#don’t let pizza tempt you

[serpentide]

i wanted to write tonight but i ate so much pizza for dinner that even my braincells have turned into mini slices of pizza… 😮‍💨🫠

[jamminvroomvroom]

ruined.

LN x fem!reader - 4k celebration

based on this request!

in which, why wouldn’t they fall in love?

back with another celebration request! thank u anon, love this one sm! so tempted to make something longer form outta this one omg... lemme know what you think of this, hugs hugs hugs

i had to reupload this! sorry if you already interacted :(

songs to set the mood: let’s fall in love for the night by finneas, you are in love by taylor swift, sofia by clairo, till forever falls apart by ashe and finneas

warnings: 18+!! minors go away dni!! smut, fluff, swearing, alcohol consumption, voyeurism? kinda? friends to lovers, mutual pining

3.4k words

“i bring gifts!” you call out, throwing the keys on the side. you shuffle your feet against the doormat, awkwardly balancing the bottle of wine you hold in one hand and the box of pizza in the other. it doesn’t help that you feel like the michelin man, bundled up in a jacket and a scarf. you kick off your boots, leaving them haphazardly in the hallway.

“in the kitchen.” lando shouts back, and you trudge towards the sound of his voice, sliding around in your fluffy socks.

“i hate all of those stupid little cars that everyone in monaco seems to drive.” you tut, sliding the pizza box across the counter, the bottle of wine clinking against the granite.

“even my jolly?” lando pouts. he’s waiting with two wine glasses, even though you’ll drink most of the merlot while he scrunches his nose up in distaste, but this is routine, standard procedure.

“i do miss the jolly, to be fair.” you give him that much, grinning playfully.

five minutes later, your coat and scarf are long forgotten, slung over one of the high chairs that line his breakfast bar. you’re in the living room, sprawled on one end of the couch, him on the other. your feet rest in his lap and the pizza box rests across your knees. some series you’ve been trying to watch for weeks is playing on netflix, but you aren’t really paying much attention.

“so, you’re telling me,” you pause to take another bite of pizza, swallowing between giggles, “you’re telling me that you heard oscar through the wall?” you choke.

“yeah, i’m telling you! little oscar is definitely not… little, from what i heard.” he cackles. “and then afterwards, bless them, they were all dishevelled and he would not make eye contact with me.” lando explains, both of you a mess of giggles.

“oscar piastri, what a minx.” you shake your head in disbelief.

“as if that’s what i needed, by the way! the dry spell was not helped by whatever him and lily were getting at.”

“dry spell? you? don’t lie to me, norris.” you kick him gently.

“what? i’m serious! start of the season has been so busy, haven’t had time to… get busy.” he wiggles his eyebrows and you roll your eyes.

“welcome to my world, you prick.” you tease, kicking him again. you catch his ribs as you do, knowing full well you’ve hit the prime tickle spot.

“what’s your excuse?”

“excuse you, i’m a busy gal! we can’t all be famous jet-setting f1 drivers.” you feign offence, and he grins toothily.

“i meant,” he starts, speaking slowly as if you’re stupid, and for a third time, you kick him, a tad harder than the last two times. “you’re a catch, how are you not getting laid?”

you pray he can’t see the way you’ve gone pink.

truthfully, he’s the damn reason. how can any man live up to the one and only lando norris? how can anyone compare to your best friend? world famous, beautiful, down right hilarious, beautiful!

lando’s the guy that picks up the pieces every time some loser breaks your heart. he’s the guy who’s key you keep on your overflowing keychain, the guy who buys duplicates of the skincare products you use, so you can keep them at his place - you still laugh every time you remember the first time he tried to pronounce salicylic acid. he’s basically your guy, but after 10 years of friendship, you’re not willing to tell him that.

“just… not.” you shrug, tucking your hair behind your ear. he hums in response, sounds like he doesn’t believe you, but he drops it.

you sink three glasses of red, the pizza box is on the floor, and your eyes are drooping, heavy.

“bedtime for you, methinks.” lando whispers, gently shifting your feet from his lap. you frown, missing his touch already. you make grabby hands at him, too comfy to move on your own. “want me to carry you?” you nod lazily, a smile stretching across your face.

he slides one hand under your legs, the other under your back, and hoists you up. he holds you close to his chest, your head resting against his heart, so close that you can hear the soft thrum that keeps him warm.

“thank you.” you murmur as he places you softly on your- his guest bed.

“anytime, honey.” he smiles down at you. he thinks you’re so pretty like this, so sleepy and cosy. he fights the demons that tell him to crawl into the empty space beside you. “there’s some water here, sleep well, love.” he walks away, reaching the door when:

“love you.” you coo. he shivers. you always say it, and he always says it back, but lately, it pains him.

“yeah. love you too.”

lando pulls the door to quietly, leaning against the wood for a moment trying to compose himself.

-

it’s been an hour, and you’re sobered up, wide awake in the dark.

you try to fall asleep, really, you do, but your mind is moving a thousands miles an hour, and all you can think about is his dry spell. your dry spell.

how can you sleep when you know he’s on the other side of the wall, as needy as you are for a warm body. you also know that you’ve soaked through your underwear. you’re wildly uncomfortable, restless, desperate for a sweet release, whether that be of sleep, or something else.

you can’t ask him, it would be a step too far, despite how torturously close you already are. so instead, you drive yourself insane with the thought of him; the image of him, head thrown back, slick and sweaty, cock hard in his hand.

what’s the harm in helping yourself out?

you’re throbbing, hot all over. you lose the war with yourself and your hand trails shamelessly down your body. you’re so sensitive that you’re instantly stifling moans, hand slapped over your mouth. you can’t get the earlier image out of your head, and you pray he’s on the other side of the wall thinking about you. you’re desperate, bucking your hips into your hand, aching for a release. you wish your hands were lando’s, big and rough, toying with every quivering part of you.

you have an idea, a twisted one, the kind that almost sends you over the edge. what would happen if you let yourself be as loud as you wanted, if you tore your hand away and cried out like you wanted to? every shred of rationality leaves your needy body.

you’re whining, clear as day. your resist calling out his name as your high builds, tweaking your clit between your fingers. you’re so dangerously close, hovering right on the edge. that’s when you hear it.

on the other side of the wall, your vision of lando has become a reality. your faint whines through the wall have him rock hard, fucking his own hand. he wishes it could be yours, and with the way you’re crying out, he doesn’t think you’d oblige to sitting on his lap, wet and pretty, and letting him sink his cock nice and deep.

but he can’t cross that line. not with you. it doesn’t matter how badly he wants you, how he’d go to the ends of the earth for you. one night wasn’t worth ten years of friendship, washed down the drain.

his hand speeds up, his head thrown back, at the same time as you slip two fingers inside of yourself. you fingers curl, hitting deep when you hear a throaty groan sounding from the other side of the wall.

you’d think a millionaire would have thicker walls.

he hears the exact moment you cum, a noticeable change in your sounds. they’ve gone up an octave, breathless, and before he can even register, he’s spurting thick white ribbons that land hotly on his skin.

you clean yourselves up, rooms apart but the same exact things running through your minds.

i just got off to the sound of my best friend.

-

you nibble the crusts of your toast. the kitchen is quiet, painfully so, and the air is still.

lando has his back to you, making you another cup of coffee. he’s forgone a shirt and you try your absolute best to ignore the warm glow of his skin. he looks radiant. you know why; orgasms can do that.

“lando-“

“we don’t need to talk about it, honey.”

“um, i was just gonna tell you that you’re burning your toast.” you snicker.

“oh, fuck.” he slides along the floor to the toaster, burning his fingers on blackened bread.

when he turns to you, he’s tinged red, grinning bashfully.

“moving on.”

“i need to get home but dinner later? i won’t stay the night.” you wink. you crave the normalcy that once was, the light, teasing nature of your friendship.

“i’ll cook.” he’s still blushing.

“ooh, on second thought.” you suck air through your teeth, pulling a face.

“get outta here.” he sticks his tongue out at you.

-

dinner was… well, it was edible.

he made spaghetti and some kind of sauce, one that you couldn’t quite work out the contents of but it was good enough.

“thanks, lan.” you smile softly, helping him clear the few plates off the table.

“anytime, honey.” he replies.

you’re standing at the sink, placing the cutlery down when you feel him behind you. you spin around, instantly regretting it, because you’re caged in. he’s leaning up to reach into a cupboard, frozen. so, so close. his panicked breath fans your face and you can feel the heat of his body.

you lean in, because why wouldn’t you? and so does he, so, so close. your hand that rests on the edge of the sinks moves so that you can reach out and cup his disgustingly perfect face but then-

a knife that had been hovering between the counter and plunging into the soapy hot water gets nudged over the edge by your clumsy hand and clatters against into the bowl.

the irritating noise springs you both back to reality and he jumps away like an orange cat. you grimace at the awkward tension, and he scratches the back of his neck. and then you’re laughing, hard, and of course he joins in because this situation is utterly ridiculous and your laugh is so beautifully contagious.

“oh my god, what is wrong with us?” you wheeze through the laughter, leaning back against the counter.

“last night was… insane. and now everything feels weird so, let’s just go back to basics.” lando smiles gracefully. you nod.

“that sounds absolutely perfect.”

“netflix?”

“and chill?” you chime in sarcastically. he glares at you. “couldn’t help it.” you hold your hands up in faux surrender.

-

you don’t know when you fall asleep, but you conk out, head lulling against his shoulder when you do.

he haunts your dreams, fingers thick between your thighs while you whimper his name. you must be out of it, so deep in your slumber that it takes lando a good few coos of your name to draw you out of it.

when your eyes shoot open, he’s looking down at you, a single curl falling over his forehead, taunting you.

“you dreaming of me?” he grins, something in his eyes that snaps you out of your grogginess.

“wh-why?” you splutter, sitting up. he’s still so close to you, coy smile pulling at the corners of his pink lips,

“kept making these little sounds, panting my name. got me thinking.”

“about what?” you whisper.

“how much i wanted to pin you to that bed last night and make you cry for me.”

“is this gonna ruin us?” your voice trembles with a unique blend of fear and anticipation.

“after last night? baby, we’re already ruined.”

his lips meet yours, tentative for just a brief second, and then it’s passionate, warm, lightning. his hands are firm on your body, pulling you impossibly closer until there’s no other option but to clamber into his lap. your hands find his hair, tugging wildly until his curls are a disheveled mess, pulled every which way.

“you’re so beautiful. want to tell you all the time but-“ lando mumbles into your mouth, urgent and hushed.

“but friends don’t do that.” you cut him off.

he pulls away from you, his nose bumping yours. his eyes are so blue today, sparkly.

“i think we’re more than that.” he mutters, lips brushing yours. “i think we have been for a while.”

“yeah.” you pant. “yeah we have. yeah.” your eyes dart between his and his kiss swollen lips.

and then you’re licking into his mouth, sighing at the relief. he paws at your waist, warm hands sliding under your jumper, gliding over your hips and up, up, up, until he’s dragging the material over you head and tossing it carelessly to the side. he kisses over your collarbone, licking and nipping while his hands smooth over your bra. he plucks at the fasten, and you relax as it snaps open, and the straps slide over your shoulders.

“is this okay, angel?” he whispers.

“perfect.”

his thumbs trace over the curve of your breasts, teasing your nipples gently, enough to send shockwaves through your body. you’re subconsciously grinding down on him, dragging your hips over his crotch, mouth dropping open when you hear the way his breath catches in his throat.

“driving me insane, honey.” he gulps, rolling your nipples between his fingers. “need to get inside of you.”

“hurry up then.” you sound desperate to your ears, delicious to his.

“do you know how hard it was to stay in my room last night? when i could hear you making those pretty little noises? you’re so bad.” he tuts, lifting you off of his lap and laying you back against the couch.

nimble fingers undo your jeans and you jolt as he slides them down your thighs, intimate touches on intimate skin. you lace your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to kiss you, and you moan into his open mouth when his fingers trail beneath your underwear.

lando dips his fingers between your folds, groaning as soon as he feels where your wetness has pooled in your panties. you’re intoxicating, he thinks, and he’s starving for you. he pries his hand from between your legs, lapping at his soaked digits. his eyes fall shut, eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks.

your taste sparks something within him, and he wriggles onto his belly, resting in between your thighs. he toys with your panties, just for a second, and he can’t help but latch on. he laves his tongue over the growing wet patch, eyes fluttering shut. he drags your underwear to the side, lapping over your cunt messily.

“taste so good.” he slurs into your pussy, depraved and ravenous. you buck your hips, the sensation of his words sending rumbles of vibrations to every one of your nerve endings.

you writhe against the plush couch, sinking deeper between the cushions as he fucks his tongue deeper and deeper, burrowing his face as far between your thighs as he can go.

“lando, ‘m so close.” you gasp, tugging hard at his curls, taking your nails across his scalp. he whimpers, whimpers, at the sensation and that’s enough to finish you off.

he keeps going, kitten licking you through your orgasm and you pant, nothing but white behind your squeezed shut eyes. you have you drag him away, overstimulated and twitching against the silvery grey fabric of the sofa.

“fuck.” you laugh, breathless.

“good?” he smirks.

“shut up and come here.” you make grabby hands at him, and he clambers over you, smiling wide, his lips coated shiny and red.

“you’re pretty.” he coos, licking his lips clean.

“so are you.” you whisper.

he collapses on top of you, urgently slotting his lips over yours. he slides his hands all over your frame, memorising every dip and curve, while your hands find the waistband of his joggers. you push the material down his hips gently tracing his hip bone; he shudders at the graze, kicking the fabric away and wrapping his hand around his cock.

you glance down, taking in the sight before you. he’s thick in his own hand, red and slick already, as he runs his hand over himself.

“you want me?” he manages to ask through gritted teeth.

“please.” you whine, reaching to replace his hand, but he bats you away.

“patience, baby. wanted you like this for so long, you can wait a few seconds.” he scolds, condescendingly.

you don’t get a chance to talk back, because he’s sliding inside of you, nice and slow. your eyes roll back at the delectable stretch, he’s bigger than you’ve had in a while, and you hum lowly. he kisses over your throat and you can hear his shaky breath fanning your ear. you’re fluttering around him, adjusting to him with small circles of your hips.

“do something.” you beg, hushed and breathless.

“you think you can take it?” lando taunts, but you can hear the way his voice waivers as your walls spasm around him.

“can you?” you whisper, giving as good as you get. something inside of him snaps and pride kicks in, because before you can even truly gloat, he’s barrelling into you.

you cling onto his shoulders greedily, digging your fingertips in to whatever part of him you can get hold of. he thrusts so deep, all the way in, before dragging fully out, leaving you aching for him to fill you up again. he’s going quick enough that you can’t really complain, but slow enough to tease, to drive you insane beneath him. it feels too good to hurry him up, he knows what he’s doing and you want to take it, feel him like this. you’re quivering, his cock hitting every single spot that makes you tick and you think you can die happy now that you’ve had him.

“i’m so close.” you warn, overstimulated from your first orgasm. he ups his pace, just enough to send you spiralling, and you can’t keep your eyes open as you let go, your legs kicking out.

it’s too much when you open your eyes and find him staring down at you, sleepy and sweaty. he’s gorgeous like this, pupils blown, bronze skin glistening in the low light. he feels the way you throb around him, still buried so deep.

“not done with you yet, angel. c’mere.” lando sits back, pulling your limp body along with him until your right back where you started, sprawled over his lap.

he’s so close to his own release, pained and restless, and you can feel the head rubbing against your clit. even in your state of pure exhaustion, you can’t help but grind down against him, and he lifts your hips enough for you to sink down on him.

your sounds of pleasure ricochet off of one another’s, animalistic contentment spilling from between two sets of equally swollen lips. you’re so full like this, rocking tiredly, backwards and forwards.

“just like that, baby. just like that.” he’s breathing heavily, brows furrowed. his head tips back, neck thick and flexed, and you’re thrown back into the deep end of your fantasy.

“oh my god.” you choke, tears of satisfaction building. “lando!” you cry, meeting his shallow thrusts. he’s guiding your hips up and down, just enough to hammer against that special spot that makes you whine his name.

“cum for me, baby, last one. know you can do it pretty girl.” the praise knocks the last bits of air out of you and you collapse forwards into his arms. he holds you tight, groaning sweet nothings and your name like a prayer, right in your ear.

“you’re definitely staying tonight.” lando laughs softly, coming down. you think back to your earlier refusal, grinning lazily.

“guest room?” you joke, kissing his shoulder.

he pulls you back so that he can look at you, cupping your face.

“you’re never staying in that room ever again.”

he kisses you, then. soft. warm. home.

it’s natural, everything you’ve been missing, and somehow the only thing you’ve been missing in your relationship with him. he already gave you everything you could ever need, tonight was the cherry on top.

“are we gonna be okay?” you whisper, so quiet that you can barely hear yourself. fear pools in your belly.

“i hope so. ‘cause i’m never letting you go now.”

-

i feel so warm inside hehe

-

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lemme know if you wanna be added or removed :)

[on-leatheredwings]

request: "how dick would handle learning reader is dating somebody?"

Yandere! Dick Grayson / GN! Reader > romantic > tw/cw: possessive thoughts, suggestive thoughts > word count: 660

Dick is 100% going to sabotage it. 

He had been so excited to spend the night with you – even if it is still entirely platonic. A movie with friendly snuggles was better than no movie and no snuggles, right? 

The snacks are classic theater popcorn, sour candies, chips, soda. The theater is your bedroom. A mountain of pillows and blankets are your recliners for the evening. Premium comfort. 

Following the plot of the movie goes out the window once your head drifts sleepily onto his shoulder halfway through the film. Dick tempts fate by reaching his arm around you. He feels jitters when you don’t protest, seemingly agreeable to the contact. You don’t even move once the movie credits start to play. 

It’s a good night so far. A great night.

Then you speak. 

“Oh!” you snap your head to him. Dick does the same, heart jumping with surprise. Snuggling had put him nearly in a tranquilized state. You sit up out of his grasp, and leave him cold and wanting. “You’re always talking about how I should get the house… Well, I forgot to say earlier, but I’m kind of seeing that cute pizza guy I told you about!” 

Dick just stares at you, a smile frozen on his face.

“Oh! That’s awesome!” he says. To his grief, you begin to tell him all about it. “Uh huh. Mm hmm.” he says to your gushing. It was lucky that you were so enamored with your daydreaming that you couldn’t notice his robotic nodding or the displeased glint of his eyes. Dick knew this day may come – you finding someone before he’s ready to pursue you. There are admittedly some things he enjoys about being your friend rather than your lover. Majority of it is feeling like he’s undercover, playing a cat-and-mouse game you aren’t even aware of. But that doesn’t mean you won’t feel attraction to someone else. So Dick has a plan.

The first order of business is making the target of your affection look as incapable as possible. That’s not hard. He is Dick Grayson. He is five-ten and 177 pounds of capable. Most people pale in comparison. He’ljust be a little suggestion, here and there.

“Oh, he’s not treating you to dinner? Well, fuck those stuffy, traditional roles, amirite?” 

“That’s where you had your first date? … He’s really thrifty.” 

“Wait, he volunteers re-socializing homeless abused puppies only once a week? I figured we all make time for it at least every weekday.”

He just needs to plant the seeds of doubt. Give you what people call, ‘the Ick.’ Once you break it off with that guy, surely, you’ll be feeling the temptation of bouncing to someone new. But who…?

That part’s the easy part. (Actually, it’s all pretty easy for him.) Dick will get you to notice just how great he is. He’s charming. And handsome. And rich. And flexible. He just needs to take you out to swim, or skating, or the gym, or the park – anything that would enable him to slide his hands across you. He can already imagine lengthening your arm, putting it gingerly in the right position. He can imagine the sweat beading on your temple. He can imagine your lip bite as you struggle to ignore his chest against your back as he stretches you out.

Dick relaxes, leaning back. He still offers vague commentary in the conversation, but his mind is racing with many other possibilities. Your body. His body. Together.

“But enough about that!” you say finally. “Let’s put on another movie.” Your brow raises cheekily. “Horror movie? And first one to scream owes the other twenty bucks?” 

“I’ll take that bet,” Dick hums. 

At your clear excitement, he feels his cheeks warm. He admires how the blue light of the TV screen reflects in your gorgeous eyes. Maybe he’ll let you win anyway, if only because he loves the look on your face when you do.

[wendichester]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ so highschool³,

summary. strangely enough, dean will be staying in the same place for more than a week. it seems like you caught his eye

pairing. teen!dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 706

⋆.˚ ★— read part 1, part 2.

The weekend feels like a blur—days that blend together into one long sigh, each one passing with the same dull rhythm. But Monday morning hits different. You're dragging your feet through the halls, blinking against the early light, wishing for just a few more hours of sleep. The buzz of chatter is all around you, and the fluorescent lights hum overhead as you head to your locker.

When you reach it, your heart does a funny little flip. There he is. Dean Winchester. Of course, it’s him. Leaning against the metal, arms folded, that smile you can’t quite decide is charming or irritating stretched across his face. He’s the last person you need to see first thing in the morning.

But then again...

“What’s wrong with the universe today? You’re early for school,” you call out, voice still thick with sleep, though you try to sound unaffected. You give him a teasing grin as you pull your locker open.

Dean looks unfazed, his grin only widening. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you, sweetheart.” His voice is casual, but there’s a glint in his eyes—something that shivers down your spine in a way you don't quite understand. “Besides, I thought I’d get a head start on making your day just a little less… boring.”

You roll your eyes, trying to focus on grabbing your books instead of letting your thoughts wander too far. “Yeah, right. I bet I’m the highlight of your day.”

“You are,” he says, deadpan, and when you look at him, he’s way too serious. He winks right after, the mood light again, making your stomach flip in that annoying way it always does when he’s around.

You shut your locker with more force than necessary. “Right.”

Dean steps a little closer, not invading your space, but close enough to make you aware of every inch of him. His eyes drop to your lips for a moment, lingering just a touch too long before he looks back up at you. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m irresistible. But hey, hear me out—you, me, lunch today?”

You stare at him, your hand paused in midair as you try to process what he just said. “Wait. Are you seriously asking me to lunch again? You’ve gotta be joking.”

Dean shrugs like it’s nothing, his cocky smile never leaving his face. “Who says I’m joking? Look, I’m just here to keep things interesting. You and lunch? Sounds like a winning combo to me. Plus, today is pizza day.”

You can’t help but laugh, but you play it off like you’re not impressed. “So, now you’re stalking me during school hours? What’s next, Dean? Showing up at my house?”

His grin only sharpens. “I’d probably look good on your doorstep. Maybe you should consider it.”

You raise your brows, pretending to think about it for a second, but not enough to let him know you’re tempted. “You’re really persistent, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.” Dean winks, his tone light and playful. He’s standing just a little closer than you expect, his presence warm and, honestly, a little intoxicating. “So, what’s the verdict? Lunch with me?”

You give him a side glance, amused, trying not to let your heart race at how ridiculously confident he is. “Alright, alright, fine. But don’t think I’m impressed by your ‘charming’ ways, because I’m really not. Just don't want you to eat alone like a loser,” You tease.

“You're charmed, alright,” he replies, voice all smooth and cocky. He steps back, giving you a little more space, but not enough to really let you breathe. “So, I'll be waiting for you in the cafeteria. Or should I pick you up from your class?”

He's teasing. You know he is. But having him rush after his class so he can be there waiting for you when you get out of your class? Jesus, he's getting under your skin.

You roll your eyes, letting out a small huff. "Cafeteria is fine."

"It's date, then, sweetheart." He grins. "Best lunch hour of your life, I can promise you that."

You walk off, but Dean’s eyes follow you, and for some strange reason, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re already in way over your head.

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[gainercontent]

Eli's Thanksgiving Feast

Eli had been dreading this moment for weeks. After three months of dining hall food, late-night pizza, and chugging beers, he knew the consequences of college life were starting to show. The freshman 15. Everyone talked about it, but no one really prepared him for how quickly it could sneak up on you.

When he pulled in the driveway and saw his two older brothers tossing a frisbee in the front yard of their house, he could already see the smirks on their faces.

"Damn, Eli, you look like you’ve been hitting the dining hall more than the library," his brother Noah said, giving him a teasing once-over.

"Seriously, can't even hide it now," Micah, the middle brother, added, a laugh bubbling in his voice. He reached out to give Eli a pat on the back, but the gesture turned into a playful poke in the stomach. "You sure you're still fit to play ultimate, or are you just here for the Thanksgiving stuffing now?"

Eli tried to laugh it off, but deep down, he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He had always been the skinny one growing up, the one who could eat whatever he wanted without worrying about his weight. But college had thrown him off balance—dorm food, late-night study sessions, and the absence of his mom’s homemade cooking. It didn’t take long before he found himself snacking on pizza rolls at 2 a.m. or grabbing a double cheeseburger between classes. And now, it showed.

"You guys are ridiculous," Eli muttered, trying to change the subject. "It’s just a few pounds."

"No kidding. It's not like you can just wish it away, bro," Noah teased.

"Don’t worry, we’ll help get you back in shape… after dinner," Micah added with a smirk.

Later, at the dinner table, the teasing reached new heights. Their mom had outdone herself this year, as usual. The kitchen was filled with the familiar smell of roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, Mac and cheese, cranberry sauce, and—of course—her famous stuffing. It was the kind of meal that made Eli’s mouth water just from the smell.

"Sit down, Eli," his mom called, placing a massive plate of food in front of him. "I know you’re starving after your long drive."

"I’m not that hungry, Mom," Eli protested, eyeing the mountain of food in front of him.

"No, no," Noah chimed in, grinning. "You’ve gotta eat it all, Eli. You need the fuel. We don’t want you looking like you’re gonna float away after dinner."

Eli shot him a glare but sat down, his stomach already rumbling at the sight of all that food. Micah was already halfway through his first plate, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth with reckless abandon.

"Come on, little brother," Micah teased. "You’re not gonna let me beat you, are you?"

Eli rolled his eyes. "I’m not racing you guys."

But as the meal went on, Noah and Micah’s constant badgering wore him down.

"No way you can eat all that," Noah challenged, smirking at Eli. "Come on, show us what you've got."

"Yeah, we dare you," Micah added. "Five plates. You know you want to."

With each bite, Eli found himself getting fuller and fuller. But the challenge was too tempting to ignore. He loaded up his plate with mashed potatoes, a giant scoop of stuffing, turkey, green beans, and a spoonful of cranberry sauce. His brothers cheered him on, making exaggerated comments as he shoveled it all in, their voices getting louder the more he ate.

By the time he finished his first plate, the edges of his stomach were beginning to protest. He was full, but his brothers egged him on, urging him to keep going.

"Come on, one more plate. You can do it!" Micah shouted.

Noah chimed in. "You know the rule—no one's allowed to leave the table until they’ve finished five plates."

The competitive fire in Eli flared. He couldn’t back down. Not now. So, he loaded up a second plate, then a third. He felt the strain in his stomach with each passing bite, the tightness in his waistband beginning to feel like a constant reminder of how much he was stuffing in. But his brothers kept making comments, kept laughing, and it pushed him forward. He kept eating.

By the time he reached plate number five, Eli felt like his body was about to give up. His stomach felt like a bloated balloon, full and aching. The tightness of his jeans was becoming unbearable, and he let out an involuntary, loud burp that echoed through the room.

"Uh-oh, bro," Noah said with a grin. "Sounds like someone’s gonna pop."

Eli’s face flushed crimson, and his hand instinctively went to his waistband. He couldn’t take it anymore. He unbuttoned his jeans, letting out another long, audible burp as he tried to ease the pressure.

Micah leaned back in his chair, his grin practically splitting his face. "Dude, you seriously ate five plates. I’m impressed, but you might need a stretcher to get off that chair."

Eli laughed weakly, clutching his stomach. "I think I might just sleep here," he groaned. "Can’t move."

"Ah, don’t be a wimp," Noah said. "There’s still dessert."

Eli’s eyes widened. Dessert. He had completely forgotten. His mom had already brought out a spread of pies—pumpkin, apple, pecan, and chocolate cream.

"You guys are insane," Eli muttered, but when Noah placed a huge slice of pumpkin pie in front of him, he couldn’t say no. His stomach might have been on the brink of revolt, but dessert was a whole other beast.

The rest of the meal passed in a haze of discomfort. Eli could barely look at the food in front of him, but he forced down a few bites of pie. By the time dessert was over, he felt completely stuffed. His pants were barely holding on, and each breath felt like a labor.

Eli slumped in his chair, a hand pressed firmly against his bloated stomach. He had lost the battle—not only had he eaten way too much, but he’d also been completely outdone by his brothers’ teasing.

But despite the discomfort, there was something oddly satisfying about the whole experience. Sure, he was stuffed to the point of misery, but he had done it. He had survived five plates, countless teasing remarks, and endless jokes.

As the night wound down, his brothers gave him one last, affectionate jab.

"You’re gonna need a week to recover from that," Micah said, ruffling Eli’s hair.

"Probably a month," Noah added with a chuckle.

Eli just smiled weakly and groaned. "I think I’ll just sleep until Christmas."

And, for the first time in a long while, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

[slightlysaltysometimes]

latest jay post got me thinking: i went on these one depression meds and theyre the only ones who worked and i started eating more cus i felt well enough too but put on weight and immediately dropped them. or like im so busy working in the medical field and with adhd i just often dont have time, so imagine moving in with jay and he cooks for you and makes sure you now have a good eating diet instead of few snacks and ton of caffiene for the day so naturally you put on weight and he just is FROTHING at the mouth.

this ask has me frothing at the mouth. i’m going to marry you anon

reader starting to gain weight bc jay cooking for them…

(content warnings for weight gain, AFAB body but no pronouns or gender mentioned, dress used as a plot point, swearing, 2nd person POV, very suggestive near the end, pet names used: ma, sweetheart, baby)

Starting to live with Jason is a dream.

You thought he was a near perfect boyfriend before (well, at least perfect for you), but now?

He’s a househusband. You mean it in the most affectionate, positive way possible, but he genuinely insists on cooking and cleaning entirely by himself. You compromised with him by agreeing that you’ll put away clean laundry when it’s done, but he doesn’t allow you to finish any more domestic labor with your work keeping you so busy.

It’s been a long shift, being on your feet and working for almost 14 hours. So, getting home at 8:39 PM, you expected Jason to have just ordered some takeout or pizza for dinner due to your absence.

Your keys jingle as you unlock the front door to your shared apartment, yawning as you step inside and toe off your shoes. “Jayce, I’m home!” You call out, hanging up your keys and setting down your bag.

But he doesn’t come out of his office our your shared bedroom. He’s in the kitchen, an apron around his waist and a grin on his lips.

“Hey, ma.” He murmurs as you drape yourself over his back and nuzzle between his shoulderblades. “Long day?”

“You have no idea.” You grumble, pressing the smallest of kisses to his spine. “You’re cooking? You could’ve just ordered takeout earlier, you didn’t need to wait up for me.”

“I wanted to.” He replies, almost scoffing. “I’m not gonna let you eat a granola bar and call it dinner.”

You can nearly feel your heart melting in your chest.

“You really didn’t have to.” You reiterate. “But thank you.”

You two haven’t said ‘I love you’ yet, but you’re incredibly tempted. Jason is so easily spooked by love. So you show him with your actions, instead. The gentle kisses and caresses, the gentle nights and even softer mornings.

And by the way he cooks you your favorite foods after long shifts and hard days, you’d wager he’s doing the same.

Recently, you’ve noticed a small trend in your clothing.

Some of the smaller items you have are a little too tight lately. Plus, you can’t wear your bra on the tightest setting anymore, and your usual hole on your belt is a little too restrictive when you fasten it.

Jason is helping you clip your bra when he notices.

“Don’t you wear it on the other hook?” He murmurs, clipping it on the second. “I know I’ve helped you with this before.”

You hum, turning around and pecking his lips as a thanks for the assistance. “Yeah. I might be gaining some weight recently, it might be the new medication I’m on. Might need to do more cardio or something.”

Jason frowns. “You’re already doing more than you should. You are not gonna try and push yourself even more.”

You roll your eyes, huffing. “Whatever. I probably won’t gain much more weight, anyway.”

You were such a fool.

Over the next several months living with Jason, you’ve had to go up a clothing size, up a bra band size, and up a half-size in your shoes.

But every time you bring it up with Jason, he brushes it off, just reassuring you that it’s normal for hormones to cause weight fluctuations and that you’re perfect the way you are.

Finally, you’re trying on an old dress when you can’t quite fit into it, and you break. You can’t just let him ignore it anymore.

“Jason.” You sigh, calling him into your bedroom. “Come here.”

Jason is there in just a few seconds, grinning when he sees you in the dress. “Hey, baby. Feeling nostalgic or somethin’?”

You roll your eyes. “Try and zip it up.”

He quirks an eyebrow, but he does. And it doesn’t get any further than your mid-back.

“This fit me fine a few months ago.” You say, sounding equal parts confused and annoyed. “Loosely, even.”

The rest of your words fade into the foggy background as Jason’s mind runs wild.

You only notice when his hands move and he starts to unzip the dress, then slipping his hands into it and caressing your sides.

“You’re so beautiful.” He mutters, voice thick with… Something. “Look at you. You were so thin before, remember? You didn’t even eat two full meals a day. Maybe 1000 calories on a good day.”

“That’s an exaggeration.” You scoff.

Jason noses against your neck, mouthing at the soft, sensitive skin. “Barely. Fuck, you’re so pretty. Stunning. I love cookin’ for ya, you’re actually eatin’ right now. Your body is catching up. Your metabolism is slower ‘cause of your diet before, and now you’re actually getting the shit you need.”

You sigh, realizing he’s right. “Damn it.”

He frowns, biting gently at your shoulder. “This isn’t a ‘damn it’ moment, baby. Look at you.”

His hands start to wander. One caresses your stomach as the other wanders up to your chest. “Fuck. Sweetheart, haven’t you noticed? Your bra’s too small.”

You frown. “No it’s not, I just got a new one.”

He smirks, thumb ghosting over where your chest almost spills from the cups. “Yeah, it is. You went up a cup size.”

After that day, every time you tried to start a diet or new workout routine, he would vehemently disagree until you gave in.

This morning, though, he’s staring.

You’re in just your underwear, and he’s staring as you stretch and dig through your wardrobe for something to wear.

“You’re off today, right?” He asks, voice rough from sleep.

You don’t even hear him until he’s right behind you, his large hands on your hips.

“Yeah, I’m off.” You respond, suspiciously eyeing him when you turn around.

He’s shameless in his ogling, not even bothering to warn you before he picks you up effortlessly.

“Wha- Jason!” You exclaim, holding tight to his shoulders. “Put me down!”

He smiles wickedly, plopping you down on the bed and pulling you flush to him as he leans down and captures your lips with his.

“Fucking gorgeous.” He murmurs, biting your bottom lip and making you gasp. “You’re so *soft*. You know how hard it is to stop myself from practically groping you all the damn time? Your hips, your thighs, your stomach….”

You don’t even have the opportunity to think before he’s squeezing your hips and pulling back to look at you properly. “Can I have you, ma? Please? I’m hungry, baby, and I really want those pretty fuckin’ thighs around my head.”

These changes to your body are new, but maybe not as bad as you thought.

[velvrei]

omfgg just got an idea of a friends in public lovers in private fic with robby keene. like they pounce on one another the moment everyone leaves the room oblivious to the relationship. i feel like he suits those kinds of tropes so much ackkk. love how you write for him, you got him to a t. it could be any length you wsnt babes, i just need something in my system rn

omg this idea is so hot

…

it starts the way it always does.

a group hangout, the living room packed with people, laughter echoing, someone tossing popcorn across the room, another person scrolling through their phone instead of watching the movie. you and robby sit next to each other on the couch, close but not suspiciously close, legs barely touching, just another part of the casual, friendly atmosphere.

except it’s never just friendly. not really.

robby stretches his arm over the back of the couch, fingers brushing against your shoulder, light, absentminded. but then he tugs at the sleeve of your hoodie, just enough to make you glance at him.

“your hair’s a mess,” he murmurs, voice low, meant only for you.

before you can react, his hand moves, fingers threading through your hair, smoothing it down. it should be innocent, just a friend fixing something out of place. but his touch lingers. nails scrape lightly against your scalp, his fingers curling like he’s tempted to grab, to hold, to pull.

a shiver runs down your spine.

you shoot him a look, but he just smirks, dragging his hand away like nothing happened.

flirt.

he’s always like this, subtle little touches, playful moments that wouldn’t make anyone think twice. but you know better. you know what’s waiting the second everyone else is gone.

the night stretches on, easy conversation and inside jokes filling the space. someone suggests ordering pizza, and as the group argues over toppings, robby’s fingers find the hem of your hoodie, playing with it, rubbing the fabric between his fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“you cold?” he asks, voice smooth, low, teasing.

you shake your head, but he’s already reaching for your hands, wrapping his around them.

“your hands are freezing,” he murmurs, thumbs brushing over your knuckles, warming them up like he has every right to.

you don’t pull away. and no one notices.

but then, finally, people start leaving. one by one, they gather their things, say their goodbyes. until it’s just the two of you.

the second the door clicks shut, robby moves.

he doesn’t hesitate. one moment, he’s sitting back, looking relaxed, and the next, he’s pulling you in, hands gripping your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s been waiting all night to do this.

“finally,” he murmurs, voice rough, breath warm against your lips.

his hands slide under your hoodie, slow, deliberate, palms warm against your skin. he tilts his head, watching your face like he’s savoring the way you react to him, the way your breath hitches when his fingers skim higher, just under the band of your bra.

“you let me get away with too much,” he murmurs, smirking when you shiver.

your fingers curl into his hoodie, gripping tight, like you need something to ground you. but he’s not done playing with you yet.

he leans in, lips barely brushing yours, slow, teasing. “you want something, baby?”

your stomach flips at the way he says it, low and smug, like he already knows the answer. and of course he does. because this is how it always goes. all night, he touches, teases, tests your patience—until you’re finally alone, and he can stop pretending.

you don’t answer. you don’t have to.

instead, you kiss him, hard and desperate, letting out a little sigh when he groans against your lips.

his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you onto his lap so you’re straddling him, your bodies pressed together. he’s warm, solid beneath you, and when his hands slip under your shirt, skimming up your bare back, you arch into him, pressing even closer.

he grins against your mouth. “needy, huh?”

you don’t bother denying it. not when he’s looking at you like that. not when his hands are moving like that.

his mouth leaves yours, trailing along your jaw, your throat, lips brushing against your skin so lightly it makes you ache. then, his teeth graze the side of your neck, and when you let out the smallest gasp, he chuckles, low and satisfied.

“thought so.”

his hands slip lower, gripping your thighs, squeezing just enough to make you shudder. his lips return to yours, the kiss slower now, deeper, like he wants to take his time.

like he wants to make up for the hours you spent pretending this wasn’t exactly where you were going to end up.

…

cobra kai taglist: @karmaswitch @mamasfavourite @justchillin13 @timotheechalametswifeys @jeonkoowife @yoyouourmum @astreiz @adv3rc1ty @yslbaeee @amnesique @yaya-1loveart @izzyelise11 @larussoslostdaughter

[pleasingforharry]

can you pls write about quiet yn and harrys first time doing something sexual? like their first time or just him eatimg her out for the first time??

Oh hell yeah ;)

-

college!harry x quiet!yn

-

Harry had suggested it while they were making out in his room. They returned from his soccer practice freshly showered and stuffed from eating pizza the boys ordered. It was getting late, but neither of them were tired. They just wanted each other.

First they cuddled on his bed and watched a movie. What movie you ask? They don’t remember. It was forgotten as soon as Harry tugged his girlfriend on his front and connected their lips.

Y/N scooted up to coincidentally land right over Harry’s area. Whether it was on purpose or not, his gravelly groan didn’t go unnoticed.

Harry momentarily broke their lips from each other to stare at his girlfriend. She was breathing heavily to catch her breath.

Even though the girl wasn't a complete professional in the aspects of intimacy, the one thing she learned how to master from Harry was kissing. They did it on a daily basis that it became their second language.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Harry sighed, bringing his plush lips to her neck and sucking softly. If there was one spot he knew about her body the most, it was her neck—every inch of it.

Y/N placed her hands in his hair, running her nails along his scalp before gently pulling at his roots. She moaned gently, whispering his name like it was liquid. Harry's cock—already semi-hard from the presence of his girlfriend alone—grew indefinitely thicker. Y/N could feel it pressing against her clit, causing instant shivers.

Harry sat up, back against the mountain of pillows, bringing Y/N with him. He never parted from her neck, switching to the other side to give equal attention.

His hands reached under her (his) shirt to travel up her spine. She was so soft and warm. "Shirt off, baby," He mumbled. Her arms raised, and Harry quickly slipped the material off of her, before they both gripped each other like magnets.

Harry's mouth drooled at the sight of Y/N's pebbled nipples. They were small and hard as he wrapped his lips around the left one. Y/N pushed the back of his head closer. "Yes. Yes!" she whimpered, causing a sudden spark to her clit.

Y/N hips started to subconsciously move against Harry's boxers, her clit feeling the perfect amount of pressure. The couple haven't been dating for long, and as Y/N was still embarrassed about her low intimacy skills, this was the farthest they've ever gone; dry-humping.

Harry had lifted his hips up to her, grasping her ass and kneading them together. Y/N's head threw back as she gasped. She looked back down at him, before leaning in. "Again. Please," she whispered in his ear. Harry was tempted to come, right then and there.

He had finally left her nipples so he could watch the curve of Y/N's waist rotate. His hands moved to hold each side of her hips to help her go faster.

"Just like that, baby. Fuck. Good girl," his voice dropped. He wanted to roll his eyes back and drown in the pleasure, but the sight of Y/N was enough to keep them trained on her.

Y/N boldly reached down to shift her panties to the side so her bare cunt could wetly ride his cock. Harry moaned at his gray boxers turning dark. The smell of her was so strong now.

He wanted to taste it.

Harry's head lifted up, and his hand grabbed Y/N's chin tightly. When they were met face to face, they both stared for a while. Y/N's brows dropped in confusion.

"Let me taste you," was all Harry said, bucking up his hips. "Baby, I wanna taste your cunt so fucking bad."

Y/N wasn't just wet anymore, she was drenched.

Her head moved on its own, rapidly nodding. Harry's lips curved up into a lazy smile. He bucked his hips one last time, both of them moaning in harmony, before flipping them over.

Harry sat on his knees as Y/N adjusted herself to lay flat on the bed. Her hands were over her head, posing like a fucking goddess. Harry leaned down to plant a kiss on her lips. "You're so beautiful, Y/N. You don't understand." His words were muffled against her lips. But she still blushed and glanced away. He chuckled, before gently kissing her cheek. "Look at me."

Her head turned to face him again with a shy smile. But her hands were anything but as they grabbed her breasts and flicked her own nipples. Harry watched in awe as she arched in pleasure. "Harry. Oh god," she gasped as her thumb circled her nipples.

"What are you doing to me, baby?" he puffed. He knocked her hands away and finished what she started. He pressed and swiveled and pinched. She jumped at each touch, grabbing at his wrist. His name came out in pornographic moans that Harry became suddenly possessive of the sounds. Y/N under him is nothing like the Y/N outside his bedroom. "You're naughty, you know that?"

Y/N giggled softly, batting her eyelashes at him. Harry leaned down and stopped right before their mouthed met. "Open." She complied. A line of spit drooled from his mouth into hers. Y/N eyes widened, but still accepted it. "And swallow." She did. "Good girl, baby." Her teeth dug into her bottom lip from the nickname. And the wet stop on her panties spread.

Harry tugged her lip free with his own teeth, before knotting their mouths into an intense kiss. Tongues fighting one another���his plunging deep into her mouth. They were gasping for air and only had a second to catch their breath before attacking each other again.

Y/N's moans grew loud in his mouth as his fingers moved faster on her nipples. She could come. She wanted to. Her hips bucked in agreement. But Harry didn't want it to happen that way. So, he stopped and smirked smugly at her scoff.

"Asshole," she muttered, slapping at his chest.

"You sure?" he licked at her jaw. He found her ear and moaned. Her cunt clenched around nothing. "You won't be saying that when I'm tongue deep in your cunt, I bet." He backed away to look at her, but she couldn't meet his stare as she was blushing profusely. "Look at me. Now." She didn't, and he yanked her chin to face him.

"Let go," she huffed, pushing at his hand.

"Listen," he barely touched his lips to hers, "when I'm fucking your cunt with my mouth, you will watch. Understand? You will not look away, Y/N. And if you do, I promise, we will be here all night."

Y/N's eyes widened.

"I'm serious, baby. I want you to watch what only I will ever be able to do to my cunt. Okay?"

She nodded. "Okay." His smirk grew to his ears.

"Good girl." He kissed her gently. Those kisses moved lower—some ended up being sucked into a dark mark. But as long as it could be easily hidden, Y/N didn't mind.

His lips left a trail between her breasts, down her clenching stomach, to her panties. He kneaded everything with his hands. Y/N whimpered at every touch. She could feel his emotions and desperation. It was overwhelming. Her hands landed on top of his as they moved. Her cunt dripped from the veins that lined his thick fingers.

"You ready for me, baby?" Harry slipped his hands under the sides of her panties. He cocked a brow up, waiting for a response. Y/N looked down at him and bit her lip roughly. She nodded and lifted her hips where his mouth hovered. He kissed the right bone of her hip, then the left.

"Please, dove," She whined, grabbing his shoulders and digging her nails into them. "I want you so bad, Harry. Please."

Just from those words, her panties were stripped away and thrown in the corner. He placed her legs over his shoulders so she couldn't close them. She was at his mercy. Her cunt was bare and dripping, and Harry had the perfect view. But he wanted to wait a little.

He pressed his lips to her inner thighs, giving them kitten licks. Y/N groaned and shifted her leg to push his head closer to her cunt. Harry laughed, looking up at her. "Gotta be patience, baby."

"But I want it now," she sighed. "Please." Her voice got caught up as she watched Harry move closer to where she wanted. But then she let out a huff when he kept going and landed on her other thigh. His teeth bit down and sucked. Y/N still gasped from the pleasurable pain.

Harry's nails dug into her legs and spread them wider. Her other pair of lips opened, and Harry was suffocating in the smell. His eyes rolled back just from that.

"Harry—"

"Yes, baby girl?" He was smirking unabashedly. "Are you rushing me? I should stop, huh?" She shook her head. "Keep going? Even though you were rushing me?"

Asshole. Fucking asshole, she wanted to yell at him. But held her tongue.

Y/N's bottom lip poked out to persuade him. "Please, dovie."

"What? You want my tongue that bad. You wanna know what it'll finally feel like to have me deep inside you?" He tilted his head to the side. "You probably dream about this, don't you baby?"

Harry hovered his lips over her clit. He was so close that Y/N felt his breath against her. All she had to do was lift her hips, but she didn't want to risk him stopping all together.

"Yes, I do. Please, I wanna feel you, Harry. Just lick me," Y/N begged, sitting up on her elbows. Her legs were over his shoulders and her feet touched his back. She dug her heels into him.

"I will, baby. I promise. Remember my one rule, though?" She nodded.

"Don't look away. Ever," she said.

Harry smiled warmly. "Good girl."

Before Y/N could react, Harry captured her clit into his mouth. She yelled out a moan, and her hand grabbed his head. "Oh my god!"

So, this was what it felt like.

Harry sucked his cheeks in as he suckled on her clit. His tongue licked and swirled. His head shook, and Y/N's back arched. Both of his arms circled her thighs to keep her exactly where he wanted her.

"Harry! Fuck. Yes, please."

Harry flattened his tongue on her clit, the warmth of it boiling her insides. He licked long stripes—completely covering her.

"You taste better than I fucking imagined, baby. Oh god," Harry moaned. His eyes stayed on hers as he stuck his tongue out and slowly circled her clit. Y/N let out a silent gasp, before squeaking out the only noise her throat would allow out.

Harry moved down to her folds, licking each lip. He brought his thumb up to her clit to replace his tongue. His head nodded with his tongue, before he plunged inside of her. That earned a tug to his hair.

"F—fuck. Oh fuck. Yes!" Y/N rolled her hips into him. Harry watched her writhed and smiled against her cunt. He drank up her words, her sounds, her fucking begging. "More. Please, more."

"Yeah, you feel good, baby?" He asked. She nodded, tightening her grip in his hair. His thumb circled faster, and so did his tongue. He swiveled it as she rode him.

"So good! It's so good, Harry. Oh—" Y/N cut herself off by a long string of moans. It wasn't on purpose, she couldn't help it. Y/N threw her head back as she pushed his head into her.

She didn't even realized she did it until Harry's tongue and thumb retracted from her.

"Y/N." His voice was so dark that she flinched. Her head lifted, and when she met eyes with him, she realized what happened. "What did I say?"

"I'm sorry. I.. please, keep going. I won't do it again," She begged, her hips still lifting. He stared at her for a long second. "I promise. Please. I'm close."

Harry smiled and shrugged. "I can't say no to that." And his thumb and tongue returned to their original spot. Y/N was caught off guard by the overwhelming return of pleasure that she gasped loudly. Her teeth dug into her lips. But the way Harry furrowed his eyebrows demandingly, she released her lip just as fast.

His tongue licked and flattened and swirled and plunged. He couldn't get enough. Y/N could only moan in response as her mind wouldn't make up any words. She was a moaning, gasping mess.

It was a sight etched into Harry's head.

"Harry, I'm close. Fuck! I'm so close, dove," Y/N whined, pushing at his head. "Stop. I can't."

"I got you, baby. It's okay," Harry said against her cunt. He leaned up to grasp her clit with his lips and sucked.

Her back was arching as far as it could go. She wanted to roll her eyes back so bad, but release was more important. So, her eyes stayed trained on Harry's tongue flicking at her clit. He knew exactly what she needed and how she needed it.

"Gonna come, baby?" She whimpered and nodded. "Good. I want it all over my face. Fucking mine. I want it." Harry was mumbling nonsense as his fingers were now playing with her clit. His tongue licking her cunt faster, ready to take all she gave him.

Y/N elbows wiggled as she was loosing feeling everywhere. She suddenly felt a bubbling pressure. "Yes. Yes. I'm coming. Fuck. Harry."

His name was stretched and screamed out loud as she let go. Her hips continued to roll to ride it out.

Harry moaned and licked deep into her. He collected all of her juices gracefully. His hands tightened around her thighs to make sure she stayed put until he was finished.

Y/N knew she was finally able to close her eyes when Harry did it first. He was drunk from her taste, and focused on the lone sense in his tongue. She dropped from her elbows to flat on the bed. Her arms stretched over her.

Harry's tongue continued to slowly lick her folds. She was finished and clean, but Harry wanted more. His moaning was so low, it was barely audible. His tongue slipped between her folds into her cunt, and he dug his face deeper. His nose nudged Y/N's clit, causing her to jump.

She was breathing heavily, whimpering from the overstimulation. She weakly pushed at Harry's head. "Dovie?" She spoke, her voice hoarse and shaking. "Let me see you, baby."

Her thumb brushed his cheek softly, trying to bring him back. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at her. But his tongue didn't stop kitten licking her cunt.

"So good. You did so fucking good, baby. Fuck," he whispered. His eyes were gentle. She smiled at him.

"Come here. Come to me." She outstretched her arms. Harry licked into her one last time, before pulling away and crawling between her legs to her naked chest. She cupped his cheeks and brought them into a passionate kiss.

"See how good you taste?" He said against her lips. She nodded, completely wrapping her arms around his neck.

Harry was hovering over her by his elbows. His cock was near her cunt as he slowly bucked into her. They didn't pull away from their kiss as they moaned together. He was so hard that it hurt, so Y/N reached down to rub him. Harry sucked in a breath, before gasping into her mouth.

"I got you," Y/N said, pulling him out of his boxers. "Just relax."

Harry stuffed his head into Y/N's neck and sighed. He planted his knees on the bed as she wrapped her hand around him—not completely as he was too thick.

Y/N started at a slow pace, sliding her thumb over his tip before pumping to his base. Harry moaned in her ear. He thrusted himself into her hand, fastening his pace with hers.

Y/N's other hand reached for his balls to quicken his release. "Fuck. Yes, baby. Oh," Harry moaned, his thrust harder. He sunk his teeth into her neck. He was close.

His cock was veiny against her palm. She pumped him faster. Pre-come was slowly leaking out of him. "I want it, dove. Please," She whispered. Harry gasped in her ear—his thrust slowed but now sharp.

He only pushed into her hand a few more times, before stiffening. His come shot out and landed on her cunt and inner thighs. Harry sighed, pulling away and panting. Y/N smiled at him.

"Thank you, baby," He said, before kissing her. His fingers picked up some of his come. "Open." She did. He stuck his finger into her mouth, and she sucked harshly. He slipped it out with a pop, before engulfing her in a kiss.

-

i'm ashamed of myself. gonna go take a walk.

[whosscruffylooking]

Open Arms Chapter Seven

steve harrington x fem!reader Open Arms Masterlist word count: 2.5k a/n: finally breaking into season 3! super excited about what's coming up. if anyone wants to be added to a taglist please let me know! Rewrite/Character Insert of Stranger Things ~1985~

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The summer of 1985 is electric, and you and Steve Harrington are at the center of it. Hawkins has its quirks, but the new Starcourt Mall is where the magic happens—and for you two, it becomes your playground. Steve rules the counter at Scoops Ahoy in that absurd sailor uniform, while you manage the record store just across the hall, surrounded by music and the steady rhythm of customers flipping through vinyl. Together, you are unstoppable, a force of love and humor that nothing—not even Robin’s relentless teasing—can disrupt.

Every day, you find excuses to visit each other. Whether it’s sneaking over on your break or Steve dramatically declaring an “ice cream emergency” just to wander into your store, you can’t stay apart for long.

That particular day, the sun spills through the mall’s skylights, and the chatter of shoppers fills the air. You push open the doors to Scoops Ahoy, your record store apron slung over your shoulder and a slice of pizza in hand. The smell of freshly made waffle cones hits you immediately, and so does the sight of Steve, who is leaning lazily against the counter while Robin deals with a line of kids.

“Hey, Harrington!” you call, sidestepping a rogue toddler and heading straight for him.

Steve’s head snaps up, his face breaking into that boyish grin that makes your heart flutter every time. “Oh, thank God,” he says dramatically, vaulting over the counter with way more enthusiasm than necessary. Robin groans audibly but doesn’t even bother looking up. She’s used to this routine.

“Do you ever use the door like a normal person?” you tease, holding up the pizza slice. “Brought you something to fuel your theatrics.”

“You spoil me,” he says, taking the pizza and immediately leaning in for a kiss. “Seriously, I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re damn right,” you shoot back with a smirk, but the way his eyes soften makes your knees weak.

Robin glances over, eyebrows raised. “Oh great, it’s the lovebirds. My favorite part of the day.”

Steve ignores her, focusing solely on you. “How’s life in record land? Still schooling people on how to find the alphabet?”

You laugh. “Always. Someone asked me if I filed The Rolling Stones under S. S, Steve. I thought about quitting on the spot.”

“You should,” he says, nudging your chin playfully. “Come work here. We can wear matching uniforms and make Robin’s life a living hell.”

Robin groans louder. “Please, no. I can barely tolerate the two of you separately.”

Steve pulls you closer, ignoring her completely. “Think about it, babe. We’d be unstoppable. Harrington and Y/L/N, rulers of Scoops Ahoy.”

“Tempting,” you reply, brushing some of his perfect hair back into place. “But you’re the sailor. I’m more of a rockstar.”

“You’re my rockstar,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, the words warm enough to make you blush.

Robin makes a gagging noise from the register. “Oh my God, can you two not? There are children here!”

“Relax, Buckley,” Steve shoots back with a wink. “I’m just showing my girlfriend how much I love her.”

Robin rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smirk as she hands a triple-scoop cone to a kid. “You’re both disgusting, and I hate you.”

“That’s the spirit,” you say, grinning as Steve pulls you in for another quick kiss.

Later that day, your break rolls around, and instead of heading into Scoops Ahoy through the front, you make your way to the back hallways behind the stores. The dimly lit corridor smells faintly of cleaning supplies and faint traces of popcorn wafting from the food court. You don’t wait long before Steve appears, ducking through the employee entrance with a sly grin plastered on his face.

“Well, well,” he says, sauntering up to you. “What’s the plan, troublemaker?”

“Plan?” you ask innocently, backing up slightly as he steps closer, trapping you against the wall. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Oh, you wanted to see me?” he teases, placing his hands on either side of you. “Seems like you had something more specific in mind.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “If you’re going to be smug, I could just go back to work.”

Steve leans in, his breath warm against your cheek. “You won’t,” he murmurs, and before you can come up with a retort, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is urgent, playful, and full of that spark that makes you feel like the world outside the mall doesn’t exist. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as the faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzes overhead. You let out a quiet laugh against his mouth when you feel his ridiculous sailor hat brush against your forehead.

“What’s so funny?” he mumbles, his lips still grazing yours.

“Your hat,” you reply, reaching up to pull it off. “It’s killing the vibe.”

Steve chuckles, tossing it to the side. “Better?”

“Much,” you whisper, pulling him back in.

Time seems to melt away until the distant sound of someone’s voice echoes down the hallway. You both freeze, your wide eyes meeting his as he stifles a laugh.

“Guess we should get back to work,” he says reluctantly, brushing his thumb over your cheek before stepping back.

“Yeah,” you agree, though your voice is tinged with disappointment. “But this was worth the detour.”

“Anytime, rockstar,” Steve says, grabbing his hat from the ground and winking at you before disappearing through the employee door again.

You lean back against the wall, your heart still racing, and smile to yourself. This summer isn’t just magical—it’s perfect.

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It’s late, and the warm summer night wraps around you like a comforting blanket. The window is cracked open, letting in the occasional breeze, but all it brings is the sound of distant crickets and the faint hum of Hawkins streets. You’re lying on your bed, flipping through a dog-eared copy of some romance novel you picked up at the record store, when you hear the unmistakable tap-tap-tap on the glass.

You grin, closing the book and setting it aside. “Over nine years of crawling through my window. When are you gonna start using the front door?” you call softly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” his voice floats back, slightly muffled.

Shaking your head, you get up and push the window fully open. There he is, Steve Harrington, perched on the windowsill with that stupidly charming smile on his face. His hair is tousled from the breeze, and he’s wearing a loose T-shirt and jeans—the picture of effortless cool.

“You’re gonna break your neck one of these days,” you tease, stepping aside to let him climb in.

He hops down with practiced ease, landing lightly on the carpet. “Worth it,” he says, turning to face you. “Especially when I get to see you.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks warm anyway. “C’mere.”

He pulls you close by the waist, his fingers curling against your sides as he murmurs, “Missed you.”

“We spent the whole day together,” you point out, laughing softly as you loop your arms around his neck.

“Doesn’t count. You were working, I was working. It’s not the same.” His voice dips lower, his eyes softening as they meet yours. “This? Just us? This is what I miss.”

Your heart flutters, the way it always does when he looks at you like that. Like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“Well, now you’ve got me,” you murmur, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Damn right, I do,” he says, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss starts soft, tender and slow, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. There’s a hunger to it, a quiet urgency as his hands pull you closer, and before you know it, you’re both tumbling onto the bed, giggling as you land in a heap.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble one of these days,” you tease, lying on your back as Steve props himself up on one elbow beside you.

“Trouble’s my middle name,” he shoots back, grinning as he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

“Pretty sure it’s Cary,” you counter, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, ouch,” he says, mock-offended. “Now I’m hurt.”

“Want me to kiss it better?” you ask, your voice teasing but your eyes warm.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” he replies, stealing another kiss.

Steve smiles down at you, his hand gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as his thumb grazes your cheek. There is something in his eyes—something soft, something real—that makes your heart skip.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he says, his voice low and full of warmth.

You grin, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Takes one to know one.”

He chuckles, leaning in closer, his lips just a breath away from yours. “You drive me crazy,” he whispers, the words barely audible.

Steve’s hand moves to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as he leans in. His lips capture yours with a softness that sends a shiver down your spine, but it isn’t long before the kiss deepens. It is unhurried yet passionate, every movement of his mouth against yours brimming with emotion.

His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer as if he cannot stand the idea of even a sliver of space between you. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently, and he lets out a quiet, almost desperate sigh against your lips that makes your heart race.

The kiss grows more intense, his lips parting slightly to match the rhythm you both seem to fall into instinctively. His breath mixes with yours, warm and intoxicating, as he tilts his head to deepen the angle, his nose brushing against yours. Every touch, every small motion, carries a weight to it—a silent promise, a confession of just how much he adores you. The world outside could fall apart, and neither of you would notice, lost in the way he kisses you like it is the only thing he wants to do for the rest of his life.

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Steve collapses next to you, breathless. The two of you melt into the bed, holding one another as the quiet hum of the summer night wraps around you.

“I predict we’ll be doing that a couple more times tonight,” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm against your skin.

You laugh softly, your voice still a little breathless. “If we’re gonna do another round, I should refuel. Want a snack?”

He grins, rolling onto his back and reaching out to brush his fingers along your arm. “Maybe just a soda. Don’t take too long, though. I’m not done with you yet.”

You laugh again, your heart swelling at the way he looks at you, like you’re the only person in the world. As you stand to grab drinks from the kitchen, Steve pulls you back down, stealing another kiss—a soft, lingering one that leaves you dizzy.

“I love you, Steve,” you whisper against his lips.

His smile deepens, his eyes lighting up in that way that makes your chest ache in the best way. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he says softly, like a promise.

“You know,” Steve continues, tracing lazy patterns on your arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

Your heart swells as you look at him, his face soft and open in the golden glow of the bedside lamp. “Me neither,” you admit, leaning in to nuzzle his jaw. “I’m so lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.

You finally manage to slip away, heading downstairs to grab a bag of popcorn and two sodas. When you return, though, the playful glow from earlier has dimmed.

Steve sits on the edge of your bed, his shoulders tense, a small stack of papers in his lap. College brochures, internship flyers, and program applications are spread out in front of him like a puzzle he can’t solve.

“Hey,” you say cautiously, setting the snacks on your desk. “What’s going on?”

Steve lifts one of the brochures, his jaw tight. “When were you gonna tell me about this?”

Your heart sinks as you recognize the Ohio State University logo on the cover. “I wasn’t hiding them,” you say softly. “I just… I haven’t decided anything yet. They’re just options.”

“Options,” he echoes, his voice low but sharp. “Options like leaving Hawkins?”

You move closer, sitting beside him on the bed. “Maybe. I don’t know yet, Steve. I’m just… looking.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Looking,” he repeats. “That’s great. You should be. You’re smart, and you’ve got so much ahead of you. It’s… amazing.”

“Steve,” you say, reaching for his hand, but he doesn’t take it. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he stands and starts pacing. “Look at this.” He gestures to the brochures. “You’ve got all these incredible opportunities lined up, and what do I have? Nothing. I’m just the guy who peaked in high school, scoops ice cream for minimum wage, and doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing with his life.”

“Steve, stop,” you say firmly, standing to face him. “That’s not true. You’re so much more than that—You’re the guy who makes me laugh when I feel like crying,” you say, your voice trembling. “You’re the guy who fought to keep us all alive, who keeps fighting every day even when you’re scared. You’re the guy I love, Steve.”

His eyes soften for a moment before the doubt creeps back in. “That’s great,” he says quietly. “But what happens when you’re off in Chicago or Columbus, surrounded by all these people who have their lives together, and I’m still stuck here?”

“You’re not stuck,” you insist, your voice breaking. “And I don’t care about any of that. I care about you.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his jaw tightening. “I don’t want to hold you back,” he says finally. “I don’t want to be the reason you don’t go after everything you deserve.”

“You’re not holding me back,” you whisper. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He shakes his head, his expression pained. “Not yet,” he mutters, almost to himself.

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. You reach for his hand again, but he steps back, gesturing toward the brochures. “I love you. I just… I need some air,” he says, his voice barely audible.

He leaves out of the front door this time. The playful ease, the teasing smirk—they’re gone, replaced by a heaviness you can’t seem to lift.

You sit back on the bed, staring at the brochures scattered across the comforter. His words echo in your mind, drowning out the memory of his earlier smile, of the way he’d said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

[raineandsky]

#109

When the doorbell rings, the hero’s kind of hoping it’s the pizza delivery guy.

They open the door to find, tragically, not the pizza delivery guy.

“Uh,” the villain says, “hi.”

The hero isn’t entirely sure what sequence of words would best fit this scenario. “Hi?” is the best they can do.

The villain shuffles on their feet awkwardly. A pause hangs between them, filled by the distant roar of the city beyond. “I thought you’d ask why I’m here,” they say eventually.

“I’m more concerned about how you’re here.”

A smile threatens the corners of the villain’s mouth. “We know where all you heroes live.” The smile fades into nothing again. “Or just I know, now, I guess.”

“Okay.” The hero squints at the villain uncertainly. “I’ll entertain you. Why the hell are you standing outside my door?”

“No one wants to be a villain anymore. Everyone quit.” The villain’s face contorts into some unreadable expression. “It’s just me.”

That doesn’t sound right. From the villain’s slight grimace, they know it too. “Everyone… quit villainy,” the hero repeats.

“There’s nothing to gain from it anymore. We had a vote and I was the only one who wanted to keep going.” The villain’s gaze dips to their hands as if they hold answers. “They left me everything, but… I can’t do it all on my own. So I’m turning myself in.”

The hero stares at the villain for a long moment. “Even [Supervillain].”

“Especially [Supervillain].”

The hero steps aside with a sigh. The villain looks like they’re being invited into a pit of wolves. “You want me to come into your house?”

“My handcuffs are in my living room cabinet and I don’t trust you standing out there. It’s cold, anyway.”

The villain closes the door behind them in an uncharacteristic show of politeness as the hero digs through their drawers. They’re wiping their shoes on the mat when the hero gets back, cuffs in hand.

The villain holds their hands out and the hero clicks the cuffs around their wrists. It’s almost too easy. The question is sitting on the tip of their tongue.

“What’s the catch?”

The villain doesn’t seem surprised by the question. They shrug halfheartedly. “Dunno.” They glance about for inspiration. “All the others have gone into hiding, I guess. You have me, but everyone else will probably evade you for the rest of time.”

“Much like they already do.” The hero manoeuvres them to the sofa in the living room, giving them a nudge to make them actually sit down. “You make it sound like you’ve been left in charge of the entire criminal organisation.”

The barking laugh the villain lets out is entirely fake. Too sharp, too short. “I have.”

“So villany will collapse without you.”

The villain shrugs again, the motion laden with effort. “Not like anyone else was willing to carry that burden—and I’m not either, hence why I’m, y’know…” They gesture vaguely at themself, in cuffs, in the hero’s living room.

The villain goes, villainy is defeated. No more villains, no more big crimes, no more heroes. Everything the agency has worked to be would collapse. The hero would be out of a job. It'd be over.

Yet here the villain is, giving everything up, taking the entirety of villainy down with them. The sole survivor of a shipwreck and wishing they’d gone down with the ship. A ship they don’t seem to realise the hero is on too.

The doorbell rings again, and the hero leaves the villain carefully settling on the sofa to answer it. They return with a giant grin on their face and a giant pizza box in their hands.

“Let’s worry about all this afterwards,” the hero says brightly. They brandish the box at the villain in the hopes of tempting them. “Want some?”

The tempting works; the villain reaches for a slice. “What a last meal.”

The hero sets the box on the coffee table as they flop back on the sofa. “I don’t know, [Villain],” they say with a smile, “I don’t think it has to be.”

[dariaslookalike]

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 9: Losing a Hundred Dollars

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 10

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For someone who wanted you here to nurse back to health, House does his best to avoid you. 

Days pass in tense awkwardness. You spend most of the time sleeping, half from fatigue and half to avoid House when he returns from work. You wonder if he’s told the ducklings about your odd arrangement. You wonder what they think of your absence after your abrupt departure from the ball, let alone what they would think of you living with House. 

You decide he hasn’t told them. How could he? How does he explain that, without explaining everything in between? The bedroom, Pops, his absence?

The first night you slept in his room, he didn’t return home. You stared up at the ceiling for hours, and only when you turned yourself over, inhaling the cotton fabric and his smell did you fall asleep; it’s the mixture of the hospital, and the faintly scented soaps in his bathroom, and the cool New Jersey air, and the clothes from his linen cupboard and him and a million other things that you couldn’t begin to decipher that send you to sleep. 

He doesn’t tend to you or even ask how you’re feeling. Everyday when you awake like clockwork, there’s two white pills on the bedside table and a full glass of water. At first, you would inspect it to see if he spat in it or tampered with it, but you’ve grown to just gulp it down.  They continue to be the only thing to greet you in the morning. 

Sometimes you’ll step out too soon, and see the silvery crop of his hair from where he’s fallen asleep on the couch. Or sometimes you’ll stay up too late, and hear him limping to the bathroom. Even when you’ve wandered out, his eyes stay trained on the television. No words pass between the two of you, spare the occasional grunt of ‘pizza in the fridge’.

Two more pills. You take to rummaging around his room when the click of the door signals he’s left for the hospital. You don’t find many sentimental items although you spy notations spiralling throughout some of the novels on his bookcase. 

Two more pills. The days continue to turn over, and you spread your venture outwards; you raid his kitchen and find he barely has anything outside of peanut butter and bread in his pantry. 

Two more pills. His bathroom is unappealing, and you’re tempted to flush all the pills in his cabinet and closet. Piss him off, send him into a rage, pull his attention back to you. You resist. 

Two more pills. The lounge room, you decide, is your favourite. You watch the recorded episodes he’s saved of medical dramas and bitchy reality tv for hours and get very creative with the snacks you eat while you watch (toasted breadsticks dipped in peanut butter, a packet of two minute noodles from the back of his cabinet that you fry up). You play a half arsed jingle bells on his piano and find yourself sitting at it for hours, looking at the keys.

Two more pills. Two more pills. Two more pills. Two more, two more, two more. Again and again and again. 

You’ve lost count on how many pills; the days blur into each other, and you know the treatment is still long. 

The door handle glints from where you sit at the piano in the early morning light. The sun’s just rising, and surprise surprise, House isn’t here. Every few days, you find him asleep on the couch, but for the majority of time, you’re left alone. You wonder where he is on those nights; a woman’s bed or the hospital or Wilson’s. While you’re stuck here, caged with your own feebleness and shortness of breath.

But…your breath doesn’t feel short. You don’t feel feeble. Hell, you feel better than you have in weeks, as if the medication was finally restoring you to your former self. 

The door handle is practically waving you over, and you abandon the piano with a final tap to the keys.

It wasn’t like House said you couldn’t leave, rather, you just hadn’t. One day you would be aching, the next fatigued, and the next coughing. But today? Your legs are steady beneath you and they stride you across the apartment to the built-in cabinet in the hallway. You practically fling it open in your excitement, and delve past the shoeboxes of vicodin, and to the rack of clothes. 

You grasp a long coat, one that would’ve gone to House’s knees and instead brushes against your ankles. You look down at the sleeves, overhanging on your arms, and decide fuck it. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

And so, you stroll out of the apartment in House’s engulfing coat and beanie, and a pair of your own leggings. You didn’t have any clean shirts of your own, so cross your fingers to the integrity of the coat’s button, and hope you don’t flash anyone your black, laced bra.

The days are brighter than you remember, starker- but you still breathe in deeply when you step firmly onto the sidewalk. The air is softer, fuller; spring. You look around like a nervous deer, and steel yourself as you set down the sidewalk. You vaguely recognised the streets from when Pop had driven you to the markets and shopping centre a suburb over front your own apartment. You don’t make any move however, to follow a direction, and rather just walk. 

You see pigeons pecking at scraps on the path, and overgrown weeds bursting through the pavement, and cars bustling on by. You smile until your cheeks hurt, and savour the feeling of the morning sunlight on your skin. 

You keep walking, and find yourself drawn to a bustling fruit market. Even in the early hours of the day, people are scavenging the stocks of fruit and veggies, and you slip into the crowd, unnoticed. You weren’t the precious thing that Pops treated you as nor the shameful object of avoidance House saw you as; instead, you were simply a woman looking at the sales on mandarins. 

You peer closer at the sign and scoff. They weren’t good sales, and you almost appreciate the fact that you have no money with you- at least you weren’t going to waste it on overpriced citrus.

You’re rolling your eyes next at the price of kiwis when you hear your name called out and you straighten.

You look around for the source and can’t place it amidst the colours, stalls and people. But then the person calls out to you again, and your eyes meet. 

You grin widely. “Chase?” 

He doesn’t smile or return your grin. He steps forward, and you think it odd to see him here, in a soft jumper and a basket full of produce (you spy the overpriced mandarins sitting neatly at the top, and groan inwardly). Somewhere in the back of your head, you think this makes sense. Spring and Chase and warm jumpers and fresh fruit; soft and calm and sweet.

Chase’s eyebrows are drawn in tightly as he speaks. “Where have you been?”

Ah. Suspicions confirmed about House’s silence. “Sick.” You raise your hands in defence. “Honestly. I wasn’t just avoiding you.”

At that, his face somehow sinks even more, and the memory of the charity ball is brought forth again. He huffs, and doesn’t meet your eyes. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. I- I don’t know. I guess I thought telling you was the best thing to do but then Wilson said you were super upset and-”

You step closer, and press a hand to his arm. “Chase.” You smile. “It’s fine. Really. If I’m being honest… It doesn’t mean anything to me right now.”

He scoffs, but a sheepish look quickly overtakes it. “How can you say that? I thought you were going to murder me, or House that night.”

You sigh. “Like I said, I’ve been sick. Being that ill and still not being a hundred per cent, nothing was comparable. When you’re vomiting to the point that it’s burning your throat, you stop caring about petty things from work.”

Chase, to your surprise, doesn’t cringe away at your words. He nods, almost earnestly. “So…we’re alright?”

You nod. “Yes. Even though I don’t care anymore, I really do appreciate that you told me. At least someone did.”

Chase nods again, and he seems to relax. But then his face twists, and he looks down at you. “What are you wearing?”

You just laugh. “So, how’s work been? How is everyone?”

Chase sighs, and puts down his basket beside him. “It’s crazy. House wouldn’t tell us anything about you- we had to pry it out of Wilson that you were still working with us, let alone alive.”

You chuckle, but have to swallow the lump forming in your throat. “I’ll be back soon. I’m finishing my medication soon and hopefully my, uh, doctor clears me for work.” 

The blonde man in front of you nods, and doesn’t dig further into your frail explanation. “That’s great, we need you back. It’s like the balances of good and evil are out of whack. House has been in sane .”

Your eyebrows raise and Chase nods in confirmation. “Really! The other day he locked Cameron in a clean room and told her to either get infected by the patient or figure out what’s infecting them.” Your jaw drops and Chase keeps rambling. “And y’know, if he’s biting off suck-up-his-arse-Cameron’s head, then Foreman and I are on the verge of being cut up into small pieces.”

You purse your lips. “That does sound like something House would do.”

“Even Wilson can’t reel him in right now, he’s manic I swear.” Chase’s eyes meet yours. “You were the only one who could get him to calm down.”

You huff, shocked. “You’re lying, right?”

Chase shakes his head. “I hate to say it too, but I mean it. He’s always been a dick, yeah, but since you’ve got here, he’s mellowed. He listens to you, even if it’s you telling him to stop being a prick. He doesn’t deserve it- you, trying to bring out the good in him. I think he’s just rotten at his core.”

“Chase. You’ve got to be joking. The only times he listens to me is when he’s about to tell me to shut up.”

Chase chews his cheek, and shakes his head at you.  He sighs, looking at you almost sadly, as if you just don’t understand what he’s saying. ‘He doesn’t deserve it-you’. What had happened in the past few weeks, that would cause him to think something so incredulous, that he wasn’t telling you?

But then he huffs as if to shoo away the thought of House, and grabs his basket again. He plucks a handful of kiwis to the side of you both. “Here. You should be getting all the vitamins you can, and you can take them as an apology. For the charity ball, and for saying you could tame the wildebeest House. Really… I am sorry about everything.”

“And really,” You smile, “It’s fine. But I will definitely take the kiwis.”

Chase laughs, and you realise you missed this. Interacting with a friend, laughing and joking and just talking. You wish you were done and over with all this sickness, and back at work. Not ‘taming’ House but bitching with Foreman or snickering with Cameron. 

You walk the markets together for longer. Chase tells you some crappy jokes, and even though you were expecting pity laughs to emerge from yourself, you find yourself snorting genuinely. He's adamant on buying you more fruits; you get a banana, an orange and even one of his overpriced mandarins. When you thank him, he leans down and gently hugs you. He’s tall, and wraps his arms around you easily in your oversized coat. 

When he leans back up, pink is gently dusting his face. “Get better.” He demands, with a notch in his brow. “Or when you come back to work, you might just find my corpse and House with a bloodied knife.”

You laugh again, and nod. You part ways, and as you retrace your steps to the best of your ability across streets and pathways, you’re left smiling. You don’t even notice the motorbike parked outside of House’s apartment, and you push through the front door, too giddy to realise it was unlocked. 

You bring your green bag of gifted fruits to the kitchen, and begin sorting them on the counter top. You set the beanie down beside it. But when a hand reaches out and grabs a kiwi, you turn and swing, bag still grasped. 

“Oh my  god!”

House looks down to his chest, where you landed a pathetic blow. The bag is crumpled on the ground, and you hope, pitfully, that your banana hasn’t exploded.

He scoffs. “ ‘Oh my god’? I was the one who just got assaulted.”

“You sneak up on me,” you groan, “and expect me to do what? Stand there like a statue?”

House rolls his eyes. “Statues are usually silent, unlike some people, so no, I don’t.”

“Funny.” You clench your jaw. “I can’t remember the last time in the past few weeks I talked to you.”

His eyes flick to yours, intense and flaming ice. He grunts and reaches forward, tugging at your coat. “Are you wearing my clothes?”

You bite your cheek. “Yep. Wasn’t like I had a whole lot of variety after being whisked away in the night.”

House scoffs, and drops his hand. Your neck is burning at the spot where he had kissed you, and where his knuckles had just brushed. “You look homeless.”

“Gee, I wonder who I got inspired by.”

House breezes past your comment. “You’re not caged here. Clearly, you went somewhere.” 

He pauses, expectantly and when you realise he’s waiting for an answer, you huff. “The fruit market.”

House tilts his head, and you feel like a rabbit, under the gaze of a hawk. You shuffle your feet back, but your back presses against the kitchen counter. House matches your movements and closes in on you more. “With who?”

You blink. “What, I can’t just go somewhere by myself? God forbid a woman escapes from here with her own free will, right?”

House smirks. “Trust me, women aren’t usually begging to leave here. They’re begging for something different, sweetheart.”

That damned name again. What happened to the cold way he called your last name or spat out Newbie? 

A blush starts to reach up to your ears, and House finally takes a step closer, placing his hands on either side of you against the countertop. There. For all your complaining, he would finally cage you in.

You have to remind yourself to breathe, and you only just tune back in to hear House speak again. “Of course you have free will; the greatest gift given to mankind, second to a reach around.” You scoff, and he leans in closer, smirking. “But you practically danced into here, in a world of your own. Which either means, while you were rummaging through my closet, you took a handful of pills just for shits and giggles, or you were with someone. So spit it out.”

You chuckle, and shake your head, looking away. Curse him though, because when you look to your side, all you see is his forearms flexing against the counter. “Fuck off. You’re not my bodyguard, it doesn’t matter if I met up with someone.”

House drops his smirks, and clenches his jaw. “Yes. It does.”

You meet his eyes with your own fiery gaze. “Oh gosh, you’re right! I wonder what kind of catastrophe awaits when the world realises I can actually talk instead of just these,” You raise your hand and flip him off. “Weird hand signals!”

“Wow. I can’t believe you’d go into medicine when you have such ,” He spits, “A talent for comedy.”

“I could say the same about you and missing your opportunity in drag.”  You flash him a toothy grin and he leans in closer. You try to rear your head back, but one of his hands snakes around, landing on your throat like it never left. 

“Remember the last time this happened- how desperate you were? Now, who did you meet up with?” 

You let out a laugh, looking down your nose at him to the best of your ability, trying to maintain a semblance of power when he’s choking you.. “Remember the last time this happened? How you got absolutely decked?”

House’s jaw ticks to the side and he applies pressure against you. He doesn’t bruise, god no; despite all of this, he’s still light enough to give you the chance to escape if you really tried. But he presses down with his palm in the right spot against your windpipe, and you let out a harsh gasp. He’s staring into your eyes, and it feels like he’s daring you to throw yourself to the side, break the hold.

Your pulse is racing, and it’s only when you start to feel light headed do you wheeze out,  “Fine. It was Chase. Happy?”

House scoffs and loosens his grip. “The Kangaroo? Really?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes. Really. Is it that crazy to think I like talking to him? Or are you just jealous?”

His eyebrows cinch in. “You think I’m jealous?”

You say nothing, and instead let your eyes flick down to his hand, still decorating your throat like a necklace.  

House blinks, and recoils almost instantly as if he realised only now what he had done. You laugh, crossing your arms and leaning back against the counter. “You avoid me like the plague but the second you sense another person with me, you’re all ‘macho-man-intimidation’. What’s next, I don’t have dinner on the table and I get a black eye?”

House scoffs, and mirrors you, crossing his arms across his chest. If any god was listening now, they would hear your prayers to smite him and his stupid fucking forearms. “I wasn’t avoiding you. And we both know that if you really wanted to, you would have stopped that. You’re not some little housewife- I know you like giving it as much as you like taking it.”

Your face is aflame, but you brush past his comment. “Right. You think that sleeping over at Wilson’s for three weeks isn’t avoiding me?”

His eyes widen ever-so-slightly, confirming your thoughts. No hooker or hospital for House’s bed. You’re sure he spent the last few weeks driving Wilson up the wall, alongside his team.

You throw your hands up. “Forget it. Go back to pretending I don’t exist. I’m nearly better, not that you care, so I’ll find a way to get out of your hair soon.”

You push off the counter, and House chuckles. “You’re always a pain in my arse. Doesn’t matter if you’re sick or not, the only thing you can find a way to do is annoy the shit out of me. Oh, and fuck up every blood sample you’ve ever taken.”

You wring your hands through your hair. “That was one time! When you gave me the wrong patient’s info!” You scoff, and walk away, certain that you leave a cindering trail behind you as you shout over your shoulder. “But sure House, I’m the one who annoys the shit out of everyone.”

You hear the click of his cane on the floorboards and speed up your pace. It’s comical almost, him catching up to you as you begin to quicken your steps. You reach the bedroom, and step inside. You turn to slam the door shut and instead take a step back, huffing when you see him standing in the doorway. “House, I’m really not in the mood to do this right now. If you want to choke someone again, go find a little puppy like you usually do.”

He snorts, leaning against his cane. “You’re never in the mood. You’re always pissy or bitchy or snippy or crabby. There’s always something with you.”

You clench your  jaw. “That’s rich coming from you.”

His eyes glint. “What, I’m the one acting like a hormonal thirteen year old girl?”

You throw your hands up. “Listen to yourself! You leave me here, all alone, after forcing me out of my place and then the first time you do see me, you fight with me!”

House runs his tongue along his teeth. “You call this a fight?”

You let out a groan. “How can you do this? Honestly, how!? How can you avoid me after everything in here,” You spit, gesturing to the bed behind you. His eyes follow your movement, and darken. “And then act like I’m in the wrong for finally talking with someone?! For leaving here!?”

“Because it’s Chase!” House yells, and his eyebrows are furrowed deeply. 

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“Oh, don’t be so dense! Don’t act like you can’t tell that he’s been wanting to fuck you since Day 1.”

You laugh. “He’s right, you are crazy .”

House narrows his eyes. “You’ve got to be blind to miss it. Every meeting he’s practically creaming his pants just looking at you and every day since you’ve been away, it’s like a yappy dog at my heels. ‘Where is she?’ ‘When will she be back?’ ‘Is she alright?’”

You clench your jaw. “Maybe I should take him up on the offer. At least if he starts to fuck me, he won’t leave me for weeks just to show up and yell at me.”

House scoffs. “You think we had started to fuck?” You say nothing. His blue eyes look dangerously dark. “If we had started, we wouldn’t have stopped. You wouldn’t have been able to.”

You chuckle, and something in your stomach curls tightly. “I doubt it.”

“You wanna bet?” His voice drops, and neither of you are yelling anymore. “I bet I’ll have you screaming my name before it’s over.”

“I bet you wouldn’t even last to that point.” Your heart is racing in your ears.

He grinds his teeth. “You’re on, sweetheart.”

You can’t even register his movement in time before he’s crashing his lips against yours in one sweeping movement. It takes you a moment of standing there, dumbstruck to realise what’s happening. But House uses that to his advantage, licking against your lips and deepening the kiss, while he steps the two of you back. You feel the back of your knees hit the bed, and you hear his cane thunk to the ground somewhere.  

Your hands wind up, snaking around his neck and drawing him closer. Traitorous fingers gripping him as if your life depends upon it. House uses his body weight to force you down against the mattress, and you tug at his hair, twisting the short locks between your fingers. He detaches from you, and you suck in great heaves of air.

You look at him above you, and you’re reminded of the last time you were both in a position like this. His slow kisses, wandering hands, steady gaze. But this wasn’t like last time. There are no tender looks to be seen here or soft smiles.

Instead, House’s brow is still furrowed and his chest is rising up and down heavily. He leans back down, his lips against yours. He pushes past again, licking against your teeth and dominating your mouth. You’re certain your brain is becoming oxygen deprived by the time he pulls back, and scoffs. 

“Take all this off.” He tugs at the fabric of his own coat that you’re wearing, and unbuttons it with deft hands. You wriggle your arms out, and the cool air that hits your skin sends goosebumps rippling down it. House hisses in air above you, and you track his gaze down to your bra, where your full breasts are spilling over the top. “Finally dressing the part of the hooker, I see.” 

“Mmhm,” You chuckle, your head thrown back against the mattress. “I thought I’d finally let you see what you’ve been dreaming of, Doctor.” 

House doesn’t fight you on that, and your eyes trail from the ceiling back to him. His palm is pressed against his jeans, stroking himself through the layers of fabric. Your jaw ticks, and you try to not let yourself stare. You fail.

House smirks. “How much foreplay are we doing? On a scale from rose-petals on a bed for Valentines to truck-stop-fuck?”

“Depends. Do you usually leave all your partners unsatisfied and finishing themselves off in the bathroom?”

House looks at you from below his brow. “Don’t be so vulgar. Leave the obscenities to me.”

You smile, and make sure its sweet enough to drip with honey. “Sorry.” Your hand trails down to your leggings. “I was just starting to get,” Your hand slips into the junction of your thighs, and presses down. “So bored.”

Now it’s House who stares at you, as you begin rubbing circles between your clothes. It’s only when you press down harsher, and you gasp quietly, does his entrancement break. He leans forward, and your hands are forced to retreat when he tugs down your leggings and discards them to the side.

He’s breathing harder, and it seems neither of you are ready for a quick witted comment when he surges forward, and licks a strip against your panties. You clench, confused on the odd combination of barriers and sense, but he pushes your panties to the side and relieves you of your confusion by pressing his mouth directly against you. When he licks against you, from your core to where he trails on your clit, you moan harshly. 

He does it again, and again, as if he’s trying to memorise the sounds he’s drawing from you. You eyes flick down to him, and you see him working himself through his jeans from where he’s kneeling between your legs- his hands palming against himself harshly with each moan you release. 

You don’t even realise you’re trying to pull back as his mouth continues to work against you, until House’s arms are locking around the peak of your thighs and holding you down.  His hand grips the soft flesh of your hip, and if you trusted your ears, you would swear he just groaned against you. Your mind is a blur as your hands grip against the blanket, and you can’t focus on anything but the pleasure he’s giving you.

You let out a loud gasp, and groan when House raises his head to look at you. His chin is slick with you, and he licks his lips before he speaks. “Screaming out my name yet?”

You chuckle. “Cumming in your jeans already?”

House smiles, and there it is again- this odd, tender and fragile thread that hangs between the two of you in this moment, where you’re both smiling at each other. But then House’s smile slips into a smirk, and his eyes become hooded as he leans back down and begins his relentless onslaught. It’s as if with each swipe of his tongue and suck on your puffy clit, he’s asking you to scream out. When you gasp after one movement, he repeats it over and over until you’re moaning- stubbornly still not screaming. Your hips roll against his face as he laps at you, and when his tongue delves into you, your heads whip over to grip his hair. Now, he moans against you as you tug on his hair and your fingers delve into the strands. 

You can’t even register what you’re saying to him. There’s a stubborn reminder in your mind to not give into his bet, but you allow words to slip, telling him how good it, no, he is.

His right hand abandons your thigh, and snakes around. Even in the lust haze covering your mind, you know what’s coming, but you can’t stop the moan tumbling from you as he pushes one finger into you. He works it in and out and in and out, all the while sucking on your clit, and then he adds another. His free hand shifts to stretch across the plane of your lower stomach and pin you down. You thrust against his hand, trying your best to grind against him, and he leans back to chuckle. “God, you’re needy.”

Your voice is breathy and light. “Haven’t- Haven’t had a lot of time to myself recently. You know how it is- shitty job, shitty boss.”

His eyebrows raise. “Shitty boss?”

You moan again when his hand deliberately quickens, but still try to pretend like you’re coherent, and not on the edge of falling apart. “Y-yeah. Absolute arsehole.”

His jaw ticks. “Just for that, I’ll only stop if you beg me to.”

You laugh in disbelief, but it’s cut short when his head dips back down. He’s harsh against your clit, sucking and licking against it, and his fingers work in tangent, pumping in and out, over and over again. You drawl out a long moan, and his fingers quicken until he’s practically fucking you with them. He keeps at it relentlessly, and you struggle to fill your lungs up with air. His teeth scrap against you, and it’s rough and sweet and oh fuck-

He groans against you. “You’re fucking addictive. Who needs vicodin?”

Your eyes flick down, and he’s looking up at you, piercing blue eyes staring into your own. That’s what does it. You gasp, and muffle your sounds against the palm of your hand, and you cum against House’s face and hand brutally. He keeps lapping against you the whole time, working your clit and drawing out your orgasm. Your legs begin to shake, and your knees try to clamp against each other, trying to stop the attention that he continues to give. His hand slips from your stomach, and instead grips at your thigh, forcing it to the side and forcing your legs to spread wide. 

 “Mmmh,” Your sound is muffled against your hand. “Please.”

He doesn’t stop, and if anything, quickens his pace. You moan loudly again, and it’s harsh in the quiet of his apartment. You have to force your hand to leave your mouth and grip against his hair again. 

“Please,” you moan. “Please, House. That’s enough. It’s too much.”

How much begging did he want? He keeps working you, licking up anything you have to offer as if he was a starving man. It’s only when you’re babbling incoherently, with ‘please please please’ and ‘’ts too much I’ll do anything’ does he begin to relent. Finally, he raises himself back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his palm. He has a wild look on his face and his eyes are blown wide. 

He looks drugged almost, but he blinks himself back to reality, and smirks. “Glad you found your table manners, sweetheart. Now,” his eyes darken. “Time to return the favour.”

You tilt your head, and raise your eyebrows. He leans forward, kissing you again, and it’s with a more frantic frenzy. You can taste yourself on him, against his lips and tongue. He pulls you forward as you’re still kissing, and you follow him as if he’s leading a dance. Only when you break apart do you find yourself standing by the edge of the bed. He sits on the edge, and leans forward, arms reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. 

His chin rests on your abdomen, and he looks up at you as you slip your arms through the straps, and it falls to the floor. His hand reaches up, squeezing against your tit, and he groans. He doesn’t waste any time, his mouth against your nipple, tongue swiping over it. He pinches your other nipple, and you barely gasp before he’s squeezing your breast again. 

He licks at your nipple but leans back to admire his handiwork as both hands squeeze your tits. They overspill in his hands, and he massages them. He looks up at you from beneath his brow and chuckles. “I want to ruin you. All those tight shirts and collar-high buttons. You’ve been holding out on me.”

You lower yourself, tucking your legs beneath you as you kneel. His hands lose their grip on your tits but he happily grips your hair and tugs at it, smirking. “That’s a good girl.”

Anyone else, and the phrase would have made you recoil and laugh. Maybe gag. But House’s voice is deep and sultry, and you’re simply trying to stop yourself preening at the praise. You lean forward, the same way he did to you, and lick a long strip against his jeans. He sucks in a breath, and reaches down to unbuckle his belt, and tug down his jeans.

“You look excited. Was I right in guessing you hadn’t been blown since highschool?”

“Do the quickies Wilson give me count?”

“Do the quickies Chase give me count?” You retort.

House scoffs. “Are you always this chatty or is it just when you’re on your knees?” 

Your hand is gentle against his scarred thigh, and you move forward, pressing a kiss to the jagged muscle, the same place you had when he bathed you. You look up from beneath your lashes at House, giving him mock innocence. “Just when I’m kneeling for you. Could talk for hours if that’s what it takes to suck you off.” 

He groans softly at the sight of you between his legs, doe-eyed and foul-mouthed. He’s not starstruck enough to be frozen however, and tugs down his dark boxes, kicking them away. His dick is half hard already, and you take him in; the wide girth and already formidable length. Fuck, you’re already clenching at the thought of him in you, pounding mercilessly and stretching you open and splitting you and hammering in over and over and-

You gulp slightly, and House chuckles above you. “Don’t get shy. It won’t bite.” You shoot him a look, and his eyes narrow. “I hope you don’t either.”

You decide to silence him, and place your hands against his thighs as you lean forward, making sure not to put much pressure on his right leg. This time, when you run your tongue from the base to the head you feel him twitch against you as House hisses in a breath.

You reach forward, stroking him. House does his best to remain quiet, but you quicken your pace, spitting into your hand for lube, and then he’s groaning with each upward movement. Only when House is thrusting gently into your hand, his cock swollen and red, you lean closer, taking him into your mouth. You can taste the precum leaking out of his head, and you lap against it, swirling your tongue.

He grunts softly. “Don’t be a tease.”

You look at him from beneath your lashes again and moan softly against him in response. It seems from that, House lets you take control for some time. You bob gently against him, dragging your tongue up and down and being mindful to not scrape against him. You hollow your cheeks, and move quicker, digging your nails into his skin for support. But when you force yourself lower on his hard cock, and his light dusting of pubic hair brushes against your nose, he’s far down your throat. He fills the space up easily and you gag, going to withdraw.

House’s hands stop you, gripping the back of your skull. He holds you there at the base of himself, and groans. “There you go, just like that.”

Tears spring to your eyes but he pulls you back, letting you adjust to the feeling of him in your mouth. He doesn’t pull you away from him completely, and instead starts to move you at his own pace. “Just like that,” he groans again. Up and down, and up and down. Each time he draws you to the base of his cock, testing you. 

He begins to thrust into your mouth, fucking your face. You’re held still by his grip, his hips reaching for your lips and his length filling your mouth, your throat, you. When his pelvis brushes against your nose, you force yourself to swallow past the urge to gag, to blink past the tears clouding your vision.

“Fuck.” House groans out above you, holding you in place as you swallow again. “Finally shutting up with my cock in your mouth, huh? Such a good girl for me. So good.”

You squeeze your legs together, feeling the mess you’d made between your thighs. You squeeze even tighter as he face fucks you. Only when you reach down, slipping your hand between the apex of your thighs, trying to give yourself some relief to pressure rebuilding there, does he pull you away.

A trail of saliva connects you two, and you look up at him, gasping. Your lips are swollen and your cheeks are stinging. House is panting above you, looking down at you with feverish eyes. Your voice is breathy and hoarse when you speak. “I would have swallowed.”

House’s hand grips himself at his base, pumping himself languidly, such a contrast to the brutal pace he set with you. “I know. But how would I have won that $100?”

“$100?” You laugh. “I’m betting at least double that, that you’ll be finished soon old man.”

House smirks down at you, and his silence is the worst answer you could have anticipated for. Gloating, you could push off as over-cockiness, one that would be remedied soon. Defence, you could categorise as uncertainty. But silence? House was in it to win it.

House pulls you up to the bed, and you fall to your back, naked. He stands up, facing you and you watch him draw his shirt off slowly. He’s not ripped, he’s not carved from stone or some Greek god. But he’s House, and you drink in every inch that he’s never shown you. The hair across his chest, the lean arch of his neck, his toned arms. You’re about to try to fuck his brains out and instead you’re thinking about how it would taste if you bite down on the flesh of his forearm or how he would react if you kissed him everywhere you could reach. You gulp, and have to squeeze your legs again- it does nothing, and rather make the slick between your thighs more prominent.

He’s unsteady on his leg, and when he wobbles slightly his eyes flick to yours, searching for something. You shrug. “What? Get a pillow and fuck me, House.” His limp, his scar, his wobble, whatever- it wasn’t going to stop you from 

His jaw ticks. “What did I say about the swearing?”

But he does as you say, reaching for a pillow and placing it on the edge of the bed. He leans his bad leg on it, kneeling into it. He taps his thigh. “Get closer. Or do I need to drag you?”

You laugh. “I’d probably like that.”

You begin to scooch yourself forward and now he does smile. “I know. Slut.”

You backpedal, and give a mock gasp, hand clutched to your heart. His eyes snap back to your bare breasts. “Well, if you think I should save my modesty, sir,” His eyes darken, “Then really, we shouldn’t be doing thi-”

He leans forward and grips you by your hips, yanking you forward easily. You land with a ‘hrmph’ against the edge of the bed, and your hands fling out against him to steady yourself. You grip his arms tightly and shoot him a look, but he just smirks, eyes creasing.

He shifts his hips, rutting against you. He reaches between the two of you, guiding himself between your folds. You sigh at the feeling, and he leans forward, resting his forehead against yours as he looks to where you two meet. 

“You’re so fucking wet for me.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, mumbling out “Hypocrite.”. He keeps teasing you, slicking himself as he moves forward and back, nudging against you hole but never pushing in. He adjusts his grip on you, moving to raise you right leg over his hip, pinning it there. His cock catches on your hole, and he breaches it slightly before retreating. He does the same thing, over and over, nudging into you, and stopping just as the feeling starts to burn.

You squeeze his bicep. “Fucking arsehole.”

He thrusts into you, and you seize up with a gasp. He groans, pushing his hips forward, and thrusting his cock into you. It’s easier with how wet you are from earlier, but he still grunts against you, mumbling a ‘t’s so tight’. He stretches you, and his cock fills you with a sweet burn. 

You moan as he bottoms out, pressing himself fully into you. When he speaks, he tries to sound cocky, but there’s a slight shudder to his tone. “Gotta relax. You’re strangling me.”

“You’re just-” You cry out when he rolls his hip, moving slightly in you, but you force your muscles to ease slightly. “Bigger than I thought. Y’know. Me and Cameron bet you had a micropenis.”

He scoffs. “God, you’re so annoying.”

You laugh in his face. “What? You’ll be devastated to know Foreman bet on it too.”

He drags his hips out and you gasp at the movement. “Shut up,” he scoffs, and slams his hips back to yours. You grip him, trying to steady yourself, but he sets a brutal pace against you, slamming into you again and again. “Always fucking running your mouth. Trying to act tough.” 

House grips you leg, hiking it higher on his hip. “Slut needs to be taught a lesson, huh?” He must see you start to open your mouth to reply, because he slams into you with more force, practically moving the bed. “Needs to learn to shut her mouth? Was my dick in it not enough to teach you?”

You could tell him to fuck off or go to hell or just really hammer in the micropenis joke. But instead, a breathy moan escapes you and your head tilts back. “N-no. Need to get taught.”

House smiles tenderly. “Yeah, sweetheart you do.”

He’s not tender in the way he fucks you. This wasn’t making love or even hooking up, House was fucking you and he was fucking you hard. He’s pistons into you, and you feel him against your cervix. It’s painful, but you just find yourself groaning and thinking about how you’ll be reminded of him tomorrow. 

He swipes against your smooth calf with his thumb and you relish in the feeling. You want his hands all over, touching you, gripping you, and he somehow reads your mind. House uses his position to lean you back, and he lays you against the bed. He hunches over you, abandoning his grip on your calf, and grabs your arms from where they still grip his own. He yanks your hands above you head, and pins them to the mattress with one hand, leaning over you.

The other hand grips at the softness of your hip, trying to use it for leverage as he slams himself against you. You wrap your legs around his lower back, drawing him closer, caging him in. You cry at the new angle, and he hits that spongey part inside you that has you writhing beneath him.

His face is so close here, and you feel his breath hit your cheek when he chuckles. “You like that? How many times do I need to do that for you to scream, sweetheart?”

You laugh but it gets drawn out to a high winded whine when he shifts his hips, hitting deeper and harder and at that same soft spot. His grip tightens on your hands for a moment as if he’s debating, but he lets go, instead snaking his hand to your throat. Your own hands land against his shoulders, bracing yourself as he rocks you back and forth. “I said how many times?”

“Mm,” You groan out loudly. “Um.” It’s drawn out again as he thrusts with such force and precision you’re certain he’s somehow cheating- maybe hyped up on so much vicodin that he’s become enlightened on the female anatomy and just how to make his employee feel euphoric.

House chuckles. “Have I already fucked you dumb, sweetheart?”

You mumble incoherently, and he squeezes his hand against your throat. The blood rushes to your ears and your stomach tightens. His voice is smooth and sugary as he leans closer to you, pressing your chests together. “We’ll count together. See if you can do that.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he thrusts harder, bruising your hips and squeezing your throat tighter. “One.”

“Mmhm. One.”

House shifts himself, placing his elbow beside your head and tucking it in- getting closer and closer to you, as if before wasn’t enough, as if nothing’s enough. He’s brutal, hitting that spot in you again. “Two.”

Your toes are curling, and your hands abandon his shoulders, going to claw at his back. You leave angry, red marks, and you’re sure you draw blood at points but it’s all you can do. House shudders against you, groaning into your shoulder when you scratch down to the base of his spine and grip his hips. You can’t even make out what he’s saying anymore, it’s all too much, too quick, too rough. 

It’s only when he snakes a hand between the two of you, somehow slipping through, and he rubs at your clit do your ears tune back into the number he’s saying to you. Well, he’s barely saying it. He’s groaning it into your shoulder between kisses and moments where he bites his teeth into your skin, and you hear your own voice, high above his when he rubs sloppy, frantic circles against your slick clit. “Fuck House, fuck, fuck.”

He pounds into your harder and abadons his number-game, instead fucking you mercilessly.  You keep babbling out incoherent ‘fuck’s and only when House bites down, hard and sharp into you, do you change your wording. “Please.”

He chuckles against your skin, but it’s quickly lost behind his own deep groan. “That’s better, use your manners. Ask me for it.”

“Please, House, please, please.” Your nails draw down his back again and again but then they find themselves in his hair, and you’re pulling at the locks with the same force he’s fuckign into you with. He groans out, and leans his head back, looking at you.

His hand becomes faster against you, his blue eyes piercing, “You just gotta scream. Just gotta scream on my cock, tell me how good it feels.”

Your mind is fuzzy and you’re nodding your head and calling out “Please, please, please.” His hand is fanatic against you, and his hips are bruising yours, and his lips are on your neck, muffling the deep groans he’s calling out, and then he shifts his fucking position, drawing his thighs closer to yours, so he’s not as much in between your legs as he just slamming straight into you, with no resistance. 

Then he applies more pressure and he’s harsh on your clit, and suddenly your legs are tensing around his waist and your toes are curling and your nails are scratching at his scalp, holding his head to you, and your chest is heaving and oh fuck you’re cumming, and you’re cumming all over his cock. Lewd, wet noises sound out from where you too are joined but if anything it encourages him. He doesn’t relent and quickens his pace, hand curled under you and squeezing you to him as your stomach tenses and your eyes roll back. 

You can only hear a high pitched ringing but when his hand doesn’t abandon you, instead continuing to circle your puffy clit and draw out your second orgasm you cry out to him.  You would think you should be sighing to yourself, hands on hips and committing some self reflection. Instead you just scream out his name again and again and his hips start to stutter against you as his hand eases.

“Please,” you cry out, suddenly aware that there’s wet tears trailing down your cheeks.

“Yo-you lost the bet.” House’s voice is weak and airy and he groans into your skin. “Fuck.”

“House, please, please, cum in me.” You draw your legs over him again, tightening where your grip began to slacken and tugging at his hair. His hips still slam into you, but his pace falters, and he loses his rhythm. “Oh my god, please.”

He slams his hips again, gripping you tightly, and all you see, all you can smell, all you can feel is him. “Is that what you want, huh? Want me to fill you up like a good little slut.”

You shudder. “Please. Yes, please. Ne- Need to feel you in me, need you to cum in me.”

He groans into your ears as he firmly bottoms out again. “Fuck, you’re gonna take it, huh? Take it like a good girl? Yeah, you’re gonna fucking take it.” This time he doesn’t withdraw, and you swear you’re cumming on him again at the deep sound he calls out as he cums. You feel him, warm as he spreads himself in you and he shifts closer, pushing himself in further. 

You stay like that, panting and heaving for a moment together. He pumps slowly into you, shifting his hips back and forth, and fucking his cum into you with languid movements. He keeps fucking you slowly like that until he pulls out with a wet sound, and you collapse against the bed beneath him, sinking into the mattress. You’re content to pass out right there, fall asleep and die happy knowing you got your brains fucked out finally.

But House returns, and you don’t even remember him leaving the room until he’s kneeling between your spread legs again. You don’t even have the strength to protest, even though you know you’re spent, so you watch as he reaches forward, wiping his cum from where it had leaked and slipping his finger back into you, pumping it.

Only when you start to close your legs does he withdraw, pressing a warm cloth to you and wiping up your shared mess. Your brain is fuzzy and you still feel fucked out, but you feel him when he presses a kiss to the bruised part of your inner thigh, mumbling “Such a good girl for me.”

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter Four

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Smut. Oral (f receiving). Angst. Word count: ~3.5k

Chapter summary: An understanding is reached and Aegon dishes family dirt at a BBQ.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

Her phone vibrates on the coffee table, the buzzing causing it to move dangerously close to the edge. Quick as a flash, Mysaria lunges forward from the sofa to catch it before it topples to the floor, smirking when she sees the name that’s flashing up on the screen.

“How many times is that today now?” She asks, gently tossing the phone to her as a missed call notification replaces the incoming call alert.

She shrugs, not averting her gaze from the TV screen as a rerun of Come Dine with Me, that neither of them are particularly paying attention to, plays to itself. “Dunno. He’ll get the hint eventually.”

It’s Sunday evening and she hasn’t spoken to Aemond since she woke up alone in his flat the previous morning, despite the fact he texts and calls her more times than she can count. She deletes the messages without reading them, and lets each of his calls go to voicemail. He’d made her feel cheap, used, put a price on her body, and she had no desire to ever speak to him again.

Mysaria sighs, flopping back against the sofa cushions. “Can I be a bitch for a second?” She asks, turning her head to face her. “You aren’t going to like it, but I think you need to hear it.”

She leans her head back, eyes flitting to meet her flatmate’s, already feeling a prickle of annoyance heat her skin, but decides to let her say her piece. “Go on then.”

“Why are you punishing him because you’ve caught feelings?”

Her annoyance bursts forth into anger as her brow furrows, her body language becoming squared and defensive. “I haven’t–”

“Yes, you have,” Mysaria interrupts. “I get that he did a shitty thing by leaving you high and dry, but he clearly feels bad or he wouldn’t keep trying to reach you. Give the guy a chance to explain himself, if you don’t like what he has to say then break things off.”

She scoffs in frustration, turning back towards the TV and rolling her eyes. “You are so bloody annoying!”

“Because I’m right,” Mysaria says smugly, leaning over to tap her on the nose. “You gonna call him back then?”

She chews her lip absentmindedly, turning her phone around in her hands. She supposes it wouldn’t hurt to reach out to him, if only to ask how to return the five grand he’d transferred to her.

The buzzer to the flat startles her out of her train of thought and Mysaria peels herself off of the sofa with a groan of “Finally! I’m bloody starving!”

Pizza first, then she’ll call him. She’s definitely not putting it off, she reasons with herself, she just doesn’t want her food to go cold.

“Erm…so it’s not pizza…” Mysaria says awkwardly as she re-enters the living room, a silver haired figure a good deal taller than her trailing behind her.

Dread gnaws at her stomach as she takes in the sight of Aemond, hair thrown back in a bun, dressed in a tight black henley and fitted black jeans, holding the largest bouquet of lilies and roses she’s ever seen before. Even when she’s angry with him he still manages to look absolutely breathtaking, and it irritates her.

“I’ll just…uh…” Mysaria makes a gesture towards her bedroom, and quickly makes herself scarce.

Lucky bitch.

“You’ve not been returning my calls,” Aemond says flatly.

“No…” She responds quietly, feeling the warmth of embarrassment spread through her, as she plucks nervously at the legs of her jogging bottoms. He’s never seen her not put together, and she loathes that she feels shame for her appearance, when she hasn’t done anything wrong. Him seeing her with messy hair, an oversized t-shirt and threadbare joggers makes her feel weak and vulnerable in his presence.

“Or replying to my texts.”

“I know.”

“Listen, if the other night wasn’t good, or I hurt you–”

“Why don’t you sit down?” She interjects, suddenly realising how absurd he looks, stood in the middle of the living room, dwarfing everything around him with his obscenely large bunch of flowers.

Aemond nods gratefully, taking the seat next to hear. “These are you for, by the way,” He tells her, handing her the flowers.

She hums a quiet thanks, immediately overwhelmed by the sweetness of their aroma, and places them on the coffee table, knowing she’ll need no distractions if she’s to say what she needs to say.

“The other night was great, really great, actually,” She begins. “But you just left the next morning without a word, and that really upset me.”

“You were upset because I left?” He asks, sounding almost surprised.

“Yes!” She replies with exasperation. “You made me feel cheap, and used.”

“Cheap? But I bank transferred you afterwards.”

“Jesus, Aemond! I’m not a prostitute!” She throws up her hands angrily, gesticulating her point.

He swallows thickly, clearly considering his next words carefully. “I know you said you’ve never done anything like this before, but neither have I, and I made a mistake. My grandfather called me into the office early on Saturday morning. You looked so peaceful sleeping that I didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry that my carelessness has hurt you, but I am keen to continue our arrangement.”

It all seems so simple when he words it like that. She could easily have reached out to question his actions, but she’d allowed her emotions to guide her and now feels foolish because of it. When she says nothing, Aemond presses on. 

“No funny business, I promise. We don’t have to sleep together again, but I’ve enjoyed having your company at family functions, it makes them more bearable. Please say you’ll consider it?”

She’s not sure what prompts the words from her mouth, perhaps it’s the pleading look in Aemond’s eye, or the fact that she enjoys his company too, but she says them before she fully has a chance to think about them. “Okay, we’ll carry on as before.”

“Thank you,” He says earnestly.

The buzzer sounding again prevents him from saying anything else, as Mysaria hurries from her room towards the door, in pursuit of her pizza delivery.

“I suppose that’s my cue to leave,” Aemond says softly. “I’ll text you, okay?”

She nods, and they both stand, hovering near each other, both unsure of what would be an appropriate goodbye. Eventually Aemond leans in, kissing the corner of her mouth lightly before pulling back and exiting the flat. She holds her fingers against the area, still able to feel the press of his lips even after he’s departed.

It takes three days for Aemond to message her again, and in that time it feels as though she could crawl out of her own skin with the apprehension that his silence brings. Had he changed his mind, decided her withdrawing contact over an honest mistake was too much to deal with? It fills her with a nervous energy that makes the days unbearable.

The relief she feels when he finally deigns to reach out is borderline humiliating.

Not sure if you remember my half sister, Rhaenyra, but she is having a BBQ on Saturday. Are you free?

I remember. Are you sure you want to go after what happened on your mum’s birthday? Xoxo

My mother will never let me hear the end of it if I don’t go. Will you come with me?

Yeah, I’m free :) xoxo

When Saturday finally rolls around, she keeps her hair and make-up simple, wearing a floral sundress and strappy sandals, but immediately feels underdressed as she recognises the house they pull up outside of as being the one they’d been to for Jace and Baela’s engagement party.

She has little time to dwell on her appearance though, as Aemond ushers her through the expanse of the house and out into the back garden. A sprawling, lush green lawn that could be considered more of a field due to its size plays host to various members of the Targaryen and Hightower families, as the smell of barbecued meat lingers on the breeze.

Aemond leads her around, his hand glued to the small of her back, so she can say polite hellos to everyone. Alicent and Criston greet her with warm hugs and kisses to both cheeks, Helaena does the same, while standing with Baela and Rhaena, the two girls offer a quick “hello” in sing-song unity. Aegon merely holds up a hand by way of greeting, looking less than enthusiastic to be there, and Otto says a polite “good to see you both”. The rest of the family’s greetings are a little more frosty, with Rhaenyra, Jace, Luke and Joffrey giving curt nods of acknowledgement, while Daemon is too preoccupied with the barbecue to notice they’ve even arrived.

“Viserys and Aegon not joining us?” Alicent asks Rhaenyra softly.

“It would mean having to switch off their Playstation, so I very much doubt it,” Rhaenyra says with a roll of her eyes.

The tension is palpable, but her nerves subside slightly when she sees a Rhodesian ridgeback galloping around the garden, with a copper coloured dachshund hot on its heels.

“Oh cute!” She says, turning to Aemond. “Could you not have brought Vhagar?”

“No,” He sighs. “She doesn’t get along with Syrax and Caraxes, so I’ve left her with the dog sitter.”

She gratefully accepts a glass of Pimm’s that’s offered to her by Otto, before he tells Aemond he needs a word.

“You’ll be okay for a moment won’t you, darling?” Aemond asks her.

The pet name causes her breath to catch in her throat and she merely nods, not trusting herself to speak. As they walk away together, she wanders over to a corner of the large garden, pretending to examine an ornate sundial to keep herself busy, when she feels a presence beside her.

Aegon has sidled up to her, beer in hand, a slight smirk on his face. “Having fun?”

“About as much as you are, by the looks of things,” She replies with a tight smile.

“At least you’re getting paid to be here.”

Her eyes go wide, her chest tightening as she realises he knows.

Aegon chuckles. “Ah, you didn’t think I knew? It’s fine, who do you think showed him the app?”

“O-oh…” is all she’s able to stammer, feeling too shocked to say anything else.

“You play a convincing part,” He takes a swig from his bottle. “Too good to be acting, actually. You can’t fake how you look at my brother.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She snaps, feeling the familiar heat of embarrassment tingle at her flesh.

Aegon snorts derisively. “Look, take it from me, don’t get attached. My brother is the last person you want to get involved with. This whole family is a fucking car crash.”

She sips anxiously at her drink, nodding slightly. “I’d noticed none of you seem to get along that well.”

“That is the fucking understatement of the century. Has Aemond told you much about us?”

“Nothing substantial.”

“Allow me to fill you in,” He gestures discreetly towards Alicent. “My mother used to be best friends with my half-sister, they went to school together. My grandfather and my father were business partners, tri-owners of multiple companies alongside Daemon. When my father’s wife, Rhaenyra’s mother, passed away suddenly, my mother started dating my father.”

“Jesus…” She mutters under her breath.

“Oh, it gets worse!” He says with a leer. “See, Rhaenyra wasn’t happy that her best friend had shacked up with her dad. I mean, who would be? She was even more pissed off when the three of us came along, as it meant she was no longer an only child. She started sleeping around to get back at my father, that’s how she ended up with those three.”

Aegon nods towards where Jace, Luke and Joffrey all stand.

“What about her other two children, Aegon and Viserys?”

“Those are the kids she’s had with Daemon. They got married shortly before my father passed away. Mum thinks she did it just to strengthen her claim of the assets, as Daemon’s a partner in the business and Dad didn’t bother to leave a will. Everything Mum has ever tried to claim for us she’s contested.”

“So that’s what all that talk of Dragonstone Cottage was about at your Mum’s birthday?”

“Yeah, ‘Nyra’s sneaky way of trying to hoard assets for her brood.”

“How do Baela and Rhaena fit into all of this?”

“They’re Daemon’s children from a previous marriage.”

“But Baela is engaged to Jace, isn’t that a bit…” She trails off, not knowing the exact word she wants to use.

“Incestuous?” Aegon lets out a laugh that borders on being too unhinged to come from a place of genuine mirth, before taking another swig of his beer. “Yeah, yeah, it is.”

“So what does this have to do with Aemond? Why should I not get involved?”

Aegon rounds on her. “Has he ever told you about, y’know…” He taps his eye.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Hmmm. Probably best to leave that to him to explain then.”

Their attention is pulled away by the sound of a fork being tapped against the side of a glass. She turns to see Daemon standing at the head of the garden. “Just wanted to thank you all for joining us today”, He says as everyone gathers closer, herself and Aegon included. “I think such an occasion is cause for celebration.” He brandishes a bottle of champagne, before popping the cork, a few that are stood closest step back out of its line of fire.

Luke smirks, elbowing Aemond. “He should be careful, almost had your other eye out.”

It happens so suddenly it seems like a blur, but Aemond has Luke by the collar and Aegon is rushing forward to tackle Jace away. Punches are thrown from both sides, until the ensuing scuffle is broken apart by Daemon and Otto.

Aemond’s eye is wild as he approaches her, his breathing ragged, and his usually immaculately styled hair tousled. “Come on, we’re leaving,” He grits out.

She has to hurry to keep up with his long strides through the house and to the car, and they drive in silence, Aemond’s knuckles blanched with the force of the grip he has on the steering wheel.

She drums her fingers anxiously against her thighs, not quite knowing what to say, but it is Aemond who eventually breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” He says quietly. “It was a bad idea for us to go today.”

“What was that all about?” She asks as gently as she can. “What got you so heated?”

Aemond sighs heavily, keeping his focus on the road ahead, and for a moment she doesn’t think he will answer her.

“Luke’s the reason I lost my eye,” He admits. “His little comment today got to me, and I lashed out.”

“What happened?” She turns slightly in the passenger seat to face him.

“It’s stupid really, an irresponsible rich family allowing their kids to roam the woods with Airsoft guns. The official story is that it was an accident, but accidents don’t happen at point blank range, accidents aren’t something you never apologise for.”

“Jesus, Aemond, I’m so sorry.” Her heart aches for him, having to play happy families with someone who has maimed him

“It is what it is,” He says with a slight shrug. “Makes being around them harder than it already is though. Thank you for being there with me today.”

“That’s alright,” She fidgets nervously with the hem of her dress as they pull up outside her block of flats. “Do you want to come inside for a bit? You shouldn’t be alone when you’re feeling like this.”

No funny business.

Her heart races as Aemond’s hands disappear up her skirt, reappearing with her underwear grasped in his fingers, dragging them down her legs.

We don’t have to sleep together again.

She buries her hands into the softness of his hair as he latches his mouth against her, bringing her to quick release with harsh strokes of his tongue. Every thought of what they’d discussed on Sunday evening leaves her mind as he pushes her back against the mattress, the force of his thrusts inside of her causing her toes to curl and her eyes to roll back, until he eventually collapses against her with a grunt, the faint pulsation of him inside of her signifying he’s reached his end.

They fall asleep, curled around each other in her tiny double bed and she’s pleased to see he’s still there when she awakens the following morning.

“Your mattress is fucking terrible,” Aemond grouses sleepily, pulling her tighter against him. “It feels like I’ve slept on a pile of loose change.”

She giggles, nuzzling into his neck.

They spend most mornings like that, over the coming weeks. Aemond becomes a frequent presence in the little flat. Her feet stay planted in his lap while they watch TV after work in the evenings, before he fucks her into the mattress like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Their mornings are lazy and indulgent, spent slowly exploring every inch of each other, before they part ways to go to work, only to do it all over again in the evening.

She buys a dog bed, which takes up half the floor space in her bedroom. Aemond raises an eyebrow at this.

“Vhagar’s quite fussy about where she sleeps,” He tells her, only to watch in disbelief as the elderly doberman circles several times on it, before settling down to nap. “I stand corrected.”

Their presence in her life becomes larger as time goes on, and it’s difficult not to feel that it is more than it is, but she is constantly reminded of the transactional nature with every shopping trip on Oxford Street, every visit to Champney’s Spa, each time he hands her his credit card.

The thought occurs to her that perhaps she ought to broach the topic of what they are, how their relationship is developing, but each time she decides against it, too afraid he’ll say something she doesn’t want to hear.

Mysaria smiles as she sees them snuggled together in front of the TV, when she comes home. “You’re here so often, we’ll have to start charging you rent,” She says playfully.

Aemond pulls out his phone, bringing up his banking app. “How much?” He asks, deadly serious.

“Aemond, she was joking!” She laughs, swatting his arm playfully.

It’s been a slow Saturday morning, almost midday and she sits at the kitchen table, a satisfied ache between her legs, as she sips at a coffee while Aemond plates up eggs benedict for them both. One of the things that surprises her most about him is that he’s able to cook, and he does it well.

She eyes him carefully as she pokes at her breakfast, unable to shift the feeling of how his fingers dug into her flesh, how he gazed at her so reverently, his lips featherlight against her throat just an hour before.

His money, his lavish lifestyle, she wants none of it. She just wants him, so she decides that this time she’ll be brave and shoot her shot before she has the opportunity to second guess herself.

Carefully, she sets down her cutlery and rests her chin against her hand. “So I’ve been thinking…about us.”

Aemond pauses, fixing her with his right eye.

Nerves flutter in her belly at his silence, but she continues anyway. “What we have, let’s make a proper go of it? I don’t care about your money, Aemond, I just want to be with you.”

He clears his throat, setting down his own knife and fork, before slowly wiping his mouth on a napkin. “I can’t do that,” He says quietly.

She is immediately struck by the hollowness in her chest, sucking in a harsh breath to ground herself against the lump forming in her throat.

Aemond reaches across the table, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re perfect,” He reassures her. “But I’m not, and I don’t do relationships. My circumstances are too complicated, I’d end up hurting you, and that’s the very last thing I want to do.”

She can’t argue with him, he’s being so bloody nice about it, and Aegon had warned her of this. She wants to scream at him, to cry, to tell him it isn’t fair, but it’s her that has asked for this, and at least he’s being honest with her, even if the truth does make her feel like her chest is being crushed under a vast weight. “I understand,” She chokes out.

“I’m sorry,” He says sadly, genuinely.

“Can you…can you just go, please?” She whispers, unable to look at him.

He nods, standing and presses a gentle kiss to her temple before leaving.

Only after she hears the front door click closed, and the feel of his lips have faded from her skin, does she allow herself to fall apart. Hot tears cascade down her cheeks, as she feels the presence that has taken up so much of her life leave behind a gaping void in its wake.

Chapter three || Chapter five || Series masterlist

[wendichester]

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ sweet talks & sales pitches,

summary. cj tries to convince you to join the stand

pairing. cj braxton x reader

wordcount. 507

notes. happy jackles day .ᐟ 🩷

“C’mon, just think about it.”

CJ’s voice is smooth, persuasive—the kind of tone that probably works wonders on people calling The Stand for advice. But you? You’re not buying it.

Not yet, anyway.

You shoot him a look, arms crossed as you lean against the brick wall outside the student center. “For the last time, I am not joining your little teen hotline.”

CJ grins, completely unfazed. “It’s not little, it’s a big deal. We help people.”

You arch a brow. “And I help people by not giving them terrible advice.”

He gasps, all mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him. “I’ll have you know, I give excellent advice.”

“You once told a guy to deal with his breakup by watching Rocky and eating an entire pizza.”

“And? That’s fantastic advice.”

You snort, shaking your head, but before you can fire back, CJ moves—quick, smooth—throwing his arm around your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His body is warm against yours, familiar but also… not.

Because lately, it’s been feeling different.

The way he sits too close, the way his eyes linger a little longer, the way his compliments have started sounding less like friendly banter and more like something else entirely.

Like this.

“You know, you’d be great at it,” he says, his voice softer now, his chin dipping slightly so he can meet your eyes.

You glance up at him, suspicious. “You say that to everyone, or am I just special?”

His smirk deepens. “Oh, you’re definitely special.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flips, betraying you.

“You’re smart, you’re a good listener, and you’ve got a voice that people would probably find super soothing.” He squeezes your shoulder, pulling you just a little closer. “And let’s not forget the most important part—you’re really cute, which will absolutely boost morale.”

Your breath catches for half a second before you manage an unimpressed look. “You’re seriously flirting with me just to get me to join?”

He grins, unrepentant. “Who says I need an excuse?”

Your heart does something ridiculous in your chest, but you school your expression, tilting your head like you’re considering it. “If I say yes, do I get to boss you around?”

CJ chuckles, low and warm, his fingers drumming absentmindedly against your shoulder. “You can try.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Tempting.”

His arm tightens around you for a brief second, and his voice drops just a little. “Say yes, sweetheart.”

The air between you shifts—lighthearted, teasing, but charged.

You could walk away. Call his bluff. Keep pretending you don’t notice the way he looks at you.

Or—

You exhale, shaking your head with a small, amused smile. “Fine.”

CJ blinks, like he wasn’t actually expecting to win. “Wait, seriously?”

You shrug. “You wore me down.”

His grin is brilliant, full of something undeniably pleased. “Damn right I did.”

And as he tugs you just a little closer, his fingers brushing your arm, you get the feeling this isn’t just about The Stand anymore.

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[piratekane]

(post-3x05 kacy scene)

Warm fingertips press down against the thin skin on the inside of her wrist, a melody she knows that she knows but can’t quite place in the early grey of the morning, the sun rising, muted, through the low clouds outside the window. She was asleep a minute ago and there’s a dream quickly fading away as her eyes open slowly and the room shifts into focus.

“Morning,” Kate whispers, still sunken in her pillow.

“G’morning.” Lucy pulls the words from the back of her throat like she’s pulling cotton from a cattail. “Time s’it?”

Kate doesn’t roll over to check her phone. “Early,” she guesses. “Too early for our day off.”

A day off. A present for her jungle excursion, courtesy of Tennant. A whole day to let her body come down from the high of being chased through thick vegetation with a life hanging delicately in her hands. Lucy lets her eyes close again and sinks back into her pillow. She goes back to focusing on Kate’s fingers looped carefully around the wrist between them. Tap, tap, taptap. Tap, tap. A song, then. One that she knows but can’t quite place.

“Is that Boot Scootin Boogie?”

Kate exhales a short laugh. “Taylor Swift.”

“Who else would it be?” Lucy feels the bed shift as Kate slides a little closer. She can feel the soft heat coming off Kate’s bare arms and wants to reach for it, pull it back over her, close her eyes and slip back into sleep for just a little bit longer.

It was a long day yesterday, her nerves pulled to their breaking point. When she stepped over the threshold to their apartment, the weight she had been working so hard to push off came crashing down on her. She doesn’t remember tasting the pizza Kate ordered, doesn’t remember picking Love is Blind on the TV or queuing up where they left off. She doesn’t remember brushing her teeth or turning out the light.

She does remember Kate’s body warm behind her on the couch, her own body pressed to Kate’s front as they sat wrapped up in each other. She remembers Kate’s arms and how they wrapped low around her waist in bed and held her tightly. She remembers soft lips to her bare shoulder and I love you against her skin as she let the exhaustion take over.

She remembers the Kate of it all, the steady and warm and loving presence she’s come to need like oxygen in her lungs. She remembers the overwhelming feeling of love—one she thought she’d never find in a million years.

“I could sleep another hundred hours,” she admits, eyes still closed.

She feels Kate’s smile against the back of her hand. “You can. We have nothing planned today.”

The thought is so tempting. She could pull Kate’s arms around her, drape them over her like the light comforter they’re sharing, and let herself sink back into sleep. It’s not too far off; she could reach for it and be asleep in moments.

But Kate is awake and tapping out a Taylor Swift song against her pulse point and that usually means banana pancakes and a Golden Girls marathon and pressing Kate against the counter edge and kissing her until either their lungs start to burn or the pancakes start to smoke. Lucy loves those mornings and the way Kate tastes like the bites of bananas she snuck before mixing them into the batter.

“Did I dream yesterday?”

“Only if we were having the same nightmare.” Kate’s free hand pushes back some of Lucy’s hair. “Otherwise, it was real.”

Lucy slides her foot forward, curling her ankle around Kate’s calf. “I thought so.” She opens one eye, studying Kate’s profile. She’s committed it to memory by now. “I feel like a truck ran me over.”

“It did,” Kate murmurs. “That very much happened.”

Lucy sighs. Yesterday wasn’t a dream. She can see it vividly in her mind and she closes her eyes against it again, trying to fill it with Kate—Kate so close and so warm.

“I’m not ready to talk yet,” she admits. She isn’t. She can’t. She’s still working through her family in her own mind; she can’t possibly put into words what they’re like and what they’ve done to her and to each other.

“We don’t have to talk.” Kate’s voice is soft and genuine and Lucy thinks again—again and again—how lucky she is. “We can just lay here. We don’t have to do anything at all.”

Lucy knows Kate isn’t lying. She knows Kate won’t push and she won’t prod and she’ll let Lucy set the pace for when and where and how. And it sounds perfect—a whole day in bed with Kate and their bodies pressed close together, hidden away from the world.

But someone told her to live her life yesterday. Someone who had the courage to throw theirs to the wind and start over from scratch. Someone who proved that there are still good people in the world who want to do what’s right for the sake of doing the right thing. And even if she can’t talk about it yet, even if she’s not ready to unlock the ugly parts of her past and lay them out on the table, she’s not going to lay in bed all day and let the world just pass her by.

“No.” She opens both eyes, staring deeply into Kate’s brown ones. “Let’s get up. We can make pancakes.”

“Banana or blueberry?”

“Both,” she says, feeling greedy and not caring. “And bacon. And toast. And—“

Kate laughs. “Okay. Remember we can only eat so much.”

“I can eat so much. I’m from—“

“Texas, yes.” Kate laughs again and leans in, kissing Lucy softly and pulling away too soon.

Lucy thinks about chasing her, pressing her deep into the mattress and not stopping until she has to come up for air. But she settles on letting Kate pull away and slide out of bed, pulling her hair up into a ponytail that exposes the long line of her neck. In her thin tank top and her soft shorts, no one has ever looked more beautiful than Kate does right now.

Lucy may be holding some things back, may be keeping some things close to the vest, but this? This she wants to scream from the rooftops. This she wants everyone to know. This she wants to tell Kate.

“I love you.”

Kate looks back over her shoulder, a smile on her face that threatens to break through the grey clouds outside their window. “I love you too.”

Live your life, Lucy Tara.

Lucy smiles as she gets up and stretches her arms above her head, feeling the tension break in her shoulders. She is going to live her life. She’s going to take every moment and hold it tightly in her hands. She’s going to love Kate with every part of her that’s capable of it and when she’s ready she’ll tell Kate everything she wants to know.

“Lucy?”

Lucy looks up. “Hmm?”

“I said, we can make toast too. If you want.”

She thinks about it for a moment before she smiles. “Life is too short to skip the toast.”

Kate rolls her eyes, pulling the sheet back up on the bed. “Where did you read that?”

“That’s a Lucy Tara quote, free of charge.” She winks when Kate laughs and scrubs her hair back off her neck into a bun. “There’s more where those came from, by the way.”

“Lucky me,” Kate grumbles, still smiling.

“Yeah,” Lucy says softly. “Lucky you.” She holds Kate’s eyes for a moment. “Lucky us.”

Kate’s smile slips into shy before she clears her throat and gives the neatly-made bed one last pat. “Lucky us,” she echoes. She slips out of the bedroom and heads towards the kitchen, humming something under her breath.

Lucy watches her walk away and thinks: this is a good life. This is a life worth living.

She follows Kate.

[rotandguts]

✶ ┄ CRAZY TOGETHER

danny (evil dead rise) x fem!reader

summary: during a quiet lull on that tumultuous night, danny realises this may be one of the last few moments he'll ever spend with his best friend.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ mdni, nsfw, sexual content, masturbation (fem receiving), mentions of loss of virginity, mentions of panic attacks, possession and death. praise kink if you squint, bittersweet best friends to lovers. mentions of underaged drinking.

A/N: helllooooo, so this is my first ever fic on this blog wowowowowow i'm nervous. i hope you all like it bc i am DOWN BAD for this mfer. pls let me know what you think!! DANNY IS 18 IN THIS.

publishing date ―  may 17th, 2023 |  © rotandguts

✶

Through all the horror and dread that had inevitably arisen from the events of the past few hours, Danny would argue that despite the demonic presence lurking in the hallway - it was the guilt of his own actions that was currently feasting on his soul.

The noises from beyond the bolted door of apartment 85 had grown to a momentary halt, the initial attack keeping everyone still alive on edge. Bridget was in the living room temporarily calming her younger sister Kassie with promises of a doctor coming to help their mother, hesitancy evident within her voice as she struggled to believe the words coming from her own mouth. Her wound on her cheek - as much as she had tried to ignore it - was starting to ache. Beth had been raiding the apartment for something to help her hand that the quick relief of duct tape was unable to provide.

And all this because he found that stupid fucking book.

The thing that was making the empty sick feeling in his gut feel like a stab wound of his own, was your lingering presence in the corner of his room.

You were here because of him. Regardless of the book or not, if he hadn’t insisted you come over that night for pizza you would be sitting across the city in the comfort of your own home right now. You could’ve been with your family when the earthquake happened. Fuck, they don’t even know if you’re alive right now.

Beth could now be heard stomping around all the windows in the apartment, shouting to anyone that could hear her that they needed help.

“What the fuck are we gonna do, Dan?” Your timid voice snapped him from his internal ongoing panic attack. His gaze, still concerned, softened when you turned around to look at him. It had been the first time you’d spoken in a long while, your voice providing an almost immediate comfort to the blonde boy. He began biting his nails with furrowed brows, a habit you’d usually chastise him for.

“I don’t know.” He whispered, eyes still on you. Your hands were trembling. Your hands were fucking trembling because of him, the thought led him unable to look you in the eyes momentarily. Tears began to form as you clenched your fists, trying to fight the breathless in your chest as it began to truly sink in how much shit you were in. Your phone had long been out of battery, with Danny dropping his in the vault where he'd found that book. Neither of you had been able to comprehend the necessity of the devices a mere few hours ago.

You were both essentially isolated from the world as you knew it.

Danny sunk onto the bed, sitting upright with wide eyes and quick breaths. You couldn’t bare to see him like this. Sure, was there a part of you that was totally pissed off at him for tempting fate with that old vinyl? Of course. But hell, the worst thing you’d been expecting was tetanus, not satan herself cooking eggs in the kitchen.

You approached his hunched over figure, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He still can’t look you in the eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay.” You spoke with the same hesitance as Bridget in the connecting room. Danny was grown up enough to know otherwise, and yet still for a brief moment took solace in your words.

The mattress sinks beside him and when he turns you’re looking at him through wide, concerned eyes. Your clasped hands are still shaking, despite your best efforts to stop them.

His own hand hovers over them. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding when he finally clasps your hands with his.

Eyes connect in the moment, his own drop briefly to look at your lips. They’re a little bloody from you biting them. Your tongue skates across them, letting the metallic taste fill your mouth. The smell leaking through the damp walls of the apartment itself after the bloodbath caused by Ellie outside.

You might both die tonight, he thinks. This could be it. All those years of friendship over because of him. In fact, he thinks it might be even worse if he survives and you don’t, because he’d be haunting the earth still searching for you at every corner in his life. He considers it for a brief moment, mentally punishing himself with twisted thoughts for the hundredth time that night.

Danny’s stomach drops at the thought of the immense unsaid in your friendship. Every lingering gaze and hand hold, every hushed secret and late night embrace under covers. He lived for those moments, but it was starting to dawn on him that they may remain just that. Fleeting moments of will-they-won’t-they peppering your decade long friendship, the what ifs of tomorrow darkening overnight.

He thinks about the first time he knew he loved you. It was your tenth birthday, a milestone. Your mom had intended on throwing you a lavish party and inviting all the kids in class with the little money she’d had. You’d never been one for showing off or making a big fuss and insisted you just wanted Danny there. The night was spent huddled together in fancy dress costumes, he was a pirate and you were a princess, telling each other spooky stories from the safety of the pillow fort your parents had helped build. He wished this nightmare they were currently experiencing was just that, a spooky story told under the flashlight lit fort.

He could still remember the close proximity you both sat in. The quiet, different from the buzzing playground, had allowed him the opportunity to see you up close. There was something in your words that made his heart beat faster, and when your bright eyes lingered on him while telling your stories he knew deep down that he wanted you to look at him like that for the rest of his life.

You were looking at him like that now.

“Do you remember that night we got home from Oscar’s party?” Your voice was barely a whisper, he almost thought he had made it up in his head. All of a sudden he was very aware of just how close you now were.

Oscar, a classmate and barely a friend, grew up in the richer part of the city. Everyone jumped for a chance to go to his parties for his large pool and the flowing liquor, you had both jumped at the opportunity.

“Yeah.” Danny responded after a beat, still taking the opportunity to inspect your face.

That night you had partaken in your usual drunk hand holding and cuddling, nothing too different from what you’d do sober but with an added possessiveness. You had danced with him like you wanted everyone to watch you together, to know that you were his and he was yours. In those moments, lips had lingered for moments too long at ears and mouths. But ultimately, the night ended with your usual walk home.

If Ellie, Danny’s mom, had known you both weren’t tucked safely in bed in your house she would’ve called a search party to track you down through every nook and cranny in the city. Luckily, you both ended your night in bed by 4am.

“Do you remember what you asked me?” Danny spoke again after a short moment of silence. You were looking at the floor now, your feet occasionally grazing his.

“Yeah.”

“Why haven’t you ever kissed me, Danny?” You asked, he thought you were teasing him but you showed no signs of mocking. Pensive, you rolled to face him. He was frozen in place. The lights were out in your room and your bodies, undressed to different extents that you were both familiar with during an after party sleepover, radiating an addictive warmth that made him want to hold on to you skin to skin.

“I didn’t know that was something you wanted.” His fists were clenched, he was still waiting for this to be a big joke.

“I want it.” The light from the moon illuminated some of your face. He licked his lips.

“Why didn’t we like, ever talk about it after?” If tonight was it, he needed to know. He needed to tell her. He’d rather she hate him and be alive and know than be dead and have the wasted opportunity follow him forever.

“I was scared, I guess - I thought you didn’t like it.” You shrugged.

Soft lips on your own, hands gripping your waist under covers. You’re using all of your self control to not grind yourself into him. The only evidence left of your night together were various lilac bruises scattered on your necks. But neither of you spoke about it. So it was never brought up.

“I liked it.” For the first time tonight since the earthquake, Danny softly smiled. Your eyes lit up, returning the smile to him.

“You never said anything-“

“Neither did you!” He countered, the smile giving away that he wasn’t actually angry. You smirked and rolled your eyes, “Touché.”

As much as it embarrassed you to admit at a time like this, your thighs were pressed together at the thought of you and him that night. Both of you had been virgins prior to the encounter

His left hand tangled through your hair as lips danced, you can still remember how you thought you had a temperature from the summer heat and the sweat coating you both. From his gentle, wordless persuasion of a soft push, you were on your back and his frame was on top pressing into you. By instinct, your legs wrap around his waist and pull him in. His hips grinding to your core, it’s so messy and quick but you can barely think because his other hand is traveling to your thigh to pull you in even closer.

He breaks away from the kiss to trace his thumb across your jaw and your swollen lips. Eyes blown out and wide, jaw slack at the sight of him. You’re spread out under him, the material of your crop top and shorts seemingly oh-so thin now that you’re in this position. Your tongue appears to softly lick the digit of his thumb, his eyes almost rolling back at the sensation. He can feel your thighs clench together around him, seeking a temporary relief from the throbbing between them.

He thinks he might die if he can’t feel it, if only for a second.

Removing the thumb from your mouth, your face immediately portrays your disappointment with a slight pout. Danny lightly smirks, lowering himself down again face to face with you. He reaches down to your thigh, trailing the inside of your leg.

“Can I feel you?”

“I think I’ve been thinking of that night every day since it happened.” He admitted, soft smile lingering. You could feel something stir inside you. Here he was, your best friend, in his oversized shirt and silver chain. He ran his hand through his hair. “I dunno. I just know that I can’t stop thinking about it. And you.” Danny continues.

There was a fucking demon outside the apartment door and quite frankly all you could think about was how badly you wanted that silver chain in your mouth.

Your hand reaches for his jaw, which grows slack at your touch, his gaze seemingly possessed by the thought of you. The summer night heat from that encounter stirred inside of you again.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Apprehensive, you continue to trace your thumb over his cheek, until following his jaw and lips just like he had done that night. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a long while.”

He was hypnotised under the touch.

“I love you too. I’ve always loved you. You’re my best friend, man.” Danny felt like fucking crying and you could tell through his voice. Was this a dream? Was that demon back to taunt him for all the time wasted?

He felt consumed by you, like in this moment his purpose was to do anything he could to make it all better. He leaned in to finally press a kiss on your lips, slow and still hesitant. You chase him for another when he pulls away, noses still connected and eyes closed tight.

You wanted to stay like this forever. His fingers laced with the hair behind your ear, grabbing a section and softly pulling. The involuntary moan that left your lips sent a shiver through him, he wanted more, more, more. Your neck was on display for him to reach down and attack with sloppy kisses and light teasing bites. He pressed himself against you, moving your back flat onto the mattress. His lips and tongue messy with your own, clashing to remedy the thirst for each other. Danny’s thigh pressing against your covered core, subconsciously leading you to grind against him.

“Danny, please-” When you were saying things like that, knowing that you didn’t know how much time you even had left together, he had to comply. It had felt so natural, it almost made him feel that guilty feeling again. Why hadn’t they just been doing this all along?

Lifting your skirt to expose the wet lace of your underwear, he asked the same question he did last summer.

“Can I feel you?”

Without hesitation you nodded, guiding his hands through the waistband. “Shit,” He paused for a second, raising his fingers back up to his mouth, spitting on them before returning them to their previous position.

The electric feeling of him on her clit, foreheads pressed together and eyes connected could make anyone forget about the horrors happening beyond the sanctuary of the doors to his room. His fingers filling you, curling and strumming to a syncopated beat, reacting only to your stirring beneath him.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet babe,” He was amazed at the feeling itself, your slick softness. You choked out a gasp, you groping him in an attempt to give him the same ineluctable pleasure he was giving you. He was too preoccupied with you to worry about anything he might be feeling, not when he was the one that got you in this situation. And besides, hovering over you when you looked this fucking good with his fingers stuffed inside you, that was more than enough for him.

“You’re so good, such a good boy.” He quietly whines at your words, pressing rough kisses to your neck again.

You tug his hair back to grant yourself a better look at him. His other hand wrapped around your neck, not restricting your breathing but still lightly grabbing it. When he could tell you were about to make a loud noise, the same hand swiftly moved to cover your mouth. Your eyes wide with his, silently watching each other desperate to moan.

The silver chain resting on your chest, its cold metal grounding you in the moment. “So fuckin’ pretty,” He murmured, still so preoccupied with the feeling of filling you.

“Needed you for so long Dan,” He bites his lip as his pace grows quick, your fingers finally finding their way around the chain that was taunting you all night.

“Thought about you every night. Couldn’t stop thinking about how fuckin’ wet you were.” It was true, in the shame of their last encounter he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Not when he’d been thinking about it for half his life. “Still so so wet baby.”

Looking at his arms, his tattoos and veins. The way they moved in and out of you, the glint in his eyes as he watched his own work. The overwhelming view and feeling lead to the inescapable wave. “Fuck, Dan, I’m gonna-”

And with that, he holds you tight as you hit your orgasm. Your hands fly to his hair and shoulders, trying to remain grounded as your back arches. “Fuckfuckfuck-” You try your hardest to whisper, but your heart is pounding and all you can feel is the dizzying sweetness of Danny all around you. You have to remind yourself that this is real, you’re real.

He watches you, your heavy breathing providing the soundtrack to the moment. He pressed a light kiss to the top of your breast that was on show from the top you were wearing, before moving back up to place a kiss on your lips. Lying beside you, staring into your eyes with a warmth you’d always thought was unimaginable but realising that it had always been there. It has always been him.

So for that moment, you just lay there. And yeah, there was still so much unsaid regarding their long friendship. But for now, in the uncertainty of the night, they’d managed to say enough. For the first time since finding that book, Danny would feel optimistic about the future, despite all the shit going on with his mom. For a second it felt like they could really do this, they could really be fine. If only they could make it to tomorrow, then everything else could be resolved. He could apologise to Bridget, he could ask you out on a real date. You could let your parents know you were alive, you could fix the mistakes of last summer and go all the way again with Dan instead of pretending it never happened.

Unfortunately, as optimistic as they currently were, tomorrow would not come for either of them.

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Sleepy Affection

Pieces of My Heart - Chapter 8 Stray Kids OT8 x reader, Soulmate AU

Masterlist | Next Part

You and Sophie were still texting when you received the invitation to eat dinner in Hyunjin and Felix’s room. They ordered in pizza. As you made your way to the other hotel room, Sophie sent you videos from the concert and you in turn sent in your own to compare, since you would sometimes film the same moments but focusing on different members.

It made you feel warm inside to see all the little interactions you didn’t notice the first time around, how close your soulmates all were.

You still couldn’t believe how lucky you were.

The conversation switched a bit to a new show you two realized you were both watching, her asking you if you had seen the latest episode, which caused the both of you to discuss it in detail. You only looked up from your phone to knock and looking back down until Hyunjin opened up the door for you.

You lifted your head briefly to give him a smile. And then you eyed his pajamas. “What’s with the pants?”

Hyunjin looked down at his pants with a pout. “I lost dare.”

“I think they’re cute,” You said, although the look he gave you told you he wasn’t convinced. They were a bit hard to look at, being a neon orange color, but they had little doggies all across them. It was kind of cute.

You patted his shoulder sympathetically and as you passed him, silently giving a small wave to the rest of the boys from where they were littered across the room. Most of them acknowledged your wave with smiles or their own waves, except for Jeongin who had his eyes closed and was draped over Seungmin’s lap.

You plopped down onto the empty couch and pulled your phone back out to answer Sophie, who was sending rapid fire messages with memes from the show you had just been talking about.

Minho sat down onto the couch next to you, two plates in his hands. “Who are you texting?”

You beamed at him. “Sophie!”

“Ahhh, problem girl?”

“Not a problem anymore,” You assured him. “I talked to her, sorted the whole thing out.”

“That’s good,” Chan said from where he sat on the edge of the bed. He was holding a half-eaten pizza slice in one hand, tiredly scrolling on his phone with the other.

Most of the boys were in similar positions, silently eating their food.

It was a calm silence, and you settled back against the couch with a soft sigh. You expect Minho to hand you the second plate that he has, but instead you turn to find him holding out the slice to you. Confused, you move to grab the slice, but he taps your hand and shakes his hand, wiggling the slice out to you.

“Open,” he says.

You snort. “I can feed myself.”

You move to grab the slice, but Minho pulls it out of your reach. You give him an incredulous look. He tells you to open your mouth again, and you narrow your eyes at him, wondering just how far he was going to push this.

“Just let him feed you,” Chan sighs from his spot. “He’ll complain about it later if you don’t. It’s practically his love language to feed us.”

“Yah!”

You let out your own sigh, sitting up straight and opening your mouth wide. When the pizza hits your tongue, part of the cheese hits your cheek, and your hands come up to grab Minho’s wrist and move the pizza back a little, allowing you to bite down. You deliberately pulled away slowly, licking away any crumbs that remained on your lips and watching as Minho’s eyes darted down to your mouth. He gulped.

You pulled away with a smirk, dropping his wrist and leaning back against the couch as you continued to chew. Realizing what you had done, Minho gave you a hard look.

“Careful.”

You were tempted to push it, but you were tired, and you could tell he was too. So instead, you let Minho finish feeding you the rest of the slice, and it actually made your body warm with affection at how careful he was not to make a mess, the way he would alternate feeding you and taking a bit out of his own pizza. His free hand rested against your thigh, his thumb brushing circles against your skin.

The next slice you ate yourself, but Minho seemed content with the little you had given him, letting you rest your head against him as the texts between you and Sophie started to dwindle down. She finally let you go with a goodnight, and you replied quickly before putting your phone away.

“Tired?” Minho asked, putting his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer.

You closed your eyes with a soft sigh. “A little.”

He let out a hum.

You didn’t even realize you had begun to doze off until hands shook your shoulders lightly. You jolted awake.

“Jagi, bedtime.”

It was Changbin, Minho behind him cleaning up the spare plates and Chan herding some of the still awake yet sleepy members back to their own rooms. He didn’t seem to bother with Jeongin, who was now cuddled up against a half-awake Felix. You figured it wouldn’t be the first time someone ended up sleeping in someone else’s bed.

You yourself found yourself stumbling to your feet, Changbin helpfully offering up his arm for you to slump against. Hyunjin came over and gave you a goodnight hug, which prompted sleepy Felix to whine about his own hugs, so you went to give him one. Once in his soft embrace, you were half tempted to crawl into bed right in between him a Jeongin, and you very well might have if Changbin didn’t pull you back up.

“Goodnight Lixie,” You mumbled to him, and he mumbled something equally incoherent back.

Your eyes seemed heavier than normal, and you weren’t sure whether they were already closed or if they dropped shut of their own accord when Chan pressed a kiss to your cheek, whispering his own goodnight into your ear. You then let out a giggle when Changbin insisted he wanted a goodnight kiss as well, and the leader gave you a tired look.

Minho took the opportunity to pull you into a hug from behind, resting his chin atop your shoulder. He squeezed you gently. “Sweet dreams, Jagiya.”

And then he was turning you around and pressing his lips softly against yours, your entire body feeling like it could sink right through to the ground. Your knees might have buckled, but Minho’s hold on you was firm. His lips were soft, his touch gentle, and your head was spinning. When he pulled away, he was smiling, truly smiling, like the stars were shining in his eyes.

You weren’t sure if Changbin ever did get his goodnight kiss from Chan.

0o0o0

For the second night in a row, you were woken up far too early.

This time it wasn’t from an alarm. You weren’t actually sure what had woken you up to begin with, your eyes blinking open to the silent and dark room. For a moment you thought maybe it had just been one of the other hotel guests moving around their hotel rooms, or maybe a car horn from outside, or even just a change in temperature.

And then you felt something move and realized what had woken you up. Changbin was on his side right behind you, his arm having wormed its way underneath your own pillow and his hand curled up against your back. Him moving in his sleep must have jolted you. He shifted again, legs brushing up against your own under the covers, and you closed your eyes with a sigh.

You tried to go back to sleep, but to no avail. Every small move Changbin made, every exhale that blew air against the nape of your neck, the way you could feel his body heat radiating off of him. Every part of you was innately aware of him, and it was all you could think about. You were staring at the wall across from you, counting in your head in hopes of it helping you doze off, when Changbin let out a sigh.

The arm that had been curled against your back moved, landing against your hips. You let out a squeak as you were suddenly pulled flush against the man behind you, his arms sliding from your hip down to your stomach and hugging you from behind.

“You think too loud,” Changbin grunted.

“How did you even know I was awake?” You grumbled in response, settling against him.

“You snore.”

“Wha- I do not!”

“It’s cute.”

“I don’t snore,” You insisted.

“Yes, you do. Now sleep again, it’s too early.”

“Weren’t you awake at the ass crack of dawn yesterday?” You wondered. You were pretty sure that Minho had gone down to the gym with Changbin and Chris.

Changbin sighed. “Gym empty early in the morning.”

“Ahh.”

He buried his face into your neck and you finally settled into a calm silence, allowing your body to relax against his body. You laced your fingers with the hand against your stomach, the heat that had once burned against your back now embracing you.

You fell back asleep pretty quickly.