#but it’s quite far and they close at six and i get off at four so I’d only be there like an hour and it seems a bit wasteful

[daenerys-targaryen]

I’ve sent out a ton of volunteer inquiries to local riding ranches hopefully something works out :)

[chlmtsdoll]

I WAS AN ANGEL

౨ৎ Paring: ballerina!reader x older!Art Donaldson/Patrick Zweig

౨ৎ Summary: it’s winter and your on vacation at a cabin locked away with Art and Patrick. Spending the weekend teasing the men till they’re wrapped into your alluring nature leads to you getting them exactly where you want

౨ৎ Word count: 10k - well yes, ur girl went crazy !

౨ৎ Warnings: smut ! threesome, p in v (unprotected) sex, age gap (reader early 20’s) older!Art and Patrick, inexperienced!reader, eventually filthiest filth, sugar baby!reader, mentions of Tashi, pet names, smoking (cigs), oral (m) receiving, fingering, porn with a lot of plot, petite!reader, size kink, corruption if you squint (it’s def there), teasing, fluff, a tad angst, so much praise kink, title based off Gods and Monsters by Lana Del Rey 🤍

౨ৎ Part one | two | three + more

The wind outside was frosted as it hit against the sealed windows of the cabin you’d been staying in for the weekend with no other than the only person you’d want to be cuddled up with on a cozy cabin trip in the hike of the woods on a winter like this one — accompanied by his best friend of course, Art and Patrick.

Tashi, making time for her off weekends of freedom being an underwhelming three times a year, was away with her daughter Lily on a girls scouting trip not too far by where you’d all been staying at in such a luxurious rental cabin.

And it really was the highest of class.

With eight bedrooms, each offering it’s own fireplace and balcony lookout to the fields of mountains and trees surrounding you. A beautiful avalanche of white dust covering trees was the scenery all around. You got to spend a week doing absolutely nothing but lying around the gorgeous place, and although the image of Tashi being uncomfortably out in the wilderness trying with all her dignity to get a signal to check her emails was a priceless sight to see — you knew that scoring such a win as to be stuck in winter paradise with two men near godly looking and over six foot walking around twenty four seven, was an opportunity you were never going to take advantage of.

It had been you and them watching movies all week. From silly romcoms down to chilling horror films that earned you the touch of Arts protective arm surrounding you as a shield, baking sweets with the blonde that was really overall unnecessary since the dozen of cupboards had been pre-stocked with all the foods and treats you could imagine before your arrival. But spending that time with him, laughing, and getting the tidy place all messy with cookie batter and themed frosting was worth it anyways. Getting closer than close. Falling head over heels for a man that had been someone else’s all while engaging in the most pompous wealthy people actives your friends back at the academy would of killed one another for. It was chimera.

And when it came to Patrick, although the two of you couldn’t quite be called the best of friends — Tashi had thought it would be better off if she reversed her approximation of keeping the two of you as separate as possible. Instead, you started spending even more time together. (Preoccupied of course) but settling the wall of any jealousy or tension between you both and the couple. And of course it probably would never be fully clear skies when Patrick was a man of such fiend for rivalry — even if for you, you’d just wanted him to like you deep down. And with the occasional bickering and obvious strive for Art and Tashi’s attention, you could now say the kinship between you and the tennis player wasn’t all bad for the time being.

It had been sunset when you were tidying up in the far end of the house that had been all yours as you glanced at yourself in the mirror of the grand bathroom. Bath tub behind you so large it could fit a party of ten at least.

You were braiding your hair into two dainty braids and your fingers worked quickly as you tied knots into little bows on the ends of your hair. Perfect and precious as ever you attempted yourself to be, getting ready for a dip in the hot tub on the patio Art had asked if you if you wanted to join him and Patrick — so of course you rushed to throw on your bikini. And just beneath you in the grand kitchen area, Art had been getting ready with his best friend to met you there themselves.

“Please ? I just wanna fuck her with the tutu on at least,” Patrick boasted to Art as he had been trying his hardest to bluntly ignore his friends comments about you, that had been in his perfect fashion of light hearted vulgarity.

“No.” Art replied giving the man nothing but an unbothered side eye as he searched the wet room they’d been in for a couple towels for the three of you, or at least you and himself since Patrick had been using the same one the entire time you’ve been there so far by choice.

“Come on,” the brunette laughed as he pushed Art in a way that was all too familiar to him, grinning widely as he burrowed in the fantasy of having solicited intercourse with you while his dear friend observed. “We’ll be stuck in this cabin together for the entire weekend, it’s bound to happen. You’ve been gettin’ virgin pussy all this time. I know you’re dying to share with me..”

“You say things like that and wonder why she doesn’t want to come near you.” Art chuckled, he shook his head at Patrick’s ignorance, “and you’ll probably just scare her away from wanting to participate in anything involving sex ever again, man. I just won’t let you overwhelm her, she’s still getting used to.. y’know-”

“Fucking?”

“Yes.”

“Well, your right, she’s only fucked you. So technically she’s still a virgin.” Patrick joked only to get under the blondes skin even more, and Art rolled his eyes away from Patrick’s obvious smirk.

“I could turn’er into a whole new woman.”

“You’re not touching her.” Art shrugged as he glanced at Patrick who wouldn’t give away the stupid grin on his face of wanting to cause nothing but foolery.

“I think you’re scared after I’m done with her she won’t wanna go back to you… so that’s why you gotta do it with me.” Patrick pokes Art in his exposed chest as they’d both been in nothing but their swim trunks. He looked down at the finger on his skin and then back up at Patrick’s face with a loose expression. Falling unconvinced.

“You know you wanna fuck her with me. See how she’ll react from the outside when someone else gets to make her cum.. it’ll be just like old times.” Patrick’s tone was laced with poison and desire the blonde would try to fight off till he ultimately couldn’t, grimace all over Patrick’s face as he described the image of you spread out for the two of them to enjoy, and Art would defend cutting the conversation short in response to an obvious tent forming in his trunks.

Art looked Patrick in the eyes as he called out for you,

“Baby, are you ready?”

“Yeah! Just a second!” You answered in chime.

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh in all seriousness at the fact that he had been this close to getting Art to submit to his desires and let him get his hands on you. When you had been so devoted to Art, and you had him wrapped around your finger, there was no way he didn’t think he couldn’t loosen the screws just enough by the time this little trip came to an end. He just had to keep trying, at the end of the day, it was all a game to him.

“keep dreaming. And grab the beer while your at it.” Art gave the man a generous pat on the back and sighed lightly with a fond but challenging smile as he walked around Patrick to the back door.

♡

When you had been pleased with your attire, you made your way down to the patio where you knew the two boys had been waiting for your arrival, in nothing but a strapy pink bikini underneath a bulky robe, you pushed the doors open to the nature and you’d been immediately hit with the brisk winter air — so thankful for the robe you’d decided to throw on, you scurried your way quickly to the steaming hot tub, and Art and Patrick’s eyes met your miniature figure skipping over.

“Cold, cold, cold, cold!” You pleaded as the air made you shake, and with a soft grin that turned into a laugh Art stood from the water he’d been adjacent in with Patrick to help you step into the tub, doing so you’d slipped your robe from your shoulders and let it fall as your smooth, shivering skin and dainty swimwear was revealed to the two.

“Careful, it’s pretty hot” Art chuckled as he held your delicate hand to guide you into the water.

“Good.” You breathed out as you settled in slowly, arms wrapped around yourself from the coldness and the steam hit your skin at the perfect rate — making you warm up from outside in. You let out a soft sigh as your body had released it’s tension. “Ahh”

Art’s sideways smirk was stuck to his face as he watched your adorable gesture already change the environment when you made your way over — and he couldn’t say he didn’t catch the eyes Patrick had been giving your oblivious state as you brought yourself to the two men in the littlest yet flattering bikini they’d maybe ever seen. Smile on your face like you’d hadn’t know how goddamn phenomenal you looked right then. Art still had a hand out to you as you’d both settled into the almost boiling water at this point, florescent lights from the jets hitting each of your faces even under the gloominess of the sky.

“Is that the set I got you ?” Art grinned at the way your bikini top had decorated your chest in a painfully perfect way. Dior. Your smile has been shy but girlish, you nodded coyly but with a soft giggle. You’d been waiting for him to notice notice that you were being patient on the perfect opportunity to bring it out of your wardrobe.

“Yeah. You like?” Your smile had widened as the blonde couldn’t have looked prettier right then, hair damp from the steam of the tub that had been hovering the water, chest glistening in the most stunning way which made made his pecks look godly and a certain boyishness look on his face.

Your eyes glanced over how it matched the smile on his peach colored lips.

“Like? I love it and you know that.” Art’s tone was low and laced with adoration mixed with a hit of lust rising. He held a hand out to you, eyes filled with nothing but intentions of getting you as close to him as possible. You’d been too far in his opinion, even being in the medium sized hot tub that had the three of you in an acute triangle. “Come closer baby doll,” Art asked of you and you couldn’t stop blushing already when you slid closer to him in the water. Smile plastered to your face as the man took you in with his muscular arm over your shoulder.

Eyes lightly hooded as he looked down at the way you fit snug in his side and he had to stop himself from biting into your shoulder as a way to show his affection. Just your sent was overwhelming him.

From the opposite end, Patrick had been sitting quite still as he observed the two of you. Elbows hanging off the rim of the tub and he held a cold beer in hand. His green irises switched between you and the blonde as if you were purely entertainment as you basked in each other’s warmth that had been heightened from the temperatures around you.

Patrick could almost feel the way Art felt you. The way you wanted him.

He’s been trying to figure out what made it so easy for you to stroll through the cabin around two men feverishly much older than you, so innocently without a care or censor in the world going off in your head. — and not just that, but you’d hardly ever wore clothing that actually covered you up. This has been the most revealing Patrick had seen you, but it wasn’t all shock when you’d merely always been in shorts that were just right off of having your ass cheeks on display — along with the smallest mini tennis skirts and tops so tight it was hard to imagine how’s you even get yourself into them. He didn’t know if there’d been a dip in your brain or what, but he almost wondered if you acted the way you did on purpose. Like a lost lamb in heat for only the sake of getting their dicks hard and uncomfortable enough for your own pleasure. Or for Art at least.

Maybe you could of just been playing slut like most girls your age did when it came to older men. Whatever it had been, Patrick knew to have you all figured out ahead of time.

“Save some space in between, yeah?” Patrick had noted out in reply of your and Arts closeness, only grin spreading across his lips as he raised the glass of beer to them slowly as if he’d been some threat you both should stay aware of.

And he loved that.

You looked over his way from Arts peering eyes on you with a soft blush. Art had looked at Patrick and remembered what they’d been sipping on to offer you,

“Did you want a beer ? I told Patrick to grab the cold ones.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

“Patrick, pass her one.” Art eyed his friend as the pack of six had been hanging out on the bar beside the tub, but before the brunette could speak up, you stood from the curb of the small pool.

“Don’t worry, I got it !” you smiled at both boys, but instead they had immediately gone to watch the droplets of water fall from your angel like body. And as you walked to exit the hot tub, you had to maneuver pass Patrick, which was a brief moment of his eyes just inches away from making contact with your breast being nearly one with his face. A shy kind of tint in your eyes as you climbed out and the water you carried splashed on the man while his eyes watched you in complete veneration. Only moving over a tad when he’d remembered you’d been literally trying to get out of the enclosure. And Art only watched, too mesmerized before he noticed Patrick had been staring just as much.

But even jealousy didn’t over take him right then when he saw the way your body was moments away from caressing the man, it was something more of yearning that took the lead.

You could of sworn you heard one of the men curse under their breath when you tuned your back to reach the table for the cold drink. Your ass had been of viewing now and you tried your best to hide an all knowing little smirk before you got back to them. Returning, Art didn’t even think twice before he reached for the can in your hands to open it up for you. The metal cracked with a pop and Art met your eyes again with a small grin as he handed it back to you.

“Merci” you giggled softly, as you relaxed beside him once again. Thinking to yourself before sitting comfortably, “y’know… there’s something I need to ask you both that I’ve been wondering for a while.”

With your delicate but filled, choice of words — both men had sat a little straighter in the steaming water at your voice, hanging on to your every note already as Patrick’s leafy eyes scanned your figure and Art looked down at you with anticipation for whatever had been on your mind.

“Yeah? What is it, doll face?” Patrick’s tone was low as he met your gaze for a brief second before you looked away with a coy scoff,

“Well… back at the academy a lot of the girls would constantly talk about it and - as embarrassing as it is - I just was never around boys much in my upbringing. Like ever. Most dance schools are pretty strict about that where I come from. So, I never got closure or a real answer. But you guys are boys...”

You couldn’t help but let out light girlish laughter after the hint to the male dominance of the atmosphere, and both Art and Patrick had matched your gesture with the sound of their laugher filling the air as they listened in on the way you spoke. It had been obvious they were both fighting the same urge to trail their vision to your exposed chest but you just pretended not to notice.

“So like, how do guys know when we’re ovulating?”

Art had coughed on the frozen beer that had been half way down his throat by the time your words fully got out, and Patrick’s grin only widened before he let out a louder laugh.

“Well-”

“Patrick- can definitely answer that one for you, right Pat?”

Art narrowed his eyes at his best friend sitting across from him in quick notion and your eyes flicked from the blonde to the brunette just as fast. His chuckle only fading some as he glanced back at you

“I mean, it’s more of a senses thing.”

“Like intuition, or?”

“A smell.”

“Oh-” you were slightly taken back by his answer as you snickered nervously. “That’s only a tad bit jarring I guess”

“It honestly comes with the package. Just a normal male thing, unless your consciously looking for it. I myself have a natural talent if you will.” Patrick’s smug was heavy as he educated you and you nodded in agreement, which made Art want to roll his eyes on instant.

“Because of the testosterone?”

“Likely.”

“Is it like that for you as well? Can you smell it?” Your wide eyes landed on Art again as you spoke in innocence that was almost too easy on the ears, the blonde met your eyes as he just lightly fondled with his ear in a fretful manner.

“Well, I- uh, it’s pretty much a normal thing. Like Patrick said. Not really an on or off switch.” The muscular but lean man chuckled and Patrick leaned forward as he watched.

“Art has you and Tashi around twenty four seven so he’s probably immune.”

“No. Not immune, overstimulated? Maybe.”

You watched between them as Patrick kept a sly smile on his face and Art had remained calm throughout the sultry conversation.

“Have you ever used it on me? Like- before we have sex or something..?” you peered up at Art through your lashes and Patrick had raised a brow at your new assertiveness — Art only tried to keep a cool state not too get too flustered as he sunk farther into the tub,

“Honestly babe, I can tell just from looking at you mostly. Like- how you look in those extra mini tennis skirts Tashi has you wear. The way your eyes sparkle a little more when you look up at me… When you’re being naughty.” Art went in to playfully nibble on your neck and you let out a string of giggles at the tickle off it as you fought him off with charm. But the blonde only grinned more as he pulled you in by the waist and he peppered kisses from your neck to your lips.

“I’d offer to say get a room but I don’t mind a little show.” Patrick inhaled deeply and when you turned to glance at him, hand staying on Arts jaw, you could see he had that idiotic look of arousal behind his not so hidden smirk as he sat man spread across from you both.

“My god. You’re such a perv.”

“Yeah? You love it, you’re a perv too.”

“I am not. I’m a girl,” you defended.

“And? Girls can be pervs also.”

“Or maybe you’re just projecting.”

“Art, your little play thing is talking back….” Patrick looked past you to his friend that was as used to the two of you naturally falling into bickering as anything else.

“Shut up.” You laughed, sending a light eye roll the brunettes way.

“You shut up.” He spat back at you like a tennis ball as he leaned up on the edge of the tub, broad shoulders flexing to catch himself and he reached for his pack of cigarettes. The man used his lips to pull a stick from box, he stared up at you with a glimpse of darkness in his pupils. “Want one?”

“Really?.. yeah.” You replied with chipper as you easily lifted yourself from Arts lap.

“Baby..” the blonde declared in a soft but alarming voice while he watched you stand, his hands slipped from your hips and he lost you to Patrick’s side of the pool with ease.

It was known to the two men that you hadn’t ever smoked before, and Art always had his dad instincts constantly lingering in the back of his mind. He couldn’t help it. He never wanted you participating in anything that wasn’t necessarily the best for you, and especially since Tashi would surely be against the idea of it at all costs. It was part of the reason why she wanted Patrick away from you — his influence and easy persuasion always getting to the best of any of the girls he could mess with. So Art knew how easy it was for you to let up to him.

“I just wanna try. Please?” You pleaded, and Art couldn’t say your pretty wide doe eyes and shape all too heavenly for him to deny didn’t steer him away from giving you a clean no.

“Yeah Art, she wants to try..” Patrick’s voice mimicked yours and he started to slowly but surely show his friend a sly smirk which Art replied with a daring look. You’d now been seated beside Patrick and Art had sighed out a deep breath as he nodded you off speculatively, which you then smiled excitedly in regard.

“You’ve really never done this before?”

“No.”

“What have you done?”

Patrick couldn’t help but poke you, and when you hissed with a soft smack to his broad arm that had been intimidatingly large. The man chuckled. You shook your head playfully which also released a few droplets of water from your braids and Patrick observed how your eyes had searched him from up close — he wondered if this was how Art felt when he looked at you. All senseless with a newfound kind of vulnerability like he’d be willing to your every need. But Patrick being who he was naturally, knew how to restrain from that part of himself and kept a mostly dominant state even at your first fruits. He flicked open his lighter and passed you a cigarette which you held with mostly confusion of what to do next.

“Don’t give her a full one.” Art narrowed at his friend.

“Alright, alright,” Patrick furrowed his brows as he exclaimed with his own cig hanging from the side of his lips.

The corners of your mouth inched up into a small simper as you watched the two men exchange with consideration of protection over you. Art remained a safety net always even if Patrick had challenged that assertiveness to him. And as much as Patrick was a hard case you didn’t underestimate your power to have him just as softened as Art was when it came to you.

“You can share with me.” The brunette notified you and you watched as he lit the end of the stick effortlessly and cupped the fire away from you with his ravishingly large hands. In one swift motion he passed the burning substance to you, which you inspected before your eyes met his face again — slight worry crossed you mind. But you didn’t let it show, “inhale that.”

You did inhale it. But it happened much faster than you expected because when the smoke hit the back of your throat, you began to cough instantly.

“No, no, no you have to exhale it eventually,”

“Yeah, because you totally gave her proper directions, Patrick.” Art huffed as he leaned up from attention to your coughing with growing aggravation at what Patrick had lured you into. Already regretting his notion to agree. Patrick shrugged with open arms and he furrowed his brows.

“Fuck off. I’m not good with kids.”

“I’m not a kid.” You responded when your coughs had dialed down and you swayed the smoke coming from your lungs away from you.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Patrick replied in a snarky attitude and you half groaned half whined at his annoying remarks, which had lead you to doing nothing but choking on air, literally. And it made Patrick have to refrain from letting out a chuckle because he’d known Art kill him.

“Relax. Just try again and remember not to inhale it too far. Just hold it in the back of your throat a little then release it.”

This time you did what he told you more considerately. Inhaling the smoke temporarily, then pushing it out with ease and Patrick watched you. His observation quickly turned into dilated pupils and a grin that liking spoke of mischief had widened across his face again.

“Atta’ girl.” He praised, and you supported a cheeky smile.

You held the cigarette in your fingers as you repeated the same all while keeping eye contact with the tennis player and he could of fallen trick for your soft but glorious bambi eyes right then.

“How cool do I look?” You let a light giggle slip from your lips after you exhaled the smoke once again and passed the substance back to the man and he wondered if you or Art could sense the way his desire had basically broadened in the last twenty seconds.

And as Art watched you both smile in lust from each others presence on the other side of the tub, he shifted as a perplex expression rested on his face. He observed the eyes you gave Patrick that he knew all too well. Pleading and filled with elite burning desire that he knew was just seconds away from setting Patrick off — he knew he had to get into stop it somehow.

He just didn’t like to be left out.

“It’s getting dark out, sweetheart. Why don’t you head inside and start setting up for s’mores ? I’ll come set the fire in a bit.”

Your eyes had trailed away from their fixture on Patrick to settle on Art when his voice came ruling in, But Patrick was still looking at you.

“Okay, yeah.” You said energetically as you lifted your legs out of the water that were wet from the knees down, fondly smiling at the two men before you grabbed your robe to head inside.

And when the patio door shut with your exit, Patrick ran his hands over his rugged half beard in a pace.

“Fuck, Art. She wants to fuck me.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious. She told me. She wants to fuck us.”

“When did she tell you this?”

“Just a second ago. With her eyes.”

“Okay. So, she didn’t tell you that.”

Patrick huffed out and fixed the prominent bulge through his trunks that was growing fairly uncomfortable. Art looked down to notice and let out a soft chuckle of not very much surprise since he’d known the man sitting across from him like the back of his hand. Always just on the verge of needing to fuck whatever pitty excuse of emotions he had out somehow.

“For fucks sake, you’re unbelievable.”

“Whatever.” The man scoffed as he grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his hips in a hurry. “She’s just as much of a slut as I am, and I’m gonna find out.”

Art watched as his best friend exited from the pool, leaving a splash to hit Art in anxiousness to get to you. And Art scurried to dry off just to follow after him.

♡

It was almost an hour that passed since you’d all been spaced in the living area as the dim lights situated the room in a way that was all too torrid for the atmosphere at once, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

Art had been by the fireplace as he messed with the wood for a while till a brightening flicker over took the large cape and a small flame spread into a huge one in just a few seconds. You’d been sitting on the floor only a few inches away as you were putting a couple marshmallows on sticks (slipping a few chocolates in your mouth here and there) and when you heard the crackle of the fire come from Arts side of the room you glanced up at him with an impressive expression taking over your face and you clapped graciously.

Art couldn’t help but grin at your sweet gesture to which he found you all the more beautiful under the warm tones of the once cold room. You shook your head softly as the smile on your face hadn’t dropped when you focused back on what you’d been doing.

It was rather darker where Patrick sat on the couches not too far away as his forest like eyes watched the two of you basically flirt in secret code. He would usually find it all too soft for himself maybe, and to him, you’d just been a pint sized cheer squad for every time Art dropped a penny.

It was cute, he guessed.

What Patrick was more focused on was the way your eyes flickered to glance at him every so often.

Spotless and filled with attempt to say something. Anything. Just from the clear tension in the room, and as quite as it was — the brunette had to admit he was getting bored.

“Alright.” Patrick groaned as he stretched to lean up from his seat and your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the much taller man, seemingly giant from where you’d been on the rug, march over to where you’d been settled. Calmly but with a smoothness getting close enough to your face that he could read the quick nervousness fill your senses as your eyes searched him questionably, and Patrick’s own eyes scanned your rose tinted robe that you’d slung on, half fallen from your shoulder as he scoffed to himself.

“Just tell me. Do you want to fuck me and Art, or not?”

It came out as a mutter. But Patrick wasn’t the quiet type even attempted in the slightest. Art certainly heard and his eyes had snapped to where the two of you shared breaths with an immediate hardened expression.

“What the fuck, Patrick?”

“Just let her answer.” The other man spat back. And you fought not to bite down on your bottom lip as both men stare each other down. And with an irritated sigh, Art put his vision on you.

“You don’t have to answer him. Patrick just can’t control his dick — and that’s not your problem.” Art spoke sharply as his eyes flickered to the darker haired man who was in fact smirking.

Of course.

Both of their eyelines follow back to you.

And though you hadn’t needed to ponder for an answer, your bashful lashes met the floor anyways as you peered away softly. But all while keeping a dainty simper to your lips.

“No, it’s okay.. He’s right.”

With your words, you noticed Arts face soften, but not in a way you’d guessed — more in a perplexed manner as his eyebrows dipped. And on the other hand Patrick had been grinning to himself with a cocky chuckle coming from his lungs as he rested back on his palms.

“Simple. And easy. I was right, just like always.”

Art had ignored Patrick’s boastfulness and instead he rose to his feet and stepped over to where the two of you had been, you stood up as well — and you’d been immediately met with the blondes gaze on you, hand lifted to your cheek.

“Baby, are- - you sure ? You don’t have to feel pressured to do anything, Patrick can be very..”

“Charming, sexy, fucking unforgettable-” The brunette chimes in with a cheeky smile as he stood up to put his nose in the conversation between you two.

“A nuisance.” Art spoke over Patrick as his eyes went darkening with annoyance while he glanced over to the other nosy man.

“What? Do you think he’ll be too rough ? That I can’t handle it?” You laughed softly, “I can take it.”

“I never said you couldn’t.. but you are learning. And I get this is all new and exciting for you — and your sex drive is going to be heightened at this time…”

“Give the girl what she asks, Art.”

“Shut up. No one’s talking to you.”

“You’re talking about me.”

You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes at the two men bickering now, both over a foot taller than you, making your neck begin to pain just a little as you glanced up at the pair. And although, you would’ve been claimed very brave by most girls your age of how prominent your actions were towards teasing both of the men — you just couldn’t help but play with them.

A delicate sigh escaped you, “y’know.. if you aren’t nice to each other than I won’t want either of you to touch me.” You declare as you turn away from them and begin to walk away, but Art had grabbed on to your forearm and twisted you back around to face him.

“Hey. It’s just- - I’d never hear the end of it from Tashi.”

“She doesn’t have to know,” you began, and you searched the blonde’s expression for any ease which you failed to find — so you took your hand and reached up to gently caress the nape of his neck with your fingertips. “Besides, you’ll be involved. And therefore you won’t miss a thing.”

Your voice echoed songfully throughout Arts ears as he stared into your pretty eyes filled with desire, and just a spark of lust. You step closer to the man and your lips had been inches from his broad chest. It’s like your pleading eyes were like magic, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t fighting the urge to touch you all night long. He didn’t even care if Patrick watched — he liked showing you off anyways. Art pulled from your enrapture to look over at the darker haired man who was already pinned back at him. Chest inflating with a sigh, Art shrugged lightly.

“Fuck it. Fine.” He breathed out, and your smile had gone wide once again and you bit your lip with anticipation already. “But I need to prep you first.”

And with that Art had taken your hand in his as he lead you to one of the closest bedrooms nearby the floor plan, and Patrick of course, had scurried to follow after you both at the immediate note.

Your feet fastened to keep up with the blonde as the childish smile on your face had been filled with excitement to the rush where he lead you.

Patrick pushed open the cracked door as Art was lifting you to your feet on to the high bed where you stood ahead of him. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” Art murmured while he looked up into your eyes through his aquamarine that had darkened with lust in just the short amount of time — soft grin taking upon his lips and you could sense his head just being filled with ideas by the second. It made your stomach do flips with yearn. Your nod quick as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and Art lifted a finger to your silk robe and gently pull it from your shoulders. As it falls, lace straps are revealed to the man and he observed the fabric, eloquent against your glowing skin with a chuckle. “What do we have here?”

“I knew she was prepared,” Patrick’s voice came jarring as he stood next to the blonde and your pupils started dialing by the contrast of the two men gawking at you now. One filled with alluring desire to almost tear what was left of your clothing to pieces — and the other softened. Needing to worship every inch of your petite body before he lost it.

Art pulled away your robe completely in one swift motion as his wide-set eyes never left your own, you wet your lips as your cheeks had began to heat up with anticipation, but nervousness at his quick movements — you stood beyond him, lingerie displaying that was stuck to your body, white with small pink flowers scattered across the cotton and lace. Arts breath hitched just from the sight and he felt so constrained in his briefs as the little pink bow trimming the lining above your core making his dick go painfully hard. He moved his large hands across you carefully. Almost like you were a doll that could break at any given second.

“These stay on till I say,” the man softly mentioned at your ear and you nodded.

You reached for his shoulder blades and the man inched behind your back to undo your bra, he let it fall from your arms before leaning over you to place a smooch your neck area — seamlessly turning into kisses that scattered down to your exposed nipples and you closed you eyes. Bliss took over you for a moment and you smiled. Your hold on him close to your warmth, and Arts fingertips felt the lushness of your skin from every part of you he could. “mmm,” you left out a soft sough as the blondes plump lips explored your tender buds and his tongue brushed up against you briefly, making you hiss for a moment.

His eyes had been examining you, but yours had been softly lidded stint you glanced in Patrick’s direction — to which, the other man’s mouth had been slightly agape, feasting on the view of you both in exhilaration already.

Art braced his hands under your thighs and he laid you down against the bed, your legs were pushed apart on instant but with all tenderness as he leaned up from you — your smile had never faded for a glimpse while the man moved you like a toy. His hands went quickly to pull your panties to the side and Patrick had circled the bed around you both as he stood in awe of the way you weren’t even trying to put up a sexy or proactive kind of facade at all — in fact, you’d been laughing.

Right then. Girlish giggles filled the air as Art grinned down at you in the rising heat of the moment. Already knowing of your ways — you had big, wide doe eyes watching the man take a finger and run them against your slick folds. He examined over your expression, to your already dripping cunt and you bit down on part of your lip. Watching him explore you in an expert manner. Art’s tongue darted out to wet his own lips, he moved his body to tower over your own and your lower back arched a bit off the bed when you felt the tips of his fingers just over your soaking entrance. Coating him in your slick wetness.

“That’s it, sweet girl.”

Art started sinking his ring and middle finger into you painfully slow. You whined a little at the stretch before letting your head fall and braids spread against the comforter of the bed.

Your eyes had caught sight of Patrick looking down on you — so only giving him a playful but sweet smile laced with a kind of innocence and temptation that could of made his head spin. You could just read the expression on his face of how dare you even look at him that way when you’d lured them both into soon doing the dirtiest of acts with you in between. You were a fucking minx. And he then felt his mouth go dry.

“Holy fuck,” the brunette panted in a mutter as he quickened to lower his checkered green boxers to pull out his throbbing cock, stroking himself at the sight of your pretty smile — and cunt, taking Arts fingers so finely.

The soft yet high pitched sighs and moans that were coming from you were the remedy that pushed a complete solid hard on beneath Arts pajama pants as the blonde held your tender legs spread for him to get you ready for his and Patrick’s cocks. He watched you. Eyes filled to the brim with mercenary while feeling you clench and pulse around his digits. Slipping in and out of you, he used his thumb to rub at your clit and you whined out as your eyebrows knitted together in one motion.

“O-oh..” you moaned, reaching out for the man’s fit arm to grasp on to as your toes flexed.

“Good girl.” Art groaned.

You could hear the sound of Patrick jerking himself to the sounds of your moans and the sight of pre cum that was gooing on to Arts hands lead by the own tent that was prominent in sight to the man. Patrick let out a low noise of his own. And Arts eyes finally traveled from you to glance over at his friend,

“You wanna show Patirck what I taught you, princess?”

Your lips curled into a sly smile when you heard his word — you leaned up from the sheets and your legs swiftly moved behind you to now crawl over to the brunette standing by the end of the bed, cock hard and reddened with want for all that was you.

It was undeniable that he was bigger than you could of comprehended maybe, your eyes locked on him now from your knees. They travelled from his dick, to the way he peered down at your plump lips in enchantment for where your clues had left guesses, taking you by the nape of your neck almost immediately you let yourself lick a clean stripe from the base of his cock to the tip as your tongue wet him nice and slow. Patrick watched the way you made sure to show him the shape of your tongue flush against him and he could of came all over your face right then. Large hands going opaque with veins to match his hard member, he gripped the hairs on the back of your neck as you cinched your lips to the tip of him.

“Shit, shit you’re fucking pretty,” Patrick panted at the sight of your eyes staying on his — you perfectly sunk him into your mouth as you sucked with ease and a soft whimper exited from the back of your throat. Knuckles turning white as the brunette peered at the way you took him so sweet, and you brought a hand up to jerk him farther past your lips all at once.

Art just behind your shoulder, watched as you could only fit Patrick half way while you throated him, your lips left spit as you bobbed your head up his cock and back down. The blonde took reign of his own pants and t-shirt to remove them just like you and Patrick had been now, and as the scene had been going on between the two of you, Art couldn’t help but maneuver himself beneath you. Lifting your lower body up a bit effortlessly so he could fit himself underneath — he tugged on your panties to get them off, right down your upper thighs and over your feet in routine as he discarded them off somewhere across the room.

His cock hard and dripping pre cum just under your pulsing cunt, you felt yourself clench just from Arts grip on you, already guiding you down his dick. Familiarly to him filling your tightness still made you pull from Patrick to let out a high toned gasps as you felt the other man sinking into your hole. “Mmm- - fuck..” you breathe out as you feel yourself being stretched so nice — Arts hands never letting up easy from your hips, he guided you all the way down his member just to let out a deep groan and move you back up again.

“Oh, shit..” the blonde panted. You kept your hold on Patrick as you stroked him even moving up and down Arts dick and letting out strangled moans from beneath the brunettes chest. “Come on baby, just like that- keep stroking him while you take my cock..”

“My god. You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted us both.” Patrick huffed from the sight of you ridding Art with eyebrows knitted into another realm as you bounced up and down the blondes lap and Art couldn’t help but run his hands up your torso to your breast as you did. You placed your mouth back on Patrick and sucked him into letting out low moans of his own from your warmth around him.

“I could cum right now- - fuck, fuck !” he grunted, your hand had gone from moving quick to slowing down as you stroked his base and Art made you feel way to good inside — you didn’t know how much longer you even had in you as you’d gone light headed right then from the way he thrusted up into your soaking pussy, making your head fall back slightly and your words came out slurred,

“Oh- my-y god! Fuck..” you whimpered out as Art made your ass slap against his thighs from his pounding, he leaned up to peck at your neck and hold your body against his chest swiftly. You always remained content in his lap as you turned to kiss him back sloppily, moans and whimpers come from the two of you like a suppressed hunger.

Patrick felt his cock twitch with greed at the sight, “fuck Art, stop hogging her- - I’ve been practically dying to feel that tight little cunt.”

The already much sweatier and rough man, pulled you off of Art, and launched you forward on the bed as your hands braced your plummet — he made sure your ass was up and superb for his viewing. You moaned as your face hit the mattress and you rose to your hands and knees.

“I know this pussy feels fucking amazing. So sweet.” The brunette had been smirking as breathed in awe of the way the lips of your cunt shaped around his thumb as he felt up your folds and palmed your ass. He watched the way you turned to gaze at him with your own hazy fawning eyes that were full of a subtle plea to let him treat you like a whore. If you didn’t know before — you’d definitely known what I’d been like now. Patrick slid his dick over your soaked lips. You inched forward just from the feeling of the girth against you, causing you to hiss out a whine, not prepared or used to his size at all, it made you shake at the slight sensation.

“Keep still, baby doll” Arts hand had came to rub circles gently on your hip bone, your face consorted in uncertainty for a moment till you felt the blondes touch against your skin and you relaxed under his touch finally.

“Yeah. You’re a big girl, you wanted this remember?” Patrick added, he went to put his hand in your hair and you bit down on your strawberry reddened lips hard.

“Slow, please.” Your voice soft as you palmed the sheets beneath you to brace yourself,

“Slow.” Art repeated as his vision shifted from you to eye the brunette, leaning back on to his elbows beside you to making sure the darker haired man wasn’t pushing his luck.

Patrick raised a leg to get a better angle as he slapped the head of his aching cock a couple times to your puffy cunt, and he began to push in, taking his time to feel the way your tightness stretched fairly wide for him and when your jaw had hung to let out a choke moan, you’d been fighting the urge to give up on your arms strength. You took the man inch by inch. Whimpers escaped you like crazy and your legs began to tremble while Patrick’s lips parted to groan out deeply at the feeling of you clenching around him.

“There you go, pretty girl. Take my cock just like that..” he muttered as he started to fuck into you and your body had moved with his thrusts rather quickly, the man had been much more hasty to take you at a rapid pace on contact than Art normally did. His pelvis hitting the form of your ass and your soft cries matched the pace as he slid you up and down his throbbing member.

“Mmmh, fuck- your so- - big,” You watched as he grabbed on to your body and pounded into you. Patrick couldn’t stop himself now — your legs spread and nearly shaking just for him as your pre juices pooled at the bottom of his shaft. It was all too easy on the eyes for him to only take you faster. Your eyes had fought to stay open as hands come at you from every way at his escalated thrust.

Both of the men watch as you shudder to keep composure. The bows at the ends of your braids go wild on your back from the force of Patrick taking on your little body. And he had reached to grip them in his tough hands, making your your head to lift and echo out your whimpers and mewls.

Art felt himself coming close just from the sight, he had to calm his own hand from stroking himself into finishing. It was like the sight beyond him had surpassed what it ever could of been in his fantasies. He wanted it in you after all.

Patrick pushed on your lower back which forced you to arch for him all the more, your face against the mattress, watching you take his dick while pornographic moans fall from your pretty lips. You turned your head against the sheets to meet Arts eyes in petition as you’d been pulsing so hard — in fear you may start cumming too quick for your own little head to catch up to. Your eyebrows furrowed and your jaw dropped as Patrick fucked cries out of you.

“Aww, you want Art to save you now? Poor thing.” The brunette coo’d at you and you could almost taste the smirk on his face right then as he watched your ass cheeks going swell from his maul on your tight cunt. Art had run his finger tips across your face that had glistened with tears.

“I can- take it, I need more..” you whispered out. To which Patrick pulled out of you with a deep grunt, sack full as he could of came inside of you, but he too could agree. More. The man had simply taken place on his back , you swiftly adjusted your position as the feeling of being cockless inside had already increased your fine need.

“Yeah? Then show us how much you need it. Ride my dick like a good girl.”

You were already climbing on top of the man with abs that could of made your head drowsy all the more, you heaved softly as your much smaller legs adjusted over Patrick’s broad muscular thighs to position yourself to his member. Dripping with a mixture of his and your wet arousal. You sunk down on him more easily now and you winced with pleasure as you leaned back on your arms, head going with you as you started to feel butterflies down there from your first slight movement, moving your hips up his girthy cock and right back down.

Patrick moaned lowly as he held your hips there and helped you move, your tits daintily bouncing with your body in the low light of the room, and you could hear a muttered, “god” come from your side as Art leaned over your delicate shoulder to grope at your exposed breast. His bottom lip tucked in his teeth. You could feel his leaking cock run again your lower back causing you to moan as you took yourself upon Patrick’s hard erection ramming into you.

“You look like a fucking angel fucking yourself on his cock- - shit, you’re gonna make me cum.” The man groaned as he observed his best friend turn you into a whimpering mess.

“Ugh- -, I wanna cum. Fuck, fuck..” Your whimpers were heavenly and sweet, Art took the initiative to reach around you and rub at your clit the perfect pace — making your legs shake and you gasps out. “Yes- - yes, oh. Fuck!”

Patrick grabbed hold of your ankles so you’d keep your balance on top of him, his thumb grazed against your white lace frilled sock and he groaned. To him they were so stupid, but at the same time so fucking hot.

“Cum, princess. Go ahead, Be a good girl for us.” Art slow talked you and it made your eyes flutter as you couldn’t have been filled more with burning lust all over your body as the men brought you right to where you wanted like that — shaking and crying out moans as you had came hard on Patrick’s dick. Your movements became sloppy as you heard groans coming from him as well, he leaned up to grab hold of your neck and press for pressure just before he pounded up into you hard and released his own ropes inside your sensitive heat — feeling him pump you full and the overstimulation of his large hand around your throat had you moaning out his name. You lifted from his cock, but Art held your body so you wouldn’t fumble over.

“Oh my god, holy- - fuck,” your grin now of bliss, string of naughty words and giggles left your puffy lips as you sighed into Arts shoulder and he was smirking down at the way his fingers rubbed your now creamy cunt and the blonde laid you back against the comforter again.

Completely cock drunk and breathing heavy as your heart beat caught up with your breathing, Art didn’t want you losing your overstim too quickly — he was already towering over your petite body and sliding back into you at the second your eyes met his and you reached for his arms immediately. Jaw open as you let out a choked noise. You couldn’t catch a break. Just being filled up again. You lock eyes with the gorgeous blonde above you as he stretched you wide once again.

“You’re so fucking good, sweet girl. Just one more, for me..”

All knowing you’d do whatever he longed for, the man sweet talked you slow as he watched Patrick’s seed drip from your drooling cunt and met the tip of his cock as he began to sink in. You kept your legs spread for him. Round eyes glittering with adoration for him like worship, you stared up at Art — so obedient for him always.

“I wanna cum again for you, I can-” you tried to speak fairly normal through soft gasps when Art bottomed out into you, reaching that spot Patrick lit up within you, your head went cloudy again and released into the pillows priming you. “-do it.” You finished your sentence with a whine.

Art couldn’t help but to grin at your state, so tired and fucked out but so turned on by the way the two men had been taking their toll on you back to back. You couldn’t help but take it all — he held your body, pussy so full from cum and Arts member that filled you excellently. You began to shake and tremble with a whimper at his every slap against your sensitive cunt.

Your hand moved to your face unconsciously you took your thumb in your mouth to balance the sensations all at once, moaning as the blonde pounded you into the bed — he watched you bite down and suck on your own digit in euphoric bliss. He soon reached to remove your own hand and replace it with his, sliding his tip against your pump bottom lip before dipping his thumb in your mouth.

You let out a satisfied little chirp as you run your tongue sloppily over the man’s digit with a smile before sucking on him like it was everything you needed. Eyes shutting softly, he pleased you both orally and by the clench of your pussy. “mmmh” you whimpered out and Art kept fucking into you with a quick pace.

“That’s my girl. I know exactly what you want.” He kept his finger in your mouth before your legs were shaking with need and your own hands gripped his one as you cried out from his thrusts, the blonde panted at the slight of you beneath him so prolific and exposed — he couldn’t even think straight before he was spilling his load inside of you. Keeping himself flush to your cunt as he emptied himself with a low grunt and you ended up squirting on his cock with a muffled scream.

“Fuck, you got her to squirt.” You heard Patrick pant and by the looks of his hand covered in his own arousal, you and Art had both been knowing he came again. Sweaty and chests heaving you both melted into each other, your arms immediately going to wrap around Art as he squeezed and kissed you.

“Are you good, baby? Was that not too much for you? You took a lot just now.” Arts voice came in calmly as he looked over you for any signs of turbulence. His fingers graced your flushed face, wedding band cold as it brushed against your skin. You nodded as your breathing finally caught up to you steadily.

“Yeah.. Fuck, I feel good. You both came inside of me..” your words slip out as if you needed to convince yourself of the matter, like you hadn’t been on your back and both of the men’s cum wasn’t gushing out of you as you speak.

Art smiled softly at you and his tired eyes watched the sparkle in yours. He readjusted himself so he was lying beside your left — and Patrick collapsed against the pillows on your right.

“Fucking hell, Art. I just can’t believe you kept her all to yourself this whole time.”

“Yeah? She’s something isn’t she?” Art replied with a grin as he turned your way and continued to run his thumb over your cheeks and lips. Your blush was heightened at the two boy’s marvel over you, lip between your teeth as you let out a light chuckle.

“I hope you had fun, Patrick. She’s still all mine, right angel?” Art glanced down at you.

“Sharing is caring.” You shrugged in a teasing manner as the blonde scoffed playfully and raised a brow in thought before nodding, “okay, maybe a little sharing.”

Patrick laughed, “you call that a little ? We made her cum twice. You let me fuck her like a sl-”

The brunette was cut off at the blonde hitting him in the forearm then gesturing to you — sound asleep in between the two.

Your soft breaths slip through your lips as your head fell into Arts shoulder. He put his finger to his lips to warn Patrick not to wake you, and he leaned up from the bed slow. “Pass me my shirt on the floor, and grab a towel from the bathroom.” He whispers to the other man who carefully moved up from the bed and threw the T to Art before he went to grab a towel for your body.

Art started to maneuver his shirt on you with tenderness so you at least wouldn’t wake up naked and confused.

When Patrick came back he smirked at the way your small tiresome figure had been passed out on the bed like some sort of sleeping beauty. “See, I did that.” He nodded up at Art with the same darkened lustful eyes he began the night with — but Art only rolled his at the man’s cockiness.

“We did that.” He corrected while he ran the towel over your inner thighs lightly before he lifted your limbs to lie you beneath the covers, and Patrick helped him pull them over you. You only let out a quiet noise from the movement as you continued your slumber and the two men watched you for a quiet moment.

Arts lips curled up in a fond smile before he bent to leave a kiss to your forehead — the blonde looked over at the brunette who had folded his arms over his chest while he watched with a raised brow and Art contemplated before leaving another peck against your skin.

“And one from Patrick too, I guess.”

A/N: I love this little uv I’ve created sooo bad you guys <3

[fieldsofwriting]

And so, the stars aligned. Pt. 2

Azriel x Archeron!Sister reader

Summary: Azriel knew you can't read. And he knows you would never admit it. So he tricks you into taking reading lessons.

Warnings: Slight mentions of nightmares.

part one part three, Part Four Masterlist Requests are open!!

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You had come into your room to grab something. And had lost every train of thought as you saw the note neatly placed on top of the book you carted around for show- not quite sloppy hand writing but it was clearly male and in a rush. A...stick figure drawing of you? Clearly Feyre had not drawn this. But there is an attention to detail, your hair is colored correctly, and your eyes also the right shade- or as close as you could get in crayon. Truthfully, it could have been anyone female but since it was in your room, it was safe to assume. And then a book- the library? Is that where this mystery would be solved. You were far too curious now to just not go.

And so, you folded the note up and put in into one of your pockets. Heading down there quickly. The only sound as you enter is the clicking of your shoes. Looking around you, and making your way over to Clotho's desk. The priest doesn’t look up at you but quickly writes, 'Ah, y/n to what do we owe the pleasure?'

You smile and pull out the note to show it to her. "It seems- I was summoned." Clotho's amusement oozes off her and she simple writes.

'Go down to level five and you should find what you're looking for.' Squinting suspiciously at her for just a second you debate listening. But that is your inner Nesta speaking, and as much as you loved your oldest sister you didn't want to be completely like her. So, complying with a general order wouldn’t be an issue.

Thanking Clotho quickly you make your way down to the fifth level. And you could have throttled Azriel as he looked over at you with a set of children's books, letter sheets and pencils. He was leisurely sitting there, legs crossed, his ankle resting on his thigh. Arms crossed as he looked at you. And knowing him, while his face remained neutral- he had a feline smirk just like Rhys’s on the inside. Stomping over, crossing your arms and glaring down at the Illyrian man you hiss, "What are you doing?"

"Teaching you how to read." He answers simply, not even slightly phased by your intense gaze. The shadows that normally linger around him aren’t there, instead- as if to mock how little of a threat you are- they pool at his feet like a dog. You'd have to talk to Nesta about getting that icy glare down pat.

"You're still on about that?" You scuff, turning on your heel to leave him with his silly ideas. But before you can get far, a gentle but rough hand grabs your elbow.

"If you can read, then I'll accept I was wrong and even buy you dinner." Azriel compromises. But he knew better, he saw the way your eyes glazed over when they looked at your book and there was no rhyme or reason as to when you flipped the page. Normally people had consistency when they were reading, You had none. Even when Nesta was reading smut there was consistency to it- albeit the page turns got faster but it was still consistent.

You were convinced you could do this. You didn't need him to know this about you. Not even your sisters knew- sure Nesta and Elain probably had inklings to it but you were just six when poverty struck. They were just kids too, it wasn't there job to teach you. Sitting down at the table you looked at the page. It was easy- just trace the letters. You could do that. So you picked up the pencil and started. And once you were done you slid it over to him. "See?"

He nods, taking the sheet and looking it over. Nodding as he examines the work. Then he sets it down and meets your intense eyes, but he doesn't shy away. He takes the first book off the stack. It was a young child's book- it should be a breeze for someone of your age. Prick. You think as he slides it over and folds his hands on the table. Watching the way your eyes widen. Your breathing hitches and there's a slight tremble to your hands as you take the book. He knows that look in your eyes- it's the one Feyre gets when she's calculating a plan. And he couldn't deny that he was slightly excited to see what you'd come up with.

Flipping open the book you know what he's probably looking for is some sortive consistency, so you'd let your eyes look at each word and then flip the page. And so, that's what you did. Finding it hard to keep up your little deception with his eyes focused so intensely on you. But you got to the end of the book and closed it with a triumphant smack. Looking back up at him- before you can open your mouth to speak, Azriel looks at you and asks. "What was it about?"

Shit. Fuck. You didn't look at the pictures! You quickly look down at the book and see a dog and a young boy on the cover. "Its about a dog and his owner." You say as evenly as you can manage for how fast your heart was beating. Azriel raises an eyebrow. Silently waiting for more. "When did you get so expressive?" You ask to quickly change the subject.

"I don't have to be on guard here. There is no one else around. And the priestess won't judge me for showing an emotion." He addresses your question simply, smoothly. Damn him and his stupid sliver tongue. He was the Shadowsinger! Of course he knew how to evade topics and questions to redirect to what he wanted! He taps the book in between the two of you again. And you look at his hands, scars running all along them, and of course you had know that. But it was the first time that you saw them this clearly. And as much as you wanted to get out of this situation- you knew that question was out of the question. "What is this about?" His voice remains gentle, but slightly stern.

Azriel watches you for any signs. He had seen many of them- you were a bad liar. Your emotions written all over your face. Your eyes, they showed everything. How no one else saw it astonished him. And for a second, as he watches how you look down at the book with apprehension and sorrow, that you quickly wash away once your gazes meet again...he sees your resolve break.

"Fine." You say quietly. "I can't read." Your cheeks heat at the confession- it felt so...so...mortifying that you were now twenty, an immortal High Fae and had no idea how to read. "Please don't tell the others." The last thing you wanted was for your sisters to look at you with that pitiful look they always seemed to give you when you mentioned something. Let alone, how awful it make you feel if Nesta fell back into her vices. Granted you knew Cassian wouldn’t let that happen.

He thinks his heart might just burst for a moment. Seeing you so somber. Azriel had watched you from the second you were dumped out of that Cauldron. Shaking, crying, gasping for air. The first thing you did was try and push it over so your sisters wouldn’t bare the same fate. And for the first few weeks after, when he heard your screams in the middle of the night. He'd make sure you were alright, given you the space to talk to him if needed. You rarely took the opportunity. Pushing him away despite him reaching out. Keeping him at an arms length for reasons he didn’t understand. Time, though. Everyone kept telling him with time, you’d come around. But you pushed him right into Elain. Not that he hated your older sister. No, far from it. They were good friends, they could talk for hours about anything and everything. But she wasn't you. She wasn't his. She had her mate, and Rhys has made it clear to him that despite his feelings toward her- they could never be. Lucian wouldn't accept it until she flat out rejected him, and even then they had no idea what the other male would do. Rhys didn't want to loose his brother over a girl. And while Azriel grumbled and snarled at him, deep down. He knew that he was right.

But watching you, moving through the Night Court with a smile that didn't reach your eyes and a grace that rivaled Elain's...Hearing your laugh in a crowed room and smiling into his drink. He knew that you made yourself seem happy, chipper, played the part of the sweet younger sister for everyone. So looking at you now, as your cheeks burn red and tears threaten to spill out of your eyes. He'd do anything he could to make sure you'd never look like that again. Azriel gently takes your hand, letting his thumb swipe over your knuckles as you look up at him. "I won't tell a soul."

And you believe him. The sincerity in his eyes, he's got no reason to lie to you. But you can't help the smile that creeps up. "Thank you."

And a comfortable silence falls as you both continue to look at each other and let your thoughts run free. Before Azriel clears his throat- and you were about 87% sure that there was a blush creeping in. "I can continue to teach you, if you'd like."

Looking down at the book in between you, where your hand was still in his. Tracing the lines of his scars gently, you nodded. "I think i'd like that."

Azriel didn't bother to hide his smile.

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a/n: This got very long, very fast. But I hope you all like it! Let me know if there is anything else you guys wanna see! And if y’all wanna be added to the tag list, let me know! :3

tag list: @sidthedollface2 @cat-or-kitten @impossibelle @brunette-barbie1220 @scatteredstardustt @sammanna @cherry-cin @tele86 @judig92

[bigification]

Gainers Roulette

It's a risky game played by men desperate enough to risk their bodies for a chance at a bigger life. Men come from far and wide to play a game of Gainer roulette, some come out strong and sexy, some aren't so lucky. Although the game isn't all luck, it has a way of punishing those it deems unworthy.

Six needles are loaded, four with a serum that increases muscle and testosterone in the body, and two with a serum that drastically increases age and fat in the body.

The first player is a young man who pulls up on a motorcycle. He learned how to ride a motorcycle so that he could join his dad's group, but now he just gets picked on for being young and skinny. Well regardless, him being skinny won't be a problem after this.

He takes the serum. Immediately his face starts to change. His young and smooth features become more ragged, his clean shaven face quickly grows thick black hairs giving him a bushy beard, and the hairs on his head fall out leaving him with a smooth bald head. At this point it's hard to tell if he's won or not. Aging and losing hair is a common sign of losing, but he did want to look older and tougher so it could be either.

Next his body started to rapidly grow. He grew taller and taller as his shoulders broadened and his chest grew two juicy pecs that burst out of his shirt. His flat stomach grew into a thick six pack with a small layer of fat covering them. His arms exploded with muscle, becoming large and defined. Hair started to grow all over his body, covering his chest, stomach, and arms, giving him a much tougher look.

Moving downward, his previously flat ass perked up and pressed firmly against his shorts. His legs thickened as a thick pelt of hair grew over them, and his feet grew a few sizes, busting out of his shoes. And finally, a large bulge formed in his tight shorts, just for good measure.

Looks like we have a winner. The man leaned against his motorcycle and looked down at his nearly naked body. He smiled before riding off.

Our next player arrives in a luxury car. These never go well, rich guys only have one thing money can't buy them, good looks. So they come here expecting to walk out strong and good looking, let's see how this goes.

An average looking guy in an expensive polo and a gold chain walk out of the car. Not exactly what I expected, but close enough. He appears to be on the phone, and he doesn't seem to be enjoying the phone call. He puts the caller on hold as he approaches and takes the shot without even saying a word to me.

The man's well kept hair quickly falls off his head as his facial features start to age. It's not looking good for him so far. His cheeks puff out as a couple of chins grow under his soft jawline.

His scrawny body bursts out of his expensive polo as his gut grows bigger and bigger. He is left with a big hairy beer gut hanging out of his ripped shirt. His chest soon follows, growing into a thick pair of man tits with cheap looking tattoos on them.

His arms and legs thicken with mostly fat as his hands become thick and pudgy. The man is left old, bald, and fat. This is what usually happens to the rich guys who come here. He resumes his phone call as if nothing happened before getting in his car and driving away.

The next player slowly walks up holding a cane. He is an elderly sheriff who had to quit his job due to his physical condition, but wants to work again.

The man takes the shot, and almost right away his back straightens as he grows taller. Most of the wrinkles on the man's skin disappear as his he grows a clean silver beard. His receded hairline grows back and his skin tans from a pale white to a healthy golden brown.

The man's chest perks up and his shoulders broaden, filling out his sheriff uniform. The fat in his stomach disappears, leaving his uniform hanging off of his pecs. His biceps tripled in size, filling with muscle until they were about to rip his sleeves. His ass perks up and his thighs thicken, filling out his pants.

The man stands tall, smiles and nods at me approvingly before leaving without a word.

Next player is a young man who pulls up on a bike. He says he's close to getting drafted into the football league of his dreams, but he just hasn't been able to put on the weight needed for his position. Well either way I'm sure he'll be beyond heavy enough.

He takes the shot and his body starts to fill out. His skinny arms grow large and strong and his flat chest plumps up into two defined pecs, bursting through his tiny shirt. His pudgy stomach tightens up into a barely visible six pack with a sizable layer of fat covering it.

His legs and his ass explode with muscle and fat, giving the young man the look of a superstar football player. The pressure in his shorts grows until they rip open in dramatic fashion, making his ass bounce as it's released. Finally his face fills out, matching the rest of his massive body.

It looks like we have another winner. He seems to come to after the transformation is complete, an embarrassed look takes over his face as he attempts to cover his dick with his hands. His hands are quite massive, but it would be futile to try to cover up the monster he's got packing down there.

I throw him a towel to cover up and he thanks me before biking off.

The next player is a middle aged man who shows up in a barely functioning mini van. He said he used to be an athlete but had to stop after a serious injury. Ever since he had his kids, he has gained a lot of weight and struggles to do any activities with his kids.

The man takes the shot, and similar to the sheriff from before, his back straightens as his height increases drastically. Within moments the small feeble man with a can has become a tall and imposing man. His height has made his shorts look like short shorts and his shirt look like a bra, exposing his hairy gut. This would not last long however, as the fat in his body rapidly started to drain. As it did, his body began to twitch as an immense amount of muscle started to grow in his body. His hulking gut became a rock hard six pack and his moobs became a juicy pair of pecs. The man's soft arms became solid and defined as his hands became thick and calloused. His legs became strong and sturdy, and his ass became round a perky instead of sagging like it did before.

The man's face slimmed down, making his double chin fade as a thick black beard grew over his face. His receding hairline also grew back a little bit, giving him a more youthful look. Finally, a thick pelt of hair grew all over the man's body. Though the transformation seemed very taxing on the man, and he ended up passing out.

He must have been 6"4 and at least 250 pounds, so dragging his body to a bed was no easy task. It didn't take long for him to wake up. He thanked me profusely before getting up and leaving in the minivan.

Our last player for today is a young man who shows up in a cop car. He approaches wearing a police uniform, he feels he is not being respected by the more senior police. He wants to be more intimidating and demand more respect, but something tells me that his co-workers aren't the only reason he wants to be more intimidating. Unfortunately for him, he has no idea that there is only one shot left and it is not a winner.

The man impatiently takes the shot. Almost immediately, the man's flat stomach distended outward into a beer belly. It grows and grows until rips through his police uniform, leaving him in a tight black undershirt. He is left with a thick ball gut that hangs out of his shirt. His once defined pecs grow into two soft man tits that lay on his gut. The fat in his chest has even forced his arms to lay further out from his body. Speaking of his arms, they plump up under a thick layer of fat, nearly ripping his sleeves in the process. Even his hands look fat, with fingers that look like stuffed sausages.

Lucky for the young man, his uniform pants seemed to be slightly too big for him, so they have enough room to store his new body. His ass explodes with fat, stretching his large pants to their limit. His thighs follow suit, filling his pants until they're about to burst.

Just when the transformation is about to end, it gets worse for the young man. His face becomes pudgier as a thick double chin forms on his neck. But as the fat filled his face, the stubble on his chin went from brown to white. The hair on his head followed suit, becoming a pale white colour as his hairline slightly receded. Wrinkles started to form on his face as he began to rapidly age. From his mid twenties, to forties, all the way to his sixties in mere moments. His body started to sag under its own weight as blemishes formed on his skin.

Police equipment was scattered across the floor as the man was left in a tiny black undershirt and pants that barely fit. He flexed, making his shirt ride up even more, and smiled as he looked at his body. It seems as though he is unaware of how different his body was mere moments ago. He chuckled and states that the station will have no choice but to respect a man of his stature, and besides, he's definitely old enough to get some seniority. He picks up his ripped uniform off the ground and comments that it must have shrunk in the wash and that he needs to get a new one. He thanks me before squeezing into his police car and driving off

[authorhjk1]

Surviving NNN

Part Six: Lost

Karina rests her head against the shower wall. The warm water hits her back and shoulders, before cascading down her frame. She presses her cheek against the cold tiles as she tries to make herself climax. Her right hand is inbetween her legs, while the left is planted against the wall.

She was in a constant state of horniness throughout this month, knowing that her boyfriend is living together with three of her friends. Karina tried not to touch herself, but she has finally reached her braking point. And what broke her? As you expected, the song about your night together makes Karina's eyes roll to the back of her head as she gets herself off in the hotel room shower.

Her moans are not audible underneath the shower. But her shaking body is more evidence one needs to figure out what's going on. Your mini album just came out. Because it's a small one and not long after your last comeback, there is no MV. Partially because it would be weird to shoot one, if the woman in it is not Karina.

As soon as she heard the song, your girlfriend couldn't help herself any longer. She missed your touch over the last weeks, her mind drawn to you whenever she is not completely busy.

Karina cums on her own fingers, thinking about that night. Thinking about the three girls that are with you. Thinking about the first day of December.

Two days before:

You look at Minju, at the screen of your TV, and back to Minju.

"What is going on?"

You swear you have never seen her cheeks turn this pink. Her eyes are darker than usual, while they avoid your gaze. Her right hand is underneath a blanket, while her left is playing nervously with its hem.

"This-This is not what it looks like."

She closes her eyes, knowing you wouldn't belive her. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. She was supposed to seduce you. Not get caught by you, while having half of your TV remote stuffed inside her needy snatch.

"I-I just got myself a glass of water and stopped the video. I was about to play it now."

"But why are you watching my stuff?"

She does look suspicious to you.

"I just watched Dreamcatcher's new comeback and this was next on the algorithm."

"Oh, alright."

You play dumb, knowing what's going on. There is no way that a performance video of yours is played right after Dreamcatcher's new MV. And Minju's hand underneath the blanket must be doing more than just holding the remote. But you let her be, flattered that she is actually getting off to you. You don't confront her, kmowing that it might lead to your own downfall.

Present:

Unbeknownst to you, two of the four girls have already failed the challenge. Chaewon and Karina. Minju got interrupted by you and got back to her senses. Yena has been holding out quite well so far. Until she blindly walks into your room.

Iit is night and Yena confused your door with hers as she came back from the bathroom. She is now standing in the doorframe, looking at you sleeping. You must have thrown off your blanket in the middle of the night, since its lying right next to you. Yena is enjoying the view of your mostly naked body, before she catches herself staring.

She shakes her head, dismissing the idea that just creeped into her mind. She is about to turn around, when she hears you groan quietly in your sleep. The deep sound makes Yena stay. She has been trying to resist her need for release since you let her listen to your songs.

She doesn't move for a couple of moments, thinking about what she should do.

Oh fuck it. Might as well try.

Yena slowly walks towards your bed, before kneeling onto the edge. She does her best to not touch your legs as she scoots closer towards your core. Her eyes are on your underwear, the outlines of your cock barely visible under the moonlight.

She licks her lips, before trying to take off your boxers. Which isn't as easy as it seems, since you don't move your hips. The only thing Yena can do is pull down your waistband.

Her eyes grow wide when she sees your cock in real life. Karina's picture was nice and all. But up close your cock looks even better. Bigger.

She hesistantly gives your tip a kiss, testing the waters. When she sees no reaction, Yena opens, her mouth, ready to suck your cock. Her lips wrap around your tip, both of her hands slightly pulling your waistband down. Yena closes her eyes as she relishes in the feeling of your cock in her mouth. This might be cheating. But if she can make you cum like this... Her lips form a smile around your dick as she starts to slowly bob her head.

The new sensation of Yena's blowjob changes up your dreams a little. It makes them more sexual. You start to dream of the three girls,giving you head, as Karina rides your face. Unbeknownst to you, the wetness you feel around your cock is real.

Until Yena stops. Her hair keeps getting in the way. She lets your cock slip out of her mouth, letting it fall onto your stomach. She slowly lets go of your boxers, before reaching for her wrist. She takes off the hair band, before starting to put her pink hair into a poytail. She licks her lips as she ties her hair back.

After tugging a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Yena gets right back at it. Like before, she pulls down the waistband of your boxers with two hands. Her mouth kisses along the length of your shaft, before she takes it into her mouth, lifting your cock off your stomach. She tries to stay silent as she continues her work, but can't help an occasional hum.

Her eyes grow wide when she hears footsteps behind her. Yena is unable to turn her head, without letting your cock fall out, so she doesn't see who it is. But when she sees a hand wrap around the lower half of your shaft, she hears Chaewon's voice in her ear.

"Let me have a taste, you slut."

Yena slightly shakes her head, Your cock still inside her mouth. It makes you move, the dream you are having becoming hotter and hotter. The two girls hold their breath, hoping you didn't wake up.

"You have to share."

Chaewon whines, trying to get Yena off your cock. At this rate she might make you cum in your sleep. But that doesn't count, right? She tries to push the older girl away. Yena stands her ground, but Chaewon doesn't give up. Instead of pushing her away, she starts to kiss the lower half of your cock.

Although competing, the two girls work in tandem. When Yena takes more into her mouth, Chaewon kisses towards your base. When Yena almost lets your tip fall out of her mouth, Chaewon kisses upwards, as far as she is able to go.

The two girls suddenly hear a thud in the living room. Their eyes grow wide. Not wanting to get caught, they silently jump off your bed. Yena closes the door behind her, before the two girls run back to their room.

The sound of the door closing makes you stir awake. You had a great dream. You suddenly feel kinda odd. Your cock feels...wet. What the hell? Was the dream too good? Did you actually cum in your sleep?

You get out of the bed as you feel the urge to use the bathroom. The watermelon right before bed was a bad idea.

Walking through the living room, you stop as your gaze finds Minju, lying on the mattress.

Her blanket is only covering the upper part of her body, which is good for your attempt to last through this month, because you don't see a bra srap on Minju's shoulders.

But her lower half pushes you close nonetheless. She isn't wering pajamas. Only a red, high waisted thong is covering her center. Her cheeks aren't covered at all and you have to use all your discipline to not reach down and take a handful. The waistband is covered with small sparkling stones. You can only read a couple of letters, but realize that it says "Victoria Secret". Karina has one or two of those. You never really expected Minji to wear stuff like this. She always struck you as an innocent, coy girl.

As soon as you shut the bathroom door behind you, Minju starts to move. How did this not work? How are you able to walk past her after not nutting for almost a whole month? Minju grows frustrated with you and herself, ready to use her last option.

She doesn't even think about the possibility that you would never cheat on Karina. She turns around, now lying on her back. She doesn't want to make it too obvious, because that might lead to the wrong reaction on your part. Minju decides to keep her top half covered. But she furiously starts to rub her clit over her panties. Her goal? To create a big wet spot on her panties, before you come back out.

When she hears you use the sink, she feels the wet fabric over her pussy. It was almost too easy to make herself wet and almost too hard to stop. The excitment of the chance to get to fuck you in the next couple of minutes makes Minju sigh. She closes her eyes again as she sees the light in the bathroom turn off.

You step out of the room, seeing Minju now lying on her back. Even with barely any light at all, the wet spot on her thong is visible. You grow hard at the sight. It would be too easy to...

You shake your head. You would never cheat on Karina.

Minju hears you leaving. Without thinking, she starts to whisper.

"Oh, oppa. That feels so good."

Your heart stops as you turn around. Minju's brows are furrowed as she rubs her thighs together.

"How do you even fit in me?"

Another moan makes you even harder. You step forward. Your mind on the edge of breaking.

You have held out for almost a month without cuming now. You have a feeling that the three girls keep trying to make you fail. Or even try to get you to fuck them. Does Karina know about this? Did she plan this? That ridiculous thought enters your head. No way. Karina would never want to see you with another woman. Right? She never talked about something like this.

And here you are. Now towering over Minju as the young woman pretends to have a wet dream about you. Her occasional moans make you want to pound her hard.

"Inside of me. Breed me."

[avatar-anna]

I was thinking you could do a “5 times y/n told Harry she was pregnant” for the young!dad series !! That would be so interesting especially since in the last piece you mentioned that Harry already had a feeling she was pregnant before she even told him

The Thing About Having Six Kids

so i got this ask and a couple others that were kind of about the kids' birth/pregnancy a while ago, and went with five different instances about each kid in the youngdadrry universe. it's all surrounding their birth, finding out about pregnancies, etc. enjoy!

Young Dad! Harry x Young Mom! Reader

Simone

(a text conversation between Harry and Y/n)

Y/n: i'm pregnant

(one day later)

Y/n: Harry?

Harry: Are you sure?

Y/n: i'm sure

Y/n: i have four different pregnancy tests to prove it

Harry: I don't know what to say.

Y/n: the 24 hours it took you to respond kind of told me that

Harry: I'm sorry about that. It's just...a lot

Y/n: it's fine i guess. at least you finally responded.

Harry: Did you think I wouldn't?

Y/n: honestly? yeah. it's not like we're married or in love or anything. you don't even live in the same country as me

Harry: What are you going to do?

Harry: I know but I wouldn't just like disappear on you

Harry: I was just shocked that's all

Y/n: idk. i'm still trying to figure out a way to tell my parents

Harry: Shit my parents!

Y/n: that's kinda where i'm at right now

Y/n: but i think i want to keep it

Y/n: the baby

Y/n: fuck that sounds crazy to say. i have physics homework due tomorrow but let me stop and make a life altering decision really quick about whether i want to have a baby or not

Harry: I'm sorry. You know...

Y/n: for getting me pregnant? knocking me up? putting a bun in the oven?

Harry: It seems too early to joke about this

Y/n: it's keeping me from freaking the fuck out at the moment

(ten minutes later)

Harry: I want to talk about this properly and figure this whole thing out but I have to go

Y/n: please don't feel obligated or anything. this was just a courtesy

Y/n: i don't expect anything from you. i get it if your management wants you to delete my number and never see me again. i just thought you should know.

Harry: What are you talking about?

Harry: Y/n?

3 missed calls from Him <3

Collette

"Let's have another baby."

Y/n was close to nodding off, so it was very possible that she was dreaming. She looked behind her. It was dark in the bedroom, but Harry was close enough that she could see him, could see that his head was propped on his elbow so he could look down at her.

"What did you say?" she asked, because she needed to be sure.

"I...I want another baby," he said, voice soft even though they were the only two people in the room. Simone was fast asleep in her own bedroom, tuckered out after a long day of playing at the park and eating ice cream and fingerpainting with Harry. Now that One Direction was officially on hiatus, it was just the three of them—Y/n, Harry, and Simone. Y/n thought it would take some getting used to, living a relatively normal life. But their little family actually fell into it quite easily.

Perhaps a little too easily.

"Say something."

Y/n hadn't realized she failed to respond, but to be fair, that was a pretty big bomb her husband just dropped. Her husband. They'd been married for a few months now, but it still felt surreal, which was probably why the idea of having another baby felt too far from reality to comprehend.

"I just...I don't know what to say," Y/n said honestly. "I—I'm not sure we're ready for that."

"We weren't ready the first time," Harry said when Y/n finally flipped on her other side to face him. This seemed like a conversation he really wanted to have, so she thought facing him would probably be best. "I just think this might be the time, you know? I don't have an insane schedule anymore, there's no more management to say that we can't, and I've always thought about giving Simone a sibling. Don't tell me you've never thought about it."

"I...I have," Y/n said.

She did think about more kids. As young as she and Harry were and as impossible as their relationship seemed at times, Y/n couldn't help but think about wanting more. She loved Harry, and she'd been loving these moments they'd been able to share as a proper family recently. Harry was right, if they wanted to have another baby, now would be the time.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he said as she felt more than saw his hand push some hair away from her face.

"What happens when you start working again?" Y/n asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you, H," she said. "And I love you. Everything about you. And one of the parts that make you who you are is the music. This...this little bubble we're in, I love it too, but I know you'll want to go back to it someday. And then you'll go on tour for ten months, and I'll be alone to raise two kids by myself for a majority of the year."

It was harsh, but she trusted him enough to take it. This was the thought that always held her back. Y/n thought about the possibility of expanding their family on more than one occasion, especially in recent weeks when things have been practically perfect. But the reality was that Harry would want to go back to work. She knew, maybe better than anyone, the desire he had to make his own music, to create and write in ways he couldn't while in the band. And perform. Harry loved to perform live. Y/n knew that this time spent with just their family was fleeting, and she cherished every minute of it, the same way she knew Harry did. It was only a matter of time before he went back to work, and she wasn't sure she could raise Simone and a newborn without him.

"That's...That's all over now," Harry said. When Y/n tried to protest, he continued on. "What I meant to say was, the ridiculous schedules, the strict rules about when we can and can't spend time together, the separate hotel rooms. Mama, things can be different now."

"But management—"

"I bought out my contract," he said. "I haven't really given it much thought in a while because I just want to be present with you and Simone, but I've got a few people in mind for new managers. People who will prioritize our family."

This was certainly news to Y/n. It was hard to talk about Harry's management or the harsh thumb they pinned him under, so oftentimes it was a topic they avoided. Hearing him say this now, knowing how much money it would've taken to buy out his contract...that was a huge deal. As far as she knew, the other boys were just sticking with it until the contracts were finished. But Harry went and did what Y/n didn't even think was possible.

"Our family," Y/n repeated, and for a moment, she could see it. The three of them becoming four. It was crazy to think about, to think so far ahead into the future, but Y/n wasn't scared by it.

"Let's have another baby," Harry said again.

Looking at him, Y/n's heart squeezed in her chest. He'd been growing his hair out for a while now, and it was long enough that it reached just passed his shoulders. She loved it, thought it made him look older, more mature. And okay, hot. And Simone loved it too. She loved braiding it and putting bows and flowers in it or just twisting it around her finger. His shoulders were broad and lean, though he'd put on a little muscle in his arms from doing handiwork around the house, something he claimed he loved to do even though Y/n had heard him curse from another room while he worked on his latest project.

She looked at his face, the one that looked so different yet so similar to the one she'd met when she was seventeen. She wondered what those teenagers would think of the people they'd become, of the things they'd seen and experienced.

She thought about it. The baby-to-be. It would have Harry's eyes and smile, her nose and hair color. If it was a girl, she could wear matching outfits with Simone, if it was a boy...Well, they could maybe still match. Y/n thought about all the baby clothes—the adorable little onesies and shoes and mittens to keep the baby from scratching their face while they slept. She didn't let herself think of the late nights and sore boobs and dirty diapers. In this moment, she just thought about all the good feelings, every perfect moment that could be.

"You promise things will be different? I can't—I can't do it alone," she said, needing to hear him say it again.

Harry didn't try to kiss her, he didn't put his hands on her waist or pull her to his chest—all tactics he would normally use to distract her. This conversation was too serious, too important, and she loved him all the more for understanding that.

"I promise, Y/n," he said, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. "I will never make you regret living this life with me."

"That's not what I—"

"I know, but I just...I needed to say it."

He needed to make that promise to her, to himself. Life had not been easy, and Y/n knew Harry blamed himself for a lot of the hardships they faced.

"I don't," she said, kissing their joined hands. "And I won't. Ever. "

Harry grinned, and Y/n could tell even in the dark that his gaze was a little watery. Still, he inched forward and said, "So...?"

Y/n leaned forward and kissed him, her leg slotting between his. "Let's have another baby."

Maeve and Jules

"I'm sorry, did you just say twins?"

"I did. I'm seeing two heartbeats here. See?" The doctor said, pointing at the monitor she'd been observing closely the last five minutes.

Y/n couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. It was one thing to be pregnant (again), but an entirely different one to be pregnant with twins. "That's—"

"Amazing," Harry breathed.

Y/n turned her head away from the monitor to look at her husband, whose eyes were glued to the screen with a look of wonder in them. As she'd begun to process her own feelings about housing not one but two babies in her belly for nine months, she hadn't really considered how he might feel about it.

Looking at him now, she could tell he was ecstatic.

Y/n was still panicking a little, but seeing the elation on Harry's face was comforting. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it hard, needing to feel the warmth of his palm to ground her.

"Hey," he said softly, bending down to kiss the top of her head. "This is a good thing. Unexpected, but good."

"I know," Y/n said, letting out a shaky breath. "I know it's just...a lot. I mean...twins?"

"Nothing we can't handle," Harry said, kissing her cheek.

His confidence was reassuring. Maybe he was freaking out on the inside and not letting it show for her sake, but Y/n felt better about the situation at hand and was ready to continue with the appointment.

To the doctor, she said, "Are they healthy?"

The doctor smiled warmly. "They are. It looks like one of them is about a week behind, but that's nothing to worry about."

"Really? They're twins. That doesn't seem possible," Harry said, his brow furrowing adorably.

"It's rare, but it is possible. Fraternal twins can be conceived as much as twenty-four days apart," the doctor said.

Y/n understood perhaps a split-second before Harry, but when he did, he turned as beet red as she felt. The doctor didn't seem to mind their embarrassment, though she'd probably seen all sorts of couples and situations. Y/n imagined there wasn't much that the doctor hadn't seen before.

The appointment wrapped up pretty quickly after that. Harry snuck out of the hospital through a separate door while Y/n set up her next appointment. She met him in the staff parking lot, where he was standing by the passenger door to help her in. Harry gave her a quick kiss before closing her in and walking around to the driver's side. As he drove, Y/n was thinking about a number of things—twice the amount of clothes, twice the amount of crying, twice the amount of diaper changes. She was excited at the prospect of having a baby. It was a conversation she and Harry had before they started trying, but the idea of twins was a lot to wrap her head around.

She looked at Harry, wanting to ask how he felt now that they were alone, but she stopped herself.

Harry had one hand on the steering wheel, the other covering a wide grin. He was blushing a little too, and Y/n couldn't help but ask what had him smiling like an idiot.

"I'm trying to figure out which times," he said.

"What do you mean which—Are you kidding? Which times we conceived the twins?"

"Aren't you curious?" Harry asked. "Twice, babe. I put a baby in you twice. I mean, one of them had to be when we were on the yacht, right? I always feel good after we have sex, but I feel like we really outdid ourselves there. Clearly."

Y/n just looked at her husband in shock. "You are..."

"What? It's cool!" Harry insisted, but he was laughing too. "And it takes the edge off a little. Come on, you try."

So he was more nervous than he was letting on. That was comforting in its own way too, but Y/n appreciated his attempts to lighten the mood. They could have a serious conversation later, but for now it was fun to just forget all of that. Just for a moment.

Y/n gave him a dry look, trying to appear like she wasn't impressed until she eventually rolled her eyes and smiled. "Mm...I agree with the yacht, and...when you came back from London."

"Really?" Harry asked, more curious than surprised.

"Yeah," Y/n said with a little sigh as she remembered the night in question. "That was a good night."

It was one of those rare occurrences where Simone was in her own bed and Collette managed to sleep for more than a couple hours. They'd spent the whole night catching up and giggling like idiots and kissing and enjoying the pleasure of being truly alone with each other. Y/n loved those moments with Harry, where everything was just so simple and easy and it was just them having a little fun. They definitely should've been catching up on sleep while they could, but neither of them wanted to, so they stayed up with tired smiles and slurred movements until they heard Collette's cries through the baby monitor.

"It was. We should do that again sometime," Harry said. Taking Y/n's hand, he kissed the tops of her knuckles.

"You just want to go for triplets," Y/n teased, even though she knew that wasn't what he meant.

"I'm not that crazy," he said, but his smile told her he was thinking about the possibility. Maybe just a little. "I'm excited for this."

"Yeah? What do you think? Boys? Girls? A boy and a girl?"

Harry shrugged. "Our track record would suggest girls, but..."

"You never know," Y/n finished for him.

Geneva

"We have some pretty big news to share."

Once a month, the Styles family held a Zoom call with their friends and family who were scattered across the globe. Since lockdown began, there was a lot of adjusting—online school, not being able to go to the park to play, being at home all day. It was a lot for everyone, but Harry and Y/n did their best to make the adjustments smoother. And when they needed a break, they set up the monthly Zoom calls.

They were mostly just to catch up. Once all the children went to sleep, Harry and Y/n stayed up late talking to other adults about everything and nothing, maybe even played a different drinking game or two to round out the night before they went back to being parents. Tonight was a special night, though.

Multiple faces looked at Harry and Y/n expectantly through their computer screen. Both of them were sporting big smiles as Y/n leaned on Harry's side, one of his older sweatshirts covering her body and the almost imperceptible bump that was beginning to show now. Today was the first day she'd begun to show, and Harry nearly lost his mind with excitement. Finding out Y/n was pregnant had been somewhat of a surprise, but when she told him, he was over the moon. He's started to suspect, having recognized some of his wife's symptoms by now, but they'd been waiting for the right time to tell their families and friends, and tonight was the night.

"What's going on, darling?" Anne asked.

Neither Harry nor Y/n could barely contain their excitement, which probably gave away the news before they actually said anything. However, in their own eagerness to share the news, neither of them saw a few people on the call sporting knowing looks.

"We're having a baby!"

Cheers went all around as everyone congratulated the couple. Questions were asked about due dates and how far along they were and what they were going to do about the lockdown situation. Everything was just as Harry had hoped it would be.

And then things took an interesting turn.

"Who won?" Jeff asked.

"Won? What do you mean—"

"If my math is correct, which I'm pretty sure it is, I believe it goes to Gem," Sarah said, looking down at her phone. "She went with three and a half months. Glenne narrowly missed with three. No one had four so it goes to Gemma."

A collective groan went throughout the Zoom, leaving Harry and Y/n very confused.

"Did you place bets on us?" Y/n asked, sounding more astonished than offended.

"When lockdown became permanent, we knew it was a matter of when not if we would be getting the announcement," Jeff explained. "Someone has a physical copy of the pool somewhere."

"And all of you did this? Mum?" Harry said, brows raised higher than Y/n had ever seen them. When Anne nodded sheepishly, Y/n had to stifle a laugh. "So none of you were surprised?"

"I love you, dear, and I'm so so happy for you, but since you were seventeen, anytime you've come to me with big news, it's been about having a baby. For my own sanity, I've just come to expect it."

Harry looked down at Y/n, who was grinning behind her hand. For her husband's sake, her gaze softened as she reached up to kiss his cheek. "I mean, they have a point. Even you guessed it before I told you."

As the shock finally wore off, Harry smiled. He supposed it wasn't the worst thing in the world. So, he and Y/n were predictable, even though they hadn't really been trying this time around. They were in love and had a lot more time together currently. Things were finally back on track for them and their relationship troubles seemed behind them now. They were happy, and as long as his family was happy, some light teasing and bet placing seemed harmless.

He did pin everyone on the screen with a mock glare before moving on, though. "You guys made a whole pool. Really?"

"Yeah. Can you believe Jeff thought it would take eight months for you to get pregnant?"

"It was for the adjustment to lockdown period!"

"Eight months?"

And on and on it went. Harry just smiled and rested his hand over Y/n's belly, thinking about how much it would grow in just a few short weeks.

Natalia

"I want Mommy!"

Harry sighed and pulled his only son into his lap, pushing the curls away from his face and wiping the tears from his cheeks. "I know you do, JuJu."

Harry and the kids were waiting to hear from Y/n's mother, but he hadn't gotten so much as a text. He was anxious, worried that something was wrong, but Julian's crying served as a good distraction for the time being.

Julian continued to cry, still not understanding why he couldn't see his mother when he'd become so used to seeing her everyday. Harry would've been with Y/n had it not been for the little boy's crying, and he made the split-second decision to stay home while Y/n delivered the baby with her mother as support. He'd never missed any of his children's births, but for this, he could stay behind.

"She'll be back soon, bubba, I promise," Harry said, kissing Julian's cheeks and holding him close. "Should we go play with your Lego set? I know you've been excited to build it. Maybe we can build something to show Mummy when she gets home."

Julian shook his head and continued to cry into Harry's neck. Realizing his son was content to be miserable, Harry didn't ask again. He sat with Jules for a while, holding the boy to his chest and running a hand through his hair until his sobs turned into sniffles, and the sniffles into long, slow breaths. He waited a few extra minutes before taking Julian up to his room and setting him on his bed, making sure to place his favorite stuffed animal in his arms before leaving him to sleep off his troubles. As he walked away, Harry sort of wished he could do the same.

Every birth had been different. When Y/n had Simone, it hadn't been extraordinarily long, but it was extraordinarily stressful due to their young age. Collette was a fairly quick birth, perhaps a little too quick, seeing as Y/n barely made it to a hospital bed before the baby started crowning. The twins came early, which was apparently common for twins, but that didn't make it any less surprising to Harry and Y/n, especially because Harry was at the grocery store and Y/n was at the park with Simone and Collette and a nanny who was also there had to call an ambulance. Even still, Geneva's birth was probably the scariest, only because of all the rules and regulations brought on by Covid. Y/n's mother quarantined for two weeks so she could stay at the house while Harry and Y/n went to the hospital, as Y/n could only have one person in the room with her.

And now a year later, they were doing it all over again. Harry had been confident that this birth would go off without a hitch, that everything would be just fine, but the lack of word from his wife or mother-in-law made him nervous.

Later that day, Harry was still waiting. He'd gotten a text from Y/n's mother, which let him know that Y/n still wasn't ready to push but that they were getting close. That was an hour ago, and Harry had to believe that it was all happening now.

And he was missing it.

He knew being here with the rest of his children was important. That they were worried about their mother and probably found Harry's presence comforting. He just wished they could all be there in the waiting room instead of at home and fifteen minutes from the hospital. The not-knowing was killing him, and he was pretty sure his kids could sense it.

"Daddy?"

Harry's eyes flicked to where Collette was standing in the doorway of his bedroom. She was in her pajamas, a shirt and matching pair of bottoms with her favorite cartoon on them. Harry had been pacing around his room, his phone gripped tightly in his hand as he waited for someone to call him, but seeing his second daughter standing there, squinting at the light from his bedside table lamp told him he was up a little later than normal.

"Hi, peanut. What are you doing out of bed?" he asked.

Collette shrugged, her hair catching the light. She wiped at her nose and stepped further into the room until she stood in front of him. "Mommy always braids my hair before I go to sleep."

"She does, doesn't she?" Harry agreed. "She's kind of the best, huh?"

Nodding, Collette turned toward his bed and climbed up on it, looking at him expectantly. Even after having four daughters, Harry wasn't an expert at braiding hair. The girls always went to Y/n before school, and she did each of their braids or ponytails or pigtails happily. Harry always made sure to watch with a keen eye, and practiced on Y/n when she let him. He supposed now it was time to put all his practice to work.

The braiding didn't take long, and Harry didn't do half bad, in his humble opinion. Collette was just going to sleep in it anyway, so he wasn't too bummed by the few loose strands that he'd somehow missed.

He'd finished rather quickly, though Collette didn't slide off the bed to go back to her room. In fact, she nestled under the covers on Y/n's side of the bed, mumbling, "Night Daddy," before falling asleep. Harry didn't really mind. It wasn't the first time one of the kids stayed in his and Y/n's bed, and tonight, he figured he could use some company.

What he wasn't expecting was all of his children to stumble into his room. First it was Maeve, then Jules, then Simone, and finally Harry went to get Geneva, just so it was a proper sleepover. No one fought for space—which was a first. All the kids just found their spot and went back to sleep as if they were in their own rooms. Harry resisted the urge to take a picture so as not to wake anyone up with the flash of his phone's camera.

He hadn't planned on falling asleep. One moment he'd been watching a football game with the volume off, and the next he was blinking his eyes open as the sun began to stream in through the curtains. All of his little ones were still fast asleep, though Harry knew that would change soon. Maeve and Simone woke up early to watch morning cartoons, and Geneva would want her bottle within the hour.

Harry began to shuffle around and prepare for the usual morning routine—brush teeth, ok prepare the bottle, make breakfast for the early risers—when his phone rang. Startled, Harry rushed over to where his phone was plugged in, a huge grin splitting his face when he realized it was a video call from Y/n.

"Hi," Harry whispered, careful not to wake anyone up. "How are you? How's the baby? Is everything—"

"I'm fine, H. Everything's fine. Everything's perfect," Y/n said, a sleepy smile on her face.

Hearing that helped his heart stop racing, but only a little, as excitement flooded his veins. Y/n called him, which could only mean that—

"Wanna meet your daughter?" Y/n said, and even through the phone, Harry could see tears line her eyes.

Harry nodded, too overwhelmed with love and anticipation to form words. Quickly, he found an unoccupied spot on his bed and carefully sat down.

Y/n passed the phone to her mother who angled the phone so that Harry could see the baby, whose face was just barely visible through a pink blanket. He immediately felt tears well in his eyes, his throat going dry as he looked down at his daughter. Even through the phone, he felt every emotion he'd ever experienced when meeting his children for the first time. It was the most unique experience, Harry always thought. He'd seen and done so much, yet he still thought there was nothing like looking down at his newborn baby for the first time.

"Is that baby sister?"

Harry looked behind him to find Julian peering over his shoulder. Jules looked at the sleeping baby curiously, taking in his sister's little nose and tiny fingers and pouted lips. Then, he said, "Is Mommy there too?"

The camera panned up to Y/n, who was smiling and blowing kisses to Julian. "Hi JuJu, my love. I've missed you!"

"Mommy!"

"Mommy?"

"Mommy's home?"

Now everyone was up and crowding around Harry, taking turns talking to Y/n and baby sister, who had yet to be given a name. No one seemed to mind, though. If anything, they were more concerned about when Y/n and the baby would be coming home so they could have a party.

"Soon, my loves. The doctor wants me and the baby to stay one more night to make sure we're healthy. You think you can be good for Daddy?"

There was a chorus of yeses before everyone said their goodbyes, the novelty of a new baby sister wearing off when there were cartoons to be watched downstairs. Harry kept Y/n on the phone while he got Geneva's bottle ready, wanting to stay on the phone as long as possible.

"I know you must be tired," Harry said an hour later. He was in GiGi's nursery and watching her toddle around and play with her toys while talking to his wife.

"I'll hang up soon. I want you to get as much screen time as possible before I go," she said, turning the camera to where the baby was sleeping in the bassinet beside her hospital bed.

"Have you given her a name yet?" he asked.

Y/n shook her head. "I know we decided on one, but I wanted you to be with me when I said it for the first time."

"I love you," Harry said as his heart melted to mush.

"I love you too," Y/n said. She lifted the baby out of the bassinet, cradling her head with the expertise of someone who'd done it for years. Looking at Harry through the phone she said, "You wanna do the honors?"

Laughing out of pure bliss, he nodded. With all the tenderness and care he would've used if he'd been there in person, he said, "Welcome to this crazy, crazy world, Natalia Styles."

[p0orbaby]

Hi, was wondering if you could write an Alessia Russo x fem reader where reader is a rugby player so Alessia for the first time is dating someone taller than her?

(A warning I did send this request to another page but that was six months ago so I’m assuming they are not gonna write it 😅. If it makes you uncomfortable let me know btw)

Different Perspectives

warnings: suggestive (who’d have guessed it)

a/n: rugby is not my bag but I hope you still like it!

word count: 780

-

Alessia is tall. That’s just a fact. Her presence on and off the football pitch isn’t just about skill; it’s accentuated by her stature. At five foot nine, she’s a force to be reckoned with, both in the competitive world of football and in the everyday challenges that come with being head and shoulders above the crowd.

Yet, amidst the cheers of the stadium and the victories on the pitch, she faces an unexpected challenge – a change in perspective that comes with falling in love. When she meets someone whose gaze meets hers without craning their neck, Alessia Russo, the formidable footballer, discovers the uncharted territory of being the small one in the relationship.

In the afterglow of another triumphant match, Alessia basks in the admiration of her teammates. As she catches her breath and revels in the crowd’s cheers, Katie leans against the stadium railing, grinning happily at their winning result. It doesn’t take her long to spot you, Katie nudges her playfully. “She’s tall,” Katie mentions, eyeing you from her spot. “Like, really tall”

Alessia glances at you, then smirks at Katie. “You’re the one stating the obvious, as always. Care to tell me why?”

Katie winks, “Just wondering what it’s like to have a partner who doesn’t need a step stool to reach the top shelf. Must be a nice change in direction for you”

Alessia laughs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, very funny. I’ll have you know that love isn’t measured in height”

Katie nudges her again, “I wonder if she’s brought binoculars. You know, just in case…”

Alessia sighs, shaking her head. “You’re enjoying this far too much for someone who’s about four inches shorter than me”

“That I am,” she admits. “What position does she play again?”

“Lock” Lessia answers readily.

“What are we talking about?” Another voice joins in on the conversation.

“Less’ talk drink of water over there” Katie informs, and Beth turns her head in the direction she’s pointing. “She's a lock, in case you were wondering”

“Ohh, tall and strong. You’re a very lucky girl Russo”

Alessia’s face inflames. Her cheeks turning red at her teammates teasing. “Thanks for that, you two. Really, just what I needed”

Katie smirks, “c’mon, don’t act like you’re not taking advantage of it! You were tall once, might as well cash in the credit you’ve banked over the years”

“Oh, yeah, because my life has obviously become one endless game of ‘can you reach that for me?’”

“Why not!” Beth exclaims. “I get Viv to do things for me all the time. ‘Hey babe, can you just grab this from the tippy top shelf? I can’t quite reach’”

“She gets validation, and you reap the rewards, if you get my gist” Katie winks.

“And that’s my cue to leave! I’m walking away now!” Alessia announces as she turns on her heels, heading towards you, more than ready to leave that conversation behind.

“There she is” you call when she’s close, “my talented girl”

She’s semi conscious of the way she has to tilt her neck upwards to kiss you. Imagining the girls teasing her behind her back. But when you grab the back of her neck to keep her right where you wanted her, all previous embarrassment fades away.

She loves the way you kiss the top of her head when you pull her in for a hug.

She melts at how your jacket swamps her shoulders when you wrap her up after games.

Hell, she’d even admit to how she secretly always wanted to be the little spoon.

There’s an ease to the way she fits into the curve of your embrace. A calm it brings to her that she didn’t realise she was missing out on.

“For the record, you wouldn’t be the only one benefiting from the rewards” you whisper into her mouth.

She pulls back, eyes wide as she looks up at you when you stand to your full height. “You heard that?”

You nod and hum, tucking some of her loose hairs behind her ear. “Your friends are painfully loud,” you laugh.

“I hate them,” she groans.

“No you don’t”. you say, the corners of your lips lifting in amusement. “Besides, you can’t tell me you haven’t at least thought about it”

She smirks, “Maybe a little, now they’ve mentioned it”

At her words you bend down and lift her up by the back of the legs. Her arms coming up to wrap around your neck. Whilst her legs sit on your waist.

“Me too,” you admit, letting the laughter settle into a comfortable silence as you hold her close, the gaggle of friends and fans fading into the background.

[bimobuddy]

Wings

I'm back :]

SFW Hazbin tk fic

Lee!Lucifer, lers: basically everyone else

CW: God is a character in this, however I'll try not to refer to him by name, in case that makes anyone uncomfortable. Also Swearing.

The God I have in mind is similar to (but not exactly) that fan-design with the four floating eyes, look it up, it's great. I am making my own design of him though that I might post if y'all want me to. He's a total dad in this btw, I wanted something fluffy and comforting.

Summary: it's just various moments throughout Lucifer's life when he's had his wings tickled

"Lucifer, darling- Hold still! .. Shi- Darn."

He sighed, watching his youngest son half-fly-half-scramble away. Sure he was -The- Father, but he was still -A- father. And right now he was trying to catch one of his most difficult children to preen his wings. Luckily, Lucifer couldn't get very far with his wings still being small and mostly soft downy feathers. And being a very predictable child, his father knew exactly where he was going.

The deity left the palace and headed out toward the garden. It was still a work in progress, not quite ready for earth yet, so while he worked on it, he kept it in Heaven for his children to play in. Lucifer loved it, especially for a certain animal he had recently been allowed to create.

And sure enough, the youngest angel was by the pond, laying on his tummy, gleefully watching the ducks. His father shook his head in amusement. "Lucifer-" He started, but before he could finish, the child squeaked and jumped up, trying to run again. However his father was quicker, easily approaching him in just two steps and scooping him up.

"I believe we were in the middle of something, son?" He said, shifting his hold on Lucifer to carry him in one arm. The young angel pouted. "No thank you." He said, earning a laugh from his father. "I know it tickles, but it needs to be done. You're growing out of your baby-feathers, and soon you'll have big-kid feathers growing in, and you want them growing in neatly right?"

Lucifer frowned, as if really thinking about it. Finally he nodded. "Yes." His father nodded in return, "Good. Let's get started then." He took a moment to sit down in the grass, knowing his son would just run off again when they were done.

As he started to gently run his fingers through his son's wings, he winced a little when a shrill squeal rang out. How can something so small and sweet make such an aggressively loud noise? He couldn't help but chuckle as Lucifer frantically flapped all six of his little wings, trying to get away, giggling his heart out.

Soon enough, they were done. The second the deity pulled his hands up and released his son, Lucifer was off, running back to the pond, where a couple of his brothers were. The father thought it was sweet until Lucifer tackled one of them for getting to close to 'his' ducks.

He sighed and went to separate them. "Kids will be kids, I suppose."

- - -

Lucifer flew through the clouds as if his life depended on it. "Come back here, Luci-Loo!" Came the voice of his older brother, Michael.

The teenager took a sudden, sharp dive toward the lake, hoping to lose his brothers. Yet again, it was preening season. Their father had since given up on Lucifer the moment he really learned how to fly, and left that job to his older brothers, who were better at keeping up with him.

As he approached the ground, he angled his wings to pull up at the last second. By the sound of a loud splash, followed by the voice of Uriel yelling after him, he knew his trick had worked, even if just on one brother. He glanced behind him to see both Michael and Gabriel still hot on his trail.

What he was not expecting, however, was to almost crash into his eldest brother, Raphael. He flapped his right wings to turn, but due to his speed, he just narrowly avoided his brother and crashed into the ground.

Raphael sighed, "Seriously, Lucifer? You're 116 and still running from preening? Honestly, you're acting like a fledgling, just sit still for it."

Lucifer was about to argue, only to be very violently tackled at high speed by his immediate older brother, Gabriel, so hard it left a dent in the grass from where they skidded. Michael landed next to them. "Nice going, Gabe, now his wings are even dirtier." He said, though his face clearly showed amusement.

The two youngest brothers wrestled on the ground for a bit, Lucifer desperately trying to get away while grinning in anticipation, and Gabriel trying to pin him face-down so his wings were accessible.

Raphael crossed his arms, though a slight hint of amusement played on his own face. "Lucifer, is it really that bad?" "YES! MICHAEL'S MEAN ABOUT IT!" The eldest turned to Michael, grinning a little. "Are you mean about it?" "Maybe just a little. I learned from Azrael after all." He said, elbowing Raphael before sitting on the back of Lucifer's legs.

Gabriel had Lucifer face-down, sitting in front of him while he held his arms down, knowing the youngest was a fighter. Producing a comb, Michael got started, using his left hand to hold a single wing down while his right ran the comb through Lucifer's feathers.

Immediately, his other five wings started to flap rapidly, a couple even hitting Michael square in the face by accident. The poor angel was squeaking in a poor effort to not laugh.

Raphael rolled his eyes and decided to help. He sat down and pushed all sets of wings down, holding them in place. "Alright, Michael, hurry up, you know the longer this goes on, the harder he's going to come after us, when this is over."

Knowing this was true, Michael got started, running the comb through his feathers once again. Lucifer snorted and practically exploded with loud, bubbly laughter. "NAHAHAHA! NOHOHO! FFF-" "Don't curse," Raphael warned. "I WAHASN'T GOHOING TO!"

"Liar." Gabriel grinned, holding his wrists down with one hand, using the other to gently scritch at his ribs, causing Lucifer to screech and bury his face into the ground. Raphael gave his brother a look. "Don't overwhelm him, Gabriel, his wings are bad enough already. You know he's had trouble breathing in the past with you two taking it too far."

Gabriel stopped, looking back at Michael. "I would have stayed in my room if I knew Raph was going to take us on a guilt-trip." He grumbled, earning a laugh from Michael.

Once they had gotten his wings fully preened and combed out, all three sat back and let him up. Lucifer lay there panting, still giggling occasionally. Raphael reached out to pat him on the head, as he usually did with his brothers after a preening, only to be stopped when Lucifer suddenly sat up.

"You all have five minutes to run and hide."

Alarmed, all three took off.

- - -

Lucifer lay there, in the arms of his wife, solemnly looking up at the pentagram sky that separated him from all he had ever known. Lilith could only imagine how hard it was for him to be cast out and separated from his family and childhood home. She hadn't had a family or a childhood to miss. But as far as she was concerned, Lucifer was her family now, and she hated seeing him in so much emotional pain.

She ran a comforting hand down his back, between his wings, only to be startled as he sharply inhaled and flinched. She pulled her hand away quickly, "I'm sorry, are you hurt?" She asked, easily lifting him under the arms to look at him (which really flustered the short angel.)

"No, no, darling, I'm not hurt, it just.. it tickled." He said. As Lilith set him back down in her lap, he blushed and looked down. "You can...." He looked back up at her, "You can keep going... If you want to, that is.. My brothers used to do it.. I guess it's comforting in a way."

Lilith smiled softly, running her hand through his hair, loving the way he leaned into it. "Alright, my love." She whispered, gentle hands returning to his wings. Lucifer laid back down in her lap, arms around her waist, as his wings twitched and lightly fluttered, giggles flowing from him like music.

Maybe eternity like this wouldn't be so bad after all.

- - -

That morning in the Hotel had been complete chaos. It started with Charlie chasing Vaggie around, having discovered her wings were ticklish. The girls continued to play for nearly an hour before Charlie finally got her girlfriend tapping out.

The princess easily scooped up her angel and kissed her cheek, while said angel was practically pouting. "It's not fair, I'm a soldier, I'm not supposed to have such a weakness. Imagine if someone outside the hotel found out-" Vaggie didn't get very far before Charlie set her down. "Oh come on, it's okay that you have tickwy wittle wings~" She teased, causing her girlfriend to blush.

"Besides, the Devil himself is way worse, watch." She grinned, looking over at a very startled Lucifer who had apparently overheard everything. As Charlie ran at him, he spread his wings and flew upward to jump over her. The more his daughter chased after him, the more he turned it into a game, because of course he would.

Everytime Charlie got close, Lucifer would laugh and leap out of the way, even jumping off the walls to keep out of reach. "You're gonna have to try harder than thAAT!?" He yelped, feeling something wrap around his ankle and yank him to the floor. When he got a good look at it, he saw it was one of Alastor's shadows.

"Oh come on, you fucking-" "Oh, I do apologize, your highness, but I can't have you getting your disgusting shoe prints on my walls." Alastor grinned, clearly enjoying the scene before him.

Lucifer was about to snap back, but was cut off by Charlie sitting on top of him, immediately burying her fingers into his wings, causing the devil to shriek, a couple of his wings beating the floor. He had forgotten how ruthless his daughter was.

"C-CHAHAHAHARILIE!"

"See, Vaggie, even the king of Hell has ticklish wings, it's completely fine that you do too." Charlie said casually, as if she weren't absolutely wrecking said king.

Lucifer's laughter shot up an octive as he felt those damned shadow tendrils burying themselves under his feathers under all six wings. He started kicking his feet against the floor and trying to push Charlie's evil hands away.

"FAHAHAHAHACK! FUHUCK OFF, BAMB- NOHOHOHO WAITWAITWAHAIT!" Lucifer squealed like a child as he felt another shadow emerge underneath him, swiping at his spine. right between his shoulder blades. All six wings furiously beat at the floor in an attempt to get those tendrils away from him, but it didn't work.

Charlie grinned, gently scritching right into the 'wing pits' of his middle set of wings, having been told by her mother that it kills him. And sure enough, the king practically screamed. His legs stopped kicking and his wings stopped beating as he could only lay there and take it, laughing loudly.

It wasn't until his face got red that she stopped. And it wasn't until Charlie stopped that Alastor did as well. He personally would have kept going, but he figured Charlie would have his head if he pushed her father any further.

Lucifer panted heavily, unable to stop himself from giggling, a little loopy from it all. He looked up at Charlie. "G-Grohounded." Charlie grinned, "You can't ground me, I'm an adult." Lucifer shook his head, "Nuh-uh."

She got off of him and helped him up. Alastor came over and 'innocently' placed a hand on Lucifer's back as a 'friendly gesture,' resulting in the angel snapping his wings shut and de-summoning them.

And being one for revenge, Lucifer lunged at the radio demon, starting the cat-and-mouse game all over again.

[crossingthedreams]

"shh…" — dbf!joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | day 17 (@angstober) — shh… 

summary: what bad memories could being stuck in a closed with your situationship cause?

word count: 1.8k 

warnings: angst, mentions of smut, age gap, no outbreak!au, dbf!joel, toxic family dynamics, no use of y/n, not proofread.

What a ridiculous situation was the one in which you and Joel found yourselves. 

It all began several hours ago. Actually, truth be told, it began years ago, when your estranged, twice divorced father moved to this town in the house next to a Mr. Miller. You were already fully grown up the first time you knocked his door to tell your father invited him over for dinner, so his dear new friend could meet his dear children.

The first time you and Joel talked, you hit it off immediately. You flirted, and he flirted back. Your older sister knew instantly what was going on, and being the good ol’ chap she was,  she made excuses to get the two of you alone together. The rest is history. When you knocked on the door at Joel’s place the night after, you two went to town on each other. This had been going on for a while, even though you spent most of your time far away, not in the same place as him. 

It wasn’t quite a long distance relationship, because you didn’t even know if what you had was a relationship, but it was fun, satisfying and — as long as your father never found out — no one was getting hurt. 

Truth is, you, out of the four children your father helped create with different women, were his little princess. At the same time, ever since you grew up and realized just how toxic your dad could be, you were the one who did the most to avoid him. Still, you knew he loved and cared deeply for you. And that he, in his six foot three dad mode, would absolutely and with ease kill Joel and then eat his remains. 

Back to a several hours ago — that was when Joel picked you up from the airport and fucked you in the back of his car in a quite place at parking lot. The ride home was really fun, with lots of 90’s music playing and the two of you talking nonsense. You didn’t let your father know you were in town for the weekend, because you only had forty-eight hours, and you wanted to spend them trying out freaky positions in your situationship’s couch, bed, kitchen counter and shower. 

When you got to Joel’s place, he had just closed the door behind him and thrown your backpack to the side when you dropped to his knees and began sucking him off. He didn’t let you make him cum, choosing to practically tear through your sweatpants and eat you out before you even showered. You came one time, eyes darting to the back of your head, before he had you with one leg around his waist and making room for his big dick. 

Joel was so incredibly amazing at it you couldn’t believe your luck he decided you were the young girl he’d fuck, when he could have any chick at a bar with those arms and those eyes. You wanted this man so badly you made horrible financial decisions — such as purchasing tickets to and back from Texas for a weekend only a few days before — and even worse emotional ones. Was it wise to be in the house next to your dad’s fucking his best friend whilst he was deeply unaware? 

It didn’t matter, because he was never finding out. Unless, of course, he happened to have the key to Joel’s house, thought Joel was out of town and walked in to get a couple of beers instead of going all the way to the nearest store. 

To hide, Joel panicked and shoved you and himself inside a closet in the hallway, naked and with a very throbbing hard-on. And thus, the ridiculous situation. 

Your bare ass was pressed against Joel’s coats, as you tried to become more comfortable. Joel, fully naked, was trying not to get that close to your thighs, as his balls were already very, very blue. 

What you thought would be a five minute visit from your dad to steal some groceries and go back became a twenty something minute full scavenger hunt through Joel’s kitchen. 

“This is pathetic”, you mumbled quietly.

“Shh…”, Joel slapped, also quietly, your leg. 

You rolled your eyes at him, growing annoyed. “Did you tell him he could come by?”, you snapped, still whispering. 

“Well, no, duh”, he side eyed you, “But we do have an agreement we can take stuff from each other’s place”, you began sighing before Joel had even finished. He lifted one finger and continued, “I didn’t think he’d come this weekend!”

You just looked at him, now fully annoyed. 

“He’ll leave soon”, Joel reassured, with a move of his hand, “Just shh, ok?”

“Don’t shush me, I’m not a child”, you angrily stated, voice low, but in a quiet yell. 

“You’re his child”.

Joel’s words were a bucket of cold water. So, that was the most important part of you, even now. That you were your father’s daughter.

Much to your relief, you saw through the venetian blinds of the door that your dad was leaving with half of Joel’s food. 

Joel, as naked as the day he was born, opened quietly the door of the closet, cautious. He tiptoed out, and then motioned for you, wearing only the top part of your outfit, to leave too. 

“Where were we?”, Joel turned back and smiled at you, his hands already grabbing your butt and bringing you close to him. 

A frown took over your face and you moved away from his kiss. You shimmied out of his arms, walking towards the couch and sitting down. You probably looked ridiculous with only a jacket and no underwear or pants on, but you didn’t care. Joel let out a loud sigh before sitting next to you, his cock now only half-hard. 

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Your face turned to meet him, his brown eyes wider waiting for a reply. This was the chance for you to be honest with him about your insecurities, instead of just shoving everything aside, and give this situation a shot at becoming a real relationship. 

You didn’t even know if he wanted more than a casual thing. So, how could you share your deepest fears and feelings? It was simple, you couldn’t and wouldn’t, not until you were sure he belonged to you, and not to your father. 

“Joel”, you began. He replied with a ‘hmm?’, one hand grabbing your leg in a comforting act. 

“Am I just my dad’s kid to you?” 

He let out a small laugh, “‘Course not, baby. Otherwise I’d be over there watching the game and not here with you, right?”

“That’s not my point”, you continued. You shifted, sitting with your entire body facing his. “I don’t know if sex is something that, in your head, you do to me or with me”.

He shifted his gaze away from you, a pondering expression appearing. He then moved closer to you, eyes meeting yours again as he said, “Well, do you mean if we’re in some sorta’ commitment?”

It was your turn to scoff and avert his gaze. You looked at his living room, poorly decorated but still homey. There were pictures of his family, his brother Tommy and his wife, his daughter Sarah throughout her life on multiple occasions and even a dog. You wanted that for yourself, a lovely house with a mantle and pictures to put atop said mantle. You wanted it all with Joel, even the dog.

You hadn’t yet replied to his question, but the reason for that wasn’t your fear of rejection, but your fear of being labeled the ‘daddy issues’ girl, a part given to you multiple times. Even when you were a teenager reacting to your parents divorce in a totally healthy manner, you were labeled as scandalous. That was around the time you told everybody to fuck off, then. You wanted to talk to your older siblings or your parents, and none of them gave you space. Your dad moved and left everything behind, including you. You didn’t see him for a full year before he reappeared out of nowhere, but by them you were already depressed and your mom was drowning in bills without any child support.

Fuck them. 

You began using a fake ID to get it into clubs and parties. The drinking made things easier, too. You wanted to lose your virginity quickly, because your bad influence friends said sex was fun and you were in desperate need of some fun. So you fucked a guy in a dirty bathroom once, and it went downhill from there. The label ‘daddy issues’ and that freaking song by The Neighbourhood followed you around. 

You came back to reality, the memories fading as you found Joel’s expectant gaze. You didn’t really know him, but he had quite the reputation. He seemed kind and supportive, and you needed that too. 

The whole thing scared you to death. This situation, right now, scared you more than words could ever describe. In the couch of this lovely man you’d been fucking for months, him asking you if you wanted a relationship, which you knew you wanted, you felt the wrong words forming in your mouth, and there was nothing your brain could do to stop them. 

“No, that’s not it, Joel”, you said, shrugging, “I just want to know how involved you want me to be”. 

To quiet the voices in your head and the terrible act of self sabotage you just committed, you straddled his lap, becoming what every man wanted: a cool girl, the one who doesn’t need commitment, the one who will stay on top as long as he wants her too and do it happily. 

You felt his cock harden beneath you, his hands moving to caress the outside of your thighs. Even though his dick gave away that he was excited, he still contained himself and asked: “Are you sure, baby? We can just chill, if you want that”. 

“Where’d you learn the term chill, old man?”, you laughed, moving to begin kissing his neck. He laughed slightly, and his hands moved upwards, to try and remove your sweatshirt now. 

“I have my sources”, he said before capturing your lips. 

It felt good being with Joel. Oh, so good. Regardless, you had to yell “shh!” inside your head to quiet the voice that was screaming, telling you to say something and to be honest with him. 

[stinkyturd]

Beats Per Minute

Fandom: Tokyo Debunker

Pairing: Haku Kusanagi/You

Comments: I got an anonymous Haku request, so let's call this a response to that! If you guys like this one, I can make a part two. Waiting for the next Tokyo Debunker Chapter tomorrow, then I will start back on Fever Dreams :').

"Alright... now see if you can remember how to conduct a general exam on your own," Jiro instructs.

This had been the fourth week or so that you had been spending the majority of your free time under the tutelage of Jiro and occasionally Yuri of Mortkranken. You were taking a few electives that were related to anomalous medicinal research, but truthfully-- your grades in that area were abysmal. Jiro had very reluctantly agreed to help you with your studies, but only if you could assist him with check-ups and various demands made by the Mortkranken Captain. 

Today, you called in Haku to one of Jiro's unoccupied exam rooms to be your guinea pig. The Hotarubi vice-captain seemed eager to help when you had phoned him earlier that day, which you had been banking on. You considered Haku to be one of the most, if not the most reliable Ghoul you had met at the academy. After all, he is the one who helped you when you had picked up that nasty curse and even continues to be there for you now, with pretty much anything he can reasonably assist with.

The two of you had become quite close, by your standards. At least enough to frequently eat lunch together, study, or even walk back to your dorms together. Haku's mild-mannered sensibility and facetious attitude were a breath of fresh air in comparison to some of the other Ghouls that you had been assigned to as an inspector for in the past. 

"Alright, Haku. Looks like we will be taking your vitals! Let's see... we logged your weight at seventy-two kilograms," You say as you scribble down the digits on a sheet of paper at the office desk you sit at. "Height at one-hundred seventy-eight centimeters..."

Haku clicks his tongue and tents his eyebrows, feigning a troubled expression. "Could you add about six more centimeters to that? I can't let it get out that I'm below one eighty-four. What would that do to my reputation?"

The Hotarubi vice-captain sits casually on an operating table next to you, while Jiro observes you from a rolling chair somewhere off to the side. 

Setting your pen down, you wheel your chair around to face him. "Lucky for you, my eyes are the only ones that will view this," You pause. "And Jiro's... maybe Yuri, too."

Haku hums, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. The deceptively coy look he's sporting evokes a fluttering sensation in your chest. "I guess if you already know, but find me dashing anyways... I think I can live with that," Haku drawls.

Always with the flirtatious jokes.

Said jokes were once few and far between, but you swear that you feel like they've been making more frequent appearances in the vice-captain's banter as of late. "It sounds like someone's fishing for compliments," You tease. 

Haku leans back on his palms and tilts his head, eyeing you mischievously. "Maybe I'm just waiting for you to bite."

You want to come back with something cheeky, but any and all words get caught in the back of your throat from the remark. It was actually downright criminal how Haku could be such a proper and polite gentleman one minute, and then the next be spewing out suggestive one-liners with double entendres. Even right now the Shinto priest's expression is shifting into one of self-satisfaction from your silence. 

Jiro clears his throat, catching your attention. "The exam..."

"S-sorry...!" You sputter out, getting to your feet. Taking a few steps closer, you move your hands out, hovering them over Haku's neck tentatively. "May I?"

"Please do." Haku's aurelian eyes remain locked on you, brimming with amusement. 

Holding your breath, your fingertips make contact with his neck, gently searching for any abnormalities with his lymph nodes. "No pain, or anything out of the ordinary, correct?"

"No, ma'am," Haku replies.

"Okay, good." You lift the stethoscope around your neck to your ears and walk behind him. "Okay deep breaths," You instruct, placing the chest-piece of the instrument against Haku's upper back. 

Haku obeys your instructions as you listen for anything unusual, sliding the piece throughout the expanse of his back after each breath. 

"Do you have any history of illness or conditions?" You ask, once you've placed the stethoscope back around your neck.

"No, not really anything serious." Haku pauses as he ruminates. "Well, I think the only thing I had was a slight arrhythmia as a kid, but it has long since passed."

You pull a blood pressure reader from a hook on the wall behind you. "Could you please remove your jacket?"

"How scandalous," Haku teases, giving you an impish side-eye. "If you insist, Doc." 

You snort at his antics as you watch him remove his jacket, leaving his torso clad in just a white button-up. Wrapping the cuff around Haku's right bicep, you secure the velcro and begin pumping the inflation bulb. After a few seconds, you mouth the reading to lock the number in your brain before removing the device. 

"Okay the only other reading we need to do is pulse." You reach into your pocket and pull out an oximeter and clamp it to his right index finger. While you wait for the device to get an accurate reading, you take out a penlight from your coat pocket and shine it on Haku's eyes. 

"... Looks like your pupillary reflexes are just fine," You remark, as you click the light off, tucking it back into your pocket. 

Haku's lips curl into a sheepish smile. "So, I'm in peak health, hm?"

"So far it seems that way, at least from what a general exam can deduce." You glance down to study the screen of the pulse reader and your expression quickly falters into one of concern. "Oh wow, your beats per minute is really high right now."

Haku follows your gaze. "One twenty," He reads aloud, unperturbed. 

That was unusually high considering Haku had been sedentary since he got there twenty minutes ago.

"Do you feel anxious, or typically suffer from anxiety related symptoms...?" You ask, gently removing the clamp from his fingertip. 

"Nope, never have," Haku states matter-of-factly with a lopsided grin. 

"I see... No current medications?" You ask, lifting your right index and middle finger to check the pulse against his neck. 

Haku shakes his head. "None."

"Do you have feelings of your heart racing often, or spontaneously?" 

The Hotarubi vice-captain hums, averting his gaze to somewhere off to the side. "I wouldn't say it's spontaneous... more often lately, yeah."

"I see..." Your gaze finds Jiro's. "Should we perform an electrocardiogram?"

Jiro nods, leaning forward in his chair. "It would be a good idea to eliminate any potential concerns. I can set up the machine right now." 

Haku laughs a bit. "Uh, I really think that's unnecessar--"

"Okay, sounds good," You say to Jiro. 

Jiro gets up to leave the room for a moment and you redirect your attention to Haku in front of you, beaming at him encouragingly. "Don't worry, it's a quick test! Plus, I want to make sure everything is squeaky clean! Especially since you said you used to have an arrhythmia. It's better to not leave any boxes unchecked since you're here, you know?"

Haku lifts an eyebrow, displaying an awkward smile. "Well... have you thought about the other reasons someone may get a racing heart?"

"Hmm... other reasons?" You repeat, unsure of where he was going with this. 

When Haku nods, you glance up at the ceiling, tapping your chin. "Cardio, vitamin B12 deficiency, panic attacks, anemia, dehydration, stress, low blood sugar..." You gasp and slap your closed fist to your palm as you draw a fresh conclusion. "That's it...! We should do your blood work too."

Haku gives you a tired look. "I don't need my blood work done, (Y/N). And I really don't need an ECG, but for you I'll oblige."

"You shouldn't be so sure, you never know!" You wag a chastising finger at him, before returning to sit in your chair to fill out the rest of the general check-up prompts. "You're my good friend and a valuable asset to Darwick. I want you to be in peak health! Subaru and Zenji would agree with me, too." With that, you start scribbling in the blank spaces on your sheet that you had yet to fill out.

Haku forces a chuckle from behind you. "Okay, but... have you considered the possibility that you're just so cute that it makes me nervous? Not to mention, your face was so close to mine."

The pen in your hand involuntarily slips from your grip and skitters off the edge of the table. 

Hah... again with the jokes, huh? 

You swing your chair around to face him and fold your arms over your chest with an unimpressed look. "Save the stand-up routine for when we wrap up the check-up, vice-captain."

"I'm not joking," Haku deadpans.

The Hotarubi vice-captain's expression does, in fact, read as sincere. To say that the idea of your presence eliciting such a reaction from Haku makes you excited would feel like a severe understatement. You study him, continuing to search for any signs of humor or deception. 

When you don't find any, you pivot around, reach into a desk drawer and pull out a clean hospital gown. "You'll need to remove your shirt for the ECG, so you can wear this," You say, tossing it in his lap. Hastily, you pick your pen up from the floor and redirect your attention back to your form, effectively hiding the blush threatening to creep up your neck.

"...Ouch," Haku mutters, laughing despite himself. "So this is what it feels like to get rejected? Now I really don't get how Kaito can shoot his shot so much."

"...Rejected?" You echo, in disbelief. The mere suggestion heightens your courage enough to look over your shoulder to address him. "I would never even consider committing such a heinous crime."

From the angle you're at, you can't really read Haku's expression. Just when you're about to face him again, Jiro finally comes back into the room, wheeling in the ECG machine towards the side of Haku's bed. 

"While I set this up, please remove your shirt and replace it with the gown," Jiro requests, unfolding a bundle of cords.

"Sure," Haku replies.

"(Y/N), come over here so I can show you how the settings work," Jiro adds.

"Okie dokie." Without hesitation, you flip around and get to your feet. You nearly trip over yourself when Haku comes into view. 

The Hotarubi vice-captain is seated with his unbuttoned shirt now pooled at his hips, exposing the entirety of his bare, toned, torso. Sliding off the bed, Haku stands and unfolds the gown, shifting his eyes towards your leering gaze. When you fail to look away after gawking long past the point of it being considered appropriate, Haku's lips curl into a suggestive smile. 

Jiro sighs, rolling his eyes. "(Y/N), if you don't come over here, I may have to report you for misconduct."

"Right, misconduct," You nod, tearing your gaze away from Haku's tantalizing state of undress. "Can it really be misconduct if you opt to change in public? There's a restroom down the hall," You ramble as you make your way to Jiro's side. 

"Takes too much time," Jiro interjects before Haku can defend himself. "We have other patients."

You swear you can see Haku giving you a smug look out of your peripheral vision and you choose to ignore it, lest your face burn brighter. 

After the electrocardiogram machine is set up and attached to Haku, it takes about ten minutes to run the test and get results. 

Once that happens, Jiro announces the conclusion. "Haku is in picture perfect health. Nothing to worry about." The Mortkranken vice-captain begins to remove the wires secured to Haku's chest. "This was good practice, regardless. Good work, (Y/N). Maybe in the near future you can do some general check-ups while I'm preoccupied with other tasks."

"Yeah... right." You sit at the desk again, recording the results of the test on the paper in front of you. 

If Haku's fine, then what he said was true. He's been nervous around you lately...? And then he went and made a comment about you rejecting him. What the hell is going on?

"Are you about finished with that, (Y/N)?" Jiro asks, peering over your shoulder. 

"Oh, yeah. It's done." You briskly thrust your hand in the air, the paper in it.

"Okay, good," Jiro takes it from you, glancing over it. "I will be right back to prepare for the nex--," Jiro randomly turns green and clamps a hand over his mouth. 

It was a common occurrence, but you express concern anyways. "You okay? I think it's about time you take your medicine. It's been a few hours, no?"

Jiro nods. Slowly, he turns his back to you and trudges out of the room.

Poor guy, really.

"Are you going to be done soon?" Haku inquires as he gets up from the bed and stretches. Thankfully, he's properly clothed again by the time your eyes drift in his direction. 

"I'm sure it won't be too much longer, though Jiro's schedule isn't always predictable," You explain as you subconsciously try to calm your jittery nerves. Turning your chair slightly, you muster a friendly smile. "Thanks for coming, you've been an excellent test dummy."

"Anytime, (Y/N)," Haku replies easily, returning a smile of his own. 

A momentary silence falls on the two of you. It looks almost as if the vice-captain intends on saying something else, but you make a point to beat him to it. 

Abruptly, you lift yourself from your chair. "I can walk you out, if you want." 

"Yeah, let's do it," He readily complies. Haku from a few months ago would be quick to insist such a gesture was unnecessary out of courtesy, but not today evidently. 

You lead Haku out into the hallway and towards the entrance of the building. Typically, you'd be talking his head off right now about various things, but your brain continues to swim with thoughts of your conversation earlier. Did you brushing off what Haku admitted to earlier genuinely bother him? You're pretty sure he would never tell you if it had. Haku is the type of guy who's always too preoccupied with worrying about others to let anything get to him too much. Should you apologize? Is he expecting something from you?

"Hey, Haku," You start, quelling your internal conflict as you walk ahead of him. 

"Hey, (Y/N)." 

"If I said something to upset you earlier, I'm super sorry," You say, tossing a wistful glance over your shoulder. 

Haku smirks, tilting his head. "Upset me? Not at all. Quite the contrary, actually."

"...How's that?"

"I'm delighted to find out that I am immune to the friend zone," Haku explains with a breezy chuckle. 

Your cheeks burn at his comment. He must have been referring to you saying that you'd never reject him. The comment was flippant– made without any thought at all. And maybe Haku wasn't joking about being nervous around you, but was he really being sincere with such a conspicuous statement?

Averting your eyes, you turn your head forward again. "I didn't know that kind of thing occupied your mind," You admit. "Are you dead ass?"

Haku hesitates. "...Would it make you uncomfortable if I said yes?"

Holy cow, this was actually happening? You always thought Haku was cute and had harbored a little crush on him for quite a while. Considering the severity of your curse and all the unknowns that come with it, you really hadn't seriously considered romance. Didn't Professor Hyde strongly advise against it, too? 

"Sorry, you can forget I said that. It's totally irresponsible for me to be putting something like that on you," Haku pushes out an apology, likely having taken your prolonged silence as an answer.

You stop in your tracks and turn to face him, wearing a reassuring smile. "I was just thinking, that's all. You didn't make me uncomfortable."

Haku smiles abjectly as he rubs his neck. "That's a relief."

Swallowing away your anxieties, you take a deep breath before speaking again. "Jiro will be expecting me soon, so we may have to talk more about this later. But to be clear, you're saying you like me? Like... not platonically?" 

Haku holds your gaze and he nods with conviction. The faintest hint of pink dusts over the vice-captain's cheeks as he slips his thumbs in his pockets. "Yeah. I probably could have timed this better, but since you're asking– I may as well be transparent. I think very highly of you, truthfully."

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest and you feel as if you could melt into a puddle of mush from that doting look on Haku's face. It was probably dumb and totally unnecessary, but you have the urge to get further clarification. The uncertainty you feel has to be a result of being so accustomed to his glib way with words. 

"So, like... you know when I say not platonically I mean like, um..." You stutter, finding it to be increasingly more difficult to hold his gaze. "You w-want to do stuff like go on d-dates, hold hands... kiss?" The pitch in your voice increases at the last bit of criteria. 

Haku laughs a bit and he nods reassuringly. "Yeah, definitely. That about checks all the boxes for non-platonic relationships." Haku brings a finger to his lips in deliberation. The corners of his hazel eyes crinkle with mirth and you just know he's about to embarrass the shit out of you. "Well, not all..." Haku drawls, correcting himself. 

A nervous laugh stumbles awkwardly out of your mouth. "Anywho...! Gotta go help patients or whatever, haha! I think this is far enough, you know your way out!" You spin on your heel and head back from where you came. Not bothering to turn around, you call back to him, waving your hand in the air. "Talk to ya later, Haku! Text me, or something!"

Haku snorts, returning the gesture with a wave of his own even though you can't see it. "I'll do that, (Y/N).”

[imsodishy]

Take a Step That is New

another episode of Four's Company (a series on ao3)

this episode filmed in front of a live studio audience

May 1987 

The cheery chimes above the door at Dot's Dinner ting-a-ling as Steve walks in and he almost throws his stupid briefcase at it. He settles at the last minute for telling it to, “Shut the hell up,” and heads for the counter. 

“Whoa, buddy, rough day?” Robin's already saddled up on a stool, Billy’s just serving up her burger and onion rings. 

The boxy fan they’ve set up on the counter does nothing to dispel the muggy heat that’s settled over the city, just moves the humid air around. It also does nothing to improve Steve’s mood, sweltering in his stupid suit, he yanks at his tie until he can breathe again. 

Steve claims the stool next to Robin, peels off his stuffy jacket and slams it down on the teal formica counter top with zero thought for whatever grease or condiments it might find there, then he plonks his head down next to it without acknowledging Robin, and groans like a dying seal, “I hate my fucking life.” 

It’s not true, Steve likes his life. Mostly. 

What he fucking hates is his job. Which makes up… some way too big percentage of his life; 9 to 5, Monday to Friday is a big chunk of the week. The heat doesn’t help. 

Robin pat-pats his shoulder consolingly. He hears Billy huff at his dramatics before walking away from the sad spectacle of Steve’s life. Off in the corner Seymour, a grumpy old regular who basically lives at his booth, frowns. He’s always frowning at something though. Mostly at Steve, though not exclusively. Eddie earns his fair share of stink-eye. 

Robin's hand is still on Steve’s shoulder when he can sense her lean in closer and– “Don't fucking sniff me, dude!” He snaps upright, leaning as far away from her as he can without toppling off the stool. “It's so weird.” 

“Sorry! Sorry,” she says, “You seem stressed is all, and I was just checking you didn’t go crawling back to sweet lady nicotine's disgusting embrace.” 

Robin’s been rabid lately on her bid to get all three of them to quit smoking. It started with a not in the house rule, and has quickly progressed to all out war on the cancer sticks. Steve's the only one who's buckled so far. He's on an almost two month streak right now, and she's been playing hard defense to keep him on it. He draws the line at the sniffing though. That is simply unacceptable. 

Steve rolls his eyes, and grumbles, “I didn’t smoke,” God, he could really go for one right now though, “If I bring a lighter to work I’ll end up burning the building down.”  

A strawberry milkshake clonks down on the counter in front of him as Billy basically drops it like a bomb, “Oh my God. Quit! Just quit your stupid fucking job that you hate!” he explodes, “I cannot listen to your sad-sack, bitch-baby, whining about it anymore.“ 

Steve pulls his milkshake in close just in case Billy tries to confiscate it for bitch-baby behavior. “I can’t just quit,” he whines. 

Billy just rolls his eyes and doesn’t try to take Steve’s one joy away from him. “Why? Because your Dad got it for you?” 

And like, yeah, but Billy doesn’t have to be such a dickhead about it. 

Billy landed his job at Dot’s Diner like some kind of magic. Seriously, their first day in New York, they hadn’t even unpacked any of the boxes they'd schlepped into the house when Billy dusted off his hands and said, “I'm gonna get the lay of the land,” and walked out the front door. 

He came back six hours later with a job and a peanut butter milkshake. It took him a month after that to tell them where he worked, and he tells them frequently that he's regretted it everyday since he caved. They do spend a lot of time there bothering him, despite the fact he refuses to give them freebies. His boss, Sal (who reminds Steve a lot of Benny from the diner back home, if he had about two dozen extra tattoos, like they both rolled off a big, gruff, diner proprietor assembly line somewhere), is actually way more likely to sling them a free coke or some fries once in a while. 

“We could find you another job,” Robin says, as she’s been saying for months, “One that makes you at least sixty percent less arson-y, guaranteed!” 

Robin got her job at the campus bookstore through student services, (obviously not an option for Steve), although, with the first year under her belt, she's talking about looking elsewhere for employment, since the school pays them peanuts anyway, and she thinks she'll be able to balance her schedule better now on her own. 

The door chimes jangle crazily as Eddie bursts into the diner, “Outstanding news chums!” he booms, ignoring Seymour scowling in his direction. 

“Easy on the door, Munson,” Billy warns. 

Eddie shuts the door with exaggerated care, before he hustles over to the counter and hops up on the stool on Robins other side. He gives himself a drumroll, rattling all the flatware on the counter. Old Seymour’s glare intensifies. 

“I have news,” he repeats, flipping his cup right-side-up for Billy to fill with coffee he doesn’t need, upcoming nightshift at the bar or no. 

Robin takes a guess, “You talked to you boss about getting the time off for the Hawkins trip?” she doesn’t sound that hopeful. 

And for good reason. “What? No,” Eddie dismisses her with a flapping hand, “I have an audition with a band!” 

“Gasp,” Robin says flatly. The only news Eddie gets this excited about is when he's auditioning, or sitting in, or has a lead on some new band seeking a guitarist. 

Eddie, by his own account, got his so-called day job (it’s nights, bar-backing) by just hanging around the bar/music venue he frequents all the time, bothering the bartenders (and selling them weed) until one of them slapped a rag in his hand and told him to make himself useful. Which suits him just fine to fill time while he chases his music dream. 

“Look, I'm going to Hawkins either way,” Eddie tells her with a carefree shrug, “If Rosco won't give me the time off I'll just quit and get a new job when we get back.” 

“See!” Billy says, slamming the coffee pot back into it's cradle, “You see how easy that is, Harrington? You lose a job, then you get another one. C'est la fucking vie.” 

Eddie leans around Robin to look at Steve, “Oh-ho. Did the little Lord Harrington finally break free from the yuppie rat race?”  

“No,” Steve says, and slurps a big sip of his milkshake. 

Steve didn’t get his own job at all, obviously. It was already lined up for him before they even rented the moving truck. It came pre-approved for him courtesy of his father and his father’s business connections. Steve's been working there for almost a year now, but he's still not entirely clear what they do. 

It's real-estate... kind of? The company buys properties, but they do it by selling shares in the properties to other companies, then they use that money to pay construction companies to tear down those properties and build new ones on the land. Those construction companies use that money to buy steel and other building shit from Steve’s dad’s plants back in Indiana (and Michigan). Then Steve's bosses sell the whole shebang for several butt-loads of money for them and their investors to start the game all over again. 

Steve’s job largely seems to involve standing around, insuring their side of the boardroom has the most men in suits at all times, and occasionally kissing investor ass. He’s a Junior Account Associate somehow. 

It’s soul crushing. 

“Aw, cheer up, Stevie,” Eddie says, slapping him on the back, “Look on the bright side, at least you can always keep our beer fridge stocked with that fat paycheck of yours.” 

Robin does Steve the favor of smacking Eddie upside the head. 

Steve decides to change the subject, “What’s the band called, Ed?” he asks, because that’s always good for a laugh at least. 

Eddie holds his hands in front of his face like he's framing a marquee, “ God of Gore ,” he announces in a theatrical growl. 

Steve snorts to himself. Yeah, that’s good shit. 

“And,” he goes on, voice rising in pitch as he gets more hyped up, “Get this, their last guitarist up and moved to Indiana! How's that for kismet? It's fate, I tells ya!” 

“Who would willingly move to Indiana,” Billy wonders, “The whole state's a toilet.” 

Not at all bothered by the shit talking of their home state, Eddie hops down of his stool and announces, “Speaking of which, gotta drain the snake.” 

While Robin is busy grimacing at that, Eddie wiggles incredibly unsubtle eyebrows at Billy. He gets a, much more subtle, jerk of the chin back, so Eddie slips right past the bathrooms and into the kitchen, and doubtless out the back door to smoke in peace, away from Robin’s judgmental gaze. He’s made vague, placating noises at her about cutting back, but he’s just been sneaking around behind her back, with Billy as an accomplice. 

Billy might be smoking more out of spite. 

Eddie's whirlwind act really made Steve feel like the sad-sack Billy accused him of being, and he’s sick of that feeling, gets more than enough of it everyday at work.  

All the silverware rattles as he slams a decisive hand down on the counter, much to Seymour’s ire. “You know what I think would make me feel better?” Steve asks loudly and rhetorically. 

He shoves away from the counter and heads straight for the jukebox. 

“No!” Billy booms, pointing at Steve like he’s a cat on the counter. 

Steve backs slowly down the aisle, facing Billy the whole way with big, guileless eyes. “What's that?” 

“You’re still banned for Bryan Adams crimes.” Honestly, Steve’s probably got a couple bans stacked at the moment. Billy doles them out liberally.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hargrove,” Steve bumps into the jukebox because he still won’t turn away from Billy’s impotent glare. It's great, his ears are going red.  

“I call the shots here,” he tries, fruitlessly. 

“No you don‘t, Sal does,” Steve snorts, “And, anyway, I am a private citizen, this is a free country! My dime is as good as anybody’s!” He's been spending too much time with Eddie. 

Billy throws a spoon at him. 

Steve cackles as he plugs the jukebox. There’s a couple beats of bassy synthesizer. 

Billy tells him, “You’re a monster,” with feeling.  

Then— “ Watching every motion in my foolish lover’s game.”  

Steve slow dances back towards the counter, swaying to the dreamy beat of the bum-bum-bum-bubums, high on the joy of being deeply annoying. He slides back onto his stool just in time to dramatically sing along to, “ Take my breath awaaaaay,” right in Billy’s face. It's gone all red now, like the cherry on Steve's shake, which he happily pops between his grinning teeth. 

“It’s not my fault Sal won’t put Mötley Crüe in there,” Steve says, munching happily on his cherry. 

Billy storms off into the kitchen. 

“Someday,” Robin muses through he mouthful of fried onions, “he’s going to feed you a floor burger, and I’m not going to stop him. This song is sincerely awful.” 

“I like it,” Steve declares. 

“Of course you do.” Robin pats his hand condescendingly. 

She swivels on her stool to face him, a concerned little furrow in her brow, and ketchup on her cheek. “Seriously though, Steve, we could find you a different job. No problem. You got the job at Family Video, and Scoops before that.” Robin got him the job at Family Video, and he only got the job at Scoops because the first guy they hired showed up to the training stoned, but it’s nice of her to say. “You don’t need to stick it out because of your dad, you don’t need his help. It’s not your only option or whatever bullshit you’re worried about. You can get a different job. And, okay, no it wouldn’t pay as much, but you'd get by.” 

Robin wasn’t Steve’s first real friend or anything like that, he wouldn’t even say she’s his first good friend . But she’s definitely his best friend. Steve lays a hand over her slightly greasy one on the counter, and furrows his brow right back at her, “But then, Robin, who would keep the beer fridge stocked?” 

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her burger, “So we'd have to bid goodbye to Daddy Beer-bucks, we'd survive.” 

They would. Robin, Billy, and Eddie are resourceful, and smart, and self-sufficient, they’d figure out a way get by, even with Steve hanging like an anchor around their necks. But Steve hates the idea of dragging them down. Actually can’t stand it. He literally gets a stomach ache if he thinks too hard about it. When he can hear future Robin, somewhere down the line, when she’s sick of his shit, saying You can’t expect us to handle every little issue for you, dingus, in his head, except sometimes the ‘dingus’ morphs into ‘darling’ and imaginary-Robin sounds disturbingly like his mother (which doesn’t help the stomach ache problem at all). So he needs to keep bringing in enough money to pay his way. 

Steve just smiles at her. 

Billy reemerges from the kitchen to make a round of his tables, giving Steve the evil eye as he goes, before settling behind the counter to concentrate on glaring at Steve despite the fact that the song is long over by now, Eddie Money is playing now. Steve raises his eyebrows at his glare, “Don’t look at me, I’m all out of dimes.” 

Robin, perhaps prompted by Mr. Money asks, “Where'd Eddie go? He’s taking forever in there.” 

Billy silently points over her shoulder to where they can clearly see Eddie’s hunched form cowering miserably under the diner's awning from the unpleasantly warm rain that’s finally broken after threatening all day. He’s sucking down smoke like his life depends on it. Must not have been enough shelter in the alley when the rain started. 

“No!” Robin shouts, much like Billy had shouted at Steve earlier, and dashes out the door, bells cheerfully chiming her exit. Eddie takes a couple more panicked puffs before Robin gets to him and he has to start playing keep away with the butt. 

Steve watches them through the window for a couple seconds like a real life version of those weird old puppet shows, “What are those puppets that–“ 

“Punch and Judy,” Billy answers the unfinished question. 

He flicks a dime that bounces off Steve's forehead and drops to the counter with a ring-a-ting-ting. “Go put on some Springsteen, Bambi,” he says, smiling at him like he’s still a sad-sack, sure, but at least he’s one Billy’s kinda fond of, then he goes to top off Seymour’s coffee down at the far end of the other end of the diner. 

For Billy alone, Seymour’s got a great big smile.

Steve has stapled his tie to his desk. Which seems like the kind of thing most people would only do by accident. Not Steve, though. No, he simply got so bored that when the thought, I wonder if I could staple my tie to this desk right now, breezed through his head he went ahead and did it. 

Turns out he could, so he added a couple more staples for no better reason than the first one. 

Steve feels like his brain is melting out his ears which is maybe half boredom, half the heat. The AC has been in and out all week, something about the grid according to maintenance. Turns out a cracked window and a fan isn’t any more effective on the 10th floor of a Manhattan office building than it is in a ground level diner in the Bronx. 

“Harrington.” All the staples explode off his tie, flying all over his little hot-box of an office, when he jerks upright as Connor Michaels walks in to his office. The guy definitely notices the staples too, judging by the shitty little smirk on his face. 

The thing about all of Steve’s coworkers is that they hate him, because he’s clearly just a doofus nepotism hire who has no business working here. They all hide it behind a veneer of polite condescension while trying to use him as a connection since his last name is Harrington, though. It’s all so pathetically exactly like high school Steve can hardly stand it. 

Connor chuckles, “Tgif, am I right? Listen, I asked Laura to pull the permits for the Hell’s Kitchen property for me, but she’s on the rag or something and flipped out at me.” 

The other thing about Steve’s coworkers is that they’re all douchebags. 

“Okay,” Steve says to avoid stapling his smug face. 

“I know she does shit like that for you all the time, so think you could work your magic?” Connor wiggles his fingers vaguely that reminds Steve of how his mom would talk about his sport’s things any time it came up. 

Laura is the only exception to the douchebag rule. She’s smart, and competent, and the only woman at Steve’s level of management. She also hates Steve, but she doesn't try to hide it. She’s got integrity about it. The only reason she helps Steve with things like permits and filings is that she knows she’s the one who will have to clean up the mess if he royally screws it. She reminds him a lot of Robin in the early days of working at Scoops, just completely unimpressed by and uninterested in his King Steve bullshit. 

Steve does frequently throw himself on her mercy, she’s the only reason he hasn’t caused any serious problems so far. Which is maybe the other reason she keeps helping him, because he unreservedly admits that it’s a joke that they’re on the same level professionally. And not a funny one. 

Steve starts sweeping the staples that landed on his desk and not the floor into a pile, “Sure,” he says to Connor, hoping that’ll get him to leave. 

No luck. Instead he tucks his hand in his pockets and settles into a slouches against Steve’s wall, “How do you manage that anyway?” he asks lightly, “You tapping that?” 

Steve rolls his eyes, “No.” 

Connor hums, “Yeah, not surprising. I bet she’s a dyke.” 

And maybe, on a different day, when Steve wasn’t already at his boiling point both figuratively and literally, he would have responded more... diplomatically.

“I quit my job,” Steve announces as he walks through the front door of his house.  

All three of his roommates turn to gape at him from the living room. 

They were all lounging around in the bare minimum of clothes required for the living room with two opposing fans pointed at them in an attempt at a cross breeze when Steve arrived home with his briefcase in a cardboard box with shockingly little else in the way of personal effects in it. He really hadn’t built up much of a presence at the office over the nearly a year he worked there. 

“What?” Robin exclaims, as she mutes the TV, “What happened?” 

“I threw a stapler at a guy’s head.” Steve answers. 

“A stapler?” Billy asks, baffled, “Why?” 

Steve shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, I also said a lot of shit, but the stapler was probably the button on it.” Steve drops his things, steps out of his wingtips, and starts tugging at his tie as he makes his way across the room, “It wasn’t even- Like, I mean, it was business as usual, really. It wasn’t anything new, and I just... lost it.” He’s down to his undershirt and boxershorts by the time he collapses between Robin and Billy on the couch with a massive sigh like a slowly deflating raft. 

“Right on man,” Eddie says from his spot on the armchair, leaning over to slap Steve’s knee, “I bet that guy had a stapler to the face coming.” 

He really did, Steve must concede. 

“Shit, I can’t believe I quit.” 

Robin makes a questioning noise, “Did you actually quit, or did they fire you? For the stapler thing?” 

“Who gives shit,” Billy says before Steve can tell them he’s not actually sure technically, “It’s done and dusted either way. Which calls for a celebration!” 

Billy bounces up off the couch and goes to the kitchen to collect a round of beers for everyone, he’s the only one who’s foregone a shirt so far, which is unsurprising. He pops the caps of with his ring before doling out the bottles. 

 “To casting off the corporate shackles!” Eddie toasts, Billy and Robin here-hereing it. 

Steve takes a big gulp of his beer. “What the hell am I gonna do?” he wonders aloud. 

“Celebrate!” Robin says, she’s also in a t-shirt and boxershorts, which she stole from Steve a while back for loungewear, “Like the man said.” 

Steve huffs, “I meant like, longer term. The rent and stuff.” 

“Don't worry, Stevie my boy,” Eddie says, clapping him on the back, “Once we find you a real person job you'll do just fine. After all, the rest of us plebs cover our fair shares with our piddly little paychecks, right?” 

Steve, caught out, hesitates a beat too long (long enough for Billy's bullshit radar to ping), before saying, “Right. Sure. Yeah,” in a way that clearly doesn’t cover for him. 

Billy squints at him, “We have all been covering our fair share of the rent, right, Harrington?” 

Steve nods but he can’t maintain eye contact when he answers, “Right. Fair shares.” 

Robin, catching on immediately, groans, “Oh god, Steve, tell me you haven’t been doing something outstandingly stupid, like paying half the rent, this whole freaking time.” When Steve doesn’t answer right away she screeches, “Steven!” 

“Not half! I haven’t, okay?” he rushes to explain, “Just, like,” he holds up his fingers pinched so close together, “A little more, than you guys.” 

“How much more,” Billy demands through clenched teeth. 

“Well,” Steve tries to think of how best to phrase it, “Imagine we had a fifth roommate, who's rent I have also been paying.” 

“So, double,” Billy’s basically growling now, “You've been paying double what the rest of us have. This whole goddamn time!” Steve hadn’t thought of it that way, but the math does check out. He thinks. 

“And... also the utilities,” he admits reluctantly. 

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie says, shaking his head sadly. 

“Fuck!” Billy shouts and storms off, stomping his way upstairs without anyone trying to stop him. When Billy removes himself from a situation, it’s best to let him. 

“I can probably still get the job back,” Steve offers, even though the thought makes him nauseous. He’ll eat shit if he needs to, “If I tell them I was on coke or something they might actually respect me more.” 

Eddie’s still shaking his head, but more decisively, “No way, man. We’re not letting you go crawling back to those corporate shitbags now, not a chance in hell.” 

“No other job I can get for myself is going to pay a quarter as well, though.” 

Robin backs Eddie up though, “You were miserable, Steve. None of us wants you to be miserable like that, not for any amount of money.” 

Steve still can’t just let it go, though, “But without that money- 

“There’s no need to panic, all we need is a plan. You’ve got savings, yeah? That’ll give us a cushion until you get a new job- we need to do a comprehensive household budget,” Robin says, like she’s already running numbers in her head, “We’ve been way too loosey-goosey about it, anyway.” Because they’ve been relying on Steve to smooth over any gaps. Not that they necessarily knew that. They’d just hit him up for beer and pizza sometimes and called it a Shill tax. 

“I don’t know how to do a budget,” Steve admits with an apologetic grimace. 

Eddie slings an arm over his shoulders and tries to pull him into some kind of wonky headlock while Steve resists him easily, “Don’t you fret, for you are a very lucky boy, with three wonderful roommates, whose collars are all extremely blue. We’ll show you the ropes.” 

“You know what the easiest expense to cut is?” Robin says brightly, “Cigarettes.” 

“You know what!” Eddie wheels on her, suddenly apparently at his limit on the whole smoking thing. 

Steve watches them bicker back and forth for a couple minutes. Even though it’s clear that this has been building for a while, and of course the inescapable heat doesn’t help, Steve can’t help but feel like it’s his fault for dropping a stress bomb on their heads. Or at least it feels very reminiscent of watching his parents fight about the wallpaper when what they really want to fight about is their miserable marriage. What’s the word for that? Displacement? 

Eventually he slips out, leaving Robin and Eddie to their squabbles he can’t really contribute to one way or the other and heads upstairs.

Billy's not in his room, but Steve didn’t really expect him to be. 

Halfway up the flight of stairs from the second floor to the third there's a window, and outside the window is a strip of roof, about five feet wide by ten feet long, and gently sloped, covering their porch below. Billy likes to sulk out there, especially since the weather turned, though not quite so much since it turned mean.  

Sure enough, the window is ajar and Steve can smell smoke. 

He sticks his hands out the window, palms out, he comes in peace, “I’m coming out,” he says, “Please don’t hurl me off the roof.” 

Billy doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t bite Steve’s head off either, which from him is basically an engraved invitation. 

Steve hauls himself up onto the little stretch of roof, crab walking over ‘til he can plant his butt next to Billy. Even though the sun is sinking fast the heat hasn’t broken at all. 

He snags the cigarette right out of Billy’s mouth as he settles next to him and takes a long, indulgent drag. He only grimaces a little at the taste, Billy and his fucking Marlboros. 

“Ooooh,” Billy deigns to speak to him, snatching his smoke back, “Robin's gonna be mad at you,”  

“More or less mad than when I tell her I'm not going to Hawkins this summer?” 

Billy's hand freezes with the cigarette just about back to his mouth. His lips, already parted to accept it, now just hanging slack pointlessly. “Seriously?” 

Steve shrugs, shooting for nonchalance, missing by a mile probably. “Figure I can do without getting the full rundown on what an embarrassing disappointment I am in person. I’m sure I’ll get the CliffsNotes from our answering machine anyway. Those were always more my speed.” 

He figures they'll share a laugh at that, but when he looks over Billy's not laughing. In fact, he's not even smiling, he just takes a rough drag off the cigarette and then hands it back to Steve without prompting. “If your dad leaves any blowhard message on our machine, I’m deleting them.” 

Steve’s not sure what to say to that so for a while they just pass the butt back and forth in silence until he screws up his courage to ask, "What about you? You mad at me?” with a wince, “About the rent thing.” 

“Well I’m not fucking thrilled about it, Harrington.” 

Yeah, that was obvious. 

Billy runs an agitated hand through his hair leaving his curls, already frizzy from the humidity, even more messed up. “Thought- it felt like we were making it. Doing it for real, you know? Standing on my own two feet like a man,” he scoffs to himself, “ Stupid.” 

Billy’s got a very specific tone he does when he’s quoting his dad, and Steve fucking hates it. 

“You are,” Steve insists. Billy quirks an eyebrow at him, and Steve scrambles to clarify, “Making it. Not stupid. You’re making it.” 

“Not without a heaping helping of charity apparently. I can’t-” 

“It wasn’t charity, dickhead!” Billy’s mouth snaps shut, and thank god for that, because Steve has no more interest in hearing what Neil Hargrove would have to say about his son than Billy does in suffering through phone messages from Richard Harrington. “It just made sense. I took that stupid job from my dad, and the paycheck was the only good goddamn thing about it. And you guys have all this other stuff going on. You and Robin have school, and Eddie’s trying to do his whole music thing. I mean, what the hell else was I supposed to do with all that stupidly easy money I was barely really earning? Other than use it to buy you guys food, and beer, and, yeah, pay the fucking rent!” He’s worked up a good head of steam, but he deflates immediately in the wake of his outburst, “I mean, what the hell else am I bringing to the table here?” 

Suddenly self-conscious in the silence that follows, and way too aware that he’s breathing a little heavy, Steve snatches the cigarette from Billy’s hand. Takes a huffy little puff, like someone who doesn’t know how to inhale, then takes a slower, more measured one. 

“You sell yourself short, you know,” Billy says, uncharacteristically quiet. Steve looks over at him, but Billy's not looking back, he's gazing out across their neighborhood instead. 

“Look,” he goes on, slow and awkward, “I don’t exactly know where I'd be right now, if not for you. But, I know I wouldn’t be here .” He throws his arms out wide to encompass all of New York City, and their whole life here. 

It's not like they have a spectacular view or anything, they're not up remotely high enough for that. Their sagging little strip of roof, on their rundown building, isn’t even facing the glittering Manhattan skyline. Down below them a taxi driver is shouting at a truck that’s blocking a cross street. The humidity is oppressive and the heat makes the streets stink like garbage, and it’s not like it’s any cooler in the house. 

Their whole life here? It doesn’t actually look like very much from the outside. 

Steve gets it though. 

He jostles their shoulders together, “You would have gotten out. You would have made it anyway.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” Billy plucks the cigarette out of Steve’s grasp, kills the last of it and pitches the butt to the street below. Steve watches the glowing trail of the cherry as it falls. 

“You know,” Billy says after a long stretch of mostly comfortable silence, “If you don’t go to Hawkins, you’re gonna have to let Eddie drive the beemer.” 

“Shit, I didn’t think of that.” He waves off the thought, “Can’t be helped. I need to start the job search anyway.” 

Steve thinks about that process for all of thirty seconds before he groans, “Man, my resume is gonna be so fucking weird.” Steve lists his employment record out on his fingers, “Scoops Ahoy, burned down. Family Video... I don’t think I gave notice at Family Video, I think I just left and didn’t come back. Kensington Group Limited, assaulted a co-worker with stationary.” 

“Well, if all else fails, you know Eddie would love to fake some references for you,” Billy says, “Bet he’ll do voices and everything.” 

“Just what I need. A reference from Gondelf.” 

Billy snorts a laughs, “It’s Gandalf, you know it’s Gandalf.” He’s right, Steve knows that, because Eddie never shuts up about that book. 

“Mmm, pretty sure it’s Gondelf. I mean, he’s an elf, right?” Billy just rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, and listing a little towards Steve. 

“Billy,” Steve speaks softly, earnestly. Billy hums back a question, “Would you... get me a job at the diner?” 

Billy explodes with laughter, “Fuck no!” 

“C’mon,” he wheedles, through his own laughter, “We can commute together! Sal loves you. Be a pal, put in a good word for me!” 

Billy punches him in the shoulder, “Sure, I’ll tell him you’re a chronic masturbator and that I’ve never seen you wash your hands.” 

“Thanks, buddy. I really appreciate that.” 

Billy grabs the shoulder of Steve’s shirt and rattles him around a bit like a dog with a squeaky toy, “I’m going to shove you off this roof,” he threatens through laughter. 

They lapse into giggly silence and then just silent silence. Billy keeps his grip on Steve’s shirt like he’s worried he might actually go toppling over the edge after all if Billy doesn’t keep a tight hold. 

Or maybe he’s just forgotten that his hand is there. 

“Hey,” Steve says after a while, just to get Billy to look him in the eye, “We’re gonna be fine,” he reassures him once he has. 

Billy’s undivided attention is always intense, eyes like blue lasers locked on to a target. It used to freak Steve out in high school, but he’s gotten used to it. It’s just how Billy is. Sharp like that. 

Sharp enough that he reads Steve like a goddamn book and knows that as much as Steve really was trying to reassure him, he was also, maybe just a bit, fishing for reassurance too. 

“We’re gonna be fine,” Billy parrots. 

They stare at each other, probably for too long, sitting in a little loop of comforting and being comforted. And Steve, he believes it. They’re gonna be fine. 

They have each other.

[azulazenin]

All Good Things Come In Three Four

Kinktober 2024 | Voyeurism/Exhibitionism

Pairing: Adrian Tepes/Alucard x Original Character (Mihaela Karnstein) | Trevor Belmont x Sypha Belnades

Summary: Sypha wants to fuck Adrian's wife, but all she's allowed to do is watch

Warnings: Explicit content, minor blood kink, (sort of) group sex. Minors DNI

A/N: This is an extra for my story The Blackest Day and its sequel Swan Song.

1478

That lovely spring evening began with the two couples sharing a pleasant meal in the private dining room in Adrian and Mihaela’s wing, a meal Adrian himself had prepared with a little help from Sypha while Trevor and Mihaela sat at the table, chatting and drinking wine, watching their spouses cook.

When dinner was over, the four of them moved to the living room, where they entertained themselves with board games and more wine, none of them actually paying attention to the alarming amount they were having, but by the morning, they would find four empty bottles on the floor. They probably shouldn’t have drink that much, but it was Trevor and Sypha first night off in six months, their first time away from a crying baby and dirty diapers ever since their son was born, so one could guess why they wanted to enjoy every second of it, and why their friends chose to join their fun.

Be as it may, at one point in the night, the four of them found themselves scattered over the couch, way too close to each other, amusing Mihaela with tales of the day the other three met, almost two years ago.

“And then Alucard threw his sword away and punched Trevor to the ground.” Sypha said, her face flushed and warm from all the wine she drank. “Back then it kinda scared me, but looking back, I find it quite sexy if you ask me, to pin your said rival against the floor and bare your teeth for him.”

Mihaela chuckled, the alcohol clouding her jealousy. “Are you saying you enjoy watching your husband being manhandled, Sypha?”

“Actually, I do. You don’t?”

“To watch my husband being manhandled? Only when I’m the one doing it.”

No one gets to touch him but me goes unsaid, and she hears Trevor’s hoarse laugh and Adrian clicking his tongue in embarrassment. She’s not usually vocal about her preferences in bed, those are for her and Adrian to know and them alone, but of late she has been growing comfortable in the presence of her friends, enough to share a thing or two about her intimacy.

“Well then...” Sypha smirked, her hand, once resting on Mihaela’s knee, wandering a little higher until it reached her inner thigh. “Would you like to humor us?”

“Sypha!” Adrian hissed, pulling Mihaela into him and away from the Speaker’s touch, as if she were about to steal his wife.

The dhampir’s cheeks went red. The wine has made Sypha bold, but Mihaela could tell her friend had been wanting to make a move for quite a while now. Sypha was not in love with her, far from it actually, the Speaker had always been head over heels for her hunter, but her marriage to Trevor wasn’t exactly exclusive. Not that the Belmont would let his wife sleep with just anyone, but he had no problem letting her indulge with people like Greta sometimes… or their best friend’s wife. He couldn’t say he never thought about watching the two of them together.

“I’m off limits, my dear.” Mihaela declined, glancing at her apologetically. She knew Speakers had a different view on it, but she didn’t have it on her to be shared, much less share her husband, they were too possessive of each other to engage in such things.

“Ha! The two of you are no fun at all.” Trevor laughed, half drunk already, pulling Sypha on a straddling position over his lap and assaulting her lips with a hungry kiss.

Adrian and Mihaela’s mouths fell open as they stared at the couple in utter shock. Trevor had Sypha trapped in his strong grip, his hands moving all over her body, shamelessly groping at her ass as she pulled his hair and grind his thigh, moaning into his mouth, causing the watching couple to blush further. Mihaela felt a turmoil in the pit of her stomach, a heat that went lower and lower until she realized what was going on with her body, filling her heart with such guilt that almost had her hiding her face on Adrian’s chest like a frigid maiden.

“They’re really gonna do it on my couch?” She wondered aloud, looking back to her husband in an attempt to get distracted from the scene in front of her.

But Adrian’s state was no better than hers. While Mihaela’s response to the display of carnal desire could be hidden, his could not, and he caught himself wanting to go back to his coffin and sleep for another year instead of explaining to his wife why there was a growing bulge under his pants.

“...Adrian!” Mihaela said his name in disbelief, her guilt turning into astonishment.

“I’m s-sorry!” He stuttered, grabbing her hands in desperation. “I can’t control it… it’s just a physical reaction my love, I promise I don’t...”

She pressed a finger over his lips, shutting him up. The terrified look in his eyes, his fear for being caught doing something he thought might have hurt her made her heart ache, and she regretted having scolded him. She couldn’t judge her husband, not when her own body reacted the same as his at a sight none of them had seen before, at the sight of two other people, two other very good looking people, being intimate.

“It’s alright. It is… normal, I guess.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No, darling. Actually, I...” She found herself unable to finish the sentence, certain that all the blood in her body went to her cheeks.

“Oh… you too?” He asked, both surprised and relieved for not being the only one getting turned on by watching his friends.

Mihaela nodded, looking down at their intertwined hands, shame and randiness mixing into one powerful feeling.

“Do you want to go back to our room?” Adrian offered, half of him wanting to escape with Mihaela and do something about his painful erection, and the other half wanting to stay and watch like a creep voyeur.

“I don’t know...”

“Why are you making a fuss over it? It’s only sex.” Trevor mocked, delighting in his friends’ embarrassment. “I didn’t think vampires of all creatures would be so prude.” The hunter pulled Sypha’s robes down with ease, leaving the Speaker’s upper body completely bare.

“We’re not prude!” Mihaela protested, unable to move her gaze from Sypha’s exposed breasts. She had been with a woman only once in her life, in her long gone teenagehood, a few years before she wed Adrian, and she didn’t even get the whole thing done with the girl, but now she wondered how would’ve been like if she had, what it would feel like to put her lips around the softness of another woman’s nipples. “We just don’t like sharing. Have you ever heard of exclusivity?”

“Then you’re missing out.” Sypha said, drunkenness evident in her expression. “There’s so many good experiences when you s-share!” She whined, feeling her husband’s mouth around her tits.

Mihaela bit on her lip, sinking her fangs on her lips trying to stop herself from moaning, but the little sound she made didn’t go unnoticed by Adrian, nor the droplets of blood running down her chin. He gently turned her face back to him, running his thumb over the already healing wound.

“Let me help you...” Adrian licked the blood off her chin, kissing from her jaw up to her lips, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

Mihaela parted her lips to welcome him, moving her tongue against his as she tried to taste the blood he had sucked from her wound, listening to Trevor groaning in satisfaction.

“Oh, did you guys change your minds?” Sypha asked sweetly, feigning innocence.

The dhampir couple broke the kiss. “You’re not gonna fuck my wife, Sypha, forget about it.” Adrian answered, his previous shyness and reluctance giving way to mischievousness. “But since you’re my dear friend, I’ll let you watch.”

Adrian pushed Mihaela to lay on her back, locking eyes with her for a moment, searching for any signs of reluctance. There was none, she gave him a nod of approval and he immediately leaned in to suck on the skin of her neck.

Mihaela couldn’t see the couple with Adrian on top of her, but she heard Sypha whining again, unsure if it was for the show Adrian was only beginning to put up or because Trevor had his mouth on her again, but the sound was so alluring it had the dhampir moaning too, clinging to Adrian in a silent plea for him to make the ache in her core go away.

His lips went from her neck to her chest, teasing the parts of her breasts the dress did not cover, and his skillful hands wasted no time finding their way to remove her clothes. Soon, he had her fancy dress laying on the floor, leaving her only with the sleeveless chemise and a pair of socks.

Adrian’s gaze moved from his wife to his friends for a second, a smirk appearing on his lips when he saw the state of nakedness they already were, deciding Mihaela should see it too. In a quick move, he pulled her up to her knees and turned her round to face the other two, utterly satisfied with her reaction: almost falling back on the couch in all fours, Mihaela let out an indecent noise at the sight of Sypha stripped to the bone, leaning on Trevor’s strong, bare chest as he rubbed the bundle of nerves in between her wide spread legs. To make the game even, Adrian grabbed the chemise's handles and slid it down Mihaela’s body, his mind conjuring a pop sound when her tits fell free from the clothe.

“Oh damn...” Sypha whimpered, her mouth salivating for the sweet fruit sprouting from her friend’s chest. She often wondered what those breasts looked like out of the tight cleavages on the luxurious dresses, and to see the round, soft flesh and the rosy, hardened nipples right in front of her eyes was a dream come true as much as not being allowed to touch was a sweet torture.

“Is she like you imagined?” Trevor whispered, nibbling on her earlobe.

“Better. She’s much better...”

Adrian’s cock pulsed in his pants, the jealousy from knowing his friend had fantasized about his wife before was strangely arousing, the notion that his woman was desired by many but belonged to him and him alone making impossible for him to control himself. Grunting with lust, he manhandled her – just like she said she liked doing with him – to lay on her back again, but closer to the couple this time.

Mihaela’s head landed right next to Trevor’s thigh, the perfect spot for him and Sypha to watch her being railed, and for her to look back at them. Hovering over her, Adrian got rid of his clothes in a hurry, surprised that Mihaela wasn’t the only one gasping when freed his hard, aching cock. How innocent of him to have thought Trevor’s jokes about being sucked dry by a vampire were only jokes.

But he’d never be able to fulfill Trevor’s desires, nor let Sypha indulge hers, best he could do was give them a little taste of what they wanted.

His hands were on Mihaela again, pulling the soaked panties off of her, grabbing her knees to push her legs apart. He licked his own lips at the sight of her dripping cunt, kneeling in between her tights, holding his dick in his hand, brushing its tip against her entrance, making her whine with impatience.

“Don’t t-tease!”

Adrian chuckled, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Yes, my love. As you wish.”

One push and he was inside of her, his length slipping its way up to be enveloped by her tight warmth. A collective gasp echoed around the room, each of them delighting on the sensation of fucking, of being fucked, of watching. Adrian clutching her waist, already moving into her; Mihaela writhing beneath him, her tits bouncing up and down along with his pounding; Sypha’s lips parting, her walls clenching, wanting to be the one to cause the other woman to moan; Trevor grinning at it all, unzipping his pants to free his dick and rub it against Sypha’s ass, his fingers once pressing on her clit, now buried inside her pussy, in and out, mimicking Adrian’s thrusts.

“You… m-mean vampire, Alucard.” Sypha accused, pushing her hips against her husband’s fingers. “You won’t let me touch her!”

He smiled teasingly at her, showing his fangs. “She’s mine, Sypha.” He palmed at Mihaela’s breast, fondling, aware it was the part Sypha wanted to feel the most. “Only mine.”

Adrian increased the pace, touching all the right spots on his wife’s body to make her come undone, creating a symphony made of her little sounds of pleasure, the contact of their skins and the wet noise of her cunt being pound. Mihaela looked up at him with pleading eyes, sticking out her tongue, waiting for him to take the hint and give her what she wanted.

“You want to taste me, darling?”

She nodded a little too desperately. “Yes, y-yes please...”

Not needing to be told twice, he let go of her breast and brought his fingers close to her mouth, his index growing a claw he used to cut his palm and pour the flowing blood over her tongue, feeding her until the wound closed and he shoved two of fingers in her mouth, making her suck what was left of it.

“Argh! You goddamn freaks!” Trevor groaned, both turned on and repulsed by what they did. In search of his own release, he removed his fingers from Sypha’s cunt and fixed her to ride his cock.

His large hands groping her waist, bouncing her up and down his length, rough just the way she liked it. Mihaela watched in awe, her moans muffled by Adrian’s fingers in her mouth, drinking in all details of Sypha’s soft, delicate body in contrast to Trevor’s, realizing overly masculine men did have their perks, though she still preferred sweeter ones, like her dear husband.

Her gaze alternated between him and the couple, enjoying every bit of the predicament she’d probably never find herself into again, her pleasure weirdly increasing from being observed, her walls squeezing Adrian’s cock each time she caught Sypha looking at her with want. She was nearing her peak, the heat building in her womb announcing her upcoming orgasm.

Noticing how close she was, Adrian removed his fingers from her mouth and tangled his tongue with hers in a sloppy, needy kiss as he fucked her harder, faster, holding back his own explosion in order to feel hers first. It was only when she clenched around him one last time and creamed all over him that he withdrew and jerked off his orgasm, finishing on her stomach.

He fell next to her on the couch, hugging her side as they watched the other couple intently, smirking together when Sypha squirted and Trevor came into her, holding her in place until he emptied himself, making sure not even a drop of his seed was wasted.

“My god,” Mihaela spoke in a wave of silliness. “I think we just witnessed the conception of the next Belmont.”

Giggling, she hid her face in her hands, listening to the other three bursting into laughter. Everything about that night was atypical, from the unusual collective drunkenness to the shared intimacy and, at the end of the night, falling asleep together in a big cuddly pile. They would only return to their senses by the morning, when Greta’s indignant voice woke them up from their slumber.

“I can’t believe you guys had an orgy and didn’t invite me!”

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

IV. the hierophant.

parts: previously / next plot: you ask bruce to take his shirt off. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, alfred’s a little mean but he’s just being protective, you’re making serious life choices on four hours of sleep and a dream, you’re getting warmer, mentions of guns (none used). words: 7.3k.

a/n: this one is longer than usual and it is largely due to the fact that the last half of this fic came to me at six in the morning and I deigned to part with it. enjoy!

You get about as far as the lobby before your confidence wanes. The woman behind the desk has the kind of look that fits in a place like this: pristine brows, glossed lips, nary a flyaway not tamed by gel and a boar-bristle brush. You realize, quite belatedly, that you stick out like a sore thumb. 

Even with a phone tucked between shoulder and cheek, her stare pins you down and tells you to stay where you are. You listen because, frankly, you don’t know where else to go.

She’s in no hurry to finish her call, but it’s all too soon before she’s fixing you with that stare again. You’re already nervous. “Can I help you?” She—Alexandra, you gather from her name tag—doesn’t blink.

You feel ridiculous saying it out loud, “I’m here to see Bruce Wayne.”

Alexandra’s head tips to the side, examining you more closely. Perhaps looking for your audacity, you think, because she doesn’t look too keen on helping you with that request. “He sent me flowers.” You add on, lamely.

Finally she blinks, unimpressed, “Did he now?”

You feel unnerved when you hand it over and she doesn’t immediately take it. Eventually, after your arm has begun to shake, she plucks it from you.

It takes her but a few seconds for her entire expression to change. The next time she looks up at you, her stare is curious, memory jogged. “You were on the news, the doctor from Gotham General,” Alexandra recalls, “did you have an appointment?”

“No. I uh... well, I just... the delivery person dropped these off a half hour ago. I just wanted to thank him.”

Alexandra’s face softens. “I’m sorry, I can’t let anyone up without a prior appointment. I can relay a message, however. Or give you his office’s number.”

You wouldn’t be seeing him today, would you? You’d come here on an adrenaline high, a little angry and a little woozy on pain meds. You hadn’t even been thinking when you’d left your apartment, had turned off your phone as soon as your mother started calling, and now you were on the other side of the city hoping to see the most important man in Gotham. Of course you should’ve called. He left you his number and you thought you could just walk right into his office.

But then again, he’d walked right into yours. Why couldn’t you do the same?

Behind the desk, one of the (heavily armed) security guards is keeping an eye on you. That... answered your question. Maybe you’d have to make that call after all.

You’re about to do just that, thanking Alexandra for her time, when you hear your name being called from a few feet away.

You recognize him in an instant. The weathered, greying face of Bruce Wayne’s right hand man is approaching at impeccable speed, nearly making you stumble back to keep the distance, “Mr. Pennyworth.” You breathe the name at the same time as Alexandra, who goes a step further and stands to acknowledge him. You don’t think it’s customary with the way his quick smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

You, on the other hand, get no smile at all, “What a surprise to find you here. I hope the flowers were received well? We were unable to gather if you’re prone to allergies.”

You wonder how he would’ve gotten that information without asking you first, “No- I mean yes, they were fine. I was actually coming to deliver my thanks.”

Alfred straightens at this. It’s not hard, with all your experience, to recognize a veteran when you see one. He’s got the determined, flawless gait along with the endless eyes (the ones that go on forever with stories and horrors not so far beyond your imagination). He’s also got the immovability of one. You understand why he’s Bruce Wayne’s right hand man. If a bomb was unable to take him out, you doubted much else could. Not even if you asked nicely. “That’s very kind of you. I’ll have to pass your thanks on to Master Wayne.”

Master? It’s not so out of place, situated in his West London accent, but it does throw you off in 21st century America. Everything about him read as other than, and yet you felt the most out of place in this conversation. “Actually, I was hoping if I could see him. I’d like to tell him in person. If that’s alright.”

Alfred’s eyebrow twitches upwards, “Does Mr. Wayne know you’re coming?”

You flush. You really should’ve called first. “No. He doesn’t. I thought-” that you’d all make an exception for me, “I was in a hurry to get here. I didn’t even think to call.”

“Mr. Wayne is a very busy man.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Truly. I just really need to talk to him.”

“Perhaps you can come back another day. I’ll be happy to schedule that with you, if Mr. Pennyworth is needed elsewhere.” Alexandra interjects. There was no way you could tell her or Alfred that if you had more time to think about what you were about to do, you might as well ask to be put down.

Mr. Pennyworth extends his arm, bringing his wrist to his eyeline where he reads the time on his watch. You glance at your phone and realize it’s just a few minutes after one. “Actually, Alexandra, there’s no need. I believe Mr. Wayne has just finished his workout and should be headed back to the penthouse to rest for the afternoon. I don’t believe he’d mind our guest coming up for a chat.”

You cut your eyes to Alexandra, then back to Alfred who’s now looking at you. Either you were really lucky, or there was something you didn’t know going on here.

Regardless, Alfred turns on the spot and begins to walk away.

With one last “thank you” thrown at Alexandra, you head off after him, slowing to a more graceful pace as employees pass pointed looks at you. You shrink closer to Alfred, then further behind him when he casts an inquisitive glance in your direction.

He leads you around the corner, down a long hallway where the suits and ties grow fewer and fewer. A few more turns and you both end up in the elevator alone.

The silence is only cut through every few seconds by the occasional ding! letting you know you’ve passed another floor. This was all starting to feel just a little too easy.

After the first five floors, Alfred speaks, “I trust you’re recovering well?”

“Yes, actually. I’m lucky. We all were.”

Alfred hums, “Yes. It is rather lucky having the Batman around.”

You turn to him, curious, “You’re a fan?”

For the first time in your presence, the old man actually cracks a real smile. It’s faint, but realer than the one he’d given Alexandra. “A critic.”

“A critical fan.”

“I think he’s done a better job taking care of the people in this city than some, though his methods could use refining. And you?”

“I might be biased given that he’s saved my life and all, but I’m a fan,” you wonder if you should tell him. Then, in line with your other decisions thus far, choose to do so anyway, “I actually got to tell him that. When we first met. Before the... hospital. Patched up a nasty bullet wound for him.”

For some reason, Alfred doesn’t look as surprised as you were hoping for. You’d have to find another way to impress him. “Is that right?” His gaze becomes more pointed, “Think he was looking out for you?”

It sounds so absurd to you at first that you laugh, but even thinking about it for a second, it isn’t that absurd. It’s easy, even, to come to that conclusion. You’d saved his life. He’d saved yours. Perhaps he’d just wanted to do away with owing you, but you know that isn’t quite right, “I think he’s just a good person. It was just-”

“Lucky.” He finishes for you, smile gone now. You get the feeling that he knows something you don’t.

Before you can be so bold as to question him about it, he starts talking again, “If I may, Master Wayne informed me of his interest in you prior to his job offer. And it’s my understanding that you politely declined. Now, it’s none of my business as to why you turned down his offer, that was your decision and he must respect that, and it’s neither my business why you’ve insisted on coming here after the fact, but I do want to make one thing clear: as Bruce’s butler, I have seen many come and go through these halls with intentions I’m more than privy to. I know when someone is looking to gain something from him. This is the first time I’ve not been sure what to predict. It’s not clear to me what you plan to get out of this arrangement, but I request that whatever you do, you do not make me regret allowing you past these doors.”

The elevator comes to a full stop, the final ding! alerting you that you’re one floor away from the penthouse. A mechanized voice requests over the speakers to “present identification”. Alfred does not move. He stares at you, awaiting your response.

You don’t know whether to feel angry or sheepish. You stand here in little more than sweatpants and ratty sneakers, shaking like a purse dog where at any moment, someone could come around the corner and put a bullet between your eyes for saying the wrong thing. In fact, no one needed to come around any corners. You’d seen the outline of the 9mm under Alfred’s vest on the way to the elevator. You had little more than your keys on you for self-defense.

You weren’t a threat. You were barely anything without a scalpel in your hand.

And yet this military man with more bullets than you’d have seconds to escape him thinks you enough of a problem to lecture you. God, alright, you’re a little angry.

“If I may,” you start, “I have no clue what Bruce wants with me either. And frankly, I’m more worried about that than you should be about me. I just want to talk to him. If you’re lucky, you’ll never have to see me again.”

He holds your gaze a little longer, wondering if you’ll crack. It takes very deep, measured breaths to keep from doing so.

You don’t know how long the two of you just stand there, but eventually Alfred touches a screen on the wall with his thumb that seems to be the magic password. The voice from before confirms as much, jolting the elevator the last few feet before spilling the two of you out into the penthouse. Alfred says nothing more, simply guiding you down another hallway, up some stairs, and into a room larger than the upper half of your apartment complex.

You don’t have time to pause at the one-of-a-kind art on the wall, nor the shelves lined with books of all languages and disciplines. You don’t even have time to examine the city outside the window (from what you glimpse, the view is beautiful).

You stand out in the open beneath twin winding staircases either side of you, leading up into a dark unknown. You feel like a child staring up at the ceiling, breathing in the gloomy castle. It’s worlds away from your quaint unit stuck in the 80s.

“He should be here,” is the first thing Alfred has said to you since the elevator, “I’ll just be a moment.”

You watch the old man wander up one of the staircases, calling for Bruce. Without anyone watching you, you’re free to explore. And really, what if this was the last time you’d ever step foot in this place?

The first thing you approach is the large table in the middle of the room. There’s a W engraved in the wood, polished to a shine, surrounded by abandoned teacups and loose papers you try not to look too closely at.

The next thing you approach is a small study off to the side where more books live, but your stomach drops when you chance a glance out into the city. You’ve been this high up before, but you couldn’t imagine this being the first thing you see every morning. You could see most of Gotham from this high. Every skyscraper, every dingy alleyway, every car and boat and train from miles around. This far above, it was no wonder they called the Waynes royalty.

You also couldn’t imagine the money it took to build this place. It was cheaper back before anyone in this building had been born, but if Bruce Wayne wanted, he could build one just like it in every major city. You can even see Gotham General from here. It’s... it makes you feel so small.

Your fingers press into the glass and leave behind prints. You doubted anyone would even notice.

You’re seconds from whipping out your phone and texting Emily a photo of the view when Alfred’s voice breaks the silence, “Master Wayne! There you are.”

Shit, he was here already?

You turn, expecting him to be at the staircase or by the front door or even by the table you’d been pondering. You don’t expect him to be just a few feet behind you, watching you watch the cityscape. The sudden closeness makes you tumble back into the window, your head thudding on the glass so loudly that you see Bruce wince.

When Alfred’s voice carries again, he’s much closer. Close enough for you to hear the displeasure in: “You have a guest.”

Alfred leaves you both alone in the study. He cites some phone calls he needs to make and swears to keep “Dory” out until the end of your meeting. You’re assured it’s just the two of you up here. As if that would calm your mounting nerves.

At the very least, Bruce looks just as unsure as you.

He puts the desk between the two of you, still standing, only now his shape has changed. In his fancy suits, he was angular, a person who parted crowds with his size. Now, here, in a t-shirt that hangs off him so loosely he looks gaunt, he looks smaller somehow. Tall and lean but smaller. Softer. It helps a little, doesn’t feel so out of place when his voice matches his demeanor, “Did you get the flowers?”

Only then do you realize that Alexandra still has the card he left you. “How do you know where I live?”

His expression turns frightened for just a moment, then softens, “Your boss called when they arrived at your office, told me you were on leave. He offered to send them to your apartment.” He takes the way your eyes narrow as you not believing him, “He didn’t tell me where. And I didn’t ask.” He hastily tacks on the last part.

Of course, he says all this as if you had lawyers on speed dial. Was it because he had something to hide?

“They were... beautiful. I can’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers.” You reply, honest, and it takes a little of the tension out of his shoulders. Yours too.

“After I saw the news, I was just glad to know you hadn’t been seriously harmed.”

“No, I was lucky. Or someone was looking out for me.” The last bit slips out without you meaning it to. When you look up to hazard Bruce’s reaction, he’s entirely impassive. Whatever got you into this penthouse convinces you to ask the next thing that comes to mind, “Do you believe in the Batman?”

You catch the genuine confusion flit across his face as he asks, “Like... the boogeyman?”

“No, I mean... do you believe- I mean he’s just a person, right? Clearly. But do you believe he’s doing something good for Gotham? Mayor Reál seems to think he’s a sign that the city has gone to shit. I know you’re a supporter of hers. I was just curious.”

“The city’s always been... shit,” he catches your eye as he reuses your wording, “I don’t think he’s a sign. I think he’s a side effect.”

“So... the city gets better and, what, Batman no more?”

“That’s the ideal.”

“I can’t imagine a Gotham that nice.”

Bruce studies you. You find it alarming how still he can be, “Do you?”

“Hm?”

“Do you believe? In the Batman?”

Why do you feel so naive when you blurt out a confident “yes”? Is it because Bruce looks skeptical? Because you realize that maybe you’re more attached to the vigilante than you should be, even if he saved your life? That maybe you’d placed all your hope for a better world in him, and if he ever failed, you’d be in for a rude awakening? All of the above was your best guess. “You didn’t answer.”

Bruce fidgets. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a cop out.” It hits you that the conversation has begun to flow on its own, the longest you’ve ever talked to Bruce. Maybe the suits were the issue after all.

“It’s... like you said: Gotham gets better, the Batman is no more. I want Gotham to get better.”

Whether he’s playing diplomat or not, it’s such a neutral stance that you begin to reevaluate what you know about Bruce Wayne. You shift the conversation to shallow waters, “Your butler is intimidating.”

“Alfred?”

“He interrogated me on the ride up here. Felt like I was being lectured by my girlfriend’s dad.”

Bruce laughs all of a sudden, even less tense. The smile that splits his stoic in two is so very different from anything you’ve seen on him so far, “I’m sorry about him, he’s protective. I hope he didn’t scare you.”

You go to say he didn’t, but then you remember the gun he’d had hidden in his slacks and reconsider, “It’s fine. He let me up here, didn’t he?” Whether he’d done so hoping this would be the last time you ever step foot in the tower or not, you would leave that unsaid. “But I didn’t come here just to thank you for the flowers or talk about Batman. There’s been something on my mind for a while. Ever since you came to offer me the job. I was too stunned to think about it then, but I’ve been meaning to ask you... why me?”

You expect to have to clarify. Bruce takes a long look at you and doesn’t ask you to, “Because you’re good at what you do.”

“There’s hundreds of talented doctors in Gotham. Millions in the world. You met me once and you wanted to put your life in my hands.”

“You’re one of those talented doctors.”

“But you... aren’t just anybody. You have to... you’ve gotta know that, right? You could have asked for anyone. I should’ve been a blip on your radar as soon as you met me. There’s no logical reason for someone with your resources to come to me, in person, and ask me to work for you.”

“Of course there is.”

“Like what?”

Frustrated, he maneuvers around the desk until it’s no longer blocking the both of you. It makes the conversation feel more personal. You don’t feel like you’re talking to the same Bruce Wayne from before, “You noticed I was hurt right away. No one else did.”

“It feels like more than that.” And it does. All of this. Every interaction has felt like something bubbling under the surface, waiting to break skin and bleed out for everyone to see. You keep getting that feeling that you know. Bruce even looks like he knows. Alfred, too. But you’re the only one who can’t quite name it.

It doesn’t help that for a second, you think Bruce is going to say more. He doesn’t. He schools his expression into stoicism again. You find that you don’t really like that look on him, can’t stand not having that glimpse of someone human now that you’ve been spoiled on it.

He takes one step after the other, assertive. You feel like you should step out of the way once he’s right in front of you, when the fresh scent of green apple invades your senses and you notice that the soft strands on his head are still damp. You realize then that you’d probably caught him fresh out of the shower, that it wasn’t just the lack of suit that had changed him. You realize too that his knuckles are still bruised, only now the flesh looks like it’d been freshly broken recently.

You’re so focused on the injury that you startle looking into his eyes for answers. For a shining, blinding second... you’d seen someone else.

“I wasn’t trying to change your mind. The flowers were a courtesy. Nothing more.”

You believe him. He’s not acting. He’s so earnest you don’t even think he’s breathing as he waits for your reply.

You’d come here in a haze and you’re finally sobering up, but you wouldn’t sound like it from what you say next, “And if I changed my mind?”

The stoicism melts. Bruce exhales a heavy breath.

It starts to catch up with you that you still have no idea if the offer is even still on the table. “If you haven’t already found someone else,” comes your buffer, trying not to let embarrassment seep into your words, “and if you’d still like me to-”

“Okay.” His answer is sure, final. His certainty reassures you in a strange way. You still feel way in over your head but God be damned, you got this far.

“Okay. And I have some conditions. I’ll still be working at Gotham General, you’ll just be my priority. And I want to do a physical exam, figure out what I’m working with.”

“Whatever you need. It’s yours.”

You glance back down at Bruce’s hands. He needs no convincing. You think back to that day when you first met him: the limp in his walk, the barely contained pain in his expression, his excuse that had felt more practiced than your speech. If you recalled, he’d favored his left side, which would put his sprain just about...

Your hand is touching his waist before you even realize that it’s left your side. Through the shirt, you feel the muscles that are deceptively concealed. No matter how much softer he looked like this, there was power coiled beneath his skin.

To your surprise, it’s you who reacts first.

You yank your hand away and put one whole step between the two of you—which does nothing. You didn’t recall being this close before you touched him. Just how out of your mind were you?

You take stock of Bruce’s expression. If he had looked any sort of way when you’d been so bold as to touch him, you’d missed it. You summon enough strength to ask, before you could throw yourself out of those beautiful windows behind you, “Can I use your restroom?”

You don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t know what you’re doing.

It’d be better to think something more positive, something that would get you to release your death grip on the sink, but you’re Icarus and you can smell something burning. You can also hear voices outside; Alfred’s, unmistakably, and Bruce’s which would be easier to hear if you pressed your ear up to the door. No doubt, they were discussing you.

Your palms are so slick that they start to slip and you have to run them under water. You don’t even want to think about drying your hands on the towel hanging beside the mirror, quality visible even to your eye, but if you wiped them on your sweatpants, everyone would know.

Your second idea is to check your phone, swiping through the missed calls and messages begging for you to have some sense and call your mother back. You check the weather (clear skies for the night), pull up pictures of kittens, scroll online until you’ve seen every news report and viral video on mute and have no excuse to hide anymore, because the only thing worse than having a borderline panic attack in a rich person’s bathroom was the rich person thinking you were absolutely destroying their plumbing.

You take a few breaths, decide against splashing your face, and begin to turn the knob.

The hallway you’d been abandoned in is far enough away from the main part of the house that you can’t see Alfred and Bruce, even if their voices carry fine. Everything about the penthouse was stately, old money etched into the deep honeys of the wood and warm lamps casting more shadows than light. Any windows on this side of the house are covered with heavy drapery, blocking what little sunlight the city allowed in the waking hours. It’s easier to imagine that you’re not sixty stories up this way.

You can still hear Alfred and Bruce talking as you drift in the opposite direction.

There are a few doors down this way, past the restroom, all doors shut and imposing enough to keep you from taking peeks inside. Outside one of the doors at the end of the hall, you do catch a whiff of clean linen from under the door. The laundry room, maybe? You recall Alfred smelling the same.

On your way back, you look back down the stairs you’d come up earlier and spot an old-timey landline with a notepad and a pen beside it. Chancing a closer look, you see a note with something scribbled across it.

Dory,

Call about the leak. Tomorrow at the latest. Preferably before evening. Bruce won’t be home.

There was that “Dory” again. Was she the maid? The one Alfred promised to keep busy?

“...it has nothing to do with you.”

For the first time, Bruce’s voice carries out into the hall ringing clear. Alfred scoffs, tone bitter, “No, by all means. Bring a stranger home. Give them a key to the place, too, while you’re at it. You might as well rip the bandaid off in one go. I’m sure that won’t be a liability.”

You carefully ascend the staircase again, sticking close to the walls. You strain to hear without drawing any attention to yourself.

“You wanted this, Alfred. You were the one telling me I couldn’t do this alone.”

“But not... bloody like this. Look, this has never just been about you- and don’t you give me that look. I’ve stood by your side since you were a child. Since you were born. And like it or not, what you do has consequences far beyond yourself. When you’re reckless, who do you think’s gonna make sure your mess is taken care of?”

It’s when you slip around the corner that the two come into view, warring voices echoing off the walls no matter how quiet they tried to be, “I’ve never asked you to clean up after me.”

“But you’ve needed it, haven’t you? I’ve done alright, haven’t I? And all I’ve asked of you is to be careful.” From your vantage point, you can see Bruce’s face twist with determination. At the same time, Alfred’s has softened. You get the strange feeling that this isn’t entirely about you after all. “As your butler-”

“As Alfred.”

“...I’m always keeping my eyes open for you, and I’d appreciate it if... if you could keep your eyes open for you too. And mind the overlap. Lest your nights become your days.”

The silence is deafening. Even worse, you realize a second too late that their spat has come to an end because they both turn to where you stand in the archway, clinging to it to hide. Alfred gives you one hard look, forcing out pleasantries, “I trust the amenities were to your liking?”

Your mind blanks for a moment, still stuck on what exactly they’d been yelling about, “Oh, yes. It’s lovely. All of it, the whole place.”

The soldier gives a firm nod. “Bruce tells me you’ve reconsidered. I’m happy to hear it.”

Right. So much for him being lucky.

Before you can muster up some way to curb the tension, Alfred excuses himself from the room, going back where you’d came. Moments later, you hear a door shut a bit too loudly. Bruce hovers several feet away, conflicted. Somehow, this is even worse than the first time he’d left you two alone.

It becomes fairly clear after a while that neither of you know where to go from here. Were you to pretend you didn’t hear all of that? Pretend that Alfred’s anger wasn’t, at least in part, directed at you?

This was all starting to feel too much like a minefield to maneuver. Perhaps all three of you would sleep on this tonight and wake up in your right minds, but for now, all you could do was hope to God this didn’t bite you in the ass.

“Your conditions,” Bruce starts, “have them sent over to me. Whatever you need, I’ll make sure you have it.”

It takes a lot out of you not to jump back when he’s close enough to touch again. As if you couldn’t trust yourself not to reach for him. Or trust that he would even bother to stop you. “Of course... Mr. Wayne.”

By the time you arrive home, darkness has risen over the city and you’re back in your apartment building before your day could get even more exciting.

You’re operating on fumes, fantasizing about what’s left in your fridge from meal prep earlier this week, barely sound enough to get your key into your mailbox.

You feel a presence nearby as you’re sifting through bills and junk. Her scent (that of cinnamon and myrrh) gives her away immediately, “Hey, Judith.”

The little old lady doesn’t smile at you—she rarely does, severe as she is devout—the crow’s feet about her eyes fold in on each other as she assesses you, “You should apologize to your parents.”

You don’t mean to. You usually have better manners than this, but you can’t hold back your sudden, audible groan. Even Judith is startled. “They’ll get over it.”

“They’re worried for you.”

“Did they tell you to tell me that?”

“You need to be careful, dear. Strange spirits are drawn to you.” Her hand chronically trembles as it reaches into her purse. Out comes her handheld copy of the Bible, lovingly worn and dressed with tabs of all colors from her studies. You watch her pick at a neon green tab and flip the little thing open, “I’ve been praying for you ever since I saw the news. That... Batman may have saved you, but I fear you’re still in danger. I have some verses that might help you keep him out should he come looking for you again-”

Judith has never needed to care this much. On your first day moving in all those years ago, she’d struggled up a flight of stairs just to prepare you dinner and offer to show you how to get your janky dishwasher open. Your roommates had found her offputting, had turned down her offer for tea at her place, but you had gone. It’s how you found out that she’d lost her husband and only son years prior. Gunned down, wrong place wrong time. Nothing new in this city. God was all she had left.

If babying you helped her sleep at night, if praying for you gave her peace of mind, you would let her ten times over.

“He’s not a demon, I promise. He’s as much flesh and blood as you and me.”

Judith frowns, not at all convinced, “You’re not in debt to him, are you?”

You shake your head, locking your mailbox back, “We’re even, actually. I saved his life. He saved mine. We’ve nothing to do with each other anymore.” You realize that she’s dressed to head out just then. Her coat is buttoned to the neck and she’s got her beret clutched under arm while she puts away her Bible. “Got Bible study tonight? Stay safe.”

Once she fits her hat over her salt and pepper curls, she caresses your arm. Her hands hadn’t been warm in years, but they weren’t any less comforting than when you’d first felt them. “You too, dear.” Then she reaches for your keys and picks out the one she’d copied for you forever ago, “Whenever you need to, don’t hesitate.”

You watch her totter off onto the sidewalk, swept away in the waves of commuters getting off work. You hoped you’d never have to take her up on her offer.

It turns out that not only had they put your flowers in your bedroom, your parents had also taken the liberty of cleaning out your fridge. You hated that on top of all the incessant texts they’d left you since this morning, you’d be expected to break the ice with a “thank you”. You’d prolong that for as long as humanly possible, that’s for sure.

Somewhere between popping your dinner in the microwave and turning on the news, you found yourself standing at your window staring into the dark. He wasn’t there. You kind of wished he would be, though. For some reason, he was the only one you wanted to talk to.

And then, somewhere between the timer going off and your stomach growling, you’d pushed the curtains aside and propped the window open.

You practically inhaled dinner, glancing every so often at the window during infomercials. With every breeze that shifted your curtains aside, you looked. Every squeak and creak of the fire escape, you looked. By the time there’s nothing left to scoop out of your bowl, night has fallen completely. It makes it harder to see out, harder to gauge if you see him or just a shadow. Your eyes start to cross again and you force yourself to shower the day away.

You don’t expect the window to be closed when you get back.

Even better, you don’t expect him to be standing right outside it.

You’re far too eager to get it open again, cursing the old thing all the while, “Shit- sorry. Must’ve fell closed while I was in the shower, I left it open for you.”

You’re bending out of the window where Batman stands just a step or two away. You have to crane your neck to look up from your position, wondering how long he’d been standing there. He looks a little peeved at you. Had he been waiting long?

“I know. I closed it.”

You blink, “Why?”

“You were in the shower.”

You’re about to reiterate “I left it open for you” with feeling this time when it dawns on you that he’d already clocked that. You shut right up. “Okay—admittedly—stupid move. But you haven’t considered the fact that maybe I knew you’d get here before someone with a gun.” Batman doesn’t look impressed at all. In fact, he looks like he’s going to turn around and abandon you forever. You frantically back away from the window, “Sorry. Are you hurt?”

He waits to answer you until he’s stepped fully inside. He takes a short survey of the room, peering into every corner, before he’s turned his attention to you. It’s clear skies tonight. He doesn’t smell like rain for once, “I just came to check on you.”

Your chest has the audacity to swell with stunned breath. “Really?”

“Were you expecting me for something else?”

“Well, no, I just... I was just... when I said I left the window open for you, I meant... I hadn’t really expected you to stop by. Was more wishful thinking. An invitation.”

Your admission should’ve stayed secret. You watch him work through a host of expressions, landing on a firm scowl.

“Okay, again, admittedly stupid move. Can we move past the window already?” His glare could freeze you dead. No wonder he was so good at his job. “And I’m fine.” He continues to stare. “Seriously. I’m good.” Now he just blatantly looks like he doesn’t believe you. You would find it funny—you do find it funny, actually, though you hide it well—if you weren’t so annoyed that he’d found you just as convincing about your wellbeing as you found him about his own, “But you would know about being a hypocrite, wouldn’t you?”

That last part is said with a little more venom than necessary. You regret it as soon as his face softens. His eyes tells you he takes no offense.

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself saying that a lot tonight, “I don’t know what’s going on with me today. Are the people you save usually susceptible to rash, impulsive decisions?”

“What did you do?”

You exhale through pursed lips, saying with the same cadence of a teenager admitting they’d crashed the family car, “Got a job.”

Batman’s expression doesn’t change except for a teeny, tiny glint in his eye. Teasing, it looked like, “You’re insane. What on earth were you thinking?”

“Okay, ha ha.”

“No, really. You might have brain damage. We’ve got to get you to a hospital, stat.” It would’ve shocked you that he reached forward to press the back of his hand to your forehead had you not been giggling deliriously. You smack it away like he did this all the time, though once you’re touching him, your fingers cling for a little longer than needed. You aren’t exactly sure what about touching him made you want to hold on, monopolize the feeling. Was it because every time you’ve touched him, it’s been an anchor? For comfort? Something that extends beyond words? Probably.

You release his hand before he can notice. Or comment on it.

But then you’re stumbling toward your couch and dropping your head in your hands like you’ve made a big mistake. You don’t have to look up to hear him follow you. “I must be insane.” you grumble, tracking his body where it stops in front of you, where he kneels, and you clench your eyes shut tighter.

You barely feel it at first. It’s faint, lighter than a breath. It doesn’t register as a touch, let alone his touch, until all five of his fingers are hovering over the surface of your knee. You peek through your fingers and sure enough, his hand is right there. He doesn’t dare press his fingers into your skin and it almost feels like he’s dangling you off a ledge.

You don’t want him to let go.

You place a hand over his and hold it there, closing around the leather. You don’t know how long you just stay like that, trying desperately to cool down what feels like a creeping panic. There’s too much happening. Too many sensations, too many thoughts, too many emotions. You just need him to stay there, quiet, and let you touch someone.

You don’t remember the last time you’d been properly hugged. You surely hadn’t been since you’d left the hospital. Your parents had been too focused on getting you to come home with them that you hadn’t thought to ask for one, hadn’t expected that you’d get one. And, to be fair, if you’d been given one, you’d probably have brushed it off.

Because, truth was, you did not know what you were doing.

Batman doesn’t seem to mind being still. He waits, breathing slowly and deeply. At some point, when you zero in on him (because how could you not? How could it be lost on you that this isn’t just anyone you’re touching right now?), you start to match him.

You begin to apologize for the other night when you remember how you clung to him, but fear that another “sorry” might actually annoy him more than leaving your window open again. You search Batman’s face for any sign of “I need to get the fuck outta here” and find none. “I’m asking you this because I trust you: have you ever met Bruce Wayne?”

You watch him shift uncomfortably, but he never breaks eye contact with you. “What?”

“Bruce Wayne. Can I trust him?”

He hesitates, picking apart your face for something, “I’m not following.”

“He asked me to work for him. Apparently, he thinks I’m very talented even though he’s never seen me work.”

“You are. I would know.”

“Yeah, you would. It’d have made more sense for you to ask me. What I don’t get is why me. His answer wasn’t very enlightening. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“...What do you think?”

“I think I want to. But I’m worried I’m being reckless again. I’m used to... I used to chase danger a lot when I was younger. Kind of had a taste for it. I’m worried that that’s what this is.”

“There’s a lot of danger in change.”

“You’re saying I’m afraid of things changing?” He was starting to feel like a therapist now, prodding at old wounds and everything, “Is that what this is? Things change all the time. I’m a doctor. Nothing is ever predictable... and you didn’t answer my question.”

Batman frowns. You realize this is the second time you’ve said that today. “Bruce Wayne isn’t corrupt, if that’s what you’re asking. You can trust that. The rest is up to you.”

You’d think that would have been enough to put all your worries about him to bed, but it left you with more mystery. The bruised knuckles, the pain in his side he’d passed off as just stress, the warning Alfred had given you in the elevator, Bruce’s sudden interest in you... all of it felt connected to something bigger. If it wasn’t corruption, what could it be? And if it was, how deep did it go for even Batman not to know?

You’d be much more prepared for concerns like this on more sleep. And less pain meds.

You start thinking about the skin healing beneath your bandaged leg, the dull pain that shifted with every movement. You also think about Batman’s hand on your knee (the one you’re still holding, the one he doesn’t look eager to retrieve), “Do you have somewhere to be?”

You’d missed looking into those deep blues. He holds your gaze steady, speaking quietly as if not to break the moment, “It’s quiet tonight.”

“Don’t suppose you’ll react kindly to me asking to see your wound.” As soon as you lock eyes with him again, his eyes narrow. You get the feeling he’s getting better at clocking your bullshit. “Unless you’ve got some other doctor friends I don’t know about taking care of you.”

He gives you that look again, the same one on the fire escape that made you worry he’d up and leave, but his hand doesn’t shift from under yours.

You watch him look around, searching. It takes him a few seconds before he reaches for something on the other end of the couch. Your mouth gapes a little when you realize he’s holding one of your shirts, the not so fresh one that you’d forsaken for the shower just an hour ago. He removes his hand from your knee and grabs the other end of the shirt, stretching the material before looking back up at you. It takes you an embarrassingly long moment to figure out what he’s asking for, his hands motioning for you to lean forward.

You slowly tilt closer until the fabric of your shirt caresses your eyelids. You feel Batman pull the shirt around your eyes, around your ears, and to the back of your head where his fingers begin to tie a knot with it. You’d be mad that he was stretching one of your favorite pieces of clothing if you didn’t feel his breath ghost your lips, letting your head be lightly jerked around by his tying, “No. Just you.”

[imagines--galore]

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Eight

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure. A little fighting but nothing too detailed.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

A/N: We’re on our way to Ba Sing Se! And if its not too much trouble could you guys just leave your thoughts and tell me what you thought of this chapter and the story overall please? I would really appreciate it.

To say things were awkward between her and Zuko would be an understatement.

Where there had been some form of civility between the both of them, despite their constant bickering, now it was............silence. Sure there were a few words exchanged, but they were short and curt, and neither of them would look at the other when they spoke.

It was beginning to get on Iroh’s nerves. He would take their constant bickering any day over whatever this was. Once more he wandered what had happened when Orora had gone after his nephew. Zuko had returned first, dripping wet and without the ostrich horse or Orora. Iroh didn’t have time to worry long. She soon returned as well, perfectly dry and with a protective covering over both her and Chairo to keep from getting wet. She had simply offered Iroh a small shake of her head at his offer of a hot meal, pulled out her sleeping bag, and disappeared under her blanket. 

It had been a few days since that day, and his injuries were on the mend. They were healing remarkably fast. All thanks to Orora and her healing abilities. She would have two healing sessions with him everyday. One in the morning and another one at night. After a few days she allowed him to start practicing a few firebending stances to help his muscles heal properly. But she was always ready in case he pulled a muscle or something of the sort.

During their stay in the rundown hut, Orora had taken to practicing her waterbending stances. She would go through them over and over, until every step was seamless like water running over a rock, and every movement of her arm was as fluid as the water she bended. Given that she needed to practice near water, and Iroh wasn’t about to let her out of his sight for fear of Azula returning, all three of them would go down to the nearby river. And while Iroh would dip his feet in the cool water and Zuko would sulk nearby, Orora would step into the water and practice.

Of course before stepping into the water she had to shed the baggy brown pants and tunic she had worn since the day she had begun her journey disguised as a boy.

Which left her in her underclothes, which consisted of a light blue bandeau wrapped around her chest, leaving her shoulders and stomach completely bare. Around her hips was a sarong type skirt under which she had a pair of, what looked to be, short pants that ended mid-thigh.

Since the time she had chopped off her hair, the strands now just touched her cheeks. Where her pale blue eyes had been the most prominent feature against her tanned skin, now white portion at the front of her hair was what stood out more. The months of traveling had led her to loose whatever baby fat had been left, and while she still thought of herself as unshapely, anyone could see that she was filling out quite well when it came to the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts. Not to mention the constant walking and waterbending practice she did helped kept her in shape. And though she was eating significantly less then she normally did, she didn’t have a starved look about her face.

All in all, she looked rather healthy considering the circumstances.

After a few moments of contemplation where she stared at her reflection in the clear water, Orora inhaled softly before assuming her first stance and starting her practice.

Completely unaware of a pair of golden eyes taking in her every movement  sitting on the river bank almost entranced. 

Iroh had seen his nephew looking, and a smile pulled at his lips at the expression on the young Prince’s face. “What has you so deep in thought Prince Zuko?” He asked, though there was a certain teasing tone in his words, there was also curiosity and sincerity. That words acted as a reminder that he was staring and he quickly looked away, his cheeks a little red at having been caught staring.

Silence followed his words as Iroh chuckled and returned to watching his student execute a particularly difficult waterbending move to perfection. “Bravo Orora! You are doing very well.” Orora pushed her wet hair back from her forehead to give the older man a grin before returning to her practice. Zuko had caught the move out of the corner of his eyes, and though he would never voice it, he knew that under his Uncle’s guidance, despite their different elements, Orora would become a skilled bender.

“Tell me Prince Zuko, now that you have found your soulmate, is there anything you intend to do something about it?” So perhaps he was being a little nosy, but Iroh was hoping that Orora would be the person to bring a little light, laughter and perhaps love into his nephew’s life. He had been so starved of all three since his mother’s disappearance, and though Iroh tried his best to fill that void, perhaps having another person would help steer Zuko down the right path.

Zuko had visibly stiffened at the question, stubbornly refusing to meet his Uncle’s inquiring gaze. Once more he didn’t reply, though his mind wandered back to the night of the storm. When they had both finally acknowledged what they had been trying to fight since the day they met.

“There is nothing to do about anything, Uncle.” He stated in a flat tone. “Nothing will ever become of it. Our destines will never allow it.” How could anything happen? She was of the Water Tribe and he was from the Fire Nation. If he was ever to have any chance of going back home, he would never be able to take her with him. A prince of the Fire Nation with a water bending soulmate?

Even if the Fire Sages let it slip, his father would never allow it to happen.

Iroh’s expression grew a little grave at what his nephew was implying. “As I have often told you Prince Zuko, destiny works in mysterious ways, but it never throws a problem at a person that they cannot figure out.” He reached out to gently place a hand on his shoulder.

“You will find the answer to this my boy. And sometimes the answer is standing right in front of you.” As he spoke, Iroh’s gaze moved to Orora who was still practicing. Unconsciously Zuko followed his gaze.

And continued to look at her until she was finished with her training and approached the shore. Zuko stood abruptly to his feet as she did, turning his back to her. “I hope you’re feeling up for some traveling Uncle, we will be leaving in the morning.”

Orora frowned, opening her mouth to protest but a silent look from her Master had her sighing. “Well I suppose I should start packing up.” She spoke softly as she quickly dried herself off using waterbending and donning her clothes. Zuko didn’t hear her response, having already started down the path back towards their temporary abode.

                                          ————————–

“He shouldn’t be traveling this soon.”

Zuko glanced up from where he had been saddling Chairo. Orora had just exited the small hut from where he could already hear the sounds of his Uncle snoring away. He had probably just finished a healing session with him.

“I know, but if we stay here, my sister might find us again.” He didn’t miss the look of surprise she gave him at his calm response. It was a first for him, to respond normally to anything she said. But he was just tired, and didn’t feel it in him to argue with her. “True.” 

If he could be civil, she could be civil.

“I guess we just have to be careful with him.” Zuko gave a small smile as he shook his head. “He may not look it, but he’s tough. He can handle it.” His tone was as reassuring as it could get, and it did ease Orora’s worry a little. A particularly loud snore echoed in the night prompting Orora to smile and for Zuko to let out a small groan of embarrassment.

“Especially after he’s had a good night sleep. Which we should be getting as well.” With one final tug to make sure everything was well and truly packed, Zuko picked up his sleeping mat and moved to walk past Orora and towards the hut.

“Hey Zuko?” The sound of her calling out his name made him pause. He had stopped barely a foot away from her, so the placement allowed them to stand face to face. Just as they had done a few nights ago on the mountain.

There was a certain nervousness about her, but the question that had been gnawing away inside her was what finally compelled her to speak her mind. “Is it because I’m from the water tribe that’s........stopping you?”

He stared at her, the surprise at her question evident in his expression given his parted lips and the how his eyes had widened. Her heart beating almost unbearably fast in her chest, Orora continued. “Because your being from the Fire Nation, not to mention being the Prince is whats stopping me from...........” Her voice trailed off, but her eyes dropped to the finger where the thread was tied.

Pale blue met bright gold, and their gazes held. They held for a long time.

Long enough for Orora to memorize they very shape of his scar, something that she had never really allowed herself to observe before. She also noticed some other things. Like how, for example, how nervous yet soft he looked in that moment. And how when he wasn’t frowning he was actually rather handsome. She was aware how some people would find the scar off-putting, but she didn’t. Scars were a part of life. And while most people hid them, Zuko didn’t have that choice. Still, she did feel herself begin to blush under his intense gaze, but she didn’t let herself look away.

Probably because she wanted to memorize the exact color of his eyes.

Maybe?

Zuko had spent the entire day observing Orora, and even in the past, when he had allowed himself to do so, somehow, she managed to reveal something new and intriguing about herself to him. At the moment he was wandering if the white patch in her hair was just as soft to touch as it was to look at. And then there were her eyes. It was utterly ridiculous how those eyes had the power to invoke feelings within him. Feelings he had made sure lay dormant lest they find the strength to grow stronger. At the moment, he was beginning to feel a little nervous as he struggled to find the words to answer her question.

“Its....not the only thing stopping me.” He responded truthfully, finally diverting his eyes to instead look at the ground between them. Normally he would have brushed her off, but something in her eyes had compelled him to answer.

“I suppose other then being a prince and a firebender, another thing stopping you is my scar. And if you heard how I got it, it would only add to the list of whats stopping you.” What better way to bring himself down even more then to speak of the ugly truth that was in front of her. That she probably looked at everyday. He really should win a prize when it came self-deprecation.

A small sound from Orora made him look back up. And watch in surprise as she stepped forward, her hand raised to gently place her fingers against the scarred skin of his face. The sleeping mat he had been holding fell to the ground as his eyes clashed against the blue of her own. The slight difference in their heights had him tilting his head forward a little.

His mind flashed back to their second meeting, when she had removed the blue spirit mask and seen his face for the first time. She had done the same back then. Did that mean she didn’t find his scar repulsive?

Orora was glad for what she did. For the way she had reached out and touched him. And though he had been surprised at first, she made a promise to never point out to him how she had felt his head lean slightly into her touch. Her thumb brushed against the scar, and all Zuko wanted to do was close his eyes and savor in her touch.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

“It has never stopped me Zuko. And I doubt the story of how you got it would either.” Her voice was soft, so soft that if he hadn’t been standing so close, he would never have heard her properly. As was the norm an argument to negate her words rose in his mind, but another sweep of her thumb had the words fading from his mind. And this time he did allow his eyes to close.

If only to savor in her gentle touch for a few moments.

To allow him this little moment of selfishness.

“Maybe one day, you can tell me. When you’re ready.”

With one final gentle stroke of her thumb and fingers, she pulled back. Zuko didn’t open his eyes, as the younger waterbender began to walk back to the rundown hut. And as she settled into her bedding, she couldn’t help but feel that she had somehow helped put Zuko’s mind and heart at ease with her words.

The thought made her smile. She was still smiling as she slowly fell asleep, thinking of the Fire Nation Prince.

Now all they had to do was work past the fact that he was a prince of the fire nation and she was a waterbender. And though such a feat would take some time, for the first time since he had been made aware of Orora, Zuko allowed himself to feel a little hope.

                                          ————————–

“Orora! Watch out!”

The warning came just as the stray flaming arrow flew straight towards her exposed arm. Given her sharp reflexes, the waterbender was quickly able to throw up an ice shield and watch it shatter. As the new threat, who Iroh had introduced as the The Rough Rhinos outnumbered them, the best tactic would be to retreat. Which was exactly what Iroh was thinking as he rode past her with his arm stretched out to help her get on Chairo. She was quick to grasp the back of Iroh’s robe to steady herself before throwing her own arm out to help Zuko jump behind her. The momentum of his jump very nearly threw him off the other side, but Orora managed to grip his arm and wrap it around her waist to keep him from slipping any further.

“It's nice to see old friends.” Iroh said, laughter evident in his tone as they made their escape. Behind her, Orora could hear Zuko scoff as he growled. “Too bad you don't have any old friends that don't want to attack you.” His tone was spiteful and normally Orora would have told him off for speaking like that but he had a point. And it seemed Iroh seemed to be thinking along the same lines as well. 

“Hmmm...old friends that don't want to attack me.”

She leaned forward to glance at him from the side. “Do you have anyone in mind who could help us Master?” She asked to which Iroh gave a nod. “I do. And we are by luck heading in the right direction.” So saying he spurred the ostrich-horse to go faster.

The sudden change in pace caused Orora to fall backwards and into Zuko’s chest.

“Watch it!” He still had an arm around her waist to keep himself steady, and perhaps it was the close proximity that made Orora fell just a little nervous about the situation. “You watch it. You nearly fell to the other side when you jumped.” She glanced over her shoulder so she could look at him while they argued.

Zuko glared at her, his eyes narrowing. “Next time we’re attacked by one of Uncle’s old friends maybe you shouldn’t rush into things before assessing the entire situation!” He threw back, to which Orora rolled her eyes.

“Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we had the time to asses the threat before attacking. They sure seemed in a hurry to attack us didn’t they?! Or have you forgotten the giant fireball they threw at you?”

Iroh barely suppressed a laugh as he listened to the two teenagers argue. It was nice to hear them speaking properly once more.

“Something amusing, Master?” She may be his student, but Orora had an uncanny ability to make him think before speaking lest he make the young girl angry.

“Not at all. You two carry on with your conversation.”

Though neither teenager felt like doing so. Not when they both realized just how close they were to one another. With Zuko’s arm around Orora’s waist, and back resting against his chest as she leaned against him. They couldn’t even pull away for fear of falling off. With obvious blushes on both their cheeks, they prayed for the journey to soon be over.

For this had to be the most awkward yet pleasant thing that had occurred to the both of them in such a spontaneous manner.

                                          ————————–

Luckily Iroh’s friends, whoever they were, were not so far. They entered what had once been a lovely oasis, at least according to the inscription Orora had read at the gate, but now it was all rundown and filled with some of the most unsavory people she had ever seen.

While Zuko and Iroh did not seem bothered with the way they were looking at them, Orora felt shivers go up her spine with the way some of the people looked at her. 

At first she tried to glare back. 

Tried to make them stand down. 

But that only made the looks persistent. An uncomfortable feeling settled in her stomach. And though she knew she could take them out if she wanted to she had to keep her head down for Iroh and Zuko’s sake. 

Beside there were so many of them. It was enough leering that it made her loose a little confidence in herself as she directed her gaze towards the ground, hoping to avoid any more unwanted eye contact.

Unconsciously she had stepped a little closer to Zuko, her arm brushing against his as they walked. He had glanced at her, about to tell her to step away a little but he stopped when he caught sight of the slightly fearful expression she wore. He frowned, his eyes instantly assessing their surroundings in case she had seen someone threatening. What he did manage to see were several male onlookers nearly ogling Orora.

White hot anger flashed within him, and his hands clenched as he shot a deadly glare at each and every person who dared look at her that way. One of them seemed to not take the warning look from Zuko, prompting him to nearly take a step in his direction just to throw a punch at him.

However, a hand timidly grasping his stopped him. He did not need to look down to see who it was, but he did begin to walk in front of Orora, almost as if he were shielding her with his body. Orora felt herself starting to relax. If any of these people tried anything she had both Zuko and Iroh to help her.

She wasn’t alone.

Given that their gazes were trained straight ahead, neither of them noticed when the thread between them suddenly glimmered with color before disappearing.

                                          ————————–

They had entered the rundown shop where apparently they served the best mango drinks. Sipping on her drink, Orora concentrated on the taste as Iroh looked around in search of his friend. “Are you sure they will be here Master. This place doesn’t rally boast......good company does it?” She was referring to the several mercenaries around. They looked like how mercenary would at least.  

Zuko grumbled in agreement. “No one here is going to help us. These people just look like filthy wanderers.”

“So do we.” His Uncle replied with a grin before pointing at something behind Zuko. “Ah, this is interesting. I think I found our friend”

The two teenagers quickly followed Iroh as he led them to a table where an old man sat as if he were waiting for someone. Orora recognized the table and frowned slightly. Zuko seemed to realize what was going on as well. "You brought us here to gamble on Pai Sho?” He said, sounding just as irritated as he looked. Orora rolled her eyes at him, getting a little tired of his rudeness. Sure his presence helped her feel a little safe, but that didn’t stop her from being annoyed by him.

Iroh shook his head. “I don't think this is a gamble.” So saying he led the way towards the table with Zuko and Orora following after him. “May I have this game?” Iroh asked in an almost serene voice. The other man gestured for Iroh to sit down. “The guest has the first move.” He said. Iroh gave a small nod before turning to look at Orora. “My dear, if you would please allow me to borrow a certain tile from you?”

Zuko looked between the Master and Student in confusion. Orora for her part gave a small nod before slowly retrieving the white lotus tile Master Pakku had given her all those months ago and handing it over to Iroh, who placed it in the center of the board.

“I see you favor the white lotus gambit.” The other man said. “Not many still cling to the ancient ways.” Iroh gave a small nod of agreement. “Those who do can always find a friend”

Seemingly satisfied with what Iroh had said, the old man nodded. “Then let us play.”

Orora watched, almost mesmerized as Iroh and the other man placed tile after tile on the board. Never once were they out of sync, neither did they speak a word while they did. Zuko was watching just as intently as she was, though he did sit down while she kept standing.

Finally they each placed the final tile and revealed the pattern they had created.

A lotus flower.

"Welcome, brother.” The old man greeted by opening his arms wide. “The White Lotus opens wide to those who know her secrets.” Never before had Orora felt both curious and perplexed simultaneously. Zuko was helpful enough to voice what they were both feeling in that moment. 

“What are you old gasbags talking about?” Instinctively her hand darted out to slap his arm for being so rude. Knowing what the slap was for, Zuko simply threw her a brief glare before turning his attention back to his Uncle who was smiling widely.

“I always tried to tell you that Pai Sho is more than just a game.” He said as he rolled Orora’s tile over his knuckles and clutched it.

A sudden commotion caused all of them to look up to see a man approach their table. “It's over! You two fugitives are coming with me!” Instantly Orora was on the defensive. She uncorked the water bag at her side, twin ice daggers forming in her hand as she took up a defensive position in front of Zuko and Iroh. Iroh’s friend quickly placed himself before Iroh and Zuko, preventing the man from reaching them.

"I knew it! You two are wanted criminals with a giant bounty on your heads!!” He exclaimed, pointing at the two firebenders. Zuko growled. “I thought you said he would help!” He had reached out to grasp Orora’s elbow to prevent her from attacking anyone who would throw back a bigger punch.

Iroh simply placed a hand on Zuko's shoulder to reassure him, still smiling. “He is. Just watch.” Orora allowed her stance to soften, but only slightly.

“You think you're going to capture them and collect all that gold!?”

"Gold?”

That seemed to do the trick. Suddenly the entire establishment was looking at them. Some of the patrons even stood up, pulling out their weapons, ready to attack. Within moments, it was chaos. Through it all, the trio managed to escape with the old man leading the way. And though it wasn’t necessary, Zuko kept a firm grip on Orora’s hand as they ran.

And despite her always thinking she didn’t need help, Orora allowed herself to be helped in that moment.

It felt nice to have someone worry about her safety for once.

                                          ————————–

They didn’t have to run very long. Soon they reached a small village at the very edge of the desert, and were all ushered inside a little flower shop.

The man, who had introduced himself as Fung, bowed to Iroh. “It is an honor to welcome such a high-ranking member of the Order of the White Lotus. Being a Grand Master, you must know so many secrets.” Zuko, who was getting a little annoyed with the lack of answers snapped. “Now that you played Pai Sho, are you going to do some flower arranging, or is someone in this club going to offer some real help‌.”

This time Orora punched him in the shoulder. “Why do you have to be so rude Zuko?” She admonished him. His only response was to glare at her, which she returned with just as much heat as it was given. While the two teens bickered, Iroh had moved towards the door at the end of the shop and was already going through it. Both Zuko and Orora made to enter but the door was slammed shut in their faces. Iroh opened the small window to smile at the both of them. “I'm afraid it's members only. Wait out here.” With that the window closed and Iroh disappeared.

“Are you pouting Zuko?” Orora asked in a teasing tone. The young Prince gave a response in the negative in an almost annoyed manner. The girl laughed softly to herself before moving off to wander around the flower shop. A still annoyed Zuko frowned and crossed his arms before he moved to lean against a nearby table.

Discretely he shifted his head slightly to sniff at the flower next to him before pulling back.

The atmosphere in the shop was rather relaxed now that they knew someone was willing to help them. Not to mention the little.....talk they had a few nights ago had helped clear the air a little. Neither of them spoke, too tired to actually say anything from the constant running and traveling they had done throughout the day.

Once she was done exploring, Orora came to sit down where Zuko was standing. It didn’t take long for Zuko to finally get tired of standing and lower himself down to the ground beside her. They didn’t have their bed rolls, so it seemed sleeping while sitting up was the best option.

Orora was the first one to fall asleep. Her eyes had been drooping for nearly ten minutes before they finally closed completely and she drifted off to dreamland. Of course, not before her head fell to the side, landing on Zuko’s shoulder where it stayed for the rest of the night.

For his part, Zuko only blushed at the close proximity. It didn’t bother him though. He was beginning to find a lot of things concerning Orora that didn’t bother him. As he felt his own eyes growing heavy with sleep, he let his head rest against the leg of the table behind him.

Of course during the night, his head slowly slipped down to come to rest on top of Orora’s. But neither of them stirred an inch that night. Unconsciously drawing comfort from the others presence.

And during the night the thread between them continued to flicker with color.

                                            ————————–

Tag List - @wavesofchaos​ @violet-potter​ @rennysketch​ @emma-andrea1

[bylerschmyler]

Mike - Vecna's 4th victim

I know that many people believe that Mike was a tool for Vecna to get Will and El back or that he waited for Mike to be gone to California. I have a pretty different perspective on this and I want to share my thoughts about this. I just gonna warn you that this post will be quite long but I would appreciate it if you take your time to read it.

For the tool-theory and waiting to be gone-theory I have two simple reasons why I don't think that they are correct.

When Vecna kills Chrissy Mike is still in Hawkins. He doesn't wait for Mike to be gone/sitting in the car/plane and traveling to California. Vecna kills her mere hours before Mike had no possibility to interfere with him. It's not only that Vecna kills Chrissy, no he kills her in close proximity to Max who could have been more suspicious about Eddie, Chrissy and the lights and could have called a CODE RED, which would have led to Mike not going to California. So if he wanted Mike to go to California (either for him to be gone or to get El/Will back) why would he jeopardize this mission by being too impatient?

If Vecna wanted Mike out of the way why didn't he just kill him? I mean we can all agree that pre S4 Mike already has a massive amount of trauma. So if he needs Mike out of the way he could have just cursed him too, couldn't he? There was nobody to stop him from doing it. El? Out of the picture. No powers and too far away. Mike? Wouldn't be able to help himself during a trance. The Party? If they don't know what is coming, how would they prevent it?

So I think Mike wasn't a tool for Vecna. He was a perfect fit for a far more important role.

He was the Chosen one, the fourth, the final sacrifice.

But before we are going to discuss Mike's role in Vecna's plan in detail, let's take a step back and take a look in the things that actually happened in S4.

Specifically everything that has to do with Patrick and his curse. Because there are so many things wrong with Patricks curse.

First of all Patrick doesn't fit the other victims. Timing wise as well as in his trauma and our connection to him and his connection to other characters on the show.

Timing

Patrick is the only victim that we see getting cursed. This happens on the March 23rd (sunday) at some point during the day (morning or noon I guess). (here the scene where he gets cursed)

This is in direct contrast to the timeline which is presented by Max. For further explanation this is also March 23rd but late in the evening.

So let me get this straight.

Chrissy's curse started a week ago (approximately week = seven days. I made this post where I found a specific date when Chrissy's symptoms started and they are not adding up. But I think it's because it's meant to be not the curse itself that's coursing these symptoms but something else which I will talk about in another post)

Fred's started six days ago

Max's five days ago

And Patrick just that morning (basically one day ago)?

In no way this is supposed to happen. What was the reason? Did Vecna forget to curse Patrick four days ago? Or couldn't he decide who to curse 4 days prior?

Well the most logical reason (imo) is that his actual target can't be targeted. And we do know one character who was in Hawkins and left during the season. And that's Mike. But this is not the only reason Patricks timing is off.

With Patrick being cursed there is a change in the way the curse works for Max and him in comparison to Fred and Chrissy. I won't go too much in to the details but here are some observations.

Chrissy and Fred both have 3 visions that are heavily paralleling each other.

Their 1. vision is related to the people around them. Chrissy thinks that Max is still in the room when the pounding on the bathroom stall starts. Then she hears her mothers voice and Vecna's feed come into vision. Her mothers voice get distorted soon after and Vecna's voice fades in.

Freds first vision is also directly connected to a conversations he is having with Officer Daniels. Daniels also fades in to Vecna. His face and his voice.

The second vision is the grandfather clock. But a very creepy version.

With Chrissy it's spiders with Fred it's people turning into Vecna calling him murderer.

The third vision is there death and relieving their nightmare.

Both die on the end of their 5th day of being cursed. Their visions start during the day and the day ends with their death.

In contrast to this Max curse is put off this timing. Max visions start on the end of her 5th day of being cursed and she has 3 visions with different themes than Fred and Chrissy.

Max's 1. vision is the grandfather clock. But it's only the creepy grandfather clock. No spiders and no link to Max's trauma.

Her 2nd vision is like Fred’s and Chrissy’s 1st vision a person who fades into Vecna.

her 3rd vision is supposed to be her death which she can escape from.

She has a 4th vision where she actually dies.

Patrick only has one vision we see and one that is implied but we don’t see at all. His first vision is the clock during Chrissy’s funeral.

the other would have been when he dies but we don’t see the vision.

Timing wise this implicates the scenario that Patricks’s cursing throws the timeline off schedule because we see a clear pattern before he was cursed which is thrown off the second Vecna targets him. So likely the original schedule would have targeted Max on the 23rd and the 4th victim on the 24th.

Lack of imagery and missing build up

His trauma, connection to other characters and the connection we build to him is also off. While most of it is due to the lack of imagery regarding him but also to the fact that we have a build up in this topics that Patrick is reversing.

I don’t really want to order the trauma of Vecna’s victims in terms of severity because I firmly believe that any trauma should be addressed and recognised and you shouldn’t compare trauma (unless you’re a therapist) because this kind of invalidates the people with “less severe” trauma. But when we talk about Patrick’s trauma we only have two clues about what it is because we don’t see visions that are related to his trauma. The first one is when he gets cursed (here). A man, likely his father, calls him a disgrace. Lucas also tells us that Patrick came to practice with a black eye once.

This implicates that Patrick is also a victim of domestic abuse (like Chrissy) What I find interesting is that this creates a circle of trauma themes.

(I want to emphasize that between Fred and Max there is a build up because Fred has survivors guilt and Max has survivors guilt but also wanted the person that died to die before he died. This is obviously meant for us to notice because it’s an addition to the same theme)

Ignoring the potential build up in the trauma and going into Patrick’s relationships we see that he doesn’t make sense as 4th victim narratively speaking. We have a clear build up in the victims relationships with other characters:

Chrissy has no known relationship to our main characters 

Fred is Nancy’s colleague and apprentice (Fred asking Nancy how she did this with Jonathan). They are close enough (Nancy trusts him enough) to take him to the Trailer Park. 

Max is a main character of the show. She has many close relationships to other main characters

And then Patrick comes around and he is just Lucas’ team mate who he can’t even trust because they are hunting for his friends. 

The connections to other characters get closer and closer until Max only to go rapidly down with Patrick. Narratively this doesn’t make sense because Patrick is supposed to be the 4th victim. He should have close ties to our favorite characters and they should care deeply about him because of the needed rise in tension. They get around it with Max escaping the death vision and being the actual 4th victim but for the original plan this would have been very weird.

This also ties to the connection we as an audience have to the victims.

Chrissy is a new character. We only see her in one episode and we barely know anything about her. Most of what we know is that she is a cheerleader and she has trauma. Although many people sympathize with her we can’t really get connected to her.

Fred is basically the same. But we get more information about him. We know he is a journalist. We also know that he does know about Jonathan and Nancy and their struggles in their relationship (which he kind of wants to take a chance in because he flirts with Nancy). We have two episodes with him.

We have known Max since season 2. We had a lot of time to get to know her and create a bond with her.

And yet again Patrick doesn’t make sense. Why do we get a new character which we don’t like because he is part of the antagonists, after a (beloved) main character? There was a subtle build up and then we flunk down in the negatives with our perspective on the character.

I wanna add that in an recent reblog of a post i discussed Mike's parallels to the other victims. You can find the post here.

But how does Mike fit in?

Most people on here are well aware of all the hints that connect Mike with Vecna. Therefore many people believe he is a target in S5. I believe so too. I still don’t think that so much has changed during S4 that made him more targetable than he already was. Yes his trauma increased through the shootout, the death of unknown hero agent man, lying to El and losing Eddie and Max, but his trauma was there before. And it was severe enough to make him struggle. It’s pointed out in the canon extending book “Lucas on the line” and it is also shown in his behavior in S4 (getting up too late, used clothes, dirty room/basement, he doesn’t eat on camera, and more). So Mike would be a perfect target for Vecna only considering his trauma. But there is way more stuff that make Mike a perfect last puzzle piece in this situation. First of all he is one of the few characters that are in Hawkins when the curses begin and have more/deeper connections than Max. Yes Max has a lot of deep connections (the Party and El specifically) but Mike has those connections too and he has deeper connections to the teens (Nancy and Jonathan especially), Will, Joyce and Hopper. So in a certain way he is more connected to the rest of the cast and would be perfect to be the final step of the build up we see with character relationships. He has also been part of the show since S1 and was one of THE main characters in S1 and S2. He has a very important role in figuring out important plot points and so for us he is obviously a very important character. And so while I don’t play favorites he is slightly more important for the audience (subjectively speaking). Timing wise (as I said before) he is the only character we know to travel out of Hawkins during the cursing. Him being cursed on March 20th (thursday) wouldn’t compromise the given timeline. It would also explain this scene where Mike clearly looks like he has a awful headache.

And this scene where Max has a nosebleed and the camera’s focus shifts to him

(some people believe that’s the moment he cursed Max. I doubt that. When Max explains the symptoms she said nosebleedS, plural [Insert Eddie’s comment on Nancy’s guns here].I believe that’s thursday morning and Mike was just cursed and had a nosebleed like Patrick and he looked like he looked because he found it suspicious that he had a nosebleed and now Max has a nosebleed.) Clearly two times where he was visibly shown in the context of the curses symptoms. Also his bedroom scene, when he reads Els' letter could connect to the symptoms (this is more of a reach than the other two).

Sleeping in underwear => He woke up an a cold sweat

The binder with Will’s drawings is in his room => having nightmares and needing comfort

(re-)reading the letter => having nightmares and needing reassurance that everything is okay

he is later than he usually is => trouble sleeping

Also I think @aemiron-main pointed that out: Mikes Reaction to Karen telling him that he need to be home by nine because it's an early flight suggests that he barely sleeps because he seems to not care of the early flight.

And last but not least the line Vecna uses for Max (You’ll be the chosen one, the fourth the final sacrifice) fits way better to Mike. Why? Well the main reason I only got on the Mike getting vecnaed’ train was while I was rewatching the show I saw this scene where El screams for Mike while she has a vision:

This scene reminded me of this scene where Will does the same:

And it made me think about how Vecna knows that both of his former targets heavily depend on Mike. He is the first they think about when needing help. He’s the first they find comfort in when upset. So Mike is obviously on Vecna’s radar. There is more…. These two scenes where Max and Mike help El and try to protect her and Billy sees it.

They stand out because it would make so much sense for Mike to be targeted too. Max does become a target because of her trauma but also because of her connection to El. So Mike would be a perfect target too. Him being the final sacrifice would be the peak of devastation for both Will and El and would make perfect sense for Vecna to do so. Also it would contrast Mike’s arc because he is usually the one interfering with Vecna’s plans in overtaking the real world. Mike being the last kill to open the gates to the UD would be very “poetic” from Vecna’s POV. Furthermore the line “You would be the chosen one” would be far more fitting for Mike. Mike is a fan of fantasy stories. The Chosen One Trope is a typical fantasy trope that has been used for ages. Mike can relate far more to this trope than Max (Max is a comic fan where this trope is used too, but Mike is pictured way more with classic fantasy where this trope is used very often).

But why did Vecna wait for Mike to go on vacation?

This is the only thing that really makes me struggle. Because I don’t have a good answer to this. The only possible explanation I see (without doubting the rest of this theory) is that Vecna didn’t look for his plans, his supposedly happy memories/thoughts and only took in the bad ones. Max tells us that she thinks Vecna only looks for the bad memories.

So if Max is right then Vecna didn’t look for the light in Mike’s mind and only for the darkness. (Therefore didn't see his hope of reconnecting to Will in Califronia) I also want to point out that Mike is not the only target Vecna needed. He needed four victims. So this is not solely about him. And you need to know that Vecna feeds off his victims fears, anxiety and guilt. So it makes sense for him to unleash his curse when all his victims are especially tense/anxious

Chrissy’s mother forced a beauty idea on her daughter that resulted in her being connected to bulimic tropes (Throwing up, rotten food). She is also a cheerleader in the 80s and she “needed to be pretty” because the championship games were coming up. So Chrissy would be more anxious than usually

Fred is less obvious than Chrissy. The only clues I got why he would be more anxious than usual are that Officer Daniels (Vecna Vision) tells us that the accident happened last year and he knows about Jonathan and Nancy’s relationship problems. The first could mean that the car crash happened somewhere in 1985 or it could actually mean that the anniversary is coming up which (knowing from S2) would affect Fred through the anniversary effect. The latter could make him anxious because he might see a chance with his crush (we see him multiple times openly flirting with Nancy)

Max would be more anxious because Billy’s birthday is coming up (March 29 - also anniversary effect)

Mike would be more anxious because he is traveling to California and he doesn’t know how Will feels about him and maybe he is a little jealous because of El’s letter and Will painting something for a girl

Additionaly the week before spring break could be full of tests which could make all victims more anxious.

Another good question regards the timing. Vecna did look for a replacement for Mike on March 23rd but Mike left early on March 22nd. So why did he wait an additional day for Mike? This is obviously a question I asked myself a lot. Why did Vecna wait for Mike to be gone for a whole day before looking for a replacement (Patrick)? Well this one is very hard to answer. But there is one scene in particular that makes me believe that Vecna starts his rampage usually early in the morning. You can take a look here in this post. I included the scenes right before and right after the scene on purpose because it gives us a better perspective on the timeline. So right before Vecna gets hooked up to the vines, El went to her bedroom crying. We know that this happened on the night of March 22nd. Then it cuts to the UD where Vecna gets hooked up but nothing happens afterwards. Instead we see how the sun rises/travels in the sky. Then it cuts to Lucas and the beginning of the hunt for Eddie. So what is the purpose of this whole scene? Vecna wanted to start the final stage of his curse (visions) for Max early on the 23rd. This is probably what he was doing with Chrissy and Fred the days before. He recognized that he couldn’t find Mike anywhere and then started to search for a replacement until he found Patrick. Very important for this theory, Vecna finds Patrick way later. There are almost 20 Minutes between this scene and the scene where Patrick gets cursed. Even more important: We see every group on screen before we get back to Vecna. There is literally a cut to every small group. First Lucas and the Jocks, then Max, Dustin, Robin and Steve with Eddie, then Nancy, the Cali Gang, Joyce and Murray, Hopper back to the Hawkins gang at the Trailer Park. I think Vecna didn’t recognize Mike’s absence because he was solely focused on Fred on the 22nd and started with Fred visions early in the morning before Mike got to the airport. So when he wanted to get started with Max the next day he realized that he couldn’t reach Mike anymore and decided to go for a replacement. That’s when the timings of the victims don’t add up anymore.

Besides everything I showed you here there is another theory that is connected to this. #possessiongate from @dinitride-art

This shows how my theory is supported visually in the show. It also explains why Mike isn't shown as cursed after the breakfast on the 23rd because his curse was shifted to Patrick.

[ohbrotherthisblogstinks]

IN VINO VERITAS

ੈ✩‧₊˚ himeno x fem reader

synopsis: you and your hot new friend, who you’re down cataclysmically for, bump coochies in the woods 👉👌

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, fem bodied reader, praise (use of ‘good girl’), consumption of alcohol, dubcon (since you’re both tipsy), semi-public sex (y’all are at a campsite and it’s implied there are other people nearby), oral (f. receiving), tribbing, edging (kinda), choking (kinda), Himeno is the dominant one but not a dom, gentle biting, mention of masturbation

Other warnings: smoking (cigarettes), Himeno calls Aki an emo twink, age gap (ish, Himeno is about 5-6 years older than reader), there is no puke in this fic even though we have the combination of Himeno and alcohol :), reader is a bit needy and a bit of a perv lol

“You okay?” Himeno’s voice pulled you out of your daydream, and you realized you’d been clutching the armrest by the passenger seat, your knuckles white.

“I’m fine,” you said. “I just zoned out.” 

“I was gonna say, I don’t think I’m that bad of a driver.” She flashed you a smile before looking back at the road. “Although come to think of it, I did fail my permit test about four times.”

“That’s reassuring.” You stretched and yawned, glancing at the clock.

“We should be there by six, and that’ll give us enough light to set up the tent. Unless we fuck up and it takes us forever.”

“Which will probably happen, knowing us.”

“That reminds me, if Aki came with us he’d have his shit together and he certainly wouldn’t have gotten us lost.”

“Well, detours are fun.”

“You’re too kind.”

Aki had dipped out of the trip at the last minute, claiming he was feeling under the weather. He urged you and Himeno to go without him, and as a consolation gift, gave you two bottles of wine to sneak into the campsite. They were rather poorly hidden under the back seat, wrapped in one of your old sweatshirts. You glanced back at the contraband to make sure it wasn’t too conspicuous.

“Hey, do me a favor,” Himeno said, tilting her head towards the lighter sticking out of the cup holder. You nodded and reached for it, as she quickly retrieved the cigarette that was behind her ear. Throughout the long drive to the campsite you’d been the one to light her cigarettes for her while she talked your ear off about whatever came to her mind. She liked that you were a good listener, and you liked the sound of her voice, so it was a win-win.

Your crush on Himeno was a little more obvious than you’d like it to be. As she smoked with one hand gripping the wheel, her window rolled down and the wind whipping her hair around, you caught yourself staring. Your mind wandered, making your face grow hot. You wanted to know what the hand around the wheel would feel like around your neck as she feverishly kissed you. It was rather embarrassing to admit, but when you had time alone, thinking about her sometimes resulted in your hand down the front of your pants.

You’d been friends with Himeno for about six months now, after Aki had introduced the two of you, and ever since you met her you’d get butterflies every time you saw her. She sometimes caught you staring and would give you a knowing smirk, making you quickly look away. You had a feeling she was onto you, but you were never confident enough to say anything. After all, she was five or six years your senior, and she was an enigma of a woman. You could never quite figure her out, whether she was flirting with you or just being herself, and it made you far more anxious than you’d like to admit. 

After you and Himeno finally reached the campsite and spent an embarrassingly long time pitching your tent, you poked around in the back of her car for the bottles of wine while she set up two lawn chairs by the light of an old lantern she dug out of her trunk.

“We forgot to bring glasses,” you called over to her, clutching the bottles to your chest as you kicked the car door closed. 

“One bottle is mine and one is yours, then,” she quipped, and flopped down in her chair. You joined her and muscled open the bottles, passing one to her. She nodded thanks and took a long drink. The two of you sat there for God knows how long, talking and talking until you were almost certain you saw the sun beginning to rise. You curled up in your chair and stifled a yawn, and Himeno noticed and giggled.

“Am I boring you?”

“Not yet.” You tried and failed to hold back another yawn.

“Did I ever tell you about how I cut Aki’s hair that one time?”

“You what?” Your eyes widened, and you started laughing.

“Yup. He fell asleep and I was drunk and found a pair of scissors, and the rest is history. He was so mad at me, I felt terrible, but it was fucking hilarious.”

“He never told me about that.”

“I hurt his pride, that’s why.”

You cocked your head to one side. “Were you guys ever…a thing?”

“Oh, God, no. I wanted us to be at one point, but he made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t interested.” 

“You still like him, don’t you?” you teased, prodding her leg with your toe.

“Oh no, that ship has sailed. And it probably sank too.” She laughed heartily and ran a hand through her hair. “I have a bad habit of falling for emo twinks.”

You snorted, making her laugh even harder. 

“Honestly, though, don’t worry about me. I’m no competition if you’re trying to get a piece of that.” She sighed and leaned further back in the chair, setting the bottle on the ground.

You suddenly stood up and lurched over to her, gripping her chair for balance, and sat right down on her lap, putting your arms around her neck and laying your head on her shoulder. 

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows, surprised. After a few seconds had passed, she timidly placed her hands on your waist. “Did I say something?”

“No,” you sighed, pulling back to look at her. You absentmindedly twirled a lock of her hair between your thumb and forefinger. “Well, kinda.”

“What is it, then?” 

“I have a crush on you.” You hung your head, looking down into your lap. You couldn’t look her in the eyes, you couldn’t stomach it. You heard her sigh, and you prepared yourself for the worst. After a few excruciating seconds, she finally spoke.

“I know,” she said softly, lifting her hand to gently pinch your cheek. “It’s very obvious.” Your eyes widened. 

“Is it really?” You looked back up at her, and she nodded. There was a glint in her eye that wasn’t there before. 

“Are you gonna do anything about it?” she asked you, that same knowing smirk spreading across her face. 

You kissed her without hesitation, making her giggle against your lips. You felt her squeeze your waist and pull you a little closer until you were snug against her. She gently laid her hand on the back of your head and slid her tongue against yours, making a soft moan slip out of your mouth. 

She pulled away and looked at you quizzically, still smirking. You stared in disbelief. You’d really done it, you’d kissed her. It could only get so much better or so much worse.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, still in a trance. 

“Don’t apologize.”

She suddenly snaked an arm underneath your thighs and picked you up bridal style, making you squeal, and you held on tight as she carried you in the direction of the tent. She smelled like sweat and sunscreen and smoke, but in a way that was strangely pleasant to you. She grunted as she struggled with the flap of the tent, and you felt yourself beginning to slip.

“If you drop me, I swear to God,” you giggled. 

“Fuckin’ help me, then!”

After a comically long struggle with the tent flap that did indeed involve being dropped by Himeno, she stumbled into the tent and pulled you down onto the cot with her, making you laugh even harder. She zipped the door closed, and crawled over to straddle your waist.

“Are you putting me to bed?” You squinted up at her, your eyes adjusting to the dim light inside the tent. 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

“Are you gonna kill me or something?” You started laughing again, blindly reaching for her, and you felt her grab your hand and squeeze it. She leaned in closer to you, hovering over you and smiling, her hair brushing against your face. You blinked up at her, doe-eyed.

“You’re so cute,” she marveled.

“You think so?”

“Mmm-hmm. And you’re all mine.” She leaned down to press kisses to your neck, gently nipping your skin every now and then and eliciting whimpers from you. Her fingertips felt cool and soothing brushing against your flushed skin, and you felt her tug at the hem of your shirt. You raised your arms to help her remove it, and she resumed her kisses once she tugged it off you. 

“You’re not wearing a bra.”

“Brilliant, Holmes.”

She snort-laughed and poked you in the rib, making you yelp. 

“You have pretty tits.”

“Thank you?”

“No, I mean it. They’re cute.” She brushed some hair out of your eyes and smiled at you. “I want them in my mouth.”

You burst out laughing again, thankful that the dim light was hiding the raging blush spreading across your cheeks. Himeno gave your neck one more gentle nip before moving her hand up to cup your left breast. She inched further down and swirled her tongue around your nipple, making you gasp. 

“You’re so fucking cute,” she whispered between kisses, and you felt her start to move further down, her fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. You almost immediately lifted your hips to help her pull them down, and she chuckled at your eagerness. 

Once she’d completely undressed you, she sat back on her heels and ran a hand through her hair, looking down at you with hazy eyes. 

“Please touch me more,” you blurted out, reaching out and gripping her arm as she ghosted her fingertips across your bare skin, making you shiver with anticipation. 

“What do you want me to do?” she asked you, her lips curling up into a cheeky grin. She continued brushing her fingertips against your skin, just barely touching you and avoiding where you needed her most. 

Your breathing had gotten shaky and erratic, and you couldn’t think of anything other than her, the sound of her voice, the intensity of her touch. You looked up at her with pleading eyes, your grip on her arm tightening.

“Please fuck me,” you whispered, and she smiled and leaned down to peck your forehead.

“Good girl. That’s what I wanted to hear.” She gently spread your legs and crawled down to settle in between them. She hooked her arms around your thighs and looked up to you inquisitively, silently asking your consent. You nodded vigorously, making her laugh. 

She was so close to you now, her grip on your hips making your skin tingle and her hot breath fanning against your aching pussy. You let out a surprised whimper when she finally flattened her tongue against your pussy, licking a thick stripe all the way up to your clit. She continued, making you squirm and whine and grind against her face each time she flicked her tongue against your clit. 

It was close to the best feeling you’d ever felt, the strong grip of her hands on your hips, the sloppy kisses she’d give your clit when your thighs tensed around her head.  She pulled away right before you could get your satisfaction, making you huff and whine in frustration.

“You gotta be quiet, baby.” She rested her head on your thigh and smiled up at you, gently rubbing your lower stomach. 

“I-I’m sorry, I- fuck!” She resumed going down on you, making you squirm and cry out. You brought a shaky hand up to your mouth, and grabbed a messy handful of her hair with the other. Your thighs shook and your back arched as you came, your eyes rolling back as you tried not to scream from the pleasure. She finally pulled away when you gave her hair a harsh tug, and crawled up to kiss you, silencing your whimpers. 

“You okay?” she asked you upon pulling away, brushing some hair away from your sweaty forehead. You nodded, your chest still heaving as you tried to catch your breath. She pecked your forehead and sat back up, straddling your waist. 

“I wanna try something,” she whispered, and your eyes grew wide as she peeled off her shirt and started to unhook her bra. “It’ll feel really good. I promise.” You nodded.

“Don’t just stare, help me,” she giggled, noticing your gaze. You quickly propped yourself up and started to unbutton her shorts, which she flung into the corner of the tent along with her underwear after some shuffling around in the dark. After pushing your legs apart, she inched closer to you, and lifted your right leg so your calf rested on her shoulder. 

“Stay like this for me, okay?” You nodded obediently, awaiting her next move. She gently ran a hand over your lower stomach and lowered her hips to meet yours.

You gasped and grabbed her hand as she started grinding against you, and she chuckled quietly, giving your hand a tight squeeze. 

“I told you.”

She gripped your leg with one hand as the movement of her hips became more rhythmic, letting the other wander over your bare skin. She brushed her fingertips across your stomach, then your tits, then gently placed her hand around your neck and squeezed ever-so-slightly, at which you arched your back and let out a breathy moan. She chuckled and maintained her gentle grip on your throat, her gaze fixed on the way your face contorted in pleasure with each thrust of her hips.

“That feel good?” she asked you breathlessly, knowing you could barely form the words to answer her. You could only nod and whine in response, making her lips curl upwards into a satisfied smile. She could tell you were close by the way you were breathing, the way the muscles of your thighs and calves and stomach tensed as she touched you. She was quite close herself too, sweating and flushed and barely able to control the movement of her hips.

You clawed at her arm, your eyes wide and almost frantic, and she held eye contact with you as you came undone beneath her, firmly pressing her hand over your mouth to muffle your whines. Her own orgasm soon followed, and she let out a low moan, her fingernails digging into your calf and making you whine in pain and pleasure. 

She pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your calf as she rode out her orgasm, then gently pulled away from you and rolled onto your back. You instinctively reached out for her, and she pulled you in, sighing contently. You wrapped your arms around her and snuggled tighter against her.

“You okay?” she whispered, smoothing out your messy hair. You nodded and pulled back a little to look at her, smiling with hazy eyes. 

“Can I take you out for breakfast tomorrow?” you asked, resting your forehead against hers. 

“I would love that. I’m paying though, you can’t change my mind.”

You huffed in protest. “Fine, as long as you let me be big spoon.” 

She grinned.

“Deal.”