#cursing but that makes it lack any charm

[hufflpuffin]

What did they do to my girl Katara nooo

Ive only watched ep 1 so hopefully it gets better but man

No accidentally breaking the iceberg with her waterbending to show how powerful she unknowingly is, no standing up to Sokka's misogyny (no misogyny at all), no wanting to run away from her family because Aang is her best chance at learning waterbending but then deciding against it because she knows Sokka needs her, no talking Aang down from the avatar state. Ironically removing the misogyny from Sokka affects Katara just as bad because theres nothing for her to bite back at him about. Theres just nothing interesting about her personality at all

[stevesherdaddynowlover]

pet names and looped pinkies [s.h.] 18+

hiiiii so i've never written for steve but just did a stranger things rewatch and have felt...inspired. i hope you enjoy! pls feel free to send suggestions or concepts or anything :) thanks for reading!

masterlist

summary: steve is your best friend and you have a crush on him and that's fine until one day it's not and the next thing you know you can't think or speak or breathe around him. (steve harrington x fem!reader)

warnings: loooots of pet names, fluff, pining,cursing, kissing, m masturbation, dirty talk, handjob, spitting, tiny bit of cum eating :))) 18+ ONLY!! MDNI

wc: 6.4k

part 2 here!!!!

You and Steve had been friends for quite some time now. 

Going from quietly watching him throughout high school, maybe quietly crushing on him too, to fighting monsters and trying to survive could do that to people. Make them friends, that is. 

The crush you’d been harboring on Steve didn’t go away, oh no if anything it had gotten about ten times worse in the time you’d spent growing close. That Steve you knew in high school was long gone. The, for lack of a better word, asshat you had come to blush over had turned into a protector. A funny, endearing, unnervingly hot protector that made your tummy flutter and your palms sweat. 

It didn’t help that he seemed completely unaware of your feelings, or that the things he did made your heart race and your cheeks turn pink. Linking his pinky with yours while you strolled around town, letting his thumb mindlessly rub circles on the little sliver of your stomach that was visible during movie night, giving a little tug on your hair when you said something cheeky, letting his dimple pop out when you teased him. 

And the pet names. God, the pet names! Maybe he did know! Maybe he wanted to torture you and make you squirm. They slipped from those perfect pink lips so effortlessly it kind of pissed you off. 

“Hey honey, how was work today?” 

“Sweetheart we’re gonna be late for the movie and I will not be blamed when we don’t have time to grab your snacks.” 

“Any chance you wanna pick up an extra shift and spend some time with me? What do you say, pretty?” 

He had the hair, the smile, the charm. You imagined it would be hard for anyone not to fall madly in love with him. It was surely hard for you! Steve did a good job of turning you to mush. It was hard to think around him, even harder to not think about him. 

Which is why you’re really struggling now, smushed on a far too little couch with 3 other people, your thigh pressed so tightly against Steve’s it’s making your head spin. It’s movie night, a tradition you’ve picked up and held onto tightly amidst all the craziness that happens in your small town. Steve is on your left, stuck between the arm of the couch and you. Robin is on your right with Eddie next to her and Jonathon next to him. A couch meant for 2, maybe 3, but all 4 of you packed on while the rest of your friends lounge on the floor or a chair, eyes all focused on the screen. 

Almost everyone’s eyes are focused on the screen. 

You’re staring straight ahead, sure! But while a movie that you now can’t even remember the name of is droning on, all you can think of is how your hip is touching Steve’s. Or how his pinky has somehow found yours again and they’re looped together on his lap. Or even worse, how he’s got his head resting on your shoulder and you can feel little puffs of his breath hitting your neck everytime he laughs. 

It’s driving you crazy, your hand not in his twitching by your side and your chest rising and falling a little faster than it should be while watching a comedy with your friends. You’re so distracted it takes you a few minutes to realize that Steve is no longer watching the movie, but is now focused on you and how uncomfortable you seem to be. He gives a small tug to your pinky, drawing your eyes to meet his and you’re so overwhelmed with him right now you could cry at the furrow in his brow and the small pout he’s wearing looking at you. 

“Y’alright, baby?” You can see his genuine concern at the state of you but all you can focus on is trying not to let a small whimper through your lips as you hear him call you baby. Not being able to look at him for more than a few seconds you drag your eyes away from him, a small huff leaving you while you shake your head, mainly at yourself. “I, uh m’fine. I’m fine.” Neither of you are convinced, you know that, but you can’t find it in you to care at the moment when all you can think about is taking his bottom lip between your teeth. 

He studies you once more, eyes taking you in quickly as he reaches up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers around your neck a second longer, two fingers giving you a little pinch before he’s drawing his hand back to his lap. You find yourself staring far too long at his hand, wondering what it would feel like if he swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. Or if it would be as good as you imagined to have him slip that same thumb past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, wearing that same smirk you’ve seen a thousand times.

Fuck fuck fuck. You’re so fucked. 

As soon as the thoughts come, they’re gone because the next thing you know you’re using his and Robin’s thighs as leverage to jump up from the couch, turning to face everyone with red cheeks and a forced smile. 

“So I, uh, I gotta go! Just remembered mom wanted me home early tonight, some, uh, some family thing going on. Yeah that’s it. Family thing!” Everyone is staring, eyes wide with confusion written all over their faces. You love movie night, never miss it let alone leave early. 

You don’t give anyone the chance to question you before you’re bouncing up the stairs trying to pull your shoes on as quickly as possible. You know he’ll be right behind you, asking you what’s wrong or offering a ride home. You both know you’re full of shit but you can’t find it in you to care right now, too focused on getting away from him before you do something crazy like kiss him. 

Steps away from the front door you think you’ve made it. Can almost feel the relief of the cool breeze cooling down your skin that seems to be burning up from where Steve was touching you. You're so close, less than a foot away when you realize you weren’t quick enough. 

A hand wraps around your forearm, a large calloused hand that you’d know anywhere. Shoulders slumped in defeat and you turn to face him, not all the way because you don’t think you could handle it, but enough to acknowledge his presence. “Harrington, I gotta go. You know how my mom is, this’ll be held over my head for weeks if I’m late.” Lies. All lies. Your mom fully expects you to sleep at Robins tonight. He’s quiet for what feels like hours but is really only seconds before he speaks, “Let me give you a ride then. You’ll be home in less than 5.”

Now you know that cannot happen. You cannot be in his car that smells like him. You cannot watch the way his hands grip the wheel, and you know you won’t be able to look away. You cannot be locked in a car with him where you know he’ll try and figure out why you’ve been acting so weird tonight. And honestly you just cannot be around him right now without feeling like you’re going to faint. 

“No, no, don't worry about it, it’s a quick walk and I could use the fresh air! I’m feeling a little…off right now anyways so I wouldn’t mind being alone. Go finish the movie! Love you, see you, have fun!” And before he can react or try to argue with you, reaching up on your tiptoes you plant a quick kiss to his cheek, lips tingling as you turn and run out the door, hoping to god or whoever is listening that Steve doesn’t come after you. 

What you don’t see as you’re running down the sidewalk is your best friend standing in the doorway with his hand hovering over his cheek where you just kissed him and a blush crawling up his neck as those quick seconds play on a loop in his head for the rest of the movie. 

 ****************************************

It’s been a few days since movie night. The night you’re refusing to think about but also the one you can’t seem to get out of your head. More specifically the sound of Steve calling you baby and the feel of his fingers brushing against your throat. 

Well you’ve tried not to think about it. 

You’re not sure why this is happening now. You’ve liked him for as long as you can remember so why all of a sudden do you feel like panting when your skin touches his? Why now are his little smirks and pet names enough to bring you to your knees? Over the years you’ve done good, so good, at keeping yourself together in front of him, letting his comments and flirting roll off your back. But now…now you can’t be in the same room without wanting to tug on his hair or leave marks on his chest or feel so desperate to taste him that it drives you insane. 

You don’t know what caused this switch to flip but it fucking sucks. It sucks because besides all of that, he’s still your best friend. Yeah, it’s ungodly how hot he is but he’s also still the guy who buys you your favorite ice cream when you’ve had a rough day, who goes to see scary movies with you when no one else will because you’re the only one that likes them. He’s saved you, cared for you, loved you for a few years now and honestly that just makes it worse! 

He’s mouthwatering AND a good guy. Fuck him for that. 

In the few days since you’ve seen him he’s called. 11 times? Maybe more. And you’ve been conveniently in the shower or asleep or anything else your mother can make up while you try and figure out what you’re going to say to him. The problem with this is that the longer you avoid him, the more awkward and hard this is going to be. 

So when you wake up today, 4 days after movie night, you decide it’s time to be a big girl and talk to him. Not about your feelings, god no! But it is time to at least try to be normal around him and to stop avoiding him. You already know he’s gonna look like a kicked puppy, big brown eyes staring down at you while you try and justify not talking to him for days. You’re fucked. So fucked. 

Walking downstairs you hear the phone ringing and your heart drops. Maybe you’re not ready for this. Maybe your family can just move! That should work. You’ll miss everyone but honestly this seems like your best option at this point. 

Your dad is gone for the day, your mom is standing at the counter with her purse on her shoulder like she’s about to walk out the door with her mouth open, ready to give Steve yet another excuse to why you can’t talk to him. But you’re brave. You’re a big girl who can handle a phone call with your best friend. Your hot best friend you're madly in love with and want to climb like a tree. 

Your hand is out and reaching for the phone before you can talk yourself out of it, a sigh of relief leaving your mother as she practically throws it at you, running for the door before you change your mind. It’s by your ear for a good few seconds before you hear him, his voice raspy and deep so you know he’s just woken up and it makes your whole body buzz. 

“Hello?” 

It’s now or never. Never sounds nice. “Hey! How ya been? How’s it going? How was the movie?” The questions pour out of you so quickly you’re not sure he can even understand what you’re saying but you hold your breath and wait anyway. 

“How’s it going? Are you kidding me? Fuckin’ Christ! You’ve taken about 12 showers in 4 days and couldn’t be bothered to talk to me, why don’t you tell me how it’s going.” So he was upset. Totally fair. 

“Don’t be mad at me, please.” It was the first thing that came out of your mouth and you knew it was stupid but you couldn’t help it. He deserved to be mad at you, to yell and cuss and whatever else he deemed fit. But now that you had heard his voice again for the first time in days, the thought of him being upset with you made you want to cry, even though you had done this! 

You heard him take a deep breath and knew he was running his hand through his hair, tugging on the ends the way he always did when he was stressed. “M‘not mad, sweetheart. I mean, maybe a little but I was more worried! That something had happened or I had done something or…I don’t know. Was just worried sick and…god I just fuckin’ missed you.” 

Had you mentioned that you were fucked? His words hit you a ton of bricks, any thoughts you had about moving on or maybe distancing yourself gone in an instant. Because he was worried. And he missed you. He fuckin’ missed you. And god you loved him so much it hurt, so much you could feel it in your fingertips and toes like little zaps of electricity when you thought of him or heard his voice. 

You were gone for Steve Harrington. 

“I..m’so sorry, Stevie. I missed you too, so much and I’m so sorry and I’m just…I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong, you never do! I’ve just been a mess and my minds been a mess and I thought some time to myself would help me but really it's just..it doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m sorry and I missed you.” 

“S’okay, bunny. You alright? Can talk to me about anything, you know. I’m not…I know I’m not always the best at this stuff but I’d be good for you. I’ll listen to ya all day, do whatever I can to help you. Wanna come over? Movie night just the two of us? I’ll order you pizza and get you extra buttery popcorn and some ice cream, promise.” 

The thought of being alone with Steve sends red lights flashing through your brain but when he sounds so…god when he’s saying all the right things in a voice you’d dare describe as whiny you can’t help but to want to drop everything and all but crawl to him. 

So at the expense of your sanity you agree quickly, promising you’ll be there by 8 o’clock and hang up the phone before he can call you sweetheart or bunny again running up the stairs to take the coldest shower you’ve ever taken that does nothing to erase the thoughts of Steve from your mind. 

  *****************************************

The walk to Steve’s was surprisingly calm. You weren’t freaking out completely, just a little nervous but that was nothing new to you when it came to spending time with Steve, especially alone. 

Unfortunately for you, that calm lasted for all of about 10 minutes. 

In theory it was a good idea to spend some time with Steve after ignoring him for days. It was an okay idea to agree to a movie night with your best friend. Was. 

But now that you’re standing on his porch and his door was just thrown open to reveal a freshly showered Steve, it seems like all of this was a horrible idea. 

An awful, terrible, horribly bad idea. 

Awful because you can see little beads of water from his freshly washed hair dropping and running down his throat. Awful because the urge to lean forward and run your tongue over them is so strong you swear your mouth waters a little bit. 

Terrible because he’s wearing that goddamn white t-shirt that is hugging his arms so tight and since when did his arms start to look like that? Awful because that same damn shirt is tight over his chest too. It fits him so well you can see it snug against his tummy and waist. It fits him like a glove and your hands clench at your sides to keep from touching him. 

And this is bad. So horribly bad because he’s wearing his favorite pair of light wash denim jeans that cling to his thighs so nicely you feel your knees wobble. One of your hands comes up to your mouth to run over your chin, subconsciously making sure you’re not actually drooling despite the way you wish you could drop to your knees and spend hours leaving marks on those thighs. You can’t see his ass and you’re praying to god he doesn’t turn around so you don’t have to suffer through seeing how his jeans hug him just right. 

While your mind is running a million miles a minute with thoughts of Steve, you realize you actually haven’t said anything. Haven’t made a move to greet him or walk in, instead just standing there with what you imagine is a slack jaw and wide eyes. Willing yourself to meet his gaze, you somehow manage to drag your eyes off his thighs and bring them up, up, up until you meet his. 

He definitely does not look like a kicked puppy right now. Those brown eyes are darker and he’s wearing a smirk that would make you do anything he asked. He cocks his eyebrow at you, amusement clear in his face as you try and collect yourself. 

“You look starved, honey. Wanna come in?” 

   *********************************

After the initial embarrassment wears off, you feel a little better. Somehow managing to brush off his teasing as if you weren’t just devouring him with your eyes, you follow Steve to the kitchen, laughing as he tries to balance all the snacks he’d bought for you in arms. He shot you a glare full of playfulness when you tried to help, insisting that he “was a big boy and could handle the snacks.” 

Now you find yourself on that same couch from last week, much more space between the two of you than there had been then, a good foot and half extra in fact. Steve laughed when he saw you practically throw yourself to the other end of the couch, hand reaching out for you with a little pout on his lips. “Think I’m gonna bite you or something?” God I wish. Please please please bite me! 

But instead you held out your hand reluctantly, fingers twisting with his as he tugged you toward him. Movie night flashed in your head. His clothed thigh just inches away from yours, arm thrown over your shoulders and a cheeky grin on his face as he pulled you into his side. A satisfied hum was heard and you could have sworn you heard him mumble under his breath, sounding a lot like “much better” but it was hard to hear anything with the smell of him clouding your senses. 

Trying to get your thoughts off of him you reach forward to grab the dvd case laying on the table, a small smile gracing your lips as you see what he had picked. “John Carpenter's Halloween. I thought you said you’d never watch this?” This time when you turned to him, he was the one with red cheeks and shy smile as he glanced between the movie and you. A small shrug and wink was thrown your way, “S’one of your favorites. You should know you’re the exception to my rules.” 

You’re fucked. 

Heart pounding in your chest all you could manage was a smile and a small “thank you” before turning away, hoping he’d get up and start the movie so you’d have something to distract you from how sweet he was, watching a scary movie you know he doesn’t want to watch just because it’ll make you happy. 

It was about halfway through the movie when it happened. 

Everything was going well! You were snuggled into his side, actually paying attention to the movie and not sitting there distraught over being so close to him. You were so invested you hadn’t noticed your hand slip to his thigh during a scene that had made you jump. 

But Steve noticed. 

Too engrossed in your movie to see how your hand was holding his upper thigh and it definitely would have been too high if you’d been paying attention. You didn’t notice this or the way Steve was now on red alert, whole body tense with his hand gripping the couch cushion and his eyes trained on your hand as if to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. 

He could do this, he could ignore your hand and let you watch your movie. It would be fine. He’ll just slip into the bathroom when it’s over or wait till you go home to take care of his now aching cock. And god was he aching. He didn’t dare move, too nervous that you’d get all weird and fidgety like you’d been. This was the closest you’d been to him without seeming freaked out in weeks and he was not about to ruin that. 

The smell of your lavender shampoo overwhelmed him, a groan threatening to spill out while you sat there so unaware of how beautiful you looked just existing. He noticed everything about you. The slope of your little button nose and the way your lips, your perfect pink lips, parted just so when you were lost in thought. He noticed how your cheeks would turn the prettiest shade of red when he called you baby or honey or sweetheart. And he loved it, craved it even. He couldn’t tell if it was because of him or if you were just a sensitive little thing in general. He’d take what he could get with you, even if he had to live off your rosy cheeks and holding your pinky for the rest of his life. 

“Fuck, honey, m’sorry but you have got to move your hand, please.” Steve’s voice in your ear so suddenly made you jump, a small yelp leaving your lips as you turned to see what he was talking about. You didn’t even realize you were touching him! But one look down at this thigh and you gasped, cheeks burning as your eyes moved from your hand clinging to his thigh over to now very noticeable bulge straining against those light wash jeans. Ripping your hand away as if he’d burned you, a string of curses and apologies flew out as you scrambled to move as far away as possible. 

If he looked pained with your hand on his thigh then he looked downright miserable now that you’d taken it away. “Don’t have to run away from me, honey. M’sorry, didn’t mean to scare you I just…fuck I couldn’t sit still with you holding onto me like that.” He did his best to tug you back and you let him. “Sorry, Stevie. I wasn’t…I didn’t, I was just watching the movie I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

He looked at you with furrowed brows, eyes jumping all over your face like he knew something you didn’t, like he knew something you should know. Neither of you said anything, just stared at each other for some time before he sighed, letting his head fall back against the couch before coming back to look at you again. 

Hand cradling your cheek he gave you a small, tired small like he couldn’t believe you could possibly make him uncomfortable. That is not the word he would use. “Silly girl, I’m not uncomfortable because your hand was on me. I’m uncomfortable because your hand on me is making me wanna pin you down and fuck you so hard you can’t think straight.”

Oh. Oh. 

Lips parted you just stared at him, not sure you’d be able to form a coherent thought let alone words right now. He wanted to fuck you? Since when? Why hasn’t he ever brought this up? Doesn’t he know you’d do anything he asked of you? 

Steve let you process, could see the gears turning in that pretty head of yours and your eyes switching from looking at him to looking at where his cock was pressing up against the zipper of his pants. Maybe he’d said too much, gone too far. He was almost certain now that you liked him, wanted him, but maybe it was too overwhelming to be so blunt with you. 

“Y’know what baby? I can see you freaking out and I didn’t mean to make you nervous so I’m gonna go to the bathroom, alright? Gonna take care of this real quick and then we can finish the movie, can start another one if you want. I’ll be right back and we can figure this out later.” It was him getting off the couch that broke you out of whatever spell you were under, hand wrapping around his arm and if you weren’t so desperate for this, for him, you’d be embarrassed by the look of panic in your eyes at the thought of not getting to see this, to make him feel good. 

“Please stay. Just…fuck just stay, okay?” 

Both of you paused, staring at each other and waiting for someone to move or to breathe or just do something. A soft “okay” was murmured between you, Steve settling back into the couch as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Fuck was this really happening? 

“Whatever you want to happen can happen, baby.” 

You definitely didn’t mean to say that out loud but now that you had, a little burst of courage hit you and you just let it pour out. “Didn’t mean to say that out loud I just..I didn’t…I’m nervous. You make me nervous. I want this. I want this so bad you have no idea but I didn’t know you wanted this so now my head is fucked and I’m rambling and kinda freaking out but you can stay. You can stay and I can watch or I can help or whatever you want just..stay. Ok?” You dared a glance up at Steve, his eyes wide and a grin broke out on his face. He looked as if you’d just handed him the moon not offered to watch him get off. 

Taking your hand in his he gave you a squeeze, “We’ll go slow. I can start and you can watch and if you wanna do more, feel fucking free, honey. But if you don’t, that’s fine. If you want me to stop, say the word. You’re in charge here,” he paused, lifting his hand to take my chin between his fingers so I’d be forced to meet his eyes, “and for the record, there hasn’t been I second I've known you where I haven’t wanted this. I’ll take anything you give me, swear it. Whatever you want, any way you want.” 

“Kiss me, please.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice, moving his hand to cup your cheek and pulling you toward him, his lips pressing against yours soft at first, testing the waters and trying to keep you calm. His lips were just as soft as you’d imagined, sweet like the candy he’d been eating earlier. You groaned against him, pushing closer and opening your mouth to invite him in, the thought of his tongue on yours enough to have you reaching your hands into his hair to tug him closer, closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you. 

He pulled back first, a string of spit connecting the two of you and he cursed at the sight, “Jesus, fuck I can’t believe you’ve kept this sweet, pretty mouth away from me. S’not nice, baby. So mean to me, yeah?” If you thought you were desperate before it was nothing compared to now, now that you’d had a taste of him. 

“M’sorry Stevie, so sorry, not gonna keep em from you anymore. Promise, promise, promise.” You’re barely making sense, your head spinning and your body on fire. Foreheads pressed together you tried to catch your breath, but you couldn’t think or breathe or function when he was this close to you with his swollen, spit kissed lips just inches away from yours. 

Coming out of your post-kiss haze you move back beside Steve, eager and desperate to finally see him, all of him. His eyes widen as your hands go to the button of his jeans, tugging relentlessly and you're just so cute he has to laugh. Eager too and fuck how did he get so lucky?

“Take em off, please. Want them off, Stevie.” You’re full on pouting now and it takes everything in you not to cry. You’d do it if he wanted, you’d do anything. But he doesnt let it get that far, taking your hands off his jeans and cooing at you and it makes you feel a little pathetic but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when he’s about to finally pull down his pants. 

He does so wordlessly, eyes bouncing from his lap to your face every few seconds like he’s checking in on you, making sure he’s not missing anything and that you still want this. It makes your tummy flutter and your heart race, his caring for you. His pants pushed down to his knees is all he can manage, head too fuzzy thinking about you and how he’s so hard it hurts worse than it ever has.

As soon as his jeans were out of your way you were staring, gawking really, at the white boxers sitting so prettily on his hips that were doing nothing to hide how hard, how big he was. A small wet patch forming where you know his tip is resting and it makes your mouth water. He’s just so hot. So hot and it makes it even better that this is because of you. Fuck.

A beg was on the tip of your tongue but before you could he put you out of your misery. Lifting his hips up you had to dig your nails into your palm to keep still while he pulled his boxers down, pretty, messy, cock slapping against his stomach. “Jesus fucking Christ, Steve! You’re so…I’m…fuck.” He breathed out a laugh which quickly turned to a wince when we saw how you were looking at him, at his cock. He felt himself twitch under your stare and you swear your mouth just fell open as if it was meant to be. 

His hand drifted towards his cock, eyes still on you to make sure you were okay. You gave him a nod and the sigh of relief you both had when he finally wrapped his hand around himself would have made you laugh if you weren’t throbbing. His head fell back against the couch and you were torn between watching him touch himself or watching his face while he did it. The former won, your eyes trailing the way his hand moved slowly, teasing the both of you. 

“S’pretty, you’re so pretty…” You’re not even sure you were talking to him, more just to yourself but he heard you nonetheless. His hips jerked at that, a small moan slipping past his swollen lips as he turned his head toward you, watching you with hooded eyes. I could watch this forever, you thought. 

You couldn’t believe it. A few days ago you were thinking of ways to never speak to Steve again and now here you were, watching him stroke his cock in front of you and looking at him as if he was your last meal. He held his hand out, a silent plea for something but you didn’t know what, not until he spoke.

“So good, baby, so pretty. Can you ju-just spit on my hand for me, honey? Lick it, spit on it, anything you want, I just need you please.” His words were slurred and if you hadn’t spent the last few hours together you would think he was drunk. He seemed so out of it, but in the best way. Like he didn’t just want you but needed you. It made you feel good, better than you ever had and it gave you a spark of bravery you were missing before. 

Knocking his hand out of your way you leaned forward with cautious eyes, watching as he tried to figure out what you were doing until it dawned on him and his cock twitched in his hand. You leaned forward, face hovering inches above him and spit, both of you watching as it dropped from your mouth to his tip, covering the top of his hand as he began to stroke himself again. His lips parted in an “o”, eyes squeezed shut and his tummy clenching as he let out the loudest moan you had heard, so loud and strong you felt yourself clenching around nothing.

You were wet but with Steve looking and sounding like that you couldn’t bring yourself to care about how bad you were aching right now, far too focused on Steve and how his thighs were starting to shake a little and his hips were starting to move faster and more uneven. 

“C-can I?” 

His eyes shot open, head shaking furiously before he had even fully understood what you were asking. He knew he wouldn't last more than ten seconds if you touched him but he couldn’t care less. All he could think about was how pretty you were, how good he was feeling, how you had just fucking spit on his cock. He would take whatever you gave him. 

With a whine that you would replay in your mind for the rest of your life he took his hand off, tugging yours closer to take his place. Both of you moaned at the contact and you were almost convinced you could cum just from touching him. “Help me, I want you to feel good, please.” He looked like a bobblehead as he nodded, putting his much larger hand over yours and giving it a squeeze, helping you to stroke him just how he liked, though anything from you would feel a million times better than his own hand. 

Addicted would be the word to describe it. Now that you had touched him, felt how hot and smooth his cock was in your hand, how pretty it looked all pink and wet and coated in your spit. Steve liked it messy and apparently so did you. You thought you were addicted to his cock, and you were, but nothing prepared you for the absolute filth that started spilling from him once he finally had your hand on him. It made you dizzy and out of breath and goddamn you would have to throw these panties in the trash after this. Absolutely ruined, just like you were. 

“Fuckin’ dreamed about this, ‘bout your hand on my cock, s’good, baby.”

“Don’t think I don’t see you squirming, honey. My pretty girl all wet ‘n needy and I haven’t even touched you. Bet you’re drenched and achy, huh?”

“Gonna make me cum, gonna make a mess of us but I bet you’ll be good and clean it up for me, won’t ya, bunny?”

He was babbling now and you could barely make sense of what he was saying but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t and you didn’t want to. His cock was slick with precum and your spit one of his hands guiding yours in quick strokes while his other was gripping the couch so hard his knuckles were white. 

“M’close, honey…so so close.”

“Please, Stevie…want it, I need it, please.” And that was all it took. No warning, your words taking him by surprise and hitting him like a punch to the gut. He took his hand off, bringing it to your hair and tugging you to him. It was a messy kiss, lips pressed together while he moaned against you, just breathing each other in while he cursed and whined, his hips stilling and you slowed, looking down just in time to see him cum. Your hand and his lower stomach was covered, his hand that was gripping the couch now thrown over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. 

Chest and neck covered in sweat, he looked good. When he finally had gathered himself enough to look at you, he instantly regretted it. Instead of his innocent best friend, his sweet little bunny, he was looking at a little devil lapping at his cum on her hand like she hadn’t eaten in days. His softening cock twitched against his thighs and he stifled a groan when you hummed happily at the taste. 

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” You shrugged half heartedly, not even a little bit of you was sorry. 

“Can we finish the movie now, Stevie? I’ll probably pass out soon you wore me out, but I’m too tired to move.”

He looked down at you a little confused, your cheeks still pink and thighs still clenched together tightly. “You don’t…I can…I wanna take care of you too, sweetheart. Been dying to get a taste of you, know you’re sweet.”

You giggled and even though you were a mess, in every sense of the word, you didn’t think you could handle anymore and told him as such, eyes already feeling droopy and your body sagging against him. “Next time? Promise you can do anything you want to me next time but watching you cum was enough for me.” Your cheeks flamed as if you hadn’t just licked your best friend’s cum off your hand. 

“Alright, honey. Let’s finish your movie, you little vixen. Didn’t even take me out to dinner before you were drooling over my cock. A crime!” His smile was bright as you smacked at his chest and cursed him for teasing you.

You were sure that what had just happened would hit you soon and the panic would set in but for now you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you pressed a kiss to Steve’s bare chest and felt his grin against the top of your head. 

Did I mention I was fucked? 

[un-lawliet]

— A drabble about falling asleep on Gojo, and making him realise something he never even considered.

You’re asleep before you even realise it, your head softly bouncing as your body slumps sideways.

Right onto Gojo’s shoulder.

Well, nearly.

The blindfolded man turns his head at the slight bump on his infinity, pausing briefly as he sees you sound asleep, a small crease in your brow as your body attempts to readjust into a more comfortable position.

That mission must have taken a lot more out of you than he had thought.

For such a well rounded sorcerer as yourself to fall asleep on the train ride home…Gojo finds himself frowning at his lack of perception.

He could have handled it for you, had you have asked him to, should you have voiced your exhaustion to him, he would have finished the mission quickly and walked you right to your bed.

You hadn’t been sleeping well recently, he had noticed that.

Being too caught up in trying to teach your students whilst also contributing to your part in the eradication of curses, left you a yawning mess, trailing your feet ever so slightly behind you as you walked.

You lack your usual air of charm, your eyes duller, and voice quiet, and Gojo finds himself, missing you a lot more than he believed he should.

When the pair of you return to Jujutsu Tech, Gojo makes a reminder in his head to take over the rest of your missions until you can promise him of your rest.

If you won’t take care of yourself, then he will.

For now though, the traces of a small smile can be seen on his lips, as your head finally hits the warmth of his shoulder, his technique forgotten for just a moment.

Allowing himself the feeling of your hair tickling his neck, and the weight of your sleep, he traces your eyebrow with his thumb, smirking as you sigh contently at his touch.

There’s an old woman, across from the pair of you, sitting with her bags stacked high on her knees, who whispers under her breath to her husband about the joy of young love, and how gentle it can make a man.

And Gojo finds himself growing fond at the thought, humming sweetly as he looks at your sleeping face, and how calm you look when against his frame.

The trains goes through a tunnel, darkness permeating the car for a brief moment.

You shuffle in your seat as the darkness becomes light once more, waking slightly at the sudden change in brightness.

Your head is resting on something…warm?

You blink slowly, taking in your surroundings before gazing up, alarm juxtaposing your peace.

You spring off his shoulder, eyes wide with concession.

“Oh my God!” You splutter out, your face burning with chagrin, your hands raising as if pleading for mercy.

Your relationship with Gojo is complicated already, you hate to make things more confusing than they need to be.

“I’m sorry!” You say, “I didn’t realise I-”

He cuts you off with a small shake of his head, a large hand reaching over to gently push your head back onto his shoulder, a chuckle leaving him as he does so.

“Relax.” He grins, and it’s the softest you’ve ever heard him speak, “If you’re tired, sleep. I’ll not stop you.”

And you breathe out and in, Gojo can feel it on his neck, trying not to shiver at the closeness of your breath.

“You don’t mind?” You whisper out, at last, unable to peer back up at him.

The hand that pushed you back to him trails down to rest on your waist, curling in to trace patterns on your skin. It makes you feel warm, and you bury your face deeper into his shoulder.

“Nah.” He replies simply, his voice sounding contemplative, as if coming to a realisation he had not yet realised he had to perceive.

And when he leaves a soft kiss on the top of your head, you feel yourself melt, feelings of confusion and any thought of hesitancy dissipating in the feeling of his delicate kiss.

“Not at all.”

Masterlist <3

feel free to leave a request !

A/N: i miss my baby :(

sorry for being gone for FIVE MONTHS omfg ?????? that’s crazy, i’ve been going insane i think but i’m back and i’m here and i love everyone here and thank you so so so much for reading <3 this was just something small i wrote in half an hour just to bring myself back into the whole writing thing :) so please don’t take it too seriously !!!! i hope you are all doing well

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Wing Grooming

lucifer x gn reader

warnings: i’ve written before but i don’t do it often so be aware, written on mobile, no mention of skin colour/bodytype/gender/hair type, no use of Y/N, slightly sexual but no real smut, cursing.

i love lucifer and i love the wings shtick <3 also i’ve worked with birds so im applying my knowledge of them here teehee

lemme know whatcha think this is only the second time homegirls written an xreader. also writing on tumblr sucks it deleted my shii so many times and i had to keep rewriting paragraphs

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔗𝔴𝔬 :)

—

Lucifer anxiously paced around his room in the hotel, unable to relax due to his wings, they were itchy. Normally he used various different objects to break the casting of new feathers, and remove those pesty pin feathers. He’s been so busy at the hotel recently, he completely neglected his feathers causing some unfortunate issues with his malt. After all he didn’t have only two he had a whole six, and it wasn’t easy to take care of all at once. In all honesty, Lucifer would rather cut them off before asking for assistance with preening them. Tossing his hat to the side his wings popped out unwillingly loose feathers flying around him. Curling the first set in front of him, he picked through to find the cause of the itch and discomfort. Chills ran up his back as his fingers gently searched through, they were sensitive from lack of care not to mention preening never failed to give him goose bumps. A knock sounded from his door making him jump, his wings puffing out around him. “Uh, ah, one moment.” He shouted in a sing songy voice, jumping to his feet from where he sat he hurried over eager to get back to preening.

Swining the door open you stood on the other side smiling with papers in your grasp. Keeping his wings hidden slightly behind him and the door he greeted you with a charming smile. "Hi luce, Charlie said these belonged to you something to do with the different rings?" Quirking your head to the side you observed the king with curiosity. He was visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting and shifting from side to side. "Are you alright?" He blew air out in a pft sound at you and stood a little straighter. "Just a little feather issues, you know how it can be..." Lucifer trailed looking off to the side trying hard to ignore the stinging itch that shot through one wing.

“Oh can I help in any way, if that’s not strange?” You ask innocently but Lucifer’s mind went immediately to the gutter with the thought of you tracing your hands down his back and his combing through feathers, it made him shiver with delight. Although his blush was evident and his demeanour dropped to a slightly more shy one, you remained waiting patiently for his answer. “It’s- uh, normally, i don’t let anybody touch them. Um, but you can! Of course..” He trailed switching between stretching himself up with confidence and shrinking down again with doubt, regardless of his apprehension he still stood aside opening the door wider for you to enter. “It’s just the preening process is all. Difficult to reach.” Lucifer muttered as you welcome yourself into his room. With a bright smile you reassured him that you would do as he asked and you’d rather help than have him be stuck with that icky discomfort.

Setting the paperwork down on a table, Lucifer closed the door and lingered next to a bench sofa whistling as his wings flapped him at random behind him. Turning to him he looked a little shy still not fully meeting your gaze. Unsure of what exactly to do but you gave him an assuring smile. “I don’t have to do this, I can get Charlie to?”

Lucifer laughed quickly shaking his head. “Ha ha, no that would make things worse actually, you’re much preferred! Just y’know it’s a lot to work on.” Plopping down on the bench he outstretched his wings behind him on full display for you, his heart pounding against his ribs. You felt a zap of emotion shoot through you at the admission that you were wanted by him for this job.

It wasn't a secret Charlie's dad woo'd you the moment he waltzed in the door, but your loyalty was with Charlie and you didn't want to disrespect her by eye fucking her divorced father while he's here to help. Although Charlie seemed pretty enthralled that her father was making an effort to spend time with her friends, even elbowing you and whispering that he seemed to particularly enjoy conversation with you.

After that it was harder to ignore the way you felt for the King, Charlie would constantly drop not so subtle hints that her dad took a liking to you and that caused your mind to wander and fantasize. From there on you got more confidence putting yourself in situations to catch him alone in conversation or help him with different tasks he had to complete. Beginning your work on his wings, you hummed quietly to yourself easily spotting several pin feathers coming in that needed to have the keratin shell taken off. Carefully you split the feathers away and massaged off the shells one by one listening to Lucifers pleasant hms, groans and sighs. He visibly slumped, and his body rested just barely against your thigh as you worked on the very top wing. “These look pretty cluttered hun, have you been struggling to care for them?” You didn’t even notice the pet name slip as you called everyone off handed pet names, but Lucifer did notice and it brought him a warmth he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Sweetly talking to him about his wings without judgement, combing them comfortingly, humming like an angel just to him. It felt as good as when his ex wife was still around caring for his wings. It’d been so long since someone was by his side caring for him like this.

Lucifer never responded properly to your question about upkeep only humming in a trance like state as you worked your way through the top set of wings "You're so good at this, sheesh, I wish you'd do this all the time." You blushed faltering slightly which Lucifer panicked about, tensing and opening his eyes. "Of course i'm only spit balling, heh, it's just so relaxing like a sauna!" Shaking your head you moved down to the last set of feathers not missing the way he shuddered with your touch. "It's alright i don't mind that you say that. It feels nice actually, to help you." Lucifer didn't say anything feeling suddenly heated as ever as if hell wasn't hot enough. The feathers closest to his hips were unsurprisingly the most sensitive and the touches although innocent felt suggestive to him. The King felt dirty for feeling a euphoric sense of pleasure ripple through his bodv and straight to his junk while you unknowly worked through his feathers. “You okay? Did I hurt you?" You asked noticing his breath picking up and his body stiffening. Lucifer grinned and turned to look at you you meeting his gaze and seeing just how dazed he truly was. "I'm just... well,"

It was like his throat closed as he looked back at you crouched down to get at the last row of feathers that were draped along the floor. The king swallowed snapping his head forward again. “Ahem, I’m sensitive, good, sensitive.” He had hoped you understood his insinuations. Which you had. Breathing in deeply you flattened your hand out spreading your fingers and combing through the feathers more methodically from the base of his wings and outward. That cause him to jump up standing straight, you followed in persuit, panicking that you crossed a big line. His wings twitched but he stayed staring forward rigid, you quickly walked around the bench calling to him softly. “Lucifer i am so sorry if i crossed the line, that, that was unacceptable i’m so sorry.” To which Lucifer spun to you, face red, grabbing your shoulders he smiled a somewhat embarrassed smile. “No no, that was completely fine, i just,” Lucifer pulled away tucking his hands away from you, again which was kind of upset you.

“I think if we continue that, type of grooming, I won’t be able to control myself.” Although still shy about his admission his eyes were half lidded and his smile sly. You felt fire explode in your stomach all innocence out the window as your mind settled on one thought. You were gonna bang your friends divorced dad.

[ddarker-dreams]

i imagine blade completely forgot what embarrassment and awkwardness felt like until he fell for his darling

blade thinks he's dying for real because of the agony he's experiencing but silver wolf casually remarks that no, it's this little thing called self-awareness.

"you're an old man with zero game," she deadpans. "i'd be cringing too."

blade thinks this attack on his character over. is it true? does he lack this supposed... 'game?' for the first time in ages, he assesses his physical presentation. he appears far more civilized than when kafka and sam plucked him from his mindless wandering. he's made progress since then! he no longer meanders about covered in gore! however, he recognizes his shortcomings (a little too much). blade views himself as an abomination that has no business existing in the first place.

does he deserve to pursue you? it's a question he frequently wrestles with. there must be more suitable partners that aren't 700+ years old, cursed, and wanted throughout the universe. thinking this way doesn't make him feel much better. if anything, highlighting his own shortcomings makes it clear the gap between you is wider than he'd care to admit. you could do better, but selfishly, he doesn't want you to.

so he seeks to charm you in any way he can.

(namely, by staring at you unblinkingly, glaring at others who soak up your attention, and leaving trinkets at your doorsteps).

[thewisecheerio]

Elden Ring and Disability

Elden Ring is filled with disabled characters. What I love about the specific way that Elden Ring uses disability, though, is that there is almost always a lore-compliant accommodation provided to the disabled character. This world filled with magic doesn't erase disability, but rather finds magical and lore-compliant ways of accommodating it, much like Star Trek:

Here is some of the disability representation within Elden Ring.

First Generation Albinaurics

First generation albinaurics are synthetic humanoids. Their legs do not function normally, so they are unable to locomote by walking. In the worst cases where no accommodations are provided, we see them crawling to move. But we get two really cool examples of ways to accommodate this disability:

First, we have Latenna the Albinauric. Normally when you summon her as a spirit ash, she functions as a static archer due to the state of her legs. However, if you summon her near a wolf, she will climb onto the wolf and ride it around to avoid enemy attacks and even gains a new attack (freezing mist) with the help of her ride. This puts the onus on you, the player, to make sure that you summon her under accommodating circumstances if you want her to be able to move. And of course, you could also choose not to, accepting her disabled self as-is as a perfectly great battle companion.

You can see a video of the wolf companion in action here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=st6vGIpsHLs

Second, we have Commander Gaius. Gaius is also a first generation albinauric with non-functional legs. But you'd almost never know without reading his lore or looking closely at his model, because is accommodated. He rides his Battle Tank Boar into your fight and has absolutely no problem wiping the floor with your sorry ass.

In both cases, a support animal functioning as a mobility aid allows the first generation albinaurics to locomote.

Malenia, Blade of Miquella

Malenia is missing some limbs due to the Scarlet Rot infection she was cursed with at birth rotting. She is also blind due to the sickness taking her sight. However, Malenia is still able to fight you (and win and win and win and win and...). There are two accommodations at play, the first of which is canon and the second of which is a canon-compliant fanon.

The first is the prosthetics made by the Shaded Castle. Malenia's iconic blade is physically attached to her arm prosthetic, allowing her to wield it in battle regardless of the lack of (natural) limb.

Fun fact: this is based on a real, historical practice with armor where old armor was recycled into prosthetics! There was even a mercenary famed for using a prosthetic limb to hold his sword after an accident that damaged his arm. You can learn more here (timestamp 16:58): https://youtu.be/PJwNjOvn-Ow?t=1018

The second accommodation that allows Malenia to be battle-functional is the water in her battleground. Because she is blind, she can listen for the player character's movement in the water, responding in a Daredevil-esque way. This is probably helped by the fact that her blade instructor--the blind swordsman named in the Blue Dancer Charm--was also blind and likely taught her how to accommodate that disability.

Millicent

Like her mother Malenia, Millicent is also afflicted by the Scarlet Rot. We find her alone and largely non-functional in the Church of the Plague at the beginning of her questline, writhing in pain. We then bring her the Unalloyed Needle, which keeps the Scarlet Rot at bay, relieving pain and allowing her to travel once more. Toward the end of her questline, Millicent removes the needle, which brings the Rot back in full force and ends her life.

In this way, the Unalloyed Needle functions as a treatment regimen for a chronic illness. It does not cure her, but it keeps the illness in check well enough for her to function.

The fact that Millicent chooses to remove the needle at the end of her quest is Important! Disabled people aren't under any obligation to "meet their potential" or continue treatment because it is convenient for others; if they wish to stop their treatment—even to accept palliative care—that is their right. Anything less disrespects their bodily autonomy and choice to make their own decisions. The fact that we get this representation in Millicent, who actively chooses against continuing her treatment after a certain point, is Good and Important.

And of course, we also provide Millicent with a prosthetic from the Shaded Castle, same as her mother. Once properly accommodated in this way, she can fight by your side as an NPC summon.

Messmer the Impaler

A lot of people speculate that Messmer is blind. This is because his left eye is (as far as we know) permanently shut, while his right eye appears to be a grace-filled synthetic seal rather than an eyeball. It's entirely possible that the grace seal does allow vision, but there are a couple of reasons to consider why it might not:

1) When we first arrive, Messmer is sitting in the dark. You could interpret this as being a Sad, Broody, Wet Blanket (which he is), or you could interpret this as evidence that things like light and dark are of less consequence to him than to a sighted person. Or, you know, both. A Sad, Broody, Blind, Wet Blanket.

2) Shortly after he lights candles--probably for your benefit--he sends one of his snakes into your face. He is able to tell from what the snake sees that you are Tarnished and comments on it. We can tell this means he can see what the snake sees, because he would have to figure this out from looking at your eyes and only the snake is close enough to do so.

This suggests that the snakes function as a remote viewing aid, providing a sight accommodation. And yes, again you could choose to interpret the snakes as existing in addition to a sighted right eye, but it is still interesting to consider what they mean if they are simply Support Noodles.

Ranni and Melina

There is a syndrome in our world called Locked-In Syndrome, in which paralysis prevents the entire body from moving with (usually) the sole exception of the eyes. As a consequence, the disabled person is unable to affect the physical world without help due to an inability to physically interact with the world around them.

Ranni and Melina have a similar situation going on, but with different ways of dealing with it. They are both disembodied spirits, having lost their physical bodies.

Ranni chooses to deal with the problem by incarnating herself into a doll's body at least twice: once as the doll's body we spend most of her quest interacting with, and later as a tiny actual-doll-sized doll that the player can interact with. Essentially, she has given herself a prosthetic that allows her to interact with the physical world once more.

Meanwhile, Melina goes a different route. Rather than incarnate physically, Melina requests that the player character help her reach her goal--the foot of the Erdtree, and then the Forge. In this case, we provide the physical support necessary for Melina to interact with the world, much as support workers do for those unable to care for themselves.

Goldmask

Goldmask never speaks to us in words. Rather, he communicates largely via physical movements. Brother Corhyn, a pupil of Goldmask, refers to his master's communication as "the movement of his finger". When Goldmask stops his movements, Corhyn reacts with distress, "I'm a little shaken since the master ceased his movements." He then proceeds to translate what the movements meant up to that point for us.

The fact that Corhyn is distressed at the master's lack of further communication after his movements cease suggests that this is his *only* mode of communication with him.

This is entirely a canon-compliant headcanon, but I like to believe that this means Goldmask uses sign language that Corhyn is learning to interpret in order to communicate with him. Additionally, the fact that we cannot necessarily interpret it ourselves and must rely on Corhyn to translate means that Corhyn is also acting as a support worker by being Goldmask's translator.

And yes, I think this is largely to poke fun at the Gesture system in the game, but it's also fun disability representation!

This list isn't exhaustive. There are yet other characters that either are disabled or could be easily argued to be so, like Roderika (grief and/or PTSD, given a space to heal and process), Rennala (depression and/or grief, NOT accommodated AFAICT), and Hyetta (blind, accommodated with...uh..."treatments"). But the fact that this post is already over 1400 words and has yet to touch upon all of the disability representation in the game just shows you how much there is.

[cowboybeepboop]

Sweet Surrender

Pairing: Scott Miller x fem! Reader

Genre: Romantic smut, kind of angsty at some parts idk

Word count: 6k

Summary: You're apart of storm par and just so happen to get on the nerves of Scott, which truly isn’t that difficult of a task. But as much as you get on his nerves, he gets on yours. One day he takes things a little too far which leads to an interesting encounter.

a/n: I’m gonna be so fr and say that I’m not so sure how to portray Scotts personality but I do like the idea of taming the grumpy character with a sunshine character. I’m currently working on a couple different Scott ideas. Also if you have any request just let me know. Hope you enjoy!

You’re Javi’s childhood best friend, following him all the way from Miami to Oklahoma. The warning everyone gave you was to not follow a man rather than your dreams, but they just didn’t get it, he’s not a man. He’s your best friend and you were always going to follow him because it just wouldn’t feel right without him.

The one thing that made you want to run in the opposite direction was Scott. You don’t know how they ended up as friends in the first place and you hated the way he treated people.

You always make sure to take Javi to clean up towns, even though Scott is against it. You help Javi find which storm to follow (call it natural instinct or an early childhood fascination with storm chasing), even though Scott always pushes to go in the opposite direction.

The list can go on and on but the point being that Scott gets on your nerves. You’ve always been an absolute angel to him, well as much as humanly possible, you pride yourself on being kind. It doesn’t cost a thing to be kind, well, at least that’s your motto in life.

Being on the road with Javi (and Scott) has proven to be more than difficult, the highlight being when you get to meet up with Tyler Owens and his crew. He has quite the southern charm and they’re all pretty nice once they get over the whole storm par thing.

It’s around noon when you finally stop at the gas station, you hop out of the vehicle with a bounce in your step as you’re finally able to stretch your legs. The rest of the team pulls in parking around Javi’s truck. Scott steps out of his van and Javi calls him over, you silently curse him under your breath, preparing a smile for the unfortunately cold man.

Scott approached the group as you muttered under your breath, a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he heard your subtle discontent.

“Hey man, we’re gonna get some snacks and take a restroom break, then hit the road again.” Javi says as Scott nods along, his gaze flickering to you, meeting your forced smile with a look of indifference.

"Sounds fair," Scott replied, his voice lacking enthusiasm. “But are we just stopping so princess over here can get her snacks?” he says with coldness in his voice. You cross your arms over your chest.

“No,” you try to keep your usual smile, “Javi is hungry too, right?” You turn to him, nudging his shoulder.

Javi glanced over to Scott then to you, he returned your smile with a soft grin, silently enjoying how Scott's jaw slightly clenched. Javi nodded in agreement, standing by your side. "Yeah, definitely could use some fuel. And snacks." he said.

Scott rolled his eyes, his arms crossing against his chest. "Whatever. I could use a break too, I guess." he muttered. Just as Scott finishes his sentence you all hear the blasting of Tyler’s music as he pulls into the parking lot.

Your smile brightens as you turn to the noise, “Tylers here!” You say to Javi “I’m gonna go say hi, then we can meet up inside.” Your tone is cheerful as you bound off toward Owens, your skirt and hair moving in sync.

Scott's gaze followed you as you walk off towards Tyler, a small scowl on his face as your skirt swirled around you. Javi chuckled, shaking his head while watching Scott.

"Someone's happy to see Tyler," Javi teased, noticing the slight frown on Scott's face.

Scott rolled his eyes, "Yeah, sure. She's just too cheerful for her own good."

Javi smirked, "Jealous, Scott?" he said with a hint of mockery in his voice. They both watch as you smile up at Tyler, your arm finding its way into his as he walks toward the door of the shop.

Scott's eyes narrow, a pang of jealousy coursing through him as you linked arms with Tyler. He clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his cool demeanor, and turned to Javi.

"Well that didn't take long. Didn't expect her to cling onto him so quickly." he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Javi just responds with a roll of his eyes, knowing that’s just how you are with someone you’re comfortable with.

”Bye Ty,” you wave to him, finding your way back in front of both Scott and your best friend. “Javi, look at what Tyler bought me.” You smile as you show your snacks to him. Javi chuckled, amused by your childlike excitement as you showed off your stash. He was used to your enthusiasm, and it was something he secretly found endearing.

Javi chuckled, admiring your collection. "Looks like you had a successful shopping spree."

Scott interjects, his tone dry. "That's one way to put it. Or, she's just freeloading off him." he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes at your animated display.

“No,” you seethe, your demeanor changing for a second before you reel it back in.”I bought him some water bottles for his team to hand out, that’s what we were talking about earlier.” You smile at Javi, ignoring Scott as you start walking back to the truck.

As you turn away, Scott rolled his eyes, letting out a scoff as he followed behind you. Javi glanced between the two of you, sensing the tension, and silently followed behind.

Scott leaned against his van, his arms crossed as he muttered under his breath. "Sure, water bottles. Definitely not just flirting with the ‘tornado wrangler’." You shoot him a tense look.

“First, I wouldn’t have to buy him anything if I was trying to flirt,” You cross your arms under your breasts. “Second, I’m not flirting with him, he’s just a sweetheart.” Scott smirked at your response, his gaze flickering down to your chest before meeting your eyes.

His arms stayed crossed, a cocky grin forming on his face. "A sweetheart, huh?" His tone was dripping with sarcastic mockery. "Of course, that's why you're buying him water bottles. Just being a sweetie."

Javi silently watched the exchange, his eyes flickering between you both, feeling the tension thicken in the air. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, “Well, I do enjoy the company of someone who’s kind and a sweetheart, especially over a jerk like yourself.” With that you get in the passenger seat of Javi’s truck, slamming the door loudly.

Scott's smirk widened into a smug grin as you slammed the truck door, enjoying how you reacted to his taunt. He leaned against his van, clearly amused, and let out a soft chuckle.

Javi shot Scott a glare before quickly climbing into the driver's seat next to you. He looked at you with concern and then looked back at his friend. "Way to go Scott," he muttered sarcastically Scott responds with a shrug.

“He’s a real dick,” you say to Javi as you pull out the coke Tyler bought you.

“Yeah, I know. But you’ve gotta stop letting him rile you up like that.” He responds, his hand patting your shoulder as he starts the car.

Once the excitement of the chase was over and the tornado died out, you brought the team to the small town to help clean up. You stayed back with Tyler's team to help them get necessities to the people.

Scott watched as you worked alongside Tyler's team, his arms folded across his chest, and leaned against Javi's truck. He had his usual scowl on his face, clearly displeased with the situation.

"Can't believe she's sticking with them," he muttered, his eyes flickering towards you from time to time.

Javi glanced at Scott, then back at you, his expression neutral. "She's just helping out, Scott. They need the help." Tyler's hand goes to your back as he whispers into your ear, telling you to go get some rest after the rough day.

Scott's gaze immediately goes to Tyler's hand as it lingered on your back, his jaw clenching tightly. You nod, saying goodbye to the whole team, grabbing your water bottle as you head over to Javi.

Scott stays silent as you approach them, his eyes darting between you and Tyler whose gaze remained on you. Your bright smile being replaced with a half one as you get them. “Javi, Scott, how’s everything going?”

Javi glances at Scott before answering, noticing the tension between you two. "We're almost done here. Just cleaning up the rest of the town," he said. Your eyes fall to the damage around you as you pick at your fingernails anxiously.

Scott remained quiet for a moment before speaking, his tone cold and sarcastic. "And you're leaving already? Thought you'd have stayed the night with the ‘tornado wrangler’."

Your eyes narrow as your sweetness finally dropped. “Scott what the fuck is your problem,” your eyes brim with tears, you’re just exhausted from the day and all his antics, “you’ve seen all of this damage and you’re still as cruel as ever.” You bite out bitterly.

Scott's gaze darkened at your emotional response, his arms still folded across his chest. He seemed unfazed by your anger, a look of indifference on his face. "My problem?" he retorted coldly. "Maybe my problem is that you're too caught up in helping those storm chasers, instead of sticking with us."

Javi stepped forward, his voice calm but firm, "Scott, don't-”

Scott cut him off, his attention now fully on you. "I'm just being honest. Stop fawning over Tyler and remember who your real team is here." Your tears fall from your eyes as you step back from him.

“Fuck you, asshole.” Your body trembles as tears stream down your face, Javi pulling you into his chest rubbing your back intimately.

Scott's expression softened slightly at the sight of your tears, his gaze flickering from you to Javi holding you against his chest. Javi shot Scott a cold glare before turning his full attention to you, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Hey, don't let him get to you," Javi whispered, trying to soothe you as his eyes narrowed at Scott. He opens his mouth to speak, but he quickly closed it, realizing that anything he said right now would only worsen the situation.

He was taken aback by your reaction and the way Javi was holding you, regret fills him as he watches you shakily move from Javi. Your hands and voice are shaky as you wipe your tears from your cheeks “I think I’m gonna get a ride back from Ty..” your voice trails off.

Javi calls out to you, his voice stern but concerned. “Hey, wait-”

Scott interrupts, his tone softer than before. “Y/N, hold on-”

But you ignore their calls, your steps becoming brisk as you make your way to Tyler’s truck, your arms wrapped around yourself, seeking comfort.

Javi looks at Scott, his eyes filled with disappointment, a disapproving scowl on his face. “Scott, you have a funny way of showing how much you like her.” Tyler pulls you into a comforting hug, his arms around your neck as you hold his waist. Your tears soaking his white shirt as you try to explain that you’re just crying because you’re exhausted.

“You’re just sending her off into the arms of another man, whose intentions might not be so pure.” Javi’s voice is harsh as he watches the interaction while shaking his head.

Scott's expression hardens at Javi's words, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "As if her intentions are any better." he shot back, jealousy and irritation seeping into his voice.

Javi lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "That's not the point, Scott. Just look at her." he says, gesturing to you as Tyler opens the passenger door for you. "You've hurt her more than you realize."

You sigh as you get into his truck, “Thank you again Tyler,” you smile up at him but your eyes stay teary.

“Don’t even worry about it sweetheart, things seemed pretty heated. I’m just glad to get you away from that.” He starts the ignition giving you a small smirk. “So, how about we hit up the bar next to the motel? Get you cheered up.”

“That sounds like a great idea” your smile reaches your eyes as he pulls off.

Your irritation continues to build as you sip on your whiskey, a scowl taking the place of your usual sweetness. “Scott is a dick.” You say in a cool tone, your arms crossing.

“Is he why you’re so worked up?” Lily questions as she orders herself another cocktail.

”Unfortunately..” you grumble before taking another sip.

“I don’t know why you guys keep him around or why you let him get you all hot and bothered like this.” She says with amusement in her voice.

“I don’t” you protest, your eyebrows furrowing, she laughs in response.

”Oh really?” Your fingers fumble with your glass, “Do you hate him or is it something more?” She teases.

You gasp as Boone laughs, “Maybe you should go argue with him some more,” he motions to your drink. “Now that you have liquid courage.”

”You’re right. I should go talk some sense into that thick skull of his.” You say with newfound confidence.

You shoot Javi a text asking him which room Scott is staying in. He responds rather quickly, making sure to tell you to play nice.

“I’ve got it, I’m gonna go give him a piece of my mind.” The pair laugh at your remark as you down the rest of your drink. Grabbing your jacket you leave the establishment, thinking about all the things you’re gonna yell at him as you walk to his motel room.

You knock against the door roughly, Scott is sitting on the edge of his bed. He’s deep in thought and frustration, nursing a beer, when he hears the knock on his door. His eyes narrow, wondering who it could possibly be.

He gets up and makes his way to the door, opening it. Scott looks at you, his eyes slightly widened at the surprise of you standing outside his room, a stern and determined look on your face. He knew this conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant.

"What do you want?" Scott asks, leaning against the doorframe, pretending to be unaffected by your presence. You push your way into his room, slamming your shoulder in his arm. You plop onto the mattress with your arms crossed over your stomach.

“I want you to apologize.” You throw your left leg over your right. Scott lets out a huff of annoyance, clearly unamused by your unexpected and blunt demand.

He lets the door close behind him as he crosses his arms over his chest. "What are you, five?" he retorts, a slight smirk plays at the corner of his lips. "You barge into my room uninvited, just to demand an apology?"

”Yes, I want you to apologize to me.” You keep a stoic expression, no longer extending kindness his way, which frustrates him even more. Scott looks down at you, his smirk fading as you maintain your cold expression.

He's not used to seeing you so serious, and it only serves to irritate him further. "And why should I apologize to you, princess? I didn’t do anything wrong." he replies, his tone still biting.

He steps closer to the bed, his arms still crossed over his chest. The annoyance in his eyes becomes more apparent as you refuse to back down. You stand up and poke your pointer finger into his chest, your eyebrows furrowing.

“You did do something wrong and you know it.” You spit out. Scott's eyes narrow as you poke him in the chest, annoyance rolling off of him in waves. He swats your hand away, gripping your wrist and holding it tightly.

"And what exactly did I do wrong?" he says back, his voice low and firm as he steps closer to you. "As far as I'm concerned, I just stated the truth." You shove his shoulder with your free hand pushing him onto the bed.

“Oh yeah?” You retort, “You weren’t being honest you were being a total douche.” Scott grunts as he makes contact with the bed, surprise flashing in his eyes. He looks up at you, sitting on the edge of the mattress, frustration written all over his face.

He scoffs at your comment, bristling at your insult. "Being a douche? I was just being real. You’re always so focused on those other storm chasers and you don’t even notice what's right in front of you."

He grabs your wrist once again, pulling you down onto the bed beside him. “And what’s right in front of me, huh?” You yank your arm away while glaring up at him. Scott lets go of your wrist, his eyes locking onto yours as you glare up at him. He scoffs, rolling his eyes briefly before answering you.

"Me, dumbass," he retorts coldly. He lets out an exasperated huff as his eyes flick across your face. "I'm right in front of you. And yet for some reason you keep swooning over Owens."

Your eyes widen with surprise as his words cause a blush to creep up your cheeks. “Tyler?” You question Scott, your eyebrows furrowing. Scott notices the blush creep across your cheeks, he smirks seeing your flustered response. He raises an eyebrow at your question.

"Yeah, Tyler. Ring a bell?" He taunts. "You always hang around him, buy him food and water, and give him those sweet little smiles." he states dryly, his voice dripping with jealousy and irritation.

He reaches out, his large hand grabbing your thigh, his thumb slowly rubbing against the smooth flesh. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” You say biting your lip as his touch sends a shiver down your spine.

Scott's eyes darken at your question, his grip on your thigh tightening as a pang of annoyance and jealousy shoots through him.

He swallows before responding, his tone gruff and sarcastic, "Jealous?" he retorts. "Of Tyler Owens? Why would I be jealous of that pretty boy wannabe storm chaser?" He lets his hand run further up your thigh, his fingers teasing the edge of your short skirt.

”It sounds like you’re a bit worked up.” You groan out, your body tingling in reaction to his hand. Scott smirks at your reaction, his hand continues to move further and further up your thigh, slowly and deliberately.

He notices the way your body responds to his touch, relishing in the effect he’s having on you. He leans in close so his breath fans against your skin. “Worked up?” he repeats, his voice low and sultry. “And why would I be worked up, princess?”

”Maybe because you’re thinking about Tyler having the same kind of thoughts about me as you do…” You tease him, your hand sliding up his toned arm. Scott's breath catches in his throat as your hand runs up his arm, the muscles in his body tensing in response.

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenching tightly, as a surge of jealousy washes over him at your mention of Tyler. He turns on the bed to face you fully, his hand on your thigh moving to grip your waist, pulling you closer. "Watch your mouth, princess." he warns, his voice a low growl as he leans down towards you, his face mere inches from yours.

”And why should I?” You say with mischief in your voice, “You never watch your mouth when it comes to me.” Scott's eyes narrow, a fire igniting within him as you challenge him. He grips your waist pulling you even closer to him, your bodies nearly pressing against each other.

He leans down so his lips hover over your ear, his voice a rough whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. "If you keep talking like that, princess, I might have to shut that pretty mouth of yours."

”What if I’d like that?” You flick your tongue out to wet your bottom lip. Scott lets a deep chuckle rumble through his chest as he watches your tongue dart out to wet your lip, the action only fueling the desire burning within him.

He grips your hip, his hands roughly pulling you onto his lap, your legs now straddling his hips. He runs his hand up the expanse of your bare thigh, his fingers brushing against the edge of your skirt.

He looks at you, his gaze dark and intense as he replies huskily, “Careful what you wish for, princess.” You grind your hips down on his, trying to further tease him as your arms find their way around his neck.

Scott lets out a guttural groan as you grind against him, his grip on your body tightens reflexively, pulling you against him even harder. He leans in, his lips mere millimeters from your skin, his hot breath fanning your neck.

His hands move further under your skirt, his calloused fingers trailing up the inside of your thighs slowly and torturously. "Playing with me still?" he growls in your ear, his voice thick with desire.

”It’s my way of getting back at you,” Scott lets out a huff as you push his shoulders, his body falling back onto the bed. He looks up at you, a mix of surprise and arousal in his eyes as you straddle him, pinning him to the bed.

He lets out a low growl, his hands reaching up to grip your hips, holding you in place. His thumbs move in circles against your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Is that right, princess?" he huffs, his voice strained with desire. "You finally fighting back?"

”I am,” you lean down to whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna get you back for everything.” You say teasingly as you slip off of him, heading for the door. Scott's eyes widen as you slide off his lap, panic and desperation creeping into his gaze as you make your way to the door.

He sits up quickly, reaching out and grabbing your wrist before you can reach the door handle. His grip is firm, not willing to let you go just yet. "Where do you think you're going, princess?" he growls, pulling you back towards him.

”Not so eager to let me go this time?” You question with amusement, a smile creeping over your lips. Scott yanks you back onto the bed, pinning you underneath him in one swift motion. His body weight presses against yours, trapping you against the mattress.

He looks down at you, a mixture of annoyance and desire in his eyes. "Did you really think I'd let you walk out that door?" he huffs, his hands gripping your wrists and pinning them down beside your head.

"You're not going anywhere." he murmurs against your skin as he trails kisses down your jaw, to your neck, then your collarbone. The sudden shift in power dynamics sends a jolt of excitement through your body as you feel his weight pressing you down into the bed.

You struggle slightly, not with fear but with a thrill that you never knew you enjoyed. "Scott, what are you doing?" you breathe out, your voice a mix of surprise and challenge.

His eyes are dark and focused on yours as he leans closer, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Teaching you a lesson, princess," he murmurs before his lips find yours in a fiery kiss that leaves you gasping for more.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming it as his own, and you can't help but kiss him back with a passion that matches his.

As Scott's kisses grew more tender, his asshole demeanor began to slip away, revealing a side of him you hadn't seen before. He started to undress you, his movements urgent but not rough.

You could feel his hands shaking slightly as he unbuttoned your shirt, his eyes never leaving yours. He slid it off your shoulders, exposing your lacy bra.

His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you, his breath hitching in his throat. You felt a strange mix of excitement and vulnerability under his gaze, but the alcohol and your own pent-up frustrations gave you the courage to let him continue.

He leaned down to kiss your neck, his breath hot and sweet from the beer he had been drinking, sending tingles down your spine. His hands moved to the clasp of your bra, fumbling slightly as he tried to undo it, a hint of awkwardness peeking through his usually cocky exterior.

Despite everything, you found yourself eager to see where this would lead, your body responding to his touch in ways it never had to anyone else's.

As Scott's hands continue to explore your body, he finally unclasps your bra, revealing your soft, round breasts. His gaze lingers on them for a moment before he leans down to kiss and suck on your hardened nipples, causing you to arch your back and moan in pleasure.

You feel his arousal pressing against you, making you even more eager for what's to come. He then slides your skirt down, his eyes taking in the sight of your matching lacy panties.

With a smirk, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and slowly pulls them down, revealing your wetness. His eyes darken with desire as he licks his lips, and before you can even process what's happening, he's already between your legs, his tongue tracing the edges of your folds.

You gasp as he tastes you, his mouth and tongue exploring your most intimate parts with surprising tenderness. He looks up at you, a question in his eyes, but the desperate need in yours is answer enough.

He settles into a rhythm, licking and sucking until you're squirming beneath him, begging for more.

With a low groan, Scott pulls away from you, his eyes filled with a hunger that you never knew existed within him. He quickly strips his own clothes off, his erection standing proudly as he leans over you.

His gaze lingers on your exposed body, a look of awe and desire mixing within his eyes. He positions himself between your legs, his hand caressing your thigh gently. He whispers against your ear, "Ready, princess?" His voice is a mix of tenderness and urgency.

You nod, feeling the heat pool between your legs, and he doesn't waste another moment. He slides into you with a gentle push, filling you up with a surprising tenderness that makes your heart race. He starts to move, his hips rocking into yours in a slow, sensual rhythm that sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

His eyes never leave yours, the intensity of the moment building as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. His hands are everywhere, caressing and exploring, making you feel cherished and desired.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he picks up the pace, the gentle movements turning into a passionate dance of bodies intertwined. The room is filled with the sound of your soft moans and his deep grunts of pleasure.

It's nothing like you've ever experienced before, and you can't help but feel a strange sense of belonging as he makes love to you with a fiery passion that seems to burn away all the tension between you.

Your bodies move in perfect harmony, every touch and kiss feeling like it's been written in the stars, leaving only the aftermath of passion and the thundering of your hearts beating together.

With a final, deep thrust, Scott's body stiffens as he reaches his climax, groaning against your neck. He releases himself inside of you with a raw passion that resonates through both your bodies.

Pulling out, he rolls onto his back, bringing you with him so that you're nestled against his side, your legs tangled together. His chest heaves with heavy breaths, his eyes closed as the tension in his muscles slowly starts to ease.

You lay there, feeling a mix of satisfaction and bewilderment, your heart racing in your chest. The room is quiet except for the sound of your mingled breaths and the occasional distant rumble outside.

The warmth of his cum inside of you serves as a physical reminder of the intensity of the moment, leaving you feeling both fulfilled and slightly overwhelmed.

As the reality of what just happened begins to sink in, you glance over at Scott, his eyes now open and staring up at the ceiling, his expression unreadable.

Quietly you slip out of the bed, grabbing your clothes and sneaking into the bathroom. Cleaning yourself up, you put your clothes back on your heart aching as your mind wanders, wondering if he regrets it all.

Scott remains lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments after you quietly slip away to the bathroom. His mind is a flurry of emotions. Part of him still can't believe what just happened.

He sits up on the edge of the bed, pulling his boxers back on, running a hand through his hair as he waits for you to exit the bathroom. When you do, he looks up at you, his expression still unreadable.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He stands up, walking over to you, his gaze intense. You look up at him, your eyes scanning his face as you try to read his face.

Scott stands in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours, a mix of uncertainty and intensity swirling in their depths. He swallows, his throat dry as he looks at you.

You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he struggles to find the right words. He lifts his hand, gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb lightly tracing the contour of your cheek.

"Hey..." he mumbles, his voice rough and strained. You think he’s trying to brush you off so you push his hand away from your face.

“I should, uh, I should probably go now..” your voice trails off as your gaze drops to the ground. Scott's eyes widen as you push his hand away, his heart clenching in his chest.

"Wait..." he says urgently, reaching out towards you. He doesn't want you to leave. Not after what just happened between you two. He grabs your wrist, gently pulling you back towards him.

"Hold on a second," he murmurs, his voice a mixture of desperation and pleading. He steps closer to you, his other hand coming to rest on your hip. You lean into his touch savoring how his hands feel against you.

”Scott, look..” you try to think of what to say but nothing else comes out. Scott's heart pounds in his chest as you lean into him. He can feel the tension in your body, sees the conflict in your eyes.

He searches your face, his gaze flickering over your features, desperate for any hint of what you're thinking. He tightens his grip on your hip, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"Look at me," he says gruffly, his voice almost pleading. He gently turns your face up towards his, his eyes locking onto yours. "What were you going to say?"

”I mean,” you take a deep breath, “it’s okay if you want me to go, I get it.” You close your eyes, your cheek pressing into his palm. Scott's eyes widen in disbelief at your words.

"What? No, no, that's not what I want at all." he says urgently, his grip on your hip and cheek tightening. He pulls you even closer to him, closing the distance so your bodies are nearly pressed up against each other.

He looks down at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and desperation. "Do you really think I'd want you to walk out after... after what we just did?" he says, his voice low and gruff.

Your arm wraps around his torso, fingers pressing into his back. “Scott, I don’t have to stay just because you feel bad about what happened..” Scott's heart clenches in his chest as you wrap your arm around him, his body responding to your touch. He lets out a sigh, his other hand moving to wrap around your waist.

"It's not that," he mumbles against your skin, his breath hot against your ear. He pulls you even closer, his arms holding you tight against him. "I don't feel bad about what happened. I just... I don't want you to leave," he admits, his voice thick with emotion.

”Scott, you’re not usually the sweet type.” Your voice regains its amused tone as you realize he wants the same as you. Scott can't help but chuckle at your words, the amused tone in your voice bringing a soft smile to his lips. He shakes his head slightly, pulling back just enough so he can look at you.

His eyes roam over your face, taking in your features and the slight smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Sweet, huh?" he mutters, his hand on your hip moving up to grip your chin, tilting your head back slightly. "That's not what you'd usually call me, princess."

”Not quite,” you smile, “but I can’t lie, I like your change in attitude.” Scott's heart skips a beat as you smile up at him, his grip on your chin tightening just slightly. A sly grin spreads across his lips as you comment on his change in attitude.

"Oh, yeah?" he hums, his voice low and sultry. He brings his face closer to yours, his breath hot on your skin. "You like it when I'm not a complete dick?" he teases, his smirk widening.

“Mhm,” you sit back on the bed, slipping out of your skirt and shirt. “You think I can borrow your shirt for the night?” Your voice is sultry as you look up at him through your eyelashes.

Scott's jaw clenches as you undress, his eyes roaming over your body as more and more skin is exposed once again. He swallows, his throat suddenly feeling dry as he watches you reach for your bra.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles hoarsely, his voice thick with desire. "You can borrow whatever you want, princess."

His eyes are fixed on you as his shirt, still balled up on the bed from earlier, is in your hands. He watches as you slip it on, the fabric molding to your curves, and he can't help but let out a low growl at the sight.

You grasp his hand and pull him to you Scott willingly follows your lead, letting you pull him down towards the bed. A low rumble vibrates in his chest as he looms over you, his eyes roaming over your body once again.

His hands move to brace on either side of your head, holding his body above you. He looks down at you, his eyes dark and hungry. "You look damn good in my shirt," he growls, his voice thick with desire.

“You think so?” You brush your fingers over his jaw. Scott's skin tingles where your fingers brush against his jaw. He leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as a shiver runs down his spine at your gentle caress.

"I know so," he murmurs, opening his eyes to lock onto yours. "You look good in anything," he adds, his voice low and husky as he gazes down at you.

“Scott, we should sleep..” you murmur, your eyes getting heavy. Scott lets out a soft sigh, noticing the tiredness in your eyes. He knows you're right, but he can't help but want to hold onto this moment for just a bit longer.

With a final brush of his hand against your cheek, he rolls off of you, laying down beside you. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your waist and tucking you against his chest.

"Sleep," he mutters, his voice soft and soothing. "I'll be here when you wake up, princess." You rest your face against his chest, cuddling into him.

[lustlovehart]

Hi, will you continue with the twisted wonderland monster au? Could you write something about vile, please?

Bed and Desperation

A/n: This ask was from so long ago 😭. Also, I wasn’t too sure if you wanted Yandere or not? The monster Au is a Yandere Au, but just n case I didn’t make it like extreme, kinda.

Pairing: Incubus! Vil Schoenheit x Reader

Summary: [Yandere] Even during a mission, the wretched monsters you hunt can’t leave you alone, and unfortunately, the incubus that accompanies you today is one of them, and it wouldn’tbe the first time you’ve found yourself held by his arms.

Warnings: Heavily Suggestive, as well as implied NSFW, Reader has injuries, Vil’s a meanie, Seduction (Vil to Reader), Stitches, Biting, Part nudity (Reader is in their underwear)

The bedsheets on your mattress smell heavenly.

This isn’t your bed, since when did you wash your blankets?

It also seems to have an extra weight added to it. The softest hands on your waist are felt, as well as the feeling of a skinny tail being tightly wrapped around your thigh.

“What the…” Your eyes look down, glossing over the hand that’s currently spooning you, only looking at the numerous bandaged wounds and stitches on your skin. It’s only when you finally look at the culprit who fixed you up do you understand.

You really should’ve known, with such well-manicured hands that have been moisturized to hell and back, and the most heavenly scent shifting in the air, there really should’ve been no doubt in your mind.

You’re in bed with Vil Schoenheit. The all-famed model and actor, who’s well renowned for his feats.

The well-known incubus who has led millions to their downfall.

And unfortunately, this wouldn’t be the first time you were in his bed. Seems even a hunter isn’t immune to such charms.

Maybe if I get out quietly… Your hand slowly takes hold of his, moving it away from your waist as you slide to the side of the mattress. Your footsteps are gentle as you glide towards the door, at this point you’re about to turn the doorknob before the sound of the bed creaking attracts your attention.

The sight of bright purple diamond-shaped pupils gives paints an irritation on your face, the purple tattoos of mist dully glowing on his fit lean body, and pretty horns a companied by a golden crown, also serving in your annoyance.

“Your hands are so calloused, even the tiniest touch would have woken me up anyway.”

“Damn it…” his body is propped up on his elbow as he looks up and down at your body, only an oversized t-shirt and underwear covering any sense of decency you have.

You still remember the previous night, having suffered blows with a monster somewhere in the inn you were sent to. You had stripped yourself of your clothes in an empty room to tend to your injuries before losing consciousness from your lack of sleep.

Curse you, Crowley, if you hadn’t sent me on an extra assignment I could’ve gotten some rest and not end up here…!

“Are you gonna thank me? Or does hunting not come with any lessons in etiquette?”

“Thank you for…?” His head leans down with a sigh, before throwing the blanket off and covering himself in his very unnecessarily luxurious robe, you distantly remember passing by a vendor selling the exact same robe for 360,000 madol. I hate rich people.

“What? Did you think you bandaged yourself up in your sleep?” His footsteps are heard as he slowly walks towards you, his eyes still looking over every inch of your body for any injuries he could’ve possibly missed.

“Obviously not… Wait, hey why did you make me sleep in your bed if you were sleeping there too…?!” You don’t move from your spot, staying in place to show you’re not bothered, your finger being the only thing that moves as you point it at him.

When he gets close to you, his face leans in towards your own, making you accidentally lean back from shock, causing a sharp pain blooming on the side of your thigh at that exact moment. He quickly catches you before you have the chance to fall, laying you on his bed once more.

“Hah, look, now you’ve undone my work. I should really…” he pauses before sighing for the second time tonight, “Stay still.” He doesn’t finish his thought, only grabbing a needle and thread, his left hand taking hold of the fat under your thigh, lifting it slightly up so he can work easier.

“You didn’t answer my question Vil…” he looks up for a moment, giving you that prideful smirk he’s always shown when he feels triumph, the ridges on his horns being more noticeable, making the expression he holds remind you, he is in fact, still a monster. You’re sure the next words that leave his mouth will be something you can’t counter, so it’d be best to prepare yourself for embarrassment.

“Hmm? I thought you wouldn’t mind considering we’ve slept in a bed together before, even done more than sleeping—“

“Okay yeah, never mind don’t answer me please.”

“I think it’s a fair trade, let me demean you for being so careless and I’ll get you back to the way you were.” He’s being mean again. Every time you meet him he’s always nitpicking you about some imperfection on your person, whether it be messy hair, wrinkled clothes, eye bags, or even scars from your job.

Yet he always stays to fix them up. You still remember the last time when you had noticeable eye bags and he gasped at the sight, grabbing his own formula of beauty cream and rubbing it into your skin with his fingers.

“Those eye bags of yours are looking better, did you use what I gave you, or did you get better sleep?” His fingers still skillfully sewing your skin together with the thread, the pain bearable but stillthere nonetheless.

“I only did your eye cream, it works though— Hey…!” Now instead of your leg being in pain, it’s your cheeks, his fingers taking hold of your jaw, squishing the fat of your face together.

“That’s not good enough.” When you reply your voice comes out slightly muffled from your muscles being squeezed together, your hand reaching up to massage the soreness in your face when he releases you from his grip.

“Okay okay sorry, Blame my boss, he keeps sending me on back-to-back missions without rest, it’s not my fault!” He pauses for a moment after, the thread through your skin freezing alongside him. “… Vil…?”

“Then why don’t you find a new job?”

“I’m not suited for any other job.” A single leaves him, though you can’t tell if it’s one of humor or one of pity. His hand that was previously holding up your thigh curves and takes your free hand, ghosting his breath over it as he places a kiss on the palm of your skin.

“Riddle said you’re terrible at your job, and, if you didn’t notice, all of us are still alive and well.” He’s acting all romantic while saying such a thing to you. Charm, charm is a part of his pathetic abilities but he doesn’t seem to be using that right now. He’s acting. He’s acting… he has to…

He’s right.

“[Name], it seems out of this entire group, not a single of us has been slain yet. Please, tell me why that is?” He pulls your hand down, making you lean in closer to him, your face only inches away from his own. His pretty face. “I have a better job for you.”

“Are you saying you want me to work for you…?” Your voice stays firm, maybe if you try holding your ground he’ll leave you alone. Maybe…? Your head lingers around his, before realizing this distance is a little too close for comfort.“It’s a no Vil.” You finally move away from them, your eyes looking for something else to garner their attention.

Vil’s eyes don’t break hold from yours despite your desperate attempts to move away from his gaze.

“Pity, you would’ve done beautifully at it, had you accepted. A perfect fit, only if you worked hard at it of course.” Now you’re just curious as to what this secret job was before turning it down. But, you’ll leave it as a mystery.

His fingers sew in the rest of the skin, when he finishes threading the wound closed though, he doesn’t cut off the string, only placing the needle down on your thigh before looking back up at you.

“[Name], you know, you’re beautiful. It’s a shame you don’t make the effort to maintain that.” He takes your hands in his right palm, standing back up to his full height before dropping the two of you on his bed.

“But I do? At least I think so, I do what you tell me to do anyway.” His knee is positioned to the side of your thigh as his tail draws patterns in your skin.

“But that’s not enough, I need you to go further than that, dear.”

…

He doesn’t use dear on you outside of bed.

You really can’t tell if he’s using his charm from being an incubus or just being an extremely good actor. Either way, it’s unfortunately working.

“Vil, I need to go back, my boss will be questioning where I am—“ his finger is swiftly placed on your lips, shushing you from speaking any further.

“And you will go back, I’ll let you leave when you want, of course, just indulge for a moment.” Indulge… He’s being tempting again. “I will make you reach a height you’ve never experienced before.”

For the third time of the night, you’re scandalously doing something with this… this monster, you shouldn’t be doing. Let alone for a third time.

If Crowley finds out… You can’t. Your hand quickly escapes his grasp to grab the needle he left in your thigh, snapping the thread ready to jab it through his eyes.

You’re only a centimeter away from his pupil, only being stopped by a hand that tightly grips your wrist.

“I’m disappointed, and that’s the first time. It’s a shame [Name], it seems we’ll just have to keep playing your silly game of Hunter.” Before you have a chance to react, he pulls your arm up and bites into your flesh, your vision going dark immediately after.

The dimly lit hallways of the inn you were stationed at are the first sight you see, the second being the corpses of the monsters you were sent to kill.

You’re sat on the carpet floors, the moon of the night still shining through the windows. The clothes you were originally wearing are back on your skin, with tears and grime from your previous ministrations still there.

Could he have used hallucinations…? No that felt too real.

There seems to be only one way to check, your fingers grip the end of your shorts, slowly pulling them up, your eyes peaking over and seeing exactly what you hoped you wouldn’t.

Black seams from stitches.

“Damn it…” your head hits the wall behind you, as your arms collect your legs and hug them to your chest.

It’s a shame you spared him the first time around, maybe if you had killed him you would have one less beast on you.

Oh right, he’s not the only one.

You go back to burying your head in your knees, the sound of footsteps resonating through the empty halls of the inn, the light from the windows shining through to show off who it is.

“Crowley, what do you want—”

“That was the third time you met with that incubus wasn’t it?”

…What?

“You know…?” He doesn't have that usual “humble” smile, his lips shut in a straight line, a sight you’re only seeing for the first time.

“I’ve always known.” your heart starts beating faster in your chest. What now? What will he do knowing you’ve broken the code? Everything you’ve done will go in vain if he rides himself off you. You won’t get to see any of them anymore, you won’t be able to finish your job and finally kill them off, you won’t—

Crowley’s hand is wobbly. He’s not real. A hallucination by Vil. Wait but… Is this inn…

Even real at all?

A/n: Ahaha, I need someone to strap me to a chair so I actually finish the first chapter of the Monster Au. Heartslaybul has been neglected and only Riddle’s portion has been finished. Ahaha.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion Very Happy Ending

So full disclosure, my Tav was a Selunite, and I can't stop thinking well if Bhaal can have a mortal chosen one, why can't Selune?

Also, spoiler warning, stop reading here if you don't want, but like damn girl I freaking turn a Shar priestess away from her god back to you, free a man from his devil's contact, high-key save the world, kill bhaals chocen, convince my vampiric lover to not sacrifice thousands of people, stop an entire goblin army from murdering Tieflings and druids alike, and literally free your daughter. A reward is in order!

This is that reward:

Astarion was slowly getting used to living in the shadows again, as loathe as he was to admit it. It was quite the transition, despite the fact that his time in the sun had amounted to less than a year. But what a lovely year it was. Nearly a perfect one in comparison to the rest of his life. And the promise of more of the same was a suitable balm to being cursed back into the darkness.

It was difficult, but with the love of his life by his side it was more than tolerable. Borderline beautiful in fact, to be able to live his life so freely despite the infuriating complications.

The money also certainly helped.

That was one thing Astarion always had over his brothers and sisters, his fantasies of a better life had always surrounded around Cazador's murder. Not his approval. He may have been completely unaware of the horrifying dungeon beneath their feet, but he did know where the deed to his estate and other properties were kept. And now had enough connections with the higher up's of Baldur's gate for some frankly exquisite forgeries. It had been a particularly satisfying feeling to sell all of his former master's possessions off, even more so when it came to the land. Almost like he was tearing apart his legacy and handing it off to the highest bitter, piece by piece.

Though, being there with you to find and settle in your own little corner of paradise was an even better feeling. Maybe it didn't quite reach his past dreams of grandeur, but it turned out settling in a quaint and poorly lit townhouse in the upper city was more than enough for him to be satisfied.

It was a good charming life, one that Astarion was sure he didn't deserve. But that certainly wasn't going to stop him from enjoying it. Though as much as he adored where he ended up, he'd be lying if he said it was perfect.

No, perfect would have been finding a way for him to ascend without becoming a monster, living in a world where he could be with you fully, completely, out in the sun like the kind of lover you deserved. It made him feel... startlingly inadequate. Everything you did had to be in accordance to his schedule. His lack of capabilities. And just because you always insisted it didn't matter didn't fix the feeling of inadequacy. He hated it, hated the fact that there were so many hours of the day that you couldn't share. He didn't regret his choice, not for a moment, but that didn't mean he was fully satisfied with the consequences.

But in his own defense, he did make up for it in other ways. Mildly frustrating and draining ways, if not a bit rewarding. It had been his own fault, falling so utterly and completely for such a goody two-shoes. A zealot to Selune, as fierce as she was compassionate, always trying to do what was fair and just. Always dragging Astarion on for the ride of her cleric duties.

But he couldn't blame you for all of his new do-gooder ways. Not when he was nearly the leader of a bizarre cult of repentant vampire spawn.

It was just the slightest bit exhausting to so often be playing the part of their heroic leader, fighting all of his murderous instincts to work for a better future for himself and the brethren he had personally damned. Though he'd be lying if he said he didn't get any satisfaction from it. It felt... good to teach them new ways to live. To give them the chance at the beautiful life he had managed to secure for himself.

He wouldn't do it forever, just until he was confident enough to be sure that his departure wouldn't lead to a massacre on either side. Then the two of you would be off to explore the lands, working to do your goddesses work with just a touch of hedonistic activities on the way.

Astarion was looking forward to it. He hadn't done all that work to be selfless forever. No, he was going to be forced to insist on a few years of having you all to himself, with only the occasional bits of volunteer work for the temple as interruption. Then the two of you could go back to galivanting about the lands being local heroes. But he had earned an extended vacation.

One that, luckily, he hadn't had to fight you on too much. That was just one other thing he loved about you, your complete understanding that Astarion would always be a little selfish, especially when it came to you. The one person who had ever really been his, who loved him, who understood him, who believed in him. Could he be blamed for wanting to have you all to himself?

And admittedly, he did have you more often then not. Even if on occasion he did have to share with your beloved goddess.

Astarion sighed as he watched you pray in the moonlight, completely absorbed in your quiet, mystical chants. Despite his distaste for the length of your prayer sessions, Astarion did like seeing your more ritualistic side. Just... maybe not for the morally correct reasons.

He was well aware that being so involved with a vampire was clearly against your religious doctrine. But it didn't matter. You still choose him, despite how the knowledge nearly made you an outcast amongst your own kind. But he mattered more than your reputation, more than the lessons you had been taught your entire life regarding love and evil.

You still had your faith, but you never let it shake the faith you had in him, something that he valued more than he could ever express. It was perhaps a sick thought, but it also made him feel exceedingly powerful, to know the true extent of your feelings. Even more connected. It was almost... like he was defiling you, corrupting a beautiful flower to turn away from the sun to something even brighter. A love that Astarion doubted most could ever hope to feel.

Perhaps that was not the best outlook on your religion, but oh well. He'd keep those thoughts to himself. What you didn't know wouldn't kill you. Besides... if anyone had been corrupted it was him, plagued with a new sense of loyalty and gods, justice. All from the beautifully strange woman kneeling in the moonlight.

Though, you sure were taking awhile tonight. Nearly twice as long as your usual nightly prayer. He hated to interrupt your worship but this was starting to cut into his time a bit here.

"My dear," Astarion called out, swinging his legs over your shared bed to stand, "Don't you think that you've been kneeling there for a touch too long?"

But you didn't respond, still muttering under your breath, even faster than before.

Astarion narrowed his eyes as he walked closer towards you, confused by your lack of response, "Darling-Tav?"

Astarion stopped, eyes wide as he got a solid look at your first. Your eyes were wide open, body rim rod straight as your irises glowed a vibrant blue light.

What in the nine hells was happening? Astarion kneeled next to you, his heart in his throat as he shook your shoulders, "Tav, love, can you hear me? What is this?"

You didn't answer, you didn't even acknowledge his presence. But you did start floating in the god damn air. Astarion stared, helpless as he watched you levitate, words that he didn't understand spilling from your lips.

Then just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. You fell unceremoniously to the floor. Astarion scrambled towards you, his heart in his throat as you started to come to. He settled your head in his lap, his hands shaking as he touched your face, lost on what he should be doing.

You blinked your eyes open slowly, that angelic glow still radiating from your irises. But you didn't look frightened, more... excited.

You grinned up at him, your voice slightly cracking when you murmured, "We've been blessed."

Astarion stared at you, brow furrowed. He was happy you were alive and speaking but...

"That's lovely?" Astarion tried, "But severely lacking in terms of an explanation. Are you okay?"

You nodded eagerly, suddenly sitting up with an unexpected amount of energy, "I'll explain later, we don't have much time."

What was it that compelled you religious types to be so cryptic? But you didn't give him anytime to question. Instead you wrapping your arms around his neck and smashing your lips together, kissing him hard enough to take his breath away.

He wrapped strong arms around your back, pulling you in closer, always helpless but to return your affection. But something about this was different. He could feel it, holy magic spreading through him through your lips, down throughout his veins, changing something inside of him. It wasn't unpleasant per say, but it certainly was startling. Startling enough for him to almost push you away, if it wasn't for the fact that he trusted you with everything inside of himself.

Neither of you pulled away until the blue fire in your eyes had died out, and Astarion was left with the intense sensation that something had changed, irrevocably inside of him.

You stared at each other, Astarion in confusion while you looked nothing short of gleeful, "Do you feel it?"

He felt... strange. A warmth still spreading through him that was settling. Astarion raised a brow at you, exceedingly impatient when he asked, "First, how about you explain to me what in the hells that was?"

But you didn't answer. Instead you stood with an adorable hop, lending a hand out to help him up, "Do you trust me?"

Astarion almost rolled his eyes as he took your hand, annoyed that he fell for someone that had just as much of a flair for the dramatic as he did, "You know I do."

You helped him to his feet before you started to mumble again, a startlingly familiar incantation seeping from your lips. It was the spell for daylight, the very same that you had used to help defeat Cazador. The kind that could now kill Astarion in mere moments.

He was too shocked at your audacity to even protest, believing for a split, terrifying second that he was about to die a fiery death. Sunlight suddenly filled the room, bright enough for Astarion to tightly shut his eyes.

Then...nothing. No burning, no pain, nothing but the sounds of you both breathing.

That didn't-how was he-what did you just do?

Astarion stared at you, absolutely flabbergasted with his mouth hanging open, staring at the borrowed daylight like a simpleton, "But how?"

You were still grinning ear to ear, looking happier than Astarion had ever seen you before. You grasped his hands in yours, your smile gentle as you explained, "I told you. We were blessed. Our Lady of Silver gave me one gift, and this is what I choose."

If sunlight wasn't already staring him in the face, Astarion would never believe it. But here he was, alive and standing under it's warmth. A gift from a goddess, spent on him of all creatures.

"It can't fix everything," You clarified with the slightest frown, "But it can fix this."

He could feel the truth in your words. He was still... wrong. A creature born of something awful, doomed to eternity and a life of bloodlust. But part of that wrongness had been culled, curling up and dying from Selune's holy magic, from your enduring love.

It was a dream he never thought possible. One that he had accepted never having. But here he was, here you were, continuing to give him the impossible.

It was enough to bring tears to his eyes. Astarion reached up, cupping your face before confessing the truth he couldn't quell.

"I don't deserve you," He whispered, voice hoarse, "I'll never deserve you. Words can't express my thanks. You have given me everything, while I have nothing but myself to give in return. But it's always yours. Everything inside of me."

He meant every word, he always would. Until his last breath.

You shook your head, gentling cooing at him, "This is a time for celebration my love, not for doubt. You've earned this."

He hadn't. And he doubted you'd ever be able to convince him he had. But he'd still take it. Gladly.

"I love you," Astarion murmured, helpless to say anything else. He pressed his lips against yours, the gravity of his new life just starting to settle in his mind.

He was free, as free as he could ever hope for. You had achieved what Cazador could not, all without a hint of malice or horrifying sacrifice. But through kindness, love, and perseverance. You had already freed him once from his own mental shackles, his last remaining ties to the tyrant that made him.

And now you've done it again, saving him from at least a portion of the taint on his soul.

It was beautiful, wonderful, and Astarion would never waste a moment of it.

[turtletaubwrites]

Wrong Side of the Bars

Thank you anon for this lovely request, and thank you all for voting on which wip I worked on next! I hope you enjoy it! 🐊

Pairings: Crocodile x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3990

Ao3 Link

Summary: Your promotion landed you in hell, otherwise known as Level 6 of Impel Down. All you wanted to do was work this shit job so you could move on up, but there's one prisoner that won't leave you alone. It turns out those long nights go by faster with a bit of company.

Author's Note: Oh, Sir Crocodile 🐊🥰 I would cave so fucking fast

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Swearing, Smut, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Large Cock, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Vaginal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Spit, Prison Sex, Penis in Vagina Sex, Unprotected Sex, (stay safe out there!), Hair-Pulling, Possessive Behavior, Come Eating, Biting, Bondage, Power Imbalance, I'd Commit Felonies For This Man

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

“You’re new.”

He wasn’t the first prisoner to try to talk to you, but he was the first that you made eye contact with. You cursed yourself for that, not wanting to make any sort of connection with these monsters as you pushed their meals through the slots, and monitored the hell that was Level 6. 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing trapped down here in the muck?”

Sir Crocodile. 

You had studied all of the terrifying prisoners you’d be guarding, but there was something about this man that scared you. 

That fear had to show on your face as he smirked down at you. He was so tall, at least a couple feet taller than you, and the scar that tore his face in half across his cheekbones had your mouth going dry. 

He chuckled as he leaned down, the handcuffs clinking against metal as he rested his forearms on the bars, his hands dangling out of the cell. 

Not hands. Hand. And a gleaming metal hook. 

“Stay in your cell,” you ordered, backing up too fast as his smile widened. 

Why the fuck did they let him keep that thing? It looks fucking deadly. 

“My apologies, miss…” he paused, pulling his arms back as he waited for you to fill in the blank. 

“You may address me as ‘guard.”

He didn’t.

Sir Crocodile called you “pretty thing” every shift. 

It didn’t help that the guard post station was right next to his fucking cell. You knew this was going to be a shit job, but you were working your way up, and this promotion could get you placed somewhere cushier in the long run. Plus, the berries they had to pay to convince anyone to come down here was impressive. 

These prisoners were the worst of the worst, and working down here was never going to be easy. 

But you didn’t expect to have silver eyes watching your every move, matched by that silver tongue that got you flustered all too easy. You were too embarrassed to ask the other guards if he treated them the same way. 

~

“How’s your morning going, pretty thing?”

“It’s nighttime,” you deadpanned, grimacing that you’d answered him again. It had only been a couple of weeks, but it was getting harder to ignore the only person you could talk to during these long shifts in the cold, dark, gloom of Impel Down. 

“I guess it doesn’t matter down here,” he hummed, sitting on the floor close to the bars to see you better. 

There aren’t even any other prisoners in this section. They were all on death row, and now I’m stuck posted next to this… this…

Admitting it to yourself pissed you off, but Crocodile was charming. And fucking hot. 

He rested his head on his fist while he smirked at you, and you braced yourself for more of that deep voice. 

“Why are you down here?”

The lack of the nickname added to the genuine tone in his words, and you gave in.

“I got a promotion.”

Crocodile leaned back, surprised laughter booming through the air. Your skin flushed, and he squinted up at you as he shook his head. 

“You’re joking, right? A pretty thing like you, stuck in the dark? Bringing slop to bad men like me? That can’t be a fucking promotion,” he balked, tapping his hook against the bars to emphasize his point. 

Gritting your teeth, you kept your eyes away from that cell as the ex warlord laughed softly to himself for the rest of your shift. 

~

“What’s it like to have devil fruit powers,” you asked, tapping fingers on your desk as you stared at him. Barely a month had gone by, and now you were spending hours every shift talking to this dangerous criminal. 

“It’d be a lot more enjoyable without this tacky jewelry,” he complained, waving the sea prism stone cuffs in the air. 

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before going all evil.”

Ice sunk to your gut as you caught his eyes. You had a feeling he was not someone to disrespect, even if he was locked up. 

“I like you,” he announced, huffing a laugh. 

The praise had you digging your fingers into your thighs, your voice a bit too high for the rest of the night. 

~

“Are you seeing someone?”

“Excuse me,” you coughed, sitting up from your too relaxed position.

“I can’t imagine you have a lot of options on this rock,” he wondered aloud, tilting his head down toward you. “It has to be pretty lonely.”

Chills ran over your body as his voice went low, those innocent words laced with the promise of sin. 

“That’s none of your business,” you scoffed, breathy as you tried not to squirm. 

“I suppose not,” he hummed, leaning against the bars. “But you work such a stressful job. I bet you need someone to help you relax a bit. I know you deserve it.”

It was like his words were on your skin, heating you up. You didn’t realize just how fucking pent up you were until he started torturing you. 

“I’d never ask you to let me out,” he assured, raising his arms in front of him, rattling the chain between his cuffs. “I know you don’t have the key to these cuffs, so there wouldn’t be a point in leaving this cage on my own anyway.”

“I’m not letting you–”

“Like I said, pretty thing, I won't leave this cell until these cuffs are gone. But I do want to give you some relief. You could join me in here for a while. We’ve got all night, no one else is around. Wouldn’t you like a little help with all of that stress?”

“No– I…” you choked out, shaking your head.

How could I let things go this far? I’ve been so unprofessional, talking to him like this.

Crocodile interrupted your internal criticism with a laugh, his eyes pouring over you. 

“No worries, doll. I’m sure you’ll be thinkin’ about it later. You know where to find me when you change your mind.”

“Don’t you mean if,” you corrected, trying to gain some footing back. 

“No,” he teased, giving you a sly wink before turning away, laying on his cot as he hummed to himself. 

Your thoughts turned to chaotic noise as your brain tried to delete that conversation. Staring at his back while he laid down for the rest of your shift, you willed yourself to have some sense of self preservation. 

Finally in your own bed, you closed your eyes, hoping to see nothing but inky blackness. 

But all you could see were silver eyes, a golden hook, and a devilish smile. 

Fuck.

~

“Why should I trust you?”

Your hoarse whisper raised his brow as he stood in front of you, your own body closer to the bars than you’d normally risk. 

“I won’t survive this place alone with these cuffs on, and I’m not stupid enough to risk it. I’m fucking bored, and I could use some company. Why would I hurt the only pretty thing I get to see down here?”

Trusting this criminal would be insane. I could lose my job. I could be thrown behind bars. He could fucking kill me, even without his devil fruit powers. Don’t fucking do this. Don’t be a fucking idiot. Don’t–

“Okay,” you breathed, your crime barely audible as he watched your guilty lips. 

Crocodile’s crooked grin made you shiver, and you caught yourself chewing on your lip to keep from returning a shy smile. 

“Such a good girl,” he teased, stepping away from the bars. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

His praise and his promise ran through you like electricity, and your body twisted with need while you struggled with the keys. 

“Take your time, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

Even his laughter felt delicious, like you needed to get closer, to taste it on your tongue. 

The heavy click of metal stopped your breath, and Crocodile stood as still as a statue while the door swung open. He didn’t move a muscle, as if trying not to spook you. 

Each step damned you further, until you were in the monster’s cage. You locked yourself in, the cold ring of keys stuffed into your pocket as you turned to face him. 

Crocodile looked at you with such satisfaction that it made your toes curl, as if you’d already given him everything. It only took him a couple of steps to cross the room, and in a moment you were staring up at him, your body on fire with anticipation. 

The chain of the cuffs stretched as he reached his hand to your cheek. That large thumb was so gentle as it stroked your skin, and you let out a sigh. 

Then you gasped, his thumb just a distraction for that golden hook as it pulled at your collar, that sharp point dangerously close to your throat. 

“Take these off before I ruin your little uniform.”

The words could have been a request, a command, or a threat, but the heat in his voice had you pulling at your tie, frantic to obey him. 

Just as you tossed the last bit of clothing to the side, he knelt down to kiss you, pressing the bare skin of your back against the metal bars. 

Crocodile kissed you with more care than you’d expected, as if he were eating a fine meal, tasting every note, enjoying the luxury he’d earned or taken. As you opened to him, he explored you, his large tongue so controlled. 

Until you needed more, digging your nails into his slicked back hair, moaning into his mouth.

Thick fingers trailed between your thighs until they pulled away wet. He chuckled at the little whines you let out when he broke contact, tasting you on his fingers. 

“So eager,” he hummed, resisting your grabby hands to pull him back in. “Hang on to the bars.”

You were glad for the order, because the sight of this menacing villain lying on his back, and sliding his head between your legs would have knocked you over.

“Don’t be shy, pretty thing. Let me take care of all that stress for ya.”

I can’t believe this is happening. 

He laughed as you turned around, mumbling that 'the other way was fine,' before you lowered yourself down. 

The first touches were like that kiss, controlled and steady. He pressed his lips against your clit, then his tongue explored, just as gentle as before.

Your hips squirmed above him as you held yourself up, until he growled against your flesh. That sensation alone sent your eyes rolling back, then his hand gripped your waist to shove you down. His hook was trapped behind your back, the chain of his cuffs rubbing against your ass with every movement. 

All the control he’d shown before was gone, and you bit one of your wrists not to scream. Looking down into those wicked eyes was a mistake, as you had to fight your body not to collapse, not to send his name echoing through this desolate, stone hell. 

His tongue was so long, you couldn’t believe how deep he could taste you. He invaded you, trying to eat his way inside your body, like a dog chewing through a bone. More of his moans and growls vibrated through you as you rode along the planes of his face. 

“Fuck, oh gods, I’m…” you choked out, your knuckles turning white against the bars as you came on this criminal’s face. 

His grip on you stayed firm as you spasmed, forcing you to stay in place while he lapped up your pleasure. 

“Holy shit,” you breathed, still twitching when he finally released you. You’d barely laid beside him when he was on you, filling your mouth with the taste of you as you shivered against the stone floor. 

“You taste too fucking good to be trapped down here,” he rasped between kisses, trailing his lips down your jaw and neck. 

“I’m not trapped.”

His teeth clamped down, just the threat of a bite at the crook of your neck. Your breath caught, your body unable to hide the fact that it was more excited than afraid to have this predator at your throat. 

Crocodile gave your body what it wanted, pressing his teeth into your flesh slowly, tracing his fingers along your thigh. You melted as the pressure grew sharp, your eyes fluttering as you gave him a breathy moan. 

His tongue teased over the mark he’d made, and you were grateful for your uniform’s high collar before you forgot who and where you were again. 

His fingers took that moment to find you, two plunging into your still twitching cunt. He kissed you again, tasting your moans as he added another thick finger.

Digging your nails into his arms, you struggled to breathe through his kiss as he stretched and played with you. 

“Come here, pretty thing,” he teased, helping you move unsteadily toward the cot. He leaned over you, kissing your temple before breathing more promises against your ear, sending chills over your skin. 

“I’m gonna fuck all of that stress out of your perfect, little body,” he whispered, letting you hang onto him as you gasped. “But first, you're gonna use that pretty mouth to get my cock nice and messy for you, alright?”

“Mhm,” you agreed, biting your lip as you watched him toss his thin pillow to the floor. He smirked at you before tugging down his striped pants. Kicking them out of the way, he sat on the bed with his legs spread wide. Those heavy balls hung down over the side of the mattress while you stared at his veiny cock. 

“It’ll fit, sweetheart,” he winked, resting his arms and cuffs between his legs as he waited for you. “Just get it nice and wet for me, and I’ll show you.”

You’d already thrown out every last bit of self preservation the second you walked into this cell, so you sank down to your knees on the pillow, and looked up at him. 

He was so scary.

But the satisfied way he looked at you made you want to say yes to anything, just to keep those silver eyes on your skin. He lifted his arms over you until you were caged between his long legs and the meat of his body, with the chains on his wrists tickling your back. 

Taking him in your hands, you almost lost your nerve as you moved along that velvet girth, but his deep voice pulled you back.

“Mm, just like that, beautiful.”

Desperate for more of that praise, you pressed your lips to his swollen tip. His mouth parted when you tasted that bead of precum, teasing it around his tip with your tongue while your hands kept stroking his length.

The noises he made were low and pleased as you took what you could of him into your mouth. You gave everything, tasting and sucking him becoming your only purpose, spurred on by more intoxicating words. 

“So gorgeous with your mouth all full. Just a little sloppier now. You can drool on my cock like a good girl, can’t ya?”

Moaning around him, you let as much spit as you could drip down his shaft, gasping when he grabbed your hair to pull him off of you.

A line of spit connected your lips to his cock as you blinked up at him. His eyes were dark, and you whimpered as he tightened his fingers in your hair, the sensation arching your back. 

“Lay down,” he commanded as he released your hair, standing slowly to tower above you. He tugged the thin blanket off the bed with his hook, holding it out to you with a dangerous tilt to his head. 

Spreading the fabric across the rough floor, you laid down with the pillow under your head. He watched your every move, his stillness making your breath shallow again. 

You didn’t just want to be meek prey for this crocodile to devour. You wanted to devour him back. 

I want this. 

Meeting his dark eyes with your own, you spread your thighs, teasing your fingers over your clit. 

“I’m wait–”

Crocodile went to his knees, cutting you off with a laugh. He caged you in with his elbows above your head, the sound of metal hitting stone making you gasp. 

“Barely had a taste, and my pretty thing's already greedy? Show me where you want it,” he taunted, rubbing that thick length through your folds. 

Just the touch of him had your eyes rolling back, but you obeyed. You wrapped shaky fingers around him, guiding him to your entrance before you tried, and failed, to relax. 

“Breathe deep for me, babydoll. You want me to fill you up, don’t you,” he rasped, pressing just the tip of him inside, already bringing a moan to your lips. 

“That’s right,” he praised as you tried not to squirm away from his slow invasion. “I knew you’d love taking my cock. Mm, I felt that. Is that what you want, pretty thing? You want mean ol’ Crocodile to fuck you deep?”

The stretch had taken your thoughts, left you with tears in your eyes, and the hint of drool in the corner of your lips. 

All you could do was pant, and whine, and beg. 

“Please, fuck me, Crocodile. I–”

He hadn’t met your hips yet, but he drew himself out and started fucking into you, tearing a scream from your throat.

Without stopping, he brought his large hand to cover your mouth, the chain of his cuffs hitting against the top of your head with every thrust. 

Crocodile slowed down, rocking his hips up into you. He pushed further, until you were shaking at the sensation of him fully hilted, stretching you further than you’d ever felt. 

His hand left your face as his voice rolled over you again. 

“As much as I wanna hear you screaming my name, you’ve gotta keep it down. Can you do that for me, pretty?”

“Mhm,” you whined, needing him to start moving again.

Another filthy scream left your throat, until you choked on two large fingers. 

“Looks like you need to practice your fucking manners, sweetheart,” he scolded, gagging your screams away while he fucked you across the stone floor, the blanket slipping away bit by bit with each powerful thrust. 

Every single thing about this moment was overwhelming, and as much as Crocodile’s praise had sent you leaping into danger, his scolding words made you shatter into pieces. Your orgasm crashed over you, your nails raking over any part of him you could reach while pleasure made your body thrash. 

“Fuuckk, you’re taking my cock so well.”

He emphasized those words with his body, filling you completely, over and over again 

“When I get out of here, I’m taking you with me. No more dungeons for my perfect, pretty thing. You hear me?”

He huffed a laugh when you moaned around his fingers again, then his thrusts went ragged as he gave you more orders. 

“Come for me while I fill you up, pretty. Play with that little clit. I wanna feel this pussy milking– Ha, you’re such a good girl.”

You were barely human anymore, with your eyes crossed as drool trailed down your cheek where his fingers pressed into your mouth, and your spasming flesh that begged for more abuse as he fucked you into the stone. 

“So good for me,” he grunted, pumping into you a few more times as you felt his thick cock pulsing and twitching. “My pretty thing…”

The heat and pressure of his come pouring into you had you arching your back, whimpering around his fingers as he whispered those last few words, claiming you in ways he couldn’t mean. 

You were fucking lost. As unreal as the night had seemed, it felt as if it were the only real night you’d ever had. All the adrenaline and pleasure had made you fucking high, and you were still reeling when he left you empty. He pulled you gently until your head was in his lap as he sat against the wall, wiping the drool from your cheek. 

“So, how’s that stress now, babydoll? Feel better,” he asked with that crooked smile.

“Fuck,” your breathed, your eyes going wide with panic as the real fucking world crawled back into your brain. 

I’m fucked. I’m gonna get fired, or arrested, or fucking killed, or–

“Hm. Looks like you need another round to clear that up for you.”

A nervous laugh escaped you, and you clamped your hand over your mouth, afraid of him again. 

“Don’t worry,” he rasped, licking his lips as he looked down your body. “I’ll just clean up the mess I made. Then you can pretend you never let Sir Crocodile fuck you in his dirty prison cell. Is that what my pretty thing wants?”

Your mind was still screaming, but your body knew. It wanted that skilled tongue to drink every drop of him out of you, and he laughed again when you moaned at the thought. 

The ex warlord was gentle, cleaning the evidence with his tongue, and bringing you to bliss one more time as he sucked on your clit like a piece of candy. He kissed along your body, a mix of teasing and praise floating over you, until his gentleness ended. 

“What,” you groaned, blinking your eyes open while he shook your face with a firm grip on your jaw. 

“It’s time to go sweetheart.”

“Oh. Oh.”

The criminal sat on his cot, grinning at you while you panicked, teetering on one foot when you pulled your pants on. 

“Is everything–”

“You look fine,” he soothed, still smirking. “You look like a guard, although you’re still on the wrong side of the bars.”

Nodding too fast, you pulled the heavy keys out of your pocket, but they clattered to the floor as fingers twisted into your hair. 

Crocodile yanked you toward him, the sensation of him holding you this way going from delicious to terrifying in seconds. All you could do was stare up into those cold eyes, all of your self defense training evaporating in the presence of such a predator. 

“I may be stuck in this cage for now,” he warned, leaning his face down to yours, “but you’re mine. Do you understand?”

Your body responded before you could think, your eyes rolling back as you gasped.

“There’s my pretty thing,” he praised, kissing away the fear as he loosened his grip on your hair. “Now go get some rest. You’ve got a long night of work ahead of you tomorrow, don’t you?”

Sitting at the guard post for the rest of your shift felt surreal. You knew that you had stepped out of that cell, and locked the door. You knew that he was still trapped, and you were still free. But even though you were the one with his mark left on your body, it felt like he’d kept a piece of you in that cage with him. 

Still, your mind and body struggled between fear, and the memories of his voice and his touch while you pleaded with the clock for your shift to end so you could take a fucking shower.

Crocodile left you alone for once, this little corner of hell silent for the first time in weeks. Yet, you knew he wasn’t asleep. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him sitting on his cot, darkness shrouding everything except for the faint gleam of gold. 

The shift finally ended, and your steps echoed through the hall. The words you’d heard at the end of every shift for weeks met your ears again, but now they set you on fire, fear and desire speeding your pulse.

“Goodnight, pretty thing.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Shit job, but the benefits sound nice 😈🐊

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel

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| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[sashiavi]

✧˚·.SashiAvi's Kinktober Day Five.·˚✧

#5|Stuck/Stuckage|#5

Alex x Reader - Word Count - 3.3k

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Now. How exactly did you end up here? – Stuck half-in the cubed lockbox attached to the bottom of the bath house lockers, the metal snug around your shoulders in your attempt to reach, your knees bent into a crawl and aching in protest as they press against the cold tile floor of the locker room.

Well. It starts with one of your regular sessions with Alex at the bathhouse, the man taking up the impromptu role of a personal trainer, guiding you through the wonders of working out.

Farmwork was a tricky business, it made sense to build up your body for your own sake, avoiding any long lingering aches and pains. All it took was your own questioning about the weight set in his room before the man was dragging you up to the gym residing in the facility. 

He prided himself on his physicality - That mindset bordering on toxic positivity - Rise and grind.. Or something. Truthfully the way he managed to slurp down a whole raw egg was a sight to see, and usually one you cared not to view. But his passion was endearing, cute even, a sparkle twinkling in his eye at the premise of having a buddy to work out with. You weren’t entirely sure of how exactly you felt about the man.

Was he cute? Handsome? Charming? Just how much did you like him.. What kind of like even was it? In another world, he seemed like the stereotypical jock type. Uncaring and maybe even cruel. Giving no attention to anyone outside of his own circle. 

But that wasn't him at all, was it? Considerate and willing to help, gentle despite the thick muscles adorned on his body.

You arrived together as you usually did, splitting up at the door before you entered into the designated locker rooms, changing clothes, prepping yourself all ready to meet up in the middle on the other side, like clockwork. Except there's no squeak of your gym shoes against the tile, a lack of kinetic vibrance that Alex was rather quick to notice.

You weren't there.

Instead, he hears a yelp and a swear of profanity, breaking his concentration from the flex of his muscles in the mirror, your voice calling from the other side of the wall. He hears you groan, muffled and echoed, bouncing around, grating like metal. Cogs work in his brain, churning and turning with curiosity. He shouldn't.. Should he? Alex doesn't think for much longer before he makes way for the ladies' locker room, easily entering through the cut-out entrance. Something right in the very back of his mind chirps at him, about decency and maybe the implications of a man waltzing into a private space like this- But, call him concerned.

You hear Alex’s footsteps, a little squeaky, the grip on the bottom of his shoes catching on to the slick tile with every push of his feet. You wiggle and squirm, cursing the manufacturers of the locker, fighting the stinging scream of your shoulders at your attempt to pull yourself out. You did not, in fact, fit in the square hole. 

Yoba, you were embarrassed, trapped within the confines of the cubic space, face down ass up with nowhere to run, as if you were stuck in some kind of cheap porn script written by some lazy author. 

God, at least you were decent, gym shorts saving your dignity. You never meant to get stuck like this, obviously- But you couldn't help your water bottle taking a tumble to the floor and choosing to roll into one of the open lock boxes, you had to save the poor thing yourself. You just didn't expect the damned box to have so much depth to it, didn’t think you’d trap yourself inside, had at least a little faith that your limbs would squeeze and cooperate to get yourself free easy-peasy. You supposed the spirits were displeased today. Maybe even finding amusement at your pitiful predicament.

“Uhhh..” Alex’s voice drawls in an awkward, questioning hum, muffled through the rusted metal walls of the lockbox. You can imagine the look on his face, head quirked with a scrunch to his brow, those deep green eyes squinting in confusion. “What.. Are you doing?”

“Alex-!” You squirm, hissing at the ache in your joints, the hearty creak in your bones at your attempts to wiggle free. You must look like a fool. “Can you..- Can you help me?” You ask, a little timid in your tone, feeling your upper body starting to get clammy, hyperaware at just how tight the space really was.

Alex wasn't fairing much better.

His gaze locked on your rear, watching the cut legs of your cloth gym shorts ride up your thighs with all of that squirming, legs spread wide apart while you rested on your knees, back arched all the way down for your torso to fit into the small space. Your feet rest on your ankles, chunky sneakers with socks pulled up your calves, framing them with a subtle squish by the sock elastic, looking cute and sporty- If he looked hard enough, he's sure he can see the outline of lace hugging the supple swell of the mound of your-

“Alex.” You call out desperately, snapping the brunette out of his thoughts. “Please.” You’re begging on your hands and knees here – Literally.

“Right-! Right yeah..” He shuffles over, gulping a thick swallow of saliva that dared to pool up under his tongue, hands open and moving awkwardly, hovering over your form here, there and everywhere. Does he grab your hips? The curve of your waist? Press his warm and clammy palms into the thick of your thighs and drag you by your legs? “How..?” He feels stupid for asking.

“I don’t know, just.. Grab me?” You were short with him, frustrations bubbled up by nothing but your own predicament and the fact that you had managed to get yourself stuck like that.

Alex rests a hand on both of your hips, warm against your chilled bare hip bone, shirt risen up, hidden skin exposed to the cool, damp locker room air thanks to your squirming. His fingers were long, easily wrapping around and digging into the tender spot of your pelvis, giving a tender squeeze into it. Your body tenses up with a surprised jolt, a squeak chirped off of your lips and a scold right on the edge of your tongue.

You can only imagine the position, and Alex was lucky enough to see it; Crouched between your spread legs with an eye full of your behind, hands on your hips in such a compromising position, flooding his brain full of dirty, dirty ideas. There's a strain in his pants, the telltale pulse of blood gushing up into the plum-pink tip of his cock, pressing uncomfortably on the tight seam of his shorts. He feels the thick vein on his undershaft throb, raring to go with just a little touch to your body. 

“Do I just, like.. Pull?” Alex smacks his lips, trying to be useful, looking at the wall of the locker, trying to find a way out.

“I guess?” You shimmy again, squirmy in his hold, making his fingers twitch with the hot urge to hold you down and still. The more you shift the harder it is to think straight, watching and feeling your body move under him, at the mercy of him. He was in control right now. In control of you. 

“Okay..” He starts with a gentle tug, feeling out the tightness of your situation, trying to gently ease you from the confines of the space. He finds himself leaning over your body in some sort of attempt at getting the best grip on you, subsequently pressing his groin right into your ass. The thick press of his boner kissing a grind on your clothed cunt, urging up his own creak of a groan.

“Alex.. are you-?” Your eyes widen in the darkness, thighs tensing in a pitiful attempt to close and snap shut. You can't deny the heat of the situation, feeling awfully exposed and on display, not having a say in where his eyes land, where those hands touch, all dark and muffled inside the locker. You can’t stop the squeak of a noise you make, overwhelmed at the premise of Alex being on top of you-

Poor Alex. He honestly panics, tugging at you with a newfound gusto in an attempt to distract you, to free you. But he immediately regrets it, hearing you squeak and squeal, telling him to “wait wait wait-” huffing at the sting of metal uncooperative with your body. His hands feel like they’ve burnt you, seared into your skin- not to mention his little friend down there, saying a cheeky peek-a-boo against your supple, clothed folds.

The brunette feels a spike of adrenaline, a shock at the idea of actually causing some sort of hurt towards you, his hands slipping with his grip. 

It's honestly almost comical.

Feeling Alex's fingers hook into your waistband as he fumbles, yanking down your shorts in an easy motion, fully exposing everything you had to offer up hugged behind your half-off panties. The thin fabric of your underwear was the only thing keeping up any ounce of dignity you had left. You thought it couldn't get any worse? Well it has now.  

“Fuck- Shit sorry-” Alex cuts off with a sigh, seeing your shorts pool at the bend of your spread knees, your panties half off of your ass, showing off a peak of your goods, that darker line running down between your cheeks. He swallows again, his hand daring to find itself on your ass cheek, fingers spread and palm flat, shamelessly squishing in an inappropriate grope.

“A..Alex-” You warn, as if you weren't sinking your teeth into your tender bottom lip. He breathes your name back, veiny hands soothing and squishing, exploring over the expanse of your ass, down, down until he hits the drooled-up wet fabric poorly covering your pussy.

You should kick him- Shout and squirm and knock him off of his feet but- Yoba, his touch burned hot, coursing a warm pulse throbbing on the bud of your clit. “P..Please..” What were you begging for? God knows. But Alex snatches up what you put down for him.

He wastes no time, pulling down the elastic of your panties, letting them fall down your thighs, fabric stretching with the spread, nestling nice and pretty with your dangling shorts. You moan out a soft hum, eyes rolling back in the darkness, brain working in overdrive trying to paint the pretty picture. Arched beautifully for him, legs spread so wide, rendered useless in this position, right for him to hold on to, use as some kind of leverage for- Fuck.

You hear a hot spit of his lips and feel a fat glob of saliva land on your folds.

The brunette suckles on his own fingers, coating them up in a thick sheen over saliva, tongue swirling around his own digits at the sight of your bare and supple cunt. He had to get in you, needed it. Needed to feel the velvety wrap of your cunt on- Yoba, anything of his. 

He pops his fingers out with a vulgar wet noise, raking them through your drippy pussy lips, only adding to the dribbly wetness between your legs. Another spatter of saliva, thick, spitty and bubbly white, sliding down through your folds like a sweet teardrop. He breathes your name again, head cotton stuffed, barely asking you for permission before he was easily slipping in two of his fingers, knuckle deep right into the doughy swell of your hole.

“Fuck..” He’s a man of many words, clearly. Your slick pools against his knuckles, already forming a thick ring of cream around his fingers. He’s slow at first, marvelling at the way your pussy suckles him in, how warm and supple you were on his digits, so fucking soft against the rough calloused paw of his hand. In and out. In. And. Out. Carefully pushing two fingers into your cunt hole, twisting his wrist to dive them in, soft and slow with a thick curl at the end of his push.

You seem to gasp every time. Soft little noises sucked in and pushed out with each tender curl of his fingers. He can't help but watch in awe, jaw slack and lips parted, sun-kissed face burning into a blush of red. He speeds up, eyes widening at the newfound squelch against his knuckles, echoing around the tiled room.

“A-Alex.. Just- Hahh.. Just fuck me! I need it- please?” Yoba, you don’t know why this was driving you so crazy, never before having the thought cross over your mind- Feeling like some helpless free-use toy. But you were thinking with your gut, the dumb thing connected to the throb of your clit, influencing your sense deprived brain, craving more, more touch more of him. More of Alex.

“Fuck- Okay. okayokay- S’okay m’ gonna fuck you…- gonna fuck you now-” He all but babbled, nervous and fast in tone, completely ignoring the previous pressing issue of getting you out. Now all in favour of drilling himself in.

His cock is quickly freed. Tip dark and angry with arousal, leaking out little pearls of pearlescent precum, crying out for the sweet wrap of your pussy. He jerks himself off, wetting his length with your juices, letting the thick vein throb against the delicious sticky kiss of your cunt. He finds himself tapping his cock over the slick-wet folds of your achy cunt, slap, slap, slap, sliding through your wetness while he jerks himself.

He sighs out in awe at the sweet jumps you give, each flinch and feeble attempt to push back on him. You weren't faring any better in there. Imagination running rampant, stuck in a twisted sensory deprivation chamber, dark and warm, blind to Alex’s actions, giving him surprised jolts and jumps with every touch.

He lets the dark pink mushroom tip of his dick push in, just the tip- Juust the tip – Huffing a short groan when it pops out of your cunt with a dirty-wet sound, forcing the man to grit his teeth tight. He keeps it up, letting the thick, weepy pudge of his cock head catch on your hole, choking a groan behind his teeth every time it slips back out.

You squirm against the confines of your little box prison, about to whine out another beg before Alex beats you to it. His hand holds your hip, nice and steady as if it could move at all right now. He talks you through it, breathing out babbled praises, reassurances, oddly sweet despite the vulgar scene. Ohh, but when he finally sinks into you, pushing deeper, deeper, deeper! Thick tip kissing lovingly at the swell of your cervix, nestled nice and snug in your guts.

“Al..ex..” Yoba, it's the only word you know, it seems. A Chant easily dropping off of your tongue, murmured around the walls of the locker you’d stuck yourself in,

You’re not the only one. Alex can’t help but breathe out your name, again and again falling off of his lips like drool while he sinks into your cunt. Finally, finally feeling the sweet swell of your cunt enveloped the fat length of his cock, silky soft walls hugging on him. You squeeze- 

How could he keep his hips still like this? Why bother at all? He surely doesn’t.

The brunette rolls his hips into your ass, rolling his eyes with his own movement, relishing in the gushy snuggle of your walls on his cock. He finds himself mindlessly rocking his thick cock into your silky pussy, humping his hips against your ass like some kind of mutt in heat. His hands wrap around the lovely spread of your thighs, hooking under, using you as leverage and careful as he can, using your pussy like a special toy, tender with his grinding rolls.

He can feel you attempt to give it back, trying your best to hump back on his lap, take him down deeper, kissing your folds on his base, letting those wiry hairs brushed over his lap get all sticky-slick. His mouth falls open at the sight, stringy, creamy, frothy- a mess in his lap all drooled by your cunt, wet pussy kisses with each rolling fuck of his hips.

A heavy breath makes its way through his nose, eyes hyper-focused on the pretty, creamy ring around his length as he fucks his hips against you, watching the mess slowly leak its way onto his pants loosely dropped down his waist. An ache builds in his pelvis, the thick vein pulsing on the underside of his cock.

You felt mindless, stuck in the warm darkness, humid with your own breath, skin tacky and moist, joints aching, back pinching but fuck- You couldn’t care less. Not with the heat between your legs, or the praises and promises babbled by the man behind you. Yoba, especially not with the way he moves to mount up on you, soft fucks turned hearty and thick, clapping hard, pelvis slapping into your ass and pussy.

He fucks you. Holding you nice and steady for his hips to snap, finishing off each and every thrust with a roll to his hips, jabbing the pudge of his tip into the supple, mushy little spot inside of you. Alex eyes the pretty ripple of your ass clapping on his pelvis, whimpering deep in his throat with how juicy and gushy your cunt was on his length. 

I was all so much. For both of you-

His hips snap, pace faltering, clapping his hips in heated but sloppy staccatos, dragging his cock out and slamming right back in with a wet smack of his hips. You cry with every thrust, muffled and echoed against the walls of the lockbox, silky cunt squeezing on his tip, babbling his name over and over and over.

“Shit- Babe-!” He throws out the name and fuck, it feels right. It's all over when his fingers dare to come forth, rubbing tight circles into your sticky clit, twiddling with the little thing, making you tighten-

Oh it's a dangerous game, feeling the supple milk of your pussy, squeezing on his length in those sweet pulses while you cream- He has to pull out- Fuck, gotta cum-

The poor guy barely makes it, spilling onto your weepy cunt, jerking himself off over your back, letting ropey spurts of hot cum land in spatters over your skin. Of course he keeps his other hand up, circling your clit feverishly in the same pattern he strokes off his cock, working you both through those tender orgasms you’d brought upon each other- 

It’s all hot breaths, panting hard, chest heaving with the comedown. Oh poor you, achy legs still all stuck, sweaty body slippery against the squeeze of metal. Alex notices in his haze, scooping you into his arms, uncaring of the sticky, musky splashes of cum stained over your back. He hushes you, huffing a chuckle into your neck when he finally gets you free!

“Hi..” You groan, falling into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, daring to stretch your legs with a wobbly twitch, cramping hard in your calf.

“Hey.” He blinks, hand already working to soothe your poor muscles, massaging warmth into your skin, on fire compared to the freezing floor tiles.

“So..” The brunette bites into his bottom lip, kissing his teeth with a pondering tut before he turns to properly face you, flashing a teeth-filled, goofy grin.

“How about a bath?” 

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Thank you so much for reading! If you have any thoughts please let me know! I'd love to hear them <3 your words spur my heart on!

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[ganjas-shit]

Oh, You’re Breaking My Heart

Summary: You get to the bottom of Billy’s feelings but will it be too late?

Pairings: Billy x reader, slight Steve x reader (nothing too crazy)

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexual intercourse, cursing, abuse, blood, harsh language, Neil Hargrove, angst, mention of drugs, mental illness, panic attack.

Authors note: So, turns out I will be turning this into a series but STILL don’t know how long yet! I hope you guys enjoy I’ve been working on this all day. Message me or comment if you’d like to be apart of the tag list! Thank you for your support <3

Chapter Two: You’re gonna be okay.

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The morning air was crisp and refreshing, like sipping cool water. It felt invigorating against your skin, awakening your senses to the day ahead.

You took one more deep breath, enjoying the cool air in your lungs and closed the door behind you, locking it with your house key, and made your way towards the front of your house waiting for Steve’s arrival.

You close your eyes before slapping a hand over your forehead. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath, realizing you forgot to call him this morning. With his habit of sleeping in, you’d likely be late for the billionth time only this time you didn’t find it in you to care, the excitement from last nights events still lingered in your belly.

Billy showed a different side of himself, setting aside his usual arrogance and charm. This unexpected change only fueled your excitement, leaving you eager to learn more about him.

The sound of Billy and Max bickering snapped you out of your thoughts. Though you couldn’t discern their exact exchange, it was evident Billy had the upper hand as Max slammed the passenger door of his car. “Watch it, shitbird, or you’ll be walking to school!” Billy’s voice echoed with attitude and irritation. Neil’s sudden appearance brought a stern reminder for Billy to mind his words when speaking to his sister

As he was about to get into his car, your eyes met his ocean-blue ones, but they held anger towards you, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. You immediately shook it off, offering him a wave and your bright, sweet smile. He maintained eye contact for a moment but disregarded your greeting, hopping into the driver’s seat of his blue Camaro.

You stood there, dumbfounded, watching him speed off, cringing at the loud sound of his departure. Did you do something? You thought to yourself.

You found the interaction between him and his father last night rather odd. His father’s presence was intimidating and uncomfortable, yet Billy left with a small smile directed towards you. It seemed like he was grateful for your conversation, so you couldn’t understand what could’ve happened.

Steve arrived momentarily, surprisingly on time, his burgundy bmw stopping right in front of you house. You climbed into the passenger side, a mixture of frustration and disappointment bubbling within you. With a heavy hand and a distracted mind, you slammed the passenger door of Steve’s car.

“Hey, easy!” He yelled, his tone irritated at your lack of consideration for his precious baby, bringing you back to the present moment. “Sorry,” you mumbled, shifting your belongings to the front of your legs and fastening your seatbelt.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve huffed. “Who pissed in your cereal this morning?” He glanced towards the driver’s window, checking for any incoming cars or pedestrians.

“Billy Hargrove,” you muttered grumpily, turning your gaze out the window as the trees and houses began to blur with the increasing speed of Steve’s car.

Steve looked over at you, his grip tightening on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white in the process. “Yeah, well, at least you’re not being benched today because of him,” Steve said, his tone tinged with anger at the fact that Billy clearly upset you and at the realization that he’s not starting or playing the opening game today.

You remained quiet still distracted by your thoughts.

“What happened?” Steve asked, glancing over towards you. You straightened up and began explaining what had occurred the night before.

You started to explain the night in vivid detail to Steve, although he wished you wouldn’t have because he already didn’t like the idea of you and Hargrove together, and hearing the details made him inwardly vomit.

The car came to a halt when you had arrived at school. Steve parked and took the key out of the ignition, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"Billy’s always kind of had a weird temper, y/n," Steve spoke carefully. He wasn’t being judgmental; he's just been a firsthand witness to it. "Him and I have roughed each other up a couple of times," he admitted.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You guys fought?! MORE THAN ONCE? ” You felt a surge of anger; Steve had lied to you. “So that one day after school, when you had a bruised eye, it wasn’t from bumping into a locker, it was from Billy?!” You mimicked Steve’s stupid voice, scolding him.

Steve rolled his eyes at your reaction, his head hitting the back of his headrest. It was the very reason he didn’t want to tell you, because he knew you’d freak out like this. “Can you let me finish?” he asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

You waved your hands at him, signaling for him to continue.

“It was after practice one day, Neil, his dad had come to watch our scrimmage game,” Steve spoke.

Steve never forgot that day. Neil Hargrove looked like the biggest dick of a father anyone could have, and the way he spoke to Billy that day confirmed it.

"Billy, stop being a fucking pussy and get on defense!" Neil screamed, as if he were the assistant coach or something. Steve knew Billy could play defense; hell, he was the one who taught him to plant his feet properly.

Steve had the ball, with Billy defending closely. As Steve dribbled, scanning for an opening, he noticed Billy's distant and uneasy expression; it wasn’t filled with arrogance and a cocky smile like it usually was. "Hey man, you alright?" Steve asked, still dribbling. Billy's response was a glare of rage, yet he seized the opportunity. With a swift move, he snatched the ball from Steve's hand, pushing past him, sending Steve on his ass. Smoothly dribbling past him, Billy scored.

When Billy scored, he yelled and smiled as he usually did, then looked to the sidelines where his father stood, seeking some sort of approval or applause from him. However, he received nothing. Neil walked out, acknowledging nothing and Billy’s smile faltered immediately.

Coach Williams called an end to practice, and everyone left for the locker rooms to shower. Steve stayed for a couple more minutes to stretch his legs. As he walked out, he heard some yelling. Curious, he peeked over the wall to his right and saw Neil and Billy. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he did see Neil push Billy into the wall. Although he wasn’t close enough to hear the exchange, Billy looked frightened, and Neil appeared angry at God knows what. Steve witnessed Neil slap Billy once in the face, causing even him to flinch. With that, Neil left, leaving Billy there. Billy’s head hung low as he looked at his shoes and wiped his eyes.

Steve didn’t know what to do but he did what felt right. Again he asked like a broken record. “You alright?”

Billy flinched at the sound of Steve’s voice. “What did you see?” Billy spat with rage. Steve was confused and even hurt by his response. He was just asking if he was okay? Jesus Christ, was this kid always angry and defensive? Steve thought.

Steve decided Billy was a lost cause. He rolled his eyes, turned his back on him, and decided to just leave.

"Are you deaf?" Billy spat, his voice filled with anger, as he followed behind Steve and forcefully pushed his back, causing Steve to stumble and fall once again.

Steve's empathy ran out, replaced by anger. He got up and pushed Billy back. "Looks like you got some fire in you after all, Harrington!" he laughed manically. Steve noticed Billy's bloody nose, but it wasn't from him; it was from Neil.

Billy then charged at Steve, landing a punch on the right side of his face, and Steve retaliated almost instantly. They grappled and exchanged blows for a couple of minutes until Tommy H. and another teammate intervened to break up the fight.

You let out a deep sigh as Steve finished speaking.

Your heart broke for Billy; his father was a despicable, abusive piece of shit. You felt like an idiot for not seeing it earlier, but it still didn’t justify him taking it out on you. Did his father say something about you? You glanced sympathetically at Steve, who had tried to help and ended up with a blow to his right eye. Billy had no right, and while you don't excuse his behavior, you can't help but empathize with him.

"Just be careful with him, y/n," Steve said, his tone filled with concern. "He’s erratic and unpredictable," he added, his worry still evident.

Billy wasn’t a monster; you knew that. You also knew you could handle yourself; you didn’t need protection. After all, you had experience in this department; you dealt with a verbally abusive mother once upon a time.

You smiled at Steve. “I can handle myself. If I can handle the demogorgon, demo bats, and Vecna, I can handle Billy Hargrove,” you said, grabbing his hand that was resting on the center console and squeezing it gently. “Now let’s get to first period before clickety-clackety marks us late.” You finished letting go and opening the passenger door.

Steve did the same. “You know I hate when you and Robin call her that,” he said, now closing and locking his car. “It sounds nerdy,” he explained, speeding up to walk next to you.

Steve grabbed his hand attempting to calm the tingle he felt it in after your touch.

"Too bad," you said, playfully sticking out your tongue as you headed to class, earning you a classic Harrington eye roll. “Wait, how is that nerdy?” You chimed in again, sparking a lively banter between the two of you that continued until you reached class.

.

You got through your classes today only to be bombarded with more work.

The day you’d been dreading all week: the opening game of the season for Hawkins High.

You only ever enjoyed it when Steve played, but with him not playing tonight, the day seemed even worse. However, I suppose you could try to look on the bright side because it was Billy’s debut.

You walked around the gym, proud of yours and Billy’s work; the banners looked great. You double-checked that everyone was in their rightful place. Cheerleaders? Check. Band? Check. Student council? Check. Eddie Munson? Wait, Eddie Munson? At the Hawkins High opening game? No, it couldn’t be.

Eddie strode your way, wearing his infamous hellfire tee, paired with black ripped jeans and a silver chain that hung at the loops of them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You questioned, smiling, genuinely surprised to see Eddie Munson at the opening game.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m thinking about convincing coach Williams to let me join the basketball team,” Eddie said, mimicking shooting a basketball poorly. “Gotta work on my basketball moves,” he added, moving on to mimic dribbling, which was downright horrid.

“Clearly,” you said, laughing at his terrible performance. “Your form is so off, and you look like you have no rhythm,” you added with a chuckle.

“Oh, I have rhythm. But it’s all in the fingers, baby… And trust me, the ladies love it… both ways,” he said with a smirk, punctuating his words with a wink.

You roll your eyes. “Smooth, Casanova.”

“Why are you really here? Is it Chrissy?” you say, raising your eyebrows up and down in a suggestive manner. “Or oh no, wait a minute, are you swooning over Billy Hargrove too?” you tease.

He scoffed slightly, his cheeks flushing at the mention of Chrissy’s name.

“No, but if you must know, O’Donnell said if I checked in with her after the game tonight, she’ll give me extra credit,” he explained, wiggling his eyebrows. You couldn’t help but laugh at how much of a dork he was.

But as you conversed, you couldn't help but notice the glares directed your way, especially from Carol and her friends, who were whispering about the two of you. Admitting it was difficult, but you found yourself affected by the things people said. It stung deeply; the cruelty of others weighed heavily on you, especially considering your own past involvement in similar behavior, which made you feel like you deserved the treatment you were receiving.

You shook off the thoughts that invaded your mind and refocused your attention back to Eddie.

“Wanna sit together? I have good seats in the student council section,” you said cheesing, reaching out to poke his stomach.

"Wow, Eddie Munson getting invited to the VIP section at his first Hawkins high basketball game? Count me in," he said, falling into step behind you as you headed towards the student section.

“You are such a dork.”

You and Eddie made your way to your seats, exchanging greetings with Robin as you passed by. Shortly after, the band started playing, and the basketball team began to roll in.

The team then huddled up and Coach Williams sent in the starting lineup, you felt the anticipation building. The game was about to begin.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Billy. Ever since Steve gave you a little insight into who he was, he had been on your mind all day. Despite your best efforts, he didn’t turn his head once to look at you in class today, You had hoped to catch him after class, but that ditz Tina beat you to it. Seeing him all over her made you physically sick. It was nothing new, but today it stung a little more.

.

Billy’s facade of arrogance and confidence was beginning to crack.

He wasn’t prepared for this game, his mind consumed by the events of the previous night. His father had never offered him approval, kindness, or any form of support. But he did for you, which only fueled his bitterness toward you. Billy had dedicated himself to sports, hoping to earn his father’s affection and love. And the only commendation his father ever uttered was about you, summed up in just two words.

“Nice girl.”

Billy came to the conclusion that that’s why his father made those comments about you, realizing that Neil was drawn to submissive, weak, and timid women. It gave him a sense of control, a power trip that he relished, and it was the only valid reason.

But, he knew you weren't weak; you stood up for yourself, you were resilient, but it unsettled him. Since the age of 13, Billy had been consumed by anger after his mother left. She abandoned him, leaving him with a void. In you, he found a sense of safety similar to what he felt with his mother. He was unexplainably drawn towards you. Yet, the thought of attaching himself to you terrified him, fearing you might leave just like his mother did.

The thought of his father wanting you for him unsettled him deeply and fueled his desire to rebel. His mind was a war zone; he was caught between conflicting feelings that were tearing him apart.

He couldn’t help but think that Neil wanted him to follow in his footsteps.

Tommy nudged his shoulder snapping him back to reality, “Hey? You ready to kick some ass Hargrove,” Tommy asked excitedly.

Billy nodded, mustering up everything within him to get his mind straight, but then he saw you in the crowd next to Eddie Munson.

His heart ached a little, he felt guilty about this morning, and he started to feel jealousy course through his veins as he watched you laugh with the mop-headed boy. He kept his eyes on you for so long that he completely missed the sound of the whistle going off.

Shit.

The opposing team took had the ball in play and Billy’s mistake was seen by the entire school resulting in the opposing team making their first point.

The crowd was visibly upset with their screams and yelling and this made Billy’s adrenaline increase and his heart rate was speeding up drastically. His father wasn’t present, dinner with his coworkers was much important than his sons first game but why was he hearing him in the crowd?

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING BILLY? WAKE THE FUCK UP.”

“YOU ARE WEAK JUST LIKE YOUR MOTHER, SHE LEFT ME WITH A GOOD FOR NOTHING SON.”

“Pussy. Get up pussy.”

“Nice girl.”

His father's words echoed in his mind, panic rising. In the midst of the play, he signaled the refs with his right hand while clutching his tightening chest with his left, the crowd's screams growing louder.

“TIMEOUT. TIMEOUT.” Coach Williams screamed and the game came to a halt. The crowds screams turned into whispers and murmurs.

“Billy what’s gotten into you boy?” Coach Williams asked, “Can you do this or do I need to pull you out?”

“I need a minute.” Billy said gripping the chest of his uniform, making his way towards the nearest exit.

“HARRINGTON GET YOUR ASS UP YOU’RE IN,”

.

Billy held his gaze on yours, and yours remained locked with his. You both were so lost in each other’s eyes that the sound of the ref’s whistle made you jump. You cringed as Billy messed up, not because you cared about basketball, but because you knew how harsh the crowd could be.

Eddie looked from Billy to you, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Okay, what was that? ” Eddie spoke up, curious about the exchange of longing between you and the jock.

You sighed deeply.

“Eddie, I have a question,” you stated, your voice catching slightly. "Can I ask you about your dad?" you asked carefully, not wanting to upset Eddie or stir up painful memories.

“My dad?” Eddie questioned clearing his throat, confused at the sudden subject change, “Um yeah go head shoot,” he said as he crossed one arm over another. You looked over at Billy which didn’t go unnoticed by Eddie.

“After you got away from your dad, what was your personality like? Was it hard to trust people, let them in?” You asked refocusing your gaze to him.

Eddie briefly mentioned his dad while we were in the midst of hot-wiring his neighbor's RV a couple of months ago. And when you guys were gearing up for the upside-down, you had downtime leading to a deep talk about your parents, getting to know how bad Eddie had it growing up with his father. He was a schizophrenic, dope fiend, off his meds, obviously. His mother died of alcohol poising when he was about 7 years old, and he knew his father to be an addict his entire life, always in and out of jail, erratic, delusional, always up to trouble. His father didn’t take Eddie’s mother's death well; his mental state started to deteriorate, the drugs clashing with his illness more and more, and he started blaming Eddie for his mother's death, beginning to put his hands on him. Cigarette burns, bruises, black eyes—you name it, he had it.

CPS got involved, and his father was thrown into a psychiatric home. Eddie was alone, abused, for eight years until his uncle Wayne took him in at 15.

“Oh yeah, definitely. It took me a while to trust anyone,” he said with a dark chuckle. “My uncle Wayne was a patient man. I was rebellious, and I started to follow in my old man’s footsteps. It scared the shit out of me because I was hurting my uncle Wayne, but it was all I knew.” Eddie said, “My uncle Wayne taught me what love was, what it meant to be a true father. If I didn’t have that or some type of good in my life, I would’ve been screwed,” he reflected eternally grateful his uncle saved him.

You pulled Eddie in for a hug, grateful that he had shared with you, and he returned the gesture. After letting go, you took a deep breath, feeling a sense of clarity as you connected the dots.

“Billy’s in the same boat,” you admitted, “but he’s not letting me in,”

Eddie let out a sigh, looking at you sympathetically.

“You’re still a kid, y/n, and you’re not responsible for him. It took my uncle Wayne a while to snap me out of it. It wasn’t easy,” he said, looking over at you with genuine concern.

“Eddie, I’m far from a kid. I practically raised myself since my mom left. You’re forgetting who you’re talking to,” you said, slightly irritated at his reaction. Eddie regretted his choice of words, but he still meant them. You weren’t responsible. “He needs people like us around him. He’s not a bad person; he just doesn’t know any better, just like you at one point.” You said, your words making Eddie feel sympathy for Billy Hargrove.

.

The ref’s whistle blew, signaling the game was about to begin once again, and to everyone’s surprise, Steve was in?

“Holy shit! Yeah, Steve!” You exclaimed, leaping up from your seat in excitement. “Look, Eddie, Steve’s in!” With a playful slap on his chest, you urged Eddie to stand and join in applauding Steve’s entrance onto the court.

Eddie rolled his eyes and threw Steve a thumbs up filled with fake enthusiasm. You slapped his chest again, but this time it wasn’t playful; it actually hurt.

As the game commenced, you glanced over to the bench, Billy nowhere to be found. Concern gnawed at you, but you opted to give him his space, especially since he made it clear he didn’t want to be near you. You also needed time; you wanted to talk to him, but you didn't know how to go about it.

"I don’t understand the love for this stupid game. Don’t people know about D&D?" Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes, feeling ashamed he was even here.

“Oh, people know about it alright,” you said sarcastically, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “devil worshipper.”

Eddie dramatically gasped. "Take it back now or I’ll scream," he threatened, his voice filled with mock horror.

.

The night was an absolute blast. Steve's buzzer-beater brought the crowd to their feet, while Eddie's extra credit points from O’Donnell raised his grade to a D+. Principal Higgins even praised your role in the evening's success.

Steve confidently informed you about Billy’s failures, claiming he caught a bug that prevented him from continuing to play today. However, this seemed odd to you, considering he appeared perfectly fine this morning.

Billy was obviously lying.

You congratulated Steve as you bid him farewell, somewhat pleased to see King Steve back in action. Not wanting him to miss out on tonight's fun, you asked Eddie to give you a ride home.

The ride was nice and quiet which was much needed after todays events.

He dropped you off at home, and you made your way to your door. You jangled your keys until you found the right one and stuck it through the keyhole.

You found your way inside and you were welcomed to an empty house yet again, the same note still stuck to the fridge.

You went to your room and started to tidy it up until you heard the sound of Billy’s car pulling up, music blasting from it. He drove like such a maniac, he reminded you of Eddie.

You took a peek out your window and saw that he wasn’t alone.

Oh?

Tina was with him, and they were making out like fucking animals. This angered you beyond words. Did he have no consideration for his neighbors?

You opened your curtains aggressively, then your window which made a loud noise when it hit the top. You didn't know what came over you, but you couldn't care less.

"Hey! You two, mind shutting the fuck up?!" You yelled with all your might from your window, pulling Billy and ditzy Tina away from their heated make-out session.

"You mind fucking off?!" Billy yelled back. Your laughed bitterly which was then accompanied by a defiant middle finger thrown his way, to which he replied the same. With a frustrated sigh, you shut your window and cranked up the volume on your Walkman, drowning out the rowdiness from outside.

.

Your interruption infuriated him, rudely disrupting his moment with Tina and making things much more difficult between them.

“Billy maybe we should go somewhere else?” Tina purred, “Maybe lovers lake?” She implied, shoving her tits in his face.

"Nah, here will do. I can’t wait, doll," he said roughly, ripping the bra off her chest along with her panties. Billy’s dick was rock hard, it angered him so much, because all he could think about was you.

Tina lay sprawled out in his backseat, completely nude, and he couldn’t help but think about you, right next door, likely to hear every bit of it.

He lined his dick up at her entrance and hissed at the feeling. He closed his eyes and began to thrust mind falling back to you.

The way your nipples poked through your shirt that night, your perky tits filling his mind with so much imagination. Your flushed face and the way you clenched your thighs when he spoke to you, oh doll you don’t know what you’re missing. He was sure you hadn’t been touched properly with the way your body responded to him, hell, you probably hadn’t been touched at all.

Fuck, he thought, as he thrusted harder into the poor girl. If only she knew who he was imagining instead of her.

Her moans filled the car, echoing through the entire block. Billy was in for a treat tonight with his father.

"Oh god, Billy, right there, yes, yes!" She exclaimed with pleasure. Billy drowned out the sound of her voice and replaced it with the way you screamed at him a couple of minutes ago, you turned him on so much, especially when you were jealous.

Anger quickly consumed him again as he started to think about everything that took place yesterday, today’s game, and you. God, you were infuriating. You invaded his brain like some parasite, and he couldn’t decide whether it was a butterfly larvae destined to flutter around inside of him or a brain-eating parasitic worm who would gnaw at him for a eternity.

He fucked Tina harder, and harder feeling her clench beautifully around his cock. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his tan chest, the feeling quickly filling his body with pleasure, his movements starting to slow.

Unable to contain himself any longer, his groans grew louder.

“Ah, shit, fuck y/n,” he said with his eyes closed, tilting his head back cumming hard into the condom. As his high came down, he mentally scolded himself and closed his eyes once again, but this time in irritation.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Tina screamed, pushing him off of her, “You’re fucking that freak?!” She yelled dramatically.

Billy rolled his eyes.

"Need a ride home, or are you walking?" Billy asked, his tone nonchalant as he completely disregarded her reaction, casually pulling up his pants and getting dressed.

Tina rolled her eyes back at him. “You’re fucking unbelievable, Hargrove. Take me home,” she huffed, quickly redressing herself.

Billy smiled, hopping into the front seat, and drove off.

.

Once he was done with that, he drove back home, preparing himself for what was about to happen.

"Left eye? Right eye? Nah, too noticeable. People will start asking questions. The stomach? Yeah, that's more of Neil's style," he laughed bitterly, talking to himself.

This is what he wanted. He didn’t care anymore. He always managed to piss his father off somehow, and it would never be on purpose. This was him taking his power back. He’ll give him something to be upset about, he thought, determination coursing through him.

Stepping out of the car, Billy was enveloped by the quietness of the night.

He walked up the steps of his porch and took a deep breath before opening the door. As he entered, there was Neil, seated on the couch as if he were some kind of king. Billy closed the door behind him, locking it securely.

The silence stretched on for a few tense seconds, with nobody daring to break it. Neil waited for an immediate apology, hoping to see Billy cower in fear, but as the apology failed to come forth, Neil's anger only grew more intense.

"You know, with the amount of times I've beaten you, you would think that respect is drilled into that thick fucking brain of yours," Neil spoke up, his voice laced with venom and rage.

Billy stood there unfazed by his father’s words, bored even.

"Don’t you get tired, Dad? Tired of being a shitty fucking father?" Billy spat, laughing bitterly. Neil's eyes widened, and he stood up. "When you act like a shitty parent, this is what you get—a shitty son," Billy finished, his words dripping with resentment and defiance.

Billy’s heart pumped vigorously.

“I pity you. You’re a coward,” he spat out with contempt.

Neil charged at Billy, causing him to fall onto his back, and started throwing punch after punch at his face. “Who do you think you are, huh?!” Neil stopped to grab the collar of Billy’s shirt, bringing his face up to his.

"Your son," Billy spoke, his voice wobbly, blood coming out of his nose, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He was deeply saddened by the poor excuse of a father he had.

Neil laughed dryly. “God, you’re a spitting image of her. You’re just like her too, pathetic,” he spat. “And I’m a coward? Are you forgetting that she abandoned you? She left you with me. What does that say about her?”

Billy now fueled with rage pushed Neil off of him and punched him dead in the face. All hell broke loose after that, with both men fighting seemingly to the death. Billy ended up on his back again, and this time Neil didn’t stop. Billy's vision started to blur, and the last thing he heard was Max and Susan's frantic voices as they attempted to pull Neil off of him.

.

You were drifting into a deep sleep until a loud banging on your door jolted you awake. Your eyes widened, and you got up immediately, the sound of your Walkman still playing in the background.

You ran towards the door as if it were instinct, and there stood Max. She was sobbing, tears staining her red cheeks.

“Max, what’s going on? Is he back?” you asked, reminded of what still lies beneath this town. Max shook her head vigorously.

“No, it’s Billy. Please, y/n, you need to help me and my mom get him into his car. Neil just beat the shit out of him and took off. We need to take him to the hospital!” She cried.

Without hesitation, you grabbed her hand and ran to the house next door. As you entered, you saw broken frames, beach shell decorations scattered everywhere, and broken glass littering the floor.

And there was Billy, his face bruised and gushing with blood. You wanted to sob instantly. The beautiful boy, with the most mesmerizing smile, lay unconscious on the floor, broken.

“I’ll take his arms, you two grab his legs. We need to move fast,” you said, suppressing every ounce of emotion and acting on pure instinct.

You all carefully descended down the steps, giving it everything you got, Billy wasn’t exactly light but you pushed with everything in you to get him into the back of that car. You fell into the back seat with him his head falling in your chest and Susan hopped in the drivers seat and max in the passenger seat.

You search Billy’s pockets and grab his keys, tossing them to Susan.

"Step on it, let's go! We have to hurry!" you said, your voice remaining calm but urging Susan to make haste.

Susan backed out of the driveway and stepped on the gas pedal of Billy’s car hauling ass to get to the nearest hospital.

You checked his pulse and confirming it’s still present, you notice his breathing is a bit light, sparking an overwhelming amount of anxiety within you.

You whisper softly in his ear, “You're going to be okay,” feeling tears welling up, but you quickly wipe them away, pushing your emotions down once more.

"Hey Susan, take a right here and pull into that spot," you instruct, recognizing the familiar surroundings.

You’d been here one too many times.

We pull right up to the emergency room entrance. Max rushes out, calling frantically for help. Two male nurses immediately respond, rushing out with a stretcher and opening the back seat of Billy’s car. You help him sit up slowly, and they swiftly pull him around with urgency, their movements slightly rough in their haste.

"Hey, watch it! Be careful with him!" you yell at the nurses, frustration and concern evident in your voice.

"Ma'am, please let us do our job," they respond firmly, their tone professional but reassuring.

We all hurriedly follow behind the nurses as they wheel Billy into the emergency room. A doctor approaches Susan, hoping for some insight into what happened so he can provide the best care possible. Susan tells him everything, providing as much detail as she can to assist in Billy's treatment.

"Please wait in the waiting room. We'll call you once we've assessed him and he's stable," the doctor says sympathetically, reassuring you as you reluctantly make your way to the waiting area.

You, Susan, and Max waited anxiously. Max buried her face into the crook of your neck, unable to contain her sobs. You brushed her hair gently, trying to offer comfort, but you were struggling to hold yourself together as well.

Being there brought back uneasy memories, and the uncertainty of Billy's condition only deepened your depression.

Over 25 minutes had passed, each second feeling like an eternity in the tense waiting room until,

"Miss Hargrove, miss Hargrove?" called a nurse, breaking the tense atmosphere. But as the nurse approached, her expression unreadable, a chill ran down your spine, leaving you to wonder what news she was about to deliver about Billy's condition.———————————————————————————

Taglist: @jennapancake @writethrough @callsignwidow @strlightfilms

Tags:

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。SECRET — AL-HAITHAM.

pls come join me in silly haitham agenda and indulge me in the idea that he can be very playful and cute and lovely and charming thank you

al-haitham hates meetings.

and yet, here he is, struggling to find his clothes frustratedly in nothing but his boxers as he readies himself for one. to add to his misery, he can’t seem to find any of his regular clothes—how is it possible for all pairs of pants to be gone from his (neatly organized) closet? perhaps he was doomed from the moment he accepted his position—though it was hesitantly, and only under the agreement that it would be temporary.

he didn’t ask to be acting grand sage—and he certainly didn’t ask for all the responsibility that comes with it. but now, on the morning of a very important meeting which he absolutely cannot miss no matter how often he tries to make himself scarce in akademiya matters that simply don’t concern him, he rummages through clothes with a string of curses under his breath.

“are you planning on wearing pants?” you giggle, making him eye you wearily over his shoulder.

“well, that depends,” he huffs, “would you prefer me to show up like this?”

“of course not, this is a view reserved for myself only. and one that’s hardly appropriate for the grand sage,” you grin, pressing freshly laundered clothes into his hands.

he accepts them graciously—they’re still warm, like they’ve been freshly washed and dried for him to wear. you watch as he slips into his pants, admiring the pulls and flexes of his muscles as he dresses.

“how is it that i feel more exposed now that i’m dressed than before,” he raises a brow, “it must be your eyes practically undressing me.”

“oh but mister grand sage,” you tease, making him grumble a faint correction of acting grand sage as he rolls his eyes, “forgive me for my lack of manners. it’s just that…well, never mind. it’s a secret,” you giggle.

he turns, walking up to you as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest as he leans closer. he’ll run late if he doesn’t leave soon—but not late enough that he can’t spare a moment or two for you.

“a secret, you say?” he hums, nose brushing against the column of your neck. you shiver, fingers grasping at the smooth skin of his bare shoulders. “as acting grand sage, i require intel on this secret.”

“that’s an abuse of power,” you inhale sharply when he presses a kiss to your jaw, as the warmth of his breath hits your skin from the low chuckle he lets out.

“is it?” he grins, “i’m sure if i really wanted to abuse power, i would have by now.”

his head moves up so that his lips just hover over your own—it’s unfair, how tantalizingly slow he is at leaning into you, how his touch ghosts over you. it makes you lean in to close the gap yourself, but he doesn’t make it so simple. he pulls away quickly, chuckling at the pout that tugs at your lips.

“this is corruption,” you gasp.

“then i suggest you tell me this secret of yours.”

“well,” you make a show to look around, as though any eavesdroppers could make themselves present in your empty home—kaveh has already left early, with his keys forgotten, again. “i’ve come to realize that you’re quite handsome, mister grand sage. and…well, i’m afraid i’ve fallen quite deeply for your charms. i don’t know how i’ll break it to my lover.”

“your lover?” he furrows his brows in confusion, making you nod solemnly.

“yes, my lover. you might’ve heard of him? the akademiya’s scribe?” you smile widely once he rolls his eyes at your mischief, wrapping your arms around his neck while his snake tighter around your waist.

“i see. it’s a grave predicament indeed,” he nods, face as serious as ever as he plays along.

“yes,” you sigh dramatically, “i’m afraid i’m in a terribly difficult spot. i can’t decide if i love the scribe or you, mister grand sage. but if word got around that i’ve got my eye on two men…. well, my reputation would be in ruins.”

“well, we wouldn’t want that,” he shakes his head, squeezing your hips with his large hands and pulling you against his chest.

“any advice who i should pick?”

“i think,” he presses his forehead to yours, lips just barely a few millimeters away, “that they’re both equally good options.”

“then would you keep my secret? that i have two lovers at once?”

he laughs, soft and boyish from his chest, with a honeyed sound that fills your heart to the brim so quickly, it skips two beats.

“i believe i can keep it hidden, yes,” he nods.

and just when he leans in to close the gap, you pull away, pressing his shirt to his chest and plastering a devious grin on your face as you snicker.

“wonderful,” you nod in glee, “then you might want to get dressed and make your way to the akademiya. i heard there’s an important meeting today that you simply cannot be late for.”

with that, you saunter out of the bedroom, leaving him to grumble over his unfortunately demanding position that he should not have ever accepted under any circumstance.

i wish to bite him immediately

[st4rr-girrl]

Stranger pt. 2

Summary; When Mattheo finds you in a compromising situation after the break-up— he isn’t sure if he can keep his buried feelings from arising once more.

Hello beautifuls! Since yall wanted a part 2– ask and you shall receive. Hope u like it! 😘💋 (also this was not proof read so I apologize for any grammar mistakes <33)

Tw; angst, toxicity, cursing, anxiety attack, bad ending?, lmk what else

pt 1

Stranger taglist! @delialinda123 @ivrrsarahh @angelslike-you @helendeath @hisparentsgallerryy @kiroyal22 @priyanichhabra  @seijakusstuff @aniloversay @armn4rlert 

——————————— 💔 ———————————

You and Mattheo hadn’t interacted since the break-up, and you couldn’t even recognize the person he was— or the person you thought he was— anymore.

He’d turned into everybody else— a stranger.

You no longer knew him, and he no longer knew you.

You weren't sure how you found yourself back at the Astronomy Tower— your frequent getaway spot with Mattheo— sitting atop the cold flooring, your back pressed against the wall. The beautiful golden locket with a snake, yours and Mattheo’s initials engraved into it clutched tightly in your hand. He put protection spells and charms on it, to ensure your safety. He’d gifted it to you a few months ago, for your birthday.

Before you could recollect your thoughts and emotions, tears pricked the corners of your eyes, burning your nose and forcing your lower lip to tremble.

Memories of you and him begun to flow in, a constant reminder that he isn’t really a stranger, and he’ll never be.

Your heart thumped loudly against your rib cage, the realization of your situation hitting you like an unstoppable tidal wave. You tried to steady your breathing, but this proved difficulty as it became harder and harder to breathe at all.

It felt like you were suffocating, the doubt creeping in and wrapping around your throat— cutting off your airflow.

You hyperventilated, on hand resting atop your erratically beating heart— the other resting on your throat, pleading to open up.

You’d never been this bad after a breakup before. It was like your body was recognizing his absence— panicking once it was unable to find him.

You couldn’t even process the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs, not until the person they belonged to was right in front of you.

Lifting your blurry gaze, you were met with the distorted figure of Mattheo.

You were too choked up to comprehend, your vision too unclear to make out the concern, and veiled gilt, buried inside his dark orbs. In a swift motion, he was by your side— pulling you into his arms and whispering reassuringly in a feebly desperate attempt to console you.

His ever so gentle hand rubbed up and down your back rhythmically, the other gently pushing back rebellious strands of hair out of your tear filled eyes.

You leaned into him, unable to deny the comforting calmness your body so badly needed.

His fingers danced along the skin of your face, softly patting away the tears that resided upon your flushed cheeks.

Once you were capable of formulating coherent thoughts and sentences, you choked out weakly. “Why?”

Despite the lack of elaboration, he seemed to understand your words completely fine. His dark eyebrows furrowed, his shameful gaze averting from you.

Once he was able to find his words, he spoke up. “Because I love you.”

If he wasn’t so hellbent on masquerading his thoughts and feelings, he probably would have cried on the spot.

”Too much. And it hurts, (Y/N). I’m afraid.”

Your gaze flickered across his features, the pale moonlight reflecting off those beautiful eyes that you had fallen in love with.

There was an unmistakable vulnerability in his irises as he forced himself to meet your gaze. “And I thought if I was cruel— if I made you hate me… if I just- if I just distanced myself from you— it would go away. But it didn’t. I still love you. I always will, and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, I thought it would be for the best.”

You remained silent, your gaze searching his for any sign of deceit, or proof his words didn’t hold as much truth as he made them out to have.

But, regretfully, you found nothing— and it made your head spin.

Because, as far as you’re concerned, he remained faithful throughout your relationship. He didn’t sleep or do anything physically with another person. But in a way, he still broke your trust. He proved to be everything he said he wasn’t. You didn’t understand why or how you could still hold positive feelings for him, but you couldn’t deny the truths he spoke.

Your expression softened a fraction, stray tears slowly gliding down the path of your tender cheeks. Your expression slowly hardened once more, your last defenses being put up as anger, confusion and hurt swirled inside your jumbled mind— making it hard to understand your own thoughts.

He looked at you, seemingly distinguishing the anger in your features. “I know, love.” He whispered, “you have every right to be angry. You can hate me. I don’t blame you for a second. It’s all my fault, and if I wasn’t being so selfish— I might have considered your feelings.”

“You can’t do this to me, Mattheo.” You spoke up, your voice hoarse and stuffy. “You— You’re fucking with my head, and it’s throwing me off- and I-I can’t.. I’m so confused.” You stuttered, unable to put your scrambled thoughts into words. “You aren’t supposed to hurt the people you love.”

His heart ached at the sound of your voice, his gut twisting painfully at the words and ragged breaths that fell from your parted lips. “Just one more chance.” His tone was practically begging, the desperation rolling off his tongue.

“I can’t let myself get hurt again, Mattheo.” You spoke, rising to your feet— the cool air hitting you as you removed yourself from Mattheo’s warm embrace. His hand outstretched for you longingly, before he forcibly placed it into his lap. His eyes remained glued onto you, even as you made your way to the stairs.

You looked over your shoulder, your brows furrowing. “I’m sorry, Mattheo. I still love you.” The last sentence was barely an octave above a whisper— your irises reflecting sadness. “I’ll think about it.”

And with that, you descended along the stairs— the emotional and physical distance between the two of you increasing with every step— your shoes clicking against the floor in a break of the heavy silence weighing upon you both.

He couldn’t deny the flicker of hope in his chest following the words ‘I’ll think about it.’ —-

pt 3?? 🤭🤭

and should they get back together???? Give me ideas plssssss

(got the inspo for this when listening to ‘same old love’ by Selena Gomez during writers block so u can thank her for this 😂😂)

[wisteria-blooms]

sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (11/?)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST AT THE BOTTOM! (Let me know if you'd like to be added or if I've missed you!) A/N: All filler no killer here... (this just needed to be written to serve as a segue to the next plot point. I have a 6:45 a.m. shift tomorrow yet here I am lol).

CHAPTER 11: Charlie tilts your world upside down with a question. (5.9k words)

CHAPTER 11: WINTER WONDERLAND

The sweater you were holding fell to the floor and landed by your feet. You stared blankly at Charlie who mirrored your expression with unwavering, handsome inquisition. The only thing complementing your stunned gaze was a silence that lingered for what felt like hours.

Your voice was far behind your thoughts when you spoke again. “I’m sorry,”—your lungs desperately pushed the rest of your sentence out as you tilted your head—“repeat that one more time?”

Charlie obliged your request. “I need you to supervise an exam for me. In a fortnight.” He stepped closer, feet landing in your lightly-sunned room for the first time. He swung over to you with both of his hands in his pockets. The gentle afternoon light danced over his face as he walked over. His posture was suave, his expression charming, his gaze gentle but holding a sense of assertion that left you no room to refuse his ask. “Be my invigilator.”

“For your… class?”

Charlie nodded.

After a few moments, his words began sinking into your frazzled brain. He must have thought you so stupid for taking so long to come to the conclusion: Charlie was asking you to be the invigilator for his Care of Magical Creatures class. 

You furrowed your brows. This had to be a sick joke. Fred and George probably conferred with Charlie about the argument you had yesterday. And now as some sort of sadistic revenge plot, Charlie was going to throw you into the pits of what you hated the most. Make you relive the embarrassment of being back on that field again. Your cheeks burned from the memory of your 13-year old self being laughed at as you pulled yourself away from the Hippogriff that was staring at you, your grass-stained robes billowing behind you. But would Charlie really find that funny? You thought he possessed a touch more tact than his younger brothers. 

You twisted your mouth. You were going to test the waters out without asking any questions that were too direct. “Do you really reckon I’m qualified?”

“You’re just watching over my kids as they write an exam,” Charlie explained. “Just manual labour, nothing exciting,”—he smirked—“unless you want it to be.”

You reddened immediately, then cursed yourself at your body’s lack of resistance to his words. Charlie seemed to know how to pierce your shields with some two-toned words.

Still, you wouldn’t back out. “Is there no one available at Hogwarts to invigilate?”

Charlie shook his head. “Hagrid and I are running two exams at the same time. We plan to divide the class in half. He’ll be supervising the practical component and I’ll be administering the theoretical component. After two hours, we’ll switch the groups securely, ensuring no opportunity for the students to exchange answers.”

When Charlie noted your silence, he continued: “So, no. With me and Hagrid tied up, and every other professor having snatched up possible invigilators months prior, we’re in trouble.”

You nodded silently. 

“Cat got your tongue, (Y/N)?” Charlie asked.

“No, I just—I just think I wouldn’t be the best person for this job,” you stammered. Maybe you could use this as an opportunity to gauge his relationship with Mallory. “Don’t you have friends who can help?”

Charlie lowered his eyes, blue flashing through curls of ginger, and smiled, tilting the freckles of his cheeks upwards. “I wouldn’t trust them to do half as good a job as you would.”

You frowned. “You’re absolutely mad if you think I’d do well. I have no experience in academics.”

“No, really, (Y/N), I’m serious,” Charlie assured. He planted his hand on your shoulder, engulfing the bone, and gave it a squeeze. You jolted. Those damn hands were electric no matter how hard you wished they weren’t. “I know it’s just making sure they’re well-behaved, but you’re familiar with every trick possible, aren’t you? You’ve been around my brothers long enough to see past through any possible tomfoolery.”

As you pondered, Charlie bent down and retrieved your sweater. When you handed it to you, his fingers grazed yours. Another spark. 

“Thank you,” you said as you took the sweater back in your possession. “About that… can I get back to you?”

Charlie smiled. “Sure, take your time.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

Even after Charlie had long left your room, you remained unmoving. In a physical sense, at least, because emotionally, your feelings were at war. It felt like bullets littering your chest, firing little sparks of anger. If Charlie had asked you just a week prior, you would’ve started packing at this very moment, taking only a moment’s rest to punch the air in celebration. Part of you still wanted to say yes, to rush out the door and tell him of course you were going with him. But the other part of you couldn’t pinpoint Charlie’s intentions with you and it made you anxious and wary. You wanted to scream ‘no’ and tell him he couldn’t keep doing this to you—pulling your affections in all directions like a rubber band just to snap you back in place. It hurt. Underneath it all, you felt terribly for treating Charlie this way just based on an assumption you’d made about him and Mallory. If it was false, and you’d lost your temper at Fred and George for nothing…

Fred. George. You weren’t ready to think about them just yet. You’d revisit your actions in a couple days when your mind was more logical.

Later that afternoon, you strolled back into Malfoy Manor. It was time to flip the switch. Charlie, off. Your family, on. A cold sun hovered above you, its glow painting the temperature brisk this November afternoon. The wind blew out the warmth in your hair, from the soft curls you’d teased into it. A cream sweater fell over your pleated, ankle-length dress. You hid your remaining skin with tights, and a pair of heels to finish everything off. With the tasteful silver jewellery dangling off your wrists, you were sure to slip by Aunt Rosamund’s scrutinising eyes without a word. 

It was all too silent in the manor. But you wouldn’t be alone for long. From the opposing corridor, you saw a familiar face. Half yours, half not—Draco. 

Draco’s lips were pulled straight. “We were starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“So good to see you, too, dear brother.” Your voice was deceptively saccharine, and so opposite of your unmoving face. “I so hope you’ve been well.”

“That’s revolting,” Draco barked. “Stop that.”

“But I’ve missed you so much,” you said. And what he didn’t know was that you meant it. A feeling of normalcy rushed through your bones as you looked at his disgusted expression. Your smile grew much to Draco’s displeasure. This was life before Charlie and you were nostalgic for it: being at home everyday, getting into needless arguments, and ribbing Draco.

“Get a move on,” Draco said. “You don’t want to keep our grandfather waiting.”

You stopped walking. 

“What’s he doing here?” you asked.

“Our grandfather?” Draco voice pitched with incredulity at your question, making you feel stupid. “Have you forgotten how to read letters?” 

“No, I’ve just been busy.” You kept your answer curt. Detailing your heartbreak to your brother was the last thing you wanted to do.

“Well, best of luck to you, then,” Draco offered with a scoff. 

Draco opened the door on your behalf, the languid swing unveiling a terrifying scene. Unveiling your sure death. Well, it was beautiful at first glance: a pristine, well-kept drawing room with perfectly-shined upholstery; magnificent hand-crafted paintings with sublime streaks of oil paint; ceiling-high windows cradled by velvet curtains; teacups upon doilies upon oak tables. But what disturbed you the most were the occupants in the room, and in order, your eyes swiped over your mother, your father, your grandfather, your Aunt Rosamund, her husband, Charlotte, Clara, and Dobby. Charlotte and Clara were the only ones in the room smiling which told you a lot about the state of affairs—sordid. 

Aunt Rosamund was one thing to prepare for, but Abraxas Malfoy was a different beast. 

Abraxas stood tall with a cane planted on the carpet, his velvet robe sweeping down his legs. His face was decorated with deep, menacing wrinkles. His hardened blue eyes appraised you and Draco as if surmising how much of a disappointment to the family you’d become. Not you singular—you, plural. In a rare moment of unity, the pair of you looked like deer caught in headlights. 

“Hello, grandfather,” you greeted first as usual.

“Hello, grandfather,” Draco quickly followed after. 

Abraxas acknowledged you with a curt response: “Good afternoon.”

You found your seat next to your mother, and Draco took the seat by your father. 

“Rosamund, I trust your travels were uneventful?” Abraxas asked Aunt Rosamund. 

“Yes,” your aunt responded. 

“And Charlotte and Clara are faring well at their boarding school in Switzerland?”

”I couldn’t ask any better of them.”

”(Y/N),” your mother whispered from beside you and leaned in. The concern on her face was visible as day. “Rosamund said she saw you on the streets earlier this morning. She said you looked as if you were in last night’s clothing. Is any of this true?”

”No,” you lied. “You know how dramatic Aunt Rosamund is when I have a hair out of place.”

Narcissa backed off and was seemingly satisfied with your answer. But her flittering glances towards you meant the conversation wasn’t over; it meant she herself suspected something. But you evaded her eyes and half-listened to Aunt Rosamund’s droning conversation with Abraxas. You heard bits about Charlotte and Clara’s schooling, vacations, equestrian lessons and—

“I don’t want to sit through a boring dinner tonight!” Charlotte whined suddenly. You jerked your head up to catch her pulling at her mother’s sleeve hem. “I want to see London.”

You had not mentally prepared for this herculean task of a family dinner. “Tonight?” you questioned a touch above a whisper, but it was loud enough to captivate the room. Then, your eyes widened, realising it was more than Draco or your mother that was going to chastise you for your lack of awareness. 

Luckily, you were to be saved. Before Abraxas could speak, your father coughed and drew the room’s attention to him. Lucius looked strangely frazzled, his teeth gritted and his blue eyes darting between you and Narcissa and then briefly to his own father.

“In that case, why don’t we have your cousin (Y/N) accompany you into the city tonight?” Lucius offered to Charlotte hastily.

Charlotte was starry-eyed. She looked very much like a child that had just recovered from a meltdown over ice-cream. “Really?”

“Of course, Charlotte,” Lucius appeased. “You’ve been to enough dinners. It can become rather monotonous, especially for two bright and eager minds like you and your sister.” He directed his glance towards you, not once looking at Draco, before turning to your aunt. “(Y/N) would be thrilled to show your daughters around London, Rosamund. It would be properly enriching.”

“I would?” You kept your voice below any threshold of hearing. “I don’t recall saying yes.”

“We should profit off the short time you’re spending here with us,” Lucius cooed. The sight was revolting. He continued asking his nieces: “Is there anything you want to see?”

“Clara and I would like to go to the Christmas Market, uncle, it’s just so lovely where you live,” Charlotte answered as if she was still currying a favour. What she didn’t know was that none of this had to do with her or her wishes. Lucius was hell-bent on getting you and potentially Charlie out of this dinner with Abraxas, and a refusal to any request of hers was impossible. She could ask for possession of the manor and Lucius would sign the deed.

“Oh, splendid choice,” Lucius hummed. “There are numerous restaurants I myself enjoy in that area. (Y/N) will show you around the market and you can settle down for dinner. I will make a reservation for you right away.”

“Way to plant words in my mouth,” you murmured.

“Why are you upset?” Draco snarled. “I see it as a great way to get out of dinner with grandfather. I’d volunteer to do it if I could.”

“You wouldn’t last a minute. Your gloom and their happiness,”—you gestured to your cousins who were now rushing up the stairs to change—“are not compatible. You’d die.”

“Listening to our grandfather drone on about my lack of financial planning and carrying on the family legacy is a more tortuous death.”

“Ugh, the procession planning talk. I almost feel sorry for you.” You cocked your head, expression quickly brightening. “Hm, maybe this isn’t such a bad idea.” You slapped Draco's shoulder. “Maybe if you tried to understand women more, you would’ve been chosen for the job.”

“I do understand women,” Draco scoffed. “That’s why I have Astoria, who, by the way, is invited to this dinner and not being shown out the door like a stray dog.”

You rolled your eyes and that was enough to get Draco to leave it. 

You bid your farewells before walking to the foyer to wait on your cousins. No more than ten minutes later did they come. Charlotte and Clara tumbled down the steps all dolled up and doe-eyed. If they were challenging you to a game of spot-the-difference, it was a difficult one. There was very little to pinpoint besides the colour of their plaid skirts and sweaters. Both girls took to white stockings and Oxfords, cable-knit sweaters, cloaks, and fuzzy mittens to keep warm. A bow in their hair completed the look.

You tapped the heel of your kitten heel on the marble as if to make a point. “I was hoping to change into something more suitable if we’re walking around all night.”

“Alright.” Charlotte plopped down on a plush bench by the wall. “Go ahead.”

“I meant at my apartment,” you clarified, extending a hand to Charlotte to pull her back up again. She frowned, so you added: “I live close to the Christmas market. It won’t take long.”

“You moved away?” Charlotte's eyes widened.

“I did.”

“Alright,” Clara giggled from behind you. She took your other gloved hand. “But you have to give us a tour of the place first.”

“Of course,” you agreed. You just prayed that Charlie wasn’t walking around shirtless. 

You jangled your keys with force at your door, the sharp clacks screaming down the hall. Charlotte and Clara thought nothing of it, unaware you were doing this to warn Charlie (if he was inside) that you were coming home. To give him the chance to stuff Mallory in the closet and put a shirt on himself. You thrust the key inside and turned it in an absurdly slow motion. If he didn’t hear the clacking, he would’ve definitely heard this. 

You pushed the door open and were relieved to find a quiet, empty hallway. Charlie’s door was ajar but there was no one in there, and you were glad for many reasons. Charlotte and Clara ran full speed ahead. You ran right behind them.

Charlie may or may not have been expecting you to be back, but he definitely wasn’t expecting two teenagers to be barrelling into the living room, a flurry of limbs and white-blonde hair. Luckily, Charlie wasn’t displaying qualities of exhibitionism that you imagined prior, and your cousins would maintain another day of perpetual innocence. Instead, he was sat in the living room writing. He paused mid-stroke, quill perfectly still in his hand, when the intruders presented themselves.

“(Y/N).” Charlotte turned back towards you, her voice even and not afflicted with even the slightest fear of a stranger. “Do you… have a visitor, by any chance?”

“No,” you said as you caught up to her, slightly huffing. “This is Charlie, my—”, and in looking for the most natural and palatable word, you landed on,  “—roommate. Charlie, this is Charlotte and,” you pointed behind you. “Clara.” Charlie got up from the couch. “Lovely to finally meet you. (Y/N) has spoken so much about you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Clara responded politely. 

“And mine, too,” Charlotte repeated.

“What are you doing here?” Charlie asked your cousins though his gaze was mainly on you. 

“We’re going to stroll around the Christmas Market and have dinner,” you answered on their behalf. “I had to come back for more suitable footwear.”

Charlie looked down at your shoes. “I see.”

”You should come with us!” Charlotte offered.

“Would you?” Clara echoed.

“Tonight?” Charlie questioned. After a moment of contemplation, he responded, “Sure.”

“You don’t have to if you’re busy, Charlie,” you said. 

You didn’t want to entwine Charlie into your life any further than you already had. If he was successful in charming your youngest cousins—which you were certain he was—he was going to be impossible to destitch. You’d be hearing about him for the next decade. 

“No, I’m not,” Charlie assured. “I’ll finish my letter as you change.”

Charlotte and Clara’s excitement eclipsed yours and you were grateful for it. You retreated back to your room and let your cousins marvel at the sights outside the living room window.  Navigating your feelings for Charlie was like swimming through sludge. You were not thrilled about this forced game of house. There was no doubt Charlotte and Clara were going to pry for details about you and Charlie to which you had no genuine answers, and none that excited you to think about either.

No more than fifteen minutes later, the four of you were walking down a lively street flush with market-goers. Lampposts, with red, green, and white lights snaked around them, shined at full force. Strings of gold lights criss-crossed above you. The scent of chocolate, peppermint and waffles smothered your senses.It was beautiful here, very quintessentially Christmas although you reckoned it was much too early for it. You stuck your gloved hands in your coat pockets—it was cold enough to be Christmas though. You let your cousins walk in front, marking their proximity with the long puffs of air that rose from their lips. But you didn’t need to slow them down one bit; they were stopping every few steps to take in all the lit-up buildings, signs, and food vendors. 

“This is such an interesting architecture choice,” remarked Charlotte, pointing to a brick with a chunk missing.

“Isn’t it?” Charlie entertained. “Classic English architecture.” Charlotte walked away, looking satisfied with her observation. Then, Charlie whispered to you when your cousins were out of earshot. “I’d hate to tell them the truth. Some drunk bloke probably punched it out after a night out.”

“Ouch,” you emphasised, shaking your hand.

Charlie traced over a faint scar on his hand and chuckled. “It was probably me.” The puff of air that left his left almost graced your forehead, and like a contagious touch, his laugh made you smile, too. 

“Ooh!” you heard one of your cousins exclaimed as they planted themselves at a stall. They were in the middle of combing through the menu when you caught up to them. Charlie was the first to arrive by their side. It smelt like cocoa. Your eyes trailed down the menu which confirmed your suspicions. 

“It’s rather chilly. I’d love a hot cocoa, wouldn’t you, Charlotte?” Clara asked.

“I would.”

“Want one, (Y/N)?” Charlie nudged you, interrupting you from your mindless perusing of the menu.

“Perhaps.”

“Don’t be shy,” Charlie encouraged. “Just order what looks enticing to you.”

You stepped forward towards your cousins and so did Charlie. Charlie was first to act. “Alright,” he prompted, leaning down to see at Clara and Charlotte’s level. “Go on.”

“Excuse me,” Clara said. “May I have a hot cocoa with whipped cream?”

“And I’ll have the same, but with extra marshmallows, please,” added Charlotte. 

“I’ll have the same as her,” Charlie said, pointing to Charlotte. “Excellent choice.” Then, the three looked back at you expectantly. 

Working through the disbelief that Charlie had bonded so effortlessly with your cousins, you spoke. “I’ll have a latte, please.”

“You’re so boring, (Y/N)!” Charlotte commented. 

“So boring,” Charlie repeated, getting up from his kneeling stance. He reached into his pockets and handed a handful of coins to the stall attendant. “Cheers, mate.”

You stepped forward quickly. “You didn’t have to,” you said, grasping Charlie’s arm. “This excursion is on me.” Then, you thought of the expensive dinner reservation waiting for you in about three hours. “And my father.”

“Think nothing of it,” Charlie assured. In the most casual manner, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Just making sure my ladies are taken care of.”

‘Don’t say that,’ a voice in your head screamed. You had to remind yourself that Charlie’s colloquials meant nothing to him and everything to you. 

The four of you ambled into the market with warm drinks in hand. You wondered if you gave off the impression of a family. Not that you wanted it to—you were doing this with a wand (or your father’s cane) pointed to your head. You certainly did not enjoy the idea of domesticity with Charlie. Not at all. Not a single bit. And you couldn’t even tempt yourself with daydreams because of what he’d said to Don the night of the concert, that he’d rather raise dragons instead of children. But you’d be lying if you said the interaction between him and your cousins earlier didn’t make your heart tender. 

“So, what do you do for work, Charlie?” Clara asked, looking up at him. If you thought the height difference between you and Charlie was significant, then the one between him and your cousins was comical. 

“I work with dragons in Romania.”

“With dragons? How exciting!” 

Charlotte perked up from his other side. “Is it true there are vampires in Romania? Have you seen them?”

“Well,” Charlie began. “There was that one night when I was camping alone on the outskirts of town. It was for a study on the sleep cycles of baby dragons. I thought I was alone until I heard a noise around midnight…”

He had your cousin’s full attention with his little tale. He truly was able to charm everyone he met. 

You spent the next couple hours supervising Charlotte and Clara as they ran around the fairgrounds. Charlie was a good sport, following your cousins from opposite ends of the market and sampling everything from waffles to toasties to bratwurst from stalls. After criss-crossing the grounds for the third time, you were ever so glad you’d changed footwear. 

Charlotte and Clara’s next enthralment was a stall filled with ornaments and trinkets. Clara reached over to touch a dragon ornament. It was the most ridiculous design: a baby dragon in a Santa hat blowing fire into the fireplace. But Clara was indifferent, her only concern being who it might be a gift for. “This is perfect for you, Charlie.”

“You think so?” Charlie asked.

“I do,” Clara said as she unhooked the ornament from its wooden peg. She looked around some more until she landed on a pair of red peony earrings. She unhooked the jewellery and whispered, “Perfect.”

“Is that for Charlie too?” you joked. Charlie pulled at his earlobe. You laughed. 

“No,” Clara clarified. “This is for you, (Y/N).”

“Why’d you choose that for (Y/N)?” Charlie asked.

“Because peonies represent romance and happy marriages,” Clara stated without missing a beat. 

Charlotte stifled a laugh into her mittens.

”What do you mean by that?” you asked quickly.

“I shouldn’t tell you right now,” Clara said slyly. “It might be a little embarrassing, especially since Charlie is here, too.”

“How do you know what the flower symbolises, Clara?” Charlie asked.

“I’ve been very curious about botany recently,” she said. 

“Tell me more about it,” Charlie encouraged.

As Clara began rambling on about flowers, you racked your mind for any moment in time where you’d mentioned a relationship or marriage to your cousins. Nothing came to mind. Charlie looked unaffected and didn’t prod further. You decided to leave it. 

After Clara made her purchases, you proceeded to the centre of the park which was flush with rides. You looked up at one of them, an intimidating structure with loops of upside down hell and—

“I’ll sit and wait,” you offered with a step back towards the bench.

“Are you sure? It’s your loss,” Charlie asked, his head tilting towards you. From your peripheral, you saw his blue eyes looking down at you and his lips curling into a smile. He left so little distance that you were nervous to turn around in case you’d accidentally kiss him. 

You were glad your cousins were preoccupied with watching the coaster run and listening to the screams of the people on it.

”I’m sure,” you said before sitting down.

“I’ll take Charlotte and Clara,” Charlie volunteered. 

You’d become the girls’ personal porter shortly afterwards, their little handbags looped around your arms and their purchases on your lap. You kept an eye on them even though you didn’t have to—Charlie was ushering them from exit to entrance, never giving them more than a metre’s advantage.

You didn’t understand how Charlie could be content with being here, taking care of barely-teenagers who never stopped talking. You didn’t understand why he’d invited you to go to Hogwarts to invigilate his exam unless it was a cruel joke. The only thing that abated the tension in your chest was watching his ginger curls whip around in circles on the teacup ride. Every so often, you’d get a millisecond of his face, of Charlie mid-laugh, looking like a child himself. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have been so hard on him earlier. 

There wasn’t much time to reflect on that as the ride came to a stop moments later.  “I’m nauseous,” Clara grumbled as she stumbled towards you.

“Maybe dinner will settle your stomach,” you suggested with a smile and placed a hand on her back.

You should’ve known dinner was going to be the crux of the chaos. 

The maître d'hôtel’s face hid nothing. His judgemental expression was rude, and it was clear he was having a hard time grasping the reservation and the relationship between the guests. Four under Malfoy. You were the Malfoy. The quirk of his eyebrow begged to know who Charlie was in relation to you. And his tightly-pressed lips made the inference that your cousins were your daughters. Their childlike appearance wasn’t helping anything. But luckily, nothing came out of it and you were promptly seated. You ignored the couple of glances tossed at you as you walked down the restaurant. 

You breathed a sigh of relief as you sunk into the chair. The sound of fresh wine being poured into your glass was soothing after a long day. You had just to get through this last thing and you could go home under the guise of escorting your cousins back to the manor. You wouldn’t have to explain to Charlie why you weren’t coming back to the apartment nor would you have to tell your parents why you were home. In a way, Aunt Rosamund’s untimely arrival was blessed. 

“Do you know what this reminds me of?” Charlotte asked suddenly.

“What does it remind you of?” Charlie asked. 

“Genevieve’s wedding,” Charlotte chirped happily, gesturing to the seats around the round table. “We were sitting with (Y/N) just like this.”

“And you were drinking the same thing,” Clara recalled. “But Draco was sitting next to you.”

You nodded slowly, cautious of where this was going. “It does look familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Except you cried your eyes out at Genevienve’s wedding!” Charlotte exclaimed suddenly, like her lips had been sewn shut and she finally managed to rip the seams. Your wine glass shuddered at her timbre. Her outburst caught the attention of everyone within a metre range. A couple of heads from the other tables whipped around at the commotion.

“I did not!” you scolded quietly. You avoided Charlie’s curious glance and focussed on holding your cousin’s hand in restraint. 

“(Y/N) doesn’t remember because she was drinking too much, Charlie,” Clara informed with a giggle. 

“I can see that,” Charlie agreed.

Great, you didn’t have enough hands to hold back all three of them. “I wasn’t drinking that much,” you retorted. Comparatively, to your family members.

“(Y/N) and Genevieve usually look like they want to strangle each other, but they were crying into each other’s arms by the end of the night,” Charlotte added. Then, she twisted her mouth to change her voice. “Genevieve, I’m so happy for you. Max is such a great guy.”

“Don’t worry, (Y/N), it will happen for you, too,” Charlotte imitated again in an uppity-tone to play the role of Genevieve. She swatted the air to mime Genevienve patting your back. And then she reverted back to her impression of you. “At this rate, I will die alone. But tonight is all about you, dear cousin.”

Now that you thought about it, this definitely did happen back in August. But you didn’t think anyone was actually listening. Just how loud were you?

“What we’re saying is that she does care greatly about things like marriage,” Clara clarified with a self-satisfied shimmy. “And a peony is perfect for it. Just saying.”

Charlie nodded. “Thank you, Clara.”

“You’re very welcome, Charlie,” Clara responded. 

Clearly, Clara thought she was doing you a favour. You peeked around for any sign of your food and was distraught to find no sign of the waiter. This night couldn’t be over sooner.

But it wasn’t. 

After dinner, Charlotte and Clara wanted to explore the grounds further. Things were more fun when the crowds thinned, they proclaimed. By now, it was close to 10 p.m. Out of everyone here, you were the only one panicked—you were going to be serious shit if you didn’t bring the girls back to the manor soon. Lucius was going to be in one ear with Aunt Rosamund in your other. However, you hadn’t received any owls requesting their return yet, so you could gamble another half hour or so.

Charlotte and Clara were dragging you and Charlie to the ferris wheel now. You looked up at the brilliant spinning sphere. You made them promise that this was their last ride because you were hightailing it home after. They agreed.

The attendant, some tall and lanky teenager, ushered people onto the steps and guided them into the proper carriage. Each vessel fit four, enough for all of you, or so you thought.

“Mhm, we’d like our own carriage,” Clara said, slipping in with Charlotte and motioning for the attendant to close the door. “See you later, (Y/N).”

Charlie answered for you: “Bye.”

Awkwardly, you waited for the next carriage to dip down. You shuffled inside with Charlie who didn’t seem to mind being alone with you. You sat as the attendant shut the door. Charlie stretched out his legs until the sole of his shoe met the base of the opposite seat; you couldn’t do that if you tried. The moonlight filtered in and out as you rose in the air. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself: three rotations and you’d be done. You could go home and forget today ever happened. 

There was a nudge at your side. Charlie. “Thank you for letting me tag along,” Charlie said. “I’ve had fun beyond my expectations.”

“I should be thanking you. You are such good company for my cousins. They find you thoroughly entertaining.”

Charlie exhaled and chuckled. “I can only hope I did a decent job.”

Your expression softened. His words always found a way to pull a smile out of you, especially when they were earnest. You preferred this side of him, and it made you want to do terrible things like be vulnerable with him. Say yes to his proposition. Run off to Hogwarts for the better half of a week with him.

Your feelings for Charlie were volatile, ever-changing on an hourly basis. It felt so good to soar high then crash.  Maybe you were a fiend for adrenaline. And you could feed that monster further if you agreed to his proposition. You kicked your legs back and forth anxiously, slightly swaying the carriage. 

“We’re going to fall out if you keep doing that,” Charlie commented coolly. 

“I’m expecting you to save us both.”

“You think highly of me,” he said. 

Out of some sense of curiosity and mischievousness, your hand travelled to lay on top of his. “I do.”

“Even for someone who’s just your roommate?”

You pouted. He was mocking your introduction of him to your cousins earlier this evening. “It was the only suitable word, unless you want to explain everything to them.”

“I was hoping I’d be more than just a roommate,” Charlie chuckled. “And you should do the honours of explaining everything to them. It was your idea.”

“It wasn’t my brightest,” you admitted. “Now, I really do feel like falling out of this carriage.”

“No,” he corrected. All of a sudden, his hand slipped out from under yours, latched on, and pulled. Your silky dress glided on the plastic seat, the lack of friction making it stupidly easy for you to crash against his body. Your body slanted towards his, and the warmth of his chest spread against your shoulders. His breath fanned your cheek as he said, “If you go, we’ll go together.”

“I’ve never heard anything more romantic,” you said, rolling your eyes. The action didn’t go unnoticed by Charlie. 

“That’s what I’m known for,” Charlie boasted. Then, he squeezed your hand curiously. “You feel cold. Are you?”

“Erm, I haven’t been, so, I don’t think—”

“It must be the elevation change,” Charlie concluded. He pulled you just the slightest bit closer. “It’s a good thing I’m naturally warm-blooded.”

When his embrace sent a rush of heat through your body, you were inclined to agree. Any joke you wanted to make was lost on your tongue. The carriage began to descend and when you looked down, you saw two little blonde heads.

“(Y/N)?” Charlie’s voice was cutting despite him talking in a near-whisper; the distance it had to travel was not far at all.

“Yes, Charlie?”

Any trace of intelligible thought disappeared when his eyes locked with yours. You couldn’t have been more than a couple inches apart, and you felt as if your eyelashes would interlace if you dared blink. Your stomach lurched as you thought about what he was going to ask of you. He might ask to kiss you (again). He might tell you he was tired of the charades and this was going to be the last time you saw each other.

“What I asked you earlier, about coming to invigilate with me—”

Your heart dropped suddenly like the ride Clara had gotten sick on earlier. He was going to admit that it was all a joke. 

“What about it?”

“Would you give it some serious consideration? I would really like you to come.”

Your lips parted in surprise. If this was a joke, then Charlie was committing to the bitter end.

“It would be as good for you as much as it would be good for me,” he promised. 

What did he mean by that? 

“Of course,” you said. You had to will yourself not to say yes this moment. I’d love to go with you. “I’ll let you know soon.”

When the carriages descended, you retrieved your cousins and proceeded towards the exit of the fairgrounds  Charlotte, in secret and while holding your hand, asked if you had kissed Charlie at the apex of the ride which you vehemently denied. She didn’t seem to believe you and pointed out that your cheeks were really, really red. Leave it to the barely-teenager to be more scrupulous than you. Maybe you should be asking her what to do about Charlie. As you realised the answer would probably be, ‘just marry him!’, you knew you needed to go about  this yourself. 

>> NEXT CHAPTER (COMING SOON)!

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

@badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake @k-k-merlin @kisskittenn @pluiesdefleurs@lilianelena39 @bathwater101 @evilunicorns4minions @noah-uhhh-what @earth-to-lottie @kissingyourgrl @sihtricswife @adalia-jaycee @anuttellaa @weasley-clan @morks-watermelon @nobodysbabydoll @annoyingbean630 @bathwater101 @ladylizzieofdarbyshire

[charliemwrites]

Hello, hello! Per ceilidh's request - a Soap x Reader ficlet from the prompt thingy.

#11 "You tricked me."

I was heavily inspired by that tiktok sound (iykyk)

Rating: M CW/TW: brief/vague torture, threat of SA (doesn't happen), manipulation, dark!Soap

Being a medium in the military isn’t that much different from being a medium anywhere else.

The rules are roughly the same. Don’t talk to ghosts in living company. Don’t join idiotic 2am summoning circles. Try to help the ones you can; try not to lose sleep over the ones you can’t.

Oddly, there aren’t as many ghosts on a base as any given suburban house. Depends on the base, of course, but a reassuring number of former-military souls continue to their final rest. Even if their bodies (or parts of it) don’t make it back, tags and a symbolic burial usually suffice.

The 141’s main base only has a handful. A few you’ve already gotten closure for, sent off into the beyond. The others you’re working on, or already know they’re a lost cause. Most of them are even friendly!

There’s a corporal that haunts the mess and laments mashed potatoes. A captain appears in Price’s office occasionally, his residual energy glaring down at reports and rustling at phantom papers. On the range, you sometimes speak to the ghost of a prostitute murdered by some piece of shite back in ye olde times. She doesn’t talk back – can’t with a crushed windpipe – but she smiles when you have the privacy to acknowledge her.

Your favorite, though, is Johnny. He’s a comparatively new spirit, by your estimate. Lots of energy, still coherent. You can’t tell how he died by looking at him, but that’s not unusual. It could have been internal bleeding, or a stroke despite his youth. He won’t tell you his last name despite all your asking, always just laughs.

“Yer no’ gettin’ rid o’ me tha easily!”

He always lays the Scottish accent on in a thick velvet blanket. You want to wrap yourself up in it.

Yes, the rules for being a medium are the same, even on a military base. The main one: don’t get haunted by feelings.

That was never a concern, never even a thought, until Johnny. Until you caught his eye around Price’s shoulder during your introductory tour. He followed you for hours, interjecting little asides that put your selective hearing to the test. Always orbited just close enough to send chills down your spine and goosebumps up your arm.

You confronted him when you’d finally been dismissed back to your barrack, whirling around as he popped his mohawked head through the door. Despite yourself, you made quick friends with him.

He’s an unusual ghost. Doesn’t seem tied to a particular place or thing on base. Isn’t trapped along the same paths he walked in life. He’s always solid or near solid, doesn’t waver at certain times of day. You’re utterly charmed by his unorthodoxy, by his miraculous non-existence. And by the fact that, while he knows your secret – as all spirits do – he seems more intrigued than solicitous.

It's not that you blame other ghosts – the coherent ones – for wanting help. It’s torturous to toe that line, not alive but not at peace. Stuck and dwindling little by little. You can’t imagine what it feels like, but you can sense from some that it’s frightening, and cold. No, you’re not bothered that they ask for help. Or with the ones that are just angry; they have every reason to be.

Johnny, though… he’s special. You don’t feel so alone with him, even if the room looks like it to an outsider.

“Oh, aye, that’s pure dead brilliant. You know they’re sending you to Russia?”

You flick Johnny a glance. He’s leaning over Price’s shoulder, peering at the briefing docket that’s actively being explained. You don’t mind the extra or early info. Saved your ass a couple times before.

Your lack of response ruffles his feathers though. He stalks through the table to Gaz, flicks his pen right off the surface. You snort softly as he curses under his breath and ducks to retrieve it, trying not to interrupt Price. You make eye contact with Johnny, blink and minutely shake your head. He can see the twitching at the corners of your mouth anyway.

He smirks and wades through solid objects back to you. His presence looms behind your shoulder, an uneasy flicker at the edge of your consciousness. Like this he seems bigger, inhuman beyond ghostliness. Rougher and darker in the corner of your vision. You’ve done a double-take and gotten teased for skittishness enough times by now to quell the urge to check. It’s always just Johnny.

You’re paired with your lieutenant, Ghost. He’ll be watching with his sniper while you’re on infil. Usually, you’re paired with Gaz, but he and Roach will be at the other end of the compound taking out a target.

When the team is dismissed, Ghost only pauses long enough to give you a nod before skulking off. Not unusual for him; you take no offense. Johnny, however, is scowling something fierce after him.

For whatever reason, he’s never been a fan of your LT. The one time you asked, the lights started flickering and Johnny dismissed the question with a sharp “just don’t like him.”

You suspect that it’s because Ghost was your mentor when you joined the 141. The two of you spent the majority of your time together, training you up to run with the rest of the squad. Due to his constant proximity, your ability to respond to Johnny was greatly hindered.

Still is with how observant Ghost is. Have almost blown your cover several times and had to really watch yourself, and your reactions. You think Johnny might resent him for that.

Back in your barrack, though, Johnny happily chatters while you gear up for the mission. Base gossip and bits of intel he shouldn’t know and shouldn’t tell you. It’s standard ritual for you two; he likes to talk, and you’re accustomed to listening. You hum in the right places, storing tidbits away for your own amusement later.

A playful tug to your bitch-strap makes you yelp, then laugh when you catch Johnny’s grin. He does it again, loosening one of the buckles on your thigh. You swat him uselessly, retightening it only for him to pluck at your bootlaces while you’re occupied. He’s got so much energy, for a ghost. So adept at interacting with the physical world.

“Quit it!” you giggle, trying to dodge his darting hands.

“Why should I?” he chuckles. You curse as he gets a finger in your harness and jerks, misaligning it with the rest of your gear.

“I’ll banish you,” you lie, wriggling various straps back into place.

“Oh, sweet girl, it would take a lot more than you’ve got to get rid of me now.”

It’s an odd turn of phrase for him, but it’s the tone that draws your gaze. There’s an unfamiliar, inky darkness in his voice that pools in the pit of your stomach. You frown, open your mouth to ask what he means. But just like that, his electric smile is back, eyebrows arching as he nods to your bedside clock.

“You’re gonna be late.”

“Shit!” You snatch up your backpack and fling it across your shoulders. “I’m gonna kill you, Johnny!”

“Can’t kill something that isn’t alive,” he cackles as you sweep out the door.

You make it the transport just short of reprimand, though that doesn’t stop Ghost from narrowing his eyes as you duck into your seat. Gaz has already started a lively conversation with Roach, and Price is staying back this time.

You miss Johnny already. He may not be trapped in any particular part of the base, but he can’t come with you on missions or leave. The spaces where he’s absent feel colder and quieter. Everything seems just a bit… off. A song missing an instrument, a rainbow lacking one color.

You’re not sure when that started happening, when Johnny became such a vital part of how you perceive the rest of the world. When did longing for him become a chronic illness?

“Focus up!” Ghost barks in your ear.

You blink, shake your head, and take stock bewildered. Gone is the transport and the rest of your team. It’s just you now, hidden behind a generator, presumably about to infiltrate the target.

How?

When you try to recall, you have vague recollections of exiting the transport. Hiking to the compound. Splitting off with a few parting words amongst the lot of you. It feels watery at the edges, more of a vivid dream than a waking memory.

“Yessir.” It jumps instinctively from your tongue while you flex your cold fingers, trying to coax the nerves back to life.

You take a deep breath – lungs aching like you’ve held your breath too long – and continue with the mission. There’s no room for error now, or idle daydreams of noncorporeal men with wicked smiles.

The building is only three stories and you’re not meant to clear it. Just get to the server room, collect the information, and slip away with minimal enemy contact.

Maybe that’s why you don’t realize that something is wrong at first. You’re supposed to be avoiding guards, so you don’t notice the lack of them. Things do go right, sometimes, the intel can be good.

But it’s the quiet the finally prickles at your awareness. You may be more attuned to the dead, but you have a sense for the living as well. Always made you the worst to play hide and seek with. Now, you can feel that this building is vacant, deprived of any souls.

“LT, something is wrong,” you whisper, frozen mid-step.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s too quiet.”

To his credit, he doesn’t dismiss you immediately. “How?”

“I think the building is empty. Have you seen anyone?”

“Negative.” A pause as he considers, maybe scans the other windows for signs of occupation. “Sit tight, I’ll update Price.”

There’s barely a heartbeat before you hear distant gunfire. Too much and too soon for the plan. Roach and Gaz weren’t supposed to neutralize the target until you were collecting intel.

“Fuck,” Ghost snarls. “Get out of there!”

You’re already sprinting for the stairwell. Nearly pop your ankles leaping down, boot treads catching on the edge of steps. No one is chasing you, but your team needs help. Gaz is shouting in your ear, the channels reconnected for ease of communication. The situation is devolving quickly and violently.

“Almost there,” you report.

Your foot hits the last landing before the ground floor when the building explodes.

---

It takes three tries to get your vision focused. There’s not much to see once you do. A concrete room tinted by bare yellow halogen. There’s a drain in the floor just in front of you and old blood dried in the corners. It smells like rust, infection, and despair. Your head pounds; your entire body aches. Being tied to a metal chair doesn’t help the post-explosion soreness.

You’ve been stripped down to your fatigues, no boots. There isn’t a door in any of the three walls you can see, so it must be positioned behind you.

Confirmation comes about a minute later. Three sets of boots entering your little box. Only one of them walks into your line of sight; a mean-looking man with face tattoos and a gold tooth. He asks if you speak Russian, and though you do, you spew a string of English profanities and threats at him. The backhand you get in return says he understood you.

The questions start as soon as he switches to English. They want information; they always do. What you had been sent to collect and why. Who Roach and Gaz were sent for and why. You don’t speak a word. Even when the pain starts, and then doesn’t stop. You lose track of time, the head injury floating you on the edge of consciousness within the first thirty minutes.

Hours – days? – later, the man takes a step back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“It’s alright,” he tells you, “I like taking my time, and we have plenty. Your friends think you are dead.”

That, you think through the haze, is probably true. You thought you were dead too.

“Perhaps next time we try something… else,” he muses, running a finger down your neck. “You are not as pretty now, but… prettier than you will be later, da?”

Ice forms in the pit of your stomach and climbs up your spine. It was always on the table, you know that, but facing it is something else.

Whatever expression you’re making seems to satisfy him, because he laughs heartily and finally leaves you alone.

Alone, with the promise of his next visit looming.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a dripping sound nearby that you realize, vaguely, is your own blood. Maybe you’ll bleed out before he comes back. You time your breaths with it, using it as a count to get your wild and unsteady heart under control.

Reality washes over you in waves. There is no escape. Your team thinks you’re dead. Eventually, you will break and/or die. You might even become a ghost, join the collective that darkens the edges of this very room, a thing of pain and fear and rage without any coherency or singular will.

You didn’t even give Johnny a proper goodbye.

That somehow hurts the worst. Johnny, hearing second-hand that you’ll never make it back. No one to mourn with him, to offer any comfort. He’ll be alone with grief and then beyond, no one to tell his jokes or stories to.

You miss him more fiercely than you ever have. Part of you is glad he isn’t here. You know him, know he’d be too stubborn to leave you. He’d stay and watch, helpless, as you were tortured and killed. It would tear you apart to do that to him even though it wouldn’t be your own choice.

But… an awful, selfish part of you longs for him. Even just being able to see or hear him would soften the pain and fear. Would make this hell on earth almost bearable. You want to leave this world with Johnny whispering in your ear, maybe even join him when your body finally goes cold.

Given the choice, you would want him here.

You want Johnny. No, you need him. Regret ever leaving him behind, even though he couldn’t come with you. You’d do anything to change that now; anything to be with him again.

Anything?

It’s an unbidden thought, almost intrusive. Doesn’t even feel like yourself asking.

“Anything,” you whisper aloud, just to hear something other than your own despair. “Johnny…”

“You called?”

You jolt, head snapping up so fast it makes you dizzy. The world spins but he’s there, right there, crouching in front of you, arms balanced on his knees.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

Were you closer to the brink than you thought? Is this some sort of final hallucination as you slip into death?

“In the flesh.” He tilts his head, snorts. “Well, in a manner.”

“How…?” you ask, eyes already stinging.

“Told ya, you called. I’d never – hey, now, hey. No need for all that,” he soothes. He wipes the tears from your face. You can feel the warmth in his fingers. “This is a happy occasion.”

You huff in watery amusement, shaking your head. “Did you lose your glasses when you died? I wouldn’t call this celebration-worthy.”

His eyes scan over you, flicker dark. “It will be, don’t you worry.”

You blink, try to focus. Exhaustion and injury and chemical rush are making it difficult, but you know things are off. He shouldn’t be here, least of all because you called. And… something else too. Something in the way he’s holding his shoulders and the twitching around his expression. 

“Johnny, really,” you say, “why are you here?”

“You offered me anything, and I’m here to collect.”

Between one blink and the next, his eyes are black. Pitch black, from corner to corner. You suck in a breath, try to jerk back but there’s nowhere to go.

His grin is sharp enough to cut yourself on.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” he sighs.

He leans in, lips parting. His tongue rolls out, long and split at the tip. Licks a luxurious, burning trail from your chin to your temple. You make a sound borne of confused pleasure and fear, high in the back of your throat.

He shushes you, plants a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth. “My brave little lass, finally offering herself to the demon she’s been courting.”

The word bounces against the walls of your cell and burrows into your brain. Demon, demon, demon.

Johnny is…

“You tricked me,” you sob.

He cocks his head, onyx eyes soft with avarice. “Tricked you? No, angel, I’m saving you.”

His hands pet over the cruel ties around your ankles. The itch of them digging into your skin falls away. Gentle thumbs rub circles over the imprints the left behind. Hope and relief pounds hard in your chest.

“I’m only taking what you so willingly and enthusiastically offered,” he explains in hushed awe. Like you’ve given him such a wonderful gift, the greatest gift. Suppose you have.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he croons. His arms wrap around you, almost like a hug. His fingertips trace down your bruised arms to the cuffs biting your wrists. Those too fall away, and you find yourself reaching for him so quickly, folding into his chest, free of that wretched chair.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, a hand curling into blood and sweat soaked tangles.

“It… it is you, right?” you ask. “You’re my Johnny?”

“Always, angel,” he replies, “it’s always been me. I will always be yours. All you have to do is say yes.”

You tilt your head back, catch the wicked curve of fangs as he speaks. He smells like heat and woodsmoke.

“Yes to what?” you ask.

“To everything,” he answers, deep and rough. “You offered anything, and I want all of you.”

You should say no, you should throw yourself away from him.

There is not an inch of your mind or body that wants to leave the safety of his arms. This is Johnny, your Johnny, hellfire and all.

“And… in return,” you venture, “I get… you?”

“Eternally.”

Then it really doesn’t need much more thought.

“Yes. Please.”

“Good girl.”