#he finally gets his steak

[hughiecampbelle]

Summer Storm (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Characters: Roman

Word Count: 1,228

Requested: Roman interrupting a baking/cooking session but he’s like completely clueless? - anon

Requested: could you do spending a lazy weekend being fluffy spent with Roman Roy pls??💕💕 - anon

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: I decided to combine these requests, I hope you don't mind!!! This fic is currently inspired by the thunderstorm happening rn lol. I love Soft Roman. I love him, I love him, I love him. I hit a bit of a writers block getting this done, so I'm sorry if it isn't my best!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

The thunder rolls in like the tide. You watch the bright sky darken, the clouds pooling in. The heat, the humidity, the thick, sticky air becomes electric. You hear it first, the tantrum. The growling, low and angry. So angry. So breathless. Don't you scare him, you thought, watching the storm. He never liked them. You don't have to say a thing, though he knows. Drink in hand, he pushes your float towards the steps of the pool. The water is warm, not like it was when you first got in. You drag your fingers all the way there, hands pruned, skin burning from the long day in the pool. His sunglasses are big, covering those puppy dog eyes. He holds it in place as you step out, thanking him with a kiss. Don't be here long. You look up from him, his small frame, his red cheeks, to the sudden wind. Strong, passionate, prickling your skin. Suddenly it had gotten cold. Dark. Even in the city you can smell the Earth, the wet soil, the soaking leaves of home. From far away. You stood there a second, on the edge, dripping, letting him take you in. He wasn't the type to look you up and down. Your relationship wasn't like that. There was love outside of your bodies. Now though, something must've caught his attention. Something about you, smelling of chlorine and sunscreen. What are you staring at? You ask, smiling despite your shaking. You're freezing. You're awfully full of yourself, he defends, sipping his drink. You know, even as you turn around, grabbing a towel, he's watching. He can’t take his eyes off you. 

The rain pours in sheets. The sky opens like an open wound without a tourniquet. Patting against the windows, leaving tiny handprints, the rain is angry, defensive, falling with all their mite. He left the glass door open, the smell intoxicating. Clean. Fresh. Stormy. The rain patters down the streets, the empty sidewalks, against the rooftop. Cars below honk their horns, everyone forgetting how to drive in the rain. Their tires plunge through the puddles. You stir the vegetables in the pan, watching the lightning flicker. Flashes so fast you question if they're even real. Ooooh spooky! He laughs, pouring you a glass of wine. He comes up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder. Are you scared of a little lightning? Watch out, it's got a knife! You take the stem of the glass, taking it in. A white wine, summery. Chilled. Distracted, he takes his chance, slipping the spatula from your grasp. Do you even know what you’re doing? You laugh. This isn’t rocket science, I hate to break it to you. But the asparagus is beginning to burn. Outside the sky cracks like shattered glass. Low, moaning, the wind blowing through the apartment. The curtains blow violently, dramatic. Beads of rain are beginning to come in. Neither of you make any moves to shut it. There is something too familiar, too nostalgic, about thunderstorms. About this thunderstorm, as if you have lived a million lifetimes together, the three of you. There is safety in this idea. Security. 

You take a step back, leaving your back against the counter, taking him all in. He’d taken a shower after the pool, his hair still wet. His stubble was shorter, but never gone. His soap, yours, a vanilla scent, mahogany, woodsy. Warm, inviting, opposite the character he forgets he’s playing. He moves through the wound so uncomfortable, as if existence is agonizing, excruciating. He can’t keep still. He nurses his own drink, his tumbler reeking of gasoline. He stirs lightly, as if afraid to bother, to be a nuisance. The oven timer dings and he turns it off, leaving the rest of dinner in the warmth. You resist the urge to wrap your arms around him, to hold him tight and never let him go. But you don’t, because you know he will jump at your touch, any touch, without warning. And it will ruin it. It will ruin everything. So you watch and want. You want him. You want him to feel full and safe and satisfied. You want to wrap him up and never let him go, never let anyone near him again. There are things in this world too precious for mankind. They get used and abused and ruined all because they are beautiful, because they are something otherworldly. He is one of those things. Your Romulus. Your Roman. 

Need any help? You ask, already reaching for the oven mitts. The rain has lightened to a steady downpour. The thunder growing fainter. The lightning is as bright as ever. Sometimes it regains its strength, the storm, and it will throw a punch you have not yet braced yourself for. Your vital organs go unprotected. Your teeth sprawl out across the floor. Sometimes it makes him jump, catches him off guard. He is frozen for a moment, before your hand reaches his shoulder, squeezing lightly. Do you need any help? You ask again, nudging him out of the way. He does not object. It is his time to observe you. You reach in, grabbing the pans, leaving them on the stovetop to cool off. The apartment fills with blinding light, just for a few seconds. Maybe less. You both take another sip. It’s his favorite meal. Your favorite to cook. Easy enough, anyways. The breeze cools your back, your neck, your cheeks. You watch the goosebumps on his arms. Want me to close it? The sliding glass door. No, no- you, you like it. No. He shakes his head. He should be drinking water, you think, he’s spent all day in the sun. But you don’t push it, not now. Later you’ll hand him a glass and watch him drink. He’ll be so full of sarcasm, of quips and jokes and anecdotes, but you will get your way.

  He gets two plates for you, handing you one. You know, if it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t even have any vegetables. You give him a fork and knife. Oh yes, where are my manners? Thank you Roman Roy for this delicious meal. Where would I be without you? You kiss his cheek, making him smile. He shrugs. Probably dead in a ditch, I don’t know. You laugh. Fuck off! You sit at the kitchen island across from him, glancing at him. What? What are you looking at? He asks, chewing. Can’t I look at my boyfriend? You finish your glass, meeting his eyes. No, actually you can’t. It’s illegal. You’re under arrest. You get closer to him, leaning in. Do I get parole? Mmmm no. Who’s my lawyer? Tom. Fuck you! Despite himself, you catch him grin. You’re tired. The sun took everything out of you. What you want is to leave dinner, leave the dishes, crawl into bed beside him where you can listen to the rain all night and fall asleep. You don’t want the day to be over though. It was too good to be true. Even the storm, even the rain could not ruin it. Whatever quiet time you had together lounging in the pool, cooking dinner, whatever peace you created was enough. More than enough. It was wonderful, it was everything you wanted. Who gets to be the judge? Greg. Are you kidding me? Nope.

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’d like to entertain and enliven you now with the saga of my Slut Era.

I’ve always been a serial monogamist and my shortest long term relationships clocked in at three years. So perhaps that’s why when I finally broke it off with my ex I went insane on dating. Part of it was definitely just that between anxiety and loneliness I wanted to fill up my time.

This happened when I was living alone for the first time, no roommates, just me and my little cat Leeloo. I didn’t want to come home to an empty house so instead I set up dates.

Most of these were disastrous. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and I had a lot more first dates than second because they’d seen enough, including the one where people aggressively complimented me.

But after a few months I had four people I was seeing simultaneously. I was up front with all of them that things were not exclusive, and they all agreed, so no infidelity took place here, just a lot of hijinks.

Here’s who was on the dating roster:

• An apprentice woodworker that we’ll call Jill. I honestly thought at 26 years old that her being 21 wasn’t a problem age gap and I quickly learned that there was a vast gulf of both maturity and life experience between us. Jill described herself as “heteroflexible” and had just dumped her first boyfriend to flirt it up with me.

• A married woman looking for a friends with benefits. We’ll call her Alice. I insisted on meeting her husband first to be sure I wasn’t part of a cheating mess and he gave me his blessing when I stayed over at her house. Years later when he and Alice had divorced I would go on to sell him and his new fiancée an engagement ring and we both realized at the end how we knew each other and it was wildly awkward. Alice was nice, but a hardcore vegan who insisted I brush my teeth if I so much as ate string cheese before I could kiss her. She was also unhappy in her marriage and was feeling out if I’d want to get serious.

• A bartender dubbed Snakebites, so called because of her signature piercings. She cooked me a steak so raw it was still mooing and some of the best asparagus I’d ever had. In our singular sexy encounter she bit my nipple and I never got over it. Really don't bite someone if you don't know their preference and work up in pressure. We weren’t terribly compatible but neither of us were willing to admit it yet. Truthfully I considered still dating her solely because I desperately wanted her bathroom. It had all black tile, black toilet, black sink, a rain shower in the corner and a jacuzzi tub. I may not have loved her but god I loved that bathroom.

And finally,

• My beloved, who I would go on to marry, who was dealing with a lot of personal stuff at the time. Obviously that meant I liked them the best of all the people I was seeing because we were both disasters at the time.

So that’s the cast of this little misadventure. Now, our story begins with Jill.

Jill was someone who heightened my anxiety. Each of the three times she came to my home she brought and left more stuff. A self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans collection of DVDs. It was like she was trying to move in. She also liked to deride my taste in things, frequently calling me a pleb when I mentioned a band or show I liked.

She was working on a gorgeous little decorative table in her woodworking program. The main wood for the top had a beautiful dapple of knots like jaguar spots, and when she showed me a picture I exclaimed how pretty it was.

“Do you want it?”

“Oh- I mean it’s lovely, I wouldn’t mind having it, but you should sell it and make some money!”

But she was adamant. She’d give me the little side table. At about this time, Alice was starting to get awfully lovey for a FWB. I knew she wasn’t happy with her husband but I also knew we were not a good fit. Fun fact: Alice and her husband were step siblings with a pretty hefty age gap. They got together when he stumbled upon a kink photo shoot she’d done with vegetables. None of their family was happy about the relationship but they weren’t related by blood so it was fine.

So I was fending off more overt romantic advances from Alice, and feeling increasingly like I needed to break things off with Jill. Snakebites wasn’t ever initiating communication and I decided to pull a lot of plugs at once.

I ghosted Snakebites, told Alice that I thought we should cool it, and in a move worthy of a rom-com I asked my beloved if I could pretend we were exclusive to put off Jill. They agreed and I texted Jill to let her know that I was no longer single.

I was not prepared for Jill’s response. She. Was. Devastated. She flew off the handle. She’d just been waiting for the right time to tell me how she felt about me! How dare I do this to her!

What about the table?!

“You should keep the table, it’s gorgeous, you’ll be able to sell it, but I don’t expect a free table.”

Silence met me after that text. I worried and fretted and eventually headed home.

There on my doorstep. The table.

It was a small little end table, reeking of oil and polish, but very beautiful. I brought it inside. The little drawer didn’t even have a knob or guide rails. But it did have a handwritten bill proclaiming that it was costing me $500.

“I can’t afford a $500 table, Jill!” I texted.

“Well you kept saying how nice it was. I spent a lot of time on it.”

“I’m not saying it’s not worth $500” (it wasn’t, it was a tiny side table made by an apprentice) “but I can’t buy a $500 table.”

“Make me an offer.”

I stared at the little table. I did actually like it, but I worried about the repercussions of entering into this deal. Hesitantly I typed back, “$300.” I didn’t think it was worth that much but I didn’t want to insult her too badly.

This suited her for the night. But the next day she informed me she needed a new bed, and that she’d take her $300 in credit toward a new mattress. I spent the whole next day basically wrangling with her over what she wanted and eventually she spiked back up to demanding $500 for the damn table.

“Let me just give it back,” I begged. It was not the first, second, or even third time I’d asked to return the thing but this time she finally relented and gave me her address. Since she lived with her parents still I’d never been over.

I called up my beloved and said, “Hey, I need moral support, can you run an errand with me?”

They agreed which is how we loaded up a self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans DVD collection, and the table from hell into my little car together. Jill had said to meet her at one o'clock. I intended to drop everything off at noon and be done with this madness.

But while my beloved and I were on the doorstep leaving everything I heard, “Jill? You’re home early,” through the door. Her mom opened it to peer at us in confusion.

“I was just bringing Jill’s stuff back!” I chirped in alarm.

With little tact and a lot of speed we left her with Jill’s collection of things and then I sped out of there like my tail was on fire. I handed my phone to my beloved as I zoomed away instructing them to block Jill’s number. I was free. The tabletross around my neck had been returned.

It was about a month after that when my beloved and I officially began dating exclusively. I had wrapped up all my messy dating threads and it was a relief to be in a relationship again. They went on a trip to Mexico shortly after we made it official.

So I knew they were out of town. But next morning I walked out to my car and beheld a lipstick kiss pressed to the drivers side window.

I was petrified. I had just dumped three girls at once and had an extremely messy back and forth with one of them. Did I have a stalker?!

Of the girls, Alice seemed like likeliest candidate, being of a stronger lipstick variety girl than Jill or Snakebites. We had ended things a bit stiffly, but still cordial. She just laughed when I asked if she knew anything about it. “Nope,” she said, “but good luck.”

I’d rather have walked over broken glass then text Jill, and I’d firmly ghosted Snakebites so I was scared to reopen communication to ask if she was stalking me. I had to drop it. But it haunted me, that lipstick kiss.

For months I was jumpy, wondering which of my spurned lovers had done it. And why. Was it a threat? A goodbye? I lay awake thinking about it, worrying about how everyone I’d dated knew where I lived, which car was mine.

Finally, nothing else happened and I moved on. The kiss would remain a mystery and I had to be content with that.

It was a year later when I finally started filling my mom in on my dating escapades that I finally got closure. She was hooting and laughing as I went over the table debacle. Then I paused and added, “And then this kiss showed up on my car.”

“Did you like it?”

“What? No! I’m pretty sure one of them was stalking me! Who else would leave a kiss on my car?”

My mom started bellowing with laughter. “I did!” She wheezed.

Apparently. My mother had been driving by my place. And decided that a cute little gesture would be to leave me a kiss. And then decided to never mention it to me even though she’s never done anything like that previously.

“It scared the crap out of me!” I yelled while she collapsed with helpless laughter. “I thought I had a stalker! How could I possibly have known that was you?!”

“How could I have known you’d just broken up with three girls at once?” She wheezed in rejoinder and like. Fair play.

So that’s how my mom convinced me I had a stalker and I got out of buying a $500 table.

[writersdrug]

no thoughts just waitress!reader showing up for shifts like nothings wrong after the date situation

just keeping it calm and professional. working her shifts efficiently and no longer bantering/flirting with ghost, who would rather reader melt down and tear into him than putting up the walls around herself hehe

Ok I'm combining some asks here that had some different ideas - I got so many of you guys demanding reparation for making reader cry 😭 here's the comfort chapter! (Still a tad angsty at the beginning)

Ghost had finished your tips for you that night. He had half a mind to slide a hundred in your payout folder as an apology for ruining your date... but what good would that do? That would make you quit for good, if you hadn't already.

He lays in his bed, eyes stuck to the ceiling, still in his jeans and black shirt. He wishes he could snuff out the guilt that sits heavily in his gut. He wonders what you're doing - probably crying, possibly making a half-assed voodoo doll of himself and stabbing his chest with a dull steak knife, because that's all he feels right now.

He gets up early the next day after a rough three hours of sleep. He lumbers down the stairs to the office - Price is there, sorting out cash and working on the next supply order. He looks at Simon, who's rubbing his eyes and looking worse for wear.

"Mornin'." Price says, turning back to the monitor. Ghost grunts in response, dropping himself onto the couch behind Price. His head aches from the lack of sleep, thoughts circling in his mind about how to apologize to you. He can imagine you won't want to talk to him - or, if you do, it'll most likely be profanities wedged between insults. He'd love for you to berate him right now, and make him feel like he got what he deserved.

Price sighs. "You sleep alright?"

"I've had better."

"Nightmare?"

"... yea, somethin' like that."

Price huffs. "I'm workin' front of house today." He says, grabbing the bag of tips and standing up. "Goin' down to drop these in the safe, then I'll help you stock up."

Simon opens his eyes, looking at Price with confusion. "You?"

Price nods. "Dove called out sick. Sounded like she's got the lurgy."

That delivers the final blow to Simon. He knows you're not sick - you're avoiding him now. All plans to apologize are now out the window, and the more time passes, the harder it'll be to do it.

"You've only got yourself to blame, Simon." Price says, heading down to the restaurant floor.

He curses under his breath as Price leaves. How he heard about what happened - he could only assume it had been from Soap. He drops his arm over his face and groans. He wants to call out himself, but then they might as well shut down the entire pub for the day.

Should he try phoning you? Would you answer, let alone allow him to get more than five words out? What would he say? "Sorry I ruined your date, I was jealous tha' ya got a life outside of the pub." There is no variation of an apology that feels like it would be enough. He made you cry, for fucks sake. That was a punishment in and of itself, but he still had to own up to what he'd done.

He sighs loudly; his body feels heavy as he drags himself off the couch, trudging down the stairs. He still has a bar to run.

It had to have been the longest shift of Simon's life, and he even wrapped things up a bit earlier than usual. He didn't have the gift of your incessant chatting or being able to tease you to make the time pass. Price was a solid companion in front of house, but there was hardly a conversation to be held - even with the usual bar crowd. The patrons had a look of confusion for the majority of the night, wondering why Soap wasn't popping his head out of the kitchen to chat every once in a while - and why the hell the owner was serving tables, and not the chipper, spunky waitress.

When Simon had locked up for the night, he noticed your bike was no longer in the alley. Johnny must have dropped it off on the way back to his place.

Today isn't much different - at least, not for Simon. He's still suffering from a lack of sleep, he's irritable (he had a spat with Johnny in the morning, over something he can't even remember), and his work ethic is suffering. He's not worried about slicing bar fruit; it'll give him something to do later, when he needs it. Maybe the rush will kick him back into shape.

He stares at the dishes on the edge of the bar - they're all in need of a good polish, but he finds himself stuck on staring at the bar fridge. There's nothing else he needs to stock up on - it's packed completely full with wine, champagne, and cans of beer. He gently kicks the side of it with his boot. He should be checking the to-go boxes, helping Soap with setting up the condiments and soups, making sure the tables all had full salt and pepper shakers. That's what you would be doing. But, you're not here, and neither is Price. He can only hope tonight isn't as busy as the previous night, otherwise he'll have to close some tables. Which would make customers mad. Which would make Price mad. Which would-

Suddenly, he hears three loud bangs against the back door. He freezes, the sound triggering a Pavlovian response. He immediately looks up to the kitchen window - Soap opens the door, and you come jogging inside. You greet him with a smile. He asks how you're feeling, and you say "much better".

He doesn't know what to do with himself, but he just stands there like an idiot as you hang your bag and jacket on a hook. Stands there as you push your way into the restaurant, barely sparing him a glance as you scurry by him. Stands there as you run up the stairs, two at a time, diving nose-first into your chores so you can avoid Simon.

He can't speak. Should he? What can he say? "I'm sorry," for starters, but it isn't that simple. He thought you might have quit, and was preparing his heart for the worst. But now, here you are, running back and forth through the pub and setting up your tables - and it feels like you've never been farther away from him.

In all honesty, you can't bring yourself to talk to him either. You're feeling just as ashamed with your behavior two nights ago as he is about his own. Why the fuck would you expect someone - let alone your boss - to do your chores so that you could run off and have fun on a date? Not only that, but you'd made a scene; you felt like you had half-assed the ice bins in your scramble to get them cleaned, and then you sobbed in the middle of the restaurant. The cherry on top, however, was when you called Price yesterday and told him you had a cold, calling out of your shift. It was a cowardly thing to do, and you could tell he wasn't buying your story.

But: bills need to be paid, rent is due, and you can't lose this job. So you sucked it up and came in today - Simon is easy enough to ignore, separated from you by the bar.

At first, the quiet bartender was relieved that you had showed up for your shift - he wouldn't have searched for a new waitress if you had quit, instead choosing to deal with the consequences of his actions. But he's quickly getting more and more irritated with the silent treatment you're serving. You only talk to him when necessary: a simple "thanks" when you grab your drinks and run them to your tables. You busy yourself between rolling silverware, (over)stocking napkins and condiments, and even going so far as to spray the menus down and scrub them with a rag. You spend more time in the kitchen with Soap; each peal of laughter shared between the two of you is another arrow in Simon's chest. He's stuck behind the bar, listening to woes spilling from drunken lips, forced to watch you flit around and pretend he doesn't exist.

You can't keep this up forever.

Still, you do for most of the night. Even when your shift is coming to an end, the kitchen closed while you close the tabs for your remaining tables, you don't cave and sit at the bar with Simon. You sit at the farthest table from him, the farthest chair, in fact, skimming over your tip receipts - and talking to Soap (who was only able to sit with you since you had helped him knock out his tasks).

Simon's never been as angry with Soap as he is now - and the worst part is he knows it's not justified. He's watching from behind the bar, polishing glasses so hard they might wane into cups. He wants to talk to you. He will talk to you before the night is over. He doesn't expect forgiveness, but he expects that you'll at least let him offer an apology.

One of the regulars at the bar looks to whatever Simon is glaring at, chuckling quietly when he sees you. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Stuff it, Mike." Simon grumbles.

Meanwhile, you walk back from closing out your last table, plopping back in the booth with Soap. "What are you doing after this?"

"Sleepin'." he replies instantly, tossing back an onion ring. "Been dealin' with a grumpy bawbag since early this mornin', and I'm beat."

You glance over at the bar; Simon's back is facing you as he organizes the beer glasses. You really should apologize to him... you just couldn't figure out when the right time would be. He'd still be working by the time your shift ends, and you don't even know if he wants to speak to you at this point.

"Is he mad at me?" you ask, tapping your pen on the table.

Soap sighs. "I'm not goin' t' be the middle man, Bonnie." he says, looking at you intently. "If ye feel like somethin' needs to be said, go talk to 'im."

You groan, leaning back against the seat. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't! He's already pissed at me, and he probably thinks I'm a slacker. What good is an apology?"

"Ye won't know 'til ye talk to 'im, hmm?"

"What if he fires me?"

Johnny barks with laughter, and you frown. "I'm being serious."

"He'd never fire ye." he says, getting up out of the booth. He stretches both arms above his head and lets out a grunt. "In fact, he was throwin' a fit yesterday n' today 'fore ye came in. Bitch took it out on me."

You winced. "I'm sorry-"

"Save it fer 'im." Soap interjected. He left you at the booth with the onion rings and your tips, disappearing into the kitchen. You huff, hunching back over your tips and scribbling through them.

Deep down, you know Soap is right. If anything, you could just apologize to Simon. If he chooses to be grumpy about it, so be it. You've got tough skin... still, you can't stand the thought of him being upset with you - not because of your work ethic, but because you liked him. A lot. And you wanted him to like you back, even if it was in the most platonic way.

But that didn't change anything. An apology was due, and you were going to give him one before you left tonight.

You grabbed an onion ring and popped it in your mouth, grimacing when you realized they were cold. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Simon making his was across the floor to your booth.

Great. Guess the apology is coming now.

He stops at the edge of the table, wiping his hands in a rag. You pretend to punch numbers into your phone's calculator, but they're all random - you just want to look like you're busy.

"May I sit?" he asks, tucking the rag into his back pocket.

You mumble out a "sure", still not looking at him. You hear his large frame slide into the seat across from you, polyester squeaking underneath his weight. You continue to do random equations on your calculator, letting a thick blanket of tension settle between the two of you. You can feel his stare burning into your head, his arms folded over his chest... and you notice that his mask is in his hand. You finally look up at him.

It's not the first time you've seen his face - you've caught glimpses of it when he smokes in the alley, or when he eats whatever Soap throws under the warmer for you and Simon. But this time, he's not taking it off to be convenient. And, dear god, you're just now paying attention to how scarred, rugged, and handsome he is - but now's not the time for those kinds of thoughts. You feel like he's reaching out an olive branch, showing a possible vulnerable side to himself. So, you place your pen on the table and lean back.

He stays quiet for a moment longer, trying to figure out how to start this. He wants to make sure that you know he's here to apologize, not to ask for forgiveness. From his silence, you assume he's waiting for you to go first.

"I'm sorry about Tuesday night." you say, eyes dropping to the table. Simon's astounded that you're the one apologizing, but you continue. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, and I'm sorry for trying to dump my job on you."

He feels worse, now. Was that even possible? He was expecting anger, insults - a detailed, frustrated explanation of what you did last night since you did not go on that date. But you're the one saying sorry? You think you're to blame for all of this unspoken aggression? Oh, you really do confuse him, sometimes...

"You don't need t' be sorry, luv." he says, gazing at you with a softness you'd never seen before, not in his brown eyes, at least.

"No, I do." you say, nearly pleading with him to let you be apologetic. "I was being a brat, and whether you usually do the ice bins or not, I shouldn't have expected you would do them without asking." You push your pen on the table, doing your best to convey your feelings. "And yeah, I was late for my date, but... well, he sounded like a dick, anyways."

Simon chuckles, watching you stare at the table. "Well, I owe you an apology, too. I jus'..." he sighed heavily, running a hand down his jaw. "I don' even know. Guess I was bein' lazy, or... I got jealous tha' you've got a life outside of this pub. Feels like you belong here."

He immediately regrets saying that - it sounds way too possessive and... just straight up weird. But you smile, taking comfort in the fact that he still wants you here. That this was the whole reason behind the mess.

"Soap called you a bitch. Said you were an asshole all day."

Simon scoffs. "Yea... 'm pretty sure Price would tell ya the same. And he wants ya back, too. Couldn't stand waitin' on tables, he was tryin' t' trade places with me all night."

You laugh. The world seems alright again - not perfect, but good enough. It might take a night of sleeping the tension away before you're fully back to your normal self, but this is a leap in the right direction. You look at Simon, into his brown, steady eyes, as they stare right back at you.

He breaks the silence. "I really am sorry for ruinin' your date."

You smile softly. "Thank you, Simon. I forgive you."

And just like that, the weight of his guilt is lifted away. The lingering sourness remains, a reminder that he had made you cry. But you had forgiven him, which was more than he was hoping to get tonight.

"Are we better?" you ask timidly.

He nods once. "Better."

You smile - you slowly slide your stack of receipts to him, biting your lip. "Cool - can I have my money?"

Just like that, his smirk drops - but you know it's all in good humor. He huffs, snatching the stack from the table and scoots his way out of the booth. "Always got money on the mind, eh?"

"I've always got rent on my mind." you retort, following after him with the bowl of onion rings. You plant yourself at your usual spot on the end of the bar, right near the POS where Simon cashes out your tips. He tries to hurry up, assuming you want to dip and go home after such an intense conversation. He slides the mask back over his face and punches his code in, trying to edit your tips into the system as quickly as he can.

"Simon?"

"Hm?" his response is instant, turning around to look back at you. You've got your phone on the bartop, and your back and jacket on the unoccupied seat next to you.

"Can I stay for a drink?"

He's melting on the inside, only held together by his own skin. He sets your receipts down and opts to do them later, right before whenever you decide to leave. He won't miss on an opportunity to have you stay longer.

"Course, luv. What's it gonna be?"

"You know how to make a cosmo?"

He chuckles, grabbing a glass from the shelf behind him. "Sure do."

[1-ker0sene-1]

Poly 141 x Reader

Home is where you are

"What ye think she made this time?"

Johnny mumbles, dropping his head back against the seat behind him. Blinking tiredly up at the ceiling of the truck, a daydream clear in his eyes. Simon next to him stares out the window, sweat seems to practically seal his balaclava to his face.

"We'd be lucky if anything. It's three in the fucking morning.."

Kyle says from the passenger seat. Pursing his lips a bit.

"She should be sleeping.."

Price chuckles from the driver's seat, hand on the steering wheel, paying close attention to the road.

"She knows we're on our way home. If she made something. We'll be thankful."

His other hand is resting on Kyle's knee, his thumb rubs slow circles against him.

Simons foot taps on the floor of the car silently, brows tight together. The man just wants to go home, shower, eat whatever heaven you cooked and sink into that california king mattress. With all of you, all five of you together.

"Steaks."

He mutters.

"Hm?"

Johnny questions with a hum, Simon clarifies.

"On days we come home.. it's either steak or shepherds pie. She made shepherds pie last time so it's gonna be steak."

They all salivate at the damn thought.

"It's tha little things with ye huh Simon?"

Johnny smiles warmly, leaning on his shoulder.

It was another thirty minutes driving before they finally pulled into the secluded driveway. Their safehouse. Their home. Where you are. Filing out of the truck, bags over their shoulders. Covered in grime and dried blood, they didn't even let themselves clean up at base before going home to you. Walking forward, Simon slings an arm around Kyle's shoulder. Tucking the sargeant into his side as they walk to the house. Both Johns walking behind them, Price giving the younger a good slap on the back.

"Home, boys. Let's enjoy it while we can."

Price comes forward to unlock the front door, pushing it open for the four of them. Mumbling out a reminder to take off their shoes inside. Leaning down with a grunt to pull off his boots. The others doing the same. They can already smell what you're cooking, Simon was right. The smell of steaks is pretty clear, garlic butter, some kind of steamed vegetables and spices.

The house is clean. Warm. Low lighting, some candles lit. Everything about it screams home. John opens his mouth to call out for you, but he can feel his spine practically melt hearing you hum in the kitchen.

Johnny is the first stumbling forward, hopping on one leg as he throws off his remaining shoe. Eager to get back to you. Grinning as he comes around the corner into the kitchen. He melts. Seeing you there, in your chair dishing up their plates of dinner.

".. Hey lass.."

He mumbles, feeling like all the air left his chest.

You turn your head when you hear him, the brightest smile spreads across your face. Tossing the fork down from your hand as you turn towards him.

"Hey soldier-"

You beam. You don't even get another word in before Johnny rushes towards you, you let out a puff of air as he crashes into you. Laughing against him as he squeezes you to his chest, his face buried in your hair.

"Fuckin' missed ye hen.."

He whispers. You return with one of your own.

"I know baby.. I missed you too.."

You lift your head, kissing the scar on his chin.

"This bloke botherin' you love?"

You already know that voice immediately, smiling as you turn to look at Kyle. Who is quick at your side with Johnny, his hand cups the back of your head. Pressing a long kiss to your cheek. Taking a deep inhale of your scent through his nose. You smile warmly, your hand finds his bicep, giving a soft squeeze.

"There you are Kyle.."

You murmur, turning your head to press your own kisses across the bridge of his nose.

"Always here."

He chirps, kissing on your skin. His eyes bore into you, drinking you up. Johnny huffs, mumbling something about stealing all your attention. Earning a small tug on his mowhawk from you.

"Alright you two- showers. The both of you. You need it-"

You chuckle, giving them both a hug. Giving Johnny one more kiss on the jaw. Letting Gaz get one more kiss on your face. Watching them head past you down the hall to the bathroom. Kissing on eachother, bumping into walls. You shake your head at them with a smile.

Eyes flicking back to the entrance. You find Simon staring at you, his shoulders slack and sinking. Eyes half lidded and tired. The rest of his face under the balaclava. Your eyes soften, holding out your hand to him.

"Oh Si.."

He takes the invitation. Coming over to you. He would tower over you in height. But instead he falls to one knee in front of your chair. Hands resting on the arm rests of your chair. Your hands immediately cradle his head. Leaning forward to press your head to his.

"You're home.. it's alright now .. no more Lieutenant.."

You whisper against him. Your fingertips lift the edge of the balaclava, pulling it over the nape of his neck. Over the back of his head, nails dragging soothingly up his scalp as you take the fabric away. Making him shiver in vulnerability. Putting his mask aside on the counter.

Seeing your Simons face eases the both of you, cupping his jaw and lifting his head.

"I know doll.. I know."

He mutters, you kiss his temple. Caressing his skin. Threading your fingers into his hair.

"Go shower with the boys sweetheart.. I'll be in there soon."

You coo at him. He chuckles deeply, kissing your head between your brows as he gets up. Bumping your foreheads together one more time before walking to the bathroom.

"You're not gonna say hello to me John?"

You joke, turning your head to watch said Captain. Who was holding his hat in hand, leaning against the wall watching you. He's been watching you the whole time.

"Just seein' you with our boys darlin'.."

Pushing away from the wall he walks over to you. His eyes full of exhaustion, longing, warmth. Tossing his hat on the counter behind you. He leans down, callous hands hold your cheeks. Bringing your lips to his.

He's not as sneaky as he thinks. You know of his little demand to the boys. He's the first to kiss you. Each time they come home.

You kiss him back feverishly, as much as you've been calm and steady for them. You missed your men like hell. Your hands find his shoulders, squeezing them tightly, beginning to work on the knots of tension in them. Emitting a deep groan from John into your mouth. You smile against his lips, feeling the scratch off his beard.

"Everyone's alright?"

You whisper against him. He nods, his hands finding your hips. Slightly lifting you from your chair and towards himself.

"No one's broken. .. Kyle's a little stressed. Y'know how he is.."

You nod, eyes still closed, continuing to brush your lips together.

"And you?"

"Just tired.. But I'm home. That's what matters."

John mumbles, kissing you deep again. Dipping his tongue past your lips, a soft sigh slipping out of you. Arms pulling him closer.

"Taking good care of our boys John.. You always do.. Making sure you all come home to me again... Our strong Captain.."

You can feel him sinking at your praise. The older mans knees want to buckle at your voice.

"Let's get you in the shower baby.. Hm? Get you washed and relaxed.."

You mumble against him.

You yelp as your lifted into the air by his arms, laughing openly as he carries you like a bride. Burying his nose to the crook of your neck. Carrying you down the hall, to the bathroom door. Where you can already hear the chatter of the men in the shower waiting for the two of you. John is grumbling against your skin.

"We need you darlin'. "

"Our boys and I need you bad.."

[roosterforme]

Wild Rooster Chase | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley thinks about you more than he should, and his feelings for you run deeper than they ought to. You've never given him an indication that you want to take the teasing touches and playful flirtation to the next level, so he never pressed his luck. When you surprise him by sending a text message that could change everything, he's ready to chase you all over San Diego for some answers.

Warnings: adult language, fluff, angst, drinking

Length: 5700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Banner by @thedroneranger

"What are you ladies doing here?" Bradley asked as you walked in with Halo and Phoenix on either side of you. "Thought tonight was the bachelorette party?"

"The Hard Deck is our first stop of the evening," you informed him as you planted your palm on his chest with a smirk, and he let you push him away from the bar. "We couldn't miss out on letting you guys see how nicely we clean up."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, as if he wasn't actively ogling you in your mini dress and high heels. He'd never been one to hide it, and he'd never been one to check out the other two, either. But that didn't mean he was going to act on it, because he was absolutely convinced this was just a game for you. One that he loved participating in. One that he knew was never going to go anywhere real.

"Yeah," you verified with a laugh. "We look hot."

"An indisputable fact," he whispered as he pretended like you were actually pushing him further out of your way. He'd move wherever you wanted him to, as long as you just kept touching him.

"Shoo," you scolded, looking up at him as your knee bumped his leg. "I need to buy some drinks, and you're in my way."

He covered your hand with his big one and immediately stopped moving. "Nice try, Blaze," he said with a grin as you attempted and failed to get him to budge more. "But I'm definitely buying you all a round for Callie's big night." He tossed his credit card onto the bar and draped one arm around Halo and the other around you before leaning in close to you and whispering, "And you always look nice. Even in your flight suits."

"What can I get for you ladies? And Rooster?" Penny asked, cutting him off just as he had you rolling your eyes. "Wait... he's not going out for Halo's bachelorette night, is he?"

"Absolutely not," you told her, tilting your head to look up at him with a devilish grin that made him a little nervous. His arm was still heavy across your shoulders as you said, "He's just here to buy us three Johnnie Walkers. Blue Label. Neat." 

"What?" His voice was strangled, and his eyes were wide. "That's over a hundred bucks!"

"But it's what we want. Isn't it, ladies?" you asked Halo and Phoenix as you tried not to laugh.

"It is," Halo confirmed. "And I'm the one getting married next weekend." 

When Bradley moaned and nodded at Penny, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Rooster. You're the sweetest."

"You mean I'm a sucker," he said, finally releasing both of you. "So where are you headed after this?"

Halo accepted her expensive Scotch as she said, "Cowboy Star for a steak dinner."

Bradley snorted. "Don't forget to take Jake with you," he said, nodding to where the other guys were hanging out near the dart board. 

"No boys allowed," you reminded him. "Especially not since we're taking Halo to Cheetahs after dinner."

"Strippers?" he asked as you picked up your Johnnie Walker. "Looking at hot, naked chicks? Sounds fun. What else?"

"Dancing at Pleasure Town!" Phoenix said, taking the last Scotch and holding it up. You and Halo both tapped your glasses to hers.

"Thanks, Rooster!" you said before taking a sip. He just shook his head as you pressed your lips to the glass, but a few seconds later, he ran his index finger along your arm and leaned a little closer again.

"Hey, you call or text me if you need anything, okay? I'll keep my phone on all night for you girls."

A chill seemed to run through your body, and just the mere thought of you calling him in the middle of the night left his mouth dry with need.

You chewed on your lip and looked up at him. "I'll let you know if I need you."

-----------------------

I'll let you know if I need you.

Bradley couldn't stop thinking about that sentence. If you ever told him you needed or even wanted him for anything, he'd be there instantly. He wasn't afraid to admit to himself that he'd had a crush on you from the first day you arrived at Top Gun. He was sure you knew it, too. But there were some things he just didn't want to mess with. Your call sign was Blaze for a reason, after all. Too fucking hot to handle. Too damn enticing to be interested in him.

So he did what he always did on Saturday nights. Found the second cutest girl at the bar and tried his luck. 

It was two hours later and three drinks in with the redhead, and he knew he could probably get as lucky as he wanted to. Her hand was on his thigh, inching closer to the hem of his tropical print shirt, and she was all smiles.

"Let's play something on the jukebox," she told him, and he agreed as he followed after her. To his dismay, she picked your favorite song, and now he was having a bit of a hard time staying focused on the task at hand as she tucked herself against the wall and pulled him closer by his shirt.

"You like this song?" he asked, glancing at the jukebox like he expected you to be standing there. 

She shrugged and said, "Not really. I just pushed some random buttons," with a little giggle. "Now, come here."

Alright, so her lips were soft, and her tongue tasted like bourbon. She placed his hands on her hips, and he gave a little test squeeze which resulted in her tongue in his mouth. But the song was pulling up some other memories of you and him dancing together on New Year's Eve. When he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, it was almost a relief to pull away.

"Hey," she complained, reaching for him as he unlocked his phone. "I'm over here, Rooster."

"Sorry," he muttered, looking at her briefly, but he really wasn't. The text he got was from you. He held up one finger and took a step back as he opened it up. 

Blaze: Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time.

"What the fuck?" Bradley said out loud as his eyes scanned the message again. It was a joke. It had to be. Or else he was reading it wrong? "Holy shit."

When he finally looked up, the redhead was pouting with her arms crossed. He needed another opinion, and he'd already lost interest in her anyway. He held up his phone and asked, "What does this mean?"

He watched her eyes as she read it, and a little crease appeared on her forehead. "It says get a life, jerk." She went walking off toward her friends as Bradley looked around for someone else to help him out. The guys were all playing pool and darts, but he didn't trust them as far as he could throw them anyway.

"Hey, Penny," he called out, cutting off several people who were trying to order drinks. He leaned all the way across the bar top to where she was pouring a martini. "Tell me I'm not losing my mind."

When he held up his phone, she squinted at the screen, and then her eyes went wide as she smiled at him. "I think someone overdid it and finally stated the obvious."

He was sweating now, afraid he was going to get this all wrong. "Like you think this is actually how she feels?"

She laughed and handed off the martini before pouring some wine. "Well, I don't want to speculate on someone else's behalf..."

"Bartenders are supposed to speculate," he told her, ready to climb over the bar and chase her down as she turned away from him to serve the wine. "It's your god given obligation."

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Well, then, merely speculating, I would say that the way the two of you cozy up with each other seems a little more than platonic."

He shook his head. "No, that's probably just me you're reading in the scenario." But she was shaking her head back and forth as well. "It's her, too?" Now she was nodding as she reached for a pint glass. "Like she might actually want to make something happen here?"

"Speculation," Penny told him. "But I think you should find out for sure."

He could call you. He pushed himself away from the bar, found a nice, quieter corner, and he tapped your number in his phone.

'Hi, it's me. I can't answer my phone, probably because I'm flying a seventy million dollar aircraft at the moment. Leave a message.'

"Damn it," he groaned, already thinking about how nice it would be to sling his arm around your shoulders and lean all the way in next time. Let his lips meet yours instead of hitting the brakes like he'd trained himself to do. "Wait!" he said to nobody in particular now that he'd walked away from Penny. "Cowboy Star!"

Bradley had the fortitude to keep his phone out and use the rideshare app he had downloaded. He was definitely not sober enough to do this in the Bronco, and he couldn't stop fantasizing about your song playing on the jukebox while he had your body pressed up against the wall. He needed to get to you and get some questions answered. 

He chose the closest driver in the app, and while he was waiting for Julian in his white Toyota Camry to arrive, he read your text again.

Blaze: Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time.

"Is she so serious right now?" he asked the night air as he waited in the parking lot. "Is she so fucking serious about this? I think about it, too!  A lot!" he practically shouted as he responded to your text.

Blaze, call me back. Are you talking about a kiss on the cheek? Or something more? We need to discuss ASAP.

"Hey, are you Bradley?"

He looked up to see the white Toyota was just sitting there. You had his head so messed up at the moment, he hadn't even noticed it.

"Julian?"

"Yeah, man," the driver replied, and Bradley quickly climbed in the backseat. "You're heading to Cowboy Star?"

"Yeah," he grunted as he buckled his seatbelt.

"I love it there," he said as he pulled out onto the road that ran parallel to the beach. "My wife got me the porterhouse for my birthday."

Bradley stared at his phone screen, hoping you'd write back or call him. "I'm not actually going for dinner. I'm trying to find a girl."

Julian whistled and shook his head. "Man, you should have just stayed at that bar."

He tipped his head back and groaned. "It's a very specific girl. And she's out with some friends for a bachelorette party."

"You know dudes aren't really supposed to go to those things, right?"

Bradley rubbed his free hand across his face and said, "I know, but she sent me this text that is very thought provoking." 

"What's it say?"

He kind of felt like an idiot telling his story to his Uber driver, but he still wasn't sure he was understanding your words correctly. It just didn't make sense. 

"Julian, I am very firmly in the friend zone with this hot girl from work, and tonight she sent me this message: Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time."

"Bro," Julian said as he hit the accelerator a little harder. "You're so in, man."

"Am I?" Bradley asked, squeezing his phone and wondering why you weren't calling him back. "Like, this girl is smoking hot. She's cool as hell, too. And we flirt a bit, but it never goes anywhere. And now she's not answering me."

"Just hang on." Julian went a little faster still. "I'll get you there so you can sweep her off her feet."

Bradley hung onto the door handle, not even sure he knew how to sweep you off your feet. What kinds of guys did you usually go for? He'd be lying if he said he never noticed that your last boyfriend kind of looked like him. And in general, you seemed to have a thing for guys with brown hair who were pretty tall. 

"Shit," he grunted, just torturing himself by imagining he could be the one holding your hand and making you laugh. "Are we almost there?"

"Hell yeah, dude. Next block up."

When Julian stopped at to the curb, Bradley lunged out onto the sidewalk as he shouted, "Thank you!"

"Good luck!"

The restaurant was absolutely packed, and even the line to talk to the host was long. After a few seconds, he simply walked to the front and cut everyone else off.

"Hey!" complained the woman who was now behind him as he cleared his throat and addressed the host. 

"Excuse me, but do you know if there are still three hot women here eating dinner together?" he asked the host who gave him a bland look. "They were all in tight little dresses. One was red, one was blue, and one was like a gold color. And one of them was wearing a bachelorette sash!"

"Oh," he replied with a little smirk. "Those three." Bradley didn't appreciate the way his little grin grew as he said, "Hot is certainly the right word to describe them."

"Are they still here?" he asked impatiently, trying to look past him into the dining room now.

"No. They left about an hour ago."

"Fuck," he groaned, pushing away from the podium and storming back outside into the night. He found a spot on the busy sidewalk where he could stand, and he tried to call you again. 

'Hi, it's me. I can't answer my phone, because I'm probably flying a seventy million dollar aircraft at the moment. Leave a message.'

He wanted to scream, but he calmly said, "Blaze, it's Rooster. Call me back." When he hung up, he opened the rideshare app again, and he luckily saw Julian on the map immediately and tapped on his little icon. "Come on, Julian," he muttered, already looking down the street for the trusty Toyota to make its return. "Yes!"

Bradley threw himself into the backseat once again as the driver asked, "That was quick, bro. What happened?"

"They already left for the strip club," he groaned.

"Cheetahs?" Julian asked, tapping at his own phone before he started driving again. "Not gonna pretend I've never been there before."

Bradley tried to call you again, and once again he got to hear your voice tell him you weren't available. "I just don't understand why she's telling me this now, you know? I've known her for almost two years."

"Two years in the friend zone? Bro, do you have no game?"

"Julian, do not test me right now," Bradley said with a laugh. He held up his thumb and index finger and added, "I was this close to sealing the deal with another girl at the Hard Deck when I got the text from her."

"Ohhhh. So you're in love with her. Understood, my man."

Bradley sat back against the seat and stared out the window as the city lights streaked past. In love. Was he? You always seemed too perfect to get involved with. But love? Is that why he never pushed for more? 

"Damn," he muttered. "Maybe." Was the fear of crashing and burning what was ultimately holding him back? 

That was when Julian pulled a slick u-turn and coasted into the parking lot of Cheetahs which was advertising fully nude girls. He should have been concerned that suddenly the only girl he wanted to see that way was you. "Thanks, Julian," he said as he hopped out and slammed the door closed.

"You got this!"

Well at least Julian thought he could pull off something impossible tonight.

"Whoa, I'm going to need to see some ID." 

Bradley realized that his path was suddenly blocked by an absolutely massive bouncer with a bushy beard. 

"Come on," he complained, digging his wallet out of his back pocket. "I'm thirty-five."

"No ID, no entrance."

"Yeah, yeah. Understood," he said trying to get his driver's license free as one of the strippers walked outside for a break. He craned his neck to see through the open door as the loud music filtered out before the door closed.

"Hey, Cherry," the bouncer grunted, and Bradley looked down at the stripper who was leaning against the wall wearing a pink wig, the tiniest g-string and some pasties. 

She was looking at Bradley a little skeptically as she replied, "Hey, Murph." She kicked a rock out into the parking lot as she told Bradley, "You're getting here awfully late. All of the private rooms have been reserved for the rest of the night."

"I'm not here for that. I'm just looking for some girls," he replied, waiting patiently while Murph inspected his ID.

"Yeah," she said with a laugh. "We've got plenty of those. The hottest ones in San Diego, if you believe the neon sign above your head."

"No," he told her, really not in the mood to recount his story again. "I'm looking for some women I work with."

Now Cherry looked downright unconvinced as she asked, "Are you a stripper?"

Bradley accepted his driver's license back and gave Cherry a hesitant look. "Well, no, I'm not."

"Didn't think so," she muttered, and Bradley stopped in his tracks before he even reached for the door handle.

"Excuse me?" he asked, giving her a much more scathing look. "What's that supposed to mean? I'd be a fantastic stripper."

She shook her head and adjusted her tiny underwear. "You don't have the right build for it."

Bradley burst out into sardonic laughter. "Cherry, you must be joking," he said as he tucked his wallet away and flexed his biceps. "I could totally be a stripper."

"What song would you dance to?" she asked in an accusatory tone. 

"Sweet Emotion," he told her immediately. Yeah, he'd thought about it before, and yeah, he knew he'd absolutely kill it up on stage. But she just made a face in response. "What's wrong with my song?"

"Nothing, I guess, but there's no way you'd be raking in the tip money."

Bradley pointed across the parking lot to Hard D Boys, the male club that was associated with Cheetahs, and said, "Just for that, I'm coming back for their open auditions night, because you have no idea what you're talking about." She shrugged, and he shook his head. "I don't have time for this. Have you seen three hot women? A red dress, a blue dress and a gold dress? Like short dresses?" he asked, tapping his thigh with his hand to indicate that your dress left little to his imagination. "They are like around this tall?" he added, sticking his hand in the air around your height.

"Sorry, Mr. Sweet Emotion, but I only take note of the biggest tippers."

Bradley groaned and pushed the door open, and the music was so loud, it wasn't even worth trying to ask the bartenders if they'd seen you. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he walked around the cavernous club, trying to locate you three, but it was mostly men. And then he had the disturbing thought that maybe some guys tried to pick you up.

"Why are you doing this to me, Blaze?" he whispered to himself as he walked back through every corner he could find. He even asked a woman to check if you were in the ladies' restroom. He came up empty handed again. 

"God damn it," he said once he was back outside with Murph.

"To be fair," Murph said as he lit up a cigarette, "I think you'd make an okay stripper."

"Thank you for that," Bradley told him sincerely as he tapped his rideshare app again, but then he heard a horn honking and looked up. It was Julian, hanging out his car window. He'd waited for him. 

"She's not here?"

"No, Julian. She's not here!" he said as he rushed toward the Toyota and climbed in.

"Well, where are we going next?"

Bradley closed his eyes and thought about what Phoenix had said earlier at the Hard Deck. "Pleasure Town. They were going dancing at Pleasure Town."

"On it," Julian told him and shifted into drive.

It was after midnight now. Pleasure Town wasn't too far away, but he'd be lucky to even find you in there on the weekend. But if he did, you'd be dancing like crazy with the biggest smile on your face, pretending you liked the music they were playing while you thought about your own playlists instead. You'd be drinking some neon colored cocktail and trying to talk the girls into leaving to get cookies from that place that was open all night. You'd maybe even be checking your phone and finally, finally texting him back.

"Yeah, you're right, Julian."

"About what, my man?"

Bradley rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm in love with her."

Julian reached his arm back at a red light, and Bradley fist bumped him. "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about! I could tell right away. Don't worry. We'll find her."

But it got harder to be hopeful the longer he was in the dance club. There was barely any room to walk around, and there were dozens of women in little dresses that looked like the one you were wearing, but none of them had your face or your smile. You weren't here. 

He stood on the dance floor and read your text one more time.

Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time.

He wanted to know what kissing you would feel like. Now that you opened his mind to something more, he'd never be able to stop thinking about it. But this time, he let himself finally focus on the word regret in your message.You'd regret what you said in the morning. He knew you; he knew you would never go for the idea sober. But he texted you one more time anyway.

Blaze, please call me when you get this. It doesn't matter what time it is. Just call.

When he walked back out into the cool, night air, Julian was right there at the curb waiting with a hopeful look on his face. "Bro, is she here?" When Bradley didn't respond, his face melted into sadness. "Or did she say the 'just friends' shit?"

"She's not here," he replied, once again climbing in the back of the now familiar car.

"We going somewhere else now? The pursuit continues?"

Bradley grimaced and said, "I think I should just throw in the towel and regroup. Can you take me back to the Hard Deck? I'm definitely sober enough to drive home now."

But even Julian sounded disappointed now. "Of course, dude. Anything you want."

"Thanks," Bradley grunted, watching as the city lights faded a bit as they got closer to the beach. When Julian parked near the Bronco, he said, "I appreciate all your help tonight."

He gave Bradley another fist bump. "You gotta start fresh tomorrow, man. And you can't leave me hanging, okay? I need a wedding invitation."

Bradley chuckled as he climbed out for the last time. "I'm about to leave you the biggest tip."

He tapped two hundred bucks into the app as Julian drove off shouting, "Good luck!"

With nothing else he could do right now, he climbed in the Bronco, cranked the engine and started to drive himself home for the night. He was tempted to swing by your place or at least try to call you one more time, but he decided to let you get some sleep before you started to regret your message. That way he'd have a little more time with this hopeful feeling in his chest.

----------------------------

There was pounding. There was so much pounding. Maybe someone turned the music up even louder at Cheetahs? Or were you at Pleasure Town now? "Make them turn it down," you moaned, trying to cover your ears. That's when you realized you were in your bed. At home. Someone was knocking on your front door.

"Wait," you croaked as loudly as you could, your ears still buzzing from the loud music all night long. The bachelorette evening had been highly successful. Halo had a great time. But now you were hungover and not in the mood to deal with anyone. 

As you climbed out of bed, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand to check the time. The battery was almost dead, and you had a bunch of missed texts and calls, but you couldn't even focus on that until the pounding ceased.

"Please stop," you whined, flinging your door open before you even checked to see who it was. When you saw him it felt like someone poured warm caramel sauce on your heart or shoved you hard into a wall made out of soft foam: he always made you feel good and gooey and squishy in the most heart pounding, confusing way. "Rooster."

When he moved slightly, he stopped blocking the sunlight behind him and you squinted your eyes and groaned as you took a step back. "Blaze," he said in that raspy as sin voice as he blessedly closed your front door behind him. "You have a hangover."

You nodded, but even that was too much. "What gave it away?" you asked him softly, still holding your phone.

He snorted. "Well, for starters, you're still wearing your dress from last night."

"Oh." You hadn't realized that as you looked down at yourself for confirmation. "We went pretty hard. I can't even remember much after you bought us the Johnnie Walker at the Hard Deck."

He remained quiet until you looked back up at his face. "You... remember texting me?" His tone was one you'd never heard before, and it took you a few seconds to realize he was nervous. On edge. Hesitant. He was never any of those things with you, and you didn't like this at all.

"I texted you?" When you lifted your phone higher, you started to wonder why he hadn't hugged you when you opened the door. He usually always did. He swallowed hard, and you watched the scars along his neck as his Adam's apple bobbed.

"You really don't remember?"

Now he just sounded really fucking sad, and for some reason your brain was screaming at you that there was something you were definitely supposed to recall from last night. Something about Bradley. You left him at the Hard Deck after he paid for the Scotch, and then you went to dinner and drank more while you thought about him the whole time. But there was definitely something else.

"No. I really don't remember," you whispered, annoyed with yourself. You felt like it was somehow your fault that his lips were pressed in a tight line and his brow was creased.

"It's not important," he replied, all businesslike now. "Can I see your phone for a minute?"

"Yeah," you told him, handing it over and watching while he punched in your passcode. "What did you end up doing all night?"

He sighed and looked at you. "I ended up following you around to no avail."

"Why?" you asked, still clearly missing a piece of this whole puzzle as he started tapping your phone screen with his thumb. 

"That's not important either," he whispered, and you decided you didn't like any of this. 

You snatched your phone out of his hand and wrapped your arms around his neck. Almost reluctantly, he hugged you back before reaching his hand up to where you were holding your phone, trying to get it again. "What do you want my phone for so badly?"

He was acting strange, and when he said nothing in response, you lunged out of his grasp and tapped on your text thread with him. 

"Blaze," he barked out, but it was too late. You read what you'd sent him last night.

Full disclosure, I'm drunk. And I'll probably regret this in the morning, but... I think about kissing you all the time.

"Oh my god!" you screeched. "I didn't delete that?! I hit send!" You couldn't even meet his eyes now as you tried to figure out how to get him to leave so you could cry in peace.

"Blaze, it's okay," he promised, but you knew it wasn't.

"You were going to delete that message. And the ones you sent to me after it," you accused. "Weren't you?" When he just stared at you silently, you realized he was trying to save you from being embarrassed, but it was way too late for that. He didn't want you. He was never going to want you.

"No hard feelings," he said softly. "Go ahead and delete it yourself. We can pretend this never happened."

"No hard feelings?" you practically wailed, afraid you were going to cry in front of him. "I just ruined everything. You were never supposed to know how I feel about you, Bradley."

As soon as you ducked your head away from him, his fingers were under your chin tipping your face up so you were looking him in his impossibly endearing brown eyes. "I need you to explain this to me. Okay?" He took your phone gently from your hand and held it up with the message displayed. "Please, Blaze. Did you mean it? Is that how you think about me?" When you nodded slightly, he readjusted his hand on your face so he was cupping your cheek instead. "Baby, I followed you everywhere last night. I called you and texted you and rode around in a white Toyota with Julian for hours on end."

"Who's Julian?" you ask softly as Bradley slid your phone into his jeans pocket.

"He's my new friend," he replied, which cleared up exactly nothing for you. "I went on this insane chase from Cowboy Star to Cheetahs to Pleasure Town just to try find out if there was even the slightest chance that you really meant what you said."

He closed the distance between your bodies as he stroked his thumb along your cheek. "It was supposed to be my little secret," you whispered. "I just typed it out to see how it would look. I read it in my head and imagined how you might take it. It was supposed to get deleted. You were never supposed to know."

"Is it really so bad that I do?"

His question hung in the air between you, and once again you nodded. "Yes, Bradley. Yes, because it's going to complicate everything now. Work, and our friends, and hanging out at the bar. It's all ruined. Because you'll never look at me the same way you used to."

"Blaze," he rasped. "Baby, I don't want to look at you the same way I used to. Like I was never going to measure up. Like I could never be what you wanted."

You gasped as your eyes went wide. "What are you saying?"

He groaned and pressed his lips to your forehead, and you melted against him. "I'm saying that I chased you all over the city last night hoping like hell that you meant what you said. And that you didn't regret it."

Your head was spinning, but not from the hangover as you thought about how it could feel to be with this man. "You want this?" you asked in awe as your hands eased up along his chest to slip around his neck again.

"Desperately. And if you think you want to see where it goes, we can take it slow, you know?" he asked, his brown eyes hopeful once again. "We don't have to rush into anything crazy."

But you knew you were already kind of crazy about him. You had been for a long time. So you whispered, "I think I could fall in love with you," and his lips came crashing to yours. You moaned into his mouth. His lips and his mustache were even better than all those times you'd imagined kissing him. His huge hands were bunching up the fabric of your dress at your hips. You wanted every part of your body to be touching him from now until forever.

This was how good it felt when you and he stopped pulling your punches. When you both stopped pumping the brakes. You raked your hands through his wavy hair, gasping for breath as you asked, "Did you really try to find me last night?"

"Of course," he promised as you kissed along his mustache and across his cheek. "It was enlightening. I learned a lot about myself. Hey, do you think I'd be a good stripper?"

"God, Rooster," you groaned just thinking about it. "You'd be an excellent stripper."

"I fucking knew it," he grunted, half guiding you and half carrying you to your bedroom. "Listen, we should cuddle right now, but I'm going to need you to come to Hard D Boys with me one night. I'm pretty sure it's just to prove a point, but you never know."

You really weren't positive what he was talking about now, but it didn't matter. His lips were on your neck, and his weight was pressing you down onto your bed, and he was saying the most wonderful thing.

"I know for sure I could fall in love with you."

-----------------------------

He's such a simp, he would chase you anywhere. Imagine taking your brand new boyfriend to his stripper audition just because he has to prove a point. I mean, I wouldn't complain lol. Thanks for reading! And thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @thedroneranger

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[sigh-tofm]

when the power goes out one cold and rainy november evening…

… price

- goes full dad. pulls the grill up to the back veranda door and cooks up some mean steaks for you two. gets a fire going in the fireplace to keep the house heated. has half a mind to call the power company and tell them that they don’t need to hurry, he’s got everything covered here. actually, they don’t need to come at all, not for a few days. tells you his thoughts as he pulls the mattress off your bed and deposits it in the living room in front of the fireplace, so you both can keep warm tonight. you let him know in no uncertain terms that he will do no such thing. you’ll let him have is fun tonight, but you will need a hot shower and a working oven in 36 hours, no matter how much he wants to play boyscout. but as you sit in front of the roaring fireplace and your admittedly very rugged and handsome husband feeds you bits of grilled steak and holds a glass of red wine to your lips, a thick, warm blanket covering you both, you must admit that this isn’t bad either.

… kyle

- excitedly improvises. you know, it’s like this every day when we’re in the field, he beams as he brushes the dust off the firepit in the woodshed. doesn’t mean it has to be like this now though, does it, kyle. you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and watch as he finds the least rotten firewood in the shed and uses up eight matches before he can get a light. you almost tell him to leave it and come inside, that you’ll order in tonight, but he’s so engulfed in fanning the little flame to life that you can’t help but play along. you get an umbrella when the rain comes down harder and use it to shield both your boyfriend and his firepit from the weather. when you gently ask how he’s going to cook up the pizza you two were in the middle of preparing when the power went out, he wilts a little, but somehow manages to macgyver a cooking system for it that only leaves it slightly burnt. you know, he says while you two are standing under the awning, admiring your fire baby and nibbling on damp, blackened pizza, in the field we sometimes need to share sleeping bags too.

… johnny

- immediately relents. moans and groans about being off duty and that he shouldn’t be expected to fend for himself like this when he isn’t in an active war zone. you pull up the local takeaway menu on your phone and hand it to him. go get us some warm food, soldier, you prompt him and gather up some supplies while he’s away. the old scottish farmhouse you live in has a fireplace, of course, so you light a fire there and with some effort pull the couch up in front of it. blankets and pillows from the living room, old fair isle knit jumpers from the hallway closet, a sheepskin rug to warm your feet on. when he comes back with his arms full of steaming indian (best to get some extra, mo chridhe), his mood seems to have lightened a little too. especially when he sees you in thigh high knit stockings, wearing his jumper and laying on the sheepskin rug. okay, maybe this isn’t so bad. at least he’s not being shot at.

… simon

- is prepared. goes down to the basement and carries up box after box of emergency equipment. hands you a round little paraffin stove (which you have no idea how to work) and a matching aluminium pan, as well as a large variety of ready-made freeze dried stews and soups. just add water, he says unhelpfully, and continues pulling out equipment from his kit. amongst the various bags of tools and gadgets you can spot tent poles and emergency flares, and it’s obvious he’s been itching to use all this stuff for a while. you decide to entertain him and google your way around the stove, finally getting a light on it. you light candles and pull out your winter coats while the water boils, making it an overall cozy time. hav’ta be prepared, he mutters as he comes to sit with you when the food’s ready, the living room full of his unpacked catastrophe preparations. next time we’ll just go to a hotel, you gently request and serve him year-old mushroom stew, brought back to life with some warm water. he looks longingly at all his equipment. you yield. or camping.

[d0rothydraws]

Luke and Kieran bet you to call Sylus a good boy. Without thinking, you accepted. Content: Light choking, Deep throating, Body worship, praise kink and general highly sexual themes

w/c: 3.8k

ao3: Here

part 2: Here

a/n: This is my first actual Sylus fic I hope I did him justice. The idea of calling him a good boy popped into my head and I ran with it. loosely based off of the oasis card. i could do a part 2 to this if people want it. low key nervous about posting this i havent posted smut in 2 years

Luke and Kieran bet you to call Sylus a good boy. Without thinking, you accepted.

And now, you were at an auction, insisting you came along. Teasing you for being clingy, Sylus accepted your company and now the two of you were sitting at a large dinner table surrounded by very powerful and Important men. They were talking in a language you didn't understand but you didn't really care. Your mind wasn't on the auction or the weapons they were bartering. Your mind was on Sylus. The man beside you so close you could feel the brush of his thigh against yours under your dress.

You tried to be calm. Confident. And for the most part besides your heart that was beating out of your chest, were doing a good job. Even as you moved a hand under the table onto his thigh.

The reaction was minimal, yet the fact you got a reaction in the first place was a good sign. His hand that was holding a steak knife, cutting into his meal tightened. Pausing for a moment before continuing.

You trailed your hand over the inseam of his thigh, a gentle feather light touch. You felt him stiffen under your hand. You knew how sensitive he was. He leaned his lips to your ear, his voice a low rumble.

"Bored with the auction, sweetie? You're the one that asked to come along." His breath was hot against your ear and yet you didn't falter. Your hand resting on the muscle of his upper thigh.

"I can't understand what they're saying. Of course I'm bored." You muttered back quietly only for him to chuckle, sitting back straight in his chair.

You moved slow, your fingers trailing higher up on his thigh until you trailed a finger against the zipper. A hand moved to hold your wrist, firm as his fingers wrapped around your hand.

"Sweetie." He said, his voice having an edge to it. You could feel how your touches have effected him. The warmth under your hand half hard. You bit back a smirk. But before you could continue or respond, the men at the table stood. Large double doors opened as the men entered.

You tried to pull your hand away, getting ready to stand to follow. It was time for the auction to begin. And yet, his grip tightened. Finally you looked up at him as he stood, still holding your hand. Following his lead he walked you into the room. His silence was loud.

The room was filled with rows of chairs and at the front, a stage with cases and boxes. As you went to sit down, Sylus pulled you closer, landing on his lap instead. You gasped softly, looking up at him but his eyes were trained on the stage.

"Just sit still and behave, sweetie." He said into your ear his arms wrapping around your waist ignoring any looks.

You took in a deep breath, feeling him still half hard under you. The auction begun, bids flowed in as they showed off firearms more expensive than you could even comprehend. You bit you lip, getting an idea as your heart spiked.

It was a handgun. Nothing like you haven't seen a million times you were sure Sylus probably even had that exact one. Yet, you hummed, faking interest.

"That one. I want that one" You whispered, leaning your head back against his shoulder as your ass pushed more against his hips. You felt him take in a sharp breath.

"Really out of all of the ones that's the one that catches your eye?" He said with an amused tone, not knowing what game you were playing but he knew that there was one. "I have about 50 of that exact model you can pick from." He said, leaning his lips against your ear, his hands moving to your hips, holding you firmly.

"But I want it." You pouted, looking up at him. "One of my own." His lips twitched into a smirk, an eyebrow lifting.

"One million" he said, his voice cutting through the crowd. Silence settled for a moment before another man with a thick accent countered.

"Two million"

Sylus' eye twitched. All of this trouble for a small hand gun. It wasn't worth more than one, he would know. But he knew the man was just bidding against him to spite him.

"Ten million." Sylus said. A few murmurs erupted. The man who was countering gave a loud scoff. The bid was completed.

You leaned your lips up, brushing against his ear.

"Good boy."

A hand moved to cradle your neck, not choking but still form. You could feel his body stiffen under you. His cock twitching under you. Your body heated up, breath growing hotter at his reaction.

"You're playing a dangerous game, kitten." He purred in your ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. You should stop. You finished the bet. But the adrenaline was addicting.

"I'm just telling the truth." You replied back, his hand still firm on your neck, the other around your waist. "I'm not satisfied yet, though." You purred, your hand moving to curl at the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He made a low sound. "Buy me another one. Be a good boy, and buy me another gun." You breathed into his ear, your voice was hot, needy. Greedy.

His hand on your neck tightened, his hips twitching against your ass as you felt the hardness under you build. Your eyes closed as you let out a heavy breath, blushing as your body began to tingle. You expected him to tell you to shut up. To mock you for calling him that. Not to be into it. Though he didn't outright say it, you could feel how he was slowly losing his handle on the situation.

Instead, he chucked. Soft lips pushed against your ear. "You're pushing it, sweetie." He growled softly, his nails biting the sides of your neck as his words sent a shiver down your spine. You knew you were playing with fire. But with his hand around your neck, people around you glancing to look at the man who just spent 10 million dollars on a simple handgun, you felt over confident.

"Oh sweetie," You retorted, refusing to give in so easily. You knew he liked a fight. "I'm not the one with a hardon right now from being called a good boy."

Your body was standing suddenly, your legs moving to the door before your mind caught up. Sylus' hand in yours as he practically dragged you out of the building. The ride back was quiet, yet the air was thick. You knew he was probably cursing his decision of bringing his bike and not a car, your chest pressed against his back, thighs against him as he drove as fast as the motor would let him.

You didn't have a chance to move off of the bike before his hands were pulling the helmet off of your head. His eyes dark as they looked into yours. His touch was exceptionally gently considering how you figured he'd be treating you right now. His fingers traced your jaw, guiding you off of the bike with his other hand. His hand wrapped around your hip, pulling you flush to his. Sylus' other hand taking your chin between his fingers. "You've been nothing but trouble tonight, kitten." He said, his tone unreadable as his thumb traced the bottom of your lip. You flicked out your tongue, bringing it into your mouth. His lips twitched into a smirk. "What's got you so riled up tonight?" He said with a chuckle, pressing the pad of his rough thumb against your tongue before pulling it back, smearing your saliva over your lip. "I had a bet. And I won." You said, a playful glimmer in your eye as you finally admitted what had been on your mind. "I had a bet with the boys that I wouldn't survive if I called you a good boy." You moved your hand to his cheek, trailing down the muscle of his neck. "And from what I've seen," Your voice dropped to a whisper. "You liked it."

"What a silly bet." He muttered as his hand on your hip pulled you closer. "What makes you think that I liked it?" He said raising and eyebrow. "Why tell you when I can show you." You whispered before moving to take his hand on your hip, thankful that he was following your lead for a change. Though it was always hard for him to deny you.

As you closed the door behind you, you looked up at Sylus, taking a slow breath. You could cut the tension with a knife. Yet, he didnt make a move. He knew this game, and he was willing to play it. At least, until he wasn't. As you stepped closer to him, a hand moved down the buttons on his shirt. "You know, you really are beautiful." You whispered, your words genuine.

"What, are you just going to praise me all night?" He said, a half laugh half scoff as he slid his fingers over your shoulder and under the sleeve of your dress. Your hand on his chest became more firm as you popped a couple of the buttons free. "Yes, actually." You said simply as his shirt opened to expose his chest. You seen his stomach contract as he took in a breath. "Now, lay down on the bed."

It seems you struck a nerve because he listened without protest. Shrugging off his shirt as it fell onto the ground, he laid on the bed. His eyes glued to you as you followed him, straddling his hips as your thighs rested on each side of his body.

You started with his neck. Your lips grazed the skin as you kissed him gently, trailing and peppering kisses down his jaw. "You're listening so well." You breathed against his cheek, his body tense as you rested your hands on his chest. "You really are a good boy." You giggled. He frowned, his eyebrows knotting. "Don't mock me." He grumbled, his breath hitching as your hand gently trailed over his chest. Your lips grazed his as you spoke. "I wouldn't dream of it." Your lips pressed against his in a slow, tender kiss. Your fingers circled his nipples. His breath hitched against the kiss as you added more pressure. You moved slowly. Your movements unrushed, tender. As if you were worshiping him. And in a way, you were. You wanted to overwhelm him with praise. With soft touches and kisses. He shivered softly as you pinched his nipples between your fingers. You broke the kiss, lips caressing the corner of his lips. "I could kiss you all night." You breathed before moving lower on his body. Your hips moved making him grunt as you adjusted. As your tongue trailed the canyon of his chest your hands moved against his sides. You felt his muscles, how they twitched under your hands. How his breath was heavy, his hips starting to become more active as he slowly became more needy. His hand moved to curl into your hair. His head leaning back as his eyes closed. A low sigh leaving his lips as he felt how your soft hands caressed his strong and admittedly tired body. As he felt your tongue flick against his nipple though, his hand tightened in your hair. A low groan that went straight between your thighs filled the room. Letting out a shaky breath in anticipation, you flicked your tongue a few more times. As the bud hardened, you wrapped your soft lips around it, your eyes looking up at Sylus through thick eyelashes only to find him looking back at you. His face was flushed, his eyes slightly glassed over. You had never seen him like this before.

You pinched his other nipple, twisting it between your fingers softly as you sucked the other one and then after a few moments you switched. His hips arched against your body, feeling his thick need tight against his pants from nothing more than a few kisses and touches. "I didn't know you were so needy." You whispered as you began to move lower. Your lips trailed down his stomach, feeling his abs flex under you as you reached his belt. "I like it." You purred, licking the wet patch through his pants earning a low groan from him. "Kitten if you keep teasing me I won't be able to stay still." He warned, his voice strained. The sound of his voice made you shiver, a soft hum of arousal leaving your lips as you looked up at him. Your tongue sticking out to lick the spot again, slowly.

"You can handle it." You said, smirking as you used the words he used against you so long again against him. You slowly sat back up on your heels as you looked at him. "Now, be good and undo your pants for me baby."

His large hands moved to his belt, his hips raising as the sound of metal echoed as he undid the belt, sliding it off and letting it fall off the bed. His hands trailed over the button of his pants. You watched with heat in your eyes as he circled it sensually before popping the button open. His thumbs hooked under his underwear and pants, pulling them down with one movement.

You licked your lips as you looked down at him. Pants around his thighs, his cock hard and dripping onto his stomach as his hands finished adjusting his pants. As he moved his hand to curl in your hair again you pulled back, smirking.

"You didn't ask to touch me first." You said in a playful tone as your finger trailed the thick vein on his thigh up to his cock. He twitched, taking a sharp breath.

"Can.. I touch you?" He asked, oh so obediently. It made your heart flutter.

"No." You said with a low purr as you moved back down between his thighs. Lips trailed up the thick muscle, licking that same vein that your hands trailed seconds before. As he was about to argue, a grunt filled the room as you licked up the bottom of his cock before taking the tip past your lips.

His hands clenched, nails digging into his hands as he struggled to obey your command. You looked up at him, slowly lowering your mouth lower, lower and lower. Your tongue pushed flat against the sensitive tip as you took him entirely into your throat. He groaned louder, his mouth opening slightly as he twitched, his hips shaking as he felt your throat tighten around him as you swallowed his cock.

"Fuck kitten." He moaned, his eyes never leaving you as his breath became labored. You moaned around him, feeling yourself struggle to breathe around him. He was so thick, so large that he reached the base of your throat. Your eyes rolled as you began to bob your head.

He couldn't stop himself from thrusting into your tight little throat. You said no touching, but never not to move. And now, you couldn't talk with your mouth occupied. So, he took full advantage of the situation.

You gasped around him as he met your lips, a wet sound filling the room as his hips thrusted against you. He reached deeper in your throat, swallowing around him he moaned, his head falling back. Giving in, his hand finally curled in your hair. Fingers wrapping tightly around you as he held you still. "I'm sorry, kitten. You're too good." He growled as he rutted into your mouth. A low moan fell out of your bruised mouth as you were silently grateful for the turn of events. As his thrusts became more uneven and his cock swelled more against your painfully tight throat you groaned as hot cum flowed against you. A few more thrusts before he slowly pulled out, a sheen of sweat on his body. His cock, still half hard laid against his stomach. You panted for breath, air painfully filling your lungs again. Gently he brought you up to his lips, kissing you slowly as his hands rested on your waist.

You pulled back giving him a pout. Your voice strained and raw. "That's not how it was supposed to go." You grumbled but blushing as his hands trailed down your waist and to cup your thighs.

"Mm but you would have done the same thing if you were in my position, sweetie." "No, I have more self restraint than you."

"I don't believe you." He whispered, a low chuckle. "Let's test it, shall we?"

[evilminji]

Okay this is going to drive me INSANE. D:>

Dearly beloved, Phandom darlings...

Can DANNY EAT VIDEO GAME/TV FOOD?

I... I NEED to know. You don't UNDERSTAND!? Think about it. No, seriously. THINK about all those HIGHLY unrealistic, too good to be true, PERFECT looking meals. Animated shows n games etc where there are chefs who will "cook for Anybody!"

Now think about being 14 going 20. A teenager. A broke college student. Your fridge is empty and everything you touch? Comes back to LIFE. You're... you're just so hungry. Tired. Your bruises have bruises and you have a paper due tomorrow.

I kinda want to CRY.

Can only eat cup ramen so many times before you DO.

And this show? That commercial? Yonder cooking game?? Well... they did a REAL good job animating it. It looks so WARM. So FILLING and COMFORTING. You can practically SMELL it.

You look down at your sad, soggy, cheap but you can afford it, EZ Noodles and? Feel something BREAK inside. You... you KNOW you can travel inside technology. KNOW this. Have done it before. Why... why AREN'T you? You can't keep living like this.

You gotta TRY, right?

I? Wanna believe it TOTALLY works?? Because Ectoplasm is weird like that? And just shrugs? Says "actual food, the concept of food backed by electricity, what's the difference? Sure, we can fuck with this"? And so Danny? IMMEDIATELY fucking switches his diet.

Like? Dead stop screech, slam on the breaks, u-turn to take that last off-ramp. Type IMMEDIATE.

Grocery bill? No, no, you mistake him! No. NOW it's his "carefully researched for their cooking, games and shows" bill. Touch his collection and he'll FUCKING BITE.

They got sticky notes on the cases. Menus n lil fold out "grocery store" locations. He punched a dragon for this fruit. Mmmmm, home cooked meeeeeals~

Just? Weird Foodie Danny. Yes he DOES know what those steaks taste like. While YOU fuckers were staring at the cat girls bizangas, HE was eating granny cat lady's home made meatball stew! Ha! YOU FOOLS!

More then that? I want him to write reviews. Like "yeah, fight system was OKAY but- *5 hour glowing rant about the food, sounding like a food critic who'd actually fucking gone and loved it* " and people are like?? Who? Is this funky lil madman? This is hilarious?

I want it to be DPxDC JUST? So everyone slowly starts to play the game "Meta or Shtick?" Because no one REALLY knows who he is. This dude gets POPULAR though. For some reason can't be hacked (shame on you guys! Way to try and ruin the FUN!). And like? Eventually? Someone just fucking ASKS?

And Danny is like... " wouldn't YOU like to know, weatherboy?"

So everyone is like:

"Meta."

But hey... since they're already ASSUMING~? >:3c WHOOOOO wants to help him PAY RENT~? Let's VLOG this fucker! Wooooo! Say "hi" Catchef! *feline noises* like? It's like a let's play combined with a mukbang.

Teen Heros everywhere are FACINATED. Game developers are suddenly like? "If there's food. You BETTER make it look amazing. We want that weird YouTube twink to... whatever his powers are, our game! Free viral marketing!" Food channels? Rending their clothes, on their KNEES, please! PLEASE! Just ANSWER OUR EMAIL! Just ONE SHOW! A one off! Guest appearance!

We have MONEY!!!

All while Danny? Is finally happy with his life. Weird as hell. Harrasing the world. Good food on the regular. Gets to travel, kinda. Best of all? He's raising money from it! Can help people! Now... who wants salad?

@babbling-babull @hdgnj @hypewinter @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @dcxdpdabbles @the-witchhunter @lolottes

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny, at 17, did not have the best love life. This is partially because two of his must haves in a partner are " Will protect me with their life" and "Will commit unspeakable acts of violence for me" or at least beat someone up for his honor.

Naturally, this doesn't always result in the most stable of partners.

His first girlfriend, Valerie, became an anti-hero and broke up with him for his safety.

He finally got with Sam in sophomore year only for the feds to come into class one day to arrest her. To his surprise, her crimes had nothing to do with ghosts but rather an incident where she went too far and committed a few acts of economic terrorism. Danny and Tucker never really learned the specifics of the crimes, and her parents hushed up as many news outlets as they could, so there wasn't much info to go around. All they knew was that she saved thousands of lives by doing it.

In the end, she was sentenced to eight years, and she broke up with him so that he wouldn't wait around for her to get out.

His third partner was a guy named David who was really sweet. Unfortunately, Danny got kidnapped one day by David's arch nemesis, who was some villain with a corny edge lord name. Yeah. David had become a a super hero after they started dating.

And if you guessed that he freaked out and dumped Danny for his own protection, you'd deserve a cookie.

Danny was noticing a pattern here. One that continued with everyone he dated. They always became some kind of hero before dumping him for his own protection, and it was infuriating. Sure, danny could defend himself, but he was never deep enough into the relationship to reveal his phantom half, and frankly, his hero career was something he left behind when he left Amity and destroyed the portals.

He met Tim at a skatepark after Tim fell off his board cause of some jerk speeding out in front of him on his own board, forcing Tim to stop or else hit the guy. The guy was unrepentant and Tim calmed him down (this did not stop him from melting the guys wheels with an ectoblast when no one was looking).

Tim then asked him to coffee. Danny, noticing how cute Tim was, agreed.

Danny was up front with his parents being mad scientists in Illinois. He always was with all the people he dated. It was better not to hide these kinds of things or worse, wait until you're already attached and afraid of losing them. So he always told potential partners as early as possible. Tim seemed a bit put off by this but was calmer about it than most, and they continued chatting.

Tim didn't seem like the type to turn to heroism or anti heroism so he felt safe on their later dates. It was only after he had known Tim for a while that he put the pieces together.

Tim was always covered in bruises that he hid with his clothes and make up, he had complained about batman over the phone when he thought danny couldn't hear, he was rich, he knew how to fight as revealed by his stances and footwork dispite trying to pretend he didn't, and lastly he held a lot of political power and influence being Bruce Wayne's son. Power he had no reservations using when it suited him or he was just feeling petty (that pettiness was part of why danny was falling for him harder than he thought he could)

No wonder Tim was so okay with his parents being rouges.

Tim was a villain!

At least Tim wouldn't leave him like all his exes. Danny doesn't think he could handle it if he did. Another good thing about this is now he can talk more freely about the more villainous and morally gray ideas and inventions when he was alone with Tim.

Tim didn't see anything wrong with Danny's idea to use something similar to cloning pods to make synthetic meats like rump roasts and steaks as a way to end world hunger and was eager to add to the conversation.

[pynkfairyheart]

pairings: older!reiner x reader

warnings: smut 18+, age gap (old enough to be readers dad)

Congratulations

Reiner didn't typically consider himself the most neighborly. Sure he'd wave when in passing, or occasionally comment on his neighbors’ yard, but that was it.

It wasn't like him to walk across his lawn to offer help or introduce himself.

That was until he saw you, pout resting on your pretty lips as you struggled to open your door with the large box in your hands.

Maybe it was that he hit multiple aces while golfing or maybe it was your ass peeking from your shorts. Whatever it was it prompted him to approach you, offering to help you inside.

Any other time you'd have declined, aware of the horror stories of seemingly kind men but something told you to trust him. Maybe it was the prominent muscles along his six foot frame, or that he was old enough to be your dad. Whatever it was you accepted.

He helped you bring all of your boxes and furniture in. Happily rearranging your room for the third time and even helping you fix the wobbly leg of your coffee table before wishing you a good night and returning to his house.

That night he jerked off to the memories of you bent over and the small sounds you made when lifting a heavy box.

You talked with him once after that. When you finally settled into the house that was too large for one girl, you went knocking on his door to bring him thank you brownies, praying he didn't notice your eyes lingering on the prominent v-line of his bare torso before you finally handed him the dish.

Of course, there were the occasional waves whenever you two happened to pass by each other but your schedules rarely mixed. That was until he decided to take a day off.

While in the middle of mowing his lawn, he saw you leave your house, gown in hand, and dripped in colorful cords and stoles, your decorated graduation cap sparkling in the sun as you rushed to your car.

He thought about you the entire time you were gone, busying himself with housework, and keeping a close ear by the door. When he caught the sound of your car pulling in your driveway he immediately jogged his way over to you, stopping in the same place he first introduced himself.

“Hi, I just wanted to come over and congratulate you. I saw you this morning but you seemed to be in a rush” He smirked, hazel eyes skimming your bare legs that appeared elongated in the heels you wore.

“Aww thank you, I was, but I'd have loved to talk to you anyway” A nervous giggle escaped you. Despite the low interaction, you couldn't help but grow a small crush on your older neighbor. The sight of him in his suit or tight golf shorts being the star in all of your late night fantasies.

“Would you like to come over to have dinner? Today, or sometime this week? I'm sure you have some plans later but if not, I'd love to have you over.” He rubbed his beard nervously as he awaited your reply.

You did. But you were convinced your friends and family would understand that you just had to take up the opportunity to get to know your hot neighbor.

At least that's what you told yourself when you accepted his invitation.

And let him teach you how to cook a steak.

And maybe when you allowed him to pull you down onto his lap as you watched the sunset.

And definitely when he carried you up his stairs before fucking you senseless.

You lost count of how many orgasms you've had. The moment he laid you on his bed, his lips were wrapped around your clit, sucking the life out of you numerous times, and fingering your pink walls till tears stained your cheeks and you shook from overstimulation.

You thought you'd be safe once he bullied his fat cock into your aching walls. Surely a man of his age didn't have the best stamina, right? Wrong.

He quite literally laughed in your face at your disbelief when he fucked his first load back into your sopping pussy.

You'd never been so full, his tip ramming against your cervix whenever he fully pounded into you and the outline of his dick as he pressed down on your tummy having you drool.

“Rei, too much” You cried. Ass in the air and face buried into the mattress as he pounded into you from behind, hands tied back with your lacey panties. Whines barely audible over the slapping skin.

“Why are you complaining, bunny? Isn't this what you wanted? For daddy to ruin this pretty pussy” He whispered in your ear. The new angle reaching spots you never knew existed.

“Ouuu, yes, please, daddy” You whined, turning to give your signature pout. Oh, how you looked so pretty to him. Face stained with tears and your pouty, plumped, glossy lips looking so soft. He found it cute how you tried to convince him to let you cum.

“No” He pecked your lips before pulling out fully, only to ram his cock back in. A harsh slap landed on your ass cheek at the same time, red bruise forming on the brown skin from his previous spanks.

“Oh my gaaawd please, I can't hold it in anymore” You resisted against the restraints, desperate to slow his movements

“Yes, you can, princess.” He taunts, as he continued his relentless pounding.

You wanted to believe him. You really did as you tried to focus on anything other than the pleasure he was providing you. You tried and tried but nothing stopped the knot from snapping. A string of curses flowing from your pretty lips as your body found the strength to push out the clear stream of squirt, your walls clamping around his cock.

He hissed, unable to resist the pressure applied as his sticky cum decorated the insides of your walls, pounding into you before pulling out to watch it drip onto his sheets.

Confusion settled into your brain as he untied your hands and flipped you over, whispering praises into your ear as he blessed your skin with soft sweet kisses.

“Reiner, I'm sorry I really tried” You started

“I know, baby. I forgive you, it's okay. You did perfect” He engulfed you in a passionate kiss, tongues exploring the path down each others throats.

You were almost convinced he did, until he reached into his nightstand, pulling out a blindfold and a vibrator from the drawer.

“I thought you said you forgive me” Pout once again resting on your lips as he opened your legs, cool air stimulating your already throbbing clit

“I do. But even the prettiest of girls don't get out of punishment”

wheres my dilf neighbor??? also congratulations to anyone who graduated. nothing but love to my fellow class of 24 graduates. even if you didn't get to graduate or you're currently still in school I'm still proud of you nd wish you nothing but success in life. mwah <3

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 1486 words

You promised the girls just one blind date—nothing more, nothing less. At the time, it seemed like a harmless favor. But now, sitting across from your date in a dimly lit restaurant, the air thick with the aroma of their signature dish, the indistinguishable chatter of nearby diners, and the clatter of dinnerware, you’re starting to question that decision.

Connor shrugs, slicing into his steak with casual ease. “I didn’t do too much today. Babysat my nephew since my brother begged me,” he says, his tone indifferent. “But honestly, I hate babysitting his kid.”

“You don’t like kids?” You ask, doing your best to keep your voice neutral. You gingerly push your fork through another piece of pasta, trying to maintain an air of indifference.

He looks up at you, his dark curls nearly black and bouncing with the movement. “Hate ’em,” he says without hesitation.

You can’t help but notice how much he resembles an off-brand version of James, and it frustrates you. His familiar features keep pulling your thoughts back to your best friend instead of your date. At least, that’s the excuse you’ve been clinging to for the past hour.

“Oh.” You say softly, placing the food on your tongue and chewing slowly as you stare down at your plate.

“Do you have a kid or something?” You look up, a pause in your chewing as you find Conner holding his glass and watching you closely like he’s hoping you’ll say no.

Your first instinct is to say yes, and you nearly cringe when you realize your mistake.

You finish chewing and swallow hard. “Uh, no,” you say, shaking your head as you reach for your wine to wash down your feelings. “But my best friend does. Single parent.” You’re not sure why you felt the need to add that last part.

Connor leans back in his chair, nodding slowly. “Well, good for her,” he says. He isn’t sure why you’re telling him this, and frankly, he doesn’t care.

You sit up straighter. “Him,” you correct. Connor raises an eyebrow and not much later, he calls for the check.

James is surprised when he sees your call. He knows you’re supposed to be on a date—Lily mentioned it—and he’s been stress-cleaning his house ever since. Halfway through he gave up and turned a movie on instead.

“Darling?” He answers, “Is everything alright?”

“It could be better,” you say with a laugh that falls short of genuine humor. “I’m not too far from your place. Could I come over? I’m just at the Windmere.”

“Yeah. Let me—” There’s shuffling on the line as James grabs his jacket. “—I’ll meet you.”

You huff, “No. You’ve got Henry asleep upstairs.”

“It’s five minutes.” James protests, heading to the kitchen to grab the baby monitor off the counter.

“Exactly, Jamie. I’ll be there soon. I love you.” You hang up before he can respond, leaving him thoroughly disappointed. He appreciates every chance to tell you he loves you, even if it's just as friends.

It takes you less than five minutes to get to his house, and James flings open the door before you can even knock, making you giggle.

“You worry so much about me, Potter.” You say with a teasing smile as you push past him and kick off your heels, the click of the shoes hitting the floor echoing in the entryway.

James stands by the door, his gaze following you with a mixture of concern and affection. “Of course I do. How could I not?” He replies, his voice earnest and warm.

You shrug off your jacket, and James’s gaze quickly settles on your tight black dress. The silky fabric clings to your figure and moves fluidly as you shift. James feels like he’s going to pass out from the sight—you look incredible, and he’s painfully aware that you’ve dressed up for another man.

He swallows hard, attempting to keep his voice steady. “So, how was the date?” He finally asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you might say next.

You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, the slight embarrassment making you smile softly. “What gave it away—the dress or the girls?” you ask, your fingers lightly brushing the fabric of your dress as if to acknowledge it.

“The girls,” he admits, a small chuckle escaping him as he glances over at the baby monitor to check on his son. “But the dress would’ve been a dead giveaway if they hadn’t.”

You laugh, the sound light and teasing as you catch his gaze. “They're awful at keeping secrets, aren’t they?”

“Was your date supposed to be a secret from me?” He asks, making his way to the couch with a curious look. The cushions sink slightly as he sits down, and you follow suit, settling in beside him.

“No, it wasn’t,” you say, surprised, turning to face James with wide, sincere eyes. “But I wasn’t exactly excited about it, either.”

He leans back, eyebrows furrowed, “Why not?”

You take a deep breath, your fingers nervously tracing the hem of your skirt. “ I don’t know,” you admit, voice softening as you look away. “I’ve never been on a blind date before, so I didn’t want to get my hopes up. And I guess... I’m glad I didn’t, in the end.”

James watches you closely, his eyes filled with curiosity. He’s trying not to appear too eager to learn about this date of yours. “Why’s that? Didn’t go well?”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you quickly blink them away, hoping James doesn’t notice. But he does. “I just... I don’t know how to find someone,” you admit, your voice shaking slightly. “And it’s so discouraging that my friends set me up with a guy who’s completely wrong for me—well, except for his looks.”

James opens his mouth to ask what the guy looked like but holds back, sensing that this isn’t the moment.

“What does that say about my dating life?” You continue, a tear slipping down your cheek. “If my best friends don’t even know what I like in a guy?” You sniffle, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over your lips as you stare down at Henry’s toys scattered across the floor.. “I think I need to put myself out there more. Go on as many dates as possible. I need to meet someone.”

James feels like he’s going to be sick. He’s floundering for a way to tell you that, no, you absolutely shouldn’t. But how can he say that?

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “Is there a rush? To find someone, I mean.”

You shrug, your gaze still fixed on the floor. “I know we’re both young, but I feel like if I don’t find someone now, it’ll only get harder down the line.”

“Oh.” He responds softly, the weight of your words hanging in the air.

A heavy silence settles between you, both lost in your thoughts, until you break it with a shaky voice. “Is there something wrong with me?”

James snaps his head up, startled. “What? No! Why would you even think that?” He asks, incredulous, his tone laced with concern.

“I’ve been asked out three times in my life,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “And two of those were back in school. Is there something wrong with me?” Finally, you turn to look at him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears clinging to your lashes.

“Darling, no,” James insists, his voice filled with genuine concern as he scoots closer to you on the couch. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “You’re perfect.”

You sniffle, managing a small, sad smile. “Don’t lie to me, Jamie,” you say, trying to keep it light, but he can hear the trace of hurt beneath your words.

“I would never,” he murmurs, placing a tender kiss on your head as you settle back into his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothes you. “You're everything anyone could ever want—an absolute dream girl.”

“Stop it.” You whisper half-heartedly, though a part of you wants to believe him.

“I'm serious,” he insists, his voice firm yet gentle. “Whoever you end up with will be incredibly lucky.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, the room filled only with the soft sounds of your breathing.

“I’ll help you look for dates, if you want.” He offers suddenly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. Regret washes over him immediately; he wishes he could take them back. The mere thought of you on a date with another guy twists his stomach into knots, but actually helping you choose someone else? Brutal.

You tilt your head to press a kiss gently to his jaw. Your voice is a soft whisper, filled with gratitude, “Thank you, Jamie.”

He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this.

[em-ontv]

Eyes on you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x lover!fem!reader

Summary: To get information for a case, you had to speak to a witness at a bar. However, the guy was way too interested in you for Dean's liking, and Dean could only watch.

Warnings: established relationship, bits of alcohol mentioned, the guy is sort of a creep, Dean getting jealous, neck kisses at the end. English isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, this was kind of rushed, sorry!

Word count: 974

It had been two hours. Two long, agonizing hours in this small town bar, and Dean was starting to believe that he was going to lose his mind.

It was just another case, but he wasn't sure if he was going to make it out alive. Not because of demons or ghouls—no, he was losing his sanity because he had to watch some cocky idiot openly flirt with you while you played your role.

You were leaning against a table, your fake smile wide and charming, while this guy—Rick or Ron, something with an 'R', some mechanic—was eyeing you up like he just hit the jackpot.

To be fair, you were stunning, and Dean knew that. Knew it too well, actually. But did this guy really have to act like that? Flirty smirk, voice dripping with innuendo, staring at you like you were the best thing to ever happen to his sorry existence. Practically undressing you with his eyes like he couldn't wait to get his grubby little hands on you.

And Dean, standing a few feet away, could only watch the whole thing unfold with an expression of absolute suffering.

He had to play it cool. Had to let you do your thing, ask the guy questions, get the information you both needed for the case.

But oh, the way Rick-whatever-his-name-was leaned in closer to you, that smirk on his face? Dean's hand twitched, his jaw clenched, and every fiber of his being was telling him to just walk over there, throw his arm around your waist, and glare the dude into oblivion if he was lucky. If he wasn't? Maybe he'll throw a left-hook... maybe two.

But no, he couldn't. Because professionalism.

His fingers drummed against the side of his glass, the cheap alcohol did nothing to cool him down. You were across the room, laughing at something Rick said—which was definitely not funny.

Dean took a deep breath, jaw tightening. His eyes narrowed as he watched 'Rick' give you a grin that was just a little too wide. His hand brushed against your arm. And Dean saw red. If he had to listen to one more word of this idiot’s weak attempts to flirt, he was going to lose it.

Because yeah, sure, you were undercover. Yeah, you had to pretend that you were nothing more than a waitress while Dean had to pretend like he was just some dude passing through. But come on. This guy? This guy with his greasy hair and his cheap cologne? The way he was looking at you like you were a steak fresh off the grill and he was starving?

Dean’s hands clenched around the glass, knuckles going white. He watched as Rick leaned in closer, his voice dropping into what was clearly his best attempt at a suave tone. Dean could almost hear it from where he was sitting.

"You know," Rick drawled. "You’re way too pretty to be just a bartender. Bet you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, though." He winked. He winked.

Dean’s head dropped back, and he mentally started banging it against the nearest wall. He could feel the frustration bubbling up inside him, fighting to escape in a snarky comment underneath his breath…

He risked another glance at you. You caught his eyes from across the bar and gave him the tiniest smirk.

Oh, you were enjoying this.

His patience hung by a thread as Rick leaned even closer—his gaze drifting over you like you were his to admire.

To Dean, this was torture. Pure torture.

Finally—finally—you wrapped up the conversation, you leaned back, giving the guy a polite smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "Thanks for the info," you said smoothly. "But I think I've got everything I need."

You turned and walked off, leaving Rick blinking, still stuck in whatever daydream he was having about you and eventually losing sight of you in the crowds of people passing by.

Dean exhaled hard through his nose as you slid into the booth across from him. You didn’t say anything at first, just sipped your drink, clearly enjoying the way his eyes were practically burning holes in the wall.

"You okay there, sweetheart?" you asked, pretending to be oblivious.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "Me? Oh yeah. I’m just peachy. That guy? Total professional. Definitely didn’t want to strangle him with his own shoelaces."

You raised an eyebrow, fighting back a grin. "Come on, you know we needed the information."

"Yeah, well, next time, maybe I’ll be the one doing the questioning," he grumbled, shooting another glare in the guy's direction. "So you can just stay put."

You just smirked, leaning across the table. "Dean Winchester, are you jealous?"

Dean’s eyes narrowed at you. "Jealous—? No. I just didn’t like the guy’s face. Or his voice. Or the way he was staring at you."

You leaned back, your smile turning softer. "Don’t worry," you said, your voice dropping just a little. "You’re the only one I’m thinking about."

Dean’s frustration melted away in an instant. His lips twitched up into a smile as he let out a breath, his body finally relaxing. "Damn right," he muttered, leaning back in the booth, his usual confidence sliding back into place. "Still, if he so much as look at you again—"

"I know," you rolled your eyes, smiling as you took another sip of your drink. "You’ll wrap yourself around me like a jealous octopus."

"You know me too well."

"Someone has to."

And when the two of you got back to the motel, Dean practically threw himself at you, arms around your waist as buried his face into your neck, kissing every inch of your skin like a starved man, smiling like a fool when you ran your fingers through his hair, earning a hum of content from him.

[puck-luck]

have your cake | quinn hughes

warnings: overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, coming on reader's body, subspace (not directly called that but gf is DEEP in SOME headspace) pairing: birthday boy!quinn hughes x fem!reader summary: it's quinn's 25th birthday, so fem!reader gives him the chance to do his favorite thing in bed for as long as he would like. wc: 2992

“Thank you for dinner, sweetheart,” Quinn says, bringing his napkin to his face and wiping his mouth. “And thanks for not making my birthday such a big deal.”

He had asked for such, so you were just trying to follow his wishes. The Canucks hadn’t had a game today, so Quinn had gone to practice like normal. He had grabbed a drink with Petey, Garly, and J.T. afterward as a special treat for his birthday. You know that Tocchet had asked catering to make Quinn a singular birthday cupcake, since he isn’t the biggest fan of sweets during the season.

With you, though, he just wanted to spend his time. You made him a steak, his favorite. On the side, you baked a potato and heaped a healthy pile of green beans onto his plate. For fun, you made some cheesy garlic bread, and although he doesn’t normally eat gluten during the season, he’s never been able to deny your fluttering eyelashes and doe eyes. 

He cleared his plate. He always does, but you feel especially proud of your cooking today.

“You’re welcome,” you respond. “I’m glad you liked it. Has your birthday been good?”

Quinn nods. “It was a good day. Very calm. It’s still weird without Jack and Luke, but I talked to them earlier. They called me before practice, right after they got out of the gym.” He pauses, reaching out with his palm up so you take his hand. “This dinner is the cherry on top.”

“You haven’t even had dessert yet,” you tell him. “Since it’s your birthday, you get to have your cake and eat it, too.” You’d been thinking about the pun for hours. It might not make the most sense, given the dessert that you’re going to offer him in just a few minutes, but you think you’re funny. You’re on the last few bites of your own dinner, so you want to clear your plate and load the dishwasher before you offer him anything.

“Baby, I don’t need anything sweet,” Quinn says. “I already had something today.”

You take the final bite of potatoes, then swallow. You stand, collecting his plate and stacking it atop your own. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“What is it?” Quinn asks.

“A surprise,” you tease, winking at him as you rinse the debris off of the plates with hot water. Then, you load the dishwasher and wash your hands, drying them with the towel that hangs near the sink.

“You’re such a tease,” Quinn laughs, pretending to chide you for withholding. He stands from the table and washes his own hands, but as soon as he’s done, he takes the opportunity to get handsy with you. He dries his hands on your clothes, leaving wet handprints over your ass and waist, plus one over one of your tits for good measure.

You twist away from him like you hate the antics, but it’s just the precursor to his dessert, which he doesn’t know yet. Sure, he’s probably hoping to get laid tonight– and it is his birthday, after all– but you had other plans.

Quinn rarely gets to do his favorite thing in bed. Part of that is because you’re both busy and when you fuck, you want to fuck. You like getting to the point where Quinn’s ample cock is buried inside you, filling you with his come, all while he murmurs little nothings about “you’re mine,” “gonna put a baby in you,” or the like. 

His favorite thing is to lay between your legs and eat you out until your thighs are squeezing his head and covering his ears and suffocating him. Like you said– you’re normally greedy for his cock, even impatient (which is how he often describes your attitude in bed), but today is Quinn’s birthday.

So, if he wants to, and he will want to, he’ll eat your pussy for dessert. He’ll eat you out until he’s had his fill, no matter how many orgasms it takes. You already set two full bottles of water on the bedside table in your shared room, plus you bought some fruit at the store so that you can recharge when he’s done with you. You’re expecting overstimulation, a fuzzy brain, and maybe even tears as a result of the pleasure.

You’re prepared for anything, because you’re at the mercy of the birthday boy today.

“Go to our room,” you tell Quinn. “I’m going to bring you dessert in bed, okay? I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just let me get everything ready.”

“Good idea,” Quinn says. “Then we won’t have to leave bed afterward.”

You playfully roll your eyes at him and shoo him away, but he’s absolutely correct. That’s the whole point.

Quinn goes, blowing you a kiss just before he walks out of sight because he can’t help himself from being silly when you share a domestic evening together. 

Once he’s gone, you pretend to prepare a dish. You open and close the fridge a couple of times, you click the lighter like you’re lighting candles, you remove plates and cups from the cupboard so that he hears the clatter and suspects nothing. As you move around the kitchen, shuffling along inconspicuously, you remove your clothes. 

Underneath your normal leggings, t-shirt, and one of Quinn’s Canucks sweatshirts lies your favorite part of the outfit. You’d been planning to do this since the end of September, so you’d had plenty of time to go to Victoria’s Secret and buy yourself a black, lace crotchless teddy. Quinn will get to look up at you in the (not-so cheap) fabric and admire how it fits you without sacrificing his ability to eat you out. There’s no barrier between your cunt and his tongue, despite the fact that you’ll still be clothed.

You have planned everything out to the final detail, to the final possibility, and you might be just as eager as Quinn will be when he sees you.

So that you’ll have something to snack on when he’s done, you actually wash the fruit you bought earlier and put it in a bowl. Holding the bowl in one hand, you politely knock on the bedroom door before entering.

Quinn is already in the process of removing his shirt and getting ready for bed. When you walk in, he turns to meet you. When he sees what you’re wearing, he freezes and his lips part in surprise.

In a second, you watch his expression melt into his typical “my brain has turned off and now the only thing that I can think about is getting my girlfriend in bed” look. 

“Happy birthday, baby,” you say, biting your lip as you take in his reaction. You put a hand on your hip and pop it to the side, showing off your outfit. 

“Are you my present?” He asks, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“I’m your dessert,” you correct.

“Even better,” Quinn decides, crossing the room and getting his hands on you. 

“Wait,” You tell him.

Quinn pouts, but drops his hands to his sides. 

You give him a little twirl, revealing the way that your behind is only partially covered by the lace of the lingerie. You move slowly, giving him plenty of time to stare at all of the parts of your body, thoroughly taking you in. 

He gives you a low whistle as you turn. You touch his jaw when you’re done, then you turn to the bed. You actually crawl from the foot of the bed, giving him a show.

When you collapse against the pillows, making yourself comfortable. Quinn stares at you, walking to the bed and touching your ankle. He draws a star on your skin, surveying the view.

“What can I– what do you want me to do?” Quinn asks, eyes still raking your figure.

“Whatever you want,” you reply. “It’s your birthday.”

“Whatever I want?” Quinn repeats.

You hum in affirmation. “Your fingers, your cock,” you list. You raise your eyebrows, bringing one of your legs up into a bent position. His eyes are drawn to your core. “Your mouth.”

Quinn’s attention snaps to your face.

“Whatever you want,” you confirm again. “For however long you want. All night, even. Birthday boy.”

“I love you,” Quinn says, climbing up onto the bed and settling between your legs. “You’re perfect.”

“I expect the same kind of treatment on my birthday,” you banter back, moving with his touch. He nudges your knee, so you spread your legs for him.

Quinn doesn’t reply, running his fingers over the fabric that lies on either side of your pussy. He pushes his thumb against your clit, applying pressure but not giving pleasure, not yet.

You take it as a sign that you’re in for a long night. So, you shift and make yourself more comfortable. You look down, watching Quinn.

He’s gentle to start. He presses sweet kiss after sweet kiss to your folds, to your clit which is still hidden. He takes his time.

You’re not sure which is true: if you’re wet of your own accord, or if Quinn’s gentle licks and smeared kisses make you that way.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. You’re wet and Quinn’s getting to do what he loves. You’re comfortable, he’s making satisfied noises as he grows more eager, and everything feels good.

You touch his hair, smoothing it off of his forehead. You tilt your head, admiring him with slow blinks and a serene smile on your face. 

Quinn has a one-track mind at the moment. Until he’s drawn an orgasm out of you, he won’t look up and check in. 

His tongue teases you, traipsing along your slit and circling your clit leisurely. He’ll run his bottom lip over the skin, letting it drag along your core and create unexpectedly satisfying friction. He’ll nose at your clit, bumping his features along your most sensitive points, just because he can. Quinn’s eyes are closed, fully immersing himself in the moment.

He works his tongue into you over time, at first teasing you with flicks and short dips, but it doesn’t take long for him to grow greedy for more– greedy for your release all over the muscle. It’s then that he licks into you as best he can, using his thumb to stimulate your bundle of nerves. He repeats the same motion over and over– prodding his tongue into you, drawing it out… again and again, all the while he’s pressing against your clit.

Your first orgasm builds slowly. Slow and steady wins the race, they always say, and Quinn is drawing the orgasm out of you like the tortoise in this race. You’re starting to feel a bit jumpy, like the rabbit, your hips aching to move beneath him and grind against his face.

But, this is his birthday present. You restrain yourself because it’s his gift. He gets to set the pace. If Quinn wants to make this the most built-up, desperate orgasm of your life, he’s allowed to do so.

It takes minutes. Minutes of Quinn humming and licking and touching you with the pad of his thumb until you feel yourself start to crest over the wave of your climax. 

“Close,” you breathe out.

Quinn pays you no mind, just continuing his ministrations until you’re clenching down on his tongue with a whimper. Your hand clutches his hair, trying not to seize up beneath him as you come, riding out the waves with his tongue still poking around inside of you.

He moves more slowly as you come down from your first, withdrawing his tongue from your cunt and licking over the slick that accumulated after your orgasm. 

“Again,” Quinn murmurs. He doesn’t allow you to take a breath before he finds your clit with his tongue and latches on. 

He seems committed to making your subsequent releases quick. His mouth feels like the tube of a vacuum against your clit, unrelenting and merciless. He’s sucking, and sucking, and sucking. 

Quinn is starting to get sloppy. He’s got slick all over his lips, all over his chin. He stares up at you now, nothing behind his hooded eyes. He’s just taking you in, looking at you from his favorite angle. 

His hands are resting on the insides of your thighs, laying securely to keep your legs spread for him. His pupils are dilated, massive and dark. His jaw works– you can see the bones in his face shifting as he tastes you. His face is scruffy as he nuzzles against you.

It isn’t long until you come again, just as strong as the first one. This climax seems to hit you harder, just because it came more quickly.

“Another,” he says into your skin, shifting one of his hands to push a finger into your heat. He doesn’t move his mouth from your clit, only intensifying his suction. 

“Fuck,” you reply, halfway between a moan and a cry for… something. A break? For more?

You’re not sure. Things are starting to blur together and turn fuzzy. You’ve come twice without a moment of reprise, because that’s what Quinn wants. You’ll give him as many as he desires, until you physically cannot give any more.

You close your eyes and lose track of time, seeing stars the next time Quinn makes you come. He’s worked up to a second finger now, scissoring them and removing his tongue from your clit to shove it between his fingers. All three are inside of you, bringing you over the crest again.

Then, a third finger and his tongue on your nipple. 

Then, again, with his tongue on your other nipple. 

Another with his mouth pressing insistent kiss after insistent kiss to your cheeks, lips, and neck. 

Your vision is black, then reeling with colors like that scene in Ratatouille when Remy mixes all of those different flavors, then like television static on an old TV. 

“One more,” Quinn’s voice comes out of the darkness.

You whine, high in the back of your throat. 

“I know, sweetheart,” Quinn murmurs. He’s touching your face, wiping underneath your eyes. “I know. You’re doing so well. You’re being so good for me. I love you so much– give me one more on my cock, okay? Then we’ll be done.”

“Quinn,” you keen, opening your eyes and finding it hard to look at him through the wetness there. You hadn’t realized that the overstimulation had gotten to you so much– but that’s what multiple orgasms will do to you. That’s how you react when your body is experiencing so much pleasure that it’s painful.

“That’s right, baby, I’m right here,” Quinn assures you. You can feel his cock nudging against your entrance, which feels like it’s gaping. You’re certain that your clit is swollen from the stimulation, the excessive stimulation. He sinks into you, inch by inch, cooing quietly to keep you grounded. “You’re so close already, I can feel it in the way you’re squeezing me. It’ll be quick, baby, I promise.”

He continues to talk while he fucks you, telling you how good you’ve been. He tells you how sexy you are, how perfect. He tells you how hard he’s been since you walked into the bedroom in your dirty, pretty lingerie and how he honestly thought he was going to come in his pants when you clenched down on his fingers for the third time and a weak dribble of your cum had dripped down his wrist. 

You’re far gone. Sure, you’re there– you can feel him inside, pumping into you and throbbing against your walls. You can feel the way Quinn’s lips move over your own when he kisses you and when he speaks, feeding the words directly into your mouth. His fingers are toying with your puffy clit, and you’re sure it feels nice, but all you can feel is heat and friction.

“Quinn,” you say again.

“Let go,” he instructs under his breath. “Let go for me. Come around my cock, baby.”

You nod, agreeing to a seemingly-impossible task. 

Quinn is always able to make the impossible happen. Your final climax manifests in shaking legs and bolts of lightning in your stomach, churning and folding in on itself. Your eyes are squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners, which Quinn kisses away.

He doesn’t come inside you. After you reach your final peak, he pulls out. He jerks himself above you, continuing to kiss your face and praise you for being so good to him. He comes all over your stomach and you’re glad– if he had come inside you, or somewhere equally as sensitive like your tits, it would be far too much when the time came to clean you up. With his cum on your stomach, he’s able to wipe you down without causing you any discomfort.

When it’s all over, he helps you sit up and drink your water. He kisses your temples and your forehead, your cheeks and your jawline. He surrounds you with one of his big t-shirts, like a massive hug, and he pulls you onto his lap so that you can collapse into the crook of his neck. Quinn rubs your back and convinces you to eat some of the berries you brought into the room earlier.

You’re tired when you’re able to verbalize a full sentence again. You’re exhausted, really. Quinn pushed you to your absolute limit, although you’re not dissatisfied with the way things went. You sought a night where he could do whatever he wanted, which he did, and now you want to sleep.

“Happy birthday,” you muster.

Quinn breathes out a chuckle, cradling your jawline as you stain his neck with a splotchy kiss. “Thank you again for being so perfect,” he says. “You made my birthday so special, baby. Let’s sleep, okay? I’ll cuddle you all night long.”

Within minutes, you’re drifting off to the lullaby of his breath.

[ryebread0605]

May I request a fic for Leona, please?

Reader (assumably Yuu) has a lot of cat-like behaviors that are really pretty unconscious. Things like scruffing Grim with their lips when he's being rowdy during class, grumbles that sound a lot like growling, other vocalizations, headbutting (nuzzling) & nibbling at people they're really close to, etc.

Some Beastmen find it kinda odd for a human to do?? But Leona kind of finds it endearing, especially when Reader gets closer to him & exhibits familiar behaviors from home without realizing they're lowkey courting him (and he's accepting the sweet behavior).

For the spice aspect?

Leona wants to see just how much like a cat they really are— including how they scratch at his back & growl in frustration while being edged. They may be a big cat, but he's the King of Savannaclaw. And while they're not a Beast, something tells him they'd make a good spouse who'd adjust quickly if he were to return to the Sunset Savanna.

- 🐈‍⬛ anon

I’ll do my best cat anon!! 

If you couldn’t tell, I absolutely ADORE Leona so this was a fun write!!!  (I made sure to add a cut where the smut begins!)

When he first met you, he didn’t think anything of you. Afterall, you were just another one of his classmates that he only saw the rare times he went to class. However, all that changed when he saw you interact with Grim in the greenhouse one day. 

The cat direbeast had been extra annoying that day, and although you loved him to bits, Sevens you were close to punting him. And so, to get him to stop running off and destroying stuff, you simply picked him up by his scruff with your mouth. To your surprise, and Leona’s, Grim immediately stopped misbehaving and just pouted in your grasp. 

From that day, you had gained Leona’s interest, and he noticed more little things about you that reminded him of cat beastmen like himself and Chen’ya. From bumping your head against people to show affection, gifting bones to people as a sign of friendship, and simply letting out a low warning growl at Grim whenever he misbehaved, he became convinced you were at least *part* beastman.

But no, no matter how many times he tried to find any other conclusion, you weren’t a beastman at all. However, him being interested in your behavior inadvertently got your attention on him as well. You felt yourself entranced by the way his ears would flick in irritation when chastised by Vil or how he still worked hard to maintain his unruly hair despite claiming he didn’t care how he looked.

Soon enough, he found random gifts being left at the door of his dorm room. It started small with some sticks, which he threw away thinking nothing of it. Then it progressed to small animal teeth before growing to full animal skeletons. After months, he finally caught you in the act as you left a fresh, high quality steak at his doorstep. He stared at you, arms crossed and eyebrow raised as his tail swayed in slight curiosity.

“Herbivore, what’re you doing here?” His voice was gruff, having clearly just woken from a nap judging by his mess of a mane. And yet, when things clicked in his mind, it was only a split second longer until you were tugged into his room with the door shutting behind you. 

Digging your nails into the sheets, you growled out moans as the lion prince rutted into you continuously. Your neck was covered in bite marks, showing everyone who had claimed you. Your back had cum on it from him, and yet despite him cumming twice he had refused to let you cum at all. Letting out another threatening growl as he pulled out just before you climaxed, he quickly gripped the back of your neck between his teeth just as you had done to Grim all those months ago to gain his attention. Afterall, you may act like a cute kitty but he had to remind you who truly was the one in charge here

[ceilidho]

john price as a pastor-like figure in a cult that you happened to stumble upon after getting lost during a hike with a group that inadvertently left you behind. he's so cordial and welcoming when he invites you to stay the night, even allowing you take some supplies when you head out the next morning. but over dinner that night, he goes on a long tangent about the community and their beliefs while you just smile and nod along politely, and somewhere in between pouring you a glass of wine and cutting into his steak, he mentions how, after years of servitude and devotion, his god has finally blessed him with a mate. and when you shakily ask him if you'll get to thank her for her hospitality before you leave tomorrow, he just smiles and takes a bite of his steak.

[theostrophywife]

stop the world i wanna get off with you.

pairing: theodore nott x reader. song inspiration: stop the world i wanna get off with you by arctic monkeys. author’s note: the theo brain rot is so real for me besties. i kid you not i listened to the song on repeat while writing this because my mans is arctic monkeys coded. plus, it was only a matter of time before we saw some smutty action from my favorite slutherin 😏 part one: baby won't you be my girl?

You were not a morning person. 

Theo knew that. Hell, everyone in Slytherin knew that. Waking you up before noon on the weekend was a one way ticket to a world of pain. For some reason, your boyfriend was determined to make the top of your hit list this morning. 

You groaned as Theo shifted beneath you, rousing you from sleep. He stroked your hair gently and pressed a kiss on your temple. “I have to go to practice, amorina.” 

Sunlight streamed in through the skylight above Theo’s dorm, reflecting the rippling waves of the Black Lake across your boyfriend’s goose down comforter. You buried your head in the crook of his neck. 

“Five more minutes,” you mumbled against his throat, relishing in his warmth. “Please, Teddy.”

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. “You said that five minutes ago, sweetheart. Do you want your sweet and sexy boyfriend to be maimed by his captain?”

“If Malfoy so much as touches a hair on your head, I’ll turn him into a ferret again and set him loose in the Forbidden Forest.” You snuggled closer and twined your legs together. “Let’s see how threatening he can be against Aragog.”

“Sometimes you genuinely scare me, Y/N.” He wrapped his arms around your waist. “But apparently, fear is a very effective aphrodisiac for me. I’m learning a lot of new things about myself.”

“I can threaten you some more if you want,” you murmured sleepily. “As long as you stay in bed with me, Teddy.”

Theo groaned as you kissed his neck. “You’re absolutely cruel, you know that?” He tilted your chin up, pressing his lips against yours. You sighed dreamily into the kiss, morning breath and all. 

Even though you’ve only been officially dating for three months, it felt like you and Theo had been together for a lifetime. You were already inseparable before, but after his confession at the quidditch game after party, you spent nearly every waking moment together. Hence waking up in his bed. 

Theo placed a final kiss on the tip of your nose. “Now I really have to go.” You sighed in defeat, pouting like a petulant child. Your boyfriend laughed. “I’ll see you in the stands, babe.”

“Fine,” you mumbled grumpily. 

You watched as Theo hastily threw on his quidditch uniform, admiring the view of his sunkissed skin and toned chest and abs. Thank Merlin for quidditch. 

The cheeky tosser winked before heading for the pitch. You turned over in bed, burying yourself in Theo’s scent as you drifted back to sleep. 

Several hours later, you finally managed to get dressed and dragged yourself to the Great Hall for a late lunch. When you got to your usual table, you found the boys and Pansy waiting for you. Draco and Mattheo were talking in hushed tones, no doubt discussing their strategy to destroy the Ravenclaws while Enzo scarfed down a plate of steak and eggs like his life depended on it. Pansy watched in disgust, wrinkling her nose at your friend. 

“For Salazar’s sake, Lorenzo. You’re going to choke to death and I refuse to resuscitate you.”

“Don’t worry, Enzo,” you said as you slid in next to him. “I’m sure we can find a volunteer to perform mouth to mouth on you.”

As if on cue, a gaggle of fourth years giggled at the end of the table. Enzo didn’t seem to notice. Beside him, Blaise met your eye and shook his head. The two of you often joked that Draco took all the arrogance in their family’s gene pool, leaving poor Enzo hopelessly oblivious. The fact that sweet Lorenzo was related to someone as arrogant as Malfoy never failed to completely baffle the mind. 

“Well don’t you look adorable, Y/N?” Draco drawled. “All decked out in your boyfriend’s jersey.”

You looked down at the emerald and silver jersey with the number 6 embroidered on the front, which was so big on you that the hem hit your knees. Matching streaks of your house colors adorned your cheeks and you had pulled your hair back with a pair of charmed serpent clips that writhed through your pigtails every so often.

“And up before mid afternoon, no less,” Mattheo commented. 

You frowned, flicking him off before reaching for a sandwich. “Speaking of my boyfriend. Where is the little rascal?”

“Last I checked he was still on the pitch,” Draco said as you stuffed a few chips into your mouth. “Practicing to show off in front of you, I imagine.”

“I’ve seen him play before.” 

Mattheo stole a chip from your plate. “Yes, but not as his girlfriend.”

You smacked his hand away and he gasped dramatically. Mattheo fetched something out of his robes and set it down in front of you. The small glass vial shimmered in the light. 

“Your boyfriend wanted me to give you this.” 

A motion sickness draught. Theo knew how queasy and nauseous you got during his quidditch games, so he’d concocted your own special cure for it. Hot and smart. Gods, you were lucky.

You flushed, pocketing the potion. “Thanks.”

“You idiots better win,” Pansy said. “Or else all my hard work for tonight’s after party will go to waste.”

Draco scoffed. “You mean our hard work?” He turned over to you, frowning. “Pans over here had us working harder than a house elf. I’ve got glitter in places glitter should never be.”

“Fitting for someone who thinks the sun shines out of his arse. Maybe it’ll finally teach you some humility, Malfoy.”

Mattheo draped an arm around your shoulder. “You know why our sweet little Pansy’s got her wand in a twist though, right?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “She finally plucked up the courage to invite a certain Ravenclaw to the after party.”

You squealed in delight. “Is that true, Pans? Did you finally ask Luna out?”

Pansy glared at you, practically hissing as she grabbed your elbow. “Say that a little louder, why don’t you? I don’t think they heard you across the room.” 

You snorted. Your best friend has always been a little tightly wound, but Pansy Parkinson with a crush was a whole different animagus. 

“Well, I, for one, am excited for this development in your love life,” you exclaimed, squeezing her shoulder. “It’s about time you did something about this little crush.”

“Says the witch who took twelve years to admit her feelings,” Pansy said with an affectionate eye roll. “Sorry love, but I’m not taking advice from you.”

“I’m choosing to attribute that to first date jitters and not a blatant insult against your best and most loyal friend.” You picked at your sandwich, waving a pickle in the air excitedly. “Don’t be nervous, Pans. She’s going to love you.” 

The encouragement was met with an elbow to your ribs. You paused mid-chew, ready to give Pansy a peace of your mind when a soft voice interrupted you. 

“Hi, guys,” greeted Luna Lovegood. She wore a striped blue and bronze sweater, representing the colors of her house. Strapped to her back was a set of feathered eagle wings that nearly dragged to the floor. “I love your snake clips, Y/N. It’s always great to see displays of house spirit. Beware of the nargles, though. They do love shiny things.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for them, Luna.” You said with a smile. “I’m looking forward to your commentary tonight. It’s going to be a heated match between our houses, but one thing’s for certain. The after party will be absolutely mental no matter who wins. Isn’t that right, Pans?” 

Pansy nodded, the action making her sleek bob graze her sharp cheekbones. You always thought that your friend possessed an austere sort of beauty, but everything about her seemed to soften as she turned her attention on Luna. 

“We can still count on you to make it tonight, right Lovegood?” There was a hint of playfulness in Pansy’s tone that you rarely heard her use. You couldn’t help but smirk. Pansy Parkinson fancied the absolute pants out of Luna Lovegood.

Luna smiled shyly, hiding beneath a strand of platinum blonde hair. “Thank you for the invitation, Pansy. I look forward to seeing everyone tonight.” 

“See you tonight, Luna.”

Luna gave your table a friendly wave before returning to her own fellow Ravenclaws. You waited until she was out of ear shot before bursting into a fit of giggles.

“See you tonight Luna,” you repeated, putting on your best impression of Pansy’s husky voice. “Pansy Parkinson’s totally going to snog Luna Lovegood tonight!” 

“Oh, shut up,” replied Pansy. She tried her best to look annoyed, but the small smile on her face made it rather unconvincing. 

After teasing your friend for at least another hour, the two of you finally headed down to the quidditch pitch. The boys left long ago, presumably to warm up before the big game. You followed Pansy into the stands, cringing slightly at how high up the seats were. 

Across the pitch, the feedback from Luna’s sonoroused voice rumbled through the crowd. “Welcome fellow students. Join me in kicking off this long awaited match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, the house of yours truly. As always, the goal is to provide live updates and unbiased commentary throughout the game, but I make no promises. Even a Corkendoodle wouldn’t be able to resist showing a little partiality. Now without further ado, let the games begin!”

The crowd roared as players from each side soared through the air at breakneck speed. You gripped the railing, thankful for Theo’s concoction as you squinted at the blur of players. As always, Madam Hooch kicked off the game by releasing a set of bludgers and the elusive golden snitch. With bated breath, you watched as she threw the quaffle into the air which marked the official start of the match. 

A familiar figure zoomed past you, emerald robes streaming behind him as he caught the quaffle and cradled it under his arm. Theo circled through the air, easily outmaneuvering the chasers from the opposing team. He flew straight for a blonde Ravenclaw, making the poor fifth year think that they were going to collide before he swerved at the last second and looped around the frightened player. 

“And that’s Nott of Slytherin with an excellent fake out,” Luna announced in her dreamy voice. “Oddly enough, this chaser is heading in the opposite direction of the goalposts. Another clever tactic, I presume.”

Theo brought his broom to a stop directly in front of you, hovering in mid-air while he cradled the quaffle underneath one arm. He immediately broke out into a grin when he saw you wearing his jersey. 

“In a turn of events, Nott visits the Slytherin stands for a little chat with his friends,” commented Luna. “Actually, that’s his lovely girlfriend Y/N. I did warn her about attracting the Nargles, but nevertheless those serpent clips are a work of art. Oh look, there’s Pansy Parkinson! I know she looks a bit intimidating at first, but she’s really quite nice.” 

Beside you, Pansy turned as red as a tomato. You stifled a giggle just as Theo pulled close, his watercolor eyes crinkling with amusement. 

“My jersey looks good on you, Y/N.” Theo drawled, taking the time to flirt despite the fact that he was currently in the middle of a game. He leaned in and whispered low so only you could hear, “But I bet it would look even better on my floor.”

“Win this match and you might get your wish, babe.”

A smirk curved against his lips. “You evil little temptress. I hope you know that I’m holding you to that,” he inched closer, his gaze dropping to your mouth. “Do I at least get a kiss from my good luck charm?”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something right now? Like, I don't know, playing the bloody quidditch game!”

He shrugged, winking at you in that cheeky way of his. “I’m perfectly capable of multitasking.” 

Just then, a bludger whizzed past the stands, but Theo was entirely unbothered as he flipped over on his broom to avoid the hit. Your boyfriend hung upside down, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. “Now about that kiss, dolcezza.”

“That’s quite a creative way to avoid a bludger,” Luna continued. “I once hung upside down in a tree in search of moon frogs and it wasn’t the most comfortable position, but not the most uncomfortable either. Oh! It looks like things are heating up for this lovely couple.”

“You’re an absolute menace, Theodore,” you said with an exasperated sigh before pulling him by the collar and kissing him. The logistics were complicated by the fact that he was currently airborne, but Theo smiled against your lips all the same. 

“A good luck kiss,” Luna said with delight. “Those two are absolutely adorable, aren’t they? Ah, young love.”

Satisfied, Theo flipped right side up and palmed the quaffle in his hand. “You hear that, babe? We’re absolutely adorable.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Yeah, yeah. Now go out there and kick some Ravenclaw arse!”

Thanks to Teddy’s potion, you actually managed to keep your eyes open for the entirety of the game. It was a heated match with both teams playing with equal ferocity, but the boys had the upper hand. They moved as one, predicting each other’s moves from years and years of practice. Even the newest additions, Violet and Tracey, seemed to fit seamlessly into the group. 

By the time you reached the tail end of the game, your throat felt raw from cheering and screaming. Pansy was in a worse state, hurling insults when one of the Ravenclaw beaters attempted to grab the tail end of Blaise’s broom. 

“That was obviously a bloody fucking foul!” Pansy screamed. 

“Some colorful words from the Slytherin stands,” Luna said with a little smile, making Pansy blush. “Madam Hooch seems to agree. Robinson has been fouled for blagging Zabini.”

You gripped the end of the railing as Theo zoomed past. The score was tied, but if he made this goal it would put Slytherin up by ten points, effectively winning not only the game but also the Quidditch Cup.

“You got this, babe,” you yelled. “No mercy, Teddy!”

Theo met your gaze and smirked. Vicious woman, he mouthed before careening straight for the goalpost. 

The Ravenclaw keeper looked panicked as Theo dodged the other players and reeled the quaffle back. The shot was perfect, whizzing past the post so fast that the keeper didn’t even have time to react. 

“Nott with the winning shot!” Luna announced cheerily. “That’s game, everyone. Congratulations to this year’s Quidditch Cup winner: Slytherin House!”

The cheers that erupted from your housemates followed you all the way to the common room. In true Pansy fashion, the large space had been meticulously decorated with banners and streamers. The music blared and the liquor flowed, marking the start of a night of mischief and revelry. 

While waiting for the boys to finish showering, you helped Pansy play hostess. You greeted friends from other houses, filling their cups with your signature concoction. A fruity drink that masked the taste of liquor so well that the drinker didn’t realize they were pissed until it was too late. 

“Congratulations on the win,” said a familiar voice. You turned around and saw Murdock raising his green cup in a toast. 

You smiled, clinking your plastic cup against his. “Thanks Christoph. Good to see you here,” you lowered your voice, darting your head around the corner. “So things are going well with Daphne?”

Christoph smiled shyly. “Yeah, thanks for introducing us by the way. We’re going on our first date to the Three Broomsticks tomorrow.” 

After his last disastrous attendance at a Slytherin party, you figured it was the least you could do for your Hufflepuff friend. “Don’t mention it, Christoph. What are friends for? Besides, it’s obvious that you two would be absolutely perfect together.” 

“Who’s absolutely perfect together?” A familiar voice drawled. You felt an arm wrap protectively around you. “Besides us, of course.” 

Even before you were dating, Theo had a tendency to be overprotective towards you. Most of the time he was pretty good at controlling it, but sometimes his jealousy got the best of him. It would’ve annoyed you if it wasn’t so damn attractive. 

“Hey babe,” you said with a little smile, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I was just telling Christoph here that he should offer Daphne a drink. They’d make a cute couple, don’t you think?”

Realization flooded Theo’s features, followed by a hint of embarrassment. “Definitely,” he said with a rueful smile. “Take it from me, mate. Don’t wait too long before chasing after the girl of your dreams.”

Christoph nodded, looking determined. “Thanks, mate.”

You handed your friend another cup and pointed him in Daphne’s direction. Beside you, Theo smiled sheepishly. His hair was slightly wet from the shower and he smelled like sea salt spray and smoke. The cozy knitted sweater he had thrown on brought out his watercolor eyes. 

“Nice save, babe.” 

“What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic,” Theo said, placing his hands on your waist. “You bring it out of me, cara mia.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “You know, I’d be mad if jealous Theo wasn’t so hot.” Theo grinned as you placed your arms around his neck. “But scoring that winning goal? That was downright sexy.”

Your boyfriend toyed with the hem of your shirt. “Oh yeah? Well, I had some motivation, thanks to our little bargain.” His hands slipped underneath your shirt, tracing teasing circles on your hips. “I delivered on my end. Now it’s time for you to pay up, love.” 

“Good things come to those who wait, Theo.” 

Theo pouted. “Fine, but only because I know you’re worth it.”

You pulled Theo in by the belt loop and kissed him, long and hard. He lifted you up and groaned as you tugged at his curls. Theo sighed into your mouth as you took control, showing him exactly how much you wanted him. You topped the kiss off by gently biting on his bottom lip. When you pulled away, Theo looked dazed. 

“Fuck,” he said in a low, dark voice. 

“A little preview,” you said with a smirk. “Just so you don’t think I’m completely heartless.”

“So my dorm or yours?”

You chuckled. “Theo, you haven’t even made your rounds. This party is to celebrate your win, you know.”

“Fuck the party,” he said dismissively. “You think I care about talking to all of these people after that? What do you want, love? Do you want me to beg? Get on my knees for you? I’ll do anything, princess.”

Salazar fucking save you. 

You would’ve taken Theo up on the offer, but this was his moment. He deserved to be celebrated. Besides, he’d be all yours by the end of the night. 

“As much as I love the visual,” you said, pecking him on the cheek. “I want you to celebrate with the team. You lot deserve it after working so hard all year.” You lowered your voice, whispering in his ear. “After that, we can go up to your dorm and I’ll give you your reward. Think you can do that, babe?”

“Yes ma’am,” Theo replied. “God you’re fucking sexy when you’re bossing me around.” 

You smirked. “Good boy.” 

Theo groaned before slipping his hand into yours. “Now come on, before I change my mind and claim my reward right here, right now.”

The two of you made rounds through the party, stopping here and there to talk to your respective friends. Most of the time, you were by Theo’s side watching in admiration as everyone congratulated him on the winning goal. 

Even in deep conversation, Theo never stopped touching you. Whether it was the soothing rub of his thumb across your knuckles or his arm draped protectively around your waist, it was obvious that physical touch was your boyfriend’s love language. 

You couldn’t help but smile at how easy it came to him, like touching you was as natural as breathing air.  

“What’s that smile for, love?”

“I just really fucking fancy you.”

Merlin’s bloody beard. The smile on Theo’s face completely took your breath away. His eyes, which you often joked gave him resting witch face, lit up brighter than the sun. 

“I really fucking fancy you too, darling.”

Finally, the two of you reached your friends on the other side of the common room. Blaise and Enzo were engaged in a competitive game of beer pong against Mattheo and Draco. 

“The man of the hour,” Malfoy announced, clapping Theo on the back. “You fucking killed it out there, mate.” He turned back to the other boys. “We all did.”

“This calls for a celebratory shot!” you announced. “Wait, where’s Pans?”

Mattheo smirked. “Chatting up our commentator. Looks like our little Pansy’s all grown up.”

Across the room, you shot Pansy a wink as she and Luna sat rather close together, huddled on the couch and giggling every so often. You rallied the boys, raising your cups in a cheer. Pansy affectionately flipped you the bird as all six of you hooted and hollered, but she downed the liquor nonetheless. 

The firewhisky must have been a fast acting agent of liquid courage because not even a second after she set her cup down, Pansy was kissing Luna. You squealed in delight while the rest of the group drunkenly cheered. 

This night just kept getting better and better. 

“Another one of our finest lost to young love,” Draco announced dramatically. 

You rolled your eyes. “You could be too if you stopped being a coward and finally asked Hermione out.” 

Malfoy nearly spat out his drink. “Granger? You think I fancy Granger? Little miss know it all, member of the Golden Trio, poster child Gryffindor Granger? Are you taking the piss, Y/N?”

“Oh please,” Mattheo said with a scoff. “We all see the way you look at her in the Great Hall. You don’t just fancy Granger. You’re absolutely smitten, mate.”

Enzo nodded empathetically. “Mattheo’s right, cousin. You should just ask Hermione out on a date.”

“Have you lot forgotten that the madwoman once punched me in the face?” 

“I think she’d be good for you,” you said. “Set you straight.” 

“Set me straight?” Draco repeated. “I don’t need anyone to set me straight. Especially not Granger. I mean, the witch is insufferable with her stupid curly hair and stupid big brown eyes and stupid flawless skin.” 

Blaise sighed. “No offense, mate, but you’re even thicker than Enzo when it comes to girls.”

Enzo protested in response, but Draco was too busy having a meltdown to notice. His pale complexion blossomed with red as his mouth gaped open. “Do I like Granger?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously, you blubbering idiot.” 

Draco glared at you, then at Theo. “Nott, please get your girlfriend away from me before I have a full on fit.”

Theo only laughed, pulling you closer. “Gladly. We were heading out anyway.” 

You hugged your friends goodbye. Draco was still frowning at his drink when you and Theo finally headed out of the common room. 

“Think about it, ferret boy,” you hollered from the door. “Granger’s a catch! We could use more female presence in this absolute sausage party of a friend group.” 

With that, Theo hauled you over his shoulder. You squealed, pinching his bum as he carried you out of the common room. “Alright, love. That’s enough of that.” 

When you finally reached Theo’s dorm, the two of you fell over in absolute hysterics. You plopped down on his bed, spreading like an obnoxious starfish. Theo followed after, diving on top of you. 

“I think you gave Malfoy an identity crisis,” he said, laughing into your hair. 

You shrugged, rolling over so that you were on top of him. “He deserved it.” 

Theo toyed with the hem of your shirt, tracing circles on your hips. “And what about what I deserve?” 

“It’s coming, babe,” you said with a sly smile. “And pretty soon you will be too.”

“Don’t tease, cara mia.”

“I never tease,” you purred. “I only promise.”

With a satisfied smirk, you pressed your lips against his. Theo groaned into your mouth as you straddled his lap, deepening the kiss. Large hands roamed underneath your shirt, his palms rough and calloused from hours and hours of playing quidditch.

A sinfully delicious moan slipped past Theo’s lips as you trailed kisses along his jaw, throat, and neck. You sucked on his flesh, hard enough to leave marks. You liked knowing that every time he changed, little reminders of you littered his skin.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Theo muttered.

“You’ve got a filthy mouth, Theo,” you teased. “I bet I could shut you up though.”

Your boyfriend groaned like he was in pain. “Please do.”

You winked before disappearing underneath the covers. Theo’s eyes fluttered close as you continued kissing down his chest, taking the time to trace your name on his abs with your tongue, which seemed to be a real crowd pleaser. You stripped off his trousers, kissing his perfectly defined v line before licking a teasing stripe along the underside of his cock.

“Figlio di puttana,” Theo cursed, low and rough. Your knees nearly buckled. There was truly nothing hotter than your boyfriend swearing in Italian. “Don’t stop, Y/N.”

“What was that you said about delivering on my promise?” you asked innocently, looking up at him through your lashes. “Because it feels like I’m giving you the winner treatment right now, doesn’t it baby?”

A choked moan was your only response as you took him into your mouth. You gagged as he hit the back of your throat, bobbing your head up and down in a steady rhythm. Theo fisted your hair in his hands, watching through heavy lids as you sucked your cheeks in. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned, stroking your cheek. “But I’m willing to die a happy man.”

You chuckled, sending vibrations to his sensitive head. Theo twitched against your cheek as you gripped his shaft, moving along with your mouth. He continued to curse colorfully while you wrapped your lips around him. You felt him tense underneath you, signaling that he was close. 

Theo tugged lightly at your scalp. “I don’t want to cum yet,” he said huskily. “Not until I’m inside of you.” 

Merlin bless your boyfriend and his filthy fucking mouth. Theo flipped you over, his body pinning you to the mattress as he kissed you roughly. You gasped against his mouth, giving him the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue in. Heat pooled in your core and flooded your body with desire. 

“Theo,” you mumbled, tugging at his shirt. “I need you. Now.” 

He ripped off his shirt, grinning. “Then have me, darling.” 

“I want to be on top.” 

You squealed as Theo rolled over, placing you on his lap. He gripped your hips and gently rolled against you. “I’m not about to argue with that.”

With a smirk, you toyed with the hem of your shirt. Theo grabbed your wrist and shook his head. “Keep it on. I want to watch you ride me while wearing my jersey.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love your filthy mouth?” 

Theo grinned before latching his lips on your breast. He looked up at you and swirled his tongue around your nipple through the fabric. “It’s not ringing a bell. Shall I try the other side?” 

“Gods, yes.” 

He gave your other nipple equal attention as you lined his cock up at your entrance. Precum coated his tip, mixing with your own slick as you slowly lowered onto his length. Theo’s teeth sank into your collarbone, muffling his moan. 

“Fuck me,” he exhaled in a shaky breath. 

“I am, baby.”

Theo chuckled darkly. “Smartass.”

You rolled your hips as he gripped your ass, helping you lift and lower at a faster pace. Theo’s mouth collided with yours, his hands roaming underneath your shirt and exploring every inch of you like he was trying to commit your body to memory. 

The intensity of his gaze pierced you with lust and desire. He lifted the hem of his jersey, watching as his cock disappeared between your folds. 

“I love watching you take all of me, pretty girl.” Theo was ravenous, littering your neck and shoulder with love bites. “You ride me so fucking well. Maybe it should be you out there on the broom.” 

“The only broom I’m interested in is yours,” you quipped back. “Besides, you don’t want everyone else knowing my tricks, do you?”

“Fuck no,” Theo whispered roughly as he switched positions. He pressed you against the mattress, hooking your legs on his shoulder before smirking. “This is for my eyes only. You’re mine, amorina.” 

“Yours,” you breathed as he thrust into you. The angle allowed him to slide in even deeper, hitting all the right spots as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

“That’s my good girl,” Theo declared proudly. “Now fucking take it.”

The pleasure hits you in waves. The sounds that you were both making were absolutely filthy, and you were glad that music was playing in the common room below otherwise the whole of Slytherin house would’ve heard you screaming Theo’s name. 

“You getting close, baby?” Theo grunted as you fluttered around him. You whimpered in response, raking your nails along his back. “I’ll take that as a yes. I want you to cum with me. Can you do that, pretty girl?”

You nodded as Theo’s slender fingers rubbed against your clit, pushing you over the edge. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer, cursing as the orgasm hit you both. 

Theo kissed you, swallowing your moans of pleasure as euphoria washed over you. He rode it out, hips stuttering as he finished. The two of you laid in the dark, bodies twined together while your heartbeats synced. 

“Holy fuck,” you said in disbelief. 

Theo chuckled. “That did feel a bit sacrilegious.” 

He rolled over and grabbed his wand, casting a quick scouring charm over the both of you. Thank Merlin for magic.

You rolled over, propping your chin up with one hand. “You want to smoke a cigarette, don’t you?”

Your boyfriend shook his head. “Actually, I was thinking about quitting.” 

Now this was news to you. “Oh? Has all my nagging finally paid off?” 

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging. “I’m just thinking ahead. I don’t want our kids picking up the habit.”

Your eyes widened. “Kids? As in, plural?”

Theo nodded emphatically. “Oh yeah, little Theo Jr. and his brother Mattheo don’t need to be exposed to my smoking.” 

You cocked your head in confusion. “Theo Jr.? Mattheo?”

“Don’t ask. I lost a bet.”

“You better be taking the piss, Teddy.”

He chuckled. “Mostly. I am quitting smoking and I am looking forward to a future with you, our hypothetical children’s names to be further discussed.” 

“You absolute menace of a man,” you said, cuddling him with a wide grin. “I fucking adore you, do you know that?”

“I am stupidly in love with you.” 

You giggled as Theo peppered kisses on your face. “Malfoy’s right. We’re truly revolting.”

“Oh, absolutely vile.” 

Theo tucked you into the crook of his neck and kissed the top of your head. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you mumbled sleepily. “I love you, Teddy.”

He pulled you close and smiled. “I love you too, Y/N.”

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