#but at the end of the meal instead of pushing their plate away and saying

[yourstreetserenade]

I'd rather have absolutely no reviews at all than "reviews" like this that just say "more!" or "update!" They will absolutely not encourage me to write more or update faster.

[buckets-and-trees]

EVERY MINUTE OF IT

Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Bucky x Female!Omega!Reader Word Count: 4k Summary: Claimed unequivocally by Alpha Bucky Barnes, leader of the growing HYDRA faction, that's not the end of it. But what exactly is in store for you? What will it mean to be his Omega?

Content/Warnings: omegaverse; reluctant attraction; power dynamics; mild manipulation; threats; dirty talk; explicit smut: spanking, vaginal fingering, biting, rough sex, choking, edging, orgasm denial, slapping, spitting, oral (male and female receiving), unprotected vaginal intercourse and insemination, dacryphilia, overstimulation, erotic picture taking

Author Notes: Part three to what I never planned on being a series - the Alpha Bucky April drabble was only 500 words, the next part hit 1.5k, but this... well, let's just say this Bucky absolutely had his way with both me and my muse. This one will be a make up to tick orgasm delay/denail for MARCH of @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo ; and the dialogue, alpha, and pet prompts for the second week of Hot Bucky Summer (thought this was going to be a short little thing I was going to whip out before week two had finished, but alas hahaha).

A/N 2: We've seen only a bit of his rough side up to this pont, but in this part we will truly see mean Alpha Bucky. Don't say I didn't warn you - here and with the actual content warning list.

A/N 3: I tried not to write any plot with this porn, but a minimal amount forced its way in.

He had made good on his threat, using your body for pleasure and for show under the full moon until there was no one left to watch, but you were not sure he had been keeping close track, instead merely taking you over and over until they grey hours of dawn. You had been too exhausted to register anything much after that – being carried away, a car ride, being tucked into a bed.

You had woken up in the afternoon alone.

Alone for the first time in three days.

On hearing you make your way to the bathroom someone had brought in water and left an impressive spread of food that lasted you through the afternoon and evening. You grazed and slept.

Your body and mind had been pushed beyond all previous limits, and so the sleep and rest had been most of those first few days after the full moon and the conqueror’s bonding ritual.

But now, a week on, you are tired, restless, and impatient.

You were in a spacious penthouse, you had been offered many luxuries, well fed by a personal chef, attended to by an assistant, your only restrictions being denied access to a phone or internet and barred from leaving the premises.

Should you have chosen an unplugged retreat or vacation, it would be perfect.

After contemplating and debating internally all morning, at lunch you make your decision. You finish yet another delicious meal, wipe your mouth with the beautiful linen napkin, and then set it down next to the bone china and plated gold utensils. The staff begins to move around you, and your assistant approaches.

Before she can say anything else, you take a deep breath and say, “I need to see him.”

There’s no question of who you mean.

She nods. “I’ll make the request.”

Whether pet or prisoner and left alone for more than seven days, you do not believe your request will be seen as any sort of priority, so when you see the more formal dining table set for two for dinner, your mouth drops open for a moment, and you stop in your tracks.

You turn to your assistant – even though she tries to afford you most of your privacy, she is ever on the edge of your presence. She looks as surprised as you. “I was given no response other than that they’d take the request under consideration.”

You nod, then pace, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, until you finally hear the rustle and then commotion of activity that announces his arrival.

Your heart races, but it’s only a few more moments before the large and imposing alpha, Bucky Barnes, appears in front of you.

“Omega,” he says with a mere nod of his head, no pretense.

Your eyes narrow a fraction, wary of his seemingly easy demeanor. “Alpha.”

“Shall we?” he asks, and motions to the table.

You nod and take a seat as he does.

Within seconds, the meal is brought in by two attendants and the chef, and Bucky thanks and praises them very simply.

He occasionally looks at you, regarding you, but does not speak.

Before long, you huff, and he looks up sharply, pinning you with his steel blue eyes, harsher than at any point since he’d arrived. “What?” he demands.

“What is all of this?” you start, gesturing your hand to indicate the penthouse. “And where have you been?”

He sets down his knife and fork and straightens a little more. “Is it not to suited to your liking? You can change anything you want. This is your place.”

“My place?” you ask.

“Yes, your place. It is not far from the place I’ve taken up residence.”

The revelation is not surprising, but somehow more irritating. “And what? You’ve had me and now you’re discarding me?”

“I should have thought you’d want your own place.”

Maybe you should want your own place, away from him. And yet…

“I should be wherever you are.”

“What?” he scoffs. “So you can be embroiled in my affairs and bring me down? ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?’”

The accusation wounds you, though you know it’s only logical – and you know what you’re thinking and feeling isn’t logical. You have determined to put off thinking about it.

“I’m not your friend,” you state, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. “but I’m not your enemy either.”

“What should I call you then?” he challenges.

You raise your chin a fraction. “I’m your Omega.”

He doesn’t speak or move immediately. Instead, his eyes somehow fix you even more intently. There’s a burning in your chest under his scrutiny, but you remain still.

Finally, he stands and moves toward you, the two of you never taking your eyes off the other.

“You are my Omega.”

He comes to stand behind your chair, and you remain unmoving. He takes your chin in his left hand and tilts your head to expose your neck to him. He leans down and noses along your jaw, inhaling your scent and putting your body on alert. You feel the curling tendrils of want stir in your core, already awakening for him. He tilts your head even more and draws his teeth along the side of your throat, causing a shiver you can’t suppress, and he chuckles darkly and licks at the fresher of the two bonding marks he gave you. His hot tongue, insistently pressing at the bite elicits a small noise from you, and your right hand shoots up to card into his hair. Your full omega side wants him, has started to slicken your pussy for him already, you can feel it. You know your alpha can smell it.

He bites over the mark, but not roughly enough to break the skin, and you arch up for more, but he pushes himself back up, away from you and the crook of your neck.

“So needy,” he remarks, “I like this.”

The first few days you’d spent with him, he’d kept you full of his cock, tortured with pleasure, overwhelmed, exhausted by him and the recipient of a seemingly insatiable lust unleashed on you.

This feels like the predator is going to play with his prey, and you bite your lip. He pushes your head, tilted to the left, to the right to drop into his other hand, clearly testing your compliance. It’s gentle, but it’s dominant. Back to the left, then to the right, and then he dips to nip at your ear, and you gasp.

Bucky releases your head from between his large hands then pulls your chair away from the table. “Up.”

You stand. He puts one hand on your hip and ushers you around the edge of the table and to the side, in the middle, and turns you to face the wide expanse of mahogany and its centerpiece of fresh flowers – white peonies, white roses, white hydrangeas.

“Put your hands on the table,” he instructs.

You press the palms of your hands onto the smooth, dark wood. Your omega side is ready – even eager – to comply, but with your own long game to play, you know you must play out whatever game he desires now.

“Arch your back,” is his next direction.

Keeping your breathing even, you do, hips jutting away from the table, on display for him.

The back of his hand lands at the nape of your neck, and he drags his knuckles slowly down your spine. Your body rocks back, seeking more, as he reaches the small of your back, and he hums in self-satisfaction.

While his vibranium hand plants itself on your hip, he moves the other around to skim slowly over your stomach, then up your rib cage, and to your breast. He gropes the round flesh through your shirt and bra, but the fabric does nothing to quell how the pressure stokes the fire growing in you.

You feel the heat of him press up your back as his hand moves now up your neck, turning your head to kiss him. You push back against him, and he ruts his bulge slightly into your ass. Your lips are hungry in the kiss, but it’s like he only provided his lips for you to kiss him, receiving what your lips want to give. He moves his hand back down to your chest, but this time slipping beneath the neckline and going flesh to flesh to palm your breast. He kneads diligently, almost methodically, and you know all of this is designed to warm you up, tease you, get you burning for him. He’s still largely a stranger to you, but you also know you can’t resist him. He’s spent so much time already playing with your body. He knows where and how to touch you to make you respond to him after those first days and nights spent naked with him.

Bucky moves again, ending the kiss, drawing away from your back and removing the hand from your breast. You whine, but that hand goes to the small of your back again, the vibranium hand squeezing your hip as he forces you spine to resume the curving posture for him once more.

“We’re only getting started, Omega. Be patient.”

You huff, and he laughs.

The fingers of both his hands slip into the top of your waistband. He slowly pulls your pants and underwear down over your hips, and down your legs to mid-thigh. It restricts your bottom extremities, and that plays into the mental game he’s clearly playing with you. His hands move up the back of your naked thighs, and then palms your ass with both hands. He squeezes both cheeks, goes back to palming them again, then withdraws his right hand and slaps that cheek harshly. You jump and yelp, but he merely goes back to palming and squeezing, soothing the smacked flesh. Then another slap, and you hiss at the sting over the first sting. His vibranium hand continues groping your round flesh, but instead of soothing the second smack, his flesh hand dips down to your dripping hole, where he inserts two fingers, then quickly adds a third.

“Alpha,” you moan, and your head falls back, eyes closed both to hold back a couple of tears and to soak in the barrage of sensations.

He doesn’t answer, but his fingers continue dipping in and out, slow and shallow.

He delivers another harsh slap, immediately returns to the maddening fingering until you’re keening and trying to hump his hand.

Abruptly he grips your hips with both hands and turns you around to face him. The cool metal hand grips you by the neck, tilting your face up helplessly to him, and this kiss is messy, demanding, teeth nipping at your lips. You kiss him back as well as you can as he is in full control of your head and holds you where he wants you. Both your hands hold tightly to his forearm, and you squeeze.

His other hand goes to the cut of you again below, but there’s more fervor there this time. He plunders your mouth and plunders your pussy, and you’re losing your breath, but you have no wish for him to relent as you feel the powerful orgasm you crave building and barreling towards you. His fingers curl against the spongy spot on your inner wall, this thumb is demanding against your pulsing clit, and his tongue is licking dominantly into your mouth. You’re trembling and clutching at him, moaning, only when your breath hitches, inches away from bliss, he pulls back.

You cry out as he looms over you. His smirk is cruel, and his eyes spark with fire.

“Alpha!”

He licks his one of his fingers, just one.

“Alpha, please,” you groan.

“My well-mannered Omega,” he coos. “We’ll make a mess of you yet,” he says. You’re unsure whether it’s a threat or a promise, but you have no space or time to think as he moves you again, hoisting and pushing you by the grip on your chin around and away from the table until your back is flush against the wall.

Bucky pushes you down to your knees, pinches your mouth open, then spits on your tongue. "Swallow it."

You don’t think, just swallow as his eyes bore into yours as he towers over you.

He strokes his thumb over your cheek – nearly a caress, and you can’t help leaning ever so slightly into his touch. Then his thumb moves from your cheek to your lips, tracing them before pressing down to open your mouth again. He inserts two of the fingers that had been in your cunt into your mouth, and you close your mouth and begin to suck without him having to say so. The look on his face shows his approval. As you suck, there’s something so soothing about, the weight of his fingers pressing down on your tongue, the stead rhythm, that it that lulls you even further into a state of submission for him. Your eyes begin to droop.

He chuckles and withdraws his fingers, wiping them on your face. “Don’t want that so soon in our evening.”

He begins to unbuckle his belt, and you reach for the button and zipper, but he bats your hands away and slaps your cheek.

You look up sharply at him, reaching to soothe your cheek.

“Ask nicely for your Alpha’s cock, Omega.”

His first nights with you were about physical domination. This is the other half, yielding, submission.

You think best how to ask, before saying, “Please let me put my lips around your cock, Alpha.”

He unbuttons his trousers but keeps his eyes on yours. “Tell me how you want me to use your mouth, Omega,”

“I…” you bite your lip. You aren’t a stranger to sex, but speaking so directly about it isn’t something you’ve done with any of your partners in the past.

Bucky lowers the zipper. He pushes the band of his boxers down far enough to free his cock, and you whimper. He fists his arousal slowly. “You want it, then tell me what you want exactly. You’ve already let me use your body in so many ways, we both know you want more. What are you craving?”

You wait only another beat before answering, “Want you to fuck my throat.”

You are impressed at the evenness of your own tone in that moment, and his lips tick up as well.

Bucky widens his stance, then leans down to wrap his left arm around your head, holding it – almost cradling it – in the crook of his elbow. The he pushes his cock to your lips, you open for him, he pushes in, and starts truly fucking your mouth. The first few thrusts are slow, but insistent. He fills your mouth with more of him with each of those first thrusts. Then the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. He thrusts out and in again, again, again. His other hand strokes your cheek. Then he slaps it, and you groan around his cock.

“Mmmm, fuck you feel good,” he echoes your groan. “Gonna take all of your alpha’s cock down this pretty throat,” he says, and his hand moves down to your neck, feeling himself push in there.

Your eyes are tearing up, and the tears quickly start to spill over as he continues to use your throat, never removing himself completely now that he’s overtaken your mouth. He slaps your cheek twice in quick succession and you sob around his cock as you can manage. It’s hard to breathe, and your chest heaves. You brace yourself against his thighs, and he straightens and pulls out of you.

Bucky moves quickly, taking you by the shoulders and tossing you into the middle of the floor – rough but not violent.

“Clothes off,” he barks, but it’s he didn’t need to employ an alpha command to get you to comply. You barely have enough time to discard your pants and underwear the rest of the way, and only manage to get your shirt over your head in the time it takes him to get naked.

He’s on you the next instant, covering your body with his. With his chest pressed down against yours, you feel how his breathing is just as heavy as your own, glad he’s not as unaffected as he’s tried to play this encounter.

You hitch your thighs up around his torso and squeeze your knees around him.

But he doesn’t give you what you’re most anxious for yet, instead pausing to study your face.

“Such a pretty mess,” he admires.

Heat pulses through your body, his praise undeniable to your omega side.

He dips his head to lap up the salt of some of your tears, tongue dragging slowly up your cheek. When he draws back again, he merely looks at you. His eyes seem to be looking for something, but you don’t know what. You try not to give him anything outside of this moment.

His pelvis is lodged between your hips, so you squirm beneath him, hoping your hot, dripping cunt will call him back to your pressing needs. He groans and drops his forehead to yours, another sign he’s not as cool and detached as he was at the outset.

“Please, please fuck me, Alpha,” you beg.

“Fill you up with my cock? With my seed?”

“Yes, Alpha!”

He draws his hips back and you reach down and help line up his cock with your hole. He spears in with no mercy, and you don’t need or want it. You groan together as he fills you completely.

Your mouths meet again, and it’s a combination of rough messy kisses, nipping and bites, licking, mingled heavy breaths. It’s primal and unhinged, and there’s no thought to it as he continues to fuck you.

The pace at which he thrusts is relentless and just what you need, but also not enough.

You want more and you whimper and beg through kissing for it.

Bucky continues fucking you and pulls away from your lips, but in no way is he done overwhelming you. Leaning heavily onto his vibranium arm planted next to your head, he moves his other arm and presses his inner wrist up and down your neck insistently. The sound that escapes your mouth is broken and needy as the flooding of his scent directly In and around you engulfs your senses. Then he’s also sucking on your original bonding mark until you are a heaving, panting, crying mess, clawing at his back, unable to even put coherent words together to beg for him.

His shifts just enough that his pubic bone grinds down against your clit as he pounds into your pussy. You are practically vibrating with the impending orgasm, and as your alpha can undoubtedly sense that through the bond, he bites down on your mark, and you scream and fly into your release. Your walls clench hard around him, and he growls through two more powerful thrusts before he shouts, and you feel the heat of his seed star to fill you up. He pumps and pumps until he’s left every drop he can inside of you, then collapses on top of you.

He doesn’t move, pressing you down with all his weight as you both recover from the ecstasy you’ve just experienced. You almost move to stroke your fingers up and down his spine, but you quell that impulse. You do allow yourself to keep your hands on his back though – still, but connected to this man, your alpha, who dealt you such rough but undeniable pleasure.

Finally, Bucky pushes up off you, but surprises you when he scoops you up and carries you away bridal style, heading toward your bedroom.

“Alpha?”

“You really want to live under the same roof?” he asks.

 “Yes,” you answer simply.

He glances down at your face, brows furrowed, then looks back ahead as he heads down the hallway.

“Okay then.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he affirms, entering your room.

He tosses you onto the bed, and crawls up over you again. He reaches beneath your back to unclasp your bra, and you let him pull it from your shoulders and toss it off to the side. Closing the gap between your bodies, you relish the feeling of his bare chest against yours, his chest hair teasing your nipples. He grips your chin yet again, this time with his vibranium hand, and looks into your eyes with a steely, cold stare.

“If you’re anything other than the good omega I require, I will send you back here, but it won’t be like this last week has been. You will be in absolute exile. Don’t test me – there will be no chances.”

You give a single nod of your head.

He pushes up and leans back then, kneeling above you.

“But you don’t want to jeopardize or risk that, do you?”

“No, Bucky.”

It’s the first time you’ve called him anything other than alpha and he clocks that, you see the flash of acknowledgement in his eyes.

“You want to be with your alpha, you want the limited freedom you know I can give you if I choose to, but you also have your own agenda”

It wasn’t a question, and you know you can’t fool him – you know he is too smart for that, and you know he knows you are intelligent in your own right. He made it clear when he closed in on your people’s territory that’s why your compliance and claiming you as his omega was part of the deal of surrender to spare any more bloodshed.

“Cross me and your future will only be visitations when I require you to service my ruts.”

You don’t doubt his threat.

“Do we have an accord, Omega?”

“Yes, Alpha.”

The words you two exchanged the fateful night of that initial surrender.

He nods.

“It seems fitting to seal it by kiss.”

You sit up and then kneel before him on the bed, he bends his head down to kiss you. It’s fervent, solemn, but he cuts it off before it develops into anything more.

“Stay here,” he orders, sliding off the bed.

That was an alpha command – wholly unnecessary except to remind you of his power.

You scowl at his retreating form, then huff once he’s out of the room.

He’s quick, and when he comes back in the room, he is slowly stroking his cock with one hand, and holds his phone in the other. He steps up to the edge of the bed.

“A kiss here, as well,” he says, pushing his hips forward.

You crawl to him, lower your head, and kiss his cock. He nods at you, indicating he expects more. You take the tip of his semi-hard cock into your mouth, lave your tongue around the tip, and then suck, looking up at him. He takes a few photos, moaning at your ministrations.

“Fuck you couldn’t look more pretty and more ruined,” he whispers. He tosses the phone down, then pushes you off him and back onto the bed, manhandling your hips to get you planted in the center of the mattress with your thighs splayed open obscenely.

“Only fair for me to finish sealing the agreement and kiss these lips as well.”

He dives in like a man starved, despite the rounds you’ve just finished. He pulls your next orgasm quickly from your fluttering pussy. You would be surprised, only you’ve come to accept that he has already acquired a dangerous – and delicious – knowledge of your body.

He looks up at you and grins and then goes in immediately for another.

You try and push him away and close your legs, feeling overstimulated, but he growls and roughly forces your thighs open again.

“Your one chance of being my good omega is already begun. So, you’re going to let me eat the pussy that belongs to me until you’re a sobbing overstimulated mess and think you can’t possibly take any more, but you will. And since this should be the last night we ever spend in this bed, when I’ve had my fill of lapping at your sweet, dripping cunt, I’m going to see if I can’t fuck you hard and long enough to break the bed.”

You can only hope your gamble to deal with the devil of HYDRA will not be your undoing.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest full Fine Line Collection

Everyone check your pulse, please. Mine is gone.

I'm not saying this is officially a series, but I think we HAVE fallen into a collection territory... Unless y'all are through with this Alpha Bucky...

[000-pawz]

solace (m.jh) ˚ · .

myung jaehyun x fem!reader, smut (mdni!!!), very soft, did i mention this is soft, slight angst, jaehyun is exhausted :(, (emotional) hurt/comfort (?)

warnings: sub!jaehyun, softdom!reader, slight dumbification, "puppy", handjobs, nipple play, drool, finger sucking (?)

wc: 2.6k+

a/n: i wrote this on autopilot... i love u puppy jaehyun <3 (i tried to edit it but im sleepy so i may have missed some things ^___^)

he doesn’t usually come to you like this. you knew something was wrong from the moment he asked if he could stay at your place after his schedules instead of coming over in the morning like you had discussed. and when he climbs into your bed that night, he doesn’t say a word; instead, he simply cuddles up to your side and rests his forehead on your shoulder with a sigh so heavy, his entire body melts into the sheets afterwards.

you know jaehyun’s been tired lately. you notice everything. his smile seems weaker, his eyelids are drooped, and he spends most of his time spacing out with his gaze focused on nothing and everything all at once.

you notice it all, except, you aren’t sure what you can do for him. when he got home early tonight, he barely looked you in the eyes before falling into your arms with tears brimming at his waterline, his hands shaky as he gripped the back of your sweater; as if you would crumble away and disappear if he ever let go.

“‘m so tired,” he whispered into your ear before he buried his face in your neck, his tears leaving a damp trail against your skin. you held him back even tighter, pressing a soft kiss to his own neck in return. you knew that he didn’t want you to respond. not yet, at least, so you gently shushed him instead, swaying your bodies back and forth in an effort to soothe him.

you had persuaded him to take a shower while you made him something to eat, his face pale from the lack of meals he’s been having recently. and when he emerged from the condensated bathroom, his eyes were dull and empty, any trace of their usual flicker gone. you asked him about his day and he gave you a limp smile and airy puff of laughter, shrugging as he pushed the food around on his plate.

“it was okay. i got a lot done today.” his eyes flickered up to yours, unreadable and cloudy, and you gave him a gentle smile of your own, placing your hand on top of his.

“i’m proud of you. you always work so hard. you’re amazing.” the words tumbled out of your mouth and you hoped they would stick. lately, you feel as if the praise goes straight through him, swallowed up by the abyss of his own thoughts. 

you want to pick at his brain and see what he’s thinking—what you can do to make it better—but he always brushes it off with a little “i’ll be fine. i just need to rest, that’s all.”

but when he presses his body further against yours under the sheets, his hand trailing to grasp the end of your shirt in his fist, you know it’s more than that. it's been more than that for a while.

“jaehyun,” you whisper into the dim room, only illuminated by the glow of the moon and your tiny nightlight plugged in on the opposite wall. 

he hums in response, his head tilting slightly to gaze at the side of your face. you turn your own head to face him, reaching up to brush the strands of hair out of his vision. in the dim light, he looks even more tired; and now that it’s just the two of you alone, he doesn't hide anything. his eyes are glossy, his bottom lip trembles, and the heights of his cheeks are flushed red. you want nothing more than to take all of his pain away.

“how can i help you, baby?” you ask quietly, your hand moving down to rest on his warm cheek. his eyes flutter shut at your touch, his fingers gripping tighter at the fabric of your shirt. “what can i do to make it better?”

jaehyun is quiet for a while, but you know he isn’t asleep. his breathing is too heavy and his body is too tense, so at his silence, you trail your fingers up into his hair to massage his scalp, subtly tipping his head back a bit. he lets you maneuver, his body sinking into your touch. 

“i… i don’t know,” he mumbles before his eyes open again, meeting yours in the limited light. they’re pleading, shiny, desperate. your stomach churns. “i’m so tired, but i can’t stop thinking. i don’t want to think anymore.”

you hum in acknowledgment, moving closer until your mouth is right above his. he watches your every move with a bated breath, his adams apple bobbing when you move your hand to his chin, your thumb brushing across his lower lip slowly.

“then let me do the thinking for you. would you like that?”

jaehyun makes a small sound at your words, something quiet and airy, his lips parting as your thumb continues to trail across his lips. he doesn’t respond other than his tongue peaking out to invite your finger inside, his eyes slipping shut again as his lips close around your finger. his mouth is warm and wet, the sight of his glossy lips around your digit making your skin heat up. 

he’s so pretty like this, docile and receiving, his tongue swirling around your thumb as you delicately push it further into his mouth. his hand shakes from where it’s holding onto your shirt, his grip loosening to sneak his fingers under the fabric instead. they splay out against the skin of your hip, grounding and present.

when you pull your finger out of his mouth, he whines softly, his eyes opening ever so slightly to watch what you’re doing. you give him a small smile before pushing at chest so he can roll onto his back. his shirt rides up a little at the motion, exposing his soft belly and faint happy trail, yet his eyes remain completely fixated on you.

“i asked you a question, puppy…” you start slowly as you straddle his waist. “do you need me to think for you? is puppy done using his brain?”

something warm fills your chest when jaehyun’s hips involuntarily jolt at your words, bouncing you a little in his lap. he looks completely ruined already and you haven’t even touched him yet. his chest rises and falls quickly, his bottom lip coated in a layer of drool. he looks so enticing, you can’t resist the urge to lean down and capture his lips in a kiss before he can even speak.

he moans into your mouth when your tongue swipes across his and his hands shoot up to grip at your thighs that cage him against the bed. it’s pathetic, the way he pants as you drag your teeth across his lip, your hands resting over his chest to steady yourself. and when you break away, he chases after you like he’s been deprived of your taste for centuries.

“answer me,” you mumble, and that’s when jaehyun finally nods through his foggy mind, his hair bouncing with the movement.

“yeah. yes, please, don’t wanna think, please,” he whimpers, his nails digging into your skin. he's incredibly hard beneath you, twitching through his thin pants. with mercy, you place one final kiss to his lips before sitting back up. 

your fingers hook underneath the hem of his shirt, slowly dragging it up until his hard nipples are exposed to the cold bedroom air. you bring a hand down to circle one with your pointer finger and jaehyun’s entire body twitches at the stimulation, his cock fighting against the restraint of his underwear in interest. that’s when you press down even harder before flicking the bud, watching the way blood rushes to his chest the more you play with him. 

you do the same to his other nipple simultaneously and it doesn’t take long for jaehyun to be reduced to a squirming, whining mess, his head tipped back against the pillows. you lean down to lick at one of his nipples before blowing cold air on it, a soft ‘ah’ escaping his lips at the action. 

he’s trembling already, your fingernails lightly dragging down the expanse of his abdomen until you reach the waistband of his pants. he’s watching you again, his eyelids hooded and heavy, his lips parted as he breathes heavily, bombarded with anticipation. a piece of art.

you pull his waistband and underwear down in one swift move, his leaking cock slapping against his skin with the motion. he’s so wet and so thick, his tip leaving a dripping trail of precum against his lower stomach, shiny and throbbing. it's cute how his cock squirms as soon as it touches air, his flushed tip spurting weak droplets when you gently trail your finger down the vein on the underside of his dick. 

“oh baby, your cock is so big. sucks that you don’t know how to use it, hm?” you speak sweetly, picking up his cock with your thumb and pointer finger before letting it drop back down. jaehyun’s hips buck at the impact, whining quietly as he grips your thighs even harder. 

“dunno how…” he mumbles, tears brimming his glossy eyes. he tries to buck his hips up again, but you seat yourself further on him, holding him down. you glide your fingers through his precum before spreading it over his head curiously. his breath hitches at the feeling, his cock jumping ever so slightly, but it’s too heavy to off of his stomach all the way, twitching pathetically. 

“that’s okay. i’ll help you cum, okay?” your voice is soft as you lean in to his ear, kissing right below it before trailing your lips to his cheek, placing a tiny kiss there too. “doing so well for me, puppy. you’re always so good for me, aren’t you?”

“good… ‘m good…” he repeats mindlessly, his voice sounding far off and light. you smile a little, tapping his cheek right over the kiss you just left against his skin.

“open up.”

he parts his lips automatically and you bring two of your wet fingers up to his mouth so he can taste himself. his eyes slip shut when you press down on his tongue, his moans quiet and muffled. one of his hands leaves your thigh to grab onto your wrist, his tongue desperately swirling around your fingers, trying to push them further into his mouth. drool escapes the corners of his mouth when he closes his lips round your digits, his cock twitching in between your bodies. 

“you like your mouth being stuffed, hm?” you mutter as you slip another finger into his mouth, slightly in awe as he meets your eyes with a small nod, practically gagging around your fingers. you're sure you’ve soaked through your panties by now, the sight in front of you gathering butterflies in your stomach. 

you finally bring your other hand down to his neglected cock, wrapping your fingers around the base. they can barely circle all the way around; he’s hot and heavy in your palm, his pre dripping onto your fingers like a faucet. 

he’s already a moaning mess when you squeeze his dick as you stroke him slowly, the vibrations of the sound shooting up your arm. his hair falls into his eyes, but he never breaks eye contact, his gaze spacey and yet full of so much devotion, it goes straight to your core. his chest is red, the flush shooting up his neck and face, the tip of his nose blushed and his eyelashes clumped together with tears. 

you keep your fingers in his mouth as you pump his cock, running your knuckles over his head slowly. he tries to fuck himself up into your fist, but eventually gives up, succumbing to whatever you decide to give him. he’s completely at your mercy, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the inside of your wrist as he continues to hold onto your arm, his other hand leaving fingernail indents on the soft skin of your thigh. 

you can tell he’ll cum fast; he’s usually sensitive on nights like these, pent up from all the stress he accumulates during the day. you can’t help but to coo at the sight of his eyes squeezing shut, trying his best to hold out for you. but tonight is about him. it’s all for him.

“want you to cum for me, puppy. can you do that? can you make a mess for me?”

jaehyun moans loudly at that, his back slightly arching off of the bed when you speed up the pace, wet sounds echoing off the walls, his dick slippery and bright red at the tip. you take your fingers out of his mouth to cup the side of his face, gazing down at him with so much adoration, you think you could burst from it all. he’s gorgeous, taking it all as his body writhes against the sheets, his cock begging for a release.

“close…,” he gasps, placing his hand on top of yours before burying his face in your palm, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your skin. “can i cum? please, please, i’ll make a mess for you… puppy will…”

you smile down at him, circling your palm against the tip of his cock in a way that makes him literally sob, tears rolling his cheeks at the action. his body racks with shivers as his hips messily thrust up into your hand. you mentally savor the image before giving him mercy, brushing your thumb over his cheek soothingly.

“you can cum, puppy.”

as soon as you utter those words, jaehyun breaks, his entire body tensing up as he reaches his high. he’s mumbling all kinds of words, whining and whimpering as streams of cum paint his stomach and chest, thick and white as it rolls down his body. 

“love you, love you, love you so much,” he rambles, trembling as his cock continues to spurt tiny bits of cum until it goes limp, twitching against his stomach, worn and wrung out. 

when you pull your hand away from his cock, he’s still crying into your palm, gasping and clutching onto your wrist tightly. you gently shush him as you lean in to kiss the tears away from his cheeks. you don’t even care that your clothes and sheets are now covered in cum. he’s completely worked up, his eyes squeezed shut as he quietly sobs. 

“oh, jaehyunnie,” you coo, trying your best to brush his tears away. “i’m right here, baby. it's okay. let it all out.”

you lean down to hug him, wrapping your arms around him, chest to chest. you feel his rapid heartbeat through your shirt, his body still slightly shaking and twitching with aftershocks of his orgasm. 

“i love you. i love you,” he hiccups through his tears, burying his face in your neck as he wraps his arms around your waist. you smile, squeezing him even tighter.

“i love you. i’m so proud of you,” you say, reaching up to pet his hair. 

you hold him until his tears finally simmer down into sniffles, pulling back to cup his face. his eyes are red and watery, his cheeks stained with salty tears, but to you, he's the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“i love you,” you repeat—just to make sure it really sticks this time—before pressing a long kiss to his lips. he melts into you at that, a lopsided smile on his face when you break apart. 

“thank you. for everything,” he whispers. you shake your head with a smile of your own, kissing the tip of his nose.

“thank you for coming to me. i’m always here. i’ll always be here.”

you both bask in silence for a bit, taking in the quiet stillness. and then, after a while, jaehyun taps the small of your back, searching for your eyes in the limited lighting of the room.

“can i eat you out now…? please?”

reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! thank u...<3 x

masterlist

[chrissturniolossidehoe]

𝗧𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗗𝗔𝗪𝗡, chris and matt sturniolo

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summary: y/n and chris had been in a relationship for over a year now, one that was doomed to fail anyway, but it took y/n and embarrassing amount of time to realize. when she can’t stand the neglect anymore, she goes and seeks comfort by someone who can provide it.

warnings: angst, argument, cheating, physical fight, fluff at the end, no smut yet, kind of a happy ending?

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in the quiet kitchen, y/n, a young woman with a hopeful smile and tired eyes, stirs a pot of simmering stew. she tastes it, adjusts the seasoning, and glances at the clock. the hour hand ticks closer to nine, much later than when she usually eats. she sets a plate aside for chris, her boyfriend, in the hopes he would finally be home in time to eat the home cooked meal she made for him. the apartment is still, save for the hum of the fridge and the distant sound of the TV in the living room.

with a sigh, she ladles the stew into two bowls and places one in the fridge alongside the others. this is one of chris’ favorites, a recipe she found online that took hours to perfect.

countless dinners, each a silent plea for his attention, each one cooling and forgotten. she wipes down the counter, washing away the smells of the meals she had hoped would bring them closer together. the kitchen light casts a warm glow, a stark contrast to the coldness that had seeped into their relationship.

the door finally opens, and in walks chris, his eyes glued to his phone. he doesn't even look up to acknowledge her presence. she tries to hide her disappointment, pushing down the lump in her throat.

"hey," she says, her voice tentative.

he mumbles a greeting, his footsteps heavy on the linoleum. she watches him peel off his jacket, tossing it over the chair instead of hanging it up. It's the little things that hurt the most, the signs of his apathy that have become a daily routine.

"i made your favorite dinner," she offers, her voice a bit too cheerful. he glances up, his eyes flickering with something that might be guilt before they return to the screen.

"thanks," he says, his thumb scrolling mindlessly. "but I'm not really hungry."

she feels the weight of his indifference, a dull ache in her chest.

"okay," she replies, her smile wavering. she takes the plate out of the fridge and sets it on the counter, the steam rising up in a futile attempt to warm the room.

her stomach growls, a traitorous reminder of the meal she's about to eat alone. again. she tries not to let it show, but the tears are close. she grabs a spoon and sits at the kitchen table, the tv’s blue light spilling into the room. the sound of laugh tracks and car commercials are a sad backdrop to her solitary meal. each bite is a struggle, the taste of the food now tainted by the bitter flavor of rejection. she chews slowly, trying to savor the effort she put into it, if not the company.

after a few mouthfuls, she sets her spoon down with a clink. she can't do this anymore.

all the dinners, all the unanswered calls, all the nights of pretending she didn't care.

y/n wipes her mouth and stands up, her chair scraping against the floor. she walks over to the fridge and opens it, staring at the neat row of tupperware containers, each holding a meal made with love and hope. and each one a symbol of his neglect.

her hand shakes as she pulls out the plate of food. It's still warm, the steam curling up into the cold air of the fridge. she carries it into the living room and sets it down in front of chris, who's still engrossed in his phone.

"this is the last one," she says firmly. "i’m not going to keep making dinner for you if you're not going to eat it."

he looks up, surprised, his thumbs pausing on his phone. "what’s up?"

"what’s up is that i’ve made dinner for you every night for weeks," she says, her voice gaining strength. "and every night, you come home late and tell me you're not hungry. or you don't come home at all. i can't keep doing this, chris."

he sets his phone down, his expression shifting to one of annoyance. "look baby, i’ve been busy with work. you know that."

y/n’s eyes well up with tears she's been holding back. "i know you're busy," she says, her voice trembling. "but i need you to make time for us. for me."

chris sighs, rubbing his eyes. "you’re being dramatic. its just dinner."

y/n's grip tightens on the plate. "it’s not just dinner," she says, her voice rising. "it’s the fact that you don't seem to care about anything i do anymore. it’s like i’m invisible to you."

chris stares at her, his eyes narrowing. "what are you talking about?"

"it’s about how you treat me," she says, her voice shaking. "how you ignore me, how you don't listen when i talk about my day, how you don't even bother to ask how i’m doing. you don’t even kiss- or even touch me at all, for what matters. and it’s hurting me, chris.”

chris stares at her, his thumbs drumming on the armrest of the couch. "okay, i get it," he says, his voice tight. "but you're making a big deal out of nothing."

y/n’s eyes fill with tears. "it’s not nothing," she says, her voice shaking. "cant you understand that?" she tries to reach her hand up, but chris interrupts her almost immediately.

"you’re too clingy, y/n," chris said, pushing her hand away. his brown hair was a mess and his blue eyes were clouded with annoyance. they stood in the living room of chris’ apartment, the silence thick with unspoken tension.

y/n felt a twinge of pain in her heart, but she tried to keep her voice steady. "i just miss you, that's all. you’ve been out with your friends every night for weeks."

chris rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, his frustration palpable. "i can't believe you. i have a life too, you know." chris has now raised himself from the couch, standing infront of the girl.

y/n felt her temper flare up. "and what about me? don’t i matter in your life anymore?" she stepped closer to him, her eyes searching his for a glimmer of the affection that used to be so easy to find.

chris scoffed, his arms crossing over his chest. "this is exactly what i’m talking about. you’re so needy. i can't even breathe without you asking where I've been."

y/n’s eyes filled with tears she refused to shed. "i’m not needy," she replied through gritted teeth. "i just want to spend time with my boyfriend."

chris threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "well, i don't want to spend every waking moment with you! can’t you get that through your fucking head?"

the words hit y/n like a sledgehammer. she felt the weight of them crushing her chest, making it difficult to breathe. she had always known that chris didn't take their relationship as seriously as she did, but hearing him say it out loud was a cold slap of reality.

"is that what you think of me?" she yelled, her voice echoing off the walls. "that i’m just some clingy girlfriend who's holding you back?"

chris’ eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "you’re not making it any easier," he taunted.

y/n’s voice was trembling now, her fists clenched at her sides. "you’re the one pushing me away!" she screamed back. "i’m just trying to keep us together!"

chris took a step towards her, his face flushed with anger. "well, maybe i don't want to be with someone who doesn't fucking trust me!"

y/n stepped back, her eyes wide with shock. "trust you?" she echoed. "trust you? how can i trust you when you’re coming home at all hours of the night, smelling like cheap perfume!"

chris’ eyes flickered with guilt, but he quickly regained his composure. "you’re just paranoid," he sneered. "you’re seeing things that aren't there."

and then, it suddenly clicked in her mind, her eyes widening in both fear and hurt. his face told her all she needed to know, and she couldn’t believe herself for not noticing it sooner. the signs were right there.

he was cheating.

she felt the rage boil over within her. she couldn't believe the audacity of his lies. the smell of his deceit was so strong she could almost taste it. "don’t patronize me, chris," she spat. "i know what i smell, and it's not my imagination."

chris’ eyes narrowed as he watched her, his expression a mix of anger and something else. something that looked suspiciously like fear. "what are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice a poor imitation of innocence. “are you implying something?”

y/n’s eyes flashed with anger. "don’t," she warned, her voice dangerously low. "don’t you dare put on that fucking face, you fucking asshole.”

chris took a step back, his expression shifting from defensive to one of pure shock. "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

y/n’s voice was laced with bitterness. "what’s wrong with me?” she fake laughed.

“you think i don’t notice the wandering eyes and hands, chris. you can't even bother to come home at a decent hour, while your girlfriend waits for you, cause you don’t even give a fuck anyway!”

his jaw clenched, his eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt. but she had none to give. he knew he had gone too far this time. he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "look, I'm sorry," he began, his voice strained. "i’ve just been stressed with work and-.”

"oh shut the fuck up," y/n interrupted, her voice firm. "don’t give me excuses. i’ve heard them all before.”

chris’ anger flared up again, his cheeks reddening. "what do you want from me?" he yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "i can't do anything right in your eyes!"

y/n felt a wave of sadness wash over her. "i just wanted you to care," she said softly, the fight draining out of her voice. "to care about us.”

chris’ expression shifted from anger to something akin to pity. "you’re just not understanding," he said, his tone patronizing. "i need my space."

y/n's eyes searched his, looking for any genuine emotion, but all she found was coldness.

“you needing space is just a convenient excuse for you to do whatever you want without consequences."

chris’ expression darkened, and he took a step closer to her, his voice low and menacing. "you don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he growled. "you’re just jealous because i have a life outside of this sad little relationship we have."

the words hit her like a brick, and she felt the anger bubbling up again, the hurt from his words fueling her. "sad little relationship?" she repeated incredulously. “are you fucking kidding me?”

chris’ eyes flashed with anger as he stepped closer to her, invading her personal space. "you’re the one making it sad, y/n," he snarled. "i’m just trying to live my life, and you're constantly on my dick, bringing me down with your incessant neediness."

she felt a surge of heat rush to her face as she stepped back, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "so, what, i’m supposed to just sit here and wait for you to decide when you want to pay attention to me?"

she countered, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and pain.

“you’re a fucking dick. you’re the one who’s out there desperately seeking attention from other bitches, taking every chance you get for them to actually hop on your dick.”

chris’ face contorted with rage, his fists clenching at his sides. "oh and you’re so innocent, huh?” he hissed, his eyes flashing. "you’re always with matt, trying to make me jealous!"

the mention of matt sent a bolt of lightning through your/n’s heart. whe had been spending more time with him lately, seeking the comfort and understanding that chris no longer provided.

"what does that have to do with anything?" she yelled back, her voice shaking. “and what the fuck do you mean ‘making you jealous’? he’s my friend for fucks sake!”

"everything!" chris spat. "it’s always matt. matt matt matt.”

y/n’s eyes grew wide with realization, and she laughed. "you’re actually jealous of matt? He's your brother!"

chris’ face grew red with fury. "it’s not like that," he sputtered, but the way he couldn't meet her gaze told her everything she needed to know.

her eyes narrowed, and she took a step back, her voice icy. "so, it's okay for you to cheat and lie, but i can't even be friends with your brother without you accusing me of something?"

chris’ hand shot out and grabbed her arm, pulling her closer to him. "you’re playing games with me," he hissed, his eyes boring into hers. "accusing me of cheating when i know you’re sucking his dick whenever you can."

y/n jerked her arm free, her eyes flashing with anger. "let go of me," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

"you have no right to tell me who i can and can't be friends with.” she paused for a second. “and maybe i should suck his dick, since he actually deserves it.” she taunted.

chris’ grip tightened, his eyes dark with a mix of rage and fear. "you’re my fucking girlfriend," he yells, his breath hot against her face. "you don't get to go running to him every time we have a fight."

y/n eyes widened in shock at his sudden possessiveness. "let go of me, i can do whatever the fuck i want." she said firmly, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"and everytime we have a fight? chris when can we fucking fight when you’re not even in my life anymore! even when you are you’re not even sparing me a glance! it’s fucking insane!”

chris rolled his eyes at her words, and when y/n looked into his eyes, she saw something in him she’s never seen before, and it frightened her. “so what? you’re riding matt’s dick when i’m not there?”

y/n let out a sharp breath, and got closer to his face, not even bothering to defend herself because she knows she has not done anything but sit in chris’ room, waiting for him to finally notice her again.

“go fuck yourself.”

chris leaned in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke. "what did you just say?" he snarled, his eyes narrowing to slits.

y/n met his gaze, her own eyes blazing with a mix of anger and pain. "i said go fuck yourself,"

chris’ grip tightened on her arms, and with a sudden burst of strength fueled by his anger, he pushed her against the wall. the impact was jarring, knocking the wind out of her. her eyes went wide with shock as she stared up at him, unable to believe what was happening.

"you think you're so much fucking better than me?" he yelled, his face so close to hers that he harshly brushes his nose against hers a few time, still having her wrist in a tight grasp.

“you’re a fucking slut, and brother hopping is insane, even for you.”

y/n’s eyes filled with tears she refused to let fall. "let go of me," she said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her voice steady. "you’re hurting me."

chris’ grip didn't loosen. Instead, he leaned in closer, his words hot and angry against her skin. "you’re a fucking bitch.”

y/n felt the tears threatening to spill over, but she willed them back, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. "i’m not the one lying and cheating," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. she was tired of this back and forth thing they were doing, and bit her lip to refrain herself from saying something she’ll regret.

chris’ eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of weakness, but all he found was a determination that surprised even himself. "you don't know what you're talking about, you poor little thing, hallucinating because i don’t pay you enough attention.”

y/n felt something within her snap. the pain of his words was like a hot knife slicing through her heart, but she refused to show it. she took a deep breath and pushed away from the wall, her voice steady despite the tremble in her chest. "let go of me," she said firmly. "now.”

chris’ eyes narrowed, his grip on her wrists tightening briefly before he released her with a shove. she stumbled back, catching herself before she fell, and took a few deep breaths to steady herself. without another word, she turned and stormed out of the living room, slamming the door behind her.

her legs carried her down the hallway, her chest heaving with uneven breaths she didn’t realise she was holding in. she needed to get out of there, to feel the cool night air on her face. she needed to escape the toxic cloud that had become their apartment.

y/n threw open the front door and stumbled into the crisp night, her eyes immediately searching for a place to hide. the porch light cast a warm glow, but it felt like a spotlight highlighting her pain. she hurried down the stairs, her feet slapping against the cold cement, her heart racing.

as she reached the bottom, she collided with someone coming up. strong arms caught her before she could fall, and she looked up to see matt’s concerned face. his eyes searched hers, and she could see the question in them, but she couldn't form the words to explain.

matt immediately noticed the red marks on her wrists and the fresh tears staining her cheeks.

"y/n, what happened?" he asked, his voice gentle but urgent.

y/n couldn't hold it in anymore. the dam of emotions she had been keeping at bay for weeks finally broke, and she collapsed into matt’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. he held her tightly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as she poured out her heartache.

matt’s eyes were filled with a mix of anger and concern. he had always known that chris wasn't treating her right, but seeing the physical marks on her wrists was more than he could bear.

"come on," he murmured, guiding her towards the car parked a few feet away. "let’s get you out of here."

y/n nodded, her body shaking with sobs as she allowed him to lead her. the cool night air was a stark contrast to the heated argument she had just left behind, and it felt like a slap in the face, waking her up to the reality of the situation. she couldn't believe this was her life.

matt opened the passenger door and helped her into the car, his touch gentle and comforting. he didn't say a word as he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. the engine roared to life, and she felt the car move as he reversed out of the parking space. she stared out the window, watching the familiar scenery pass by in a blur of lights and shadows, her mind racing with thoughts she didn't want to face.

matt drove in silence, giving her the space she needed. y/n could feel his eyes on her occasionally, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. she was too lost in the maelstrom of emotions that was swirling around her. anger, hurt, betrayal, and fear all vying for dominance. she had never felt so alone in her life.

when they reached her apartment, he helped her out of the car, his arm strong and supportive around her waist. she fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking too much to get the door open. he took them from her gently and unlocked the door, guiding her inside. the quiet was deafening after the chaos of the argument, and she felt the weight of it settle on her shoulders.

inside, matt led her to the couch and sat her down, his hand on her back as she sank into the cushions. he disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, returning with a glass of water and a box of tissues. she took the water with a nod of thanks, her hands still trembling as she brought it to her lips.

"are you okay?" he asked, his voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.

y/n nodded, taking a deep breath. "i don't know," she managed to croak out, her voice hoarse from crying. "he... he just snapped."

matt’s jaw clenched as he sat down beside her, his eyes filled with a protective rage. "what did he do?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

y/n took a deep, shaky breath and recounted the events of the evening, her voice cracking as she described chris’ accusations and the way he had grabbed her. she couldn't bring herself to tell him about the painful names he had called her, though. those were wounds too fresh to share.

matt’s heart ached as he listened, his fists clenching and unclenching in his lap. he had always known that chris had a temper, but he had never imagined it could turn on her like this. he reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“i’m so sorry," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "you don't deserve to be treated like that."

y/n looked at their joined hands and felt a warmth spread through her, a stark contrast to the coldness that had taken hold of her heart. "what am i going to do?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

matt squeezed her hand tighter, his eyes filled with understanding. "first, you're going to get some rest," he said firmly. "and then we'll figure it out together."

y/n looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen from crying. she felt a surge of gratitude for his presence, for his strength and comfort. without thinking, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. his embrace was warm and familiar, one she so desperately needed.

matt held her close, his arms strong and reassuring around her trembling frame. he felt her heart pounding against his chest, the softness of her hair brushing against his cheek. he knew he couldn't let her go through this alone, not when he had always been there for her.

“come on," he murmured, gently leading her down the hall to her room.

y/n didn't protest when he sat her down on the bed and pulled the covers over her. she was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. as he sat beside her, she reached for his hand and gave it a small, desperate squeeze.

"stay with me?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

matt’s heart skipped a beat at her request, but he nodded, knowing she needed the comfort. he lied down beside her, his arm wrapping around her waist as she curled into him, her back pressed against his chest. he could feel the tension in her body slowly easing as she took deep, shuddering breaths.

the room was bathed in a soft glow from the streetlights outside, and the sound of their mingled breaths filled the quiet space. y/n’s hand found its way to his, and she laced their fingers together, holding on tightly as if he was the only thing keeping her anchored.

matt felt a pang of guilt for the comfort he was providing. he knew it was wrong to be here, to be the one she turned to when chris was the one who should have been by her side. but he couldn't deny the way his heart swelled at her touch, the way he felt needed.

he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her neck, whispering reassurances into her hair as her breathing evened out. the scent of her shampoo filled his nose, and he closed his eyes, savoring the moment. he had always loved her, he was there before chris was even in the picture for gods sake. she was his best friend, and he would do anything to protect her, even if it was from his own brother.

her body grew still and heavy against his, and he knew she had finally succumbed to sleep. the weight of her trust was both comforting and terrifying. he knew he had to be careful, to not let his own feelings cloud his judgment. but in that moment, all he could do was hold her, feeling the steady beat of her heart beneath his palm.

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𝗺𝗮𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗮 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 !

silly little one shot so i can get used to writing again !!! i will make a part two with possible matt smut umm… 😊😊😊😂😂

[beomiracles]

hi not too sure if u write hybrid so feel free to ignore this if u don’t! but could i request taking care of whiny and desperate cat hybrid taehyun during his heat?

⌞ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 ⌝

DREAM RECALL “I am”, he admits, his voice low and shaky as he inhales against your skin. His almost entirely blacked-out eyes meet yours and in a split second his pupils narrowed down into their usual sharp vertical slits. You gulp, gripping the sheets either side of you as your lips part in bewilderment. His tongue darts out to drag across the bottom row of canines, his attention remaining solely on you as he says; “I need you.” 

wc. 3.2k

pairings cat!hybrid taehyun x fem!reader warnings well um, unprotected sex + creampie, heavy breeding kink, heat-cycles?, marking, brief kissing, vaginal fingering, taehyun wears a collar, switch!taehyun, whiny/desperate taehyun, mentions of ownership.. lmk if I missed something (most definitely did)

#serene adds ✎.. eek this is my very first hybrid fic, apologies of it's ass. hmm might've gotten slightly carried away but I'd say he's pretty desperate n whiny still :3 it might be a little rushed at the end but.. let's rock with it

@thetxtdevil the way I promised to do this over a week (two weeks?) ago. oopsies.

this is not proofread, I gotta get up early tomorrow so we have no time for such trivial matters as proofreading.

With a deflated sigh, you heave the last step of the staircase leading to your small apartment. Throwing a glance toward the heavy bags clutched in your hands, your wallet painfully empty after today’s purchases. — If this doesn’t win him over… 

When your colleagues had described their experience of owning a doberman hybrid, your heart practically melted. Soobin was both kind and handsome, politely thanking you for the meal you’d cooked for him as he offered to help with the dishes. And he was social too, providing you with the companionship you so lacked in your life. In all, Soobin was perfect and suddenly your colleagues' promising words all made sense.  — So naturally, you thought that acquiring one of your own wouldn’t be much different. 

Wrong. 

Since the day he’d first stepped foot inside your home, Taehyun had been nothing but a nuisance, and that was putting it lightly. From tearing your couch cushions apart to leaving heaps of dirty plates in the sink as he struts back to his room, the door slamming shut behind him. Not to mention how near heartless and cold he was. Refusing to even coexist in the same room as you apart from when absolutely necessary. 

But you had tried your hardest to prepare yourself, taking measure of every need he might have. From allergies to sleeping and eating habits, scents he might like or dislike, you’d even stocked up on both movies and books for him to indulge in, none of which he ever did for the record. — In all, you had done everything you could to accommodate your new housemate, and how were you repaid? With nothing but the short glare of his sharp feline eyes as Taehyun’s lips curled into a small scowl. 

At your wits end, you resorted to buying him gifts, spending the little money left from your monthly salary as you brought home new clothes, expensive jewelry, more books and even a brand new phone. — But Taehyun didn’t even raise a brow in the direction of your offerings, and now they all lay discarded in a corner of his room. The heavy ipad in your hands was your last piece of hope, and with a small sigh, you turned the key in the lock, pushing the door to your flat open. 

It’s quiet, eerily so, which isn’t unusual and so you venture forward. Not bothering to announce your arrival back home, because you never got a response back. Instead you head for your room, planning on spending a few more minutes by yourself before attempting what you thought to be your last shot at winning the sour cat over. 

It is therefore with much surprise that you halt in the middle of the hallway, eyes landing on the door leading to your bedroom, ajar. That in itself wasn’t too alarming, you would ever so often forget to close it, and you weren’t exactly worried about Taehyun sneaking inside, for he seemed to have no interest in doing so… Except today he did. 

Rocking back and forth on your heels, you listen to the soft pants carrying out into the air with a confused frown. What on earth was he up to? With a hand on the wood, you push the door open as your lips part, “Taehyun what are..” 

The words get stuck in your throat, suddenly feeling thick and constricted as your gaze trains on the sight of the feline before you. You think he might’ve seen your room once, the day you brought him home and gave a half-assed tour, in which he’d paid your personal space very little mind. — But right now, he was everywhere, the mess he’d left in his wake evident as you eye the open drawers, your clothes scattered across the floor and your desk practically turned upside down. 

A strangled noise coming from the bed averts your attention in its direction. Taehyun is drenched in a sheen layer of sweat, making one of the very few sweaters he’d obliged to wear, cling to his toned chest. His dark hair falls in front of his flushed face and your jaw might as well dislocate as you behold the leather collar you’d bought for him, which he had bluntly refused to even acknowledge, wrapped around his neck. 

Clutched tightly between his fingers is a familiar piece of garment, and as you squint you recognize it as one of your sleep-shirts. Confused, you watch as he brings the fabric to his nose, fervently inhaling your scent with a small groan as his hips twitch. — “Taehyun..?” You speak up, feebly trying to make your presence known. And you do. 

You think he might crack a bone with the speed he snaps his head your way. His eyes seize on you, narrowing at the sight of your figure by the doorframe, and for a moment, you think, almost hope, that he will revert back to his usual self, giving a small grunt as he slips back into his own room. — But he doesn’t, if anything he becomes worse as he tears the shirt in his hands, the cotton ripping under his fingers and you wince at the loss of one of your favorite pieces. 

“Come here”, he practically snarls and you respond by dumbfoundedly blinking back at him, turning your head to see if there was possibly anyone else he might be addressing. With the small roll of his eyes, Taehyun lets out huff as he beckons you over. — “Are you sick?” You hesitantly wonder as you carefully creep forward, baffled by his sudden initiating behavior. The hybrid merely gives a twitch of his jaw as his gaze narrows down on you. 

As soon as you’re within arms reach you feel the steel-like grip of his hand around yours as he yanks you onto your bed. The sudden force takes you by surprise and you let out a startled yelp as you go crashing against the cushion. Within milliseconds does he have you caged against the mattress, knees sinking in place either side of your hips as his arms close you in. “Taehyun what-” But the question is swallowed by the raspy whine coming from his throat as his eyes hurriedly search yours. 

It’s when your gazes meet that you finally notice his pupils, blown wide to the point where they might as well swallow his entire iris, completely lacking their usual vertical slits. Frantically you scavenge your mind for answers as you note his near panting frame, from the flushness of his face and neck, to the copious amount of sweat pooling on his forehead. You’d read about this…somewhere…But your mind remains blank as you squirm beneath him. 

This couldn’t possibly be the same hybrid you’d brought home a few weeks prior, the one who did his utterly best to avoid you, who scrunched his nose in disgust whenever he caught a whiff of your scent. — This wasn’t the Taehyun you knew, and the uncertainty of your current situation terrified you. “I think you’re unwell..” You try and coax him off of you, but it was useless as Taehyun pressed himself near impossibly close, nose nudging the juncture of your neck. 

“I am”, he admits, his voice low and shaky as he inhales against your skin. His almost entirely blacked-out eyes meet yours and in a split second his pupils narrowed down into their usual sharp vertical slits. You gulp, gripping the sheets either side of you as your lips part in bewilderment. His tongue darts out to drag across the bottom row of canines, his attention remaining solely on you as he says; “I need you.” 

Needs…you? You? Had he not had you locked beneath his large frame and on your bed, panting like he’d ran a mile, his statement would’ve been a laughing matter. But there was nothing humorous about the way his expression practically ate you whole as his eyes roamed your mundanely dressed body; from the plain leggings you wore to the far too big t-shirt draped over your chest. 

“You’re sick, Taehyun. We need to-” — “No.” He cuts you off, it’s abrupt and he suddenly sounds stern as he shakes his head. “I know what I need”, he murmurs as he dives for your neck once more, hot tongue darting out to drag across your exposed skin. — With a small shriek your hands fly to his shoulders as you attempt to push him off. But the feline merely groans against you, hips grinding into your own and when the prominent bulge, straining in his sweats, reaches your thigh, you freeze. 

Suddenly, it was as if a lightbulb had been turned on within you and your eyes widened in horror as you realized what was going on. His heat, of course. How careless of you, you should’ve gotten him suppressants, asked him about it in advance. This was all your fault and now…now he was.. — “No!” You exclaim, trashing against him as you try to separate the two of you, earning a displeased whine from the hybrid. 

As a last resort, your fingers clasp around the leather on his neck as you give it a harsh tug. The action sends a shiver through him as Taehyun moans into your neck, though finally tearing himself from you, if only a mere two inches. — “This isn’t..” You begin, biting the inside of your cheek as you release your grip on the collar, “I mean this…This isn’t how it was supposed to go!” 

The crease of his forehead as Taehyun frowns is prominent and he sends a warm puff of air your way as he exhales. Blinking rapidly, you try to come up with a solution for the situation at hand, eyes darting across the room. “There’s a procedure for this and I’m sure it’s written somewhere I just-” 

Oh!

Sharp teeth scraping against your shoulder jolts you from whatever meek thought process you had managed to accumulate. The feline scoffs against you, one of his hands traveling up your loose shirt, causing goosebumps to ripples across your stomach as he groans; “You and your fucking books.” All too familiar with your frantic researching habits, always feeling the need to learn as much as possible, just in case. 

Your face is contorted into a mixture of surprise and pleasure as Taehyun refocuses his attention to your clothed cunt, moving intently as he emits soft moans and whines. “B-But this isn’t how it’s supposed to- H-ah.. to be..” — Not paying your meek protests much mind, your hybrid continues to litter you in reddish marks, undoubtedly ones that would blossom into something far darker when given the time. 

“Been waiting for you to come home for so long”, he sighs as his lips travel up your neck, finally reaching your jaw as he plants soft kisses and licks to the skin there. — “Don’t want to wait any longer”, he whines, hips jerking forward and you gasp, “need you now.” 

He wasn’t thinking straight because of his heat, that had to be it, because in no universe would your Taehyun be acting like this on a normal Thursday afternoon. With that in mind, you try to be a bit more understanding before speaking again. — “I-I’m sorry, I would’ve been home earlier if… If I knew”, you murmur, tentatively reaching your hands up to rest on his shoulders. 

The small action seemed to spur him on even further as he immediately went to tug your leggings down. Alarmed, you seal your legs shut but his desperate fingers are already hooked around the fabric as he pulls it down. — “Taehyun, wait! Isn’t this..Isn’t this all a little too fast?” You shriek, feeling hesitant as his hand wedges itself between your thighs, dangerously close to your already damp panties. 

Subtly shaking his head, the feline bites his bottom lip as he lets his gaze drop to your spread legs, kept apart by him as you squirm. “Smell so good”, he squeaks, nostrils flaring as he inhales, eyes fluttering at the overwhelming sensation. — You bite back a small whimper when he ventures beneath the sticky fabric covering you, fingers immediately swiping across your clit before circling your hole. 

You tried your best not to think about the fact that this was your hybrid, your cat hybrid, the one who seemed to loathe you like you were the deadliest curse to walk the earth. — “S-Soft”, he breathes, almost drawing blood with the way his sharp teeth sank into his lip. It was impossible not to flush at the subtle praise, and you were unable to hide the wanton moan slipping past your guards as he curled a finger inside of you. 

Taehyun’s arm was near trembling as he watched his fingers disappear in your slick and pretty cunt, his jaw slacked as he inhaled your prominent arousal. Your nails dig into his biceps, he felt scorching hot to the touch and you wondered just how long he’d been in here, on your bed, doing god knows what. The thought in itself made you dizzy as you clung into him. 

He looks conflicted as he licks his lips, torn between tasting you and needing to be inside of you. In the end he shoves his soiled fingers in his mouth, a high pitched moan ripping from deep within his throat as he lets his eyes roll back. “More, more, more”, he drawls, hands feverishly tugging at his sweats as he pries them down. 

Given a small moment to catch your breath, the reality of your situation sets in and as his hard cock springs free, slapping uncomfortably against his shirt-covered stomach, your heart drops. Were you really about to do this right now? — Your gaze gets stuck on the obscene amount of precum that leaked from his flushed tip, sliding down the large veins and you swallow. 

He was still your hybrid…and you were still technically his owner…was this really right? — “Fuck, you’re so pretty”, he whines, a large hand fisting himself as he watches your fluttering cunt. Whatever doubt and guilt that lingered in your mind simmered once you felt him align himself, the head of his cock sliding between your folds before nudging your swollen clit and you cry out. 

Suddenly, your eyes meet once more, but this time there’s a quiet question lingering within his. “Please”, he pleads and it catches you off guard, “please, please, wan’ breed you please.” The bluntness of his request makes your jaw drop, but you couldn’t deny the way it made you clench as your hips raise in an attempt to seek him. Timidly, you nod and as if a switch had been flipped within him does Taehyun ease himself inside with one deliberate thrust. 

The stretch of his thick cock makes you wail as your nails scrape across his arms. And despite his soft pleas, the hybrid gives you little time to adjust before relentlessly rutting himself against you, blabbering nonsense into your ear as he does. — Part of you doesn’t register half the things he’s saying, and you’re pretty certain he isn’t either as his lips chase yours. 

He kisses you hungirly, sloppily but with desire; like he’d been longing to do so all his life, like this kiss was the air he breathed. In a way, the kiss made you feel empowered and within seconds you found your hands by the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head as you do. — It was no secret that the cat hybrid was fit, because when he wasn’t avoiding you, he would spend his time working out, whether that was in his room or the living room. The equipment you’d gifted him were the only ones of your presents that he’d actually used. 

Shamelessly, you let your fingers trail his stomach, the outline of taut muscles, flexing beneath the pads of your fingers as he thrust forward. His pace was jagged, uncalculated and desperate, like that of an overly horny teenage boy who had little clue of what he was doing. — Yet he managed to make you feel absolutely insane. You didn’t know if it was because of the near burning stretch of his cock or his teeth dragging across your sensitive neck. 

Your eyes glue to the leather around his neck, the collar making a small jiggling sound with each move of his and you find yourself completely entranced. It might be why your hand moves on its own, reaching up and clasping around the collar lightly. Taehyun emits a strangled moan as his hips jerks forward uncontrollably. “Hmnpf, more” He gasps and it takes you aback as your gaze flits between his pleading and flushed face to the fingers around his collar. 

Another pull makes him whimper as a pleasant purr builds in his chest, something you’d never heard him do before. And much less had you ever caught a glimpse of his long and soft tail, the very same tail that currently curled around your body as Taehyun hoists you from the mattress. — “Wanna give you kittens, my kittens”, he grunts, hands clawing at every part of your body that he managed to access. 

You knew better than to listen to his words, that it was just his heat controlling the nonsense slipping past his unguarded lips. But the idea still made your heart flutter and you felt yourself clench around his cock, drawing a sharp hiss from him. — His fingers are on your clit, rough and all over the place but the raw and sheer need he emits is more than enough to have you spiraling as you cling to him, legs wrapping around his waists as you feel your climax pulsate through you with a loud cry. 

Taehyun continues to rut against you despite your wails of overstimulation, his hips jerking into you with such vigor that you thought you might break in half. His whines are near ear piercing as they ring out in the hot air of your bedroom, teeth threatening to break skin as he anchors himself on your neck. 

When he releases inside of you, it’s with a drawn out mewl, rocking himself close to you as he sloppily continues to fuck his cum back inside, ensuring that you have his kittens. “So pretty with my kittens”, he hums, his voice is near drowsy as his trembling arms give out. — With a low grunt he pulls you against him, flopping down on the mattress, his cock still nestled deep inside your sensitive cunt and you shift uncomfortably, the small movement immediately met by an irritated whine as Taehyun’s tail curls around you.  

“Stay”, is all he says, strong arms wrapping across your body as he locks you in place. The feeling is surprisingly comforting and you find yourself relaxing in his embrace. A small part of you wishes to stay like this forever worried that he might revert back to his old self as soon as this heat passes. 

But as you wake the next morning you find that Taehyun is more than ready to show his need for you once again, and the day after that. 

And the collar stayed on.

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[luvfy0dor]

“I Can't Help But Pamper You ♡⁠˖” BSD x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Osamu Dazai, Chuuya Nakahara, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol

warnings; kisses, sassy Fyodor,

description; pampering BSD boys at home? I dunno how else to describe it jdskskkek

A/n; Happy birthday to Dazai and happy Juneteenth!!! I've been swamped with state testing and finals and studying for them, I got three more to go, 3/6 completed. I'm kinda excited for summer but I'll feel like I have nothin' to do. idea cred to @yaeeko and Nikolai scenario inspiration from @ilovechuuy4

Dazai Osamu ★

Dazai is almost never the first one up. Every morning, you take on the responsibilities of an alarm clock by shaking your boyfriend awake from his fifth 'just five more minutes' every morning. You were blessed with weekends off, though, and one Saturday morning when you inevitably woke up before Osamu, you decided to embrace your inner chef. Maybe you're not the best cook, but anyone is better than Dazai, so you did most of the food preparation. You never really made breakfast, though. Dazai usually just took an apple or two and you never had time to power up the stove and make pancake batter or anything of the sort, so this morning, you figured you would. You whipped out a couple pans, and some boxed pancake mix and eggs and got to work. You made sure Dazais eggs were cooked just right before playing them, a long with the less-than-perfect pancakes. Sure they were a little crispy, but Dazai wouldn't mind too much. All that was left to do was grab a fork and syrup and bring the meal back to him in your room. Pushing the door open with your foot, you walked in and set the plate on the nightstand, gently shaking him awake. His brows furrow and his nose scrunched up. "'Samu, wake up, I brought you breakfast." You say, running your fingers through his messy brown hair. He stretches his limbs before peeking open his eyes and smiling. "Did you now? How romantic of you!" He sits up and lets you hand him the plate. "This is so thoughtful of you! Come sit down." He pats the empty spot next to him. You crawl over him to get there and lean onto his shoulder once your fully situated. His nimble fingers grip the fork loosely as he cuts off a sliver of the pancake and holds it up to your lips. "Go on, try it." He encourages and you bite it off of the fork, humming at the taste. "Wow, I did pretty good, huh." You say, satisfied. He nods with a grin, continuing to munch on his breakfast. "Better than that time you burnt gravy." You roll your eyes but nod, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

Chuuya Nakahara ★

The second you offered a hot shower with Chuuya to unwind one evening, he was happily accepting. He wasted no time heading to the closet to grab a towel, slinging one over his shoulder for you along with his. He let you pull him in by his waist for a kiss while you leaned against the sink, and even though the shower wasn't turned on yet, the mirrors were already fogging up. Your hand creeps up to cup his face, running your thumb over his pronounced cheekbones as he sighs into your kisses. He pulls away, his face flustered and red. "C'mon, let's get into the shower before we end up distracted." He says playfully. He starts to undo his vest and meets you halfway in the middle without having realized that your fingers were fumbling with the buttons too. He chuckles quietly and lets you help him finish undressing before the both of you step into the steamy shower. He hums in contentment at the feeling of the hot water against his overworked muscles, his body immediately relaxing. Your instinct tells you to hug him from behind while the water cascades over the two of you, but you reason that it would be uncomfortably hot, so you opt to wash his body for him instead. He'd let a quiet but pleased sound out at the favor, mumbling thanks and closing his eyes, letting the relaxing water nearly consume him. Chuuya had never loved showers more than he did when he took one with you.

Fyodor Dostoevsky ★

Every night before you went to bed, you had a really quick skincare routine. All it really was was washing your face, putting on moisturizer, and using a lip scrub, but you enjoyed it and felt that it did what it was supposed to. Occasionally, Fyodor would stand by and watch, his interest piqued. Sometimes he'd ask questions or make comments on your routine, such as "that must be why your lips are so soft." Or "What exactly does it do for your face? I don't think it can really fix it." I'm a firm believer that Fyodor is actually kinda playful and teases his partner from time to time. "Its not supposed to 'fix it', dumdum. It makes the skin softer 'nd stuff." You'd reply with an eye roll. He'd fall silent for a second, watching as you apply the scrub to your lips. "Can I try it?" You put you finger on your chin and hummed pensively, turning to him and nodding. "I guess." You rummaged through the drawer in the sink for your recently discarded headband with floppy, worn out bunny ears on the top. He leaned against the sink and let you put it on him, pulling it over his head and then pushing it up again to keep his long bangs out of his face. He looked over his shoulder at himself in the mirror while you grabbed your moisturizer and scrub and grimaced. "I look much better with my bangs. This certainly isn't ideal." He'd tell you, turning back to face you, only to be spinned around once again.

"Just splash some water on your face." You say, turning the sink on for him. "Is that really necessary? My shirt is going to get all soaked-" "You can always change, go on, Fedya.' You say, your hand on his lower back as he reluctantly leans over the sink and gently uses his cupped hands to bring the water to his face a couple times. When he stood back up again, water dripped down his skin and from his eyelashes and his cheeks were very slightly flushed. "What now? I'm all cold and wet." He murmurs, standing stiffly as the droplets continue to roll down his face. You grab a small towel and pat his face dry for him, getting to his lips and stealing a quick peck. You then pump some of the moisturizer onto your hand and start rubbing it into his pale skin. The cream leaves a glossy effect afterwards and he runs his fingers over his cheek to feel the smooth texture. He watches you take out the lip scrub and gather some on your finger. "Open up." You say. He raises an eyebrow but parts his lips, slightly grimacing as you aggressively apply the product. "Okay, now rub your lips together." He does as directed and can't help but lick his lower one. "It tastes good, like artificial blueberry." He says and you nod in agreement. "My lips do feel softer, though." He says, continuously feeling them and taking in the softer texture. "Let me feel." You say, gently guiding his hand away from his mouth in order to lean in and kiss him, intertwining your fingers with his as you do so. "Yeah, I think it definetly worked." You mumble as you pull away. Maybe you should rope him into your routine more often.

Nikolai Gogol ★

"Dove, you ever see those people who put on face masks and then they do the whole 'cucumber over the eyes' thing? We should try that!" Your boyfriend calls out to you from the kitchen, searching for the cucumber you bought last week. He finally found it in one of the drawers and quickly grabbed a cutting board and knife. "Where'd that come from?" You ask with a raised eyebrow as you walk into the kitchen, standing at the counter next to him. "I dunno, it just came to mind. Seems fun though, doesnt it?" He chopped six slices off of the cucumber and wrapped it back up to be put back in the fridge. "Yeah, sure." You grab one of the slices and take a bite. "Let me go grab the face masks real quick. Do you want your robe? To enhance the experience?" He grins as he heads down the hallway to the bathroom. "Kolya it's like, a million degrees in here, it's summer and we have no ac, I'm surprised you're not already walking around naked and you wanna wear a robe? You're out your mind." You say, following the white haired man to find him in the bathroom closet, grabbing two charcoal masks. "I'll do as I please, and if that's wearing a fuzzy robe in the summer, then so be it. The cucumbers will cool me down."

You roll your eyes and pull the hair tie you keep on your wrist off to bunch up and hold Nikolais bangs out of his face. "Mm, much better! Let's go, I want to lay down." He says with an excited smile, dragging out along back to the couch. He plops down and sprawls out, half of one leg hanging off the edge. You follow suit but remain sitting up and rip the mask open by the tear strip. "Oops, we forgot the cucumbers in the kitchen." He says, opening his portal and sticking his arm through, pulling it out a couple seconds later with the cucumbers in hand. "Thank you." You say appreciatively. "Now close your eyes." You say, placing two of them on his eyes. "I feel much cooler already." He says, making you roll your eyes with a smile. You squeeze out the mask and spread it onto his face with your pointer finger until it covered most of the surface area except for his lips. "This is so relaxing! I'll have to do yours for you after I'm done with mine." He says, clearly having a great time. You gently massage his scalp while you let him marinate and can't help but be surprised that he hasn't eaten the cucumbers yet. Just as you the thought floats through your head, he reaches over and grabs one of the extra cucumbers on the plate, bringing it to his mouth and practically swallowing it whole. You laugh at him quietly. "I thought those were for me?" He hums to indicate that they weren't as he chews. "Not anymore." You smiled and lean down to peck his lips quickly, feeling your heart flutter with affection for him, just like it did the day you first met. "Alright, Kolya, whatever you say."

Sigma ★

Sigma was very fond of done-up nails, always admiring his customers when they had them painted with colors and sparkles, glossy or matte. One evening, he turned in from his manager job for the night and called out your name, just to find you sitting in bed, cross-legged, painting your nails. His eyes literally up and he walked closer, sitting down next to you. "That's a pretty color. Can you do mine too?" You looked up at him and smiled, shaking your hand to get the polish to dry faster. "Yeah, just give me a second.." you say, blowing your nails and continuously shaking them. It didn't take long for them to dry and you held out your hand for Sigmas. "Alright, let me see." He quickly put his hand in yours. You unscrewed the cap and scraped off the excess nail polish and started painting his left nails. His gaze was fixated on the brush as his nails went from a pale white to a glossy red. You made it to his ring finger before stopping. "Do you want an accent nail?" You ask him. His brows slightly furrowed before a look of realization appeared on his face. "That's when one of them is different, right?" You nod. "Yeah, what other colors are there?"

You reach over to a small, plastic bag on the nightstand and pull out three other polishes, one a shade of purple, a white one, and a black one. "Can I have purple?" You smiled and nodded, unscrewing the cap. "It almost matches your hair." You say, painting his ring finger and then alternating to the red one again for the pinky. "Wave your hand so it dries faster." He does as told. "I'm so happy, I see all these people with nails like this and I've wanted to do mine for a while. Did you know?" You shrugged with a smile, starting on his right hand. "Well, I always see you admire other people's nails, so I figured I'd do mine so you'd give me that attention too, but no, I didn't." You finish up his left hand and instruct him to wave it. "Ohhh...well that's even better because now we can match." He says. His cheeks are a little pinker than before and he takes your hand in his, examining your near perfect nails. "They're so pretty." He mumbles, looking back up at you with his big eyes. "Thank you." You appreciatively say, leaning in to peck his lips. He kisses you back happily and squeezes your hand. He felt so much joy every time he looked at his colored nails, and even more when he saw yours and his together.

A/n; I wasn't gonna put a 2nd a/n but it feels weird not being here, but I don't got nothing to say 🤷

[ichorai]

airbag ; steve rogers.

track one of OK COMPUTER.

pairing ; steve rogers x reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; five time steve tries to propose to you, and one time he actually does.

words ; 4.3k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, kind of avengers tower au?

warnings / includes ; mentions/descriptions of injury, alcohol, lots of lovesick fluff, rest of avengers are mentioned, natasha and tony Meddling, reference to spider-man & sandman :)

main masterlist.

Steve considered himself a romantic of sorts. Call him old-fashioned, but he liked bringing you flowers, he liked taking you to the theater, and he liked walking you home—all the way up to your door and listening for the lock, so he knew you’d be safe in there. 

It was only fitting how cliché it felt when he realized he was in love with you. Firework-igniting kisses and butterfly-filled tummies and face-splitting grins. Everything described in those movies you enjoyed watching—but so much more.

Steve Rogers wasn’t a man to waste time. After all—enough of that had been done while he was frozen in the ice. If he was going to start something, then he was most definitely going to go all the way and finish it, too. 

Almost immediately after your first anniversary, he bought a ring. It was simple and classic, maybe a bit out of style but hey, you seemed to be into that. You were dating a century-year-old. 

It was December then, soft snow lining the streets and piling upon naked tree branches. During the drive to the fancy restaurant he’d found (courtesy of Tony), there were children building snowmen and sledding down shallow hills. You smiled watching them, eyes rife with fond warmth, and Steve knew then that he had to do it. He had to propose to you tonight. 

Inside, you wouldn’t stop telling him how underdressed you felt, but Steve reassured you by saying a simple, “You look perfect, I promise.”

And he wasn’t lying. You did look perfect to him.

Dinner consisted of several decadent courses, with the waiters serving platters the two of you could barely even pronounce. It was delicious, nonetheless, and the chef had even come by to shake the hand of the Captain America.

During the last course—a silken slice of chocolate cake for dessert—Steve slipped his hand into his suit’s pocket, the velvet box smooth beneath his fingers. He replayed the question over and over again in his head, rehearsed a million times prior to the dinner.

Will you marry me?

And just as he was about to pull the ring box out, another diner pushed his chair back just far enough to accidentally knock into a waiter passing by, holding a plate of spaghetti. Completely sauced, to top.

To Steve’s horror, the plate tipped, almost in slow motion, and fell with a wet, splattering noise all over your outfit. You’d let out a small yelp of surprise, the spaghetti was hot, but not enough to burn. Steve stood up a second too late, hand falling away from his pocket as he rounded the table and placed it on your shoulder, asking if you were okay. 

“I’m okay,” you told him gently, reaching over to grab a few napkins at the center of your table.

You didn’t get mad, of course you didn’t—it was part of the reason Steve loved you so much—instead, you were kind and patient, reassuring the flustered waiter that it was alright. “Mistakes happen,” you said. Another waiter came by a few minutes later with a few damp cloths so you could wipe the rest of the spaghetti sauce off.

Needless to say, the chef insisted that the meal was on the house that night, much to Steve’s chagrin.

The drive back home smelled of marinara sauce and oregano, but the heavy weight in his chest at the failed proposal seemed to lighten when you joked about how the five course meal ended up being six.

Natasha knew about the ring. Steve wasn’t quite sure how—he’d never explicitly told her—but then again, he wasn’t surprised. Nat seemed to always just know things from the smallest of details. It was why she made such a brilliant spy.

“So,” she’d said once she stumbled across from Steve in the Avenger Tower’s lavish gym, a sly grin stretching over her lips, “when are you popping the question?”

There was a pause to his movements—the dumbbell he’d been curling hovered in the air, his muscles tensing. He thought about it for a little longer, considering asking her how she knew but—he seemed to sense that Natasha would wave it away with a laugh and a light, “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

Instead, he told the red-head, “I’m working on it.” 

Natasha leaned against a treadmill, arms crossing over her chest. The smile on her face seemed to grow even wider. “Uh-huh. How long have you had the ring?”

Steve resumed doing his reps. The burn felt nice, even if it was only barely there. “Long enough.”

There was a soft tenderness to Natasha’s eyes, and she bumped a fist into his bicep. “Take Y/N hiking. Far away from the city, where it’s quiet.”

Again, Steve paused his exercise. Slow, he put the weights down, thinking over her words. 

“That’s actually—that’s a good idea, Nat.”

“Of course it is.” There was a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Thanks, really. I just want things to be perfect.”

She dipped her head once, before climbing onto the treadmill. “Send pictures. I’ve got a bet going on—Clint would want proof.”

Steve spared her an amused roll of his eyes. With a wave and a hurried goodbye, Steve rushed out of the gym to take a quick shower. The weather app on his phone (that he took an embarrassingly long time to find) told him the skies were going to be clear that afternoon—perfect for hiking.

Maybe, hopefully, perfect for proposals.

Half an hour later, you were ready to go, too, bouncing on the balls of your feet excitedly.

“I packed us sandwiches.”

“Did you? Oh, great—thanks, honey. We could have them as an early dinner.” He rubbed your shoulder and nudged you into the car. 

“I packed a bunch of snacks, too.”

Steve arched a brow. “Like?”

“Gummy worms, popcorn, chips, cookies. Oh, and Wanda actually made something for us, I’m not really sure what it is, but it smelled nice—”

Your words died away when Steve laughed, loud and chesty. Of course you’d pack just about the entire pantry. How you managed to stuff all of that into your travel backpack with room to spare was beyond him. You couldn’t help but break out into an infectious smile when he leaned forward to kiss you on the forehead. 

The drive out of the city to the hiking trail was long, and you nearly dozed off if not for the road getting progressively bumpier the closer you got. 

The sun was high in the sky by the time you arrived. You slipped out of the car with a pleased hum and stretched out your limbs, ready to get the hike over and done with. You might’ve been dating a superhuman, but you had no powers of your own. The pressure to keep up was something always in the back of your mind.

And that’s how the hike went—you were determined to stay on par with Steve, no matter how grueling the terrain became. Even when he suggested a break to have some of the many snacks you’d packed, you tossed him your bag and kept trekking on—you were worried that if you stopped, you would never get back up again. 

Really, you shouldn’t have overexerted yourself this quickly—the two of you were barely halfway done with the trail. Your feet were starting to drag, and your pace grew staggered. Just as you turned around to face your boyfriend and ask for a breather, your foot caught on a tree root that poked up above the trail’s surface, and you stumbled forward. 

Thankfully, Steve’s quick reflexes came in handy, and he darted forward to grab you before you could go rolling down the steep hills. 

He tugged you close into his chest, not yet registering your wince of pain. “Are you okay? That was a close one!”

When you pulled away, you gingerly tried to test your wait on the foot, but quickly lifted it back up with a grimace. “Oh, God. I think I’ve rolled my ankle.”

Steve stiffened, glancing further up the trail. It was maybe another two hours, but that was only with two fully-functioning pairs of legs. 

The proposal would have to wait another day, then.

He cupped your face, soft and gentle. “Wrap your arms around my neck from behind. I’ll carry you down to the car.”

“You sure, Stevie? I can try hopping down on one foot.” You tried to demonstrate, but nearly lost your balance again. All the jostling sent bolts of pain down your foot, which surely wasn’t a good sign, either.

He snorted, huff-laughing, other hand slipping over your waist to keep you still. “I’m sure. Come on.” He leaned down expectantly.

Relenting, you wrapped your arms over his shoulders and hooked the inside of your thighs over his waist, careful to keep your injured foot extended so it wouldn’t bump into him. It was beginning to throb.

“‘M sorry,” you mumbled, resting your cheek over his shoulder, one of your hands lifting to toy with his short, blonde hair. He began to walk down, and you tried your best to ignore the pain in your ankle. “Ruined our hiking trip. I was so excited.”

“It’s okay, honey. It was an accident! We can always go another time. Maybe a different trail, though.”

You apologized again, the whole way down, in fact, despite his assurances that he wasn’t at all tired. He really wasn’t—barely broke a sweat during the descent. Besides, he quite liked the feeling of your holding so tight onto him, your nose pressed into the side of his neck, your soft laughter brushing over his skin in one moment, your slight winces in the next. 

“I love you,” you whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He felt a shiver traverse down his back, and briefly wondered if you felt it, too.

“I love you, too. That tickles, though.”

Your laugh was abrupt and ever so heart-warming. “Sorry.”

The movie, you’d told him, was a cult classic from the seventies. Steve couldn’t really remember what it was called. Callie? Cassie? It was an awful lot of blood. The arm he had wound over your shoulder squeezed you every time someone screamed in the film—which was… startlingly often. 

Proposing in the middle of a gorey movie wasn’t exactly the romantic vision Steve had in mind, but since the previous attempts really didn’t work in his favor, he wondered if keeping it casual was the best way to go. So when you asked if he could come over for an abrupt movie night, he readily agreed—and brought the small, velvet ring box with him.

It was tucked safely in the pocket of his slacks, on the side you weren’t pressed up against. The weight was a constant reminder of what he wanted to ask you—occupying his mind away from the movie he should’ve been paying attention to.

He’d propose once the credits started rolling. Yes, that’d be best, right? Wouldn’t want a horrified scream interrupting his profession of undying love to you.

And so he watched. He watched and watched, absentmindedly wondering what on earth the movie was even about. He dragged his knuckles up and down your arm. When a particularly gruesome scene unfolded, Steve glanced over at you. 

To his surprise, your features were softened with sleep, only barely illuminated by the crimson glow from the television, your lips slightly parted and eyes shut. 

With gentle movements, Steve reached over to guide your head onto his shoulder. Your hair tickled his cheek, and he let out a soft puff of a sigh before smiling. He kissed your temple, nose resting over your forehead. 

The proposal would have to wait another day.

Tony’s parties were always an affair that Steve looked forward to. He wasn’t a party-goer by any means, but he found that the grand events were a great way for him to catch up with all his colleagues, acquaintances, and work associates he otherwise wouldn’t have spoken to for months to come. 

And, of course, your excitement always seemed to rub off on him. You were buzzing about the room with what looked like twenty different outfits hanging off of your arms, holding them between you and the mirror with a scrutinizing look.

“Tucked or untucked?” you asked, more to yourself than him. He wasn’t given the chance to respond, anyway, since you chucked the shirt somewhere behind you and promptly started looking for another.

When you’d finally settled for appropriately formal attire, and Steve slipped into a button-up dress shirt (which was his one and only option, much to your envy), the two of you set off for Tony’s.

The party was already in full swing by the time you got there. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what the event was for—an anniversary or birthday, maybe? Fundraising gala? A celebration of some sort of scientific breakthrough Steve couldn’t even begin to comprehend? It was always a toss-up with Tony.

You were greeting people here and there, stopping to chatter amicably about what you’ve been up to, how work was going, the latest shows you’ve been catching up with…

And then you kissed his cheek and told him you were going to go grab some drinks. Steve watched you go with fond eyes. You looked incredible tonight. 

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his reverie, and Tony Stark’s smug face came into view. 

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, sly and knowing. What did he know?

“Hey, Tony. We only just got here. What’s all this for, by the way?” Steve crossed his arms and glanced around for any telltale signs.

A smirk flitted across his expression. “Just thought we all needed a bit of social activity pumped into the team. It’s a great place to… get your courage up, hm?” Tony smiled, and Steve narrowed his eyes.

“Did Natasha tell you?”

Tony snorted. “We all know.”

“Great.” Steve slid his hand into his pocket and traced the smooth grooves of the ring box. “Is everyone expecting me to propose tonight?”

“No, pfft—we don’t want to pressure you or anything…” Tony pointedly glanced at a stage conveniently placed front and center of the room. “But if you need some, what should I call it… assistance, the stage is all yours to use.”

Steve balked. Proposing at a party was one thing, but proposing on a stage in front of hundreds of people was completely out of the question. 

Or was it? 

“I’m not going to propose on a stage. That’s more your style.”

With a shrug, Tony rolled his eyes. “I mean, Pepper hasn’t left me yet, has she?”

Steve chose not to grace him with a response, but frown-smiled when Tony grabbed a flute of champagne and shoved it into his hands. He was gone the next second, off to greet a new round of guests. 

Thirty seconds later, you appeared by his side, positively beaming, but slightly out of breath. There were two chilled glasses clutched in your hands, almost sloshing over with how quickly you bounded to him.

“Oh, you already got a drink?” you asked, grinning. You clinked both glasses against his, chiming, “Cheers!”

And as you were downing the sugary alcohol in your right hand, Steve ran a finger along the ring box again. 

Maybe… maybe it really wasn’t a bad idea. He looked back at the stage. There was a microphone stand on there. Has it been there since the beginning?

He turned his head back to you, and you told him about Banner inviting the two of you over for dinner some time. Just as he was about to reply, his phone started buzzing in his other pocket. Deftly, Steve slipped his hand away from the box and went to pick up the phone—Sam’s caller ID staring up at him.

His friend’s voice sounded strained through the phone, and Steve gripped your hand and led you to a more quiet hallway, away from the crowd and the thrum of music. 

Sam hurriedly told him that there was trouble downtown—something about Spider-Man and a very sandy guy. 

“Sandy?” 

“Yeah. Dude’s made of sand.”

“Oh.” Steve paused, brows furrowing. “I’ll be there in twenty. Can you keep it together till then?”

“Don’t have another choice, do I, Cap?” 

With that, Sam hung up. Steve looked to you, crestfallen.

“Honey, I gotta go.” 

Your voice was light and airy, despite your slightly crestfallen and confused countenance. “Sam’s in trouble?”

“Yeah. I’ll—” There was an uncertain pause. Steve leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you at home. I love you.”

Your brows pulled together. “I love you, too. Stay safe, Steve.”

It was something you just had to accustom yourself to—when your boyfriend was a superhero, his priorities encompassed far more than you. But you understood, as you always did, and let him hurry away with a stiff lip. 

The hospital was packed. Claustrophobically dense. You hurriedly wove through the crowd of anxious people hovering around the information desk, having already gotten the text which room Steve was in.

A few twisting hallways later, you pushed through a door and just about collapsed with relief when your eyes landed on Steve. 

He was badly bruised. Hues of deep purple and faint blues were blossomed all over his face. One of his eyes was swollen, his sandy-blonde hair was tousled, and his bottom lip was split. He was wearing a hospital gown, and you felt nauseated wondering just what other injuries he was hiding beneath the fabric. 

But he was alive. That was the least you’d hoped for.

Tears pricked your eyes, and you only then registered that Bucky was there, standing by the bed, expression grim and steeled. His blue eyes darted away from his best friend’s face to meet yours.

“I’ll give you two some space,” he murmured with a tight edge to his voice. Bucky patted your shoulder and whisked off before you could say anything. 

“Steve?” you croaked, drawing nearer to the bed. Your throat felt tight. “Oh, God…”

Despite his entire face aching, Steve managed to tug one of the corners of his lips up into a meager smile. “Hey, honey.”

His voice sounded hoarse and overused, but was still utter music to your ears. You just about collapsed onto the side of the bed, reaching out to gently brush the back of your shaking knuckles over what little of his face wasn’t bruised.

“I heard what happened on the news,” came your tearful whisper. “I was so worried you…”

Something softened within the blue of his eyes. “I’m still here.”

You dipped forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and his tired eyes slid shut. 

“Has a doctor checked on you yet? Any permanent damage I have to look out for?” You pulled away so you could roam your eyes over his form once more.

“Just a few bruises. Bone fractures. Nothing I can’t recover from,” he replied, though he winced when he tried to shift and sit more upright. You placed a hand on his back and helped him move, cautiously slow.

“Take it easy, old man,” you warned. “Don’t want you to pop a hip.”

Steve wheezed out what seemed like a laugh. Then, his eyes darted to the bedside table, where some spare clothes were neatly packed in a bag. Bucky had brought them, making sure to hide the ring box safely underneath a few layers.

Should he? Now, when he had the chance?

“I have something to ask you…” he began, tentative, dragging his eyes back onto you. You tilted your head pointedly, beckoning for him to go on. 

Just as he was about to say the words, there were three rapid knocks to the hospital room’s doors and they creaked open immediately after, two nurses shuffling in, clipboards in hand.

“Hello, just here to run a few more check-ups!” one of them chirped. “It’s not often we get a super admitted in here.”

Steve just about physically deflated. Your brows kinked, and you patted his cheek fondly.

“I’ll come by later—gonna go see if Sam is okay. You should rest, Stevie. Love you.” With one final kiss to his cheek, you got up from his bed and made space for the bustling nurses. He barely managed to lift his hand to wave you goodbye before you hurried out of the room, back into the packed hallways.

A month had drifted by since he wound up in the hospital (and discharged the very next day). It was pleasantly breezy that day—gusts of wind tousling his now-overgrown hair and whistling sweetly in your ears. 

Steve bent at the waist to place the bouquet of flowers down in front of the headstone. If it were any windier, he was sure it would’ve blown away. But it stayed put, the petals only barely swaying to and fro, and he righted himself back up.

“Sarah Rogers,” you whispered, eyes trailing across the smooth grooves of her name indented into the slab, voice thick with fondness. “What did she look like?”

Your arm wounded over the small of his waist. The two of you had visited the cemetery a few months prior, where you helped him scrub all the moss and dirt from her headstone. He told you about many of his adventures with Bucky before his time frozen in the ice, but very little about his mother. 

A wistful smile touched the corner of his face. Now fully healed, much to your relief. 

“She was blonde. Blue eyes. Crow lines, I think. Really faint, but they appeared every time she laughed.” There was a nostalgic warmth to his tone. 

“Took after her, then.” You beamed down at the grave. “She must’ve been beautiful.”

Steve leaned into your grasp and kissed the very top of your head. “She was. She would’ve loved you, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“She would’ve thought you were perfect. She saw a lot of terrible things in her lifetime, but you—you would’ve made her laugh a lot.” A pause. The wind hummed a disjointed tune. “She always believed in me, even though she was terrified for me all the time. Worried herself sick. If only she knew I’d end up here…”

Your head landed on his bicep. “She knows. She knew from the very beginning.”

The blonde smiled at you again, and you couldn’t help but notice his crow lines, too. It was comforting to know that there was so much of his mother in him.

“You ready for lunch?”

“I’m starving.” you told him, before blowing a chaste kiss to the headstone. “See you soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

Steve began to lead you away, and he couldn’t seem to scratch the smile from his lips. The two of you started walking back home, taking your sweet time. You were saying something—something about a nice lasagna you had frozen in the fridge—

But Steve could barely hear any of it. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. He had to tell you now.

“I love you,” he interrupted. The words died on your tongue and you regarded him curiously, as if he’d grown a second head. 

Apparently, there was a near manic look to his eye that prompted you to worriedly query, “Is something wrong, Steve—?”

Instead of answering, Steve stopped walking. He dropped down onto one knee, brandishing the ring box from his pocket, flicking it open. The realization broke across your features just a second later. Your eyes widened, and you reared back in shock.

And the words—the words just came tumbling out. Not at all what he’d scripted for months on end, but something entirely different. Something raw and unfiltered—purely from his heart. “I love you, more than I can ever put into words. You’re just—amazing, perfect in every goddamn way. I don’t want to go another day without calling you mine. I want to be yours, honey. All of me, every single bit of me, with all of you. It’s been an honor being your boyfriend. Really, it has, but I’m… I’m ready to be your husband, if you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”

There were tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You were only but a streak of color before you were yanking him forward, practically burying his face against your chest. He didn’t care that there was a rock digging into his knee. Barely even felt it. 

The next moment, you were pulling away to yank him back up, kissing him like he was the very air you needed to breathe. 

“Is that a yes?” he asked against your lips, slightly muffled. He was smiling, because he already knew your answer.

You nodded into the kiss, refusing to pull away. “I’d marry you a million times over, Steve. Again and again and again, until you get sick of me.”

“Could never get sick of you,” he whispered, forehead leaning over yours. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The two of you broke apart minutes later, reluctantly, though you had permanent smiles etched across your faces the entire way back home. The ring fit you perfectly.

When the news broke to the rest of the Avengers, they all erupted into an array of groans and cheers, and multiple wads of cash were passed around. Natasha sent the two of you a pleased wink. You two just landed her a combined total of a hundred bucks, but some secrets were simply better left unsaid.

[saltofmercury]

A König x reader where the reader gives off scary dog privilege.

Like at a McDonald’s, König will stand behind them, even if he’s like a MOUNTAIN compared to the reader and the reader will be like “HE asked for no pickles >:(“

Idk think it would be cute if the reader would help König out in social situations where he would be uncomfortable.

If König doesn’t feel like talking the reader redirects the conversation to themselves so König can just listen.

Pairing: König x reader

Summary: König feels better after meeting you.

"We"

He didn’t date. Dating was exhausting, humiliating, and daunting for König. A series of awkward silences followed by stupid questions, that seemed to be in constant loop.

“What do you do?”

“Where are you from?

“Why are you so quiet?

He was always too quiet, too shy, for women. Too soft, too detached with men. It’s like he couldn’t be perfect for either.

It was worse when he thought they were having a good time and König, already filled with nerves and anxiety, had ordered his meal wrong.

“Why didn’t you ask to have it without mushrooms?”

“Why don’t you ask them if that's not what you ordered?”

As if it were easy. They looked at him with stupidity like he couldn’t just do it.

Second + third dates were then followed by 

“I’m not asking them to switch it, that's your meal.”

“You’re a big boy, use your voice.”

Small jabs towards him because of his height and build, that he wished he could just push himself to do it but he didn’t want to add an extra burden to the waiter or crew in the back.

“It’s fine, I'll eat it.”

Later coming to realize at the end of the date that he wasn’t for “them.”

“It’s not me, it’s you, I just don’t see it working out.”

Until he met you.

You weren’t looking for anything, as a matter of fact you just wanted to decompress from the day, have a small get together with new and old friends, but lots of things changed that day. 

As you went around introducing yourselves, König said hi, but didn’t really put much input into the group. He seemed to be making himself smaller, fading away behind the group of people. He seemed uncomfortable.

You approached him— A small shiver from his side, mentally preparing himself knowing the lines of—

“WHY aren’t you talking?”

“How tall are you?”

“Why aren’t you drinking?”

“Why are you so quiet?”

However it wasn’t like that at all. You did most of the talking. Just asked for small input from him. He was so taken back by how comfortable you made him. You made talking to new people easy and by the end of the night it was you asking him on a second date. 

He nodded, dumbfounded. “A second date?”

A small shiver again, maybe this time it was different?

*

The second date, at some small diner nearby, you take the lead on talking again. You think it was perhaps due to your nerves, you had become a chatterbox.

“So why the military?”

“Uh— personal choice.”

Small silence as you chewed on the appetizer in front of you. You wide eyed, trying to not say 

“Well that explains the haircut.” so instead you said,

“Must be lots of traveling huh?” You continued, listing places you wanted to visit and asking if he had ever been there.

Relief pooled inside him. What was your motive behind this?

When it was time to place the order, König’s nerves had bundled inside of him again that he forgot to mention “no black olives.”

His dish was placed in front of him.

He looked concerned, like he was in for a long night of picking them off his meal, then bombarding him with questions of “why didn’t you just ask?”

You saw the concern on his face.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Why aren’t you digging in?”

“Ah… I said no olives but it’s no big deal.”

It was a big deal and you called the waitress over.

“I’m sorry we said no olives”

“Oh! I’m sorry!” The waitress flushed and ran away with the plate.

“Here” you said, so calm, “you can have some of mine while we wait.”

How effortless you did it. How were you so good at this?

“I hate when I do that. I can’t have cilantro because it tastes like soap.” You laughed and continued to pick at french fries in front of him.

God you were adorable.

He was sure he wasn’t going to see you again, thinking that maybe you thought he couldn’t speak up for himself, or the conversation ran too dry.

You however kept pushing yourself in, being his voice when he couldn’t speak.

“We said—

‘No olives’ 

‘No pickles’

‘This isn’t what we ordered’

Relief washing over him that you took it upon yourself when he had made the mistake ordering.

How you used “we” as opposed to “he” and he really liked that you didn’t single him out. He could melt. Was there finally someone who could lessen the burden of his anxiety?

Dinner dates went from bi-weekly to weekly. Then it was just easy. It was a no-brainer being with you. 

You never once thought he was too shy, or too quiet, too soft, or too detached. You didn’t question things between you two, you just took the lead in conversations with people, often checking in with König for a small part in it. You knew the right amount to get out of him.

You took the burden of first time conversations. You had started ordering for the two of you, knowing what he liked and didn’t like. König felt lighter, felt better that someone was here for him and opposed to him. 

[angellayercake]

Banchetto: Insalata

Papa Emeritus III x Reader

AO3 | Contorno | Masterpost

A caprese salad consists of so few ingredients but as long as they are fresh and ripe they bring the perfect balance. For variety you pick an assortment of tomatoes, blood red heirlooms, green beefsteak and orange roma. The visual appeal of the assorted colours, shapes and texture more than make up for the non traditional choices. Freshly made mozzarella as well, all evenly sliced and then already the preparation is almost complete.

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

You are reading. Well, you are trying to read but unfortunately the man sitting across from you is proving far too much of a distraction. It was mid morning, breakfast long since eaten and cleared away. You had joined him as you did so often now and it was barely creeping towards time to begin thinking about lunch. Copia had returned your notes and you were still in the process of working through them, adding sticky notes with your amendments into the recipes to help you when time came to make them. That’s what you should be doing at least.

Instead every few seconds you find your gaze pulled back to him. He is also reading, the glasses he only just admitted to needing perched on the end of his nose. They slip further down every time he scrunches his face at whatever it is he is reading and you have lost count of how many times he has paused to push them up carelessly. Every now and then he notices the smudges left by his fingers and removes them completely to wipe them on his handkerchief as he shoots you a smile. He had let his hair air dry this morning so it falls in soft waves over his forehead. The muted sunlight catches in his silver roots every time he pushes his hair out of his eyes. You think to tell him how good he looks at this moment but you don’t want to break the comfortable silence. 

It’s sickeningly domestic but you can honestly say you have never been happier. The shift was subtle at first as you had spent a great deal of time in his rooms anyway but in a matter of days that time grew longer and longer until you rarely left on more than an errand from morning to evening. He would ask you to sit with him as he worked, join him for meals, linger in the kitchen as you prepared and even once attempting to help you clean the dishes. That is until he ended up dropping a plate in his inattention, the resounding crash making your heart skip a beat in a much less pleasant way then it usually did around him. You couldn’t even begin to be annoyed with him though, his apologetic puppy eyes forcing you to let him off with only a banishment to the kitchen table and a kiss to the tip of his nose.

Affection was easier now, not always so underlined with that awkward tension you had almost become used to. He liked to touch you. To lace your fingers together across the table when you ate, rest his hand on your waist when you stood together, play with a lock of your hair as you spoke, press a chaste kiss to hand or your cheek in passing. You had been hesitant at first to return his affection so boldly but the way he would glow when you reached for him first, his wide smile emphasising your favourite creases at the corners of his eyes, was enough to override your self consciousness.

There was still tension there, hot little frissons if you look into his eyes a bit too long or his body rests a little too close. Part of you wants to chase it but you no longer felt the need to rush. Although unspoken it seems you both chose to relish in this period of getting to know each other better, talking about your likes, dislikes, views and opinions or just existing in each other's company. It is comfortable in a way you never imagined you could be with him but you are more sure now than ever that ‘Papa Emeritus III’ who had led the Ghost project and the church was only a very superficial part of who he was.

There’s a childlike glee in him every time he tells you stories of his life peppered with ridiculous puns and dorky jokes that feels so far removed from the persona you had thought you had known previously. And yet you can see how he thrived as a performer and took to that role so naturally. He puts his whole self into recreating the tale he is telling with animated hands, exaggerated expressions and often silly voices whether he is talking about his misspent youth, rising through the clergy ranks or his touring adventures. You would start to feel very uninteresting in comparison until he would start to tease stories from you. Your worst cooking disasters that have him crying with laughter and disbelief that you could ever make a potato explode. But when he asks you of your family and your childhood you see a sad wistfulness in his expression that makes your heart hurt and you hope that one day he might open up about some of the harder parts of his life as well.

The tolling of the 11 o’clock bell brings an end to your romantic reverie. It is time to return to reality and begin thinking about lunch. You uncurl yourself from the armchair, your movements capturing his attention. He beckons you towards him with a curled finger as he places his book down on the settee beside him. You should go straight to the kitchen but as he has distracted you all morning anyway what is the harm in a few more minutes. You are sure your eagerness is obvious as before you know it you are sitting in his lap with his arms around you. 

‘Where are you off to cara mia,’ he says once you are settled. You slide his glasses up and into his hair, pulling the long fringe out of his face and you can’t resist letting your fingers run through the length until you can play with the strands at the nape of his neck. ‘I have been enjoying you watching me so attentively.’

‘And I was enjoying the view,’ you tease. His deep chuckle rumbles through his chest pleasantly where you are pressed against him. He leans up for a kiss, unable to keep the pleased smile from his face. Your lips ghost over his, barely indulging him but leaning down to continue talking in his ear. ‘I am about to start working on your lunch.’

‘How about an amuse bouche first mia cuocoina?’ He is irresistible when he is like this so you indulge him. You press kisses along a teasing path, his temple, his sharp cheekbone and the tip of his nose before finally reaching his lips. He closes the remaining distance between you impatiently and just as you are about to deepen the kiss a loud knocking rings out through the room. He drops his head against the back of the settee with a huff of annoyance and you have to forcibly remove his hands from your hips for you to be able to get up. You open the door to find a ghoul waiting for you on the other side holding a basket and a note.

‘From Papa Primo, for you Sister.’ They hand it to you before abruptly turning to leave and you see Terzo’s head shoot up in interest as you close the door and turn around.

‘What is he writing to you about?’ He glares over the back of the chair, watching you put the basket down on his desk. 

‘Let me open it and I will tell you,’ you retorted. The basket is heavy and you have no doubt that this is yet another offering from Primo’s greenhouses. He hauls himself up from the settee with an exaggerated groan as you unfold the thick paper and read. 

Sorella it is about time my brother gets out of his rooms and I suspect you will have more success convincing him then I. If I could prevail on you to make us a light lunch and bring it along with him to the rose garden I would be very appreciative. Secondo and Copia will also be joining us as well as yourself if you would do us the honour. 

I will expect you both at noon. 

Primo

Terzo. It will be good to see you. Please do not give the sorella any trouble and do as you are bid. 

Handing the note to him you dig into the basket. Underneath the fragrant bunches of fresh herbs you find it’s filled to the brim with ripe tomatoes in a variety of sizes and colours, probably hand picked from the vine that very morning. 

‘Why do you get a longer note than me?’ He grumbles, squinting at his brother's cursive scrawl, clearly forgetting to drop his glasses back down onto his nose. Circling around him you knock them gently out of his hair so he can at least see even if they land a little crookedly. 

‘Lunch is going to be alfresco today,’ you call over your shoulder as you head into the kitchen to get started, not giving him any chance to argue. With less than an hour to prepare this is not going to be your most elaborate creation but you have some freshly made mozzarella and along with Primo’s offering you have an idea that should be perfect. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The dressing for this salad could be as simple as a drizzle of balsamic vinegar but you do prefer to add a little more flavour. To an old jam jar you add olive oil, honey, freshly pressed garlic and of course the main ingredient, balsamic vinegar. Why a jam jar you may ask? Well the trick with a vinaigrette is understanding that the separate ingredients don’t really want to mix together. You can stir it, whisk it, even blend it but unless you are serving it straight away the mixture will begin to separate. You prefer to give it a good shake to mix everything and your trusty jam jar allows you to do that right before the dish is served.  

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Prepping a quick salad with what Primo had sent you takes around half an hour but you are done with time still to spare. Terzo had disappeared to his bedroom after grumbling to himself about his ‘fratello esigente’ and was yet to return so you took the time to grab some leftovers to make this lunch a little more substantial. There was half a loaf of bread that you sliced up, some stuffed peppers and olives, cuts of ham and cheese and even some pepper taralli that had become a constant request since you had first made them all those weeks ago. 

With everything that would fit packed away in the little basket you go to find Terzo who had yet to reappear. Even with the amount of time you were in each other's company you still hadn’t spent more than a few minutes in his bedroom. You understood, you supposed. It was his one sanctuary away from everything but you hoped one day soon he might invite you even there. The door is open when you round the corner and you see him standing before his mirror, a pile of shirts sitting on the bed next to him. 

‘I’m ready to go Terzo,’ you say after knocking on the door frame. He turns to you with a frown on his face but your attention is drawn to his open shirt. His dark chest hair and olive skin contrast beautifully with the stark white of the shirt he is trying on. He starts to button it from his mid chest leaving an enticing glimpse but you can see his frustration build as he gets further and further down. His once flat stomach now protrudes slightly from his waistband, not enough to have the buttons pull but the shape of his body is visible. He looks incredible.

‘I can not go out like this cara mia,’ he says, turning back to his reflection to scrutinise his outfit. 

‘Why not?’ you ask. You cross the room coming to a stop behind him so you are looking at the same thing he is in the mirror. 

‘Look at me,’ he gestures up and down the length of his body before settling his hands where he seems to be most self conscious. You can’t have him thinking he looks anything less than irresistible for even a moment.You wrap your hands around his waist sliding them under his own,where he is holding his belly. You caress the soft swell back and forth while you try and catch his gaze in the reflection. 

‘I am and I see a happy healthy man who has enjoyed delicious food made for him by someone who lo .. cares about him very much.’ His eyes flash in surprise before he looks over himself again from your perspective, a smug smile growing on his lips. You hope he is just about to accept your compliment and didn’t catch your little slip but you end that train of thought there. 

‘Oh is that so?’ His spark has returned, your compliments feeding his usual confidence in his attractiveness. But there is something else in his expression like he has just figured something out. ‘You like me like this, eh?’

‘I like you. Full stop.’ He preens but you sense that he wants to push you further. Hopefully the time limit you are on will stall him for now. You aren’t sure that you are quite ready to admit how much you have enjoyed feeding him up.  

‘Mmm ok,’ he responds thoughtfully, turning in your arms and pulling you flush against his soft body. He kisses you soundly, chasing your lips every time you try to pull back. Before long though his playful mood shifts as he steps back. He takes your hands in his but otherwise maintains some space between you. ‘There is something we need to talk about though before we go.’

‘What is it?’ There is a hint of worry in his voice but you try not to let yourself speculate. You needed to just listen to what he had to say. 

‘Please don’t misunderstand me when I say this.’ He pauses for but a moment to press a kiss to your knuckles trying to reassure you of his sincerity. ‘Until very recently I have never truly felt my life was my own. I had a set path that I was to walk down and very big shoes to fill as leader and well, you have seen my brothers.’ He is torn between a fondness and frustration that you can understand. ‘No matter what I do I am their fratellino.’ He locks his eyes on yours willing you to understand. ‘This, I mean what we have, I don’t want their input not yet.’ 

‘I understand Terzo.’ It is a relief to know this was all he was concerned about. You had seen for yourself how they had treated him during the intervention you had been witness to. Even though you wholeheartedly agreed with them at that time. You can understand why he would want to keep what you have private, especially so early in whatever it was that was happening. Not to mention you had your own reasons for not wanting them to know.

‘You do?’ You can’t help but smile at the relief on his face. 

‘Of course. I think you are right.’ You had long since stopped worrying about the distinction between your work for him and your relationship but you are well aware of how it might look to others. How unprofessional you were being. ‘Your brothers asked me to do a job and they might not be happy to know that I have taken on additional duties.’ You say with a wink, trying to lighten his mood further. You’re rewarded with his deep rumbling laugh as he pulls you close again. 

‘Si, si. We should review these additional duties. I think I have some additions.’ He leers at you and you can feel your cheeks heat up in response.

‘Stop that we will be late.’ You swat at his chest and get to hear him laugh yet again but it really is time to get going. ‘And I am going to need your help carrying all this food.’

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Now for your favourite part, making it all look pretty. You lay out your slices of mozzarella first, randomly placing them across the large tray you are using for this dish. The slices of beefsteak and heirloom tomatoes next trying to keep the colours balanced. You use the bright orange roma tomatoes to fill in the remaining gaps and then all that is left is fresh basil leaves tucked between the slices. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘Sorella you spoil us!’ Primo says helping you unpack the basket onto the table that had been set up. You had never paid much mind to this shady corner of the rose garden but it does seem like the perfect place for an alfresco lunch. The wrought iron dining set is well kept with only specs of rust appearing on some of the joints between the ornate decorations. Five chairs are positioned around half of the oval table giving everyone a view of the garden. The table had already been set with a plain table cloth thrown over, shining silver cutlery, pretty floral plates and a bottle of red wine, already been decanted, a lace cap sitting over the opening to discourage any tempted bugs. 

‘Oh it was nothing at all Papa. Most of this I had already prepared and the salad was simple enough.’ He smiles at you warmly, his light paints emphasising the creases of his expression. He had taken the centre seat and he gestures you into the seat to his right, patting your shoulder gently. You aren’t entirely sure why you have been invited to this family gathering but it would be rude to question his invitation. 

Secondo is sitting to his left already sipping on a glass of wine but he offers you a smile, a subtle lift of the corner of his mouth before his attention is drawn to Terzo. You glance to your right where he is sitting looking uncomfortable, even hidden behind his dark glasses. He seems to be staring into the nearest bush trying to ignore the presence of his brothers. As you take a seat you try to subtly rest your hand on his knee and give him a gentle squeeze, about the only reassurance you can, given your agreement not to give away the nature of your relationship to his family quite yet. He glances at you offering you a weak smile but he rests his hand over yours before clearing his throat.  

‘Is Copia too busy to join us now?’ He asks, sounding oddly formal but finally looking in Primo’s direction. 

‘He said he would be here,’ he replies calmly as he pours everyone a glass of wine, topping up Secondo’s last. After accepting his Terzo slumps back into his seat nursing his glass. Primo tuts at him. ‘Vieni adesso, Renzo, non vorrai essere scontroso con il nostro ospite, vero?’ He sits up abruptly lifting his glasses so he can glare at Primo. 

‘Quindi è per questo che l'hai invitata? Quindi mi comporterei bene?’ Secondo tries to conceal a laugh at his Italian outburst which only earns him a share of Terzo’s glare. 

‘I have my reasons fratelino, but let’s not argue today.’ He looks at him sternly. ‘Por favore.’

‘Nessun tipo di compagnia potrebbe farlo comportare da adulto,’ Secondo mutters but whatever he says seems to upset both Primo and Terzo. ‘Ey!’ He shouts, rubbing the back of his head where Primo had just administered a quick slap. 

‘None more of that! From either of you, capisce?’ He points at the two brothers waiting for them both to nod in agreement before sitting back down. The four of you sit in silence just waiting for Copia’s arrival but just when it begins to get unbearable you hear a commotion heading towards you.  

‘Sorry I am late,’ Copia calls out breathlessly as he rushes around the corner in a blur of red. ‘Meeting with Sister Imperator ran over,’ he pants collapsing into the chair next to Secondo. He had forgone his cassock today but was still buttoned up in one of his formal suits in spite of the seasonal weather. Clearly one of the perks of being a retired Papa was being able to dress more casually. You are not sure if you had ever seen them dressed this casually during any of their reigns. 

‘Everything has gotten so behind with the Ghost project since, well…’ He trails off glancing at Terzo. He clears his throat, deciding not to continue with that line of conversation. ‘Terzo, Papa, you are looking well.’ 

‘Thank you Cardinal, you look like you could do with a good night's sleep.’ He smiles but it is sharp, Copia’s misstep digging at his still sore pride. 

‘Well, shall I tell you all what is on the menu?’ You interrupt not wanting the awkwardness to linger any longer. 

‘Yes please do, Sorella,’ Primo says, relieved at your quick thinking.

‘What you sent over was absolutely perfect for a caprese salad because just yesterday I had made some fresh mozzarella so that is the main attraction of today’s lunch but I also brought some leftovers we had to make sure no one left hungry.’ You may be waffling slightly but they all listen politely as you point out all the separate dishes. 

‘Yes I see my fratello has not been going hungry of late.’ At least Secondo waited until after you finished but you watch nervously for Terzo’s response but he just relaxes back in his chair smirking at his brother. 

‘You are not wrong I have been kept most satisfied by Sorella.’ His double entendre makes you wince slightly but you just hope they mark it down to Terzo being Terzo. 

‘No need to tell us that we can see quite well, ' he says, patting his own distinctly flatter stomach. ‘Primo you were right to call us here today. We need to help Terzo by eating all of this food so he doesn’t have to.’ 

‘Ah ha,’ Terzo laughs. ‘So this is another intervention then no?’ Primo shakes his head but doesn’t intervene this time, deciding that this back and forth was mostly good natured.

‘Si, an intervention for your growing waistline fratello,’ On the surface it is harsh but you can tell this is familiar ground for them, teasing and competing to one up each other. You imagine there were many similar conversations had when Secondo lost his hair. 

‘I do not mind so much,’ he shrugs, resting his arm on the back of your chair and letting his fingertips graze your shoulder. ‘I think there are plenty of people who enjoy a well fed man.’ You feel your cheeks heat as he says it remembering back to your conversation and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face, gaging your reaction. If you look at him now you are sure your cover will be blown.  Instead you hide your embarrassment by serving out salad between your plates but you miss the pointed looks shared between Secondo and Copia.  

There is a period of peace across the table as they all enjoy their food, the only conversation a series of compliments as they work their way through everything you brought. You are glad you decided to bring all the leftovers as you watched Primo using the last slices of bread to dip into the dressing, the only remains of the caprese salad and Copia groaning and rubbing at his stomach as he polishes off the last of the stuffed olives. 

‘I can see how you got so well fed Papa,’ he smiles in your direction. ‘I feel as if I could burst but I still don’t want to stop eating.’ You smile at his praise but you are pleased to see them all nodding in agreement.

‘Luckily for you Cardinal, all that is left is some taralli.’ You offer them each one, finishing off the last of your supply. 

‘You are lucky I didn’t know she had packed up this,’ Terzo grumbles. ‘Giving my favourite to these idioti.’ 

‘I will make you some more Papa, don’t worry,’ you reassure him. ‘I think I have the recipe down perfectly now if I do say so myself.’

‘Where did you get the recipe, Sorella?’ Secondo asks. He looks down at the taralli in his hand. ‘I can’t say I am an expert like Terzo here, but these taste exactly like the ones I remember. The ones your Madre used to send us, before.’ Before what you wonder? You glance between Terzo and Secondo but this time it seems they are sharing a fond memory instead of making digs at each other. 

‘I just found it online after Papa mentioned he would like them.’ You glance at Terzo but he doesn’t try to stop your white lie. 

‘It’s a shame you don’t have any of her recipes Terzo,’ He thinks aloud while eating his last bite. ‘I’m sure she had made the best food I had ever eaten.’ 

‘It is a shame, yes,’ Terzo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. ‘You know we weren’t allowed to keep anything from before.’ You look at Primo but he is staring down at his plate in defeat.

‘For what it is worth I am sorry ragazzi,’ He squeezes Secondos forearm and offers Terzo a sad smile. You feel like an intruder in this moment and as your eyes meet Copia’s you think he might feel the same. That is until you notice him tilting his head and looking at you deep in thought. You suspect piecing together the translations you asked him to look at with the conversation he had just heard. He takes in a breath looking like he is about to speak but you shake your head as subtly as you can until he clicks his mouth closed. That is a conversation for later.

‘Sorella, thank you for allowing us to share in your exquisite food,’ Primo says, drawing a line under the conversation that had just ended.

‘It is no problem at all Papa.’ You start to gather up the dishes, wishing you had brought another tray so you could give Primo back his basket. 

‘No no, leave the tidying to us please,’ he fusses, taking the pile of plates from your hands and handing them to a disgruntled Secondo. ‘Seeing how you convinced Terzo to actually come outside, why don’t you two go for a walk.’ There is a twinkle in his eye you are sure you have seen before. If the two of you hadn’t been so careful you might think he knew there was something between you. 

‘What do you say Papa?’ You feel like you finally have permission to properly look at him, and he looks breathtakingly handsome in the warm sun. ‘Shall we go for a walk?’

‘If it gets us out of doing dishes then I am in,’ he says, almost jumping up from his chair. 

‘It was good to see you Terzo,’ Primo says to him so softly it could have been missed.

‘It was good to see you all too,’ he matches Primo’s tone looking at all three of the men still sitting at the table for a moment more before turning to you with a dazzling smile. ‘Come now Sorella lets escape while we still can.’

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

The dressing you add last right at the point of serving. The jar has one last good shake before you remove the lid and pour it evenly over the whole salad. For some extra flair you start pouring at the centre and swirl until all the dressing is used. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

‘So that went well right?’ You are some way away from the patio so you risk moving closer, brushing your shoulders together but he doesn’t hesitate taking your hand in his.

‘Ah I suppose those nosey stronzos,’ he grumbles but there is no real bite to it, a reluctant smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

‘You know what I think?’ He only hums absentmindedly in reply, eyes following a butterfly as it dances amongst the flowers. ‘I think they missed you.’ He tips his head towards you giving you what you suspect is supposed to be an intimidating side eye but it misses its mark entirely when all you can see is the soft affection in his eyes and the sun shining off the silver grey strands running through his hair.  ‘And I think you missed them too.’

‘Bah,’ he gestures with his free hand picking up his pace as if to storm off but keeping his grip firm on you so you are forced to come with him. ‘Think you know me so well eh cara?’ It is a challenge but a playful one. There was a moment that you worried that the teasing and prodding of his brothers might have made him withdraw again but it seems that was not the case. ‘Let us see, where in this garden do you think is my favourite place?’ He stops in the middle of the path reeling you back towards him but he drops your hand to fold his arms over his chest. He thinks he has stumped you, you can tell by the smug look he is failing to conceal but you are certain you know the answer.

‘Do I get any clues?’ You ask. He thinks for a moment, tapping at the dimple of his chin.

‘It is the reason I insisted on the rooms I have.’ Maybe he thinks he is being cryptic but now you know for sure, but you don’t want to let on quite yet.

‘Ok so it is near your quarters.’ You affect a look of exaggerated deep thought and he grins at you, glad that you are playing along. Wandering slightly away from him you look about you as if looking for more clues all the while ignoring his suppressed chuckles. When the two of you spend time in his little kitchen, especially now, you spend most of your time stealing looks at one another. So often he has caught him watching you over the rim of his coffee mug except from when his attention is caught just outside his window.  Which not only gave you the chance to admire him as you so enjoy doing, but it also gave you a very good idea about his favourite part of the garden. Just in view of his window was a sculptural fountain depicting the Temptation of Eve.

‘Mmmm you are getting warm,’ he teases as you start to lead him back towards that part of the Abbey.

‘Anything else?’ You are just about to enter the walled garden when he catches up to you. He slides his arm around your waist and pulls you back against him and then lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back. 

‘It’s almost as lovely to look at as you,’ he whispers in your ear. You have to try to suppress the shivers that work your way down your spine but he is pressed so close you are sure he can feel it.  

‘Charmer,’ you chide, stepping away towards the centre of the square. ‘Stop trying to distract me.’ He reels you back in until he can rest his chin on your shoulder.  The fountain dominates the space, the nude figure intertwined with the vicious looking serpent while holding a perfect apple, poised to take a bite. 

‘You can see the fountain from the kitchen,’ you state matter of fact. You can see the very window from where you are standing visible amongst the trailing plants that climb the Abbey walls.  

‘Si and from my bedroom.’ He points towards the larger window at the end of the building as you try to orient the layout in your mind.  

‘Oh it’s like that is it,’ you tease.  

‘Hush I am trying to be sincere,’ he chides but there is no bite to it, not when he skims a kiss against your cheek. 

‘My apologies Papa.’ He clears his throat, the sound jarring in your otherwise soft conversation. ‘Terzo,’ you correct yourself. Happy now he nudges you forward until you are both standing at the edge of the splash pool and you watch for a moment, the ripples overlapping the reflection of the two of you in the water. 

‘Tell me cara mia, what brought you to this life?’ He leads you towards a bench carved into the wall surrounding this part of the garden, helping you to sit comfortably before taking a seat himself. 

‘To the Church of Satan you mean?’ It has been a long time since you thought of your life before the Ministry. 

‘Mmm,’ he hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

‘I was raised in the Christian Church,’ you begin. ‘For the first say fifteen years of my life that is all I knew. As I got older though I found myself questioning. Everything I wanted went against what I was taught and I just couldn’t understand why all these arbitrary rules were put in place to stop people being themselves.’ He nods along giving you his full attention. 

‘The arguments I had with my parents when I told them I wanted to go to culinary school, well it’s laughable now but I felt like my life was ending before it had even started. They were talking about me getting married and starting a family when all I wanted to do was learn and travel and live.’ Remembering that time fills you with that same frustration. They never were able to give you an answer other than it was God’s will and that was not enough for your questioning mind.  

‘So I left. I did everything I wanted to do and then one day I was working at a festival.’ He snorts, interrupting you for the first time. 

‘I can’t imagine you in a burger van,’ he sniggers to himself. You knock his shoulder with yours but that only makes him laugh harder.  

‘I was cooking for the VIP guests, thank you very much!’ You reply haughtily. In all honesty there was nothing wrong with working in a burger van, good food is good food, but you dread to think what mental image he has conjured up of you. ‘And that's where I saw Ghost for the first time and spoke to Papa Primo.’

‘Primo recruited you?’ He looks shocked and you are surprised he didn’t already know. 

‘Well I think it was more like I volunteered and he accepted,’ you explain. ‘He had requested some wacky off menu dish and I somehow managed to make something passable and he came to thank me. I joked about his costume and how I might consider joining if I ever found a real Church of Satan.’ 

‘And he told you about this place.’ he says thoughtfully. 

‘He did! I didn’t believe him at first but I came to visit first for a week or two, but it was like as soon as I walked in the doors it felt like I had found my place.’ You had felt at home for the first time in a long long time.  

‘What about your parents?’ He asks. ‘What do they think about you coming here?’

‘It took them a long long time to accept me straying from the life they wanted for me, even though they still don’t like it.’ They had only really accepted it when you had found success which always seemed ironic to you. ‘My being here? We just don’t speak of it. I’m sure they told all their church friends that I decided to join an obscure convent.’ It was a game you liked to play every now and then, wondering what they said when people at their church asked after you.

‘Ha! But here you are getting seduced by Satanic Popes,’ he lifts his eyebrows, clearly proud of his success in corrupting you from your fictional convent. 

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ You roll your eyes at him but you are relieved that he joined you in finding humour in your strained relationship with your family. But it was his turn to share. ‘Now tell me why this is your favourite place.’

‘I used to come here when I felt lost.’ He looks down at his feet kicking at some lose stones. ‘When you have lost your way there is no one better than the Mother of Sin to help you remember what is important.’ It is a lot for him to admit given his leading role in the church. Many wouldn’t ever believe a man in his position could have ever had doubts. 

‘The bible says she was tricked into eating the apple, that her weak feminine mind was so easily warped by the serpent. But I think she made a choice. Perhaps she realised that if you are threatened and scared into ignorance you will never be free and that people deserve to choose for themselves what to do and what to believe.’ You sense his beliefs are as personal as they are philosophical. ‘Especially when so many things that bring people joy are supposed sins.’ 

You are reminded of sitting in the chapel and listening to him preach every word reaffirming your faith. He was an incredible leader and it makes your heart ache for him that he was removed from that position in such a humiliating way. You don’t voice this though. You have no doubt that these very same thoughts plague him but he is doing so much better now then when you had first properly met.  

‘Enough preaching for one day though I think,’ he laughs trailing off when he realises how long he has been talking and as much as you would happily listen to him talk for hours you let him leave the topic aside. ‘Where is your favourite place in the garden cara mia?’

‘Well that is easy.’ You don’t need to think for even a moment. ‘It’s the moon garden.’ He tilts his head in surprise. ‘I didn’t appreciate it at first, having all white flowers made no sense to me. One of the most beautiful things about flowers is the vivid rainbow of colours. But then one night I was leaving your quarters and I was on the verge of going to Primo and telling him I couldn’t do it.’ You remember that time well even though so much has changed since. Having to fight the urge to quit every time he rejected another meal. ‘You hadn’t eaten a thing and I was so upset with myself.

‘I owe you an apology, I think for being so difficult.’ He mumbles but the last thing you want to do is make him feel bad. 

‘No I mean you had your reasons,’ you say trying to reassure him.  

‘Maybe I did, I felt that I had nothing to live for I suppose.’ It hurts to hear but it isn’t a surprise that that is how he had felt. ‘But I could only stomach so much self pity before I got hungry.’ He winks at you and even this serious conversation doesn’t stop your instinctive blush spreading across your cheeks. 'Thank you for being patient with me.’ He follows the bloom of colour across your face with the tip of his fingers, his sincerity only making it worse.  

‘It was worth it,’ you admit, lowering your voice to match his soft tone. ‘Something told me I should walk through the gardens that night so I did and then it was like I had walked into another world. Every single white flower was glowing in the moonlight and I had to just sit and eventually I knew that everything was going to be alright.’  

‘And was it?’ His hand cups your face and even such an innocent touch has your heart racing as you work up the courage to say what you wish to.

‘The next day was the day you left me the recipe book.’ The moment feels fragile as he looks into your eyes searchingly. It feels good to have cleared the air of so many of your unspoken things. It’s probably inadvisable to allow him this close outside of his quarters but he looks as vulnerable as you feel right now and there is only one thing you can think to do. This kiss reminds you of the first time in the kitchen. The simple action of pressing your lips to his feels so intimate and for you at least, saying things you are far from ready to speak out loud. 

• • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • •

Hi hello yes it is me actually updating. Please no one die of shock. I had about 1000 words of this sitting here for the last six months and then suddenly I managed to write it all in the last three days. I want to promise there won't be another six months until the next chapter but who knows what will happen to my brain. Thank you to @ghostchems and @da-rulah for letting me talk about this endlessly and @writingjourney for cheering me on even when I wouldn't tell her any spoilers haha

I hope you all enjoyed and I will be starting a tag list over again because I have no idea who might even want to read this fic anymore so please just let me know if you want to be tagged in the future chapters 💜💜💜

[cr4yolaas]

mezzo forte — half return

track 4: the horse | masterlist | track 6: workaholic methodology

translation notes: nanay = mom; lola = grandma; ulam = a filipino dish that goes with rice; sinigang = a soupy dish containing meat, veggies, fish sauce, etc.

the air conditioning rattles inside the dining room, the noise serving as background noise to a scene that reminds hajime of home. an amalgamation of steamed bok choy, marinated pork belly, and acrid fish sauce wafts through the air. this week's ulam is sinigang. her favorite, he recalls.

the empty space beside the pair leaves a bitter taste of emptiness and longing on their tongues, but neither expresses it, nor are they aware of the other's parallel feelings. instead, they sit in comfortable silence while hajime's nanay spoons the soup into a serving bowl and his lola plates the freshly cooked rice, the scene reminiscent of childhood summers spent together under the blazing heat with the promise of good, hearty food.

billows of steam dance up, up, and up into the ceiling and drift away into nothingness, all while two chairs squeak against wood, alerting the table of the women's arrival. tooru thanks them for the meal excitedly. something is amiss.

"it's too hot to eat sinigang in this weather," his mother scolds, despite carefully pouring a spoonful of the soup into her own bowl of rice. "you should've asked me to cook something cooler. i would've been fine with cooking those korean cold noodles you always like."

"it's fine," her son responds earnestly. his words are slightly muffled from the bits of meat and veggies stuffed in his cheeks, a habit he hadn't grown out of since his youth. "it tastes good, anyways."

tooru's eyes light up with his own taste of the meal. "really good. it tastes really, really good. they don't have food like this in argentina, you know."

hajime's lola chuckles at his remark, her back flushed against her seat and her hands folded on her lap. "i'm sure you missed this," she remarks. something in her tone is airy yet playful. "hajime told me about your travels. have you found any lovers overseas? any romance?"

"oh, yes! it's good for you guys to find someone to settle with at your age," his mother chirps in, and the two men are choked with shock.

unease riddles itself into both of their bones. there's a truthful, honest answer that they're both capable of crafting in their heads. but if there is one thing they have in common, it's that they're stubborn. so, together (unknowingly), they push away their respective realities and opt for something vague. something that prances around the bushes of what they know to be factual.

the argentinian is the first to speak up. "i have a little bit of an interest in someone, but i don't think i plan on doing anything about it soon." there's an awkward chuckle tacked onto the end of his statement and a crack in his syllables, but he tries desperately not to think about it. he glances over at hajime in hopes that whatever his friend says will save them from the pressure.

"same for me. work's too busy these days, i can't focus on those things right now, nanay."

much to his demise, it doesn't save them, at all.

--

"...and we walked around the villages for quite a bit, talked to a few locals; it was fun. i think the scenery helped with my writing block."

the man across from her wears a corporate smile and it irks her, almost. he's not the ideal image of a manager. she'd envisioned something more friendly, something therapeutic, far from the person sitting on her couch writing down notes dutifully.

"that's good," he exclaims absentmindedly as he continues to jot down note after note after note. she wonders what he could possibly be writing about. her poor time management skills? her diminishing motivation and lack of individualism in a growing sea of competition? she doesn't want to imagine it.

he pauses for a moment. the notebook in his hands plops neatly onto the coffee table, and his hands settle onto his lap. it's too professional. too robotic. "have you considered going on tour?"

"sorry?"

"well, i was talking to your label, and they believed that it'd be a fitting time for you to do a tour around the country considering the rapid success of your most recent album." the man's stare burns laser-ignited holes into her flesh, as if he isn't asking her to consider the offer, but rather telling her to do it.

"but i thought they wanted me to begin working on a new album," she quips. there's a small edge of bitterness to her voice that leaks out against her will.

her manager, with all the neutrality and competence he can muster, chuckles softly at her concern. "of course, we already thought about that. we were wondering if you would like to try having a third party produce your instrumentals, in order to lessen the burden and ensure faster production. all you'd have to do while on tour is work on your lyrics and record. it's time efficient, and distributes all the responsibilities as opposed to you handling everything on your end."

she wants to laugh at him, but she knows it's improper and rude when all he's trying to do is maximize her profit -- the job that he was assigned to do. but she can't quite fight the twitch beneath her eye and the shifting of her weight in her disturbance. "look, i understand you're trying to help me, but-" her breath hitches. a tinge of anger bubbles up in her throat and she's scared it's going to make things worse. her hands grab at the fabric of her pants as if to restrain herself from unleashing something she doesn't quite mean. "i've been doing everything the same way every year -- i've composed every song, i've written every lyric, all the music videos are directed by me, and i don't get why you would think changing any of that would help."

anxiety crawls up the surface area of her spine and clings onto her. her manager is silent, evidently deep in thought, and his eyes drift away to the window. his hand smooths his hair away from his forehead, the action embedding some sort of fear into her that she knows is misplaced. "let's talk about this another time. i'll give you a while to consider the deal. i hope you can compose a clear and concise answer by then," he speaks, his tone far too formal for her liking. he excuses himself before she can respond, and before she can think about what he said, the door closes (nearly slams) shut behind her.

she can't help the small yet fleeting curse that spills from her lips, nor the sigh that escapes shortly after. irritation is a cruel and ugly feeling, she decides.

but the door squeaks open just as quickly as it was shut. footsteps -- heavy, loud, and slow -- approach the couch from behind. when she looks up, she's met with a pair of faces looking down at her.

"we brought drinks," tooru chirps out in an attempt to alleviate the friction coagulating in the air. "and food. from iwa's mom, of course."

the upturn of her lips is beyond her control. "i really need that," she breathes out. hajime shakes his head at the misery before him.

"what'd you do?"

"i didn't do anything. it's just more grievances from the industry. they want this, they want that; anything that'll grant them more money will do."

the two make themselves comfortable beside her, with the more lively of the duo on her right and her muse on her left. tooru pops open the bottle of soju unceremoniously while hajime pries open the tupperware lid on the table. the scene is welcoming and warm, a stark contrast to the cold monotony of her manager and the white-hot resentment simmering in her lungs. it feels right.

her eyes fall to the desktop at the side of the room and the haphazard arrangement of materials on her table (a leather notebook filled with vague compositions of soon-to-be-lyrics, the same pen she's been using since her second year of high school, an expensive microphone provided to her by her label that she needs to clean more often), and for the first time in a long while, she finds herself questioning the importance of her career. gone are the days of drafting cheesy songs in her bedroom and singing about the infatuation that seems to have altered her perception of the word permanently; she's become a cog to the machine and she only realizes it now. something in her aches.

hajime's stare follows hers, his cheeks puffed up with warm sinigang and rice. he questions the furrow in her brow and the displeasure in her gaze and finds his mind running back to the other night. the syrupy words and heartfelt verbiage clearly addressed to someone he may or may not know plague his mind, and he wonders if he'd find something similar in the notes sprawled across her desk.

tooru is silent. as opposed to his friends, whose eyes are cast to the same point, he's stuck watching them. the proximity of their legs, the coordination in their movement, the warmth that exudes from their combined presence; it all slowly chips away at whatever buried hope he'd carried with him from argentina to his home country.

it's a half return to normalcy. they're all bound together by long-time loyalty and care, but with the transfiguration of their hearts, it's different. there's a shift in the air attributed to maturation and growth. they don't want to acknowledge it.

♪ sorry if this is vague </3 i don't want to explain too in depth in fear of exposing too much plot but essentially this a moment where they realize that they can't really go back to normal (as in, the way they used to be as friends) with all of their changing lives and changing feelings

♪ i say this every time but i hope this chapter makes sense LOL its a lot less silly and more just a feeling of dread

♪ slightly based on half return by adrienne lenker (such a beautiful song)

♪ tooru definitely did gossip with hajime's mom and grandma while they were cooking. he loves listening to them rant about their annoying neighbors or lovesick coworkers

♪ i hc that hajime speaks in taglish (tagalog + english) on accident sometimes with yn and tooru but they've listened to his mom and lola talk enough that they understand

♪ i dont have much to say i just want to get to the next chapter already

taglist: @froyaoya @causenessus @guitarstringed-scars @yuminako @chemiru @sunnyskiezzzz @httpsivy @itsdragonius @theycallmenanamisgirl @wyrcan @19calicos @hunnies4bunnies @mawenskiblue @diorzs @loverlunaire @mfcherry @solaqes

[calcifiedunderland]

Five-Star Meal

Food Fight Ending II

You noticed that Azul had sent you text, and opened it immediately. You didn’t fear the worst, per se, but it was good to check.

Azul: Hello Prefect, I hope I’ve contacted you at a good time. I would like to set a time to meet with you again, would tomorrow work with you?

Azul: I may have to amend our contract, if you would allow me. Something between our transaction has come up, that I cannot deny anymore.

You frowned, scanning the message again. Your mind wandered, does he know why I made the deal with him? It was true that you were struggling a bit in Trein’s history lessons, and sure Alchemy was hard, but you could’ve handled it on your own. But somehow, despite that, you were sort of glad to have an excuse to talk to Azul after having him on your mind for so long.

You kicked your feet as you responded with a Sure. You wondered what it would be about. Your eyes slowly drooped. As you went to sleep, you thought, guess I’ll find out soon.

Azul tore his eyes from the phone screen, pushing up his glasses. It’s getting late, he glanced at the clock as he stood to leave his office desk. The Lounge would close soon, and he needed as much time as possible to prepare for you tomorrow.

He stepped into the Mostro Lounge kitchens, finding Floyd humming while he sautéed some vegetables. Jade was by the ingredients rack, holding a mushroom that was undoubtedly from his latest club excursion. Azul cleared his throat, “the Prefect has agreed to meet me tomorrow.”

The words went unspoken between the three of them. The twins shared a grin, and for a moment Azul almost regretted telling them. “It pleases me to hear you’ve moved up the timeline, Azul,” Jade chuckled, “will you be needing assistance?” Azul glanced at Floyd, and immediately he complained.

“No way I’m wakin’ up early to work, even if it’s for Shrimpy!” Floyd whined. Azul shrugged calmly, “perhaps you could have a week off from working?” Floyd went quiet, crossing his arms, pouting. Azul sighed, “two weeks?” Floyd grinned, “m’kay!”

Jade chuckled, stopping when Azul said “I’ll need your assistance, too.” After seeing the look on Jade’s face, Azul sighed in exasperation, “fine, I’ll let you put mushrooms in the Lounge food for a week.” Jade beamed.

—💜🐙✨—

The next day, you woke up really craving fries and pasta. Specifically, the fries and pasta you had when you were studying with Azul. Luckily, there’s some leftover in the fridge. The pasta was wonderfully rich after you warmed it, but the fries lost their crispiness. Still, the savory taste satisfied you.

You patted Grim on the head and dropped him off to Alchemy remediation. You got him to stop whining out why do you get to go an’ eat while I hafta work?! by telling him you were meeting Azul. After that, you headed through Octavinelle, going through the same aquarium halls you and Azul walked through earlier. You thought you’d find Azul at the entrance waiting to escort you, but instead you found him pacing by the private booths mumbling to himself.

“Azul?” He stopped abruptly, plastering a charming smile on his face. “Prefect! Please, sit down.” He pulled out a chair for you, seating you at a small round table. Much like your study dates (you felt warm when you realized you thought of them as dates), Azul served your dish to you. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we could eat before discussing?”

The two of you settled into a quiet peacefulness. Your silverware clattered against the dishes heard over soft music played by the Lounge speakers. Your appetizer was delicious - perfectly juicy, the vegetables crunching delicately as you chewed. In the lull, Azul focused on you, smiling softly as he picked at his dish nervously.

You noted Azul’s quietness. He almost always had something to say. He cleared his throat softly, before pushing his plate away. “Before we get to the main course, I would like to speak with you.” You put down your fork, as he took the plates away and sat back down. He pulled out your golden contract, and the fishbone quill.

You looked at him with confusion. “You said something came up? Did…” you went quiet, feeling nervous, “have I violated the contract?” Azul shook his head, feeling even more nervous, “no, (Name)… rather,” he took a deep breath, looking away “I violated the contract.”

Your eyebrows shot up as Azul continued. “I have been using the contract for my own personal gain, because I…” he glanced back at you, “I wanted to become closer to you. I used it to spend time with you.”

“I think I violated the contract too, then.” Azul stopped in disbelief. You confessed, “I wanted to spend time with you too.” You couldn’t hide the smile growing on your face, and it encouraged him to speak. Azul took a deep breath, “I like you, (Name).” Even though a weight suddenly lifted off of him, it still made both of you flustered.

A blush grew on his face, “a-and if you agree,” he cleared his throat, “perhaps we could… make a new contract?” You grinned dazzlingly at him, launching yourself out of your chair and wrapping your arms around him. You laughed as you heard him yelp before hugging you back. You kissed the mole under his lips, “of course.”

💜🐙✨

[mrsshabana]

"𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮?!"

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟑𝟎: 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐭

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary You love teasing your shy step-brother, Gyutaro. Always wearing revealing clothes and flaunting in front of him every chance you get. Even though he tries to hide it, it's so obvious that you turn him on. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, step-brother!Gyutaro, virgin!Gyutaro, stepcest, dubcon, handjob, vaginal sex, creampie. ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 2.1k words. This ended up being one of my favorite entries to write! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did!

✧:･ﾟ→ Kinktober Masterlist

Having two step siblings move in with you wasn’t ideal, but your father insisted that they’re your family now - your new stepmother and her two children, Gyutaro and Ume. You were only a few months older than Ume, while her brother Gyutaro was three years older than you. 

Ume liked you a lot, mainly because your father always spoiled you. So you had the cutest clothes and makeup you’d share with her. Gyutaro, on the other hand, did not like you as much. He thought you were spoiled, but for the most part he didn’t hate you. But it was hard to gauge his opinion of you because of how antisocial he was. Always opting to eat his dinner in his room instead of at the table with everyone else. Not to mention how he seemed to avoid you at all costs. Every time you’d enter the kitchen he’d leave, or if he was forced to be around you he'd never speak unless spoken to. Giving only single word responses or shy nods. 

At first, you worried that you may have done something to make him dislike you. But you haven’t even spent enough time around him to have done something like that. No matter what you tried, he seemed to never warm up to you.

You just couldn’t figure him out. 

Not until you noticed the way he stares at you. You had been reaching for something in the kitchen cupboard while Gyutaro sat at the dining table. Looking over your shoulder you could see how intently he stared at your ass as it peaked out from under your pajama shorts. Quickly he turned away, face turning red as he shot out of his seat and sped back to his room. 

The reason he was so awkward around you was because he had a crush on you. A crush that he was deeply ashamed of and tried to do anything to push those thoughts away. But he just couldn’t, especially when you would walk around in those slutty pajamas of yours. Your hello kitty booty shorts and matching crop top were his weakness. 

And the attraction certainly wasn’t one sided. You’ve seen him walk around shirtless and found yourself staring at his muscles. Daydreaming about what it’d be like to have him on top of you. Not only was his body unique and sexy, but so was his personality. He was so shy and antisocial, you knew he must be a virgin. How fun would it be to teach your virgin step-brother a few things about sex? 

Ever since you found this out, you made it your mission to torture him. Always wearing revealing clothes around him, teasing him every chance you got. Like bending over in front of him or hugging him when you weren’t wearing a bra. Every time he’d get hard and have to rush to his room.

But tonight was by far the worst you’ve ever teased him. 

His mother yelled at him for refusing to eat dinner at the table, so tonight he did it just so she’d get off his back. 

He nervously sat beside you and quietly ate his meal while your parents conversed. Ume was spending the night at a friend's house, so it was just you, him, and your parents. 

You smirk as you get a devious idea. Finally having Gyutaro where you want him. You snake your hand under the table and start to caress his thigh. 

Instantly he chokes on his food and starts to sweat. His heart beating fast as you touch him, inching closer and closer to his crotch. 

“Something wrong?” his mother says sternly. 

“N-No! The food’s great! I um- I just swallowed too fast…” his voice shakes as he looks down at his plate, refusing to look up. 

His mother scoffs and continues her conversation with your father. 

His cock is already rock hard and straining the front of his sweatpants. He feels incredibly uncomfortable right now, but there’s nothing he can do about it. All he can do is try to keep his cool so no one notices. 

You start to run your hand against the length of his erection, causing him to whimper softly as he tries to continue eating. 

“Wow,” you whisper, “It’s so big.”

His face turns bright red and he looks at you from the corner of his eye, not able to say a word. Just nervously gulps as he looks at your innocent facade. 

You hum as you slide your hand under the waistband of his pants and start touching him. Trailing down his navel, feeling his pubic hair, and finally his bare length. You can’t see it right now, but you can feel that it’s covered in veins. 

He whines quietly and squirms under your touch, but he doesn’t push your hand away or tell you to stop. So, you start stroking him slowly so as to not draw any attention to what’s happening under the table. After only a few pumps you can feel him throb and twitch in your hand like he’s already getting close to cumming. 

He clenches his fists and closes his eyes, taking deep breaths as he tries to calm himself down. Honestly, he looks like he’s about to throw up. 

“Gyutaro,” his mother snaps, “Clean up the kitchen. We’re finished.” She glares at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Oh! Uh, y-yes ma’am,” he whimpers. 

His mother eyes him up and down, but ignores his strange behavior and leaves the dining room with your father. Tossing her dishes into the sink on her way out. 

Once they're gone, Gyutaro pulls your hand out of his pants and shoots up from his seat. “Don’t do that!” He whisper yells.

You stand up and look down at his erection clearly poking through his pants. “But you seemed to like it,” you giggle, “C’mon Gyu! No one noticed!”

“I don’t care,” he blushes and takes your plates to the kitchen, “It wasn’t funny.” He starts washing the dishes, trying to ignore you.

But you follow him and hug him from behind, “C’mon~ I know you liked it.” You coo as you reach over to touch his crotch again. Instantly you can feel his cock twitch with excitement. 

“N-no, we can’t do this Y/N,” his voice is breathy like he’s trying to hold back a moan. He’s trying so hard to deny his attraction for you, but he can’t hide it that easily. It’s just so damn obvious. He looks at you with a flustered face, cheeks red and eyes teary. His words are begging you to stop, but his face is telling you to continue. 

“Don’t worry, no one will notice,” you chime, taking his hand and leading him over to the couch in the living room. There you push him down to sit, while you slowly slide down your shorts. 

His complaining stops as his eyes are glued to your body. Watching with perverse satisfaction as you remove your shorts and panties, a string of slick connecting to your panties as you pull them down. 

“F-fuck, she’s so wet,” he thinks to himself, “Does she want me to put it inside her…? I-I can’t do that! She’s my step-sister!”

“Hello?” you wave your hand in front of his face, “Earth to Gyutaro!”

He snaps out of it and moves his gaze up to meet your eyes, “Huh?”

You giggle and lean forward, wiping his chin with your hand. “You were drooling. Haha, want it that bad huh?” You wink at him as you climb onto his lap to straddle him. 

“N-No! That’s not it. I um,” he tries to think of some kind of lie that will make him seem less like a pervert. 

“It’s ok, I know you want me. You don’t need to be ashamed about it,” you lean closer to his ear and whisper, “Because maybe I want you too.”

His eyes widen and he feels like he can’t breathe. There’s no way you actually just said that to him, right? Well, he doesn’t have very much time to think about it because you’re already pulling down his pants and lowering yourself onto his cock. 

It stings at first as you feel him stretch your walls to accommodate his size. But it’s a discomfort that you openly welcome. Just the thought of being split apart by your step-brother’s cock turns you on so much. And once you settle onto him fully, the pain lessens and the pleasure builds - feeling completely full by him.

“ Fuck! Y-Y/N, what’re you d-doing?” he whimpers, watching as you sink down onto him. 

“Silly goose,” you giggle, “I’m gonna make you cum.” Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around his neck and start bouncing on his cock. 

Your walls are so tight around him, and you feel so warm, so wet, so perfect . He feels like he’s in heaven. His eyes roll back and he bites his lip to stifle his moans. Grabbing onto your thighs and digging his nails into your soft skin, he already feels like he’s going to cum. 

But you’re quickly overcome by pleasure too. He’s supposed to be a virgin, so how is this feeling so damn good? He isn’t even really doing anything! He’s just so big, and watching his flustered expression as you ride him turns you on so much. He doesn’t even have to do anything and he hits you in all the right places.

It’s so cute watching him trying so hard not to cum, so you pick up the pace to torture him more. “ Ahh! Gyutaro! You’re so big,” you moan cutely. 

“ Ngh- Shhhh! Wh-what if mom hears you?!” He says through his moans, “We-we really shouldn’t be- Ahh~ d-doing this!”

“Haha sorry,” you giggle, “You just feel so good I can’t control myself~”

“I-It’s fine,” your comment makes his heart flutter. He clenches his teeth and quickly starts losing control, moaning a bit too loudly himself when you pick up the pace. “I-I can’t -Ngh- can’t last much longer,” he whines beneath you. 

“Gonna cum in me? Gonna fill me up, huh?”

“No I-I can pull out, just-” he groans as the pleasure overwhelms him, “Just stop for a second -Ahh! ”

You hold onto his wrists so he can’t push you away, and you move faster. Your velvety walls clenching him so tightly, practically begging for his semen. “C’mon Gyu~ Please cum in me!” Your mind is so fuzzy and drunk on lust for him that you don’t think about the fact that you aren’t on birth control. All you care about is having him pump you full of his seed.

A pathetically needy whimper escapes his lips as his body moves on its own, his hips rutting up into you as he spills inside of you. His cock twitching along with the rest of his body as he pumps your walls full of his hot sticky cum. 

“ Ah ah aaahhh… Y/N ,” he moans.

While he sits there recovering from his intense orgasm, you finish yourself off by rubbing circles into your clit with your fingers. Your legs shake as you orgasm all over him. Eliciting a hiss to escape him as he feels you tighten around his sensitive cock. 

With a satisfied grin, you move off of him and stand up. His cum slowly seeps out of you and rolls down your thighs. 

He stares at you with a perverted smile - watching with fascination as his semen spills out of you. You hurriedly put your panties back on, pulling them up and forcing his cum to pool in them. Keeping your cunt nice and soaked. 

Gyutaro quickly pulls his pants back up to hide the fact that he’s getting hard again from seeing his cum create a wet spot in your panties. After how hard he came, he still feels pussy drunk. Still unable to believe this actually happened, but too satisfied to complain anymore. He knows it’s wrong, but your pussy feels so good that he’ll find any way to justify it just so he can feel you around him again. 

He looks so cute and flustered right now, like he wants to deny what just happened for the sake of his dignity, but is torn because of the lust he feels for you. He just needs a bit of convincing. So, you sit beside him on the couch and snuggle up to him. Laying your head on his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist.��

“You’re the best step-brother ever, Gyu,” you whisper.

[heich0e]

tw: mentions of alcoholism/sobriety

The atmosphere inside the little house, tucked in a quiet residential corner of Hyogo, is warm and gregarious; the space bustles with activity as a tight-knit group of old friends, accompanied by their partners and spouses, join together for an overdue meal—chatting and laughing and mingling amongst themselves in the lead up to dinner.

You turn a bottle of red wine over in your hands, inspecting the label. Aran (who you had been introduced to as the homeowner upon arriving) had insisted that you help yourself to anything and make yourself at home, and that particular bottle had called your attention since you approached the table of refreshments. You pour a steady stream of ruby-coloured wine into your waiting glass, and then turn to Osamu, standing at your side.

“Would you like some?” you ask him, reaching out to grab a second wineglass. Your fingers are just shy from grasping the stem when you notice it.

The room has gone completely—deathly—silent.

Around you, surprised faces are all turned in your direction. Your eyes go wide at the realization, frozen in place at the sudden shock; but as quickly as you notice it, the other dinner party guests all hurriedly look away and adopt airs as though they hadn’t just stared at you like you’d said something dreadful.

Beside you, Osamu smiles—a gentle, tender expression. 

“’M alright, thank you.”

You watch, still shaken by the unexpected disturbance, as he looks across the room and shares a pointed look with Suna.

You feel uncomfortable for the rest of the night.

Regardless of how delicious it looks, you barely manage to touch your food, let alone your drink. You take small portions and push the food around your plate to make it look like you’ve consumed more of it than you really have, if only to spare you Osamu’s questioning gaze—though you feel his eyes on your profile more than once throughout the meal.

Soon the plates are cleared, and dessert is served, and cups of coffee and tea replace the wine glasses previously held in people’s clutches. You wish it was more relieving than it actually proves to be.

“Hey.” You jump slightly at how close Osamu’s lips are to your ear, how warm his breath is against your skin as he whispers the word. His hand finds a home on your waist as he tucks himself close to you. “Wanna get outta here?”

After thanking the hosts and saying your goodbyes to Osamu’s friends, who all seemed rather insistent on telling you how nice it was to meet you, the two of you are stepping out across the threshold and back into the cool night. To your surprise, you don’t get into his truck, parked under a streetlight in the road. Instead, Osamu catches your hand in his and pulls you further down the sidewalk, away from the little house.

The two of you end up at a playground a few streets away.

It’s empty, though that much is to be expected so late at night. But there’s still something slightly eerie about a place so lively being so silent.

Osamu leads you up to the swing set.

“Get on,” he says as he pats the seat of the swing. You drop his hand, the warmth of his touch retreating as your fingers slip from his own, and obey his request wordlessly.

He pushes you on the swing gently, the chains creaking each time you arc up into the air away from him. The night breeze kisses your cheeks that have been burning for most of the evening, and it’s appreciated; the air is refreshing after how stifling the dinner party had felt. You feel as if you can finally breathe.

This is the neighbourhood Osamu had grown up in. He’d told you so on the drive to the Ojiro house earlier that evening, pointing out some of his old haunts as the two of you made your way through the quiet streets. You like hearing about Osamu’s past, about his life before he met you—and there’s so much of it to learn, considering your relationship is still so very new.

You wonder if he used to swing on this swing set back then.

Osamu stops pushing you suddenly, and as you eventually come to a stop, he rounds the seat of the swing and crouches down in front of you. You blink at him curiously as he peers up at you, his dark eyes pensive. He sighs—a long, drawn-out sound—before laying his face in your lap. 

Instinctively you reach for him, brushing your fingers through the soft strands of his hair.

“‘M sorry,—”

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for, but you have your suspicions.

“—that musta been uncomfortable for you.”

You’re not really sure what to say. Your mind is swimming with questions you’re not sure how to give shape to.

Osamu lifts his face, his chin tucked into the valley between your knees.

“I don’t drink,” he says quietly, a little awkwardly, before talking on a pointed, meaningful, “anymore.”

You’ve only been on a handful of dates with Osamu so far, spanning the course of only a couple of weeks, but he’s always been driving, always had to work the next day, always had a convenient and unremarkable reason to abstain from whatever drink is on offer in favour of a simple glass of water.

Your lips part.

“I didn’t know,” you breathe. 

The horrified eyes suddenly make sense.

“‘Course ya didn’t, I never said anythin’.” Osamu’s answer is firm, like he’s reprimanding you for your remorse.

He leans back on his haunches, still crouched in the gravel of the playground, and looks away. You watch, still too shocked for words, as he laughs wryly and ruffles his dark hair. “Bit hard to tell the most beautiful girl in the world you were an alcoholic before you were old enough to run for mayor.”

He makes a joke of it, but he still looks at you from the corner of his eye like he’s gauging your reaction.

The silence of the little neighbourhood playground is suddenly every bit as stifling as the dinner party.

“How long?” you ask, but you’re not sure if it’s an inappropriate question to pose. This is uncharted territory to you, and every step you might take feels like it could be the wrong one. That worry you might offend him, like you might tread on unsteady ground, feels inundating.

“Three years since i had my last drink, but things were bad for way longer than that,” he says, and he does so without reservation. Osamu’s transparency is refreshing and reassuring, and it helps to ease the choking feeling of anxiety in your throat. “The restaurant industry’s tough—work hard play harder kinda deal. Real long hours, lotta partying. Things were a bit wild when I first opened the shop, ’n got outta control before I even saw it.”

“That must have been hard,” you say.

He turns his face back to look at you properly, and you can’t resist reaching out for him. Your palm presses to the heat of his flushed cheek, thumbing at the soft skin. He leans into your touch.

“Yeah,” he doesn’t deny it, his eyes closing as he noses against your palm.  “Quittin’ was a bitch, but it’s almost harder havin’ to go through the little things like this. Fer the longest time, no one would even have a drink around me. Treated me like the sound of a can crackin’ would send me into a frenzy or somethin’—like i was made of glass.”

He peeks at you again, his lashes fluttering as his eyes open, and you know that the expression that meets him on your face is sympathetic. You hope he doesn’t mind. His hand reaches up to rest over yours as it cradles his cheek, and you take that as a sign that he doesn’t.

“I know it was ‘cause they were worried about me, and i’m grateful for them ’n everything they did. I feel awful about what I put ‘em through when I was at rock bottom.” There’s a look in his eyes you can’t quite place, tender like remorse, but with a ripple of something bitter. Something that flickers like shame behind it all. He sighs. “God, Tsumu dealt with some real ugly shit for a while when i was at my worst. They saved my life, my business, everything. I’m lucky.”

Quietly, you wonder if some day he’ll share more about that time with you. If he’ll give you those pieces of himself and his history for you to know him better, for you to understand the things he’s feeling more clearly. 

You don’t need to hear them tonight, but you hope that the two of you will continue to grow closer, and that he’ll share them with you some day. But there’s still lots of time.

“Ya don’t think I’m some pathetic, washed up loser now, do ya?” Osamu asks, and though he aims for levity, you sense a sincere lilt of insecurity—of panic—in his question.

“Osamu, no,” you say, incredulous that he could ever say that. You take his face in both your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I would never.”

You kiss him, not because you feel you have to but because you need to. It’s gentle and sweet and slow, like all the kisses the two of you have shared so far in your budding romance, and there’s a warmth that’s started to grow familiar—thick and sticky—swelling in your chest for you to drown in.

Osamu parts his lips against your own, his tongue dipping forward to deepen the kiss. He rises to his knees in front of you, gripping the chains of the swing set while you wrap your arms around his neck.

“I really like you,” he admits against the press of your lips, almost like he’s trying to hide how ardently he says it.

It’s not fair how dizzying his words are. Not fair how drunk you feel on five syllables alone.

You pull away from him, but not too far. Just enough distance between you so that you can fight the losing battle of catching your breath.

“Thank you for telling me,” you whisper to him softly, your foreheads pressed together. His nose brushes against yours and he laughs.

Osamu leans back, his hands dropping the chains of the swing and instead coming to rest on your thighs, squeezing lightly. He smiles at you, boyish and bright—a levity in his expression that hadn’t been there before. 

“Thanks fer not runnin’,” he offers to you in turn.

But you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

Not when you still have so much about him left to learn.

[wildlife4life]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the always amazing @rogerzsteven (new fic drop!) @ebdaydreamer @bidisasterbuckdiaz (new fic drop!) @theotherbuckley @wikiangela @daffi-990 and @tizniz (new fic drop!) Thank you all so much and go check out their works!

Doing this on my lunch break, so dropping this snippet from NFL Buck real quick! Hope ya'll enjoy! All things NFL Buck.

It’s their second date after getting back together, after Eddie had attended his first session of therapy and his mind had been whirling, stuck on one particular question. It took him until the main course was served to finally ask, “When did you know?” Evan pulls his hungry gaze from his steaming plate of lasagna to look at Eddie in confusion, “Um, I told you about this place and their lasagna like a week ago and if I recall you-“ “No, not when you knew what you wanted for dinner. Jesus Christ, we really need to take a closer look at your meal plan with how often good food is on your mind.” Eddie snarks. Buck shrugs, unaffected by Eddie’s bitchy remark, “Well now you know the way to my heart.” Then winks. Flustered at his boyfriend’s shameless flirting, Eddie sputtered and flushed.  “You-Evan-you are just-“ The college quarterback chuckled and reached across the table to take Eddie’s hand, “God you are so easy to rile up, its adorable.” He gives his hand a squeeze three times and ducks his head to meet Eddie’s dropped gaze, “Just tell me what you meant. When did I know what?” Eddie sucks in a breath then pushes it out and puts his entire focus on Evan, “When did you know you were bi-sexual?” His boyfriend’s eyes go slightly wide, but he doesn’t look away and the grip on Eddie’s hand tightens, “What-um, what brought this on?” He asks. “Therapy.” Eddie responded, dropping his voice to a lower volume, “I brought up our date to Frank and he steered the conversation into the whole sexual identity and near the end, he told me I should hear other queer stories and that’ll help give me a better understanding of… well who I am.” “That makes a lot of sense. Seeing and hearing others in the community, helps makes sense of the world and shows that you are not alone.” Evan nods in understanding, “So, it’s not just the when of it all, but how too?” “Yea, yea. But you – you don’t have to tell me any of it. Frank pointed out that no one, not even you, owes me their story. I just… Well, I feel really comfortable and safe with you, and I hope it’s the same with me for you. You know? And I always want to know more about you, and this is a part of it. Also, it’s just so- “ “Hey, hey, hey. Eddie. You’re rambling. Which is my thing.” Buck cuts in, giving Eddie a chance to suck in break in his word spew. The younger man chuckles, “Going give me quite the complex directing all this at me.” “I’m sorry.” Eddie breaths out, gripping Evan’s hand tighter. “No apologies needed. Seriously. I am really honored, because I do feel comfortable and safe with you and I am so fucking ecstatic that you do as well.” ‘I feel like I could give you, my heart.’ Eddie thought but doesn’t voice the words. It’s too soon, he just got Evan back, and he’s just beginning to untangle the mess that was his mind and life. Instead, he says, “Me too.” He eases his grip and begins to play with Buck’s fingers, “So you’ll tell me?”

Getting some backstory of the boys and yes a version of Tommy is a part of it.

Tagging (no pressure): @spotsandsocks @diazsdimples @dangerpronebuddie @hippolotamus @jesuisici33 @try-set-me-on-fire @devirnis @bi-buckrights @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @rainbow-nerdss @watchyourbuck @perfectlysunny02 @aroeddiediaz @loserdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @lemonzestywrites @evanbegins @bi-buck-coded @glorious-spoon @thekristen999 @sunshinediaz @ladydorian05 @lover-of-mine @hoodie-buck @elvensorceress @bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @bekkachaos @thewolvesof1998 @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @bibuckbuckley @honestlydarkprincess @doublecheekeddiaz @prosperdemeter2 @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @bigfootsmom @911onabc @911-on-abc @smilingbuckley

[sc0tters]

Secrets Kept | Carter Hart

summary: when surprises turn to secrets it almost leads to the end of your relationship.

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol.

word count: 1.12k

authors note: we are onto our last new goalie of the dedication and I’ve got to say this might be my favourite piece so far. also look at this man, he’s GOREGOUS. If you want to see more from the dedication you can find the masterlist here!

Carter had been acting weirdly for weeks.

You had first noticed it when he removed your Face ID from his phone. Sure it was small but when he started coming home later than normal after practices and was no longer in even in his sweaty clothing.

It killed you to even think that Carter could have been cheating on you, he had been your boyfriend since you were freshmen in high school and you couldn’t see yourself yourself with anyone else. Yet as you stared at the meal you prepared for the two of you it made you feel sick.

He hadn’t come home and as the steam now disappeared from your plates and your third glass of wine was empty “he isn’t coming.” You sighed getting up as you put his plate in the fridge and placed yours in the microwave.

You changed out of your dress settling for his sweatpants and a hoodie before you found your way to the couch. It felt like a punch to your gut as you watched the bachelor “I’m home!” Carter called out as you heard his keys drop into the bowl by the door.

Not even bothering to pause the tv you just continued watching as he walked in “hey baby.” As the hockey player crawled onto the couch next to you as he smiled “you okay?” He furrowed his eyebrows waving his hand in front of your face.

You glared at him as you paused the tv “what did you get up to today?” You asked deciding that your patience had waivered thin and you were losing it now “just practice.” The smell of musk and oak from his shower gel you knew that it wasn’t true as his feet were in his sneakers rather than his slides “I can’t do this anymore Cart.” You sighed getting up as you made sure to slide away from his touch.

All he could do was watch as you stood up “what are you saying baby?” The irritation in your voice showed that you were talking about more than just the show on the tv.

Carter watched as you pushed your hair out of your face as you sighed “I know you’re cheating on me!” You felt like you had been taken to be a fool as you let the top of your anger come out.

He remained silent as it was clear that you had so much more to say “like I understand why you don’t wanna admit it but I’ve caught you!” As you flung your arms around Carter got up and caught them before you let them hit his chest “I’m not cheating on you!” Carter called out causing your body to freeze.

Somehow those words didn’t make you feel any better as you instead cocked your head as you furrowed your eyebrows “huh?” You wondered if you had heard him correctly as you waited for him to repeat his words “I’m not cheating on you.” As you calmed down Carter gave your hand a squeeze.

That left you with more questions than you had answers “but you’ve been coming home after practices.” If he had been at practice the entire time you would have not noticed but coming home three hours later than normal was a cause for concern from you.

You took a large gulp of air like his silence spoke for him “where are you going!” You scoffed watching him get up and head in the direction of your bedroom. Sure Carter wasn’t the most comforting man in your life but this made you feel like each time you stood up to your mom for him was for nothing.

Carter turned over his shoulder to send you a smile “you’ll see.” As he disappeared into your bedroom you truly began to wonder if you were watching this situation go down properly.

As you picked at your nails you watched him come back out and visually it looked like nothing had changed “I was not cheating on you.” He repeated for a third time now making your eyes roll “tell me once-” “I was planning the proposal.” Carter confessed as he held up the velvet ring box in his hand.

You gasped letting your hand slap over your mouth in shock “I figured it could be a good surprise.” He explained with a smile “was meant to do this whole thing in town.” The goalie shook his head as he went down to one knee.

In that moment your mind went a million miles a minute as you struggled to process the events in front of you “from the moment I met you y/n we’ve never gone the quiet route.” Carter smiled as you laughed “knew I wanted to be with you the moment we got paired up in calculus.” You remembered hating that teacher for partnering you up with a hockey player. You swore he wasn’t going to do any work and then Carter made it his life mission to prove you wrong.

He watched as your eyes lit up at the memory “maybe you weren’t that bad.” You teased trying to ignore the way your voice broke and you got emotional “you’ve been by my side through college, through the NHL and now I can’t imagine the rest of my life without you in it.” The random orders of flowers to your home finally made sense, they weren’t sent to the wrong address, Carter loved seeing you smile without you knowing it was him.

You dropped to your knees letting your hand run along his thigh “I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with you if you’ll let me.” At that point you were then crying as Carter reached up to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

Part of him forgot that he was in the middle of proposing to as it caused Carter to open the box as he smiled “so I’m asking if you’ll marry me?” Rather than allowing him to slip the ring onto your finger your instead wrapped your arms around him causing you both to fall back onto the floor.

Your lips peppered his face with kisses causing him to erupt with laughter “baby I need an answer.” The goalie wrapped his arms around your waist as he looked up at you “I’d love to be your wife.” You mumbled kissing his lips.

Carter got lost in it before you pulled away “as long as you don’t cheat on me.” You sent him a skeptical look as you shifted to straddle his waist now allowing him to sit up “I wouldn’t dream of it future Mrs Hart.” Carter shook his head before he kissed your lips again this time letting his fingers slip the ring on your finger.

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter II : Although a monster [Joel] could be charming in company

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Content Warnings: Angst, possessive behavior, unprotected sex (there are no condoms in the apocalypse, only vibes), oral sex (f!receiving), squirting, brief non-graphic descriptions of medical procedures / illness,  brief discussion of avoiding meals (no reference to any sort of ED), stupid! Joel ™️

Summary: Joel gets a little stupid and a little jealous.

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: I wanted to mention that that I've altered the timeline a smidge to benefit my own whims. So the Joel we find here is about 50-51 and our reader is in her mid to late 20's (cw: age gap 🤓) Everything else in the timeline is the same up until Joel and Ellie return to Jackson.

Another thing, I hella make shit up in this chapter. I talk about a surgical device and there’s discussions of like mechanical/electrical engineering? which I know fuck all about. So if it reads as nonsense I sincerely apologize. There’s a fair bit of character/world building in this ch. so I hope you all can bear with me for a smidge. There is the gift of porn at the end though >:) 

Chapter title is from Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red (my favorite book in the whole world which everyone should read). Art is Intimacy by Angelica Alzona

Word count: a whopping 9.6k (I'm so sorry 😭)

Read on AO3

CHAPTER II: Although a monster [Joel] could be charming in company

What it looked like?

Like fucking the forest for once birdless, beastless.

Like measuring the distance between all that’s lost

and everything else that, even now, waved at 

hard enough sometimes,

will sometimes wave back.

But it felt like swallowing the sea– 

being forced to, ships and all. 

Then a silence as vast as it was particular.

The like holding a mirror up to Apollo

and expecting his face there, when Apollo’s always been

faceless, obviously, being a god.

And the hand still holding the mirror up anyway.

And the face not showing.

-Carl Phillips, Star Map with Action Figures

“I mean, yeah, I’d fuckin’ like to think so. I’m not sure. She told me –”

“Ellie, you’re overthinking the hell out of it.”

“I am not,” she grumbles.

“You’re a dumbass,” you deadpan.

That riles her up. “Me?! You!”

“What’ve I done? It’s pretty obvious what’s happening here – Dina wants you to ask her out – you’re too chicken shit to step up.”

“Okay, genius. Y’don’t know what you’re talking about, first of all.” The sass on this girl, honestly. The two of you sit together at the picnic tables that’d been set out in the town center for the monthly barbecue. “You think you’re so damn smart. Well lemme just ask you this, what’s going on with Joel? You two’ve been weird as fuck lately.” That shuts you up quick.

“Don’t even start with that. The answer is nothing.”

She gives you that knowing look of hers, but let’s it go. Silently says: I know this hurts, so I won’t push. Out loud: “You started it, motherfucker.” You yank on her bangs, and she swats you away. “Maybe I should call you a fatherfucker instead,” she cackles. 

“Oh my god, I actually hate you.” You try and swat her back, yank on her bangs again. 

“What’re you two schemin’ about?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Speak’a the devil,” she says under her breath, starting to gather up her empty plate.“Nothing–” She shoots up, and brushes past, “Gotta go. We’ll talk later,” not even sparing him a glance. You look between the two of them wishing there was anything you could do to help them bridge this cold distance between them. She turns before walking off, gives you the finger behind his back. 

“Ellie, hold on a sec,” you call after her, but she’s off.

“It’s fine,” Joel says. “Leave it.”

“I’m sorry,” shielding your eyes from the bright sun, you look up into his serious face.

He shakes his head. “Nothin’ for you to be sorry about. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.” And that stings. Off-handedly as it’s said, it stings that he thinks their rift doesn’t affect you, make you hurt for the two of them.

How could he ever think that after everything he’d told you about Sarah –  a night that’d made you feel closer to him than ever before, while you two lay in bed, still damp and trembling – that you’d not worry about his relationship now with Ellie? Who you knew he loved like a daughter, even if he was incapable of saying it out loud. How could he think it had nothing to do with you now? After what he’d told you about himself in the aftermath of Sarah. That moment, his confession, could sustain you for a lifetime of this push and pull if necessary. With trust like that, what else mattered? Very little, you thought. 

“You get everything done you needed to?” he threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck, and bends to press a soft kiss to your temple. 

You sigh, basking in this small tenderness he offers you after his casual hurt. “Yeah, we finished.” Sometimes you wonder if there’s something wrong with you, taking all this in stride. Luxuriating in his offerings of tenderness and vulnerability one second, swallowing the way he casually brushes you off another. Surely there must be something wrong with you. Especially because, when it comes down to it, you don’t really care as much as you think you should . 

“How’d it go?” You’d had to debride some areas from Mr. Schwartz’s diabetic foot this morning – super fun for the both of you . The foot was famous in Jackson. A great source of shrieks and giggles when the old man decided to pull it out in front of the kids as his so-called ‘party trick’. We all gotta bring something fun to the table, honey, he’d tell you when you tried to put on your false tone of admonishment with him. 

“Long – I had to take more than I’d initially thought I’d need to.”

“He alright?”

“Resting now… Just means it’ll be harder for him later on – take longer to recover, as best he can, in any case. And ideally, what he really needs is a boot – which we have – one… but it’s not in great condition. I don’t even know if it’ll fit him – or a wheelchair, and both of them are being used right now. So, seems my only other option is to order him into bed until I can figure something else out. And of course Connie’s all, this is on you, honey. I trust your judgment, honey. ” You deepen your tone and scrunch your brow trying to inflect Connie’s baritone. “As if that’s helpful.” 

He grips your chin, forcing you to take a breath, brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, and your eyes flutter shut, pressing a tiny kiss to the pad of his thumb. He hums a little, and you catch the flare of heat in his eyes. “You’ll worry yourself half to death, little bird. Take a breath.” You huff a small laugh. He was right about that, worry was heavy on your mind recently. About lots of different things. 

“I fixed you a plate,” you divert. 

“You didn’t have to do that, sweetheart. Thank you.” He swings his long leg over the bench to sit astride it, legs open to pull you between his thighs.

“S’alright. I was getting Connie’s anyway.” He digs in, and you card your fingers through his thick hair – overly long now, it brushes the collar of his shirt in the back, you’ll need to cut it for him soon – and watch the thick column of his throat ripple as he swallows. You press your thighs together – the sun is so strong today. You think it might be making you a little delirious. 

“You’re not eating.” It isn’t a question, posed more like an admonishment, paired with the severe crook of his brow. 

“Nah, I’m alright. Can’t have anything just yet after staring at that foot all morning,” you joke.

“You telling me you’re not as entertained by it as the kids are?” 

You roll your eyes at him. “Shocking, I know.”

He turns to give you an assessing glance now, “You sure you’re alright?”

“Just tired.” You lay your head in the cool, dark crook of his neck, breathe him in. “Birdie …” voice laced with concern – he tries to gently tug you back by your ponytail, but you burrow in further – press your lips to the pulsing vein in his neck. “I’m fine, Joel. Just tired, really.” He huffs. Grouchy man. 

“Hi, honey,” Connie shuffles up to the table. “Joel–” he nods, “You two alright ? That go a long time with Mr. Shwartz?” he asks. 

You’re grateful for the distraction from Joel’s fifth degree. “It was fine. Our handy dandy Bovie is so good.” You’d done your best recently to fashion an electrocautery device, like the ones they’d used before in surgery. The two of you had gathered the different parts over time and much voracious scavenging, to put the system together. “You’ve gotta try it next. We should be real proud of that.”

“You should be proud. You’ve got a nice mechanical mind in you, as well. You know, Joel, the body is just a machine of flesh and blood.” Connie turns his blue eyes, gone slightly milky now, on Joel, ready to impart his slice of wisdom – part lecture, part proud tirade for your benefit, as the younger man continues to work through his plate of barbecue. “She looks at the two the same way; it’s very impressive.” 

Joel finishes chewing: “Our girl is nothin’ if not impressive,” he says, giving you an impish little smirk. You pinch the inside of his thigh over the thick denim, not imparting nearly enough punishment as you’d like to. 

“Shut up,” you grouch at him. “Anyways, the lines were pretty sharp, the cauterization clean. A bit slow, though. I felt a bit held back – but not too bad, considering.”

“Considering…” Connie muses. He starts to eat as well, and the sight of the slick, sauce covered meat is slightly revolting. The sun is way too hot with the change of season into fall just on the cusp, and after staring at poor Mr. Schwartz’s mangled foot all day…  “I’m thinking with a little more juice it’ll be perfect. We just have to find a way to feed it more power without frying the whole system.”

“Yes…  it’s delicate,” he says slowly.”You should ask Noah for advice.” Joel is silent beside you, but you feel the tensing of his thigh beneath your palm at the mention of Noah’s name. “He’s always been very keen to help us in any way we need.”

“Oh, has he?” Joel drawls, in that monotone he loves to use when cutting people down. He can’t fucking stand Noah; it’s quite funny to you, actually. You nudge his knee with your own, still cradled between his spread legs, and drag your nails slowly up and down his thigh, only responding with a non-committal hum. He shifts his jaw in that way he’s wont to do when he’s especially aggravated, cocks his eyebrow at you. You give him a tiny little mocking tilt of your head. You’re sure he can see the laughter at his expense in your eyes. 

“Yes,” Connie continues, completely oblivious to the silent conversation going on between the two of you, “He’s very adept at anything electrical or mechanical. Although, you are, as well, Joel. Perhaps you could advise us too. Any help would be greatly appreciated.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but I can take a look. Offer what I can.” 

You change the subject: “Teddy’s been in again this week.” One of the single mother’s in Jackson, Susanna’s son, Teddy, had been continuously ill the past few months. Coming down with different, seemingly unrelated afflictions on and off. His mother was beside herself with worry, and you and Connie were reaching your limits on what you could do to help him. Much less actually provide a clear answer as to a diagnosis. 

“Yes, I spoke to his mother last night. Some sort of ague again, undoubtedly.”

You roll your eyes at him affectionately. Connie loved to condemn undiagnosable patients with ‘the ague’. “Connie, the ague is absolutely not a valid form of diagnosis,” you laugh. That launches him into a tirade about the conundrum the boys posed to the both of you these past few weeks. And ague is a perfectly valid explanation, honey. Neither of you are certain what’s causing his bouts of illness. Though you’re reluctantly leaning towards something that won’t pose anything good for any of you; you’re trying to remain optimistic, but the uncertainty is taking a toll on the both of you, as well as his mother. 

As Connie goes on, there’s a hazy buzz rumbling around in your brain. Your temples throb, and you press the tender spot into the hard mass of Joel’s shoulder. He’s finished eating now, and you nuzzle into him, breathe in the warm scent of his skin and sweat, grip the hard swell of his bicep – the thick muscle has the most inappropriate arousal pooling low in your belly, but your stomach churns at the same time, and the sun is so damn bright. Too many opposing sensations going on within you all at once, you’re sure you’re on the verge of sun poisoning – dramatic – and it’s making you needy. Infecting you with ideas of crawling into his lap and having him cradle you. He stiffens beneath your attentions suddenly. The soothing large palm he’d been dragging up and down your spine goes still, pausing with his fingertips tucked just below the waistband of your jeans – as if he’s just now realizing how openly affectionate the two of you are being – his muscles go rigid at your display, and then that’s it. He’s pulling away. 

Your gut twists again, your head is really spinning now – you straighten in your seat, scoot back and out of the cradle of his thighs, as far as the bench allows you. Always fucking pulling away. He’s stiff and uncomfortable, but at your retreat he clicks his tongue at you, frowns a little, and you want to snap at his subtle admonishment – you started it, what are you frowning at me for?

Connie is still going on about Teddy. “You sure you’re alright, dear?” he interrupts himself. “You look a bit peaky.”

“I’m fine.” You stand abruptly, “I’ve got to head back, actually.” Joel turns to reach for you, but you step back and away from his fingers. The heat is definitely making you grouchy, sick; you’re not acting yourself. “I promised Mr. Schwartz I’d be back to check on him within the hour.” You don’t want to look at Joel anymore – you’re used to his sudden bouts of tension – discomfort – but something is setting you on edge today. 

“You should eat something before you go, honey,” Connie says – looking up at you with concern.

“I had something before I came. I’m okay.” You turn to look at Joel now, as the lie passes your lips, a provocation held in your eyes and tone.

He frowns, “You said –” 

“I’ll see you two later.”

“Birdie –” But you’ve turned from him before he can continue, walking away quickly. Your head is spinning, gut cramping and turning over on itself. The sun feels like it’s two feet away from you, bearing down on the crown of your head, and you know you’re about to be sick. Always fucking pulling away, always. It embarrasses you a little that you still chafe at it, the back of your eyes pinching and saliva pooling heavy on your tongue. You know the way he is. 

You make it back to the clinic just in time to vomit behind the bushes on the side of the house. 

Jesus. 

-

Susanna brings Teddy into the clinic late in the evening. You’ve just finished writing up your operative note for the ‘famous foot’ (Mr. Schwartz’s words, not yours) when she flies in, frantic, with the listless child in her arms. She tells you he’d been lethargic and without an appetite all day, but she’d chalked it up to fatigue and melancholy from being ill and bedridden so often, recently. His fever had crept up out of nowhere, and now Teddy was almost unconscious, burning hot and delirious – words slurring, eyes glassy. 

It’d been hours since then. Teddy was now resting quietly with cool compresses and ice bags tucked under his arms and against his neck which seemed to be helping. Susanna had retired to the back of the house to rest for a bit, and you now sat between Mr. Schwartz and the boy, quietly reading over a text both you and Connie had already gone over multiple times – hoping to find anything that’d inspire an explanation. Most concerningly of all, you’d noticed a smattering of purple-yellowish, sickly looking bruises along Teddy’s spine. It pushed you in the direction your mind had previously taken concerning what could potentially be the cause of all of this. And even though it was the first you’d seen of any bruising on him, it didn’t reassure you at all. 

-

“Joel’s here,” Nancy, the nurse that worked with you and Connie, says quietly from the doorway. You stand from your bedside vigil, sighing. It’s late, and you don’t want to do this now. A little embarrassed from your earlier fit. A lot tired from the long day and throwing up and the heat. 

“Can you come out and get me in two minutes, please? Interrupt us.” 

She gives you an assessing look. “Sure.”

You walk out to the office to find him leaning against your cluttered desk, bulging arms crossed against his chest, straining the sleeves of his button down. There’s a far off look in his eyes, scowl marring his brow, but when he looks up at you all the tightness in his countenance seems to melt away at the sight of you. “You alright?” His gaze is assessing – sweeping up and down your frame, taking everything in like always. The man sees entirely too much. 

“I’m fine. I need to stay here tonight, though.” You jerk your thumb back towards the exam room. “They need me.”

“You said you were tired.”

“It passed – just the sun.” He looks at you like he doesn’t really believe you. 

“About earlier—”

“It’s fine, Joel.” You feel too tired, too strung out, to give him an out by pretending to ignore that he’d hurt you, pissed you off. Let it be what it was – you had a sick child to care for – couldn’t think about all the distance that would seemingly exist forever between the two of you, not right now, at least. 

“You lied about eating.”

Oh, now he wanted to be fucking honest. You roll your eyes at him, watch his jaw clench. “What?” Tone bratty and antagonistic, “No I didn’t – you misunderstood.”

“You told me you didn’t want to eat, and then you told Connie, not fifteen minutes later, that you’d already eaten.” 

“Well then I misspoke – that’s not what I meant.” You turn away from him towards the desk, busy your hands with the papers littered across its surface to avoid his eyes. You feel like fighting – like baring your teeth at him, and you hate it. You don’t want to fight with him, ever. You want, need, things to be okay between the two of you. “Why are we arguing about this? I have to get back.” The bite in your voice startles you for a second, and your hands pause their shuffling. Turning back to face him, wide eyed and shocked at the way you practically spit the words at him, but, fuck it, you decide to just go with it. 

He doesn’t let you, though – doesn’t take your bait. You watch the muscle in his jaw feather rapidly as he grinds his teeth, fists curled into knots at his sides like he’s trying to restrain himself from throttling you – and you think you’d kind of like him to do it. You’ve gotta be PMSing or something because where is all this sudden desire for violence coming from? You definitely need to sleep soon. 

He exhales a slow breath through his nose.  “Not try’na argue, baby… just figure out what’s wrong.” Your heart twists painfully, the back of your eyes pinching and hot, and you will not cry right now. His words make you even more angry because if he cares so much about such seemingly small things like this, why can’t he just let everything else fall into place between you as well?

Nancy pops her head through the open door, calling your name, “Need you when you’ve got a second.”

“Be right there, Nance.” You throw her a grateful look. 

Turning back to Joel you rub your forehead, trying to press the ache that’s taking root in your brain out with your fingertips. “Nothing… nothing’s wrong. I’m just…” you sigh, suddenly very sad, very tired. You take in his weathered face, his brow pulled down into a scowl anyone who knew him less would take for anger, but you see it for what it is: concern, discomfort, frustration at the tension that’s held constant between the two of you all day. The both of you pulling away and then yanking each other back. You can see he wants to move past this, avoid whatever fight is brewing – too much for him to handle. You know he hates it when you’re angry and annoyed with him, and doesn’t that have to mean something? Please, please it must mean something more. But you’re too tired for this now, your body overwrought from its brief bout of sickness earlier, from your long day. You’d like to go to bed with him and not wake up for a year. Lay on his chest and feel the movement of his breathing rock you to sleep, count the spaces between his ribs, make a home for yourself within them. A great jealousy for his heart, the organ itself, writhes in you, that it gets to live inside him. You’re feeling melancholy and exhausted and overly emotional . Sad that even when he’s the source of your turmoil, your hurt, he’s still the only one you want to go to for comfort. You clear your throat, “I’m fine, Joel. Really.” You try and give him a small smile. “I was in a mood earlier, but I’m okay now.”

“I need us to be okay, Birdie. I– I know…” he looks away, hisses through his teeth in frustration. “I know I don’t always act like it, but–”

You hold up a hand to stop him. You don’t want to, can’t, listen to him try and make excuses. Explain to you things you’ve always understood about what this thing is between the two of you. “We don’t need to do this. I promise everything’s fine. I need to get back.” You step forward to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, to appease the both of you, but also if only because you can’t help but touch him when he’s near, hands snaking up his belly and chest to fist in the collar of his shirt. He hums low in his throat and grips the back of your neck, other hand low on your back to press you to him, and everything inside you goes liquid hot and wanting, just at the feel of him, the scent of him.

“Try and rest.” He breathes you in at the crown of your head, and you nod against his chest.

“I will. Don’t worry.” But you know he’ll do that anyways, and that alone is a comfort.

-

Connie meanders in about midnight, nocturnal creature that he is, to check on you all. You’d pulled the armchair from the office into the corner of the infirmary while you read in the corner. An all night vigil wasn’t exactly necessary – Teddy’s fever had broken about an hour ago, his vitals were stable, and Mr. Schwartz had been snoring the night away for hours. Nancy lived on the second floor of the house, and was always near and available if necessary, but you were peaceful here. Tucked away in your corner with your book and a throw draped over your folded knees. The anxiety you’d carried heavy in your belly all day had dissipated. Thoughts of Joel settled now, compared to the frenzied hysterical swarm they’d been all day. Sometimes this need for him scared you. That your mood, your physical self, could so easily be altered by him, by his own mood, his words, his touch. The tether he held you by was so strong, it felt unbreakable, permanent. It scared you to think what would become of you if one day he decided to break it.

Connie passes a hand over the boy’s forehead, murmuring to himself as he examines him, pops his stethoscope in to take a listen. His movements are slow and practiced, methodical. You’d always loved watching him work. You’ve passed so far into the realms of exhaustion, you’re a little delirious now, your mind and vision hazy, and you rest your head against the wingback and watch. “He’s settled now. Vitals are steady.” You hum in agreement.

He turns to look at you then, his gaze contemplative as he takes a seat on the bench along the end of the bed directly in front of you. His tired groan makes you smile a little, old man. The fondness for him squeezes your heart. He has something to say, you can tell. “I know your father was an exacting man,” he starts. You nod, still quiet. You know that now is a time for listening. “I think of him often. I know I never met him, but he wanders into my mind quite frequently. I think of the things you’ve told me about him, about your mother and sister–” When you’d first become close, it’d been hard for you to speak of your family, of Beth and her death, but eventually you’d forced yourself to. For no other reason than that the thought of you being the only person left in the world that remembered their names, that knew their stories, wrought a grief in you so profound, it was impossible to keep it all inside. You were scared if you didn’t share, if you carried all that alone, you’d lose yourself in their memories forever. “I think that after all that, after living their deaths in such a gruesome way, it could have been very easy for you to lose yourself in all that. Do you agree?” Another small tilt of your chin. The precision with which he’d always read you, understood you, was the greatest comfort in the world. That sometimes it wasn’t even necessary to tell him out loud what it was you were feeling or needed for him to pick up on it. 

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” you finally say.

“No…” his eyes take on the thoughtful look he gets, the one that makes you wish you could read his mind sometimes, read the wonderings of that brilliant mind like one of your textbooks. “Instead, you became a splendid and thoughtful physician. A seemingly impossible thing, no? Now, with the state of the world for you to have pieced together a vocation such as this…” his milky blue eyes glint with humor, pride, “Well, it’s all very impressive, my dear.”

“Thank you,” you acknowledge. 

“And even more impressive, considering the fact, that had you been given a choice in the matter, you would never have chosen this for yourself… had the world been different, normal.” And there it is again, that keen sense of knowing.

“Yes.” There is nothing more to say. It is, after all, your most painful, most honest, most shameful truth. Painful, not in the sense that you carried any regret now, when you cared for your patients, when you put the knowledge your father and Connie had given you into practice. But painful in the sense that it chafed at your skin, that desire for other . That small seed that had the great potential of growth within you, to spread like ivy around a house, and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, until all you were left with were thoughts of what could have been. 

“But like I said… your father was an exacting man, and this is what he chose for you. And then, perhaps, even I played a part in that same theft of choice from you.” You try to interrupt him then, to vehemently deny it, but he continues unheeded. “You got here and you seemed to be a sort of benediction to me. A vessel for all the knowledge I could impart on you. A shepherd I could leave this flock to.” He slips his glasses off the bridge of his nose and wipes them slowly with the hem of his sweater. “I know you’ll take good care of them when I’m no longer here. That they could not have ended up in better, more caring hands.” You hate when he talks about his dying, fills you with a premonitory dread you don’t know how you’ll cope with when it becomes actuality. “But alas, you did what was set upon you, took it all in stride.” He pauses, as if contemplating what he’s about to say next, and you know the point of all this has arrived. You even know where it is he’s going with this. 

“I say all this, my dear, not to dredge up old painful memories, or reminders of what could have been… But because I would not like to see your choices taken from you once again.” And there it is. He levels his gaze at you, quiet for several moments, and it’s like he is here in the room with you now, his presence, his unsaid name heavy and poignant.

“Joel’s a good man, honey, but he’s a hurt man. Hurt in a way I don’t think even you could cure.” 

Your instinct to defend him is immediate. “He’s not— he’s not a hurt man.” You shake your head, brow furrowed, “He’s been hurt before, but it doesn’t define him, Connie. It’s not the sole contributor to who he is.” And that’s true, you know it is. Believe it to your very core. You, who knows Joel better than few others, you know the pains of his past don’t define him.  Perhaps before, they did. A pain so acute it molded him into a creature focused only on survival, or perhaps, he let it get the better of him at times. But he is so much more than all that. Has the strength and the will to set it aside when he so chooses to. Ellie being the perfect example of that. 

Choices, choices, those were the things that defined a person.

“Isn’t it? You can’t live off the potential you see in someone forever.”

“I hate it when you say that.” You sit up, let your feet drop to the floor, and lean forward to stress your point. “What are we all, if not vessels of untapped potential? We’re all just walking around with the possibility of something more inside of us. Of course, of course I value the potential I see in him! I know he has the possibility of so, so much inside of him – that’s what makes me… That’s why I –” You cut yourself off before you can make that confession, a choked sound leaving your throat. You look out the nearby window at the dark street, press your thumb hard into the center of your forehead, will the tension and frustration out of the skin and bone. 

“I know… I know,” he says gently, offering you his hands, palms up – a sign of concession. “But it’s not enough to hang all your hopes and dreams on just that. I want more for you than just that . I want you to have choices. To be able to have what you truly want, what you truly need. I would not like to know that something unfulfilling has been forced upon you once again by the circumstances of this world.” And he says it so sadly, with a look of such tenderness in his eyes, it makes embarrassment burn hot and red in your cheeks. The back of your eyes pinch. What must they all think of me when they see us together? The part that perhaps does, or should, make you the most embarrassed, is that you don’t really care at all. Not in any substantial way that would make a real difference, make you act differently. “I’m not unfulfilled, Connie. I love what we do here,” you say softly.

“I know that, I know. But still…I just–”

You rest your aching head in your cupped palms, bent elbows propped on your knees. You’re so fucking tired. “Connie, please, I know…” you whisper. “Just, please, no more tonight… I’m exhausted. You can tell me all this another time – tomorrow. Just no more tonight.”

“Alright, alright, dear. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to give you grief.” He stands, comes towards you to rest a gentle palm on your shoulder.

“I know… and you’re not… It’s me.”

“I only want good things for you, darling girl.” You press your hand over his on your shoulder, give a short nod. 

“Go home – you need rest. Nancy will stay with them.”

“I can sit for a few more hours. Teddy likes to know I’m here.”

“No, no,” his voice takes on that stern fatherly tone he likes to whip you into shape with sometimes. “Enough for tonight. They’ll both be fine. You’ll see them tomorrow.”

You scrunch your nose at him, “Bossy.” But you stand to go, draping the blanket over the back of the chair. He pulls you in for a hug then, envelops you in the comfort and steadiness he’s always offered you, from the very start. He always smells faintly of peppermint and mothballs and old paper. “It’ll all work itself out, my dear. You’ll find a way. You always do. I’m not worried about that.”

-

Joel watches you leave the clinic from his spot in the shadows across the road. He’s been posted here, obstinate and pissed off with himself, for hours. Especially because he’s certain this must be a new low for him, sulking in the dark, watching for you like a creep. But he just wanted to be close to you. He knows you lied to put him off earlier. Your conversation had left him unsatisfied, restless. He knows you’re pulling away because he’s pulling away. Because he’s putting you off, and he tells himself he’ll give you space, tells himself that’s what’s best, but knows it’s a lie as he thinks it. 

The thing is, despite his obstinance, Joel was not a man who lacked self awareness. He was, in fact, very good at recognizing a thing within himself, and yet still able to make a conscious decision to feign ignorance towards it to the outside world. This set up worked well for him – sometimes … on occasion… But this was different, and he knew it. Feigning ignorance would not work between the two of you for much longer. You were getting tired and sad and frustrated with him and he could see it and hated himself for being the cause of it. And if he was being honest with himself, which in this moment, he was trying to be, he was getting tired of it too, tired of himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in this position with a woman. On the verge of … something. Something he couldn’t confess, even to himself, yet. But to allow himself that, to allow himself the simple act of even admitting what he knew was the truth of his feelings for you – there was a part of him, a very broken part that had not been used in a long, long time, that couldn’t even imagine it. To allow himself that sort of vulnerability. To allow himself the truth of there existing another person in this world, in what this world had become, a partner – a woman he cared for, needed . It was too vulnerable, too precious a thing to allow himself. Perhaps before, perhaps in a world not overrun by death and disease and violence – by loss. 

But what did that even look like anymore? A world bereft of monstrousness? Wiped clean of the beasts that had overtaken it, human or infected. Could Joel even remember such a thing – even imagine it, if only in his dreams? He couldn’t even discern which of the two was worse anymore. Part of him knew it didn’t really matter. Not in the end. It was all conjecture when it came down to losing your life – losing the person you loved. Whether it was fungus or a bullet – dead was dead.

Sometimes he didn't even feel like a person anymore. Just this thing that existed at the periphery of the world. In the moments when he pushed you away, when he turned from the loving look in your face, forced himself to brush off your words and your affection, to hold you at arms length – to protect the vulnerable, scarred mass of his heart – those were the moments in which he was most like a creature, least like a man. 

He thought of a world where he felt safe enough to go to the woman he loved, his Birdie, hold you in his arms and say: here is everything I have for you, I’m begging you, please take it . 

Such a world didn’t exist in Joel’s mind. Couldn’t fit. He’d been stripped of the ability. To have something so vulnerable and new. A type of fragile he’d not held since his twelve year old daughter lay bleeding and broken in his arms, and have the ability to say I am strong enough to endure the possible loss of this. I need you this badly. So badly I am willing to risk even my own heart. 

It looked like trying to swallow the sea. 

He follows you home in the darkness. 

-

“You get that fixed alright?” Joel’s voice barks from the mouth of the garage. You startle, your knee slamming into the underside of the workbench. Deciding to follow through on Connie’s suggestion from yesterday, you’d come to see Noah, knocking on his door bright and early this morning, Bovie clutched in your hands. He’d been more than happy to give it a look for you. The two of you had been sitting here for about an hour now, and in that time you’d seen Joel’s form stalk by at least three times, from out of the corner of your eye. Absurd man that he was, you knew he’d been psyching himself up to barge in here and interrupt the two of you. Seemed he’d brought his attitude with him.

“Jesus, man–” Noah’s hand grips your smarting knee, rubbing it gently, “We didn’t hear you come up.” Joel’s left eye twitches at the we, his gaze zeroed in on the hand on your knee, his teeth bared in the perpetuation of a ridiculous growl as he takes a threatening step forward. You lift your brows at him – all your fire and fight from yesterday put to rest now after some much needed sleep. He cocks his brow back at you, shifts his jaw side to side in annoyance.

“Absorbed in your work?” he drawls sardonically.

“We’ve made some good progress actually! Come see,” Noah says, completely missing Joel’s mocking tone, the poor thing. He gives your knee another gentle pat, and you think you might just see steam come out of Joel’s ears. He steps up behind you, chest pressed close to your back and passes a hand over your hair, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. This fucking guy. Now he feels like getting handsy. You scrunch your nose at him, turning back to face Noah and the Bovie, your shoulder pressing into Joel’s belly. Noah takes in your positions, the possessive hand now curled around your neck – looks back down at the knee he’d just grabbed and then back to Joel’s broad intimidating form and scowling face. You see a slow swallow move through his throat. As he starts to explain the changes the two of you had made to the electrocautery generator, you consider the differences between the two of them. The contrast is stark. Noah isn’t small by any means, average height, a nice build – but there’s something about Joel. Some sort of warning in the air around him, in the space he takes up in a room, that makes him larger than life – something that says don’t fuck with me or mine. Heat pools low in your belly and you press your thighs together tightly. Fucked up, you’re fucked up – you try to brush his hand off your neck – suddenly feeling overwhelmed, your skin overly sensitized. “Quit –” he says low in your ear and you almost whimper. He’s jealous, and it’s turning you on. There’s definitely something wrong with you. 

You try to shake him off again,“ Let go.”

“No.” His voice is steel. Noah is heedlessly going on about the Bovie, about how it only took a slight rewiring from the generator into the hand-piece without overwhelming the system; giving it the little bump of power it was missing. Joel’s thumb brushes a slow, warning path up and down your neck. Down, down, to the top notch of your vertebrae, slowly kneading the fine muscles surrounding the prominence of your bone and then up and pushing into the base of your skull. His hands are warm and dry – the rough calluses abrading your sensitive skin. You feel the flush in your cheeks traveling down over your chest, the tips of your breasts tightening to painful points. You see Joel’s eyes flicker down, taking you in, and he gives a contemplative hum low in his throat.

“I’m so glad you let me help,” Noah says with a warm smile. He’s sweet and so genuine and as you take him in, how completely unaware he is of the silent struggle going on between you and Joel right in front of him, you’re struck by how easy loving a man like that would be. And how unfulfilling for a woman like you. What is it about some people, that they can’t appreciate a good thing unless it hurts a little?

“Connie and I are real grateful that you could help. You let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.” Joel gives him a short nod as you leave.

And then, soft and threatening into the shell of your ear as the two of you walk away from the nice, sweet, uncomplicated boy: we’re goin’ home, and I’m gonna lick that cunt until you’re cryin’, little bird. 

Your steps speed up, trying to outrun the clutch of his hands on your skin, trying to escape – even if just a little. 

You never stood a chance of that. 

-

He follows, menacingly on your heels, as you dart into your house. A rabbit trying to outrun the big bad wolf. You make for the stairs and you feel the tips of his fingers ghost lightly in the ends of your long hair, one foot on the first step, but then his finger is catching in your belt loop, yanking you hard into his chest. Your back thumps against him with a small oof and then his hands are skating along your curves, big palms squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples through the cotton of your t-shirt.. 

“Bad Birdie, try’na run from me.” He nuzzles, gentle, gentle into the nape of your neck, the line of your hair, presses his mouth to the top notch of your spine. You feel his hot, wet tongue slide over the jut of your vertebrae, small peppered kisses to your nape and your entire body flushes hot – arousal pulling low and tight in your belly. Your clit throbs in time with his panting breath in your ear. His soft mouth is totally at odds with the tension he’s holding himself with right now, the harsh way he presses his fingers into the skin of your hips. 

You can feel the thick length of him pressing into your ass; he’s hard as stone and throbbing – turned on by the chase. You moan, deep and wanton, slick pooling in your panties, ready for him now , just at the feel of his hands on you. “You want it, baby?”

“Y– yes,” you stutter, pressing yourself harder into him. 

“Want me to fuck that needy little cunt?”

His voice is so deep you feel it vibrate through his chest and into your back, down, down your body all the way to the tips of your toes. “Please, Joel,” you whimper. You try to turn in his arms, but he clicks his tongue at you, wrapping his arms more tightly around your waist, half dragging, half carrying you up the stairs to your bedroom.

“I always give my Birdie what she needs, don’t I?”

-

“Settle now. Stay still so I can eat you how I like.” He hitches his hands higher up the backs of your thighs, beneath your knees – spreads you further apart, up and back to press into your breasts, making more space for the broad valley of his naked shoulders. He’d gotten you naked and into bed, quick as a viper. His desperation, evident in the wild look in his eyes. He was unsettled, either by the tension between the two of you yesterday or you around another man, but he was trying to prove some unspoken point to the two of you in the ferocity of his grip on your skin.

He settles his face deep into your sex now and eats. “Who’s all this wet for, huh? Were you thinkin’ about me while that boy tried to get in your good graces?”

“It’s too much. Please, please, please,” you sob. Tears making a slow, steady journey back into your hairline, dripping into your ears. You yank hard on his hair, try to direct his movements. You can’t tell if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. 

“Want me to stop?” He laps at your clit.

“I– I dont– I don’t know–” It felt like he’d been at this for hours. “I–”

“It’s okay.” Soft, whispered kisses to the puffy lips of your sex, your slippery inner thighs. You’re so wet, and you’d have burns from his beard and bruises from his teeth tomorrow. “I know, I know you’re just a little bird,” his teeth sharp and mean to the softest part of you, then the broad flat of his tongue to soothe – a sharp, quick suck to your swollen clit. His volley between rough and tender on your vulnerable sex setting you further on edge than anything else he was doing. “But you can take it for me.You can be so, so good for me. My good girl.”

Your cunt pulls tight – throbs like a wound. Hurts in a way you’re desperate for. You love him, you love him, you love him. Goddamn the things he does to you, makes you feel. You need him so much and he gives it all to you exactly in the way that’s the most perfect, just for you. You feel fucking delirious, on the brink of insanity. 

He pushes two thick fingers into you, cunt spasming and clinging. He scissors the digits inside of you, stretches your hole. The squelch is lewd and obscene and messy. You can feel your cheeks burning red and hot, and you throw an arm over your eyes as you feel your slick leak down between your ass to pool on the sheets beneath you – hiding yourself from your own obscenity. 

“Pussy s’fuckin’ good, baby. Tastes like candy.” He pulls out his fingers, slaps your cunt, twice, quick and sharp. The sound you let out shames you, high pitched and whining. “Fuckin’ red ‘nd gaping for me. God, Birdie –” he moans so deep it makes your heart race, brings his mouth back to you – licks a broad stripe from hole to clit with the flat of his tongue. His mouth latches to the aching swollen bud and sucks. “You need me so much dont you? Fuckin’ come in my mouth – wanna taste it.” And he’s right, he’s right, you do, you need him so much. In that instant, you feel so grateful that he knows it.  

Your back arches, everything liquid within you pooling low in your pelvis, pulling tight, and it feels like the world is about to end around you; a catastrophe even greater than anything the cordyceps could have ever wrought. This is what he brings out of you with his mouth and his fingers and his words, and you gush onto his face. He almost fucking whines at the splash of your orgasm on his tongue – slurping down everything you have to give him, you feel your wetness cover his face and beard. This is what you give to each other. 

He gentles his fingers and tongue. Letting your orgasm coast along into echoes and throbs. You try to push him away with your foot on the thick mass of his shoulder, on the brink of overstimulation, but quick as a viper, he circles his entire large palm around the fine bones of your ankle and squeezes. Quit – presses a tiny kiss to the protrusion of your bone there.

“ Mine,” he growls. “Mine, no one touches you but me–” His hands open you wider for him, fileting you for his eyes only. You feel hot and flush, your skin tight, to the point of bursting, like an overripe plum in the sun. Skin fragile and thin, insides viscous, ready to spill your flesh for him, blood burning hot as it churns in your veins. “Not fuckin’ done yet, Birdie. Not done with this perfect pussy.” Tears make a slow path down your temples, your fingers tangled in his hair, wanting to hurt– just a little. Like the delicious hurt of holding him within yourself. The way it feels like an old aching bruise inside of you when he stuffs you full of his cock. And then he’s up, up, up – quick as a whip – his fingers shoving into the tangle of your hair at the nape of your neck, captured in a tight fist like prey in a snare, and he’s shoving your own taste deep into you with his tongue. The kiss, open and savage – he’s fucking your mouth like he was just fucking your pussy. Your heart pushes against the bones of your chest, and you desperately clutch at his shoulders for some sort of countenance. He unmoors you . You have been unmoored by this man. And you want – need – more. 

He kneels between your open legs, thick thighs anchoring you wider and fists his cock, the head gleaming and painfully red. He pulls your thighs over his own thicker ones, and presses the fat tip hard to your sensitive clit, making you jolt and whimper pathetically. “Cock drunk, that’s what you are.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glassy and wet. His voice is so deep. He drags the head down to your entrance, presses just a little, only the fat tip held inside you. He fucks you short and shallow like that, his hips moving in tiny, slow jerks. 

“Please,” you sigh, your eyes fluttering shut at the subtle pressure, at the promise of what’s about to come, “Please, Joel.”

“Please what? Please what?” he mocks, just a little mean, and then he’s surging inside in one brutal thrust. Fucking into you without warning and he’s huge — almost too much to take, even after your orgasms. “Fucking tight,” he grits out. He hoists you up, arms wrapped around your waist and starts fucking up and into you, hard. Not giving you a moment to adjust. Letting go of the restraint he’d held while he ate you out. Cock battering into something deep and sensitive inside you, all you can do is take it. Let him have you as he pleases. 

-

He can feel your slick pooling at the base of his cock and sliding down his balls. He wraps his hand around the fine bones of your jaw, “Who’s pussy is this?” he growls over the wet slap, “Wanna hear it out loud.”

Yours, yours, yours. 

Your face is flushed and sweaty, cheeks red as an apple, eyes glazed, dark, wet lashes clumped together. The fucked out look in your eyes doing more for him than anything else. This is what he does to you, only him . He picks up the pace of his hips, fucks you harder, harder and your tits bounce against his chest. He slaps one of them gently, appreciating the soft jiggle it gives, the small gasp you let out. His other hand snakes low on your tummy and presses down into your pelvis so he can feel the battering of his cock inside of your cunt and shit he’s gonna come soon. Gonna come with his hand feeling himself fuck you from the outside. “Too much, too much, Joel ,” you whine. “Oh god, I– I’m gonna–” You’re soaked, sweat and slick sliding between your two bodies, and clutching him hot and tight as a fist. He can’t get deep enough, can’t give it to you hard enough. He never wants to stop, will never be able to stop. 

“You’re taking my cock so good, so fucking good. Jesus fuck, I can’t, I can’t–” He slates his mouth over your open panting one, licks into the sweet, red gleam of you. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he drags his teeth along your full bottom lip, lets it go with a little wet pop. You moan, head falling back on your neck, beyond words. He bends his head, hand wrapped around the fullness of your tit to bring it to his mouth, bites gently down on the tight, aching bud, laves his tongue around it and sucks it into his mouth. Then he’s pushing you back, letting you fall and bounce onto the mattress, legs splayed. When he pulls out abruptly you whimper – he can’t let himself come yet, not yet, just a little more – and he leaves a hot trail of open mouth kisses down your neck, over your shoulder, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth again, over the swell of your belly, until he’s between your thighs again and bends his head to devour your slick. His tongue licking deep inside where his cock just was. He’s frantic. There’s no reason to the sense of urgency he feels, the urgency he’s taking you with right now. It’s something subconscious – something primal telling him to mark you, lay his claim. 

He can’t stop taking and taking, always taking.

He pulls up again from between your legs, the abruptness of his movements confusing you, leaving you to deliriously allow him to do with you what he will. “Taste us,” he says as he licks into your mouth, fucking his aching cock back into your spent cunt, so fucking tight always. “One more, baby. Gimme one more, lemme feel you milk me.” And like his own personal little marionette on a string, you do. Pussy fluttering and then pulling tight, a little furl of a knot, squeezing his own orgasm out of him. He feels his balls pull up tight and he’s painting you inside, teeth latched tightly to the delicate muscle that connects your neck and shoulder. The sound from your throat is high and keening, supplicant. He licks the hurt he’s just left. Grinds his spitting cock deep, right into the mouth of your womb. 

Mine, mine, fucking mine. It is a mantra of reassurance for the both of you. 

-

He cradles you in his embrace afterwards, his body wrapped around you as if he were a vine grown from your very heart. He sighs, the sound deep from his chest, and you want to tell yourself you can hear a yearning desperate enough to match your own in the cadence of it. His head drops to your shoulder, nuzzles the vulnerable space beneath your jaw, now riddled with his bites and bruises. You know you’ll enjoy inspecting them in the mirror tomorrow, feeling the warm pull of your belly at the reminder. And the moment is so achingly tender, even more intimate in a way, than your sex. The feel of him surrounding you, soft and quiet. Your eyes feel hot, pinching threateningly. 

“I have to go,” he murmurs, spent cock still buried inside of you. He presses kisses to your hair, your lips, over your closed eyelids. He can’t stop, God, he’s tried – is trying – but he can’t go, can’t part from you. Fighting is so fucking hard when you’ve got no will behind it. When what you’re trying to fight against is the thing you’ve wanted more than anything else in your whole life, and the only thing standing in your way is yourself, your own inadequacy. Perhaps he could endure the agony, the filth of life, the loss, the loss, the loss, with you held in his arms like this. 

His patrol shift started almost an hour ago. The guys were going to ream the hell out of him, he’d been here with you for hours, and still, still he couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull himself away. His lack of will, lack of restraint, of self control – his body and heart’s inability to do what his mind told him to, makes him so angry. At himself, and maybe – not at you, never you – but perhaps, at what you represented. All he wanted but couldn’t let himself have in full. He needed to go. He had responsibilities. He had truths to confess to himself. 

He was in love with you. He was. He was.

Joel was an obstinate man, but he did not lack self awareness. Now was the moment for this truth, if only confessed to himself. So, angry, and in love with you, and tremendously sorry, he turns away. Pulls out of your tight wet clutch with a wince, your breathy gasp making his cock twitch slightly, even so soon after he’s just come. You roll over, burrow into the pillows, and he grips the swell of your ass, pulls you apart to feast on the sight of his come leaking out of you. Obscene. Wet and messy and swollen, marked by his spend. He wants to bend for a taste but knows if he does, he won’t stop, will be likely to start all over again. “I gotta go, Birdie. M’already late.” He bends to nip a gentle bite to your ass cheek, one small last taste, then the press of a kiss. He hopes you can feel all he cannot say with that touch. The soft sound of acquiescence you hum as you burrow further into the sheets has his teeth clenching as he reaches for his clothes, heart turning over in his chest. He’s sure every sound out of you has a direct connection to his cock at this point. 

He won’t shower, won’t wash your drying come from his body. He’ll take you with him, wear you on his skin. Anyways, what did it matter, really, when he already wore you on his heart, his soul? What was one more conquering of his self? Perhaps this was, ultimately, what swallowing the sea looked like.

Chapter III

Netherfeildren Masterlist