#considering i didn’t want to tip my hand by asking if you even. uh. like pink floyd

[oscartwofoxtrot]

Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change?

A gift for my dearest Secret Santa recipient, @jenkil

[theemporium]

[1.7k] an early morning birthday treat for your boyfriend hours before the rest of the world needs either of you. (smut)

we are gonna ignore the fact i accidentally hit the post limit yesterday and pretend i actually posted this on his birthday

.

“Good morning, birthday boy.” 

Oscar let out a small hum of acknowledgement, a small smile working its way onto his face but he didn’t bother opening his eyes. Instead, he wound his arm around your waist and tugged you down until you were collapsing down on his chest. He sighed happily, nuzzling himself further against you whilst you wiggled in his embrace. 

“You’re ruining your birthday,” you commented, trying to nudge his arm away so you could sit back up. But Oscar didn’t budge a bit.

“It’s my birthday,” he grumbled, his voice still laced with sleep and his accent coating his slurred words a little thicker than normal. “I get to choose what we do and I choose sleeping.”

“That’s boring,” you retorted, twisting in his hold until you were facing him. You reached a hand out, pushing his hair back until you got an unrestricted view of his face squished against the pillow. 

“I happen to like boring birthdays.” 

You snorted, smiling fondly as you leaned down to press a kiss on the tip of his slightly scrunched nose. “You’re not even going to ask what I planned?” 

“If it includes leaving this bed before I have to head to the track, then I’m not interested,” Oscar mumbled, letting out a sigh as your nails began to scratch along his scalp. “I’m quite happy here. Very content. Very happy birthday boy.”

“And if I said your birthday plans start in bed?” 

Oscar paused for a moment. “I’m listening.”

You grinned, lightly poking his cheek until his eyes slowly fluttered open. “Hey.”

He flashed you a lazy smile. “Hi, baby.”

“Happy birthday,” you murmured before you leaned down, pressing a soft but lingering kiss on his lips. 

“Definitely happy,” he hummed in response, huffing a little when you pushed his shoulder so he was lying on his back. “You’re awfully bossy this morning.”

“You like it,” you teased, throwing one leg over his body until you were settled on his lap. In seconds, his hands were on your waist like the reaction was instinctive. 

“Maybe,” he replied, though the light pink painting his cheeks gave him away. His thumbs lightly swiped along your hip bones, slowly pushing the material of your (his) shirt up until he was met with bare skin. “I have to be at the track by ten.”

“It’s only seven,” you retorted.

“That means we could have had a solid two more hours of sleep,” he pointed out, his eyes still a bit bleary from sleep. He was just grateful enough that one of you remembered to pull the curtains shut last night. “You know, cuddling is good for dopamine and stuff.”

Your lips twitched. “Dopamine and stuff?”

“You woke me up five minutes ago, give me a break,” Oscar grumbled, squeezing your hips to emphasise his point. 

“I know something else that would be good for your dopamine and stuff,” you said, grinning a little as you leaned down to peck his lips. “Something for the birthday boy.”

“You keep saying that but—oh shit.”

You watched his eyes flutter shut, his grip on you tightening as you rolled your hips against his. You ducked your head down, lips pressing chaste, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and neck as you felt his skin flush under your touch. You felt his thumping pulse pounding, could feel the way his body was reacting to you. 

It was fucking intoxicating. 

“Do you still wanna go back to sleep?” You questioned, your voice teasing and a little patronising as you nipped the skin just below his ear.

“Nuh uh,” he breathed out, shaking his head in response. “This is good. This is better.”

You grinned against his skin.

And maybe it was still-half-asleep brain or maybe Oscar just didn’t want to assume, but he wasn’t really expecting more. It was still painfully early for either of you to be awake right now, especially considering how late you had managed to get to the hotel. And he was honestly more than happy to have this, to have his girl on top of him. To have your hands and your lips and your pretty words. To just have you. 

He wasn’t thinking about where it was leading, he was just stuck in the present moment of you, you, you.

His brain hadn’t even fully caught up until your kisses started moving lower, until a few chaste kisses along his collarbone started to move further down his chest. 

“Babe,” he rasped, his head still a little fuzzy with sleep as your breath fanned over the muscles of his stomach.

“Shhh, relax f’me, Osc,” you murmured between soft kisses, fingers tugging the edge of his boxers down as the urge to mark along his v-line overwhelmed you. 

“I—” But the words were lost in the back of his throat as the heel of your palm pressed against the bulge in his boxers, your lips mouthing at the sensitive skin along his hips. 

His eyes fell shut, his head digging back into the pillow as he let himself enjoy every single inch of his body that was being touched by you. The way his hips bucked against your hand, the front of the fabric already wet and stained with precome as you marked pretty bruises on his pale skin. The way your body settled between his thick thighs, nails grazing along his skin until he was squirming and whining underneath you. The way every cell in his body was just so, so responsive to you. 

A guttural moan escaped the back of his throat as you mouthed along his clothed cock, licking a thick strip over the fabric of his boxers as he helplessly buckled beneath your touch. He didn’t think a single thought in his head was about anything but you. He didn’t think he wanted to think about anything else but you. 

Your fingers curled around the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down his legs and throwing them somewhere off the edge of the bed, neither one of you all too bothered where it landed. Instead, you took his hard cock in your hand, not wasting a second before you sucked the tip in your mouth, lapping at the small beads of precome that were already leaking.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he breathed out, his hips bucking further into your mouth but your other hand kept his body planted on the mattress. 

He was fucking helpess. 

He was fucking helpess and he didn’t give two shits about anything other than you. 

There was a vague voice in the back of his head reminding him that it was early, that they had neighbours, that those neighbours were colleagues of his. But it was a passing thought at best for Oscar as he squirmed and wiggled and writhed beneath your touch. It was a problem for future Oscar to deal with. 

And it wasn’t often Oscar was vocal, not like this. But he was sleepy and caught off-guard and, fuck, your mouth just felt like heaven wrapped around his cock. He couldn’t help himself with the whimpers and moans he let out, your name like a mantra as it left his lips on a broken loop. 

Because Oscar Piastri was a weak man when it came to you. 

And when he lifted his head off the pillow to finally look down at you, he about lost whatever semblance of control he had left.

Your hands were placed on his thighs, your nails digging into his skin but the pain was biting and welcomed. Your cheeks were hallowed around his dick, a mix of come and drool leaking from the edges but it just made his stomach twist with a deep desire that he knew would haunt his fantasies for months to come. Your lips were red and swollen, your eyes were glossy and hooded and, fucking hell, the second he met your gaze, it was over for him. 

His hands were gripping the sheets of the duvet beneath him as he came, the pleasure white and hot and overwhelming in every sense of the word. He felt it all over like a hot flush, dancing along his nerve endings and racing down his spine as his body bucked upwards to be closer to you, your mouth, your everything. He was distantly aware of the little whiny noises he made as he came, the ones that were half muffled as he buried his face into his pillow as his orgasm washed over him whilst you lapped at his sensitive cock. 

He couldn’t really find it in himself to be embarrassed when he finally turned back to look at you, seeing you slowly lick your fingers clean from the cum that had leaked out your mouth with a huge grin on your face.

“You’re a menace,” was all he managed to breathe out, throwing his arm over his face to try and recover from mind blowing orgasm and the sight of you shamelessly tasting him. 

“Happy birthday,” you replied cheerfully, crawling back up the bed until you could press a chaste kiss on his cheek before nuzzling yourself against him. “Good start to twenty-three?”

He huffed out a laugh. “I think you might’ve killed me.”

“At least you died young, pretty and satisfied,” you joked, feeling his chest rumble beneath you and it made your stomach twist with something quite like delight. 

“And in love,” he added, his words a little slurred and his cheeks burning a little at his own cheesiness. But it still made you grin.

“I love you too, Osc,” you murmured back.

“I was talking about those sushi rolls we had last night, but yeah I love you too,” he murmured, letting out a short pained noise when you pinched his side. “Ow! What happened to birthday boy privileges?”

“Those ended with the blowjob,” you retorted. “You’re back to normal Oscar now.”

“Hm, that seems a little unfair,” Oscar commented as he wound his arms around your body, hugging you close to his chest like the two of you could melt into one person. 

“Tragic life of being twenty-three,” you teased.

Oscar smiled. “Thank you, seriously.” 

You laughed, lifting your head to look at him. “Did you just thank me for a blowjob?”

The sleepy smile returned. “Yeah, pretty sure I just did.”

“Never beating the polite cat allegations,” you said, lighthearted and sweet and joking as you leaned down to kiss him. “Never change, birthday boy.”

“Never in a million years, baby.” 

.

[pathologicalreid]

next of kin | S.R.

disaster strikes and you and Spencer try to take custody of your younger sister

part two

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: actually might be gn! but i'm too scared to say it is. death, orphan-ing, funerals, child custody issues, blood, general cm violence, like actually an abhorrent amount of death. sorry i killed your parents for the sake of my fanfiction can we still be friends? word count: 3.33k a/n: this is the fic that this post is about. i am in fact my own worst enemy. i hope y'all like it actually genuinely i am most definitely overthinking this. if your name is maya im sorry that sucks.

“What did your parents say?” Spencer asked, walking into the conference room that the local precinct had offered to you.

You had been staring blankly at your phone since you got off the call with your mother, “Uh, they said thanks, but no thanks.”

The uneasy feeling had settled in your stomach as soon as you found out the team was being called to your hometown, and you had been nauseous ever since you found out the UnSub’s pattern.

Married couples with an older child who had moved out and a younger child who was still at home.

Your little sister was a surprise, you had incorrectly assumed your parents were done having kids.

Until today, you wouldn’t have traded Maya for the world, but now you sat in fear of your family being targeted by a serial killer. Hotch had offered them a protective detail, but they declined. Self-righteous as they were, they told you it wouldn’t feel right for them to accept help that couldn’t be offered to everyone.

Clenching your jaw, you stood at the table, “I’ll go by later and check in on them.”

Spencer had met your family twice by now. Last Christmas he had tagged along to meet them and celebrate with your family before the two of you spent New Year’s with his mom. Then, while your sister was on Spring Break, they flew out to Virginia, and you and Spencer had shown your family around Quantico and the District.

Maya had loved Spencer, partially because you loved him, but mostly because of his magic tricks.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He asked, stepping up next to you and placing a hand on the small of your back.

You sighed and shook your head, “No, not if you’re needed here.” You reached up and cupped his cheek, smiling softly, “Thank you for offering, Spence.”

He nodded affirmatively, “If you change your mind,” he offered. Gently, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before the two of you returned to the rest of the team.

The fact that your parents lived only five minutes from the police station gave you some relief, but you still felt tightly wound. Everyone had noticed. You just needed this case to be over.

The porch lights were on when you got there, and you used your house key – which you had never taken off of your keychain - to open the front door. “Hey, kiddo,” your dad greeted from the couch. A peek into the kitchen showed you that your mom was wiping down the counters. It all felt so eerily normal.

It was dark by the time you had gotten there. Maya was already asleep, but you tip-toed into her room anyway and kissed her goodnight before going back downstairs. Once you had hugged both of your parents and told them you loved them, you made your way back to the police precinct.

By nearly three in the morning, there was no new information, and the team was starting to consider calling it a night until the police chief got a call.

“We just got a call. Lady reported shouts coming from her neighbor’s house at 86 Meadowbrook,” he informed you, putting his hands on his hips and looking around at the team.

None of them even spared him a returning glance, everyone’s eyes were on you.

Blinking rapidly, you nodded assuredly, “I have to go get Maya.” You didn’t even recognize your voice even as you said it. It couldn’t have been your voice. That was the rasp of someone far away from you.

All of the other voices around you were muffled, you couldn’t hear what people were telling you, let alone understand them.

Maya. Maya. Maya.

Brown eyes. There they were, right in front of your face. “Let’s go get her,” Spencer whispered.

You had been speaking out loud. Repeating your sister’s name like a prayer without even realizing it.

Hotch let you go with them, but he made it abundantly clear to you – and the rest of the team – that you weren’t working this case anymore.

Surrounded by reverent voices in an SUV, JJ drove while Spencer stayed in the back with you. He held your hand tightly in his.

The house was closed off with police tape. Bright yellow plastic fluttered in the wind as you watched your team and other emergency personnel enter and exit. At your insistence, Spencer went in to get Maya, it felt like it had been hours before he walked out, carrying her in his arms.

Carefully, he brought her to you, and you pulled her close to your chest, blocking her eyesight as two body bags were brought out of the house.

You didn’t hear anything after that. You just let yourself be moved to wherever you needed to be, holding your kid sister as she cried for your parents.

They had to take their bodies to the hospital even though they were already gone, and you needed to be the one to confirm their identities. Spencer stayed with Maya while you were busy. She had cried herself to the point of exhaustion, you were grateful that she was sleeping, and then you felt cruel.

By sunrise, she was still asleep, and you had been set up in that same conference room from earlier. Sitting across from you was a social worker, a representative of the state. Your lips had parted in shock as you looked at her, “What do you mean they denied my request?”

In an attempt to be helpful, JJ worked with you to file an emergency request for custody of Maya, and the case worker had just told you that the request was denied. “The state doesn’t believe your request is valid,” she told you.

Your mouth went dry, “I don’t…” you glanced over at your little sister. “Our parents were murdered last night, and they won’t let me take custody of my sister?” You asked indignantly, peering at the social worker. It wasn’t her fault, somewhere in your grief-ridden brain you knew that, but you couldn’t help the feeling that she was somehow your enemy.

“They don’t believe you can provide her with a stable living environment,” the social worker, Brittany, explained.

Narrowing your eyes, you responded, “A stable living environment like a foster home? I’m her sister. We’re family – the only family each other has left.” You stood up, excusing yourself for a moment before walking out of the precinct. Once you were outside, you promptly hurled into the bushes.

That was how he found you, to the side of the building with your hair haphazardly moved out of your face, dry heaving into the shrubbery. Gently, Spencer placed a hand on your back before starting to rub small circles on your back, “You should eat something, love.”

You just shook your head in response, you weren’t hungry. “They won’t let me take her,” you whispered morosely, straightening up, you kept your back facing him.

“What?” He asked, his hand abruptly stopping its movement on your back.

Taking a deep breath and sitting on the curb, you looked up at Spencer. “The state thinks I’m not stable enough to take her in,” you said, resting your chin in your hands.

Your boyfriend crouched down so that he could sit next to you, “Are you going to challenge it?”

“Of course I am,” you cried. “But what happens to her in the interim, Spence? She gets placed with whatever foster home here and I go back to Virginia? I see her when the family court resolves this in two years?”

Treading carefully, Spencer cleared his throat, “What are you going to do?”

Defeated, you shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m…” your voice trailed off. “My parents are dead, Spencer,” you murmured softly, tears welling in your eyes.

He reached out and wrapped his arms around you, “I know, darling. I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t think I can do this alone,” you whispered, leaning gently into him.

Spencer turned to kiss your temple, “It’s a good thing you’re not alone then. I’m not going anywhere.” He waited for a moment before continuing, “Give me something to do. Give me a job to take off of your shoulders.”

In the end, you let Spencer take over funeral planning. He thanked you for trusting him before the both of you went back into the precinct.

You had just hung up with a family lawyer who had offered to take your case, letting your phone drop to the floor, you let your arms hang at your side. Someone had taken Maya to get breakfast while you spoke with the lawyer.

At the sound of the phone falling to the floor, Spencer stepped into the conference room, letting the door click shut before him. “Hey, what did he say?”

Pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, you took in a deep breath, “Um, he said he’d be willing to take the case if I could put together a case plan to present before the judge.”

Before that phone call, you didn’t know what a case plan was, you could’ve gone your whole life without knowing what a case plan was.

“I need a year-long plan for how I’m going to prepare to have Maya in my custody, but he said a year is the best he can do,” you said, staring blankly at the wall ahead of you. “A year?” You whispered aimlessly, “I’m not waiting a fucking year to take custody of her. I have to take her home, Spence. I have to.” It wasn’t your intention to snipe at him, but you felt like you couldn’t help yourself.

The events of the last twelve hours threatened to take you down, but you had to stay strong for Maya.  

Taking a shaky breath, you looked up at Spencer, “Why is it that every time I convince myself that it’s going to be okay, I get tossed to the ground again?” You asked him.

Maybe because you weren’t fully convinced. Maybe it was because it had only been seven hours. You needed to remind yourself of that.

“She’s a ward of the state?” Spencer asked for clarification, holding you tightly.

Nodding absentmindedly, you rested your head on his shoulder as he swayed gently. “She can stay with me until after the funeral, and after that, she has to go with the social worker.”

The sad look on Spencer’s face told you that he was running out of ideas, and you were coming to the very same conclusion. “We could get married,” he offered.

“Stop, Spence,” you said, shaking your head. You couldn’t believe this was where he was going.

He shrugged helplessly, “I’m serious, Y/N. If we get married, they might think we’re stable, as a couple. They might give us custody.”

Your shoulders slumped, “I don’t want to get married just to get custody of my sister.” It certainly wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry Spencer, just not like this.

He nodded understandingly, “I know, but I’m just saying. If that’s what it takes, then I’ll do it.” Placing a comforting hand on your knee, the two of you sat in silence for a moment. “Do you have any ideas?” He asked you carefully.

Looking through the blinds of the conference room, you saw the rest of the team coming back to the precinct. Setting your jaw, you nodded, “I might.”

Opening the door, you had Maya go in with Spencer while you approached your Unit Chief. “Hey,” Hotch said, a glint of sympathy in his eyes. “How are you holding up?” He pulled you away from the people, wanting to give you privacy.

This wasn’t fair, they were still working on an active case. A case that was disturbingly close to you, and yet, you felt you were out of options. “I need a favor,” you blurted to him, wringing your hands. Your nervous energy made it impossible for you to stay still.

Hotch nodded, “What do you need?” He asked, studying your composure with the eye of a profiler.

You took a deep breath, “I was… I need you to call in a favor with someone. Anyone, really. The state won’t let me take custody of Maya, but I can’t let her become a ward of the state. Not when I’m right here, ready, willing, and able to take her.”

“Okay,” he responded, not even pausing to think about it.

Taken aback, you looked at him curiously, “I- that’s it? I had groveling prepared.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly as if he was trying to tell you it wasn’t necessary. “You’ve been a part of this team for years and not once have you ever asked for anything in return for everything you do for everyone else. This is the least I can do,” he told you.

You couldn’t help it. Overwhelmed, you tackled Hotch in a bear hug, “Thank you.” Your voice was low, “Thank you so much.”

Succinctly, Hotch hugged you back before you pulled away, “I’ll go make some calls.”

It was the smell.

The smell that you’d sensed countless times before on the job, the metallic tang of the blood. It should’ve been mostly dried by now – you supposed you were more susceptible to the scent, considering it was your parent’s blood, but it put you on high alert.

Emily had brought you by so that you could pack a bag for Maya, but you found yourself stuck on the landing. To one side, there was your childhood bedroom and Maya’s room. On the other side, there was your parent’s room.

“Y/N?” Emily called your name from downstairs, “Are you alright?”

No, you wanted to say, but you bit your tongue, scanning the house you had grown up in. “This doesn’t belong here,” you told her, glancing behind you as she made her way up the staircase.

You didn’t have gloves, so instead you pointed at the figurine that was resting on the bookshelves, a little bear facing in the direction of your parent’s bedroom door. “This is in the wrong spot?”

Nodding, your eyes followed the ceramic bear as Emily picked it up with a gloved hand. “It’s mine, it should be in my room,” you informed her. Your parents never changed anything about your childhood bedroom, not since you moved out. “It was like it was watching them,” you thought aloud.

“Do you think the UnSub did it?” She asked you gently, her voice was low but steady.

Blinking rapidly, you kept your eyes focused on the figurine, “Little Bear,” you murmured, “They called her Little Bear.”

Emily shook her head in confusion, dark hair swaying as her head moved. “Who was called Little Bear?”

Dropping the bag you had packed to the floor, you buried your face in your hands, “I should’ve seen it sooner.” The victimology, it all suddenly made sense to you. “When I was a kid, there was a family like mine. A brother who was in his twenties when his parents had another baby, a girl. They called her Little Bear.”

Realization dawned on Emily’s dark features, “Like this bear?”

You picked up the bag and started making your way back down the stairs. “Their mother made those figurines. The parents died in a fire two weeks ago – they left everything to the younger sister. It was all over the news. God, I should’ve figured it out sooner.”

“Hey,” Emily said sympathetically, “You had other things going on. None of this was your fault.” Her voice was stern, harsher than you’d ever heard her, as she pulled out her phone and called the team.

Your teammate drove, passing the police station on the way to drop you off. They left for the takedown, and you felt yourself floating into the precinct. Maya was waiting in the conference room for you, watching cartoons on someone’s laptop.

Kneeling in front of your little sister, you tapped the space bar, pausing the video. “Hey, kiddo,” you whispered, reaching over, and smoothing her hair away from her face. “How are you feeling?”

She had cried herself to sleep earlier, and you felt like you hadn’t been around enough. Maya sat up on the couch and rubbed her eyes, they were red, but not teary. “I miss mommy,” she told you, pouting slightly.

You nodded gently, moving to sit next to her before you pulled her into your lap. At six years old, she was all gangly limbs, just starting to grow into her own person. Just old enough to understand death, “I know, baby. I miss them too.”

“They wouldn’t lemme go home,” she continued, leaning her head on your shoulder. “I wanted Thumper,” she whined, sounding younger than she was.

Looking up at the light, you silently begged for your tears to go away. “I got him for you,” you told her, reaching into your bag and producing the small stuffed bunny that you had given her as a baby.

You savored the way her eyes lit up as she grabbed the stuffed animal from you.

“So, you and Thumper are gonna come to stay with me in Virginia. Do you remember going there? You said you liked it?” You kept smoothing her hair back as she held her toy.

She was silent for a moment, “Will Spencer be there?” She asked quietly.

Smiling slightly, you nodded, “He and I live together, so he’ll be there with us.” Slowly, you started rocking back and forth, trying to soothe the both of you simultaneously.

“As long as he doesn’t pull money out of my ear,” she answered succinctly, shutting her eyes as she leaned up against you.

There was approximately an hour before you watched the team return to the precinct, slowly, you laid Maya down on the couch before walking out. “It was a clean shoot,” you heard Rossi tell Morgan, and one look at the rest of them told you everything you needed to know.

The team went back to the hotel, and Spencer filled you in on the funeral arrangements he had made on your behalf. You were about to try to get some sleep when Hotch approached you and told you he needed to speak to you.

“I called a good friend of mine on your behalf, and he gave me some information. We were able to work out a plan,” he told you, sitting across from you in the hotel lobby.

You were about to tell him that a case plan wouldn’t work, but he held his hand out, telling you to wait.

He nodded before he kept going, “He was able to file an emergency request to grant you temporary custody of Maya, and it was granted.”

You felt sick to your stomach, “She’s mine?”

“Temporarily, you’ll have to take care of some formalities back in Virginia, but you have full custody of her,” he informed you. “You’re being granted family leave, and I’ve encouraged Reid to apply for it as well,” Hotch told you, reaching out and placing a hand on your shoulder. “I am… I’m sorry that you’ve had to go through this but thank you for coming to me when you needed the help.”

You nodded absentmindedly, your head still whirling with the information that you had just been given. Stumbling, you walked back to your hotel room that you were sharing with Spencer and Maya.

The funeral was planned, the custody issue was solved, all there was left to do was…

“Baby?” Spencer said softly as you swung open the door, “Everyone else took Maya to get ice cream, I figured it couldn’t-“ his voice broke off at your first sob.

Everything you had held in came bursting out, all of the grief and stress and exhaustion nearly knocked your legs out from underneath you.

But Spencer was there to catch you.

part two

[girlgenius1111]

close to you part 4

alexia putellas x leila ouahabi x jenni hermoso x reader a third installment of the orgy fic: rush by @vixwritesagain [all chapters + all OOYG chapters linked on her masterlist] r executes jenni's plan. smut. 18+

–

You made a point of kissing Leila the second she slid the door shut behind her. She made the cutest confused sound but was quick to loosen up. An apology was on the tip of your tongue until Jenni pulled you away and pushed you in the direction of the door.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stepped outside. You fiddled with the strap of your bikini, pretending to inspect the pool until you didn’t feel Alexia’s hawkish gaze anymore. 

Only when her guard was down did you make your move. “Alexia?” 

The blonde jolted at the call, clearly not expecting you to speak to her without the reassuring presence of your girlfriend. Still, she turned to look at you, raising her eyebrows. 

“Am I getting a tan line?” You asked innocently, yanking the strap down over your shoulder. 

Alexia studied you through her dark sunglasses, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. After a moment, she nodded her head. “A little.” 

You sighed dramatically, reaching around to the back of your bikini, and pulling at the strings. Admittedly, you didn’t try very hard to untangle the knot, but you also knew Jenni had made sure it wouldn’t undo easily. You turned towards your captain again, fighting back a smile when you saw both Jenni and Leila peeking at the two of you through the kitchen window. 

“Alexia?” You called again. 

She didn’t startle this time, slowly turning her head to look at you. Her body was tense, likely surprised at the way you were suddenly boldly addressing her when you’d been avoiding her the whole trip. You stood up, walking over to her chair and standing close enough that Alexia had to crane her neck to look up at you. 

“Can you untie this knot? I want to even out my tan.” 

The blonde nodded, still expressionless, though her hands twitched in her lap. You sat on the edge of her chair, turning your back to her and pulling your hair out of the way. 

Though barely able to feel Alexia’s fingers on your skin, you could feel her pull at the knot, gently at first. A sigh, then a harder tug. 

“Who tied this?” She wondered, though her tone made her suspicion clear. 

You turned around quickly to face her. She froze, so still it didn’t even seem as though she was breathing. 

“I think Jenni got into my swimsuits.” You said, letting your eyes flicker to her lips from her sunglasses. 

She stared when your hands came up to pull the sunglasses off her face. You placed them onto the pool deck. 

It was odd, considering how nervous you’d been around the other woman for the past several days, how easily it was coming to you. It was as if you knew what would affect her before you even did it, knew to grab her hand and lace your fingers with hers. Her hand was warm, and so much larger than yours. You squeezed it before leaning closer. 

“You- uh, you could take it off over your head.” Alexia suggested, trying to take control of the situation. 

“Or… you could?” You replied.

Alexia blinked. You understood, then, what Jenni had been saying. Alexia really was convinced you weren’t interested.  

“I could?” She repeated, finding a bit of confidence as she rested her free hand on your thigh. 

“You don’t want to?” You teased.

It wasn’t often you got to see Alexia so caught off guard, so nervous, and you relished in it. She did want you, and that thought was filling you with confidence. 

“You… want me to?” She questioned, the softness and insecurity of her voice making you melt. 

“I really want you to.” You told her, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. You let your hand linger on her cheek. “I’ve missed you, Ale.” 

Her eyes widened as she leaned into your hand. “Oh.” 

You rolled your eyes, running your thumb across her cheekbone. “Tonta. How could I not?” 

The blonde’s lip curled upward before you pressed your lips to hers. 

Alexia kissed back tenderly, though it only stayed soft and gentle for a moment. The blonde seemed to remember who she was, one hand sliding up your thigh and squeezing at your hip, the other pulling away from yours to grip at the back of your neck. Gone was insecure, timid Alexia, replaced with the version that wanted to do all your thinking for you. 

A flick of her wrist, and the ties around your neck fell loose. Though you had to ignore the instinct, you didn’t try to cover up this time. You shifted closer, coaxed by her strong hands until she pulled your thigh over hers. The lounger wasn’t the most stable, but comfort wasn’t the priority. 

It was just her. The smooth heat of her, the relentlessness of her tongue, the harsh breaths she brushed along your skin. 

Already you could feel yourself tingling, desperate for her touch. Alexia seemed content enough when you settled on top of her, slowing the pace to filthy, deep kisses which made you whine against her lips. 

Your hands stroked back stray hairs and caressed her cheeks to keep her close. Her hands were far less delicate. 

You could feel her fingers dancing along the side of your thighs until they cupped your ass. A firm squeeze to pull your cunt firmly against her. Alexia touched you like she owned you. With every little sound she drew, you could feel her smile against your lips. 

It was only when her hands cupped your bare chest that your answering gasp was too delicious to kiss through. “Ale,” you breathed, “I wanted…” 

“Dime.” Her wet lips were so close, and there was real temptation to just keep kissing her and forget the whole thing. 

“I was thinking about you.” 

“Sí?” 

“And the first time.” 

Alexia’s eyes sparkled, but she just hummed back at you. 

“You said you wanted my mouth.” 

Alexia shifted, reaching up to drag her thumb over your bottom lip. “Yes.” 

“I want that. So much. Can I..?”

“Sí,” Alexia breathed, pupils blown wide even as she tried to keep her face composed. 

You kissed her again before glancing down. Hard muscle and her very bare chest. Her skin felt hot when you bent down to mouth at her neck. You could feel her hands mapping out every part of you, then settling back on the knot at your back. 

You’d only just licked at her nipple when the band suddenly loosened. Alexia made a triumphant noise, pulling away your top unceremoniously. 

Maybe it was too soon, but your hands had a mind of their own. They reached for her hips, slipping around her waistband. 

A gentle push to your shoulder made you straighten up immediately.

“You first.” Alexia mumbled, and while she met your eye, she couldn’t contain the pinkness of her cheeks. 

Without a thought, you shimmied off her until you could strip off the rest of the bikini. Yet when you moved to cover her body with yours again, Alexia’s stoicism had returned. 

“On your knees.” She ordered. 

And maybe you hadn’t fully thought through the logistics of the sun lounger, but sore knees felt like a small price to pay. You were careful scooting back and lowering yourself to the ground. 

Alexia didn’t waste time sliding down till her feet touched the floor. You took in the spread of her legs as she leaned over. To meet her kiss, you had to tilt your head back. If the hand which wrapped around your throat was any indication, that’s exactly what Alexia wanted. 

No sooner had she pulled away than she moved to strip herself too. You stayed quiet as she dropped her bikini to the side, then spread her legs once more. 

“You’re so pretty.” You breathed, just incase any part of her self-consciousness lingered. Besides, she was so pretty, all tan skin and wet.

“Shh,” her hand threaded through your hair. 

You leaned forward eagerly, stroking along her thighs and kissing at the inside of them. It’s not that you meant to tease, just that you’d been thinking about it for so long, and now, with her cunt not five inches away, it was hard to know where to start. 

Alexia let you get three kisses in before her grip tightened. “Más rápido, o voy a buscar a alguien más.” She complained.  

“Find someone else.” You scoffed, pulling away just a fraction, “You don’t want anyone else.” 

Your eyes flicked up to her after you spoke, cheeks heating up at your own words. It still wasn’t a statement you felt overly confident in, but the almost proud look on Alexia’s face told you that you’d said the right thing. 

“Tu español está mejorando.” 

Rather than let her see you blush even more, you chose that moment to lean forwards. 

You had every intention of precise, measured movements. You were going to make her come, and come hard because you had a point to prove. If she’d been thinking about this for as long as you had, you couldn’t disappoint her. 

As soon as your eyes fell shut and you pressed the first light kiss to her core, your desire to impress her fell away. Instead, you were drawn in by the taste of her, the smell, the shift of her muscles under your hands and the sighed exhales coming every few seconds. 

You spread her wider, licking at the wetness that had gathered between her legs. Alexia’s face never gave much away, but her pussy was a different story. Wet and hot, the evidence of her attraction to you was exactly what your ego needed. 

With her hand in your hair, you let her guide you up to her clit. You licked slowly, dragging your tongue through her folds and humming when she tilted her hips for you. “There,” she supplied breathily when you teased at it. 

As tempting as it was to torture her, or at least try, there was simply nothing you wanted more than to feel her come for you. If the gentle buck of her hips was any indication, she felt the same. 

“More,” she demanded. 

You blinked your eyes lazily to bask in her, all spread out. Alexia was so gentle when she stroked your hair back, gathering as much of it as she could to hold you against her. 

You licked more firmly at her, before taking her clit into your mouth and sucking. She let out a strangled sound that was somewhere between a whine and a moan, and it took everything in you not to slide your hand between your own legs. 

Instead, you brought your hand to her core, nudging at her entrance with one of your fingers. You sat back for just a second to find the angle.

“Wait,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll come. Too fast.” 

Another lick, just to enjoy the way she tried to swallow her sounds.  “I want you to come.” 

Alexia hummed, but her hand let go of your hair as you dove back in enthusiastically. You worked a finger into her slowly, in and out, bit by bit, fighting a wide grin when she gasped at the feeling. You could feel when she shifted to her elbows, one heel resting on your back.

“More.” She directed, losing the fight against her body’s instinct to grind down on your face. Her hips canted in time with your mouth. Without thinking too much, you teased a second finger against her. 

“I thought it was too fast?” You mumbled, not bothering to pull away to speak. Alexia’s body jerked at the vibration of your voice against her. 

“I-thought you… wanted me to come,” she replied, voice a touch more breathless now. 

Having your mouth occupied was both the best and the worst feeling. The best, because her hand found the back of your neck, holding you against her rocking hips as her quiet moans grew more and more frequent. The worse, because you longed to talk to her. To hear what felt good, and to kiss her in between pants. 

As it were, you worked a second finger in with the same care as the first. The angle wasn’t ideal, nor was the way you were kneeling at the foot of her lounger, leaning forward to adjust for her squirming. 

Yet none of it mattered. Your tongue flicked over her clit, your groan caused her gasp, and your free hand reached up to blindly grope at her chest. You pinched her nipple, curling your fingers inside of her at the same time. You could feel how she clenched, both around your fingers and with her thighs around your head. 

“Sí, así,” Alexia breathed, the closest thing to pleading you’d heard from her. “Don’t stop.” 

There was no way. Not with her fucking herself against your face, holding you tight while you sucked and fingered her higher. 

You knew it was going to come before it happened, but that didn’t make it any less of a prize. Her hips grew erratic and desperate towards the end, her fingers pushed up and tightened around your roots. Alexia was quiet, but in the tranquility, every little whimper she let out was amplified. 

From your place on the floor, you couldn’t watch like you wanted to, and yet your chest still bloomed with affection as she shivered. You changed nothing, working her through until she twitched. Had it not been for the pull to your hair, you would have kept going for a second round, if not a third. 

“Dios.” She panted, lying still as you stroked soothing hands over her waist. 

“I know what that means too.” You teased, shifting to kiss at her thighs instead. 

Her fingers unlaced themselves from your hair. You leaned back, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. Alexia sat up too, leaning over to kiss you.  With gentle coaxing, you rose to your feet with a wince. 

“Okay?” She murmured, raising one hand to block the sun from her eyes. Her other curved around the back of your thigh, pulling you to stand between her legs. 

You immediately held your hand up to shade her face. “Good. Just my knees.” 

Frowning at the redness of them, Alexia ran her thumb gently over the irritated skin. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your stomach, before she rose to her feet and grabbed your hand in hers. You moved towards the house, blissfully uncaring that you were completely nude. 

“Think they made lunch?” Alexia wondered, a fond look on her face that told you she knew just how orchestrated the past half hour had been. 

“Nope. It’s fine, though. I just ate.” You grinned at her, relishing in the snort she let out. It was the first laugh you’d gotten from her while she wasn’t actively in you, the first laugh that wasn’t really teasing. 

Alexia slid the door open, her hand finding the small of your back, gently nudging you inside first. Your skin tingled where she touched you, but there wasn’t much time to linger in the newfound closeness you shared. 

Even without seeing the trail of bikini tops and bottoms leading you right to your girlfriends, the sounds coming from just a few feet away told you exactly what Jenni and Leila had gotten up to. 

The striker had your girlfriend bent over the kitchen counter, her hand buried between Leila’s thighs. The defender was mid gratuitous moan when she noticed you both walk in, a dazzling smile lighting up her face. 

“Bebé!” Leila said excitedly. 

Jenni withdrew her hand from your girlfriend, bringing her fingers up to her lips to clean them off. 

“Hi Lei. Having fun?” You chuckled, leaning back against Alexia as her arm wound around your abdomen and pulled you closer into her. 

“Sí! Jenni's fingers. You know!” 

Jenni moved back, allowing Leila to straighten up. She looked between you and Alexia, her eyebrows raised. 

“So? Whose room?” 

You rolled your eyes good naturedly and moved towards the hall, pulling Alexia behind you. “Yours. You already almost broke the bed the other day, we might as well limit the damage to one room.” You’d only just gotten the words out when Leila rushed past you, sliding across the hardwood floor into the room you shared. 

“I’ll get our toys!” She shouted. 

“Do you need help finding- oh!” You yelped as Alexia’s arms swept you up, carrying you into her room and gently dumping you on the bed. Jenni slipped in behind, stroking over her girlfriend’s waist affectionately. 

Both her and Alexia eyed you from the edge of the bed. 

“Leila can find the toys.” Jenni dismissed as she crawled next to you and began to dust kisses over your neck. Alexia was soon to join her, bending down to mouth at your shoulder. You heard when Leila entered the room. Knowing the size of the bag she’d packed, you came to the conclusion that the rest of the trip would be rather single-minded. 

—

Freshly showered, Leila was quick to dry your hair before shooing you away to bed so she could finish her own. You’d tried to draw it out - taking far too long to brush your teeth - but as much as you liked watching her, the comfort of a soft mattress called. Besides, there were only so many times you could hear her gentle reassurance about how much she loved the evening’s activities before the guilt ate away at you. By the time you felt her slide in beside you and switch off the light, you were already cozy. 

Still, you reached for her immediately, tangling your hands with hers before raising one to kiss at it. In the fresh darkness, you could see nothing. But you could feel her gaze searching you out too. 

“I was mean to you today,” you breathed. 

Leila shifted closer, until you could feel the heat of her legs curling along yours. “You were?”

“You asked if I was okay and I brushed you off.” 

A moment, then a gentle squeeze to your hand. “Hmm.” One of the most frustrating things about Leila was her ability to shut up right when you wanted her to talk most. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Were you jealous, bebé? I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

In the darkness, you shook your head because of course she’d try and take the blame. “No. Well yes. Actually. But it was just a lot of things.” “Hmm.” 

“Jenni was being snippy and Alexia wouldn’t look at me, and then I didn’t have you to talk about it with.”

You could feel her breath against your joined hands before she kissed your knuckles. “I understand. I was going to follow you but Jenni said she would.”

“Yeah.” 

Untangling her hand with yours, Leila sat up. As your eyes adjusted, you could see the outline of her. 

“Are you okay now?”

You grinned up at her, thinking back on the last few hours and stroking her hair back to no avail. “I’m good. I’m tired. But I love you.” 

Leila was quick to shift down the bed, snuggling against your side with her arm curved around your waist. She gave you a moment’s peace before you felt her grin. “And you had a very good talk with Jenni, sí?” 

“A good talk,” you giggled, “just talking. What about you? Did you do much talking?”

“None.” She purred proudly. “Just watched you outside.”

And, since you could tell she wanted you to, you gave Leila a step-by-step on how the day had evolved. 

“So confident,” she cooed as you recounted the time spent by the sunlounger. “We should sleep bebè. I have a feeling tomorrow will be a big day.” 

“I’m not tired,” you breathed back, though your hand felt heavy stroking through her soft hair, “and we haven’t talked all day. I missed you.” 

“Shh. Tomorrow.” And when Leila nuzzled in a little more, there was no arguing with her. 

—

Jenni was already half asleep by the time Alexia finally stepped out of the bathroom. The blonde was clad in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts that had a 10 proudly displayed on the thigh, pajamas that had been laid out on the bathroom counter for her by her girlfriend. 

Alexia slid under the covers, a soft hum coming from the woman next to her as a pair of arms wrapped tightly around Alexia’s midsection, pulling her closer. Jenni nuzzled her face into the midfielder’s neck, inhaling the sweet, clean scent that always seemed to follow her girlfriend around. 

“Te amo.” She mumbled sleepily, blinking one eye open when she didn’t get a response. “Te amo!” 

Alexia rolled her eyes fondly. Even though darkness shrouded her girlfriend’s face, she could clearly picture the pout on Jenni’s lips. Instead of giving the response she knew the striker wanted and allowing them both to drift off, she twisted in Jenni’s arms and exhaled sharply. 

“You talked to her, no?” 

With a groan, Jenni rolled onto her back, sitting up slightly as she realized Alexia wasn’t going to let her sleep before they discussed the events of the day. She reached to the nightstand, flicking the lamp on and squinting at her girlfriend for a moment before answering. 

“I did.” 

Her suspicions confirmed, Alexia’s nostrils flared and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you not to. I wanted her to come to me.” 

“Amor, she did come to you. And then you came to her,” Jenni smirked, sobering quickly when Alexia continued to stare accusingly at her. 

“After you talked to her.” 

“Ale, I–”

“I asked you not to, and you didn’t listen.” The blonde said stubbornly. 

Jenni sighed dramatically, grabbing her girlfriend’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Alexia, I know you both very well, and you both were overthinking. I didn’t tell her to go out there to you, or to have sex with you, that’s what she wanted to do. I told her to make a decision and be clear about what she wanted because the mixed signals were hurting you and–” 

“That’s why you did it?” Alexia interrupted, staring open mouthed at her girlfriend. “Because I was upset? Not because you wanted it and were tired of waiting?” 

Jenni looked at Alexia incredulously. “Of course that’s why. I can be patient, amor, but I don’t like seeing you sad, especially not when I can fix it.” 

“Oh.” Alexia murmured, her body sinking down seemingly of its own accord to curl into Jenni’s. 

“Tonta.” Jenni sighed, turning the lamp back off and wrapping her arms around her girlfriend. “I yell at her for you, you get the sex you’ve been wanting all week, but I’m in trouble.” 

Her voice was teasing, warm with affection as she carded her fingers through Alexia’s hair. 

“You yelled?” Alexia wondered, feeling oddly protected at the thought of the normally easy going woman being so serious for her. 

“Mmm. A little bit.” Jenni amended. 

The lightest of kisses was pressed to Jenni’s cheek before Alexia’s face nudged into its spot against the striker’s neck. 

“Thank you.” Alexia mumbled softly, her words barely more than a soft puff of air on Jenni’s neck, yet she heard her all the same. “Te amo.” 

—

🙂

[stevesgother]

I Don't Want You Like A Bestfriend - S.H

Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 2.3k

Warnings - mentions of anxiety, reader not liking large gatherings, swearing, alcohol (reader works at a bar). As always, let me know if I missed anything!

AN - Part 2 of the Dress mini series! This could technically be a standalone fic, but for the full context I would recommend reading part 1 :) 

Dress Series - Pt 1, Pt 2

December 1987

2 bowls of popcorn and 4 movies later, you’re laying on opposite ends of your twin bed with your best friend; gossiping lazily with droopy eyelids.

“I cannot go to their wedding without a date, Rob.” looking at her exasperated, “That’s like, totally embarrassing! Steve’s gonna have this Madonna-ey, bombshell blonde and with giant boobs and I'm gonna bring who? My cousin? Not happening.” You say with finality.

“Well forgive me,” Robin deadpans. “I only know like,” She gestures dramatically, trying to count in her head, “7 boys!”

May 1985

Immediately upon opening your eyes, you’re met with the blinding pain of your too big brain bouncing around inside your skull and a foreboding sense of dread upon recalling the way you behaved the night before.

You could only remember bits and pieces of the wretched night, but you were humiliated nonetheless. Had you said something you shouldn’t have? Your stomach churns at the thought and briefly you fear you might yak again.

A few weeks later, you were walking the stage, diploma in hand. Steve had broken up with Nancy Wheeler the week following prom. Feigning some bullshit about him leaving for college; not wanting to do long distance. Those cliche, overused excuses that everyone knows loosely translate to “I don’t love you anymore.”

Steve didn’t even get into tech, unbeknownst to Nancy. He was dodgy when you asked him about their breakup. “I just felt like we didn’t make sense anymore, you know? But it-” he sighed, “it’s just, it’s not like I could say that to her.” 

You didn’t want to push the subject further, despite your bewilderment. Part of you felt desperately guilty at the idea that you may have been the catalyst for what happened to their relationship. You didn’t dare ask, though. Maybe you didn’t want to know, or maybe you just didn’t want to make it about yourself. 

December 1987

The Wandering Dog was especially busy tonight. Folks trying to escape their in-laws for a few hours during the holiday season, college kids home for break trying to get wasted; and all of it was your problem. The pay was nice, you made good tips bartending. Right as you watch someone knock over an entire tray of drinks, a familiar head of hair makes its way to sit in front of you at the bar. Distracting, but not enough to suppress the groan that leaves your throat when it dawns on you that those drinks are your mess to clean up later.

“Steve-o,” you force a smile at him, “what can I do for ya on this..lovely evening?”

“Can’t a guy visit his favorite lady without needing a reason?” He lilts.

You try not to let on how flustered you feel at his usage of ‘favorite lady’. 

“You hate this bar, you’re also technically banned-” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand “Still? Seriously? It was one time-” Your turn to interrupt, “No actually, year prior? That was your first warning.” You’re met with a roll of the eyes, forgetting how utterly sassy he’s become in the last few years. You can’t decide whether you love or hate the development.

“I actually uh,” he runs a hand through his hair- a nervous habit, “I wanted to ask you something,”. You look at him quizzically, unable to pinpoint what's caused such a sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Okay…” you draw out the last syllable, more confused than unkind. “Spill it Hairspray, you’re kind of freaking me out.” you give an awkward chuckle. Your friendship is hardly what you’d consider serious. Sure, you’ve had your share of late night, existential conversations; but you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve made the other actually nervous.

He clears his throat, “sorry yeah, sorry. I was wondering uh, ifyouwouldbemydatetojoyceandhopperswedding.”

The rest of his sentence comes out as one jumbled word. You do a double take when you finally process what he’s asking, and you choke a little on the Coke you were sipping. “What?-”

“-As friends!” he blurts loudly as his hands shoot out in front of him in a defensive gesture, “obviously, as friends. That’s- what I meant.” his words lose confidence every time he opens his mouth.

You stare for a little too long, mouth hanging open like a trout. “You don’t..already have a date?” You hope he doesn’t take offense to the inquiry. Steve Harrington can most certainly find a plus one to a simple wedding.

“Yeah I- something like that,” his mouth opens like he’s going to explain further before deciding against it; settling on a lopsided smile instead. He’s terrified he’s blown his cover. If he had given any effort at all to the endeavor, surely he would’ve been able to find a date. Fancy car, rich parents, million dollar smile and his infallible charm. The problem was that he didn’t want to go with another Heidi. Another Jessica. Another Stacy.

He wanted to go with you.

Even if it meant just as friends. You two were just friends.

-

Joyce and Hopper’s wedding was at Pokagon State Park, and the drive up was less than stellar. 3 hours stuffed inside a cramped BMW with Robin, Eddie, and Vickie. You were fortunate enough to be riding shotgun next to Steve for the trip, Eddie muttering something about ‘date privilege’.

When you arrived at the cabin you’d be sharing with your 4 friends, you were a little mortified. There was a room for Vickie and Robin, and Eddie claimed the pullout couch almost immediately. This leaves one more room. With one bed. For you and Steve Harrington. It’s possible Joyce may have misinterpreted the reality of your situation when booking the rooming accommodations.

If it bothered Steve, he didn’t show it. You guys had had sleepovers before, but almost never in the same bed. His house had a plethora of guest bedrooms, and your father would be found dead before he let a boy sleep in your room, even at the ripe age of 20.

We’re adults, you think. We can be mature about this.

There isn’t much time to dwell on it before you’re being stuffed by Robin into a too tight, wine red bridesmaid dress.

“I feel sick,” you say, groaning. “Do not barf on me,” she warns with a stern look, though you can tell she’s not really annoyed. “I really like these shoes.” Despite the itchy fabric of the dress and the obnoxiously loud color, you do look breathtakingly beautiful. Red has always been your color. 

“Hey dingus! Stop gawking and zip me would you?” Robin lightly kicks you with her bare foot, taking you out of your own head. When you exit the bathroom, you’re immediately met with the 2 boys. Even Eddie, who you don’t believe you’ve ever seen not in ripped jeans, cleans up nice.

Steve looks…strapping. Not handsome in the boyish way you’re used to. He’s all slicked hair, cufflinks and well-pressed wool. He meets your gaze and you swear his pupils dilate just slightly. An arm is offered to walk you to his car. He smells like cinnamon and cedar, woodsy and spice. He opens the passenger door for you and God, he’s a gentleman.

It’s going to be a long night.

- 

The venue was terribly charming. Floor to ceiling windows highlight the snow falling outside in big, fat flakes over the water. The room was lit entirely by yellow string lights, casting a permanent warm hue over the lodge.

On a table clad in lace, there were 5 notecards scribbled on in cursive ink. The one that adorned your name was directly adjacent to one that read Steve Harrington. They were paired with party favors wrapped neatly with a white silk bow.

Steve wanted to pull out your chair for you. He wanted to sit beside you with his hand in yours. Hell, he would’ve bought you a corsage if he thought it appropriate. A death by a thousand cuts; he was again reminded of the fact that you were not his, and he was not yours.

You were unable to identify the source of the nagging anxiety you felt. You were never partial to big gatherings like this, but the unease you were experiencing now was different. All you could do was relax, and try to enjoy the reception. Try not to pay mind to the stark, masculine presence sitting beside you.

The newlyweds’ first dance was to the beloved ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ By INXS. You think about how remarkably fitting a song it was for them and everything they had endured together. The restlessness you had previously felt started to steadily fade after that; laughing and chatting with your friends. It started to feel..normal, for a while.

Just then, like some sick esoteric joke, you hear the unmistakable beginning notes of ‘I’ll Be Over You’ by Toto. When you turn to your left, Steve has a poorly concealed, shit-eating grin on his face.

In the most sober tone he can muster through his unseriousness, he asks, “Can I have this dance?” while extending his hand to you. He prays you don’t notice it trembling slightly. It’s the undeniable corniness of his request that manages to strangle a laugh out of you.

 “I thought you’d never ask.”

With one hand delicately placed on your hip, he threads the other one with your own fingers as he starts to sway. You clumsily try to match his rhythm; so nervous that you’re becoming uncoordinated. His chest is nearly touching yours, and your noses are a hairsbreadth apart. It feels profoundly intimate.

'as soon as forever is through, I'll be over you.'

He leans his head down so his lips just brush your ear as he whispers, “You okay?”

You scoff, unconvincingly. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You know he can see right through you. It’s fruitless to try and deceive him.

“You just seem,” he gives your waist a small squeeze, “a little tense.” You swallow hard.

“Just say the word and I'll take you home.” ‘Home’ meaning back to the cabin. Not the comforting safety of your own bed back in Hawkins. You appreciate his earnestly either way.

“I know, Steve.” you lilt, trying to lighten the intensity of the moment with a teasing tone. You rest your head against his shoulder, if only so you don’t have to keep holding his all-consuming gaze.

-

Despite the thermostat being set at a comfortable 75 degrees, you were still shivering slightly. You always ran cold. You stood in front of a dusty vanity mirror trying to extend your arms behind your back far enough to unzip this godforsaken dress.

You felt him more than you saw him. Steve’s presence displaces the air in the room as one does to water when they sink down into a steaming bath: noticeably, and comfortably. You pay him no mind as you continue to struggle with the zipper. Mulling around the same room; busy with your separate tasks, this was familiar to you. Not often did you have to acknowledge the other for them to know you were grateful for their company.

“Need a hand with that?” he asks, slightly amused as he saunters over to you.

You hesitate for a moment before looking over your shoulder and offering him a shy smile, “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind?” You know he doesn’t.

His scent envelopes you like a thick fog when he approaches you. His calloused fingers pinch the clasp and pull it down its tracks slowly. The sound is piercing in the quiet of your shared room; your senses dialed up to 11. You can feel his warm, freshly minty breath fan over your shoulders and the nape of your neck. Your arms erupt in goosebumps at the sensation.

He stands there, he realizes, longer than he needs to. 

“Okay I’m gonna-” “There you go-” you both speak at the same time. 

You huff an awkward breath of a laugh before you finish your thought, “I’m gonna..go change.” you throw a thumb behind you in the direction of the ensuite. “Right, yeah,” he shakes his head as if to escape his own thoughts; his turn to act shy.

-

Lying in bed, you’re suddenly grateful that Steve has always been something of a personal space heater. The warmth he radiates makes you want to curl into him, against your better judgment. The silence in the room is deafening; the only sounds to be heard are rhythmic breathing and the creaking of the ancient plumbing.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve’s voice is hoarse, no doubt from the boisterous singing he’d been doing earlier in the evening. Still, you’re grateful for the crack in the wall that's been plastered between you.

“I like secrets,”

“I hate weddings.”

The stiff fabric of the pillowcase crinkles as you turn your head to look at him.

“I am happy for them, it’s not that,” he starts, “it’s just, what if it’s never me up there ya know?”  It’s not that he’s scared he’ll never marry; it’s that he’s scared he’ll never marry you.

You want to reach out for him then. Hold his face in your hands and tell him you understand. There are so many unspoken words between you. Things unsaid, but implied. The desire to yell and scream and confess how much you love him is overwhelming.

“Steve. You’re only twenty,” smiling lightheartedly, “there’s so much time for you. There are plenty of women out there that would be delighted to swear themselves to you for eternity. Believe me.” You chuckle and pretend like the reason you know that to be the truth isn’t because you’re one of them.

“I know, I know,” he brings a hand up to card through his bed mussed hair, “you’re right, it’s silly.”

“I didn’t say it was silly,” you elbow his side gently, consequently moving your body closer to his.

He doesn’t say anything then. Instead, his hand cautiously moves over the bed until it’s touching yours; intertwining your pinkies. He doesn’t breathe, as if any sudden movements might scare you like a frightened doe. If he breathes, you might remember you’re not supposed to be doing this.

“If we’re not married by the time we’re,” he pretends to ponder, “32, will you marry me?”

You laugh, the unexpected loudness of it making you cringe a little, “yes,”

“Promise?” He sounds deadly serious.

You tighten your pinky around his, “Promise.”

[billskeis]

Hello!

I wanted to ask if it's possible that you write double smut with bill and tom? Like, they share her? At the same time, of course 😏

Thank you.

ᡣ𐭩 the kaulitz twin’s after-party “party”

“hey y/n! glad you could make it!” bill exclaimed as the two of you exchanged kisses on each side of the cheek, “thank you guys for inviting me!! ‘nd congrats on the awards, i’m so proud of you guys, hi tom!” you reach out an arm to hug the older twin, his arm wrapped around your waist lingering tightly, and longer than expected.

a smirk frames his face, “lookin’ good tonight,” you playfully spin around in your dress as you blush at his flirts, “oh you, you know i had to; couldn’t show down for my two best friends!”

and that’s what you guys would call it. best friends. you were there when tokio hotel weren’t tokio hotel. devilish, black question mark. since the beginning of time, you supported the four on their rockstar journey whilst also venturing yours. being one of the top soloists right now, tokio hotel and you were a hit! however, what comes with being so close with the twins, comes unwarranted feelings.

the twins eyed you up and down, and eyes just had to linger a little longer than they should’ve to where you’d noticed. cheeks flushed. you stood there in a little tight number, standing tall with your red black pumps.

adjusting themselves, bill clears his throat whilst tom adjusts his t-shirt collar, is it getting hot in here? you can’t help but look down at your heels, feeling small between the kaulitz twins that tower each one of your sides.

“so uh, y/n, you.. busy after this?” tom asks, your eyes widen at the sudden question. what could they possibly want to do after their after party? you were hoping to just go home and rest, considering your busy schedule that consumed most of your social life, but staying up a little later couldn’t hurt right? you take a swig of your alcoholic beverage as you smile, “nope! wanna do something?”

mischievous. as one would call it, the look on their faces. you, oblivious, were not aware of their intentions behind such a question. maybe you weren’t smarter than you looked, or perhaps you were. but you definitely didn’t have any social cues when it came to men. tom wrapped an arm around your waist yet again, you let it rest there. it’s a friendly gesture, to protect you from other men of course!

that was half true.

“let’s go to ours, we have better drinks there,” bill suggests.

that was a total lie.

“but what about the after party?” you cocked your head to the side in genuine curiosity. why would the twins leave their own party that they hosted for their band? odd, you thought, but because it wasn’t your party to begin with and you were JUST a guest, there was no point in further questioning it.

“don’t worry about it, georg and gustav are handling it, see?” as tom points towards the crowd to find double g gyrating with one another and some fans.

you laugh, not realizing that the two of them now have you enclosed even closer between them. as tom’s arm still remains, bill’s hand adorns your shoulder.

“shall we?” he asks.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

“i—um—fuck! we.. shouldn’t be doing t-this..” saying that aloud sounds stupid, because how could anybody believe you while you slam your hips down onto tom’s lap, bill’s lips attached to your neck as he paints your neck with various shades of blue, reds and purple.

tom groans as your silky walls clench down on his length, tip hitting your g spot as you wince out in pleasure, “relax baby, paparazzi didn’t follow us back so you have nothing to worry about,” bill unlatches his mouth from your neck, a string of saliva remaining as he giggles looking at the state he’s left your upper body in.

“perfect,” a pleased hum emits from bill as he frees his hard-on from his boxers, whining as the cold air hits his throbbing and needy member.

with a shudder, bill guides one of your hands to the head of his tip, smearing the pre all over the sensitive mushroom head as you work your way up and down his cock.

“oh fuck, just like that..” bill placing his hand over yours in an aid to jerk him off as he would himself, kissing atop of your mouth as his tongue piercing glides over your oral cavity, feeling every nook and cranny of your mouth that has you gasping for more. with a lack of attention, tom pouts as you prioritize bill over him. tilting his pelvis, tom jerks his hips into yours, abusing your walls at a new angle that ends up deepening your kiss with bill, squeezing the head of his cock, “mmphh!”

“tom. be nice.”

“she can handle it, right y/n? you can handle this dick..” tom says with a low chuckle.

melting into the kiss, both you and bill ellicit sweet little cries to one another, “i did it ‘cause i wanted more attention, schatz,” you hear from behind you. as you break the kiss between you and bill turning your head to face the figure you rode, that looks at you with puppy dog eyes.

your cunt is already sensitive, it’s been about two hours since you’ve guys began, well, this. you really wondered how you got yourself into such a mess. maybe it was the way that tom’s little movements on you had your knees buckling, or the way that bill’s smile warmed your heart. you think to yourself, you’re just friends. juuuust friends.

friends don’t do the things you’re doing.

while getting off of tom’s lap, you position yourself onto bill’s, cunt already leaking onto his member and wasting no time and sliding down on his length. bill grips balls of sheets into his fists as he restrains himself from taking you all for himself, “oh gott, y-y/n,” his mouth hanging low as he lets out a strained sob from how sensitive he is. you’re warm, and still tight, and bill can’t help but feel as though he’s in heaven.

tom is still and watches with wide eyes as he soon realizes your mouth engulfs his dick, tongue swirling over his tip as you messily spit and drool saliva all over his cock, “damn.. you little minx, didn’t think ya’d be into this,” holding your hair into a makeshift ponytail with his hand, using his opposite to pet the top of your head, bobbing up and down.

bill hands hold each side of your ass as he guides your hips up and down his cock, biting his lip as he gasps from how greedily your pussy swallows his cock, “such a slut huh? like the way we take you at the same time.. one cock wasn’t enough, you needed two?” be nice, he said. fucking hypocrite. his dirty words are mean, but have an inverse impact on you as your cunt tightens around him along with a moan vibrating in your throat, tom curses, “oh fuck ‘m not gonna last long..”

tom does everything in his power to hold himself from fucking his hips into your mouth, but it also isn’t helpful considering the fact that bill’s thrusts from behind pushes tom further down your throat. “shitshitshit, bill.. ya close?” “m-mmhm..”

like a pig roasted on a spit, like the slut you truly are, holes fucked by your two best friends, your hips and mouth stutter to escape both ends.

“gonna cum sweet girl?” tom asks as he cups your cheek with one hand, thumb swiping over the tears that spill from the ongoing pleasure that surges through your body. both twins are close as well, eager to finish as there’s an unrelenting tempo to bill’s thrusts and tom hastily working his hands on your head in guiding your mouth, fully savouring his taste.

“coming..!”

one quick thrust all at once, you slightly gag on tom and tense your body as the three of you came simultaneously, shaky and trembling. cum paints your insides from opposite ends, filling you to the brim as electricity jolts from the inside out. as bill and tom empty their loads, they finally let out, you’ve managed to swallow all of tom’s, but bill’s seeps from between your legs.

quickly, bill shoves his fingers into your cunt, leaving them there as you wail, ‘b-bill!’ overstimulated, he scoffs jokingly, letting out a quick ‘what?’ as he then removes his fingers admiring his cream-pie.

laying flat on the bed, your body slightly twitches from the lingering pleasure. tom reaches out to hand you a water-bottle as bill uses a warm washcloth to clean you up. thanking the two, both join you in the king-sized bed for a long needed cuddle session.

now let’s just say, the media has found a new scoop on their new hit rockstars.

but you’ll deal with that tomorrow morning!

guys am losinggg my mind i miss my moots i missed my passion for writing i miss thriving :c lmk if i suck i’ll do better

interact if ur still active , pls </3 pls comment and talk 2 me i wanna be more engaging

[sunderingstars]

zayne x reader + expressing his emotions/feelings via his and reader's heartbeat? Since he's not *just* her doctor...🪐

♡ heartbeat (zayne x reader) ♡

what the stars reveal: no gender signifiers for reader, (but can be assumed fem based off the game’s mc), slight allusions to lore, poetic prose taken directly from my brain at 3am

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ thank you for the suggestion, anon !! i feel like this ask was made just for me because i use zayne’s heartbeats as a way to de-stress every day LOL. i got a little bit carried away so i hope more than a few paragraphs is fine :3

It had started as a joke. Some silly, off-the-cuff banter you didn’t even remember starting, much less continuing until the two of you sat face-to-face on the couch in his office. It didn’t really matter, in your mind, how it happened. All that mattered was the thrumming; the steady rhythm of a heart, his heart, resting warm and stable under layers of skin and fabric.

It didn’t occur to you to be embarrassed. Not when you could feel it against your fingertips, burning through the outer layers of Zayne’s frost-tipped skin, coming to rest against you like a flower, like some sort of fragile thing with petals of ice. If you could, you wished to hold it in your hands, softly, tenderly, in the vain hope it would never crack. A prayer, perhaps, to a god you couldn’t remember.

“What is your verdict, doctor?” the teasing lilt of the last word brought you back to yourself, to the man in front of you. Zayne looked at you, eyes sparkling in amusement.

You coughed lightly. “It’s… uh… normal.” You didn’t remove your hand. “But kind of weird.”

Zayne’s heart stuttered along with his chuckle. “Weird?”

“Yes, weird,” you repeated, letting the lull of his heart diffuse from your fingertips to your chest. “I feel like I’m going to fall asleep.”

A beat of silence. “Go ahead, then.”

You blinked. Part of you thought you must’ve heard wrong — perhaps his heartbeat was laced with some sort of hallucinogen — but when you looked back to him, to the soft upturn at the corners of his mouth, you realized he was serious.

“What?” you asked. “Just like that?”

Zayne raised his eyebrows. “Why not? Leading research suggests that eight to ten hours of sleep is best for optimal performance. And someone I know is falling behind in that regard.”

You considered it, humming. Then you leaned forward until the side of your head replaced your hand on his chest. From here, you could hear the tempo picking up pace directly in your ear.

“It’s even weirder now,” you said.

“Is it?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it likes you.”

You smiled against his chest. “Maybe I like it, too. Maybe, even, I want to give it a big kiss on t—”

“Go to sleep.” His tone was faux-stern, the way he sounded when he wasn’t fully committed to deflecting something. You could have kept prying, you knew, just to see how far the heart metaphor would go, but you decided to give his actual heart a break.

“Fine,” you said. “But I hope it knows it belongs to a great doctor.”

Another stutter against your ear. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

Content, you settle against him, not caring that you’re still half-sitting. It’s easy, then, to listen. To wash away. To hear the sounds of rising, falling, cresting like snowcapped mountains and falling stars, and feel as though you’re a falling star yourself, hopeless.

“I wonder if it loves me,” you murmur, half-conscious, half-hopeful, half-blurred.

The last thing you hear is the low timbre of Zayne’s voice, softer than you’ve ever heard it, sending you off into the dark.

“It does.”

💙 bonus hc 💙: zayne has different ways to check heartbeats depending on how close he is to someone. for his normal days on the job, he uses a stethoscope, but when it comes to those he gets close to, he’ll take it by wrist pulse or neck. when the two of you start dating, he becomes a fan of pretending he can only take your pulse if he’s resting his head against your chest, which usually leads to him falling asleep on you.

© 2024, written by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[hotchs-big-hands]

might be tmi but i desperately want to eat Aaron’s ass 😳 it’s so cute and he deserves it so much and ughhhh 😮‍💨

AAAA HELLO ANON YOU ARE ON THE SAME WAVELENGTH AS ME CUZ BIG SAME I THINK ABT THAT SO MUCH

Ya girl has to write a blurb abt this too so ummmmm NSFW! minors DNI

gn!reader

We can easily say Aaron has most likely had a very vanilla sex life. I mean he was with Haley since high school and then dated Beth for a while, and in my opinion I doubt they really got too frisky with it.

So you and Aaron are together now and you’ve definitely been exploring kinks with him, stuff he’s never done before and he’s got a grasp of what he likes. You’re enthusiastic when you suck him off, taking him down to the base but also nuzzling and kissing his balls whilst you jerk him off. But on one particular occasion, as you’re messily sucking and kissing the underside of his balls, your tongue slips out to lick down and it just barely brushes against his perineum and he gasps out, hips thrusting upwards as his cock twitches. Neither of you expected such a reaction, and he takes a moment to recover and apologise- although he definitely doesn’t need to.

You can’t stop thinking about it but you haven’t brought it up to him. Your mind wanders though, you’d fantasised about rimming him but you didn’t want to bring it up and make him uncomfortable if he wasn’t into it as well. But that reaction… you had yet to admit to him you’d gotten yourself off thinking about it since it happened.

On the flip side, Aaron has been thinking about it nonstop ever since. Ever since he began dating you and your sex life turned adventurous, he had done a lot of research. And in turn, discovered things he had yet to bring up to you. Before you he had never even considered the prospect of anything being in or around his ass, but now he’d seen and read about certain things- watched certain things- and he suddenly had a desire to try some things out.

You’re making out, he’d just gotten out of the shower and returned to your shared bedroom where you all but attacked him with your mouth on his, hands grabbing at him until he has you straddling his lap. You can feel his clothed cock hardening against your inner thighs and when you part for oxygen, you lazily trace your fingers over his chest as your mouth opens and closes a few times, deep in thought about how you were going to bring up what you wanted to talk to him about. He notices and raises a brow at you and squeezes your hips.

“Everything alright, honey?” He asks quietly and you hum with a smile. You tell him you want to talk to him about something and he chuckles.

“As do I actually. Please, go ahead.”

And so you do, watching the micro-expressions form and change with every word you utter about what happened the other night, admitting you'd not been able to stop thinking about it since. He shakily laughs and for a moment you aren't sure if that's a good sign or not. But he tilts his head as he scratches his temple and you realise he's blushing.

"I... would be lying if I said I haven't been thinking about it ever since either." He admits and smirks a little. "I... I did some research on it. I wouldn't- uh, I wouldn't be opposed to trying it with you."

He grunts when you shudder with excitement, inadvertently grinding on his crotch and his hands return to squeezing your hips again.

And it's a while later when you're both stripped completely nude and your lips are pressing kisses all over his body, trailing down his chest and his soft, hairy stomach in the direction of his leaking cock. But you merely lift your mouth away and smirk at him, pressing a single kiss to the tip of his cock before you move down to his balls and nuzzle into them.

He jolts and makes a quiet noise of surprise when you pull at him and grab a pillow to prop under his hips, telling him to hold his legs back by hooking his hands around the back of his knees. He bites his lip and complies, creases forming across his stomach from the curled up position he's in and his leaking cock smears precum through his thick happy trail. And now you have access to it, his puckering little butthole. It makes you salivate, but you check in with Aaron to make sure he's still on board.

With a nod and quiet affirmation from him, you lay down on your stomach and your hands come to grip the backs of his hairy thighs firmly. You lean your head forward and he swallows thickly and as you press a kiss to his inner thigh, he gasps and you feel the muscles move under your hands. You press another kiss to the other thigh and smile when he gasps again. You begin kissing inwardly, closer and closer to where he anticipated your mouth and finally your mouth reaches his pucker. His eyes widen and his head falls back against the pillows and you press another kiss to it.

“Fuck… oh fuck…”

With a grin, you slip your tongue out and swipe at his hole and his body jolts with another gasp. You lick it again. Then again. You begin circling the hole with the tip of your tongue ever so slowly, then swipe it up to his perineum and press a kiss there as well. And when he feels your tongue slip inside the slightly more relaxed muscle, he moans oh so prettily. He feels your grip on his thighs tighten further, almost bruising, and you wiggle your tongue inside him. He can barely form words, a cacophony of noise pouring past his lips whilst you makeout with his rim.

Then, one of your hands moves to grip his shaft and the other massages his balls.

He knows he’s a goner, he’s not going to last long- embarrassingly so- but the increase of broken moans and whines as you work his body eagerly. You want him to cum, he can feel your excitement as he realises you’ve been rolling your hips into the mattress. He grips onto the back of his knees desperately, holding for dear life as his lower body begins to move. He’s fucking your hand, fucking your tongue. And you’re lapping it up with pure delight.

“Baby, I- I’m not gonna last-” he chokes out and you work faster, sucking on his pucker and swirling your thumb around the tip of his twitching, leaky cock. It’s all it takes to push him over the edge. He tenses, his hole tightening around your tongue and he moans your name brokenly whilst the pleasure ripples through his whole being. You jerk him through his orgasm, and he idly feels the spurts of cum hitting his stomach and chest. But he feels so far from it, floating in pleasure as his eyes scrunch closed.

He only comes back to earth when he feels you gently moving his hands from the back of his knees, gently straightening his legs out on the bed and stroking his thighs. He smiles at you softly through hazy eyes and you smirk. You want to clean up the mess on his body, with his permission of course. He groans softly and his spent cock twitches. He certainly won’t say no to that.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sweet Pumpkin Chapter 4

Summary:  Bucky is struggling with the dating world and knows that if he ever hopes to have a serious relationship, that he needs to get through his touch deprivation issues.  It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch people, or them to touch him, but after decades of pain he doesn’t know how to accept physical intimacy from others, or how to give it himself.  He hires Y/N, an intimacy coach and professional cuddler, who comes highly recommended.  Will his heart be able to distinguish between a service given versus real love?

Warnings: mentions of past violence and past sexual assault, language, physical intimacy, eventual smut

**curvy reader

Previous chapter Next chapter

Bucky took her out on dates as often as he could, and when they weren’t going out, he was spending time with her in her apartment.  She came over to his apartment once in a while, but he preferred her space.  He was taking it slow with her, wanting to make sure they were both comfortable with each other and the way the relationship was progressing.  He was ready to go all in, but knew with her past and his past that it was going to have to be handled with care.  The farthest they had ever gone was making out with each other while Y/N straddled Bucky’s lap, and that was okay with him, as long as she was okay with it, too.  A couple of months later Sam came to visit him after a long stint of missions.

“Hey Buck,” he said, hugging him.

“Hey Sam,” Bucky greeted him, hugging him back.  “How were the missions?”

“A mess,” Sam rolled his eyes and sighed.  “But what else is new.  How are things going with you?  You still working with Y/N?”

Bucky blushed.  “Uh, yeah I was.  It was really helpful.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at him.  “What was that look?”

“What look?”

“Did you just blush?”

“No.”

“You did!  What did you do?”

“What do you mean what did I do?”

Sam frowned.  “You’re dating her now, aren’t you?”

Bucky fought a smirk.  “Maybe.”

Sam sighed again but smiled.  “I hope there was no unethical client-therapist type of relationship going on?”

“No, no no no,” Bucky quickly shook his head.  “We didn’t do anything like that.”

Sam nodded.  “But you’re happy?”

Bucky finally smiled at him.  “Yeah.”

He considered Sam a great friend, never needing to fully explain things or speak a lot.  They just understood each other silently.  Sam smirked.  “You better make her happy, or I’ll have to kick your ass.”

Bucky snorted.  “You wish, Birdman.”

***

It was a holiday weekend, and Y/N had taken the time off from her usual clients.  Bucky was laying with her on her bed in her room, talking and casually lounging on a slow Saturday evening.  They were cuddling together, Bucky being the big spoon this time with her back against his front.  His fingers slowly tickled along her side, over her hip and down the side of her leg and up again.  She was playing with his metal fingers.

“I can never get enough of this,” Y/N said suddenly.  “This is just the coolest thing.”

“What?  My arm?” Bucky asked, huffing a laugh.

“Yes!” Y/N exclaimed, pulling his hand up.  “Like…not just the technology aspect of it but the artistry!  To manipulate metal into something that looks lifelike, the ability to make it so you can feel things with it, adjust grip and strength like a normal hand.  And this gold peeking out,” she said in a breathy, reverent tone, her finger sliding along the edge of one of the plates in his palm, “it’s beautiful.”

Bucky smiled at how much she admired a part of him that he still was insecure about.  “It’s definitely useful,” he said nonchalantly.

“I’m sure,” Y/N laughed.  She flicked his palm.  “Can you feel that?”

“Yes,” Bucky said.  “It’s more like a pressure thing.  I can’t feel things like pain with it.”

Y/N hummed before pulling his hand closer to her face.  She glanced back at Bucky then focused on his fingers.  She moved her head forward and kissed the tip of his pointer finger.  “How about that?”

Bucky shakily inhaled.  “It’s…yeah, barely.”

Y/N started kissing along his other fingers, twisting his hand each way she wanted.  She then licked at his pointer finger and sucked it into her mouth.  Bucky eyes widened at her actions.  He could feel the pressure of the sucking, but it was watching her mouth lick and suck that had him hardening in his pants.  

“Fuck, pumpkin,” he groaned.

Y/N popped his finger out of her mouth then looked back up at him, feigning an innocent smile.  “Yes?”

“You little tease,” Bucky said lowly.

“You like it,” Y/N said, her ass pushing against his groin.  “I can feel you like it.”

Bucky’s forehead leaned against her shoulder as he restrained himself from thrusting his hips against her.  “Pumpkin,” he warned.

“What do you want, hot stuff?” Y/N asked quietly, rolling her hips back against him again.

Bucky peered up at her.  “I wanna…God, I wanna do a lot of things to you,” said.  “Do you want to?”  Y/N gave him a reassuring smile.  “I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for–”

She quickly turned in his arms to face him, her hands cupping his face and her leg hiking up over his hip.  “I’m ready,” she whispered, kissing him.  “I want to.  I trust you…with all of me,” she rubbed her nose on his then bit her lip.  “I…I love you, Buck.”  Bucky let out a sharp breath at her confession, his eyes widening again.  “I’m in love with you…a lot…probably way too much,” Y/N huffed a laugh, breaking eye contact and looking down.

Bucky lifted her head with his finger under her chin and kissed her deeply.  “I love you Y/N,” he breathed against her lips.  “I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you from the moment you let me touch your face that first day.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and turned watery.  “I want you,” she said, “but um…it’s been a long time, and I’ll need you to be patient and gentle with me.”

“I can’t remember the last time I ever did this,” Bucky said.  “So we’ll take our time.  As long as I get to have your softness,” he said, kissing around her face randomly, “all over and around me.”

Y/N sniffed and nodded at him frantically.  “Please,” she whispered.  

Bucky nodded then kissed her again deeply, his hands slipping up into her hair and down her neck to her back, pulling her close to him.  Y/N’s hands were everywhere, sliding from his neck to behind his back, to his front and down his chest.  He maneuvered himself so he was hovering above her, breaking the kiss so he could start to kiss down her throat, licking and sucking at her skin, learning all the little spots that made her writhe and squirm.  He pulled at the lower hem of her shirt, and she nodded, giving him permission to pull it up and off of her, revealing her nakedness up top.  His hands immediately went to her breasts, softly massaging them, his thumbs rubbing against her nipples.  Her fingers pulled at his shirt, and he quickly pulled it off.  Y/N stared up at his upper half, her fingers tracing along his scars and dips in the muscle.  Bucky dipped his head down and licked her left nipple then sucked it into his mouth, making her moan.  

He gave each of her breasts ample attention before kissing back up to her mouth.  “So beautiful, pumpkin,” he whispered, nipping at her lower lip.  “Can I see all of you?”  Y/N nodded again and he focused on her pajama shorts.  His fingers dipped into the waistband of her shorts and underwear and pulled them down, Y/N helping him by lifting her pelvis.  He threw them off to the side and stared down at her pussy.  “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he breathed.  “Can I taste you?”

Y/N nodded again and he quickly shimmied down the bed until his face was aligned in between her legs.  He spread her legs wider with his hands then kissed right over her clit.  Y/N gasped and her hips jerked.  “I’ve got you, pumpkin,” Bucky said, licking her lower lips.  He licked, sucked, and kissed everywhere, alternating between sticking his tongue as deep into her as he could and then flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue until she was shaking.  He finally sucked her clit harshly, and it was enough to make her cum for the first time, a long, high pitched groan emanating from her throat as her fingers gripped at his hair harshly, her legs shaking against his shoulders.

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathed as she started to come down from the high.  “Bucky…honey, fucking hell.”

“I love it when you call me honey,” Bucky said, kissing her thighs as he sat up and crawled back up so he was hovering over her again.

“I thought you liked hot stuff,” Y/N said breathily as she laughed.

“Both.  Both are good,” he chuckled as he leaned down and kissed her.  

Y/N’s hands moved down and started to push at the hem of his pants.  Bucky quickly got out of his pants and underwear, kicking them off his legs until he was kneeling between her legs completely naked.  She stared at his cock, her eyes slightly widening.  “Now I’m nervous,” she said, looking hesitant.

Bucky laughed again.  “You’re making me feel really special, pumpkin,” he said.  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”  He gripped his cock in his hand, pumping himself a few times.  “Do we need a condom?”

“No,” Y/N shook her head.  “I’m on the pill, and I’m clean.”

“I’m clean,” he said, then shuffled forward and slid the tip through her slit, making her shudder.  “Are you sure you want this?” he asked quietly, watching her face carefully.

Y/N smiled up at him.  “I’m sure,” she agreed.

Bucky smiled, then aimed himself at her entrance.  “You ready?”  Y/N nodded, looking down.  Bucky tsked and his metal hand softly grabbed her chin to make her look at him.  “Words, pumpkin.  Are you ready?”  

“Yes,” Y/N said, nodding frantically.  Bucky smirked then let go of her chin.  He started to move forward, and Y/N gasped at the stretch.  He went slow, making sure she wasn’t in physical or emotional pain.  When he was finally in as far as he could go he huffed a heavy breath and Y/N whined.  “Holy shit,” she said.  “That’s…fuck, that’s amazing.”

Bucky tried to keep his wits about him.  She felt so good, and he hadn’t done this in so long he was afraid he’d cum too fast.  “Jesus Christ, Y/N,” he breathed, his top half folding over on top of her, his forehead resting against her shoulder.  “You feel so good.  So perfect.”

Y/N hummed and turned her head to kiss his ear.  “Please Bucky, please fuck me.”

Bucky groaned and his hips rutted into hers, pulling a high pitched grunt from her.  He lifted himself back up, his hands gripped her hips, and he started thrusting slowly.  The feeling of being swallowed up in her over and over again was addicting, and he knew he was ruined from that moment on for any other person.  Y/N reached down and pulled his hands away from her hips, then intertwined her fingers with his.  He leaned over her again so that their hands were up by her head.  She stared at him with those intense, knowing eyes of hers.  It all felt so incredibly intimate, soft, special, that he could barely look into those eyes.  He kissed her again, and she released her hands from his grip to wrap around his back, keeping him close and chest to chest with her.  

Bucky wrapped his metal arm under her neck, his forearm turned upward so his hand could tangle into her hair while he kissed her, his flesh hand reaching down and hiking her left leg higher over his hip, helping him drive further into her.  “Sweet pumpkin,” he murmured against her lips.  “Thank you.”

Y/N’s nails scratched down his back.  “For what?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

“For trusting me,” Bucky breathed.  “For wanting me.  For loving me.”  His hips started to move faster, chasing his release.  “Fuck, I’m close…”

Y/N hummed at his change of pace.  “Thank you for being so soft…and sweet…and gentle with me,” she whispered.  It was as if she was afraid of ruining the moment they were in.  “Please honey…”

Bucky moaned loudly at the pet name, hugging her tighter and keeping his face near her face.  He snuck his flesh hand between their bodies and started rubbing and flicking at her clit.  “I’ve got you, Y/N.  Can I cum inside you?  Please?”

Y/N moaned and nodded.  “Fuck yes,” she said lowly.

“Goddammit,” Bucky swore, his thrusts getting harder.  He flicked her clit quickly and then she stiffened, her back arching as she shook under him and came with a loud cry of his name.  The way her pussy squeezed him had him seeing stars and he came with a long groan, kissing her again and licking into her mouth.  They panted against each other’s mouths, Bucky resting his forehead against hers and staring at her.  He reveled in the exhausted, fucked-out look on her face, and kissed her everywhere he could reach, making her giggle.  “So good, pumpkin.  My god…so fucking good.  My pretty, sweet pumpkin…”

Y/N sighed, her breath huffing against his face.  “God, I love you,” she breathed, a tired smile on her face.

Bucky kissed her lips again, giving her short, chaste pecks and nuzzling his nose on her nose.  “I love you,” he said quietly.

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess @cjand10 @railmesebstan

[dira333]

Fools - Miya Atsumu x Reader

Those hardest to love need it most... Inspired by the song "Fools" by Lauren Aquilina - 8,6k

Miya Atsumu always thought that song described him. He knows he's not the easiest to love. But what if he finds his match in someone who's convinced that sometimes, love is not enough?

Yes I am on Hiatus. This was born in one afternoon. Emi is @emmyrosee of course

Those hardest to love need it most…

“Can you pick Kita-san up?” Samu asks during their daily phone call, just short after telling him to take the shrimps off the heat.

“Sure, sure,” Atsumu answers, phone tucked between his head and his shoulders, trying to save the slightly burned shrimps - he should have taken them off the heat.

“Train should be in at 12 o’clock sharp, don’t be late.”

“I’m never late,” Atsumu replies. “What did you say I have to do with the veggies?”

Samu sighs on the other end. “Have you not cut them yet?”

Atsumu eyes the vegetables on the cutting board. He’d started, but quickly lost focus over the retelling of today’s practice.

“They’re almost done,” he lies, but Samu has always been the twin with the better nose, sniffing out the truth every time.

“Liar.”

-

It’s seven minutes after twelve as he parks behind the train station, trying to find Kita’s telltale hair in the midst of all the people. 

Why he would take the train here just to endure the road trip down to the beach with them is something Atsumu doesn’t understand but he’s long given up trying to understand Kita’s mind.

“Here!” He leans out of his open car window, waving his arm. “Kita-san! I’m here!”

But it’s not Kita who turns around, though the hair color is strangely similar.

The woman wears it longer, though, the black tips like feathers. She walks over, even when he tries to wave her off.

“Sorry, sorry, I thought you were someone else.

“Miya-san?” She asks and he’s halfway through remembering where he stores his headshots for autographs when she offers him her hand through the open window. “I’m Kita-san. Thank you for picking me up.”

“Bullshit!”

-

You are, as it turns out, just as opposed to swearwords as your cousin.

Atsumu spends half a minute apologizing for the use of it and half a minute agonizing over the fact that you’re cute. 

Would Kita-san hate him if he hit you up? Probably. 

Would it be worth it? 

He tries checking you out from the corner of his eye, but you too have the Kita family’s very own talent of knowing everything, it seems.

“Eyes on the street, Miya-san.”

“I was just checking the cars behind me.”

“Sure you were.”

“And you’re, uh-” He hesitates. “Here for work?”

“No.”

“Fun?”

“I’m not sure if I can call it that.”

And you’re just as “easy” to talk to as your male counterpart.

“What would you call it then?”

“Therapy.”

He swallows wrong and almost swerves into the other lane as he tries not to choke on his spit. You stay miraculously calm.

“Shinsuke informed me that it it absolutely necessary to partake in the ritual of letting nature consume your complete focus if I wanted to ground myself in my new identity.”

“What?”

You sigh. “I’m joining you on your trip.”

Atsumu’s hands cramp around the steering wheel. “Fantastic.”

-

The train station isn’t far away from his apartment where Samu’s already waiting, his truck loaded with snacks and other stuff they could be wanting.

Atsumu considers it a betrayal of the worst kind when Samu isn’t the least bit shocked by your obvious femininity. 

“You didn’t tell me she was going to be a she!” He hisses at his brother as you move on to greeting Ginjima who lifts your little suitcase into the back of Samu’s truck with ease.

“You didn’t ask,” Samu shoots back, grinning like the fool he is. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“A problem?!” He pauses, trying to figure out a good comeback. He doesn’t have any. 

Samu eyes him in a way he doesn’t like. His nose wrinkles and Atsumu fears for the worst.

“You think she’s cute?”

“No, I don’t!” He snaps back, blood rushing to his cheeks. “You think she’s cute!”

“I have a girlfriend,” Samu reminds him - like Atsumu doesn’t already know that, he’s rubbing it under his nose every chance he gets.

“Whatever!” Atsumu barks, stalking back to his car to get his own stuff. 

-

It’s by divine intervention - or, more likely, Samu’s doing - that you take the middle seat.

It’s the worst seat by far and he feels kinda sorry for you, getting squished between him and Ginjima and in the worst summer heat too.

“Here,” he offers you a bottle of water from the cooler. “Samu’s AC doesn’t work all the time.”

“It works just fine,” Samu grumbles from the front, “I just don’t try to recreate Winter in my car, that’s all.”

“I will be fine, Miya-san,” you tell him but there’s a warmth to your eyes now that has him feeling weirdly shy, has him tuck his head in between his shoulders and stare out of the window until they’re on the highway.

Emi, Samu’s girlfriend, has the AUX-Cable, so they spend the first part of their drive listening to bubble gum pop. Atsumu would deny it with every fiber of his being that he likes this kind of music, but more than once he catches his foot tapping the rhythm, his knee knocking into yours with every movement.

Ginjima, the guy with the world's tiniest bladder, dictates every pit stop. 

It’s not that bad though, getting out of the car every hour or so, to stretch your legs and crack your back after sitting stiff for so long.

Samu usually spends those five minutes with Emi, laughing over a joke she’s made or showing her a new recipe he’s found so Atsumu finds himself coming back to you, again and again, like one of those annoying moth-things that always fly into the light.

“Have you been at the beach before?” He asks, trying to ignore the scent of your perfume as the wind blows through your hair.

“Not yet, no,” you curl your nose and close your eyes as the sun blinds you and he turns his head to look away because you’re cute and you’re Kita’s cousin and this is not supposed to be happening, period.

“But you know how to swim, right?”

You laugh, the sound surprisingly soft. “Yes, Miya-san. I know how to swim.”

“You can call me Atsumu, you know?” He asks after a while. “It’s going to get confusing otherwise. I mean the guys call us Samu and Tsumu because that’s our nicknames but Kita-san always called us by our proper first names so I figured you’d be like that too.”

“Thank you,” you hesitate for a second, holding your breath like you don’t know how to deal with that offer. He only knows you’re holding your breath because he can’t smell your chewing gum, a scent he’s started focusing on when your perfume got too distracting.

“You can call me by my first name too.”

And maybe, just maybe, Atsumu feels like going back to Samu, boasting about the fact that he’s got to call you by your first name first. But that would be weird and he’s not weird. He’s totally chill about it, really.

-

They reach the Beach House just shortly after six o’clock, with Kita-san waiting out front - the male one, not you.

“Shinsuke!” You reach him first and he hugs you tight, arms crossed over your back as if you’re a bird just waiting to fly away if he lets go too soon.

It feels weird watching them, like he’s seeing too much of something he’s not supposed to see, but he can’t just look away like that either.

But then Ginjima stumbles into him, with too many bags in his arms, and his focus shifts. When he turns back, you’ve separated, and now both of you are on your way to the car to help unload.

Atsumu feels weirdly awkward as if Kita’s going to sniff him out just like Samu did, pulling him behind the house to lecture him on the proper way to treat his cousin or something like this - not like he did anything wrong, really!

But Kita just smiles and does that half-hug thing he does and then he’s gone, your suitcase in one hand and the cooler in the other as if they both weigh nothing.

Atsumu breathes out in relief. If Kita doesn’t suspect something weird, he’s going to be safe, he thinks. At least until Suna appears in the doorway, sly fox grin on his lips and his phone raised just high enough to let Atsumu know he captured everything.

Yeah, he’s definitely a goner.

-

“So you and Kita-san, huh?” Suna asks as soon as the door of their bedroom closes behind him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Atsumu tells him pointedly as he shoves his suitcase under his bed and his volleyball stuff into his designated spot in the closet.

“Sure, sure.” Suna singsongs behind him before pausing - and Suna pausing is never a good sign. “But you know Kita wants her to be with Aran?”

“What?” Atsumu turns, much too fast to be casual, he knows. “Did he say that? Out loud?”

“Well they’re going to be sharing a room, so-”

“They’re sharing a room?” Oh and now he’s getting loud too. God, calm down Atsumu, calm down.

Suna grins, eyes twinkling dangerously. “What did you think, genius? We only have three rooms. Samu and Emi are taking one, you and me the other and Kita would never make Aran or his dear Cousin sleep on the Couch in the living room.”

“You could sleep on the Couch,” Atsumu snaps.

Suna gleams. “And let his dear Cousin share a room with you? This is Kita we’re talking about. Aran’s the only guy he’d trust her with- where are you going?”

Atsumu is halfway down the stairs before Suna follows him. He finds Kita in the kitchen.

“I’m sleeping on the Couch,” he breathes out, watching as Kita’s eyebrows perform an absurd dance over his eyes. You’ve got the same eye color, he noticed, but somehow it looks better on you.

“Why would you do that?” Kita asks, Suna repeating the question like a parrot - just a little more annoying. 

“Because surely Kita-san, err, your cousin, I mean, would want to share a room with you. But you’re not going to kick Aran out of his room when there’s only the Couch left so I’m taking the Couch. Aran can take my bed.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I’m the youngest?” 

“I’m younger than you,” Suna reminds him and Atsumu swallows back the reply that wants to trip off his tongue.

“Well,” he coughs out instead, “Maybe if I get a bad back from sleeping on the Couch EJP Raijin will finally be able to beat MSBY Black Jackals.”

“Oh, you’re so on,” Suna snarls before turning to Kita. “Let him suffer, Kita-san. It will be good for his morale.”

“If you insist,” Kita still hesitates before nodding. “If you insist, we’ll do as you offered. You can put your stuff in the cupboard back here.”

-

The Couch is awful to sleep on. That, coupled with the fact that he can hear everything going on and he doesn’t want to know which bed is creaking right now and if it’s Samu’s he definitely doesn’t want to know, is making it very hard to sleep.

The Beach House belongs to Kita’s family. Or was it a friend of the family? They’ve been coming here since Kita’s made captain, only back then they had adult supervision and Samu had still been as painfully single as everyone else. 

The beds aren’t the most comfortable, at least one faucet is always leaking and the water in the shower takes ages to turn hot but it’s cheap and it has enough beds for their little group and the ocean makes everything worthwhile anyway.

Dinner, as usual, had been Samu’s task, with Emi serving them just like back in Osaka. Suna had opened a bottle of wine and you’d drunken a glass, the drink staining your lips blue and your cheeks pink. 

And Atsumu knows it must have been obvious, the way he peeled off the label from his beer bottle instead of telling an animated story of his last game or the fact that he could not stand looking in your direction more than two seconds before turning away again, yet not able to focus on anything but the sound of your voice and- 

“Can’t sleep?” 

He’s sitting upright in seconds, hand on his chest, his heart racing.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” your hair glows white in the moonlight as you climb down the rest of the stairs, “but I can’t sleep and I wanted to get a glass of water.”

“‘m fine,” he lies. “I was… thinking.”

You don’t ask about his thoughts, slip through the dark living room like a ghost instead.

“Can you bring me a glass too?” He asks, not because he’s thirsty but because he’s not had a moment with you alone ever since they arrived at Samu’s place and-

“Here,” you appear out of nowhere, pressing the glass into his hands. This close he can tell that you’re wearing proper silk pajamas, every button closed right up to your chin. It’s cute and he hates it, eyes shifting to his toes in an effort to distract himself.

“Can I ask you a question, Atsumu?” You ask, still standing next the Couch.

“Sure.”

“Are you attracted to me?”

Water sprays all over his thin blanket as he chokes on the sip he’d been taking. You thump his back until he can breathe again.

“Wh-Why I mean, how do you- what?”

“Shinsuke pointed out that it seemed that way,” you point out now, taking a seat next to his legs. “I wanted to check if he was right.”

“What if I am?” He asks, daring to in the darkness.

You sigh. “I would prefer if you weren’t.”

He swallows. “Right. Well, you’re lucky, I guess. Because I’m not. Attracted to you, I mean.”

“I’d be honored,” you talk on, either ignoring his rambling or not understanding it. “Because you’re a good-looking guy and you’re very nice too. But I’ve just ended an intense work relationship and I don’t want to tie myself down again until I know who I am.”

“Totally understandable.”

“Thank you.” You get up again. “Shall I take your glass back to the kitchen?”

“Uh, yes, sure.” He hands it back to you, listens as you sneak back up the stairs, stopping just short of the corner. “Sleep well, Atsumu.”

“You too,” he whispers back, his heart still very much in overdrive.

You think he’s good-looking.

- - -

There is a special kind of hell out there and it’s trying to teach you Beach Volleyball.

Emi has long given up trying to be good at it, choosing to goof of the second she’s unsupervised, so she’s no help at all, running after Samu with a water gun.

But you stick close to him, trying to copy what he’s doing, wearing an awfully small amount of clothes.

Compared to Emi you’re fully dressed but Emi’s his brother's girlfriend and about as interesting as a cockroach wearing makeup. 

But the combination of Kita’s oversized grey swimshorts coupled with a bikini top with little cherries, a light hoodie he suspects must have cost a couple thousand Yen and a sunhat adorned with a smiling shark - no doubt from the children’s section - is a little too much for him to handle. 

Aran’s the one who mentions it first, probably because he knows he won’t get eaten by Kita for doing it.

“I’ve never been to the beach,” you mention yet again. “This was a last-minute decision. I borrowed what I could.”

“Isn’t there a market?” Atsumu remembers from a trip two years ago. “In the next village over? Akagi ripped his swim shorts so we went and bought new ones.”

Suna lifts his phone. “Tsumu’s right. It’s open every day from ten to six. We can go right away if you want.”

You seem unsure. “We don’t have to go just because of me.”

“I’m sure Samu would like a chance to go shopping,” Atsumu adds as if it’s an afterthought. He turns to Suna. “It’s right by the harbor, right?”

“Samu, you wanna get fish?!” Suna yells and they watch in unison as Samu stops dead right by the water, Emi tumbling into him, the two of them crashing into the waves.

Half an hour later they’re all filed into the truck again, Suna taking Ginjima’s seat and Aran following them in his car with the rest of them.

“Shouldn’t we have changed?” You ask, halfway to the market and Atsumu can’t help but think that yes, they should have, most of all you, but it’s a little too late for that now.

-

They lose Samu two steps into the market and where Samu is, Emi is always close behind.

Atsumu’s doing a marvelous job at keeping you and Kita in his line of sight but he’s not doing the best job at hiding that.

“Dude, chill,” Ginjima tells him, pointing at a seashell necklace. “You’re way too obvious.”

“‘m not,” he declares, though doing a poor job. “And that would look awful on you.”

“Not on me, on you,” Ginjima pouts but he leaves it hanging, moving on.

It doesn’t take long for you to get what you need. A swimsuit here, a nice summer hat there, don’t forget the sunscreen.

Atsumu’s just shy of asking if he should carry it for you when you stop to watch a woman who’s drawing portraits on the side of the market.

“Do you want to get a portrait?” Aran asks, his voice soft enough that Atsumu suspects that he’s going to offer to pay for it.

You hesitate and it’s just a heartbeat long, but he notices it, the way your fingers twitch as you watch the charcoal move over paper.

“I just like watching it,” you answer, your voice bland enough to hide something underneath.

“Well,” he almost swallows his tongue as he pops up behind you, “that’s good. Would you do me a favor? I wanted a portrait for quite a while and I don’t want her to mess up my good looks. You could keep watch to make sure she’s getting my good side.”

“Like you have one,” Suna snarks from behind him and he can see Ginjima from the corner of his eye, waving his arms in a poor attempt to stop him from doing whatever he’s doing.

But you smile with your eyes and not your lips, nodding slightly. “I can do that if it’s important to you, Miya-san.”

And, he’s a little taken aback by the fact that you’re addressing him by his last name again until he feels Kita-san appear behind him like a shadow, offering to stay behind instead.

“No, it’s fine,” you disagree. “I could use a little break. You could take my stuff with you if you want to help, Shinsuke.”

“Fine,” Kita finally relents. “But call me if you need any help, okay? And Atsumu, please don’t haggle over the price.”

“I’m not that cheap,” he answers, embarrassed to be reminded of past mistakes.

-

It’s awkward at first, posing while you watch. 

But you’re not really watching him, he finds soon enough, your eyes glued to the paper instead, only flickering up to his face whenever the artist does the same.

“Have you been doing this for a long time?” He asks, easily bored.

“No,” the woman shakes her head. “Drawing, yes. But I only started doing portraits after I retired.”

“Oh, what did you do for work?”

“I was a dancer,” she tells him with a cheeky smile. “But not the kind you think. I did quite a few shows and taught children to do the same. But my legs aren’t as good anymore so I pass my time like this.”

“Would I know you?” He asks, pursing his lips until she tells him to stop. “What’s your name?”

“Tabata Kame. But I don’t think you know me. It’s been quite some time. I do know you, though. My grandson is very interested in volleyball.”

Atsumu flushes pink.

“He must be very interested indeed. Osaka is not that close.”

“Close enough if you want it to be,” Tabata-san smiles before looking up at you. “And how long have you been painting?”

You jerk back, surprised by the question.

“I don’t-” you hesitate, your eyes flickering over to him as if checking. “A few… I haven’t been drawing for a few years now,” you admit. “I did it a lot when I was a teenager.”

“Ah,” Tabata-san nods. “Never enough time, right?”

“Right. And I’m… not as talented as you are.”

“Nonsense,” she clicks her tongue. “You just need exercise. It’s like dancing. If you want to do it, that’s the first step. Everything else is just practice.”

“I think a quadriplegic would disagree,” Atsumu jokes, delighted when you snort.

“I make you a deal,” Tatabe-san announces after another while of quiet drawing. “You let me draw you and I’ll gift you some paper and some charcoal to practice, what do you say?”

“I can’t take that,” you decline, hands folded firmly in front of your chest.

“It’s a gift,” Tatabe-san disagrees. “From one artist to the other.”

“I’m a lawyer, not an artist.”

“I thought you stopped?” Atsumu asks, biting his tongue when your eyes flicker back to him, surprise evident on his face.

You haven’t told him that, he knows. You’d been deep in conversation with Aran and Emi while he’d pretended to listen to Ginjima and Samu but he can’t back down now, not after he’s already spilled the beans.

“I heard you say it, last night. That you quit.”

“I didn’t quit,” you disagree. “I took a sabbatical. That’s different.”

“So you’re going to go back after that year?”

You hesitate, your body locking up seemingly just at the thought of it.

Tatabe-san sighs. “You young ones should listen to us sometime. It is not good for the mind to fear what it’s doing.”

“I don’t fear what I’m doing.”

“You do,” Atsumu disagrees. “I mean if I can see it, then-”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, boy.” Tatabe-san clicks her tongue at him. “You’ve got quite an eye. Now stop talking or I’ll get your nose wrong.”

“Sorry.”

Forced to keep quiet he can’t do more than plead with his eyes as you stare him down, arms crossed in front of you.

Eventually, Tatabe-san puts down her charcoal and wipes her hands.

“Now,” she looks up at you. “Will you let me draw you?”

You hesitate, looking over the market.

“We shouldn’t take that long,” you say but Atsumu is already up, pulling you toward the chair. “Come on,” he urges you. “When do you ever get a chance like this?”

“At every other market,” you disagree, followed by an apology toward Tatabe-san.

“Please?” He asks. “For me?”

“For you?” Your brows furrow. “Why for you?”

But you let your defense slip and now you’re seated on the chair, staring up at him in surprise as he takes a step back, taking your former position next to Tatabe-san.

Unlike you, he doesn’t bother checking Tatabe-san’s work. He’s more than content to just look at you.

At first, you look awkward, pull your hoodie closer around you. But then he points out the seagulls just a stone’s throw away and you look, soon captivated by their endless endeavors, trying and succeeding in stealing the food of unassuming tourists.

“Done,” Tatabe-san announces much too soon, spraying both portraits with Hairspray and rolling them up. “Here,” she hands it to you before holding her hand out for money. “Six thousand Yen, please.”

“Don’t we get a Friends Discount?” He jokes, pulling out his wallet.

“Atsumu,” you tell him off and he sticks his tongue out at you before paying.

Tatabe-san smiles and pulls out a canvas tote bag, filling it with paper and charcoal.

“I can’t-” you try to declare again just as a familiar voice reaches their ears. 

“Do you need more time?” Kita’s at the corner and you shake your head no immediately, turning away from Tatabe-san and him, pressing the drawings into his hands like they’re nothing but a nuisance.

“No, no, we’re on our way. Sorry, it took us so long.”

-

He doesn’t dare open the drawings, not even when Suna needles him over dinner.

“Didn’t turn out that well, huh?” Suna asks with a grin and he searches your eyes over the table, disappointed when you keep looking away.

“I wouldn’t know,” he admits. “Kita-san checked the progress.”

“It was okay,” you say, your lukewarm answer enough to change the topic.

He hides the drawings on the bottom of his suitcase, rolled up in his favorite jersey with the paper and charcoal he got from Tatabe-san.

Maybe he’ll give it to you. Maybe he’ll just keep it to himself. He’s not sure yet.

-

The days pass by in a blur.

It’s hot and windy and the water is just the right temperature to cool off and somehow you’re never there where he is or there are too many people to have a conversation around.

Atsumu can take rejection. He doesn’t like it, but he can live with it.

But here’s the thing, he wants to say, wants to sit down with Samu and chew it all up and spit it out until it makes sense. You didn’t seem uninterested. 

Hesitant, yeah, but not averse to his advances.

You called him good-looking. Doesn’t that count as something?

-

Another monday rolls around and brings an almost full moon with it, its light keeping him up. 

He slips out of bed - Couch - around midnight, sneaking out onto the patio only to find you there.

“Holy sh-” He swallows the swearword at the last second and presses a hand onto his racing heart. “How did you get past me?”

“You snore,” you point out. You should check your sinuses.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Yeah, you do.” You push a thermos toward him. “Tea?”

“Why are you up?”

“I’m always up at this hour.”

“Nonsense, this is-” He hesitates. “Have you been sneaking past me every night?”

You shrug, staring out at the water. “You’re a heavy sleeper.”

He sighs, slipping onto the chair next to you. “You don’t seem tired during the day.”

“I’m not,” you agree. “I’m too wired to be tired.”

“Why?”

“Why?” You ask back, hesitating. “There are too many questions. What should I do with my freetime? Is that the right thing? Am I doing it right? Shouldn’t I be doing something else instead? Is someone watching? What are they thinking of me? Am I distracting them? Should I move away?”

“Do you have anxiety or something like that?”

“Something like that,” you sigh, taking a sip from your cup. “I quit before I got the full Burnout package.”

“How far did you get?”

“In my burnout?”

“No, in your job.”

That seems to surprise you. 

“I made partner,” you tell him, pulling at a thread in your pajama top. “Youngest partner in the firm, actually. And I just… had it all. And I still wasn’t happy. The opposite, actually.”

“Did you like being a lawyer? What kind of law did you… do? Do you say it like that?”

“Intellectual Property Law. And I…” You pause. “I liked being right, I think. It’s like getting a good grade, you know?”

“Hmm,” he hums. “When we got a good grade, or you know, good enough, mom would let us pick a little something from the store. Samu always got snacks so I got the toys. And then we would share.”

“Your mom sounds nice.”

“She is. How’s yours?”

“She’s not very happy about my sabbatical,” you answer his question literally. “But I achieved everything she wanted so I argued  that she couldn’t deny me something for myself.”

“Is she Kita’s aunt, or?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Our mothers are sisters. Both felt the call of the city. Sometimes I wonder if I should join Kita. I don’t think environmental law would be that hard to learn.” 

“Or you could start drawing.”

“I don’t think my mother would like it very much to have me draw portraits on a market.”

He smiles. “And here I thought this was about what you wanted and what you liked?”

You slump. “I keep forgetting that.”

“I got the stuff, you know,” he reminds you. “From Tatabe-san. You can just draw. Without making something from it. Just like… Samu still plays Volleyball. Because he likes it. Because it’s good for him. Not because he needs to make money with it.”

“Why are you playing Volleyball?” You ask, your eyes a little too deep in the darkness.

“Because I don’t know how to do anything else,” he admits. It’s easier to be honest in the night, it seems.

“I’m sure that’s a lie,” you ensure him.

“No, it’s not.” He twirls the thermos in his hands. “It’s always been like that. Samu’s the one who made friends, the one who got better grades, the one who was better at Volleyball. I just… I think I dug my teeth into the last one and decided to put all my money on that card.”

“And what do you do when it no longer makes you happy? When it breaks your body to play, when you can no longer win?”

He stops the thermos and looks into your eyes. “I will worry about that when it happens. Until then, I keep my teeth where they are.”

-

The sand is cool under his feet but it was his idea to look for shells - at night, in the moonlight - so he can’t just turn around because he’s a little cold.

“Are you cold?” He asks, already halfway out of his shirt when you nod.

The wind is awful against his naked chest but you thank him for the shirt, kneeling to pluck a seashell from the ground.

“Suna said something… That Osamu is about ninety percent of your impulse control.”

“That’s a joke,” he huffs out. “And it’s not true.”

“What is it like?” You ask. “To be impulsive?”

“Fun,” he shrugs. “Stupid too. I sometimes wish I could stop myself a little.”

“What’s your impulse right now?”

“Ah,” he laughs. “Going back in? No, wait, that’s the smart part of my brain.”

You laugh. “And what is the not smart part of your brain saying?”

“Skinny dipping.”

He clamps his mouth shut right after the words spill out but it’s too late and the only consolation he gets is the fact that you can’t see him blushing in the moonlight.

“Wait here,” you slip out of his shirt and press it into his hands and then you’re gone, leaving him where the sea’s licking at his feet.

-

“Here,” you press a bundle of fabric into his hands. “Swim shorts and a towel. I think that’s a compromise I’m willing to take.”

“A compromise.”

“Swimming at night is impulsive enough for me at the moment,” you answer. “I’ll turn around so you can change.”

The water is cold, but not unbearably so, and he can’t help but laugh at the way you both hesitate to go in further, dancing around in the shallow water.

“On three?” He asks you, not waiting for you to nod. When he comes up you’re laughing right next to him, breathless from the chill, hair stuck to your face.

“This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” you tell him and he says “I can do you one better,” and kisses you.

-

A person with impulse control would not go swimming at midnight, least of all with the cousin of their former captain, a woman who’s so clearly out of their league, no one needs to point it out. 

A person with impulse control would not kiss a woman who’s made it clear she’s not interested, is not interested in a relationship right now, least of all with him.

A person with impulse control would not know how it feels when that woman kisses them back.

Your lips are cold and taste like the sea, but your arms are warm, wrapped around his shoulders like a blanket on a December night.

One of you pulls back, he doesn’t know who, but he whispers your name and you kiss him back again and again and again until he forgets that he’s supposed to be standing, supposed to be holding you up, and topples both of them into the water.

The cold water wakes him up a little but not enough, his arms reach for you as soon as he’s back on the surface but you’ve moved back, hands pressed against your lips.

Atsumu calls your name but you shake your head.

“Please,” he begs but you shake it again.

“Give me a minute,” you ask and he stops, waits as you ask him to, watches the rise and fall of your chest in the milky-white moonlight.

“I really really like you,” you admit, sounding unsure and sure at the same time. “But I don’t know who I am at the moment.”

“You’re you-”

“No,” you shake your head. “Not like that. But like that too, I’m not sure. I don’t… I don’t know what my future is going to be like. Will I stay in the city and if so, which one? Will I move in with Kita like he asked, or… or will I do what my mother says and just… marry and give her a grandchild. I just… I don’t know what I want or who I am and I can’t, I just can’t add a relationship to that.”

“We don’t have to-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you ask and he shuts his mouth and swallows his thoughts.

“I think we should go back in,” you tell him a few moments later. “I don’t want us to get sick. That’s the last thing we need. Everyone would ask questions.”

“Everyone already knows that I like you.”

“It’s easy for you,” you tell him as you step out of the water, hand him a towel. “These are your friends.”

“They are your friends too.”

“No, they’re not. They’re Kita’s friends and they let me be a part of it, that’s all. I don’t… I’m not good at making friends. Not like you.”

Atsumu laughs. “You don’t seem to know me very well.”

“What about Tatabe-san?” You ask, shutting him up. “You were the one making friends, not me.”

“That’s not true, she noticed that you liked watching her.”

“But you’re the one who said something.”

You sound desperate now, like a cat that’s stuck in a tree, unable to come down the way it came up because it forgot how to.

“Can I hug you?” He asks, breathes it out like a sigh. “You sound… you sound like you’re going to have a panic attack any minute. Bokkun gets like that sometimes and a hug helps. Or… or getting into tight spaces but I don’t see any, so.”

“Sure,” you choke out, so he hugs you, squeezes you as tightly as you can like he does with Bokkun only that Bokkun is more than twice your size and doesn’t smell half as good.

“I’d really like to love you,” you admit, your face pressed against his chest. “I just don’t know how.”

Atsumu rests his cheek on the top of your head, wishes he could let his feelings pour out like a teapot.

“How about that,” he offers. “You find yourself and then you come back? ‘t’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“You’re a celebrity,” you remind him. “There are more than enough girls for you.”

“None of them like me like you do.”

-

Somehow they make it back unseen and unheard, leave sand and salt outside under the little shower head and their secrets too, bury them under the patio like one does with a beloved pet.

Atsumu wishes he could have kissed you one more time, lap up your beauty in the moonlight like a kitten does with spilled milk.

But you’re up the stairs before he gets a chance to ask and all that is left is the memory and the two drawings on the bottom of his suitcase.

---

Atsumu helps Samu in the kitchen the next morning, does his very best to follow every instruction to the point that Samu sits him down at knife point, brows furrowed in that concerned way that’s usually reserved for Akaashi when he overworks himself.

“What’s going on with you?”

“I miss Mom,” Atsumu admits because that’s the closest thing to the truth and yet still very far away.

“You miss Mom?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu shrugs. “Remember how she let us pick little gifts when we got good grades?”

“You always ate the snacks I picked.”

“I didn’t,” he defends himself. “We shared. Your snacks and my toys!”

“You could have just picked a snack if you wanted one too.”

“Yeah and then you’d have been crying about how you can’t decide what to get, a snack or a toy!”

Samu stops, surprise on his face. “You got the toy because I couldn’t decide?”

“Well, not always,” Atsumu huffs. “Most of the toys you wanted were rubbish. But I got the cool ones you picked, like that little red car?”

“Yeah,” Samu smiles. “That one was awesome… But you know you can just call Mom, right?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu nods. “I’m not dumb.”

“So why aren’t you doing that?”

“Don’t make me say it,” he huffs, peeling an already peeled potato until Samu rips it from his hands.

“Tell me or I’ll get Kita.”

“Fine,” Atsumu props his head up with his hands and glares at his brother. “I miss you too, okay?”

Samu’s face softens.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hey!”

But Samu thumps him on the back, not hard, like he usually does, but softer, almost like a hug.

“You know,” Samu adds after a while, the potatoes dancing in the boiling water. “Emi has some nice girlfriends if you’re lonely. It doesn’t have to be… you know?”

“I’m fine,” Atsumu insists, knowing he can’t tell Samu what happened last night. Not today and maybe not ever. “I have too much to do anyway.”

-

Too soon it’s time to pack up their things again, cram them into the cars and say goodbye to the ocean for yet another year.

At first, it seems like you’re not coming back with them, your suitcase already in Kita’s truck before Samu calls them back in for a last-minute second breakfast.

“I think I’ll go to Osaka first,” Atsumu hears you say when he comes back from the bathroom, “Uncle Jin wants to meet with me. I’m sure Atsumu can take me, or maybe Osamu?”

“Take you where?” He asks, taking Kita-san’s raised eyebrows at his interruption in stride.

You name the address and he does the mental calculations. “Sure thing, that’s right next to Omi-Omi’s place. I can drop you off there on my way home.”

It’s only a partial lie. Sakusa-san moved recently and it’s on the other side of town, but Kita’s not all that familiar with Osaka and Samu’s not there to correct him like he usually is.

So it’s settled and Atsumu thinks of the little Canvas Tote Bag sitting on top of his stuff, rolled up in his volleyball gear to make sure it doesn’t get damaged.

He’ll give it to you when you’re alone again.

---

Atsumu is not a scaredy-cat. 

He’s impulsive and he’s not afraid to take risks and he’s got scolded for that more than enough to remember it.

Still, he doesn’t open his mouth all the way through Osaka after spending almost six hours sitting next to you, not speaking.

Well, that’s not correct. He did speak. He did speak a lot too. Just not… about the important stuff.

At first, it was because there was Emi and Samu and Ginjima too, but now it’s only you and him and he still can’t open his mouth.

Not that you seem to make an effort to change that.

He stops in front of a red light. Just two more blocks and that’s it. He doesn’t know when he’ll see you again.

“Can I get your number?” 

Curse his nonexistent impulse control.

“What for?”

“Well, I thought you should have mine, you know, so you know how to contact me when… when you figure out what you want to do. But that would be weird, if I suddenly got a text from an unknown number so I figured it would be best if we exchanged numbers, you know?”

You eye him for a second befor you pull out your phone. “Give me your number then.”

He rattles it off and asks you to call him, rambling on about how he sometimes switches the five and the seven at the end - he’s never done that but he’s going to die if he gives you the wrong number in the end - and his heart only calms when he hears his telltale ringtone from the pocket of his jeans.

“I have something for you,” he almost spits it out at the next cross section, eyes on the road.

“Atsumu-”

“It’s not from me, well, maybe a little bit because I paid, but it’s from Tatabe-san. You should take it.”

“I can’t take it.”

“Yes, you can,” he disagrees, nodding wildly to emphasize it. “How are you going to figure out what you’re going to do if you don’t take the gifts you get? Or... or the changes, you know? How many people get a starter kit gifted from a famous street artist, huh?”

You laugh. “I guess not that many people.”

“See?! And it’s not like you need to be able to sell it. Heck, you can be awful at it, for all I care. But if it’s making you happy, that’s more than enough.”

“Did you ever look at the drawings?”

“No,” he shakes his head, still looking for the right words. “Why? Did she draw me ugly?”

You laugh again, louder this time, snorting a little at the end.

“No,” you catch your breath. “No, not at all. I just figured you would have looked at it because you wanted to have one so bad.”

He parks the car in front of Sakusa’s old apartment complex, fully aware that he’s on the wrong side of the street but he needs just a few more minutes with you, just… just another chance to make you laugh.

“I know I’m a little conceited,” he admits, “but I don’t care for a portrait. You just looked like you wanted to stay a little longer, so I played my part.”

Your eyes are twinkling, as if you’d picked the stars from the nightsky and hid them in your face. “Are you sure it was only that? You did pose a little too enthusiastically.”

“Can you blame me for being a natural?”

You laugh again and his heart blooms at the sound, like a wave that rises high only to crash when he realizes that he’s going to hear it for quite some time, not knowing how long.

“We’re… we’re here,” he clears his throat, reaching behind his seat  for the Canvas Tote bag. “This is for you.”

You peek inside.

“Both drawings?”

“Yeah,” he swallows. “I don’t think I should keep it. I’m not going to forget how you look anyway, and if Samu sees it, that would be kinda hard to explain.”

You look up, surprised. “You wanted to keep my portrait?”

Atsumu flushes. “Shit, sorry, I mean sorry for saying shit, ah! Sorry! Sorry for… uh… considering that an option, I didn’t think-”

“Tsumu.”

He freezes like a deer in headlights. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” You lean forward and press a kiss to his temple before pulling back. “I’ll… I’ll try to be quick.” 

“Take your time.”

You hesitate. “I shouldn’t, you know? You deserve someone easier to love.”

“Those hardest to love need it most.” He hesitates. “I don’t know where I heard that, but I… agree with it, you know? Mostly because I always felt like that line was about me.”

You smile. 

“Goodbye Tsumu.”

He can feel himself fold into each other but he keeps himself up, smiles for you.

“Goodbye.”

---

He drives around town aimlessly for a while, trying to think of a place to go.

Not home, because there’s no one waiting for him there but a pot of dried-up basil he forgot to water.

He could hit up Bokkun, tell him all about you. But Bokkun is a sap and they’d just end up crying together as they watch a rerun of Friends, sharing one too many beers as Rachel and Ross try to figure out their feelings.

Shoyou’s in Brazil for the month and Meian is a great Captain, but not the kind of Captain you go to cry over a broken heart.

“What do you want?” Sakusa’s voice snarls through the intercom.

“Omi-Omi, didn’t you miss me?”

“Not one bit.”

���Come on,” he whines. “I just got my heart broken.”

“Deal with it.”

“Please?”

Silence. Then, the long-awaited buzzer. “Don’t cry on my carpet. It’s new.”

-

Sakusa eyes him from the Couch like one does with an ugly bug.

The Couch is forbidden territory in his new apartment ever since they left a stain on the old Couch in the old apartment. Atsumu says they because in all honesty, it was Bokkun who left the stain, he just had the bad luck of being there at the same time.

The carpet isn’t too bad though, softer than the Couch at the Beach House anyway.

“You really like her, huh?” Sakusa comments finally before sipping his tea. No hard drinks at Sakusa’s new place either. 

“Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve always been as subtle as a tow truck,” Sakusa scoffs.

“Hey. You should give me advice instead. Or at least comfort me.”

“Get over her,” Sakusa deals the final blow. “She’s right, you know? You could have a lot of women. God knows what they see in you but there are some people who want you. Why wait for someone who might never come around?”

“She’s like you, you know,” Atsumu points out. “Convinced she’s really terrible when she’s actually really nice.”

“Thank you for the insult,” Sakusa tells him with a straight face. “Now can you please leave?”

Atsumu huffs and turns around instead, burrowing his face in the carpet.

Above him, Sakusa grumbles into his tea for a full minute before turning the TV on.

To anyone who doesn’t know him better, this would look insenstive.

But Atsumu knows Sakusa, maybe, probably, most likely better than Sakusa would like.

Because Sakusa doesn’t like to watch Volleyball Match on his dowtime. Atsumu does.

And that’s very much a Volleyball Match on TV right now.

Atsumu turns his head to see better.

“If you cry on my carpet I’m kicking you out.”

---

Atsumu ends up sleeping over, waking only when Sakusa kicks him in the side on his way out in the morning.

“I’m going jogging. Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”

“‘kay.” He turns back around, snuggling into a pillow that has magically appeared by his side.

He seriously needs a carpet like that in his own apartment.

His phone beeps. He ignores it. It’s probably just Samu or maybe Bokkun. They can wait, sleep can’t.

You: Atsumu, I went on a walk last night. Drew a little too. I thought about it a lot. If you want to see me again, my train to Hyogo leaves at twelve. Meet me at the train station? 

You: It’s okay if you don’t. Maybe I’m reading too much into this.

You: Forget that last message. I’ll see you when I see you.

Atsumu pulls into the train station parking lot at two minutes to twelve only to watch the only train present leave the station in front of his eyes.

He’s too stunned to even curse.

He’s never been that early to anything only to be too late.

“Atsumu?”

He turns around so fast he almost trips.

You’re sitting on a park bench, your suitcase to your feet.

“You didn’t take the train?”

“No, I…” You laugh awkwardly. “I didn’t want you to be late, so I said twelve. It actually leaves in half an hour.”

“I wasn’t late.”

You laugh but it sounds almost like a sob. “I know, I….”

“Hey,” he rushes over, taking your hands in his. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m sorry that I didn’t come sooner, I slept until eleven because Omi-Omi didn’t wake me up and-”

You sniffle, laughing and crying at the same time. 

“You really are something, Atsumu Miya.”

He swallows, dares a sheepish smile. “But you like me?”

You nod. “Yeah. I like you. I… I draw you. Last night, you know?”

You hand him the paper, embarassment written all over your face.

And Atsumu’s never been good with art. He’s the kind of guy who likes to joke about modern art, pretending he could do that just as well when he doesn’t even know what it’s supposed to be.

But it doesn’t matter if your drawing is good or not, if he can recognize himself in it or not. It matters that you drew. And that you drew him.

“Was it fun?” He asks.

“Yeah,” you pull your shoulders up, head down. “It was. I… It reminded me of spending time with you. Because that’s fun too.”

He grins. “Because I’m fun.”

“Because you’re fun,” you agree. “And I… I don’t know where I wanna go or who I wanna be but I wanna have fun. With you. If you want to, I mean.”

“As in a relationship?”

“As in a relationship,” you confirm.

Atsumu smiles, wide enough that his cheeks hurt.

“Heck yes,” he tells you. “Sorry about the curse word.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Does that mean I can kiss you now?”

You pull your shoulders higher for a second before you let them drop with a laugh.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, you can kiss me now.”

And then you meet him in the middle.

-

Those hardest to love need it most…

“Can you pick Kita-san up?” Samu asks during their daily phone call.

“Of course I can pick up my girlfriend,” Atsumu grumbles, pausing the music. He doesn’t need Samu’s nagging in the background when your song plays.

“Wait, you’re talking about my girlfriend, right?”

“Yes, Tsumu, I mean your girlfriend,” Samu scoffs and Atsumu can hear the eye roll through the phone.

“Hey, just checking,” he bites back. “Do I have to melt the butter before I put it in? It’s kinda not working.”

“Did you leave it out like I told you too?”

“No, I forgot.”

Samu huffs. “Put that stuff away, I’m bringing you cookies.”

“I don’t want your cookies, I want to make my own!”

“Then you should have left out the butter like I told you to!”

“Don’t yell at me, it’s my anniversary not yours on the line!”

“Fine!” Samu huffs again before calming down a little. “I have some soft butter, I can bring that over.”

“That would be nice.”

“I’m bringing Emi with.”

“Please don’t, she’s worse in the kitchen than I am.”

Atsumu hears it, just faintly in the background of the call, but he hears it, Emi’s instant reply.

“I heard that.”

And he can’t help but smile at the thought that in less than twentyfour hours, this will be his reality too. When Samu calls, you’ll be his background noise and when Kita calls, you’ll be his.

Fools, all of them. Fools in love.

[grave-z-boy]

are you comfortable with writing about a transman? if so id like to see arthur morgan comforting ftm!reader, maybe calling him a "good boy" to make him happy x

Arthur Morgan x Trans!male!reader

Summary: Reader runs into an old family member and is desperately in need of comfort afterwards. (Once again making excuses to be sad and transgender)

Words: 1264

Warning: hurt/comfort, pre-transition reader is referred to as “dead” and “little girl” by reader, reader threatens his cousin, shitty family members.

A/n: shorter fic cuz I've been banging my head against the wall trying to get the rest of my writing back.

Masterlist

“You need to eat.”

You glanced up at Arthur, the fire between the two of you illuminating him in a orange glow. Your food had gone cold, and you didn’t mean to be wasteful, but today was…a lot. You shifted uncomfortably on the large rock you'd perched yourself on.

“‘M not hungry.”

You heard him sigh as you stared down at your plate.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong or are you just gonna sit there and sulk.”

“It's nothing-”

It was something, it was definitely something. You went into town on your own, bright and early so you could be in and out of the shops and get back to camp while the sun was still up. That was the plan, pick up some spices, and oddly enough a picture frame, Arthur had asked for it but he said it wasn't for him, probably gonna be a gift of some kind, you didn't think too much about it.

While you were making sure you're satchel was still secure, you heard a familiar voice.

“D/n?” he called from across the street.

You froze, but just for a moment, you tried climbing onto your horse as fast as you could by you were stopped by a firm grip on your shoulder. Turning, you saw him, right in front of you, your cousin, your asshole of a cousin, Damian.

“Well I'll be damned, it is you!”

Taking a breath you said, “Do I know you?”

“‘Do you’- d/n stop playing around!”

His voice was loud, loud enough to garner unwanted attention from those around you.

“I don't know no d/n sir, you've got the wrong man, now you best take your hand off me before you lose it.”

He backed off, a small apologetic yet nervous smile on his face, “sorry, you just uh, look an awful lot like my little cousin.”

Finally mounting your horse, you looked down at the man. You didn't say anything, just holding his gaze in yours for a long moment before giving him a quick nod and riding off.

You rode out of town faster than you should have, gaining various shouts and complaints from the townspeople who'd nearly stepped in your way.

As you broke out into the open road, your mind swelled with thoughts.

D/n was dead, she’d been dead a long, long time and you really didn't need reminders of her life, especially not the parts she hated.

You didn't want to hate your cousin, you just did. He was an ass and so was the rest of his family, you guess that technically included you too, but you never really felt like they were your family- even when you were little. You were different, so they treated you different. You never knew what tipped them off so early. Maybe you played with the boys too much, or you were too rough with the girls. Whatever it was, they knew before you did, they considered their daughter dead before she was, and they treated you like you killed her.

You liked being dead now, you thought you wouldn't have to worry about your family anymore, they had a whole funeral for you and everything, you figured that they'd move on, that if you did run into them, they'd take you as a ghost and nothing more. Your cousin was always an asshole though, and could never quiet get with the program, that made y'all alike in some ways, but mostly it just drew a bigger rift between you and your family. Everybody loved him, but they hated you, wasn't that funny?

You skid to a stop right outside of camp, zoning back into your surroundings just in time. Hoping off your horse, petting her for a short moment before tying her to a post.

It didn't take long for Arthur to find you, having only been in camp a couple of minutes before he spotted you. Before he even reached you, he could see the grim look on your face as you sat on your cot, glaring at the ground.

Arthur sat next to you, rubbing your back with his hand for a short moment. Arthur wasn't really a touchy person, not in front of people at least, a soothing touch on the back was as close to a kiss as you'd get with this many people around.

You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes for a short moment before starting back down at the ground below.

It didn't take much for him to convince you to take a ride with him, especially when he offered to let you ride his horse with him, you appreciated it, knowing that yours would have bucked you off the moment you saddled her after you nearly ran her through camp. You almost felt bad- when you climbed on the horse behind Arthur, watching him avert his gaze from anyone who looked in your direction.

He wasn't ashamed, you knew that, he was just private, didn't like it when people paid too much attention to your relationship, or you at all for that matter.

You rode together for a long while, once you figured the road was clear enough, you wrapped your arms around Arthur and rested against his back, you felt him tense, then ask if you were okay, you nodded, he relaxed after a moment, quietly continuing down the road, he knew you weren't alright, not fully, but he figured talking could wait a couple of hours.

Now you're here, you sat on a rock while Arthur set up camp, when you mumbled an offer to help, he shot it down, reassuring you it was fine.

By the time food was cooked, the sun had set completely, the fire being the only source of light.

“- I swear I just…ran into somebody today.”

You could here the faint clink of silverware against the bowl as Arthur set it to the side.

“‘Somebody’ like who?”

You sighed.

“Like my cousin, Damien, ran into him in town today.”

You weren't fully sure you told Arthur about Damien, but when you looked up at him over the fire you could see a look of annoyance on his face, so you had to at least have mentioned him and his aggravating exploits.

“It's stupid, I just… I don't know. I thought that I would never run into them again, or maybe that they wouldn't recognize me if they did. But he called that little girl's name and it just felt like my heart had stopped.”

Starting down at the dirt, you heard Arthur push himself up off the ground, the dirt crunching beneath his boots. Then he was sitting right next to you, the stone just big enough to hold two queers at once. Meeting his eyes again, you opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out was a long, tired sigh.

“I know, “ he said, his voice so calm and soft, a tone reserved for those that deserved it, “come here, boy..”

And you did, leaning your head on his shoulder, buried in the nook of his neck, your arms just barely around him in an effort. He wrapped his arms around you far tighter, pulling you into him, feeling your shallow breaths as the day's events replayed in your mind.

“That's it, good boy,” he muttered.

A small smile formed on your face. You hummed in contentment, squeezing him a bit tighter, forcing a small chuckle out of him.

“You liked that?” you nodded, he laughed again.

“It's helping..”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

[eggcompany]

Dumb Dog Part 1

It's not Derek's fault when he's hurt he wants Stiles. He can't help the warm loose headspace the younger man pulls him into. Stiles didn't know when he found Derek in his bed after school it would lead to this. He didn't even consider it possible. He never thought he'd end up being the werewolf's personal rut toy.

Or that one day he'd be fucking into the alpha, be held so close, listening to his desperate little sounds. Life's always been like that for them though, hasn't it

Derek nearly * died *. He deserved some proper pack cuddles. But Scott was busy with Allison and Stiles kept his window unlocked. It really wasn’t his fault when he crawled through the window and spent a few hours laying in the pile of dirty laundry before stripping himself out of his dirty clothes and climbing into the soft, good smelling bed. 

~~~

Stiles came home from school, humming the tune to some song or maybe it was two songs that sounded sort of the same but it didn’t matter. At least not when he opened his bedroom door and the curtains were drawn and there was something on his bed. 

“Oh my god what the fuck is that” Stiles said out loud as he switched on his light to see what it was. He was sort of scared that it was something horrible, something that he probably shouldn’t just blast in the face with the bright ceiling light. But he didn’t need to worry. It was only Derek. 

A growling, grumbling Derek. In his bed. Under his blankets. 

“Dude why are you in my room? Actually that doesn’t surprise me that much. Why are you in my bed?” Stiles asked but flicked the light back off and dropped his back pack by his desk. He toed off his shoes and sat down on his rolly chair, looking expectantly at the lump on his bed, only black spikes of hair showing.

“Hurt” Derek grumbled and Stiles rolled his eyes waving his hand even though Derek had his face buried in the comforter. 

“And? I know you’re hurt. I pulled an arrow out of your back. Yesterday.” Stiles said in a flat way. He knew Derek was hurt. He’d yanked a poison tipped arrow out of the wolf yesterday. There had been a trap laid and Derek had fallen in, the arrows were posted like spikes, easily stabbing the wolf in the side. It had created a massive wound, having rotted away most of the flesh that surrounded it. Gruesome, to say the least. Derek huffed, tired from being awake, frustrated at why Stiles so far away and why he was still talking .  

“Wolves pack up, we heal better together. Scott would be more effective but you’re more available.” Derek explained and Stiles nodded. He was second choice for weird wolf rituals. Great. 

“So why are you in my bed?” The younger man asked again, trying to get to an actual answer. Derek huffed and sat up, face pale and sweaty, dark circles carved around his eyes. Stiles gasped a little, he couldn’t help it. Derek looked like a ghost in the dim light. 

“Fuck, I need to be close to someone to heal faster. I have a massive hole in my back and being near someone is going to get it over with faster. You can sit on the bed or get in here with me, just help me.” Derek explained and started to get more breathless. He looked… desperate. Begging almost, like a wet dog looking through the window. Stile smirked and rolled his eyes. 

“You want me to cuddle with you?” He asked, joking. Mostly. That was until Derek nodded, huffing as he laid back down exhausted from it all already. Stile just stared at him, waiting for it to be a joke. He promptly ignored the feeling in his stomach. 

The younger man just cleared his throat and turned around to his desk, pulling out his books and his laptop. 

“Uh yeah. Okay. I’m going to finish typing my essay and stuff then. Dad’s on nights this week so I’m just going to have leftover lasagna for dinner. You can have some too, uh if you want some.” Stiles said, trying to sound very very normal. Even as his stomach did weird flips. 

It worked, Derek was quiet and still and Stiles actually got most of his essay finished. It was fine. It was okay. 

Well actually, it was okay until Derek started to whimper. He was asleep, deep asleep, but twitching and whimpering, mouth twisted up like he was hurting bad. He was twisting around to lay on his side instead of his belly, knees drawing up closer to his body, shoulders jerking. 

Stiles watched him from his desk for a minute before turning back around to his laptop. But he couldn’t help but worry there was something wrong so he stood at the foot of the bed and shoved the frame a bit. 

“Dude, wake up. Are you alright?” Stiles asked before Derek was wiggling the blanket away from his face, showing his snarling face. Not hurt. Nightmare. 

Stiles shook his ankle, trying to wake him out of it. He didn’t think about how weird it was that Derek didn’t have any leg hair. 

“Derek, Derekkkk, wake up! Dude you’re having a nightmare. Wake up, c'mon dude don’t freak out on me” Stiles tried to wake him, he spoke at a regular level, scared a yell would cause Derek to wolf out. 

Derek just curled up and sobbed, eyelashes getting teary, foot jerking out of Stiles' grasp. The human rushed to stand by his head, hands flittering around, unsure whether or not to actually touch the wolf or not. 

He ended up rubbing Derek’s shoulder and oh. He wasn’t even wearing a shirt. Stiles just didn’t want to hurt him since yeah he had a huge hole in his back. Which, once the blanket was shoved off Derek’s shoulders, was starting to show. It was more healed than the last time Stiles had seen it but it was still pretty bad, angry red rimmed with black ooze staining the gauze that covered the worst of it. 

“Derek, cmon wake up. Ugh you’re a big dog. Wake up a dog… ears?” Stiles talked to himself before pushing his hand into the thick dark hair that was damp with sweat. He stroked the top of Derek’s head, which only made him twitch more but when the human finally scrubbed behind Derek’s normal ears, the wolf sighed, relaxing. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and rubbed over the creases of Derek’s ears with the pads of his fingers. The wolf’s entire body relaxed, a grumble rolling from him which Stiles took as a positive. 

“Yeah, yeah, you big mutt.” Stiles said and kept scratching the unfairly soft hair behind Derek’s ears. It was nice actually, the way Derek relaxed and fell back to calm sleep. His face was so relaxed even with the dark circles under his eyes and the sick pale that was taking over his skin, he looked beautiful. Beautiful? Handsome. A good looking guy. Yeah. Not weird to think your friend is handsome. Handsome. 

But for some reason Stiles couldn’t peel his eyes away from the way Derek’s soft looking lips were parted and the slightest glint of white teeth showed between them. The way his eyelashes were like fans cast down over his perfect cheekbones. The way his big hands were laying on the bed in front of his bare chest. Oh his chest , stiles thought as he slowly peeled the blanket down further, just a few inches. Just to get a better look at the perfectly smooth skin of Derek’s chest. So soft looking, nipples perked up once the blanket exposed them to the cooler room air. 

Stiles was dizzy. And hard. This was Derek’s fault not his.

“Are you going to maul me if I lay next to you?” Stiles asked, hoping maybe Derek was awake or would say he could leave now or something. 

He was met with nothing, of course. Just a peaceful sleeping werewolf. 

“Fine, it’s fine, whatever.” Stiles finally decided and flipped the blankets, his blankets, up on the opposite side of Derek. This was his bed. He could take an afternoon nap in his bed if he wanted to. 

“Dude… pants off and all? This is my bed.” Stiles said exasperated and stripped out of his own shirts, toeing off his socks too. He kept his own pants on, needing some extra protection over his hardon. Just in case. 

Stiles shook out his arms and tried to relax. It was his bed. Afternoon nap. With an almost naked werewolf. Almost naked, very very hot buff guy with a bulge the size of Texas in his worn out grey briefs. Don’t look at his bulge, Stiles told himself and then looked again. Derek’s briefs were snug, holding onto his thick hips and cradling his bulge in a way that made Stiles feel like he was on fire. And maybe a bit self conscious. And a little impressed, if he was honest. 

“Not my fault. Not my fault. He was in my bed first. Not my fault.” Stiles told himself as he laid down, back to Derek, and covered them both back up under the blankets. He laid perfectly still, mind trying to record everything it could. 

Derek was… warm. Snuggly too especially when he threw his arm over Stiles chest and his leg over the human’s own. Stile’s refused to move but Derek pulled them together, chest to back, head to toe touching. Like he was trying to get rid of any air between their bodies. 

Derek was heavy. And big. And warm. And his dick was actually in the crease of Stiles' ass. The wolf’s arm was fuzzy and warm and his hand was huge and rough where it cradled the side of Stiles peck, his thigh was massive, and where his scruff was against Stiles neck made him feel a shivery kind of arousal. 

Stiles was… hard. Mostly. But also nervous, especially after a few minutes Derek made a whine and twitched again. Bucking. Hips twitching. Stiles gasped but Derek was squeezing him, arm tightening, thigh shifting higher to lineup so his bulge was rubbing right between Stiles ass, hips shoving. 

Stiles was shocked for a minute before the next thrust came and he realized what he was being used for. He was thankful for keeping his jeans on. 

“Fuck… Derek. Don’t do that.” Stiles said weakly as he clung Derek’s wrist where he was holding the human close, not letting Stiles get away. 

Derek just kept going, hips shoving and thrusting, huge hard cock pressing against Stiles' ass. The rhythm was steady. Long thrusts forward and then slow drags back. It was making Stiles breathless. The heat now radiating from the wolf, the drag of thin cotton over thick denim, the wet pants that were being blown over the sensitive back of his neck. 

“Dumb dog, stupid fucking…. Derek come on” Stiles begged as the wolf’s mouth opened, hot breaths turning into the graze of sharp pearly teeth and wet tongue.

Derek let out a growl, pulling Stiles closer, teeth pressing into Stiles' skin, breaths becoming whiny sounds. His hips were shoving harder against Stiles, like he was trying to shove through the clothes to actually fuck him. Like he was desperate for just a little more. 

Which was… Stiles barely ever kissed anyone. Let along had sex. With a guy. Who was a werewolf. With a huge cock. Huge cock and obviously very powerful hips. Stiles was paling at the idea but then Derek was whimpering. 

“Please…. Please…” Derek begged, stubble rough on Stiles ears. Stiles couldn’t help the twisty feeling getting tighter in his gut. It was such a desperate begging whimper. 

“Derek” Stiles finally responded and rolled around so he was facing Derek. The wolf’s hips kept rocking toward Stiles even as his eyes opened and found Stiles' own brown ones. 

“You’re awake.” Stiles whispered, he would be mad if Derek wasn’t grinding their crotches together. Derek just whined, eyes all big and full of need. 

“Let me. Let me play mate you. Please? It helps. I’ll make you cum too.” Derek asked and his shaky hands pulled at Stiles' jeans waistband. Stiles was staring at him in shock. What? His brain was on half speed but he didn’t just…

“What?” Stiles asked confused and Derek let out a whine, pushing his face to Stiles to just nuzzle at his lips and cheek. Stiles' eyes fluttered as the soft graze of Derek’s lips ghosted across his own as he rubbed their faces together. The wolf spoke into the soft space under Stiles' ear. 

“Play mating… won’t mate you. Just… rubbing. Skin to skin with you, I’m hurt, don’t know what I’m saying. Just let me please Stiles” Derek begged and pushed his forehead against Stiles, big eyes all full of puppy want. It wasn’t fair. 

Stiles swallowed and nodded, rolling back over so they were spooned together. 

“Fine but when you’re sober I’m blaming you for this. Don’t kiss me. Underwear stays on.” Stiles decided and unbuttoned his jeans, wiggling them under his butt. He felt Derek’s smile as he shoved his face into Stiles' soft half grown out hair. 

“Thank you, thank you, so nice, thank you” Derek said happily and fished his hard cock out of his briefs, spending no time shoving between Stiles' thighs, moaning at the tight soft relief on himself. Stiles was in awe as he looked down and could see the tip of Derek’s cock. 

Derek was in a hurry, head all blurry and off kilter. He quickly fucked into the precum slicked passage of Stiles' thighs, chasing the good feeling that was getting more and more overwhelming. Stiles bit one of his own hands, trying not to let any embarrassing noises out while his other hand held onto Derek’s forearms where it was holding across his chest again. 

Stiles was so close, even without touching himself. Derek was making short ‘ hah, hah, hah’ sounds followed by long whines. The entire bed moved with each of the wolf’s thrusts, the way he pulled his hips back until just his tip was trapped between Stiles' legs before slamming back forward. The feeling of such a big burning hot cock rubbing across the underside of his own cock and balls was enough to have Stiles' gasping. 

He was tensing his thighs, trying to keep from cumming when Derek yelled out. Short, higher pitch than  what Stiles would have expected, and matched with arms squeezing the air out of Stiles.  It only took Stiles being able to breathe again to realize the wetness between his legs. 

“Done?” Stiles asked, trying to act cool as he reached down to his own dick, giving the base a good squeeze. Derek hummed, nuzzling into the human’s hair and body slowly relaxing, like he was melting. Stiles felt relieved and started to stroke himself, short and quick, he was covered in precum already. He was nearly there, feeling himself toeing the line as a rough palm covered his hand. 

“Let me” Is all Derek said, sleepily but his hand was sure and heavy. Stiles took his own hand away to cover his mouth. Derek pumped him quickly, grip a little loose, but enough so Stiles was moaning out after a few strokes. After spilling across the bed, Stiles felt the need to get up, to say something to clear the air. But Derek just hummed and grabbed Stiles' hip, hand wet. 

He was fast asleep before Stiles could even get a word out. 

Stiles laid there, trying to get it through his mind that what they just did was kinda sex. And kinda amazing. And he had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time Derek ended up rutting against him. 

Next Chapter ->

[theemporium]

A number 15 green-eyed mojito with Nico💚

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

15. "What would I be jealous about?”

.

“You’re staring.” 

“I’m observing.”

“If looks could kill, he would be dead.”

“Tragic.” 

“Oh my god,” Jack grumbled under his breath, shooting his captain a concerned look before shaking his head. “Remind me not to piss you off.” 

Nico rolled his eyes. “You piss me off quite often, actually.”

“I—” Jack paused, his eyes narrowing as he lightly jabbed his side with his elbow. “One, that was rude. Two, you need to calm down. You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend and you aren’t even her boyfriend. You’re just the jealous part.”

Nico scoffed, but he didn’t tear his eyes away from you. 

Because, as much as it pained him to admit, Jack was right. He was acting like a jealous boyfriend and he was fully aware of that. But it wasn’t like self-awareness couldn’t exactly stop the bitter feelings bubbling in the pit of his stomach as he watched the man openly flirt with you. 

“You know,” Jack continued, something quite like amusement in his voice. “This wouldn’t be a problem if you just grew the balls to ask her out.” 

And he hated that Jack was right again. 

The crush he had been harbouring on you was obvious to everyone with a pair of working eyes. Or at least, everyone except you. Since the day you started on the team, Nico had been all lovesick smiles and longing gazes, practically throwing himself at any social media opportunity he could just so he could spend time with you. It was a little embarrassing and pathetic, all things considered. 

But the worst part was that it had been a better part of two years and Nico had made no move to confess his feelings towards you.

Which then led to moments like now, where Nico had no real reason to feel as irritated as he was over some guy from the media team flirting with you.

“Shut up,” was all he managed to mutter out.

“This is actually really sad to watch,” Jack muttered before sighing deeply. “Just know that I’m doing this because, as your friend and alternate, I’m worried about you possibly breaking your jaw before making a move.”

Nico frowned a little. “What are you—”

But before Nico could even stop whatever stupid move Jack was going to pull, he was calling out your name and waving his hands in such an exaggerated and overly dramatic manner that Nico felt his cheeks heating up. 

“I hate you,” Nico muttered under his breath as you began making your way over.

“You’re about to hate me so much more but I know you love me,” Jack whispered back before he grinned at you, the words leaving his mouth so quick that Nico almost thought he imagined it when the younger boy said, “Nico is jealous.” 

And then, the fucker was running off and leaving a gaping Nico in the dust to deal with the consequences.

You blinked in surprise before you turned to the boy. “You’re jealous?��� 

“Me? Jealous? What would I be jealous about?” Nico attempted to laugh off, but it was forced and dry and it didn’t quite land the way he wanted to when he noticed your brows furrowing in concern. “Jack is just messing about, don’t listen to him.”

“Really?” You questioned, watching as Nico quickly nodded in response. “So it has nothing to do with the fact you have spent the last fifteen minutes glaring at Thomas?” 

Nico blinked, feeling the blush spread from his cheeks to the tip of his ears. “Uh—”

“For what it’s worth, I’m not interested in him,” you said.

“Oh.” He couldn’t bring himself to care how happy he sounded, how hopeful.

“I’m interested in someone else,” you continued.

“Oh.” The disappointment was clear and heavy in his voice, inklings of the previous jealousy sinking into his response.

“You might know him,” you added, trying to bite back your smile when you watched his nose scrunch up. “He’s a hockey player, has a cute accent and pretty brown eyes. Think he might even be the captain or something.” 

Blood roared in his ears and he was pretty sure his smile was going to split his cheeks, but he didn’t care. “Really?”

“Yeah, but he’s a little blind,” you teased, almost looking a little bashful despite the unwavering confidence in your voice. “I’ve been waiting for him to ask me out but he hasn’t been catching my hints.”

“He sounds a little stupid,” Nico murmured. Maybe he would’ve felt embarrassed if his heart didn’t feel like it was about to beat out of his own chest. “But I bet he’s wondering if you’re free at seven tonight.”

“Let him know it’s a date,” you said, grinning right back at him.

.

[munson-blurbs]

hi ^^ can you do best friend!eddie teaching virgin!reader how to give head ?? like she’s so curious how it all works and i feel like eddie would be so vocal omg like so instructional while trying to keep his cool lol

I know this trope has been done a lot, so I hope y'all enjoy my take on it 💚

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral (m!receiving), fem!Reader, kinda perv!Eddie, mention of weed, Eddie & Reader are both over 18

WC: 1.8k

--

The cafeteria is buzzing with conversation, including the table where you sit amongst the Hellfire boys. Mike and Lucas are arguing over something–you can’t be bothered to pay attention to their constant squabbles anymore–while Dustin is whining about his failing Spanish grade to Gareth and Jeff.

The only ones not talking are you and, surprisingly, Eddie. He’s nibbling on a pretzel, reminding you of one of the bunny rabbits that congregates in your yard. You’re not exactly sure why he’s so quiet, but you take this opportunity to whisper, “Can we go out to your van for a sec?”

His eyebrows pinch together in confusion; if you wanted weed from him, you would wait until after school hours to buy. Well, buy wasn’t the right word, considering Eddie always gave you yours for free.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, sliding his chair back from the table without bothering to push it back in. If one of the meathead jocks happens to trip over it and twist an ankle before their precious game, that’s not his problem.

You wait until you’re outside, away from anyone who could possibly overhear the absurd request you’re about to make, before you start speaking. “So, um, you know how I have that date tonight? With Mark?” you ask, biting your lower lip nervously. You can taste the strawberry gloss that you’d reapplied after finishing lunch.

Eddie’s already digging through the glove compartment for the baggie he keeps stashed away. “You want some for him, too?” His tone is impatient; irritated, even, as he pulls out the blunt he’s already rolled for you. “Because I only brought one.” For you, he adds silently.

“Wha–oh, no; I didn’t need any weed,” you tell him, shaking your head before dropping your gaze to the gravel beneath your feet. “It’s our third date, and I was thinking he might wanna…y’know…do stuff?” You cringe at the phrasing, but press on. “But I…I don’t really know how.”

“Sweetheart, if you’re confessing your virgin status to me, I already know,” Eddie says with a smirk. “I mean, we’ve been friends for a million years. If you did it and didn’t tell me, I’d be pissed.”

You manage a giggle at his candidness. “Nope, still a virgin,” you report miserably. “And last time, he asked me to give him head, but I told him I had to get home. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t wanna do it wrong.”

Eddie shrugs. “Just don’t use teeth,” he replies casually. “Other than that, there isn’t much you can do wrong.” He starts back towards the school, pausing when he realizes that you’re not by his side. “Look, I don’t have any other tips. I’ve only ever been on the, uh, receiving end of dick sucking.”

“Yeah, well,” you mumble, shoving your hands in your pockets and brushing the toe of your sneaker against the ground, “that’s kinda what I wanted to ask you. I was thinking that maybe I could…practice on you?”

Eddie’s eyes practically pop out of his head. “You…you wanna do what?”

“Forget it. It’s stupid, I’m sorry. Can we never talk about this again?” Tears well up in your eyes, and you try to blink them away before he can notice. What were you thinking? Asking your best friend if you could give him a blowjob?

“Hey, no, I just wanted to make sure that’s what you meant.” He smiles, letting his hand graze yours. “Do you mind…in my van?”

You nod, returning his smile with your own shy one. “Um, yeah. I mean, no, I don’t mind. I can give you head in your van.” 

Eddie swallows a lump in his throat, opening the back door and helping you inside. He lays down on the shag carpet–the one you always tease him about–and pats his thigh. “C’mon over.” He watches as you timidly straddle his waist, trying not to sit down on his lap. “You’re not gonna crush me, y’know,” he jokes lightly. “And even if you did, s’not like I’d be mad about it.”

You hesitate but ultimately let yourself rest on him; immediately, his cock starts to stiffen, and you pull back. “Shit, I-”

“S’okay,” Eddie says, tilting his head. He’s not about to let you know that this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten him hard; just the first time you know about. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Fingers fumbling with his belt, you pull on the strip of leather until the shiny metal clasp unhooks from its notch. He undoes the silver button on his pants but lets you tug his zipper down until you get a glimpse of his blue-and-white checked boxers. “Can I take these off?” you ask.

“Y-Yeah, ‘course,” he stutters, sitting back on his elbows to give you more leverage. You have to keep yourself from gawking at his hardened length as it rests against his Iron Maiden shirt, tip leaking a pearly bead of pre-cum. He mistakes your awe for nerves, and he quickly adds, “if you changed your mind, I’m not gonna be mad or anything–”

“No,” you shake your head. “I just d-don’t know where to start.”

Relief visibly floods his body. “I like being teased a little. Like, kissing it or licking it–holy fucking shit.” His train of thought is abruptly cut off when your tongue flattens against the base of his shaft, dragging upwards until you reach the head. His lithe fingers grab onto the collar of your cotton t-shirt, twisting the fabric around them just to steady himself. 

“Like that?” you ask, giving him eyes that are far too innocent for someone who just coated his dick with her saliva. 

“J-Jus’ like that,” Eddie nods, gripping your shirt tighter as your lips brush against his length with tiny, measured pecks. “And then you’ll wanna–fuck–wanna focus on the tip. Wrap your lips around it, there you go.” His toes curl as you lower your mouth, licking at the saltiness. “Make, like, circles w-with your tongue.” 

You do as he says, feeling him twitch against your parted lips. A wanton moan escapes him, and it’s music to your ears. A sign that you’re doing something right. 

“When you’re ready—Jesus H. Christ, your mouth feels s’fucking good—hollow out your cheeks and kinda…glide down? I dunno, all the blood is rushing to my dick right now.”

You blanche as you reposition yourself, glancing at his girth. “Eddie, I…I don’t think I can fit all of you in my mouth.”

His fingernails could tear through your shirt with the grip he has. “Shit, y-you can’t say that. Actually, you can. Tell me how fuckin’ big I am, baby.”

Baby. You try not to let this new pet name distract you as you say, “you’re huge, Eddie. I won’t be able to take it.”

“Yeah? Gonna choke on my cock?” Eddie growls, momentarily forgetting his role as oral sex tutor. “S-Sorry. Um, if you can’t, you can use your hand to help you out.”

“Okay,” you nod, crouching back down. One hand rests on his thigh while the other wraps around the base of his dick. He hisses at your touch, and you smile despite the butterflies in your stomach. 

“M-Might help if you spit on it. My, um, my dick.”

The trail of saliva drips down until it reaches his wiry patch of pubic hair. You swirl your tongue around his tip a few more times for good measure before opening your mouth a bit wider and bringing your head down. 

“Thassit, keep doin’ that. Don’t worry about getting it all; jus’ do what you can.” His knees tremble as you move a bit faster. “You can do the t-tongue thing when you come back up. I really like that, fuck.” 

You want to ask about the pace: is it too fast? Too slow? But when you lift your gaze to meet his—your lips still on his length—he lets out a whimper. A fucking whimper. 

“Yes, look at me, baby. Look at me while you blow me,” he pants. “Wanna see your cute little mouth stuffed full of my cock.” And if that wasn’t enough, what he says next could stop a bullet in mid-air: “You’re better than I ever imagined.”

That’s enough to warrant you to ask a follow-up question, and Eddie could cry when you pull away. “You imagined this?”

“Mhm,” he squeaks out. “Wanted you f’so long. Please just keep going. Please don’t stop.”

So you don’t. You find your rhythm, using his groans and twitches to find what he really likes. It’s messy and different but so fucking right. 

“Hnng, baby, ‘m gonna cum. You might wanna—”

But you shake your head gently, not wanting to break the momentum you’ve built. You lock eyes with him, silently telling him that it’s okay.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. You can spit it out if you don't wanna swallow, pretty girl. B-but ‘m about to c-cum—fucking shit!” You take as much of him as you can until you start to gag, and you feel his hot release hit the back of your throat. It’s a lot; much more than you’d anticipated, but you swallow it all. 

Eddie stares at you incredulously, momentarily speechless. “Did you just…?”

“Was I not supposed to?” The intimacy of it only dawns on you now. He’s just teaching you, and now you’re going on a date with someone after swallowing his cum. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

He barks out a laugh. “Do not apologize for that. Just wasn’t expecting it.” He sits all the way up, adjusting his softening dick and re-fastening his pants. “So…that’s how you give a blowjob. Any questions?”

There’s an awkward silence as you contemplate, ultimately deciding to ask. I mean, you’d just performed oral sex on him; he could answer a measly personal question. 

“When you said you wanted me for so long…did you mean that? Or were you just saying it?”

Eddie’s gaze is suddenly glued to the van floor. “Look, you’re with Mark now. I can’t…”

“Did. You. Mean. It?” You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for his response. 

He relents after a moment. “Yes, I meant it. I’ve had this big, stupid crush on you, but I kept making excuses not to ask you out, and then you got with Mark—”

You cut his rant short with a clumsy kiss, noses hitting each other as you press your lips to his. You stumble a bit and he catches you, bringing his hands to your hips. “I have a big, stupid crush on you, too,” you admit, “but I figured you would’ve asked me out if you felt the same way.”

This time, Eddie kisses you, soft and sweet. “I can taste myself on your lips,” he murmurs into you. One finger grazes your pants button. “Do me a favor?”

“Yes, I’ll cancel with Mark,” you say, teasing but truthful. 

“I mean, you fuckin’ better,” he laughs, but he shakes his head. “Nah, I need you to lie down f’me.”

Your brow creases. “Why?”

“A gentleman always returns the favor.”

--

[cactusnymph]

the right ingredients

Even when he was a child himself Gale was never good at dealing with other children. Burying himself in books all day and using the biggest words he could find to sound impressive and to be as precise as he could never really resonated with most other children—or adults, for that matter.

So when Tav walks over with a child in tow as he carefully cuts some onions for tonight’s dinner, Gale is wary. She is scrawny, with a mop of red hair and two differently colored eyes. The most important thing about her is the fat, fluffy cat at her side, staring at him with huge eyes as if he might throw it in the soup at any second.

“Gale, this is Yenna. She’s staying with us for a while. I thought she could help you cook?”, Tav says with a smile. Gale wishes that smile wouldn’t turn his brain into something that feels much like the bubbling soup in the cauldron looks. He clears his throat.

“Uh—“, he starts, unsure of what he wants to say. The child looks so big-eyed that Gale is afraid she might start crying at any second and that would most likely be even worse than having her cut some carrots. “Have you ever cooked before?”

She shuffles and nods.

“Yes, I’m real good at it! I can make all kinds of stuff. Porridge and omelets and squash soup and—“

As Yenna continues to list a total of eleven dishes she can cook, Tav rustles her hair with a soft look on their face that makes Gale’s insides tingle. Oh, he wishes he didn’t feel the unnecessary pang of jealousy just because he wants them to touch his hair and smile at him the same way. Emotions are to terribly silly.

Gale coughs.

“Well, that sounds very impressive indeed. Yenna, was it? I suppose I can make way for an assistant. Usually I don’t allow others to interfere in my nightly cooking, but! Since our fearless leader recommended your prowess I shall—“

He stops himself as Tav looks at him with an amused smile.

“Right”, he says, catching himself. “How about you peel some of those potatoes over there?”

“Yes! I can do that, sir!”

“Mind me sitting here while you work?”, Tav asks, their head tipped in Gale’s direction. Once again he marvels at the fact that he never really spent much time with anyone, let alone a Tiefling.  Tav’s dark blue skin is not unlike the nightsky, especially with the white freckles covering their entire face and their muscular arms. Gale would like to pretend that he does not spend innumerable minutes of every single day staring at their biceps. But he would be lying to himself, of course.

He allows himself to follow the curvature of their horns and gaze at their glowing white eyes before turning to Yenna.

“So, I see you have a cat companion! As do I. What’s their name?”

“This is Grub”, Yenna says, her tongue sticking out between her lips as she peels a large potato that looks even bigger in her tiny hands. “He’s shy. What’s your cat’s name?”

Gale carefully dumps some sliced onions into the bubbling liquid.

“Her name is Tara. She’s been my companion for a long time and I miss her dearly.”

Yenna smiles at him. She has a front tooth missing.

“Do you also have a cat?”, she asks Tav who is casually chewing on a piece of carrot.

“No, I don’t. Always wanted one, but my pops was allergic”, Tav says with a rueful sigh. Gale notices that their eyes linger on Grub but they keep their respectful distance. Considering Tav’s habit of speaking to every single animal they come across Gale can imagine that they asked permission to pet Grub—and were denied.

Yenna is quiet for a while as she peels potatoes and Gale does his best not to comment on the uneven peeling. He can imagine that Tav would not appreciate him reprimanding a child for less than optimal peeling techniques.

Usually Gale doesn’t allow anyone else to intrude on his cooking, but he has to admit that it’s not too bad to keep his territorial habits in check for a bit, if just to bask in the delightful companionship of Tav. And even though Gale usually doesn’t deal well with children, Yenna doesn’t seem to mind his presence or the way he speaks.

She asks for the meaning of every ‘big’ word that he uses and listens intently as he explains and Tav watches the two of them with a glint in their white eyes.

“This smells so good already”, Yenna sighs and sniffs the air with her eyes closed. “Can I stir it?”

“Certainly”, Gale allows and Yenna grabs the big wooden spoon excitedly before dunking it into the soup. Gale doesn’t cringe. He doesn’t. This is a child in distress that deserves every piece of distraction she can get. Gale can let her stir his soup even though she stirs it as if the spoon is running away from a goblin horde.

“Maybe in the morning you could teach me how to make a proper omelet”, Gale says and Yenna almost drops the spoon into the soup.

“Really?”, she says, her eyes impossibly big. It makes Gale’s heart melt. He might not be well equipped to deal with children but their joy is something precious to behold.

“Absolutely! One should never stop to acquire new skills and knowledge”, Gale says with a nod and a little bow that makes Yenna giggle. Finally, she hands him back the spoon and sits cross-legged on the floor next to the fire as she watches him season their dinner, asking about every single herb he adds to the cauldron.

It takes him a while to notice Tav looking at him with a soft expression on their face.

“Now why are you looking at me like that?”, he can’t help but ask. Tav laughs quietly and shrugs.

“Nothing. Just appreciating your efforts”, they say. Gale would love to hear more about what exactly it is that Tav appreciates, but Yenna is still watching him intently so he goes back to holding out a fresh sage leaf to her so she can smell and taste it before he adds it to the soup.

As the smell of his soup spreads through the entire camp the rest of their colorful band of misfits starts gathering around.

“Well, well, well, Gale, have you finally found your match in the kitchen?”, Wyll says, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he settles down next to Tav on the ground.

Gale waves his spoon.

“Yenna has hereby been promoted to assistant chef”, he answers and Yenna beams.

“I will teach Sir Gale how to make an omelet tomorrow!”, she proclaims proudly, Grub now curled in her lap.

“Very impressive! I can’t wait to taste it”, Wyll says with a smile and winks at Yenna.

“Maybe I can also learn how to make some pie! I love pie. Mister Gale, Sir, can you teach me how to make pie?”

Gale thinks that it seems so mundane compared to everything else he’s been doing with his life up to this point. To sit here, around a fire, stirring a soup for a group of people who—in another life—would never have been in his inner social circle, being asked by a child for cooking lessons. It’s so different from everything Gale has experienced while he was with Mystra.

It’s trivial. It’s simple.

And yet it makes his heart sing in an entirely new way.

“I will have you know, I make the very best cherry pie in all of Waterdeep, young lady”, he says with a little flourish, using the spoon to underline his words dramatically. Yenna claps full of excitement. Grub purrs, Tav laughs and Wyll and Karlach shake their heads about his exaggeration.

And for this moment in time Gale thinks that he could be happy after all.

[the-auguer]

The Forbidden Book of… Uh, Forbiddeness

Normal forbidden book mishaps lead to Mammon getting hallucination whammied into his ultimate dream world.

cw: suggestive

Dull, throbbing pain laced up Mammon’s leg, his body jerking back in an attempt to counterbalance its precarious tip forward. 

“What the hell, Satan!” Mammon barks, kicking vengefully at the book stack that had violated him so carelessly. It toppled so very satisfyingly. Stupid Satan and his stupid room with his stupid book stacks that are just lying around, waiting to be tripped over. 

“Do not,” Satan intones in that dangerous way he’s perfected over the centuries, “kick my books.”

Mammon scowls back at him. Wrathful or not, Mammon is the second born, Mammon is the big brother, and Mammon is the one helping Satan out of the kindness of his heart. 

You stumble over your own deadly pile of books, kicking a few over as you reorient yourself. You crouch to stack them, glancing over your shoulder sheepishly. “My bad, Satan.”

Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly out of the kindness of Mammon’s heart that he’s here. But he couldn’t just leave you alone in the damn snake’s den!

Satan grunts, waving his hand at you. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey! Why do they get a pass and I don’t?” Mammon yells across Satan’s room. “Here I am, helpin’ you like you asked—”

“You’re only helping because they are,” Satan cuts Mammon off, dry and slightly amused. Like the bastard knows something Mammon doesn’t. Ugh.

Mammon’s mouth gapes open in offense. “What! You don’t know a damn thing, you… you…!”

“‘You’ what?” Satan asks, creeping closer to Mammon.

Mammon rears up, ready, but you call out from the distant side of the room.

“Do you think it’ll be in this section?”

Satan’s leer melts right off, turning contemplative. “That depends. Are you in the history or the practical leather work section?”

“Uhhh, neither?” You duck further into the dusty shelves from your crouch. “This looks like… demonic industrial psychology?”

Satan snaps his fingers and begins to walk over. “Yes, actually, it should be a shelf over from there.”

“Okay.” You lift yourself up off the floor, brushing the dust out of your hair. “Ick. Will it be to the right or left?”

Satan’s confident stride to the shelf falters. 

Mammon cackles. “Lookit you! You don’t even know where it is.”

Satan’s brows draw back down his face immediately.

“It would be a lot easier to find anything if someone hadn’t wrecked my room like a moron!” 

“I dunno why you’re yellin’ at me!” Mammon shouts back. “I didn’t do anythin’!”

“You ate Beel’s sandwich.” Satan says. “Again.”

“I dunno why you’re bringing that back up,” Mammon sulks. “It’s not my fault he went on a rampage over a stupid sandwich. Besides, that happened months ago.”

“It’s been two weeks and my room is still a mess.”

“I don’t see any difference.”

“Why you—“

Satan steps towards Mammon.

“Satan,” you call. “Still needing those directions.”

You’ve leaned yourself against a wall, like you don’t really care about all the shouting Mammon and Satan are doing. Hell, maybe you really don’t. Mammon knows that he himself does a lot of the shouting. Maybe you’re used to it. 

Maybe you like it. 

“Ah,” Satan says. “Yes.”

He stares at the wall, considering. 

“Maybe to the right?” He does not sound sure. 

You laugh. Just a little. Mammon finds himself leaning towards you, even though you’re ten feet away. 

“I’ll take left and you take right?” You suggest to Satan.

Mammon nods. “I’ll go left with ya!”

Satan sighs. “Sure.”

Mammon bounds over to stand next to you. You quirk a smile at him. A nice, small one. Like there’s still a bit of a laugh caught in your mouth. Mammon wants… he wants…

“I’ll look low if you’ll look high.”

Mammon startles, but recovers just as quickly. “Leave it to the Great Mammon!”

He cranes his neck, squinting at the ceiling height shelves that make up Satan’s walls, only just able to read the titles embossed on the spines of the books. 

“Hey,” Mammon says, “what’re we looking for again?”

That half of a laugh falls from your mouth again. “Only you, Mammon, I swear.” 

“There is only one Mammon,” Mammon says seriously. It makes you huff again. 

“We’re looking for Satan’s cursed cookbook.”

“Oh yeah! Hey, Satan, what’re you making for dinner?”

“Nothing if I can’t find my cookbook,” Satan says tersely.

“Eh? Just use your D.D.D. for recipes like everyone else.”

“No.” Satan replies, rifling through a mid-level shelf. 

“Why?”

“Because it’s not right. My Cursed Demon Cuisine Cookbook has every recipe a demon could need, and it already has my adjustments written in it. It’s irreplaceable. I will never cook without it.”

“Yeesh, alright.”

Mammon squints at the shelves again. Something something Demonic Animal Acupuncture , some fancy cursive that Mammon doesn’t care to make horns or tails of, Forbidden Fruits of the Demonic Realm , something something Skewering Techniques , something Demon Cuisine something, some book without a title, Practical Woodwork in Relation to Leather Work , and Demonic Tree Species and their Habitats . 

Damn, Satan really had a line up of bores in his room. Nothing interesting, like mechanic books or something. How to Win Big Fast , that’s Mammon’s kind of book.

Nothing like… hmm. 

“What’d you say the book title was?”

Satan snorts dismissively. His search has been completely halted, as he has immersed himself into hunching over a different book.

You glance up, raking your hair out of your face with your hand as you do so. You need a haircut, something Asmo has been bemoaning all week. Mammon’s mouth is dry. 

“ Cursed Demon Cuisine Cookbook , I think.”

Mammon whips his head up. “I think I found it.”

You draw yourself up from the floor. “Really? Where?”

Mammon points. “Fourth shelf down, kinda on the right.”

You hum, eyes nearly in slits from how hard you’re having to squint to see that far. Your nose is scrunched. Your brows too. You’re really… you look so… Mammon wants to poke your nose. 

“Oh, I think that is it!”

Mammon’s chest puffs. 

“What’d I tell ya? Leave it to the Great Mammon, the best of the best.”

You pat his chest. “You did great Mammon.”

Cheeks suddenly hot, Mammon looks back up the shelf. “O-of cou-course. Let me… I’ll get it down!”

“How?” You ask. “It’s pretty high up there.”

“Oh, sad little human. I can get that book down with my eyes closed.” Mammon replies, shaking out his hands and then his legs. “Never underestimate Mammon!”

“Right… and you’re going to…”

Mammon jumps, his eyes truly closed. 

“Mammon!”

Laughing, Mammon stretches out his hand. At the peak of his jump, he brushes against the spine of a book. He snatches it, certain he’s correctly judged how high he’d needed to jump. 

As gravity begins to pull at his body, Mammon grins. You’ll be so impressed with him, once he lands. He’ll be perfectly balanced, practically bouncing on his toes, with the book in his hands in one fell swoop. You’ll tell him how great he is. How powerful and cool. And you’ll… You’ll. 

You’ll what?

Mammon hits the ground, his knees stock straight and unprepared. He stumbles, arms pinwheeling, before finally regaining his balance. That was close. 

He holds the book over his head. “A-HA! Victory is Mammon’s!”

Satan has finally pulled his nose out of his book and made his way to stand next to you. Mammon lowers the book to show it to him. 

Satan sighs. “Mammon, that’s not my cookbook.”

“Whaddaya mean it’s not your cookbook? We saw it for sure—” Mammon glances down. “Damn it!”

It was the stupid no title book that was right next to the cookbook. Mammon had been so close. His jump was perfect, even if his landing wasn’t. If he had only been a little to the left he would have gotten the right book!

“Don’t worry Mammon,” you say. “You still found it. All we have to do is get it down.”

Mammon grumbles. “Stupid no-title book.”

“Did you say no title?” Satan’s voice is sharp. 

“Yeah,” Mammon replies. What’s all the fuss about leather bound, unmarked books anyway? Mammon has a few paperbacks in his room, and they don’t look nearly as namby-pamby as this stupid thing. Mammon cracks the book open. 

“Mammon,” Satan warns. “Do not open that.”

Oh-ho? Is it Satan’s diary? Mammon bets it is. Well, it’s not like Satan should have anything too embarrassing in here. It’s probably all just ranting about how much he hates Lucifer. It wouldn’t hurt if Mammon had a little peek. 

Maybe he can tell you about it later. If it’s funny, of course. You might not laugh, though. Oh well. 

Mammon pulls it the rest of the way open. 

“Mammon!”

The only thing Mammon really remembered with any clarity was how strange it felt to have his knees buckle underneath him. 

“Mammon!” His face isn’t pale, or even really stricken with pain, but your hands hesitate over him all the same. What if you make whatever this is worse? What if you hurt him?

Satan sighs. “Idiot. I told him not to open that book.”

You turn to Satan. He seems twice as tall from where you kneel next to Mammon, but you’re not phased. 

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He opened the Forbidden Book of…” Satan delicately flips the fallen book closed with his shoe. It has no title, just a symbol you can’t decipher. “The Forbidden Book of Dreams.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. “Aren’t your forbidden book titles usually a little more on the nose than that?”

Satan shivered, likely reminded of the body-switching debacle. “Yes, you are right. However, I have acquired some forbidden books that follow different rules. I never really got around to experimenting with this one. Maybe it activated because—”

“Stop,” you say. “We can talk about that later. Right now…” 

Mammon looks strange, lying limp on the floor. Even in sleep, he should be restless. Muttering and rolling and kicking. Instead his only movement is the rise and fall of his chest. 

You feel wretched just looking at him. 

“We need to get him somewhere more comfortable.”

Mammon blinks out of his haze, rather confused. It’s not often he can’t remember when he walked into a casino. 

This casino seems different, too. At least, Mammon hasn’t been in it before. The walls are covered in a golden sheen, with high arcing ceilings where gleaming demonic crystal chandlers hang. The carpet is a warm, lush red, with dozens of gambling tables full of patrons scatter across the room. The dealer at his table is one of those four armed demons that Mammon loves and hates. Loves because of how quick the next hand is shuffled passed out. Hates because the extra hands make it much harder to identify the cards Mammon’s opponents receive. Glancing down at his hand of cards, Mammon conceals a devilish grin. Poker. Mammon is awesome at poker. And his cards… his cards are good. Really good. 

And he has a lot of chips. Mammon’s neck cranes with how much his head has to tip in order to see the end of his chips. 

Mammon hasn’t had good prospects like this is a while. Ever since that whole thing with the witches and Lucifer cutting him off, Mammon hasn’t had enough money to bet to win big like this. He can feel his mouth watering.

“Hey, Mammon? Where are you looking?”

The chips, as numerous and shiny as they are, quickly loose all meaning to Mammon.

It’s you. Sitting in the chair next to him. You’re glittering, draped in all sorts of gold accessories and jewels. If Mammon dips his eyes, he can see a discarded pile of tributes at your feet. Defective. Not nearly pretty enough to grace your body. 

You’re wearing yellow. It’s not a color Mammon usually sees you in. It’s lovely. You look… you look so…

A hand feathers through Mammon’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. It makes Mammon shiver all the way down to his toes. 

“Much better.” Your smile brings heat to Mammon’s chest. “I like it when you look at me like that.”

“Li-like what, st-stupid human?” Mammon splutters. 

The hand in his hair tugs. Not enough to hurt but just enough to reprimand.

“I don’t like being called that.” You’re… you’re frowning at him. A little bit. Mammon’s mouth is dry. 

“S-sor-sorry.” Mammon replies lamely, his tongue sluggish in his mouth. 

“Hmm,” you release his head and Mammon does his best to not chase after your hand. “Good enough, I guess. Your turn, then.”

Mammon turns to the table. His opponents’ piles of chips look pitiful next to his own. They watch him apprehensively. 

You’re watching him too, a half smile lazily curling about your face. “Go on. Win me a bracelet this time.” You show your wrists, both already heavy with bangles of all sorts, of diamond and gold and ruby. Your left wrist looks a bit more full than your right. Mammon finds his mouth is no longer dry anymore. He has a little too much saliva, now. “I don’t want an uneven amount. I’m sure the Great Mammon, Avatar of Greed, can fix that for me.”

“Yea-yeah! You bet!”

Mammon turns his head back to the table. The demon in green is looking pretty poor on chips and he has a very, very nice gold watch on his arm. Unbidden, a smirk crawls up Mammon’s cheeks. 

You huff out a quiet laugh. 

“I’m all in!”

There seems to be an unbearable pain in Lucifer’s head, what with how hard he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. You feel a bit embarrassed, because, yes, Lucifer only left the house for a few hours and there’s another crisis. Satan, Belphegor, and you stand in a semi-circle around Mammon’s bed. 

“Belphie, what does he look like?” Lucifer rasps, only just holding onto his sanity. 

Belphegor leans over Mammon, a discerning look in his eyes. He sighs. 

“He’s in there. Just dreaming.”

All of the air that was stuck in your lungs releases. Breathing is so much easier now. 

“Can you get him out,” you ask. Your hands flex, aching to clamp around Mammon’s hand. His hands are always warm, though. You’re a little afraid that they’ll be cold. 

Belphegor see-saws his hand. “Yes and no. I can go in and try, but the Forbidden Book will have its own conditions for Mammon to wake up.”

You turn to Satan, who is very carefully leafing through the book with oven mitts on. 

Satan grunts, turning a page. “Still looking. I found the activation requirements, though. It says in this passage that for the curse to work, a demon must be a ‘warrior at heart’ and ‘dreaming of something dear to their heart’ so that the dream world can be constructed accordingly.”

In your mind’s eye, you see Mammon’s wide grin as he opens the book.

”A warrior?” Belphie scoffs. “Mammon hasn’t done anything special in centuries.”

Lucifer makes a skeptical noise. “Inaction does not invalidate the claim to the title. Mammon… has always been one of a kind.”

“That’s true enough, I suppose. What do you mean ‘constructed’?” Belphegor asks, one hand placed carefully on Mammon’s forehead. 

“Just that,” Satan replies. “It takes the dreams of the demon and makes a world that they’ll never want to leave. Quite fascinating, really. This was crafted to be a trial for warriors, to test if they would truly be able to turn from their inherent sin and serve their greater demon lord. When I saw it up for auction on Akuzon, I had to have it. Shame about the situation, though.”

Satan did not sound too disappointed. 

“You mean he can wake up on his own?” Lucifer says. 

Satan shrugs. “I still haven’t found the actual chapter for it, but in theory, yes. He just has to have the willpower to turn away from his own sin.”

An uneasy feeling roils in your stomach. Turning away from your sin might be hard for regular, low-level demons, but an Avatar of Sin like Mammon…

The others seem to feel similarly. 

Lucifer turns to Belphegor. “How likely is it that you can get him out, Belphie?” 

“Pretty likely.” Belphegor replies, hand smoothing over Mammon’s cheek to his pulse. “Sleep is in my domain, so dreams also fall in by association, and I’m not sensing any kind of power that would overrule my own. The thing is, I don’t know if the curse will retaliate if I interfere. Could be that Mammon can never go a night without a nightmare or something equally awful. That sort of thing would take a lot of time to reverse.”

“Wouldn’t there be a failsafe if it was a warriors’ trial?” You ask. 

Satan shakes his head. “This particular demon tribe did not believe in failsafes. If you didn’t have the discipline to resurface on your own, you didn’t resurface at all.”

“Will he die? If he doesn’t resurface?”

“No,” Lucifer assures, his voice firm in a way that gives you a little bit of relief. “Mammon is an Avatar, so he won’t die. Besides, Belphie will get him out, if he can’t on his own. We’ll deal with whatever comes after.”

“How long will we wait, then?”

Lucifer looks to Belphegor. 

Belphegor yawns, likely exhausted by the serious atmosphere. “Two days or so, maybe?”

“The longest recorded coma was seven months, sixteen days, and eleven hours.” Satan pipes up.

“A week, then.” Belphie amends.

Lucifer nods. “In the meantime, I expect everyone to attend their classes as they usually would. I will talk to Diavolo.”

You nod, your eyes fixed on Mammon. 

Hopefully it won’t take more than a week. 

“ALL RIGHT! EVERYONE BOW DOWN TO THE GREAT MAMMON!”

All demons of all sins could only oblige, as Mammon had taken every valuable on the table. And a few off of it, too.

You laugh. It’s not that soft breath but an honest guffaw that has you shaking in your seat. You’re dripping in luxury, your ornaments doubled in number and rarity, a bigger heap of offerings at your slippered feet. It’s still not enough. Mammon wants… Mammon wants to see you in a crown. Maybe a crown of ruby, to compliment the yellow you’re wearing. Maybe one of emeralds. A mighty, tall crown worth more than the entire casino they sit in. 

Fingers whisper under Mammon’s chin as you tip his head towards you. So many necklaces of different kinds dangle from your neck, but not a choker. Mammon wonders why. He likes the look of them, how they emphasize the muscles or the graceful column or the lovely plump of a demon’s neck. 

You smile like you know what he’s thinking. “I saved something for you.” 

It’s leather or something like it, which isn’t strange for the demon world. It has a huge sapphire embedded in gold hanging from the middle. You turn his chair to face yours, your knees touching his, and fasten it around his throat. It’s tight, tight enough that he feels it constrict slightly as he swallows. 

“There we are. It looks better on you, anyway.”

“Of co-course it do-does. Everythin’ looks better on me.”

“Careful.” You say. You take hold of his chin again. Mammon’s world narrows down to your fingers and your eyes. “I might get upset if you keep being mean to me.”

The world is dizzy. Was he… was he really being mean? He always talks to you a bit like that, but he never thought that you would… that he would upset you. 

Your brows ease from their furrow. “Don’t worry, Mammon. You didn’t upset me. I was playing.”

Your fingers begin to withdraw. Mammon clutches your wrist. 

“Don’t stop.” Mammon nearly whines. “I didn’t say ya should stop.”

You smile at him. Mammon feels the choker against his throat as he swallows. 

“I won’t, Mammon, don’t worry.” You lean in, the hand Mammon’s holding moving to cup his jaw and the other going to the poker table behind him. Every demon’s eyes are on you. On your wealth, on your magnificence, on your daring. On your lips, skimming across Mammon’s cheek to his  earlobe. 

The the back of the chair that Mammon sits in is the only thing keeping him upright. He feels like he’s trembling apart at the seams, lightheaded with how close you are.

“Hey,” you whisper to him, your lips brushing his ear. Mammon is about to morph into his demon form, if only to loose some of the excess heat that is blazing across every inch of his skin. 

“Yeah?” Mammon rasps back. 

You stand between his splayed open legs, so close you’re practically in his lap. You lean away from his ear, both a relief and a loss. He feels set aflame by your very breath. 

“Let’s go play something else.”

Mammon glances over. Other demons are beginning to crowd the table, raring to play a game of poker, but wary of the Avatar of Greed and his winning streak. 

“What should we play?” Mammon asks. He knows a bit of what he wants, but you could want something else. And if it makes you keep smiling at him like that…

“Anything,” you murmur. “As long as you take everything they’ve got. I want to walk out tripping over money.”

Shit. Shit.  

Mammon feels heat suffuse his body with vengeance. His head lolls back to rest at the top of his chair. 

You huff— Mammon can feel your breath ghost along his cheek— and run a finger down Mammon’s throat, gliding across the choker and ending at his collar bone. 

Mammon’s back quivers, curling up off of the plush cushion of his seat. His breath is leaving him fast, and he can barely inhale enough to keep up with the demand for oxygen. 

You straighten, the heat of your body retreating with you, leaving Mammon all but limp in his chair. 

The ceiling is nice. Has Mammon mentioned how nice the ceiling is? Very high, very pretty. Gold and red, just like everything else in the casino. 

“Where are we going, Mammon?”

Mammon exhales. You want everything off of every demon. All of it. Mammon wants to give it to you. Wants to so very bad. 

He stands. “Let’s go play some craps.” 

Asmodeus drapes his torso dramatically over the table. 

“It’s not fair. Why does Mammon get to sleep through school with his deepest desires?”

“Careful,” you mutter ruefully, picking at your breakfast. You can’t really help how bitter your voice is. Someone has brought up this same topic at every meal. “You sound like Levi right now.”

“It’s true,” Levi bemoans, crossing his arms, “why does he get to live out his ultimate dream and I don’t? Mammon is probably wasting this opportunity on counting Grimm when I could be saving the world with my precious Ruri-chan! Shaking hands with Henry! Playing a real life RPG! How could Lucifer lock away my golden ticket to paradise? I would give anything, even my limited edition Double Bubble Ruri-chan: Disco Era Funtime doll!”

You put down your fork, frustration killing your appetite. You haven’t talked to Mammon in two days. By the time school is over, it’ll be three days. He’ll be in the same realm, in the same house even, and you still won’t be able to talk to him. It makes you nauseous. 

You don’t blame the others. To them, this is a temporary situation that Mammon will awaken from anyway, so why not be jealous of it? But to you… 

You miss Mammon. That’s all there is to it. 

Beel stares at your plate. You push it towards him. He drools over it, but turns away. 

“You should eat more,” Beel grits out with difficulty. “Eating is good for you.”

You reach down for the backpack at your feet. “Don’t worry, Beel. I’m not hungry, so I’m going to start heading to RAD.”

Beel does not wait for a second confirmation. He digs into your plate dutifully. He’s been eating a bit more than usual, you think. He’s probably anxious. You make sure to pat him on the shoulder on your way out. 

As you walk out the door, you hear Asmodeus’s voice, loud in his laughter. 

“Counting Grimm, Levi? Oh please. Mammon is probably in some casino with them blowing on his dice for luck. Maybe blowing something else, too, the lucky bastard.”

Hot breath fans gently over Mammon’s knuckles, and Mammon feels his cheeks heat at your dipped head. You rise, and Mammon rolls his dice. Eleven. Just what he needed.

Your arm winds around his shoulders as he cackles and collects his winnings of this round. Mammon is on a winning streak a mile wide, with his opponents in tears. 

“You’re lucky,” Mammon announces to you, to the casino, to the world. “I’ll take ya to any casino, anywhere.”

“Really?” You ask, your arm a band around Mammon’s chest. 

“Hell yeah, baby! Did ya see me? I won every game!”

You still, and Mammon stills with you. 

His face flushes. He considers backpedaling. Calling you a stupid human, saying that you should be grateful he wants to take you anywhere. But… you said it could make you upset. 

“Mammon. Mammon, look at me.”

Reluctantly he turns to look at you. 

Your cheeks are pink and your smile is kind. You lean your forehead against his. 

“I like that,” you tell him tenderly. “Say it again?”

Mammon murmurs something or another that he himself did not hear. 

“Please Mammon?” Your hands smooth over his shoulders. “Mammon?”

“Baby,” Mammon whispers, unsure. 

He has only a second to doubt himself before your lips drag across his collarbone. Mammon’s hands rise to brush against your waist, uncertain. Then your lips move just a little and bite down and all Mammon can do is hold onto you like a lifeline. He would shout, but something about the way that your teeth felt… it was… weird. Dry and not at all tingly. Maybe Mammon didn’t like biting? But…

“Hey, Mammon?” Your voice is breathy, like you ran a mile. 

“Yeah?” 

“Wanna get out of here?”

More than anything. “Sure, baby.”

Mammon gets a Little D to cash out all his chips and another to carry the excess wealth to the car. He wasn’t sure if he actually had a car here, but he could improvise. Maybe trade a few hundred thousand Grimm for a real nice car. 

But he takes you to the parking lot and there it is. His red convertible, top already down. The one he he’s been wanting to take you on joy rides in. You climb in like it’s no big deal. 

Swallowing, Mammon climbs in the drivers’ side. 

“Where to?” Mammon asks, unsure himself. If they go back to the House of Lamentation, Lucifer is sure to ream him out about gambling again. Mammon is in too good of a mood for it to be spoiled by Lucifer’s endless nagging. 

You tip your head back to rest on the shoulder of the headrest. 

“Anywhere. As long as you’re driving.”

Mammon laughs nervously, and puts the car in reverse. Anywhere. Anywhere at all. 

Mammon drives to the edge of the sea. On the beach. 

You sigh as the beach breeze moves through the car. Then you sit up to look at him. 

“Is there anyone around?”

“I, uh,” Mammon swivels his head, searching. Strangely enough, there’s no sign of any other demons on this beach. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

Mammon’s about to ask what’s good about being alone of a huge beach like two teens in a horror movie when you amble over the center console and sit yourself on his lap. All that can leave Mammon’s mouth is a strangled wheeze. 

You sparkle even more in the sunlight. You’re literally blinding. 

You tuck your head into Mammon’s neck and he awkwardly touches your waist with his fingertips. There’s a click, and Mammon is falling backwards as his seat reclines, yelping. Your breath puffs against the skin of his throat. Then your lips replace your breath. 

Mammon’s body jolts, jostling you from where you lay on top of him. You only laugh and feather another kiss under Mammon’s jaw, then against his cheek. 

“Mammon,” you breathe, your eyes bearing into his. Slowly, you inch forward, and all Mammon can do is meet your lips with his. 

You let your pencil clatter uselessly against the fine wood of your desk. There would be no more productivity tonight, and you pack up the remainder of your homework. Hopefully you’ll be able to wake up early tomorrow and work on it after breakfast. Maybe curling up with a book will distract you more that homework.

Day four of Mammon’s coma has trickled away, leaving you on the cusp of the fifth day and all the more bitter for it. Satan said that there was no way to reverse the coma using the Forbidden book, and had left it completely at that. Now you either had to wait three more days or hope that Mammon gave up on the pool of Grimm he was probably swimming in at the very moment. 

As much as you believe in Mammon, you know that’s not very likely. 

You toss your book aside, bored of it within seconds. Much like everything else lately. Walking with Beelzebub or Asmodeus to school is nice, but it would be much nicer if Mammon were there. Eating lunch with Simeon, Luke, and Solomon was relaxing, but it would be so much more exciting if Mammon were there. Gaming with Leviathan and reading with Satan was fun, but you miss Mammon’s ridiculous schemes and raucous laughter. 

It’s strange. You always enjoyed all of those things normally when Mammon wasn’t in a coma, but you can’t now that he is. 

He’s down the hall from you right now and you miss him more than you did when you returned to the human world for all those months. 

Tired, but unlikely to fall asleep anytime soon, you tuck yourself under your bed covers and close your eyes. 

There’s nothing. 

Mammon’s eyes are wide open. Shocked. Terrified. 

There’s no warmth at all from your lips. 

There is no fluttery feeling. No giddiness. There’s not even the heat that Mammon was boiling with back at the casino. All of the warmth from then and now seems to have leached right out of him. 

You pull back, smile bright.

“Mammon. Mammon.” 

Your hips move just a little, and you move back in to kiss him. Mammon flails, rolls you off of him, and fumbles to open the driver’s side door. When it finally opens, Mammon stumbles out, lands flat on his face in the sand, and scrambles to his feet. 

You sit up in the car. You’re still deck out in shimmering jewels, and you look just the slightest bit rumpled. And hurt. You look so hurt. 

It’s nearly enough to make Mammon trip over himself to climb back in the car, but he can't forget the feeling of your lips on his, or lack thereof. 

Maybe he just built it up too much in his own mind? Maybe he did both you and him a disservice by raising you on a pedestal, and the real deal can’t hold a candle to it?

But no. Mammon remembers. 

Mammon remembers a late movie night, you asleep with your head on his shoulder. Your head lolled and your nose ended up in the crook of Mammon’s neck. Your breath took up Mammon’s every thought, and your proximity made his heart speed. Most of all, he remembers the touch of your sleeping lips to his skin, and how electrified he felt. Like he could punch straight through Cerberus and a hungry Beelzebub all in one go. 

Everything else felt so real, so why did your kiss make Mammon feel so…

Why did it feel so fake?

“Mammon, what’s going on?” You venture, stepping out of the still ajar car door. “Are you okay?” 

“Whaddaya mean ‘what’s going on’?” Mammon yells, hurt and terrified and unsure. “What the hell was that?”

“That was—,” you stutter, “I thought that you—”

“No! No, no, no, no.” Mammon grabs fistfuls of his hair. “Don’t look at me like that! Don’t do it.”

You’re teary eyed. Which is ridiculous, because Mammon should be the one crying. Why did it feel that way? Why does he not feel horror at the thought of you crying?

“Something’s wrong.” Mammon says to himself, to the empty beach, to you. 

“What’s wrong? Mammon, tell me what it is and we can fix it!”

Mammon whips his head around. It all started with this damn abandoned beach, that feeling of wrongness. No lovely beach this side of Devildom is ever without demons. Or was it the casino? He should go back there. Right now! Only…

Where was the casino again?

Mammon’s head spun. Which way was it? He drove here, so he should be able to go back, right? Since when does Mammon, Avatar of Greed, not know where any casino is?

Never. Mammon has never forgotten where a casino is in his life. 

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, desperate. You’re crying, and your hands are trembling. 

“Talk to me! What’s going on?”

Mammon’s only gotten that many wins in a row a few times in his long, long life. And there’s no way Lucifer would ever let him bet enough money to play the type of high-stakes game that would result in that much money. He’s never seen that casino before, and doesn’t know where it is. Even if he concentrates, he can’t remember a single face from that casino. 

Which means that there’s no way that that was a casino. Which means the casino wasn’t real. 

“Mammon, you’re scaring me.”

Mammon looks down at you. You’re in yellow, his favorite color. You were in that fake casino with him, despite him never taking you to any demon casino anywhere in Devildom. You climbed right into the car he’s never shown you anywhere but his dreams. 

Dreams. 

Mammon takes in how hazy the horizon is. He spent several hours in that casino but the sun hasn’t budged from its half-mast in the sky, just before sunset. His favorite time of day. But there’s no day in the Devildom. And this isn’t one of Prince Diavolo’s special beaches.

“You’re not real,” he whispers. 

“What are you talking about, of course I’m real,” you cry, gripping his shoulders harder. 

“No,” Mammon says, “all of this isn’t real.”

He shoves fake-you away, skin burning with home close to him they were. How close he let them be. With one absent-minded hand, he rips off the leather choker and tosses it away carelessly. 

How was he supposed to get out of here? Was there some sort of spell? Was he supposed to fly out?

“It could be real,” fake-you says from the sand. They sit up, face contorted into a beatific smile. “You could stay here, forever. You could win every day. All the wealth you could ever imagine, gifted to you.” Mountains of gold pile up, tumbling over themselves as they stack high, high, high. “Nothing to slow you down. And then at night, you can take me home.” Fake-you rises and steps forward. Mammon retreats further away. “Think of all the fun we could have. You could do anything.”

Fake-you reclines in a pile, sliding a hand down their body, and it takes everything Mammon has not to throw up. 

The Grimm, skulls emblazoned and golden, are tempting. Mammon wants money, wants so much money that he’ll drown in it. But that… that isn’t real money, is it? What the fuck is Mammon supposed to buy with fake money?

“No! I don’t want fake money! I want real money!” Mammon kicks down a pile, feeling his fangs prickle his lower lip. What was the use of money that Mammon could never have in real life? What was the use of time spent with you when you weren’t really here? “I don’t want fake-you! I want the real you!”

“Why?” Fake-you asks, cupping a handful of gold and letting it pour from their hand. It makes musical clanks as it hits the rest of the coins and slides down the pile. “It’s as real as you believe it is, and so am I.” Fake-you grins. “Come on, Mammon. It’s not like you’ll ever get this chance anywhere else.”

Reeling with hurt and outrage, Mammon lets his demon form rise to the surface, feeling his power distort the very air. 

“I. Want. Out.”

The beach and fake-you are ripped to shreds by his claws. 

Belphegor crashed into the dinning room, looking more disheveled than usual. 

“Mammon’s waking up!”

Despite your human nature, you’re the fastest to react. You stumble to Mammon’s room, where he’s thrashing so violently you balk at the door. The blankets twist around him where his claws haven’t shredded them, and he’s growling. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Lucifer demands, pushing past his curious brothers, dragging Belphegor with him. 

Belphegor shrugs. “He’s waking up, but he’s forcing it. The Book’s fighting him.”

“Can you help him?” You ask. 

“I could,” Belphegor says, “but he doesn’t need it. Look.”

You turn back in enough time to see Mammon’s eyes fly right open, snarling in rage. Rising, he claws off the remaining blankets, and moves towards the crowed at the door, horns out and wings flared.

“Mammon,” you say, excited, shouldering past Lucifer. He doesn’t break his stride in his path to you, and when you reach out to hug him, he snatches you close to him. 

“You woke up,” you exclaim, squeezing him. “I thought I wouldn’t see you for two days! I took school notes, you can use them if you want.”

Mammon tilts up your head, the claws that tore up fabric in seconds gentle. “Mind if I check that this is real?”

“Yeah?” You reply. “How are you—”

He kisses you. Right there, in front of all six of his brothers. It’s soft, barely a brush of his lips on yours for a chaste second, but your heart nearly bursts in your chest with free fall sensation. Your head swims a little, and the words of the demons behind you fly right over your head. 

“Yeah,” Mammon sighs, stroking your cheek with his thumb, dopey smile growing on his face. “This is real all right.”

You have a million questions. How does your kiss make everything real? What was Mammon dreaming about? Did he miss you, too? 

As you open your mouth to ask any of these questions, Mammon collapses on you in a dead faint, taking you to the ground with him. 

Winded, you stare at the minuscule amount of ceiling that you can see through stark white hair. 

“Oh,” Satan says calmly. “The book did say to expect some disorientation upon awakening.”