#didn’t intend that last like oops

[a-really-bad-decision]

I know for most people the answer is “it depends on the game” but for the purpose of this poll, just choose the system you use most often.

I’m not counting multiple world states/characters as separate save slots. I’m talking about how you save when playing a specific character or world state

Explain your logic in the notes if you feel like it.

*Or near enough that it doesn’t matter

[messrmoonyy]

- The Forbidden Fruit

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Request- I NEED ARTHUR TO STEAL DUTCHS GIRL AND SHOW HER A REAL MANS LOVING. FILTHY PASSIONATE LOVING. WORK YOUR MAGIC

A/N- I got incredibly carried away with this. Is basically prawn with no plot honestly. And far softer smut than I think you intended it to be but. Here we are. Enjoy.

Warnings- 18+ | implied toxic relationship ( reader is in love with Dutch van der Linde what can you expect here ), smut: affair, Arthur being desperate to please!!!, fingering, oral ( reader receiving ) , unprotected p in v and he accidentally finishes inside oops, like the tiniest amount of cockwarming ( WC-8.9k )

AO3 | Masterlist - requests are open :)

Arthur didn’t involve himself in Dutch’s relationships. He stayed polite to whatever young woman he had hanging off his arm at the time, but that was about it. He’d seen too many girls come and go- usually in floods of tears at being dismissed by the man that had seduced and charmed them into loving him. Just working his way through shiny new plaything to plaything, hiding his unending sorrow for Annabelle under the skirt of some new girl. 

Unfortunately you were no different. 

In your defence, he supposed, you had lasted far longer than the rest. The only real exception to that being the famed Annabelle herself. But as was almost inevitable, your time in the honeymoon phase was slowly crumbling down around you. 

Arthur did wonder if it was simply because of the current stress levels in camp. They had all been on the run for longer than he cared to try and count, but after the mess in Blackwater they had reached new heights of being hunted. It had never been this bad. Nothing had ever gone this wrong. Because before everything had gone to complete shit, he’d actually seemed quite taken with you. In truth Arthur actually had begun to consider the idea that Dutch really did love you. Had finally been able to move on from the weight on his heart of his dead lover. 

But no. 

Arthur was observing the same pattern as always, it had just taken far longer with you. And that just seemed to make it all the more cruel. 

He barely even looked at you most days now. Barely uttered a few words in return to any question you asked. 

And the arguing was growing ever more fierce. It was practically everyday. 

Arthur didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way Dutch treated you. Didn’t like the way Dutch was treating anyone lately. But you in particular had never been anything but nice to him, kind. Sweet. Incredibly naive but sweet. To Arthur too. Some of the girls Dutch had strung along had been vile, rude and entitled and stuck up. But you? You were a genuinely nice person it seemed. And maybe that was your greatest flaw, for someone like that did not belong with Dutch Van Der Linde. 

In fact Arthur had come to like you from a distance. The times he had spoken to you you had been interesting, intelligent. Far cleverer than him and he had always liked that in a woman if he was honest. 

But still you clung to Dutch. Though your patience with him of late seemed to finally be wearing thin. 

Dutch had never really been one to be ashamed or afraid of airing his dirty laundry within the gang. Whether that be packing on the PDA in camp in a way that often made Arthur want to vomit up his breakfast, or the even more puke inducing sounds of the two of you making up all night long. So arguing was no exception to that either. 

And today was no different. 

“ you barely even look at me! I’m right here! I always have been, I’ve always been such a good girl haven’t I? I do as you say. And look at how you repay me! “ Arthur sighed as he dropped a stack of bills into the box, successfully recovering yet another of Strauss’ debts for him. You were both screaming at each other again, the tent flaps pulled down as if that would over any form of soundproofing. It was the camp's regular ambience now it seemed. 

He did feel sorry for you, he really did. You’d left everything you had for Dutch. Some beautiful, intelligent, well spoken girl. Heiress to her daddy’s mining fortune up north, used to the finer things but seeking some adventure. And Dutch had offered you both. Drowned you in jewels and gifts- though unlike the ones you had once owned the ones he gave were not his to give- Shown you off like a shiny new toy on his arm. Expressly informed Miss Grimshaw that you were not to be lifting a finger, that you would not have to earn your keep with chores like the others. 

You earned your keep by looking beautiful beside him, by boosting his ego with your constant devotion to him, by letting Dutch use you for his own source of pleasure and by the sounds of things- that Arthur truly had no choice but to overhear- not getting very much back in return. 

“ You know I don’t think I’ve ever met a more selfish woman in my life! “ Arthur sighed and sat down on his cot, debating whether or not to make some attempt to get the sleep he had been planning the entire long journey back to Clemens Point. But his tent was but a stone's throw from Dutch’s. 

“ I have needs too Dutch Van Der Linde!” Everyone else in camp didn’t seem to mind it though, most of them preparing to settle in for the night. Whether that be passing out on their bedrolls or drinking by the fire. But Arthur wasn’t sure he could put up with another moment of the damn yelling. 

“ oh? You have needs? “ Dutch’s voice was condescending. Mocking “ I give you everything! You are acting like a spoiled child”

“ a child? A child!? “ Arthur stood back up again, deciding he’d fare better trying to sleep on the damn ground rather than next to the likes of you and Dutch. So he headed out towards the edge of camp, hiding himself in the woods by the water. He slumped down against a tree with a heavy sigh and wished he’d thought to pick up a bottle of beer on the way. 

But it was no matter. He was far enough away that he couldn’t hear the fighting anymore, but close enough that if he was needed anyone calling his name would be heard. 

He looked out across the water, enjoying his rare moment of peace. It was a clear night and a full moon, the reflection bouncing off the water in the most beautiful way. He pulled out his journal and started to sketch it, wishing he could capture its beauty better. 

‘ Dutch and the girl were arguing again. Got out of earshot for a bit to try catch some sleep. Thought the water and the moon looked mighty pretty ‘ 

He scrawled underneath when he was done, tucking it back into the satchel discarded at his side. Javier's guitar had silenced back in camp now and he figured everyone had gone off to bed. But he was quite content there by the water, so dropped his hat over his face and settled in to try and catch a few hours himself. 

He was just dozing off when he heard the sound of boots marching quickly through the undergrowth, snapping twigs as they went. And then the soft sound of someone mumbling to themselves. He silently hoped whoever it was would keep well away from him. But the boots grew nearer and came to a halt not so far away. The crackle of a match being lit and a heavy sigh. 

“ thinks he can talk to me like that? Bastard. Bastard he is. I’m a lady I deserve better than. Than that “ 

You. 

He cleared his throat lightly to inform you that he was there, but unfortunately still seemed to startle you. 

“ Christ! Gave me a damn heart attack Arthur “ he placed his hat down with his satchel with a sigh and looked up at you. In the light of the moon reflecting off the water he could see your cheeks were tear stained, the glow of the end of your cigarette illuminating your face further and showing your makeup in streaks. 

He couldn’t lie that it made his heart ache for you. He didn’t particularly have any solid feelings for you, but he did feel sorry for you. It was hard not to feel sorry for the woman seduced by Dutch. 

And you truly were a cut above the rest in his opinion. Beautiful as the early morning sun and, when you weren’t screaming at Dutch, as kind and warm as it too. But maybe that was fitting. Because much like the sun you could bask people in warmth, but burn them too. Beautiful and bright but scalding and he found he couldn’t look at you for too long, no matter how many times he wanted too. Simply blinding his eyes with your flaming beauty and having to turn away. 

But maybe he was just getting caught up in his metaphors. 

“ shouldn’t be out this far from camp “ you simply shrugged, taking another drag of your cigarette “ ain’t no one nice lingerin’ in woods at night miss” even if no Lemoyne raiders were sneaking around the trees, there were plenty of species of wildlife that would happily do a number on you. Chew off a leg or bite you with poison fangs. You didn’t know how to take care of yourself. You couldn’t handle a gun, didn’t have a single survival instinct in you. 

Dutch had quite made sure of that, he’d heard you ask once or twice. And had been denied. Charming you with some string of words about how you were far too delicate to be handling a gun. To leave it for the men. 

“ you’re lingering in the woods aren’t you Mr Morgan? “ he chuckled and shrugged. 

“ and I ain’t that nice. Point proven lady “ 

“ not like Dutch would care if someone took me anyway. He’d probably be thankful “ your voice was hoarse from the shouting and he couldn’t tell if you were going to cry again or not. You took a long drag of your cigarette before seeming to suddenly remember something, dipping your hand into the waistband of your skirt and pulling out a pack “ sorry my manners. Want one? “ he took one with a nod of thanks “ can I sit? “

You sat down carefully beside him then with a long sigh, tucking your legs beneath you, and leant forward so he could light the cigarette between his lips with the end of yours. 

“ thanks “ you both sat quietly for a short while. Smoking and watching the ripples in the water. He didn’t mind it actually, as much as he had been slightly annoyed at you disturbing his attempt to sleep. You were decent company. 

You rarely strayed from Dutch’s side, but on the odd occasion you had and Arthur had stumbled upon you having a moment to yourself at the edge of camp it had been quite nice. So he didn’t mind sitting there with you, company. For you both. 

“ I think you’re nice. By the way “ you said to break the silence, refrenching his previous comment of bad men lingering in the woods. 

“ No offense to you Miss, but you’re in love with old Dutch. I don’t think you’re particularly qualified to be sayin’ whether folk is nice or not “ he said it teasingly in some hopes of making you smile. And it did. A little. 

“ maybe not “ he watched you bring your cigarette to your lips again, glancing at your hands. Nails perfectly trimmed and not a single speck of dirt or sign of a scar. Hands that had never had to lift a finger. Ever. It was an interesting contrast to his own. Calloused and scarred and bruised “ but Dutch he… he…Can I ask you something? “ 

“ Sure “ he said and flicked his cigarette away. 

“ Do you think I’m beautiful Arthur? “ you asked meekly. Your face was sad. Lingering innocence yet to be wiped away by life somehow, the kind that only remained because you had lived a life so sheltered. Even with Dutch you were as sheltered as could be “ and don’t lie. Please “

“ I think you’re beautiful, sure “ you turned back to the water again, tossing your own cigarette before promptly lighting another. 

“ Dutch doesn’t. Not anymore. Barely even looks at me “ Arthur ran a hand over his face, not entirely sure what he was supposed to say to you in the situation. At all “ I know I know I don’t expect you to agree. You two you’re…you’re like two peas in a pod aren’t you? “ you said with a small laugh, but it held no humour. You took a long drag of your cigarette. 

“ me and Dutch it’s… we go back a long way. But… I will agree the way he’s been treatin’ you. Ain't nice. Not when you done nothin’ but be loyal to him for so long “ you turned back to him again and gave a small smile. It was like a wave of relief had washed right over you. 

Someone was finally listening. 

“ I think he’s got his eyes on Mary-Beth “ you mumbled, red stained lips wrapping around your cigarette again. Much like how he had found himself admiring your hands he now found himself admiring your lips. Soft and plump and stained red in the way they often were. 

He blamed it on his fatigue. 

“ he’d be a fool to give you up. You’re kind, loyal, hell you might jus’ be the most beautiful woman I know. He’s in a weird place right now. He’ll snap outta it, be back to readin’ you Evelyn Miller in no time. You’ll see “ maybe the last part wasn’t entirely true. But the first part was. And you seemed to bask in his compliments. He wondered when the last time Dutch had said something nice to you had actually been. 

“ Thank you “ you looked as though you might cry again. And he really hoped you wouldn’t. He didn’t like to see you cry. And he really wouldn’t know what to say to you then. Once again you turned your attention back to the water and gave a small sigh “ maybe I chose the wrong outlaw “ you said with a small laugh “ always have thought you were quite handsome “ 

He nearly choked on his own saliva, clearing his throat in hopes to pass it out smoothly. He didn’t know if it had worked. 

“ Really? “ 

“ Hmm “ you mused, tilting your head inquisitively to the side “ but you were oh so hung up on that Mary girl when I found Dutch”

“ Yeah well. Mary she’s- that’s all done with now “ maybe Mary was the reason he seemed to sympathise with you so. Because he too had had a broken heart. Though he was sure his was not as brutal as yours. 

“ Guess we both have bad taste don’t we Mr Morgan “ he chuckled and nodded. 

“ That we do miss. That we do “ he placed a gentle hand to your shoulder and squeezed in some form of comfort “ don’t worry bout Dutch though. Really. He’ll come to his senses and if…if he don’t then. Any man would be lucky to have ya “ you sniffled and he figured you’d started crying again “ I didn’t mean to upset- “

“ No. No I’m fine. It’s just…you mean it all don��t you? All these kind words? “ he shrugged and then nodded. 

“ Sure I do. You’re a beautiful woman. Inside an out “ something seemed to flash across your face, a million and one things whirring away behind your eyes. He’d never been that good at reading people, never one for knowing what people were thinking. And the look on your face was the most confusing he’d ever seen. 

The next part happened far too quickly for him to process it. Maybe because he was tired, maybe because he truly hadn’t even slightly suspected you to do it. You flicked away the butt of your cigarette and leaned forward, one hand to his leg and the other to his neck. And kissed him. 

He was taken aback and you pulled away before he could make any attempt to figure out what you’d just done. 

“ Sorry “ you sighed in slight annoyance, seemingly at yourself, sitting back beside him again. Like it was no big deal. Just something that had happened and had no real consequence “ shit- sorry “ Arthur scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and shrugged with a small laugh. Attempting to play it as cool as you clearly were. 

Maybe he’d finally cracked and entered some weird fatigue induced psychosis, hallucinations and hearing voices. And kissing Dutch’s woman. 

“ S’okay. No harm done “ he was bewildered. Trying to process the last 30 seconds and coming up completely blank. 

“ Just the way you talk about me I- Lord forgive me “ he was certain he must have looked half dense. Still completely confused at what on earth was happening with you. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit flustered at having a woman like you kiss him. Even if you were begging the Lord for forgiveness right after it “ no one’s spoken to me like that in a long time and…and I wish they had. I want to be told I’m beautiful again. I want to be kissed. I want I want…I want a lot of things “ 

Maybe Arthur was a stupid, idiotic fool. Maybe too many gunshot wounds and bumps to the head had finally caught up to him. Maybe he too wanted to act on his ever growing annoyance with how Dutch was behaving. But he found himself reaching out, fingers tucking under your chin to turn your face to look at him. Your eyes were so beautiful up close. Practically sparkling in the moonlight.

Oh he was such a fool. 

“ could’a jus’ asked “ a small smile tugged at your lips and you laughed a little. 

“ Yeah. Of course. Because you’d have said yes Arthur? “ he shrugged. He didn’t know if he would’ve actually. But now the thought was in his head “ alright “ you whispered and shuffled a little closer to him “ indulge me “ 

His thumb was absentmindedly brushing over your jaw, looking at you in the light of the moon and wondering how on earth Dutch wasn’t constantly begging for your attention. If he had a woman like you constantly hanging off his every word he wouldn’t know how to act. Would be like a mangy dog trailing around after you for food.  

“ I might’ve “ you gave a roll of your eyes but you were smiling still, a beautiful, tempting smile.

You were a temptress. A siren. Luring him in with your beauty to do something terrible. And you were vulnerable. Sad and seeking appreciation. And he was truly debating it. 

“ Well…“ you started quietly, looking up at him through your long lashes in a way that made his chest go tight “ there is… still time for you to say yes “ 

“ we ain’t gonna tell no one bout this y’hear? This it’s… it’s jus’ between me and you. Okay? “ your eyebrows furrowed for a second looking up at him intently, as if trying to figure out if he was joking or not. If he was serious. He wasn’t entirely sure himself, needed you to agree or disagree to put the thought to rest.  His thumb continued to brush along your jaw tenderly and your eyes fell closed for a moment. 

How long had it been since someone had touched you with such care? That something as simple as that seemed to mean so much to you. 

“ I understand “ you whispered, eyes flickering down to his lips again. He pulled you in close, barely an inch between your lips and then spoke again “ you’ll give me what I want? Don’t treat me like him “ 

“ Anythin’ ya want. You got it. I’ll give ya what you deserve “ you let a shuddering breath escape and gave a small nod before closing the gap between you both again. 

He hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, but he sure found his footing quickly. You kissed him like he was your source of air, climbing your way into his lap and slipping your hands into his hair. You tasted of cigarette smoke and something almost sweet. Whatever it was, it was an intoxicating mix. You were like a siren singing your call in his ear, drawing him in and taking him for your own. The weight of you in his lap was almost familiar, welcoming. Just… nice. 

He had almost forgotten just how fun it was to kiss a woman. How so many men seemed to shun it as boring, pointless- Dutch obviously included. But Arthur had always loved it. Had spent many a night as a youngster sneaking his way into Mary’s room just to kiss her. To spend hours kissing and talking and kissing some more. 

Kissing you was something else. Addictive. Intoxicating. 

Eventually he had to pull away, his lungs screaming at him for air. Your hands slipped out from his hair and down to grasp at the collar of his shirt, resting your forehead on his. 

“ Anything I want you say? “ you asked quietly, breathless. 

“ Anythin’ “ you smiled and lifted your head, a quiet determination settling over you. Your lipstick had smeared and he wondered how much of it was now on his own face. 

“ okay… undress me then “ you softly commanded, shifting slightly in his lap “ please. Dutch never- he makes me do it myself, barely even looks I- Please “ 

He almost laughed to himself about now he immediately thought getting you naked was entirely too risky. As if the entire situation alone wasn’t risky anyway. But he didn’t want to think too hard about that, instead simply channelled his recent annoyance towards Dutch into his actions. Tried to tell himself he was doing a good thing, taking care of you. 

You watched his face carefully as he gently untucked your shirt from where it was tucked into your skirt, some silky soft thing that probably cost more than everything he owned in his clothing trunk put together. He undid every pearl button slowly, eyes darting up to your face as he did. Your chest was heaving in long, heavy breaths. You were nervous. Or excited. He couldn’t tell which. 

You shivered lightly when he pushed it from your shoulders, now only the soft cotton of your chemise between his hands and your chest. Your nipples had hardened, from the slight night chill or lust he couldn’t say. But he found himself unable to resist the sight, leaning forward and capturing one between his lips through the cotton. You gasped softly, a sound so beautiful it made him groan. You sounded delicate. Innocent. You’d never made such sounds when he’d overheard you with Dutch. In fact a majority of the time you almost sounded in pain. 

But this sound wasn’t that. This sound was beautiful. And he wanted to hear more. One hand pushed at your back to bring you closer, the other palmed at your neglected breast in hopes you’d make the sound again. And you did. Gentle, soft gasps as his tongue dampened the material of your chemise, teeth tugging at you gently through the material. Your hand found his hair again, raking your fingers through it and arching your back into his touch. 

He couldn’t imagine why Dutch had never wanted to do such a thing. How could he not want to hear you make those pretty pretty sounds? How could he not want to feel you writhing in his lap and yearning to be touched. Maybe Dutch was more of a fool than he had originally thought. 

“ Need you to touch me- properly I- take this off “ your sentence was choppy, like you weren’t focussed enough to truly articulate the words you wanted to say. But he understood, pulling your chemise over your head and dropping it to land with your shirt. 

He took a moment just to look at you, not even entirely because he knew you’d want him to. Just because he wanted to. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t wondered what was hiding under your expensive clothes once or twice. How could he not when he had to try sleep through the sounds of you and Dutch of a night. 

“ God damn “ he said softly, hands soothing over your waist as you basked in his admiring stare, taking in the feeling of finally being looked at. Properly. 

“ like what you see Mr Morgan “ you asked, voice sultry and low in a way that made his cock twitch in his pants. 

“ Dutch is a damn fool “ is all he could say, leaning forward to kiss you again, his hands moving to grab at your chest. You moaned into the kiss as he squeezed and massaged your breasts with his large hands, seizing the opportunity to dip his tongue into the warmth of your mouth. Your fingers in his hair, twisting strands around your fingers and tugging lightly. He felt like he was on cloud nine. Certain he’d somehow taken a stumble through the veil and ended up at heaven's gates. 

He wasn’t a particularly religious man, but the way he was prepared to worship and praise you could truly be considered blasphemous. 

He couldn’t resist the temptation of getting his mouth on you again much longer, dragging his lips from yours and wrapping them around a pebbled nipple instead. You rolled your hips against him, those beautiful soft moans still falling past your lips. This was what you had wanted from him. To be worshipped. To be looked at as the beautiful temptress of a woman you were. And not merely glanced at and then used like some two dollar whore in a saloon. 

He wanted to nip at your skin, bite and soothe it with his tongue. But he knew he couldn’t. Couldn’t risk Dutch seeing it if he felt the need to stop ignoring you for a short while for his own needs. But oh how he wanted to. To mark up your smooth skin with reminders that you were desired. That you could look at as they faded and be reminded that you were wanted. 

“ I need more “ you whispered “ Arthur please. Give me more “ another roll of your hips followed by a small whimper told him enough. 

“ I know I got ya “ he murmured against your skin, pressing kisses up your sternum and your neck. Nose brushing at the underside of your jaw and working his way back to your lips again “ stand up. Lemme get you out of these damn clothes “ he caught the smile on your face as you stood up, he stayed seated and ran his hands over the fabric covering your hips. Something seemed to blaze in your eyes as you looked down on him. He realised it was most probably you that was usually being leered down on, but not now. 

Not with him. Not with Arthur. Arthur looked up at you like the goddess you were, looked up at you with what he knew was a silent pleading in his eyes. Dutch would never ask he knew it. Dutch took. Stole. Used. Arthur didn’t. Wouldn’t. 

“ I like how you look at me “ you said quietly, hand soothing over his hair “ you make me feel beautiful “

“ Cause y’are “ he murmured, hands reaching to the ties of your skirt. He wanted to see more. Wanted to see all of you. 

You helped him with the slightly tedious task of getting your skirts and undergarments off, but all so slowly. Taking his time. Making sure he appreciated every single layer of clothing you removed for him, right down to unlacing your boots and holding your leg gently to help you out of them. Until you stood there as naked as the day you were born, illuminated by the moonlight on the water. 

“ well ain’t you a sight “

Your skin was so smooth. Soft. Not a single scar that he could see. The skin of a woman who had never had to lift a finger. Had never known the hardships that he had. The only true blemish on your skin was the almost completely faded bruises on your hips. Fingertips. Dutch. 

He soothed his hands up your legs, pressing soft kisses to the pillowy flesh of your thighs as he went, and stopped as he reached them. 

“ He can be a little rough. It’s how he likes it “ you answered before he could even ask. Arthur too had been known to have his rougher moments. But he could never hurt you. Never mark you in anyway other than that of affection and care. 

“ I ain’t like that “ 

“ I know. That’s why I want you “ he pulled you back down into his lap, his large hands splaying over your hips as he took yet another moment just to look. To admire. To thank whatever stupid damn God may exist for placing such a heavenly body in his presence “ I feel a little like the odd one out here though “ you said with a small smile, tracing a finger down from the open top buttons of his shirt to his pants. 

He’d been far too occupied with you to even really notice the fact that he was ridiculously overdressed in comparison. 

“ Can’t have that now can we darlin’ “ your smile grew and you made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders with a gentle sigh. You ran your fingers through the hair on his chest, nails scratching lightly at his skin and peppering lipstick stained kisses as you went. Littering his collarbones, his sternum.

“ much better “ your hands kept roaming and your lips kept kissing. Hands seemingly wanting to touch him all, scratching lightly up his sides and over his waist, his stomach and his ribs. Slowly moving to slide over his shoulders and loop around his neck. You rolled your hips against him again and whined softly. He was so hard it was growing painful as he stayed restrained by his pants. But he wasn’t selfish. Not like Dutch. And he wasn’t about to seek out any form of pleasure himself until he had you seeing the stars you deserved. 

“ tell me what y’want “ he murmured, peppering soft kisses across your jaw. 

“ touch me “ you sighed blissfully “ please touch me “ 

His hand slipped down in between your bodies, brushing past the soft curls between your legs and couldn’t contain the groan of a sound that left him when he felt how warm and wet you were. 

“ Christ “ he muttered as your head dropped to his shoulder with a shuddering breath “ he ever touch you like this? “ he asked lowly, already knowing the answer. Why would he? He didn’t get anything out of it. 

But Arthur did. Oh Arthur did. 

“ no “ you whispered “ no never…please. More “ he tested the waters, pressing lightly against your clit and revelling in the squeak of a sound that it caused you to make. 

“ or like this? " You shook your head again, breathing shakily as he dragged his finger through the wetness and drew light circles around your entrance. 

“ Arthur “ you moaned his name in the most delicious way as he pushed his finger inside, burying it to the knuckle 

“ yeah and what about this darlin? “ he again knew the answer. Dutch didn’t care about your pleasure. Didn’t care about wasting time on something as simple as making you whimper and whine for more “ he touch you like this? “ 

“ no “ 

“ think ya can take one more for me? “ you nodded again and he withdrew his finger, gathering your slick on his other before pushing them both past the resistance of your entrance “ that’a girl “ he pumped his fingers in and out steadily, curling and probing at your velvety soft walls to test what you liked. 

“ This is so… oh god. This isn’t proper at all “ you laughed slightly, melting into a soft moan. Arthur chuckled, lifting your face up so you’d look at him. 

“ Ain’t proper at all? It’s damn right filthy darlin” your cheeks were aflame and you closed your eyes for a moment, grinding yourself against his hand “ look at ya. Drippin all over ma fingers like that. Ain’t proper. Not one bit “ you smiled, a cheeky, devious smile that made him lean forward and kiss you again. 

You were so wet it was obscene. He couldn’t tell where the sounds of you kissing stopped and the sopping sounds of his fingers began. You continued to grind down against his palm, practically riding his fingers, his whole hand wet and sticky with you. 

And he wanted to taste it. To taste you. To flood his mouth with the slick, liquid gold covering his fingers. It was an almost primal desire, like a desperation as strong as needing air. He needed to. He had to. 

“ Darlin’ “ he murmured, lifting your head from where it had fallen to his neck again “ gotta let me taste you. You gotta “ the look on your face only made him want it more. Your skin flushed and eyes blown out with nothing but pure lust and desire. He’d never needed anything more. Nothing else mattered, not the painful hardness in his pants, not the realisation that you were very much Dutch’s girl. He didn’t care about any of that. He just needed to be between your thighs. 

“ really? No one’s ever- oh god. Yes. Yes. Please Arthur “ he withdrew his fingers making you whimper and quickly grabbed his discarded shirt and lay it down on the ground. Then he kissed you again as he wrapped his arms around your waist, gently turning you to lay back on the shirt. It still couldn’t have been particularly comfortable. But you didn’t seem to mind, tugging at his hair and lifting your hips up against him as he hovered over you. 

He took his time moving down. Leaving a long and slow trail of hot, wet, kisses on your skin. You writhed underneath him, whining softly and twisting your hands in his shirt underneath you. He took extra time with your thighs. Kissing up from the inside of your knee and stopping before he could place his mouth where he really wanted to, then repeating with the other. 

“ Arthur “ you whined, still squirming around and desperate. 

“ I know. I got ya. Gonna make those pretty sounds for me again yeah? "You nodded, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him as his head sank lower, spreading your legs wider to give him full access to the centre of you “ that’s a good girl “ he spread you open with his fingers, in awe of the way you parted for him. Like petals on a flower, dripping with the morning dew. 

But you were far more delectable. A forbidden fruit begging to be tasted. 

And oh was it pretty. Even in the dark, in nothing but the light of the moon on the water, it was pretty. Begging to be tasted, touched. Admired. 

The sound you made as he dragged his tongue from your weeping hole to your clit was like music to his ears. He didn’t know how he managed to not come in his pants just at the sound of it. 

You still kept it quiet, but loud enough for him. 

His own, deep, guttural moan escaped from his chest as he licked again. Your taste flooding his mouth in a way so so much better than he could’ve imagined. 

He ate you like he was starved. Like a savage predator that hadn’t seen meat for days, like a man ready for the gallows enjoying his last meal. His arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping your legs apart for him as you bucked and squirmed against his face. It was visceral. Carnal. You made him feel like his grip on his own composure and control was weaker than ever, that he was holding on to it with nothing but his fingertips. 

“ Arthur “ he dipped his tongue into the welcoming warmth of your cunt, his eyes falling closed for a moment as he felt you clench around him, desperate for more. Desperate for him. And he would give you more, would give you anything you asked of him. But not until he made you come first. 

He let go of one of your legs and brought his fingers back to their previous position, wanting to feel you again. To be inside of you, as close as he could get. To make you see stars. 

The flat of his tongue found your clit again, certain he could feel you pulsing against him. Desperate and full of desire for him. He felt honoured, privileged. That you were so loyal to Dutch, glued to his side. Never even batting an eye at anyone else. And yet you had broken that for him. Had sought him out because you knew he would treat you well. 

Your back arched off the ground as he sunk them back into you, slipping in with a welcome ease. His thick fingers pumped into you at a steady pace, his tongue diverting all its attention to your clit. Lapping and sucking and letting you press his face harder against you as you tugged on his hair. 

“ don’t stop please dont- Arthur “ he had no intentions of stopping, none at all. In fact he simply honed in on his ministrations, working harder to push you closer and closer to the edge of the orgasm he knew you had been craving for weeks. 

“ Not gonna stop darlin. Ain’t stopping until you come for me. Taste so good, so good “ he murmured against you, curling his fingers and hitting a spot that made you gasp and your body shudder “ there we go, right there “ 

He flicked his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves, looking at you as best he could to gauge your reaction. You were pulling a little painfully at his hair, squirming and rolling your hips against his face. He let you do it. Let you be the one using a man for your pleasure, rather than being the one used for once. 

Your sounds were sinful. Melodic. He took it all in. Basked in the noises you made for him, the delicious taste of you on his tongue, drunk on you. On your taste. Your smell. 

“ Arthur- Arthur please I- “ you babbled, a slightly smug smile working its way onto his face as he watched your prim and proper facade melt away “ don’t stop “ 

He hummed an assurance that he wouldn’t, your hips bucking against his face as he did. You were so unbelievably wet, dripping out around his fingers and soaking the hair of his beard. He would never have thought it of you. The way you held yourself around camp, so poised and prim. The accent when you spoke that made everyone else around you sound so common. And yet there you were. On your back in the woods, chasing an orgasm being offered to you by an outlaw. Repeating his name like a mantra. 

And not even that of the outlaw you were in love with.

“ Arthur- “

Only seconds later it happened. You held a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit you, muffling your choked moans, back arching off the ground and walls clamping down on his fingers as he worked you through it. Tongue still working diligently at your clit until you pushed your hand at his head, squirming away a little. 

He almost didn’t want to stop. Could’ve happily stayed there a while longer, but moved back, an obscene wet sound in the late night silence as he withdrew his fingers. 

He took his fingers to his mouth, sucking the remnants of your climax onto his tongue. Unable to control himself. You watched him do it, mouth slightly agape and eyes half open with some desperate undeniable look of utter desire. He could almost see the way it made you feel, could see you unable to contain the overwhelming feeling of realising you were desired. Wanted. 

“ God. You are unbelievable “ you whispered, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and grabbing at his arm. Your fingers looped around his wrist and tugged his hand towards your own mouth. He shook his head with a chuckle, slightly in awe as you took those same two fingers between your red lips. 

Your tongue swirled between his digits, plush lips wrapping around them and sucking. Your eyes locked on his as you did. It made his cock ache. He wanted your lips on him, wanted your tongue swirling around his length and milking him dry. He could imagine it if he thought hard enough. The way you hummed slightly in appreciation as you sucked his fingers clean, sent vibrations straight through his bones. Rattling him to the core. But he would never ask that of you. But the thought was one he would hold onto. It made him shift slightly. 

“ you ain’t so prim and proper lady “ he murmured as he withdrew his fingers, a string of saliva connecting his fingertips and your lips “ This ain’t very proper of you miss “ Arthur said with a small smile, teasing “ rollin’ around in the dirt with the likes of me “ 

“ Oh to hell with being proper if it means I get to feel like this “ you said with a small laugh and he kissed you again for what felt like the millionth time. He wondered if you could taste yourself on his lips, smell the heady delicious smell of you on his beard.

He would’ve been more than happy to leave it at that. No matter how badly he wanted to sheath himself inside you and stay there for eternity. His goal had been your pleasure and he had achieved it. 

But as he kissed you your hands began working at the buckle of his gun belt, opening it with a skilled ease that made him pull back. 

“ Darlin’ you ain’t gotta do that- “

“ shush “ you pushed at him lightly so you could sit up and went to work on the buttons on his pants next “ I want to. I- Arthur take them off “ he made far quicker work of his own clothes than he had of yours and you leant back on your elbows to watch him. 

You looked like a pinup girl. Like something he’d seen drawn come to life. Your eyes seemed hungry as you looked at him, dragging down his body and lingering on his rock hard cock. He was practically throbbing with want, the tip an angry shade of pink and leaking precum slightly embarrassingly “ come here. Please. Back down here “ 

He did as he was asked, crawling back over your body as you eyed him greedily. 

“ We really don’t…I mean, If y’don’t wanna- “ his words stuck in his throat as your fingers wrapped around the length of him with a small sigh. 

“ I want you to I just…can I ask one thing? “ he couldn’t get the word yes to escape his mouth, your fingers squeezing him softly in a way that made him see flashes of white in his vision. So he simply nodded “ don’t fuck me. Dutch fucks me, make love to me “ you seemed a little embarrassed at the request. But he didn’t think it was embarrassing. In fact he had had no plans to use you as brutally as Dutch. He was almost a little offended you thought he might. 

“ Told you, anythin’ you want. You got it “ you smiled softly and pressed another kiss to his lips before laying back down again. He positioned himself over you, caging your head in between his arms. And it truly was incredibly intimate. He wondered when the last time you had had such intimacy was. If you’d ever received such a thing from Dutch. 

He spat on his hand and grabbed a hold of his sensitive cock, stroking himself a couple of times to get himself slick. Not that he really needed to, you were already wetter than he’d ever known a woman to be. But the last thing he wanted was your discomfort. He lined himself up with you, eyes trained on your face as he dragged his weeping tip between your folds. You gasped as he caught your clit, still sensitive and alert from your first orgasm. 

“ Arthur please “ you whimpered rolling your hips up against him, so desperate to have him inside of you. 

“ So God damn wet for me “ he murmured “ such a good girl ain’t ya? “ you whined in answer, fingers wrapping around what you could of his bicep and digging your perfectly trimmed nails into his skin “ gonna make you feel so good I promise darlin’ jus’ like you deserve yeah? “ you whispered out a yes and brought your other hand to the back of his neck. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, still running his cock along the length of your slit. Teasing. 

“ Keep looking at me. Please look at me Arthur “ he continued to do as asked. Again. Though his eyes had barely strayed from your face anyway “ I need you so badly “ Eyes locked on yours, he finally pushed into you, he took it slow. Letting you take it inch by inch, watching the look of ecstasy wash over your face. Your eyes fell closed. 

He fought to retain his own composure, overwhelmed by the tight, wet, warmth of your walls enveloping him. He could feel every unique ridge and bump that made your cunt oh so perfect, feel every muscle stretch and contract as you adjusted to him. 

“ god- oh god “ 

“ shh shh easy there. I got ya “ he paused once he was seated inside of you, grabbing at your hip with one hand to angle your hips better. Allowing you to comfortably take all of him in. He waited, let you adjust to his size, not daring to move before he got the go ahead from you “ there you go, look at you, takin’ all of me like that. So good f’me “ you basked in his praise, a dopey kind of smile spreading across your face.

“ so much bigger than him “ you whispered with a small laugh and Arthur couldn’t help the smug smile on his face. Kissing you and touching you and making you come on his tongue had been one thing. But having you like this? Having his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, so unbelievably close together. And to then be told that? To know he was about to do you better than Dutch ever had. Ever could. It felt like the biggest fuck you to the man that had been not only mistreating him of late, but also the goddess of a woman beneath him “ I’m good. You can move. Please move “ 

He didn’t need telling twice. Pulling out almost completely and thrusting back in in one smooth motion. The pace he fell into was just as you’d asked. Loving. Tender. But hard and deep, making sure his hips were flush with yours with every stroke. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulled his face back down to kiss him again. 

If anyone had spotted you they’d have easily mistaken you both for a lovesick couple having a private moment to yourselves. The entire thing intimate and passionate. No one would assume it was an affair in motion, hidden away in the woods by the shoreline in fear of your lover finding the pair of you there. 

But it was what you wanted. What you had needed. And he felt privileged to provide. 

He pulled back from your lips to watch you again, enthralled by the way your face relaxed and twisted in the pleasure he was providing you. You continued to spill those angelic sounds from your throat, growing breathier and higher pitch as he continued to drag his cock against the sopping, sensitive heat of your cunt. He had to focus hard not to finish in seconds. So much build up paired with being practically celibate for months was truly doing him no favours, but he focussed. He wasn’t letting this end until you came once more. You deserved it. 

“ Keep those pretty eyes on me “ he murmured as they fell closed again “ that’s it darlin’, look at me there ya go “ everytime he spoke the slightest word of praise you practically beamed, so desperate to hear it. To be told you were good. Beautiful. So different to Dutch constantly yelling at you about how annoying you were, how much your mere presence bothered him these days. So he kept it up. 

“ Doin’ so well for me. This pussy it’s perfect, ain’t that right? C’mon tell me “ he urged, still fighting off his ever looming orgasm. The sounds alone was enough to make him want to burst. Sweat slicked skin on skin, the wet sounds of your cunt dripping around the swollen intrusion of him. And those sweet sweet moans of yours. 

“ yes “ you whimpered “ it’s perfect “ 

“ That’s a good girl “ he increased his pace ever so slightly and your hands slipped from his arms to his back, dragging your nails down him to try to pull him impossibly closer to you. 

He moved a hand down between your bodies, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, grunting and choking back his own moans as you squeezed him. Like your body never wanted him to leave, gripping his cock with your cunt and making it ever more harder to hold back. He couldn’t help but have a look, glancing down to see the way you stretched around him, mesmerised at the way you took him in so deep. 

“ tell me I- oh. Tell me I’m beautiful “ you whimpered, sounding almost like you might cry. From pleasure, from upset. He didn’t know. But he continued to do as asked. 

“ you’re beautiful “ he murmured picking up his pace a little more, his sweat slick skin slapping against yours. He was desperate to see you come again. Wanted to see your face up close this time, watch your eyes roll back and your kiss swollen lips part in ecstasy “ so beautiful darlin. Doin’ so well f’me, takin’ me so well “ 

“ don’t stop, don't stop “ he dropped his head to your neck whispering every word of praise he could think of into your ear, your body arching up against his and whimpering and whining with every word. 

“ ain’t ever looked prettier than this “ he whispered, his own voice becoming breathless with the effort “ shit- look at ya, takin’ my cock so well. So pretty darlin’ “ 

Your second orgasm seemed to shock you as much as him, clawing at his skin to hold him close as your body trembled beneath him, biting at his shoulder to muffle your moans. 

He didn’t mean to finish inside of you, had fully intended to pull out. But the way your cunt had squeezed him, the sounds you had made as he pushed you over the edge for the second time.

He muffled his own groan of pleasure in your neck, fingers digging into the dry earth beneath you, spilling load after load whilst fully sheathed inside of you. His entire body tensed, a pleasure he hadn’t felt in an incredibly long time. His heart was hammering in his chest, blood rushing loudly in his ears as it seemed to drag on forever. 

And then he came to his senses. 

“ m’sorry. Shit. Sorry “ he panted as he tried to compose himself and pushed himself up onto his hands to pull out. But you yanked him back down, arms wrapping around his back again and legs tightening around his waist. 

“ no. Please. Stay. Stay right there. Just a moment would you “ he had come to realise in the past.. how long had you two even been out there? However long it was, he’d come to realise he was terrible at saying no to you. Could never possibly even dream to deny you of anything you wanted from him. And so he slumped back down onto his forearms, dropping his head against your shoulder for a moment. Your chest heaved beneath him and you caught your breath, fingers tracing gentle strokes along his spine. He felt he could stay there for hours. 

“ You doin’ okay? “ he asked, pressing a light kiss to your jaw when he had composed himself a little more. 

“ marvellous Mr Morgan “ you whispered with a small smile “ truly. Marvellous “ he couldn’t help but kiss you again, the long lingering kind meant for two lovers. 

After a few minutes you both finally moved, re dressing in silence and then sitting back in your original position against the tree. He handed you a cigarette, lighting it and placing it between your lips. 

He wondered what he looked like. Wondered what evidence you had left on him. Had he sweated off the lipstick prints on his chest or were they still there? He knew you had scratched his back up good and proper and would have that reminder there for a few days at least. 

“ Thank you. Mr Morgan '' you said quietly after a few silent moments of smoking, blowing out a long stream of smoke “ I mean it I- i'm not sure what I’m supposed to say “ 

“ Don’t say anythin’ “ he said with a small wave of his hand, appearing as blaise as he possibly could but in reality knowing he wasn’t about to forget that night anytime soon “ its fine. Really. Anytime y’need me, for anythin’, you know where I’ll be “ you smiled and he watched your body relax a little more. 

“ you know, i might just take you up on that “ 

He sincerely hoped you would. 

[kaleidohscopic]

IN THE DYING SUMMER SUN — BBH

PAIRING: baekhyun x female reader SUMMARY: a weekend up at the beach house might just be enough to make you crack and come clean about your little (big, fat) crush. alternatively, park chanyeol is possibly the worst wingman ever. GENRE: friends to lovers! au, crush! baekhyun, romance, fluff, a pinch of angst, pining, humour WARNINGS: swearing, alcohol consumption, sexual tension!!, slightly suggestive, reader and baekhyun are both kind of clueless tbh WORD COUNT: 9.4k NOTE: happy birthday baekhyun!! thought it would be fitting to start off this blog with a fic for bbh on his birthday. this was supposed to be a 4-5k piece of fluff but somehow it ended up being double that and a lot more serious than i originally intended (oops?). kinda nervy posting such a long fic for the first time ever so feedback is most certainly welcome and i hope you enjoy!

“You definitely rigged this.”

Chanyeol only rewarded you with a shit-eating grin.

The scrap of paper couldn’t weigh more than a few grams, but in your hands, they felt like the barbell plates at the gym that he could never leave alone. Especially since a certain someone was also holding another scrap of paper with ‘ground floor twin room’ hastily scrawled across it.

You shook your head vehemently, fixing the tall boy with a dagger-like stare that he seemed completely unfazed by. “I demand a redraw.”

“Which is not going to happen,” was his gleeful response. “We all agreed — no take-backs before picking.” The hat that you had all drawn out of, now empty, was tossed on the coffee table as everyone else began to move their bags into their freshly chosen rooms. Somewhere down the hallway, Jongin tripped over the wheels of his suitcase, his pained groan and Kyungsoo’s laughter bouncing against the walls of the AirBnb.

“Besides,” Chanyeol continued, hand coming up to ruffle your hair, “if I had actually rigged it, you should be thanking me. I’d be doing you a favour.” He gestured towards Baekhyun, who was busying himself with packing his hoodie back into his duffle bag, hopefully oblivious to the fact that the two of you were conspiring about him less than three metres away. 

“Yeah, say it any louder, why don’t you. And no, that wasn’t an invitation,” you warned, catching the wicked glint in Chanyeol’s eyes. He opened his mouth, as if to make good on your request and let the whole house know, only to choke back a groan at the elbow you shoved into his side. Behave, said the glare that you shot at him. His replying smile was anything but reassuring, before he picked up his bag and headed upstairs.

That was what you got for getting a little too drunk at Jongdae’s housewarming get-together last month and accidentally slipping up about your big, fat, debilitating crush on Baekhyun after the third glass of pinot noir in one night. If it had been anyone else made aware of your juvenile secret, you would probably be feeling a little less uneasy — but it just had to be the one person who couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. Not to mention Park Chanyeol was a terrible wingman, having heard about the ridiculous escapades he put Jongdae through before he finally cuffed his girlfriend. Lucky for you, you were now getting to experience it first-hand.

“I can ask Jongin to swap, if you really don’t want to room with me,” came a soft voice from your right. Baekhyun regarded you with an expectant, if somewhat hesitant expression. 

“No, it’s okay,” you replied, trying your best to mask the panic that was fighting its way into your voice. It would be just your luck, that he would think your reluctance to share a sleeping space with him was because you didn’t like him enough, and not that you liked him a little too much. The slight furrow in his brow seemed to melt away with your words. “I just wanted the big room with the queen bed, but somehow Chanyeol got it. I seriously think he did something to these,” you said, waving your slip of paper that matched the one he was holding.

Come to think of it, you and Baekhyun had also been the last ones to draw out of the hat, since Chanyeol had insisted on going counter-clockwise around the dining table. How he managed to game the room allocations was beyond you, but you were now almost certain that he did.

“It’s good that he’s by himself though. The snoring would drive anyone mad,” Baekhyun mused, and you had to chuckle in agreement. 

“That time he passed out at my place after Saturday drinks…I genuinely thought I’d end up with a murder charge that night.” you said, chest squeezing at the way his eyes crinkled into crescent moons at your words. You busied yourself with your own bag, hoping he wouldn’t see the dumb smile on your face, and be able to tell how pleased you were to have teased a laugh out of him. Laughter was not something he usually withheld — he gave it freely, if not a little too generously — but it always did a funny thing to your heart when you were the cause of it. 

“Definitely can’t have that. Pretty face like yours would not last a day in jail.” With one hand around his own duffle, he draped the free one around your shoulders, letting the warmth of his arm wrap around you as you headed down the corridor to the room you’d be sharing for the weekend.

Having a crush on Baekhyun was no big deal. Probably even normal, if his college days were anything to go by. But what made it so debilitating was things like this — the little comments he’d throw around that could easily be passed off as just friendly flirting if you were so inclined, though you sometimes let yourself imagine his intentions came more from the flirting than the friendly part. He was a generally touchy person too, never missing a chance to pat Kyungsoo’s ass when the opportunity arose, but sometimes the brush of his fingers against the inside of your wrist felt a little too affectionate for two people united solely through friendship, even if you were the only one who internally crossed that line a while ago. It was things like this that made you question, every once in a while, if your feelings were as one-sided as you believed. Most of the time though, you chalked it up to his disposition, his easy-going magnetism, and concluded that whatever signals you thought he was sending were merely due to your overactive imagination running wild with hopes that he felt the same way.

“Dibs left,” he said, plopping down on the twin bed closer to the window. His arms raised above his head in a long, yawning stretch, revealing a thin strip of skin at the waistband of his jeans. Just the sight of it was enough to control your blood, sending a rush of it to your face, and you internally cursed yourself for being so weak to such a small thing. It was obvious you had been alone for way too long. He was too comfortable to notice the flush on your cheeks, eyes shut and enjoying the tension leaving his body after the long drive up.

You sat yourself down carefully on the remaining bed, noting the gap between the two mattresses. Whether you wanted to push them together or against opposite walls of the room, you couldn’t be sure. It was hard to form coherent thoughts when he turned to you with a boyish playfulness that curled the corner of his mouth upwards.

“You’re not going to sleepwalk your way into my bed, are you?” he asked, chin in his hand, a teasing glint in his eyes. You tried hard to catch yourself from choking on your own saliva.

“I’ve been known to kick in my sleep,” was your reply, voice much more nonchalant than you thought you were capable of, given that he had just planted the seed of the two of you sharing a twin mattress that was definitely not big enough to lie down on without touching in at least three different places. The glint in his eyes faded immediately, giving way to thinly-veiled concern at the threat underlying your words.

“I was kidding,” you clarified when he sat up and started to back away from you. “At least, I haven’t done that for fifteen or so years. But you never know, it might come back again tonight, when you’ve finally fallen asleep, and then BAM! Foot to the face. You better sleep with your eyes open, Byun Baekhyun,” you warned, giggling at the realisation dawning over his face before his pretty features settled into mock annoyance.

“You just think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He was on all fours now, making his way towards you with a wolfish grin. In no time, he had crawled over the gap between your two beds and suddenly his fingers were prodding at your ribs. It was a well-planned tickle attack, and one you had no chance of escaping from, since his legs had caged you in and the rest of him was pinning you down. You were helpless against the ambush of his fingers, succumbing to them with gasping giggles, punctuated by desperate pleas for him to stop. He showed no intention of letting up, fingers digging even deeper into your waist.

If you were going to die like this, you thought, at least you’d be dying while lying under him.

“When you two are done canoodling, we’re going to go set up on the beach,” came a voice from the doorway. Baekhyun’s merciless fingers paused, and the two of you looked back to see Chanyeol’s amused face at the foot of your bed, smirking like he knew some big secret that neither of you were privy to. God, you were seriously regretting that third glass at Jongdae’s new apartment last month.

Baekhyun turned back to you, your noses almost touching, and you could feel the air from his exhales fanning against the skin of your cheek. There was a mole just above the corner of his mouth that you don’t think you had ever noticed before. Warmth from his jean-clad legs radiated into your hips and meandered up and down your spine, and suddenly the late summer air around you was becoming sticky and heavier than usual. 

As if just now noticing the proximity you were in, he slowly untangled himself from your limbs, making sure not to crush you in the process. You sat up, still breathless, having just calmed down enough for full inhales again, but so was he, you noted. Surely tickling wasn’t that exertive of an activity? Or maybe you’d put up a better fight than you had thought.

“Don’t forget your towels,” was the last thing Chanyeol said before he ducked out, yelling at Jongin to grab the beach umbrellas, not the rain ones. There were a few seconds just filled with the sounds of your slowing breathing.

“I’m going to go get changed,” Baekhyun said, turning around to dig through his bag for his swim shorts. You couldn’t see his expression, but you could hear the slight tremble in his voice that indicated he hadn’t quite recovered from whatever was afflicting him. “We’ll probably just be setting up the umbrellas, so no rush, just come down when you’re ready.” As he turned around to head towards the bathroom, he flashed you that familiar smile, the one that always resulted in one of your own to mirror his, and set you at ease again. 

“And make sure you bring your sunscreen,” he added, before disappearing down the hallway. You watched him go, throwing yourself back onto the bed with a frustrated groan once you were sure he was out of earshot. Two whole days and nights in this tiny room, in the languid death of summer, with his body just an arm’s length away from yours — you had no idea how much of this you could stomach and emerge with your sanity intact.

This was shaping up to be the longest weekend ever.

The afternoon sun was unforgiving when you emerged from the house. Though you had thrown on a cover up before leaving, you could feel the heat tingling on the surface of your skin through the thin cotton. From the top of the bushy path leading down to the beach, you could already hear the tell-tale signs of a competition brewing between the boys, even if you couldn’t quite see them yet. A few steps down and you could make out their figures, managing to catch the view of Chanyeol flipping backwards off the jetty before plunging into the water, where the rest of them were bobbing around. Baekhyun’s voice floated above the others the way it always did when he was teasing, liltingly distinguishable, though perhaps that was only because you were now so attuned to it that other voices naturally started to sound more foreign. 

It was hard to pinpoint exactly when he went from Baekhyun, your friend who tended to get a little too rowdy after half a can of beer, to Baekhyun, your friend who made your heart pick up a little faster when you thought of him. One day his hiccuping laugh was teetering on the edge of obnoxiousness, and then all of a sudden it became endearing to hear the raw joy in his voice. If you knew exactly when the switch flipped, maybe you’d be able to retrace your steps and stop yourself from ever setting off down this path to end up where you were now, watching the sunlight glisten against his wet face with an overwhelming affection, wondering what it would be like to be the private audience of his radiant smile everyday.

You set your things down on the sand next to the pile of clothes and towels that were already there, recognising Chanyeol’s hat somewhere in the mix. The beach umbrella that Jongin had set up was already beginning to lurch towards one side, the brim rather close to the ground. Fixing it back in place and digging it into the sand a little deeper, you let out a fond laugh — some things, like the way Jongin used his hands like they weren’t his own, would stand the test of time. 

You had hoped that your friendship with Baekhyun would be one of those things, but the more time you spent casting longing glances his way when he wasn’t looking, the more you weren’t sure if you could ever recover from his rejection if you ever did decide to be honest about your feelings towards him. So you did your best to bury them, content to enjoy his company in the way you were both familiar with, afraid that if they did surface, they’d taint your friendship with something unpleasant and irreversible. If you couldn’t own the sun, at least you could still revel in its warmth.

Satisfied with the position of your towel underneath the shade of the umbrella, you looked back at the water, returning Baekhyun’s sweeping wave with a small one of your own. It was just enough of a distraction for Chanyeol to turn around as well, and Baekhyun seized the opportunity to dunk him, gleefully howling as the taller boy’s head disappeared below the waves. Before Chanyeol could resurface and enact his retaliation, Baekhyun was already making his escape, swimming towards the shore with fearful determination. Chanyeol made to follow, but upon seeing you sitting on the beach with your eyes fixed on Baekhyun’s approaching figure, he thought better of it, turning back around to continue the diving evaluation as Jongin took his turn to leap off the jetty.

With an amused smile, you watched as Baekhyun hurried out of the ocean, wet hair flying in all directions and flicking droplets of seawater across the sand. The water trickled down the planes of his bare torso, and you tried to keep your eyes away from the firmness of his pec, or the flexing movements of his abdominals as he made his way over to you. One thing was for sure — the gym sessions with Chanyeol were paying off. 

When he finally reached you, Baekhyun slumped onto your towel, ignoring your protests for him to stay away, and proceeded to soak you in the remaining water that was still clinging to his body. The skin of his stomach was cool against your calf, and he giggled delightfully at your attempts to push him off to avoid getting more water onto your clothes.

“Stop trying to fight it, you’re going to get wet when you go in anyway,” he said, finally rolling off you.

“I wasn’t planning on going in. I’m scared you’ll try to drown me,” you huffed, lightly flicking some sand onto his shoulder with your toe. He turned back around, chin cradled in his left hand, and flashed you a boyish smile.

“I would never do that,” he said, though the glint in his eyes was anything but convincing. “Besides, what are you going to do at the beach if you’re not getting in the water?”

You picked up the book nestled in between your shoes and waved it at him. “Read, of course.” He regarded the worn paperback with amused disbelief, eyebrows slightly raised. It was only when you flipped the book open to the paperclip you’d been using as a bookmark that he realised you were serious, and let out a scoff that was laced with something akin to fondness.

“You are such a cliche. Pretty girl reading at the beach? Unbelievable, seriously,” he said, before wriggling his head into your stomach, relishing in your shocked squeals as your cover up began to dampen again. His mischief had left a few wet patches on the fabric that were beginning to stick to your body in the uncomfortable fashion of late summer. You reached for the hem, pulling it off not without some struggle, and immediately felt the sun kissing against your bare shoulders. Though you were mostly covered by the shade from the umbrella, the last thing you wanted was a blistering sunburn where the straps of your tote bag usually rested, so you grabbed the sunscreen you had so diligently packed and began applying it on the parts of your skin that were exposed.

Baekhyun had gone uncharacteristically quiet. If you had been paying attention to him instead of so attentively rubbing the cream into the underside of your knee, perhaps you would have noticed the way his eyes lingered on you for a little longer than would have been polite. They followed the path your hands took, from the expanse of skin below your neck, across your stomach, and down the length of your legs.

“Do you want me to do your back?” he blurted, his voice a little more strained than usual. He was wearing an odd expression on his face, something you couldn’t quite place, but it was different from the usual playful one you were most well acquainted with. Nevertheless, you agreed, passing him the tube and turning around so your back was facing him.

His fingers were still cold from the water, and you jumped when they first made contact with your skin. He only laughed, squeezing both hands around your shoulders to hold you still before he got back to work again.

The first graze of his hands across your shoulders was tentative. You could feel the heat of him behind your back, the smell of salt and sun clinging to the air around you. His breaths fanned the skin on the back of your neck, sending goosebumps down your arms and legs despite the thick heat of the afternoon. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Slowly, his hands made their way down to your lower back, and it was then that you realised you might be in trouble. His hands pressed against the grooves of your spine, curving ever so slightly around your waist, and if you shivered, he pretended not to feel you tremble in his grasp. 

It was when his fingers slipped underneath the ties of your bikini top that the alarm bells began to go off in your head. His movements were hesitant, fingers stuttering in their dance across your skin before they gingerly pulled the strings aside to spread the sunscreen between the top and bottom halves of your back. It was too much, feeling his warmth, knowing there was only an inch of space between your bare torsos, having his hands on you doing such a thorough job with the task he had assigned to himself. When the tips of his fingers brushed the side of your ribs, just under the edge of the fabric, you couldn’t help the breathy noise that escaped your lips. 

“Actually, I think I left something back at the house,” you said suddenly, words hurriedly running into each other as they tripped over your tongue on the way out of your mouth. Twisting away from his dangerous touch, you bolted to a stand and hoped he’d attribute the pinkness of your cheeks to being outside in the brightness of the afternoon. Your words came out staggered, the slight tremble in your voice betraying the composure you were fighting so hard to maintain. 

Baekhyun’s gaze was careful, if not a little confused. The more his eyes ran over you, the more you were sure that the depth of your feelings towards him were beginning to surface on your face. Another second and he’d be able to tell, he’d figure out the little secret you’d been trying to conceal for the last couple of months. And then you wouldn’t be able to deny its existence anymore. 

So you fled, tossing a rushed promise to be right back over your shoulder before scurrying up the bushy path again. Away from the scrutiny of his eyes, away from the truth you did not want revealed to the world. The ghost of his touch lingered between your shoulder blades and along the ridges of your spine, your body already committing to memory the caress of his skin against yours. You realised then, that it would not be possible to continue living on as usual, now that you knew the taste of his closeness, as fleeting as it may have been.

“I think you should just go for it.”

Your fingers tightened around the glass at his words. Chanyeol’s tone was light and pragmatic, speaking as if the act of unfurling your heart were nothing more than a decision about whether to have steak or pork belly for dinner. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed, bringing the bottle to your lips.

“I’m serious though,” he continued, nudging your arm with the lip of his own beer. “I think you should just tell him, and see what he says. And stop expecting the worst. You’ll never know how things could turn out if you never do anything.”

You let your head fall back to lean on the doorframe you were both standing against, gazing out at the patio that had begun to darken following the sunset. Baekhyun and Jongin were placed at opposite ends of the ping pong table that had been wheeled out of the living room after dinner, neither seeming to mind the soft prick of grass at the underside of their bare feet. Whether the game was proceeding well was difficult to deduce, since both were sporting wide grins and rosy cheeks, courtesy of the glasses in their hands — but judging by the cluster of orange balls around Baekhyun’s feet, you had an inkling that victory would not be his. He didn’t seem to mind yet, laughing gleefully as Jongin swung his racquet too hard and launched a ball over the fence. 

“Not everyone is as good as you when it comes to talking about their feelings, you know,” you said, fixing Chanyeol with a knowing look that was halfway between admiration and resentment. If you only had his courage of expression, perhaps you would’ve put an end to your suffering a while ago. Ripped the band-aid off cleanly instead of peeling away at it, day by day, bit by bit, until it was hanging on by the last of its adhesive. You weren’t sure how much longer your resolve could last, if it would even survive this weekend without snapping under the force of your attraction.

He only shrugged. “You can’t get good without actually doing it.” You pondered his words in the short silence that settled while you both took another sip. He was right, of course, you knew that, but it didn’t make hearing it any easier.

“I think… I’m just scared,” you began slowly. Realising you were about to put his advice into action, Chanyeol turned to you with reassuring and patient eyes, waiting. You took a deep breath, swinging the contents of your bottle back and forth, and continued, “I’m scared that if I do tell him, it’s going to change our relationship and then I’ll lose him completely. At least if I don’t say anything, he’s still my friend, and I get to keep being in his life.”

He regarded you for a moment, brows furrowed thoughtfully, as he decided on his next words. It was no easy feat to try on honesty the way you just did, having so carefully avoided it for your entire life, and he was well aware of it. The slight tremble in your hands was a dead giveaway.

“And I think that’s completely understandable,” he finally said. “There’s always going to be a trade-off, no matter what you choose to do. But I guess you have to weigh up which one means more to you, and if you’re willing to take that risk on the chance that it does work out between you two. I’m only telling you what I think you should do. You’re the one who knows your own feelings the best.”

Another silence fell over the two of you again. Your bottle was nearly empty now, the beer inside already lukewarm from being out of the cooler for too long. Jongin let out a cheer as the ball sailed over his head, landing far behind him on the grass and ignoring Baekhyun’s flagrant attempts at contesting the point. Even under the patio lights, he was still so pretty, cheeks pink and glowy, the shape of his mouth so endearing as it settled into a pout. By now, you were used to the longing, and paid it no mind as it filled your chest with a bittersweet warmth.

“Aren’t you two best friends though?” you asked, the thought suddenly occurring to you. “You’re telling me you don’t know anything about how he feels about… whatever is going on?” The look you gave Chanyeol was suspicious, but he stood strong, resisting your prying eyes.

“I wouldn’t be much of a best friend if I went around blabbing to you about his feelings, would I?” was his response, accompanied by an elusive smile. There was something in his words that lingered in your mind, some important detail you felt as if you had overlooked, but his amused expression gave you nothing to hold onto. “You’re both so clueless,” he chuckled after a beat of your thoughtful silence, downing the rest of his drink.

Baekhyun was skipping over now, having officially lost 18-21 to Jongin, who was heartily celebrating his victory with a series of hoots and giggles. He headed straight for you, hair all messed up from running his hands through it during the game, and a rosy flush to his face, though you weren’t sure if that was from the game or the glass that he had left at the ping pong table. When he wrapped his arms around you and buried his head in your shoulder, you knew that it was probably the latter.

“I lost the game,” he whined, petulant and firm against you. His hair tickled your chin, and you could smell the faint scent of his shampoo from his shower after the beach.

“Are you drunk already?” you asked, trying to mask your breathlessness at his proximity with a few giggles. Baekhyun’s affinity for physical contact was the worst — or best, depending on how you looked at it — when he had alcohol in his system, and it didn’t take much to push him past the borders of sobriety. His ache for touch and affection was most often relieved on you, and you always obliged, gladly and readily letting him take whatever it was he wanted.

The tip of his nose brushed back and forth against your skin as he shook his head. “Just a little, tiny bit,” he said, voice muffled, and you felt the warmth of his breath through your t-shirt.

“Where’s the love for your best friend?” Chanyeol teased, the only one amused at the way Baekhyun had dived straight into your arms without even sparing him a glance. 

The boy in your arms didn’t even falter, only snuggling further into you. “You know it’s because she’s my favourite,” he murmured, lips skimming your collarbone ever so softly as he spoke. The panic onset was instantaneous, and you prayed he was too drunk to pick up on the sudden rapid thundering of your heartbeat inside your chest. You tried to look at Chanyeol for help, but he was setting off across the patio, taking up Jongin on his invitation for a match with the promise that he would wipe the floor with the younger boy.

Baekhyun only hummed contentedly, oblivious to the havoc he was wreaking inside you, tightening his hold around you when you made a half-hearted attempt to wriggle out of his arms. His pink lips set into another rounded pout, brows slightly creased as he pulled back to look at you.

“You know you’re my favourite, right?” he asked, trying to be convincing despite the slight slur to his words. You could only nod, letting a small smile twist the corners of your mouth upwards. Whether he realised or meant what he was saying, you weren’t all that concerned, simply happy to bask in the warmth of his full attention knowing it was probably just nonsensical babble brought on by the drink in his belly. It was so much easier to be close to him when he was like this, hazier, and sure to forget most of what he had said the morning afterwards. It didn’t hurt that you were also starting to feel a little blurrier around the edges, the beer from earlier making its way through your system and leaving behind a pleasant fuzziness that made it all the more tempting to come clean about your feelings. But you weren’t quite there yet, and you had no plans to get to that point tonight.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, he curled back up into you. With your hands around his back, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart, the comfortingly even beat of it through his rib cage. It was so easy to imagine this was the way it had always been, and would always be, so easy to slip into the fairytale you often found yourself fabricating when your one-sided longing became too much to contain. It would be so nice if you could live in this moment forever, you thought. But was this small pocket of peace worth risking your entire friendship?

“I wish you’d stop running away from me,” he murmured, or at least that’s what you thought he said. It was a little difficult to concentrate when his lips were grazing your skin again, lightly feathering across your neck as the words shaped his mouth on their way out of it. 

And then you felt it, the unmistakable and deliberate press of his lips against your collarbone, the gentle pressure and the slight moisture on your skin from it searing through you like a lit trail of gasoline. This time, he had to have heard the stilted gasp that escaped your mouth.

He lifted his head slowly to look at you again, searching your face with glassy eyes — for what, you weren’t quite sure. The only things you were sure of right now were the fiery burn in your cheeks, and the deafening pounding of your heart that echoed between your ears. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, though his expression was nowhere near as apologetic as his words would have you believe. If anything, his gaze on you was almost daring, waiting to see how you’d respond, if you’d shrink back into yourself like you always did when he got too close and crossed that invisible boundary you only danced around. If you’d run away from him the way he had just said he wished you wouldn’t. Or if you’d let him push you over too, just this once.

Seeing the hesitation in your face, he slowly extricated from you, retracting his limbs and warmth until they hung limply by his sides again. Scratched the back of his head. Let his eyes wander around the patio and settle on anything except for you. 

“I’m going to see if Kyungsoo needs any help with cleaning up,” he said quietly, not waiting for your response as he headed back into the house. The drink had made his gait unsteady, and you felt him sway against the doorframe as he brushed past you. A chilling unease began to settle in the pit of your stomach as you watched him go, the shape of his back getting smaller and smaller as he was swallowed by the light of the living room. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, and that there was a possibility it had not been in the direction you had hoped for.

Perhaps the second glass of wine had been a little overambitious, you realised, staring up at the ceiling of your shared bedroom. Kyungsoo had been so excited about the 2012 Shiraz he had brought from home, pouring you a full glass with an enthusiasm he didn’t often display. You couldn’t say no, and you didn’t protest when he refilled it a short while later. If he noticed the faster-than-usual speed with which you drained its contents, he did not show it. Whilst alcohol tended to put people to sleep, it had the opposite effect on you, dangling sleep in front of you like a carrot you could never get a hold of easily, or for long. That second glass of wine was the reason you were lying in bed, not soundly asleep like you wished, but keenly aware of every breath and every movement from the other occupant of the room, only an arm’s length away from you.

Baekhyun had spent most of the night with Chanyeol out on the patio, drinking and laughing under the generous light of the moon. Even if he wasn’t purposely avoiding you, you felt his absence from your side sorely. He didn’t say much during the wind down for bed either, only asking if you wanted the curtains fully shut, to which you gave an affirmative. Still, a sliver of moonlight speared through the gap between them, illuminating the room just enough that if you turned your head to the side, you could make out the outline of his body beneath the covers and acquaint yourself with the familiar curve of his nose.

It was only fair that the wine, having taken your sleep, offered something in return to mark an honourable trade. That something manifested itself in the restlessness of your mouth, which battled against the remaining rationality of your mind. Loose-lipped and anxious, you dug your nails into the palm of your hand, willing the war inside your head to approach a ceasefire. You did not want to make a fool of yourself in the intimacy of this small room. 

However, your resolve could not last for long, corroded by the hours spent without his presence, without the familiar warmth of his touch, without his little comments meant only for you as he pointed out something silly or poked fun at Jongin’s whining. Barely above a whisper, you called out his name, letting your voice permeate the darkness. It was loud enough that he’d hear it above the silence, but soft enough that he could ignore it if he so wished, and you’d attribute his ignorance to the deepness of sleep.

There was a second of silence, which he followed with an answering hum and a shuffle of his legs on the mattress. He was awake, and he was waiting for you to speak.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked the ceiling. 

“No, I’m not mad at you,” was his reply, accompanied by a quiet sigh. He was conversing with the ceiling too, just as reluctant to face you.

Your hands twisted the sheets in dissatisfaction. The even tone of his voice indicated truth, but his answer didn’t explain why he had spent the whole night outside without calling for you even once, when he usually couldn’t last half an hour without pressing into your side and tickling your shoulder to grab your attention. 

“Then what?” you probed, cringing at the whiny edge to your voice. 

He was quiet for a while, letting your words hang in the air, that for a moment you thought he wouldn’t speak, that your brief conversation had already come to an end, and you’d be left with unanswered questions as bedside companions for the night. There was another rustling from his side of the room as he settled himself under the covers.

“Sometimes, I think I want too much from you,” he finally said. He was quiet, but you heard every word with the clarity as if they had been projected through a stereo system. “And you can’t give me everything I want, but that’s not your fault. It’s an indication of my own greed and selfishness more than anything else.”

You kicked around at your sheets to signal your unrest at his words. “I don’t think you are greedy or selfish. At all. At least not with me.” If anything, you were the selfish one, wanting all his smiles and touches for yourself, wanting the entire spectrum of his existence to only ever be shown to you. Your generosity only ever came to light when it was in service of him, gladly letting him take your attention, your time, allocating space in your mind for him and him only. 

Baekhyun only laughed a soft and short laugh at your reply, the sound so different from the usual one filled with boisterous joy that you had grown the most used to. You heard him turn over in his bed to face you. In the quiet darkness of the room, the focus of his gaze flooded over you, and the intensity of it was so blinding you didn’t dare to look away from the smoothness of the ceiling, fearing you’d smoulder into ash the moment you locked eyes with him.

“You know that you are a really important person to me. You know that, right?” he asked, eyes searing into you with the force of a thousand suns. “I mean, everyone else is also important because they’re my friends, but you’re different — you are a special person to me. I don’t see you the way I see Chanyeol, or Jongin, or anyone else.” 

His words were still tinged with the slight slur of the beer from out on the patio, but you could feel the delicate care with which they were chosen and spoken. Something was different about tonight. You could taste it in the thick air between the two of you, feel it in the wire-taut tension stretching across the gap between your two twin beds. Your fingers dug into the comforter, willing the turbulence in your chest to subside.

He paused and took a deep breath, as if bracing himself against something devastating. “I don’t want the same things with them as I do with you.”

You held your breath until you felt the pain of deprivation in your chest.

“But I’ve made peace with the fact that what I want from you, and the way I feel about you, are things I’ll have to carry with me. They’re things I have to bear the weight of alone. I don’t — I would never want you to be uncomfortable, or see me differently.” There was a slight catch in his voice at the end.

You didn’t even know if your lungs were still working while you listened to him speak. There was a surrealness to the night, as if everything had been covered in a blanket of haze and everything that was transpiring was the product of a fever-induced dream, existing on an alternate timeline.

Baekhyun… it didn’t even feel right thinking it.

Baekhyun had feelings for you? And he had convinced himself it was one-sided?

“It’s pretty selfish, isn’t it? Asking you to act like things between us won’t change after everything I just said,” he laughed, but there was little humour in the sound. You finally turned your head to look at him, the wry curve of his mouth catching the moonlight as he gazed at you. He was smiling, the shape of it meant to comfort you, but he could not hide the sadness weaved into the downturn of his eyes. He had always been braver than you, perhaps not in the aspect of riding roller-coasters, but certainly in his ability to be honest and open about his emotions, regardless of whether they were good or bad. 

It was your turn to be brave now, and shed your own fear to meet him where he stood.

“I’ve been seeing you differently for a while now,” you admitted, turning under the sheets to fully face him. You were grateful for the darkness, hoping that it would conceal the heat creeping up your neck and face, painting your cheeks with a hot blush that accompanied the start of your confession. His brows furrowed slightly as he tried to process your words, confusion settling in the crease between them. You held yourself back from reaching out to smooth them over.

“What do you mean?”

“What makes you think you’re the only one who feels this way?” you asked instead, leaving his question unanswered. There was a tremble in your voice as you spoke, and you were sure he heard it above the quiet of your bedroom. It was the closest you could get to telling him without actually telling him about the silent battle that had been raging in your head for the last few months. 

This was it, you thought. He had to know now.

“Am I not?”

The weight of his stare pressed against you, drawing you to him with the tangible pull of gravity. The eyes that roamed your face had replaced their previous confusion with questioning, and a glimmer of something akin to hope. He had never looked more beautiful and devastating than he did right now. You felt the light of dawn breaking over your skin, a promise of something new and good sure to follow. Its warmth simmered within you, staving off the chill of the late summer night with a heat that had you pushing off your covers in a hurried frenzy and rising to sit on the edge of your bed, toes just grazing the floorboards beneath you. Would you still have had the same nerve to face him in the daylight, rough and exposed without the lulling comfort of darkness? Would he still look at you, unpolished and flawed in the clarity of the sun, the same way, with the reverence of man at the sight of an angel? 

Baekhyun mirrored you and sat up on his own bed, slowly, as if not wanting to spook you, fearing you’d run off and retreat back into the confined familiarity of your own head. His knees knocked against yours in the small space between your two mattresses. You jolted at the feeling of his skin on yours, having gone without it for so long that the mere touch was like the first drop of water after emerging from the desert. He made to move away, trying to shuffle across the length of the bed, but stilled at the hand you placed just over his knee, willing him to stay put. Surely, he could feel the beat of your heart thrumming through your fingertips.

It was your turn to be brave now.

Fueled by the second glass of Shiraz and the muted encouragement of darkness, before you could second guess yourself and overthink every possible negative outcome of what you were about to do, you closed your eyes and leant towards him. Slowly, inch by inch, until your journey ended with the soft, tentative press of your lips against his. It was short and chaste, nothing more than a gentle pressure, and you pulled back when you felt his lips part in surprise.

“Does that answer your question?” you whispered, heart in your throat. 

There it was. You had gone and done it. 

His eyes were closed, and in the dim moonlight peeking through the curtain, you could almost make out each of his eyelashes, fluttering dark and soft against the smooth skin of his cheek. For a few seconds, the room was filled only with the sounds of your breathing as you waited for his reaction, for the consequences of your actions and what that meant for your friendship with him. 

Then you heard it — his soft laugh, coloured with appreciative disbelief, and felt the air of it caress your face. The corners of his mouth curved upwards into a small, pleased smile. His eyes blinked open slowly, taking you in with a hunger that had desire curling in the pit of your stomach.

“You are just so…” he began, but you never found out just exactly what you were. He was already pulling you back into him, slotting his mouth against yours like they were always made to fit perfectly together. This time, the kiss was anything but chaste, the sheer force of it enough to scorch your insides down to your bones. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush towards him, and your knees parted around his thighs to adjust to the new position. Your own hands found purchase in the softness of the hair at the nape of his neck, desperate for something to anchor yourself to, in fear that the realisation of this moment would somehow make it slip away.

This was what it felt like to stand unafraid and bare in the light of unbridled wanting, to consume and be consumed by a ravenous appetite with no propensity for satiety. When his hands slipped past the hem of your sleep tank, fingertips grazing across the skin of your lower back, you were sure you could erupt into flames. He swallowed the breathy noise that escaped your lips, tongue brushing against yours as he claimed your mouth with his own. 

This was what it felt like to hold the sun in the palm of your hand.

When you broke apart to catch your breaths, his eyes were bright, lips plump and swollen, chest heaving beneath your hands. Somehow, you had ended up back on his bed, his head against the pillows, hands under your shirt and keeping you close to him with an unforgiving hold. He was gazing up at you with a devotion that made your heart swell even more than it did pulling oxygen back into your lungs.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time,” he admitted, hiding his head into the crook of your shoulder. You felt his abashed smile against your skin and wondered how it could be possible that you had contained all of this, the longing, the yearning, inside you for so long.

“How long?” you asked, hearing the smile in your own voice.

“Since Chanyeol’s birthday, when you wore that brown sweater with the little bow on the back.”

Last year, Chanyeol had gotten everyone together at his place for a nice dinner and wine followed by a binge watch of all the Iron Man movies in one sitting. It was all going according to plan until a quarter of the way into the third one, when he began snoring at his own birthday gathering. The bowl of popcorn was sliding out of his hands and sure to make a buttery mess all over the rug, and that’s when the rest of you decided to turn the television off and call it a night. Sehun and Jongin tasked themselves with getting the birthday boy into bed, and likely collapsed onto it with him immediately after, while Baekhyun had offered you the couch, assuring you he��d be fine with the blankets on the floor. At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it. As chaotic as he could be, Baekhyun was nothing if not kind, and you had been grateful that his kindness had always extended to you over the three years you had known each other.

“But that was more than half a year ago. Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

His fingers prodded into your sides, eliciting a few choked giggles from you. “I didn’t know how you’d react. You know you’re not the most expressive person on the planet,” he said dryly. “Or the most observant. I literally frenched your collarbone and you’re telling me you didn’t realise I liked you more than as a friend?”

“Okay, well when you put it like that,” you huffed, feeling the vibrations of his laugh through his chest. “But you really didn’t know I had feelings for you? Chanyeol never said anything?”

His movements stilled, leaning back into the pillows so he could lock eyes with you again. “You talk to Chanyeol about me?” he asked, to which you nodded sheepishly. “Since when?”

“Last month, Jongdae’s housewarming. He fished it out of me after dinner,” you sighed, picturing his smug grin under the lights of Jongdae’s fancy new kitchen when you realised that you had slipped up and let him in on your little secret. 

“But I talk to him about you.”

You looked at each other for another beat, realisation breaking over the both of you, before dissolving into another fit of disbelieving giggles. Maybe Park Chanyeol did know how to keep his mouth shut after all.

“So he’s a terrible wingman, is what I’m getting out of this whole thing,” Baekhyun chuckled, rolling you over so you were now lying on your side, face to face with him. He planted a slow, sweet kiss on your lips, taking his time to acquaint himself with the shape and taste of your mouth, and you felt the contentment of his smile against you. “I can’t believe we could have gotten together a month ago. Some best friend he is.”

“Gotten together?” you echoed, one eyebrow raised in feigned dispute, delighting in the way his sweet mouth settled into the pout that you adored.

“You mean to tell me that you don’t want to be with me after your tongue was all up in my mouth?”

You pushed his face away, groaning, “Gross, don’t say it like that.” He, however, had different plans, hooking a calf behind your knees and tugging you back into him, before weaving the other leg in between your own.

“You know you like it,” he murmured into your neck, squeezing his arms around you just in case you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. One hand traced absent-minded circles over the grooves of your spine as he breathed you in, warm and familiar against your chest. 

Yes, you thought, you’d risk any and everything for this exact moment. It was worth all the doubt and heartache, all the time spent replaying those moments in your head, unsure of the meaning behind his actions. You could be sure of it now.

“I do,” you agreed, threading your fingers through the softness of his hair. “I probably more than like you,” you added, tilting his face upwards to steal another kiss, giddy and chest swelling with affection. Perhaps you weren’t quite yet ready for that other four letter word, but you had no doubt you would be one day, and soon. He was all too willing to comply, letting his mouth mould against yours with the poise and patience of a saint. 

“I probably more than like you too,” he replied, punctuating his confession with one final kiss to the tip of your nose. It was enough for the serene smile on your face to persist, even past the arrival of sleep.

“I knew it.”

You cracked one eye open, trying to adjust to the light flooding in through the open door to your room. Chanyeol stood at the foot of your bed, grinning from ear to ear with what could only be described as a look of triumph as he took in the scene before him. The boy next to you stirred lightly, digging his face deeper into the pillow, reluctant to leave the realm of the sleeping. Chanyeol was not in the least sympathetic to his friend’s struggles, striding over to the window and pulling back the curtains with a clang. You winced as the full force of the morning sun barged in, and Baekhyun let out a soft noise of displeasure at the intrusion.

“I fucking knew it,” Chanyeol said again, quickly bringing you to your senses as you registered the weight of another body on top of your own. You made to remove yourself from him, fighting the flush creeping up your neck and face, but it was an effort which proved futile as he only tightened the arm around your waist, loath to let you go. 

“Can you be quiet? You’re going to wake the whole house,” you hushed, finally succeeding in untangling your legs from Baekhyun’s, feeling the loss of his warmth immediately.

“They’re already up. I came to call you for breakfast,” Chanyeol replied, the grin seemingly stuck to his face. “Which actually reminds me,” he began, before sticking his head out of the doorway to holler, “You better pay up, Jongin. And you too, Kyungsoo!”

“You bet on us?” came the groggy voice from the pillows behind you.

“What the hell, Chanyeol? I thought you said you didn’t go around blabbing about his feelings!” you exclaimed, indignant.

“To you. I never said anything about telling anyone else,” was his reply, smug and victorious at having outsmarted you.

Kyungsoo appeared in the doorway, donning a flour-covered apron, as if to confirm for himself that he was in fact a debtor to the taller boy. “Even if he didn’t say anything, it wasn’t all that hard to figure out,” he said lightly, surveying the room with curiosity and paying no mind to the shock painted on your face. How had everybody known about your now not-so-secret crush on Baekhyun except for the man himself? “Anyways, I only said that it would be unlikely to happen over this weekend, not that it was impossible. So Jongin is the only loser. Now come for pancakes.” And with that, he headed back towards his bowl of batter on the kitchen counter, chuckling at the sound of Jongin’s complaints against fulfilling his end of the wager.

Baekhyun, having somewhat freed himself from the clutches of sleep, rose to a sitting position and shot a drowsy scowl at his friend. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that right?”

But even the expletive could not put a damper on Chanyeol’s mood, his smile never slipping. “You two should honestly be thanking me,” he said, to which you also shot him a glare. “Also, I’m happy for you and everything, but can you please keep the PDA to a minimum in front of the rest of us? I will lock you out of the house if you don’t.”

Baekhyun turned to you, the creases of the frown on his face slowly but surely smoothing out as he took you in, cheeks puffy and hair a mess from having just woken up. He had seen you in worse states, and definitely in better states, but none of that seemed to matter as he regarded you with nothing but fondness in his eyes. You were sure that your expression mirrored his, affection spreading throughout your entire body, reaching even the tips of your fingers and toes, at the sight of his tousled bed head, the sleepy droop of his eyes, the sweet pinkness of his lips. 

The sun was yours. There was no feasible way to stop the smile from blooming across your entire face.

“No promises.”

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Back to Life

human!alastor x human!gnreader

Part 1 of 5+

summary for part: you had just been for a walk in the woods, and now suddenly you’re standing over a historical looking guy with a chipper attitude and… a gun? thankfully he’s here to help you in your bloodied and confused state, but as things play out you can’t help but notice nothing is like it was before your fall, and all you have to trust is the odd grinning man

summary for series: One day when waltzing through the woods a peculiar looking buck led you deeper in, while following, you fell hitting your head and woke to a stranger standing over you. You don’t know where you are, how you got here, or who this guy is, but he’s all you’ve got and he’s utterly insane.

warnings for part: short first chap, lowercase intended; i’m feeling quirkyyy, multiple parts-i put other things aside because my brain is STUCK on human alastor sorry lads ;-;, blood, descriptions of injury, kinda strange stylized writing, i’ve got like a whole story thing planned compared to the other ones-this one’s got a whole plot line. no descriptions of reader- of any kind, no pronouns, i looked up a shit ton of 1920s outfits & speech just for a couple lines lmao, OOC alastor my reasoning behind that is he’s not in hell yet so he hasn’t had that kind of demonic development yet, he’s still a psycho tho and we love him for that, also mommas boy <3, he uses 1920s slang a lot lads, throughout the whole series

warnings for series: homicide, morally grey reader, eventual smut, cannibalism, reader will eat a guy, unknowingly, alastor be doing witchcraft magical madness but it’s never in depth explanations, alastor is a mommas boy and it will be hounded on, annoying 1920s slang, alastor is more accumulated to the era he’s in so he may be OOC 100 years in hell would change a guy, varying descriptions of injuries and blood in detail, takes place in 1927, alastor is 27 oop born in 1899 tho, nothing here is canon, just loosely follows, reader is in their 20s at least; no younger, alastors mom is nameless mostly, maybe later on she’ll have a name; she’s 48, alastor has daddy issues bc same, mimzy may be added later depending,

you remembered seeing a deer while wandering through the woods, you were taking pictures of the scenery when you saw this curious looking deer.

it stood tall with large antlers, a beautiful reddish brown coat, you’d never seen a deer so close. brining your camera up slow you went to snap a picture when your phone crashed, you weren’t even able to get the buck in frame before your phone fizzled out.

the deer started to walk away, but you so badly wanted these pictures. slowly you followed behind, cautious of the leaves and sticks below your feet. you followed it over a fallen tree, through bush and branch. finally you entered an area filled with more foliage, closer trees that blocked off sunlight, more bushes and fallen trees, wild flowers, moss and random mushrooms.

you watched as the buck disappeared behind thick bush, and that’s the last conscious moment you remembered. you woke at the bottom of the hill, when you opened your eyes you didn’t know a thing.

it was like you were a blank slate, everything was as it was; there was no confusion, you were simply in the woods with no worry or question as to why. you laid there, your head lulling from side to side observing the tree covered sky above, the sunlight that shot through the trees highlighting the particles floating through the air.

there wasn’t a sound at all; the animals feared something near. inhaling deeply, you willed your head up, wincing and groaning in pain. suddenly life as you knew it came back to you, you weren’t just a mindless being in the woods, you were you, and you were out here taking pictures and then, fell?

you still weren’t sure what had happened just that you followed a deer and then… fell asleep and woke here. your body ached badly, specifically your forehead, your back, neck and shoulders. it seemed the brunt of the fall was your head, lifting your hand you touched your forehead feeling a flap of skin that wasn’t there before.

looking down at your hand you weren’t surprised to see some blood, in fact the top you had worn had been covered in it. “hello dear, funny place to snooze if ya ask me.” a voice joked, startling you. however your body was too tired to startle, so despite your heart rate increasing, and the jump you felt in your bones, your body remained eerily still, your head slowly turning toward the sound.

standing above you was a man with a soft smile, he wore circluar glasses and the strangest outfit. he wore a coat chestnut brown- a lumberjack coat; strange looking pants that puffed out at the hips, with boots that the pants cinched into them. his hands were covered by gloves, and tiny brown coloured coiled curls popped out from his hunting cap, and on his shoulder a leather strap that allowed a large shotgun to sit on his back.

you were taken aback by his looks, his outfit looked vintage, historical too, and he was, well, gorgeous. “you’re bleeding quite a bit dear, how’s about we getcha up and outta here, hm?” lending his hand to you, the man gave you a charming smile with lidded eyes. you felt something was off about the man, a lingering feeling that something beyond your understanding was telling you to run, get away.

instead you whimpered, pathetically so, and placed your hand into his, letting him hoist you up. he wrapped your arm around him, while he looped his own arm under you, helping you walk. it was hard to do so, your ribs hurt with every breath you took, your head felt like it was floating above your shoulders, your cheeks watered making you swallow constantly, and though you were shivering your body felt ablaze on the inside, like hot coals were lit under your skin.

the man looked down at you, you could see from your peripheral vision he was inspecting you, but you were too pained to care. “how’d you find yourself at the bottom of the hill my dear, someone try to bump you off?” his voice was way too chipper for your current mood, and all you did was mutter a confused ‘huh’ at him, thankfully he laughed that off.

“listen, i’ll take you to my joint my mothers over so we can getcha all patched up, but you’ve gotta spill whatever happened to you if that’s quite alright.” despite the sturdiness in his voice, asserting what was going to happen with expectations, he tone was somewhat kind. dryly you mutter out ‘name?’, your voice raspy and unlike your own. the man chuckled before he responded in a smooth tone. “alastor dear, pleasure to meet you.”

[souperbloom]

being in love. [A.I.]

loosely based on lyrics of the song with the same title, by Wet Leg.

roadie! reader x Ashton

in which you realize your feelings for your boss are a lot more detrimental than you thought they were.

this was supposed to be short and i went overboard. oops! enjoy my first post :^)

CONTENT WARNINGS: tension/slight mental angst, mentions of weed smokin', sex in a somewhat public place/exhibitionism, teasing, fingering(f!receiving), dirty talk, degradation, straight up p in v, insinuation of a creampie, porn with plot basically, filth, filth, FILTH (there is something seriously wrong with me).

WORDCOUNT: 7.9k

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

You couldn’t fucking stand him.

As much as you wanted to believe that statement, your heart, mind, and soul found every which way to make you believe otherwise.

The days you spent with him dragged on. His over the top personality was like a vacuum cleaner that sucked every ounce of life out of you.

And yet, despite your annoyance with his ability to charm his way towards your demise, the days without him felt like a lifetime.

Since the first time you and Ashton hooked up, all you were able to think about, after the fact, were the things that you really shouldn’t have been.

Almost every night without missing a beat, you’d lie awake in bed; staring off at the ceiling through your post-show exhaustion and reminiscing on the hours you’ve spent with him. Sneaking off between down times and show times. For a quick and casual fuck.

You’d think about his terrible jokes, the little speckles of brown lost between the hues of green in his eyes, or his ability to make you feel like nothing in the best possible way.

You thought about them. You thought about him. All in hopes that one day, you’d think about him so hard that he would just vanish.

It was reverse psychology, you thought, a way to turn that fluttering feeling you get when you’re around him into something a little less existential, and more like you had both originally intended.

Something more casual.

You didn’t like the fact that he had this effect on you. He was about as brutish and irritating as the day is long. When it was just the two of you, you wished more than anything that he would stop being so damn’ sweet and charismatic. The thought of him calling you nicknames and whispering sweet nothings in your ear made you want to curl up and die.

But the vital organ pumping blood through your veins begged to differ.

Whenever he was around, the pounding of your heart against your ribcage was so deafening, you were almost certain that he could hear it.

It felt strange to wake up, to lie down, to close your eyes and think about anything else. You couldn’t even eat without the thought of him stirring up nausea in your stomach. It was almost as if nothing you did could satisfy you. Nothing you did was right.

Because any time without him felt so wrong.

There were moments in which you wondered whether or not he could feel it too. You'd catch him staring at you from across the dressing room, his eyes lingering down your frame for a millisecond longer than normal.

But you're never quite able to figure it out. To figure him out. He was a thousand piece puzzle, and you were stuck looking for the last piece between the couch cushions.

"Yo, earth to Y/N. Did we lose ya' again?"

Your trance is broken by the sound of Calum's voice. You had been so wrapped up in your own pity-party that you had completely forgotten that you were in the middle of a conversation.

"Jeez, are we really that boring?" Luke laughs out, leaning back in his seat, "I thought our conversation about green tea was quite compelling."

"Sorry, sorry..." You try to snap yourself out of whatever God forsaken rut you've dug yourself into, covering up the awkward silence with the clearing of your throat. "...I guess I don't like green tea as much as I thought I did."

"I'm with Y/N on this one. Green tea is fucking disgusting." Michael comes to your rescue with his reply, which practically had you kissing his shoes as a thank you for saving my ass.

"You guys clearly have no taste. It's simple." Luke shrugs, taking a sip of his ice water. "I know if Ashton was here he'd be on our side, right Cal?"

Calum nods his head, "Speaking of Ashton... where the fuck is he? He said he'd meet us..." he pauses his sentence to look at his phone, "...like, an hour ago."

The pit of your stomach lurches at Calum's observation. He was right. Ashton had said he'd be down in the lounge... after he took a quick shower.

But then again, a quick shower was one of those double entendres in you and Ashton's world. Was he waiting for you? Did you misread his subtle glance after he walked right past you when you tried to hand him his water?

Or maybe that wasn't the case. Maybe you’re just overthinking things.

Maybe he just looked at you because he's your boss and you're his roadie; who he just so happens to fuck from time to time.

That's all it was. That's all it ever will be.

"I can go look for him?" You blurt, immediately wanting to smack yourself in the face for sounding so small.

"You don't have to do that, Y/N. He'll find his way down eventually." Michael sighs.

"He's like a ghost, dude... He disappears for hours. Doesn't answer his phone. Then suddenly, POOF, he appears out of thin air. It's fuckin' witchcraft, I think..."

Calum's comment earns a roaring laugh from the rest of the guys, but you weren't at all laughing. You were too busy debating walking out of the door and hoping they wouldn't notice you were gone.

"I don't think I believe in ghosts..."

Another dumbass conversation ensues.

"Are you kidding?! Since when did you stop believing in ghosts?!" Luke seems genuinely offended by Michael's admission.

And yet, you were stuck there. Wanting to rip your hair out as a giant cloud of sex-driven frustration rained down on you.

"Speaking of ghosts," you can't help but interject, speaking a little louder than you had originally anticipated, "I think I’m gonna go look for Ashton. He's probably off haunting the bar down in the lobby…"

"Well, if you insist," Calum says, saluting you, "good luck, ghost hunter."

As you exited the lounge with no issue and let the boys be boys, you thought to yourself.

Hm, getting out of there was a lot easier than I had anticipated.

But what you hadn't anticipated was the sheer speed in which your feet would pound against the floorboards once you started off down the hall. For you knew just where to look for him.

You were on a mission. A mission to find Ashton, in hopes that he could be the one to free you of the confines of your frustration. In the best way you both knew how.

Once you made it to the elevator corridor, you had to take a moment. To collect yourself and think... what the fuck are you doing?

Did you really think that fucking Ashton would get your mind off of the romantic connection you so desperately craved in him? Did you really think this was the best idea you've ever had?

The answer was no. You knew that this whole ordeal would dig your metaphorical grave ten feet deeper. But you honestly didn't have the energy to care. This witch hunt has turned into merely a way to get off.

Just like God intended.

You step into the elevator, already knowing your way around this hotel like the back of your hand after only being stationed here for a few days.

As the elevator made its' trip up to the rooftop, your senses were heightened. The elevator dings sounded like sirens and the climbing of floors was pushing down on you, making you feel as though the oxygen in your lungs was being forced out by the altitude change.

Your symptoms couldn't be explained by anything other than Ashton, as much as you hated to admit it. It was typical for you to feel this way whenever you answered to his beckoning call.

Just a quick and casual fuck. Quick. And casual.

You tried to focus your mind on those two words. Forcing your conscious out of habit and tricking yourself into believing them.

But as soon as the elevator door slid open, those two words were nothing but dust in the wind.

All you could see in the darkness of the twinkling summer sky was the curve of Ashton's shoulder, highlighted slightly by the patio lights. He was looking out past the glass that surrounded the rooftop, off into the New York City skyline.

You froze up upon seeing him, barely managing to step across the elevator threshold without vomiting all over your shoes.

There were remnants of smoke lingering in the air around him, a familiar, earthy smell touching your nose upon piecing your two senses together.

Before you could tell your brain to step forward, Ashton's head turns to face you. You finally get a look at him, a good look at him.

And fuck, did he look divine.

His hair was partially wet, rogue curls hanging lowly on his forehead with that post show gleam still laced throughout his features. He scratches at the stubble on his chin, a droplet of water dripping down his temple upon doing so.

"Y/N," he leered, the blank expression that once painted his face now lifting into a smirk.

"Ashton," you reply; although small talk is the last thing you wished to be having at the moment.

"Where've ya' been?" he asks, leaning his arm to rest against the back of the couch he was sprawled out on.

"The lounge... The guys are down there waiting for you, y'know." You try to divert the attention away from yourself. But you knew for a fact that you were the only thing on his mind right now.

His eyes scan your body. Up, and down. Up, and down. Like he was stuck in some sort of trance. "Well, that's funny, isn't it. Because I've been up here… waiting for you."

You fuckin’ knew it.

"And how was I supposed to know that?"

He pauses, thumbing at his chin, "I'm not sure, actually... 'Thought you would've had me figured out by now."

It was taking everything inside of you not to run over there and smack the shit out of him for being such a snarky asshole. But you were well aware of the dynamic between you two; this type of banter wasn't out of the ordinary.

"You just gonna stand there and stare at me, honey?" Ashton remarks, calling you by that nickname that makes your stomach hurt and revealing his hand from behind the couch; a lit and half-smoked joint plucked between his fingertips.

Without another word, you walk over to him, slowly starting to display more and more of his body laid out on the couch.

He had on a loosely fitting Hawaiian shirt, one of the ones with only half the normal amount of buttons, and a pair of grey sweatpants. To contradict the tone of the outfit and make it totally clear to you where his head was at when he put them on.

The Hawaiian shirt hung off of his shoulders, revealing his collarbone decked out in beaded necklaces and braided silver chains.

You wanted more than anything to take those chains between your teeth as he hovered over you, pinning you down and fucking into you like you were the last two people on Earth.

Sidetracked, Y/N. You’re getting sidetracked.

When it came to hooking up, you and Ashton had discovered a natural rhythm. A routine, of sorts, consisting of unspoken demands and a whole lot of Ashton holding the reins.

No need to give orders, or ask for more. You both knew what you wanted and exactly how to get it.

But that routine so deeply instilled in you had seemed to vanish as soon as you stepped in front of him.

Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth as you teetered from side to side, just admiring Ashton in all of his residually high glory. You wanted to say something, but couldn't bring yourself to say anything else but these two words:

"Fuck me."

His eyes widen in shock. Amusement, even. The joint between his fingers dwindling down to the roach and leaving ashes in the wind as he lets out a quiet chuckle.

"Y/N, I—"

You cut him off abruptly, "It wasn't a fucking question, Ash."

You didn't mean to come off so bossily, but at this point you were willing to do anything to forget about the weight that came with having alleged feelings for him.

Even if that something was letting him fuck you until you cried.

"Right here?"

"Yes." Your heart was racing.

"Right now?"

"Yes." Reminiscent of a heart attack.

And then he does something that makes you even more frustrated than you were before this entire ordeal. He looks at you, without a care, and just… shrugs.

“Works for me.”

You hated that. Oh, you fucking hated that. That cocky, ‘devil-may-care’ attitude. It gets you so worked up that you consider winding up your fist and cracking him the jaw.

But you don’t end up going through with your desires to hurt him at all. Instead, you’re pouncing at him. Scrambling to straddle his comfortably spread legs as he pulls you by your cheeks into a heated kiss.

You sigh upon feeling your lips on his, Ashton just as well. The both of you tend to melt into each other’s palms when your lips connect; which is another reason as to why your head was all fucked up and sideways in the first place.

As the kiss between you grows more primal, you find yourself taking out your frustrations and feelings on Ashton’s bottom lip. You sink your teeth into the soft flesh, tugging it down gently towards his chin.

His hands fumble for the button of your jeans, grunting lowly as he struggles to get it undone.

"Fuck— Get these… Get these damn things off…" The remark flies past his lips, and yours, in a disgruntled huff. You do as you’re told, momentarily disconnecting from him.

When you rise to your feet, being held up by weak, unreliable knees, he looks up. That face of amusement was still painted on, mocking you.

Was he still thinking about your desperate demand? Or was he just enjoying the view?

"Someone’s a little greedy tonight," he says, blowing out a breath and running a hand through his fresh, now sweaty, curls.

"I don’t wanna hear shit from you. You’re the greediest motherfucker alive." You tease back at him, undoing your zipper and shimmying out of your jeans.

"I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you, Miss ‘I never know what I want and I need Ashton to tell me’.”

"I knew what I wanted tonight, didn’t I?" His threats were empty, but you were loving it. You loved to tease, loved to be teased.

"That is true,” he sighs, looking down at the roach he had flicked onto the floor. He stomps it out with his steel-toed boot. "But that’s, what, one time—? Out of the however-the-fuck many times we’ve slept together?"

“You’re making this a lot more complicated than it has to be, Ash. Fuckin’ live a little.”

You were now in your t-shirt and underwear out on this rooftop, telling Ashton to live a little while you’re practically caving in on yourself in embarrassment.

"But, honey... why out here? Why right now?" he asks. Genuinely. Almost sweetly.

You didn't want to admit the real reason as to why you were acting so curtly. The embarrassment of sounding desperate and needy was doing numbers on you already.

"Does there always need to be a reason why?"

You cross your arms over your chest, feeling overexposed. But Ashton’s eyes scan down your frame as if there’s no shame left in the world.

"My apologies for seeming hesitant... You know full and well— I’d do you any time, any place.”

"Is that so?” you quip.

"I don’t think you realize how often I think about having you bouncing on my dick while I’m out on stage performing, so— yes, that is so.”

The way he admits this all so casually makes your stomach turn. You knew he was dirty, but not this dirty. You just assumed he knew that there was a time and place for all of these thoughts.

And the fact that he was thinking about you at all wasn’t making this any easier.

"Well?” Ashton snaps your mind out of the gutter. Ironic.

"Well what?"

"You just gonna stand there in your underwear?"

Oh. Right.

After a moment of blundering awkwardness, you walk towards him timidly, feeling as if your soul was freeing itself from your body as he extends his arms out to hold you.

You make your way back into his lap, digging your knees into the cushions comfortably beside his thighs and letting him run his blistered palm down the side of your face.

His bloodshot eyes find yours like a magnet. Your breath is trapped somewhere in your larynx as his hand continues its journey to your neck.

You felt like you were about to burst at the seams, the tension and friction building between you was like a bottle rocket, ready to set off into the sky.

And with that, exactly on cue, your heart is racing, as he cups your throat between ring finger and thumb. Your rattling ribcage was telling him all he needed to know when the pads of his fingers began to squeeze gently.

You close your eyes, "Ashton..."

"Y/N..." He repeats matching your hushed tone, swallowing the lump in his throat as your noses brush together.

His nose grazes yours with fragility and tenderness, his touch as light as a feather. But you couldn’t stand the space between you two. The clear disconnect between your lips and his.

He seemed to be lingering longer than usual. You found yourself wondering what the hell was going on in his head. Since you had clearly told him what you wanted a long time ago.

"Why aren’t you kissing me?" you ask quietly, still so close to his face that his features had gone blurry.

"Could ask you the same question, honey." His breath fans across your face and suddenly you’re reverting back to your old ways. Back before you were so— demanding.

“Well, not to be clichè, but— you’re meant to take the lead here, Ash.” You say it as if it were obvious, but he disagrees.

"Clearly not tonight."

Now, you were stuck.

You came up here to find him for one reason, and one reason only. To fuck him… to get your mind off of him.

But that all sounded a bit complicated, though. Didn’t it?

"Y/N…" He says your name again, reminiscent of pure honey dripping off of his tongue.

"Hm...?"

God, what is with him and saying your name?

"Is there something on your mind?"

You cock your head, "Would you still fuck me if I said no?..."

Ashton’s eyebrows shoot to his forehead.

"…Even if I wasn’t telling the whole truth?"

He backs away from you, giving you a better look at the confused expression laminated across his face.

"You’re a real card, aren’t’cha?”

His confusion melts into a smile, as he removes his hand from your neck to match his other at your waist. "You know I’d never force anything out of you, Y/N. But— just so you know… Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom."

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his terrible cliché, finding your hand lost in his unruly curls. "You’re such an old man."

He winces, "God— please… Don’t put that picture in my head… It’s killing the mood."

In the brief moment of silence and sweetness shared between you and him, it was taking everything inside of you not to scream at the top of your lungs.

You wanted to scream; Ashton Irwin, I am in love with you. Ashton Irwin, I am in love with you… over and over again.

Until it didn’t mean a thing.

"Not gonna lie to you, honey— M’gettin’ impatient." Ashton lets out a deep sigh, his eyes snapping you out of a downward spiral.

"Right, right. I’m sorry—"

You cut yourself short by reconnecting your lips to his. You missed this feeling, even after only a few minutes; something inside of you dies every time you pull away from him.

He pulls your waist into his torso, pushing you down and grinding you against the already hardened length in his sweatpants. The wildly thin material left no room for the imagination, as it was now creating friction against your wet panties.

"Fuckin’ hell, Y/N—" Ashton mumbles through your lips, and you just sigh. You sigh into him like putty in his hands, creating a rhythm of swiveling hips and only furthering the fireworks that were occurring in the pit of your stomach.

He removes one hand from your waist, blindly finding the waistband of your underwear like it was some mindless, natural instinct.

Muscle memory is a damned thing.

Detaching your lips from his, you whine. "Ash, please—"

You wince internally at how needy you sounded. How desperate and completely disheveled you’ve become at his touch. Yet the blistered pads of his fingers continued to trace slow, taunting patterns along your bikini line.

But as your breathing becomes more erratic, Ashton reads you like the book he already knows so well. Front page to back, cover to fucking cover.

He dips two fingers down into your underwear, attaching them to your sensitive bud.

You writhe above him, but he keeps you grounded, anchoring his hand on your waist with his forehead pressed against yours.

His eyes flutter closed in delight. "So fuckin’ wet for me, yeah? This’ all for me, honey?"

It felt like he was mocking you. Of course it was for him. It was all for him. Anything you ever did was for him. Any feelings you’ve felt, thoughts you’ve had, stories you’ve told… they were all for him.

You can only bring yourself to nod.

"Good, good…" he sighs, breathlessly, "Gonna’ take me so easy tonight…"

He continues his rhythm. One finger circling your clit while the other ghosts over your entrance. Heavenly sighs fall from your lips. You want to close your eyes, you want to enjoy the sensation as it were.

But you just couldn’t look away.

"Look at me, Ash."

A bout of confidence rolls through your veins and you aren’t quite sure where it was coming from, but you had no complaints. Your foreheads being pressed together was making you antsy.

His features were still blurry through glossy eyes, which you didn’t really like. You wanted to get a good look at him before you tried to dismiss these feelings, and pretend as though he meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

He does as he’s told, and backs away from you. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he took in every single feature, etching, God knows what else, on your face.

"You know how fuckin’ beautiful you are, Y/N?— Always so good for me… like an angel… heaven sent."

Those words unleash something inside of you. Tears begin to brim at your lower lash line and you’re suddenly reminded of the feeling that you are so desperately trying to forget.

Existing in this world with him felt so strange. You truly believe he was sent down to Earth to smite you and haunt your memories.

And hearing him call you an angel didn’t help a damn thing.

The words you utter next come out just above a whisper. Your throat feels gravelly, and dry. Like you hadn’t drank water in years.

"Fuck me, Ashton. Just— fuck me, please—"

"M’gettin' there," he grunts, ignoring your plea and still chipping away at your decorum with his bare hands.

You let out a loud, high pitched mewl as you feel his two fingers now inside of you. He always took his time when it came to pleasuring you, always making sure that you’d be the one getting off first, even if he didn’t get the chance to.

Now, you’ve found yourself thinking in depth about just how thoughtful he is.

Jesus fuck, give it a rest.

"You know how much I adore those sweet sounds you make. But you’ve gotta be a tad bit quieter for me, alright angel?"

Oh god, you thought, this nickname better not become a recurring thing. You weren’t even sure you’d be able to fathom the thought of him thinking of you so highly.

"Okay, oh— fuck, Ashton"

Your brain was moving at a mile a minute. While trying to be quiet and simultaneously losing your head in the process, a smirk slides across Ashton’s face. He picks up on the signs, he notices your movements on his lap becoming more and more frenzied.

You knew you were close. He knew you were close.

Oh, of course he fucking did. He knew you like the back of his hand.

"Ash, I’m close… Please—" You begged empty pleas, finding stability with your hands clasped around his neck as you jerk forward with that fluttering feeling.

"I feel it comin’. Bein’ so— so good… C’mon— give it to me."

His two fingers thrust in and out of you while a third circled your clit. You wanted to scream, but he told you to be quiet. You wanted to kiss him, but you couldn’t pull yourself away from the purely concentrated, almost sadistic look in his eyes.

"That’s my girl… that’s my fuckin’ girl…"

The sounds of your wetness boom through your head along with the sounds of his praise, slowly meshing into a garish ringing in your ear. The butterflies once encased in the pit of your stomach had set free, fluttering along your body as Ashton’s rhythmic fingers come to a slowdown.

"Fuck!" You cry out, as your body collapses into his chest.

You could feel his ribcage shake with laughter, as he takes that free hand of his to rub your back. Your head is tossed over his shoulder as you manage your breathing.

"…Is that all you’ve got in you tonight?"

You could barely hear his voice over the ringing in your ears, as you heave like this was the last breath you’d ever take. He then removes his fingers from inside of you, causing you to jolt, still sensitive from the electricity coursing through your veins just moments before.

"N—no…" You stutter into his neck.

"You sure?"

"Uh-huh."

Your head was still spinning while you tried to cool down. The temperature of your bodies entwined was like a hot stovetop, setting your skin ablaze. But you couldn’t find it in you to lift yourself up from the crook of his shoulder.

You liked it there. It was comfortable. It felt natural.

After a few moments of silence and messy breathing, you lift your head up.

"All good now?" He asks, running a hand down your waist.

"I think so... Almost knocked me out with that one Ash, not gonna lie."

All he does is laugh, before hovering the two fingers he had used to unravel you with in front of the both of your faces.

"See this?" He examines his fingers, still glistening with your secretions, "Is this what I do to you?"

Your jaw falls open slightly, "Wh—"

He takes a moment to think to himself, pushing his lips to the side while you just watched in complete awe.

"…I wonder if my honey girl tastes as sweet as she looks?"

You don’t even have a moment to blink before he takes those two fingers into his mouth. He sucks whatever’s left of you off of his digits, before pulling them out with a pop.

"Mmm," he hums, "Just as I’d imagined… Sweet as fuckin’ honey"

Something inside of you snaps, and you’re suddenly reattaching your lips to his. He moans into you, taken aback by your actions with his hands fumbling to grab your ass and grind you down into him.

"I need— I need you…" You mumble into his lips, not long before he juts his tongue out to run it across your bottom lip.

His stubble scratches against your palms as you grab ahold of his face, trying to ease him into you as if it were even humanly possible to get him any closer.

"Need me t’fuck you, honey? You— you want me that badly?" He asks quickly, sounding out of breath already from the sheer friction of your hips grinding against him. You nod rapidly, and he dips down to kiss your neck to let you know that he heard you loud and clear.

“Please, Ash…" You couldn’t help it, your mind was still reeling, "I need to feel you—"

Your words come out airy and forced, like somebody was squeezing them out of you. But you couldn’t stop yourself no matter how hard you bit down your tongue.

"...Fuck me like I’m worthless… Fuck me like I mean nothing to you at all…"

His head pops up from the crook of your neck, a sardonic look in his eye.

"Say that again for me?"

"…Fuck me like I mean nothing to you, Ashton. Fuck me like I mean nothing at all.”

You couldn’t describe the way his face changed. The way it morphed into something that you weren’t at all used to. It wasn’t sarcastic, no. It wasn’t the usual cheeky grin, either.

You were afraid that you had just dug your grave even deeper this time.

"Stand up." He demands shortly, which brings goosebumps across your arms.

"Stand up?" You repeat, like a goddamn lovesick puppy.

"Stand the fuck up, Y/N."

You do as you’re told, wearily, lifting yourself off of him and rising to your feet. You watch in anticipation, crossing your arms over your chest as he remains sitting.

The dynamic between you two had shifted drastically. It was clear that Ashton was still in charge, only this time, it felt absolutely terrifying.

You wished you hadn’t said anything at all. You wished he had just let you ride him, as you were planning to do. But your emotions gotten the best of you. The thought of caring for him so deeply had actually brought you to spiral out of control.

What you had been longing for, all this time, was about to come true.

With that, you planned to do everything you were told. Each and every single order barked at you was to be followed. You wanted to see what it felt like. What it felt like to feel nothing for a change.

"Walk to the balcony." Another demand. You hesitate, still dealing with a subconscious battle of self. Your heart and brain were going at it like two bulls in the ring.

"Are you— are you gonna come with me?" You find your gaze glued to the patio, feeling as small and as meek as ever.

"Meh, I’ll make my way over eventually."

Fair enough.

You walk over towards the balcony; left only in your thin, grey CREW v-neck and a pair of frilly, sage green underwear.

The fact that Ashton didn’t comment on the color of them made you feel a bit discouraged. Green was his favorite color, after all. You at least thought he’d take a moment to appreciate it.

God knows that moment won’t be happening now.

You start to near the glass railing that surrounded the rooftop. But despite your back being turned, you could completely feel his eyes searing bullet holes into your flesh. A chill ran down your spine, uncomfortable with the feeling of being watched, yet enjoying the fact that it was by him.

"Keep walking."

You were getting so close to the glass that it actually started to feel cold, despite the lingering August air.

You also weren’t sure where his head was at. Him having you walk towards the balcony that was completely out-turned and visible to the street below almost felt like he was trying to humiliate you.

But that feeling was quickly washed away when you felt his footsteps behind you.

"You have any idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into, honey?” He inches close to you, close enough to feel the warmth of his body radiating onto your back yet still too far away to touch you.

You swallow the lump forming in your throat. “No… I-I don’t think so…"

You were telling the truth. No, Ashton, you had not a clue what you had just gotten yourself into. The absolute wormhole that you had just unlocked for yourself.

A new way to feel about things. A new way to feel about him.

Another wave of chills runs down your back as he takes the back of his hand and runs it down your shoulder. You wince, wanting nothing more than to turn around and kiss him.

"I didn’t think you had it in you."

"What?" Your voice comes out high pitched. Almost… nervous.

"To order me around like that. To finally buck up n’ tell me how to have my way with ya’… It’s honestly— kind of impressive."

His hand strokes down your arm once again, but this time, you just sigh.

He thinks this is just roleplay.

Little did he know that all of this nagging and bossiness had come from the truest, most integral parts of your soul and your longing to forget about the way your heart beats for him.

"You think so?" You try to gain back your sparkle with a witty reply, "How else can I impress you, Ash?"

All of these words exchanged between you two were said facing away from one another. You hadn’t the energy to care, nor the energy to make this anymore meaningful than it was, or was not, supposed to be.

You’ve finally decided to let go.

"Well, you can start by bending over." He snaps back. He’s always been so quick with his words.

To follow your mantra from before, you do as you’re told, bending over slightly and exposing your bare asscheeks to him. You lean your arms over the glass railing, your wrists going limp in doing so.

"’Like the view?" You ask, sparing him a glance over your shoulder in hopes to get a little more of a rise out of him.

"The view won’t mean much while I’m using you, honey."

Your face grows pale, a rush of static that felt like pinpricks crawls across your body. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Ashton.

The excitement and rush of it all is now, finally, catching up to you. You were about to have meaningless sex with the person that means the most. In a way, it did feel like roleplay.

Except your role was pretending like you didn’t give a fuck about him.

"Gimme’ your wrist." You hear Ashton bark another command from behind you, along with the shuffling of fabric. Before you could even offer your wrist to him, he’s taking it upon himself to reach up and grab it.

He swiftly pins one of your arms behind your back, making you gasp and teeter on your feet.

"Ashton…" You try to say, but are immediately silenced by his other hand hooking a finger to the waistline of your panties.

"Don’t say another word, Y/N. You’re in no position to talk right now."

Your breath gets caught in your throat, now with your one free hand anchored to the railing. It was all a waiting game, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t extremely turned on by him and his newfound unpredictability.

"I have a job for you." His voice rings in your ears, as he bends down above you to be parallel to your curved back. "…Think you could follow some orders f’me? Just for tonight?"

Just for tonight, you thought. Just for tonight.

You nod at his question. It was the only thing you were capable of doing, anyway.

"You’re gonna take my cock… But I don’t wanna hear a peep from that dirty mouth of yours. One fuckin’ sound and I swear… I’ll send you back downstairs with mascara running down your face and nothin’ to fuckin’ show for it."

You nod again. You were a nodding, blubbering mess.

"Think you could do that for me? Think you could be good enough for me to let you cum again?"

You nod, once again.

"And you told me what you wanted, right? Told me loud and clear how you wanted me to treat you? Out here— where there’s a small chance somebody could walk in on this?"

His pelvis presses against you as he taunts, and you’re left feeling even weaker in the knees.

This time, it wasn’t a nod. It was more of a sob.

"Good, good to know…" He softens his tone, lips now centimeters away from your ear.

"…Now bend the fuck over n’ let me use you like you’re nothing."

In a flash of vibrant colors swirling around the backs of your eyelids, you feel Ashton push your panties aside. He runs two fingers up your damp slit, bringing your face to a pinch.

You were still so sensitive after letting him have his way with you the first time. But you couldn’t fathom going another minute without the feeling of him buried inside of you.

"Please—" You whisper, but only to yourself.

You didn’t want to know what he’d do if he’d heard it.

His next movements were methodical, and slow, like he was a puppeteer playing with your strings. His hands dance along the sides of your hips, moving up to rub the small of your back.

He puffs out a breath, seemingly taking you in from behind.

"You're a fuckin' vision, Y/N... It's too bad you don't want me to treat you that way."

His ceaseless taunting was making your vision go shaky.

But you needed to keep reminding yourself... you fucking asked for it.

"Gonna let me use you, honey? Like my own personal doll... that I can toss around n' rough up... Mmm, 'bet you've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you?"

"Ashton..." You can help but let his name tumble from your lips. But in a flash, his hand is cracking down on your bare asscheek, creating a loud clap that you swore could be heard for miles. You let out a yelp, but quickly clamp your lips shut.

Your skin burns from the contact, your mouth going bone dry.

"What did I fucking say about that mouth of yours, Y/N? Not a fucking peep."

As he guides himself up and down your slit, collecting your juices on his leaky tip, you choke back the tears in your eyes. You still wanted nothing more than to turn around and kiss him, which was just a damned thing.

"So wet f'me... God, I'm in heaven."

It was almost as if each string of sentences that came out of his mouth were traveling in through one ear and right out of the other. I suppose this was your karma for being so demanding.

But this is what you wanted, wasn't it? Even though Ashton's means of 'fucking you like you're worthless' still came with bouts of praise, he couldn't help it. He was only human. Testing the waters for the both of you.

Roleplay.

He traces one last drag along your folds, pushing your panties aside with his tip before suddenly slamming himself into you. You gasp at the sudden feeling of him, your body lurching forward towards the railing as his grip on your wrist grows tighter.

"Jesus fuck—." He groans through bated breath before starting his rhythm of pounding into you.

It starts off slowly. The feeling of him filling you up as your walls clench around him must've felt like heaven to the both of you, for he let out a long, dreamy sigh. The hand that was once toying with the hemline of your lacy panties was now planted on the small of your back, using you as leverage as he slammed his cock deeper with each stroke.

Ashton hums, the sounds of slapping skin now engulfing the air around you. "Fuckin' love this pussy... Like it was fuckin' made for me..."

The air in your lungs started to dissipate, practically leaving you begging for mercy at his expense. Your body jolted with each of his deep thrusts, still trying to stay quiet and do exactly as he had demanded of you.

His grip on your wrist had begun to feel raw, surely to leave you with some kind of marking, reinstating the absolute chokehold he has on you.

"Ash..." You whisper again, as he's grunting and whining from behind you.

"Whose fuckin' pussy is this? Whose fuckin' pussy is this?" He asks the question and you whimper, unable to gather any syllable of a sentence on your tongue.

Suddenly, he releases your wrist, picking up his rhythm of fucking into you. Your arm drops to your side like a ragdoll, as you scramble to balance it next to your other on the railing.

The hand of his that once held your wrist captive had traveled down to meet his other, gripping your waist and digging his blistered fingertips into your flesh.

"Fuck... fuckin' shit, Y/N... Takin' my cock so well..."

Using his hands anchored to your waist, he starts to pull you into him, slamming your hips into his pelvic bone and hitting that sweet spot with every. Single. Stroke.

"Fuck, you’re heavenly…. My sweet, sweet girl…"

At this point in time, you could care less about the semantics of this all.

Although the point of this was for Ashton to have his way with you without a single feeling attached, it seemed as though he couldn’t really help it. He was a blubbering mess of compliments and praise, a true gentleman through and through.

But that was something to think about while you lay awake in bed tonight.

For now, you just decided to live in the moment.

Ashton’s rhythm had grown sloppy. He was awfully close to making you finish for a second time, with each buck of his hips— meanwhile it was taking every last bit of your consciousness to keep yourself quiet. The pit of your stomach squeezed with each primal sound that fell from his plush lips.

"M’gonna cum soon, honey… ‘Gonna fill you up, yeah? Would you like that? Want me t’fill you up?"

Unsure of whether or not to verbalize your consent, you nod. Like a bobble-head on a broken spring.

"That’s my girl. That’s— my fuckin’ girl.”

Despite Ashton’s imminent orgasm, you could only think about two words.

My girl. My girl. My girl

They were flashing around your mind like the billboards in the Manhattan streets below. Each thought of those two words produced vibrant colors behind your eyelids, stars now fogging up the blackness as he slams into you a few more times.

"Gonna' cum, honey... G-Gonna' fill you up, m'kay? Fuck..."

With one final pound into you, the pulsing throbbing of his cock had come to a slowdown. You both let out a collective gasp, as the heat ignited between your bodies had meshed into a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

Ashton collapses onto your back, the front half of his body slicked with sweat and pressing into you. Your breathing had begun to sync up collectively, only for him to pull out of you and make your entire body jolt.

"Fuck, Ashton."

You were finally able to speak again. You had gotten your words back, as well as your confidence. And the feeling of his presence behind you was all you needed to get you there.

He huffs, finally lifting himself off of you. But you lag behind, taking a moment to collect your breathing as he pulls his sweatpants up.

"Jesus Christ, honey. You're a goddamn dream." He chuckles, stepping back and allowing you the space to turn around.

And that you did. Finally faced with that dream he was on about.

Sweaty, messy curls glued and rearranged to his forehead. Glossy, hooded, fucked-out eyes. The fabric of his Hawaiian shirt soaked with the mixing of your sweat and his.

He looked obscene. He looked ethereal. You wanted to tell him how absolutely picturesque he was in that moment. You wanted to give him every gorgeous compliment you could think of.

But you didn't. You couldn't.

So you said this instead.

"...It'd be a dream if you could grab my jeans."

"Don’t be impolite, Y/N. What's the magic word?" He teases, motioning towards your jeans that had been discarded in a pile on the patio.

"Oh, so now you want me to talk, tough guy? After you just fucked the goddamn life out of me?"

He shrugs, "I wouldn't say I fucked the life out of you... If that was the case, you wouldn't be standing upright."

You huff, frustrated, but loving every second of it.

"Just– grab me my damn jeans, Irwin."

He does as he's told, begrudgingly walking the short few feet to grab your jeans as you stand, cross-legged, bare-assed, with your back against the glass.

"Your majesty," he bows, holding your pants out on his arm like a knight with your crown.

"Thank you."

As you put on your jeans, Ashton watches you. With those whiskey, honeypot eyes. Scanning down every inch of you as you put one leg in, then the other.

"If it were up to me, I'd send you back down pants-less."

"Yeah, right." You scoff, reverting back to your old ways of a thumping heart and a pain in your chest, "You know how much trouble I'd be in?"

"Trouble by who? I'm your boss, aren't I?"

You puff, pulling up the zipper of your jeans, "You don't act like it."

"Want me to start then?" He quips.

"...No. Absolutely not."

Ashton tosses you a smile, not long before he's holding out his arms.

"That's what I thought, honey," he motions for you with his hands, "Now c'mere."

Without even thinking, almost as if it were rehearsed, you spin around, falling backwards into his arms. He wraps himself around you, broad biceps squeezing your shoulders like a butterfly in its' cocoon.

The Manhattan night sky was twinkling with lights and stars. You stare out into it, and he does too.

As you stand cradled in his arms with the lingering of pitiful, degrading sex still in the air, you sat in your thoughts for a moment.

What happened tonight couldn’t have been a mistake. You had been speaking it into existence for so long, that it finally became a reality. From the way he so passionately kissed you, to the way he so effortlessly dropped everything to fuck you like you were worthless. Just like you had asked. Just liked you had intended.

But you knew, despite everything that happened tonight, that not a single thing would change. 

Your heart would still flutter out of your ribcage whenever he walked by. You’d still answer his calls late at night, or spare him passing glances in the concert halls.

You’d still come to meet him, no matter when or where. All with that same, God awful weight on your chest.

It all made you feel terrible. Everything about him made you feel terrible.

But you were willing to get used to that feeling.

To be completely honest with yourself…

You kind of liked it. 

It felt like being in love

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

[smolvenger]

My Lord (Prince Hal x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Summary: After you dance with another man, Prince Hal, your royal intended has a confession to make...

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ (fingering, p in v sex, doing it on a desk), historical inaccuracies for the sake of vibes, grammar and spelling mistakes, angst and fluff.

Dick-tionary: Smut starts at “Kiss me again, my dove,” and ends at "You pressed foreheads, feeling his warm breath and how soft his skin felt- comforting, gentle. "

Word Count: 3K

A/N: From @muddyorbsblr's request! It ended up being longer, oops. But enjoy!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

Despite your fine dress and the rich wine flowing, you felt somber at your betrothal ball. Not that the ball itself was a sad event. No, you were not merry from everything around you. It was all merry with the throne room decorated with flowers and jigs being played by the musicians. Your melancholy was due to your intended.

 Of all the good lords and gentlemen on this green isle, only one was destined to be the next king. And that was who you were going to marry. Your parents were thrilled when the king agreed to the marriage. They smiled and embraced you as an artist hugged their painting. They managed to sell you to the highest bidder.

His Majesty Prince Henry the Fourth of Lancaster. The highest bidder indeed.

 Or Hal, as the taverns ruffians called him. Hal. Riotous, dishonorable, pranking, thieving, tavern hopping, wench chasing, sack drinking Hal. Beautiful, princely, decadent Hal. Every time his brothers had to tell their father the truth of Hal’s layabouts…the king would turn red with fury. Not that you were surprised.

Even if the scoundrel you were going to call your husband had been kind to you these past few months. He would be by your side. And trying to win you over or get you to smile. Flirt with you- he did to hundreds of women at this point! No doubt! Your inner giddiness was mixed with a silent rage and you weren’t sure which would pop out first each time he got your hand and kissed it gently. Hal was beautiful. A handsome, handsome man who wore his doublets tight on his lean frame and walked with a swagger, his auburn curls freed about his head. There was a charm to his manner, and feelings were in you when you looked at him. Feelings you didn’t like. Feelings you didn’t dare name. 

For that, you remained polite. Never forward. Nice, but nothing more. For what else could you do? The world of court could be deadly and dangerous. The world’s eyes were on you. You couldn’t afford to make a reckless move.

Despite the garden walks and meals, there was that sliver of distrust. If you didn’t see him, he could be on the floor of the filthiest bar in Eastcheap passed out on the floor from drink. Or in a room with two tavern women in positions that would make a sailor blush.

And the last picture of him in bed with other women- it made you want to scream and sob and throw your goblet at the wall until it smashed into a hundred bits and then pick your skirts, march to the other end of the room, and slap him hard across his beautiful face.

You took a deep breath. 

It was just your imagination. Nothing actually happened. One inhale, then another exhale. The walls were grey stone, the candlelight yellow, and the music from a flute was playing something fast.

Why were you like this, you had to remind yourself! You didn’t like him! Why should that matter? You had to remember how much you didn’t care and didn’t like him.

 He could have every woman in England on their knees for him every night and you would not care. You would go about your merry way and when you didn’t have to squeeze out a son, you would enjoy the monetary benefits of servants, fine dresses, horses, gold, jewels, money to buy whatever thing you wanted, and the freedom to do as you pleased as queen.

You held your chin up. Only glad it was a lovely party. All were taking gentle sips of wine, sampling the roast boar, listening to lutes, and laughing over nothing. You felt like doing none. In a whole crowd of people, you felt alone, isolated, and cut off. Like a foreigner trying to make a friend but never knowing how to speak the language. They gathered and talked…and here you were. The most wanted and yet also the most unwanted.

Taking a deep breath, you continued to walk in to try to get your mind off of things.

There were dances as well. But you felt as if your soles were made of lead. For all were celebrating your marriage to this scoundrel.

This beautiful, delectable, leather-clad scoundrel. Looking at him across the room, something inside you churned. And you were frightened to name it.

 He was in the corner, talking to his brothers. You turned your eyes down. For the party was in swing and in a way, as if they forgot you were its purpose. They wanted to laugh and gossip and drink. Forget their worldly cares and be merry.

You brought your eyes up to search for him. Your heart beat a little harder seeing Prince Hal at the other end of the room. How delicious he looked. His tight leather jacket was the color of the wine. He preferred rougher, bawdier parties- that was why he was frowning as his father went up to talk to him.  And here you were, just to be tolerated as his bride. It seemed queenhood was a lifetime away, as was your marriage. For all of this fuss over you both being joined,   you couldn’t help but feel separated.

Taking a deep breath, you put both hands on your cup and took another sip, resisting the urge to gulp down your wine and let the alcohol take its effect.

As you walked in, the Lord of Warwick went up.

“My lady- here is my nephew, Thomas! He’s going to appear at Court more often!” the lord introduced.

You curtsied and gave a smile.

The Lord of Warwick’s nephew with his own blonde hair and blue eyes and skin that tanned. He was a polite, warm friendly boy. For having just met him, he left a good impression on you. The uncle even stepped aside to let you talk. Then Thomas held out a hand.

“They’re having dances. Would you give me a dance, my lady?”

“I would love to,” you replied.

You enjoyed his company as you danced. He was very good too- Hal himself had no “strength in measure” and was inches from always stepping on your toes the grand total of two times you danced. Passing between couples, joining, parting, and reasoning hands to the lute music. You felt at peace.

Little did you know Hal’s eyes were on you.

They were on you every time you the whole evening.

Prince Hal scowled. He was practically red with anger. The second the dance ended, he marched up to you. Thomas looked sickly pale and you felt your stomach drop. You never saw Hal himself have any anger and part of you was terrified. They always say it’s the ones who are never angry you watch out for. 

“My lord, what is the matter?” you asked after your curtsey.

“I would like to speak with my lady intended,” Hal ordered.

Thomas handed you over quickly. 

Amidst the ball, Hal grabbed your arm. Fie, his hand- large, beautiful hands taking a whole of your arm and dragging you to the hallways and through a door. Jesu, was he going to hurt you? Hal never once did anything that would harm you. He seemed too mischievous and cheerful to seem capable of raising his hand to a woman, much less you. There was a fierceness on his fast that made your heart race. You didn’t know if you were feeling lust, terror, or both at once.

The room was a study. The night sky shone outside, though there were lights from the torches and candles. None were inside-perhaps at the party. With tall bookshelves and desks, it would have been a comforting room had your heart been beating wildly against your ribs. 

He looked at you up and down. He saw your dress, how it formed you well, and hugged you in the right places. A warmth flushed over you, and you realized you were panting a little to deepen your breaths. But his face was still angry. Beautifully, beautifully angry.

“What, what is the matter?” you asked. Hoping to get this over with quickly.

“Quite a bit, that is the matter!” Hal replied, ruffling his curly hair.

You gestured at the door.

“My lord, they will notice we are gone. We have a party to attend to…”

Hal reached up a hand that he held in the air. You looked back at him. His voice remained soft, matter of fact, right to the bone.

“My lady, we have to discuss young Warwick. The way you were dancing at him, smiling at him.”

“Oh, him!” you said. You had deduced it. He just had to say it himself. 

“Yes! The look he was giving you like he would be falling before your feet any minute! Your smile at him! And you were encouraging him,  and I-”

“Are you jealous, Harry?” you interrupted, blurting out the obvious.

He turned a little pink.

“Yes, well- what if I am? Should I not be if a gentleman dances with my lady?”

“A lady can rarely turn down another man. My mother told me it is impolite to refuse a man’s offer to dance!” you reasoned.

Hal leaned closer to you.

“You have promised yourself to me, not him! You’re engaged to me!”

He paused and his mouth hung in mid-air. You saw his eyes were shining bright, he was…on the brink of tears. The jolliest scoundrel in all of England and…he was crying. When you imagined him with other women earlier…was that the very feeling he was having as well?

You closed the distance to him, you offered your hand and he took it.

“Hal, I am sorry. I didn’t think you would be upset or even care that I danced with him…” you consoled.

He brought up a hand and wiped a tear off with his palm.

“I forgive you, my lady. Only….That the way you were beaming at him, and not at me, I…I don’t even have words for it and- YN- it makes me angry because…because…I wish it were me you were smiling at…me and only me. That one smile. Then I’d know for sure that you’d love me and we could be find a way to-”

You gasped.

“What did you say?!”

Your face was closer to his, your voice even softer. He paused. His tears stopped.

“You…you love me?”

He flushed, hung his head low, and then back up.

“I do, my sweeting. I love you so much. I don’t know how else to say it or what speeches or things to give. If I am under your spell, I never wish to be out of it. I don’t ask you to love me back at all…I only ask you…you… pity me.”

His face was right before words. Your own mouth began to speak of its own accord. The music was softer, and distant, as if the ball was a world away.

“Hal…even with everything in Eastcheap, I…I… I…I cannot help but…but want to see you, and speak to you, I think of you and wonder what you are doing when you’re away. And I…I worry about you. I want you happy- more than happy, safe.”

He closed the distance and kissed you. The first kiss you ever had other than chaste pecks on the hand. You shuddered at it as he wrapped his hands around you, one hand crawling up your back. He knew his way around a woman’s body. And he knew what would make your knees tremble.  You melted into his arms, collapsing into the kiss, into the embrace. He tasted of wine, of freedom.

He let go. But it was as if something awoke that was long asleep. You let him keep his hands on you, to feel your body beneath your dress—one on your hip, fingers inches away from the most private, precious of places on you. You kept on babbling despite yourself.

“All the battles your father sends you on and… and…I was worried, worried you would die…worried something would happen to you- and then, the Eastcheap visits….I was worried…worried you and Doll would.”

“There were no whores. Not since we’ve met,” he replied.

You kissed him again, and you leaned closer to him, wrapping your arms to feel his back. Dizzy and drink on him. You heard his moan. 

He leaned back on a chair and had you straddle him. You gasped, feeling your legs come apart. Places between you were starting to dampen and it was just over where his most secret places were. You were never this close, this intimate with each other

“Kiss me again, my dove,” he commanded.

You kissed him again, his fingers crawling, up your leg. He found your hip and then moved you. You moaned from the friction, the touching and brushing of your bodies. 

But you wanted it, you didn’t stop him.

His hands were over you, greedily touching since you were all his now-his betrothed, his wife, and soon his queen- and he would make sure you never forgot it. He gave you a last grind of your hips. 

His hands desperately searched your clothes, trying to find the seams. But you were aching, going up for him, needing him.

“Hal- Hal!” you whispered

“And what if I do? I can’t bear it- the longer I’m with you, the more desire overcomes me- You drive me mad- I can’t, I can’t take it, my dear, my love-I-I have to ravish you, here-now-”

“Yes, you may…”

He slid aside the papers and books so the desk was clear. You swallowed, getting incredibly wet but excited with his flushed face. But his eyes determined, an animal after his prey. And nothing could tear him from his prize.

 He kissed you, prompting you to sit. He undid a bit of your bodice, pulling it down, finding your breasts. The cold air touched it as his pupils darkened over the sight of you. 

“You’re exquisite, darling, and you’re not his, you’re mine-”

Once they were revealed, he fondled them, thumb grazing over the hard nipples. You moaned appreciatively. All while he kissed your neck.

“Say it, say you’re mine,” he whispered.

“I’m yours,” you replied.

He then freed a hand. It moved up your leg.

“All of this, this beauty, it is all mine-and I’ll drive you there, until you cry out for all of them to hear.”

slid a finger inside and you gasped, feeling it stretch you. You gasped as he curled up- surprised his long finger could go so deep, and find a spot that brought so much pleasure and pain as he discovered the little nub inside you. 

“My- my lord!”

He kissed your neck again, then looked at you, smugness spread on his lips.

“Yes….yes, call me that.”

He gathered your skirt up and then undid his codpiece and released his pants, standing at full attention. You gave a small gasp at the sight of his size. He looked at you darkly, a new tone in his voice- deadly and commanding, a king to his whore

“You will be good and make it fit, every bit of it. And you will call me my lord.”

His hands made your legs come wide apart, he moved you up. He was slow, entering you, so you got used to it. You let out a moan, tugging onto him.

“Yes…take it…like a good girl…take it.”

He forced your legs further apart, sheathing you in with a grunt. You let out a sound, your insides penetrated, clutching onto him, feeling your bare breasts against his leather. Your blouse fell lower, exposing both. He then gave a first, sloppy thrust. Then he was seated inside you.

“My lord!” you cried out.

“There-there- I will make you scream it louder,” he growled.

Then he began thrusting—his moans in your ear. You dug your fingers into his shoulders and grabbed your hips, keeping tight. The desk made a sound as you did. It began slowly.

“My-my lord, oh- gods- yes, there, my lord-gods-gods blood-”

It then picked up, your breasts bouncing and your heart racing. All you knew was him, felt was him. You were moaning even louder. It was a desperate, animal. Pounding his hips into yours.

He released one hand. It found your nub between. You gasped. He then strummed it with each deep, forceful, desperate pounding.

“H-My-My lord I-I-there-oh-oh god-I’m-I’m going-going to-to die, but- don’t-don’t-don’t stop-”

“You’re close, you’re-you’re close, darling-call me that-yes-now-fuck,yes-yes-

“Say it, say it when you cum-I’m-I’m going to cum-cum inside- cum, fie, lady- fie, it’s on me now- cum, fie, lady -cum!”

He picked it up incredibly fast, you held onto him, your pleasure spinning out of control. 

“Yes- close, close- come on now, give in- let go-”

With a grunt, his seed shot into you and the release of pleasure broke inside you. You didn't say his title but gasped. The light had hit you and made everything duller, things spun, and you felt as if you were in oblivion. 

In a final whisper, you only whispered once more “My…my lord…” Your nails dug into him- your lord, your intended, your prince, and your husband. A marriage not sworn but already consummated.

He pulled out, and then cupped your face, “as you are my lady.”

You pressed foreheads, feeling his warm breath and how soft his skin felt- comforting, gentle.

He helped you off and then readjusted your dress so all was well. Making sure the blouse covered you up and that your skirt was in place.

“Are you not hurt?” he asked.

“Not a bit.”

He wrapped a protective arm around you, leading you out. 

“Here…we must return to the party…I will fetch us some wine.”

“And…you can have the next dance, my lord,” you said.

He smiled at you- not a naughty smile, but a kind, genuine smile that burst with love.

“As you have all of mine, my lady.”

His smile shone brighter than any candlelight. He gave you a last kiss before you were on his arm, returning to the party. 

[queerfanfiction]

Kinktober — Public

Oops, this has been in my drafts for months... Probably should save it for Kinktober 2024 but....here. ❤️

Larissa Weems x Reader words: 2.5k

AO3 Link

Summary: Reader and Larissa sit together at the Poe Cup.

As October ended, the Vermont air clung to the last bits of autumn’s warmth. The trees were beautiful colors—leaves dappling the ground with warm tones. Sunlight danced across the water that stretched before you all the way to Raven Island. Nevermore’s Poe Cup was about to begin, and electricity filled the air. You could hear the sounds of hundreds of people moving around you with shouts, laughter, and singing. It seemed as if the entire academy was crowded around the grassy bank next to the lake, ready to witness the competition.

There were tents set up for each team, a refreshments table staffed with student volunteers, and various metal stands constructed to watch the festivities from. Banners were visible in the crowd of students; some supported the Gold Bugs, some the Black Cats, and so on. Carts of sweets and snacks were pushed about jovially. Larissa had made sure hot chocolate was available for the event, and you considered grabbing one for her.

The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning. When you caught sight of Larissa near the front of the crowd in her impeccably fitted dress, a mischievous smirk settled upon your face. The principal stood on a small red-carpeted wooden platform at the front of the crowd just before the water.

Wild, half-formed thoughts began whizzing through your lustful mind as you watched Larissa’s perfectly curated crimson lips move as she spoke to another faculty member enthusiastically. She always loved the Poe Cup. Arrangements for it began before the school year even started, since Larissa always had such fond memories of the competition. You could think of a few ways to ensure she enjoyed the event. One included your head under her dress in the team changing tents.

It had been a couple weeks since Larissa confided in you that she was interested in having sex in public. At first you were shocked by the confession; you didn’t expect proper, respectable, and responsible Larissa Weems to yearn for that kind of sexual gratification. When she had brought it up, you two were coming back from seeing a movie in Jericho. Your hand had found its way to her inner thigh, stroking circles against her soft skin. As innocent and comforting as the action was intended to be, Larissa confessed how arousing it was to be so intimate in a room with others there, completely unaware.

“I want to welcome you all to the Edgar Allan Poe Cup!” erupted Larissa’s voice, over the tumultuous buzz and applause of the crowd. Your cheeks flash pink as you realize you were lost in the thought of your concealed hands hard at work. You’d have to compose yourself a bit better if you were to put your plan into motion. Spectators screamed and clapped, some even waving their banners at Larissa excitedly as her voice echoed over the crowd.  If they kept that level of commotion up, you were sure that any of Larissa’s later noises could be obscured…

The next thing you heard was “Let the Poe Cup begin!”

Larissa, looking ever so pleased with herself, pulls the trigger of the starting pistol to signal the beginning of the event. Even louder cheers fill the chilly air. Howls and whoops bellow as shrill as possible as everyone sets their eyes on the teams pushing off from the shore.

Beaming at you and not privy to your devious plan, Larissa comes to your side to join you in the metal bleachers. You let your eyes roam over the curves of her body—her deliciously long torso and toned legs. You would have probably imploded if your principal had looked like that growing up.

As she sits, you bring your hand to her back and rub it gently, as if you’re just offering encouragement and support. You briefly glance around to ensure you two are as uninteresting as anticipated. Satisfied, your hand begins to wander, providing faux-chaste touches. Your fingertips graze her neck, trail her arms, brush over her breast. You surmise that Larissa is clueless and intending to soliloquize about her years as co-captain for Ophelia Hall.

Sensing the need to take control of the moment, you utter huskily, just loud enough for her to hear, “You look so fucking good right now.” At that, your fingers make their way to fiddle with the edge of Larissa’s dress hem.

Larissa stiffens, suddenly acutely aware of the placement of your hands. “What are you doing?” A whisper—her tone demure and surprised. You could swear you heard a hint of panic bubbling up in her chest.

True, students were close, but who was really invested in their principal during the long-awaited Poe Cup? Your thoughts went to the extensive conversation you and Larissa had in the car weeks prior about each other’s green, yellow, and red sexual flags. Armed with knowledge of how badly she fantasized about the risk of almost being caught, you tentatively continued touching her thighs. Heat flashed through Larissa, stealing her breath and eliciting a gasp.

“Shh, Principal Weems.” You direct into her ear, knowing her slight change in breathing was most likely imperceptible alongside the trees swaying in the wind, the water lapping, and the simultaneous cheering and clapping. “Take off your scarf, and fold it in your lap.”

Her body followed the command almost automatically, and you slipped your hand under it. The sudden thrill gripped her. She couldn’t. They couldn’t. Not here. ...could they? The idea made her ache. Larissa chewed on her bottom lip, querying whether or not to let you proceed. They were in broad daylight among her students, not a dim movie theater with strangers. She couldn't believe this situation was actually turning her on.

“In fact, you’ll probably want to stay very, very quiet.”

Larissa tried to focus on keeping her breathing steady and her red lips firmly clamped shut. She couldn’t help but feel her heart begin to race. Excitement, desperation, panic, surprise, and overwhelming need all contributed to the rise of her pulse. Her eyes darted over to other faculty, paranoid that at any moment you two would be found out. Larissa’s brain was screaming at herself, but she couldn't stop. It was like the desire was controlling her body, and her mind just wasn't on the right receiver channel. Her immediate arousal and submission was a little embarrassing. Shouldn’t she be able to keep her professional life and private life separate? That didn't seem to matter, though; it was like her body was on autopilot for anything you wanted once you whispered in her ear.

Her cheeks got hot, and Larissa found herself inadvertently opening her legs a bit, like an invitation. With any luck, the average passer-by wouldn’t figure out what was going on.

“We can't do this here!" Larissa quietly hissed, sounding more flustered and docile than she meant to. She felt like that’s what she should say. Surely she could have more conviction, bat your hand away, cross her legs, ….anything. Larissa frantically glanced around one more time to make sure that no one looked towards you two; she desperately did not want to get caught. What a scandal for the school it would be. 

Nearly surrendering, Larissa closed her eyes and considered the throbbing ache between her legs. She slid a hand onto your thigh, needing to brace herself. Your breathy voice whispering in her ear only made Larissa impossibly wetter. Who knew being called by her title would turn her on like this? Who knew sneaking around in front of students and faculty could make Larissa putty in your hands?

At this moment, Larissa overheard two students discussing the potential winnings of the betting pool they had orchestrated for the Poe Cup. She wanted to intervene, but she knew intervening would cost her. Instead, she pushed the reprimand that she owed the students down—below the knots of desire in her stomach.

With a fingertip hovering over Larissa’s silk underwear where you know her clit is, you begin to lightly graze the fabric up and down. Regardless of your warning for her to be silent, you can hear the groan and pant Larissa tries to obscure, indecent and deliciously sexy.

After leisurely making circles over the damp silk, Larissa began to subtly shift her weight in hopes of adding more friction.

“You like this, ‘Rissa?” Your voice was low and intoxicating as you teased her.

Before she could finish nodding, your fingers found their way under the silk fabric to her flesh. You could feel heat radiating off her, and it made you want to disregard everyone here and to taste her arousal. Your fingers moved through the soft tuft of hair on her mons pubis, hoping to tease Larissa further, until finally feeling her slick folds.

Larissa was thankful to be sitting down, because her knees would have buckled at that moment of contact. A whine of pleasure threatened to leave her throat, and it took all her willpower to stay quiet. The slight twitching of Larissa’s hips could be played off as excitement from the event. Plenty of movement surrounded you two. People knocked against each other getting to their seats or jumping up and down. ‘Excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s were exchanged loudly. No one much cared for what else was going on besides the race.

"Then fuck my fingers. Make yourself come.”

With that, you enter two fingers into her opening. Your palm arched against her clit, adding delectable pressure. Your two fingers were crooked inside of Larissa, searching for the exact right spot to titillate relentlessly.

The sounds of the Poe Cup faded away to a faint ringing. Larissa groaned and started to move her hips more exaggeratedly, as if she were properly shifting in her seat. Any hope of actually being able to pay attention to the race and narrate for the crowd was long gone.

In the meantime, you kept a steady rhythm, flicking your fingers inside of Larissa. The sound of her stifled pants and the way you could feel her twitching and tensing was driving you to the edge of despair. For one wild moment, you wondered if she’d be able to clamber onto your lap without anyone noticing. As if she was considering the same, Larissa desperately clutched onto the edge of the bench, making sure not to fumble with or accidentally tug at her scarf that way keeping your hand obscured.

A deep shudder of pleasure and relief ran through Larissa, catching her off guard. She let out a moan without thinking and then bit her lip to try and stop herself from making any more. Something that was getting increasingly difficult with the way your skilled fingers were working.

“Mmm, more." There was both an urgent pleading and spacey quality to Larissa’s tone.

“I’ve dreamed about touching you like this, and I can only keep going if you stay quiet,” you purr matter-of-factly to her.

As attractive as her begging was, you wanted to ride out the tension a bit longer before giving into her hunger and yearning. It was too fun to be in control of the woman who prided herself on her poise and authority. And doing so in public at her own school’s event.

Sensing that Larissa was getting more noisy and about to go over the edge at your words, you pull back. You remove your fingers from inside her and instead begin lightly tapping your fingers against her swollen clit.

Murmurs run through the crowd as the teams begun to row against one another back across the lake.

“Principal Weems?” An unfamiliar, youthful voice approached.

You whip your head towards the student interrupting you and Larissa. Your hand stills from under Larissa’s scarf that is concealing the true nature of your shared enjoyment. Your guard is immediately up, attempting to not give into alarm. Thankfully, the student’s gaze was focused out on the lake and only just meets yours and Larissa’s.

“Y-yes?” Larissa is able to respond, trying to put on her usual façade.

“Would it be okay if I used your binoculars? Yoko won’t share hers because they’re supposedly specially made to withstand the sunlight.” An indignant Enid, or so you assumed from hearing various stories, stood beside Larissa.

Even though much of the race was held in the distance, Larissa was likely the only faculty there with binoculars. Well, maybe one or two others had the sense to bring a pair.

“Of course, Ms. Sinclair. Please keep them for the rest of the event.”

“Oh, thank you, Principal Weems! You’re the best!” Enid grabs the binoculars and skips away without a clue to what she had interrupted. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Enid hold up the binoculars in a righteous manner and stick her tongue out at who you assume is Yoko.

You turn your attention back to the ghostly-pale woman beside you. You briefly check-in with her. “Still green?”

A breath and then affirmation. “Green.”

Your hand hadn’t left Larissa’s underwear, so you take back control of the situation.

“So naughty, Principal Weems…” you murmured. “About to be coming all over the bleachers. All over my hand… better keep quiet, otherwise, we’re bound to be interrupted again. Wouldn't that be terrible? If I had to stop touching you now, stop fucking you with my fingers?”

Larissa should be mortified. She should be careful. Neither are things she is interested in. Instead, her body twitches and aches at the use of her title again—the thought of being naughty and of getting away with it.

Your hand slips back down to Larissa’s opening. Larissa all but directs your fingers back inside her, eager to find a more lasting release. However, you knew that she was so tightly wound and that it would only take the faintest touch, a few slick circles on her clit before she shattered. Breathing in Larissa’s ear and telling her how wet you are while touching her brought her over the edge. She trembled beside you. In an effort to mask the spasm, you reached over with your free hand and rubbed her upper arm as if her shiver was due to the chilly autumn day.

Instead of stopping completely, your fingers moved in slow spirals, drawing out the aftershocks for as long as she could handle before leaning bonelessly against your side. The world narrowed to the warmth of your hand on her back, the lazy pulse between her legs. You place a kiss to Larissa’s forehead, murmuring that she had done so well for you.

A few calm moments passed where you two breathed together before the rumbling from the various Black Cat supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight. The whole crowd was on their feet, eager to decipher the team in the lead, and it looked like you two had gotten away with it.

“Well, that was exciting,” Larissa let out hoarsely.

A grin erupted onto your face as you stated, “And just with my left hand…”

Larissa shoved your arm in response before standing and adjusting her clothing, making her way over to the podium again announce the winners. Now this was a Poe Cup to remember.

[kelppsstuff]

Ones dyk what would be amazing one where Lucifer and the reader were married and stuff and they were at a hotel w the gang and they wanted to play a movie or sum shi and when Luci plays the tape he plus a sex tape by accident I’d kill for tha

UHM YESSSS!

Oops

| I love this idea so much oml! |

LUCIFER X F!READER

Masterlist

Warnings: Nswf, filmed.

Taglist: @fandomsbookclub @leathesimp @michelleszn @sashaphantomhive @ladyninggs @sirenetheblogger @jawline-of-steel

You were no saint, obviously considering Lucifer was your husband, and being your husband meant that it was often that he would see your anger.

However everyone else? They thought you were as kind as can be. You couldn’t hurt a fly.

Lucifer loved the kind personality you had, but sometimes he would wish you’d rage at the person who actually pissed you off instead of his ducks.

When he heard you slam the door to your shared room he knew you were in a bad mood. Rightfully so, this bitch on the side of the street tried to spill coffee on you.

“Can you believe how disrespectful some people can be?!”

Lucifer swallowed thick, you were hot as hell when pissed off, (pun intended.) “Well we are in hell sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes at your sweet loving husband. He was often the one who made you see things clearer.

You grabbed his dress shirt, gripping the soft material tightly, and pulled him to you. First giving him a soft loving kiss.

That’s how it always started, a sign of care before any sex was initiated. It was a ritual that started from the first time you two had sex.

You broke off the kiss and replaced it with a rougher one. You were ravenous as you started to peel off Lucifer’s shirt. He was much better as he ripped your dress.

You two started twords the bed, hand tangled in hair and rubbing over each others bodies. The two of you singing out at the feeling.

You pushed him onto the bed and climbed into his lap. Lucifer went to unbutton his trousers but you stopped him. “Have I gave you permission?”

“No, my love.” He breathed out in a small voice.

“Since when did you not ask for permission?”

Lucifer whined as you started to grind on him. He wanted to be inside you, he felt like he needed to. “I’m sorry, please.”

You laughed almost cruelly as you brung him to a state of pure begging. Now most believed Lucifer was the more dominant in the bedroom, and some days he can be, however most days you were in charge. And you weren’t as kind as people think sometimes.

Even if Lucifer felt a need to cum as you continued to grind on him, he didn’t. He loved how different you could be in the bedroom compared to normal. He would never want to disappoint you by not doing exactly as you say.

There were times Lucifer believed he was made solely to please you, and he loved that idea.

—

After the hotel was rebuilt you were tired. You had spend the last few weeks fixing up this place and all you wanted to do was relax.

Everyone was in the living room — even Alastor, he didn’t die — except for you beloved husband. “Hey Luci!” You called out, your voice slightly loud, but not that much louder.

Like clockwork Lucifer appeared right behind the couch you were on. “Yes, my love?” He started to slightly massage your neck and you smiled up at him as if he was the sun.

“I wanna watch a movie. You remember some of those movie tapes we have at the house? Think you can put some on?”

Lucifer refused to get a new tv, and you never asked, so the two of you used a slightly older tv that took RV tapes.

“Of course.” He leaned down and gave you a kiss before forming one of the black tapes in his hands. He walked to the tv and pressed play, walking back to you.

“Have I gave you permission?”

“No, my love.”

“Since when did you not ask for permission?”

You eyes widened at the sound of Lucifer whine echoing throughout the room. You looked to the other people around you.

Charlie looked scared for her eternal life.

Alastor had a look of pure disgust and he got up and left. Good on him.

Husk groaned in annoyance and jugged back a bottle.

Vaggie was rubbing Charlie’s back while she had an external crisis.

And angel? He was loving this! A wide smile and all.

Lucifer, he looked proud as proud can be. He had one tiny wave of embarrassment but after? He was thrilled. Alastor had seen, so in Lucifer eyes, this was a big fuck you to him.

You the Tv camera slightly glitched as Lucifer pinned you to the table. That’s when video you noticed that camera. “Luci, it’s recording.”

Lucifer was to busy thrusting in you to care, and you soon lost interest in the camera as well as you begged Lucifer to let you cum.

Regular you rushed to the TV and took the tape out. You were embarrassed beyond words.

—

Now every time some random would be a bitch to you angel would tease as he saw you walking to you and your husbands shared room. “Try not to take to long okay? I wanna show you MY best film.”

Safe to say despite how sweet you still acted, everyone knew you had a side — that was most likely the reason your in hell — that still exists.

It’s short ik, but I just didn’t think this would need to be too too long! I hope you enjoyed!

[hedghost]

alessia russo | white lies

five secrets alessia could keep (and one she just couldn’t)

first-time post from a long-time lurker. i absolutely did not intend it to be this long, so i apologise, but i wanted to do the idea justice! feel free to give me thoughts or requests :)

word count: 6.6k

one

famously, alessia could have her blonde moments. the occasional blank stare when she missed the tail end of a question, a furrowed brow as the punchline of a joke flew over her head.

honestly it didn’t bother her; so what if people thought she was slow? she knew her own intelligence. certainly, on the pitch, it was evident that she wasn’t stupid. she could be funny, she knew things, she spoke well, and she always made sure to think before she spoke. although that was less about seeming measured, and more because, if there was one thing alessia did know, it was the value of a secret.

after a few years in the spotlight, alessia had learned the hard way that there were certain things that were just better left under wraps. some things the media or the fans shouldn’t know, and some things best kept between friends. she kept a long mental list of secrets for different people, collecting them, and keeping them clutched to her chest. alessia took a small pride in knowing she was the one people went to, the one person they could trust with their darkest secrets.

alessia mused over her list as she drove to the stadium before the next match. mentally laying each secret out in front of her like a prized collection, dusting them off, and storing them back inside. the first she knew would be brought up again today, knew it would take her usual efforts to make sure it remained a secret.

walking into the changing room, alessia only narrowly dodged a flying shinpad that went clattering into the doorframe. alessia’s quick reactions only really served to cause her to lose her footing, just to be caught by your steady hands.

“oops, sorry less! i was aiming for tooney,” you smiled sheepishly, your hands still firm around her waist. alessia swallowed.

“idiots,” she laughed. you let go and stalked over to grab the wayward shinpad. this time, your throw found it’s mark, hitting ella squarely in the forehead and causing the changing room to erupt into laughter.

this was no real deviation from the team’s usual pregame ritual. typically, you and ella, ever the jokers, would engage in some play-fight of slapstick-esque proportions, entertaining the team while they all got ready. this of course meant you two then had to scramble to get changed as the rest of the girls walked out onto the pitch. alessia, who was never really found without at least one of her two best friends, would wait behind with you as you tied your boots.

you always had a lot of nervous energy before games, and ella’s constant faffing and time wasting as she collected her boots, tied her hair up for the billionth time, checked her mascara etc., would, without fail, mean you’d end up leaving the two of them behind, only for them to jog out and join you with seconds. this was the ritual, and alessia liked it.

“fucking hell, ella stop fannying about!” you whined.

ella, as always, was the last to put her boots on. she was combing back flyaways in the mirror, in just her socks. you and alessia watched on, fully kitted out by now. alessia leant back against the door and smiled as she watched you try to hurry ella on. she'd been through this many times before.

alessia knew the routine. she knew you would leave in a second, and she knew ella would stop dithering immediately after you did. and then, as always, she would tie ella’s bootlaces for her, and they would catch you up.

this was the big secret. alessia, to be honest, didn’t see the big deal, but ella was insistent that no one could ever find out, not even you. and as silly as alessia thought it was, and as much as she hated not telling you things, this was her duty as secret keeper and she did it diligently.

it had started years ago, long before you had arrived and turned the duo into a trio. ella had been in a state before an away match, refusing to tell anyone what had her fretting so much. alessia had taken her to the side, and it had slipped out; she didn’t know how to tie her own laces. her dad had always been at games, always tied them tight as a last good luck measure. in a flash, alessia had knelt at ella’s feet, tying the boots without saying a word. then she’d taken ella’s hand, and pretended not to see her swipe at tears as they walked onto the pitch together.

ella had found her before the next game, shyly asking her to repeat the action. alessia had done it without question, and just like that, it became their thing.

alessia had tried, of course, countless times to teach ella how to do it herself, but she suspected at some point it had become more superstition that anything. alessia had tied ella's boots once, and she’d played well, so now alessia would tie her boots forever. even now that many players preferred to play with laceless boots, ella never wavered. she said she just preferred the look, but alessia (and only alessia) knew the truth.

alessia watched on as you got increasingly impatient with ella. she smirked as you rolled your eyes once again.

"come on ella, if we leave now you might be in time for the second half,"

alessia had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. you were cute when you were frustrated. ella ignored you, still checking her reflection in the mirror, completely unfazed.

as annoying as ella was being, you felt bad that alessia was always the one to stay and deal with ella's antics. you were determined to remain, if only to give alessia moral support. little did you know that meant it was you who was holding up proceedings.

alessia, however, had been through this many times before and was practiced in the art of secret-keeping, and therefore distraction. she had a few tactics up her sleeve yet.

she looked over to where you leant against the doorframe, and flashed you her sweetest smile.

"y/n? i think i left my gatorade in the shower room, could you go grab it for me?"

as always, those eyes made you putty in her hands, and you pushed yourself off from the wall to go and look. as soon as you turned your back, alessia was knelt at ella's feet, her nimble fingers moving with practiced ease as they followed the path they'd traced countless times before. she was standing again by the time you returned.

"there's no gatorade in there less, are you sure its not in here?"

she flashed you a sheepish smile, putting on her best ditzy blonde impression, "oops, its right here! sorry y/n,"

you shrugged in response. before you could tell her not to worry, ella cut you off. she had moved to walk out the door, yelling over her shoulder as she did so,

"come on, what are you waiting for?"

you watched after her in exasperated incredulity as she exited the room. alessia laughed brightly at your expression, slinging her arm around your shoulder and dragging you out to the field with her. ella's secret was safe for another day.

two

you and alessia settled in next to each other as you took your seats on the plane for the lionesses' next away game. the two of you had been thick as thieves for years, and you couldn’t deny that the thought of having alessia nearby had been a deciding factor in your recent transfer move. still, you treasured each quiet moment you spent in each other's company, as you had for years.

you and alessia hadn’t always been close. you’d known each other through the youth age groups of course, but your relationship only really went from acquaintances to close friends around the age of sixteen. sure, you loved your teammates and got on well with all of them, but you were a fairly shy teenager, keeping them at all at arms length, and often finding yourself only hanging around the edge of conversations.

alessia was a nostalgic person, and liked to reminisce often about the circumstances that had led to your close relationship.

when you were younger, seeing as how you typically kept to yourself, it was usually easy for you to sink into the background. although sometimes this was a point of insecurity, you relished the chance for solitude whenever it came to flights. you’d always been a particularly anxious flyer, and you appreciated that you could usually nab a seat at the back to yourself, allowing you to hide your panic.

usually you got away with it. usually, you could find a pair of seats to yourself, deal with the panic quietly and alone, saving yourself from embarrassment.

of course, at some point, your luck ran out.

“hey! mind if i sit here?” came a familiar voice. you looked up in surprise, but you knew whose bright blue eyes would be looking down at you well before your gaze found them. alessia gave you little time to respond before settling herself into the seat next to you with a sweet smile. you had no time to concoct some lame excuse. you could only nod, and accept your fate.

of course it was her. of course, out of anyone, it was the person who would be the sweetest about it, the most understanding. how embarrassing.

alessia didn’t seem to notice your internal panic, instead sweeping you up immediately into conversation. and for a while, it worked to distract you. you barely noticed take off, didn’t even flinch as your stomach dropped and ears popped, too enraptured in alessia’s bright conversation.

that is, until the first bout of turbulence. the plane rocked, and you stopped mid-sentence. mentally gathering yourself, you tried to calm down, managing to carry on as though nothing had happened. alessia didn’t seem to notice your plight. you’d got away with it. then the plane dropped again.

this time, alessia was quick to notice the way your breath caught, the way your arms held tight to the arm rests, the white knuckle grip you had on them. you vaguely heard her say something, but you couldn’t focus on her voice enough to comprehend. all you could do was try to regulate your breathing, stave off the panic long enough to preserve your dignity.

a gentle touch on your arm brought you back to reality, “y/n? are you okay?”

you tried to speak, to respond, but you couldn’t muster the words. you shut your eyes tight, trying to turn away from alessia.

“hey, hey,” she soothed, her hand over yours, “it’s okay, we’re safe, everything’s okay,”

you wanted to pretend it was all fine, but you were too far gone. you buried your head in your hands, tried to focus on alessia whispering to you to ‘breathe, just breathe’.

you don’t know how long you sat like that, her guiding you through blind panic with soft touches and gentle words. at some point, your hand found hers, and you clutched it like a lifeline as the plane rode out its last bits of turbulence.

eventually, your breathing returned to relative normal. you hesitated to look up and meet alessia’s eyes, instead burning holes into your clasped hands. you noted her perfectly done manicure, how the light caught each painted nail, how the soft skin of her fingertips felt caressing your calloused palms.

“you okay y/n?”

finally you tore your gaze away from her hands, only to be met with her eyes. you’d never noticed how strikingly blue they were. you nodded, swallowing harshly. you were sure she’d be able to feel your pulse rising in your joined hands, praying she’d chalk it up to your panicked episode, not something completely different.

“not a big fan of flying then?” she prompted.

“no, not exactly,” you laughed, mouth dry. as much as you hated to admit it, alessia’s presence had definitely calmed you. you were barely conscious of the fact you were still thousands of feet in the air.

“that’s okay, i’ll distract you,” you hoped you weren’t blushing . if only she knew, you thought, but alessia had already plowed on, chatting about god knows what to distract you.

she kept it up until you landed. as she stood up to exit the plane, she squeezed your hand and offered a small smile. she went to pull away, but you pulled her hand back,

“could you please not tell anyone about this?”

“course not,” she smiled “our secret.”

then she’d strolled off the plane as though she hadn’t just changed the course of your life.

from then on, alessia always managed to slip away from her other friends and wind up in the seat next to you. it had become a steady constant in your routines. you'd never had a bad flight since, and true to her word, alessia had never told a soul.

three

the perks of england camps were numerous. from the training, to the facilities, the matches, even the food, alessia enjoyed it all. arguably the best thing of all though, was the ample opportunities for downtime with the team.

alessia was nestled in between you and maya on a sofa, only half listening to leah and keira regale some embarrassing tale about georgia, involving a bad date and what sounded like a lot of alcohol. georgia was burying her head in her hands as the rest of the team dissolved into fits of giggles at the story. alessia laughed along, dropping her head to your shoulder as the conversation moved onto other player's poor tastes in partners and shitty date experiences.

"okay wait! lets all go around the circle and say our most embarrassing crushes!" alessia felt your shoulder stiffen underneath her at beth's suggestion, and she knew exactly why.

alessia herself had only found out by accident, stumbling in on you crying out the aftermath in the bathroom. she'd held you as you calmed down, before you made her swear not tell anyone.

the night had started out well enough. you both were at an 18th birthday party for one of your england teammates. you'd joked around with all the other girls, dancing and singing, and drinking probably a little too much. the alcohol would end up being a bad idea, especially for you.

the girl who's birthday it was had an older sister in her early twenties. aged 17 and a bit, you were absolutely infatuated with her. you'd met her a few times before at games and training, she was cool and collected, and you were obsessed. the fact she would be in attendance at the party had definitely been a factor in your outfit choices, and probably in the amount of alcohol you had downed with alessia and ella at pres.

the whole night long, you were hyper aware of her presence in the room. too shy to ever make a move, you stuck to longing glances and daydreamed fantasies.

your downfall was soon to come though, when one of the older girls suggested an innocent game of spin the bottle. most of you were well past tipsy at this point, and so you all agreed readily. you laughed as your teammates kissed each other one by one; the messy, inexperienced kind of kisses only drunk teenagers could perfect. soon enough it was your friend's sister's turn, and you couldn't help the prayers you mentally uttered.

you would decide later that whoever answered those prayers had a sick sense of humour. the bottle landed on you. you leant forward, trying to contain your excitement. it was only a peck, but to you it was fate and poetry rolled into one. the game continued on, but all you could think about was the feel of her lips against yours. soon, the game faded into non-existence, as people began to get distracted and get up to refill drinks or amuse themselves elsewhere. you saw your crush slip out into the garden, and instilled with misplaced confidence from the peck, you saw your opening.

stepping into the cool air, you were relieved to see she was alone. you approached, placing a shaking hand onto her arm.

"oh hey-" you cut her off, pressing your lips against hers. it barely lasted a moment, before she pushed you off, nothing short of disgust on her face.

"woah there! i'm not a fucking lesbian!" she turned on her heel and stalked back inside, only stopping to utter one last crushing remark, "and i don't kiss kids!"

to your teenage self, it was an earth-shattering rejection. you managed to make it to an empty bathroom before you broke down. your ears rang with her comments as your cursed your own stupidity. in your rush to be alone, you'd forgotten to lock the door, and you jumped when gentle hands wrapped you up into a hug.

alessia had been watching you all night. she'd seen the glances you cast over at your friend's sister, before she lost sight of you after the ill-fated game. that was until she saw you duck into a bathroom, cheeks red and head bowed. she'd followed in a heartbeat.

alessia's heart ached for you as you sobbed into her shoulder. the sting of rejection had worn off, leaving space only for pure embarrassment.

"i'm such a fucking idiot," you mumbled into her shoulder when the tears had stopped.

alessia pressed her lips to your hair, "no you aren't, don't be silly," she knew the pain of unrequited crushes all too well. she knew the way they consumed you, blinded you to sense. "shh, it'll be okay," she murmured, "don't cry, its okay,"

"oh god, i bet she's already told everyone how weird and gross i am. i can never show my face again,"

alessia laughed at your dramatics, "shall we go home?" she said, and you nodded wearily, "let's go,"

as it turned out, the girl hadn't told anyone, and you'd been in the clear. the secret stayed between you and alessia, the single witness to your most embarrassing night.

alessia knew you didn't want anyone to know about that, even now, six years later. she also knew you well enough to know that instead of coming up with an alternate answer to beth's question, you were likely frozen, reliving your embarrassment. she had to think fast to preserve your secret. everyone laughed as rach shamelessly announced her childhood crush on some celebrity she'd never heard of, and then everyone turned to you expectantly. alessia cleared her throat.

"pretty sure y/n used to fancy that woman off countdown," she lied, and the room erupted into laughter once again. thankful for lessi's quick save, you groaned and buried your head in your hands, going along with her white lie. crisis averted. alessia carried on, giving her own fake answer about a boy from school. a practiced lie. once the group's attention had passed on from the two of you, she felt you grab her hand. you squeezed her fingers in thanks, and she squeezed back. she was getting good at this lying business. anything for you, and your secrets.

four

alessia was widely regarded as an excellent friend; someone who could be depended on, completely and utterly trusted without question. alessia knew this, and held such compliments with high regard. she had long ago cemented her place as someone to be trusted within her circle, and therefore concentrated her efforts in keeping that reputation. she knew her friends just thought she was a good secret keeper because it was in her nature, that she was just a good person through and through.

alessia herself knew however, that the reason she placed such strong value on other people’s secrets was because she had been keeping one of her own for far, far longer than she had kept any of theirs.

it had first become apparent as a teenager. as she listened to her friends fawn over their latest male obsession, or regale their recent kisses with boys at parties, or debate who the hottest boy in class was. she tried her best to engage, to get involved, but with every boy who came close to kissing her, she was finding it harder and harder to force interest. eventually, she came to realise the way she felt about certain teammates, the way she'd avert her eyes in the changing room, the way her gaze followed pretty girls in the hallway, wasn't the norm. the realisation had hit her like a truck. alessia russo was gay, and she had no clue what to do about it.

she kept the feelings buried for a while. she faked attachments to boys, tried kissing a few just to throw her friends off the scent, before eventually she stopped bothering. she said she was too busy with football to date, and that remained her excuse. that didn't stop her falling head over heels for multiple girls over the years, didn't stop her heart fluttering whenever certain people looked her way. a certain someone.

eventually, especially playing women's football, a lot of her friends started to come out. alessia knew she could've done the same, knew she'd be met with no judgement, but it was as though there was a mental block stopping her. as outgoing as she was, she didn't enjoy opening herself up. and so, never one to wear her heart on her sleeve, she guarded the secret closely. months turned into years, and it became just something she did. she was too far gone to announce it now.

she knew she'd tell people at some point in her life, but why bother when there was no girl on her arm to show off?

and it wasn't like she hadn't come close. especially to you, who had been open about your sexuality for years. alessia couldn't count how many times she'd opened her mouth to tell you, only for the words to catch in her throat. it was almost as though she'd left it too late now, built it up in her head, and the moment just never seemed right.

she'd been with girls before of course. in dark corners at clubs where no one would see, fumbled kisses with strangers in bathrooms. but never anything deep, never the connection she ached for.

alessia listened as you complained to her about your recent date with the latest girl. 'a complete dead end', you described it, 'like talking to a brick wall,' you laid your head across her lap and shut your eyes.

"god, i wish the girls i dated were more like you less. then i'd actually have something to talk about with them," alessia swallowed, her fingers working their way through your hair. god, if only you knew.

five

being gay wasn't the only secret alessia held close to her chest. there was another, far worse, far more guarded. the secret that kept her awake at night, that spiked guilt deep in her stomach whenever you smiled at her. painful memories of that fateful night, which she wished more than anything you would remember.

it happened at the celebration party last summer. the lionesses had been victorious at the euros, and euphoria was running rampant amongst the whole team. everywhere you looked, people were drunk off elation. the drinks had started flowing in the changing rooms, and they had kept coming ever since.

the constant flow of people meant you and alessia had only spent passing moments together. every time you seemed to find each other in the crowd, someone new would turn up and pull one of you away, with ecstatic congratulations, or the promise of a drink.

in a brief break from dancing, alessia found herself sat at the bar with ella and a few others. she sipped her drink as the others chatted excitedly. recently, she'd been finding that her eyes sought you out unconsciously. more and more, she'd been realising that wherever you were in a room, she'd notice. tonight was no different. her gaze finally landed on you, carefree and dancing amongst a crowd of people.

usually, she had the sense to not stare for too long, but with her inhibitions hindered by the drinks, and her mood high off the back of the win, she allowed herself a moment of grace. the soft smile that crept onto her face as she looked longingly after you was unbidden, but she didn't care to look away. alessia was sure that if anyone followed her eyeline she'd be found out, but everyone was too wrapped up in their own elation to bother.

across the crowd, your eyes met hers. you grinned widely, before freeing yourself from the crowd just long enough to grab her hand and pull her onto the dance floor. emboldened by the alcohol, she let herself dance a little closer than she usually would, let the touches linger a little longer.

neither of you knew how long you danced, just riding the wave of the win for as long you could. alessia could tell you were equally as drunk as she was, if not more. eventually, you leaned closer to be heard over the music,

"come with me to get some air?" alessia could only nod, hyper aware of your breath on her cheek. she let herself be led away by you, into the cool summer air.

you all but collapsed onto a bench, laughing as you clumsily pulled alessia down with you. you leant into alessia, her arm finding its familiar place around your shoulders as you let the comfortable silence descend. it was the early hours of the morning by now. alessia could hear the thump of music and shouts of people from inside, but out here, you were completely alone. despite her lack of sobriety, she was hyper aware of the way your body felt against hers.

"what a night hey," you laughed, and she nodded. "we fucking did it less!"

"champions of europe baby!" you yelled into the night, making alessia laugh and slap your arm.

you smiled, leaning back into alessia, "proud of you lessi" you whispered. when she didn't respond, you shifted to look at her.

"i'm serious less. i'm so proud of you. proud of us."

alessia couldn't find the words to respond. she could only think about how close your face was to hers. you smiled softly, and she smiled back. her eyes never left yours. you seemed to be breathing in sync. it was now or never. the alcohol spurring her on, alessia began to speak,

"y/n, i-"

she was cut off by you leaning in to close the gap. her eyes fluttered shut as your lips grazed hers, and she melted into the kiss. you pulled back to assess her reaction, but alessia barely gave you a second to breathe before she kissed you again. alessia poured all the years of pining, every pent up emotion into that kiss, and you gave her everything and more back. her brain short-circuited as your hand went to caress her cheek, her own hands fumbling clumsily to wrap around your waist.

at some point, one of you broke away. you pressed your forehead to hers, "we should probably get back to the party," alessia nodded. she was caught in a haze of euphoria. she would've done anything you asked in that moment; would've chased you to the moon and back. you smiled, before pressing your lips to her forehead and pulling her to her feet.

alessia would've liked to stay attached to your hip all night, but as soon as you re-entered the party you were both swept away by your respective friends, and she was left staring after you. the rest of the night was a blur, but alessia had truly never been happier.

alessia woke the next morning to the memory of your lips against hers. her head pounded with the hangover as she dragged herself out of bed and over to your room next door. it was customary for the two of you to end up in each others rooms after a heavy night to discuss the events and ride out the hangover together, but today, her heart pounded as she knocked on your door. she wasn't sure what the events of last night meant for your friendship, but she was running through various speeches and declarations as she waited.

eventually you cracked the door open, peering out at alessia with bleary eyes. "morning," you whispered with a smile, opening the door fully for alessia before collapsing back into your bed.

alessia followed you in, mouth dry and heart pounding as she perched next to you on the bed. she decided to let you take the lead with the conversation, though she ached to bring up the kiss.

"god, what even happened last night," you moaned from the covers, "i don't remember a thing,"

alessia's heart dropped to her stomach. "you don't remember anything?" she asked. you looked up at her curiously.

"i mean, i remember dancing, and then, literally nothing," your eyes widened, "oh god, did i do something embarrassing? lessi, please say i didn't."

alessia forced a smile onto her face, forced herself to push down the emotions coursing through her veins, "no, you didn't do anything," she forced herself to settle further into your bed.

"nothing at all,"

plus one she couldn't

after the euros, and the ensuing heartache, alessia had tried to distance herself from you. she'd lasted all of a week of subdued contact before you'd pulled her back in again. she couldn't resist you or your company, utterly powerless to do anything but come running back to your side like a lost puppy. you didn't even have time to notice something was up.

and so alessia settled back into your orbit, and tried unsuccessfully to get over you. despite how you'd acted that night, you once again gave her no indication of seeing her as anything more than a best friend, and so she tried her best to see you the same. she longed to bring up the kiss, to do anything to remind you, but your clear lack of memory told her that it hadn't meant anything to you.

playing together for club and country, you spent nearly all your days together. alessia spent each of those days in silent turmoil. her heart would pound with each innocent touch, her brain would malfunction every time you flashed her a smile. only at night, in the quiet of her room, would she allow herself to feel. she'd stare at the ceiling into the early hours of the morning, replaying each encounter, eyes glistening with unshed tears. she envied you for not remembering the kiss. god how she wished she could forget it. it replayed behind her eyelids every time she blinked: she felt the brush of your lips against hers every time she glanced down at your mouth as you spoke.

since it became apparent that it couldn't have meant anything to you, she'd done her best to get over you. but now that she'd experienced it, she could never go back. her love for you had swelled to the point of utter consumption, and she couldn't even begin to remember what it felt like to see you only as a friend.

being as experienced in the art of secret keeping as she was, she'd managed to keep you in the dark, but it was getting harder and harder to act like everything was okay. whilst you remained clueless to her plight, other people were starting to notice.

alessia was finally caught out after a particularly bad day. training had been rough, the weather was awful, and the stress and emotion of it all was starting to become too much for her. her heart ached for you every time you laughed. every time you called her name it was like a stab to the chest. she winced as she felt the beginnings of a headache, desperate to leave the training ground and crawl into bed as soon as she could.

noticing something was wrong, you'd rubbed her back and pulled her in for a hug.

"you okay less? headache?" you'd murmured, trying to meet her eyes. normally she revelled in how well you could read her, but right now, she hated it. she could only nod in response. you reached a gentle hand up to touch her forehead, "are you coming down with something?"

alessia wanted so badly to relax into your familiar embrace and sink into the comfort she craved, but she pulled away, ignoring your question and mumbling a lame excuse about getting home, before speeding to her car.

hearing someone chase after her, she steeled herself to face you again. instead, when she turned, she was met with ella.

"lessi, what's wrong?"

"nothing, ella, it's just been a long day," she sighed. she turned to get into her car, but ella blocked her path.

"don't bullshit me lessi, i know you. you think i haven't noticed how weird you've been acting lately?"

the confrontation was too much. alessia could feel tears begin to prick at the corner of her eyes, and she knew there was no escaping it.

"not here," she mumbled, opening the car door and motioning ella to get into the other side. she barely gave ella time to sit down before she drove off, only making it to the end of the road before the tears started flowing. she pulled over and buried her head in her hands.

ella didn't seem to know what to do, clearly she hadn't expected alessia to do this. her shock was only momentary though, and her hand reached out to stroke alessia's back.

"hey, hey, its okay, less, its okay. talk to me,"

alessia could only shake her head against her hands.

"i can't do this anymore ella, i just can't,"

ella just rubbed her arm, clueless to what she was talking about. in ella's presence, she let her facade fall apart a little.

"it's so stupid, i'm so stupid."

"is this about y/n?"

alessia whipped her head up to look at ella, who smiled wryly.

"you aren't very good at hiding it less,"

"fuck, i just-" she pressed her head into her hands again. "it's so embarrassing. i just don't know what to do. i can't keep doing this, it just- it hurts,"

"i think you need to tell her,"

"that's the worst possible solution to this ella,"

ella smiled again and raised an eyebrow, "i wouldn't be so sure,"

"you're an idiot, and your advice is awful," alessia muttered. she breathed deeply, collecting herself, before starting the car again, "i'm dropping you home, and we're forgetting this conversation ever happened,"

"whatever you say, less," said ella, smirking as she leant back in her seat, "whatever you say,"

despite her best efforts, the conversation with ella stuck in alessia's mind all week. even you were starting to notice how distracted she was being, and you brought it up one night, as you lay sprawled in your usual position on her sofa.

"have you been avoiding me lessi?" you joked, but alessia caught the flash of doubt in your eyes. she mentally cursed herself, once for not hiding it well enough, and then again for making you feel guilty about it. she decided she could only attempt to laugh it off.

"what are you talking about? we've literally been together all day."

"no, yeah i know, but you just seem, i don't know, distracted? closed off," alessia felt your head turn to look up at her, but she kept her own gaze firmly planted on the tv screen.

"i'm fine. just tired. its been a long week," she knew as soon as she said it that you'd see right through the flimsy excuses.

"well okay, but, you know you can always talk to me, yeah? if there was something bothering you?" your voice trailed off. alessia swallowed harshly. when she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

"i can't,"

at this, your full attention was on her, the tv long forgotten. alessia felt sick at her own barely there confession.

"lessi, come on. you can tell me anything. i'm your best friend,"

that was the last straw. best friend, she reminded herself. any hope alessia still had of preserving her dignity flew out the window, and she had to press her lips together to keep from crumbling. you saw her falter, and you sat up in a heartbeat, your hands taking hers. alessia tried to pull away, but the grip you had on her was magnetic.

"y/n, i-" she bit her lip, shaking her head and looking away. if she spoke she'd say something she'd regret. the confession was on the tip of her tongue, just begging to be let out. alessia resolved herself, mentally replaced the confession with another white lie. but then she looked up, and her eyes met yours. god, those eyes. alessia was taken back to the night of the kiss, when she'd been enraptured in those same eyes; when she'd looked into them to find the brazen reflection of her own adoration.

it was all she could do to look away. she felt her mouth move, heard her own voice as though from a distance, speaking completely unbidden.

"i'm in love with you,"

they were the truest words she'd ever uttered, but god how she wished she could take them back. her brain raced with excuses, but she could only whisper disconnected thoughts and jumbled apologies. she regained just enough control over her words, but the damage was done.

"i know you don't feel the same - i'm sorry - i didn't want to make it weird - i'm sorry - please don't let this ruin us - i'm sorry."

alessia didn't dare look at you; your silence was indication enough. however, as always, alessia could never stay away from you for too long. as she braved one glance up, her words fell away from her.

you stared back at her, looking at her as though she'd hung the moon and all the stars.

"alessia," you whispered her name like a prayer on your tongue, "you have no idea how long i've wanted to hear you say that,"

years of pining, of heartache, of sleepless nights and longing glances, had not prepared alessia for this outcome. she stared at you, frozen in shock. all the fight, all the panic, had abandoned her, and she could only stare.

you leaned in, and she let herself fall into the kiss. she'd thought nothing could've been better than the first, but my god was she wrong. with one touch, you silenced all her doubts. you poured out the answer to every question she had. the two of you curled impossibly closer into each other, until alessia wasn't sure how you could've ever been separate.

you smiled against her lips, eyes blissfully remaining shut.

"why didn't you tell me sooner?"

alessia shrugged shyly, "it was a secret," you pulled away fully, eyes searching deep into hers.

"not anymore," you said, and alessia flashed a bright smile. your heart flipped at the sight.

"no," she murmured, "never again."

thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed :)

[voxofthevoid]

JJK Teasers: September 2024

Still doing this, though I kinda forgot about it last month after the initial post. Oops. Once again, here are ~200 (unedited) words each from the JJK updates intended for this month.

Ch. 10 of (let me be clear) every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered

“Who’s Suguru?”

Gojou mouth clicks shut; his eyes being hidden doesn’t stop his whole face from radiating shock. Yuuji curls his hand into fists on either side of his body and waits, viciously patient. Yuuji imagined this a lot. These last three weeks, without even a single rambling message to indicate Gojou was still alive, Yuuji has had plenty of time to cook up all sorts of scenarios. What else could he do? The first week, he trained until he passed out, but that kept taking longer and longer and longer, until twenty-four hours passed with Yuuji’s mind still stubbornly online, and he’d wondered, once or twice, if that was Sukuna’s doing somehow, and then he’d somehow started wondering if Gojou was ever going to come back, if Yuuji was going to rot in this gilded cage until he starved and died, and then he’d thankfully passed out on the ground, waking up freezing and miserable the next morning without a cold or even a bruise to show for his stupidity.

After that, he tried to keep his imagination constrained to conversations. Sometimes, he screamed. Sometimes, he apologized. He knew he wouldn’t do either.

When he slept, the dreams were almost a solace. The blood and the bodies were warmer than his bed.

Even Sukuna’s amusement was just dull background noise after a point.

“He…was someone I used to know,” Gojou says finally, the silence only louder for the breaking. “It’s not important.”

Liar, Yuuji doesn’t say.

He asks, “When you fuck me, are you thinking of him?”

Ch. 3 of i can offer you a black-lit paradise

“Taking it slow isn’t always a good thing, Yuuji,” says Gojou. The overlapping fingers on Megumi’s hips turn bruising, making him hiss. “But I guess you wouldn’t know that. Here, I’ll show you.”

“Wait—” is all Megumi manages to say before he’s forced down.

White-hot sensation tears through his body, concentrated pulses of it lashing at his asshole and clawing up and up and up, till he’s choking on a supernova. Gojou’s cock feels like a solid spear of fire, the flesh around it scorched raw.

“—was too much, sensei,” he hears, the voice soft and close. “Are you okay? Fushiguro?”

“M’fine,” Megumi grits out, prying his eyes open only to be immediately assailed by cow-eyed concern. “Stop it.”

Itadori blinks. “Stop what?”

“Stop,” Megumi says carefully, trying to focus past the screaming hurt in his lower half, “looking at me like that.”

Itadori blinks again. “Like…what?”

“Like I’m going to break!” Megumi snaps.

For a moment, Itadori looks taken aback. Then he grins, inexplicably. “That’s just like you, Fushiguro.”

“A bit of dick isn’t going to change who he is.” Gojou’s the one who answers, the words soaked in mirth. “And you should know that very well, Yuuji.”

What the hell does—

Itadori laughs, ducking his head a bit. “I do, I do. Sorry, Fushiguro. Didn’t mean to make you self-conscious.”

Ch. 3 of your resistance, prophetic self-destruction

“You look so miserable, you poor thing,” Gojou murmurs, voice so soft that Yuuji can’t tell whether it’s mockery or sympathy; he wants nothing do to with either. “What do you want from me, Yuuji?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuji lies. But his mouth’s got other ideas, adding in a mortifyingly small voice, “I like you, sensei.”

“Do you?” Gojou asks, tone painfully neutral. “Or do you just want to fuck me?”

Yuuji raises his eyes from the wetly clumped white hair at Gojou’s navel to glare at his face. “What kind of a question is that? Why the hell can’t it be both?”

Gojou just looks unreasonably amused. “Sure, it could be. But at your age, it’s very easy to confuse this”—a tap his chest, right over his heart, and then a hand delving under the water to curl around Yuuji’s limp dick, squeezing once—“with this.”

Yuuji hates his body reacts even to that cruel touch.

“Stop that,” he snaps, curling both hands on the edges of the tub so he won’t do something stupid like try and strangle Gojou. “I’m dumb but not that dumb.”

“Oh, you’re no fool, Itadori Yuuji,” Gojou says, tongue curling softly around the syllables of Yuuji’s full name with a gravity that never fails to fill his spine with molten lead. “But you are very young and full of life—and planning to die that way, aren’t you?”

Yuuji’s whole body goes cold. “What?”

Gojou’s still smiling. “Don’t you want you die, Yuuji?”

Ch.2 of (this is also part of the story) how the story changes

“Gojou-san?” Nanami calls.

Satoru and Yuuji are in perfectly respectable positions, standing close together but with a good foot of space between their bodies, when Nanami and Shouko reach the bottom of the stairs.

They both promptly freeze.

Beside him, Yuuji makes a noise.

“Kento-kun, Shouko-chan,” he practically gasps, “you’ve grown so much.”

Satoru turns to stare incredulously at Yuuji.

He gets his hair yanked and told he’s grown a bit, all with a gently mocking air that no amount of fondness could hide, but these two get—

Well, apparently, they get Yuuji pulling them into a hug they’re too stunned to reciprocate—or resist.

Even with the Six Eyes, Satoru can only barely see Yuuji move. Isn’t that wonderfully terrifying?

Yuuji releases his frozen victims fairly quickly, but only so he can take Nanami by the shoulders. He and Yuuji are nearly the same height—a fact which seems to delight Yuuji.

“You’ve really changed!” Yuuji says, and unless Satoru’s ears are betraying him, that’s pure glee in his voice. “You’re wearing a suit. And your hair. This is adorable.”

Adorable, Satoru mouths to himself.

Shouko’s wide eyes meet his for a fleeting second before she returns to staring at Nanami and Yuuji in evident fascination.

And Nanami—

Nanami looks catatonic.

It’s that blank-eyed stare over a distinct blush that snaps Satoru out of it. “Yuuji, you’re breaking him.”

[jennagrinsoverml]

hii do you have a list of miraculous fics you think everyone should read at least once?

Anon, I have been excited to answer this request ever since I got it. What better way to celebrate my 50th Rec List (!!!!) than with my favourite fandom fics? 🎉🎉🎉

I've tried to choose fics with a variety of tones, from different fandom eras, and different authors. These fics are all special to me in some way, and whittling this list down was HARD. Others may have fics they think should be on this list, and to those people I say: make your own rec list. This one's mine. 😘

Experimental Kisses by @komorebirei

Ladybug watched him. Maybe it was guilt, maybe sympathy, maybe a streak of playfulness. Maybe the traumatic akuma experience had softened her up. Whatever the reason, a thought wafted lazily through her mind and out of her mouth. “You know… you’re right. It isn’t fair, is it?”

Chat Noir looked up.

“I remember my first kiss, but you don’t.” She hummed and tapped her chin, making a show of remembering. “It wasn’t a bad kiss, but we were in the middle of fighting an akuma, so I didn’t get to enjoy it much, either.”

Oops—that came out sounding a little, no, a lot more flirty than she had intended. Anyway, if she was going to commit to this idea, she may as well go all in.

One-shot. Ladybug offers to kiss Chat since he doesn’t remember their kiss and the way she reacts to the kiss…it lives in my mind rent-free. I have fallen asleep many a night fantasizing about what the repercussions of the kiss might look like. One of my absolute favourite Ladynoir fics.

team is a four letter word by @ladyofthenoodle

Alya didn’t want to come between Ladybug and Chat Noir. But she didn’t want to stop being Rena Rouge either. And if Chat Noir didn’t want to talk to her, then she’d need to find a different way to prove all three of them could be a team.

Her plan unintentionally brings a few secrets to light, which leads to even more secrets coming to light, which leads to… well, Alya is sure it’ll all work out eventually.

Multi-chapter. Warning, this fic is a WIP! (But there’s only one chapter to go.) Honestly, I didn’t want to have any WIPs on this list and I was lowkey hoping that it would be finished before I posted this list but I’m obsessed with this one and couldn’t leave it off. It’s literally one of the BEST fics in the entire fandom and, I think, the absolute best delving into the characterization and relationship dynamics of the core four. This fic feels so dynamic and complex, with all of the characters feelings so like themselves and each having their own distinct voices. The conflict is so well done and so realistic. It’s such a fantastic tackling of the issues that came up in the last couple seasons and I cannot rave about it enough!!

œuf ouch owie by @ominousunflower

Chat Noir enlists Rena Rouge's help to create an Aspik illusion. Absolutely nothing goes wrong.

Ladybug smiles. “I wanted to drop by and welcome Aspik. I know it must be a little intimidating, being surrounded by so many veteran heroes…so, welcome! We’re glad to have you on board.”

“I look like an egg!” Aspik announces, T-posing.

Chat turns to Rena, feeling like he has been punched in the solar plexus. What the hell? he mouths.

Rena grimaces, her eyes wide with panic. Stomach sinking, Chat remembers one of the first things he learned about the Fox Miraculous: that if Rena Rouge isn’t focused, her illusions go haywire.

Oh, no.

One-shot. This is hands down the FUNNIEST fic in the entire fandom asdfghjkl like I have read this fic at least 50 times and I still laugh out loud every single time. If you have somehow failed to read this fic before, read it now. You won’t regret it!

lucky (we're in love in every way) by @carpisuns​

Chat Noir is Adrien, and Marinette is freaking out. If she manages to quiet her internal screaming, maybe she can also find the guts to tell him her identity too. And maybe they'll actually live happily ever after—well, as soon as Tikki and Plagg are done humiliating them.

One-shot. This fic just makes me so incredibly happy. Like it puts a smile on my face every single time I read it (and I have read it many, many times!) I love Marinette’s reactions and Adrien’s sweetness and the kwamis just absolutely ROASTING both of them. Marissa has written a ton of amazing fics for this fandom (seriously we are so lucky to have her) and I was tempted by others (like tell me something i don't know) but in the end, I had to follow my heart with this one.

Your Kitty by @gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights​

“Such a dramatic kitty.” Marinette scratched under his chin, bringing a smile to his face and a purr to his throat.

Your kitty, he didn’t say.

Wait. What?

(The one where Chat Noir thinks he needs pats like a cat, only to find out he may have jumped to the wrong conclusion.)

One-shot. When I think of Marichat, this is THE fic I think of. Adrien being touch starved is 100% my headcanon now. This is just so sweet! Marinette’s affection and Adrien’s determination to do the right thing no matter the personal cost and the way they fell for each other without meaning to... Also I love that they both encouraged the other to go back to their original crushes because that makes so much sense!!

rattle my cage by @lnc2​

In which history, despite Alya's best efforts, does not repeat itself.

One-shot. I am always here for Adrien being rash and Marinette being smart and capable and just switching to treating him as Chat absolutely seamlessly after a reveal. I absolutely love the vibes of this one.

Chasing the C/h/atwalk. by @runningoutofink

Paris. The city of lights, love and fashion. Follow the progress of Marinette Dupain Cheng as she enters the extremely competitive world of Reality television for a chance to be the winner of Project Runway: France.

Multi-chapter. It should come as no surprise by now that I’m a sucker for reality tv and this is my absolute favourite reality cross in the fandom! I love that it’s canon compliant, and frankly the idea of Marinette and Adrien as designer and model on Project Runway is friggin’ BRILLIANT. The slow burn and pining are delicious, and the identity reveal is incredibly well done! (And it has a steamy sequel, Meet me in the Middle, which is 🔥🔥🔥 and intensely satisfying after all of that build up.)

daydream by @clairelutra

you're my daydream

you know that i've been thinking about you lately

In which Adrien finds out Ladybug is Marinette, and beats the 'this is fine' dog at his own game.

One-shot. Shout-out to the author for realizing way before canon let on that Adrien is way more likely to figure out Marinette than the reverse! And then absolutely murdering us with this intense slow burn that absolutely drips with mutual pining and UST.

What Will You Do When Everyone Knows? by @sariahsue

They stepped in closer, shoulder to shoulder to catch the akuma as she landed, but she twisted in midair, landing squarely in front of Cat Noir, swiping at him. He stepped back, trying to keep his balance. Her fingertips almost touched his face, and Ladybug felt her stomach lurch.

“Duck!” she yelled to him as she whipped her yoyo around. He did, but unfortunately, the akuma woman did, too. Ladybug suddenly had no target to latch onto and lost her balance. Her stomach twisted again as she pitched forward. Black hands darted forward to catch her, but too late she realized it wasn’t her partner. Cold gloves caught her shoulder and neck, then slid up her face, brushing past her earrings. Cold. The woman’s touch froze Ladybug’s breath in her throat.

Then there was something warm around her middle. Cat Noir’s shout sounded distant as he pulled her away. As the woman’s black gloves left her face, Ladybug felt even more heat being pulled from her, along with… something else.

Multi-chapter. There really isn’t another fic in the fandom like this one. The akuma is original and provides an absolutely amazing premise for this fic. We have mystery, intrigue, and a huge upset to the status quo with the public revealing of Ladybug’s identity. I also loved the dramatic irony of Marinette being unable to understand Chat’s reactions to things that make perfect sense to us readers. It’s got amazing characterizations and suspense, and I love it!

But All I’m Seeing Is You by @chelseaapproved

After Ladybug finds out Adrien is her Chat Noir, they start dating. She didn’t think it’d be so hard to keep her identity a secret from him. She also didn’t realize how much it would affect her friendship with him as Marinette.

One-shot. This might be my favourite ladrien of all time. It’s only about 5k, but man does it ever pack in a lot of emotion and relationship development and I really, really, really love it.  I really felt how much they love each other in this one and Marinette is just so, so wonderful to Adrien and he’s so wonderful to her and if you haven’t already please read this.

A Miraculous Reveal by @kasienda​

Series of one-shots and drabbles all centered around The Reveal Moment. Identities will be revealed, feelings will be confessed, and secrets will be discovered through contrived situations, accidents, meddling friends, desperate moments, and moments of emotional vulnerability. Each chapter is a self contained piece. Love-square focused, but will not remain exclusive to them. Each chapter will have its own trigger warnings.

Collection of one-shots. I feel a little like I’m cheating in including a collection here, but like most of us in this fandom, I’m an absolute sucker for identity reveals, and @kasienda is especially talented at writing them! Every single one of these is beautiful, amazing and worth reading at least once.

the wonderful part of the mess that we made by heresie_irisee

They knew.

They knew, and there would be no magical reset button for the memories they'd made today. She'd have to  see him at school every day, and she'd see the Chat in him, as surely as  he'd see the Ladybug in her.

One-shot. Oblivio is probably my favourite episode and this is such a great alternate take on it. The mutual pining is so, so, so good! Especially love Marinette struggling to assimilate Adrien’s identities and Adrien’s obliviousness.

The following fics are amazing and absolutely worth reading, but do feature sexual content, so minors beware.

The Ladybugs and The Bees by @bullysquadess

AKA the early-fandom Ladynoir puberty fic that spiraled waaaaay out of proportion.

Multi-chapter. I’ve avoided reccing this fic for so long as it was literally the most kudosed fic in the entire fandom when I joined. However, the kudos are well-earned and I can’t make a list of must reads without including it. I love the ladynoir, the way it builds slowly, the focus on the developing relationship, both physical and otherwise, the yearning and the devotion and the vulnerability. And, of course, the steamy scenes are fantastic!! The whole thing is just so well developed and feels so grounded and real. I absolutely love it.

one night of moonlight by @mirthaculous

i’ll always think of you

inside of my private thoughts

i can imagine you

touching my private parts

2:13 ok im texting you now like i promised instead of drunktexting adrien and telling him how badly i want his cock tonight. arent you proud of me?

2:19 this is Adrien, hi.

Marinette’s brain-to-mouth filter isn’t great on the best of days. Add some beer and some misplaced texts, and things get a little more… interesting.

One-shot. Rated M. This is one of my favourite fics of all time. This is so steamy, seriously the UST is off the charts!! It is absolutely unreal how much these two want each other and the mutual pining and they’re so stupid and this fic literally killed me and I thanked it.

[crooked-wasteland]

Hazbin Hotel Live Blog: Overture

. While I am being kind to the show as it is, I cannot push out of my mind the fact that this is still Vivienne Medrano, and while this seems to be an interesting direction the series is considering to take the story, I am lacking any intrigue. Medrano has a knack for interesting ideas, but once executed are often trimmed down from all nuance and then played in the most straight forward and storybook fashion.

Evil existed before and separate from Lucifer

Eve is linked to the root of evil through the animation

Dichotomy of Lilith and Lucifer

Why does Heaven think Hell will rise up?

Charlie is reading the storybook to herself. Aloud. And the reason is because she’s like a child seeking comfort. Also Charlie’s delivery of “Pretty worked up” is just feeling off. Like isn’t this supposed to be a somber moment? Why is it delivered so chipper? The pilot had her crying and singing a lamentation. Downgrade.

Info dump dialogue

“This kingdom was something she really cared about.”

Vaggie’s voice is such a downgrade. She sounds so uninterested.

“Daddy issues by fixing you” So alastor knows about Charlie’s family situation already.

The lineart around Alastor is so distracting. It’s so bizarrely thick.

I wish there was no dialogue

Her dad calls her but she is supposed to have a strained relationship.

I feel like Medrano doesn’t know what Angel Dust is. As in the actual drug. PCP is not Cocaine.

That was the worst segue into a song I ever saw.

“If you dont mind the smell, it’s a happy day in hell.” I hate this line.

Vaggie just never sounds right, does she? Her singing is so nasal dominate it doesn’t sound like her throaty modal voice.

What was the contract? What did it say? Why even have Charlie sign anything if we have no concept of what that is? It is such a rip off from Ariel’s contract in the Little Mermaid that it feels more like an Easter egg than relevant to the story actively being told. You need to show why the actions happening are taking place, you cant just do things and expect us to pick up the pieces for you. Are you trying to get across that Heaven is full of bureaucracy and paperwork? There is no receptionist and no other person in the building until she signs ONE paper. You failed at portraying an overabundance of bureaucratic red tape and it is distracting and infuriating. All I see are the better DISNEY MOVIES that were clearly just plagiarized. Not an homage, not inspired. Plagiarized.

Lucifer calls Charlie to meet Adam. Adam says he knows. So this doesn’t feel like this is Charlie filling in, the way the dialogue is written is that it was specifically planned for Charlie to meet Adam.

Everything has a gradient.

I bet $15 that the Dickmaster portion of Adam’s dialogue was Alex Brightman’s improv. I was not impressed by his Kaiju Dick improv in Oops and this is just as flaccid. Pun intended.

There is a clear discccrepency in talent between Alex and Erika. He has such a smoother voice and range while Erika feels like a Disney understudy where every delivery is pretty much identical to the last. Like the songs themselves are not doing her any favors. They range from bad to mediocre, and even in the better songs, there is always one horrifically bad lyric that just ruins the entire experience.

I like Lute. She feels like Peridot.

RIP Katie Killjoy.

Nifty is cute. The joke for her had a lot of potential of being hilarious but didn’t meet my threshold of comedy due to lacking a feel for Nifty. Imagine if she was in every scene with Vaggie talking her head off and never shutting up. Then when Vaggie is like, “If anyone can sell this hotel, it’s Nifty.” And we had this foundation that Nifty is known for being a huge chatterbox only to then be dead silent when the camera is on her. It would have been hilarious. But we see her once and she has one singular line previous. So it just feels like a cheap visual gag.

As a musical, it is lackluster. I see that Evil is something separate from Lucifer and something he dislikes. Lucifer is said to see free will as a spring of creativity, but humans used it to suck and that killed Lucifer’s love of life. In the meantime, Lilith is empowered by Hell. Hell fuels her sense of freedom, which she spreads through her “songs”. Only for her to just vanish I guess. She just hopes out without a word, Charlie says she must be doing something important over the last 7 years, but no inclination on what important things Lilith would be doing. Additionally, Lilith is said to have loved Hell, like Charlie. So it sets up this idea that Lucifer dislikes Hell or even hates it, while Lilith revels in it. Alluding to their marriage falling apart from this dissonance. At the same time, Lucifer calls Charlie to meet with Heaven, despite the pilot being canon. So we get the impression that Charlie and Lucifer had a falling out (“Maybe dad was right.”) but she doesn’t have much more than surprise at her father calling. Then he just sets up this meeting for her to meet with Adam off screen entirely. It is unclear how this was conveyed, but Lucifer doesn’t believe in Charlie and her meeting Adam has nothing at all to do with her hotel.

But the way Adam talks about the meeting is unusual in that it gives the impression that it wasn’t about Charlie “filling in”, but that this whole meeting was specifically set for Charlie and Adam. This is compounded by how the ending reads like they didn’t know if the angel was dead until that moment. So the extermination being moved up has nothing to do with the angel’s death. Maybe I’m wrong, but this all feels really disjointed.

But Lute really is just Peridot. So much so that when asked what I liked about the episode, I literally said “Peridot”, not Lute. The one good aspect of this episode is another stolen concept from a better show with a more competent creator. But I also like Alex Brightman’s singing. He is very talented and he does elevate the material by really playing with his delivery, but it’s still at best Mid due to the weak lyrics,

3/10

[alixlives]

like old times

lee!blitzø, ler!fizzarolli :)

i love them so much i am so glad theyre friends again actually. theyre besties and i love them. this was not proof read so if theres mistakes then OOPS !! (haha u get the reference ? get it ?? cause. cause oops is a helluva boss episode. and its the one where fizz and blitzø made up. haha. yeah)

this fic is intended to be viewed as platonic.

N$FW BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS POST OR MY BLOG!

Blitzø would never admit it aloud, but he couldn’t be happier that him and Fizzarolli are friends again. It felt like a piece of him had gone missing, then found it’s way back to him.

Blitzø decided to have him and the I.M.P team take a day off, allowing them to do as they please for entertainment that day. And for Blitzø, that meant inviting Fizzarolli over.

The jester admittedly was confused, but honestly, so was Blitzø. How was he even supposed to word that message? “Hey, wanna hangout?” It sounded odd to him, at least since it had been, what, 15 years?

Or maybe he was just really, really socially awkward.

He settled for calling Fizz and, very awkwardly, inviting him over with strings of words that just barely made sense; Something Fizz fully intended on teasing Blitzø for later.

.

.

.

Fizz barged into the door of the I.M.P headquarters, making a strong entrance as always. Blitzø nearly flipped out of his chair.

“You invited me to where you work, really?” Fizz looked around as if unimpressed. “Do you ever leave this place?”

Blitzø blinked. He does, but he lives in a raggedy old apartment, shared with Loona. He invited Fizz over to the I.M.P Headquarters both because he was embarrassed about the apartment, and he didn’t want to disturb Loona.

“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, I just wanted to catch up since it’s been, what, fifteen years now? And the last time we did get to talk about life, we were dealing with a bunch of psycho’s trying to kill us..”

“Oh, so you can explain your reasoning here, but not on the phone, huh?” Fizz smirked, earning an eye-roll from Blitzø.

“Hey, if you came to be a dick, the door’s right behind you,” Blitzø crossed his arms. Fizz only walked further into the room, adjusting the sleeves of his light-pink top as he did so.

The jester moved to circle Blitzø for a moment, “Nope. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me today, Blitzo.”

“The ‘o’ is silent, clown! Do I have to drill a paper with it in writing through your ears in order to get it through your head?” He flicked Fizz's forehead, though the action and his tone showed that he wasn't actually upset. Usually, he would be, but things were different nowadays; He couldn’t find himself to be genuinely upset with the jester.

Fizz laughed. "Nah, I just like messing with you." He bent forward a little to be on Blitzø’s level, only teasing him further. Blitzø poked Fizz in the chest.

"Thin ice, buddy. Thin. Ice." He glared, making direct eye contact with the jester. Fizz only smiled.

"Guess I'll have to tread carefully, huh?" He gently pried Blitzø’s finger away from him.

Blitzø crossed his arms over his chest. Maybe a harmless little joke to get back at Fizz, but what?

Scare him.

Blitzø and Fizz spent about fifteen minutes discussing life, AKA Blitzø was prying into Fizz’s personal life about him and Asmodeus. Then Blitzø spoke.

“I need to grab something from the company van outside, give me a few minutes.” Then he got up and left. Fizz raised an eyebrow as he watched the shorter imp leave.

It was only partially a lie, given what he ‘needed’ wasn’t actually important. However, it was necessary for his little scheme to get back at Fizz.

Once the door to his office was closed, Blitzø ran out of the building to his company’s van. When he got to the vehicle, he started to dig through the mess of trash on the floors and seats. He mumbled something about needing to clean it, or get Moxxie to do it.

Then he grabbed it.

An airhorn.

Fizz had mentioned using an airhorn to startle Asmodeus awake, why not use the same to scare the jester? A taste of his own medicine.. sort of.

Once Blitzø had the airhorn, he ran back into the building. He looked through the window to see inside his office, Fizz wasn’t facing the door. Perfect. He made sure to shake the airhorn before entering.

He opened the door slowly and carefully, making sure to shut it the same way. You couldn’t even hear the click. He tip-toed over to Fizz, then blared the airhorn right behind hip.

Fizz fell out of his seat, and Blitzø fell right next to him, except it was because he was laughing so hard. The jester had fallen out of surprise.

“What the fuck!?” Fizz couldn’t help but crack a smile; He couldn’t be mad, he did the same to Ozzie almost every day. He mumbled, “oh, you son of a bitch..”

Blitzø was too caught up in his own laughter to notice how Fizz had stanced himself.

And then he pounced.

The squeal that came from Blitzø was one Fizz would never, ever forget.

“You think that’s funny, do you? Huh? Fine then, I’ll give you something to laugh about!” The jester exclaimed as he immediately dug his fingers into Blitzø’s sides. The imp immediately started to kick and thrash, loud laughter emitting from him against his own will.

“FIHIHIZZ! Fuck, not THIHIS!” Blitzø grabbed onto Fizz’s robotic hands, but it didn’t do much to stop the jester as he just continued to scribble his fingers along Blitzø’s torso, the killer laughing helplessly beneath him.

“Ah, just like old times, right Blitzø? You’re still so insanely ticklish!” Fizz chimed, switching to vibrate his fingers along Blitzø’s ribs. “This will never get old. Ever.”

Memories of Blitzø’s childhood with Fizz flooded his mind; They almost always had tickle fights in the free time they had growing up. They both loved it, and they were honestly pretty open about liking it to each other.

Only to each other.

“Y’know, I remember you always seemed to love it whenever I’d go riiiiight here..” Fizz trailed his fingers down to Blitzø’s stomach, eliciting high pitched giggles from the shorter imp.

“Fihihihizz!” Blitzø whined, and Fizz couldn’t help but tease further.

“N’aww, still your soft spot, huh? Tickletickletickle!” He briskly scritched and clawed at the skin, simultaneously keeping the touches gentle just to worsen the sensations for Blitzø.

It was then Fizz noticed a soft sound, something hitting the floor. He glanced to the side to see Blitzø’s tail wagging, and he had to pause for a moment to compose himself.

“Aww, Blitzø! You’re tail still wags when I do this!? Fuck, you’re making me regret hating you for fifteen years,” Fizz joked. He moved his hands down a little and drilled his thumbs into the space right above Blitzø’s hip bones, relishing in the shriek that came from the shorter imp.

“FIHIHIZZ!” Blitzø’s hands latched onto Fizz’s wrists, and he started to thrash under the jester.

“Still a bad spot, huh? Guess you’re not so different compared to when we were kids!” Fizz grinned.

Soon, Fizz stopped tormenting Blitzø and sat beside him as he composed himself. It was pretty adorable.

“You’re an ass, you know that?” Blitzø huffed, glaring at Fizz with faux annoyance.

“You know you love it~” Fizz teased, delivering a few pokes to Blitzø’s sides before backing off again. He couldn’t help himself.

They both sat on the floor for the rest of the day, talking about whatever came to mind or messing with each other.

They both really did miss times like these, they missed each other, and both couldn’t be happier that they’d be able to experience it again.

[sentientcave]

You Drive Me Wild - Nikolai x OC It's October 1990, and Nikolai is a soldier, guarding the Soviet embassy in Copenhagen. It's a dull assignment, with dull comrades, the only bright spot of his station the days away from the embassy, when he can get to know this new city and her people. It's one of these nights when a woman he's been dreaming about walks into a smoky bar, and into his arms at last.

Contains: Alcohol, smoking, age-gap relationship, plain text is "translated" Russian (Since it is Nikolai's perspective), English in italics, pining, low-key hero worship, oral sex, unprotected (oops) sex. (Let me know if I missed something!)

~7.3k - MDNI!! - Intended for mature audiences

Read on AO3

Copenhagen, October 5th, 1990

Copenhagen was… Alright. 

Nikolai had gotten a cushy sort of assignment, thanks to Natalia’s connections, guarding the Soviet embassy. Mostly all he had to do was stand around and look threatening, check identification at the gate, occasionally follow the ambassador around to some function or another. It wasn’t complicated. It wasn’t exciting. It just… was. Days bled into each other like cheap watercolour paint, edges blurred and indistinct. The routine chafed at him. He had gotten too used to freedom, running wild between Leningrad and the farmhouse out in Kyrelia, skipping school and occasionally helping his uncle with work, which was more likely to end in real action than anything he did at the embassy. A high-speed car chase through fields of rye was good fun, and a knife-fight in a back alley was better. 

Still, there was a certain thrill to getting out of Russia— A few runs across the border into Finland hadn’t given him much idea of what life was like outside, and he was eager to taste what the West had to offer him. He spent every moment that he could off base, practising his languages, picking up pretty brunettes (English and American ones, when he could), listening to music that hadn’t been approved by any government agency, played in basement bars, laced with anger and heavy guitar, the air heavy with smoke and the smell of sweat. He would have spent too much of his meagre salary going out to bars around the city, if he didn’t so often wind up with more cash in his pockets than when he left, betting on games of pool and poker and winning more often than not. 

He had a few favourite establishments, ones with a higher turnover rate of tourists. It was harder to shark the same people twice, but cocky American tourists provided good hunting for a fresh-faced soldier who was oh so good at pretending to be a simple country boy. It was their own arrogance that lost the games before they had even begun. Nikolai had no qualms about using that American bluff and bluster to his advantage. This particular bar was near some of the embassies and plenty of hotels, and he’d already made a hundred American dollars playing pool with chain of unlucky marks (So typical of Americans to carry their own currency in another country). He sat at the bar considering his next move. He felt no particular urge to play any longer, or to return to his comrades, sitting at a table on the other side of the crowded establishment. Perhaps he would try his luck with the table of leggy blond women in the back corner of the smoky bar. One of them had been throwing smiles his way for the past half-hour. Pussy was pussy, even if he did prefer brunettes with thick, muscular thighs. 

“You should play another round of pool,” Ivan, one of his fellow embassy guards said in his ear, half crashing into him from behind, knocking Nikolai into the bar and nearly spilling his beer. “There is a beautiful woman who’s about to beat a couple of Germans, you could have next game.” 

Nikolai made a disgruntled sound. “I’m done for tonight,” he said, draining the rest of his beer. “You play her.” He had neglected to return to the table with Ivan and the others for a reason. He was tired of the usual posturing and boisterous behaviour already, and they had really only started in on their night. They often made fun of him for calling it early, or not trying to keep up with them, but it was always his turn to feel superior in the morning, when they could hardly open their eyes. 

“Ah, come on, Kolyan. I can’t speak German or English. She will look at me like I’m a fool if I try to speak to her.” Ivan relied too heavily on Nikolai when it came to women. He made no effort to learn other languages, putting him at a disadvantage talking to local and tourist alike in Copenhagen, where Danish, English, German and even French were the best bets for communication.

“Maybe she speaks Russian.” 

Ivan scoffed. “Unlikely. She looks American.”

Nikolai rolled his eyes, but turned to look, rewarded with the sight of a round ass wearing a pair of blue jeans bent over the table. A brunette, with shiny, slightly curling hair pulled into a high ponytail, wearing a leather jacket. Judging by the looks on the faces of the two blond giants across from her, she was about to clear the table. And she was just Nikolai’s type, by the shape of her. 

He ordered two shots of whiskey, and when he turned to look around again, the woman had circled to the other side of the table. Nikolai’s heart stammered to a stop for a moment, bounced against the bottom of his stomach, and lurched back into motion as it landed hard in it’s usual place. 

Helena.

She sank the eight ball, grinning like a wolf, her red-painted lips stark contrast against her white teeth. “Sorry, boys. That’s game,” she told them in that pretty English accent of hers. “Better luck next time.”

Nikolai slapped a few krone on the bar and picked up the shot glasses, sidling up to Helena, setting them on the water-stained wooden edges of the pool table. “Lena,” he said, puffing himself up a bit. He had no need to pitch his voice lower now, or pull himself ramrod straight to give him the extra height.  He was undoubtedly a man now, with a days worth of stubble on his chin and enough experience with women that he would not turn pink or stammer when she looked at him. She would have to see that. “Have a drink with me.”

Her attention snapped away from the Germans and to him, eyes devastatingly sharp on their first pass, until recognition softened her features with a smile half a heartbeat later. “Kolya?” she asked. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she seized him around the neck, pulling him into a tight hug. 

Nikolai wrapped his arms around her waist, picking her up and spinning her in a tight circle, breathing in the smell of cigarettes and sweet, spicy perfume. He was a lot taller than she was now, and she fit into his arms better than a dream, with weight and substance. The last time he had seen her, three years that felt like a lifetime ago, they had been the same height. 

“I’m a soldier now,” he told her as he set her back down on her feet, his hands lingering on her hips just a moment longer than necessary. He had no desire to let her go, but he did. “Stationed at the embassy. Aunt Talia pulled strings. It’s an easy assignment.”

“They made you cut your hair.” She rubbed a hand over his head, her hand sliding down the back of his neck before she let it fall back to her side. “It’s too bad. The long hair suited you.”

Nikolai nudged her gently, picking the shots up again and handing one to her. “I’ll grow it back once I’m my own man again. For you.”

He loved the way her eyes creased when she smiled. “Good.” They knocked their glasses together and downed them at the same time. “You still smoke?” she asked, inclining her head towards the door. “I was about to step outside.”

“You can smoke in here.” A bluish haze hung in the air above their heads, swirling whenever someone opened the door to admit a fresh gust of air, and many patrons of the bar had lit cigarettes in their hands, smoke drifting upwards with every exhale. 

“I know. But it’s loud. I want to catch up.” 

He would never argue against taking a moment alone with her. “As you wish.” He gestured for her to walk ahead of him. He could feel Ivan’s eyes on the back of his neck, so he shot a quick, gloating glance over his shoulder at his open-mouthed comrade, and then dashed ahead to open the door for Helena. 

They stepped into the cool night air, and Helena pulled a pack of smokes out of her inner jacket pocket and thumbed one up enough that she could pull it out with her mouth, and offered the pack to Nikolai while she dug her lighter out of the front pocket of her jeans. 

“You’re here on business?” Nikolai held her wrist steady as he plucked a cigarette from the pack, fingers moving fast enough that he hoped she wouldn’t notice that he took one that had the slightest smudge of red lipstick on it. He might be a man, but he didn’t harbour any illusions about his chances with Helena. An indirect kiss was the best he could hope for. 

Lena tucked the pack into her pocket again, nodding. “Yes. Finished up now. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.” She lit her own cigarette and held up the lighter for him, her other hand cupped around the flame to protect it from the chilly breeze that rolled down the well-lit streets.

“That’s too bad. I have a few days off. It would be nice to spend some time with you.” He braced a hand on the wall behind her as he leaned in, meeting her eyes evenly. Did he just imagine that little hitch of breath? The spark of interest in her dark brown eyes?

She looked away, flicking the lighter closed. “I could maybe stick around another day.”

“Maybe another two?” he asked playfully. He was still looming over her, not touching, but close enough to share heat. She didn’t move away. 

“We’ll see.” She braced her left elbow against her hand, setting the cigarette to her lips, her eyes everywhere but on him. Perhaps her stance was protective, hesitant, but still… Something had very obviously shifted between them. 

Her wedding band was missing. 

After three years of pining and chasing any woman that reminded him even a little of Helena, it was a cold-water shock to the system to imagine that the real thing was suddenly attainable. Fate had smiled at him, led them to each other on a chilly autumn night in a city big enough that they could have easily sailed right past each other, not even knowing that the other was near. Nikolai was no longer a child, he was tall and strong like a man worthy of her ought to be, and she was as beautiful as he remembered, sloe-eyed and ageless, and she was not wearing a wedding ring. 

Still, his chances balanced like a knife tip on a finger. It would be easy to move to fast or too slow, to ask the wrong question or provide the wrong answer. Helena might still think him too young. He could stumble and show his limited experience, let the facade of confidence slip, allow the knife to tumble, sharp and glittering, to the ground.  

He resisted the urge to touch one of the escaped wisps of hair that framed her face, curling in the damp sea air. "Do you ever wear your hair down?" he asked, pivoting away from the inclination to ask about her marriage. Maybe that would be a conversation for a few drinks later. 

"Not really," she said, finally looking up at him again, tucking one of those escaped curls behind her ear. "Why?" 

"Just wondering. I think I only even saw it down once. It is always business with you. Practicality." 

"Nothing wrong with that."

"Certainly not. It is just curiosity." 

"Hm. Of course.” The look she gave him was strange, fond but slightly suspicious, like she knew that there was something unsaid underneath his casual tone, but hadn’t quite figured out what. “How is the family?” Her turn to pivot, turning the conversation away from herself and back to predictable waters. “Last time I spoke to Talia she said she was expecting another baby." 

Nikolai nodded. "Yes. Due soon. Maybe inside the month. And little Aleksei just turned three. Getting bigger every day. Talking endlessly, asking a thousand questions every day. Wants to know the whys of every little thing. How is your son? Ten now, yes?" 

"Yes. He's a smart boy. Very capable. He's an expert marksman already. Hits a dead eye on a moving target eight times out of ten." 

"Impressive." 

“He’s got no real sense for flying though. Taken him up a few times, but he doesn’t like heights. Poor kid.”

Nikolai laughed, struck, not for the first time, at the absurdity of her being a mother at all. She had patience, but little softness, more a captain training a recruit than a mother teaching her son, more concerned with toughness and survival than anything else. She was a hawk nudging her fledgling out of the nest and hoping he would fly. “He is only ten years old, Lena,” he reminded her. “You cannot expect him to be an expert in all things.”

“Well, I suppose not. He’s a pretty good driver, at least.” 

Ivan tumbled out the door, followed by Iosif and Pyotr, the three of them laughing. Like Nikolai, they had gotten their stations in Copenhagen due to connections, but unlike Nikolai, they didn’t take an ounce of it seriously. Nikolai was no nationalist, but he did respect the training. He knew he could outrun, out-lift and out-shoot all three of them. And when it came to thinking, he was many miles ahead as well. 

“Kolyan! We thought you left us behind,” Pyotr said. “But no, you are just out here with a beautiful woman.” 

“Helena,” Lena supplied, giving them a half-wave with her nearly spent cigarette. 

“Pyotr,” he replied, giving her a wide smile. He was tall as Nikolai, and blond and handsome in an annoying, self-aware way. “Ivan, and Iosif,” he added, pointing to the others in turn. “You don’t look Russian.” They were all so surprised when someone could speak more languages then they were born with, as though their own ignorant refusal to learn to communicate was the norm.

“I’m English,” she said. “A friend of Kolya’s family.”

Iosif gave Helena a look that lingered too long everywhere but her face. It made Nikolai want to punch him repeatedly. “You’re very beautiful,” Iosif said bluntly. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She smiled at him, the wolfish one that was all bared teeth and thinly-veiled threat, and dropped her cigarette to the damp ground, stepping on it to ensure it was fully out. “No. I buy my own drinks.”

“Kolyan bought you a drink,” Iosif protested. 

“I don’t like you as much as I like him,” Lena said, shrugging. “There are no debts between us.” 

Of course she would say so. She didn’t tally favours against friends, no concern for balanced books when the scales were tipped her way. He didn’t operate like that— Couldn’t afford to let favours accumulate interest, liked to collect sooner rather than later, keeping his own ledger clear. But it was staggering, how much he owed her. For the gifts, his flight lessons, the dust up in Leningrad where he had gotten injured, cornered and nearly killed, and she had taken down two men with her boot knife and bare hands. “Not quite,” Nikolai said softly. “My life is yours.” Perhaps it was nothing to her, just another day in a life filled with violence, but he would certainly not forget the sight of her covered in someone else’s blood, rushing to his side the moment both bodies hit the floor. 

She shook her head, looking up at him. Her dark eyes looked starry, the way they cast back the orange light of streetlamps and the pink and blue neon sign from across the street, but it was hard to fathom what she was thinking, behind all that reflected colour. “No, Kolya. You owe me nothing.”

Nikolai tossed down his own cigarette and tapped his first knuckle against the bottom of her chin, leaning in a little closer. “It is really not a matter of owing, Helena,” he purred. “It is a matter of knowing where I stand.”

Her lips parted slightly, a hint of colour creeping into her pale cheeks. 

“If there is a story there, we’d like to hear it,” Pyotr said smoothly, interrupting the moment with all the grace of a bucking bull smashing through a window. “Come, let Kolyan buy you another drink, tell us why he owes you his life.”

“It is better if I tell it,” Nikolai said. “She will discount her actions, because she is as modest as she is beautiful. But it is up to her if we join you. Tonight she is my general.” He dropped his arm to her shoulders, pulling her in close. She made no move to push him away, and her body fit right in against him like she belonged there. Like she belonged with him. 

“They’re your friends, Kolya. Up to you.”

In all truth, he didn’t want to share any of her attention with them, although he did feel a certain pull to show her off some, even though she was not really his.  “One drink,” he said. “We won’t stay long.”

They crowded back into the bar, and Helena touched Nikolai's chest lightly. "I'll be right back," she said, taking off for the back corner of the bar, weaving through clumps of other patrons. It was getting busier, and a band was tuning up their instruments on the opposite side of the establishment, the noise already sending ripples through the haze of smoke. Pyotr followed him to the bar while Ivan and Iosif laid claim to one of the few remaining tables. 

"You always have good luck with women," Pyotr complained while they waited for the bartender to take notice of them. "You should leave some beautiful girls for the rest of us, no?" 

"If you learned another tongue you could speak to some of them yourself," Nikolai said. "You and Ivan should try. Iosif has been learning English. He's fucking terrible at it, but it's worth the effort. He gets dates." 

"Your Helena speaks Russian. And German?" 

"And French. Maybe more than that. She does business in many countries."

“Business? She does not look like a business woman.”

Nikolai shrugged, burying his irritation under nonchalance. “Perhaps you have a narrow mind.” 

Once they had their drinks in hand, they found the other two soldiers, and crammed into the booth with them. With four bulky men in the space, it was hard to imagine squeezing Helena into a proper seat. Nikolai wanted to kiss Ivan and Iosif on the mouth for creating a scenario where he might be able to coax Helena to sit on his lap. They were not good for much, but at least they were good for something. 

Helena reappeared at his shoulder, and Nikolai twisted to look up at her, surprised to find that she had taken her hair down from its ponytail. She looked a little wilder that way, a little younger, dark hair loose around her shoulders, curling at the ends.

"Why don't you sit with me?" Pyotr asked, patting his knee invitingly. "Pretty thing like you ought to have a man take care of you, yes?" 

Helena gave him an unamused look and hooked her arm around Nikolai's shoulders, dropping onto his thigh without any further ceremony. Nikolai wrapped his arm around her waist happily, his big hand sitting on the junction between her hip and thigh. He resisted the urge to dig his fingers in and feel her properly. "Don't get any ideas, Kolya," she told him, an attempt to be stern, although he wasn't sure either of them really believed that she meant it. "I'm far too old." 

"Not so," Nikolai said, hoping honesty would help his case. "I've been with older women than you." He preferred women to girls his own age. 

Surprise flickered across her face. She was rarely surprised, but the expression suited her, her soft red lips parting slightly, her beautiful eyes, usually half closed, opened wide. Ivan and Iosif were laughing, Iosif jostling Pyotr with his elbow for getting rejected so definitively. 

Nikolai pressed his advantage, leaning in close, his words only for her. "Perhaps you will tell me later why you have no ring on your finger." 

She turned her head slightly. They were so close that their noses almost brushed. "Kolya..." 

"Lena," he returned, nudging the tip of his nose against hers, satisfaction pooling in his belly at the was she inhaled, like she thought he was going to try to kiss her. And then he turned away, picking up his beer and nudging hers toward the corner of the table slightly.

Yes, things had certainly shifted between them.

There was something gratifying about having her there, and not just because her warm body was pressed close to his, but to have someone to exchange a look with when Pyotr said something out of touch, or when Ivan made a terrible joke. They tended to think alike, him and his sparrowhawk, and every time they looked at each other it was confirmation of the chemistry that Nikolai had long been painfully aware of, and Lena was just beginning to realize. 

When she finished her beer, she stood up, heading outside for another cigarette. She didn’t like to smoke indoors— Nikolai suspected it was more a reason to take a step outside to gather her thoughts than it was for any type of propriety. Pyotr had offered her two as they sat around the table, and she had politely declined each time. 

“I won’t be back,” he told the others, grinning wolfishly at the sour look on Pyotr’s face. “Try not to get into too much trouble without me. You will not be able to talk your way out of it.”

He found Lena around the corner, tucked into an alley to get out of the wind. The weather had a habit of shifting without warning, and there was a smell of ozone in the air, promising rain, although the sky above them was still dark and clear. 

She looked at him, but didn’t speak, simply held out her pack of cigarettes to offer him one. He lit it with his own lighter this time, nodding his thanks rather than breaking the silence. If she had something on her mind, it would be better to wait her out. So he smoked, standing a step away, watching her. He could never get tired of looking at her anyway. 

Finally, she spoke, an accusation, but delivered lightly. “You’ve been flirting.”

He nodded. The allegations were more than true. He was only glad that she could not charge him for the thoughts he’d indulged in, not simply that evening, but for a very long time. “I have.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you.” 

She dropped her spent cigarette to the ground, frowning. "Kolya, you're too young. You should be with someone your own age." 

Nikolai dropped his own cigarette and threw caution away as well, stepping forward, crowding her up against the rough brick, and cupped her face, allowing all the admiration and want that he'd tried to bury for years to rise to the surface. "I am nearly twenty. I am a soldier. Old enough to die for my country, but not old enough to want to make love to a beautiful woman I respect and adore?" 

She gripped his wrists, but didn't pull his hands away. "I--"

"No. Even before you were not happy. You deserve more, from a man who will do anything for you. Let me be that man, Lena. At least for a day or two, hm?" He pressed his lips to hers and drew back, searching her eyes for a reaction. Her grip on his wrists loosened and fell away, her palms settling against his chest instead. Not pushing him away, but not pulling him closer either. 

They looked at each other for a long moment, indecision writ in bold script across her face. Good sense would have her send him away, but it was not a night where good sense reigned supreme. They were alone, in a world that had shrank to fit just the two of them, everything else forgotten and distant. 

Her eyes dropped from his and settled on his mouth. "Oh fuck it," she said, and they crashed together desperately, her hands gripping his shirt.

Heat blazed in his chest, like a sputtering engine roaring to life. She opened up to him without him having to do any prodding, he could taste smoke and the clean burn of alcohol on her tongue as it moved against his. This was passion, not the clumsy, anxious pawing between two inexperienced people, like he was more used to, but the inevitable reaction of two people who knew exactly what they wanted. He threaded his fingers through her silky hair, angling her head slightly so he could deepen the kiss the slightest bit more, licking eagerly into her mouth. She made a soft sound, arms twining around his neck so she could press her body closer to his. He let his own hands settle on her waist. As much as he wanted to touch every inch of her, he didn't want to come across as too excitable or get carried away by his desire. He needed to make Helena melt first. His own pleasure was a guarantee. Even if she stopped him there, he had held and touched and kissed her now, and he had come many times to paltry imaginings of less.

Lena broke them apart, breathing hard, her dark eyes bright and slightly unfocused, like she had never been kissed like that. Like his kiss had left her more unsteady than the drinks, her red lipstick smeared across her mouth. “I’m staying close by,” she told him, running her thumb across the corner of his mouth, coming away with more red pigment. “Do you want—”

He cut her off with another kiss. He didn’t give a fuck if there was lipstick staining his own mouth. It was just evidence that she really had kissed him. “If you’re asking if I want to get out of here, the answer is yes.”

“Should you tell your friends?”

“No. I make it a habit to leave without saying goodbye. Especially if a beautiful woman has been sitting in my lap all evening.” He grinned, catching her hand as he stepped back. “Where are you staying?”

They walked to her hotel slowly, Nikolai stopping to kiss her at every opportunity, a little worried that she might, at any moment, come to her senses and send him on his way. He had wanted her so badly for so long, he did not wish to stop until they had tangled up together in bed, and perhaps not even then. Perhaps he could convince her to spend more time with him. Perhaps when he had served his time in the army he would be able to follow her wherever she went. 

It would likely take some convincing, but he was up to the task. In that moment, he was up to any task. 

She unlocked the door to her hotel room, her expression turning pensive. "I'm not divorced yet, we’re just separated for now. Maybe this is--"

"Lena, I am not asking you for the rest of your life." He didn't add that he would take it, if she offered it to him-- That he would take anything she offered him, no matter how big or small. "I only want to show you what you mean to me." 

She pushed the door open to let him in. "I don't-- I don't even know if we will get divorced." 

"I don't care." He did. He cared a lot, but if he said that aloud she would halt things, tell him it was for his own good. 

"Of course not. It's just a crush you want to work out of your system, right?" She smiled wryly, shedding her leather jacket and tossing it over a chair. 

"Sure." He tossed his own jacket down on top of hers and hauled her back into his arms. "Do you want to talk about this man that never deserved you? Or do you want to forget him?" He rubbed his thumb over the jagged scar on her arm, where it cut her RAF tattoo in half, his touch following it up to where it disappeared under her rolled up t-shirt sleeve and back down again. 

She drew in a shaky breath, as unsure as Nikolai had ever seen her. "He cheated on me. Said it was because I was gone so much. Guess I can’t blame him for that. Just never was able to stay home. Too much to do. Not built for domesticity.” 

“You cannot help being what you are,” Nikolai said.

Lena laughed lightly and wound her arms around his waist, her hands slipping under his shirt and curling against his back. “Are you going to tell me what I am, Kolya?” she asked, tilting her head back to look at him. 

“A sparrowhawk. A fierce little hunting bird. A warrior, perhaps, a traveller, certainly. Never the kind of woman that belongs tucked away in a kitchen somewhere. Your husband is a fool if he cannot appreciate you as you were made to be.” 

“He wants to work it out,” she warned him. “We've got so much tangled up together it might be the only thing that makes sense." 

“Perhaps. Perhaps if you must, you should allow him to chase his lesser women, so that you can spend your time with a better man.” He grinned at her and moved in for another kiss. He had said everything that needed saying, laid out what cards he thought would aid him, and kept the rest tucked away for later. She all but melted in his arms, lips parting reflexively for him. 

This time, he made no effort to restrain himself, letting his hands roam, moaning into her mouth when he finally got a handful of her backside, fingers gripping a little too tight from enthusiasm. What curves she had were incidental, from her broad-hipped build rather than much softness— Even motherhood had granted very little softness to Lena, she was packed muscle and callouses and fire, totally unlike any of the pale imitations he had found himself chasing over the past few years. Lena would always be a soldier first, it would take some effort to remind her that she was a woman too. 

Nikolai stepped forward, making Lena move backwards until her knees hit the bed, and broke the kiss so he could kiss down her neck, sucking a little too hard just below her ear, making her hiss. She gripped the collar of his shirt firmly, hauling him back a bit. “Easy,” she said, laughing. “Leave the hickies for the college girls, Kolya.”

He flushed pink, although the embarrassment from his mistake did nothing to dampen the mood, blessedly. “Sorry,” he said, knocking his forehead against hers. “You’re very hot.”

Lena grinned in response and tugged his shirt off over his head, tossing it to the side. She ran her hands over his chest, eyes following hungrily. “So are you.”

Nikolai had been hard since they started kissing outside the bar, but her words, somehow all the more genuine delivered in her own tongue, coupled with the look she gave him made him twitch, blood fully abandoning his head to travel south. He pulled her shirt off too, and kissed down her chest, cheering internally that he managed to unhook her bra on the first attempt, rather than struggling with the clasp like a schoolboy. 

Her nails grazed over his head encouragingly when he reached her small breasts, lapping his tongue across one nipple and palming the other. She made a breathy sound, and then a groan when he tested his teeth against the sensitive nub. He groaned too, some primal part of him getting off on the fact that he was making her feel good, that she was letting him touch her, that she was enjoying the feeling of his hands and lips and tongue and teeth on her skin. He felt twenty feet tall. 

Lena reached for his belt, undoing the buckle before his syrupy-slow thoughts could catch up. He broke away from her breast and caught her wrists before she could do more than undo the top button of his jeans. He was fairly sure he would spill all over her fingers if she put her hands on him. “Impatient,” he chided her, pushing her onto the bed. He sank to his knees, positioning his body between her thighs. “Ladies first.”

Her laugh was always music to his ears, but it was honey sweet now, pooling somewhere in his chest as he cut her off with another kiss. He couldn’t risk her seeing the feeling in his eyes— He knew it was too close to love, that she would realize that this meant more to him than it did to her, and she would send him away to protect him. 

He ducked his head and sank back on his haunches, pulling one of her boots into his lap so he could undo the laces and pull it free. She leaned back on her elbows to watch him, her head tipped to the side thoughtfully. Her gaze burned, but he didn’t look up until he had set both boots to the side, sliding his hands up her firm thighs to the waistband of her jeans. “These need to come off now.” 

“Now who’s impatient?” she asked teasingly, but she pitched her hips up so he could peel the denim off of her legs anyway, the heat in her eyes undeniable. 

Nikolai ran his hands up her legs reverently, dropping a kiss on the inside of her knee, torn as ever between restraint and enthusiasm. He pushed her legs open a little wider, attention fixed on her cotton-clad cunt. 

Lena gave him a sly, fox-like smile. "You want to taste me?" She asked, hooking her thumbs through the waistband of her panties. 

"More than anything," he breathed. 

"Then get to it, soldier," she said, pushing them down.

"Yes ma'am." Nikolai pulled them the rest of the way off, and tried to be subtle about shoving the (wet!) cotton in his pocket. She probably saw, but she was gracious enough to not mention it. He wasted no more time, pulling her to the edge of the bed as he peppered the inside of her thighs with kisses, eyes focused on her pretty pussy, framed by slick darkened curls. His cock throbbed as he dipped his head down, licking a broad path along her slit, groaning at the heady taste of her. He threw one of her lean legs over his shoulder and fixed his mouth to her clit, lapping his tongue across it, gripping tightly to her hips when they bucked up against him. A moan fell from Helena's mouth, prompting him to repeat the movement. 

He found a rhythm quickly, spurred on by her gasped instructions, or her hand nudging his head into just the right position. He had found that the benefit sleeping with older women was that they weren’t shy about asking for what they wanted, but Helena took it a step further and simply took, grinding against his tongue, using the leg over his shoulder to pull him closer, the other planted on his thigh so she could push him just slightly away, reminding him to breathe. As if that was important, when the sharp taste of her was heavy on his tongue and her moans were thick in the air. 

“Two fingers,” Lena gasped, nudging him back slightly to make sure he was listening. “Inside, please.”

Nikolai obeyed, leaning back to watch her face, replacing his tongue with his thumb. Her soaked cunt pulsed around his fingers, her hips canting toward his touch desperately. He curled his fingers just so, and she keened, fisting the sheets as if she were worried that she would levitate off the bed and away from his hands. “Will you come for me?” he purred. “You look so beautiful. Taste so sweet.”

His words made her gush, her walls clenching tight around him. “Fuck— Kolya!” Her whole body shuddered, pulling taut, tension snapping when he suctioned his mouth to her swollen clit once more, moaning against her as she came, as if her pleasure was his own. It nearly was. He was so hard, and his jeans so tight that he could imagine coming just from the pressure and the sweet sounds she made, although he tried not to think about that. 

She unhooked her leg from his shoulder and pushed herself into a seated position, cupping his jaw to pull him closer. “You’re pretty good at that,” she panted, pressing a kiss to his mouth, unphased by the slick that coated the lower half of his face. 

Nikolai got to his feet, letting his teeth graze against her bottom lip before he straightened up fully, separating reluctantly so he could kick off his boots and finally rid himself of the rest of his clothes. “I’m good at lots of things,” he promised. 

Helena moved toward the head of the mattress, watching him, face flushed pink high on her cheekbones and hair a mess already. Her dark eyes dipped down his chest, thighs pressing together when he finally freed his cock. He wanted to imprint the image of her looking at him like that on the back of his eyelids, so he could see it every time he blinked for the rest of his life. Her dark eyes were hot and hungry, for him. That morning, this was a distant, far off fantasy that lingered in the back of his mind, and now she was here, laying naked before him, every inch of her lean, muscular, scarred up body on display, and she wanted him. 

“Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to come over here and show me what else you’re good at?” she asked. 

“I am just appreciating the view,” he laughed, climbing onto the bed beside her. “It’s one I’d very much like to remember.”

“Flatterer,” she accused, curling into his arms for another kiss. 

He hummed against her mouth, agreeing, pulling her on top of him, legs on either side of his waist. He was glad she was as eager to lock lips as he was— He could never get tired of the spit-slicked slide of her mouth against his, the swipe of her tongue against his own, like she was as desperate to devour him as he was her. He reached around her hips to take himself in hand, precum easing the glide of his first few rough, desperate strokes. 

“Koyla,” she whined against his mouth, angling her hips back. 

“You want me?” he asked, tapping the head of his cock against her core, grinning when she inched backward, chasing it when he pulled back again. 

“Yes,” she panted. “Please.”

Who was he to deny her? He rubbed himself against her dripping folds again, and she pitched herself backward, taking him to the hilt in one smooth movement. He groaned, fighting off the urge to come just like that, at the first molten clench of her cunt around him, fingers digging into her hips to hold her still while he adjusted. 

Lena fought his grip, grinding her clit down against him, desperate for friction and movement. Nikolai lost the battle shamefully quick, an orgasm pulsing through him before he could do more than pant out her name, holding her down against him as he came inside her, eyes screwed tight. 

He pulled in a shuddering breath, wincing. “Shit. Sorry.”

Lena just laughed, not an ounce of judgment or disappointment in the sound. “You need a minute?” she asked, pushing back up onto her knees, their hips still pressed flush together. Her cunt pulsed around him, and, blessedly, his cock responded with enthusiasm, staying hard. She rocked back and forth, hands braced against his chest as she fucked herself slowly on him, drawing each movement out excruciatingly slow, a teasing smile on her lips. She squeezed around him again, and he could help but groan, rutting up into her reflexively. 

“No. No, I will keep going. Sorry.” He pulled her down against his chest and rolled them so that he was on top. Coming too early once was bad enough, he couldn’t risk it happening a second time. He folded her legs up and thrust into her slow, making sure that she felt every inch of him drag across that spongy, sensitive spot that he had found with his fingers earlier. 

Lena hooked her legs around his waist, pressing her palms against the headboard to give herself some leverage to meet his movements, encouraging him to pick up his pace. He followed her cue, pistoning into her soaked pussy harder and faster, his balls slapping against her ass, coupling with the wet sound of his cock moving in and out of her and the little whimpers that left her lips with every thrust. He dropped down to his forearms, feeling tension building inside him again, trying to keep his reaction in check, and the change in angle made her cry out. She let go of the headboard and clung to his shoulders instead, burying her face against his neck. 

“Kolya,” she gasped into his ear. “I’m close.”

He knew that the best thing he could do was keep to the same rhythm, so he continued the relentless pace, shifting his wieght to one arm so he could reach between them, rubbing a tight circle around her clit. He legs squeezed tight around him, her cunt fluttering around his cock. She bit down on his shoulder, groaning against his skin, nails digging into his back.  His own release came quickly, the tension snapping as he spilled inside her for the second time. He rutted against her until her cunt relented, loosening around him. 

“Fuck,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers, breathing hard. “You’re so beautiful. Next time I need to see your face, yes?”

That teasing, fox-like grin returned. “Next time?”

“Give me, five, ten minutes,” he panted. “I’m good for it.” 

She laughed, pushing him over onto the bed and curling into him, her head on his shoulder, her legs tangled up with his. She made a soft, contented noise, running her fingers through the sweaty curls of hair on his chest, her expression turning dazed and thoughtful as she relaxed in his arms. He smoothed her hair back from her face, kissing the top of her head affectionately. 

"You flown a helo yet?” she asked. “I could take you up tomorrow, if you want. There’s one on the ship." The change of subject was abrupt, but he knew her well enough to recognize her tactics when she got too close to an emotion. 

"I would like that.” 

“Good. Me too.”

Nikolai sighed, tilting Lena’s chin up for another proper kiss. He would spend every moment he could by her side, for as long as she would let him, in the air or on solid ground. “Will you be in town again soon?” he asked hopefully. 

“I haven’t even left yet,” she said, laughing. 

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

She bit her lip, cheeks turning pinker, her eyes filled with something shining and hopeful and sweet, something that settled under his ribs, curling up in his chest and purring like a contented cat. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

“Next time, stay longer.” 

“I will,” she promised. “And yes, soon.”

He didn’t expect more than that. Couldn’t, knowing her. But it was enough. 

Maybe Copenhagen wasn’t so bad after all. 

[darkhymns-fic]

Switching shifts (wip)

Husk rapped his knuckles on Alastor’s door, which finally made it give up on its intended purpose and fell flat on the ground with a giant thud.

“Welcome home!” Niffty popped right out from between the sofa cushions, lint and quarters clutched in both hands. “Oops, hehe. Sorry. I'm so used to the boss making an entrance.” She blinked, staring at him with interest. “Ooo, whatcha got there?”

“Chicken noodle soup,” Husk said through a mouthful. He brought the bowl to his mouth to take one last big slurp, sighing in satisfaction after. Then he tossed it to the side to have it land in the kitchen sink. “So is he up yet?”

“Nope! He’s still sleeping and muttering under his breath!” Niffty clutched more lint in her hands. “I’m gonna leave all of these underneath his pillow.”

Husk wasn’t even sure if this was a thing that Alastor would like, but he wasn’t about to protest. The room was still fairly neat, if the floors looked a little too polished from Niffty’s obsessive cleaning. But the bookshelves had also been repaired, even if the books were placed haphazardly, and the grotesque animal skulls were back serving as assortments of centerpieces over the mantle.

He saw that even Alastor’s chair had been repaired–or as well as it could be. It looked like Niffty had gotten every piece together and arranged it like a puzzle, threading it all together with stitches so that it resembled a monstrous version of an armchair, with stuffing still coming out of the leather, and the seat cushion embedded with sharp wood pieces like it was some sort of torture device.

“Oh yeah, I fixed it!” Niffty proclaimed once she saw where Husk looked. “Good as new! Just don’t ever sit on it, I had to use roach parts to glue some stuff together.”

“Geez, Niff, ya didn’t have to go all out,” he said. She must have worked on it all morning, even if it was functionally useless. “You just had to watch the guy.”

“I did! I watched him all morning!” She smiled very wide, the pupil in her eye shrinking to a miniscule dot. “I watched him sleep…I watched him dream…”

Husk waited, but Niffty just stared out into the distance, her gaze clouded with nostalgia. “Uh–”

“But that got very boring, so I did some extra cleaning! I vacuumed and dusted, got the laundry started, hand scrubbed the toilet and and only fell in it once, and am now going to go to the market to get my dear Sir’s favorite venison to put in the oven. That means I’m a keeper, right?” She breathed a little hard, then rushed over to Husk to grab at his arms and shake them. “Right?! Right?!”

“Y-yes, you are! Any guy would be lucky to have ya.” Husk never ventured just what exactly entailed Niffty’s past, but he’d known a few housewives in his living days who…got into their role a bit too much. “If you wanna go shopping now, I can take over babysitting duties. And nothing happened at all?”

“Nothing!” Niffty nodded vigorously. “He screamed a few times in his sleep, but that’s normal.”

“Ugh, I know…” He scratched his head, looking toward the half-open bedroom door. He ignored the trepidation in his chest, the soft discomfort that had gone hand in hand in his life so often. 

So before he could go back on his word, he twirled around Niffty in his arms, taking her hand delicately in his as she giggled from the motion. Some quick steps over the carpet and the various bug traps he now saw spread around, another little twirl to distract Niffty and…

The girl was now standing out in the hallway, blankly staring at Husk who grinned down at her. Realization took hold about a few seconds later.

“Aw, you danced me out of the room!” She folded her arms, pouting. “You’re too good at that.”

“When I’m good, I’m good. ‘Sides, you wanted to go shopping anyway. So hurry and get a move on.” He gave a short wave, stepping over the broken door. “We’ll fix this later, or whatever.”

“Oh yeah, I have a chore!” Niffty bounced on her tiptoes, then quickly made a mad dash down the hallway. “Chooooores!”

It was only when he couldn’t hear her excited yelling anymore that Husk let his grin fall. He gave another look around Alastor’s room, the writing table to the back wall, and the phonograph off in the corner, both somehow having escaped last night’s carnage. He didn’t see the open vintage he and Alastor had shared before, probably broken to hell, or drunk dry by whoever held his boss’ leash.

It was routine for Husk to head for the bedroom.

[frozenjokes]

hOtgUy drops by to pick up his visor, and Cub viscerally regrets not googling his name before then (2/2)

prev

“He’s coming! Oh, he's coming! See, he just texted me, he said he’ll be here at 2:00! Look! Oh, what should I say? Something short, maybe a little heart at the end- emoji, or the little arrow and the three? No, no heart, that’s too much. Maybe he’d like a longer message, something poetic! Oh, but I’m no good with words, not like that anyway. What do you think? What should I say?”

The waitress looked a bit startled when Scar shoved his phone in her face, though anyone would be surprised if a celebrity like HotGuy turned around and asked their opinion on something so important!

“Well..” she deliberated for a moment, lips pursed (thinking hard, of course!), “I would probably say ‘Okay.’ Maybe add an exclamation mark?”

“Hmm..” Scar sat back in his chair, doing a very good job of pretending like that idea didn’t totally suck, “That’s a good start. I’m thinking I need a little more, though.”

The waitress shifted her weight, avoiding eye contact, “Did you want some more water then? While you wait?”

“Oh no, no I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me. Oh, this is going to be so great. Life changing. Let it be known, the world will never be the same after this fateful meeting. You’ll understand. You’ll know when you see him. No feathers or tails or scales or anything. Nothing against tails or scales. You, miss, are looking positively stunning today.”

“Ah-” The waitress looked a tad flustered, her reptilian tail curling inwards, “Well, I hope your date- uh- goes well. I’m.. cheering for you?”

“Oop! Not a date, not a date, no, however, just between you and me, I’m also cheering for me. Here’s hoping!” Scar rested his chin on his hands, sighing, but by the time he opened his eyes again, the waitress was gone. Where did she- oh! The text! Scar turned back to his phone, deliberating for at least ten more minutes before deciding on ‘Perfect! I can’t wait :D!’

Scar returned his head to his hands, more than happy to daydream for the next fifty minutes. Cub’s soft hands, fidgeting nervously in his lap, nervous, obviously, because he was sitting right across from HotGuy, his favorite superhero! Scar would tell him there was no reason to be nervous, not around him, and Cub would relax, saying something like ‘Thank you, HotGuy,’ and Scar would say ‘No, not HotGuy, Scar, remember? Please, call me Scar.’ And Cub would look into his eyes and Scar would look into his, and they would just stare at each other for a moment before Cub would say, ‘I bet you tell every guy you meet on the street your name,’ and Scar would say, ‘Are you kidding? That’s not my real name.’ And they would laugh and laugh and Cub would still be laughing while Scar would manage to compose himself, lowering his voice to something husky and romantic.

‘But no, I don’t tell just any guy my name.’

And Cub would laugh, but soon he’d realize Scar wasn’t joking, and stop, staring with wide eyes, ‘What do you mean? Surely that’s not true, we’re practically strangers.’

Actually no, he wouldn’t say that.

He’d blush a little bit, and he’d say ‘Really? Why me, then?’

And Scar would say something, he wasn’t sure yet, but it would be very romantic and Cub would fall in love with him and maybe just maybe they’d get to hold hands under the table and it would be fucking awesome-

“Uh, hello?”

Scar jumped up, blinking rapidly. He looked at his watch. Ah. “Hello there!” he said, not a delayed reaction at all, “Sit, sit- oh! What’s that?”

Cub was standing a bit stiffly, but he did sit down, holding a little box in his hands. “Oh, this is the visor. Things got a bit.. distracting. I think. We forgot. I wanted to drop it off so you didn’t have to come back.”

“A gift!”

“It’s not a gift, you still have to pay for it.”

“I’m thrilled!” Scar happily ignored that last bit, fully intending on paying later, but a gift was simply much more exciting, and it was all wrapped up in a cute little box, too, how sweet! He took the box from Cub’s hands and set it beside himself, pleased. “I can not wait to get home and take care of that. I’ve adjusted to seeing around the cracks, but it’s still pinching between my eyes, which, I don’t think I have to tell you is unpleasant. Though, aesthetically, I don’t really mind it. Gives me a bit of a rugged look, don’t you think?”

“Uh, yeah, man,” Cub squirmed a bit in his seat, and Scar’s smile faltered momentarily. Was he uncomfortable? Did he not like the restaurant Scar had picked?

“Something on your mind? Good or bad, I’d like to know.”

Cub blinked a few times, like he was surprised Scar noticed, then sat up a bit, looking around a tad self-consciously, “I guess I just don’t know why I’m here. Pretty confused, honestly. Do you pick people off the street and get lunch with them often? Is it like a marketing thing or some sort of interactivity that keeps people engaged in you as a superhero or something? I don’t get it.”

Scar startled, “No, no, I don’t do this very often at all! Though, maybe I should!” He thought for a moment, cheek resting on his fist, “I mean, maybe not full sit-down meals like this, but just hang out, you know? I love meeting new people. But no, this definitely isn’t a common occurrence. I guess you’re here because I think you’re special!”

Scar wasn’t sure what he was expecting (floating cartoon hearts, confetti, instant mutual infatuation), but it definitely wasn’t the somewhat incredulous look that crossed Cub’s face. “Special?” he said, distrustful, then started looking around, like there might be a camera crew just around the corner.

“I- I mean,” Scar stuttered, struggling to save this, “You’re human. There’s hardly any humans living in the city anymore, and I guess I just think you’re.. I think it’s pretty cool. It’s a little worrying to see you walking around by yourself at night and blasting music, but that’s also kinda cool? The confidence, you know? I don’t know if I would have that if I was still- I mean- it’s not that I’m not human anymore..”

“I don’t think prosthetic legs make you any less human, no matter how high-tech they are.”

“Ah! Not that! Well, a little bit that actually- my body is like 50% robot at this point, but I was more talking about all the experimental procedures my parents put me through to try and save my life after I blew up.”

“After-” Cub spluttered for a moment, “You blew up?” Ah. Right.

Scar nodded sagely, making a little explosion gesture with his hands, “Bad day! Well, if I remembered anything it would be pretty bad, but it was at least two weeks before I started to be a person again at all. Yup. Not good! Legs were super messed up, and my back was like, super broken- I was in pretty awful shape for many many years. Most of which I don’t remember, which, tangent, is so weird? It was like I just woke up one day and I was 23 and everything before then was just.. this hole. Thought it would get less weird the more time passed, but nope, turns out five years is a long time to just.. not really remember.”

“You- this happened when you were 18?”

“Yup. I had just started college in this city. Bomb was an attack on the campus, and I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Well. I guess I could have been in a wronger place and died instantly. I wished I had for a while. But given where I ended up, I’m real glad I stuck it out, I mean- I’m a fucking superhero. That’s awesome. And these kids- these little disabled kids, they come up to me and they see me and they have a little hope, you know? That everything is going to be okay.” Scar sighed, fighting the knot still tied sharp in his chest. The pain, the loneliness, the aching boredom. The ever presenting looming fear that something in his body could just malfunction and kill him instantly, the pain, fuck, the pain. Genetically and physically modified to absolute hell and back for the sole purpose of easing his suffering, and still he just couldn’t escape. “It’s worth it.” Scar wondered if he really believed that. When he told the world he’d endure it all again knowing this would be the outcome; is that really what he’d choose?

Cub gave him an odd look, then glanced to the side, then again, then again and-

“Are.. You two ready to order?” the waitress asked, and Scar felt his face heat up at his own obliviousness. Goodness, how long had she been standing there? Scar composed himself regardless and ordered; he had known what he was getting for a while now, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a wry smile on Cub’s face, which only served to embarrass him further.

Scar watched as the waitress walked away, if for no other reason than to avoid Cub’s eye, who was still looking way more amused than what had to be warranted here. “Do I even want to ask how long she was standing there.”

“About five minutes. I said your name a couple times, but you were like, really zoned out. Like when someone in a movie starts having a flashback, except no one could see it and it was really awkward for everyone else.” Scar let his head thunk against the table, and Cub laughed, he laughed, and god damn it was the prettiest sound Scar had heard in a long while, and suddenly the social agony was entirely worth it.

“Careful, HotGuy, you might crack your visor.”

“Ha. Ha. But please, Scar is fine. Just not too loud, I’d rather keep it to a small circle, you know how it is.”

“Oh shit, well my manager saw your note.”

“One person is fine.”

“The waitress definitely heard me call you Scar as well.”

“I- it’s not that big of a deal, Scar isn’t my real name,” Scar sat up, struggling between amusement and disappointment due to deviating so far off his imaginary script, but Cub didn’t look too surprised anyway. The expression turned more thoughtful after a moment, not a massive change, but just a slight crease at the edges of his lips, and Scar felt heat rise in his face as Cub looked at him, really looked at him, finally in what felt like the first time Cub had properly checked him out. Please notice I’m attractive. Please let me call this a date. Please ask to hold my hand.

“Do you ever get worried someone is gonna take one of those knives off the back of your chair and stab you with it? Like, a supervillain or someone. You’ve got quite a few enemies, don’t you? Surely there are normal people that just don’t like you as well. Is your costume, like, knife proof?”

“It’s- it’s uh- cut resistant-” Scar didn’t know exactly what to do with that question, but it certainly wasn’t on the list he had hoped Cub would ask. Actually, it wasn’t on any sort of list at all. “The knives are there so people don’t touch my chair. I’ve got a big red sign on the back that says ‘DO NOT TOUCH,’ but that wasn’t quite doing the trick, and the police and government and everyone said I was not allowed to point my bow at people who ignored the sign, then they said I’m not allowed to verbally threaten them either, so I just started taping knives to the handles. An extremely effective solution, and one I’m quite attached to. It’s intimidating enough when I’m stationary like this, but when I’m going down the street they bounce around and it’s really scary, it’s pretty awesome. So honestly, I really hope no one decides to try and stab me with my chair knives, because 1) I’d be getting stabbed, which is never ideal, and 2) they’d be touching my chair, which is fucking rude. So.” Scar chuckled a bit to himself, pleased to see Cub looking amused as well. He was starting to be able to differentiate a bit between Cub’s base neutral expressions, and Scar was pretty sure there was a ghost of a smile there now. “You don’t want to stab me, do you Cub?

“I don’t want to, but I thought about it.” Cub answered that question frighteningly quickly and Scar just had to gape for a moment in his shock, “Again, I do not want to stab you.”

“But you thought about it?”

“You’ve got knives taped to the back of your chair. I’m sure I am one out of hundreds of people who had a thought about how easy it would be to stab you.”

“No one has ever said that to me before!”

“Of course not. They’d sound crazy.”

“You said it!”

“I thought you should know,” Cub said simply, not looking the least bit bothered, “And I thought maybe you’d tell me why you’ve got knives taped to the handles of your chair.” Cub paused again, a hint of that sly look returning to his eyes, “And I thought it would be funny.” Pause. “It was.”

Scar scoffed but was ultimately unable to hide his smile, “Well if I ever get stabbed, you’ll be the first to know. For now though, I think I-” Scar jumped as Cub’s phone rang, though Cub didn’t look all that surprised, picking it up without looking at Scar.

“Hey man, can’t really talk right now, but I’m okay. Hey, actually, could we FaceTime for a minute? I want to show you something before I go.”

The person on the other line was pretty loud, and Scar could still hear him despite Cub’s phone not being on speaker, “Oh- sure. Sorry I didn’t see your message earlier, I would have called- texted- whatever sooner. One minute.” There was a short silence as they switched from voice to video, Cub’s neutral frown shifting once more to that little smirk.

“You can see me, Grian?”

“Yeah, what’s up? Where are you?”

“Oh, just out to lunch with a friend.” Cub turned his phone around, and Scar was too busy reeling from being called a friend to react, staring dumbly at the camera for a second before perking back up, People Meeting Mode back up and running.

Scar waved, a somewhat strained smile across his face which he hoped didn’t look nervous, “Hello, Grian!” ‘Grian’ gaped, saying nothing for such a long time, Scar was starting to feel a little bit awkward, “It’s nice to meet you! I- uh- well, you’re one of Cub’s friends I’m guessing- just friends, right, are you just friends. Not dating? Just curious. Well, if you don’t know me, I’m Hawkeye, though, everyone calls me HotGuy. Just a nickname that caught on.” Scar laughed a tad awkwardly, but Grian suddenly jumped, looking- why did he look so afraid?

“CUB!” he shrieked, and Scar startled, though Cub only looked amused, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE Y-” and Cub hung up, snickering.

“My roommate,” Cub said, like this answered all of Scar’s questions, “He should believe me now. He really doesn’t like you. It’s fine though, he’s just a little dramatic.” Cub’s phone rang again, and he declined the call. The third time it rang, he turned his ringer off.

“Ah.” Scar ran a hand through his hair, suddenly a bit more nervous. Cub knew basically nothing about him, but had a roommate who hated him.. that couldn’t be good. How many bad things had Cub heard about him? Did he even want to be here, or was Cub just humoring him? The whole reason he was trying this as HotGuy was because everyone loved HotGuy! Everyone! HotGuy was so cool- did Cub not think he was cool? “Do you like me?”

Cub blinked, surprised, maybe, Scar couldn’t really tell. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re pretty alright I think.”

“You- you don’t know?” Scar was trying very hard not to sound like his heart had just been ripped into a thousand pieces, but he was pretty sure he was not doing a great job.

“I mean, I don’t really know you, but you seem like an okay guy.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Cub didn’t sound too concerned- if anything, he looked a little bit annoyed, which only made Scar’s heart sink further, “If you didn’t want me to tell you, why did you ask? What were you expecting? If I asked you a loaded question like ‘Do you like me?’ what would you say?”

“I would say yes. I do like you.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why do you like me? What do you like about me? How can you be so sure? You don’t know anything about me, and I don’t really know anything about you, either. It’s not insulting, it’s just true. If you think I’m an asshole for this, then maybe you should reconsider ‘liking’ me. I don’t like when people ask questions and expect me not to answer honestly. I’m not out here trying to preserve anyone’s feelings, especially not superheroes.” Cub paused for a moment, cringing back just slightly, “That came out a little harsh. I just don’t respect people unconditionally, and you guys can be asshole customers. Nothing against you specifically, but I don’t think you’re any better than me because you’re famous. I don’t like how people treat celebrities like they’re made of glass. And I really don’t like not actually knowing how people think of me, so I’d prefer that you just told me the truth. I don’t want to guess. It stresses me out.”

“Oh, I mean..” Scar trailed off, a little bit unsure what to do with himself. But that made sense? Usually Scar found it pretty easy to tell whether or not people liked him, since the people that liked him either asked for pictures, autographs, or kinda just ignored him, and the people that didn’t like him threw bottles at his head, so, all in all, pretty black and white. Maybe it was a little harder when he was Just Scar, and people hardly batted an eye, but regardless, he kind of just assumed people liked him anyway. He got plenty of attention, that was for sure. People liked confidence, toned muscles, and men who dressed like whores, boxes which Scar ticked most days of the week.

But it was weird sometimes, being Just Scar. Scar couldn’t be disabled. Scar couldn’t be in pain, he couldn’t show much of his back lest people look too hard and notice it wasn’t all flesh. Scar had to worry about his legs, about looking human enough, about keeping to dimly lit areas when he felt like showing a lot of skin. Scar couldn’t go home with anyone else without being afraid of what they’d see, he had to take control if he wanted to have any fun, and that wasn’t always bad, but Scar couldn’t ever relax. Sometimes Just Scar felt less like Scar than HotGuy did. Most of the time Scar wasn’t really sure who he was at all.

Scar liked HotGuy. Most people liked HotGuy, especially in this godforsaken city. And if they didn’t like him, they probably hated him, in which case, whatever! Scar had given up trying to change minds a long time ago. He just wasn’t quite sure what to do with someone who didn’t know. Who didn’t have an opinion yet. But.. maybe he could work with this. Cub didn’t have to like him yet (if Scar repeated this enough times he would eventually believe it, right?), but maybe if Scar could prove that he liked Cub, and then Cub would know for sure that Scar wasn’t trying to lie. ‘What do you like about me?’ Well..

“I like your voice. And I really like it when you smile- your laugh, too, which I only heard today for the first time, but it’s just as nice as the rest of you.”

Cub jumped, and Scar realized with a jolt that their food was here- goodness, he really needed to stop zoning out like this! “What- What are you talking about-?”

“You asked what I liked about you.”

“That was like ten minutes ago!” Cub's voice lilted in his distress, and Scar put his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind. But I do have more to say if you still don’t believe me- I mean- I wasn’t thinking about you that whole time, just about what you said, but I guess maybe that is thinking about you technically, though I was more thinking about myself. I think. But I do like you, I promise.”

Cub looked briefly like a frightened animal, glancing around as if looking for an escape. “I believe you, Scar, it’s fine.” But Scar wasn’t entirely convinced, and if he wanted to be able to go out with Cub again, he was going to have to make sure that Cub knew!

“I like that you’re human. Maybe that sounds arbitrary to you, but it really means a lot to me, that humans are still living here. I want humans to feel safe, not trapped just because they can’t fly or run very fast or jump really high, you know? Humans, too- have you noticed how sharp everyone else is? They’ve all got claws and spikes and sharp teeth and sometimes I just wish I wouldn’t feel a little bit afraid every time someone else touches me or kisses me or-”

“Scar, it’s fine. It’s fine.” Cub’s voice was a tad strangled, but Scar was hardly looking at him- he wasn’t done yet!

“And the first time I saw you, you were with this stray cat- it was a couple weeks ago, do you remember? And a couple of us were fighting a couple blocks down, but The Goat- do you know The Goat? He said to me ‘Hey! You better not get any closer because this thing will snap you in half,’ and he started explaining this machine he had set up in the middle of the square and I was like ‘You definitely do not have a permit for this and I told you last week you need to stop testing your contraptions in public places,’ and I start going over to check this thing out and he says ‘If this doesn’t kill you I don’t know what will,’ and honestly that still bothers me. He said it like he wasn’t even trying to kill me, but he also didn’t care if I died! Like! Rude? Anyway, I told him ‘If you have a death machine in the middle of the square then-’ and suddenly I was launched like three blocks down and I don’t even KNOW what happened and-”

“Did that guy ever get arrested?”

“Oh yeah, but he got out the next day, it’s kind of his thing. He likes to go willingly and pretend- it doesn’t matter. So like, all my bones are broken and I’m barely conscious, but I remember seeing your face and your eyes; you kinda just looked at me for a second and I’m looking at you and you’ve got that cat.. It was friendly and trying to get you to pet it, and you had that sandwich and were trying to lead it away from the fighting and god. I just kept thinking about you and that cat. It was like the hottest thing I’ve even seen in my life.”

“I- okay?”

“I want to be the kind of person that stray cats like, but I have loud boots, and they always run away from me. I want to hold a stray cat. I want to be held like a stray cat sometimes.”

“I think our food is going to get cold- wait, did you actually break all of your bones? You’re exaggerating, right? I have to ask because it kind of did look like you broke all of your bones. And the cat thing- you know if you just shake a bag of treats most of them will come running, right?”

“Oh, I probably did. My body can take a lot of punishment. Still gotta put me back together at the end of the day, but you can do just about anything to me and I will not die- I might not even feel it. My nerves are like. Insanely not functional. You’d think that would be great but it’s not.”

“Huh. Do you ever get experimented on because of that?”

“You could say my existence is one huge incredibly unethical experiment, but if you mean recently, then no. There’s no point, the results wouldn’t be applicable to anyone else because of how uniquely messed up my entire,” Scar gestured vaguely to himself, “me, is.”

“I’d argue there’s value just in knowing,” Cub paused, looking at Scar for, quite frankly, an unnervingly long amount of time, “Hypothetically.”

“Am I about to be kidnapped?”

“Do you think I could kidnap you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then no.”

“I’m having trouble telling the difference between joking Cub and Cub that wants to kidnap and study me /serious style.”

“I don’t want to kidnap you.” Cub stared. Scar stared back. Cub smirked, then began to eat. Well. Guess their food was getting cold, wasn’t it. But Cub wasn’t done, apparently, looking back up after finishing his first bite. “Do you still like me, Scar, or would you rather get to know me better before you decide?”

Scar blinked, looking up from his own food. “If you’re trying to make some sort of point here, I’m not getting it, but if it makes you feel any better, I’d probably think twice before accepting any drinks from you.”

“Would you still drink it, though? If I asked?”

“..Probably.”

Cub laughed, and seemed to notice when Scar perked up, the smile lasting a little bit longer before fading back into that little not-quite-smile, “I’m joking, Scar.”

“I thought so.”

“Did you?”

“I had no idea.”

Cub laughed again, and Scar preened, so very pleased with himself. It really felt like an achievement to make Cub laugh; to see the bouncing of his shoulders and the crinkling around his eyes. It felt so good. Scar never wanted to stop.

“Have I put you off, yet?” Cub asked, catching Scar’s attention just before he zoned out once more.

“Not at all!” Scar sat up as he spoke, hoping Cub would appreciate his smile as much as Scar enjoyed Cub’s, “Do you like me yet?”

Cub huffed through his nose, but Scar was pretty sure it was an amused sound, Cub resting his cheek on his fist.

“A little bit.”