuntarily, overcome by the intensity of his movement. Your legs quivered with fatigue, your arms shook as they supported your weight precariously on all fours.

"Answer me, love," he growled, pushing deeper inside you, his member pulsing against your wall, filling you completely. Your throat burned with the effort of holding back your cries.

"No," you whispered hoarsely, causing Tommy to smile maliciously as, unexpectedly, he started to probe your anal opening with his finger while continuing to thrust into your sore pussy, 

"Does your husband ever touch you here?" He breathed heavily into your ear, his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin.

You closed your eyes, struggling with the urge to both answer him honestly and to deny him altogether. 

"Answer me, love," he repeated forcefully, pushing his index finger into your anus with such precision and ease that it surprised you greatly. You cried out in astonishment at the sudden intrusion.

"No," you answered eventually while crying out loudly. 

His laughter resonated around the room, causing goosebumps to prickle your skin. "So, has anyone fucked your ass yet? Tell me, sweet thing."

You cringed internally, mortified that he would ask something so personal, but knowing it was part of the game, you mustered enough courage to respond truthfully.

"N-no," you stammered quietly, the word nearly escaping your lips before you could catch yourself.

"Well, we'll rectify that today, shall we?" He purred menacingly, slipping two fingers into your wet, gaping anus, stretching and teasing you slowly. 

Your muscles contracted involuntarily in response to his fingers penetrating your rectum, making you writhe underneath him. Your mouth opened slightly in surprise, emitting silent gasps.

"Good pet," he whispered, withdrawing his fingers slowly and methodically from your anus. 

"I think your ass is ready for my cock now," mockingly, reaching for the bedside table and retrieving some Vaseline. 

Fearful and hesitant, you lowered your head submissively. He ignored your reluctance and quickly covered his cock in the creamy substance. 

Without waiting for your permission, he positioned himself over you again, guiding his engorged tool toward your aching anus. His grip on your hips was ironclad, refusing to allow you to escape or resist his assault. You writhed helplessly underneath him, struggling to accept the impending invasion. Despite your protests, your body refused to comply, betraying your resistance as he slowly inserted his length into your rear passage.

"Remember your safe word love," he whispered softly into your ear. You bit your tongue, willing yourself to remain strong.

As his full girth filled you up, he began moving within you, his powerful hips bucking against your own, his hands pressing harshly against your shoulders, pinning you in place.

The world around you blurred, and the only sound you heard was your labored breathing combined with his savage grunts of pleasure. Your tears flowed freely down your cheeks, unnoticed by either party involved in this perverse act.

"It hurts, doesn't it? Having my thick cock in your smallest hole? I can feel how much it aches you when I slide in and out," Tommy gloated cruelly, his breath ragged and heavy against your shoulder. His cock throbbed steadily inside you, reminding you of his sheer power over you. It felt like he had no regard for your limits, your needs – he simply possessed you, taking whatever he wished, whenever he chose.

"Tell me, do you like feeling my massive rod buried deep inside your bowels?" He asked playfully, his voice carrying a sinister undertone that made your stomach turn.

Swallowing nervously, you managed to gather enough strength to utter a faint yes. It wasn't a complete fabrication though, as you did enjoy feeling full. This admission served as further encouragement for him, prompting him to continue his brutal attack.

With each new entry, his pace increased incrementally until you found yourself lost in a haze of desperation, pain, and arousal. Your walls seemed to close in on themselves, creating a claustrophobic environment where you could neither scream nor beg for release.

In this moment, Tommy realized that he was approaching his peak - the culmination of his dominance and control over you. Increasing his tempo exponentially, he used his considerable strength to propel himself deeply within you once more, ignoring your frantic attempts to pull away.

His hardened pelvis rubbed against your tender entrance, forcing you to succumb to the waves of pleasure coursing through your body despite your best efforts to maintain distance.

Every thrust reverberated throughout your entire frame, sending shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your system, making it impossible to hold back your orgasm. As you approached climax, Tommy increased his vigor, grasping your hips firmly, rocking your body against his rhythmic pace.

With every thrust, your moans grew louder, feeding off one another. Tommy couldn't help but be proud of his mastery, reveling in your submission. You were a delicious treat he didn't want to end too soon. Your breath quickened, and your nipples hardened under his gaze. As your excitement reached its peak, the walls around you disappeared, replaced by the intense heat of passion. The sensation of his hand cupping your breast brought forth a surge of electric energy, heightening your already spiraling awareness.

The rhythm of his thrusts intensified, mirroring the rapid beat of your heart. With each motion, you could sense the pressure building within, threatening to erupt and consume you entirely.

Your nails scratched furiously at the sheets, seeking some kind of anchor amidst the storm of emotion and physical stimulation consuming you. The taste of salt lingering on your lips only added fuel to the fire, and you found yourself begging for him to take you even further.

"Please, please don't stop!" you pleaded. Tommy laughed triumphantly, a devilish glint dancing in his eyes.

"Do you truly wish for me to push beyond your limit, my little pet?" He taunted, grazing his teeth along your neck, sending shivers racing across your flesh. Unable to suppress your desire any longer, you nodded fervently, meeting his challenge eagerly.

"Then open your mouth wide, my dear," he instructed, loosening his grip just enough to grant you a brief reprieve as he pulled his cock from your ass and pushed you onto the floor.

"You are going to swallow my cum without spilling a drop," he commanded sternly, towering over you.

Feeling violated and humiliated, you dropped obediently to your knees and took his rigid erection into your hungry mouth. Tears streamed down your face as you performed this degrading task, your pride battered and bruised beneath his feet.

Despite the overwhelming shame and embarrassment, you tried your utmost to satisfy him, hoping to regain even the slightest fragment of dignity that remained intact.

His manhood twitched visibly in response to your efforts, provoking him to grab your hair roughly, pulling your head closer to his groin.

"Keep it up, open your throat," he threatened gruffly, reaffirming his absolute control over you. Panicked, you obeyed without question, not wanting to anger him further. Every caress of his fingers through your strands sent shudders of fear down your spine, yet you continued to service him dutifully.

His member grew heavier in your mouth, swelling impossibly larger still as you worked harder to accommodate its size. You fought the urge to gag, concentrating solely on staying true to your promise to him. The struggle became evident in your reddened eyes and quivering jawline. Desperate to avoid his wrath, you tightened your grip on his length, sucking harder, and increasing the intensity of your movements.

Tommy let out a low growl of satisfaction, pleased with your performance.

"Here it comes, love. Feast upon my essence, my precious pet," he said, allowing his seminal fluid to pour forcefully into your awaiting mouth. The salty liquid flooded your palate, filling your mouth completely. The bitter flavor caused your lips to pucker. Still, you valiantly kept your mouth closed, determined not to defile his command.

Still holding your hair tightly, he allowed you to come up from your knees, bringing you into a standing position.

"Open and show me your tongue, I want to make sure you swallowed it all." Obeying, you extended your tongue to meet his inspection.

"Very good, my pet. Now get back on to your knees and clean off my cock properly," Tommy ordered coldly, releasing his grip on your hair. Observing his reaction, you hurriedly knelt before him, carefully opening your mouth to receive his cock once more. His phallus emerged from your mouth, wet and sticky, leaving behind traces of his seed.

"Lick it clean, come on!" he demanded brusquely, eyeing you critically. You complied immediately, not wanting to upset him anymore today. Swirling your tongue around the sensitive tip, you meticulously cleansed it, paying special attention to any lingering residues.

"That will do," he conceded finally, stepping away from you. Exhausted, you sank down onto the floor, feeling a wave of relief wash over you as the events gradually subsided.

Looking up, you noticed Tommy surveying you with a mixture of admiration and contempt.

Clearly satisfied with your obedience, he smirked, wiping the remaining evidence of his domination from your lips with a smile.

"You did well tonight, pet," he admitted grudgingly, turning to leave. "And I cannot believe that your husband would share someone as divine as you are, sweetheart. I certainly would not share you with other men if you belonged to me, which makes me wonder what sort of man he is..." Tommy leered at you suggestively, his tone oozing confidence and superiority. You flinched involuntarily, unsure whether to feel insulted or intrigued by his brazen assessment. Feeling emboldened by his apparent interest, you sought to learn more about the enigmatic Mr. Shelby. "My husband... He is quite peculiar, sir," you hesitated, casting your eyes downward thoughtfully, without telling him that he was forcing you to do this for money. 

[artificial-transmutations]

4k! Dropout Dorm 2

Aiden coughed, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"No, I don't think so..."

Marvin walked towards him, slowly. Thankfully, Marvin only went to the window to open it before packing his bag. 

"Aren't you going to get out of bed soon?" Marvin asked. "Classes are about to start! 

Of course, that wasn't all that easy. Under his blanket, his body was still covered in spurts of cum that Aiden smeared into the fabric and all over himself with every movement. 

"Go ahead, my classes don't start for a while, and I'm really sleepy" he lied while faking a yawn. Apparently, the innocent Marvin bought his lie and left for class. Once the room door closed, Aiden bolted out of bed. As he had feared, the inward facing side of his blanket as well as his torso were wet with sticky cum. However, Marvin had also been right about classes. He had no time to clean up properly or take a shower now, that would have to wait until the afternoon. Aiden quickly used his towel to wipe off the worst from his body and turned his blanket, so the dirty side faced down. He threw on some clothes and was almost out of the door when he noticed that the window was still open. Not having anything stolen was definitely more important than a smelly room, so he closed the window and hurried to his class. 

Aiden made it to class, just barely. He didn't have any trouble following the professor but was distracted by himself. As the day progressed, Aiden noticed that he was smelling a bit. The sweaty activity this morning combined with the dried up seed under his clothes and the lack of shower produced a bit of a smell. It was probably nothing anyone else would notice, but still, Aiden was very self-conscious about it and resolved to taking a shower when classes were over. To make matters even worse, it was a moderately hot summer day, and Aiden was sweating under his long sleeve shirt. He didn't want to open it on the other hand in order not to disturb anyone with his smell. 

Marvin was the first to return to the 'dropout dorm'. When he opened the door, he immediately noticed the stale air. For understandable reasons, Aiden had closed the window when he left the room. Apparently, the time it had been open had not been enough to get rid of the strong aroma two sleeping guys produced. 

Marvin considered opening the window again but decided against it. The sun was burning down outside and opening the window now would only make the room heat up unnecessarily. Besides, he almost didn't smell it anymore. 

With this rationalization, Marvin started up his PC, to get his assignments done. He had a few days for them but doing them immediately didn't hurt. 

However, Marvin found it hard to concentrate today. Perhaps it had been the new experiences during the last few days, but he was feeling rather aroused. His small dick had gotten stiff, and he found himself readjusting his crotch often while trying to concentrate on his assignment. 

Finally, he gave up. It had been long since he had been this horny. He just needed to get it out of his system, so he opened a porn site. As he was nestling on the button of his pants however, without a warning, the room door opened. 

Marvin panicked, and his face became red as a tomato. He simultaneously shoved his shirt over his thankfully small bulge and hit the power button of his computer, not caring that he lost what little progress he had made on his assignment. 

Thankfully, Aiden, who came into the room, had not noticed anything out of the ordinary but regarded Marvin with a curious look. 

"Hey Marvin. Why are you shutting down your computer?" 

"Oh, uhm, hi Aiden. Yes, I'm... eh... I mean I have to go, that's why!" 

"Ah, cool, where are you going?" asked Aiden in a friendly tone while letting himself fall to his bed. 

Crap. He needed a good excuse. Classes were over for the day. Without thinking much, he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "I'm going to the gym!" 

"To the gym?" Aiden asked bewilderedly. 

"Yes, I thought there is no harm in trying it out once, haha!" Marvin said and went through his drawer to retrieve some never used gym clothes. 

"Alright! Have fun!" said Aiden, secretly happy he would be alone in the room because of that.

Marvin dressed quickly, grabbed his backpack and left the room. 

Finally alone, Aiden, who was still lying on his bed, sighed a sigh of relief. Now, he had time to clean up, change his sheets and shower. He sat up and pulled his shirt over his head, leaving him bare-chested. He took a test sniff on his armpits. Yep, they smelled pretty intense, at least compared to his usual body odor. What was a bit odd though were the bushes of brown hair that prominently looked out from his armpits. Had he always been so hairy there? He couldn't say - that was something he never noticed much. It smelled really sweaty, though. When he scratched the hair with his hand, it felt damp with sweat.

Aiden smelled his fingers that just had scratched his pit, just to be sure. Yes, definitely a strong odor. He repeated the experiment on his other armpit. Same result. Aiden's head was swimming and for some reason he was really horny again. His dick strained against his pants and demanded attention. Good thing Marvin was out. It was pretty unusual for him to feel the need to jerk off twice in a week, let alone twice in a day, but Aiden thought nothing of it and got to work. 

As his right arm pumped up and down, the smell from his armpits was shoved into the room with each movement, for some reason making Aiden even more aroused. As he was getting close already, however, this wasn't enough anymore. As best as he could, he buried his nose in his armpits and took a deep breath. Ohhhh yes! That sensation brought him over the edge and more cum splattered against his body. Some missed his chest and hit his pillow instead, forming wet patches on the linen.

Aiden exhaled. That was unusually intense. He looked down on the mess he made. He should clean that up. But right now, he felt really tired, and Marvin would surely be out for a bit, so he still had some time. He grabbed his discarded shirt and wiped over his chest, letting the fabric absorb his sweat and cum, while spreading the rest more over his body, before letting the cloth fall to the floor without spending a further thought on it. Time to relax for a bit. 

With this thought, Aiden snuggled himself into his stained bed and slumbered away.

Meanwhile, Marvin arrived at the gym. What was he even doing? He could just pretend he went to the gym and return half an hour later. But then again, this would just be wasting time, and he did buy the gym clothes in case he wanted to try out the athletic offerings of the college at some point.

Under no circumstances had he expected this to be the case on his very first day here, but he might as well. 

Thankfully, there was nobody there to see him, as he changed into his gym clothes and so he entered the foreign territory in his oversized clothes with a bit of apprehension. But there was nobody in here as well, so he could basically do whatever he wanted without making a fool out of himself.

Where to start... There were the treadmills of course, but after closer inspection, the devices looked pretty complicated, and Marvin didn't want to damage anything (or himself) by pressing the wrong button on it. What else... There were weights. Those are pretty straightforward, Marvin reasoned. Just grab the weighted sticks and lift them, repeatedly. There was probably no way he could do that wrong. 

So, Marvin grabbed some weights and started to lift them up. Even though he started with the smallest one, it was surprisingly heavy, and Marvin went out of breath pretty quickly. He looked at the dumbbells again. They looked really tiny, especially compared to the other versions with much bigger discs. He wouldn't let himself be defeated by those! He grabbed them again and continued lifting.

Once he found his rhythm, the lifting became somewhat easier, and Marvin actually started to enjoy himself. Sweat was running down his body in rivers, drenching his light shirt, but he didn't care. He felt good! 

Marvin lost track of the time for a bit, but he had been working out for at least an hour, maybe two. During the last half hour or so, he even had switched to the next bigger disc size and found he could lift them as well. When he finally had enough, though, he noticed that there were other people working out in the gym now. He hadn't seen them come in, so focused has he been on his own lifting. 

The problem was, there were also other people in the locker room and shower. Marvin really didn't fancy showering with other people, so he decided to just shower in their dorm room.

When he entered the 'dropout dorm', he saw Aiden slumbering in his bed. He was shirtless and his arms hung over the bedframe, exposing hairy armpits. On the floor, a crumbled up shirt was lying, and the whole room smelled a bit... ripe. Marvin smiled. Poor Aiden, he must have been really tired. Best to let him sleep instead of opening the window. Besides, Marvin himself was so sweaty he was pretty smelly as well, he was sure of it. Time to hit the shower!

As he let the hot water run down his body, Marvin noticed a couple of things that seemed odd. For the first time in ever, he noticed some really small amounts of definition on his slim body. While that could probably be explained by the strain on his muscles from the workout (the word 'pump' didn't mean anything to Marvin), there were two more observations that were harder to explain. There were a very few small hairs on his chest, and overall, his complexion was a tad darker, like he had a tan. He didn't have a tan for all his life! It must have been the moving boxes in the bright sunshine yesterday, Marvin rationalized.

After finishing his shower, Marvin worked on his assignments for a bit, but stopped quickly. It wasn't really fun, a mixture of boring and surprisingly difficult at times. He had clearly underestimated the difficulty of his assignments. Perhaps he would have to take a fresh look at it tomorrow.

Furthermore, his body was acting up again. Even though his workout was now several hours ago, he was still sweating like mad. His butt left a wet print in his chair when he stood up and sweat kept dripping down his body and into his eyes. As if that wasn't bad enough, he was constantly hard. Of course, with Aiden sleeping just a few meters away, there was absolutely no way he would do anything about it right now, he would just have to endure it. His gaze went to the sleeping Aiden more than once, without him even noticing, taking in the incredibly hairy armpits and sparse hair on his chest (were those there before?) subconsciously.

Surely, there would be an opportunity to care for that tomorrow, Marvin reasoned as he shut down his computer and went to bed as well. 

With his dick tenting his blanket, he drifted off to sleep.

Things are set in motion! Read the previous part here. The next part is waiting here.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Vash being flustered by compliments, acting like a total loser please? Lots of “Buwuhh?! uhhh I- That’s really kind of you to-” or him spilling his drink, stumbling on nothing and trying to laugh it off, moments would be extremely appreciated. 🙏♥️

Aweeee thanks for this request!

(note I wrote this with Tristamp Vash in mind)

...........

"You know..your laugh is adorable."

In an instant, Vash fell into silence, the tips of his ears turning a pinkish hue as he stared at you from across the table. With a drink in one hand, he shakily set it down--only to clumsily spilling small droplets onto the flat surface.

But he tried to play it cool by propping his elbow over the mess, smiling. "Ahaha..thanks. That's...actually very nice of you to say. Most people think my laughs are "evil", but-"

"Oh that's nonsense." You leaned over a bit, smirking as you could see the nervous sweat beginning to manifest along your partner's hairline. "That's because they don't know what genuine laughter is. One as joyous as yours is so hard to come by these days. You've been through a lot. Endured things that would easily kill a person's spirit. And here you are, still finding ways to laugh and smile and see the good in others."

"Well..I..I think I deserve to do that every once in a while."

"Of course you do. Your smiles are brighter than the damn sun...and your hair, for that matter. But all that kindness and hope? Your emphasis on "love and peace"? That's attractive."

Your wink is what nearly sent the Humanoid Typhoon over the edge, as he squeaked in surprise at your words, before noticing Meryl, Roberto, and Wolfwood at their own table, having a chat about the worms in the sand and sky...only for their gazes to land on him.

Knowing smirks appeared on their faces when they realized what was going on.

You were flustering the hell out of Vash.

It only made his growing blush worsen, and he sheepishly threw his hood over his head to hide it, turning back to you. "Th-They're watching us, you know.." He mumbled.

"So what? Let them watch. They already know how smitten you are over me, anyway." You chuckled and reached a hand out. His advanced prosthetic fingers instinctively reached back, intertwining their coldness with your warmth. "I love your arm, too. It's amazing, perfect...just like you, honey."

"Ah...! Thank you...h-honey. Haha.." At this point, he knew he lost the war..you were just too damn good at this. Pushing away your compliments was useless now, so he resolved to just covering his face with his free hand.

His heart was hammering uncontrollably, and for once in his life..it wasn't due to the adrenaline of fleeing from gun-totting bandits or cyborgs.

It was because of love.

The very thing he hoped to stand for.

Ever since getting together with Vash, and learning how hard he often was on himself..you made it your mission to let him know how much you adored him.

He was afraid you'd be scared off by the bounty on his head, or the fact he had to constantly be on the move...or that a whole town could turn on him at the drop of a hat....or that twin brother of his would find you two.

But you've made it clear time and time again that you weren't leaving his side no matter what, and by god you were sticking to that promise even when he attempted to push you away a few times before.

You'd go anywhere in No Man's Land, unless it wasn't with him.

The moment he realized you're in this for the long run, you helped him let his guard down a little, defending his name and trying to show him common traditions of human couples--or at least..whichever ones you could recreate on this planet.

Even when you weren't around him, people would ask what "horrors" you've faced during your encounters with the "terrifying" Vash the Stampede, imagining you barely escaping with your life while he smiles and laughs at the mass destruction and death that surrounds him..

But what they don't know (and probably never will) is that his smiles and laughs were simply the products of your endless ways of complimenting him...such as right now.

You had this man--who had the power to bring down an empire if he wanted to--stammering over his words, acting incredibly shy, and being unusually giggly. And he's barely touched a drop of liquor since your small group stopped in the bar for refuge from the desert heat.

Some of the patrons wondered how drunk he was to be acting the way he did, while others looked upon you two with fondness, now convinced that love may not be dead just yet.

As long as Vash was here, that will continue to exist, and you'll be there to show him that he's worthy of it, too.

[elany]

Yk what I want? I want a very early stages post canon labrumisu, but from Chilchuck's POV.

Imagine mister 'interparty romance is the devil' visiting court just to see these three circling each other like a pack of uniquely unhinged cats. And of course he sees it immediately, he's nothing if not perceptive and he's seen this happen so, so many times before. Kabru is hardly subtle in his fascination with Laios, who trusts him in turn more than nearly anybody else. He can see how close Mithrun and Kabru still are, even when there's little reason for the former captain to even stay in Melini. He can see where this is going. And he can see the disaster it's gonna end up in.

So he's just staring at them in horror, trying to figure out what in the world the dynamic here even is and glaring daggers at Kabru all the while for seemingly being the linchpin of this entire bullshit situation. King, his adviser and a fucking foreign noble?? Who thought THAT was a good idea! Is nobody else seeing this?? (no lol) Why is nobody objecting to this politically unsound love triangle that could literally ruin the kingdom they've only just established??

The anger! The distress! The despair when he first sees Laios getting all giddy when Mithrun so much as talks to him. Because hell, now he can't even blame the entire situation on one pretty boy insisting on having fingers in every possible pie, on political and personal level both!

And then they just. Quietly get together. All three of them. And Chil's just watching from the sidelines in complete bafflement because he's invented infinite worst case scenarios for how this will implode in all of their faces and destroy their friend group and topple the entire country and--

Instead they do. This. He'd be relieved if he wasn't so goddamn mad that he's spent months worrying about this shit just for them to resolve it in the least dramatic way possible.

Fuck this, he's taking a holiday.

[wildtooru]

Behind the Mask

Kenji Sato x reader

Summary: Kenji Sato, the star baseball player and the new Ultraman, struggles with the burden of his dual identity. One evening, he decides to share his secret with you, hoping for understanding and support.

The warm lights of the city reflected off the windows of the cozy Tokyo apartment as you prepared dinner. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the clinking of utensils were the only sounds in the room. You glanced at the clock, noting that Kenji was running late again. It wasn’t unusual—between his baseball career and the mysterious "other job" he never spoke much about, his schedule was always unpredictable.

You sighed, stirring the pot of miso soup, when you heard the front door creak open. Kenji stepped in, looking exhausted but smiling warmly at you.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, kicking off his shoes and making his way to the kitchen.

"It's okay," you replied, offering him a reassuring smile. "Dinner’s almost ready. Tough day at practice?"

Kenji chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, something like that."

There was something in his tone that made you pause. It wasn’t just fatigue; it was deeper, a weariness you hadn’t heard before. You turned off the stove and faced him, concern etched on your features.

"Kenji, are you okay? You seem... different tonight."

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of uncertainty, but also determination. "Actually, there's something I need to tell you. Something important."

Your heart skipped a beat. You nodded, gesturing for him to sit at the table. "Of course, you can tell me anything."

Kenji sat down, his hands clasped together on the table. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, struggling to find the right words. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability.

"Do you remember when we first met? You asked me why I never stayed in the spotlight, why I kept my distance from the media and even my teammates."

You nodded, recalling those early days of your relationship. Kenji had always been a bit of an enigma, a star player who shunned the limelight.

"The truth is," he continued, "it wasn't just because I preferred my privacy. It was because I have another responsibility, one that I haven't been able to share with anyone... until now."

You leaned forward, your curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Kenji opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. He took a deep breath, his fingers tapping nervously against the wood. "It's... complicated. And I don't want you to think differently of me."

You reached out, placing your hand over his. "Kenji, whatever it is, we'll face it together."

He looked up, a mixture of fear and resolve in his eyes. "I hope you mean that," he murmured, almost to himself. He took another deep breath, his shoulders tense. "I'm Ultraman."

For a moment, the words hung in the air, almost surreal. You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. "Ultraman? Like, the Ultraman? The one who fights Kaiju?"

He nodded, watching your reaction carefully. "Yes. My father was Ultraman before me, and when he got injured, I had to take over. That's why I moved back to Japan and I’m always disappearing without much explanation."

You stared at him, a mixture of disbelief and awe washing over you. "But... how? When?"

Kenji sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's a long story. My father always wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I resisted. I wanted to make a name for myself in baseball, away from all the danger and responsibility. But when he got hurt, I had no choice but to step up."

You pulled your hand back, struggling to wrap your mind around his revelation. "This is... a lot to take in, Kenji. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He looked down, his expression filled with regret. "I didn't want to burden you with it. I thought... maybe you'd be safer not knowing. But lately, it's been getting harder to keep it from you. I hate lying to you, and I need you to understand what I'm dealing with."

You stood up, pacing the small kitchen. "This is... I mean, I understand why you kept it a secret, but... Ultraman? That's huge, Kenji. It’s not just some little thing you can drop on someone."

Kenji stood as well, a look of desperation in his eyes. "I know. And I'm sorry. I just couldn't keep it from you any longer. I need you to know the real me."

You stopped pacing and turned to face him. "I need some time to process this. It’s not that I don’t support you, but... this changes everything."

He nodded, a pained expression on his face. "I understand. Take all the time you need. Just know that I’m here and I want us to face this together."

You took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "Okay. We’ll figure this out. But it’s going to take some time."

Kenji gave you a small, relieved smile. "Thank you. That’s all I can ask for."

As you both sat back down, the weight of his revelation settled between you. It would be a long journey, but together, you knew you could face the challenges ahead.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik turns 50. TF 141 throw him a surprise party. (As the author continues to build their voices and headcanons in his head.)

cw: none.

“I can't believe Nik’s going to be fifty next week. The man's aging like a fine wine. It must be something in the water over there.”

It had been a fairly innocuous comment by Laswell over one of their frequent phone calls, but it had sent Price into an unfathomable tailspin.

Fifty.

Fifty was a big birthday where Price came from. The kind where the extended family, and wider community around them, were invited to a village hall for an old fashioned knees up, and you ended up carrying your uncle Rodney home so your aunt didn't smother him with a throw pillow after he pissed all over the doorstep.

Price had never really thought much about the families and wider lives of his contacts. They got the job done and then they parted ways. In every sense, a contact held the same position in Price's mind as the weapon in his hand; a tool to be used and then set aside once you were done.

But Nik… Nik was becoming more than a contact. A lot more. Price knew there was no uncle Rodney for Nik. There was no family whatsoever. No one special to mark half a century with, except maybe… fuck.

Price didn't share scotch with just anyone, let alone pass his cigar over for them to take a toke. As much as he respected Laswell, he was never inclined to spend hours with her chattin’ shit, until the sun broke through the blinds and they both had to slam some black coffee so they looked remotely presentable for their operators. His hand never lingered on anyone else's carrier vest, and no one else's voice made warmth and light curl in his chest.

No one else slotted against Price's... everything quite like Nikolai.

Price wasn't stupid. He knew what these signs meant, but that didn't mean he had any idea what the fuck to do about them. It was safer to just… be, too cowardly to progress any further. And yet, this felt like a milestone somehow.

“Captain, are you there? John?”

“Rog, yeah… uh. Continue.”

By the time Price had hung up, he had resolved to do something to mark Nik’s birthday. Laswell had coughed up the exact date and then slyly asked why Price was so interested. Her tone suggested she already had a hunch. “141 tradition,” he'd said, before hanging up. Rude, but she'd cope.

He finished some paperwork and turned in for the night, but sleep didn't come easy. His plans played out across the dark ceiling above his head and each time he settled on a course of action, he picked a hundred holes in it and cast it aside.

“Buy him a bottle of vodka and put a bow on your prick,” Simon said over eggs and bacon. The majority of the base was still asleep, with only a few other troopers skulking around the canteen.

Price choked on his gulp of tea and thumped his chest. “Classy, Simon.”

“You’ve been dancin’ round each other for years,” Simon murmured, rubbing at the stubble below the line of his mask. “Best time as any to pull the trigger.”

“Pot. Kettle. Black,” Price said as he stabbed at the bacon on his plate to emphasise each word.

“Fuck off,” Simon grumbled, “sir.”

Price snorted a laugh and they finished the rest of their breakfast in companionable silence. After a session in the gym, a myriad of brain-numbing meetings and supervising some training runs, Price was no closer to shaking out of his decision paralysis. If they were on mission he could have hashed out a plan without taking a breath, but he… didn't want to fuck this up. It felt too important.

Price was left with no choice but to consult professionals.

“Surprise party,” Soap said gleefully, chucking his playing cards onto the coffee table. “In th’ hanger, we invite him over tae ‘discuss an op’,” Soap lifted his fingers to emphasise the spoken quotation marks, “get Laswell tae send the invite.”

Gaz nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, then he won't suspect anything - oh, oh, I've got Farah's number, we can get her in on it. She’ll know if he’ll want anyone else, and… uh, you know, we’ll get clearance.”

“Right,” Price leaned back, arms folded over his chest. “So, what… we need food, and cake.”

“Aye, sir,” Soap said, squinting. “And booze. Gaz an’ I'll sort the logistics, and ye jus’ need tae sort the pressie.”

“We’re on it, sir. Leave it to us.”

The present. Price could do that. No worries.

Two days later, he stared down at the forty item long Amazon wishlist he had titled “Operation Black Hawk” and had no idea what to get. Something that walked the line of funny but sentimental, that said ‘you’re hot as fuck but I'm not desperate but I absolutely wank over you in the shower’.

“Fuckin Christ,” Price whispered at this office ceiling, slouched deep in his chair. He closed his eyes and forced his mind to quiet but for thoughts of Nik. Think, think.

So many conversations, ice tinkling against glass, low chuckles and borish jokes; a warm palm on Price’s shoulder and a smile so toothy it was contagious. Endless memories of time at Nik’s side. There had been that summer Nik had come fishing with him. Just a few days of peace before they both returned to the field. Nik had snoozed through most of it, exhausted by their previous mission, but in between he had surveyed the lake, watching the insects flit across the water.

“Poprygun'ya strekoza, leto krasnoye propela,” Nikolai had murmured.

“Cursing my ancestors?” Price had asked before gulping down a mouthful of beer.

Nik had chuckled. “Nyet, captain. It means a playful prankish Dragonfly, the whole summer have sung out. It is a poem by Ivan Karylov. One of my favourites.”

“Yeah? What's it about?”

“It is a fable...”

“Oh bloody hell, not another Russian morality lesson.”

“Pssh, this is good one. You will like it,” Nik had sat up in his camping chair. “It is about a beautiful dragonfly who spends her summer dancing and resting, while the hardworking ant prepares. When winter comes, she begs the ant for help, but he refuses, because he worked hard and she did not.”

“Harsh but fair. Work hard, play hard, them’s the rules..”

“You see, I knew you would like it. You are an ant. You earn your rest. This,” Nik had gestured at fishing tackle, the camping equipment, and the lake, “is the fruit of your labour, and I am privileged to share it with you, my friend.”

“And I you, mate.”

They had knocked their bottles together and moments later one of Price’s reels had begun spinning out. By that point they'd drunk so much that landing the damn carp had left them both up to their knees in lake water, pissing themselves laughing on the bank. It had been both the worst and best fishing expedition of Price’s life.

Price opened his eyes in the present and grinned at the ceiling, digging his phone out of his pocket. He knew exactly what he was going to get Nik.

The rest of the week sprinted by quicker than a RAF pilot on his way to a champagne dinner, and before he knew it Price was standing on a rickety plastic chair hanging a bloody banner from a rusty nail high on the hanger wall.

“It's wonky, cap,” Gaz said just as Price was climbing down.

“I think you'll find your eyes are wonky, sergeant.”

“Of course, sir. I'll get that sorted.”

Price pressed his hands to the small of his back and glanced around at the preparations. The sergeants had done well. Soap had even managed to draft Simon in on the booze run and there was a healthy selection of spirits on the buffet table by the birthday cake. It was a Colin Caterpillar from Marks and Spencers, one of Nik's favourite shops to visit when he was in the UK, with a joke candle stuck in the top that he wouldn't be able to blow out. Soap's idea.

The majority of Chimera had turned up to mark the occasion, as had a few faces Price recognised from previous ops with other organisations and task forces. Soap had said a few didn't quite pass the bar for security clearance, which wasn't surprising.

It was just as Gaz and Soap were bickering over the playlist that they heard the telltale drum of helicopter blades beat overhead. “Places, places!” Soap crowed from the hanger door, slamming the lights off. Booted feet scuttled across the dusty floor to find hiding places behind the vehicles and crates stacked around the edges, and Price joined Soap by the door.

Several minutes passed, and then… “And you have no idea where the weapons store is?”

“None at all, Nik. Price should have more intel,” Laswell replied. She had rendezvoused with Nik in Germany as part of the plan. Her wife was currently squatting behind a crate with Gaz.

“I hope so or this will be a difficult mission.”

Soap was practically vibrating at Price's shoulder as Nik rounded the corner. He slammed on the lights and everyone erupted from their hiding places on cue. Price didn't miss how Nik’s hand dropped for his sidearm, his eyes blown wide.

“Laswell, what is–?”

“Happy birthday, Nikolai,” she said, walking by to plant a kiss on her wife's cheek.

“I–” Nik glanced around the hanger as he accepted hugs from Gaz and Syd, handshakes from others, still bewildered. “How–?”

“It was th’ captain's idea,” Soap said, jutting his chin at Price. “He told us ye were hittin’ the big five-oh, old man. Ye not gettin’ off that easy.”

“Here, drink,” Simon grunted, pressing a glass into Nik's hand. “I'm startin’ the food, Johnny. I've been patient.”

“Aye, L.T. Bust open th’ sarnies. Farah, th’ ones on the left are halal - aye, bet.”

Nik was drawn into conversation briefly and Price hung back, glancing at the badly wrapped parcel he'd stashed on top of an empty oil container. He was so focused on his internal misgivings that Nik’s hand on his elbow made him startle. “Oi, give me a bloody heart attack…”

“You did this?”

“MacTavish and Garrick did this,” Price said.

Nik, who knew that the 141 did nothing without Price's express permission, grinned toothily. They stood in silence as he surveyed the many faces scattered around the hanger, some shoving sandwiches in their faces while others swigged from freshly open bottles. “I… have never had a birthday party before.”

“What? Not even as a kid?”

Nik shrugged one shoulder. “Nyet, it was not a… priority.” He looked back at Price, dark eyes heavy with something complex and unreadable. “Thank you.”

Price swallowed and tried to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. “You're uh… you're welcome, I… got you something. But, uh…” Before he could wuss out, Price grabbed the poorly wrapped parcel and shoved it into Nik's hands. “Happy birthday.”

Nik set his glass aside. “Your wrapping skills are…”

“Bloody fantastic.”

“...unique.”

“I'll take it.”

Nik huffed a laugh as he tore the brown paper away and flipped the book over in his hands. Price was relieved to see his face brighten. “Aesop’s fables. Captain, this is beautiful…”

To be fair, it was a damn pretty book. The hardcover was illustrated with the animals from the fables, the pages edged in gold, and the inside cover was patterned. You know… posh. And then Nik found the second part, tucked about a quarter of the way through. It was a photograph from their fishing expedition. A rough selfie, with half a fish head in shot where Nik was trying to display their catch, and Price’s face smeared with mud from where he had stumbled onto the bank.

Nik's eyes lingered on it, his fingertips brushing over their grinning faces, and he swallowed.

Price panicked. “I'm sorry, it's shit, I'll uhm–”

Nik pulled him into an embrace that crushed the air from his lungs. There was definitely a stutter in Nik’s chest, and Price wrapped his arms around him in return. If he happened to turn his nose into Nik's neck, and Nik happened to press his face a little closer, then that was fine. More than fine.

Price's toes curled in his boots, his fingers tightened in Nik’s shirt, the aching in his chest becoming that much harder to ignore. “You alright?”

“Da,” Nik said tightly. “I just need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need,” Price murmured, closing his eyes as he cradled Nik against him. He didn't mark the time, happy to revel in the warmth of the solid body in his arms, and the smell of Nik's skin, pressed so close Price could feel the thrum of his heartbeat.

When Nik finally pulled away, slightly reddened eyes lingered on Price’s lips before turning to the rest of the party, who were doing a shitty job of pretending they hadn't all been watching. “Later, I would… like to spend some time with you.”

Price didn't want to examine the heat under his skin too closely, lest it be entirely misplaced. “Course.”

“Nik, get over ‘ere tae blow th’ oot before Ghostie eats yer cake’s face!”

Nik tucked his book under his arm and walked over to the buffet table with Price to a horrifically off-key rendition of ‘happy birthday’. Once Nik had worked the candles out, flicking them at Soap with a loud Russian cuss, festivities descended, as they usually did on base, into raucous drinking games and whatever the sergeants decided passed for dancing. Simon lost the Ring of Fire and had to down the filthiest pint Price had ever seen in his life, Laswell thrashed them all at beer pong and Gaz tried to teach Farah how to do the worm. As far as fiftieth birthday parties went, it definitely beat out the village hall knees up.

Later, when the majority of the party had slunk off to dark corners, fallen asleep where they sat or retired in good order, Nik pulled his captain back into his arms and kept him there until the sun rose. Except, this time, they did a damn sight more than talk.

[hmusunoo]

TXT AS ANGST TROPES - hyung line

pairings. ᝰ.ᐟ txt members x fem!reader synopsis. ᝰ.ᐟ txt as angst tropes warnings. ᝰ.ᐟ obviously angst tropes, cheating, unrequited love; I did only the hyung line because I'm lazy, let me know if you want tae and kai's too and ill make aa part 2 W.C.ᝰ.ᐟ 1.6k

𐙚 soobin - loss of feelings/cheating

the air in the room was thick as you sat with your head in your hands. scarred that you looked up and into soobin's eye you would know for sure that it was over. You weren't ready for that. mind, body and soul you knew you weren't ready for whaat you and soobin had built all these years to crumble, to come crashing down in an a single instant.

but you knew it was going to happen. you knew that it had to happen. you looked up a tear falling down your cheek.

more under the cut!

"when?" you asked, your voice breaking along with your resolve and your heart. "when did it happen?"

you weren't sure if you wanted the answer entirely. you weren't sure if you had just wanted him to lie to you instead, if you wanted him to tell you that he wasn't cheating and that everything was fine. luck had not been on your side, not now and not ever.

"six months ago" he whispered into out filling the void of the room "I'm so-"

"don't" your voice was stern trying your hardest to keep it together. he didn't deserve to see you break. "don't say you're sorry" soobin flinched at your harsh tone. it was tone you had never taken up with him before.

"I loved you. through it all I loved you" you seethed out. a red hot anger now coursing through your veins. it felt like he had taken a torch to your heart, sitting back to watch as you withered away to ash infront of him. doing nothing to extinguish the burn that he had caused.

"I didn't mean for this to happen y/n. it just did ok?" he had the nerve to sound angry as if he didn't ruin this beautiful thing you had created, he had the nerve to act like he wasn't the villain in your story. it had made you angrier.

you let out a laugh you heart racing as you stood from your seat. "you're unbelievable" you spit out at him. "you're seriously angry at me?'

"I'm not angry I just don't know what you expect me to say?" his voice has risen an octave, now standing in front of you.

"do you love her?" you asked him. it was a question that deep deep down you knew the answer to. aa question you didn't want to ask but for the sake of the closure you'll need, you just had to ask.

"y/n-"

"do you fucking love her soobin!" shooting had taken the very little energy you had and disintegrated it, along with your heart when he meekly answered "yes."

that's all you needed to hear.

𐙚 yeonjun - betrayal

"oh hun did you really think he cared about you, did you?" the words rang in your mind as you made your way out of the dorm apartments. the conversation you just had replaying in your mind like a rusty broken record.

the sounds of fast footsteps approached you closer and closer, you didn't turn to see who it was. you didn't need to you already knew who it was.

"y/n!" you kept your brisk pace, the tears falling from your eyes the wind smacking you hard in the face with a sting, that sting being nothing compared to the sting of what you had just endured in that small dorm room.

"please baby let me explain" you whipped your head around to meet yeonjun. he abruptly stopped in his tracks not expecting you to stop for him.

"don't you dare call me that. not anymore" you seethed at him, your heart thumping at tenfold as you stared at him.

"I need you to let me explain." he pleaded, a genuine look of desperation on his face. you couldn't let him pull you back in though, you had to keep your composure you wouldn't allow him to break you further, if that were even possible at this point.

"how could you possibly explain that yeonjun? you said it. it was right there in the recording you can't deny it."

"I had to say it-"

"don't give me that bullshit yeonjun. you told him that you didn't love me. that I had been a means of distraction for you. that everything we had been through this last year has meant nothing." the tears built behind your eyes threading to cascade like a waterfall if you didn't get yourself together in the next few seconds.

"he was forcing me to break it off with you y/n I had to make it seem like it wasn't serious so he would get off my back." and although his explanation made sense it still hurt, it hurt because he didn't pick you. he didn't stick up for you, for your relationship and that was a betrayal. it was a betrayal to who you were and what you did together. did appeasing his manager mean more to him then you did? it seemed like the answer was right here in front of you.

he was more worried about what his company would think then how you would feel in the aftermath of it all.

"I just wanted you to choose me" you croaked out, a defeat now settling deep in your chest. "and you didn't do that yeonjun, I don't know if that makes me selfish and to be honest I don't care if it does. I just wanted you to pick me." you breathed in a shake to your voice taking over. "now it's too late. I know full and well where your priorities lie and it's not with me. I can't settle for that."

𐙚 beomgyu - unrequited love

you had watched from a far beomgyu and the newest girl he had decided to bring around. he was your best friend, your longest friend. having fallen in love with him in your early teen years you continued with the same feelings years later. you had to suffer in silence as beomgyu brought countless girls around and soon after moving in with one another in university you had to hear as he fucked these girls into the wee hours of the night.

it was an excruciating feeling to say the least, something that you had endure for years on end. your feelings hadn’t gone unnoticed by the people around you. in fact most of your friends had commented pretty heavily on the longing stares and dramatic sighs you had sent beomgyu’s way.

they often made fun of how oblivious he was to it all.

in truth, you had started to become fed up in the feeling. you contemplated for years on telling him how you truly felt. hoping and praying he felt the same way. your friends had assured you that he had.

that he always looked at you the same way you did him. that his lingering touches and careful consideration for you was coming from a place of romantic interest. you were beginning to notice the tiny things as well, and at first you blamed it on your delusions. convinced that you were only trying to trick yourself into believing he loved you, but the proof was in the pudding and oddly enough you could see that it was true.

maybe he did love you the way you loved him.

so tonight, as you watched him with this random girl he had brought to your friend get together you decided you’d tell him. as soon as everyone left and was gone for the night. you knew beomgyu had an early morning class so this girl would not be staying, for that you were grateful.

You spent the rest of the night playing board games and trying your hardest to not look to long at beomgyu and nari (the girl he brought over) their sickly sweet cuddling had made you feel nauseous and you didn't know how much more of it you could take.

Finally at around midnight everyone had decided to leave, saying your goodbyes had felt relieving. you felt as if you hyped yourself up enough to finally get this over with.

your heart was pounding in your chest but you felt ready.

"gyu.." you called out for him from the living room. he had gone into the kitchen to clean up the dishes from the night. "can we talk please?"

"coming!" he shouted from the kitchen before his footsteps were heard tumbling into the living room to join you.

immediately with one look to your face beomgyu could see that the conversation you wanted to have was a serious one. he sat down on the sofa urging you to sit besides him.

"I don't know how to say this so I'm just going to say it out right." You looked him over, studying him before blurting it out "I'm in love with you."

You held your breath for a moment, your heart thumping so hard you could feel it hitting the confines of your ribcage.

His silence had rendered you wary. your eyes searched his as he did his best to look anywhere but you.

"guy.." you trailed off once again.

"I-i' his stutter had made your heart sink. you had known beomgyu too long, you knew what was about to happen and truthfully you weren't ready for it.

you had expected this to go a completely different direction.

"I'm sorry" he said after a few minutes confirming all of your worst fears "I really like nari..I-i don't-" he cleared his throat looking down at his hands in his lap "I don't feel that way about you."

it was your turn to be silent. struggling to find the words to soothe the rejection you had just been handed. a single nod was all you could muster.

rising up from your spot on the couch you turned to look at beomgyu his eyes still not meeting yours. "I'm going to bed." you whispered walking away.

"y/n' you heard him whisper call after you; you ignored it.

taglist - @belovedhoon @st1llm0nster @blossommi

note - truthfully this is so bad and I know it. writers block is KICKING my ass.