#hooks for tie backs curtains

[macfrog]

san angelo | one shot

what happens when joel miller meets his star-crossed lover?

big love to @mrsmando and @5oh5 for cheering me on with this one, and @bageldaddy for being my eyes, my ears, and - only sometimes - my brain.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: it's the summer of two thousand eight. after two weeks following his little brother cross-country on the back of a harley, joel follows him through the doors of a dive bar - where fate delivers him to you. warnings: story is inserted into canon, so cordyceps outbreak happens, sarah dies (off-page), joel dissociates, doomed love, lots of mention of fate, alcohol consumption, reader is a smoker, cursing, drunken one-night stand, oral sex, unprotected piv, joel's cock is massive, a lot of angst, a lot of fluff, a lil smut to tie it all together. enjoy! word count: 9.8k

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Palm lines.

It’s the first thing he thinks as soon as she stops moving in his arms. The second her little whimpers cease, the moment her chest stops heaving and her eyes glaze over. Suddenly, Joel’s little girl weighs more than he can bear.

Palm lines. And he has no fucking idea why.

He closes his eyes and there you are. The whir of the ceiling fan, the tinkling of bracelets loose on your wrist. You have sorta earth hands, you told him. Or, well – they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way. I don’t really know. I’m still learning.

You told him that air hands were long, spindly. And Sarah was always a lanky kid – tallest on the soccer team, head and shoulders above the other girls by the third grade. Her hands, he thinks, must be air. They must be.

Her fingers are still twisted around his right now. Lifeless, slippery with the blood still wet and quickly cooling.

Joel cradles her, squeezing so hard that he wonders whether he might be able to fuse their bodies together. Lock them in some white-knuckle grip so that he never has to let go of her – never has to leave this hill covered in dirt and blood.

His palms are ruined; a maroon river carving its way down his heart line, dirt deep in the groove of his life line. Why does he even fucking remember what they’re called?

Why the fuck are you what he’s thinking about, right now?

“Tommy,” he says, opening his eyes again. “We gotta…we gotta get to…”

She’s limp, draped over his thighs as though she’s nothing more than a stretch of crimson curtain. He looks down at her and begs her to come back, begs her to open her eyes and look up at him again.

But the night is passing and she’s still not breathing. Dawn is breaking and Joel’s daughter is dead.

He sucks in a shattered breath. “…to San Angelo, Tommy.”

The younger Miller stuffs his gun into the back of his jeans and paces over, soles coated thick in shit and grass. “I hear you, Joel.”

“You ain’t listenin’ to me, I –”

“I’m listenin’ fine, Joel.” Tommy hooks his hands under his niece’s arms. “Now, help me lift her. We can’t…” his voice strains, fighting the death grip his brother has on the girl, “…we can’t leave her here.”

Joel’s frozen to the spot; sinking further and further into the earth. Staring at his open hands, the stains like rust on his palms. He says to San Angelo again, and Tommy snaps.

“Jesus, Joel, enough! I’ve heard enough goddamn it! I see your hands, now – we gotta fuckin’ bury Sarah.”

Your fate line, your nail tickled, and Joel held his hand steady, It can change, if something big is coming.

Somethin’ big? he asked. A little younger, a lot more naïve. Still a healthy dose of belief in the world, an echo of the god-fearing faith that raised him.

His hand felt so light, cradled in two of yours. He half hoped he’d never have to let go – just lie there with you forever. Your legs tangled with his, the sheets disturbed; the room injected with amber from the streetlights outside.

You nodded. A big shift, or something.

And he scoffed. He actually scoffed, right there and then. Incredulous. The hell kinda big shift is comin’ our way? he asked, laughing.

You just smiled back, shrugging. You were so fucking casual, that whole night. It would’ve unnerved him, if he hadn’t been so swept off by the sparkle in your eye, the glowing cherry of your cigarette.

Guess we just gotta wait ‘n see.

It’s August thirtieth, two thousand eight.

Almost five thousand miles on the back of a Harley, and Joel just wants to go home.

He arches his aching back, palms flat against the crests of his hips, and blinks in the light from the food mart in front of him. Twenty-six, he thinks to himself, only twenty-fuckin’-six.

It’s ninety degrees out. An uncomfortable heat, for a man who feels ten years older than he really is. For a man who hasn’t had a decent shower in almost two weeks. For a man who’s spent the last six hours tailing the brake lights of his little brother’s bike.

The sweat gathers sticky between his shoulder blades, prickles along the nape of his neck. There’s dust spattered down his bare arms and buried in the grooves of his knuckles.

He’s tired. He’s tired, he’s dirty, and goddamn, he wishes he was back home.

He holds a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, the yellow sky melting to a purple haze. Squinting, he follows the soar of two swallows overhead, looping through the sky, until he’s rubbing the image from his eyes with the back of his wrist.

He’s gotta remember to call Sarah before she goes to bed.

The door opens with the tinkle of a brass bell older and rustier than Joel feels. A swaggering figure splits the glow from the store in two – a figure with a pack of Marlboros in one hand and an already half-empty bottle of water in the other.

Tommy holds them both out to Joel, who swipes the water with a scowl.

“Ain’t killed you yet, brother,” Tommy scoffs, stuffing the cigarettes into his back pocket. He swings a frayed-denim leg over the seat of his Harley.

Joel drains the bottle, panting as he crushes the plastic in one fist. “Damn near tryin’,” he mutters, tossing it in the trash. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

“Where are we?” Tommy asks. He glances over his shoulder, staring from the cracked roads to the telephone wires overhead. A Syclone pulls into the lot; a dehydrated squeal as it rolls to a halt.

“San Angelo,” Joel says. “Only a few more hours to go.” He settles on his own bike, pulling his leather jacket over his shoulders. “We passed a Super 8 coming into town, if you feel like restin’ up. Or – we leave now, be home around midnight.”

Tommy chuckles. “What’s the rush? We ain’t gotta be anywhere anytime soon.”

And Joel agrees – for the most part.

His mom is watching Sarah while they’re gone, and he reckons she’s hardly missing him. Too smart for her own good, Joel’s realizing: plotting and scheming her way into staying up past her bedtime, drinking Pepsi at dinner, watching Curtis and Viper – and swearing that her dad lets her do it all, too.

But, still. He misses his kid.

It’s the most they’ve ever been apart – time or distance. The longest he hasn’t had her climbing up his back or hanging off his arm. The least he’s been called Dad since he was eighteen years old.

He just…misses his kid.

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the body of the bike. “Tommy, I gotta get back home to Sarah.”

“Look,” Tommy says, and Joel knows that the argument is lost already, “By the time we got back, she’d be asleep anyways. Let’s leave in the morning – first thing, I swear – and we’ll be home in time for breakfast. Deal?”

They stare at one another, a stand-off in the parking lot. Both waiting for the other to break. The swallows gather on the roof of the store, basking in the weak wash of flickering fluorescents.

“Come on, brother,” Tommy pleads, “It’s one more night.” He lifts his helmet, punching it over his mop of shaggy hair, and kicks the bike to life.

Joel growls to himself, watching it drift over to the side of the road.

He considers heading to the Super 8 alone, grabbing a room only to shower and get some food, then hitting the road and leaving his little brother in the dust. Waiting for him to stumble through the door tomorrow morning – tired, groggy, probably hungover – while Joel, fresh as a daisy, drizzles syrup over Sarah’s pancakes and pours her orange juice.

He’s a pragmatic man. He’s a grown-up. Scares away the ghosts and ghouls and monsters of his daughter’s nightmares. Shushes her back to sleep in the crook of his arm, tiptoes as lightly as he can out of her room so as not to wake her.

Things like God, like the universe, things like horoscopes and laws of attraction…for the most part, Joel can do without them. Has done his whole life.

But then – the glow of indigo overhead, and the mysterious shadows lurking behind the buildings. The birdsong tittering in his ears, the twinkle of the sun in Tommy’s helmet – something distant in the dusty sphere.

Something, someone, winking at him from far away.

Something a little heavier than the breeze nudges at his spine, and Joel’s arms lift – fitting his own helmet over his head. He swings the heel of his boot into his kickstand and revs the bike, Harley roaring as it joins Tommy’s out on the boulevard.

Murphy’s is a small, green bar on the corner of an intersection. All peeled paint lettering and buzzing fluorescents – the y burnt out and pulsing.

Joel doesn’t think Tommy picked it for any reason other than the huge Lone Star mural on the side of the goddamn building, the way he tosses his thumb to it as they park up. A squint smirk on his face, muttering something like ‘s good to be home, big brother, as they hook helmets over handlebars.

Tommy leads Joel inside, their boots tacky on the wooden floor. Walls paneled by aged frames and sun-bleached photographs; air hanging thick with a smell like vinegar. The babble of slurred conversation is pierced by the sharp crack of pool balls breaking.

Metal-plate belt buckles snaked through strained jeans; low eyes which shift to size-up the two strangers. They all turn back to their fingerprinted glasses when Joel and Tommy settle into an empty booth.

It feels hotter in here than it is outside, stuffier. A thick humidity which clings to Joel’s bones, humming like the string lights draped from beams above his head.

Tommy reclines between the creaking leather cushion and the wall. He pokes at a yellowing poster of some Western, hums to himself, and then looks across the table.

Joel’s eyes loop once around the room before they meet his brother’s. “What?” he asks.

“First round is yours, old man.”

“Oh, is it, now?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Thought this was your idea?”

A weedy grin stretches across Tommy’s lips. He needs to fucking shave, Joel thinks. Whiskers poking from around his small mouth like pine needles. “’s my birthday trip,” he reasons.

And can Joel argue with that? Does he have the fucking energy? Will it get him out of here and back to Austin any quicker?

“Goddamn it,” he grumbles. He pushes himself to his feet, heels of his palms against the tacky wood.

He wanders over to the bar, tugging on the front of his tee to unstick it from his damp chest. Slots in beside an ivory cowboy hat with a pair of jeaned legs. The man fixes his bolo tie and watches Joel’s hand as he flags the bartender down.

And then he feels it.

You.

Then he feels you.

First, the weight of you – crashing some into his back. He shunts forward from the suddenness of it, knocking his ribs against the bar, and lifts a hand to brace himself on the ledge.

And then – heat, like an iron. Like every hair and freckle on your skin is branded into his the second you come into contact with him. A feeling like the roll of a wave against his spine, a hand hooked around his forearm when he begins to turn.

“Shit,” you hiss, steadying yourself on the curve of his shoulder. You glance down at your feet, clicking between your black boots. “I’m sorry, that was…that was my bad.”

“’s alright,” Joel says instantly. He holds his arm still until you let go and he sidesteps – though only a little. He watches, dumbstruck, as you rest your elbows on the bar and lean forward. His eyes linger on your back, trailing the crisscross straps wrapped tight over your spine.

You squint up at the menu pinned above shelves of crystal bottles. Your eyes move back and forth across the chalkboard, slowly descending until they’re meeting his in the speckled mirror opposite – a sweet smile growing on your lips.

It runs like whiskey through Joel’s veins: warm and dangerous.

And the way his head spins, the way the world blurs for a moment into one swipe of color around you; the way your cooing laugh echoes between his ears long after he’s heard it –

Joel’s already intoxicated.

He’s still staring when you pull back and motion to the bar. “You can go first, by the way,” you say, waving a hand. “I wasn’t cuttin’ in line. Just trying to read the drinks.”

“I’ll wait,” he replies, remembering how to be polite, how to be charming. Old cogs long out of use jerking to life inside him again. “Can’t read any of ‘em, either, anyways.”

It draws from you that same little laugh, a puff of air from your nostrils. You nod, biting your bottom lip.

He’s quickly forgetting why he’s stood in this room, why he’s in this city. He’d probably forget his own fucking name if you asked him right now what it was.

“’nother drink, darlin’?” a low voice interrupts, and you’re turning away.

Joel’s eyes follow you – a moth chasing something golden and radiant – as you face the wiggle of a snow-white mustache poking from beneath the brim of that ivory cowboy hat.

You shake your head, lifting two fingers with a bill slipped between them. “I’m good, thanks, George. Maybe next round.” You wave to the kid behind the bar – some name that Joel’s too fucking mindless to hear. Too distracted by the glint in your eye, the sparkle of your crescent moon earrings in the light.

If only he knew this feeling. If only he could put a name to it. As familiar as the sun and yet, brand new like dawn. His stomach swirls in a fleet of butterflies – as though he’s fifteen again, bumping elbows with his high school crush.

You nudge him, thumb pointing in the direction of the bartender.

Joel shakes his head. “Ladies first,” he says, heart skipping when you hold his stare.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, “Told you I ain’t jumping in.”

He asks the guy for two beers, barely taking his eyes off you. “Alright,” he leans in, lowering his voice, “Then let me buy you a drink. Make up for gettin’ in your way just then.”

You prop your chin on your knuckles, grinning as you push your twenty around the wooden bar top, dodging pooled rings of alcohol like it’s an arcade game. “I don’t do that,” you say, eyes tracing the slick trail left by the bill.

“Do what?”

“Accept drinks from strange men in bars.”

His tongue presses against the back of his teeth, the taste of humor honey-sweet. “Yeah? ‘n how long have you known…” he nods to the – what is he, sixty? Sixty-five? – year-old on your right, “…George?”

Your gaze lifts, eyes wide. Apparently as impressed by Joel’s confidence as he is himself. “We’re actually in a very serious relationship. Marriage proposal imminent.”

“Damn,” he mutters as the bartender reappears with two Coors, “And here I thought I had half a chance.”

You hum to yourself, studying him. Looking from his jaw across the span of his shoulders, his wide-knuckled hands and then back to his lips. Curious and wary, judging the strange animal stood before you.

And he knows he’s weathered from the weeks on the road, and all the years before that. Dirt under his nails and the light sheen of sun on his forehead. The flecks of gray through his thick, brown beard.

You take a deep breath, eyes twinkling, and tell him, “I’m here with my friend.”

“Ain’t that lucky?” Joel glances at Tommy. “I’m here with my brother.”

You look across to the dirty blond, sat tilting a glass candle in his hand. “He single?”

Joel nods. “Is she?”

You nod.

“Alright. You wanna come sit with us?”

Your smirk answers his question. You take the beers, rings clinking off the glass. “Rum,” you call over your shoulder, wandering off, “I drink rum.”

Joel’s gaze lowers to the sway of your hips. “Rum it is,” he says, turning back to the bar.

“So…a cross-country bike trip, and you wound up in San Angelo?”

You’re on your fourth drink, the first one Joel hasn’t paid for – and he only allowed it because it’s a Diet Coke (and maybe you got to the bar first, held his wrists with one hand so he couldn’t stop you from slapping your own money down).

“Yep,” Joel replies, pinching the lime from his drink and dropping it onto a napkin. “Just passin’ through. Shower, sleep, then head on home.”

“Where’s that, then? Home?”

“Austin.”

“Austin,” you pout, “Nice.”

Joel smirks, licking citrus from his fingertips. “Is it?”

“I’ve never been to Austin,” Brooke chirps, fiddling with the umbrella in her piña colada. She twirls the paper canopy and glances up to Tommy.

He snaps out of his slack-jawed gaze when he realizes what she’s implying. “Oh – yeah, well…” his head wobbles as he stutters, “…you two ever come down that way, we’d be happy to, uh…show ya ‘round, huh, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply, staring back at his brother with the same amused expression you are.

You’ve been an inch apart all evening – doused in the dive bar darkness, the shrouded conversations and muffled TV static. The tip of your nose and curve of your shoulders lit only by the luminous signs dotting the walls.

Tommy and Brooke are already deep in conversation again about the best car Tommy ever owned. Joel watches as your eyes flit between the pair, entertained by the way they trip over each other’s sentences. Your cheeks lift when Brooke lays a hand over Tommy’s, and he squeezes her fingers back.

Where did you come from? Joel’s thinking. He takes a swig of his whiskey, feeling your eyes on him. As he lowers his glass, you lift yours. When he turns in his seat towards you, you’re already facing him, back against the wainscotting. He smiles, and so do you.

Every movement feels choreographed, some merry dance only you two know. You’re in your own little world.

Where did you come from, again, and where have you been my entire fucking life?

“So, what about you?” Joel asks instead, swallowing – all warm-bellied and brave. “You grow up here?”

You shake your head, taking another sip. “Nope. Just liked it enough to hang up my coat for a few months. I grew up in Phoenix.”

“You travel a lot?”

“I’ve been around. This is the longest I’ve stayed in one place since I was a kid.”

He thinks of home: of Austin and its silver-snake river, burnt-orange jerseys and the pleated bunting lining Sixth Street. He thinks of late nights on lawn chairs, nursing a beer and shooting the shit with his brother. Keeping their voices lower than the buzz of the cicadas, looking more at the dusky sky than at each other.

“You don’t ever get tired of it?” Joel asks. “Of moving around so much?”

You scoff, breath clouding the inside of your glass. “Three weeks on a motorcycle starting to get to you, huh?”

He breathes a laugh, loose again. The cicadas fade from his ears.

Your head tilts in a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess the universe keeps on surprising me.”

Joel doesn’t do this. At least, he hasn’t done this since he was a teenager – crate of beer under his arm and a chest full of courage. He’s long forgotten the feeling of heat blooming in his cheeks, the twitch of his heart anytime you look at him.

But fuck, if there isn’t something about you. Something in the way you move, the way you look at him. Something in the way you play with your straw, knocking ice cubes around and chewing on the plastic once you’ve drained the glass.

Something – though it’s a little too early and Joel’s a little too tipsy to tell just what. He tries to remember that he’s pragmatic. A grown-up. He chases away the monsters in his daughter’s –

“Oh, shit,” Joel says suddenly, scrambling to pull his cell from his pocket. It’s nine thirty. He was supposed to – “I forgot…”

A miserable tone from his Motorola cuts him short. The screen flashes an empty battery before fading to black. He jams a thumb into the keypad a couple more times, cursing at the winking symbol.

“Someone you gotta call?” you ask.

He meets your eye and winces. “Yeah, I’m…I said I’d call an hour ago.”

“You wanna use mine?” You twist around, fishing in your purse for your own. “We can go outside.”

“No, no, it’s…it’s alright, I’m sure she won’t mind, she –”

You shake your head. “Shut up. Come on, let’s go. I could use some fresh air, anyways. Be back in a minute,” you tell Brooke – who nods and turns straight back to Tommy.

Joel extends his hand to help you out of the booth, then follows you to the door. The cool air tugs every nerve in his body to attention, pin-sharp when he steps out of that lazy heat. Under the emerald glow of the Murphy’s sign, he settles his glass on a window ledge. “Next round’s on me, alright?”

You roll your eyes, pushing the phone against his chest. “Just call, Joel.”

One last apologetic glance, and then he’s dialing. He makes to wander along the curb, the tone already pulsing in his ear, when he notices –

“You ain’t brought a jacket?”

You’re sitting on the ledge, clutching your elbows. Swatting midges from the light you’re bathed in, charms on your bracelets jingling. “Hm?”

He tuts. “A jacket. Here.” He shrugs his own off, sitting it around your frame. It’s warm from the bar and from Joel’s body heat, and you sink into it – letting the dark leather drown you as you rummage through your purse again.

“Nice,” Joel’s eyes narrow, “Fresh air.”

You hum into your hands, flicking your lighter. The cigarette trembles when you murmur, “We all got our skeletons, I guess.”

He turns on his heel when a familiar voice picks up.

“Hey, hey, M–Yeah, sorry it’s late…Yeah, we got held up. My phone died, so I’m using…Is she still–? Can I–? Oh, Sarah. Hi, baby.”

His little girl begins chattering down the line immediately, telling Joel everything she’s been up to since they last spoke this morning.

“…and then, Emily thought I was one of the Armadillos – I don’t even know how, ‘cause they play in red, remember Dad? – but she did, and she slide tackled me so bad that Coach Thomson had to sub in Akari for me so I could ice my ankle. Grandma was kinda mad about it, but she took me to Burger King after to cheer me up, and…”

Joel wanders back and forth, smiling to himself and scuffing the heel of his boot along the concrete – barely able to squeeze more than two words between her chirping. It’s all, Yeah, baby? and Wow, sweetheart; all uhuhs and mhms until she finally quietens, excitement plateauing again.

“Alright, well. You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah,” Sarah groans. She knows it all too well.

Bedtime.

“…But you didn’t call when you said you would, Daddy, and it’s Saturday, it’s –”

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. Just…somethin’ came up. But I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Where’s Uncle Tommy? Can I talk to him?”

Joel turns to face the bar. “He, uh…I’m not with him right now, sweetheart. I’ll tell him you asked after him, though.”

Sarah concedes, and then begins asking questions Joel knows she’s only asking to stay on the line a little longer – to stay awake a little later. But still, he answers each one – humoring her and, at the same time, letting himself listen to her voice just a little more before he has to let her go.

He thinks of scooping her up in the morning; thinks of being slumped on the couch after dinner with her head on his stomach – fast asleep with whatever movie she chose droning on in the background.

Despite the thousands of miles and close to two weeks between them – she makes him feel closer to home. She always does.

When Sarah asks where he is, he glances your way. Clocks your flat expression, the half-burnt cigarette hanging from your fingers.

You flick ash to the ground. Eyes unreadable beneath low brows, a tiny crease between them that Joel’s only just seeing for the first time.

“Uh…” he clears his throat, “…just a little – a little north of you, baby. Home first thing, I promise.”

He tells her he loves her and she says it back, and he tells her to sleep well and she says that back, too. And then he’s hanging up – Alright, see you soon, bye, Sarah, bye-bye, byebyebye – and pressing his thumb into the red button.

He wanders back over to you – ears flat like a guilty dog, though he isn’t quite sure why. He mumbles a quiet thanks as he passes the phone back, then stuffs his hands in his pockets.

You lean back, ankles crossed, studying him. Swirling what’s left of the cigarette in your fingers – the smoke lifting like a winding snake to the dark sky. “So,” you pout, “What are you doing flirting with me, if you got a wife and kid back home?”

His jaw ticks, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. “I don’t have a wife,” he says.

You stare blankly, filter back against your lips. “Okay, then – a girlfriend. Does she know you’re out tonight with us?”

He shakes his head. “No wife, no girlfriend. I don’t have an anything.”

“But you have a kid.”

Joel nods once, tongue in his cheek. “Uhuh.”

And then the penny seems to drop. A small oh; your jaw slack and eyes wide. The cigarette smolders between your fingers. “Fuck,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, hey,” Joel steps closer, “You didn’t know. It’s alright.”

He straightens the jacket on your shoulders. When you finally look at each other again, you snort.

“Sorry,” you repeat, shaking your head. “Is she okay? Your daughter – is she…?”

“Sarah,” Joel says. “She’s…she’s fine. Thanks.”

You look down, stubbing your cigarette against the brick. Voice quiet, you ask, “Her mom’s not around anymore?”

Relief settles in his chest: you’re softening to him again.

Joel slots onto the ledge at your side. Shoulder to shoulder. He reaches behind and lifts his drink. “Not since she was a year old.”

Your mouth pulls in a wince. “Jesus. That’s rough.”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to – you’re not asking him to explain – and he doesn’t want to, either.

You’re not stupid – you’ve seen enough of the world to hear what he’s really saying. The darkest, dustiest corners of it – all the places no one ever wants to look.

You don’t seem disturbed, barely even moved by the reality that…well, shit happens. People leave, families break; a two-car driveway is suddenly taken up by just a pick-up truck and a little pink bike with tassels.

He figures you get it. You don’t need to know how can that be? – you just…know that it can.

“So, uh…” you look up at him again, “…my apartment is, like, five minutes away if you wanna…you know. You can charge your phone, can shower – if it’s bugging you that much.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, really?”

You simper, eyes thin. “Really.”

“Charge my phone ‘n shower?” He stands, palm flat against the wall above your head, and leans in. His face is inches from yours.

You look up, mirroring his expression. “Yes,” your voice curls in a half-truth, “What’s the big deal?”

“What a goddamn line,” Joel says, smirking. “How long you been sittin’ on that one for?”

His blood thrums faster, harder, louder in his veins when you stand up, hands on your hips.

“It’s not a line, I’m serious –”

“I didn’t take you as the type, baby, I really didn’t – but if that’s how you wanna play this, then –”

He feels you before he sees you moving, like he’s stood at that bar all over again. Your hands on his jaw, your chest pressed to his. Your lips – soft as satin, with a tinge of sweet rum and smoke – against his.

Joel barely misses a beat. He closes his eyes and lifts a hand to the back of your head, kissing you back. It’s dizzying, the taste and feel of you so close; the wet of your tongue on his. The little scratches of your nails in his beard, the moans caught in your throat.

Dizzying – and fucking perfect.

You break apart and lean in to each other, catching your breath. Joel’s hands slip beneath the heavy leather of his jacket onto your waist.

���Unless…” you whisper, pulling away from him, “…you don’t want to. In which case, I’ll just…” You twirl back towards the door, batting your eyelashes.

Joel smiles. He catches your wrist and reels you back into his body. “I want to,” he breathes, kissing you again. “I want to.”

“Let’s go.”

You make it to your apartment door, fumbling with your keys – and Joel’s hands are glued to your waist.

You miss the lock over and over as he kisses your neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. Anything to satiate the hunger quickly taking over, the tightening in his jeans.

He pulls you against his hips – rough denim grinding into the curve of your ass. He can smell your flowery perfume, a strange melding of peony and menthol sharp in his nostrils.

It’s the hungriest he’s ever felt, he thinks – a starved animal pinning his prey to her flecked apartment door. He pauses, bottom lip damp against your neck; breathing a liquor-laced laugh over your skin.

You jam the key into the lock. The door finally shunts open and you spill inside, dragging Joel with you.

Your place is dark. Angled strips of streetlight thrown high up the bare walls and across the ceiling, splintered by tilted shades. The spill of a blanket draped over an empty couch; a pair of sneakers left on the rug. Joel’s knees brush by a houseplant guarding the door – heavy leaves which pfft when they sway out of his way.

It’s half-decorated. Temporary. Caught somewhere between home and away. Little fragments pieced together into something the shape of home: a mosaic vase that scatters light across the surface of the coffee table; a beaded curtain pinned around the closet doorway.

Like you’re a little magpie, collecting trinkets of silver and gold until your nest feels like yours. Bags dropped long enough to keep a Monstera plant alive, not to put nails in the wall for the frames propped against the skirting board.

You shrug Joel’s jacket off, dropping it over the back of the couch. When you spin back around to him, he lifts your chin with two fingers and presses his lips to yours. You lead him down the hallway, tumbling into your room.

He follows you over to your bed, collapsing onto a tousled mess of sheets with his hips between yours. The hem of your dress rides up your thighs, bunching around your hips and revealing a flash of pink lace underneath.

The world around him seems to sober up for a second, sharpens into focus. It begins to seep in: the realization that he has you – some girl he met no more than two hours ago in a bar – pinned to your mattress. A slick gathering in your underwear and a weight building in his.

Right now, he should be sinking into squealing bedsprings in a Super 8. Bathing in the flicker of a television set twenty years too old. He should be showered and rested – ready to head home at sunrise, if not sooner.

But then something led him to you, and – well.

There’s no fucking helping him now, is there?

Joel’s fingers hook around your panties. He pulls down, leaving a trail of kisses along your bare leg, until that same pink lace is dripping from your ankle.

His eyes flash up to yours, love-drunk and sparkling. He pushes your knees apart, watching your velvet folds open for him, and – oh, he thinks, staring at the glistening arousal smeared around your cunt. Such a slick little mess for him already.

“Goddamn, darlin’,” he licks his lips, “She’s so pretty.”

You hum, hands lowering. Your fingers separate, spreading your pussy for him. Your middle finger swirls around your clit, dips along your seam. And the n, silky and shining, you lift your hand again and slip your fingers into your mouth.

“Tastes even better than she looks,” you murmur, dappling your fingertip along your bottom lip.

Joel growls. He pushes down on your thighs, ignoring your little yelp, and drags the tip of his tongue through your slit.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, back arching. Your fingers knot in his hair, twisting and tightening. “Shitshitshit.”

“Mhm,” he hums against you, tongue pushing inside.

Fuck, you’re just so perfect: so soft and warm and fucking dripping for him. He laps at your sweet center, wet already spreading all over his mouth and beard.

A dampness blooms in his boxers. He’s throbbing, fucking aching the longer he goes untouched. He grinds against the mattress, denim rough against his solid erection.

He lifts his chin, panting – satisfied by the way you squirm under the weight of him. “You like that, huh?” he asks, a sodden kiss to your mound. “Fuckin’ love it.”

He spits a thick bead of saliva, watching it dribble down your folds to your ass. His tongue swipes it back up, circling your clit, all slippery and swollen.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan, tugging on his hair. Your legs spasm, hips lifting.

He loves the sound of his name when you say it. Broken in two, a lilt to it as it rolls from your tongue and down his spine. Like it’s yours as much as it is his, now.

He sucks hard on your clit, his tongue flicking. And he can tell you’re close; can feel your hips starting to lose rhythm, see your back desperately arching higher and higher.

Joel groans, pushing up to hover over you. He cups between your legs, dabbing two thick fingers at your entrance, and pushes in.

Your pussy draws him in knuckle-deep. Your chest lifts, the loose neckline of your dress exposing more and more. You grab your breast, pinching your nipple – a roll of pebbled flesh between your fingertips.

He lowers his lips to your ear – watching as you toy with yourself. “Come on, baby,” he grits his teeth, “Give me one. Let me feel this pretty cunt.”

Your head rolls back into the pillow; a high sob as your orgasm crests. Clamping tight around him; a warm flood down his fingers.

Joel kisses you as you come. You look so pretty, he thinks, with ecstasy behind your eyes and his fingers between your legs.

Christ, he wants to be inside you so badly. Wants to feel your cunt do all this around his cock instead.

The blood rushes between his hips.

His fingers slip in and out, bringing you back around. Joel’s lips are on your neck, murmuring, “Good girl, that’s my girl,” as you resurface.

Your eyes open again – glossy, glazed with the aftershock of your high. “Fuck,” you breathe, playing with the hem of his shirt.

He pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean. Whips the tee over his head in one motion; another kiss tucked under your chin as you peel your dress from your body. He tosses it to the floor.

Still dazed, your body still trembling, you ask, “Do you have a condom?” All dreamy and distant, your hands trailing along his belt.

Joel pauses. Tilts his head, frowning. “I’m on a road trip with my brother, baby – the hell would I bring condoms for?”

You roll your eyes, sighing. It’s the cutest thing Joel thinks he’s ever seen. You thread the belt through the loops of his jeans. “In case you meet a really cool girl at a bar and wanna take her home, maybe?”

He lifts his eyebrows, impressed. He slips his salty tongue over yours again.

You moan at the taste. “It’s just I’m…I’m all out.”

His belt drops to the floor; buckle clinking against hardwood.

“Well, shit,” Joel whispers.

It’s not exactly a scenario he predicted, setting off from Austin. Meeting you wasn’t on the bucket list for the trip. It’s another three, four, probably five things to add to the list of shit he doesn’t do, shouldn’t do, wouldn’t fucking do if it hadn’t been for you.

No, Joel thinks, groaning as you palm the solid shape of him – he didn’t bring a goddamn condom. Jesus, the most he has in his pockets right now is fifteen bucks and a stick of gum.

You unzip his pants, shrugging the denim loose. “We can just do it…without,” you offer.

Joel stares down at you. “You sure?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Just pull out, right?”

“Just pull out…” he echoes. Your hands are cold on his heated skin, but he’s not about to fucking stop you.

You tug his underwear down with his jeans, following the darkening hair from his navel down. Another quiet pull out passes your lips – your voice dissolving when you spot the thick base of his dick.

Joel’s shaft springs free, heavy against the inside of his thigh.

“Holy shit.” You push yourself up on your elbows, eyes flooding black.

His tongue runs along the bottom of his teeth. He thrusts forward into your hand, a glassy drop of precome dribbling from his slit.

Your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, fingers wrapping around his width. You roll his balls in your other palm, massaging and squeezing just the right amount.

“Easy, easy,” Joel whispers. Too much, too soon. He can’t come yet, not until he feels your fluttering cunt around his cock.

Instead, you reach up – snaking an arm around his neck. You pull him back down, his naked body flush against yours, and hike a knee over his hip.

He grinds into you, his cock nudging between your legs. They fall apart for him – pliant and keen, like petals unfolding. He covers himself in your slick, his tip catching below your clit.

“Pl-ease,” you whine, scratching at his shoulders.

Joel nips at your damp neck. “Please, what?” he taunts.

Your breath is hot against his cheek – a stifling request which curls up in the shell of his ear. “F-fuck me.”

And his hips roll into yours.

“Jesus f…” your face buries into his chest, “…you’re…you’re so fucking big, Joel, I can’t –”

He nudges between your walls, groaning into your skin. You’re even tighter around his cock, even cozier. “I know,” he pants, “I know. Take it, baby, know you can take it.”

You stretch around him, opening up the deeper he pushes. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, the thick hair at his base finally brushing against your clit. “Fuck, Joel.”

“Look at me,” he taps your jaw, “Hey. Look at me. Breathe.”

You exhale, hot and shaky across his lips.

“Good, that’s good.” Joel nods. He holds you by the waist, lets you adjust to his size.

He pulls back, your cunt clamping around him. Halfway out, and then in again. Feeling you open up, inch by inch, until he builds a steady rhythm.

“Jesus, baby, she’s so…” he moans, “…she’s so goddamn tight.”

You drape an arm over his shoulders, a hissing pain where your nails dig into his skin. Yelping each time he bottoms out, your leaking cunt wrapped snug around him. “So – goddamn – big,” you whine, a ruined smile on your lips.

He slams his body into yours again, watching the way your tits bounce. Nipples hard, skin tacky and shining with sweat. Your pussy pinches, and he starts to unravel.

Fuck the road trip, Joel thinks, fuck all of it. This is where he should be: in the middle of your bed, burrowed deep between your legs. This is the only place he wants to fucking be, right now.

So he fucks you harder; the headboard hammering against the wall. A fistful of the pillow, his knuckles whitening. He guides his cock when he slips out – a filthy sound as your clutch sucks him back in.

“Fuck,” he growls, gripping your hips so hard he worries he might bruise you. His thrusts become sloppy – quick and desperate.

“So close,” you gasp. You’re squeezing him so tight that he sees stars. “I’m gonna – I’m…”

Perfect, Joel thinks, watching you bloom. You’re so fucking perfect.

He coaxes you through it. Slows enough to feel you come around his cock, your warmth as it gushes all over him. “That’s it, baby, I got you. Shit, you’re gonna make me come.”

He pulls out just in time to coat your stomach; a throaty groan as he comes. He pumps his shaft, covering from your sternum to the plush of your tummy. It dribbles down your waist, spurts between your breasts.

He collapses over you, pressing his forehead to yours. His dick, soaked and softening, smears the ejaculate across your skin.

You giggle, leaving sticky kisses along his beard.

“You okay?” he asks, breathless.

You nod, and his tongue dabs at the inside of your lips. You taste like sex and sweat – sweet and salt.

Joel shifts to the edge of the bed. He feels you follow, your lips featherlight on the curve of his shoulder.

You make to stand – going to clean yourself up, he reckons, your tummy dripping with his semen – and he locks a hand around your bare thigh.

“Stay,” he says, voice low and rough – sex still smoldering. “Let me get you a towel.”

You smile, resting your chin on his shoulder. Your fingers link around the other side of his waist. “I’ll get it. Just relax.”

And for a minute or two, you stay like that. Hooked onto one another, tired eyes closing over, breathing in rhythm. Your cheek on his shoulder, your knee brushing against his tummy.

It’s simple; quiet and still. Joel feels like half a person – the other half tracing her chipped nails along his bare thigh. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth holding back a grin that she thinks might give her away.

Eventually, you move. Shimmy yourself down the mattress, swipe a crinkled tee from the ottoman – and slink off to the bathroom.

Joel lies back against the headboard, body sticky hot. He watches the shadow of your figure stretch across the open door. His eyes drift upwards to the looping ceiling fan – only half as dizzying as the sound of your humming in the next room.

And just when he starts to think he might be fucking missing you, you reappear in the doorway. Leant against the frame, some worn band tee hanging from your shoulders. Arms crossed; smiling back at him.

A rush of words floods to the tip of his tongue. You look beautiful. Your makeup’s smudged, chains of your necklace twisted; your shirt is frayed and splotched with faded stains – and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

He holds his arms out and you prance over.

You crawl over his figure, kissing your way up to his lips, and then turn in his lap. Cradled against his broad chest, your head nuzzling into the dark threads of hair between his pecs. You clasp one of his hands in two of yours.

“Offer’s still there for a shower, if you want it,” you whisper, kissing the pads of his fingers.

Joel tilts his head, mumbling against your temple, “Will you be in there with me?”

You answer something shaped like a tease, just as sharp with wit – but he’s too busy watching your nails trace his open palm. Too distracted by the sweet scent of your skin: a fresh burst of fruit, singed with the edge of tobacco.

“What do you do for work?” you ask.

He makes some sort of sleepy sound – a grunt, a hm? into your skull. “Oh, uh – I’m a contractor,” he says.

Your chin lifts. “That why your palms are all…?” Your thumb strokes light as lace against his worn skin.

“Probably,” Joel admits. He draws shapes on your thigh with his free hand.

“Do you sand the wood with your bare hands, or somethin’?”

Joel scoffs. “Alright, alright. You liked my hands plenty, twenty minutes ago.”

Your cheeks lift, a low hum caught in your throat. You angle your head to let his lips trail along your shoulder, pressing into the hinge of your jaw. A dark nail following the landscape of Joel’s skin – each score and divot, the callused pads at the bottom of each finger.

“You have sorta…earth hands, I think.”

It sits in the air for a few seconds before Joel turns to you. “What?”

“Earth hands. Or, well – I guess they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way.” You open up his hand, fingers stretched. “I don’t really know. I’m still learning.”

He looks down at you. Feels the now-steady pulse of your heart on his sternum. “Learnin’…hands?”

You snort. “Palm reading, Joel.”

His brows draw tight. He licks the inside of his whiskey-stained cheek. “You’re into all that hippie sh…stuff?”

You knock your knuckles against his chest, still staring at his hands. The hills and their valleys, the ravine-like lines; the worn skin and hatch marks.

“Let’s see…Your heart line,” you whisper – more to yourself than Joel, but he’s listening all the same. “It’s pretty deep, which means the relationships you’ve had have been…important. But it’s kinda…it tails off right here, see? It’s broken. So…I guess they didn’t end too good.”

Joel raises an eyebrow – playful, encouraging your timid smile. Keep figuring me out, he thinks, stoking the curious flame behind your eyes. “Alright,” he says, “Now tell me something you didn’t already know about me.”

You gawk, holding his wrist up. “You don’t see that? The way it breaks up? I’m not bullshitting you, Joel, it’s –”

“Naw, I see it,” he nods, squinting a little at his palm, “Just – tell me more. What’s all these other lines mean?”

“Well,” you adjust between his hips, “you got your life line right here. Short, which means –”

“Don’t tell me that part.”

“No,” you roll your eyes, “It just means you’re independent. You never needed much from anyone. And it runs past this mount – these are called mounts – right here. Venus: all to do with love and sexuality.”

Joel holds your open palm next to his, comparing them. He takes less than a second’s look, lines his lips to your ear and says, “Seem like a pretty good match to me.”

You wriggle when he tickles your ribcage, trying to twist out of his grasp. You’re laughing again – the same laugh he’s been hearing all damn night. The same giggle that’s had his stomach somersaulting since he first heard it.

The room seems to light with it, this glow he feels from you – as if you’re the sun. Spent and still half-drunk; lazing with a stranger in the middle of her bed. Tracing the lines and scars on his palm, telling him how logical and grounded he’s supposed to be.

As if the world orbits around you – everything you touch turning to molten gold. And for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, Joel looks at you and wonders: Where the hell did you come from?

You hold your hand against his, folding your fingers perfectly together. The evidence of your night flaking from Joel’s knuckles; sweat still simmering on the nape of his neck.

He hasn’t done this for years. Hasn’t felt this gentle aftermath. It’s usually a rush, a hastened zip and clink of his pants. An awkward dance, plucking clothes from the bedroom floor and pacing back to his truck.

It’s never like this. Talking and laughing, holding and kissing. Questions about his parents and yours; his biggest dream as a kid, or the time you broke your arm falling out of a tree.

He tells you stories about growing up with Tommy; tells you Sarah’s favorite flavor of cake. He tells you about the time they tried to make it for a school bake sale, forgot to turn the oven off, and almost burned the damn kitchen down.

You snicker and tell him that never would’ve happened if you were there.

Yeah, well, Joel smiles, I wish you were.

He notices you’re drifting off, despite your slurred protests and your weak grip on his wrist. He pulls you under the covers, curving his body around yours, praying that the quickening drum of his heartbeat won’t wake you.

His nose nuzzles into the curve of your skull, his hands link in front of your tummy. And he wonders whether his body was made with yours in mind.

He glances out at the sky – light starting to bleed from the horizon – and wills the turn of the sun to slow. Only a little; just let him stay here a little while longer.

Just a little while.

Dawn forces her way in eventually – more unwelcome than ever before.

There’s a throb between his temples which swells to life when the light floods past his pupils. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, face turning back into the pillow. He gives you a gentle squeeze and then pushes up from the mattress.

You roll to the middle of the bed, still sound asleep. The sun spills golden all over the valleys and crests of your body. The bedsheets carve pathways up to your hips, dipping at your waist.

Last night, there was something so mystical about you – so otherworldly. Joel felt himself drawn towards you like a compass needle shooting north, the second he felt your weight crash against his spine.

A figure behind a cloud of smoke, like the mountaintops disappearing into a thick mist. And now, blood drained of alcohol, you’re just you.

Your shirt is twisted around your shoulders. Your lips puffy, mumbling to yourself in your doze. Makeup smudged like chalk under your eyes, and still – just as beautiful. Just as radiant as you were ten hours ago.

Joel rubs his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed. He blinks down at his bare feet, the morning sharpening into focus. As he lifts his phone from the nightstand, the cable drops – hitting the wooden floor with a snap.

He pauses, shoulders hunched. Hears you stir over his shoulder, and turns around.

The earth of your body shifts beneath cotton hills, clouds of sleep clearing from behind your eyes. “Hey,” you whisper, voice pretty and broken.

A little bird in the palm of his hand – that magpie curled up in her nest of gems and trinkets.

“Hey.” He leans down and kisses your cheek. “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You wrap your arms around his wrist, tugging. “Are…are you…leaving?”

Joel feels a pang in his chest, and he doesn’t know why. He takes a deep breath. Your scent fills his lungs and steadies his heart. “I…” he sniffs, “…I gotta go home, baby.”

You give a slow and heavy nod. “S-Sarah…”

He strokes your head with his thumb. “Yeah. Shh, go back to sleep. It’s still early.”

He glances at his phone – it’s just after six. He knows Tommy will be waiting for him, parked outside the Super 8 and wondering where the hell Joel is. He knows Sarah will be, too – sat by the living room window, listening for the rumble of their bikes.

And still, he thinks – How do I fucking leave you? Leave this?

He shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought. He has a kid waiting for him back home; soccer practice, packed lunches, homework and bedtime stories. He has work to do, bills to pay, a roof to keep over their heads. It’s all waiting in Austin, two hundred miles away.

As though you can see the question flipping in his mind, you pull him closer. A weak finger in the palm of his hand, drawing circles. Your bleary gaze meets his, and you whisper, “In the next life.”

Joel smiles. Twelve hours ago, he’d have laughed at the idea of it. Now, he’s not so sure. He kisses your knuckles, muttering, “Promise.”

Another wave of sleep washes over you, and you’re gone again.

Joel pushes himself from the bed, reaching for his clothes. His back twinges as he stretches, pulling his T-shirt over his shoulders. He steps into his jeans; pinches his belt between two fingers and lifts it from the floor.

He leans over and tilts your shades the opposite way, dulling your bedroom. He unplugs the charger, neatly winds the cord, and sits it on your nightstand. He fixes his side of the sheets: folds them over the mattress, tucks them in at your back.

With a deep breath, he makes for the door.

His jaw turns, eyes still low. Your dress is in a heap at the foot of the bed; a tube of lip gloss lying next to it. He looks up, following the landscape of sheets – the slope from your ankle to your hip. Your hunched shoulders, your cheek smushed into the pillow.

If he looks too long, he’ll never leave.

The image burns golden into his eyes. He hopes for half a heartbeat that you’ll wake again and pull him back into bed. Kiss him all over, whisper something sharp and sweet in his ear. Touch him and graze him and wrap yourself around him – anchoring him right here and now.

But you don’t.

And Joel slips out of the room.

Jackson stirs to life over his shoulder.

A white lump in the snow-covered valley, the settlement seems so far away now. Tommy sets off up ahead, leading the way to the outpost. The blizzard is picking up – it almost swallows the silhouette of him whole.

Joel had tried to warn him: the weather would be too bad to see five feet in front of them, never mind any infected. But Tommy argued with the same determination that dragged the pair of them into that dive bar thirty years ago, and Joel didn’t have half the energy nor the will to argue back.

He’s thinking about you. He always is.

Your searing gaze over the rim of your glass; the weight of you against his chest. The tickling of your nail on his palm, severing each line and changing him forever. You and your palm lines.

You were just learning to read them. Joel didn’t know a thing about any of it, and he told you so. You took his hand in yours and said, Here. Let me see.

He runs a thumb down his fate line, swaying in time with his horse. And he shakes his head with a little smile – he still remembers which one is fate and which is heart.

He still remembers all of it. He has earth hands. All salt and soil and solid as stone. His earth hands have gotten him this far, right? Twenty-five years and he’s still here. Gray and grown; stiff joints and sewn-up scars.

His head line has channeled more strangers’ blood than Joel can count. Mounts that’ve stopped breath in the throat of any man who crossed him. He doesn’t think you’d recognize his hands anymore, if your fingertips traced over them again. Broken and bruised and bloody.

And he doesn’t think he’d want you to – doesn’t want you to meet the shadow of the man you knew back then. He’d prefer you remember that same brown-eyed, soft-touched stranger with enough charm and naivety to survive anything. No need for bone-breaking fists or bloodstained hands.

Where are you, he wonders?

The answer knots deep in his stomach: the same old rope twisting into the same old shape. A fist of anger, of guilt. Some terrible cocktail of both, spilling poison through his veins.

He’s terrified to wonder what might’ve happened if he had ever made it back there. What he might’ve found in your apartment – what he might not.

Where would you have gone, that day? Would you have fled, or would you have stayed?

You were smart, he knows that much. He saw the cogs of your mind turning right in front of him, standing opposite each other in that bar. Barely thirty seconds in and he could’ve sworn you had him all figured out.

But – oh, Jesus, you were kind. Open and willing to help a stranger with a dead phone and a tired smile. Would that kindness still glow as bright against the flicker of a world on fire?

A lone hawk swoops down before him, shooting straight between the pines. Joel slips his glove back over his freezing hand.

He thinks about you every day. Every fucking day, and it never eases. Never loosens. It keeps him up some nights – the truth he’s too afraid to look square in the face.

You live now in the back of his mind like a little ghost. His little ghost – still floating around that dusty city; the warm light of life and innocence still bright in your eyes.

Tommy glances over his shoulder. He gestures ahead as if to say, Would you take a look at this goddamn storm?

And Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m lookin’, brother.

All he wants is to go home. Jackson, Austin, the bedroom of your apartment in San Angelo. Just let me go back.

He blinks, and the snow melts to cracked asphalt under a lilac sunset. Tommy’s holding handlebars instead of reins. The horses’ hot puffs of breath darken to clouds of smoke, choking from the exhaust pipes of the Harleys.

You’re somewhere on the other side of town, waiting for him in the faint glow of a jukebox. Sipping what’s left of your rum and Coke, fishing a twenty from your purse for the next round.

Just let me go back home.

He tugs on his horse’s reins and pulls off after his brother.

[driaswrld]

i'm just — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 1.6k

summary : (fem!reader) satoru gets lost in his head way too early in the morning, you and suguru ease his worries with one simple question.

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : honestly this is before megs and tsumiki, just when the trio is figuring out their futures and i wanna show rlly how complex satoru's feelings are but from the pov of the ppl who love him. bcus let's bfr suguru and reader would live in a cardboard box under a bridge with satoru if it meant the three of them would be happy.

other : mentions of hickeys/lovebites ig? poly satosugu x reader but labels haven't really been defined so do with that as you may. and yes this is totally reader n suguru telling satoru that hes kenough!

current casette : i'm just ken - barbie, the album

You wake to a weight pressed against your left arm, blood rushing to your fingertips. A soft gust of summer air blows the thin blue curtains to the side, just as the morning sun peeks out from beyond the railing of the balcony. It’s hot.

It’s not just hot. The apartment is quiet.

Not often is it this quiet.

Wiggling your legs beneath the covers, you roll onto your left side, and the first thing you see makes your heart do a somersault.

Suguru, with his head pressed against your arm, his chin snug in the inside of your elbow. You don’t want to wake him — really, when was the last time any of you got a full night’s sleep let alone the privilege of sleeping in during the day?

One of your legs hike over the thigh Suguru has slotted between your own thighs, and there’s a sliver of movement beneath his eyelids. You freeze.

There’s a shift in his breathing pattern, like he’s about to wake up, and instead of moving your leg more, the arm he’s laying on moves around him to the back of his neck, pulling him closer and into your chest.

In his sleep, he mumbles something inaudible.

You still talk in your sleep after so long, Suguru?You think, but you swallow it with a smile.

Strands of jet black swallow your chest like a blanket. Silently, you card Suguru’s hair between your fingertips. Halfway down, the length of your thumb hooks on a broken hair tie, and you pull it out, a few darkened knots coming with it.

Graciously, you discard it on the empty side of the bed next to you. Satoru's side.

The pillow is cold.

Back then, you would slide out of Suguru’s hold and saunter off to find Satoru, drag him back to bed maybe. But now, you’re old enough to know he can never stay away too long.

No sappy stuff! Satoru just gets major FOMO when you and Suguru cuddle without him, that’s all!

His words, not yours.

The sunlight beaming in from the open balcony door warms your skin, heating the curve of your jaw, the flesh of your cheeks buzzing with warmth. You look down at Suguru, wondering if you should close the curtains before the light bothers him—

He’s like a baby, just laying there on your chest.

From here you can see the edge of his shoulder, a soft red mark blooming on his bare skin. Was that you? No, you don’t remember doing that. Maybe it was Satoru.

Maybe it was the both of you. You can never tell.

Suguru shifts, nuzzling his head into you, tip of his nose in between your breasts, and you wonder if he can even breathe like that.

He babbles something mindlessly, and his arms snake around your waist, pressing his weight firmly on top of you. Curious, you move a tuft of hair out of his face.

His eyes form soft slits, moisture tickling the edge of his dark lashes from sleep, his lips parted slightly with soft breaths. He’s beautiful like this.

“...Did I wake you?” A whisper comes from across the room, and you turn your attention from Suguru to where Satoru is leaning against the doorframe, shirtless and eyes heavy with sleep.

Carefully, you check on Suguru before you glance back at Satoru. “No, you’re fine…” You whisper back, hyper aware of your volume. “I got warm, is all.” The last thing you want to do is wake Suguru, and Satoru gets the idea quick as he steps over to the end of the bed.

“Warm?” Satoru repeats, rubbing a fist over his eyes, before he glances over at the open balcony doors adjacent to the bed, the baby blue curtains swaying softly with the little wind. And it clicks in his brain. “Yeah, the thermostat is still busted — I tried fixing it,” he murmurs, taking a seat at the edge of the bed, back turned to you. “I’ll just call someone to get it fixed later.”

Suguru stirs atop your chest, and you pat the top of his head, coaxing him to sleep more.

“Do we even have the money to get it fixed anyway?” You ask, soft.

Sometimes, the three of you tend to forget you’re just kids. Fresh out of highschool and starting from scratch — desperately trying to make something of your own. “I can ask Nanami to look at it tomorrow—”

“I don’t want you to ask Nanami, though.” Satoru cuts you off, and you breathe a sigh.

“Don’t be prideful, ‘toru. It’s just a thermostat.”

Satoru feels a foreign feeling bubble in him. Rather, not foreign, but a variation of the same feeling he’s been feeling these past days.

Ever since he decided to put his inheritance from the Gojo clan on hold, so the three of you could do this on your own. Ever since Suguru started taking extra missions to help with rent. Ever since you started taking half of Nanami’s overtime shifts — is pride the name of the heat bubbling inside him? Or is it disappointment?

“It’s more than the thermostat, name.” He whispers, looking over his shoulder for all but a mere second, waiting for Suguru to stir again. But he doesn’t.

He can’t run to Suguru to stall this conversation. “It’s the bathroom sink—”

“Suguru tied a bandana around the bottom of the faucet, it’ll stop the dripping until we can—”

“No.” He shakes his head, shifting to fold one leg under him as he finally turns to look at you. “It’s the whole apartment, it’s the late shifts — it’s all the things I can’t do.” Satoru’s voice cracks an octave higher than it should.

You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. Suguru’s body rolls to the side and you take advantage of this to slowly start sliding up against the headboard.

“All the things I can’t give you two.” Satoru whispers, mostly to himself than to you.

Suguru sleepily stretches his arm to you, his fist curling around the hem of your shirt just as your back leans against the wood of the headboard. “I never asked for anything though… I doubt Suguru has either.” You reply in a mumble.

You’re right. Satoru knows that. But why would you and Suguru ever need to ask him for anything?

It’s what he’s supposed to do. That’s what love is. He’s supposed to want to give you two the best. He’s supposed to do all the heavy lifting — he’s the strongest. He's supposed to take care of the both of you.

“You’re stupid if you think we care about all that.” Suguru’s voice cuts through the air, hoarse from sleep but thick with something other than sleep — conviction, pride.

Pride in Satoru. Pride in you. “Who cares about the thermostat? Who cares about the sink?” His head lifts only a few centimeters away from your chest, his eyes still closed but his voice showing no signs of slumber at all. “I could drown in the bathroom tonight for all I care.”

You smile a little. And Satoru looks over at you two, albeit a little incredulously.

Why are you looking at him and smiling like that?

Why is Suguru so unbothered?

Satoru tries to wrap his head around it but for the life of him he can’t.

“What the hell is wrong with you two…” Satoru mumbles beneath his breath, turning his body completely, both legs crossed as he sits on the bed. “This isn’t— this isn’t what we wanted…”

The three of you wanted peace. A life full of shenanigans and sporadic missions. A life where you’d worry about nothing, do nothing but feel everything.

Satoru can’t help but burn inside at the way you two don’t even realize you’ve gotten the short end of the stick with this life. This life with him—

“name.” Suguru mumbles into your chest, just as he raises his head to your eye level, the first time he’s opened his eyes since morning. And yet, there’s a softness in them you’ve never seen before. “Are you happy?” Suguru asks, simply, straightforward.

In your mind, you think of a million different ways to answer the question, a million different ways to break down and explain and talk and talk and talk about how you feel but ultimately it all leads back to—

“One word, yes or no.” Suguru tilts his head, looking up at you expectantly yet prepared. Like he already knows what you’ll say before you think it.

“Are you happy?” He asks again and Satoru strains his gaze to the bedsheets, waiting for an answer he thinks he doesn’t want to hear. Because how? How can you be happy?

“Yes.” The answer leaves your mouth with a fluidity, like it came out absentmindedly, without needing any thought. And Satoru is about to say something like about it not being so easy or Suguru’s question being dumb and vague, but—

“Now, Suguru, are you happy?” Suguru mimics Satoru’s voice, dramatically raising his pitch a few tones, even going as far to open his eyes wide — like he’s got six eyes to spare. “Oh, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been—!” Suguru raises his arms in an over the top gesture and you can’t help but laugh.

You look over to Satoru, and he’s looking at you and Suguru like he’s seeing something he’s never seen before.

And the knot twisting inside of him loosens. Just enough for him to have to force himself to bite back a chuckle. I don't even talk like that, he wants to say.

“Are you happy, Satoru?” You ask, and he stills for a moment. And now he thinks he understands Suguru’s dumb not so easy but extremely vague question.

He’s never not been happy when he’s with you two. It shouldn’t even be a question.

“I’m never… not happy…” He whispers, his shoulders slouching forwards. “But it’s not—”

You cut him off with a grin. “One word.”

Suguru laughs. “Yes or no?”

Satoru sits a little straighter, and he feels like he can breathe easier.

“Yes. It’s always yes with you two.”

[samandcolbyownme]

Summary: Anon request on tumblr - "can you do a jake x poll dancer smut?"

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, pole dancer!y/n, cocky!y/n, mentions of working in a strip club, breaking club rules, semi public, sneaky, unprotected sex, hair pulling, biting, scratching, general filth

Word count: 2.9k | not edited really

Also, I fucking LOVE writing these ones because it makes me feel like I could totally be a stripper, so thank you to whoever sent this is to me.

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

"Ladies and gentlemen.." The DJ announces to grab everyone's attention, "Welcome to The Cave, where our number one priority is to make sure you have a good time, if not, then the best time!

A small smirk toys with your lips as you know your stage name is about to be announced.

"Please, without further ado, give it up for Sinderella."

Your song that you chose for openings tonight’s show, Bad Girlfriend by Theory of a Deadman, starts blasting through the speaking, mixing in with the cheers and whistles of the desperate men ready to try and get your attention.

You emerge from behind the curtain, a huge smile on your face as you walk over to the pole. You wrap one hand around it, walking around it as the song builds up.

Your eyes scan over the crowd surrounding the stage, one guy in particular catches your attention.

You give him a smirk as your eyes meet his and you lift yourself up, wrapping one leg around the pole as you lean back.

You slide down, squatting down as you move around to the beat of the song. You turn around, crawling over to the edge of the stage, stopping right in front of the guy that caught your attention.

Your eyes scan up his tattooed skin as you reach out, tangling your fingers into his hair and pulling slightly as the lyrics, “..she likes to pull my hair when I make her grind her teeth..” play loudly through the club.

He smirks and looks up at you, watching as you spin around and tilt your head back, looking at him upside down.

You bite your lip, spinning away from him, ass towards him as you crawl back to the pole. You stand up, lifting yourself up to spin around, doing a split in the air.

You smile as money gets tossed your way from everyone around the stage.

You move back down, crawling over to a random guy off to the side during the one bridge of the song. You get on your knees, hooking the straps of your red thong and pulling them outward as the song plays, “Red thong, party's on, love this song, sing along..”

You bite your lip as you spread your legs, bouncing up and down slightly as you give a little way to the guy during, “.. see you later back at home..”

You get up, walking back to the pole and dancing against it. Your eyes travel back to the guy with the dark hair and tattoos and you walk towards him, turning at the last second to go to the other side of the stage.

You glance back at him, smirking as you see him shake his head as he mouths, “Tease.”

You look away, tilting your head as you lock eyes with another guy, dragging your hands up your body, “..she's naughty to the end..”

You grip the edge of the stage, leaning forward so a guy can stuff a few ones in the strap of your very sheer bra.

“Thank you.” You smile and move down the stage on your hands and knees, flipping your hair, moving to shake your ass to the beat of the song.

You were having complete fun with it, until you went back to the guy.

You were assuming his friend was right next to him, so you lean out, grabbing the loose tie that was around his neck and pulling him into you as you lean back.

You push your chest out, flipping your hair as you let go of the tie. You move back, mouthing along to the lyrics as you slowly crawl towards the guy, “.. But does it make her wrong to have the time of her life?..”

You sit up straight, staring down at his hand reaching up to slip a twenty into the tiny strap of your thong.

Your eyes move up to his, “Thank you, baby.”

He nods, “Anything for my favorite dancer.” He winks, sending a kaleidoscope of butterflies through you.

You smile and move back to the pole to finish out the song. You spin, twirl, twist, and bend around it. As the song ends, the DJ comes back onto the mic, “Thank you, darlin’. Everyone give it up for Sinderella.”

You smile, bowing before going around to collect your money. You reach out, taking the loose ones from the hands of the men, giving them a cute smile as you thank them.

You walk back through the curtain, “Good luck, Sugar.” You smile at the next girl getting ready to go out and she scoffs, “Please. After that? I’ll need it. You were incredible, as always.”

You smile, “Thank you.” You hear the DJ announce her and you squeeze her shoulder, “You’re going to kill it.”

She disappears out onto the stage and you walk back to the dressing room to change into something different. You opt for a very skimpy all black one piece that just barely covers your nipples.

You switch your heels to Lacey black ones and fluff your hair one last time before making your way out to the floor.

Your head immediately turns towards the stage, but not to look at Sugar spinning around the pole.

You were looking for him.

“Sinderelly. Sinderelly.” One of your regulars comes up to you, taking your hand to spin you around so he can get a full view of you, “Got time for a private dance?”

He holds up three hundred dollar bills and you sigh, giving him a smile, “Of course I can.” You lead him back to the private rooms, pulling the curtain closed.

“Two songs like usual?” You turn around, walking around to lay your hand on his chest. He chuckles, “I wish, sweetheart. But I have an early flight tomorrow, so we’ll just make it one for tonight.”

“Where are you flying to?” You walk around to the front, slowly bending down as you sit on his lap.

“Barbados. Business, you know?” His eyes rake up and down your body, “Is this new?” He asks referring to your little outfit.

“Sure is.” You lean your back against his chest and move your hips against him.

You couldn’t help but think of how soft that guys hair was when you laced your fingers in it.

How his eyes followed you as you moved around on the stage.

The way he made your skin tingle when he brushed his fingers against your skin to tuck the money into the band of your panties.

You wanted him, needed him.

And you decided right then and there that you were going to be the ones to break the rules.

As the song ends, you stand up, turning around to face the gentleman in the chair, “I hope your trip goes well.”

He hands you the three hundred dollars and smiles, “I’ll definitely have to come back and tell you how it was.”

You nod, pointing to him after taking the money, “I’ll be holding you to it, honey.” You open the curtain, allowing him to walk out first, “Have a good night.”

He looks back at you as he walks towards the exit, “I will now.” He winks and you smile as he leaves.

You walk around the club, saying hi to other people you see in there all the time. As your leaned forward on the one table, your eyes lock onto the friend of the guy you can’t stop thinking about.

He smirks and nudges him, nodding towards you. He turns around, looking directly at you with a smile on his lips. You see him tell his friend that he’ll be right back, but you were going to make sure it wouldn’t be for a while.

“See you guys later.” You smile at the guys and walk around the table. You put one hand on your hip, smiling as he walks up to you, “Hey.”

“Hey.” He smirks and tilts his head, “So I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Likewise.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you nod. You can tell his wheels were turning about whether or not you were just saying that because it was your job, or if you actually meant it.

You lean in, “Interested in a private dance?”

“Oh boy, you bet I am.” He nods with a slight laugh and you smile as you take his hand into yours, “Follow me.”

You glance back at him as he gives his friend a thumbs up. You shake your head laughing as you lead him to the room all the way in the back, “So what’s your name, baby?”

He walks in, sitting down in the large velvety chair, “Jake.”

“Jake.” You repeat as you shut the curtain behind you, “It’s very nice to meet you.” You walk over, dragging your hand over his chest as you walk in a circle around him.

“What did you think of my turn on the stage, Jake?” You sit in his lap, facing him with your hands on his shoulders.

He rests his arms out on the arms of the chair, “You want my honest answer?”

You nod as you move your hips to the beat or the song, “Please.” You lean in, brushing your lips against his neck and you can feel him swallow hard, “I um..” he clears his throat, shifting around under you, “It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He tilts his head back, looking up at you as you lean up, “Yeah? Well thank you, I really put my all into those kind of shows.”

He smirks, “You definitely had my attention.”

“Oh I know I did.” You laugh slightly and sigh as you stand up, turning around to sit in his lap, “So tell me, Jake.” You lean back against his chest, “You have a girlfriend that doesn’t know you’re here? Or does? I don’t know if you’re into that kind of thing.”

He chuckles, rubbing his fingers together, “No, no. I am as single as a dollar bill, Sinderella.” He tilts his head, “How’d you come up with that name anyway?”

You stand up, turning around to face him. You lay your hands his knees and bend down, “I spell it Sin as in..” you look up at him, “S. I. N.”

His brow twitches, “Yeah?”

You nod, “And.. because I like to live like there’s no midnight..” You move back to straddling him, your boobs right in front of his face and his eyes are locked on them.

“That’s..” he takes a breath, “Creative.”

You’re not only teasing him at this point, you’re teasing yourself.

“You can touch me.” You whisper, “It’s okay.”

He’s hesitant at first, “I really don’t want to get out time cut short by getting thrown out of here.” He chuckles and you slide your hands up his mesh covered chest, “As long as we’re quiet.. there’s no need to be thrown out.”

He tilts his head, “You do this with all your guests that come back her with you?”

You shake your head as you slide your hands down his arms, “Nope. I’m a good girl. I always follow the rules. But..” you guide his hands to your hips and you lean in, “You’re the first person I want to break the rules for.”

“Fucking hell.” He groans lowly as you grind down onto his growing bulge. You drag your nails up his arm and lay a hand on the side of his neck, “What do you say Jake? Still can’t get me off your mind?”

He smirks, a chuckle following behind, “If we’re doing this, I should get to know your real name.”

“Do you want to do this?” You ask and he instantly nods his head, “Fuck, yeah.”

“Y/n.” You say with no hesitation, “Nice to meet you.” You smile and lean in to close the space between your lips and his.

His hands slide down, gripping your ass, moving you to give him some sort of friction. A low groan leaves his lips as you bite down on his bottom lip and tilt your head back.

He kisses back your jaw and down to your neck, “You are so fucking sexy.”

You smile as you close your eyes, biting your lip to hold back your moans as he sucks on your neck, “No marks, Jake.” You lean back and he smirks, “Right. Sorry. Forgot that we’re a secret.”

You slide your hands down his chest, undoing the belt on his jeans so you can undo them and push his zipper down.

You lift up slightly so you can reach in, pulling him from his boxers, “You’re so big.” You bite your lip as you stroke him a few times.

He smirks and licks his lips, “Thanks. I’m pretty confident in it.” He chuckles but stops as soon as you rub the tip against your already slick folds.

You spit onto the tip of your fingers, reaching down to coat the tip of his cock with it, “You should be.” You smile and bite down on your lip hard as you slowly start to sink down onto him.

His fingers dig into your skin, tilting his head back as you grip the chair behind him, “Fuck, Jake.” You lean in, whimpering as you roll your hips, “needed you so bad.”

He turns his head, kissing the corner of your mouth, “So fucking wet.”

You turn your head, crashing your lips onto his as you slide a hand to lay on the back of his head, fingers lacing into his soft, dark hair.

You clench around him, already wanting to cum for him.

His hands guide you up and down on his cock, groaning lowly and fighting to stay as quiet as he can.

“My shift ends in two hours.” You breathe out, “Give me a ride home?”

Jake nods quickly, “As long as you promise to ride me just like this when we get there.”

“Deal.” You moan out quietly, “Fuck.” You bury your face into his neck, whimpering as you clench around him, “Cum for me, y/n.”

Jake using your real name sends you over the edge. Your nails dig into the couch as your other hand pulls his hair.

You clench your jaw and you rock against his cock, guiding yourself through the high or your orgasm. You kiss up his neck to his lips.

Your lips move in sync as he slowly and subtle as possible, thrusts his hips upward, “Never made a girl cum that fast before.”

You giggle slightly, “Now ya have.”

He tilts his head back before sliding a hand up to move the tiny straps covering your nipples. He looks down, eyes scanning over your boobs before staring down at his cock going in and out of you in the red light of the room.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking close.” He looks up at you, “Where do you want me?”

“I’ll swallow.” You whisper, “Just tell me when.”

He nods, pulling you back into kiss him. He thrusts a few more times before he nods, “Okay. Okay now.” You quickly get up, dropping to your knees in between his and placing your lips around his cock.

He lays a hand on the back of your head as you bob, working him up to cum. You feel if shoot into your throat and you wait til he done to lean back.

You look up at him, licking your lips as you wipe the corner of your mouth with your wrist.

“You’re such a bad girl.” He boops your nose and you shrug, “Only for the right kind of person.” You slide your hands up his thighs before standing up.

He fixes himself and rests his head back, staring up at you as you fix your outfit, “You say two hours?”

You nod, “Yep. Midnight.”

“I guess I can force Johnnie to stay here another two hours.” He laughs and you tilt your head, “That your friend?”

He nods, “Yeah, he didn’t want to come, but I told him it would be worth it. I guess I was right on that part for me anyway.”

“I’ll tell one of the girls to treat him good.” You smirk and Jake nods, “He will hate that.”

“Oh, do you no-“

He cuts you off, “No, no. Do it.” He laughs and moves to the edge of the chair, reaching out to pull you to him. His hands slide up and down your thighs as yours rest on his shoulders.

“I’m going to enjoy these next two hours.”

You look down at him, “Why’s that?”

“After what I just got.. it’s a big fuck you to all the assholes who know they can’t to touch you.” He smiles and stands up, giving you one last kiss before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a hundred dollar bill, “To cover our tracks, you know.”

“Of course. Of course.” You smile as he slips it into the thin strap. You look up at him and step back, “See you out there.”

“See you out there.” He winks before leaving the room and you stand there, silently composing yourself before you walk back out to the floor.

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

Thank you so much for reading!

Love you all! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[hiraeth-sonder]

Kept Dove - Purgatorio

Yan!Sunday x Reader

Even if a bird with clipped wings can only fly so far, it is a freedom nonetheless

TW: pseudo-incest, suicidal behaviour, stalking, general manipulative and toxic behaviour

//Characters may be OOC, please go easy on my glass heart. Spoilers for the 2.0 story quest but also I may not remember things correctly so- Not at all accurate to future patches/lore. Excerpts from the Song of Songs.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through veiled curtains and under warm lights, you tug your socks up with a careful hand, your eyes tracking the movement through the large mirror across you. The soft sheer fabric ascends your leg, trailing up and up until it reaches exactly above your knee. Just the slightest askew, you check once more, turning your leg and watching how the edge on your inner leg dips down, sneaking your finger under the garter to readjust its height. When deemed satisfactory, you reach for your sock garters, clipping the metal fasteners onto the ends as the upper ends hang limply by the side of your leg. You do the same meticulous routine for your right leg, putting your legs together to ensure that they are perfectly even. 

Hung on a hanger was a blouse, with no evidence of wrinkles or lint. Gingerly, you slip it off and let the cool fabric caress your bare skin, once again peering into the mirror to straighten the ends only to carefully push every little fabric-covered button through equally miniscule openings. It hugs your form perfectly when finished, tailor made to adhere to your body like a second skin, with bishop sleeves to be held together with custom cufflinks. You do so, deft fingers piercing the fabric with the golden optics before clipping the ends of the shirt with the once hanging garters. 

Your skirt comes next, prudent and pure. You step into it and bend ever so slightly, bringing it up to your waist to fasten the button that would keep it closed. It is only now that you pad across soft carpet towards your lineup of shoes, from sensible flats to respectable high heels, of shined leather to patent, fit for any occasion. You hook the backs of a pair of heels with your fingers, making your way back to your vanity to slip them on. It is now that you turn your attention to the perfumes decorating the front of the gilded mirror, each of them gifts handpicked by your siblings, bottles easily distinguished by your sister’s fondness for winsome designs and your brother’s partiality for elegance. You uncap a lacquered white glass bottle, the airy and floral aroma that comes from the nozzle is one of their favourites.

There is a light knock at your door, a gentle rap of knuckles against hardwood. It is merely a courtesy, he has no real need to announce his presence when you have long known he would come. Your eyes do not even have to glance at the ticking clock, the knowledge of the minute hand’s exact position of twenty minutes to eight a matter you have grown familiar with over the years. 

“Come in.”

Familiar, practised steps barely sound through your room, a few strides until a silhouette appears behind you. Letting out a soft breath, your eyelids flutter close as you turn your head away from the mirror. “I’m afraid you have little to help with today.”

“I merely wanted to check on you,” Your brother’s voice is delicate, even in your mind there is a kindness to his lilting rise. 

A sigh escapes your lips. ‘Check on you’ can mean all matters of things, whether it truly does entail merely checking on you is a test only known to him. Your eyes open upon the slightest hint of movement, watching through the mirror as gloved hands pull your hair back, reaching for a tie to bundle it up into a half-bun. The action in itself is practised and skilled, moreso a reminder of how many times he has performed such on the women of his life, it sends an inexplicable grief aching in your heart. 

He lowers himself to your level, and as the warm lights cast an intimate gleam upon his features, you get the day’s first look of your brother. Golden eyes softened in gentle fondness, or perhaps some amalgamation of it, cool steel locks lay in perfect formation as his soft wings unfurl to reveal his stately countenance. There is a soft smile pulled across his lips, yet for some reason you must wonder why that tightness in your chest exists so. 

“Happy?” You manage to croak out, still fraught with his full attention on you. 

Sunday tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, clearly admiring his work as he hums, “Very much so, you look quite comely like this.”

You glance at yourself in the very mirror that has aided your preparation, the small wings at the back of your ears hang downward in some odd shame, the sharp tips of your halo glinting with a keen shine. The dark wings flutter lightly, and that recurring shame seems to bubble back to the top of your mind everytime you are reminded of their existence. A corvid among songbird and dove, a stain in their otherwise blemishless perfection. A pathetic excuse for a halovian, you had little sway, little influence, little image. Your very existence was a means to uphold their depiction. 

You were just the child taken pity upon, the mutt picked up from the side of the road to house and feed. Thus, you are an extension of them, whatever you do, however you look, it all went back to them. You sometimes wonder whether they know how much you pale in comparison to their light. 

All too quick to shove such a treacherous thought to the back of your head, it would be a cold day in hell before someone pries that thought from your brain. He casts you an inquisitive gaze, one you wave off with your ascent from the chair. Your steps, three steps slower, accompany his longer strides, padding out from soft carpet to thudding wood. 

Leaving the mansion is always some arduous task, and you suppose that there is no one to blame but your brother for all the fuss that needs to be sorted out. Twisting hallways, confounding rooms, even the little sandpit of the Golden Hour, it made it so that leaving required his notice, lest you end up arbitrarily lost. Of course, this also meant that you were severely limited in the times you got to leave the mansion, since he always had so much to attend to in the day. And it is not like you refuse to learn, but rather that you cannot learn its ways that you remain unaware. Furthermore, it is exactly because that he does so much that you find it hard to even bring up your grievances about such a matter, how could you? So even if you yearn to see the world far beyond what he has allowed you to see, you very often keep your mouth shut and play at content. 

As you emerge from those familiar depths, a wing raises itself to shield your eyes from the sudden influx of bright lights. Penacony, the city of dreams they call it, but to you, it has been nothing more than an incandescent lie. Why else would your sister leave?  

It is then you see her, with her flowing light blue hair and her familiar visage. Her attire remains the same as all the advertisements you see with her face plastered on them, her halo tilted to the right and the gems under her left eye in flawless position. Yet, in your heart, your most sincerest of affections borne from years of companionship, you know that it is not her. There is nothing that would infer this thought, the locum in front of you a perfect copy in all matters, but you cannot help but deny the image in front of you.

Turning to Sunday, a slip of your true thoughts revealed through the furrow of your brow, “Who is this?”

“A fool, nothing more,” He spares you a glance, but says nothing else. 

“Will she listen?”

It is only then you manage to meet his gaze, not a second more and not a second less, his voice is placid, revealing nothing even now, “You trust me, no?”

“Of course, but I just worry…” Your plea seems to go unheard, and you wonder whether you were even meant to come along if it meant you would only receive this kind of treatment. 

“Shall we depart?” He offers to the ‘Robin’ in front of you, dignified courtesy and trained care. You remain behind, watching on. His voice rings in your head, the only part of him you get, “Fret not, dear sister, all will be well.”

In your heart, something twinges with an acrid twist. Though this ‘Robin’ is clearly some cheat, he still treats her the same, still has that leak of affection. You have always known that he never took to you the same way she did, he could try to play at siblingly affection, could try to interact with you the same way he did her, but you knew that he never meant it. The daily check-ups, the gifts, the occasional contact, it all means nothing to him, and in the end, is that not what he does best? Lying with a sweet smile on his face, tempting you with a delusion all the while he wishes for nothing but your descent. The only one he could never perform such deeds to was his own sister.

Yet even in front of a fool, with the face of your sister, you could feel no hatred towards her. Because she has never done anything to warrant such, not when this dream of theirs is one you have done everything to uphold, not when she might have been the only light in your life. So even if what stands before you is a fake, even if you do not know what your brother has planned, you will keep your mouth and play at content. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

In the end, he had never even told you where the day’s itinerary would take you, so when you had found yourself in reality’s Reverie Hotel and met with an interesting situation, you had much to restrain from expressing. A group of four people you have never truly seen before and a man from the IPC, seemingly engaged in a difficult matter. They do not seem to notice your approaching footfalls, neither does Alley.

“Alley, just a moment,” Sunday speaks up, gentle yet assertive

“The Family cannot allow guests to enter a dream while bearing burdens.”

The crowd, now aware of your presence, shifts their attention. The grey-haired youth catches your attention, so clearly out of place yet seemingly intertwined, you can only ponder why. Still, it is not as if their gazes remain on you, rather it would be more accurate to say that they were never on you in the first place, positively enraptured by the natural radiance 

“Speak of the devil, look who's here! It's Sunday, the most handsome man in Penacony! Along with the singer renowned across the universe: Robin!” The blond, who you vaguely recognise as hailing from the IPC introduces the two of them with a flair, clearly playing up the flattery. 

‘Robin’ turns to face him, an amused smile playing at her lips as her eyes crinkle in mirth, “He said you were the most dashing person in Penacony, how interesting.”

An older man and a red-haired woman stand before you, their expressions shifting to alert, yet they are paid no mind. 

“I’ve kept you waiting, Mr. Aventurine. This way please, let us speak in private,” Your brother offers, a request that is taken with a courteous quirk of the blond’s lips. 

Your ‘sister’ instead takes charge of caring for the rest of the guests, “Astral Express guests, please come this way and rest your feet.”

It is by now that you have completely mentally checked out of the situation, your presence clearly not noticed nor ignored. Though you yearned to return and perhaps sleep the rest of the day away, your feet automatically flanked the guests of the Astral Express so as to guide them, your eyes following after the grey-haired youth who seemed to yearn to run after Aventurine. Oddly, they do not do so, obediently following after the pink-haired woman. 

You keep your posture perfect and your expression pleasant, not quite hearing but watching, eyes tracking lips so as to turn your perceived attention to whomever was speaking at present. Your ‘sister’ still enraptures, no matter the truth of her nature. Your ears pick up the vague mention of an apology, her hand held to her chest in polite regret. It is only when the redhead’s lips, a woman you believe is called Himeko, move in a manner that seems to be directed to you that you tune back in, a pleasant smile still painted as you meet her gaze.

“And who’s this? I don’t suppose we’ve met before, have we? Ms..?” She offers, playing at cordiality though it is clear she may be a little on guard.

Your lips move to answer far faster than your mind, practically instinctual. The response you get is kindly, one you are not sure is genuine but it makes your head rush. 

The older man, Welt, calls your name, a sound that feels like it should belong on his tongue. There is a familiarity to it, the kind you would hear from an older relative. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of them start with their pleasantries, and for some odd reason, your chest tightens with a yearning. You had watched them band together earlier, seen the way they interacted with one another and even through your haze, could all but feel the amity between them. These were people who were bound together by chance, people who have simply decided to become this family and not only played the roles, but might as well be actual family. 

“Thank you, it's a pleasure to meet all of you as well.”

‘Robin’ seems to fade into the background, a sight you are not used to, but this fool’s interest in you is not a matter you are too worried about. Rather, the new-found attention you found yourself under was now almost overwhelming, too much yet not entirely unwelcome. 

“If we’re not overstepping, may I ask how you’re affiliated with Mr. Sunday and Ms. Robin?” Himeko’s voice is sweet in your ears, a soothing sound.

“They’re my siblings, my older brother and younger sister to be exact.”

The pink-haired youth you believe is called March 13th, is almost all too excited at that answer, yet it dies to wonder, “That’s cool! But why haven’t we heard about you before?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I’m merely not as noteworthy as them….” Your play at humility is almost entirely accepted, a notion you are at least glad for. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your brother’s approach, a signal to return back into the background. With a hand to your chest, you bid your exit, “If you’ll excuse me.”

It is another haze that clouds over you when your brother arrives to slot himself into the conversation, one that once again seems to block out the words spoken. 

“I apologise for taking up everyone's precious time, and we shan't keep you any longer. If you need anything else while in Penacony, The Family stands ready to serve,” He hums, genteel and ever flawless.

‘Robin’ follows suit, her hand to her chest as she continues the courtesy, “May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

Your eyes fall upon the Astral Express, and though your heart knows what can only be imagined can never be brought to reality, you could not help but wish that you had never been brought in to your siblings. Perhaps in another life, perhaps in a dream far more beautiful and pleasant than this one. 

“May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

You were tired, so very tired. If Penacony truly was the world of dreams, yours must be some sick joke for your life to turn out this way. Given this glimpse of what could have been, how could you even bear to keep living in this illusion?

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

 His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The marble railing is cold against your bare feet, one wrong step and you’ll be sent careening off the side of the building, falling into a never-ending abyss. In the distance, playing on the record player, was the vague lilt of your sister’s voice. You could barely hear it through the wind, yet the very fact that she was there, truly or not, was more than enough. You have all but memorised her every song, humming along as though she was with you.

In a thin nightgown, you have long been free from the confines of your strict dress, hair let loose and face bare. Any matter that once adorned your form has been stripped, left exactly where they belonged in your room as your legs danced along to the melody. Chasse, a whisk and a natural turn, your arms wrapped around some imaginary partner, it all came to you without little thought, merely letting the music guide your form. You have never danced before, never thought yourself fit to, only read about the basics in a book a time forgotten, but you think you enjoy it. Perhaps in your next life you will be a dancer, no matter the fame, it would be something you could do without fear of tarnishing another’s image. 

Caught in your reverie, you are scarce to hear the knock on your door, the heave of heavy wood and the quick steps to the open balcony. Through the flowing curtains and under the starry night, your brother still looked nothing more than empyrean, regardless of the unnerved furrow of his brow and the dilation of his pupils. You do not stop from your actions, continuing to let your body��move along the wind.

“What are you doing?” He manages to utter, not as gentle yet cautious. 

Humming, you return his question with another, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Your dearest brother, the man who allows himself only the most minute interaction with you, the man who would not even meet your eyes beyond the confines of your home, though his words sounded as though they came from a more composed man, the slight tremble to his voice told you more than enough. 

“Dear sister, you won’t die even if you take such drastic actions.”

“You’re right, but at the very least I’d be soporose, no?”

There is a pained edge to his voice, visage finally broken out of that placid facade, “I don’t enjoy these words you’re saying.”

“When have you ever?” You laugh, eyes crinkled in levity as a smile pulled across your lips. Bare feet halt from their untethered sway, leaning to meet your brother’s gaze. Your words crawl out from your throat, hoarse from use yet elated nonetheless, “I’m sure that if I were to even look into that head of yours, those few thoughts you dedicate to me would be nothing but pure odium.”

Perhaps you would have been less inclined to disparage your brother once upon a time, more desirous of his attention for once, yet it is now you could care less. His focus means nothing to you now, not when he could not even bother to do so when it mattered most. Even if he threw himself at your feet and begged you to come down, you find it hard to believe you would listen in this state. 

Sunday’s voice is soft, yet simultaneously it is the loudest you have ever heard it, “You seem so convinced that I do not care for you, have you ever read beyond what your eyes tell?”

“Would you let me?” The air in your lungs feels faint, turning your voice breathy as tears strangely dew at your lower lashes. 

Would he even let you witness such? Let himself become vulnerable and open his tempestuous mind for you to pick and pry? You do not even believe he has allowed any other to come so close. Yet perhaps this is what you need to quell that storm in your chest, the last nail in your coffin, your last reason confirmed. 

He nods. 

Through dark veils and cloudy bubbles, you see it. The truth of his neglect, the reality behind his constant avoidance, his performed favouritism, all of it some cruel and horrific attempt to distance himself from emotions deemed iniquitous. All those times the clock would read seven forty, all those times you believed him to arrive on some schedule, that damned bird had been in your room all the while. Tucked away in some corner too high for you to notice, it stood watch at all hours of the day, keenly broadcasting your most natural state to him as if it were nothing more than the daily news. 

What a monster love can be, its dark shadow following you everywhere, in your most private and public moments, you have never been alone. Longing to embrace, alabaster hands ghosting over skin and breath fanning across bare chest, desiring to possess, to keep that object of yearning within a gilded cage and to tuck the key away. Twisting yet ever rigid, covetous and desirous, it is no wonder that your very existence should always be tied to him. There is no you without Sunday, no crow without dove, for what is a pious man without his conflict of sin?

“I love you,” He pleads, finally raw and true, finally directed to you. His face twisted in pure desperation as he approaches you, with his arms outstretched as though to compel you from your perch, your brother practically begs, “So please, stay with me.”

Beneath your gaze, beneath you, he is but a wretched thing. You never thought him stupid, yet for him to think that this was enough to wipe the slate anew, you must have overestimated him. 

You bark out a harsh bite of laughter, void of mirth and filled with scorn, “Do you expect me to just forgive you just like that? A measly ‘I love you’ and years of indifference can just be forgotten?”

“Sunday, you’re nothing but the last etching on my grave.”

Your feet leave the cold marble, tipping off into the unknown abyss below as a breeze flies through your wings. 

Your sister’s face flashes before you as your eyes flutter shut, her soft smile the one thing keeping your head clear and your limbs limp. You hear her sing, even past the rushing wind. Your dear sister, the one person who had been keeping you looking forward to another day, her crooning voice that played from the record player in your room, it is now you hear her clearer than ever. 

A bird that has never flown can only fall when thrown down, wings unable to catch the wind and soar from its cage, yet it is because it has never flown that this feeling is still a kind of freedom. And as your skin pebbles from the chill and your hair flows along your descent, you have never felt any freer, even if it is only for a brief moment. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through lace curtains and under warm light, a hand caresses your leg as it tugs white socks ever higher. Soft fabric clinging to your skin as he raises it to your thigh, far too intimate, far too familiar. He does the same for the other leg, knelt at your feet with his head bowed, the socks are nothing but perfectly aligned as per his preference. The garters hung around your waist, silken material his own hands placed upon you, he grasps the clips as he attaches it to the socks, ensuring he does not blemish your skin beneath. 

Your arm raises when he brings the blouse, silky and smooth. Sunday lets the cool fabric kiss your arms as he buttons each clasp, meticulously pushing them through each miniscule opening. Another piece he had ensured would fit you without fault, it followed the natural lines of your form without fail. He smooths the shoulders down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, moving to pin the sleeves with optic shaped cufflinks. Coaxing you from your seat, he has you step into your skirt, brought up to your waist and clasped neatly. Your shoes, perfectly shined heels tailor made for only you, are slipped on and buckled. Even the sweet florals of your perfume, another white lacquered glass bottle he gifted all those years ago, is applied by his hand. 

His dear sister, someone he has tried so hard to keep at an arm’s length, someone he has done nothing but debase in that torturous head of his, now stands before him, obedient and adoring. Far too tempting to keep away, his arms move to embrace you, resting at your waist.

Instinctively, your arms raise to wrap around his neck, weight leaning against his hands as he bows his head to press a kiss against your lips. You accept him languidly, your eyes fluttering close as he brings your bodies to but a fingertip’s distance. It almost seems meant to be, how they move against each other in a rhythm known only to the two of you. 

“I love you,” He murmurs against your lips, the words leaving him so naturally that if one were to tell him that he could finally utter these heavy words to you, that him of the past would have merely waved it off. “More than you could ever know.”

“.....love…”

“..you….”

Your wings flutter shyly around your two faces, as though to hide away from the rest of the world, even your halo trembles ever so slightly, an endearing act as you try your best to convey your affection to him. Still, that does not discourage you from attempting to cling onto him.

He smiles, pressing another, more chaste, kiss to your lips to tide you over. Recovery has been hard for you but he finds he quite enjoys having you so feeble for him. Barely able to even form full sentences through telepathy, it meant that he would be able to hear your sweet voice much more often. You were no songstress, but it is your humming that truly provides him with succour. Furthermore, having you so dependent, so keen for his help, it only serves to soften his heart. 

To reintroduce you to the rest of Penacony not as his sister, but as his dearest lover has been easy, and he can only thank his foresight for keeping your very existence so negligible. You would finally get what you have always yearned for, no matter what lies you told yourself, his full and utter adoration, demonstrable and undisguised. Lest you try to leave him once more. So he will keep you in this cage with him, care for you and love you so that beyond reasonable doubt, you shall have no desire to spread your wings once more.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

[upsidedownmvnson]

dirty girl | eddie munson smut

warnings: fingering, squirting, semi public, daddy kink, sex toy

AN: fuck

You sat beside your boyfriend, Eddie Munson in algebra. Halfway through the class he slipped you a little note, tucking it under the short material of your skirt instead of handing it to you. It said that he had an extra special surprise for lunch, and to meet him there at the break. You scrunch your eyebrows in silent questioning, but he answered but grinning and turning back to his notebook. There was no algebra, just a drawing of Frodo Baggins.

Through the rest of this class and the walk to the next, Eddie munson won't give up the surprise.

It was on your mind, you could tell in the grin it was something he was excited for. Eddie had been your boyfriend for over a year, and he'd never stopped surprising you. It was almost ridiculous how much effort he was constantly putting in, between the secret tree fort he built you in the woods, or when he learned how to cook your favourite meal to surprise you on your anniversary.

Eddie shows his love by doing things for you, he wanted to help you, with whatever. Anything, everything. The boy was so in love with you.

But when you showed up to the van at lunch, you didn't expect the surprise to be curtains in his van. And you certainly didn't understand why he was that excited about them, they were nice definitely and he did a great job. It was just kind of hard to tie the surprise to you.

"What do you think?" he asked, gesturing grandly towards the interior. You two were alone in this little corner of parking lot, Eddie stayed tucked away for the occasional last minute deal.

"Great job, baby," you said, kissing his cheek sweetly, and slipping your hand into his. "What sparked the idea?"

"Well," he said, using your interlocked hands to guide you into the back of the familiar van, and you started to climb in. "I was laying in bed the other thinking how much it sucks when you were these little skirts and I can't touch you."

"Oh?" you said, finally realizing what Eddie brought you here for.

"So I fixed that," he said, climbing in after you. "I'm about to have you for lunch." He flashed a wicked grin as he closed the van door, leaving the two of you in total privacy. The black curtains only let it cracks of light, but it was enough to see Eddie's eyes trained on your legs.

You were sitting facing him, you thighs parted slightly, granting him a little peek of the very thing he wanted. You wanted it, but you were nervous, but oh my god you were begging in your mind, begging for him to come make good on his words.

"And look at you, little mouse," he said, crawling forward like a predator. "You're breathing heavy already," he said, but you hadn't noticed until he said so. "I bet..." He got close enough to touch you, and used one hand to lean on the wall behind you, bringing his face only a few inches away from yours. He brought his hand up to your leg, touching the inside of your soft thighs, first encouraging you to spread them wider, which you did, and then tantalizingly slowly Eddie slid his calloused hand up length of your thigh until it slipped under the material of your skirt. "Your pussy is already soaked for me."

He hissed when he felt just how much. You were soaked, totally turned on by your predicament. Ready to surrender yourself to his dirty desires. His digit slipped up and down your slit over pink panties.

"She's just cryin' for me," he said, hooking his finger around the material and slipped it off. He stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. "I'm going to class with those in there."

"Eddie," you whispered, not breaking eye contact. His eyes were darker than normal, and yours were wide and glassy. He looked at you like you were something to eat.

And only for him.., you were.

"Yeah, baby?" he said, resting his forehead against yours. "Y'okay?"

"Touch me, please?"

"Tsk tsk tsk," he tutted, "you're being such a good girl," he said. He pushed off the wall, balancing back on his knees. He pinched your chin between his finger and thumb. "But Daddy's looking for a dirty girl."

You whimpered, leaning back without a word, letting your back hit the side of the van. You lifted your leg and moved it around him, totally spreading your legs for him while he just watched, both hands finding a place on your thighs after you settled.

You brought one hand to your own heat, running a single finger over your clit, pouting at Eddie for making you be the one to do it. You brought a second finger to your clit running small, soft circles. Eddie moaned in approval, watching in awe as you touched yourself for him, while you watched his face and eyes, searching for praise in his expression.

You slid your fingers down until they found your sopping hole. You were so wet, the threat of being caught was making your clit pulse with desperation for more. You collected some of your juices and held them up to Eddie, who grabbed your wrist and sucked each digits individually, moaning at how sweet you are.

"Help me, Daddy," you pouted, lifting your skirt and trying to slide your bum closer to Eddie's knees, allowing him to see every inch of you.

"Hmm, no."

You grunted, rolling your eyes. Looking around the van for something to help you. While you looked, you returned to rubbing soft circles over your clit. You were getting impatient.

Beside you was the present you got Eddie for his birthday, you grinned flipping yourself over to crawl on your hands and knees to retrieve it. It was cold to the touch, the metal laying untouched for a few days. It was meant to be a dice container but he had started using it as a place to safely tuck away his rings when he needs to take them off.

But now, for lack of a better option. Eddie was just going to have watch you fuck yourself with it. You were closer to the middle of the van now, ass perked up towards Eddie.

"What're you doing, babe?" he asked, trying to see. You turned towards him, holding the makeshift dildo, and then sat on your knees, bum nestles on your shoes with your skirt fanning beautifully over your thighs. It was too high on your waist to really cover much. "Whatcha got?"

You didn't say anything, you just reached out for his hand, bringing it to your mouth. You took off each of his rings with your mouth, dropping them into the little container. He just watched. You flipped it upside down so the side with the lid is the one you held, and brought the bottom of it up to your mouth, putting the metal on the tip of your tongue.

He chewed on the skin of his cheek, watching his dominance slip into your grasp. Who was in charge now?

You took it into your mouth, and Eddie sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. You sucked it for only a second, just getting it wet enough to use. No one said anything as you repositioned yourself, bringing your legs out in front of you, and brought the toy up to your entrance, bring it up and down your slit. The coolness of the metal made you moan, and you brought it to your hole, slipping it inside yourself.

You moaned.

"Yeah, little mouse?" he asked, breathing getting caught in his throat as you fucked yourself in front of him. He could hear the rattling of his rings, and his cock twitched in his jeans. "Fucking yourself good, honey?"

You nodded, watching his face and moaning. He licked his lips at the sight.

"Daddy'll help you now, little mouse," he said, "that's unreal."

He slipped around you, tucking you between his legs, and pushing his chest into your back.You wanted to be a brat and not let him, but you were so desperate. You were working the rings in and out of yourself still, moaning and writhing in Eddie's grip.

"Are you gunna make yourself cum, baby?"

You nodded, and nearly hissed at the sensation of his fingers finding your clit, touching it so softly and tenderly. It had only been a couple minutes, but the new situation with your new sensations was so hot, it was speeding you towards the finish line.

"Can Daddy do it?" he whispered in your ear, hand gliding over your working hand, and took over the metal, and you let him. You leaned back into him, gripping his thighs in your hands. "You're so, fucking, hot."

You bucked your hips, the knot in your tummy was burning. You felt so good, Eddie was fucking the lights out of you and he never even took his cock out. He was a wizard.

"Eddie," you moaned, getting louder than you should. He spanked your clit, and you gasped. "Daddy," you moaned, and Eddie made a noise of praise, bringing his lips to the side of your neck to place a few kisses there. He sucked a hickey just below to the collar of your shirt, and then kissed his way up to your ear, which he nipped, making you gasp again.

"D-Daddy, please," you moaned, words mumbled. "Feels s'good."

"Little mouse," he mused, voice gentle beside your ear. "Daddy wants your cum, okay? Daddy wants your pleasure."

You nodded fiercely, right on the brink of the explosion. And when Eddie raised his hand to slap your clit again, immediately rubbing it quickly after, harder than before.

You covered your mouth with your own hand, muffled your loud moans as your climax started. Your pussy gripped the metal edges, but Eddie didn't stop and suddenly, you were falling against Eddie, totally limp, legs shaking as you squirt, coating a stripe on the wall with your dripping pleasure.

"Little mouse," he said, excited over what happened. Making you squirt was his favourite thing. He opened the container and put his rings back on, staring at them with newfound pride. Eddie slipped a ringed finger in your pussy, and you hissed, pulsing against his digit, your walls were swollen from gripping the solid edges of the metal. "That was a big one."

You moaned, still limp against him. "Mhm," you muttered, ready to curl into his lap and fall asleep.

"You were so good," he said, kissing your cheek, and you leaned into his kisses, and he chuckled. "Do I need to take you home?"

"Mhm," you said, "time for nap."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

"More later?"

"Oh yes, little mouse. Lot's more later."

[itsnotbird]

Orphic ~ File 8

Alexthymia (n.) ; The inability to express your feelings

Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: TW! Blood, trauma, sad stuff, angst, guns, Blue needs a hug.

Previous part here

You hum a simple song to yourself as you make your way to the ladies washroom, yawning at the lack of sleep you got.

You push the door open, greeted by the white tile and pleasant lighting. You hang a fresh towel on the hook and retrieve your shower things from the shelf they sat on, next to Wanda and Nat’s stuff.

Back at The Unit, you didn’t have things that were unique to you.

Every girl used the same things, the scentless bar soap that would be supplied to each girl every month, nameless shampoo and conditioner. Now, you had products that smelled pleasant, things that bubbled and body wash you didn’t need to conserve.

Pulling back one of the shower curtains, you turn on the water to get it hot, then get your pajamas off.

But to your surprise, another curtain is pulled back. As you turn to see if it was Nat (who usually beats you to the showers), you’re completely caught off guard.

There stands a rather alarmed looking boy, a towel wrapped around him, tucked under his armpits.

“Oh…this is awkward.” He stutters, trying not to look at your half dressed body, clearly not used to a woman in her bra and underwear. “I-I’m Peter.”

The Avengers who were awake could hear your ear piercing scream.

Steve is immediately on his feet, followed by Natasha and Sam. As they run to the direction it comes from, Bucky steps out of his room just as they pass. Looking around, he calls out.

“Why are you running?”

They don’t answer.

He yawns and walks after them.

Peter is backed into the corner as you scramble to tie a robe around yourself. He looks at the growing mass of energy in your hands and how they’re pointed at him.

“You’re the bug boy? Why are you here?” You shout.

“I can explain! It’s not creepy, I promise!” Then he pauses. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

Steve busts through the door, searching the first section of the room, then turns the corner to where the showers are and sees you threatening to harm the boy.

“Oh now this is funny.” Sam exclaims.

“What the hell is going on?” Steve asks.

“Cap! Tell the crazy lady you know me.” Peter rushes, begging for help.

“I am not crazy.” You warn violently.

“Blue, let the kid go so he can explain himself before you kill him.” Nat says, and slowly you lower your hands and rush to Steve’s side as he motions for you.

“Queens, start explaining.” He barks.

Peter stammers. “Nat said I could use these showers when her and Wanda aren’t! They have better water pressure and I don’t have to deal with the guys…it’s like the high school locker room in there.” He grimaces. “And sometimes when Thor comes to stay, he doesn’t put a towel on! And the room has a funky smell-”

“It’s true, I told him he could use our showers because he means no harm.” Nat defends. “I just…forgot to mention that to Blue since the kid isn’t here too often.”

Sam shakes his head, then looks at Peter. “You really gotta get over your fear of getting jumped in the shower.”

“Some of you guys are a little scary.” Peter says in a quiet tone.

“Like who?” Steve asks dramatically.

Bucky joins the scene. He looks from Peter in a towel to you holding a robe around yourself.

“What the hell is going on?” He asks angrily.

“Like him.” Peter admits.

- - - -

Bucky grunts as he punches the hanging bag next to Steve who is doing the same.

“You want to tell me what’s going on with you?” Steve asks, hair hanging on his forehead as it grows sweaty.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Bucky says.

“You’ve been weirder than normal. Distant, on edge.”

He huffs at Steve’s words, getting a little more aggressive with his punches and kicks. He doesn’t answer him though, so Steve continues.

“…Does it have something to do with Blue?”

Bucky’s punching bag flies off the chain and across the room a ways before it hits the ground with a thud. He stands there, breathing heavily for a moment.

“No, of course not.” He lies.

Steve takes a break like Buck does and gets some water.

He’s known his friend long enough to have learned his habits. Bucky always gives himself up, so all Steve has to do is wait.

“Okay…maybe she has something to do with it.”

“Ha! I knew it!” Steve laughs. “Everyone can see it, you aren’t being sly.”

Bucky shakes his head, looking at the ground for a moment. “Steve, I don’t know what’s going on with me. I was really good at the girl thing, you know that, but she looks at me and I’m just completely out of it. She terrorizes me in the best way, it’s like I can’t sleep without her whispering in my head.”

Steve looks at him with arched brows. “Jeez, sounds like she’s making you remember you have feelings.” He teases.

Bucky shoves his shoulder. “I’m serious, Steve…maybe I have some screwed up complex now because I think I saved her or something.”

Steve sets his water bottle down. “You did save her…and I think part of her is drawn to you because you’re the only one who doesn’t watch her like she’s an alien.”

Bucky scoffs and goes to the sparing ring, putting on gloves. “I show her decency, that’s what does it?”

Steve follows suit. “You know it’s more than that. You want to know what I think?”

Bucky puts his hands up, getting into his stance. “You’re gonna tell me anyway.”

Steve throws the first punch, Bucky blocks it. “I think she’s the only thing that’s gonna get through to you. She scares you because she’s the only thing that feels real. And that’s probably the case for her. Sure, Nat’s lived the runaway assassin life but she can’t offer the comfort Blue craves.”

The two dodge each other’s hits, circling each other.

Bucky tries to process his words. “I don’t think I’m what she needs. She’s still trying to figure out how to function, she needs someone who’s steady enough to show her how. Like you.”

Steve laughs. “I knew you’d say that.”

“You have things figured out, Steve!” Bucky reasons. “And she’s already attached to you.”

“She’s attached to everyone! That’s why it’s called attachment issues. If you were around more, you’d see that she will stitch herself to who she knows is going to be gentle with her. The kid has only known kindness as a reward, you know what that’s like, Buck.”

Of course he knows what that’s like. He knows the starved feeling for a gentle hand.

Steve continues. “You need to trust yourself, I know you think you might make her worse- that you might make yourself worse, but you won’t.”

Bucky blocks a punch. “I never said that.”

Steve throws another. “You didn’t have to. Look, all I’m saying is maybe trying to kill the urge off isn’t the solution, just give into it.”

Silence passes as they continue to work on fighting techniques, then Steve speaks.

“You might be too old for her.” He jokes.

“Shut up.” Bucky grumbles.

- - - -

Sitting in the corner of the common room, you scroll through online tutorials.

It’s a discovery that you enjoy. You could watch them for hours, enjoying the idea of knowing how to do things other than kill.

How to make chicken noodle soup!

Tutorial on how to change car oil!

Fifteen minute tutorial- how to wash, dry and fold laundry perfectly!

How to achieve Hollywood curls!

By the time Bucky walks by, you’re learning how to position a curling iron for flawless hair. He looks around, seeing if anyone else is around.

It’s just you and him.

He watches you for a moment, wondering silently how you can be so content with sitting alone, being alone.

Though your eyes are still cast at the phone screen, you know he’s there. Pulling your headphones off, you look over at him.

“You’re lurking.” You claim, watching him not move an inch.

“Says the girl who hides in large rooms.” He rebuttals.

You smile and look away.

He wants to ask about it, wants to get it out of the way. But in all honesty, he’s afraid of what you’ll say. He’s been out of the game for a while but he knows that a girl running away after a kiss isn’t the best sign.

You stand from the corner, now avoiding his eyes as if it will ease the awkward tension.

“Blue…” He starts to say. “About the other night-”

Oh no.

You’ve ruined it all. He’s going to tell you that you were out of place, that he doesn’t see you in that way.

Your mind spirals, but your saving grace comes for you.

“Blue.” Nat comes into the room. “Come on, we need to get you briefed for tonight.”

You nod and come to her side immediately.

Bucky’s left standing there, cursing himself.

- - - -

You finish your glamorous makeup and hair, then turn to the dress hanging in your closet, the one Natasha let you borrow.

Breathing deeply, you prepare. You’ve done undercover work many times before, but it’s different. You aren’t seeking violence, you’re seeking answers and trying to stop a deal from going down.

If all went well, you’d find The Ring boss who has a client ready to meet the hit woman best suitable for the job. They’ll drink scotch while she aims to carry out her duty.

You can’t let that happen.

The little black dress fit snug in all the right places, a deep v neck line, elegant enough to not raise any suspicion on if you belonged in the establishment or not.

Kicking off your red sneakers, you roll the lace top stockings up your legs and put heels on.

This was a weird feeling.

You hadn’t been this put together in weeks.

Making sure your thigh holster is secure, you leave your bedroom and meet the others.

Tony runs over the plan once more with Steve, Nat adjusts her updo, Bruce goes to get the van ready for the computer crew.

You linger off to the side, legs crossed, silent until Tony looks over to you.

“Wow.” He nods with an impressed look.

Everyone turns, eyes widening.

“Is-is it okay?” You ask, smoothing the dress fabric.

“Woahhh.” Peter exclaims. “You look hot- beautiful- pretty?”

Tony smacks the side of his head.

Nat smiles. “It’s more than okay, Blue.”

As they compliment you, Bucky is standing there with his eyes trained on you, thinking a million thoughts. And sure, everyone is dressed for the occasion, but you’re the best looking one in his eyes.

“Let’s roll out.” Tony says, dragging Peter whose eyes are as wide as saucers, away to the van.

Nat takes your hand and leads you to the first blacked out suv.

Bucky’s feet falter in their step, just so he can watch you get into the back seat with Steve and Nat. Then he’s nudged into the second car by Sam.

“Come on, lover boy.”

“Don’t talk to me.” Bucky huffs.

You’re amazed at the lights of the city, you hadn’t left the compound since you got there so it was all unreal.

“Here, put this in your ear.” Nat says, handing you the ear piece.

After a moment of silence, you speak.

The sound of your voice in his ear makes Bucky jump slightly as you talk to Steve and Nat.

Sam gives him a side eye look.

“Do you guys trust me?” You ask the two that’s with you.

“Of course.” They answer.

You nod. “Good, because you’re going to have to.”

- - - -

“What is this music?” Steve frowns.

“Nobody plays jazz in clubs anymore.” Tony says through the ear piece. “Alright, Peter and Bruce have visuals, the club cameras are on the screens in front of us.” He states.

You look around at the populated club. “We need to split up.”

Nat nods, then takes off in one direction while you go another. Steve is left to try and act like he belongs there.

“Maybe sending Cap in here wasn’t the best choice.” Sam chuckles as he sees him stick out like a thumb.

“Yeah, relax Steve, you look like someone’s dad.” Nat says, searching the crowd for the suspect.

“More like someone’s grandpa.” Bucky smirks.

“You have no room to talk, Pal.” Steve defends.

You find the bar and lounge on a chair, watching the crowd carefully.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks.

You slide him a large bill. “Assistance. You think you can do that for me?” You ask with smile.

He smirks and takes the money. “Your wish is my command.”

No mind altering needed, guys were easy.

“Perfect. Get me water in a martini glass, make it look fancy.” You state, then go back to watching.

“How are we supposed to know what the hitman looks like? Hit-woman? Hit-person? Sorry, what are we calling this girl?” Sam asks from the upstairs balcony.

“Look for a woman who’s with an older man. He’ll be wearing the best suit, she’ll be wearing something easy to hide a weapon.” You answer, bringing your faux cocktail to your lips.

“Blue, there’s a body guard to your right, I believe.” Bruce speaks, and you slowly look over your shoulder.

“You’re very correct.” You nod, then turn to the bartender. “You see that guy over there with the buzz cut? Give him a free drink when he comes over.”

The man nods and doesn’t ask any questions.

You eye the body guard that’s posted by an exit, silently luring him in. And everything goes to plan, he gets a free drink, he sits beside you, he’s impressed by your Russian dialect.

Then you invite him to follow you to a storage closet where you send his body straight back into the wall. He folds onto the ground, letting you search him.

“The south exit is free now, there should be a guard posted at each one.” You huff as you toss his gun to the side and search his pockets.

No information.

Bucky looks around, seeing the man standing at the exit he’s walking past. Making sure no one is paying attention, he makes his move, dragging the man out the back door and making sure he stays there.

“West exit is free.” He says.

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that Blue lured that bad guy into a closet?” Peter asks Tony.

Tony sighs. “Everybody has their ways.”

“I have eyes on the suspect, Adolf is in the upstairs vip lounge.” Nat says.

“That’s a horrible name.” Steve comments.

“It’s a little fitting in my opinion.” Bucky hums, moving in closer to the crowd.

If the client was here, that means the target is lurking around somewhere.

And The Ring members would be here soon.

“I thought Adolf Hitler was a saint?” You say, combing some curls back.

“Blue, we’re gonna need to have a serious history lesson.” Steve cringes.

“I guess I shouldn’t say what The Ring told me about Stalin.” You mumble.

“North exit is clear.” Sam says, grunting as he kicks the body guards body into the music equipment room.

The main doors open, and in comes a man. On his arm is a young girl, behind them are two more guards.

“I think the boss is here.” You say.

Tony starts barking out orders, making sure you’re all positioned correctly.

“Make sure SHIELD is on standby.” Steve states. “I don’t plan on hanging out here.”

“I need eyes in the vip section. Blue and Barnes, you’re up.” Tony instructs.

“What?” You squeak out.

“Move your asses.” Is your only response.

You look back at the bartender. “How many people are behind the bar in the vip lounge?” You ask.

“Two.” He answers in confusion at your urgency.

“Is there any other separate rooms attached to the lounge?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“How many guests are allowed in?”

He takes your glass. “Only four parties are, but the room is booked out completely by one party.”

You quickly run through a plan in your head. “Thanks, you’ve been really helpful.”

Swiftly moving through the crowd, Bucky appears at your side. Starting up the stares to the vip room, you turn to him.

“Room upstairs is clear, two civilians, I guess maybe four or five guards.” You say to the team, then turn to Bucky.

“Let me handle this, okay?” You ask.

He holds your eye. “No promises.”

At the top of the stairs, you button his suit jacket for him and grip onto his bicep.

He looks at you questionably, but you have a serious look about you as you approach the bouncer guarding the entrance.

“This room is booked.” He says.

“Not anymore.” You grin.

Bucky watches as the mans eyes glow an alluring blue color, and as you speak in an almost seductive tone, the man steps away and lets the two of you inside.

“What did you do?” Bucky asks in your ear as he guides you to the booth across from the one where the deal is going on.

“Are you really asking that question?” You state, subtly looking over at the meeting.

You make a quick scan of the room. Adolf has an additional two guards, making this situation outnumbered.

“I need Steve and Nat close by.” You say.

“You wanna let me know this plan you have?” Bucky asks, trying to act naturally but you’re sitting beside him, almost too perfectly close.

“If we let that girl out of our sight, it’s game over.” You mutter to him. “The guards have to go down first, Adolf isn’t going to be armed, the boss is. You leave the girl to me.”

“No.” Bucky immediately says.

“James.” You plead. “You have to trust this.”

“I don’t. It seems too easy.” He argues.

“Trust me, it’s not.” You breathe, looking away to the man staring at the two of you.

He motions for his guard to go talk to the bouncer, surely to complain that they paid good money for the room and he let strangers in.

“A guard is heading your way.” You warn the ones outside the door.

“SHIELD is outside, we need to get this wrapped up.” Bruce says.

“The guard’s dealt with, say the word and we’ll come in.” Nat says.

You look up at Bucky. “Stick to the plan.”

The girl stands after she’s given an instruction.

You follow the action, calmly coming up on her side.

“Count of five.” Bucky signals to everyone.

1…

The men take notice of you following their assassin.

2…

She looks at you with a dangerous look.

3…

You grab her by the back of the neck, sweep her legs out from under her and put her on the ground.

4…

Bucky rushes from the booth and to the guards who draw their guns.

5

The rest of the team bursts in.

It’s a dog fight, shots are being fired, and the girl quickly gains control of the situation. One moment, you have her pinned, the other she’s teleported behind you.

“I can help you.” You try to reason, your power gathered in your palms. “Позвольте мне помочь.”

She looks at you strangely before she attacks.

Downstairs, SHIELD agents are busting, causing a commotion. Adolf tries to escape, only for Nat to hold him at gun point.

The three remaining guards put up a fight, much like this girl you truly don’t want to hurt.

“я могу освободить тебя!” You reason, blocking her attacks, trying to wrangle the knife from her hands.

The guards are down, agents are coming into the room.

And what no one expects is for the boss to pull his gun from his jacket. With one single command from him, the girl moves away from you and drops the knife.

Before Bucky can even react and disarm the man, he fires the shot and the girl falls to the floor.

“No!” You scream, scrambling to her. Her shaky hands can barely cover the wound to her chest, it bleeds violently.

“No, no, no.” You panic, pulling her into your lap. Applying pressure to the wound, she gurgles and sputters, looking up at you. “Someone get a medic right now!” You scream.

You don’t know what’s happening around you, but everything slows as agents haul off the two guilty men.

“You’re okay. С тобой все будет в порядке.” You promise her, blood coating your hands and dress.

She looks up at you with fear, but eventually a weak smile pulls on her lips. She coughs up crimson, then puts her hand over yours and goes still.

“Blue…” Bucky approaches.

Tears fall from your eyes, hot with anger.

“Blue.” He says again, crouching to touch your shoulder.

You swallow harshly. “She’s gonna be fine, right? Right, James? SHIELD can save her like they saved me? Right, James?” You plead.

Everyone looks away, two agents come to pull the strangers body from you.

“Blue…let’s go home.” Is all he says, pulling you back as the girl is taken.

He helps you stand, all you can do is stare at your red hands and the stained dress.

You are no stranger to being covered in blood, but for once, this isn’t a life you took.

Why does it still feel like your fault?

You’re not sure who wipes your hands clean, or how you manage to make it out of the building. There’s news outlets waiting, there’s cameras flashing and people yelling questions or people yelling at the reporters to get back.

You’re getting wrapped in Bucky’s jacket and put into the back of a car.

The city lights don’t matter to you anymore, everyone’s mood is solemn.

“Sorry that your dress is ruined, Nat.” You speak almost ghostly.

“I was going to let you keep it anyway.” She responds.

- - - -

It’s 3 am.

You’re at the kitchen island with a pen and paper, trying to rewrite the events, trying to come up with a different outcome like it’s a math solution.

You don’t look up when you feel his presence. “Hello, James.” You mumble.

“It’s really late.” He states. “Maybe you should go to bed?”

Your hair is damp from a shower, makeup long gone, you’re wearing boxer shorts and a long sleeve shirt to keep the chill off.

“I’ve written out five different scenarios.” You state. “And they all show one thing. We should have disarmed him sooner. Of course he was going to kill her, it made sense, that’s what they do. One wrong move, they have to cut their losses. They’ll never let anyone have their creations.”

Bucky frowns and comes forward. “You need to stop thinking about this.”

You shake your head. “304. That was her number. They’ll have to replace her. We should be on the lookout for that.”

“Blue…will you please let this rest until tomorrow?”

You ignore him and shuffle your note pad to a blank page, starting to right down a potential plan. “This will be reported to Head Father, that the boss of the bosses, he oversees all four divisions.”

“I thought there was five divisions.”

You stop writing.

“There was, I am the last of the fifth division.” You say simply.

Bucky leans on the island beside you.

As you write, you take a shaky breath. “When the scientist messed up, he was executed. We were transported to the warehouse in Vermont and the others were shot one by one until the man came to me…and I made him turn the gun on himself like I made that bouncer let us pass. I ran like hell, somehow ended up in the city and well, you know the rest.”

Bucky doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t look at you in horror, just…looks at you.

“That is what The Ring does. We are only important if we are doing our labor correctly, otherwise we are just abominations.” You finally look at him, your throat bobs. “I forgot that, and that girl died…so I won’t forget it again.”

He breathes out and nods. You’re standing there with a determined look, broken in a way he isn’t, and he’s never been more clear of his feelings for you. He’d fight whatever battle you asked him to, he knows that for certain. He’d do it if it was his hand you were holding.

“There’s a word, alexthymia, it means you can’t express how you feel.” You say. “It might just be the thing I suffer from because I am so angry and sad, and here I am, trying to rewrite history.” You dryly laugh, shoulders shaking until it turns into a sob.

It’s a silent one that stops your breathing.

Bucky feels like a fool, standing there, watching you break down. It occurs to him that this entire time, he hasn’t seen you cry.

Slowly, cautiously, he pulls you into him. Your face buries in his chest, his hand on the back of your head as you take in broken breaths. At first, your hands are balled into fists, but as you slowly fall into that warm feeling of him, they relax and your arms twist around him.

He’s not sure how long the two of you stand like this, but Bucky is the most comfortable he’s ever been.

Eventually, you pull back and wipe your eyes.

His hand gently strokes down your hair as he looks down at you with care.

There it is, another feeling you’re not sure how to express.

Slowly, your hand raises, the tips of your fingers gently pressing to his lips, imitating the action he did the night before.

Bucky smiles, letting out a small breath. “Please don’t run away this time.” He whispers, gently grabbing your hand and leaning down to you.

Your eyes widen as he kisses you, but after a short moment, your body softly hums in delight and your eyes drift closed. One arm around his neck, you breathe him in deeply, utterly lost in the feeling as you kiss him back meaningfully. It’s not hungry, not lustrous, it caring and slow and something so kind, full of emotion the two of you can’t figure out what to do with.

He pulls you in closer, his hands have never held anything the way they hold you. Even as he pulls away, he keeps you right where you are, watching as you chase his lips for a moment.

“Your heart’s beating really fast.” You tell him and he nods.

“Yours is too.”

There’s not many words spoken as he takes you to your room, making you promise you’ll get some sleep.

You don’t let go of his hand though as he drops you off.

“Can you…stay? Please?” You whisper, afraid of disappointment.

He should say no. What is something happens? What if he has a nightmare and hurts you?

Bucky takes a second, then nods.

Your room is bare, blank walls, a few things on your desk, a grey comforter on the bed.

Nervously, you pull the blanket back and lay on your side of the bed. Bucky watches you roll onto your side, facing the window. He pulls his shirt off, drops it to the floor and comes to the vacant side.

Staring at the ceiling, he determines that he’ll stay until you’re asleep, then go back to his bed on the floor.

He won’t, though, that’s just the nervous side of his brain talking.

You roll over, wordlessly curling into his side, tucking your head against his shoulder, face buried into his neck.

He processes this choice, and though he’s afraid, he smiles and wraps an arm around you.

- - - -

He’s never slept so peacefully.

When daylight comes and he’s finally woken, you’re still sleeping softly, hand gripping his dog tags.

He doesn’t want to move you, but he really should get up and go back to his room, go take a shower.

Carefully, he untangles you from him and waits to make sure you don’t stir awake before he slips from the room.

Rubbing his eyes as he opens the door, Bucky steps out into the hall, only to be met with Peter.

“Bugboy.” He grunts.

Peter, obviously surprised, holds a flower in his hand.

“Oh h-hey, Bucky.” He awkwardly said, then clears his throat and makes his voice deeper. “I was just seeing if Blue was alright.”

Bucky looks the kid up and down. “She’s alright.”

“Well I’ll just…leave this note for her.” He says, putting the note and flower at the door.

“You do know that she’s too old for you, right?” Bucky asks, amused by the pining.

“Some could argue you’re too old for her.” He chuckles.

Bucky glares.

Peter walks off.

[tojivu]

love, kisses & croissants ⋆ naoya zenin

an. naoya you've infiltrated my brain.... ib the song where the lyrics go "i love you i love you i love you"

cw. sfw. naoya is kind of an asshole. gn!reader, but not proofread so please lmk any gender references if i made any.

playing. because she goes by the 1975.

naoya zenin would press kisses onto the soft, supple skin of your cheek as soon as he wakes. no good morning, no stretch — he reaches and bends from where he is to let his lips latch onto you.

two kisses later and he's finally greeting you, whether you're awake or not.

"morning." his voice is raspy, throat dry from the cold air of the bedroom you two shared. he brings his fingers to brush the stray hairs away from your face.

how naoya loves your expression when you sleep: an overwhelming need to hold and kiss you, make you feel as comfortable as possible so you can continue your slumber — how he finds you prettiest when you're unaware of it.

your eyelids flutter as the sunlight seeping in through the curtains sting; a long exhale leaves your lungs and you find yourself inching closer to naoya — who was warm amidst the temperature of the room.

he lays face up, shirt nowhere to be found (as usual). your husband was always one to show off even when sleeping — you're able to feel his skin graze your fingertips, some spots more prominent than others due to scarring: you've memorised the position of each and every one of them on his body.

"morning, naoya." you smile lazily at the man under your touch. he doesn't smile back, but you think the way his arm pulls you closer says everything his face doesn't.

naoya zenin was a puzzle, most days — it took you a long time before you could even touch him without earning a complaint or an irritated expression.

"stop touching me." a grunt and an eye roll, every single time.

it was the night after your wedding. you remember it vividly, the order of events engrained into your mind and heart. you never want to forget the hour that naoya let you love him.

it wasn't much, and you think if you told anyone that they might laugh in your face: most couples would scoff and say that the first kiss should have happened long before the knot was tied.

you think you would've gone the whole marriage without any touching. before the ceremony, naoya would only let you hold his hands or fix his tie — mundane things that held no passion — or maybe very little, not enough to remind you both you were to be married.

it was naoya who pulled you in that night, hands on your hips as he pressed his lips onto yours. it's inexperienced, and you want to giggle but you know you can't (due to the crowd and family attending the ceremony). it would be much too embarrassing for your husband.

when he pulls away, his lips are glossy and his eyes are enlarged — as if he's never experienced this feeling before.

it's just then that naoya zenin realises he loves kissing you. the feeling of your lips so close to his skin, the feeling of laying on clouds when he tastes your favourite lip balm. the feeling of you.

he felt embarrassed that his clan witnessed such a thing. naoya's weak in the knees in front of you, someone who was nowhere near his power or authority. he finds it annoying just how much control you have over him, but he thinks it's okay — for now — as long as you don't betray him.

he hopes you don't.

naoya doesn't bother saying a word in the morning, only kissing you where he feels you need to be — your forehead, wrist, cheek, lips, jaw, neck.

the small discovery he made on the night you two got married had his mornings set for life: a kiss as soon as he woke, a gentle 'morning' followed by another kiss. he's hooked.

sometimes he returns all bloodied from brawls: wounded but still the victor, dragging himself into the home he shares with you (and the servants he keeps around) — naoya appreciates your warm embrace and the soft kisses you pepper on his face. you complain about how he smells like metal, but you hold him anyway.

"[name]," naoya snaps you out of your reminiscing-like daydream. "we should go out for breakfast today."

you roll your eyes at the fact that this is what your husband stopped your trip down memory lane for.

"we have chefs for a reason, naoya." you remind him, as if he doesn't know that already — he orders them around almost all the time, mostly due to your random cravings.

"i know."

"then?" you ask, "i thought you hated being around random people."

"i don't like being around lowlives," he clarifies. "but we could spend some time together. if you want."

"if i want?" you giggle, poking at his cheeks. this would've gotten you killed if you were with the naoya you knew all those years ago. "i didn't know you cared about what i want."

"don't act like that." naoya's grip around your waist tightens, your stomach pressing against the side of his abdomen. "just say yes or no. i'm a very busy man."

"are you making space for me in your tight schedule, busy naoya?" you tease. his ears burn a bright shade of red, and he tuts. "i'm feeling really special. you're so good to me."

"cause you are," naoya admits. how vulnerable he seemed that it made him feel like throwing up. "[name]."

naoya zenin was a puzzle, yes, but you think he's gotten easier to solve by now. a kiss and some praise and he's all set, sarcastic or not — whatever you say has him weak in the knees. it's almost scary how much power you hold.

"i love you, my busy man," your hands cup his cheeks and turn his head towards you, and you press a quick kiss onto his lips. "i'm thinking about croissants."

you earn a flustered naoya, cheeks reddened and eyebrows furrowed to hide his crystal clear expression. he was starting to feel his heart pound.

"we can get croissants. i know a good place."

"it's probably expensive, then." you roll your eyes.

"who do you think i am?"

"my dearest husband." you flirt. it hurts to be so cheesy this early in the morning, but you think it's okay because it's got naoya blushing like a tomato.

he doesn't say anything. naoya is fighting the deafening sound of his heartbeat in his ears and the electricity he feels flowing through his veins, along with the smile creeping up on his face.

"i love you," he replies a minute later.

"i never knew you were a romantic, naoya."

"i love you," he repeats, as if you're losing your hearing. "i love you."

the words flow like water. it's a disgusting phrase he never thought he'd utter, but here he is — repeating it like a prayer to you.

"i heard you the first time." you giggle again, running your fingers through his hair. "loud and clear."

"i love you, [name]," he mumbles as his eyes get gentler by the second, his gaze softening the more you play with his locks. he thinks he'll fall back asleep any moment now. "i love you so much."

"i know, naoya," you assure him, head drawing closer to his to peck his forehead. "and i love you more."

"you can beat me in very little things, [name]." naoya replies, eyes blinking slowly at yours. "this isn't included."

"i beat you at wii that one time. you're terrible at wii golf."

"i play real golf," he scoffs. "not in some video game for children. it's harder in real life."

"such a sore loser."

you suppose you're a sore loser, too. you'd never be able to beat him at the 'i love you' game — he'd never let you — but that didn't mean you couldn't try.

you've got plenty of time, anyway.

041223 — Bue i'm gonna cry this is so ?!??? idk what this even IS

[clemissleepy]

closet

perv!jeongin can't control himself!

warnings : dubcon , piss! , p in v , no protection , pull out method , fem!reader , "bub" , "baby" , "sir" , choking , stalking , 'breaking and entering' , oral (f.rec)

PLEZ TELL IF I MISSED SOMETHING

MINORS DNI!!!

y/n 🩵🩵: iyennnnn

do you want to see my new dress??

jeongin smiled down at his dimly lit phone. he knew "of course!" was the right answer, but that didn't mean telling his best friend 'that he had watched her try it on for the first time from her window' didn't cross his mind.

the sky was bright blue and the crickets were screeching when he'd first set up his own little "sunbathing / bird watching" act in his front yard. there was a small foldable chair dug deep into his unkempt grass that he sat in with his swim shorts, a dog tag necklace, and his binoculars. a notebook to his left, a beer to his right, and a beautiful woman in the window directly ahead of him.

when she'd gotten home from her shopping trip, she gave him a sweet wave and skipped along into her home. up in her room, she immediately began to undress and model all of her purchases. jeongin chooses to believe she was putting the show on just for him.

but when she tried on that blue dress, the way the tie around the back hooked in her waist, the way her cleavage jumped out ever so slightly, the way she twirled in her mirror... jeongin was a goner.

he was stunned, he didn't think he could move for the next hour. i mean, all the blood in his body was rushing to his dick, rubbing it against the netting of his trunks while he just sat there and gawked. but when y/n shut her curtain, the pastel clouds of the fabric finally blocking the beaming sun and his ogling eyes, jeongin realized he needed more.

so without a second thought, still hardly dressed with sunscreen poorly rubbed into his skin, he started climbing up the lattice to her window. he had snuck into her house far more than once. he had also been invited to her house just as many times, but something was different about the way he picked the window lock. his heart had never beat this hard, with such urgency that made him feel like every pulse was going to jerk his head backwards.

with the bobby pin he had stuffed into her planter box of hydrangeas, jeongin picked at the lock of y/n's window and slipped inside fairly ungracefully. he could hear every thump that his hands and feet made against the carpeted floor of y/n's room, and he could hear the chatter from below. y/n and her roommates were about to eat dinner.

"y/n! after dinner, do you want to go to the club with us?" ssangmo, the nuisance of all nuisances, asked. jeongin pressed his ear to the carpet, trying to ignore the bras, underwear, and toys he could spot underneath the bed.

"yes! i'll wear my dress!" y/n yelped and the sound of pots and pans clattering had muffled everything else.

jeongin sighed, realizing he wouldn't be able to see his lovely y/n up close tonight. however, he could bask in the smell of her. her clothes, her shampoo, her perfume.

he carelessly plopped himself onto her bed. a plush fox faced him, emanating the smell of her baby powder shampoo. her blankets were bunched up, and when he ducked inside he could smell the bodywash, perfume, and y/n herself. he was in heaven, he wanted to be in y/n's bed forever.

thunk. thunk. thunk.

y/n's footsteps were heavy against the creaking wooden stairs. her giggles filled the home with joy as she called, "be ready in 30 or leave without ya!" y/n slammed her door shut in excitement.

with a giddy grin on her face, instead of dressing and getting ready, she messaged her favorite person in the whole wide world. her rock, the boy who understood her more than anyone.

y/n 🩵🩵: iyennnnn

do you want to see my new dress??

yes, "of course" is definitely more appropriate.

innie: ofc!!!

y/n 🩵🩵: k! let me get it from my closet rq!

shit. shit. shit. jeongin stared blankly at the closet's shingled door, yellow light from the main bedroom seeping through ever so slightly. the blue dress was in a death grip in his hands. he watched as y/n's silhouette came up to the door, as her manicured hands pulled the knobs apart, as the light shed onto jeongin's mortified face.

"jeongin...?" y/n's head tilted in confusion, peering around her closet with something more akin to curiosity than fear or disgust. "you okay?"

jeongin's jaw was practically dropped off of a 4 story building. his best friend, the girl of his dreams, was clad only in white panties and a white bra. small delicate bows were on the centers, and the straps were simply coquettish. jeongin was unaware that drool was falling lazily from his lips.

y/n knelt down, cupping jeongin's head into her hands with ease and gentleness he'd rarely felt before. she stared deep into his eyes as her chest rose up and down slowly, breasts revealing from the lacey bra she wore.

jeongin, shirtless in swimming trunks, caught red handed in his best friend's closet, did the first thing he could think of.

he only intended for a short kiss, a mere tap of his lips against her plush glossy ones. but once they met, it was like he was glued to her. her strawberry lip gloss clung to his kiss, a few strands of hair tickling his forehead and cheeks, the hands cupping his face started to quiver.

"jeongin-," y/n gasped from the kiss, eyes blown wide and legs shaking from processing the experience in front of her. but there was no time for processing.

jeongin gripped her hips bruisingly and led her to her bed. he shoved her down and admired her everything. how her hair strewed about on the mattress, how her cheeks were flushed pink, how her hands and elbows came to cover her chest and stomach, and even worse how she hugged her thighs together. jeongin could only growl in response.

"jeongin, my dress!" she points to the floral blue pattern left on the floor. he does not spare it a glance, now letting his hands roam on y/n's abdomen. he reveled in the heavy rise and fall of her breaths, an animalistic smile gracing his lips. he curled his torso over her and watched his dog tag fall and swing into her cheek. the way the metal reflected her flushed expression had him grip her face in just one hand. he squished her cheeks together, pursing her lips and lifting her up into a kiss once more. he moaned and groaned with hands tickling her back, sides, and hips.

"all you care about is that damn dress. what about me, huh?" jeongin growled. he sat himself on her stomach and lay a hand against her exposed collarbone. "look at you..." he admired.

"iyen! listen!" y/n gasped, urgent to put her dress on and head off to the club as to not disappoint her friends. all she recieved was jeongin's fingers pushing the sides of her neck in, hollowing her breath.

"shut up. god, you're so beautiful," he started nipping at her lips hungrily, whining and squirming on top of her. "d' you feel me, bub?" jeongin rolled his hips over y/n's exposed naval, his shorts riding high on his thighs. he took one of her hands and slid it along his leg and into the swimming trunks.

"you wanna touch me? go 'head," he whined as her gentle fingers started dancing around the netting of his trunks until she felt the hair of his happy trail inviting her down. she didn't know what to think anymore, i mean she hadn't even thought about her best friend half naked in her closet, but she sure as hell knew she was horny now.

y/n found his hardened cock and tugged it closer to her, rubbing the tip against the netting and bringing a pathetic moan from jeongin's lips. she sat up and gently caressed his high cheekbones with her spare hand, smiling at his lustful and begging expression.

"make it quick, okay?"

and off he was. he scrambled off of her and shoved y/n's head onto a stack of pillows for support. then, he was tugging her panties clumsily down her legs and lifting her by each asscheek into his mouth. he moaned as he licked a long fat strip of her pussy. he let his nose tickle her clit while his tongue and lips explored every inch of her folds and clenching hole. he kneaded her ass and lapped up every pulse of her wetness that he could.

"jeong-fuck!!" y/n cried as he wrapped his lips properly around her clit and prodded a long finger at her hole. as he slid it in to the last knuckle, her back arched and she allowed herself to cup her breasts for her own pleasure. he slid his finger in and out, twisting and curling with intent. when would this happen again: his beautiful girl beneath him, all at his will?

jeongin watched as y/n took three of his fingers with relative ease. her face was contorted in pleasure and she was airily moaning at every thrust, but she soaked up the digits like it was nothing.

"jeongin! move faster! i've only got ten minutes!" she gasped.

jeongin did not care. "you're not going anywhere, bub," he tells, thumb rubbing circles against y/n's clit. "and you're gonna take everything i give you like a good girl, you hear me?"

y/n's pink lips came up to her best friend's, finally letting herself properly enjoy the sweet taste of jeongin on her tongue. she tangled a hand into his soft hair while she straightened them both to be upright.

"yes, sir," she mumbles, tugging down the elastic of jeongin's trunks. his cock slapped onto his stomach, red hot at the tip and pearling with precum. y/n held it at the base and let it slot between her thighs and rub between the lips her pussy.

jeongin was quick to try and regain control of the both of them. he brought his hips away from her and dragged her up for a kiss by her hair.

then he was throwing her back into the bed and slapping her clit with his cock, smiling impishly at how her legs jerked up. he pushed a hand onto her lower abdomen and watched her mouth fall open in a silent scream.

"jeongin! please!" she cried when the pressure was shortly relieved. but all too soon he was resting his weight back on it while the head of his cock was prodding her hole. "no! i'm gonna-"

"you're gonna piss? yeah, mark me, bub. i dare you," jeongin growled. he sunk himself balls deep into her pussy and whined at the squelch. he matched the pulse of his thrusts with the pressure of his hand. "i've been dreaming of this," he mumbles. "makin' you cum and piss on my cock. every night, baby."

y/n couldn't tell if the tightening in her stomach was her bladder or her orgasm, but jeongin stuffing his fingers into her mouth and holding her jaw open was distracting. he spat into her mouth and giggled at the way her tongue shifted while trying not to choke on their mixed saliva. her moans were gurgled and incomprehensible to anyone but her.

"you're not showing anyone that dress, you hear me?" he grunts with a particularly deep thrust that rubs his tip against y/n's cervix. she squirms, back arching in a mixture of pain and pleasure that leaves jeongin sucking on y/n's nipples.

suddenly, with kicking legs and a shaky breath, each time jeongin pulls out a stream of piss follows. it drips down his shaft and onto the comforter.

"iyen!! no, i'm peeing! please!" she cries with no real hope that he'll stop. meanwhile, jeongin throws his head back at the new heat surrounding his cock. he continues pushing down on her bladder with his thrusts until all that comes out is a single drop. he angles his thrusts up a bit more and rides y/n through her high with incoherent blabber.

he pauses his movement to take in the fucked out sight of his best friend. two tears are trailing down her cheeks, but a smile rests on her lips and she looks lovingly into jeongin's eyes. one of her hands extends out to his cheek and trails down his chest. she rubs her thumb against one of his nipples and he curls into himself, cock bouncing out and hitting y/n in the clit again. she jolts up and giggles, but continues smiling.

the mood shifts.

"can you take a little more for me, bub?" jeongin asks, cock twitching for release.

"yes, sir," she whispers and gasps as he shoves his length back into her. she lets herself moan at every thrust, freeing herself from any judgement she was afraid of before. she pulls one of jeongin's hands to her throat and leads another to her breasts that are falling out of the cupping of her bra, bouncing at every pulse they share.

"g'nna choke you and you're gonna swallow my cum, okay? got that, pretty girl?" he coos, watching her doe eyes sparkle and her nod cheekily. he shoves the dog tag around his neck into his mouth.

his thrusts are miscalculated, heavy, and deep. his cock kisses her cervix every few seconds and he gets glimpses of heaven. his hands tighten around y/n's throat and breast, her hot walls clench around his cock and he drags out the moment as long as he can.

he feels a tug in his stomach and has to rip himself out of y/n. he sits on her chest and strokes himself while she opens her mouth eagerly and flattens her tongue to her chin.

"bub, oh, god you're beautiful," he whines while he paints her face white in stray ropes of cum. a bit lands on her nose, some on her cheek, but most in her waiting mouth. she smiles at him so innocently he can't believe he had just defiled the love of his life.

when his orgasm ends, he is scrambling to the other end of the bed and staring bug eyed at his best friend. she knew he was a creep, a pervert, i mean he had made her pee on his dick. though her eyes were full of nothing but kindness, he felt like he was going to get hard again at how he'd treated the love of his life for the 'first time.'

"jeongin, sweetie," she cooed softly. she reached out her hands and beckoned him closer. "c'mere... need cuddles."

jeongin followed every instruction. he ran her a bath and scrubbed her baby powder shampoo into her hair. he cleaned her face with a cloth and helped her back to her closet while her knees buckled and head spun.

"that was amazing, iyennie," she giggled, picking her floral dress up off the floor and placing it on a hanger. jeongin was still shyly rubbing her back in circles that soothed him more than they did her.

"did you like the mean parts?" jeongin asks while hiding his blush in his girlfriend's exposed shoulders.

"oh my god, yes. we should do a scene where you're JUST mean, baby," she laughs. "i think i'd cum so hard i'd explode!"

"you're silly, bub..." jeongin chuckles, wrapping her into a naked but warm and intimate hug. "i love you. we'll do something like that soon...

...now put on the dress."

tysm for reading! its a little all over the place and yes, all of this was a scene, thats why the breaking and entering is in quotes in warnings. but listen i was insane when i wrote this i got stuck in a spell. i hope you enjoyed my first spicy fic!

[randomfoggytiger]

Are you a believer in the “season of secret sex?”

Absolutely!

I read somewhere-- but can't find it-- that the cast and crew knew this season was curtains, so CC let them do whatever they wanted as a last hurrah. The kiss in Millennium, WBD's road trip episode, GA's all things, DD's Hollywood A.D., etc. If I recall, DD was sick of the will-they-won't-they (and I think GA, too, to a degree) and turned up the flirt-o-meter because the characters had kissed so obviously what was the next logical conclusion? (He never said this outright; and I can't find the general anecdote proving my point. Saw it once, then never again; so, I could be wrong, don't quote me. I digress.)

CC and Spotnitz planned Scully's pregnancy from the very beginning of the season-- hence the child on the beach in the same ep. as the family planning book in Mulder's office-- hoping to hook in the ratings for another season renewal. They asked GA if they could slip a scene of Mulder in Scully's bed during all things... without telling her the ultimate "this will be when William was conceived" end goal. But were shocked, anyway, when she already "knew" the big surprise in Requiem... which leads me to believe no one was being subtle or secretive enough on-set, anymore.

Furthermore, all things makes the most sense in the context of Scully's continual struggle with self-doubt after making a decision or settling into a relationship. Made a post about it here; but suffice to say, it fits her pattern of behavior before she even joined the FBI. For Mulder, he's a man that won't progress unless he's prepared for everything to change: FTF was the cusp, but Scully's 2nd abduction pushed him back. The Unnatural helped him regain ground, but it wasn't until Amor Fati that he broke those chains psychologically. (Scully wasn't prepared, then-- Diana had JUST DIED and she had a lot of guilt-- but he advanced them forward again in Millennium; and she was ready, hence her bone-deep, contended smile.)

Her outright jealousy and his delight in her jealousy, her tie-twirling and his love-sick expressions, and their "Betty?"/"Back in the day" coupling in Rush seals the deal. (Not to mention all the inuendo and nonchalant, casual closeness they have from then on out: fulfilled rather than repressed sexual tension.)

In short, anon? Yes. :DDDD

[mistiell]

Healing Hands

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN! Reader

Summary: Spencer comes home from a case to find you in bed with a migraine.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Fluff, established relationship

A/N: I apologise for any grammatical errors, I'll come back to correct any possible mistakes later. :)

Spencer opens the door to your shared apartment, dropping his keys into the dish by the door and slipping off his shoes. He’s expecting you to greet him like you usually do. Which is why he’s confused to find the living room abandoned and the lights turned off. You hadn’t mentioned going out today, and it’s only five thirty. The only reason he’s home is because he’s been gone nearly a week and a half and decided to hell with his paperwork, he really needs to see you.

He sighs, loosening his tie as he locks the door and calls out to you, “Y/n, I’m home!”

“Spence?” He livens up at the sound of your voice, heart sinking a little at how weak you sound.

He jogs down the hall, gruesome images of their most recent case flashing through his mind and filling his stomach with anxiety. When he opens the door, he’s both relieved and alarmed to find you in bed, the lights off and the curtains drawn.

“Hey, baby.” He whispers, coming to kneel by your side of the bed. He hooks two fingers over the edge of the covers to gently tug them away from your face. You peel your eyes open and offer him as much of a smile as you can muster, “Are you okay?”

You hum in what’s supposed to be confirmation, sliding your hand out from underneath the blankets to squeeze his fingers. You bring them to your lips to place a sluggish kiss to his knuckles and he frowns at how clammy your hands are.

“You don’t look okay.” He reaches out to touch your cheek and you flinch. Only slightly, but he catches it anyway. He asks again, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh heavily, looking utterly defeated as you utter, “Migraine.”

“Oh, love, I’m sorry.” He squeezes your hand and leans forward to kiss your hairline, careful to avoid your forehead. He mumbles against the skin there, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He’d called you earlier that day to tell you he was on his way home. You’d sounded tired, but he hadn’t thought much of it until now.

“You were away. Couldn’t have done anything.” You murmur, softening under his affections, “‘Nd I didn’t want to worry you.” “We talked about that, remember?” He sighs against your hair. He remembers that conversation vividly. It had happened after you’d fallen and sprained your ankle while he was at work and driven yourself to the hospital. When he came home to find you standing in the kitchen in an air cast he’d immediately told you to sit down. When you finally told him what happened, he had nearly blown a gasket. He wasn’t angry. More upset that you didn’t call even though he was literally a twenty minute drive away. He’d told you to call him anytime you needed anything at all, and you’d agreed.

“M’sorry.” Your eyes squeeze shut and your breath hitches. For a moment he thinks maybe you’re going to throw up and moves to grab the garbage can, but then you whimper and his heart breaks.

“Oh, baby.” He coos, watching your bottom lip tremble as tears leak from your eyes, rolling over the bridge of your nose and down to your temple. His hand rubs down your arm, then back up to squeeze your shoulder, “It’s okay.”

“No, s’not.” You sob quietly, whimpering at the pain it causes, “It hurts, Spence.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” He feels helpless, “What can I do?”

“Can you,” You sniffle, rubbing at your eyes, “Can you just lay with me? Please?”

“‘Course, lovely.” He whispers, pecking your hairline once more before standing up, “Just give me a second.”

“M’kay.” You watch him as he changes into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

He’s careful not to jostle you as he slides under the covers behind you, a tentative arm wrapping around your middle, “Is this okay?”

You sigh, snuggling further into his embrace and letting him pull you as close as physically possible. You bring his hand up to press your lips to his palm before letting it settle over your stomach.

“You’re nice n’ warm.” You mumble.

“Yeah?” He breathes, smoothing his hand down over your abdomen and back up.

“Mhm.” You hum, dissolving under his touch, “Got healing hands. Healing hugs. Always make everything better.”

Warmth suffuses through his cheeks and swells in his chest. He huffs a few breathy puffs of laughter through his nose, “I’m glad.”

A moment of silence, before he asks.

“How often have you been getting migraines lately?” He’s a little worried that you’ve had more that you’ve kept from him.

“I dunno.” He doesn’t like the way your words slur together, “Think this is the third this month.”

He sighs again and reiterates, “You should have told me.”

“I know.” You whisper, and he kisses the nape of your neck so you know he’s not mad.

Migraines aren’t uncommon for you, but three in one month sets something off in his brain that makes him wonder if something more is going on.

“Maybe you should go see your doctor.” He suggests, and you hum.

“Maybe.” Just as he’s about to press you further, you assure him, “I’ll schedule an appointment tomorrow, worry wort.”

He laughs as quietly as he can.

“I know you don't want me to,” He props himself up on his elbow and leans down to kiss the skin just behind your ear, “But I’m going to worry about you. It’s kind of my job.”

You let out a pathetic excuse for a snort but he smiles wide at his victory nonetheless, “S’not your job.”

“Sure is.” He hums, and his words are squished between his lips and your neck, “S’my job to make sure you’re happy,” He pecks your shoulder, “‘And healthy.” he kisses your neck again, “And, most importantly.” The curve of your jaw, “Safe.”

You half hum, half sigh, sliding a lethargic hand down to cover his, where it rests over your stomach, “I love you.”

Your voice is dulcet, almost listless, and it makes him feel a little bad for the way his heart swells — aches — at the admission.

“I love you too.” He murmurs. There's a moment of silence before he says, carefully, “You can talk to me, you know.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to keep things from me just to spare me the worry, okay?” He keeps his voice soft, sweet.

“Okay.” You thread your fingers through his and squeeze his hand.

“Okay.” He echos, tracing a loving line over your stomach with his thumb, “Rest.”

“I’ll try.”

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

Spencer Reid Taglist:

@fandomscombine @ivyflowers13 @nataratacat

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Such a tease

PAIRING | Ransom Drysdale x Best Friend!Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 3.1K

SUMMARY | You're spending the afternoon at a lingerie boutique to find the perfect set for your date later that night. You decide to tease your date a little and send him a photo, but in a rush you accidentally send it to your best friend instead. How will he react to getting such a spicy picture from you?

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Best friends to lovers, smut [ Edging, oral (F receiving), overstimulation, squirting, use of a safeword, protected sex, implied aftercare ], angst,

A/N | I want to thank @avengersfantasies for helping me with this one when I couldn't figure out how to continue; you're a lifesaver! 🖤

Likes, comments, and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💚

Divider is made by @firefly-graphics | 18+ banner is made by yours truly

Main Masterlist | Ransom Drysdale Masterlist

You're looking through the endless lingerie options for your date tonight since you and Kenji plan to have a hot and steamy date. When your eye falls on a set of red lingerie, you pick it up and go to try it on.

As soon as you close the curtain behind you, you let out a sigh and start taking all your clothes off, ready to slip into the pieces of red lacy fabric you picked up.

The bra slips on like a glove, pushing your boobs up perfectly, making them look irresistible. Next up are the panties, and you turn around to look at yourself. You have never felt more beautiful and are not even finished yet.

You pull on the stockings and slide the garter belt into place, hooking the ends to your stocking to keep them in place perfectly. Now all that's left is to tie the bit around your neck like a collar, making the chain attached to the garter belt fall between your boobs.

When it's on, you gasp softly at how perfect you look because every inch of lace hugs your curves beautifully. It is molded to your body like a second skin, and that's when you think of a mischievous plan.

You stand sensually, making your boobs pop even more, and snap pictures with different poses. When you're about to send the perfect one to Kenji, one of the sales associates suddenly interrupts your train of thought.

"Ma'am, can I help you with anything?" she asks, and you accidentally tap Ransom's name instead of Kenji's, sending it to your best friend instead of your date. Not that Ransom minds seeing you in lingerie.

"Uhm, no, thank you! I'm taking this set, so I'll be with you in a few minutes," you say, feeling the embarrassment washing over you while you change out of the lingerie and back into your regular clothes.

You calm yourself down a little before walking to the register, and the woman politely smiles.

"That will be $125, please," she says, and you nod, getting out the cash to pay for it. When that's done, the sales associate puts it in a bag, and you're on your way home to start getting ready for your date with Kenji.

You just pulled out of the parking garage and turned on your podcast for your drive home when suddenly you're getting a call from your best friend, Ransom.

"Hi, Ran-" is all you can say before he cuts you off.

"My house. Thirty minutes. Wear that lingerie you showed me," he says before hanging up, and you're confused about what he's talking about.

Only when you're home and getting ready to get out of your car can you look at what he meant, and you realize the photo that was supposed to go to Kenji went to Ransom instead.

You close your eyes and think about the mistake you have made. But then again, this is the universe telling you to finally admit your feelings to your best friend.

You leave your car and go inside to change into the brand new lingerie - putting on a cute red dress over it.

Once ready, you return to your car and exhale as you climb into the driver's seat. During the drive, you're nervous - your hands drumming against the steering wheel as you try to keep your thoughts together.

You've done what Ransom asked and are at his house a little under thirty minutes later; it's good he lives close. When you leave your car, you wipe your sweaty palms on your dress and adjust your hair again before walking to his door and using your key to let yourself in.

"Ransom?" you call out, hearing your voice echo against the walls of his house.

He walked into the hallway with assassin-like steps - complete silence as he approached you. He looks like a predator hunting down its prey, and before you can even say a proper hello, his lips crash onto yours.

His actions take you aback, but you hadn't expected anything else to happen.

When you didn't turn down his kiss, he deepened it, and you let his tongue pry your lips apart - moaning into your mouth. Your hands make their way into his hair, and he pins you against the wall - letting you feel his growing bulge. You gasp when you touch him, and he pulls away from you, smirking seductively.

"See what your little outfit did to me?" he asks, and you want to answer, but it feels like your throat is filled with cotton balls.

"I- I didn't-" is all you can say, but he doesn't let you finish; his lips crash back onto yours, and his hands move to the knot on your dress, untying it swiftly, and it falls open.

"Oh fuck," he whispers to himself as he takes a step back, and takes in the sight of you covered in red lace, the chain between your breasts and the red stockings.

You let the dress fall to the floor, and that's when Ransom picks you up and quickly throws you over his shoulder on his way to the bedroom.

He thought about taking you right then and there but ultimately decided against it as he wanted to make you feel special for the first time.

"What are you doing? Where are you taking me?!" you yelp as he easily lifts you, everything suddenly upside down, and his hand is lying on your ass to ensure you're not going anywhere.

"You'll have to wait and see since you've been such a tease to me," he says, and you can't help but squeeze your thighs together at the thought of what he might do to you.

You were prepared for many things, but Ransom edging you for over an hour was missing from the list of things you were ready for.

"R-Ran, please!" you wail after he builds you up again, to pull away at the last second before you fall over the edge. Right now, you hate him more than anything, but you can't go anywhere.

Your limbs have turned into nothing but complete jelly under his touch, and Ransom's reveling in the thought, saying the filthiest things while still buried between your thighs.

"Hm, this cunt is so sweet; wish you'd have let me have a taste sooner, Baby. Will fucking ruin you for everyone else like the needy slut you are for me and my dick," he says, a moan escaping your lips at his words.

"Please..." you whine; your release is so close yet so far away at the same time, but this time Ransom does let you cum; however, he doesn't stop there.

"Makes me so fucking hard when you beg like a slut, when you're begging me to let you cum. If you're such a needy slut for it, you better cum now," he says, setting a brutal pace with three of his fingers inside and his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking the life out of it.

"FUCK, 'M CUMMING!" you scream out, and he keeps doing the same thing until your juices squirt out, and he knows the edging was well worth it now.

"Such a perfect slut for me, huh? Squirting for me like that," he says, and you whine softly as you come down from your high, but Ransom doesn't grant you that luxury.

He barely pulled his fingers out of you, allowing his tongue to lap every last drop of your juices as he fucks you with it.

"C-can't take more!" you tell him, but Ransom's determined to pull one more out of you. He needs one more orgasm before he's even going to think about filling you with his cock.

"Yes, you can, Baby. Just need one more from you now, and then I'll let you suck me off like a perfect slut," he says, his tongue going back to fucking and lapping your juices, his thumb now pressed on your clit until you fall apart for him again.

Loud moans echo through his bedroom and house, but you're too far gone to even worry about that. You're too wrapped up in pleasure and the thought of Ransom making you feel this good to care about anything other than him.

"Tastes so fucking sweet, Baby, tastes like peaches, and I can't get enough of it," he says as he attaches his mouth to your clit again, sucking and licking, but it is too much this time.

Tears are starting to form in your eyes from the overstimulation, and you're working up the courage to keep going and give him everything he wants, but you can't. You can't take anything else he's providing you right now.

Before you can fully comprehend what's happening, your mouth opens slightly, and you say it softly and barely audible. Still, Ransom hears you perfectly fine, stopping his motions immediately and stepping away.

"Red."

The two of you never talked about safewords, but that doesn't matter as Ransom backs away regardless, afraid he did something to hurt you.

"Shit..." he whispers to himself as you curl up into a ball and move back to the headboard of his bed. You feel bad about using the safeword even though you know it was the right thing to do.

Tears keep streaming down your face as you rock back and forth, your arms wrapped around your knees after you pull them up to your chest. Your eyes are closed, and that's when you suddenly hear Ransom throw a punch against the wall of his bedroom.

"Fuck!" he grits out through his teeth as he looks at his hand and back to you, looking scared out of your mind as big eyes are looking back at him.

He slowly walks over to the bed with his hands held up to show he's not going to hurt you and touch you without your permission, but it doesn't calm you down.

"Get out," you say before he can even reach the bed, and he looks down with defeat, but he does as you say, wanting to give you back the power over the situation right now.

You stay in his bedroom for an unknown amount of time while gathering your thoughts about what happened. It's not that you don't want him because you do, but he went too far by ignoring you, and that's what hurt most.

You feel incredibly bare in just your lingerie, so you go over to his wardrobe, fishing out a pair of joggers he never wears and one of his sweaters to make yourself feel a bit more comfortable.

You strip yourself out of everything except your panties and put on Ransom's clothes, ready to see him and talk about what has happened.

Ransom sits at his dining table, one of his hands in his hair while the other is getting iced. He looks up at you as you walk into the dining room and smiles at seeing you wearing his clothes.

"Can I sit here?" you ask as you point to the chair directly across from him. He nods as he looks up at you, and you can tell he's been crying, too, by the look of his bloodshot eyes.

"I'm sorry-" he starts, but you raise your hand, notifying him that now's not the time for him to talk. Right now, you have something to get off your chest, and this is the perfect moment to do just that.

"I want to start by saying that I'm not mad at you at all, Ransom," you say, and he looks up at you, the fact that he went too far still fresh in his mind.

You stretch out your hands, and he puts his free hand in it, letting yours envelop it. The softness of your small hands contrasts his big, calloused hands, making him chuckle softly.

"It's so cute," he whispers as he looks at your combined hands, and you chuckle at the sight.

"It is, but I want to admit something to you. I've wanted to tell you something for a few months, but I needed to figure out how or when. I- I have a huge crush on your Ransom, and I'm not sure when it developed, but I figured you don't feel the same, so I just kept it to myself all this time," you tell him, your heart fluttering a little now that your secret is finally out in the open.

"And I have to say that even though you went over my boundary and I had to safeword, I'm glad you did respect it when I used it, despite us not having talked about it. I do want to continue what we were doing if it is okay with you, but I do want to ask you to be gentle with me this time because I cannot take another version of what you did," you say with a polite smile, stroking Ransom's hand with your thumbs.

"God, I- I don't know where to start," Ransom says, gathering all of his courage to tell you how he feels since talking about feelings does not come naturally to him.

"The beginning might be nice," you joke, and Ransom can't help but laugh at your simple comment. This is precisely why he fell for you all this time ago. How sweet you are, your caring nature, your stupid jokes, all of it. And now that he knows you feel the same, he won't waste another second.

"I have feelings for you too, Y/N. Hell, I'm fucking in love with you, even!" he shouts, a burst of booming laughter following his statement.

"Been in love with you for I don't know how long, and now that I know you feel the same, I'm not planning on hurting you like I did, ever again. I am so sorry you felt the need to use it, but I also want you to know I'm proud of you for doing it. I'm sorry it had to come to that point, but I will make it up to you in every way imaginable," he says.

"I love you, Ransom," you say before getting up and walking to his side of the table. He moves back so you can sit on his lap, and you gladly do.

You get seated sideways to cup his face in your hands, stroking his smooth cheeks softly before leaning in and molding your lips to his perfectly. Two pieces of a puzzle, sliding right into place as they belong to one another.

When you pull away, he follows your lips for another, but you're just a little faster than him, much to his disappointment.

"I want to do this the right way, Ransom. Please take me out on a date and ask me to be yours. We both know I will say yes, but until then, I just want you. Ransom, all I want is you," you whisper in his ear, and a warm feeling spreads across his cheeks at your words.

"And how do you want me, Baby?" he asks, and you get a mischievous smile.

Your lips ghost softly over his lips, to his cheek, and you let out a warm breath on his ear before telling him how you want to fall apart while riding him so good he won't be able to think of anything else but you.

Now here you are, sitting on his couch in the living room, both completely naked while you bounce slowly up and down on his rock-hard cock. At least you still had the sense to make him put on a condom because if it were up to him, he'd slide in immediately.

Soft moans leave your lips while Ransom's hands touch you everywhere they can, from your shoulders and arms to your back and waist, to your hips and ass. Not a single inch of you is left untouched.

Your hands slide over his prominent muscles in his arms, broad chest, and chiseled abs; he looks like a Greek God. And the fucked out look on his face? Even better.

"I love-" is all you get to say to Ransom before your phone rings, and you lean back to grab it from the table behind you, showing Ransom who's calling you.

"Pick it up while you keep riding me so good, Baby. Want him to know it's me who makes you feel this good. That you're mine, and I'm never letting you go," he says between some groans.

You slide the incoming call button to the right, putting it on speaker, just as Ransom grabs your ass to give himself some leverage to fuck up into you as you pick up the phone, making you moan loudly.

"K-Kenji, hi! I'm a b-b-bit b-busy," you say, and you can hear the guy on the other end let out a deep sigh as he hears the skin against skin, your moans leaving your lips, and the groans coming from Ransom.

"Don't fucking bother to contact me ever again, you fucking slut," he says before hanging up the phone, and you drop your phone on the couch before letting yourself fall forward to kiss Ransom fiercely.

"Hm, I'm the only one who gets to call my girl a slut when I'm railing her," Ransom grits out, but he doesn't slow down in the slightest, instead only picking up his pace even more.

He keeps hitting your sweet spot repeatedly, and before you know it, you're falling apart on his cock, just like you said you wanted to. It only takes a few more thrusts from Ransom before he spills his seed into the condom, wishing he was shooting it into your bare cunt instead.

"F-fuck, feels so fucking good when you cum for me," he says, slowly riding you through both your orgasms until you're completely fucked out, your head lying in the crook of his neck.

"Love you so much, Baby. Can't believe I didn't tell you that sooner," he says, and you just hum in response, getting sleepy after the way he made you cum for him.

You stayed on the couch for a little longer before Ransom picked you up and carried you to the bath. He slipped in and put you on his lap, your head resting against his shoulder as he carefully washed your body.

"Thank you, Ran. Love you so much," you say when you're both done, and he gives you one of his shirts and a pair of his boxer briefs to wear to bed.

"I love you too, Baby. And I plan on making the date I'm taking you on unforgettable," he says as he snuggles you into his chest. The two of you fall asleep not long after that, and you've had the best sleep in a while snuggled up in his arms.

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Everlasting

pairing: midoriya izuku/gn reader summary: watching Izuku reach the end of his life for the ninety-ninth time doesn't stop you from going back to the day you met him for the hundredth time. word count: 1.2k chapters: 1/1 contains: angst, time loop, temporary character death, established relationship, reader has a quirk, no use of y/n • ao3 link

How many times have you stared at the green fading away?

For the ninety-ninth time, the yellowed hospital curtain swayed with the gentle breeze of spring, the season of new beginnings, of life. But not for you. Over the many, many repeats, it became your nemesis—the season of endings, of death.

Fingers intertwined with his, you grazed your thumb over his scarred knuckles. Tears burned your eyes and parched your throat, but his weakened state had you in a chokehold; you couldn’t cry—not yet. So, you swallowed painfully and forced the smile he loved so much onto your face.

“I wish you didn’t have to see me go,” he said, his voice a broken whisper. "I'm sorry for putting you through this, love."

You cupped his cheek tenderly and leaned forward, kissing his freckles that looked like the constellations you pointed to whenever the night sky was clear, as he held you in his arms on the small balcony of your apartment. It was one of the first things you noticed about him when he had walked into your flower shop and nervously asked for the prettiest flower bouquet you had.

Your response was far from professional, as you laughed lightly and told him, “Beauty is subjective, you know.”

His cheeks flushed a rosy color at your words, yet his lips curled into a boyish grin. “That's...uh—” Scratching the back of his neck, he averted his gaze. “I’m not really sure what to look for. I’ve never bought flowers for anyone except my mom before. Could you, maybe, help me choose?”

“Mm, sure, but there’s a price,” you said, tapping a finger to your chin. His eyes, vivid green like a meadow in summer, grew wide. “Tell me a bit about the lady or gentleman that’s about to receive them.”

A curly lock fell on his forehead as he sighed with relief, his broad shoulders relaxing in the formal shirt he wore. You eyed his tie briefly, suppressing another chuckle at how imperfectly cute the knot was, then stepped from behind the counter and nodded to him to follow you.

As promised, he told you a bit about the lady he was about to go on a date with. "She reminds me of the sun, always radiating warmth and energizing everyone around her," was his description of her; nothing sophisticated, yet you could feel the care he put into the simplicity of his words.

Your smile didn’t falter once as you listened to him talk and answered his questions. Every day, you dealt with all kinds of people, but not many of them radiated the sincerity he did. Needless to say, your heart skipped with appreciation for this handsome stranger.

A breath of fresh air, that was what he was—one that you had never regretted inhaling deep into your lungs.

A profound love, that was what he became—one that you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of.

Your best friend, your lover, your hero, your everything now lay in a pristine hospital bed, hooked to beeping machines, surrounded by air that smelled of antiseptic and something stale, and with death creeping in closer and closer.

“Would you choose me again?” he asked, his voice losing its color.

“Always.”

With the remnants of his strength, his fingers brushed your cheek, and he whispered. “I love you. If only we…had more…time.”

It was those final words that made your whole world collapse each time, that made you grip the front of your shirt and place one last kiss on his lips, that forced your head to settle on his chest and listen to his heartbeat growing fainter.

“I love you too,” you said, asphyxiated by your tears. “I c-can’t—I can’t let go. I…I don’t k-know how. Please.”

And you begged and begged for him to stay just a little bit longer, even as he drew his last breath and his heart came to a halt underneath your ear. Even as the beeping machines screamed and screamed until they lost their sound. Even as the room became stiflingly crowded with frantic people who tried to rip you away from him.

Death never cared, never granted your wish. So, neither did you care about it, always making sure to get in its way and disrupt the natural flow.

Throughout many lifetimes, you’d heard people vow to each other to meet in the afterlife or another life, believing they were each other’s forever. You’d seen them hold onto that belief as the love of their lives faded from existence. And they almost convinced you, but you weren’t them, and they didn’t have what you had—a nemesis of a quirk that became your greatest blessing after you met him.

Unwilling to surrender to their idea of forever and viciously stubborn, you chose to stare death down in defiance, laugh in its face, and pay the price.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Gripping his still-warm hand, you whispered “I’ll see you soon”, and closed your eyes for the ninety-ninth time.

As you opened them for the hundredth time, your dimly lit flower shop welcomed you again. It wasn't long until, drenched by the pouring rain battering the windows, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Water dripped from his clothes, his hair, and the flower bouquet you sent him off with earlier. He looked like he’d been to hell and just come back. His green eyes, once vibrant and sparkling with life, were muted and brimming with tears when they found yours.

“I realize this…this might seem odd to you, and I apologize for showing up like this, but I…I just…” He let the flower bouquet fall to the floor, allowing his hands to hide the tears that slid down his freckled cheeks. “Is it crazy to admit you were the one I thought of after she broke my heart?”

“A little, but I guess I made an impression,” you joked, and stepped away from the counter, opening your arms. “Need a hug? It’s free. I promise.”

He peeked through his fingers, giving you a long, uncertain look, before his hands lowered and he nodded hesitantly. “...If you don’t mind.”

His arms, strong and safe, wrapped around you, seeking comfort from a stranger. Your arms, weak and numb, wrapped around him, finding what he represented: home.

“Thank you,” he muttered in the crook of your neck as you patted his back softly. “Is there a way I can make it up to you?”

“You can start by giving me your name.”

Droplets of water gathered at the tips of his hair and fell on your cheeks once he raised his head. Green eyes searched yours, basking in the honeyed light of your shop. He looked at you with curiosity, while you looked at him with familiarity.

A meeting of two broken hearts—a first time and a repeat. Today, someone broke his heart, and he cried for a lost love. But today, unbeknownst to him, he stumbled upon another someone who loved him beyond reason, beyond death, beyond time.

Taking a step back, he extended his hand to you. “Midoriya Izuku.”

The smile that he would come to love once again curled on your lips as you took his hand and placed your name in the palm of it. Along with your heart and soul. For the hundredth time.

Because for Izuku, you would defy death and relive it all again.

The time loop would never be broken.

And your love would be everlasting.

[applesontheground]

when i can, i do it all again 🧩

KINKTOBER 2024 | DAY ELEVEN - GAGGING & KNIFEPLAY

IT IS STILL BEFORE MIDNIGHT ON THE WEST COAST, SO I SAY THIS COUNTS.

alsooo, i am of the humble opinion that he should've been an apprentice so definitely expect to see that type of AU with this guy more often than not from me lol!

NSFW | Word Count: 922 | Apprentice!Adam x Apprentice!Reader contains canon typical, B&E gone wrong, teasing

Fumbling the light on, you held the masked person by the collar of their shirt. It had started as a quiet shuffle by the curtains as you were heading to bed, and when you caught the sight of a snout from the corner of your peripherals, you saw red before you saw the face of fear.

Whatever was in their other hand clattered to the floor, a metal blade sliding far out of either of your reach. You had to use both hands now, walking them backwards and doing your best not to move to their throat instead.

“Oh, you slippery pig-fuck! Trying to kill me? Me?”

In all other situations and practically any other context of your life and how it was panning out, this would be terrifying, mortifying in a way that would immobilize and silence you – but you had done this act yourself merely a few times before, and it was already laughable that one of the other people that you worked with had the guts to come after you.

For sport? For a plan John hadn't told you about? You guessed you shouldn't care until you found out who it was.

They didn’t even have a sedative on them, which meant this was for something far more brutal. Something you were going to be awake for. A pair of hands gripped your wrists, and a grunt squeaked out from under the disguise as you two thrashed one more time, shoes sharply scuffing the floor and you spotting a chair in your kitchen that was perfect to hanker down on.

“Really?” You asked, taking a sharp breath as you shoved them down into the chair. He wasn't that much bigger than yourself, so sitting on his lap was rather snug, hands around his shoulders as you gritted your teeth and immediately reached for his shirt collar again, instead going for the edge of the mask. It came off, hitting the table rather than the floor with a throw as your eyes widened at the face underneath.

“...Really?” You repeated yourself, smiling incredulously at Adam. He started, "Hold on, hold-" But you instead caught something bright red from his pocket, a sash that was perfect size for a head. He yelped as you shoved it against his mouth pulling tight until his jaws opened and then getting it inside, to the corners before starting to tie it, all the while his hand pressed into your shoulder, not shoving you away but just holding you at a distance to make it hard.

“Was this for me?” You curled a couple fingers into the fabric, tugging on it and hearing him grumble something, try to talk through it despite it being a lost cause for the moment. He grabbed your hips, trying to stand, but you shoved them off fast and hooked your ankles around the legs of the chair for extra grip.

“I bet that knife was, too?” You tilted your head, and then remembering where it had fallen you hobbled to your feet. Surprisingly, he stayed put with his legs swiveling open in a sulking posture as you walked over to grab the knife. Sitting back in your spot, straddling him a little harder, you then muttered, "I almost don't want an explanation, man. This is kind of a let down, I thought we were friends."

His eyes widened at that, and he spoke through the gag again. We are! You smirked, the blade now pointed at his chest. A few terrified heaves, his sternum brushing the tip, and you finally heard something resembling your name through the gag. It got you to inch closer, shove the sharp end between the fabric and his cheek -- the sharp side away from him, of course, and like confetti it ripped and fell to the floor.

"L-listen to me! I-ah, get that fucking thing away from me-" He was speaking a mile a minute, eyes darting all over your face in plea as you finally held the blade up, a dumb look on your face as he sputtered, "I made a bet with the rest of the freaks we work with that I could do it, break in and nab your ass, and I very obviously lost. You can get off of me, I'm obviously not going for it any more!"

You rolled your eyes, holding the knife in between both of your laps as you sighed, "I don't buy it."

He shook his head and insisted, "Really, I thought I could do it, and..." You looked up, and Adam stuttered again, "And both Amanda and Hoffman thought I was full of shit, and then they wouldn't shut up about how I was full of shit. Clearly, they knew something about you that I didn't."

You blinked, and then a little laugh escaped you as he cried, "Really, [Y/N], you're stronger than you look, and because of that I'm out fifty bucks..." He shook his head and added with a jerk in the chair, jostling you slightly. "Each!"

You stood up, and he sat forward, head hanging for a minute as you kept hold of the knife, crossing your arms and wondering if you should offer him a beer or send his ass out the door the minute he stopped sulking.

"You know, I should be careful about what I wish for..." You leaned in, hands on the back of the chair and effectively boxing him in one last time,

"But I sort of wish you were just here to kill me."

[sadhours]

voices carry / billy hargrove x f!reader

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!! here's a quick one shot, loosely based on the song by 'Til Tuesday

word count: 2.1k

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, loss of virginity mentioned, angst, mean!billy, there's a happy ending though.

Billy Hargrove was an enigma. How the two of you got involved was a mystery for scholars to study for years to come. Billy demanded eyes on him whenever he walked into a room, his arrogant charm unwittingly earning lustful smitten girls following him like he was fucking Tony Danza. You were no different, the first time you’d seen him practicing basketball you had actually caught yourself drooling. His tiny gym shorts left little to the imagination and it was your immense luck that his team had been assigned skins. Billy played like he knew all the girls in class were watching, fiercely competitive and flexing when he got a chance.

On the complete opposite side of the spectrum was you. Many people described you as mousy and you were painfully antisocial, having two friends you’d met in grade school. Focusing on your schoolwork was the only discipline you’d had, not wanting to disappoint your parents and it was only convenient that maintaining a 4.0 gpa left little room for socializing.

So when you and Billy began secret trysts in the middle of the night, you were beyond astonished. When Billy first passed you a note in math class asking you to come over to “tutor” him you had foolishly believed he truly needed help in the class. Perhaps he did, but that’s not what he wanted. Quite frankly, you never imagined losing your virginity to Billy with your face buried in his pillows. It didn’t hold you back from continuing to “tutor” him twice a week, though. Then “tutoring” twice a week turned into sneaking into each others windows in the middle of the night.

The thing is, Billy is not your boyfriend. He makes excruciatingly clear that he doesn’t want a soul to know about your relationship. Whenever you try to talk about your feelings Billy is quick to change the subject with a hurtful comment. He’s even told you to leave a few times, yet you’re always coming back or letting him in.

Red digital numbers blink 11:30, illuminating your pitch black room in pulses while you try to sleep. Friday night and you’re in bed before midnight, which is no surprise to anyone. You’re drifting in and out sleep when the phone rings and like second nature, you grab it off the hook before the first shrill finishes.

“Hello?” you whisper into the receiver, fingers anxiously picking at the dainty pink bow on the top of your nightgown.

Only one other voice could be on the other end, not another soul calling your line this late into the night. He doesn’t even greet you, “Come over.”

Then the phone clicks and you’re met with the dial tone. This is romance to you now. Inexperience being a wonderful thing for Billy to take advantage of, using it to manipulate you to bend and break at his will.

Tossing your robe over your nightie, you tie it closed and search for your shoes. Billy lives four blocks away which has become a frequent journey for you. You jump out your window and wander down the sidewalk, the streetlights guiding the way. Brisk wind strikes your face, reddening your cheeks and stinging your eyes but you’re determined. You swallow the lump in your throat as you see the destination ahead, the house completely dark. Routine takes over, your knuckles knocking lightly against the window you know keeps Billy behind it. Curtain parting to expose blonde curls and striking blue eyes glaring down at you. He meticulously opens the window, trying his damndest to keep it silent. Foot planting on the small boulder purposely left there, you grab onto his extended your hands and accepting his aide in climbing into the window. He shuts it slowly behind you, closing the blind and guiding you to his bed in the darkness. The room reeks of cigarettes, the smell always suffocating at first. Fingertips edge against your chest, gingerly pulling your robe loose and you do your part in helping remove it, carefully sliding your shoes off as well. Billy’s barely visible as he pushes you onto your back, fitting between your legs.

“It’s dark,” the complaint is barely a whisper but Billy indulges it, retreating from you to light a few candles he has strategically placed around the room.

“There,” he whisper, back between your legs before you know it. You’re thankful you can seen him a little better even if your eyes flutter closed to second he’s kissing you.

Billy’s hands grope you over your silk night dress, sending tingles all the way down to your toes. Parting your lips as a reaction but he shoves his tongue into your mouth, eliciting another wave of tingles to crash through you. He’s all you’ve ever had but you couldn’t imagine anyone else bringing such genuine pleasure from you. The way Billy touched you was enamoring, flooding your brain with utter adoration and infatuation for him. In fact, you were a tad obsessed with him. Scrawling his name in cursive on blank pages of your notebooks when you were alone.

Billy’s fingers brush against your thigh while he searches for the hem of your nightie, tossing it up to display your delicate matching underwear; simply white with a pale pink bow at the top. You hear Billy suck in a breath while he looks down at them. You still completely under his gaze, his eyes following as his hands bunch your nightgown above your breasts. The cool air and desire soaked gaze on them hardens your nipples, Billy rolls his thumbs against them with diligent tenderness. Corners of your lips turning up, heavily eyelids held open so you can observe his face. His head dips down to place soft kisses along your collarbone, producing a chill up your spin that makes your body shake involuntarily.

“Billy,” you whisper out, wanting to touch him in some way but making sure you’re allowed.

“Go ahead,” his breath hot against your tingling skin.

Billy’s skin is hot to the touch when you press your palms over his muscular shoulders before tangling fingers in the slightly damp curls as the nape of his neck. It’s unbelievably confusing the way Billy can treat you like nothing but a pain in the ass and touch you so lovingly the next minute. You’d never dare say anything about it, having in the past been angrily escorted out of his window when questioning what exactly was going on between you to with Billy making a seething comment about how jacking off would’ve been easier anyways.

Teeth nipping at the supple skin of your breasts reels your thoughts back to current reality. He takes his time, cupping your tits in his hands while showering them with kisses, gentle love bites and licks. Billy’s eyes look determinedly back up at you, a silent dare to make a noise and ruin the night. You won’t let that happen, at least not this early. Seemingly satisfied with you, Billy’s flattening his palm between your legs and applying the slightest pressure.

Feeling the wetness seeping through the thin material fuels Billy further, dragging his fingers instead of his palm up and down at an agonizing pace. You taste blood before you realize how hard you were biting the behind your legs, willing every fiber in your being to remain calm. You wonder if he can taste it when he pursues your lips with his own, bruising the already tender flesh. You manage to catch the gasp in your throat when Billy eases two fingers inside of you. All you can hear is both your steady breathing and the dripping squelches from his digits pumping between your legs. Each time he pulls back, his fingertips curl to drag against your walls.

Whenever Billy is performing this act on you, your skin sweats from every pore and it’s an identical feeling to being in a bath that’s too hot but feels too good to drain the water. Each breath you take feels like you’re turning the tap on cold, trying to regulate the temperature. Your hair is damp and heavy at the nape of your neck and where it frames your face, you’re sure it’s sticking to the glistening skin of your forehead and cheeks. Which Billy loves, the way you look totally fucked out under his touch when he’s barely done a thing.

“Alright,” his voice is always barely audible this late at night, not wanting to stir awake anyone else in his house. “Legs up,” he gently taps your knee and you know exactly what he wants, kicking your underwear off before pulling your legs back against your chest, your hands holding the back of your thighs for him. He taps fingers against your cheek as praise before pushing his boxers to his knees and gripping the base of his cock tightly. He strikes himself once, twice before aligning his tip with your entrance on display for him. The position of your legs and your dripping desire for him aids in how easy it is for him to fill you completely. He clenches his fists as well as his eyes and he lets out an almost mute hiss. He rocks his hips into you then, not letting up even when he sees you scratching your own thighs red and angry. The pace quicker than seemingly possible, until you’re shattering around him. Head tilted back in a silent scream, eyes widening before uncontrollably fluttering shut while he continues snapping his hips into you. Your legs ache something else but you cannot let go, you have to hold them up for Billy but apparently he sees you struggle, pressing his arm against them.

Then he’s pulling back and on cue, you maneuver onto your knees and elbows in front of him. You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, instantly feeling the hot spurts of cum coat your face, barely any getting on your tongue but Billy’s wiping it with his palm and urging you, “Lick it up, princess.” You peek the unaffected eye open to see his hand in front of your face and you listen to him, cleaning the mess from his hand with your tongue. He grabs a tissue and brings it to your eye, letting you take it and clean up whatever he left behind.

The silence is thick after, just the two of you panting on your backs when you can’t help but blurt, “I’m falling in love with you.”

“Shut up,” Billy’s hand is over your mouth in an instant and you realize you did say that kind of loud. “Oh God, can't you just keep it down?” he shoves you away. He pulls his boxers back up and stands, looking to you with disdain marking his features. “I’m going to the bathroom, don’t be here when I get back.”

And… you listen, unable to hold back the sobs erupting from you once you’re a block away. You sit on the curb and cry into your hands. You hated that you loved him.

-

“Y/n… look,” you hear your best friend Cindy say in a tone of disbelief on Monday at lunch. Her finger pointing behind you and her eyes are large. What the hell could it be.

You turn around and see Billy wearing his signature blue jeans and a dark button up shirt with only the last two buttons done up with a single rose between his fingers. The strangest part is he’s walking in a beeline to you, eyes trained on you sitting idly at the picnic table with a huge grin on his face.

You half expect him to turn in another direction and give the flower to another pretty girl. The other half of you is praying it’s for you. “Y/n,” Billy sighs when he meets you there, extending the rose out to you. “I’m so sorry for how I’ve been these past few months… you didn’t deserve that and I wanna make it up to you.”

Cheeks flushed, you take the rose and look up at the blonde with glassy eyes, “Oh, Billy!”

He leans down and plants an apologetic kiss on your lips, deepening it when your arms drape around his shoulders. You can feel all the eyes on you and you feel ecstatic, like the months of hot and cold were all worth it for this moment right now. You smile against his lips, feeling him mirror it.

“Let me take you out tonight,” Billy offers once he’s pulled away. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Seven… okay,” you beam up at him and he places a kiss on your cheek before walking away.

Your friends are asking you a million questions but you can’t talk, your fingertips ghosting over where he just kissed your cheek.

[timetoletmyimaginationfly]

Weekend Fluff

Nanami Kento x Reader

(Song Inspiration: Handle With Care by JR Aquino)

Nanami Kento hates the weekdays. It only meant that he spends less time with you. God forbid when he works overtime. He looks forward to the weekends every week. Nanami dragged his feet the moment he returned home. He loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves before removing his shoes. He took off his glasses and placed them on the table under the hooks for the keys. When he saw the extra key, he smiled. He knew you were home.

“Darling,” he called as he walked further in the house. He walked inside the living room and smiled. On the couch, you were asleep with your book on your chest. Nanami grabbed the blanket off the top of the couch and gently covered you warm. He kissed your forehead before he left to shower and get comfortable for the night.

The light that tried going through the curtain slowly woke you up. You winced from the brightness and turned to your side, pulling on the covers to keep you warm.

“It’s cold…” Your eyes widened. You turned around to see your fiancé shivering. You couldn’t help but laugh as you covered him with the blanket.

“You brought me to bed?” Nanami nodded as he pulled you in closer to him. You turned around to face him. “How was work?”

“Tiring,” he answered. “Strong first grade cursed spirits.”

“No injuries?”

“Scratches. Ieiri-san checked me out before I went home.” Slowly, Nanami looked at you. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“I’m glad you got home safely.” You closed your eyes when Nanami kissed your forehead. You hummed with a smile. You felt his grip tightened and you rested your head on his bare chest. “It’s the weekend.”

“And you’re awake still.” You lightly laughed. “You have anything in mind, love?”

“Just this,” you said. “I want you, you, and you.” You could feel the vibration from his chest and hear his deep and raspy chuckle. “What do you want to do?”

“I want you, you, and you.” You giggled back in response. You lifted your head to face him and kissed him. Nanami slowly woke up. He cupped one side of your face and kissed you passionately and soon hovered you. You laughed lightly in the kiss.

“Can we spend all day in bed?” you asked.

“Yes, my love.”

“Can we watch TV shows and movies?” Nanami smiled and kissed you.

“Yes, my love.”

“Can we read our books together?”

“Yes, my love.” You couldn’t help but smile widely. “We can do anything you want to do. I just want to spend my time with you.”

“Can I do you?” Nanami leaned in and kissed you passionately.

“That’s what I wanna do.” You laughed. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Kento.”

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Plastic Hearts, Six: Kiss Me, Bad Karma

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!ofc (Violet Apollo)

rating: E (18+ only, feral!dieter, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected piv, talks of alcohol/drug consumption, talks of sobriety)

wc: 4k

series masterlist | dieter masterlist

Dieter stirred awake after the sun had risen and began to peer in through the curtains. Tugging what he thought was Violet close to his chest, he frowned at the object's lack of warmth and curved. He peeled one eye open to find he’d been spooning a pillow, his stare full of disgust for this vile object who’d taken the place of his lover.

Sitting up, Dieter rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms before his ears honed in on a whirring sound coming from across the silent home.

“Vi?” he croaked, deep and raspy and nowhere near fully awake.

“In the gym!” she called back, causing a furrow between Dieter’s brows. He didn’t realize he even had a gym.

Dieter found his robe and slippers before slugging out of the master bedroom and into the house in search of this “gym”, finding it behind a door he always assumed was a closet.

Violet was on the treadmill, her face, neck, and chest covered with sweat as she ran, drawing Dieter’s eyes to the bounce of her breasts.

“Eyes up here,” she ordered with a smirk.

“Are you seriously working out right now? It’s like seven in the morning.”

“It’s eleven, babe,” she corrected with another smile. “Besides, I have a strict routine set for me by my trainer that I need to follow—“

“No, what you need to do is let me fuck you,” he interrupted. “That’ll burn enough calories.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she rolled her eyes and grinned, slowing the treadmill to a stop. She dabbed her face and chest with a towel as she stepped off the machine and walked right up to Dieter, watching him eye her down like a hungry animal. “I’m sweaty.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” His hands were on her, holding her tight to his frame as he leaned in to lick a stripe up her neck, drunk on her taste. “Fuck, baby. Taste so fucking good.”

“D,” she moaned, her hands fumbling with the tie on his robe before undoing it. He groaned against her pulse as she wrapped her fist around his cock, pumping him up and down while he sucked a mark on her neck.

“C’mere,” he whispered, pulling her to follow him as he took a seat on the padded leather bench. As she stood in front of him, he hooked a finger in her leggings and tugged on the waistband. “Take these off.”

“In a minute,” she whispered, sinking to the floor in front of him. Dieter groaned as she kissed her way up his thighs, her tongue following the trail that led to his cock. “I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“Shit,” he sighed, his head rolling back as she gripped his cock and began to stroke it while taking his balls into her mouth one at a time. “Fuck, V.”

“That feel good, baby?” she asked innocently, her eyes wide as he lifted his head back up to look down at her with an earnest nod and pleasured scowl. “You want more of my mouth?”

“P-please,” he begged, voice as tense and desperate as his now weeping cock as Violet’s fist stroked up and down slowly, her thumb swiping over the mess to help glide her palm against him. “Please, baby, please.”

“Good boy,” Dieter groaned, his cock pulsing in her hand at the praise. Violet grinned as she leaned in and wrapped her lips around his fat tip, her tongue flicking at his arousal that beaded over it. Dieter was a mess now, moaning and begging for more of her as she bobbed on him, taking him deep into her throat until she was gagging. He laid back against the bench, the plushness of his stomach on full display for her, and she couldn’t deny herself the chance to rub her palm over it’s smoothness. Dieter found her spit-soaked hand and clasped it with his as she took him down her throat again, glucking and sputtering until he slid in with ease.

“You’re gonna make me fucking cum, baby,” he whined, squeezing her hand as her mouth worked his cock in tandem with her fist until that tension building in his spine finally snapped, his cum painting her throat as she took him in deep and kept him there. “Shit, shit, shit—fuck!”

She hummed as she swallowed him down, her eyes locking with his as he sat up and cupped both of her cheeks to pull her off of him before immediately crashing his mouth against hers, not caring how sloppy her face was from her job well done.

“Lay back,” he ordered, watching her as she laid back on the floor before following her. He tugged her leggings off and spread her thighs, marveling at the sight of her bare pussy in the bright light of daytime, her body spread out on the floor of his home gym. “You’re so fucking sexy, baby.”

“Please,” she begged as he placed kisses all over her stomach, worshiping it’s soft give beneath his lips. “I didn’t—“

“Didn’t what?” He looked up at her from between her thighs with a smirk. “Didn’t make me beg? I seem to remember differently.”

“Fuck,” she panted, knowing that look in his eyes. “You’re gonna—“

“Uh-huh,” he nodded, placing a kiss against her clit. “Gonna make you beg, baby.”

Dieter’s hands were firm as they gripped the plushness of her thighs, keeping them spread wide open as he placed open mouthed kisses all over except for where she craved him most, working her up to the point of panting.

“D,” she whined, lifting her hips up to reach his mouth as he stared down at her weeping cunt like he was in the presence of the Holy Grail.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbled, leaning down to give her a kitten lick against her seam, Violet’s strangled cry bringing a grin to his face as he pulled away just as she started to grind against his tongue. “Mm, I don’t know if you want it bad enough yet, baby. I haven’t heard any begging.”

“D, please,” she cried, sliding her hand down her body to her clit to alleviate some of the tension building only to be swatted away by Dieter.

“Baby, you can do better than that.”

“Please, please, please, baby,” she started, sitting up on her elbows to look at him. “Please eat my pussy, D. Please, it feels so good when you—oh, fuck.”

Dieter’s tongue splayed flat over her seam, gathering as much of her slick on his tongue as he licked up to her clit. He tensed the tip of his tongue as he swiped circles over her swollen and throbbing clit, slow and deliberate, before sucking it into his mouth with a pulse. Her hand came to thread through his mess of curls, holding him against her as she looked down at him with a pleasured scowl, her mouth wide open in a breathless cry.

“Dieter, fuck, baby,” she moaned, feeling that string in her belly grow taut as he kept up this routine of licking and flicking and sucking on her until her thighs began to shake and clamp shut around his face. “I’m gonna cum, D. I’m—oh, fuck, I’m gonna come!”

“Dieter!” Andrea’s voice sounded from the living room of his London home, making Violet nearly sob as her orgasm was so fucking close.

“Shh,” he whispered, smoothing over her thigh before pressing a finger into her weeping cunt as he continued with his tongue.

“But she—“

“Could be the Queen herself and I’d still make her wait until you came,” he replied, husky and deep. Violet silenced her moans as Dieter built that tension up again with the help of his finger curling against that devastating spot inside of her in time with his tongue stroking over the swell of her clit. “Come on, baby. Cum for me. I wanna taste it—“

“Fuck,” she gasped, her body seizing and shaking as her release finally came with a silent cry. Dieter nodded at her as he pulled away, his finger still stroking her walls as he watched her lay there on the gym floor, high on him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered as he kissed his way up her stomach until he was hovering over her. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, her fingers lifting to comb his hair back.

“You’re beautiful,” she replied, so full of truth and sincerity he almost believed it. Breathing out a chuckle, he leaned down and kissed her lips in a sweet peck before standing up with a grunt. He helped her to her feet and handed her her leggings, watching as she squeezed them on over her hips and ass, the jiggle of her soft skin making it hard for him to want to go out there and attend to business. Throwing on his robe and tying it, he walked over to the mirrors lining the home-gym wall and checked himself for any obvious signs of having just buried his face in America’s Sweetheart’s cunt.

“Dieter, where are you?” Andrea called again and this time Violet answered.

“We’re coming!” she called back and Dieter smirked at her choice in words as he turned around to face her, earning an eye roll. “I meant literally.”

“Mmhm,” he grinned, pulling her close for a deeper kiss than before. “Let’s see how fast I can get rid of her.”

While Dieter was in his meeting with Andrea to go over his flight schedule for the next month, Violet took a much needed shower and got ready for the day. She tried to fight the urge to present as her best self, knowing that Dieter would likely wear just his robe all day, but she couldn’t shake the insecurity she felt looking at her bare face and un-styled hair in the mirror.

“You need a fucking therapist,” she scolded herself as she began straightening her hair.

“Don’t we all?” Dieter appeared behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. Violet smiled, setting her straightener down before turning around to face him, her hands combing through his wild and unruly waves.

“You need a haircut. Getting shaggy,” she smirked as she gave his hair a tug, earning a soft moan. “Can I cut it?”

“Are you gonna fuck it up?” he asked, sliding his hands down to squeeze her ass through her jeans.

“No,” she replied, scratching his scalp. “You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you with my life, Apollo,” he replied with a content smile, as though he’d given it thought beyond this moment. “You can cut it for me tonight. I have to go with Andrea to some meetings for the Scorsese project. Might be gone a while, you should go out and savor the London drizzle before we leave.”

“When are you leaving?” she asked, her hands leaving his hair to smooth over the terry cloth of his robe. “I had a flight set for LA in two days because I have a photo shoot and a talk show thing.”

“I have to be in New York in two days for a couple days of press shit, but I’ll be home right after.”

Violet nodded, trying to be content with the way their schedules were almost lining up when really she would’ve preferred to simply not be without him at all. Violet knew better than to get too attached to his presence. She was well aware of how hard it was to maintain relationships in this industry, and knowing that Dieter had two projects coming up that would inevitably keep him away and busy, she had to learn to be okay with the distance.

Dieter must have sensed her slipping away into her thoughts, his lips pressing against hers acting as a sort of grounding. The warmth of his palm cradled her cheek to keep her in the kiss, to keep her out of her head, and she hummed at the heat he radiated, feeling so warm against her cold skin that she thought (and hoped) it would brand her. It wasn’t until he allowed her to turn around and resume her hair styling that she realized the only mark he left on her was an invisible one, one that only they could see and one that only she could feel. She decided she liked it that way better.

“God, I cannot wait to be back in LA,” Lucy shivered, pulling her coat tight as she walked through the city with Violet. “You know it’s 70 degrees there tomorrow? I checked on my weather app. 70 degrees. And here? 40. And fucking raining.”

“I used to want to move here,” Violet added, shaking her head as she buried her face in her chunky scarf. “Fuck that.”

“So,” Lucy sang, nudging her in the side with her elbow. “We gonna talk about you and Dieter?”

“If you want.” Though she played cavalier about it, she couldn’t help the grin that grew on her face at the mere memory of last night and this morning.

Dieter was above and beyond what she thought and hoped he’d be in bed. After the night in the hotel with his cock shoved down the model’s throat, she assumed he was more of a taker in bed, but it couldn’t be further from the reality. If anything, Dieter liked being told what to do more than anything, though that wasn’t to say he never did some bossing around of his own—he took plenty, he just gave it back tenfold.

“So…what happened?” Lucy asked, pulling Violet from the racy scenes replaying in her mind.

“We talked about the night in the hotel and then one thing led to another and…”

“And?” Lucy urged her with an impatient grin.

“And then I had the best sex of my fuckin’ life, Luce,” Violet whispered enthusiastically. “Like I think I’m gonna have a stroke kind of orgasms, babe.”

“Good for Dieter,” she nodded, impressed. “And especially good for you.”

Violet stayed grinning as they rounded the corner to the restaurant they were headed to, thinking to herself, “this is good for me”.

“You guys gonna be an official thing now, or what?” she continued her questioning as they arrived at the restaurant, paparazzi somehow already there and waiting. Violet gave the cameras a polite wave as she walked past them, but it seemed to be the wrong move as they began to start hurling questions at her.

“Is it true you’re joining the MCU?” No.

“Is that a baby bump you’re hiding behind your coat?” God, no.

“How are you feeling with all the bad reviews coming out about your movie?” N—wait, what?

“What the fuck is he talking about, Luce?” Violet whispered to her assistant as the host of the restaurant quickly guided them in and to their private table near the back.

“I don’t know,” she replied, high pitched and frantic as she reached through her bag for her phone. Pulling it out, her screen lit up with a long list of notifications from the google alerts she had set up for Violet’s name. “Fuck. Fuck. Hold on.”

“I’ll give you a moment,” the host carefully stepped out of their tense bubble as Violet sat staring expectantly at her assistant who was speed reading through critics reviews.

“Well, the good news is that your performance is being called the savior of the movie,” she offered with a bit of hope in her voice. “There’s not a single bad review on you, Vi.”

“But the movie is shit.” It was spoken as a fact because that’s what it was. She knew it during the premiere—though she mistakenly and harshly threw her own performance into the mix as well—and now everyone else seemed to agree. “Well, there goes my fucking Oscar. Fuck, man! This was supposed to—fuck.”

“Violet, you can still get nominated.” Lucy attempted to console her, reaching over to squeeze her forearm as it rested on the table.

“But I can’t win. You can’t star in a shit fucking movie and win Best Actress. They wouldn’t let that happen—they shouldn’t let that happen.” Violet sighed, reaching into her phone, the need to talk to Dieter too strong to beat.

V: hey. reviews are in. movie is shit.

In the few minutes it took for Dieter to send a reply, Violet doomscrolled on her phone until she was sick of hearing her name pop up on her For You page, reviews of what was supposed to be her first big film reduced to TikTok gossip and Instagram headlines.

D: fuck, V.

D: from what i saw last night and the article i’m reading now, you’re not the issue. you know that right?

Violet frowned with a mixture of deep affection and crushing insecurity as she typed her reply that she could muster that was honest.

V: i don’t know.

Feeling the pounding in her chest start to cloud her ears, Violet let out a shaky sigh, only half-listening as Lucy continued on trying to cheer her up, her words nothing more than a drowned out mumble in the distance. Grabbing her phone, she began typing again.

V: my brain won’t shut off. feel like i’m gonna have a panic attack. wish you were here.

D: i’m out of my meeting. where are you?

She gave him the address to the restaurant and felt the tightness in her chest melt just the slightest bit at the knowledge that he would be here soon. In the meantime, Violet tried to distract herself from the entire subject by continuing on talking about the sex she and Dieter had in the gym this morning.

“While you were sweaty?” Lucy asked, half appalled, half impressed.

“Went to town,” she confirmed proudly. “Like he hadn’t eaten for weeks.”

“What a man.” Lucy shook her head in awe and took a sip of her water.

“Talking about me?” Dieter’s voice sounded, instantly illuminating the room, or at least Violet’s perception of it.

She watched him as he walked up to the table as though he was some precious, holy thing. Something born to ease her journey through this life. A beacon of light and hope in a dark world and an even darker industry. She knew the demons that lurked in his head told him otherwise, the cruel monsters taking the form of his parents, constantly making him feel inadequate and insignificant. Violet decided in that moment to do everything in her power to show him just how wrong those voices were. He was more than enough. He was more than significant.

“Hey,” he greeted her, kissing her cheek as he pulled up a seat and sat as close to her as he possibly could without sitting in her lap. He disregarded Lucy, though she took no offense to it. Swiping his knuckle over the apple of Violet’s cheek, he pouted his bottom lip out, the sadness that only he could somehow see in her eyes stabbing him in the chest with empathy.

“I’m not okay,” she whispered in his ear. Dieter nodded and rubbed her back. “I wanted it to be good so badly.”

“I know,” he sighed, his hand never stopping against her back, melting the tension as best as he could in public. “Everybody has that one film that they wanted to work so bad, but…sometimes it’s not our fault. There’s hundreds of other people responsible for a movie, you know? It could be the lighting department or sound or editing or the production team or whatever. Just know that the failure isn’t on you. Everyone—“

“D,” she sighed, letting her head fall into her hands as she propped her elbows up on the table. “None of that makes it better.”

“I know it doesn’t,” he whispered. “But it’s the truth.”

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Bravo?” the waiter appeared and Dieter quickly shook his head, dismissing him.

“I canceled my other meetings today. Let’s go take your mind off things, huh?” he whispered into Violet’s ear. “Have a few drinks, smoke a few blunts, have a couple orgasms—“

“Okay,” she agreed with a giggle, lifting her head to face him. She rested her hand on his face and gave him an adoring stare before realizing that Lucy was still at the table. She turned to her assistant with a deep inhale and forced a smile onto her face, as though she hadn’t just listened in on their private conversation. “Alright, I’m gonna go with D. Just put the bill on my—“

“No,” Dieter objected, reaching into the back pocket of his sage green trousers to tug out his wallet. He dropped two hundred dollar bills on the table, even though their meal couldn’t have totaled more than one hundred, and whistled for the waiter. “Luce, you’re welcome to join us if you want. Fair warning, me and Vi are gonna be fucking like rabbits.”

“You know what, I think I’m okay,” she chuckled. “But you two have fun. Responsible fun, if you can.”

“If by responsible you mean no cocaine, sure,” Dieter replied, standing up and helping Violet slide her coat and scarf on.

“Come on,” Violet laughed, looping her arm with his as she led them out of the restaurant.

Dieter shielded her from the now doubled swarm of paparazzi, his arm wrapping around her to tuck her into his side as they hurried down the sidewalk to where Dieter’s SUV was parked.

“Isn’t it ironic that we used to call these fuckers so that we were seen together and now all I want in the world is for them to leave us alone?” he mumbled into her ear as they walked.

“We created a monster, would be cruel of us not to feed it.”

As the pair laid tangled in the aftermath of their party for two, their bodies curled together on the floor of his living room, the fireplace raging in front of them acting as the only source of light in his home, everything momentarily felt right in the world.

Dieter was not a rich, accomplished man who’d never loved or been loved so truly as he was now. He was simply a man being loved. A man worth loving and holding and understanding.

Violet had transformed as well, no longer carrying the burden of being a beautiful young woman in Hollywood, no longer carrying the shame of what she had to do to get there. She was simply a woman being loved. A woman worth loving and understanding.

Together, they found peace. Together they found what they’d been looking for their entire lives. Inside these walls, however expensive they were, they could put aside the masks and personas, the privilege and pretension, and simply be people instead of idols.

“Tell me there’s more to life than winning awards,” she whispered, drawing hearts on his chest while a Sam Cooke record played crackled on the vintage Victrola.

“There’s more to life than winning awards,” he replied, just as soft as the skin his fingertips traced over on her ribs.

“Now tell me the truth,” she ordered, smoothing her palm over the swell of his stomach.

“For people like us, our art is our everything. We’re always gonna be chasing after validation. Even if there’s more to life.”

Violet nodded against his shoulder, a tear falling from her eyes and onto his heated skin.

“I wanted it so badly.”

“Keep wanting it,” he urged, squeezing her tighter to his body. “Keep wanting it until you get it, and then want it even more.”

“I’m sorry I broke your sobriety,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his peck. “I shouldn’t have—“

“Shh,” he silenced her apologies with a kiss to her forehead. “You’re the only person in the world who makes me feel human. Do you understand how much that means to me? I’d get drunk with you any day, Violet. Only you.”

“Tell me one more thing,” she commanded, moving to straddle his thighs, her hands raking up and down his chest as she smiled down at him.

“Anything,” he replied, reaching to cup her face in his hands as though she was a jewel.

“Tell me you love me again.” Dieter grinned, pulling her down until her lips were ghosting over his.

“I—“ A peck. “Love—“ Another. “You.”

He kissed her face until they were both grinning.

“God, I love you.”

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