#is pretty complicated and I can get behind his thinking

[deadheaddaisy]

So anyone who follows me knows I am 100% a SatoReed shipper. But knowing this @pearlypairings and @more-better-words raised this possibility, and I've got to say, I can see it. It'll never replace my OTP - which really only kicks into gear in hypothetical Season 5 in my fics anyway - so let me brain dump on y'all.

Talas is a woman who knows what she wants, and as much as she's using Reed to get to the sphere, she's unlikely to be your standard honeypot operative. She's Andorian; while sex is nothing to be ashamed of, it's also not to be used lightly. She's unlikely to sleep with someone who doesn't interest her. And let's be real, Malcolm is very interesting to a soldier of her caliber.

OP is right; it's the one time on the show where Reed is shown as completely relaxed around a woman in whom he's interested. (Yes, he's completely relaxed around Hoshi outside of the enchiladas scene; they have incredible chemistry right from the frostbite scene, they really riff off and get each other, there were lots of little clues that more was brewing - but it never actually turned into anything on-screen.) So it's entirely plausible that Reed and Talas would have made one hell of a power couple if she hadn't been using him to get to the sphere.

I do think that if Talas had slept with Malcolm, she would have been ashamed of deceiving him. I don't think she's built to be a spy; she's a soldier and she doesn't like playing games (and neither did Shran, both likely feeling that it impugned their honour). I can get behind Reed & Talas hooking up and simply enjoying each other with the understanding that they weren't planning a relationship, but it being more fun than a standard one night stand.

There would very likely have been a meeting of minds and spirits - military backgrounds, both trained and skilled in intelligence and security work, both tactical officers on their respective starships, dedicated to their work and their crews, ready to do whatever they must to safeguard their species, but ready to work together to achieve their goals. Giving up their honour and ethics with a struggle and then only because it's what's needed for their missions to succeed, but not happy about it.

And let's be real, they are both freaking hot AF under those uniforms.

I think Talas' ulterior motives rattled her because she wasn't expecting to respect Reed as much as she did. She might have gone in with an attitude of, a one-night-stand with a soldier, okay sure, if nothing else she gets a decent lay out of it - and then she meets this man who's very much like her, and like Shran, dedicated and intense, a man of integrity - and it becomes more complicated than a simple honeypot.

And looking at relationships, he's not with anyone, there's no cheating, so why the hell not? He's a lot more relaxed and comfortable around Talas than he is with the Viznian (?) woman, the Orions, T'Pol during pon farr (ignoring the wisp since that wasn't actually him), etc.

That said, I'm not sure anything between Malcolm & Talas would necessarily be a long-term, committed relationship, given their similarities - I do think Malcolm needs someone who's not exactly like him, because I think he's quite fragile under that tough exterior, and I think Hoshi brings that combination of strength and warmth and implicit trust he needs to both give and take from a partner.

At the same time, that no-bullshit attitude of Talas' I think might also have helped Malcolm overcome his shitty self-esteem. Game recognises game, and Talas isn't going to waste her time seducing a weakling, in mind or spirit (his body is clearly not weak in any way). So I reckon she could have made great strides in flicking that switch that made him not just confident in his abilities, but in himself as a person.

So yeah, if I were to choose anyone other than Hoshi to ship with Malcolm? I'd be far more likely to ship Talas than pretty much anyone other than Shran (sorry Shranchers) (we were outright robbed of more Shran-Reed interactions and I bet there would have been flames on that bridge in Season 5 if Shran had joined the crew).

Admittedly I have read some really good Mayes, and again, the military background comes to the fore - I can see it playing a big role if he were to go for someone not Hoshi, who I think is both strong and gentle in the way he needs; but if not Hoshi, I'd really see him with Talas or Shran and then maybe Hayes before anyone else.

And the Andorian polycule opens up so many possibilities, not everyone would have to be super tough universal soldier, after all. So yeah, Malcolm and Talas are very much within the realm of possibility in my book. Hell, now I have brain tingles about a 6-strong squad, ffs.

(Of course, only if Hoshi is not in the picture, I'm not throwing over my OTP for anyone else, this is purely a what if exercise.)

Criminal how these two never went anywhere. They are. Made for each other. The trust issues. The military family. The unashamed flirting. It's the first time Reed has ever been normal around a woman in his entire life. She cured his daddy issues with 1 sentence.

She would have been the type of fiery and strong woman who always has strong opinions and wants to decide everything, and he would have been the "sure honey, whatever you want, your wish is my command :)" kind of man. UGH. We suffered a robbery.

[trianglegoddess]

Feral McGee™

It starts with the Joker. 

His goons picked up Tim Drake. Not specifically because it was Tim Drake, he just so happened to be in the Joker’s neighborhood, and we'll, he can't pass up that opportunity now can he? 

Except Tim Drake is watching, along with the rest of Gotham, at the Batcomputer. He’s nursing a broken foot and has been put on monitor duty until he's cleared for field work again. 

The guy looks enough like him, though. Black hair, blue eyes, and bags under his eyes for days. He's also got the same lean sort of build like he does. 

It happens like this. 

The Joker is doing his monologue thing where he explains whatever twisted game he's come up with this time. He takes up the majority of the screen, so nobody can see Not-Tim behind him, not until the big reveal. Then he covers the screen again, getting up close and personal, before stepping back. In those quick few seconds, Not-Tim is no longer sitting there tied to the chair. 

Someone off camera lets the Joker know, and he whirls around, confused as the rest of Gotham. 

And then Not-Tim comes in with the steel chair. 

Or, well, a crowbar, but the reference holds up. 

He takes out one of Joker’s knees before punching him in the face. The Joker drops like a bag of stones, out cold. 

Then he looks towards the camera. 

“Hey there. I'm not really sure where I am, but also if he was after Tim Drake, he got the wrong guy. I'm not him, I'm just some dude. Anyway, I'll just-yep-” he carefully steps over the unconscious Joker, gives the camera a little wave, and then leaves. 

Batman and Nightwing enter shortly after, with the Joker and his goons out cold and tied up. The knots were complicated enough where, in the end, the police resorted to cutting the ties off of them so they could be properly cuffed and taken to Arkham. 

“A constrictor knot,” Batman tells Nightwing as they watch the villain be taken away. “Often used by sailors to temporarily tie things together to keep something in a bag, or to hold something to glue it back together.”

“Huh,” Nightwing says, scratching the back of his head. “Go figure.”

—

The next time it happens, it’s the Riddler. 

He’s laughing, giving his riddles to the Bats and recording himself to all of Gotham while his victim, one of the Wayne brats, hangs over a vat of something. From a distance, he looks like Tim Drake, or maybe a lankier Dick Grayson. And he’s not the only victim, they’re all scattered across the city, but he thought an important figure such as a Wayne should be under the Riddler’s direct supervision while he enacts his schemes. 

While the Riddler cackles and plots and waves his cane around, in the background all of Gotham can see the figure escape. Several Gothamites recognize him as the kid from before, who clocked the Joker. They all watch with bated breath as he sort of wiggles his way out of the ropes holding him up. Once he’s free, he climbs the rope and gets himself down safely. 

Gotham holds their breath as the kid casually walks up to the Riddler, who’s mid-rant. He politely taps him on the shoulder, and as the Riddler is turning around, the kid clocks him just as brutally as he had the Joker. He’s down with one punch. 

They think he’s going to say another sort of awkward goodbye, but instead he pats the Riddler down until he finds a piece of paper tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“Right,” the kid says, looking at the list. There’s a lot more static overlay now, and several wonder if it’s damage to the cameras. “Uh, the Clocktower, the Docks, and-” he squints at the page for a moment-”Mama Nacaroni’s? What the fuck is that? Anyway, uh. See you later, I guess. Oh! And we’re at the Gotham Arena. Have fun with him, I guess.”

The kid tosses the paper off to the side before the camera cuts to black. 

Just like last time, everyone is out cold and tied up. The Riddler himself is sporting a pretty bad shiner, but well deserved nonetheless. 

“Stop it,” Red Hood tells him. Batman just looks at him, and though Hood can’t see the top half of his face, he can tell that his eyebrow is raised. “You know exactly what I mean, B. Put the adoption papers away.”

“Hn.”

—

After that, it sorta becomes a game. The rogues of Gotham are no longer after a Wayne, or after anybody who holds any kind of social status like usual. They’re all going after this one kid, all determined to be the one to hold him. And each one is televised. 

Mr. Freeze freezes him in a block of ice, but due to the cameras glitching out, nobody can really see how he got free. They do, however, see the kid suplex Mr. Freeze. It should seem impossible, given his lanky figure, but he evidently has more muscle than he’s originally let on. 

Two-Face gets a hold of him, using chains and some power-dampening cuffs just on the off-chance that he’s a meta. They all watch as the kid leans down, pulls a bobby pin out of his hair, and picks the locks on his cuffs. One punch, and Two-Face is down. 

Gothamites are going wild for the kid. They’ve dubbed him Feral McGee™ (an online poll, of course), because every time he goes in for the punch he gets this feral look in his eyes. Also, just the fact that he casually goes up to these rogues and takes them out with all the casualness of doing something incredibly mundane? Incredible. The Gothamites are eating it up. However, despite the video evidence, nobody has been able to properly identify the kid. They know he has black hair and bright eyes, but any time he gets near a camera, it’s like there’s this weird, sort of warped quality the camera takes on. It doesn’t usually calm down until the fight is done-as one sided as they usually are-before he awkwardly skedaddles away.  

He gets kidnapped by the Penguin, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy (though that was more just a friendly chat than anything), Mad Hatter, and the Riddler again. 

And then the Joker escapes. 

It’s no surprise as to who he’s going to go after. 

Due to one too many careless goons, they manage to find their way to the Joker’s hideout pretty quickly. This time, it’s all Bats on deck, and they all hide away in the rafters as Feral McGee™ is hung over a vat of acid. His whole body is tied up, hardly a single inch of exposed skin to be seen except for the neck up. 

They watch the goons, they watch the Joker, and they watch Feral McGee™. 

The Joker is monologuing, practically begging the bats to come find him before the timer runs out. When it does, the kid gets dumped into the vat of acid. 

Despite these stakes, the kid seems to be only mildly annoyed. 

“Fuck this, I have homework I still need to finish,” they hear him say. 

They all watch, amazed and confused, as the kid starts gnawing through the ropes. Human teeth shouldn’t be able to do that so easily, but one bit after the other, and soon enough the kid’s got himself freed enough to just climb up the rest of the rope. When he’s at the top of the crane holding him up, Batman lets down a rope and pulls the kid up and out of danger. 

“Oh, cool, you’re all here,” the kid says casually, as if meeting the entire Bat Clan is just a normal Tuesday. And then he pulls out a notepad and pen and hands it to Red Hood. 

“Can I get an autograph? You’re dope as fuck, dude.”

Red Hood has to look away and hide his face in his arms for a few moments to not give away their location with his laughter before signing. And then, one by one, the others do as well. They pass along the kid’s notebook with shit-eating grins and barely contained snickers despite the fact that the Joker is still right below them. Even Batman signs it, after his children don’t stop hounding him about it. 

In their distraction, they didn’t see the kid sneak away. He’s far away from them now, nearly right over the Joker. Danny waits, though, until the Joker has turned around as the timer almost runs out. They watch as he snickers at Joker’s flabbergasted look. The Joker comically looks back and forth and under objects the kid obviously isn’t under. However, before he can do or say anything else, the kid drops from the rafters and right on top of the Joker. He crumples to the ground, unconscious. The kid, however, just brushes the dust off of himself. Despite the fall he took, there isn’t a scratch on him. 

When the bats join him, they give his notepad back to him, barely able to contain their laughter at the absurdity of it all. The kid, too, joins in the camaraderie, laughing and joking along with them as Batman secures the Joker. 

“Okay, okay, but I gotta ask, dude,” Red Hood says at one point, looking at the kid. “How do you keep getting kidnapped?”

The kid just shrugs. “I get distracted easily. And I’m sleep deprived, so you know. Social awareness is kind of at an all time low right now.”

“Why are you sleep deprived?” Nightwing asks, barely hidden concern in his voice. 

 “Finals are kinda kicking my ass right now. Especially this dumb English homework I have. You guys wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Oh, lucky for you,” Red Hood says, wrapping an arm around the kid’s shoulders as he walks them out of the warehouse, “I happen to know a lot about English. So, it is Shakespeare?”

“Yeah, Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

As they walk off, Batman calmly watches, though the rest of the bats can see his jaw twitching. Nightwing comes up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

“If you don’t adopt him, I will.”

“Hn.”

[gracieheartspedro]

For Cryin’ Out Loud

pairing: post-outbreak! joel miller x afab! reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

word count: 7.9k

description: living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.

warnings: pretty slow burn, kinda forced proximity, kinda angsty, unspecified age gap (don’t like it, don’t read it), joel gives you tons of nicknames (darlin’, kiddo, etc.), discussions of nightmares and possible mental illnesses, some fluff, reader isn’t really described, joel is kinda a gaslighter, he’s also a bit pervy, unprotected p in v (wrap it y’all), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk, joel like worships you!!!!!, joel licks his fingers clean, giving genitalia pronouns, joel’s a big boy. think that’s it. lemme know what I missed!

author’s note: I really enjoyed writing this. the idea is pretty simple but I love domestic jackson!joel. I promise i’ll try to switch it up soon and write something that isn’t jackson!era lol. support your fav fics by reblogging and commenting!! thanks love ya <3

For some reason, you always find yourself standing at the threshold of the front door when you cannot sleep. 

The air was especially brisk tonight. You wrapped yourself in a gray chunky sweater you found in the lost and found in Jackson’s thrift store, hoping to regain some warmth. Your bed may have been comfortable, but it was the place where nightmares usually plagued you. 

It was too late to be awake, and you knew that if you were caught, you would hear it from Joel. He always reprimanded you. Every time he caught you up late, it was like your father woke up and found your hand in the cookie jar. 

The dynamic between you two had changed since arriving in Jackson, and you almost resented him for it. When it was just you, him, and Ellie, you were managing a family unit. Joel was always the protective father, you being the mom or the voice of reason, and Ellie being chaos. 

When Ellie and Joel’s relationship shifted, he took on a fatherly role for you. It bothered you. A lot. 

In a moment of contemplation, you hear footsteps coming down the steps behind you. 

He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and no shirt, his hairy tummy something you did not see often. 

“What are you doing awake?” He questions, his voice groggy with a twinge of annoyance. 

You do not feel like explaining yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without a justification. 

You huff, leaning your back against the door frame so you can get a full look at the broad man. “Can’t sleep. Thought staring into the darkness would help.”

He grunts, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How’s that workin’ for you, sweetheart?”

You could not close your eyes without the haunting dreams that seemed lively and so real. Every night, you had the same recurring ones. You were being chased, hunted, or murdered. Or all of the above. You would wake in a cold sweat, not wanting to shut your eyelids ever again. 

“Hm,” You say, staring back outside for a brief moment, “‘Was better when you weren’t looking over my shoulder.”

He chuckles, “Get back to bed.”

“I can’t, Joel.”

“You can and will. You’re no good when you’re tired.”

“If I close my eyes, Joel, I will just have the same goddamn nightmares I have every night. And I will end up doing what I’m doing now, which is trying to get some fresh air to forget them.”

“You’re not gonna forget ‘em with some fresh air. You just need to… get over them.”

The breeze picks up as soon as he says it, almost like the world knew the tension would have to be broken with some frigid air. You retort with, “And how do you get over yours?”

"I just accept them," he says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "I don't have time to dwell on them. There's always more important things to worry about."

"I'm more tired in the morning when I just endure them." You explain, trying not to cry about it. But you are so sick of them. The same thing every night.

“I get it. One day they will subside, I’m sure of it. But for now, you gotta-”

You just want him to shut up. At the same time, your mind is trying to remember the last time you did not have a nightmare. The memory makes your stomach churn. “You remember that one time we were forced to share that sleeping bag? Back in Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah,” His tone was wary, “What about it?”

"That was the first night I didn't have it." You explain, your voice a bit shaking at the insinuation. You don’t want to face the fact that Joel, the man that you have known for going on 10 years, kept your nightmares at bay. The same man who continuously rejected you and told you that he was old enough to be your dad. The same man that told you no, I don’t like you like that. I never will. That Joel. 

“And? Why are you bringing this up now?”

"Because every night I go to my bed and I'm forced to face them alone. When you were there... they didn't even bother holding my mind hostage.”

He took another step closer, closing some of the distance between you two. He towers over you and you can’t help but stare up at him in awe. Joel has always been a complicated part of your life. You consider him your sexual awakening, honestly, but he will never ever know that. Over the years, he’s only gotten more handsome. 

But now, he has a curious expression written all over his face.

"Are you saying you want to share a bed with me?" he asks, his voice gruff and low.

You suck in a deep breath, not wanting to answer. You knew that was stepping over a boundary for Joel. He liked his space. He didn’t like you impeding on that space, especially. Your bedroom was the furthest away from his for a reason.

"I don't know." You manage to say.

Joel's gaze darkened, his expression was completely unreadable. You wish you could read his mind, but you should be grateful you can not. 

Because in Joel’s mind, he’s trying to formulate a way to convince you to stay away from him altogether. The wall he has built over the last decade was intentional. He did not want to hurt you any further. He already knew you had feelings for him, but he was an old man. He did not want to drag you into his mess, all the baggage he carried. He looked after you, he shared a home with you, and that’s it. Strictly platonic. 

He shifted on his feet a little, unable to tear his eyes away from you. You shook like a little leaf.

"You don't know?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble.

You nod, "I don't know if I want that."

You do want that. But you want more, too. You knew you would be playing with fire. You would just be disappointed. 

Joel’s temptations are buried deep but they still fester every now and again. Some days he would catch a glance at you getting dressed in the crack of your door and have to take a cold shower. As soon as he felt those emotions bubble in his chest, he would try to distract himself. Maybe he would take a longer patrol. Maybe he would go to the Tipsy Bison and try to find a woman to take home. That one never really worked. 

“Well, what do you want then? Because standin’ at the door and letting all the cold air in ain’t gonna work for me or you.”

You look down at your picked-over fingernails and contemplate your next sentence. You don't want to be heartbroken in the morning when you wake up and he's there sleeping peacefully next to you and you're not... his.

"I want to sleep with you."

Joel was not expecting such a blunt response from you, but he appreciated you not beating around the bush about it. He gestures for you to step out of the doorway so he can shut the door, which you do. 

He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your face, taking in the exhaustion and uncertainty. 

"You sure?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.

You just nod as he locks the front door. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. 

Joel couldn’t believe it either. Maybe it was the tiredness or the instincts he felt to protect you, but he was not mad at the idea of sharing his bed with you. 

You signal for him to go upstairs, “You lead the way.”

-

Joel’s room was always off-limits to you. So when you step into his small little world, you take it all in. 

The artwork around the room was mainly nature landscapes. He had a big dresser right at the room's entrance with picture frames of Sarah, Ellie, and other family members. You were even included in one photo—a picture of you and him on some horses from last year. 

A shirt littered one side of the bed, so you took that as it was probably his side. Unfortunately for you, it was the right side. You felt a pang of guilt realizing you would probably end up restlessly lying in Joel’s bed if you were stuck on the left. 

Before he can pull back the blanket for himself, you stop him. 

“Uh, can I sleep on that side?”

He completely halts in his motions, turning his head towards you with a blank expression. “My side? Why?”

You lick your lips, already regretting this whole thing. 

“Because I have had this superstition since I was a kid that I could only sleep on the right side of the bed."

Joel wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. He can tell you are at war in your head about the question, your expression practically anticipating his rejection. 

"Superstitions, huh?" he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips."You and your weird beliefs."

You watch as he crosses to the other side of the bed and lifts the blanket. Is he actually letting you have his side? Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

“You could also call it a compulsion, but superstitions seem more fun and less like a mental illness.”

He laughs this time, his deep chuckle making you feel a bit more relaxed about the situation. You did not feel like a burden as much. You walk to the right side and pull back his navy blue sheets and blanket. The spot looks warm and inviting so when you crawl in next to Joel, you start to realize that you’re back in the same situation you were in years ago in that sleeping bag. He was so close and warm and you wanted nothing more but for him to hold you and keep you comfortable.

But then another thing came to mind before you could imagine his arms around you. 

You usually sleep on your right side or back, but now you don't know what to do because you didn't know how Joel slept.

"Do you sleep on your side or back?"

Joel studies you as you fidget beside him, your uncertainty causing him to smirk slightly. It was almost endearing, seeing you be completely out of control of your surroundings. He remembers back when you were traveling with him you had an obsessive need to straighten up everything before you fell asleep. You had to roll yourself up in your sleeping bag the same way every night. 

"Usually on my back," he said finally. "But I can sleep on my side, too."

You swallow, trying to picture yourself sleeping. For some reason you felt the urge to have control of the situation, dictating exactly how he has to sleep, too. "Can I... I'll sleep on my side if you can sleep on your back? Is that okay?"

Joel had to suppress a smirk at your request. You knew he was trying to hold back a snarky remark. Instead, he surprises you.

"Sure, you can sleep on your side," he agreed, shifting his body weight onto his back, "’n I'll sleep on my back. No big deal."

You turn to face him, tucking the pillow further under your head. You can tell his eyes are heavy from exhaustion. You know it's time to shut up, to go to sleep, but you feel the need to say something else to him. Sometimes your brain concocts questions and statements and you know you shouldn’t say them, but your mouth betrays you.  

"When was the last time you had a girl in your bed?"

Why the fuck would you ask that? You think to yourself. It fell out of your mouth like drool.

Joel's eyes widened at your blunt question, surprise and a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. You knew he was probably just expecting you to lay here next to him, maybe roll around a bit, then sleep. But instead, it’s an interrogation.

He took a deep breath, his mind rattling around as he tried to think of a response. He didn't want to admit what his genuine answer was to you, but he too could not help himself.

"Why do you want to know that?" he asks, his voice steely.

You hate that he even responded because now you needed to defend yourself.

"I uh, don't know. I don't know why it matters."

Joel chuckled softly, noting that you probably just had a case of word vomit. You always told him you were infamous for putting your foot in your mouth, especially in awkward situations.

"Curiosity got the better of you, huh?" he asks, rubbing his face with his hands. “You just can’t help yourself, sweetheart.”

He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face you, his gaze studying your expression.

You smirk, grateful that he's letting it slide. When he turns onto his side and he's at eye level with you, your face drops a bit. He is ruining the vision in your head. He’s throwing a wrench in your plans.

"You're supposed to be on your back, sir."

Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your comment. He knew he was supposed to be on his back, but the new angle allowed him to see you better in the faint moonlight.

"Don't worry," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I'll turn back over in a minute. Just... enjoying the view for a bit."

You roll your eyes, lifting your hands from under the covers and lightly hitting his arm. You knew he was just fucking with you now. 

"Okay, for that, I want to know the answer to my stupid question."

Joel let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He shook his head, amused by your persistence. You start to think about it and you have never really seen him bring anyone home. Maybe it had been a very long time and he was embarrassed. 

"Alright, alright," he said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Last time I had a girl in my bed..."

He paused for a moment, his eyes dropping to the covers, his mind racing to find the right words.

"Go on..."

Joel took another deep breath, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke.

"It's been a long time, kiddo," he admitted, his voice pierced with a bit of shame. "Almost ten years, if I'm being honest."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "No way... You've never just... got it on with someone in bed?"

Joel's face flushed with embarrassment at your blunt question, a mix of shock and slight irritation flashing across his eyes.

"Jesus, you really don't hold back, do ya?" he muttered. He shifts a bit, trying to get comfortable in a different way. He hadn't expected the conversation to turn so personal, so quickly and he did not want to face you anymore. He was mortified. 

You mentally slap yourself in the face.

"I'm sorry, I am just tired and delusional. Uh, you don't have to answer that."

Joel could practically feel the humiliation radiating off you and he too felt the exact same way. You knew how to add to an already awkward situation.

"No, no, it's fine," he reassured you, his voice a bit gentler now. "I get it. You're tired, and your filter has taken a backseat."

"Yeah, exactly..."

He shifted on the bed, turning onto his back again, his gaze shifting to the ceiling, avoiding your curious stare.

You could not help but stare at his side profile. A prominent straight nose. His downturned lips are surrounded by some fine lines that show his age. He was a beautiful man now, but you can’t help but imagine him back in his 20s. He had to have been a hit with the ladies back then.

Joel could feel your gaze on him, studying his face. And while you were not scrutinizing him, he felt like a commodity in a museum or something.  He forced himself to keep his gaze on the ceiling, refusing to meet your eyes.

"So… ten years and no sex?”

You could seriously, not help yourself.

"Correct.” He grumbles, still not meeting your stare.

"Damn, Joel." You mutter, adjusting a bit to sit up a little more on your pillow. "I seriously thought you were sleeping around the whole time we have been in Jackson.”

He finally turns your way, a bit of offense on his face. “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, not wanting to insult him. But that’s how you formulated your grudge towards him. It was easy to just chalk everything up to problems with random women you have seen around town. 

“You just give off the energy…”

“What?”

You huff, laying back on the pillow. “I don’t know, Joel! I feel like when I’m around you all the ladies think you’re handsome. They stare.”

“They are staring because you’re always following me around and we aren’t married or… together. They think we are odd.” 

You had never heard such things around Jackson, but it does sort of make sense. Everyone was probably just confused because you two lived together but were not a couple. You can admit it is bizarre, but it just did not feel like an option any other way, in your mind. So Tommy gave you two a bigger house and you set up separate rooms. 

But in actuality, Joel secretly told Tommy that he did not want you too far from him. So when Tommy couldn’t give you any other houses nearby, Joel just told him that you two would be roommates.

“Well fuck ‘em.” You mutter, trying not to sound too offended by the thought of people gossiping about you two.

Joel just nods. You settle by tucking your arm under your pillow. You yawn, the exhaustion now taking over your body. You watch Joel grab a pair of reading glasses from the side table and a book. You decide not to bother him, especially because he probably wanted to just read himself to sleep instead of being interrogated by you any further.

You close your eyes and eventually fall asleep. The deeper you get, Joel notices how your breathing pattern changes. When he’s finally ready to get some shut-eye as well, he watches as your body crawls closer to him. Your arm swings over his stomach and rests on his forearm. He is so shocked he does not move a muscle. 

You adjust some more, not knowing what you are doing. Your leg creeps up and tucks right between his. You snuggle your face right into his chest. The only movement Joel decides to make is slinging his arm over your shoulders to pull you in tighter. 

It’s the first time in years that you two slept soundly, with no interruptions. No nightmares, no sudden intrusions, nothing. Silence and snores fill the room and that’s it.

-

When you wake up, it’s slow and gradual. Your brain hardly computes that you’re laying on top of Joel’s shirtless frame, until your hand runs across his warm tummy. 

You crook your neck up, looking at the handsome man you are spreading across. 

His lips are slightly ajar, letting out hardly-there snores. They are so pretty and pink and you cannot help but touch them with feather-like fingertips. You would feel so guilty waking him up-

His eyes slowly open taking notice of your actions even though you tried not to stir him. Your eyes fly open in shock, but he does not seem very annoyed. He smiles. 

“Mornin’ darlin’,” He says in a deep sleep-laced voice. You smile back at him, loving that he decided to call you the nickname you always got giddy over. You press your fingers into his chest before replying.

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

His hand comes up from your shoulders and tucks some hair behind your ear as he stares down at you, “That’s good kiddo. I’m glad you slept well.”

The intimacy is almost too much. The way this is how it would be if you woke up to Joel every morning. It sends your brain into overdrive and you force yourself to ruin it a bit.

“Woulda slept even better if you didn’t talk so much in your sleep.”

Joel froze for a moment, his cheeks immediately flushing pink with embarrassment. He sits up a bit more, adjusting to the brighter lighting in his room. He knew he had a problem with talking in his sleep. Ellie used to talk about it all the time. He dreaded hearing what he was saying while curled up next to you.

"Uh... what did I say?" he asked, trying to maintain his composure.

"Something about it felt so good to be pressed up against someone, I don't know..." 

You could not help yourself and started to laugh. You knew you were going to get a rise out of him. 

Joel's face flushed an even deeper shade of pink as you started to laugh, clearly amused by your joke. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to come up with an excuse. He was just dreaming, it was not about you. 

"W-what?" he spluttered out instead of making an excuse. "I didn't... I didn't say anything like that."

You have a shit-eating grin on your face and you press your hands on his chest to prop yourself up. You enjoyed watching him squirm.

Joel's eyes flickered down to your hands on his chest. He sickly thought they felt so right placed there. He imagined what you would look like fully mounting him. 

He tried to keep his expression neutral, but you could see through his stone-cold exterior.

"You're messing with me, aren't you?" he grumbled, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Fully fuckin' with you." You giggle, hoping he is not really that mad at you. 

“You’re a brat.”

You move your foot slightly, running it up his leg. It sends shockwaves up his body, having you so close and moving around so seamlessly. 

"No, you said something about how beautiful, alluring, and incredible I am. Said I was the girl of your dreams…"

"Yeah, right," he said, a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice. "You expect me to believe that?"

"So, you don't believe me?"

"No, I don't believe you," he says, his voice stern but playful. "I think you're a dirty little liar, trying to play me for a fool."

"A dirty little liar, huh? Well, it's good to know that you don't think I'm beautiful, alluring, and incredible." You giggle at his acknowledgment, knowing he caught you red-handed.

"Oh, I never said that," he smirked, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You are all of those things, darlin’. But you're also a dirty little liar who likes to play games."

"So you think I'm beautiful?" You crack, the biggest smile painted on your face. You don’t even care that he’s calling you a liar because it does not matter. Joel thinks you are beautiful. 

“‘Course I do.”

You push yourself up onto your butt, sitting crisscross next to him. He secretly wishes you were still curled up on top of him. 

“You always this nice in the morning?” You ponder, your fingertips starting to toy with the hair on his stomach. He tries not to pay mind to it, letting you have full access to touch him. 

But it’s driving him insane. The way you look freshly woken up, completely enamored with the idea of him calling you beautiful. You have some puffiness under your eyes and your lips are more swollen than usual.

“I am always nice to you.”

You let out a scoff, “No, you’re not.”

He notices the shift in your tone and starts to get defensive, “Now you’re just lyin’.” 

Joel always loved to gaslight you in these situations. You knew better than to let him get away with it, especially now. “No there was that one time you told me you did not like me and that you would never like me. How you are old enough to be my dad-”

“Because I am!”

And there’s the wall. The only constant in you two’s relationship. He was so good at throwing it up when feelings were being expressed. When vulnerability was presented, Joel could not help but reject it. 

“And the world’s fuckin’ ended, Joel! Big deal!” You almost yell, moving your hands from him. 

Why does he already miss your hands?

He huffs, crossing his arms over his soft chest. “We have had this conversation for the last 10 years.’M not sure why we keep rehashing it.”

“And every time you turn me down it’s another fuckin’ stab in the heart.”

“You know why we can’t,” He practically growls. You can not stand to even look at him anymore with your bitterness and irritation taking over. 

“Whatever, Joel.” 

As soon as you say it, you’re already leaving his room and heading to your own. When you slam the door, you hope you have made your point. You want to scream and punch a hole in the wall, but instead you just furiously stomp around the room and grab your clothes. You had patrol at noon, so you needed to get to the mess hall before breakfast was over. You try not to cry as you strip down and get dressed.

Joel sits in bed, reeling. He hates that it has become a conversation every six months. He hated that rejecting you always sent you into a spiral of hating him for extended periods. It’s not that he did not want you, it was simply just not in the cards. He was too old to be in love. He was too old to play house with you. He just could not submit to the idea of leading you on, especially because you had so much more life to live. 

He finally works up the courage to get out of bed and put on some clothes. He opts for putting on his typical jeans and thick flannel. It was getting colder and he knew by the end of the winter, you would end up with half his flannels anyway, so he had to enjoy them while he had them. 

You storm downstairs, going to the back door for your boots when you spot him in the kitchen. 

“You got pat-”

“Yes.” You respond quickly, shoving your foot into your shoes. He stands behind you with a mug full of tea, watching your every move. 

“Who are you-”

“Jesse.”

He was asking his usual questions, which you were not in the mood to answer. 

“Hey, can you-”

You snap your head back at him, giving him the glare you gave him as a warning usually. By now, he takes it as a hint and backs off. But not this time. 

“Can I what?”

He rolls his eyes, “Can you fuckin’ not be a brat about this?”

You wish your glare came with knives. If that were the case, Joel Miller would be dead on his kitchen floor. 

You are so thrown off by the question that you just watch him get angrier when you do not respond. 

“Are you serious, right now?” You press, keeping your voice from cracking. 

He brings the mug up to his mouth, taking an obnoxious sip. When he pulls the mug away, you notice how steaming it is. “You always pull this shit-”

“No, you do! You do this shit to me every fuckin’ time, Joel. You sweet talk me, make me feel comfortable, have me lapping everything up in the palm of your hands, and then you snatch it away. Then have the audacity to get mad at me!”

You are yelling now and it is throwing him off. Joel knows better than to interrupt you like you do to him. You were the kind of person who would calm down if you felt heard. 

The way he knew you down to your core made this all so painful. Because if he was not so stubborn and true to his convictions, he would have fucked you the moment you touched his lips this morning. 

“I ain’t tryin’ to make this harder than-” “Too fuckin’ late.”

You think back to the moment last night when you knew you were going to hurt your own feelings by sleeping with him. You knew better, yet here you are, still blaming him for your stupidity.

He stands there, still holding his mug, staring you down like a wounded doe who got pierced with an arrow. He feels guilty like he misled you. Before he can say anything, you are lacing up your boots and leaving out the front door without another word. 

-

All day long, Joel wanders around the house trying to get rid of the pit in his stomach. Nothing works. A shower. Reading a book. Cutting wood. As soon as he tried to use laundry as a distraction, he reached into his hamper and found one of your t-shirts. He held it close and smelled it, trying to wrap his head around how he got here. 

You spend all day, silently fuming on horseback with Jesse. When he tries to get you to open up, you ice him out and tell him to focus on the trail in front of him. 

You get back by sundown, the sun setting making it a lot chiller than you expected. You decide to take the long way home, wanting to avoid being home for as long as possible. You were not ready to face Joel, let alone share a space with him. But unfortunately, during your patrol, you fell into some mud and needed a shower. The more time it spent on your clothes and body, the grosser you felt. 

You open the front door, announcing that you are home. It was a habit you and Joel developed after you both pulled guns on each other during late-night arrivals. 

You hear Joel mumble something from the living room, but you do not stop to listen and continue on your way upstairs to the bathroom. 

You strip down as soon as the door is closed, tossing your muddy clothing into a hamper in the corner. You would get them washed and hung as soon as you shower off. 

You hear Joel’s footsteps creaking around the upstairs hallway as you scrub your body with homemade soap and warm water. 

When you start to dry yourself off, you hear Joel grunting something in the hallway. You wrap yourself in a towel and peek your head out the door. He’s on his hands and knees wiping something off the hardwood. “What’s goin’ on?”

He looks up at you, your body only covered in a bleach-stained blue towel. It makes his head spin. He can’t even be mad that you tracked in mud. 

He swallows, gripping the cloth he’s using tighter. “You got mud everywhere.”

You step out, not even really thinking about the fact that you are not properly dressed in front of Joel. You were still mad at him, anyway. Who cares what he thinks?

“Sorry, I could’ve cleaned it up.”

He returns to wiping the wood, “It’s fine, I got it, kiddo.”

You accept his response and move on to your room, but the draft you leave behind drifts to Joel’s nostrils. Your soap smells like lavender and it always sends his mind racing when you are fresh from a shower. He clears his throat, trying to get through the emotions filling his chest. 

But it’s been like this all day. You’re all around him even when you’re not physically here. How can he get away from you? Why is he trying to run in the first place?

He’s on his knees in your hallway, cleaning up your mess, sniffing the air you leave behind because he’s fucking in love with you and he cannot help himself anymore. 

Joel starts to think about how peaceful he felt having you next to him last night and how he would love to feel that way every night. For once he’s not thinking about what everyone else would think. For once he’s thinking selfishly and caving into every desire he has ever pondered about you. How would you feel under him? How would your lips feel pressed against his pulse point? 

His body was on fire, thinking about you. 

You are fiddling with some clothes in your dresser after you flick on the overhead light. You do not hear him come into your room behind you. 

You are so wrapped up in your own thoughts that when he clears his throat to announce he’s in your room, you scream. Loud. 

“For cryin’ out loud, woman!” 

You grip your towel tighter when you turn and see him standing at your mercy. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” You yell, gesturing to the fact that you are practically naked. He does not care, of course, and his ears are ringing from your piercing scream. He gathers himself as you shift back, trying to create some distance from him.

He is trying not to gawk at the fact that your grip on the towel against your chest is only pushing up your cleavage. He’s biting back everything. “Can we talk?”

“Talk about what? The fact you crept into my room when I was trying to change? Are we past boundaries now?” 

You are pissed, trying not to rattle off another million things to discuss with him. He’s only really talking about one thing. 

He scoffs at your last statement. “Boundaries were already out the window when you crawled into bed with me last night.”

Silence fills the room as you completely stop breathing. The anger you originally felt dissipates. 

“Joel-“

“I ain’t doin’ this back and forth anymore,” He starts shifting in his spot, unsure if he really should be doing this. “I can’t live how I've been livin’. Somethin’s gotta give.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. 

“You are the one who won’t give, Joel.”

As soon as you say it, he practically drags himself over to you. Completely destitute. You have never seen him look so desperate before. You can tell that he’s been at war with himself ever since you left this morning. His eyes never lied.

His hand creeps up your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

But then you remember his words from this morning. You start feeling like this is just a moment of weakness for him and that he will regret it later. You had to stop it before it was too late. You did not want to deal with the consequences. 

“Joel, you said we can’t-”

“Fuck what I said,” He cuts you off, “Do you want this?”

You stare into those brown eyes, searching for a sign of hesitance. You cannot believe Joel is being this vulnerable with you. 

But, you do want him. God, you have wanted him so badly for so long. You have searched for him in every man you have ever been with since knowing him. 

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. He takes note of your parted lips, every word failing you at that moment.

“Darlin’-”

“Yes,” You finally manage. “Yes, I do want this.”

It’s all he needs. He closes the gap between you two by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his space. His lips crash onto yours, not wasting another breath of air waiting to indulge in his sickest fantasies. 

You are all Joel ever dreamed about. He knew that once he caved and physically gave in, his world would be shot and everything would revolve around you. For years it had been a teetering object on a cliff, one nudge would have him falling. He always managed. But now, he was falling head first. 

His lips move so perfectly with your own. Your hand released your towel and found the tufts of his curls at the base of his head. You did not care that the article pooled around your feet, leaving you completely bare in front of Joel. You have wanted this all along. To be uncovered, to be stripped down to the rawest form. He broke the kiss briefly just to scan your naked body, his forehead pressed against your own. 

“Fuck, you are so beautiful.”

Your heart stutters as his hand traces your stomach down to your hips, all the way down to your ass. He stops there, grabbing a handful. 

“I need you,” You choke out before pressing your lips to his over and over again. “Right now.”

He mumbles “jump” into your mouth and you do so, his hands working quickly to hike you up onto his waist. He carries you to your bed, wasting no time dropping you onto your back. 

He cannot get enough of your soft, swollen lips. Every time he pulls away slightly, he dives in again even more aggressively than the last time. 

You are so hypnotized by the way he feels on top of you. In the light, he seems so much broader than he was last night. He’s still fully clothed, to your dismay. You start to tug at his shirt, motioning him to remove the articles that are in your way. 

He throws off his shirt before he stands up at the edge of the bed and pushes down his jeans. 

“Joel… I-“

He just shuts you up with another passionate kiss. It’s all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to melt into your mouth. Your hands trail up his back, gripping onto his shoulders, holding him down so he is pressing against your nude body. 

“God, I have wanted this for so long,” He sputters, trying not to sound too desperate. “Been wanting this.”

That’s when his hand reaches down between your thighs and gathers the wetness your slit has to offer. His fingers dance across it, starting from the top all the way to your spongy entrance. 

“Please, Joel.”

He loves the lust-laced tone you speak with when you say his name. It almost makes him cum there and then. 

You watch as he makes his way down your body, peppering kisses from your shoulder to your hip. When he parts your legs, you feel quite exposed. The adrenaline of being so spread for him manifests into a moan. 

“You are divine, baby.”

The use of that adjective is so-not-Joel that it makes you giggle. He notes your reaction and decides to sink down into you. When his mouth gets close to your core, it’s no longer a laughing matter. 

He uses his fingers again, using them to spread open your pussy lips. He cannot keep his eyes away from how dripping you are. “This all for me?”

“Y-yes, Joel.”

“God, I was a fuckin’ fool for so long. Could’ve had her earlier and I never fuckin’ caved. Such an idiot.”

Him giving your cunt pronouns was enough to have you throwing your head back and shuttering. His touch was magnetic like he knew exactly what buttons to push as he rubbed his fingers and palm over your core. 

“Yeah, you’ve been missin’ out. Every night…” You swallow before looking down at the man that is enamored with your pussy, “E-every night I would lay in this bed, fuckin’ myself just thinkin’ about you.”

He growls at the statement, before teasingly kissing your clit. “Every night, hm, kiddo?”

“God, yes.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as he leans forward more and dives in. His nose is pressed firmly against the top of your pussy, nudging forward every time his tongue enters your hole. When that motion became consistent, you began to note the rumblings in the pit of your stomach. A familiar build-up that you managed to get when you were playing with yourself. 

His fingers move in tandem with his lips and tongue. While his middle and pointer finger slide in and out of you, his lips wrap around your clit. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming. 

You do not know where to center yourself, so your hands grip the bed sheets you were completely soaking as Joel pulls the first orgasm out of you. 

“That’s it, baby, she’s cryin’ for me, hm?”

You hardly make a noise, the orgasm is so earth-shattering that you just writhe on the mattress. 

“Oh my god…” You groan, finally able to catch your breath. When Joel removes his fingers from you, you watch as he slowly brings them up to his lips.

When he inserts them in his mouth, you gawk at him, unsure how to react. He watches your expression and chuckles darkly.

“Mm, never seen a man enjoy the taste of ya?”

You shake your head. “Never expected to hear those words leave your mouth, either.”

“Wait ‘til you hear what else I got to say.”

He stands up beside the bed, grabs your hips, and brings them to the edge. He is tossing you around with ease, bringing your lower body flush with his. He yanks down his briefs, revealing himself to you. You instantly take notice of how well-endowed he is. You never thought you would ever be close to his cock, let alone have it lining up at your entrance. 

“Joel…“ You stop him with your small voice, but still welcoming him in with your legs opened wide, “I don’t know if it will fit.”

He grins, “It will, baby. Just relax for me, okay?”

You watch him slide his member along your center, the feeling so blissfully overstimulating. You whine a bit, raising your hips to his. 

But Joel continues his torture, enjoying the way you’re squirming under him. The way your eyebrows are knitted together, your eyes shut as you grind up into him. It’s the prettiest sight. 

“Ready?”

Your eyes fly open as you watch him ease his way into your core, the sound of squelching filling the room. You don’t think you have ever been this wet for someone. 

“Oh my fuckin’ god, Joel…”

He smiles as he inches in, “Squeezin’ my cock so good, darlin’.”

When he’s fully sheathed inside, he tests the waters by drawing out slowly. You roll your hips in a circle, trying to feel out every inch of him. He fits, but you know once he starts to move faster, the stretch will become overwhelming. 

He’s trying to focus and not blow his load immediately. You look so beautiful below him, your tits slowly shifting back and forth every time he draws back and forth. He reaches out, wanting to feel the flesh between his fingers. God, he craved every inch of you, he realizes. 

You open your legs as far as you can, letting him hit you at a different angle. The movement allows him to slip in a bit more seamlessly, so when he speeds up his thrusts, you don’t feel like you will completely split in half. 

He brings your leg up to hips, and feeling your soft delicate skin against him makes him lose all sense. His hips snap faster the more you moan out for him. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, girl. I can’t believe I was missin’ out on this cunt,” He babbles, “Need this cunt every day from now on. Gonna have you all to myself every night.”

You are too fucked out of your mind to read into those implications.

“‘M all yours, Joel.”

He smiles, slowing down a bit. “Keep talkin’ like that and ‘ll finish a lot sooner than you.”

You sit up a bit, your eyes flickering over his entire body. He notices you checking out his nude frame, which makes him feel a bit more bold. He leans down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You love the way his tongue slips into your mouth so effortlessly. When he opens his mouth, his facial hair tickles your nose a bit which makes you smile. When his hips pick back up to a quicker pace, it sends you gasping into his mouth.

“Please, Joel,” You whine, that familiar build starts up but this time it’s like a freight train. Moving so quickly down every nerve ending in your body. “I’m gonna cum.”

“‘M with you, darlin’. Soak this dick. I’m right behind ya.”

His dirty talk causes the crash. Your body practically lifts off the mattress. You cry out so loud you are sure a neighbor could hear you. You try to gain your bearings, but you are panting like you just ran a mile. 

Joel fucks you through it, but the restriction your pussy is putting on his cock sends him over the edge. His hips stutter into yours, his seed emptying into your spent hole. He just keeps repeating your name as his thrusts slow down.

He has never had such a visceral orgasm in his life. His knees are weak and can hardly keep up his weight. He practically falls on top of you, which does not offend you at all. His warm sweaty body on top of you is almost reassuring. 

“You okay, kiddo?” He finally mutters as his hot breath fans the nape of your neck. You just nod, bringing your hand up to his salt and pepper hair. You tug lightly, smiling to yourself. 

“I’m more than okay.”

He finally sits up, his cock spilling out of you as he adjusts his position. Your hole drips a mixture of cum onto your newly clean sheets, but you could care less. It’s just another thing to hand wash tonight.

Joel stumbles to the middle of the room, picking up your bath towel. He uses it to wipe himself up before coming over to you. Your legs are still slightly apart so he decides to clean you up a bit. He’s gentle, knowing that you are probably still sensitive.

Once he finishes up, he crawls next to you as you continue to recover. Your bones felt like jello so standing up to adjust yourself was not an option.

So instead of facing him, you stare up at your ceiling fan as his eyes lock onto every detail of your profile. It brings him back to one night you two shared under the stars a couple of years ago. It was his turn to keep watch so you curled up in your sleeping bag by the fire. He admired you from across the flames, the orange hues lit up every angle of your face. It was at that moment that Joel realized that he could not picture his life without you. You had weaseled your way into every facet of his life and he used to resent the impact you had on him. You were younger, more patient but still stubborn like him. You made him laugh, like genuinely laugh, for the first time since the infection. While you may have been a bit impulsive with your emotions, he envied the way you could say exactly what you were thinking. 

Joel did not want to love you, but it was impossible not to. 

You finally look over at him, noticing the softness in his gaze.

“Are you okay?” You pose, scrunching your nose. 

He gives you a toothless smile, his eyes crinkling a bit. “I just can’t wait to sleep next to you for the rest of my life.”

tags of people I love and who may wanna read (no pressure I just love u) (some of u did ask tho) : @ashleyfilm @hockeyhughes @pedrospookie @guiltyasdave @amanitacowboy @myownwholewildworld

[joycrispy]

I wanna talk about The Angel Who Would Be Crowley.

Because I had a certain set of expectations, which got thoroughly trashed in the first five minutes of S2, and my genuine response is, "Oh, fuck, yup. You're right. That's WAY better."

Looking around at GO fandom, I'm not alone in this. So let's talk about it.

Basically, a lot of people (myself included) believed that he was a high-ranking angel, and therefore as chilly and remote as every other powerful angel we'd seen at that point. We pictured Crowley-To-Be as long-haired, regal and imposing --and the fanart at the time reflected this. I'd link some if Tumblr didn't hate links.

Something like this:

We were collectively drawing on a few things --mostly, Crawly's appearance and general bearing in the Biblical scenes of S1--

--But also scattered hints of his importance, backed up by conspicuous absences in Heaven and a few profound displays of power. That's all better covered elsewhere, so I won't reiterate the arguments here. All I'm saying is: I think our headcanons were justified.

But it turns out he was this:

!!!

With his curly little--!!

And his neat white--!!

IT TURNS OUT, he was an angel who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty. Furfur, who knew him before the Fall, says:

"You used to jump on me back, little monkey in a waistcoat..."

(The use of a diminutive there, 'little'...oh, that fascinates me.)

In a pretty huge subversion of expectations, we're given these glimpses of an angel who was sweet, and joyful, and heart-meltingly silly.

In sum...an innocent.

(Perhaps innocent to a troubling degree.

We see how he troubles Aziraphale, during their first conversation. He starts looking around and behind them, checking to make sure that no one can HEAR the blithe and reckless things coming out of this angel's mouth. This angel who talks like he's never been reprimanded in his life; like it's never occurred to him that anyone would want to hurt him.

Before the Beginning, Aziraphale understood Heaven better than he did. The danger is plainly occurring to Aziraphale.)

So now, we the viewers are in on a cruel joke that Aziraphale has known all along, which is that this --THIS-- is the angel who--

*checks notes*

--did a million lightyear freestyle dive into a boiling pool of sulphur. For asking questions.

...Imagine you are Aziraphale, and everything inside you wants to believe Heaven are the Good Guys, and God is Good and Everything She does is capital-R Right...and now try to reconcile that. Keep trying. I don't think he ever totally managed it in 6000 years.

All this gets further complicated when we learn that, despite all of the above, we were still right. That sweet excitable babby up there?

He WAS a powerful and high-ranking angel.

That much is explicitly confirmed, with significant evidence that he could have been among the mightiest of archangels...

...Who apparently accosted his fellow angels for piggyback rides. And was remembered millennia later by those (now fallen) angels as something 'little.'

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

Hell, Aziraphale has known to be wary of the archangels (and the judgements of Heaven in general) since before the Fall even happened. He chooses to believe they are Good; he can't fool himself into thinking they are Safe.

Yet he's absolutely certain that Crowley won't hurt Job's children. Enough to stand in a burning building and say to them, "I can't save you, but don't be afraid. I won't need to."

And what reason does he give?

("I know you."

"You do not know me."

"I know the angel you were.")

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

("The angel you knew is not me."

But how is Aziraphale supposed to believe that, when he can see him all the time?)

tl;dr --yes, this is better. I love the tragedy of it.

'Innocence died screaming' and all that.

[nereidprinc3ss]

just like heaven

in which flirty!reader finally confesses her feelings to a pining spencer reid after a night out. she's slightly buzzed. it's complicated.

fluff (some angst) warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader drinks alcohol, dirty jokes, so much flirting and banter, some arguing kinda, but spencer is such a gentleman, everyone gets flustered at least once, they really wanna kiss, happy ending a/n: gif :D I hope u like this! not bandages reader but like same vibes. like an AU for my AU

“Emily!”

You drawl the ee sound long, the same way you reach across the table and wiggle your fingers at her half-empty glass. Thin dark brows dart up beneath that glossy sweep of reddish-black hair. 

“Oh, wow. That’s unsettling. What?”

It’s been at least an hour since you had a drink of your own, but enough alcohol is still flowing through your veins so as to render her offensive comment inoffensive. You love Emily. You love the Tequila Sunrise sweating onto the sticky table in front of her which she’s not going to finish. 

“I think she wants your drink,” JJ assists, cheek balanced tipsily on a propped up fist. 

“Uh…”

Emily’s doe-sweet eyes flash uncertainly behind you. 

“I’m basically sober,” you insist, laying your head on your outstretched arm and letting your hair cascade as you bat your lashes, offering her your sweetest smile. “Please, Em?”

It does not go according to plan. She scoffs. 

“Are you flirting with me right now?”

“... Would that work?”

“Oh my god, just… cool it with the fuck-me eyes,” she laughs. “You can have the drink.”

You sit up, turning just barely over your shoulder to address Spencer. 

“See? Emily buys me drinks. Basically.”

She slides the drink toward you, with a subtle roll of her eyes that you choose to interpret as affectionate under the dim canned lighting. As you sit back, content and free drink in hand, her eyes slide to Reid in the seat next to you, brows arching. 

“Are you sure you can handle her all on your own?”

“Handle me?” You frown deeply as Emily gathers her purse and slides out of the booth, followed shortly thereafter by JJ. “I don’t need handling.”

“Then why do you have a handler?” JJ teases.

You slump against the worn vinyl, stirring what is mostly orange juice. 

“He most definitely is not my handler. He’s my science project.”

“I got it,” Spencer assures your friends, with his trademark flattened smile. You can’t help but watch him with a grin of your own, flipping the straw in the drink and nibbling on the end until it’s stained sparkly pink. Goodbyes are issued, and soon it’s just the two of you. Perhaps it’s a tipsy delusion, but you think he seems to relax slightly when you’re alone. His eyes are easy on you. “You know, you’re not actually decreasing the amount of germ transmission by using the other end of the straw.”

“Mm… pretty sure alcohol kills germs, Doctor.”

At that, you giggle. 

Doctor. 

Soon you’re covering your face and having a full-fledged laugh attack. 

“What?” Spencer asks. From between your fingers you can see that he’s smiling guardedly, brows furrowed in a way that reminds you he’s often worried about being the butt of a joke and not knowing it. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you assure him quickly, gathering yourself. “I just… can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

“Why not? What’s so unbelievable about that?”

“You’re so young.”

And handsome. 

“I’m not that young. I’m older than you,” he defends. Only by a handful of years, but you know he’s defensive about his age after a lifetime of being told he looks young for—well, everything. 

“You’re… 32?”

That’s not right—you know as soon as you say it.

“Thirty three.” He very politely captures a hand—your hand—that had at some point ended up a little too close to his eye. You’re not sure what you planned to do once it got there—you don’t recall moving it at all. 

“Sorry.” You take your hand back, choosing to instead fiddle with a button on his coat ponderously. “33 is a good age.”

“Yeah?” Spencer laughs, angling his head as if to regard you from a new angle. It warms you all over. Burns in some places, like a shot of liquor down your throat. Makes you just as dizzy, too. “You have a lot of experience being thirty three?”

“No, I just…” your cheeks heat and you wrestle with a timid smile, averting your gaze and dropping your hand for fear his grin this close up might actually kill you. “I like 33 year old you.”

“So… you didn’t like me when I was thirty two?”

“Stop,” you beg, a self-effacing laugh into the cup of your palm. “I can’t banter. I’m not at peak performance.”

The truth of it hits you, and you sigh, folding your arms on the table and resting your cloudy head. Only then, from this new perspective, do you allow yourself to fully admire Spencer Reid. He is smiling at you, and your heart does skip a beat like you’ve got some school girl crush. These days he wears his hair falling over his face, messy on purpose, and always smells so nice. You wonder when he started caring about that stuff. You want to see what products are in his shower, and learn why he chose that cologne, or how he decides to pair his socks. He probably has some sort of algorithm. 

“Spencer,” you begin, the serious quality of your voice diminished by the smush of your cheek against your arm. Still, he tries to respect your tone, zipping the smile and answering with a playfully twitching brow. 

“Hm?”

You want to push the hair out of his face. Why is he looking down at you like that? Like he likes you?

“You’re a very good handler.”

His eyes narrow as he considers this, but the glimmer in them could still spark a forest fire. You’re probably grinning like an idiot. 

“Oh, I couldn’t handle you. You know this.”

You hum thoughtfully. 

“I bet you could. Wanna try?”

Spencer shakes his head, huffing a laugh through his nose. To his credit, your bold-face innuendos don’t always send him into a tailspin these days. 

Just sometimes. 

“You need a ride home, don’t you?”

You sit back up, stretching your arms out. 

“You don’t have to. I could get a cab.”

“I know,” he assures you, still a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. Why. Is. He. Looking. At. You. Like. That?

“Will you let me drive?”

“I would. But, you know, my affairs aren’t in order.”

You roll your eyes as he gets out of the booth and offers you a hand. 

“I’m not that drunk.”

Spencer just wiggles his fingers. 

“If you can recite the alphabet in reverse you can drive my car.”

You roll your eyes again. Obviously he’s fucking with you, because 1. He’d never let you drive even the slightest bit inebriated, and 2. He knows you can’t say your ABC’s backward when you’re dead sober. 

The truth is you’re more buzzed than anything. You could get up and walk fine without any assistance, but he’s offering you his hand, so you take it. After you’re standing, you wonder how many excuses could you possibly dream up to get it back in yours. Should you pretend to fall?

No. Not quite worth your self respect. 

“You know…” you muse, reveling in the brief brush of him against your back as he holds open the door for you, “it’s a good thing you didn’t become, like… a medical doctor.”

Now walking side by side on the street, he glances over at you, a poorly veiled smile on his perfect face. Like a trap door brushed over with a few leaves. He wants you to see it.

“Why’s that?”

A breeze ruffles your hair. The brisk cold and the walk seem to be making things crisper already. You shrug, bunching your sleeves in your hands against the increasingly frigid night. The skirt and tights you’d chosen were perfect for a stuffy dive bar. Not so much for an early DC spring. 

“Nobody wants a hot doctor.”

He looks down at the sidewalk, hands pocketed, but the curve of his lips doesn’t lessen.  

“Hm. You’re drunker than I thought.”

“What? No! I’m—barely!” Again he laughs at you, and again you flush, looking down and counting the cracks in the pavement as you journey slowly under the bath of yellow street lights. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you called me hot.” He sounds almost delighted as he grins sheepishly around the final word. 

You snort. You’ve said worse things, more graphic things within the past few hours alone—but you suppose they’ve all been more like dirty jokes than compliments. 

“Yeah. You think you aren’t?”

Sandy locks fall side to side as he carefully measures a response. His cologne is warm—sort of smoky. It’s very nice. He doesn’t seem like he’d wear cologne. Have you already thought about his cologne tonight? Once was probably enough. 

“I just think sober you wouldn’t have said that.”

“But don’t you prefer it when I’m aggressively flirting with you? I mean, I know I do it sober too, but it's not as good, right?”

A silent stretch begins and shortly ends, and you don’t mind it. Right now, everything is a winding path through the woods. You’re willing to follow any fork off the trail if it means spending more time with him. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware that was what you were doing.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you laugh, and it echoes through the canyon of a nearby alley, “I’m not subtle, Reid.”

“I don’t know! You—for all I know that’s just how you are! I mean, what did Emily call them earlier, your—your fuck-me eyes?”

Like he does when he’s flustered, he gets shrill and stuttery. It’s nice to be reminded that he’s still a complete dork on the inside—and the outside, too, as pink stains his cheeks like watercolor. You smirk at him in your periphery, watching him against the darkened city backdrop. 

“You noticed those, huh?”

“No,” he denies forcefully, but his brow is pinched like he doesn’t quite believe himself, “I mean, yes, I notice when you look at other people like that, but that’s not what I would call them—I wouldn’t call them anything, I’d just call them your eyes, you know? Not that you always look like you’re soliciting… the implication isn’t there, it’s just—I notice when you flirt with other people! With Emily, and Derek, like, not even half an hour ago. You’re lucky Hotch wasn’t there. You’d probably have given him a heart attack.”

“I’m more concerned with yours, to be honest.”

“My heart is fine,” he laughs. “Worry about my dignity.”

“Hm. I was going for both. Guess I’d better try harder.”

You don’t notice you’ve come to a stop until you’re face to face in front of his vintage Volvo. Spencer is standing closer than usual, hands perpetually stuck in that nice wool coat. He’s all windswept and pretty, smiling crookedly and eyes sparkly with humor. A strand of hair sticks to your lip gloss, and you brush it away, tucking it behind your ear and squinting up at him against the chilly breeze. The flush is either from the nip in the air or your brazen flirting. 

“Or, you could go easy on me. I’m frail. Like a… sickly Victorian child.”

Again his brow knits and he smiles like he knows what he’s said is ridiculous. But his tone is gentler now. Softer. Invites you to fall in deeper and see what you might find. 

“And ruin all my fun? Toughen up, Reid.”

For a long moment, you don’t get a response—only his eyes, soft and thoughtful on you, before you’re distracted by the sweet bow of his lips. If he notices you’re staring, it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

But something evidently does, as when he next speaks, it’s troubled. Curiosity straining against a rope that says maybe it’s better if I don’t ask. 

“Do… do you actually flirt with me? When you’re sober, I mean.”

He expects to be ridiculed. In his most vulnerable moments, he’s still bracing for rejection—turning his cheek slightly so he’s ready for the stinging blow. It opens a fissure in your chest. You frown, and speak gently. 

“Yeah, Spence. More than anyone else. You really don’t notice?”

Sometimes his face is so expressive, in the pull of his brow and tightening of his eyes and the way he wets his lips. But he probably doesn’t know that. And he can’t seem to meet your eyes, instead choosing to study the leather of your heeled boots. Sounds of late-night traffic, of tires on wet asphalt buffer the pauses between sentences. 

“I notice… when you talk to Derek and Emily and JJ and Penelope the exact same way you talk to me. I didn’t think…”

Another gap in conversation, filled with the chatter of some group pouring out of a bar somewhere. You realize he’ll need some gentle prompting to bridge it. 

“You didn’t think what?”

When his eyes flash back up to meet yours, you have a feeling like he’s shutting the pipes off. 

“It’s—uh—” he clears his throat— “it’s not important, we can—we’ll talk about it a different time. We should—”

“Wait.”

He’d been turning away but snaps right back to look at you as if on command, wearing a brand new face that tells you he’d like to wipe the past minute or so completely away. 

“Yeah?”

“Spencer. I wanna know what you were going to say.”

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t tell me. You mumbled evasively and walked away. We were in the middle of something and I want to know what you were going to say. Please?”

“Well, you’re drunk,” he finally sighs, and it’s a bit sharp. Stinging. 

“I am not drunk,” you defend, and it feels true, with a bitter cold lashing at your cheek and blood heightened from the walk. “You know I’m not too drunk to have a coherent conversation. Why are you being weird?”

“Because I asked you to drop it! We can’t have this conversation right now, all right? I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Your stomach flips, and your breath comes a little heavier. Spencer is clearly frustrated with you. Maybe being on the wrong end of this mild vexation, and so suddenly, should make you feel guilty, or some kind of bad—but all you feel is a sort of buzz in the tips of your fingers and the thrum of your heart, something deeper than excitement pooling in your veins at having inspired this sort of passion. It means he feels something. Something for you. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries halfheartedly, unable or more likely unwilling to stay angry at you for very long, “you didn’t—”

“What conversation?”

It’s jarring how quickly this has spun on its head. The very air you’re breathing seems to have changed. The metropolitan soundscape is a rife undercurrent of tension and louder from all the words unsaid. 

Finally he swallows. 

“There’s no conversation. I’m—it was a poor choice of wording. I just meant we should get you home.”

Before he can make it to the driver’s side door, you’re calling out. 

“You think I don’t like you. And I just flirt with you ‘cause I flirt with everyone.”

Spencer stops, and turns to face you once more, sighing and head dropped to one side like you’re doing something incredibly inconsiderate. He’s never looked at you like that before, but you don’t let it shake you. 

“That’s what this is about, right?”

He says your name, but you don’t let him get further than that. 

“No, I think there is a conversation here, and saying I’m not sober enough to have it isn’t fair and you should have said something before and I think you should just say it now.”

You’re pushing his buttons with a heavy hand, though your own voice shakes. He’s feeling it too—you’ve never been so short with each other. His voice is raised. 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

It boils over. 

“That you like me!”

It rings. 

Then it’s silent. 

His face is mostly blank. A little sorrowful around his eyes. 

It’s cold, jumping into the deep end like this. 

“We can’t talk about this right now,” he finally says, glancing to the side as if to suggest a situation the size of the whole city. 

“Spencer, I—”

“It’s impossible to have a meaningful discussion until your judgement isn’t impaired, otherwise it’s—”

“I am telling you that I flirt with you because I really like you.”

“I—”

It appears you’ve truly thrown him for a loop.  For a moment his jaw works at nothing, a soliloquy of words go unspoken, and then he’s stuttering and fumbling for the right thing to say, looking everywhere but at you. 

“I can’t—that’s—regardless of whether or not it’s even true—”

“It is true.”

“Could you—stop?” He pleads. “You can’t tell me that. I mean, the power imbalance when you’ve been drinking and I haven’t—it’s—I mean, it's coercive. Because I brought it up, I asked an inappropriate question—or at least started to ask it, and you—not that it was your fault, I’m the responsible party in this instance, but if tomorrow you realize you never wanted to tell me—so I have to take that with a grain of salt. I’m just—I have to pretend I didn’t hear that, alright? And you can’t say it again.”

He’s ridiculous. You shift your weight onto one foot casually. 

“That’s not very nice. I just confessed to having a huge crush on you and you’re gonna leave me hanging?”

There is an undeniable sort of pleasure in the bright of his eyes, and you phrased it that way on purpose, just to see him preen and glow—also to see if you could make him trip all over himself some more. Right now, despite the liminal space your relationship may or may not be occupying, you’re teasing him like you always do. Like he’s a friend, because he is. Before anything else. 

He tries to glower, barely. 

“Were you listening to me at all?”

“It was hard with all the stammering. I thought you might pass out.”

“I might,” he grumbles, and the admission pleases you greatly. Your lips tug as you admire him for a moment—watch his defenses go down and his features ease into something more inviting. 

God, maybe you really had been too hard on him. Maybe he really didn’t expect that you would like him back. 

You’re struck with the need to reassure. 

A dampened clack emits from your shoe where the heel hits the ground as you step down off the curb. 

“You know… I do like you. A lot. I mean it. And I’m glad I told you, because... you like me too, right?”

He raises his brows, like don’t do anything stupid, as you approach unhurriedly. It’s good to see that you haven’t broken his spirit completely. 

Less than a foot away, you stop. Close enough to be in his space. Too far for him to have the grounds to step back. 

His eyes are careful on you, analytical as always, constantly predicting an infinite number of outcomes to any given scenario. That’s how he keeps his footing in the world. But he’s never very good at predicting you. And it helps that his razor sharp intellect is dulled, some, with affection. Attraction. 

It shows in his eyes. He’ll let you push boundaries he knows he shouldn’t. More so if you keep speaking to him this softly. Almost whispering.

“Tell me you like me, Spencer.”

Because he hasn’t yet. All the heavy lifting has been done for him, and that just won’t do. 

First, he opens his mouth, and you watch the internal debate, a million things he could say, spinning round in his eyes like pinwheels. Rules, and buts, and caveats.

In the end, he just clears his throat. Speaks in the same secretive tone. Low enough to be intimate.

“I like you.”

Such a simple thing has never made you feel so airy before in your life. You steal another glance at his lips.

“So it’s really not that complicated. We could probably just kiss.”

He tinges pink.

“We definitely can’t.”

“You also said we couldn’t talk about it, and yet…”

“Talking is different. As far as I’m concerned, nothing you say to me tonight is binding. Whatever just transpired happened completely off the record. We can… talk about it tomorrow, but right now, you and I are friends.”

You shrug.

“Friends can kiss.”

“No, they can’t,” he says definitively, though not without a healthy dose of sardonic self-awareness and a dark smile. His hand finds your waist, and it’s glancing, if anything a light push, but you’re delighted nonetheless. Almost as pleased as if he really had kissed you. “It’s cold. I’m ready to leave.”

You’ve pushed him enough for one night. And it is cold. So you shuffle around the car with quick steps to the passenger side door, hooking your fingers under the biting metal handle and waiting for him to unlock the vehicle. 

You’re shivering as your thighs press against leather upholstery, only the thinnest layer of synthetic material protecting your legs. Spencer is already starting the car, but the engine is too cold to bother turning the heat on yet. 

“I think it’s colder in here than outside. Look at my hand.” You hold it up for him, and it is discolored, waxy, as he mindlessly takes it between his own much warmer ones. “I thought alcohol was supposed to keep you warm. Didn’t that chef on the Titanic survive hours in the ocean because he was hammered?”

“That’s a myth. Not the chef—he did survive, but it was a complete anomaly. Alcohol causes vasodilation in the dermis layer of the skin, so you feel warmer, but it draws blood flow away from your internal organs and significantly raises your likelihood of developing hypothermia.”

Does he notice how he’s holding your hand? Carefully pressing his thumbs to the center of your palm and pushing up through your love and life lines, cupping the fingers, before sandwiching them between his own and generating friction the way a child furiously rolls a play-doh worm?

“I guess I’m really not that drunk, then.”

He’s not expecting it, and maybe he doesn’t know what to make of your exceptionally gentle tone at first. It was a mistake, you think, as he relinquishes his hold on your hand, and you curl it to retain the memory of his warmth. But then he tucks hair behind your ear, like he’s done once or twice before, and smiles in a way you don’t quite understand. 

“I know.”

You won’t push him. You won’t ask for anything else, and you won’t demand an explanation. Spencer is special. It can all wait, because you have something good with him already. Something important. Something like holding hands. 

It comes as a surprise when he leans across the console, and you lean in a trance to meet him, and another surprise when he gently redirects, pressing his lips to your cheek, close enough to match the corners of your mouths and nothing more. 

You’d let him do it a hundred times over, but he draws back after a fraction of a lingering second, and finds your hand to stroke the back of it, forgotten in your lap. 

“You said no kissing,” you murmur, as if in a dream. If you had the wherewithal to be embarrassed maybe you wouldn’t be ogling so much. 

“Compromise.”

If anything, you should be the cheek-kisser. But there will be time to feel slighted about that later. Time to amend. For now, you look ahead robotically. 

“Is there a rule against friendly hand-holding?”

“Probably,” he says.

But he lets you hold his hand in your lap the whole drive to your apartment, anyway. 

[flickering-chandelier]

Was Any Of It True?

Pairing: badboy!Azriel x goodgirl!Reader

Summary: Modern/College AU! Az’s on-again-off-again girlfriend gives Azriel a proposition: make the new bookworm fall in love with him, then break her heart, in exchange for anything he wants. He agrees, but things get complicated when he falls for Reader for real.

Based on this request! 🩷

✨ Part 2 ✨ Part 3 ✨

Warnings: angst, sexual language?, swearing, Azriel & friends being assholes

Word Count: 10.2k   oh lord sorry besties I couldn’t shut my little brain off

“I'm telling you, Az, she's pissing me off. The professor loves her, and I saw that she got a 100 on the exam,” Claire was seething while she and Azriel lounged in his apartment, eating the pizza he'd ordered.

“Mhmm,” he mumbled around his pizza, only half listening. Claire was always complaining about something. “And what did you get?”

“98! He took two points off because I didn't answer thoroughly enough,” she scoffed. “God, I hate her. She's going to push me right off the top of the Dean's list.”

Azriel blinked. “I mean, you'll still be very near the top of the list.”

Claire groaned, throwing her napkin onto her paper plate angrily, “That's not good enough!”

He rolled his eyes and she glared at him. “Don't be an ass! This is a big deal to me.”

“Oh, I know it is. This girl is all you talk about.”

“Because I hate her. Maybe if she got laid, she’d be distracted enough to slip up once in a while,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, maybe,” Azriel said, pulling his laptop out of his backpack and setting it on the table, a sufficient signal that he didn’t want to talk about his girlfriend’s arch nemesis anymore. 

No more than a week later, Azriel’s on-again-off-again girlfriend was off-again, and honestly, he was relieved. Claire’s obsession with being at the top of the academic food chain was bordering on insanity, and he was glad he didn’t have to hear about it anymore.

He was currently at a house party that Cassian had dragged him to, with a blonde girl that he couldn’t remember the name of sitting in his lap, one of her arms draped behind his neck, the other resting on his chest. She had been whispering in his ear all the things that she wanted to do to him, before Cassian interrupted, handing Azriel a shot with a grin. 

Blondie scowled at Cassian, who just smirked back as the girl that Cass had been talking to earlier sidled up next to him, wrapping her arms around his middle. 

Azriel knocked the shot back and handed the cup it had come in to the blonde girl. “Can you get me another one?”

She seemed annoyed, but took the cup from him anyway, striding into the kitchen. 

“Sorry for interrupting,” Cassian said, settling on the couch next to him, before pulling the girl onto his lap.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Like I give a shit.”

Cassian snickered as the blonde girl came back, draping herself in his lap again, handing him another shot. He drank it, just as Claire appeared before him, her arms crossed over her chest, and her brow furrowed.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice husky.

“I have a proposition for you.”

He smirked, making a show of tightening his grip on the blonde girl’s waist. “No, thanks. Been there, done that.”

“Not that kind of proposition, you idiot. Can we talk privately? I think it’ll be worth your while,” she said, her lips turning up into a sultry smile.

“I don’t know, Claire, I’m pretty busy right now,” he said, turning his gaze to the blonde girl, squeezing her thigh. She sighed dreamily, leaning further into him.

Claire groaned. “Look, Az, I really need your help. Please?” 

Azriel studied Claire, and he could see that it was true. She was wearing her most annoyed, don’t-fuck-with-me face, but her eyes were pleading. Sad.

He sighed, glancing apologetically at the girl in his lap before turning back to Claire. “Fine, we can talk.”

She led him into someone’s empty bedroom and shut the door behind her. 

“If this is about that girl you’re obsessed with, so help me,” he said. She winced, and he threw his head back. “Unbelievable. Claire, I don’t want to hear about this anymore! I don’t care about your problems.”

“Just hear me out!”

He crossed his arms over his chest, and raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.

“She actually is threatening my spot on the Dean’s list now,” she said, looking close to tears.

He looked pointedly at her. “And?”

“And I was thinking about what I said earlier… about how if a really hot guy was interested in her, maybe she would stop caring about her grades so much,” she said, smiling at him now.

“And?” Azriel just wished she would get to the point.

Claire sighed, exasperated. “I need you to seduce her.”

Azriel barked out a laugh, leaning his shoulder against the nearest wall. “You’re kidding, right? Why would I do that?”

She stepped closer to him, trailing a finger along his chest, her touch feather-light through his black t-shirt. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, “Because I asked? Because I’ll give you anything you want,” she said, her voice dropping seductively.

He held her gaze, leaning down until their mouths were a breath away. Azriel heard her breath hitch.

Then he pulled away rapidly, and she blinked. “Sweetheart, you know I can fuck you anytime I want, right? That is not going to persuade me to help you.”

Her brow furrowed, her nose scrunching up. Oh, she was furious. Azriel's mouth turned up into his calculated half smile.

“What do you want, Az?” she huffed.

“Hmm,” he said, taking his time to think. Claire scowled. “I haven’t decided yet. But when I need to call in a favor of my own, you have to promise to do it. No matter what,” he drawled.

To her credit, she really looked like she was thinking it through, trying to think of another way to push this girl off the list. But finally, she sighed. “Deal.”

He pushed off the wall, walking towards the door. “Alright, so I just have to seduce the bookworm? Easy.”

Claire shook her head, her eyes still alight with her anger. “No, if I’m going to agree to any favor you could possibly want, you’re going to have to go further. You need to make her fall in love with you.”

Azriel bristled a bit, leaning against the door now. “I know I’m an asshole, but that seems too far, don’t you think?”

“No. If she’s going to be distracted enough that her grades will slip, you need to make it seem real,” she said, and then smiled as if she had a wicked thought.

“What?” Azriel asked.

“And then you break her heart, right before exams,” she said excitedly, her eyes burning with enthusiasm now. “You tell her, in front of everyone, that it was all fake.”

He rubbed at his bicep, a nervous tic that Claire picked up on immediately. “Jesus, Claire. I don’t want to ruin this girl’s life.”

She arched her brow. “Why not? She’s ruining mine.”

Azriel rolled his eyes and Claire pounced, “Any favor, Az. Any time, you can tell me to do whatever you want,” she smirked. 

He groaned, pinching his nose. “Fine,” he ground out. “Where do I find her?”

Claire beamed. “Where else would a nerd be? The library, of course.”

---

You shifted in your seat, starting to feel sore after poring over your notes for hours. Maybe you should go for a walk. Maybe. But, you still had so much to do…

Groaning, you crossed your arms on the table, laying your head down on top of them. Just a minute, you just needed a tiny break --

“Studying always makes me feel like that, too,” said a low, male voice. 

You lifted your head, bewildered, and nearly choked on your own spit. The guy who was for some reason deigning to talk to you was… well, what other way was there to say it? He was drop-dead gorgeous. 

His face was stoic as he sauntered up to your table, his jet black hair was just a tad unruly, his hazel eyes burning into yours. But it was his body that made the breath completely escape your lungs. He was dressed in all black, his t-shirt hugging his chest and his biceps, showing off his every muscle, and there were swirling black tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. 

All you could do was stare as he took the seat across from you, leaning back with his arms crossed like the two of you did this every day.

“What class is that for?” he asked, nodding to the textbook open in front of you, the dozens of papers scattered around you.

“Organic Chemistry,” you said, trying to sound like you were normal and not completely surprised by this handsome stranger finding you in your favorite quiet corner of the library.

He let out a low whistle, “Damn, you are smart.”

“What, did someone tell you I was?” you asked. 

“No, I just figured when I saw all the --” he gestured to your cluttered workspace, “homework stuff.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Homework stuff?”

His mouth turned up the slightest bit, holding up his hands like he was surrendering. “You caught me. I’m not much of an academic.”

“Then what are you doing here?” you asked curiously.

“Now, that is an excellent question,” he said, and really did seem like he was questioning it. “Girls? Parties? Though I could get girls anywhere and I don't particularly enjoy parties.”

You nodded. “Ah,” you said. “Got it.”

He braced his arms on the table, leaning forward. “I take it you’re not into that kinda thing?”

A dry laugh escaped from your throat, “Definitely not. I’m really only here for the--” you mimicked his gesture from earlier, “homework stuff.”

He barked out a laugh, his stoic face completely transforming for the briefest of moments. You couldn’t help but stare. “You’re telling me all you do is study? A beautiful girl like you? Please tell me you’ve been to at least one party,” he said, looking at you incredulously. 

You blushed. “No, I haven’t been to any.”

You braced yourself for impact, for the teasing or insults to come, but he just smiled softly. “You wanna go to one with me tonight?”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “You don’t even know my name.”

The side of his mouth quirked up into a smile, his eyes dancing with amusement. “What's your name?”

Rolling your eyes, you told him.

“Nice to meet you. I'm Azriel.” He raised his eyebrows, “So? Party?”

“I thought you just said you don't like parties!”

“True, but I do love the thought of corrupting a sweet, innocent bookworm,” he smirked.

“No, thanks.” You couldn't imagine yourself going to a house party, especially not with a stranger.

Azriel's cool-guy demeanor seemed to drop the slightest bit. “Why not?”

You looked at him pointedly. “I don't know you. And I have no interest in being corrupted. Why do you want me to come to this party so badly anyway?”

He shrugged casually. “I like you.”

“You don't know me!”

“See, that, right there,” he snapped his fingers and pointed at you. “You're funny. Smart, beautiful. What's not to like?”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as a blush rose to your cheeks. “I'm not going to a party with someone I don't know. They make true crime documentaries about that sort of thing.”

He seemed to contemplate that for a moment. “Okay, you make a fair point. What do you want to do then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can pick our first date, since you didn't like my idea.”

“What date?” You blanched.

He arched an eyebrow. “Our first date? Weren't you listening?”

You studied him for a moment. For the life of you, you could not figure out what this guy's angle was. 

As if reading your mind, he said softly, “Look, I just saw you and thought you were really pretty, and that it looked like you could use a break from studying. That's it,” he held his hands up again. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If you want me to go, I'll go.”

For a beat longer, you watched him, his body language, his ridiculously pretty face. What was the harm, really? You sighed, tore off a scrap of paper from your notebook, scribbled out your number, then handed it to him. “I need to study. If you text me later, I'll let you know where we're going on the first date.” 

His face broke out into what might have been the first genuine smile you'd seen from him. He took the paper from you, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Can't wait.”

You were half expecting to never hear from Azriel again. But just a few hours later, as you were eating dinner in your apartment, your phone chimed with a text. 

Az: Done studying yet?

It was an effort to bite down your smile. 

You: Taking a break for dinner. 

It was less than a minute before he responded. 

Az: Dinner? Is that what our first date is going to be?

You didn’t try to hide your smile this time.

You: A little cliche, don’t you think?

Az: Oh, absolutely. So… what are we doing?

You: Meet at the tennis courts at 7 tomorrow?

Az: We’re playing tennis?

You: No, but I’m not giving you my address. And I’m not giving away the surprise.

Az: So smart. So mysterious. I’m swooning.

You: Shut up.

Az: See you tomorrow ;)

You tossed your phone to the side, forcing yourself to focus back on your schoolwork.

The following day you parked your car by the empty tennis courts on campus just before 7. It was early spring; the weather finally started to warm up enough to not be too chilly in the evening. Still, you rubbed your arms nervously. You were starting to regret this. You didn’t know this guy at all. What if it went horribly wrong?

Before you could contemplate bailing, a familiar figure rode up on a jet black motorcycle. Of course this guy had a motorcycle. You couldn't see his face underneath the helmet, but you would already recognize those tattooed arms anywhere. 

He parked his bike, smoothly sliding off it and taking his helmet off before sauntering over to you. “Hey, beautiful.” 

You rolled your eyes, sure that he had said that to a million girls on a million dates before.

“What? Don’t do that,” he said softly, his smile softening and his gaze raking down your body. “You are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, giving in. 

“So,” he said, towering over you. “What’s the plan?”

You smiled. “How’s your mini golf game?”

He raised an eyebrow, looking a little skeptical. “Mini golf? That’s what you’re choosing?”

“Yes, it is. Do you have something to say about that?” you teased. 

His eyes sparked at the tone in your voice. “Nope. Nothing at all.” He nodded to his motorcycle. “You wanna hop on the bike?”

You looked pointedly at him and he laughed. “Didn’t think so,” he gestured to your car. “Lead the way.”

Your nerves started to dim as the two of you fell into a rhythm going through the course. The two of you were just talking and laughing like it was normal. It was… fun, actually.

“Shit,” Azriel muttered as he overshot the hole. Again.

You laughed and his eyes flicked over to you, lingering a bit. “You’re good at this, bookworm,” he said as he took another shot, sinking it into the hole this time. You watched, leaning against your putter, having finished that hole two shots ago. 

Shrugging, you said, “I used to go with my family a lot.”

He placed his hand on the small of your back as you walked to the next hole. You cleared your throat, focusing on your steps, on your breathing, on anything but how it felt to have him touch you so casually. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he asked as you dropped your ball onto the green. 

You took your shot before you answered. The ball landed just shy of the hole. “What’s your family like?”

“My family…” he trailed off, clearing his throat, setting up his shot. He paused to look at you for a moment before he swung. “It’s complicated.”

He hit the ball and it stopped right next to yours. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” you said, as the two of you walked further down the hole.

“No, you didn’t. It’s just… I don’t really talk about them with anybody.”

You nodded, not sure where to go from here.

Azriel smiled reassuringly, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying,” you claimed, your voice an octave too high. 

“You are. I can tell.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile as you sunk your ball into the hole.

“I think I’m going to need some pointers from you on the next hole,” he grumbled. 

“I guess I could help you out,” you laughed. 

So, when you got to the next hole, the last hole, he stepped so close that your bodies were nearly touching. You tried to control your breathing. 

“You’re gonna help me out?” he murmured, his eyes flashing down to your lips for a moment. 

“Okay,” you breathed. 

He stepped behind you, his body pressed against your back, wrapping his arms around you, his hands covering yours on the club. 

“How is this going to help you, exactly?” you asked, your voice slightly unsteady. 

His lips brushed your ear as he said, “Oh, trust me, it’s helping.”

You couldn’t say anything. Could hardly breathe.

“What do you think I’m doing wrong?” He murmured. 

You swallowed. “You’re hitting it too hard. Not exactly rocket science.”

“Mmm. That makes sense. I do tend to go… hard.”

That finally had you coming to your senses. You stepped out of his grasp, turning back to glare at him when you were a safe distance away. 

The side of his mouth turned up into a smile. “Sorry. I couldn't help myself.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him again. “Just take your shot.”

He smirked at you for a moment, before he swung, and the ball went right into the hole. 

He turned to you, his eyes wide. You laughed and he hugged you, picking you up and spinning you around. 

You let out an involuntary squeal of surprise, and he laughed, gazing into your eyes as he set you back on the ground. “Thanks for the help.”

“I think you’ve been playing me this whole time,” you joked. 

His smile fell a little, his eyes sobering. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. When he just stared at you, his expression unreadable, you added, “Azriel, I was joking.”

He blinked and then his natural, stoic expression was back as he took a step closer to you. “Right. I think you’re just a good teacher.”

You just looked at him, trying to decipher the changes in his mood, who he really was underneath the gruff exterior.

He smiled faintly, stepping even closer. “What are you thinking about?”

You had to crane your neck to look him in the eye now. “I'm trying to figure out what you're thinking about.”

Azriel's smile turned into a smirk. “I'm thinking… that I really want to kiss you. But I don't want to scare you away.”

Heat flooded your face and his smile turned softer as he cupped your cheek gently with a rough hand. “Would it scare you away?” He murmured.

“I -- don't know,” you said honestly.

His hazel eyes dipped to your lips and stayed there. “I think I'm gonna have to take the risk,” he said, his voice low, husky.

“I think so, too,” you breathed.

His free hand slinked around your waist, gently pulling your body into his. Your heart thundered in your chest as he leaned down, slowly bringing his lips to yours. He seemed to give you a moment to process, and you felt him smile against your mouth when you started to kiss him back, your fingers curling around his bicep, his shoulder.

You were breathless by the time he pulled away, and as the two of you drove back to the tennis courts, you couldn't help but hope that it would happen again by the end of the night.

When you parked your car near his motorcycle in the abandoned lot, he lingered, his gaze holding yours, dropping to your mouth again.

He shot you a crooked smile. “Aren't you gonna walk me to my bike?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you got out of the car, walking over to the motorcycle and settling against the fence near it, crossing your arms over your chest. “Happy now?” You asked.

Slowly, he sauntered over to you, his eyes twinkling under the stars. He raised his arm, twining his fingers in the chain link fence above your head, leaning his body towards you, but not quite touching. He gazed down at you, still sporting that half smile. “Very happy,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched and when his smile widened, you knew he heard it. 

He held your gaze as he leaned down, bringing his mouth to yours again. You let yourself fall deeper into the kiss this time, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you. 

When he finally pulled away, he was grinning. “Want to go for a ride before you head home?” He said, nodding to his motorcycle.

You had stepped far enough out of your comfort zone for today. “Maybe next time.”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “So you're giving me a next time?”

Damn. You blushed. “I said maybe.”

“Uh huh, sure,” he said, leaning in again so his lips were barely an inch from yours. “You can't wait to see me again,” he whispered.

You shoved him away lightly and he chuckled, backing up towards his bike, but keeping his eyes on you. “Until next time, then. Have a good night, bookworm.” He winked before putting his helmet on and speeding away.

A few weeks, a few dates, and several kisses later, you couldn't deny that Azriel was on your mind quite a bit.

You had never thought that someone like him would be interested in someone like you, but he seemed to prove time and time again that he did indeed like you. He texted you flirty little things every day, making you blush in class. He asked about your day, and seemed to genuinely be listening, and he would do pretty much anything you wanted on your dates. Last week, the two of you had gone to a local bookstore and he had watched you browse, a small smile on his face. He ended up picking out a book he wanted you to read and you did the same for him. He had been sending you daily updates on his progress through the book. Slowly, you were starting to let your walls down, despite yourself.

So, when he asked you to finally go to a party with him, to meet his friends, you accepted. You still felt cautious: partying had never been something that you were remotely interested in, but you trusted him.

---

Azriel knew he had to tread this next part carefully. Things had been going well with you. He let you take control of your time together so you would be comfortable, and honestly, he was actually having a really good time getting to know you and seeing where you would take him next.

And when you kissed him… God. It was always a struggle to keep his hands on your waist, to stay PG. He wished he could explore things further with you in that regard, but he wouldn't let himself go there. Not when your broken heart was the finish line.

He rarely let himself think about it -- the deal that he had made with Claire. Being with you felt so natural that he usually forgot he was supposed to be acting. That he was supposed to be leading you to Claire’s revenge.

He had convinced you to come to a party, upon Claire's request so she could see the progress he had made with you. You had said yes, he assumed because you trusted him enough now. The thought made his stomach roll. He was really starting to hate himself for getting mixed up in this.

Azriel acted differently around you than he did around the rest of the general population. At a young age he had learned to keep quiet, to not show a single emotion on his pretty face, to be tough, or be punished. 

With you… he couldn't help but smile. Couldn't stop the laughs that he usually stomped down for the rest of the world.

So, having his two worlds collide at this party…he didn't know exactly how to navigate it. Deep down, it made his heart swell that you trusted him enough to help you navigate something so far out of your comfort zone. But if his friends saw the way he acted around you, he would never hear the end of it.

This would be a mess.

If Azriel wasn't leaning against his motorcycle when you exited your apartment building, he may have fallen over. You were wearing skintight jeans and a black tank top that showed more cleavage than he ever imagined he'd see from you. His fingers flexed on his biceps. He wanted to pull you back into your apartment and spend an hour peeling those clothes away inch by inch.

He blinked the lust away, trying to maintain his stoic expression, but failed, as he always did with you. He smiled at you and you smiled back. 

He could tell by the way you carried yourself as you neared him that you were nervous. “Hey, beautiful,” he drawled his usual greeting as you wrapped your arms around his waist in your usual greeting.

“Hi,” you said, a little sheepishly. His eyes must have lingered on your curves a little too long because your eyes widened a bit, and you bit your lip nervously as you pulled away from him. He nearly groaned. “Is it too much? Do I look stupid?”

Azriel placed his hands on your shoulders gently, dipping his head to look you in the eyes. “You look amazing. Seriously.”

You blushed and murmured, “Thank you.”

He had to turn away, to grab your helmet, so you wouldn't see how much you affected him. He fucking loved it when he made you blush like that. 

Azriel turned back to you, holding up the helmet, his eyebrows raising with amusement. “You ready to join the dark side, bookworm?”

You sighed, shifting on your feet. 

“It'll be okay,” he said softly. “I got you.”

You nodded, seeming to resolve yourself, and reached for the helmet with slightly shaking hands.

He helped you make sure it was on correctly, his fingers brushing your chin, your neck. He bit back a smile as you shivered.

Azriel held your hand as you got settled on the back of the bike, showing you where to put your feet, and how to shift your weight with him.

When you seemed at least somewhat comfortable, he slid his helmet on, smoothly setting onto the motorcycle. You wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing your chest into his back. You were already holding him like your life depended on it, and he beamed freely underneath the helmet.

“Hold on tight,” he shot back at you, before he revved the engine, taking off much more gently than he normally would.

He tried not to think about the feel of you pressed into him, how tightly you were holding on. It didn't work. He wanted to drive you everywhere.

He couldn't resist reaching back to briefly squeeze your thigh at a red light. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” you said. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a smile in your voice.

Too soon in Azriel's opinion, they had made it to the party. He parked, offering you his hand to help you get down.

When he pulled the helmet off your head, he was pleased to see that you were indeed smiling.

“Have fun?” He smirked.

“I did, actually,” you said, sounding a little breathless. 

“Whenever you need a ride, you just let me know,” he winked.

You laughed, glancing behind him at the house. 

He took your hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. You seemed to relax a bit. “We can leave whenever you want, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and smiled nervously up at him.

You were doing this for him, he realized. Because he had asked you to. His heart constricted, guilt churning in his gut again as he led you inside, your hand squeezing his tightly. 

His shoulders tightened as he led you through the crowd, making sure you were tucked in close to him. 

“You want a drink?” he asked, as you made your way to the kitchen.

“Sure,” you said.

He rifled through what was on the sticky counter, trying to find something not disgusting for you to drink, making sure you stayed close to him. 

Finally handing you a cup, he put your hand on the small of your back, guiding you to a corner of the living room that wasn’t yet very crowded. He took a seat on the couch and you settled in next to him, tucked closely into his side. 

You smiled, leaning your shoulder into his. “Is this really it?” You asked skeptically. “You just sit here and drink around a bunch of drunk idiots?”

He laughed before he could stop himself. “I mean, yeah, that’s pretty much it,” he said, dipping his head to say in your ear. “Or we could dance. Or make out,” he smiled against your ear. 

You blushed and he laughed again, kissing your temple. 

Azriel wrapped an arm around your shoulders as Cassian and Rhys showed up, grinning at you, their eyebrows raised. Azriel fought the urge to roll his eyes. They had seen him laughing with you, kissing you, he knew. He had nearly forgotten where he was, why he was here with you. He loved them, but he wasn’t sure what they would say to you about him. They didn’t know about his arrangement with Claire, and he had been keeping details about his relationship with you as vague as possible.

“So you’re the one Az has been spending all his time with,” Cassian grinned. 

You smiled sheepishly, leaning further into Azriel. “I guess.”

Azriel nodded to his friends. “This is Cassian and Rhysand. They’ve been my best friends since we were kids.”

He could tell you were intrigued by that. He still hadn’t told you anything about his childhood. 

Before you could ask any questions, Claire showed up next to Azriel’s friends, her expression the very picture of friendship. It unsettled him so much that he held you closer to him, so you were practically on his lap. 

“Hi Claire,” you smiled, and his heart sank. You really had no idea how Claire felt about you. 

Claire smiled back. “Hey. I never expected to see you here.”

“I’m trying new things,” you said, smiling lightly at Azriel.

He couldn’t take it, having you so close to Claire, seeing that trust you had in him when you looked at him. He cleared his throat, standing up and offering you his hand. You took it, smiling politely at Claire and his friends as he led you through the house, out to the backyard. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked, looking up at him curiously as he leaned his back against the side of the house.

“Yeah,” he said, unable to stop the smile that rose to his face as you gazed at him with your big doe eyes. He tugged you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I just wanted you to myself for a minute.”

“Oh yeah?” you flushed, and before he could stop himself, he kissed your cheeks, feeling the heat against his lips before his lips met yours in a slow, sensual kiss.

He was still kissing you when he heard Cassian snickering close by. “Oh shit, he’s whipped.”

Azriel rolled his eyes as he pulled away from you, but kept his hold on your waist. “How am I whipped?”

Cassian’s eyes gleamed with mischief and Azriel’s heart started to pound. “Sneaking out here on your own. You’re usually content to stay on the couch to make out with your girl of the week.”

Your body tensed in his arms and Azriel groaned internally, glaring at Cassian, who smirked. “Oh, she didn’t know? My bad, Az.”

Azriel’s expression was enough to send Cassian back inside. 

Your brow furrowed as you stepped back, out of his reach. “Girl of the week?”

He winced. “He’s being dramatic.”

You raised your eyebrows, glaring at him, crossing your arms over your chest. 

It was kind of adorable, but Azriel reigned in that comment. He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, look. I told you when we met that I go to parties and meet girls there. But things are different now,” he said, taking a step closer to you. And it was true. Things were different. You had been the one haunting his thoughts since that first date. He had barely looked at anyone else since.

After a moment, you sighed, and he knew you wouldn’t resist when he wrapped his arms back around you. 

“Cassian’s an idiot,” he murmured, his focus back on your lips that he was dying to kiss again.

“So I’m not the girl of the week?” you said quietly, your eyes on his lips now. 

He smiled. “We’ve been seeing each other for several weeks, haven’t we?”

You nodded, biting your lip, before you stood up on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips. Azriel was surprised by his own relief. “Are we going back inside?” you asked. 

“Not if you don’t want to,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist again. 

Pursing your lips in thought, you said, “Mmm. Let’s go back in.”

“Yeah?” he said, surprised.

You smiled up at him, resting your chin on his chest. His heart melted. “I’m trying to be brave.”

He kissed your forehead, smiling faintly. “I’m proud of you, bookworm.”

You beamed, your whole face lighting up. 

Azriel led you inside, his hand on the small of your back, trying to manage the swell of emotions in his chest. He didn’t have the time to process them right now. 

The two of you mingled throughout the party for a few hours, and you even went so far as to dance with him for a bit, your body pressed against his, your hips swaying to the beat of the pounding music. He could hardly believe it, the way you let loose with him.

He stopped in the bathroom before the two of you left. He wasn’t gone for more than a few minutes, but when he returned, he spotted you near the kitchen, backing away from a guy who was clearly very drunk and very horny. Azriel saw red. 

Before he could take a second to think, Azriel was upon the bastard, punching him in the jaw. 

He heard you yelp. The asshole staggered back, swearing, his hand cradling his jaw. Azriel barely spared him a glance, his hands gently holding either side of your face, his gaze raking your body, searching for any sign that he had touched you. 

Your eyes were wide, your breathing labored, but you seemed physically fine. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

You nodded, your eyes still frantic. 

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders as he led you outside. Claire caught his eye on the way out, hers shining with delight. He scowled at her. 

When you made it outside, he hugged you to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” 

“I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

You snorted. “You were gone for a few minutes. It’s not your fault that men are gross.”

“Are you okay, really?” He asked, pulling back to look you in the eye.

“I’m okay,” you said quietly. 

He held you close to him, gazing at you for another moment before you smiled faintly. “You really didn’t need to punch him, you know.”

He winced slightly, remembering the yelp you let out when he threw that punch. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said, rising on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

Azriel held you until his heart rate slowed down, until his body was convinced that you were okay.

Later, after he had dropped you off at your apartment, Azriel stayed awake, tossing and turning, so many images from that night racing through his mind.

The way his heart constricted every time you smiled at him, the horror he felt at seeing Claire play nice, the terror and rage that flowed through his entire body when he saw that creep bothering you…

Azriel knew then, that he had real feelings for you. Shit.

---

“C’mon, baby, you’ve been studying for ages already,” Azriel murmured, standing behind you as you sat at your desk in your apartment, his arms draped around your chest, his lips trailing down your neck.

Your toes curled, heat running right through you. You wanted to give in. You really did. But…

You sighed. “I’m sorry, Az. I have this big exam on Tuesday. And finals are only a few weeks away.”

For some reason, that comment made his entire body stiffen. “Oh, yeah. Finals.”

You snorted. “Don’t tell me you forgot about finals.”

“No, I just… they’re soon.” His voice wavered a bit as he stood up fully. You twisted in your seat to look up at him. His brow was furrowed, his eyes swimming with anxiety. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, reaching up and cupping his cheek with your hand. “Do you need me to help you study?” He had never seemed to care about his grades before.

He leaned into your touch for a moment, shooting you a forced smile. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I should go, and let you study.” He stooped down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I won’t distract you anymore today.” 

Before you could even respond, he was out the door. 

You turned back to your notes, but couldn’t digest any of the information. That was… weird.

Azriel and you had been dating for months now. Though neither of you had ever put a label on it, you both knew you were exclusive. 

In the privacy of your own mind, you secretly loved that he acted so differently around you than he did out and about on campus. You felt like you got a different version of him that was saved especially for you. It made your heart swell, all the little things he did for you each day. 

You were also willing to admit, to yourself only, that you were absolutely in love with him. You had known for weeks now, and had been debating whether or not you should tell him. 

He had been the one that made you step out of your comfort zone, to try new things, to be brave. 

So, soon. You would tell him soon.

--- 

Azriel had to get out of the deal. Now.

He remembered the exact moment that he realized he was in love with you. It was a random afternoon, the two of you were watching TV at his apartment. He was laying on the couch, you were laying on top of him, your legs intertwined with his, your head on his chest. He was absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair while you giggled about something that happened on the show. 

And he had the thought. I want my whole life to look like this. 

And he knew. He loved you.

This had scared him, obviously, on multiple levels. He had never loved anyone before, never knew what that looked like. Yet somehow, he knew without a doubt that it was true. 

And then, of course, there was the deal he had made with the devil. 

He had known early on that he would have to get out of the deal. He had just been putting it off, hoping that Claire’s insanity would die down throughout the semester. 

But now his time was up. 

He prayed to whoever might be listening that Claire would listen to reason. That she would call it off. He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you. He wouldn’t do it. 

Claire smirked as she opened the door. “I’ve been wondering when you would show up. It’s been a long time, Az,” she purred. 

Azriel stalked into her apartment, barely sparing her a glance. “The deal’s off, Claire.”

She cocked her head to the side, amused. “Oh? Why is that?”

“Because it’s insane,” he growled. “You were insane for coming up with it, and I was insane for agreeing to it. I’m done.”

Slowly, her lips curled up into a lethal smile. “You fell for her.”

Azriel blinked. 

Claire cackled. “Oh, this is rich. You actually fell for the bookworm? I never thought I’d see the day. No wonder you haven’t been crawling into my bed.”

He scowled. “The deal’s off,” he repeated in the tone he used to scare people away.

She really looked at him then, her eyes bearing into his. After a moment, she finally said, “Okay.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay? Just like that?”

Claire shrugged. “You were right. It was an insane plan. And it didn’t even work,” she said bitterly. “You suck at your job. She’ll still be on the top of the Dean’s list, even after all your lovey-dovey shit.”

A swell of pride ran through him at the thought of your name at the top of that list.

“Alright,” he said, his brow furrowed, trying to figure out if there was some kind of angle here. But, there didn’t seem to be one. 

He left quickly, his heart and mind feeling lighter. The guilt of how the two of you started would always be there, he knew. But now when he looked into the future, it wasn’t a hazy blur of nothingness that he saw. It was you.

---

The week before finals, there were parties everywhere. So you heard. 

You had gone to a few more with Az over the past few months. It still wasn’t exactly your thing, but you didn’t mind going, especially with Azriel being so attentive to you every time you did. 

Azriel didn’t seem particularly interested in going to this one, but his friends had been complaining that they never saw him anymore, so he agreed to go. And you had agreed to go with him, if only to take a break from your near constant studying these days.

You followed him through the crowd, his hand clasping yours, as always. Drinks in hand, you made your way to the outskirts of a group of people who were dancing and you joined them, Azriel pulling you in close to him, moving against you.

A laugh burst from you, and Azriel grinned, leaning down to kiss you. 

You were so happy, you thought. So happy in that moment with him. You knew people watched you, as they usually did when Azriel was like this with you. You didn’t care.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he gazed down at you, his eyes swimming with affection. 

“I love you,” you said before you could stop it.

His eyes sobered, and he pulled you in even closer, so your bodies were flush together. He leaned his forehead against yours, and in a crowd of people, Azriel said, a soft smile on his face, “I love you, too.”

Your heart leaped and you grinned, threading your fingers in his hair and bringing his lips to yours. 

Suddenly, the music stopped, and from the TV came a voice. Azriel’s voice. 

Everyone turned to the sound, curiously, watching. The video was jumpy, filming the floor, like it was filmed from someone’s pocket. 

Azriel tensed, his arms still around you. “Fuck,” he said. “We need to go.”

Utterly confused, you didn’t argue as he pulled you through the crowd. But you stopped dead in your tracks when you heard video Azriel say, “Sweetheart, you know I can fuck you anytime I want, right? That is not going to persuade me to help you.”

Your blood ran cold, shock jolting from your heart down to your toes. Azriel was tugging on your arm, but you didn’t budge as you heard Claire’s voice next. 

Claire. He had been talking to Claire. What did he mean, that he could fuck her whenever he wanted? You hadn’t even known that they knew each other. When was this filmed?

“Baby, please, I’ll explain everything, but we need to go,” Azriel was saying, sounding frantic. 

You wrenched your arm from his grasp, weaving through the still crowd, moving toward the TV. You heard him swear, calling your name behind you, but you kept moving.

They were saying something about a deal, about him owing her a favor. You couldn’t make sense of it, not until you heard video Azriel say, “Alright, so I just have to seduce the bookworm? Easy.”

Video Claire responded, “No, if I’m going to agree to any favor you could possibly want, you’re going to have to go further. You need to make her fall in love with you.”

It was then that you noticed Claire, next to the TV, her eyes locked on you, smirking. 

You couldn’t breathe, your legs were going to give out -- 

It was all fake. All of it. 

Azriel caught up to you then, picking you up, slinging you over his shoulder. You didn’t protest, the shock setting in. You had to get out of there, even if it was him that carried you out. 

When he made it outside, you pounded on his back with your fists. “Put me down, you asshole!”

“Sorry,” Azriel said, wincing as he gently set you on your feet. “You looked like you were going to pass out.”

“Like you even care,” you spat, storming away from him. 

“Of course I care. Please, just give me a minute to explain,” he pleaded, following you. 

“Explain what?” You stopped abruptly, spinning around to face him. “That you played me for a fool? Made me fall in love with you as a sick joke? Well, congratulations, it worked,” you said, pouring every ounce of venom that you could muster into your voice. You turned back around and continued walking as tears started pricking your eyes. You refused to let him see you cry.

“It may have started out that way, but it’s not like that anymore. From the first date, I had feelings for you. I love you. You have to believe that,” he said, right on your heels. 

You knew he could catch up with you easily if he wanted to. He was hanging back, trying to give you your space. That pissed you off even more. “How could I possibly believe that?” 

“Because you feel it, I know you do,” he said, finally wrapping his fingers around your wrist.

You tugged your hand free, but stopped walking, needing to catch your breath. You faced him. “What was the point?” You asked quietly. “Why make the deal?”

It didn’t matter. But you had to know.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Claire and I used to date. When you transferred, you pushed her off the top spot of the Dean’s list. She hated you for it. She said she would give me any favor I wanted if I made you fall for me… to distract you from school.”

You were so surprised that the tears you had been holding in started to fall. You angrily swatted them away. 

Azriel continued, “I said no at first, but she was persistent, and…” he took a deep breath, darting his eyes away from you for a moment. They were shining with unshed tears. “I have no excuse. I agreed to it. I’m an asshole. But you made me want to be different.”

“Was any of it true?” You heard yourself saying, your voice breaking. 

He lifted his hand, like he was about to reach for yours, then let it drop, thinking better of it. “It was all true. From our first date, you were breaking down my walls, making me smile, making me laugh.” He smiled sadly. “I fell for you. I love you,” he said, and now a lone tear did slide down his cheek. “I called it off with Claire ages ago. I told her I was out, and she agreed. I… I didn’t know she filmed it.”

You wanted to believe him, that he really did love you. But… “Even if you do love me, that doesn’t change what you did,” you said in a small voice. 

Azriel sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. “I know. I am so, so sorry.”

Shaking your head, backing away from him, you choked out, “I don’t -- I can’t. I can’t do this right now.”

He took a step toward you, his eyes pleading. “Please. Please don’t go.”

Turning your back to him, you walked away, barely registering the pavement beneath your feet, the direction you were going. 

Azriel called your name, but you kept walking.

You knew he had followed you home, not letting you walk alone at night. You watched his form retreat after you locked yourself inside your apartment with trembling hands. 

You went to bed, not even bothering to change. Laying on your back, watching your ceiling fan spin around and around, you tried to identify all that you were feeling: shame, humiliation, sorrow. Fury. 

Replaying all that had happened between you, all the times he was probably laughing at you with his friends behind your back. You felt nauseous. 

How could he do this? How could he have played you for so long?

What the hell were you supposed to do now?

You woke up to several missed calls and texts from Azriel, all sent hours apart. It seemed that he didn’t get any sleep at all.

I am so sorry. I’m the worst person in the world. I know that. 

I know what you’re thinking right now. I know that you’re going over it all in your head. But, it was real, baby. It was all real. I swear it was. I love you so much.

I’m hoping you’re getting some sleep. Can I see you today?

Groaning, you tossed your phone to the side, and took a long shower. By the time you got out, someone was knocking on your door. 

You quickly dressed in some old pajamas and called through the door, “Go away, Az.”

“Well, at least you’re alive,” you heard him say. “Can I please come in? Two minutes?”

You threw the door open, furious. “No, you cannot come in. You humiliated me. You used me. You had your fun. What else could you possibly want?”

Azriel was standing on the threshold, his hands in his pockets nervously, his facial expression looked like you had just slapped him. “I want to apologize! I want to make things better, that’s what I want.”

Biting your lip to keep from crying, you said quietly, “Go away.” 

His face fell. “I love you.”

Shaking your head, you said, “You don’t.”

He took a step forward, wedging his foot on the door jam so you couldn’t close it on him. “I do,” he said, his eyes pleading, baring into yours. “You know that I do. You know I’ve never let anybody else see the real me. Nobody but you.”

Tears spilled onto your cheeks then, and he wiped them away gently. Despite everything, you couldn’t back away. “It doesn’t matter,” you croaked. “You only went out with me so you could help her ruin my life.”

Azriel opened his mouth, as if to reply, but then shut it. 

You laughed humorlessly. “See? Even you don’t have a comeback.”

His eyes softened, his rough fingers still absentmindedly stroking your cheeks. “Please,” he said again. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not enough,” you whispered, your heart breaking all over again as you looked up at him, at the pain in his eyes.

“How do I fix it?” He whispered back, tears sliding freely down his cheeks now.

“I don’t know,” you said, stepping back out of his grasp. “Please, Az. I just -- I need to be alone right now.”

He nodded, drawing his arm across his face to wipe the tears away. “Okay. Okay, I’ll umm -- I’ll see you later?”

You didn’t know how to answer that, didn’t know if you would see him again at all. He took a step back, into the hallway. 

Without another word, you shut the door.

Especially knowing where that awful bet had originated, you refused to let Azriel and Claire get in your head for finals. You buckled down, spending entire days at the library studying, writing papers, finishing projects. 

It was helpful, actually. You didn’t allow yourself to think about him, about all the memories you had that had become so tainted and confusing. 

By the end of the semester, you had maintained all your A’s, passing every final with flying colors. And thus, secured the very top spot of the Dean’s list.

Azriel had been texting and calling every day. You left them all unanswered. 

You hadn’t yet had time to think, to process through the hurt. 

A new text chimed as you were packing up your car to head home for the summer. 

Saw the list. Nicely done, bookworm. I know it doesn’t matter, but I really am proud of you. Looks like all that hard work paid off ❤️

Despite everything, there was a swell of emotion in your chest at his words. God, why did everything have to be so awful?

Later, you were hefting your last box into your trunk when you heard the distinct sound of a motorcycle slowing down behind you. Your heart raced. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to see him again or not.

Slowly, you turned around to see Azriel sliding off the bike, his helmet tucked under his arm. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, somewhat tentatively.

“Hi,” you said softly. 

He nodded to your car, his expression grave. “You’re leaving?”

“Back home for the summer,” you said, unable to take your eyes off him. He looked tired. And sad. 

A moment passed silently, the two of you just looking at each other, pain hanging in the air between you.

“I miss you,” he said quietly. 

You sighed. Willed yourself to be brave. “I miss you, too,” you admitted. 

Something like hope gleamed in his eyes. “I love you,” he murmured. 

“I --” you started, and couldn’t bear it. “I need time.”

He looked crestfallen, like you had just punched him in the gut, but he nodded. “The summer?”

You swallowed. “Okay,” you said. “Okay. I get the summer, and I’ll find you in the fall. We’ll talk then.”

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. “Thank you for… for that. For talking to me now,” he winced. “I know I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you don’t,” you said, but there was no malice in it. You were too tired. “I get the summer, Az. Don’t contact me until school starts.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but agreed. “Okay. I’ll see you in September,” he said, backing up towards his bike. “Have a good summer, bookworm,” he added with the slightest of smiles, before he slid on his helmet and drove away.

---

You spent most of the summer moping around, reading books, and trying to sort through everything that happened, all the feelings you had. 

For three months, you sifted through every moment that Azriel and you had shared together, picking them apart, deciphering every movement. 

It may have been slightly unhealthy.

You believed that what you and Azriel had was real. You believed that he did love you. And you couldn’t deny that you loved him. That maybe you always would. 

Was it worth it to deny yourself the person who had made you so happy? Who had taught you new things, who had helped you out of your comfort zone?

As September grew closer, you still weren’t sure. 

 ---

Azriel got more and more anxious as the summer came to a close. It had been torture to not contact you at all, but he knew he was in no position to be asking you for anything, so he did as you asked. 

The hurt on your face those months ago was still a clear image in his mind that haunted his nightmares. He would never forgive himself for hurting you. 

Yet, he couldn’t stop imagining what would happen when he saw you again. Would you give him another chance? You would have to be a saint to even contemplate that. But then again, you were the best person he had ever known. If anyone would be able to forgive, it would be you.

Scowling, he stomped that shred of hope down. He couldn’t go into this having any expectations. 

Soon, he would know.

---

It was bittersweet coming back to school. Academia was where you thrived. You felt right at home in the library, stacks of papers all around you. 

And you used to feel at home with Azriel. 

You sighed at the thought. The first day of classes was tomorrow. You had told Azriel not to contact you until school started back up again, and knowing him, he would take that seriously. 

Deep down, you knew what you wanted to do. It terrified you, though. 

Sure enough, the next morning, you had a text from him:

Hey, bookworm. Hope your first day of classes goes well. 

The slightest smile spread across your lips. You knew he was probably dying to ask when he could see you, but was trying to keep it light. Leave the ball in your court.

For the first time since everything, you texted him back.

Thanks, Az. Yours, too. 

He opened it immediately. After a moment, you willed yourself to send another:

Wanna meet up at the tennis courts tonight? 

His reply came at lightning speed:

7?

Reigning in your smile, you replied:

7.

You couldn’t remember ever being this nervous as you walked to the tennis courts. There were a few people playing, so you sat underneath a tree nearby, willing your legs to stop shaking. 

Right on time, a familiar motorcycle turned into the parking lot. He spotted you immediately, striding over to you with unsure steps. 

“Hey, beautiful,” he said quietly. 

You looked up at him, your heart racing at the familiarity you felt. “Hi,” you said, and after the briefest hesitation, you patted the grass next to you. You weren’t sure you would be able to stand. 

Immediately, he plopped down across from you, his knees only inches from yours as he faced you. 

His eyes were locked on yours. “How was your summer?” he said, his voice cracking slightly. 

“Okay,” you said. “How was yours?”

“Okay,” he said quietly. 

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Okay, here’s the thing. I did a lot of thinking. A lot of thinking. And I do love you, Az.”

You paused, not sure how to word what you were feeling. 

“But?” Azriel said, his voice dripping with trepidation, his eyes guarded.

“But it’s going to take some time before I can trust you again.”

Azriel swallowed, his eyes never wavering from yours. 

He seemed like he was waiting for you to continue before he said anything, so you added, quietly, “I am willing to try, though. To give us another chance.”

The tautness in his body released, relief flooding his features. “Really?” he croaked, tears swimming in his eyes. 

You could only nod before he launched towards you, knocking you on your back, before he threaded his fingers through your hair, kissing you deeply. 

You laughed, as his other hand came up to cup your face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I swear I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you,” he said against your lips.

Wrapping your arms around him, you sighed into his kiss. “I know, Az. I know.”

“I love you,” he murmured, moving to kiss down your neck.

“I love you, too.”

“I missed you so much,” he groaned before kissing your lips again.

You giggled. “I missed you, too.”

He finally stopped kissing you, settling his elbows on either side of your head, leaning his forehead against yours. “Thank you. For giving me another chance.”

Smiling, you kissed him swiftly on the lips. “Don’t mess it up.”

“I won’t. I swear I won’t.”

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon in each other’s arms, going over your respective summers. 

Eventually, Azriel propped himself on an elbow, gazing at you with all the love in the world.

“What?” you asked. 

He grinned. “You wanna go mini golfing, bookworm?”

You couldn’t help but return his smile. “Only if I can help you again.”

Azriel leaned down to gently kiss your forehead. “It’s a deal.”

A/N: wanna see more of these two?? Check out part 2!

@thalia-as-blog @saltedcoffeescotch

[english-history-trip]

Ever see a depiction of St. George and the Dragon? It's pretty fair to say if you've seen one, you've seen them all: Georgie on a horse stabbing a flailing dragon creature, princess piously kneeling in the background, vague landscape alluding to the homeland of the artist's patron.

The most varied part is the dragons. No one had a real definition for the thing, it seemed. For your pleasure and entertainment, I have ranked some medieval depictions based on how impressive George's feat seems once you see the dragon.

Paolo Uccello, 1456

This is a terrifying beast. The hell is that. Uccello was one of the first experimenters with perspective, so the thing also looks surreal, like it's taking place on Mars, or a Windows 95 screensaver. I would not want to fight that, I would not want to be tied to that. (Sometimes the princess is tied to the dragon for some reason.) 10/10

Horse thoughts: Maybe if I look at the ground it will be gone when I look up

Unknown artist, c. 1505

This is a rare change of form for the dragon; it's the only one I've seen actually flying (or at least falling with style). It doesn't look particularly deterred by the spear through its throat, either. Also, George looks appropriately nervous. On the other hand, it hasn't got teeth, it seems to be fuzzy rather than having scaly armor, and George is bolstered by his army of Henry VII and his children, most of whom definitely didn't actually die in infancy. Still, wouldn't want to fight it, wouldn't want my pet sheep near it. (Sometimes the princess has a pet sheep for some reason.) 9/10

Horse thoughts: I am so glad I wore my mightiest feather helmet for this

Raphael, 1505

We are coming to Dragons With Problems. This guy looks about comparable in size to George, and does have wings, but doesn't seem to be using these things to his advantage (and has he only got one wing?) And how does he deal with the neck? He does have a comically small head, but holding it up with such a twisty neck seems complicated at best. But most egregiously, he is doing the shitty superheroine pose where he is somehow simultaneously showcasing his chest and his butt, with its unnecessarily defined butthole (more on this later) (regrettably). 8/10 bc it's Raphael

Horse thoughts: AM I THE BESTEST BOI? AM I DOING SUCH A GOOD JOB? WE R DRAGON SLAYING BUDDIEZ

The Beauchamp Hours, c. 1401

We had a spirited debate about this one at work. Again, the dragon has gotten smaller, and this one hasn't got even one wing. He's basically a crocodile. So the debate became: would you want to fight a crocodile if you had a horse and a pointy stick? Would the horse trample the animal, who can't get on its hind legs, or freak out and throw its rider? Would the pointy stick be enough to pierce the croc's thick hide? In this case, George seems to be controlling his horse and putting his pointy stick in the dragon's weak spot, so we can be impressed by his skill and strategy. However, his hat is dumb. 7/10

Horse thoughts: Dehhhh

Book of Hours, c. 1480

Here we have the same kind of croco-dragon, but George's focus on his strategy has gone out the window. He's flailing around, not even looking at his target, he's about to lose his pointy stick, he hasn't got a hand on the reins, and his sword seems to only be poking the invisible dragon over his shoulder. All he's got going for him is that his hat is slightly less dumb. 6/10

Horse thoughts: Yay, new friend! Come play with me, new fr- what is happening

Final dragons put behind this Read More for your safety:

Rogier van der Weyden, c. 1432

I'm thinking this guy is at least semi-aquatic. Webbed feet, wings that seem more like fins, bipedal but top-heavy, jaws that seem more for scooping than biting. Maybe she's crawled up here from the nearby body of water to lay her eggs, and this is all a big misunderstanding. Moreover, George's dagged sleeves seem entirely impractical for the situation. 5/10

Horse thoughts: i got my hed stuk in a jar and now it is this way forever

Unknown artist, c. 15th century

I hate this. I hate everything about it. Why has it got human eyes and teeth. Why is its nose melting. Why has it got a dick on its face and balls under its chin. The fin/wings are back but they look even more useless. Also, George is shifty as hell, schlumped over in his saddle with his bowler hat thing over his eyes. The baby dragon at the bottom eating some hapless would-be rescuer is kind of metal. 4/10 at least the thing is gonna die

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Crack

Book of Hours, c. 1450

Remember what I said about the buttholes? First, sorry. Second, yeah, we're back to that. I'll admit this one is less about the danger from the dragon itself than the very specific choices the artist has made. They didn't need to do that. It's a lizard. They don't even have. And it's like they had an orifice budget and they skipped an exit wound for the spear to focus. Elsewhere. It's so detailed. And George had an even dumber hat. 2/10 take it away

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Weed

Book of Hours, c. 1415

This is just bullying. There isn't even a princess. That is clearly an infant. Look at that smug look on George's face as he swings his sword that's bigger than the whole little guy. This is the equivalent of when DJT Jr. hunted those sleeping endangered sheep. 1/10

Horse thoughts: ....yikes

And this is the previous one, but now the baby dragon is cute. He's chubby. He's got toe beans. He's Puff the Magic Dragon. His eyes have already gone white, implying that George is just kicking its corpse around for funsies. What's the difference between the dragon and the lamb in the background? That the dragon is dead, like our innocence. This George is truly deserving of the dumbest hat of all. 0/10 plus one more butthole for the road

Horse thoughts: Perhaps it is we who are the buttholes.

[joonberriess]

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝜗𝜚 . . .

𓊆ྀི 𝓝amjoon 𓊇ྀི

SUGAR 10.8k

navigating life with your sweet boyfriend—alternatively a collection of soft moments in this slice of life au.

BAD GUY 2.7k

your (ex)-boyfriend thinks he can get away with cheating, so you fuck his dad as revenge. ‘might seduce your dad type,’

JUICY 1.5k

you love how big your boyfriend’s getting, the size difference goes crazy.

FREAK 1.8k

hoseok’s wondering why his bandmate’s sweet, precious girlfriend is missing from his release party.

ME AND YOUR MAMA 3.6k

another slice of life story that tells the tale of how you and your boyfriend welcomed your little one into the world.

𓊆ྀི 𝓢eokjin 𓊇ྀི

coming soon.

𓊆ྀི 𝓨oongi 𓊇ྀི

ANGEL 7k

yoongi’s got a soft spot for his sweet girlfriend—or, behind the scenes with your boyfriend.

WHAT’S POPPIN 1.7k

yoongi being the type to buy his girl a chain cause if he’s iced out, so is she.

DEVIL 1.5k

you’re just the pretty little staff member he wants to corrupt and defile, a alternate universe of angel.

SHINUNOGA E-WA 1.9k

four times you said ‘I love you’, plus the one time you didn’t.

“BABY” 1.3k

you put your reputation on the line by getting fucked in the backseat of your senior’s car.

𓊆ྀི 𝓗oseok 𓊇ྀི

NDA 1.2k

you’re one of the lucky fans hoseok notices at lollapalooza.

𓊆ྀི 𝓙imin 𓊇ྀི

ALL I NEED 1.7k

watching the sunset with your boyfriend’s head between your thighs on a late afternoon.

WANT 1.1k

forget the movie, jimin’s got other plans.

𓊆ྀི 𝓣aehyung 𓊇ྀི

GROUPIE LOVE 4.8k

you get picked from the crowd during PTD LA, and tae’s all yours for the night.

SEX TALK 6.1k

you’re fucking two hotties on the low without realizing they’re roommates..

MANEATER 2.9k

imagine pissing off your hot, older sugar daddy?

EAT MY LOVE 2k

tae wakes you up in the middle of the night for some sleepy, lazy fun.

CAPTAIN HOOK 6.3k

there may or may not be (one sided) feelings involved with your hook-up.

ECOUTE CHERIE 1.3k

soft nights in paris.

THROAT GOAT 1.1k

a late-night hookup with tae in the backseat of his car.

𓊆ྀི 𝓙ungkook 𓊇ྀི

BIG OL FREAK 2k

he’s not good for you but you can’t bring yourself to really care.

SEX TALK 6.1k

you’re fucking two hotties on the low without realizing they’re roommates..

TODAS MUEREN POR MI 3.5k

a bittersweet fantasy with your boxer boyfriend.

SLUT ME OUT 1.9k

you find out just how hungry your boyfriend is in the morning.

KEROSENE 15k

your student takes a dark interest in you, raising the stakes and leaving you utterly helpless.

THE BOY IS MINE 6.2k

your best friend and you have zero boundaries.

DO I WANNA KNOW 19.8k

your ex is relentless in his pursuit, all in the name of love.

AGORA HILLS 1.9k

“grunge bf lets cute gf ride him,”

3D 3.2k

pics and videos don’t do you justice.

NEED TO KNOW 3.3k

it’s your birthday and your boss is feeling generous tonight.

ESPRESSO 14.6k

a rowdy boxer and the pretty it-girl he bagged by being him. jungkook’s doing anything to prove he’s serious, even if it means making a fool outta himself.

ཐི⋆FLAWLESS SERIES⋆ཋྀ

you never meant for it to go this far, much less with your best friend’s dad of all people. throw a baby in the mix? lies are told, secrets revealed forcing you to face the consequences of your actions—together.

DADDY ISSUES 2.4k

how you met jungkook.

FLAWLESS 3.4k

things were always complicated.

2. everything falls apart.

3. a look into the past.

RODEO 1.9k

you show him just how you ride it.

LOVIN’ YOU 3.5k

celebrating your anniversary in the future!

ཐི⋆JOCK!JK SERIES⋆ཋྀ

what do you get when you throw a pretty bimbo and her jock bf together? sex, sex, more sex, and then marriage; or, a series of events as they navigate life together.

𓆩♡𓆪 the intro.

𓆩♡𓆪 jungkook works you out with you.

𓆩♡𓆪 you want to put sprinkles on it.

𓆩♡𓆪 he plays his game and then some.

𓆩♡𓆪 you hate condoms.

𓆩♡𓆪 he’s a munch.

𓆩♡𓆪 you meet his friend, yoongi.

𓆩♡𓆪 a roommate’s (jennie’s) dilemma.

𓆩♡𓆪 the future!

𓆩♡𓆪 daddy’s father’s day special.

𓆩♡𓆪 seven days with jungkook.

𓆩♡𓆪 the origin story.

ཐི⋆BABY DADDY SERIES⋆ཋྀ

life with (your) annoying, frustratingly handsome baby daddy who won’t leave you alone and your sweet baby who can’t stop asking why you call his dad ‘deadbeat’.

SEVEN 5.5k

another day, another headache with him.

PUSSY FAIRY 2.6k

sometimes moms need to unwind too.

MALIBU 3.3k

the past: his birthday.

STANDING NEXT TO YOU 6.9k

feelings get talked about.

[mywritersmind]

ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR - LN4

↳ pt.3

summary : Feelings are complicated and you and Lando aren’t a great mix to express them. A tension filled boat that leads to sexual chemistry so thick that you end up in the same bed.

og summary : Its the vacation of your dreams! With your best friends, rich men, live music, and flowing drinks, nothing can ruin it. Even if a certain Formula 1 driver (who seems to have an affinity for annoying you) is there every step of the sandy way.

listen up : ho this is long. suggestive comments!! hope you like part three!!! muah! previous part

word count : 4142

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“Boat day! Boat day!” Alex chants while walking down the dock with Lily on his shoulders. I woke up to over a hundred texts to get to the dock with a swimsuit and sunscreen.

Charles’ friend doesn’t just have a boat he has a fucking yacht. It’s not gigantic but it’s definitely the nicest boat I've ever seen. “Uh Charles… you do know how to drive this, right?”

Alexandra shares my worried stare as Lando and Carlos race each other onto it. Kika throws her arm around me and grins as we walk onto the back. There’s four steps and my jaw drops as we go ‘inside’.

There’s a huge couch that turns into a dining area, a TV, followed by a small kitchen. Kika and I hurry to the front where there’s one day bed that shaded and one in the very front that’s for tanning.

Apparently there’s three bedrooms and two bathrooms! “I think I need a yacht.” I say to Kika as we check out the table and chairs on the side.

She looks like a mermaid today, in a bright blue bikini and sparkly nail polish. I’ve taken more of a siren route in dark red.

I’m all for woman doing things in ‘male’ fields, but I let the men figure out how to get the boat working. Alexandra, Lily, Kika, Rebecca and I, put our things down in one of the rooms and make our way to the Bow where the sun is hitting us perfectly.

Rebecca pulls off her shirt to reveal a light pink one piece while Lily runs over with a speaker in a multicolored bikini. We start blasting Dominic fine as Charles evidently figured the boat out, and we start to leave.

The moment we only see clear blue water, the girls turn to me. I’m laid out on the tanning bed, sunnies on and fully ready to take a sunny nap, but Rebecca pokes me.

“So, you and Lando are still alive!” She says the obvious as I sit up and lean against my arms, “How’d it go!?”

I want to tell them everything. I want to tell them that It was genuinely fun and I had a great time and i’ve never laughed harder, but I can’t. I shrug, “It was okay.”

Alex eyes me, “Just… okay?”

I nod, “He fucked up my plan so we didn’t go anything crazy and we got kicked out of a pottery place.”

Kika perks up at this, “Pottery? Did he do that thing like how the movie stars do it?” She gets behind Lily as they start to recreate those weird sexual pottery scenes.

I roll my eyes, “No. Like I said, we got kicked out. Then we just went to the hotel and split up.”

Lily frowns, “Lando said you two got a drink.”

Shit. “Oh right, I went to sleep pretty early.”

Kika groans and falls down next to me, “So nothing happened at all? No flirting, no kissing?”

Lots of flirting and fuck yes kissing!

I love my friends, and I trust them! I just don’t trust them to not tell their boyfriends. “Did you have this ‘couples day’ just so Lando and I would have a chance of hooking up?”

Lily leans in, “So is there a chance!?”

I look at all of them to make sure everyone is listening, “No chance! I told you I wanted to have a fun vacation which does not include you trying to set me up!”

Rebecca slouches a bit, “You’re right.”

“Sorry.” Alex mumbles, “We just feel bad.”

“It’s not your fault i’m single and you’re not.” I stand, “I’m going to get some water.”

My plan to hide away on the couch is immediately ruined by Lando taking up the whole thing. He’s scrolling on his phone, shirt and shoes off.

I turn quickly and go downstairs, running into Pierre, “Hey Y/n! Looking for something?”

“Uh… water?”

There’s a little mini fridge that he pulls a bottle from, “You okay?” Pierre is sweet and it makes me happy for Kika.

“Yeah!” I open the bottle and drink.

“Just that… Lando told us what happened.” I choke on the water, coughing as his eyes get panicked, “What!?”

“Are you- Uh… He just said that you two ended the night weird. We all thought it would magically turn you into friends but I guess not.” Fucking hell he just scared me so bad.

“Oh! Right… I guess some things just aren’t meant to be.” So everyone was rooting for us to become friends yesterday?

Pierre just shrugs and moves past me, walking up the stairs without another word.

⋆༺

LANDO

I’m playing poker with my friends while the girls dance around the front deck. We’re anchored on the water and after an hour of swimming, we all needed to pause.

I’m shit at poker but it doesn’t matter because i’m already distracted by the shadow of a girl through the window.

I kissed her. I kissed her and she’s avoiding me.

I think i’m an idiot but I know i’m not because anyone smart would fall for her. Not that I'm in love or anything, I’m just… intrigued?

“Lan?” Alex kicks me under the table, “What’s got you so uninterested in money?”

I just shake my head and look back down at my cards, “Something happened, didn’t it?” Pierre asks, clocking my weird mood. “With Y/n.”

“No.” She would kill me if I told, and I already said too much by drunkenly explaining that the night did not end well to Alex and Lily.

They would definitely tell their girlfriends, so I keep my mouth shut, “You’re a shit liar.” Carlos says, “But whatever, None of my business.”

Charles frowns, “Totally our business! We all love Y/n and want to know what happened!”

“Nothing happened.” I shake my head, taping a chip against the table, “Drop it.”

Just then, Y/n walks in while clutching her hand, her face scrunched up, “I need a bandaid asap.” Charles stands quickly and grabs the first aid kit from a cabinet, “Your girlfriend pushed me off the boat!” She points to Pierre who cringes.

She’s soaking wet, her hair dripping water onto the floor as she crosses her legs. She's in a red bikini and I think I might faint.

I instantly feel bad when I remember her hand is bleeding and i’m just checking her out. Kika runs in, “I’m so sorry, Y/n!”

Y/n just shakes her head, walking over to the kitchen and washing off her hand, wincing at the pain, “Don’t worry It’s just a scratch, i’m just joking.”

I stand and walk over, looking over the sink to get a better look at her hand. She’s got a cut along the side of her hand, bloody and sort of gross. “You sure you’re okay?”

She nods without saying anything, just turning to Charles who has his kit ready.

I bite my lip and sort of awkwardly walk towards Carlos who’s already watching me. “The fuck did you do?”

⋆༺

YOU

Besides my little incident with my hand, I’m having a great time.

Charles drives us to a secluded area with caves which you can swim in. I personally stay out in the open air but Rebecca, Pierre, Charles, and Alexandra check them out.

I sit in a tube with my head tilted back and my hair floating around me. My stomach and chest are warm while my back is cold against the water.

Someone dives in near me and I can hear my laughing as they jump and flip off the boat. I regret opening my eyes as soon as I do because I catch Lando back flipping off the boat.

It’s one of those moments where I don’t remember why I don’t like him. I suppose that’s not as true now, but seeing him flip off is still hot as hell.

I end up dunking and swimming back to the boat, sitting on the back where my feet dangle in the water. I know Lando’s the one walking down and sitting next to me before I see him.

“Hey.” He sounds nervous and quick.

“Hi.” I stand and walk up the stairs, screwing up my face and mentally yelling at myself. I hide in the kitchen, grabbing some fruit before venturing out to sit with Lily and Alex.

They’re all cuddled up and giggling so I spare them my company and sit at the table on the side of the boat.

The music is quiet and I can hear my friends talking across the boat. I bite into a strawberry and stare at the water below.

My anxiety is through the roof and i’m on a boat in fucking turkey. I’m annoyed that Lando just being near me is making me on edge.

As if he heard me, his head pokes out from behind the door, his hair wet and his eyes shining. “We’re gonna take off soon. Might wanna hold on cause of Charles’ driving.”

“Ok.” It’s like I can’t control my feet. I just stand and walk past him, giving him a quick smile and leaving him.

I then interrupt Alex and Lily, loudly stepping down the steps so they sit up. I hear everyone else getting out of the water and Lily can tell something wrong immediately.

“Could you get me some water?” She turns to Alex who gives her a quizzical look.

“You can’t do it yours-” She gives him another look which he immediately understands. Alex leaves quickly and Lily hurries over to me. I sit with my knees to my chest as she puts her hand on my arm.

“What happened? For real this time, what’s wrong?”

I look up at her, our friends walking past and up to the kitchen. I try to say it but I just groan and shove my face into my knees, “Y/n!”

I mumble it but she pokes my face so I look back up at her. I take a breath and force it out, “Lando kissed me.” And then she screams.

I shove my hand over her mouth so fast that her scream is muffled. We practically wrestle as she tries to get my hand free, “Lily!” She licks my hand and I gasp, pulling it off her.

“I’ll stop! I’ll stop!” She shuts her mouth and sits on her feet, staring at me, “We saw him last night… He looked drunk and completely in a different world.”

I groan into my hands, laying back on the cushion, “We were drunk! Sort of… We had a great day and it was actually fun like the type of thing friends do.” she nods at my words, “But then we were on the beach drinking and joking and he just… kissed me.”

Lily leans in, whispering, “Did you kiss him back?”

I bite my lip at the memory, nodding slowly. She screams again. I lay face down on the cushion as she taps my shoulder repeatedly and the boat starts to move. “Was it like a peck or make out?”

My cheeks get red so she already knows the answer, “Who stopped it?”

“Me? I think.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes… God, Lily!” she’s smiling at me again, “He’s a good kisser. Also please don’t tell anyone! Especially the girls. I just don’t want it getting around or making anything awkward.”

“Of course I won’t! Even Alex, I promise.” she attaches her pinky to mine and grins, “I have so many questions and we will talk about this later but I have one thing I need to ask.”

I sigh, “Go ahead.”

“Do you want it to happen again?” I think I'm going to be sick.

⋆༺

LANDO

I find Lily and Y/n at the front, Y/n looks panicked at my appearance. “Can I talk to you?” She looks at me, then Lily.

I actually think she’s going to jump off the boat to avoid talking to me. But instead she goes for a quicker route, “I gotta pee.” I roll my eyes as she runs inside, slipping a bit at the wet deck.

Lily and I both watch her run, she just blinks and shrugs, “Good luck with that one.” She probably told Lily and it’s making me ultra aware that she knows I kissed her friend.

I settle back inside on the couch, listening to Charles tell a story while my eyes are completely distracted by Y/n laughing with her friends and eating raspberries.

I need to talk to her. She’s got a good poker face when she isn’t blushing and it’s practically impossible to get her alone.

“What about you, Lando? The only single one left!” Alex laughs and nudges my arm.

I laugh awkwardly, “Right.” I know the girls can hear this and I don’t want it to continue.

“So… how many models are you talking to?” Carlos asks as I scratch the back of my neck.

I shift my gaze to Y/n, who’s looks frustratingly good with her back arched, her elbows on the counter, and her eyes trying not to meet mine.

I run my tongue over my teeth and look back at Carlos, “You really wanna make that joke when your girlfriends a model, Sainz?” His face drops immediately and he punches my arm.

Charles and Pierre are crying laughing, “You two really wanna laugh?” They shut up real quick which makes me hear Y/n’s laugh.

It makes me smile and as soon as I realize why, I stop. “What about that girl you were debating on bringing?” Pierre snaps back fast.

“Hey, I was drunk and-”

“Pussy whipped!” Pierre coughs as Kika throws a raspberry at his head.

My friends start a new conversation (per the girls request) and move it out to the deck, Charles and Pierre arguing in french while they drive. I watch Y/n excuse herself and slip inside, and I follow.

I corner her outside the bathroom, her hands brushing through her half dried hair. She freezes, “Excuse me.”

She tries to walk past but I don’t let her. “Did I overstep?” She looks at me confused still, “Because I feel like an asshole.”

“No… You didn’t overstep.”

I groan, placing my hand next to her head against the wall, “So then talk to me.”

She crosses her arms, “I don’t want to.”

“Tough shit. You kissed me back.”

“I wish I didn’t.” She’s not looking me in my eyes and I haven’t been able to forget how she kissed me so I know she’s lying.

I step closer, “Try again, pretty.”

She looks up at me, her mouth pouty and her eyes big. “It was a mistake…”

I frown, “Mistakes can happen more than once.”

“Not this kind.” She lets out a breath, “I can’t stand you.”

“So use me.”

She opens her mouth, then shuts it. Y/n bites her lip and it takes everything in me not to physically whine. “You’re not mine to use.”

“I’m offering.”

“I’m rejecting.” that hurts way more than I expected.

“I’ll get on my knees.” Her hand goes to my arm that’s braced against the wall, her touch is soft and makes me weak.

I swallow and she clocks it instantly. “Go on, then.” I think I'm dreaming, but I’m not one to pinch myself.

I slowly sink to my knees, my hand trailing down the side of her body. I didn’t think she’d say yes. Right here? Where anyone could find us? I’ve never been more down for anything in my entire life.

She smiles, cute and innocent as if i’m not kneeling in front of her. God she’s beautiful. Her tanned leg moves to my shoulder and just as I think she’s about to pull me in, she shoves me back down.

I stare at her from my new place on the floor, her smile much wider now. She gets down to my level as I try to pull myself back up, she pushes me back down. “In your dreams, Norris.”

I breathe out as she walks up the stairs, my view cushioning the embarrassment I feel, “Trust me, you will be.”

⋆༺

YOU

My lovely friends have decided to have another lovely couples night. I honestly am excited to have a moment of peace after today's day.

I get all dressed up in my favorite outfit. A red cocktail dress that fits like a glove, white heels, and my hair wavy and salty.

I’m in a great mood, it’s the type of mood where i’m avoiding everything but am by the ocean so I can’t be sad! Everything is nice and well until I get turned away at the restaurant.

It’s the one place close to the hotel that I haven’t been, “I’m sorry, there just isn’t any table for tonight.”

So it appears that every single person has decided to settle down and wallow in self pity at this restaurant, “Please!”

“I’m sorry, we just can’t have you sit unless you have another-”

I hear him swear before I see him. He’s dressed up too, arguing with another waiter as he sets eyes on me, “Great.”

Lando’s face below me flashes in my mind as he looks at me as if he wishes I was anybody else, “I’ll eat with her.”

“Don’t seem so happy.” I cross my arms, my clutch in my hand as he walks closer.

“My beautiful date.” The word beautiful makes me drop my annoyed expression and I'm lucky he’s looking at the hostess, “One table, for two, please.”

We’re shown our table, given water and ordered drinks, but I refuse to talk first. Lando seems to have the same idea, sipping his drink and looking out at the dark water.

Still, He clears his throat and looks at me. His jacket is hung over the chair, a curl falling just perfectly down, and with his green eyes in the moonlight, he looks like a prince.

“Have a good day, pretty?”

“Are you small talking me now, Norris?”

His brow quirks as he brings his glass to his lips, “You’ve been ignoring me all day, what else am I supposed to say? Would you rather me beg?”

Maybe I would. “I saw Kika push you into the water today. You hit your head?” I fake pity, pouting.

“I must have because suddenly I'm imagining a very pretty girl run her very pretty hands through my hair.” He sits up straighter, “Hm… must be the head injury.”

I thought I would be more upset because of our dining situation. But I find myself smiling as he teases me. We order and he does the oddest thing… he starts asking me about my life.

“I know you. I’ve been around you. I’ve kissed you. Yet I don’t even know where you live.” I’m surprised but should I be? Just because I didn’t like him, doesn’t mean I didn’t laugh at his jokes.

So we start talking. And for about an hour and a half, it’s all we do. We talk with a side of food and a beautiful view. We talk about Formula 1, we talk about my work, we talk about my hair, we talk about his family.

He asks me about my pets and he doesn’t complain when I make a jab at his food which is plain as can be.

It’s the first time that I really believe we could be friends. It’s when I truly see the potential that my friends have seen. “We were too alike.” I snap my fingers together, swirling my pasta, “That’s why I hated you.”

“So you hated yourself? That’s quite harsh, pretty.” He’s finished his food, and is lounging in his chair. The restaurant is almost empty, we could sit wherever we’d like and leave too, but I keep talking.

“No. I mean you just clashed with me because two of the same personality is too much.”

“I think I think ‘too much’. Has me enjoying our date.”

I shake my head, “Not a date.”

“Totally a date.” He winks and I drop the subject.

“I think I didn’t like you because I liked you.” He says it so casually that I almost don’t understand it.

“What?”

“I really like you.” He nods and I wonder how many glasses of wine he’s had, “Y/n, i’m not drunk. I’m just honest. Don’t freak out i’m not gonna get down on one knee…” this makes him smirk, “Or two!”

“You can’t just dislike someone because you fancy them!”

“I don’t fancy you! I just… like you. I like the way you are around me and I really liked messing with you. You’re easy to frustrate.”

“I am not!” He raises a brow and I shut my mouth.

“Let’s get going… everyone’s party already at the beach club. You wouldn’t want to miss your local lovers.”

“Um… are you dining and dashing? We have to pay.” He scoffs. Actually scoffs at me!

“I already did. Come on.” He takes my bag and walks out.

At my request, Mamma mia plays from his phone as we walk down the path next to the beach. I spin around with my heels in my hand and my hair in my face. “Why can’t I live on an island!?”

“Why can’t you?”

I eye him, “I’ll live on an island when you buy me one.”

“Woah- I bought you dinner and you just started to tolerate me… Save the island for next week.” I smile and almost trip over something that hisses.

“Aw!” I practically scream and kneel down to it. It’s a tiny cat, orange and brown and rubbing against my outstretched hand, “Oh my god!”

“It’s gonna bite you.” I just roll my eyes and tug at his pant leg to join me.

The cat takes to him immediately, rubbing up against his leg and clawing up to his chest. I laugh as it falls off and comes back to me, “Cutie…”

I scratch its ear with my nicely done nails which he clearly appreciates. He starts licking my hand and I wish I had something to feed him. A small smile settles on my lips as the cool breeze brushes back my hair.

I look up to see Lando staring at me. “I really did mean it, when I said you were beautiful.” I feel a little sick at his words. The good kind of sick. The butterflies kind of sick.

The cat runs away when someone joins us on the path and I stand with him, “We should hurry, party time.”

⋆༺

LANDO

She left her purse in my room. We were heading back and I had to put down my jacket so we stopped in my room.

She left her bag which explains why she’s standing at my door in a matching pajama set and hotel slippers on her feet

“I need my mints.” She pushes past me and looks around for it. I help her because I have no idea where she put it either.

She had guys buy her drinks all night. You have no idea how much it killed me to see them all over her as if she wasn’t having dinner with me an hour before.

“Your room is a mess.” she says as she tears apart my nicely made bed.

“You’re tipsy, huh?”

She giggles as I lean against the door frame. She falls on my bed and looks up at the ceiling, “Guys love me!”

I shake my head and yawn. I finally find her bag, it’s in the bathroom for some reason and when I come back into my room to hand her it, she’s passed out on my bed.

“Y/n!” I shake her a bit but she only slaps my hand away, “You are so close to being in the correct bed! I found your purse.”

Her eyes open slightly, then she rolls over and moans louder, “Shh!” Then she’s out like a light. I hear her soft breathing and rustling around as I give up and sit next to her.

“I’m not sleeping on the couch!” I tell her but I know she’s already asleep.

She looks oddly peaceful. She looks tan and happy, even asleep on my bed. I accept my fate quicker than I probably should have, “Goodnight, then, pretty.” Flipping off the lights and pulling the blanket over her, I slip next to her and push a pillow in between us.

I don’t want her to wake up screaming after all.

I see her outline in the dark, the weight of someone sharing my bed, and the smell of her perfume I know is going to be there tomorrow. I see her, and curse myself.

She really is beautiful.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

64 / 4.1k / soap soulmate au, final part

...

"You doing okay?"

Hearing Graves’ voice knocks what little breath you had out of your lungs. It's been months, but that's him. Your old boss. You never thought you'd hear his voice again.

"I've been better," you say finally. "Been awhile."

"Yeah, it has," he says. "Wish you'd've called me to catch up sometime, rather than under the circumstances. You don't sound too banged up. They treat you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't ask how you feel. I asked if they roughed you up."

You feel your own temper shorten in response. "I need you to call KorTac off."

There's a pause. You can imagine his frowning face, the way he's thinking that one over. "I'll take that under advisement," he finally says, but you can tell he's not going to do what you ask of him. "Puttin' me in a predicament here, kid. You're giving those boys a hard time, and here I thought I was helping you out. Paying your bail, so to speak."

"It’s more complicated than that."

"Always is. Let’s just have you dropped off back on base with us. You can clean yourself up and we’ll talk."

He waits for your crisp yes, sir, but it never comes.

He speaks again. "You got somewhere else to be?"

"I can't go back."

"Can't or won't? You got something you ain't tellin me, soldier?"

"I said I can't go back. And I'm not your soldier anymore. You're not my boss. I don't work for you."

"You know Shadows don't leave one of our own behind. Not to rot in some CIA prison cell. So lose the attitude," he says, voice like iron. "This ain't a good time to play games, kid. You're comin' back with me because I spent a pretty penny on you. You owe me. You have your personal business, fine. Come on back to base and let's talk this out face to face before you go makin' any hasty decisions."

You're so frustrated it's hard to form words. You should be grateful. You know that. Graves doesn’t pretend to care about his men. He cares enough to lead from the front. But you met your soulmate, and you can’t act like it didn't change you. You need to make things right. You also can’t exactly tell Graves you kind of sold him out.

"Hey. Focus up." He doesn't raise his voice to a command. Still, the order is in his voice, and you have been long trained to follow your commander's orders. Then he sighs. "What happened to you, kid?"

"You betrayed the 141. You killed innocent people in Las Almas, looking for them."

You can almost hear his jaw working behind his clenched teeth, the muscles in his face tight. He does not allow this kind of disrespect. "You think I like what I had to do? General Shepherd's orders were clear. We followed them. 141 did not." He huffs out a sigh. "I didn't enjoy it. But that's the job. You of all people know that."

You swallow. "You told us they were our brothers. You killed innocent people, Commander. Johnny said he saw you do it--"

"Johnny?" Grave's voice rises. "You on a first name basis with Soap now?"

"We all know what happened in Las Almas," you retort. Your skin goes hot at the way he says Johnny's name. "I won't work for Shepherd anymore after that. I won't fucking do it."

"Don't pull that with me." The warning is written in his voice. This isn't like you. To the Shadows, you’re calm. Cold. You don't lose your temper. You don't talk back. Especially not to Graves. "You think you can walk away at the drop of a hat just because you don't agree with an order? It doesn't work like that. You follow an order, even if you don't like it, even if it pisses you off. You don't get to decide what you think is right or wrong to carry out. When I give you an order, you follow it. That's your job. Your loyalty is with me. Not with the 141."

"I did my job."

"Then act like it," he snaps. "Stop acting like I'm some evil bastard out here. I made the only choice I could. Task Force 141 was not supposed to be there. They knew my orders, and what did they do? They came after my men, went behind my back, screwed us over. We did what we had to. You wanna be pissed at someone? Be pissed at them."

You glare down at the ice, but say nothing.

"You know I'm right." He knows you. He's getting to you. "And you know what else I find interesting? You don't seem a bit surprised to hear me alive." His voice is too casual and sharp as a knife. "Didn't you get the memo? Did no one forward you my obituary, soldier?"

You stiffen. You're not supposed to know he's alive.

"You're an awful liar. Always have been." He pauses for a long moment. "It ain't easy, surviving against the 141 if they want you dead. You know how I managed it, soldier?"

Yes. "No,” you retort. “And stop calling me that. I'm not your soldier. I don't work for you anymore."

"The hell you aren't. Maybe you're not on the payroll anymore, and maybe you're no longer under my command, but once a Shadow, always a Shadow. That makes you my responsibility. And my goddamn headache." Something shuffles on the other end of the line. "You know exactly what I'm willing to do to keep one of my Shadows safe. But if you're so keen on turning yourself in, fine. I'll have you in front of Shepherd's desk first thing tomorrow. Is that what you want? You know Soap and Ghost put Shadows in the ground that night in Las Almas."

"Shadows tried to put Johnny and Ghost in the ground first."

"This isn't about who shot first. This is about you." His voice is dangerously low, but he keeps his temper in check. Then he huffs a laugh. "You keep callin’ him Johnny. Makes my brain itch." Johnny MacTavish. John MacTavish. Yeah, that's it. "I'll be damned," he mutters.

You touch your exposed soulmark compulsively as if to hide it. Most soldiers hide theirs, but yours has always been tough to cover up. He's seen it more than a few times.

"Got you right out from under my fuckin' nose."

Your stomach tightens. You feel too exposed, like suddenly he’s putting the story together--how 141 got in.

"Shoulda known. Shoulda known. You know the military has a registry for this shit. There are rules. What's wrong with you?"

"I made a mistake," you mutter.

That might be the funniest thing he ever heard. And he's heard some good jokes. "You don't make mistakes, kiddo. You never have. That's not how I trained you." He's right, and you know it. "But hey. Guess it's true what they say about it."

"What?"

"Soulbonds. Make you take your best-laid plans and raze ‘em. Full scorched earth.”

“This isn’t about that. I’m making this decision on my own.”

“You think?” He takes a puff on his cigarette. “I don’t. I don't blame you, either. You sure as hell fought it as best you could. Didn't give in to save your own life. If that's not the soulbond making your decision for you, soldier, I don't know what is."

You look up at the sky. For all the time you spent working with Graves, that past version of you might as well be dead. Maybe that’s the grave you’ve been digging. "I can't work for Shepherd anymore. I won't do it."

"You're a good soldier, 86. You were loyal. I still think you're loyal, even if I'm not who you're loyal to," he finally says. His voice is still calm. It doesn't make you feel any better. "You know if you choose to walk away from this, the next time we meet might well be as enemies."

"Then I guess we won't meet again, sir."

He says nothing. Then he lets out a long huff. You really are going to do him dirty. You can hear his scowl. "That's a damn shame, kid. But you have more of a spine than I gave you credit for," he says. There's a tone of reluctant respect to it. That's as close as you're going to get to a compliment from him now. "You're a loose end, then. You'd best stay well out of the way. Mine and Shepherd's. I hope you're not making the wrong choice, 86," he says quietly. "I really hope you're not."

"It’s out of your hands now. And pay KorTac," you add. "Pay my squad. They did their job."

That makes him scoff. "Now why would I do that? You might be a traitor, but you're still my investment. You were worth more on my payroll than theirs, and that’s a fact I intend to maintain."

"You owe me," you remind him.

"Don't push your luck," he warns. "You're an asset. You don’t get the privileges of rank anymore. But, well..." He sighs. You imagine him with his heels kicked back on his desk, cigarette in hand. "I’ll tell you what. I’m in a charitable mood. I'll pay them off. I'm a man of my word when the time comes to pay off my debts. Hell, I’ll even throw in a tip for a job well done." Despite the annoyance in his voice, you don't doubt he'll do just that. "But that doesn’t mean I trust you anymore. I trusted you once, and you went rogue. I let you go now, that means I expect you to keep my secrets. Don't you go singing if Shepherd puts you in a chair. You got that?"

You glance up out of the corner of your eye at Soap, whose hands are still clenched in tight fists at his sides. "If Shepherd puts me in a chair, he's the one who's gonna sing. Not me."

Graves chuckles. "You're a good soldier, 86, but you can't take on an old war dog like Shepherd. Leave that to someone more qualified."

"Like who? You?"

"As I said, you best steer clear. I don't want to hear your name again." His voice hardens, and you hear your old commander again. "Good luck, kid. You'll need it. And give Soap hell."

You toss the phone back to Horangi. He listens to what Graves has to say. Then, eyes meeting yours for a moment, he wordlessly moves out away from the river, leaving you weary with relief. It's over. Finally.

Soap watches him disappear into the trees. Then, he looks back at you, alone and shivering on the ice. You look half-dead, bleeding, and your lips are near blue. He wants to make his way to you, but the ice is scarcely holding you. It won't hold him, too.

"Oi," Soap calls. His voice is rough with anxiety. "Get over here. You're gonnae freeze to death even if you don't fall through."

You blink up at him. Standing in the rising sun the way he is now, he looks like someone’s guardian angel. Yours? You'd like very much to be wrapped in his wings.

You make your way over to the bank, but the rocky ledge up is slippery and icy. Behind you, between the ice where you're standing and the bank, there's a yawning gap. To your left, there's a bridge, but snow has already melted off the surface of the ice, and it looks thin. "There's no way up," you call. "But downriver..."

"No’ a chance in hell I’m going to let you try to cross that," Soap says as he approaches the edge. "You'll be swept away and drown, hen. You're not in any condition to swim, and even if you were, that river's too bloody fast to risk it."

"Then what do you suggest?"

His eyes sweep over the river once more. It's wide; too wide to attempt a jump across. The ice has fallen in, leaving it almost impossible to make it to the bank. It isn't safe. The longer you stand there, the more the ice cracks under you. He admires your guts for putting yourself on the line like that to get back to him, but damn you. His blood pressure has never been higher.

Soap throws off his pack and slings his gear onto the bank. "I'll pull you up."

"But..."

"But nothing." With the adrenaline still pumping through his system, Soap thinks nothing of the risk of the bank collapsing under you both with his added weight. The only thing on his mind is getting you back in one piece. "We both know damn well, if I was the one on the ice now, you'd already be down there trying to help me, so for once, just shut up and let me help you."

Can't argue with that.

He pulls out an ice hook--mountaineering equipment; he was prepared to climb this mission, luckily--and offers it to you.

You toss the grenade as far as you can in the opposite direction. Then you raise your hands to grasp the rope. He's holding the sharp end and giving you the handle. You try to keep hold, but as he lifts, your bloodied hands slip just as the grenade explodes nearby, too close, spiderwebbing the ice with a final crack.

You land hard, break through, and disappear under the freezing water.

Soap has never known panic faster than when he sees you go under.

He dives after you. He has to get you back to the surface before whatever air you had in your lungs gives out. Your survival is his survival.

He finds you in the rushing black abyss when your fingers hook around his sleeve. Wrapping his hands around your arms, Soap anchors you to his chest.

You come to in his arms. You're colder than you ever have been in your life. Your fingertips tingle in pain and numbness. He's carrying you ashore somehow--far downriver, thinner ice--and he ducks into an old cabin with you in his arms.

Soap kicks the door shut behind him and moves into the cabin to set you on the floor, propping your back against the wall. His hands work fast as he pulls out his knife to cut away your soaked thermal clothes and gear. You dip in and out of consciousness until he wads up a fistful of gauze and packs it into your side wound. The sudden pain chokes you. Then a wave of nausea washes over you. You’d like nothing more than to tell him where precisely he can shove that gauze, but you’re too lightheaded.

"You with me, hen?" His gruff voice wavers. "I need you to stay awake."

He gathers you up in his arms and lifts you into his lap. It's a tight fit, wedged underneath the frosty window and between a table and an upturned stool. You register the warmth of his skin on yours and dimly realize he's stripped both of you almost bare, huddling around you to prevent hypothermia.

You soak up Soap’s body heat instantly. He's a furnace, and he needs to be, given the state you're in. He tucks you as close as he can. You're both shivering, but he doesn't care. He can be cold as long as you're warm. His broad body shields you from the drafts leaking into the decrepit cabin.

"No, no, eyes open." He tilts your face up as your eyes flutter. "Don't go passin' out on me."

You gaze up at him in your stupor. Maybe it's the blood loss, but even through your own pain and frustration, he's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

"You have really odd eyes," you mutter. "Like blueberry soft serve."

Oh, you're definitely delirious. Maybe concussed.

But he can't deny the look you're giving him right now makes his stomach flip. The sight of you in his lap, your frost-scorched fingers wrapped idly around his ID tag and staring up at him like he's just pulled the moon out of the sky for you... it's the first time he’s seen you with your guard down.

He swallows and keeps you pressed against his skin. There’s a lot of blood. He can’t tell what’s yours and what isn’t. "You're in no shape to flatter me."

You hum, your fingers dabbing idly at a smear of blood on his chest.

He doesn't move to stop you. Instead, his eyes flick down to your hand. Your fingers leave a trail of sparks over everywhere you touch.

With a soft sigh, Soap catches your wrist. "Quit it, hen."

"Quit what?"

"Teasin'. Makin' me wish you'd put those hands to other uses," he says, voice quiet and rough. It's just you and him in the little cabin. The world is far away. His thumb rubs against the inside of your wrist, trying to bring some warmth back into your skin. "You're in no shape to be feelin' me up, either."

Your head lolls against his shoulder. "Maybe it's the perfect time. Maybe we won't get another time."

Hearing you say that twists his insides into knots. He leans down to rest his forehead against yours. "Maybe you just need to shut up and let me take care of you. Don't talk like that." His voice leaves no room for argument. He tightens his grip on you, pressing you closer as if he can somehow press that into your skin by sheer will alone. "There'll be plenty of times for you to get your hands on me."

"Mm." You tuck into him tighter. You'd be mortified with yourself if you weren't half-dead from blood loss. "Sorry."

He exhales into your hair, pressing chaste kisses there.

You're practically in his lap, the two of you tangled into each other from head to foot in the space under the window. He's surrounded by the smell of you. It's a soothing presence in all that surrounds him.

He shouldn't want to touch you, shouldn't want to take advantage of your weakness--but the thought of having you so open and wanting, of you willingly in his arms, makes something in him ache. Makes the selfish parts of him scream.

"You're a pain in my arse," he says. He focuses on taking inventory of your wounds, brushing over your arms with his touch to assess the damage. "You gonnae bleed out on me?"

You shiver a little as he drags you closer by your bare thigh. "Wouldn't be the worst way to go."

"Oi," he snaps in warning. He slides his hand up your side, checking for bleeding. It’s just as much a caress over your bare skin. He has to ignore how his skin tingles every time the curve of your body slides against his in that tantalizing way. Something in his lower belly tightens. "You don't get to tap out after makin' me go through all this trouble for you. You're livin' through tonight or else."

"Or else what?"

"Or else." He moves his hand up to the base of your throat, his large, calloused fingers wrapping around your neck and tilting your chin up to look at him. He fixes his blue eyes on yours to take in the dazed expression on your face. "I'll drag your arse out of hell and tan it until you can't sit right."

You're too weary to laugh, but you rest your scuffed cheek on his thumb, and it pushes your lips into a smirk. "All for me?"

"Aye. Hell of a lot more trouble than your pretty face should be worth."

You pull free and rest your head on his shoulder again. "Where do you live?"

"Glasgow," he says. "Not sure I should be tellin' you that."

You trace his chest around the chain of his ID tag. So many muscles. "Probably not."

"And what about you? Do I get to know?"

"No. Maybe. If we get out of here."

"Yeah? Well, you're not goin' anywhere with this wound. Bleedin' out, nearly froze to death, and still mouthin' off. No idea how to shut up and be good." He looks down at the injury, assessing how bad it really is in the dim light of the cabin. "You lost a lot of blood. I bet you feel tired." He brushes your hair off your face. "Stay awake a bit longer. The boys'll be here soon."

"I shouldn't," you mutter.

Soap doesn't miss the slurring of your words. He knew the blood loss would affect you, but he was hoping for more time before he had to really worry. "Shouldn't stay? Too late to get away from me now," he says, trying to keep his tone casual. Your skin is too cold for comfort. The gauze in your wound soaking through with blood can't mean anything good. "I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Sure as hell not letting you out of my sight. You've got a lot to repay me for."

You try to keep your eyes open. Every blink is more sluggish than the last. "Like what?"

"Runnin' away and makin' me chase after you, for one. Puttin' yourself in the line of fire for me, second. Takin' a swim in a frozen river. Scared me to death." He presses his lips to the crown of your head, a gentle, chaste touch at odds with the possessive, dominating instinct he can feel creeping into his thoughts. You're vulnerable right now, something he should never want, but part of him wonders if he’d ever have caught up with you without this. "Aye, you owe me. First thing we do once you're patched up? We have a long talk. We have a whole hell of a lot we need to say to one another. And you'll answer every question I ask you."

"I dunno if you'll like the stuff I say," you mutter.

"Hardly matters. You’re plenty keen on spittin’ fire at me as it is. No reason you can’t keep tellin’ me everything I don’t want tae hear."

Another shiver wracks your body.

Soap rubs your arms. "You gotta give your word you stay awake for me, aye? Stay here."

His radio beeps nearby. You huff. "Fine."

"Fine." He leans over to grab his radio and tries to keep an arm around your shoulders to keep you warm as he does. He keeps you cradled against his chest as he responds to Price.

"Soap here."

You don't hear the conversation. Instead, you listen to Soap's voice vibrate through his chest. He speaks to Price in hushed tones, talking about your condition and the team's ETA.

Price has a laundry list of questions, but Soap manages to wrangle them into holding off until they have everyone back on base. No sense exhausting you on a mission that's already been a shitshow. Finally, they're done. Soap lets the radio go to focus entirely on you again. "Still with me?"

"How long do we have?"

"Shouldn't be too much longer," he says. He checks your side again. The coldness of the air has soaked into the wet gauze. You shiver again. It makes something in him ache. "ETA's about ten minutes out."

You pull his lips down to yours and kiss him.

He's surprised, but he doesn't pull back--not from you. He lets you kiss him. Your taste seeps into his brain and turns all rational thought to white noise. One hand cups your jaw with a surprising gentleness, and the other slides behind your waist to keep you against his body. He's gentle--you need to be handled with care right now.

He pulls back before he loses himself in the desire to deepen the kiss. His eyes search your face, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

"You're lucky you're injured," he murmurs. "Or you'd be in a very different kind of trouble right now."

You shiver, but not with the cold. Just that one kiss has you feeling much warmer. You touch your name where it's written on his arm. Then you curl your fingers around the back of his neck and pull yourself closer. "Hold onto that thought for later," you murmur. "Give me something to wait for."

Then you kiss him again.

...

← previous part / [part 13] / epilogue →

part 1 / more Soap / masterlist

thank you <3

[faith-forgxtten-land]

Come to Bed | Donatello

this started with the idea of seducing donnie into healthy sleeping patterns and then just. spiralled from there. i didn't really have a specific iteration in mind but reading it back, it definitely fits bayverse most, i think, so that's what i'll categorise it under!

warnings: NSFW, swearing, general filthiness? gender neutral reader, everyone is 18+!!

summary: there is only one way to get donnie to come to bed (two if you count blackmail)

word count: 2411

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It’s nearly 3am and your eyelids feel heavy, eyes glassy and beginning to ache just a little, and Donnie is still not in bed. You look at the empty space beside you, cold and untouched, and kick the covers off your bare legs. The air is cool, goosebumps raising the moment you abandon the comfort of bed, and you almost regret getting up as your feet hit the freezing floor.

Donnie is so lucky you love him and care for his health.

He's exactly where you'd left him hours before, sitting hunched over a desk in his lab, and you wonder briefly if turtles with their shells can suffer the same complications as humans with poor posture. Perhaps you'll force him to join you and Mikey for your bi-weekly yoga sessions. “Donnie?”

The terrapin doesn't so much as flinch, instead burying his face further into a screen that is already way too close to his face. Oh, his prescription is definitely going to need updating soon, you think amusedly. You clear your throat, attempting your best grumpy Raph impersonation. “Oi, four-eyes.”

Now Donnie does flinch, beak nearly crashing into his monitor, glasses slipping as he salvages his precious technology from being assaulted by his face and spinning in his seat to glower at whoever dared disturb him. He relaxes when he realises it's just you, shooting you a scowl that's devoid of any real heat. “You need to stop doing that voice, it's creepy.”

You grin at him, noting the exact moment he registers what you're wearing – or, rather, what you're not wearing. His eyes go wide and his lips part, scowl melting like ice doused in salt. He swallows thickly. “You're meant to be a ninja,” you tease, stepping slowly into his space and letting his hands fall to your waist before they curl around your back as he pulls you close, palms flattening against your spine. “You can't hear when one measly human is behind you?”

“You are so mean to me,” Donnie says instead of answering.

“We both know you like it. Besides,” you look down at your naked skin, his own eyes following your pointed gaze eagerly. “I think I'm being pretty kind, actually. Someone was meant to come to bed three hours ago and ravish me, but apparently, I'm not more interesting than,” you peer over his shoulder as best you can, squinting at the tiny squiggles. Lips pursed, you look at your boyfriend flatly, not bothering to finish your sentence.

“I can explain.”

“World of Warcraft? Really, Donatello?”

He winces at the full name. “I wasn’t playing for long,” he defends himself. “I’ve been looking over some things Leo asked for since this morning, I was just taking a break.”

“Taking a break means coming to bed and not staring at a screen for even longer.” Softer, you add, “I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”

You run your hands up the bumpy skin of his muscled arms, over scars and rough tissue that you’ve pressed kisses to countless times, to rest upon his shoulders. A small part of you is resentful, but the larger, kinder part of you is concerned; his eyes are bloodshot to the extreme, and exhaustion is etched deep into the lines of his face. You dig your nails in and massage a little roughly, feeling those worried knots and doing your best to soothe them with gentle palms.

It hits him then, just exactly what he’d missed out on by getting caught up, and his shoulders sag under the tender weight of your caress, twitchy energy that can keep him up for days deserting him instantly. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly.

You smile at him, fond and warm, one hand trailing upwards to cup his jaw. “It’s okay.” His skin is something you’ll never get tired of touching, you think, as you rub your thumb over the swell of his cheek. You pinch him a little, coy and mean the way you know he loves, before soothing it with a whisper of a kiss when he hisses playfully. “Although, you’ll have to make it up to me.”

“And what is my punishment?” he asks dryly, guilt pushed aside to indulge in your teasing as you lean closer to hide your smirk in the crook of his neck.

“You’ll be in bed by 11 p.m. sharp every night for the next week.” You can tell an objection is on the tip of his tongue, and you fix your teeth along his throat in warning. “I’ve already cleared everything with Splinter and Leo.” 

Donnie sighs both in pleasure and in resignation. “Are you trying to seduce me into having healthy sleeping patterns?”

You start to kiss his neck, soft grazes of your lips against his scaled skin. “Maybe. Is it working?”

“Well—”

“If the answer isn’t yes, I’ll be very offended and I’ll be forced to dump you,” you add airily, tongue flicking leisurely over his rapid pulse. “You're incredibly lucky I haven't already for ditching me for World of fucking Warcraft.”

“Oh, blackmail too. Lucky me,” Donnie mutters, but it’s full of mirth and he doesn't push his luck any further.

You grin against his skin, and you grin even wider when he starts as your teeth scrape along the column of his throat. His hands have a bruising grip on your hips, and you bite down harder just to feel his grip tighten.

“You’re such a tease,” he whines, unable to stop himself bucking up into you. His breathing has turned to panting, short and desperate gasps that make heat curl in your stomach, and you trail your nails down the keratin of his plastron slowly.

“You love it,” you murmur coyly, fingers brushing against the elastic of his waistband mischievously. “And you deserve it.”

Donnie curses loudly, head falling back as you pull on that elastic just to let it snap back against him. His pants are soaking, and you feel that familiar rush of smug satisfaction as you slot your knee between his thighs. It does terrible things to your ego seeing him like this; it makes you drunk and dizzy seeing him drenched and needy for you, and you groan under your breath as he grinds against you. 

“Please,” he whimpers.

You hum as casually as you can. “Please what?”

“Fuck, please, I need you—” He cuts himself off with a loud cry of your name as you slide two fingers past his waistband and into his dripping cloaca.

“Keep going.”

He’s quick to turn into a blubbering mess, drool running down his chin and words slurring as he babbles and begs you to continue finger-fucking him. “Don’t stop, please—yes, yes, right there, there, fuck—”

Your fingers pump in and out, scissoring inside him at a harsh pace you know he likes. He’s sopping wet but that doesn’t stop the tiny spikes of pain mixing deliriously with pleasure as you stretch him wide without warning. You can feel his slick coating your hand, running down your skin and over your knuckles, and he only gushes more when you add a third digit.

“Faster, faster,” he chants shakily, almost sobbing when you slow instead. 

“You’re so tight, baby,” you purr. “I wouldn’t wanna hurt you.”

He’s definitely sobbing now. “I can take it, please, please.”

“Oh?” You curl your fingers and fuck him harder and faster, just the way he wants. His cock is there, thick and heavy and ready to drop, and he shudders as you brush softly against it.

His voice is choked as he calls your name again. "Gonna drop, please–”

Your laugh is light and a little cruel and it makes him wail, the sound overflowing with need and desperation. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh god,” Donnie gasps as your fingers rub along his length still tucked inside, a fresh wave of slick trickling down to your wrist.

“I would’ve been kind,” you tell him nonchalantly, kissing his temple and huffing another laugh when he can’t stop his hips from grinding into you, body begging you to bury your fingers deeper inside him. “But you’ve been such a bad boy.”

He drops with a guttural groan followed by a pathetic whimper, gasping apologies feebly.

You sigh and pull your hand back, your resolve faltering just a little when Donnie whines and cries louder at the action. “You’re being very bad tonight, baby.”

He’s still wearing his pants and you roll your lips to hide a smile as he tugs them down frantically, his cock finally free in the air. His hands grip the arms of his chair so hard that you swear you hear them creak, desperate to touch himself but not wanting to disobey you any further. It’s a bit late to play innocent and good now, and you shoot him an unimpressed look that makes his jaw clench. “Please,” Donnie breathes.

Your hand is still soaked, and you watch him watch you as you raise your fingers to your lips, sticky tendrils trembling as you rub your fingertips together before parting them slowly. Eyes fixed on his, you glide your tongue over his slick, sucking gently and exhaling quietly at the flavour that blooms over your tastebuds. The arms of the chair are definitely creaking now, and you smile coyly as his cock twitches.

“Please.”

As much as you love teasing him into a pathetic frenzy, you remember his weary eyes and decide to put him out of his misery. There’ll be plenty of time to punish Donnie the way he deserves later – lots of edging and whining and begging and very little relief. For now, you’ll give him what he wants.

You kneel between his legs, coquettish as you glance up at him through your lashes; he’s working his jaw, teeth clenched and eyes darting wildly as he barely holds himself together. Grasping his hard cock in your hand, slick and heavy, you begin to pump slowly.

The chirps and churrs that escape him are whining and full of ecstasy, his eyes fluttering as you squeeze your palms around his thick length, hands twisting with an obscene squelch at every stroke. The lab is quiet apart from the wet pumping and his throaty groans, and you wonder if his moaning will be loud enough to wake the others. It wouldn’t surprise you, and the thought makes your hand move faster as you rub your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock.

Donnie can’t stop the stutter of his hips, head falling back. “Fuck.” He swears louder as your lips suckle his tip, your name a rasping prayer spilling from his mouth. You flick your tongue, tasting the slightly bitter flavour of his precum and just how soaked he is, evidence of what you do to him coating your face, and he cries noisily when you suddenly take another few inches into your mouth and swallow around him. He’s hitting the back of your throat, and he feels like he’s about to faint from how tight and warm you feel.

A wave of embarrassment hits him as you pull back and smirk, his head still pressed against your flirtatious smile while you continue to work him with your hands. “Please,” he begs for what feels like the hundredth time that night.

“You’re so good at begging,” you praise, eyes sparkling when it makes him moan lewdly. Oh, that definitely woke someone up. He’s back to bucking his hips and because you’re so kind, you let him dictate the pace as you continue pumping.

“So close,” he breathes shakily. “I’m so close, please.”

“Please, what?”

His eyes roll back, and the arms of his chair finally give way, crumbling under his crushing grip as impressions of his hands mould into the metal. Donnie doesn’t stop rocking and whimpering. “Please let me come.”

You kiss the head of his cock once more, delighting in the way he tremors at the whisper of touch. “Be a good boy and come for me, Donatello.”

There’s nothing Donnie loves more than being good for you and he shows this by coming undone the second his name leaves your lips, body jolting and convulsing like he's been struck by lightning as you continue to milk his cock while his orgasm wracks through him. Your face is completely covered, ropes of his come painting your skin as he groans pitifully, the sound agonised and mewling. 

It’s almost silent for a few moments, the only noises are Donnie’s wheezing pants and whimpers of oversensitivity, and you watch him quietly. He’s so beautiful like this, blissed out, stress a stranger rather than a constant companion, and you wish you could both stay like this.

The moment is over too soon as the terrapin manages to open his eyes blearily, although they nearly shut again in dizzying satisfaction when he catches sight of your come-smeared cheeks. It’s dripping down your chin, threatening to spill down your neck and to your chest, and a part of you wants to leave it, relishing in the way Donnie is entirely transfixed, but you scoop what you can on your fingers and bring the sticky threads to your mouth instead.

Donnie’s lips part and his breath hitches and it’s your turn to shut your eyes in pleasure, eyes rolling and unable to stop a soft groan as you lick and swallow what he’s given you. “Mean,” he accuses again when you finally open your eyes, and you grin at how faint he sounds.

“Just for you,” you agree and he churrs instinctively, flushing as you snicker. He’s so cute, you think fondly, letting him reach out and grasp you closer, seeking comfort. And so easy.

“I think I need that nap now,” Donnie tells you weakly, and you huff another laugh against his sweaty skin, tasting salt and nuzzling further into him. 

You press a loving kiss to his shoulder and reluctantly pull back. “Shower then bed, come on.” His legs are shaky, and you purse your lips to stop from chuckling as he stumbles like a newborn lamb, begrudgingly relenting to leaning against you. “Poor Bambi,” you tease, brushing your lips against his plastron in a loving caress when he grumbles playfully. 

Hopefully, no one has been awoken by your night-time activities and, if they have, you hope they’re not up and roaming because you’d really rather not have to bump into any of Donnie’s family with his come still coating your face.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 14

Or: a secret Admirer AU

TW: homophic language used due to internalized homophobia

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13

Steve doesn’t know what’s worse, not being able to see the expression on Eddie’s face, or the moment he turns around and he can see it. He looks like Steve just shot his dog. But, wouldn’t Chrissy be the dog in that metaphor? Steve drops it before Robin can somehow sense his train of thought and burst into the room with the sole purpose of punching him.

“So, what?” Eddie asks, voice sharp and angry. “This was all just some joke? Pick on the freak? Make him think a pretty girl actually likes him?”

Any sadness he’d been feeling is wiped off his face now, masked over with a tired sort of rage. It’s tempting to go along with Eddie’s assumptions. Yes, it was all just a joke. Yes, they’d all been laughing behind his back for weeks on end. After all, Eddie doesn’t look hurt, he looks pissed.

But, it’s too late. Steve had already seen the anguish in Eddie’s eyes before he’d banked it.

“No,” Steve murmurs, only noticing that Eddie’s mid-tirade when he stops talking. His head’s buzzing too loud to hear much else. “It wasn’t a joke.”

Eddie scoffs, waiting in pointed silence until Steve raises his head and meets his eyes. “Then how do you explain all this?” He gyrates his hand around the room, encompassing all four of their bodies with jerky movements. “Huh, Harrington?”

Steve swallows. He hopes it’s not as audible to everyone else as it is in his own ears, but by the way Eddie’s gaze snaps down to it before pulling back up to meet his eyes again, that hope is futile.

“I just—” Steve starts, forcing himself to keep looking at Eddie, even as his eyes flay him open. “It wasn’t supposed to get this complicated.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie asks, gritting out every word, body leaning toward Steve like he wants to reach across the distance between them and strangle him.

“I just like you, okay?” Steve snaps. Eddie jerks back like he’d just taken a blow. “I liked you, and I thought this would be a good way to, I don’t know, work through it?”

“You like me?” Eddie asks, almost laughing, just like that day in the cafeteria when he was singling out the jocks, just like he always does when something’s not funny but he’s pretending it is.

It hurts anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Steve mutters, staring down at his own lap, unable to look at anyone in the room. “I didn’t mean to make it your problem.”

“Didn’t mean to—” Eddie snaps, and Steve sees an abrupt enough movement that Steve’s afraid Eddie’s going to hit him. Steve jerks back into the couch, heartbeat rabbiting in his chest, but all Eddie’s done is stand, hands clenched, mouth snarling. “How the hell is tricking me into thinking Chrissy Cunningham liked me not making it my problem?”

“Eddie—“ Jeff cuts in, tone a warning, but Eddie doesn’t even seem to notice.

“You really think that’s ‘not making it my problem?’” Eddie asks, throwing finger quotations around it mockingly as he glares down at Steve. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Steve feels small, wishes he was smaller—he wants to sink into the cracks of the Munson’s ratty couch and never be seen again. This moment is too much for him.

He’s known ever since that moment in the cafeteria when Eddie’d pressed his lips to Chrissy’s hand that they’d end up here. He knew, but he’d kept writing the letters, kept Chrissy embroiled into his mess. Chrissy who’s standing silent and shocked behind Eddie, hand pressed to her mouth as Steve’s mess implodes around him.

“I’m sorry,” Steve replies, voice small. He’s not sure if he’s talking to Eddie, or Chrissy, or hell, even Jeff. He just knows that he really, truly is sorry.

“You’re sorry?” Eddie demands, and he’s pacing now, hands fisted into his own hair. “You’re sorry for what? For derailing my life? For making me think someone might actually like me? For what?”

Steve doesn’t say anything as he watches Eddie’s movements become more frenetic. He’s pulling his hair hard now, and all Steve wants to do is reach out and grab Eddie’s hands, make him stop hurting himself. But, it’s not his place, so he clenches his hands into fists atop his own thighs and looks up at the boy he likes unraveling at the seams. Because of him.

“The first time a girl actually likes me and it’s you.” It lands like venom, leaching through all the sinew and bone of Steve’s body and turning his beating heart into a pulpy mess. “What, you thought just because everyone calls me a freak that I’d be a quee—”

“Eddie!” It’s Chrissy and Jeff, both shouting out at the same time, clearly trying to get Eddie to stop talking before he says something irreversible.

It’s too late: Steve’s already heard him.

He doesn’t know what his own face is doing, but when Eddie finally looks at him, his face goes white, then turns sort of green like he’s going to be sick. When he takes a halting step forward, Steve can’t help the way he presses further into the couch, hands shaking where they’re still clenching in his lap.

He wants to scream, or cry, or die so he doesn’t have to do this anymore. But, Eddie’s right, this is all his fault, so the least he can do is offer up an explanation.

“It’s not Chrissy’s fault,” Steve says, looking down at his own shaking hands, willing them to lie still. “Or Jeff’s. I dragged them into this, so don’t be mad at them, okay?”

“Steve—” Chrissy says, voice choking with emotion.

“I was afraid.” Steve talks right over her, doesn’t even look her way. He can’t, or he’ll break. “But, that’s no excuse for making you have to deal with my bullshit.”

“Steve,” Chrissy tries again.

“I’m sorry.” Steve finally looks up from his lap, meeting Eddie’s fathomless eyes. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

Steve gets up on shaky legs and walks to the trailer’s front door, giving Eddie a wide berth. No one says anything as he makes his way through the small living room, or when he opens the door and steps through.

It’s only as the door’s shutting closed behind him that he hears Eddie say, “Shit Harrington, wait.”

Steve doesn’t. He walks down the Munson’s drive and straight out of the trailer park.

No one follows him.

***

The silence hangs like a noose in the trailer after the click of the door closing quietly behind Harrington’s drooping frame. Eddie stares into nothing, entirely blank.

“That was cruel.” It’s Chrissy who says it. Chrissy, who pretended to like him, who led him on, who…was just trying to protect her friend.

“Not any crueler than he was to me,” Eddie mutters, still staring at the closed door feeling inexplicably like he should run after him.

Instead, he turns his back on the door and tries to forget the slope of Harrington’s shoulders as he’d walked out on him.

His brain’s full of fog, emotions swirling around too quickly for him to catch any of them. He can’t make sense of any of this. Not Chrissy who pretended to like him or Steve Harrington, who actually did, not—

“You—” Eddie starts, eyes focusing as something else takes over his brain as he sets his sights on Jeff. “You knew?”

Jeff grimaces, but straightens his spine and tilts his chin up like Eddie’s the enemy now. “Yeah,” he says, all flippant, as if Eddie’s world isn’t shattering around his feet. “I knew.”

Eddie laughs, can’t help it with the way anger’s pooling in his gut. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“It was Steve’s secret to te—”

“Screw Steve!” Eddie shouts, suddenly enough that Chrissy takes a startled step back. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

Jeff scoffs, stepping in front of Chrissy. “Your friend?” he demands with an incredulous laugh that makes Eddie want to strangle him. “You didn’t even tell me about the letters in the first fucking place!”

He stomps forward, coming at Eddie like he’s going to do—something, Eddie will never know what because Chrissy wraps her arm around his waist and pulls him back with a chiding, worried, “Jeff.”

Eddie stares at the way her fingers curl proprietarily into the fabric of his t-shirt, the way he steadies under her touch and takes a step back, the way he stands in the cradle of her hold like it’s his birthright.

“Hold—hold on,” Eddie says, holding his hand out like that’ll stop the dots from connecting in his own mind. “Are you two—”

He doesn’t finish the thought, can’t put words to what he’s accusing them of, not right now. But, as he flails his fingers between them, they both look at the floor, in goddamn sync, even with their own guilt. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Anger’s always been Eddie’s worst enemy; he’s pretty sure it’s an inherited trait from his pa, the way rage makes his blood boil, makes him take things too far, makes him react like verbal words are a physical threat. Just like his pa, no matter how much he doesn’t want to be.

“So, you what?” he asks, whole body shaking with the force of his anger. “Decided to lead me on while fucking my best friend?”

He laughs, sharp and mean when Chrissy jerks like he slapped her. He clenches his fist against the desire to do just that.

“You don’t get to talk to her like that,” Jeff replies quietly, like that’ll make him the reasonable one.

“Fuck o—“

“You don’t own her,” Jeff interrupts him, Eddie screams in his throat, wild with the fire burning through him.

Jeff sighs, low and disappointed, just like Uncle Wayne does if Hop picks Eddie up for some trumped-up charges, or he fails another pop quiz, or he brings in more money he can’t explain to his Uncle. 

The thought of Wayne is what does him in. Even in absentia, that old man brings him back to himself. Eddie shudders, takes a step back and stares at the carpet beneath his toes, trying to bank his anger back beneath his ribs where it can’t hurt anyone else.

“I’m sorry we hurt you,” Jeff continues, voice soft, soft soft. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on. But Eddie?”

It takes a long moment for Eddie to drag gaze away from his own feet and up to Jeff’s face. Jeff waits, silent, until Eddie meets his eyes.

“You need to figure your own shit out, too,” he says gently. “Because if you don’t? You’re going to hurt everyone around you, not just Steve.”

Eddie looks back at the door Harrington—Steve—had walked through, feelings twisting around on themselves until they’re choking him.

“Harrington,” Eddie starts, throat catching on the consonants of his name like it’d been years since he last spoke. “Did he really—?”

He can’t finish this thought either, hopes Jeff or Chrissy will pluck it from his mind and answer it for him.

“Like you?” Jeff asks, waiting for Eddie to nod his assent before answering. “Yeah, man. He does.”

The present tense is what does him in. Does. Steve Harrington, king of the jocks, liar, boy, likes him. Enough to write letters to him. He doesn’t know what to do with this, where to put it in the reality of his life.

“Oh.”

“You can’t tell anyone, Eddie,” Chrissy says, taking a step around Jeff to look up at Eddie with pleading eyes. “They’ll kill him.”

It’s only then, staring at the terror on Chrissy’s face, that the magnitude of the secret he’s just learned sinks in. Harrington, lady-killer, probable prom king, jock extraordinaire, is queer.

The vindictive part of Eddie he tries to keep caged wants to sling this around— Harrington’s just comeuppance for every time he’s made the rest of them feel less than, feel like a freak. But, even with his anger barely banked, Eddie knows the punishment wouldn’t fit the crime.

Harrington had, what? Laughed snidely behind Hagan after standing by while he’d seen a nerd get his books knocked out of his hands? Had been born with a perfect face and perfect hair in a castle of a house, so he’d been idolized for it.

Telling wouldn’t take that all away—it’d leave Harrington dead.

Even Hagan doesn’t deserve that.

So, all Eddie says is, “I won’t,” quietly, hoping she believes him.

She sighs, slumping into Jeff, trusting him to hold her up. Eddie doesn’t want to see it anymore; he can’t be in the same room as those two and not let the fire in his blood bleed through to his words.

He stands, stiff, unsure, and asks, “can you guys just go?”

“Eddie—“

“Jeff, please,” Eddie asks, voice breaking on the last word.

“Okay.”

Jeff ushers Chrissy out of his trailer and, just before the door shuts behind him, Eddie calls out, “Jeff?”

“Yeah, buddy?” Jeff calls back, not turning back around, not closing the door.

“I’ll call you,” he says, hoping it’s loud enough for his friend to hear. “Okay?”

Jeff doesn’t point out the lack of time frame or the way Eddie’s voice shakes. He’s good like that, always has been, no matter how mad they get at each other. “You call, and I’ll pick up.”

Without another word, Jeff lets the door close. Eddie stands there stationary until he hears the sound of a car starting, kicking up gravel all the way out of the trailer park. Only then, does he collapse onto the couch and bury his head in his hands.

It’s a mistake—the pressure of his hand making pain bloom hard and fast on the bruise on his eyes. Eddie groans, tired, in pain, and completely done. He wants Uncle Wayne to brush his hair out of his face, wants Jeff to sit at his side, or Gareth to light a joint for him, or Chrissy to bump their shoulders together. 

He wants—

The bag of frozen peas Harrington had handed him have gone mushy and warm.

The trailer’s quiet, and Eddie’s all alone.

PART 15

[cornyforjk]

Drive you crazy | Day 1 | jjk

SUMMARY In which you are stuck living with an arrogant rookie racer who thinks of you as an obstacle, ready to ruin your glory, but things get heated when he has a pervy smile hidden under that pretentious attitude. Emotions that are complicated. You could never fall for your enemy! He's sabotaging you.

Pairing: racer!jk × racer!oc

Genre: angst and pure filth smut

Warnings: trash language only for now.

A/note: HI I'M SCARED BUT HI ALL THE BEST HAVE FUN . First chapter out and I am already head over heels for this Jungkook. I'd say to keep your hobi water ready anytime cause the spice never ends.

___________________♡____________________

"You'd be better off as a pornstar, why not start an only fans page."

The guy beside me whispered as I clenched my fist, a helmet covering his face. Well he was lucky the helmet was there to protect him, or else by now, his limbs would've fallen apart, bit by bit until he was screeching for mercy.

"Stay out of my way." My helmet was a barrier to the fiery glare I was sending his side. I heard him emit an audible but distressed sigh as his tongue clicked in disappointment.

I scanned him from head to toe, not as if I knew him, but my desire to call him a "gay stripper" grew stronger with each tap on the floor.

I close my eyes, collecting my thoughts that were scattered around an endless black hole. Echoes of heels clicking against the floor catching my attention, ear perking up I fix my posture, shoulders rolling back, clearing my parched throat.

A woman with huge circular glasses resting on the bridge of her nosewalked in. Her pencil skirt accentuated her broad hips, her blue eyes fixed on the notepad wrapped around her arm, and the silver metallic pen held her elegant hairstyle together.

She was the definition of what I call 'classy'.

I suddenly felt my shoulders slouch down when her blue icy eyes scanned me, her orbs slowly widening in astonishment. I raise my hand giving a small wave with a crooked smile.

Maybe that was a bit too crooked. Screw it! She can't see me.

"Ahh..." I suddenly squealed under her intense gaze that was scanning me over and over again, pushing the glasses that adorned her button nose back. She cleared her throat grazing over her notepad one last time.

"Lady, you know I am still here, right? Maybe you can do this goo-goo eyes after I'm checked in." The guy beside me commented, earning an eye roll which he couldn't witness. I stomp over his boots, almost throwing my whole weight on his foot.

"OUCH!" He grunts, turning my way, maybe or maybe not glaring like Donald Trump after he found out his steak was cooked medium rare and not brought alive.

"Fight me you ceramic bitch!" He shrieks, ready to throw hands. I hide behind the elegant woman for protection who just watched us bicker.

She cleared her throat again, catching me off guard. She turns my way. "Jungkook and Y/n?" She pursed her lips, narrowed cat-like eyes waiting for our nods.

"Jungkook...more like junk looks," I coughed out, wheezing at that lame pun, perhaps no one has the sense of humour of a five-year-old. The world is turning tables pretty quick.

"Ms Y/n, you aren't supposed to be here?" She waits for my reaction as I freeze on spot.

"What do you mean I am not supposed to be here?" My voice slightly rising, "I checked in myself as the new rookie in racing." I practically throw air quotes at her statement, panic wavering in my

voice.

The so-called guy 'Jungkook' choked, his broad chest heaving up and down as he laughed.

Did I say something funny?

"You are at the wrong location, I think there was an error in our system while registering you, we may have added your name to the wrong list." She ran her index finger across her crisp notepad, eyes moving back and forth like a hawk.

"No, no, no, no-no." I gasped, "do you know how long it took me to persuade my sponsor?! This is my only chance to race; if I don't enter, all of my years of preparation will be in vain."

She looked at me with sympathy. "Can't you make any changes to send me there?"

"I'm sorry...you won't be able to reach in time and we cannot let you go until the board takes a look at this major mistake and have you safely enter your designated place."

She tapped her foot on the marble floor.

Suddenly my head dropped, audibly sighing as my fingers tapped against my thighs. Just one opportunity is given...and it will all wash over like golden sand at the seashore.

"Okay, sad. Moving on, I'd like the Keys to my quarters." Jungkook arrogantly demanded, pushing his hand in front of the woman. She looked at him with no emotion, rolling her eyes, once again checking the name list.

Think Y/n! Think!

I felt my heart clench, the corner of my eyes collided with the water. My craving to have wind tangled in my locks while the engine roared at the starting line with determined racers kept increasing.

That desire in my heart burning stronger than any fuel.

"I can race here!" I exclaimed, earning a groan from the tall man beside me. The woman blinked her eyes, glasses almost falling off her snatched nose.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I can race on this track here in California, till then your board can sort out all their work." Adrenaline rushed in my veins like hope, secretly fist-pumping the air. Finally, this could work out.

"Listen up kiddo, this is California. Here racers make history. They don't sit on the track to have some pink princess tea party, so you can take that bag of yours and move your ass out of this place because you don't belong here." His words were foul, a snarl creeping on.

He was filled with bitterness, swiftly peeling off the helmet on his face. His action left me speechless.

His ethereal beauty was hidden behind the helmet; his soft, glowing skin was the centre of attention; his doe-like eyes were pools of overflowing emotions; his soft lips, the bottom one a little fuller, a mole on his cheek and one under his lip.

I would've stumbled on my face gazingat such charm if only he wasn't being a jerk.

"It's because women aren't usually seen racing here, in fact for the last 50 years no women had the guts to continue on this track." The woman abruptly spoke. I felt the uncertainty in her voice. She was trying to cover up for that jerk.

"but there is no rule against women racing here." I protested back.

"Yes there isn't but-" "Then I race here."

Jungkook's intense stare had my knees go weak. I could feel the sharpness and cold wrath all at once. An unspoken cold blooded war was rising between us.

"What do you think you are doing?" Jungkook exclaimed, his warm hand skimming on my shoulder, the grip crushing my meek corpse.

His jaw clenched and eyes obscuring, he glowered behind the lustrous locks covering his orbs that bled out of outrage.

outrage.

Staring into his eyes my body shook violently, I harshly pushed him away, disgusted by the warmth his hands held. "Don't touch me." My eyes were bloodshot red, wrapping my hands around my torso.

"I won't be outmanoeuvred by a jerk. Especially you, Jungkook."

___________________♡____________________

Teaser | Day2

DM me or send me an ask to be added in the taglist.

[luveline]

i would absolutely love a Hotch and stripper reader, him taking care of her after some kind of incident at her club or something? maybe a bit of angry hotch at the beginning, some angst? 💗💗💗

Your throat burns by the time his car pulls up. 

You take the butt of the cigarette from between your lips and ash it next to the first. Your hand is sore between the index finger and thumb from a bad stretch, aching as you press into your pocket for your stolen box of Marlboro golds. You’ll apologise for taking them some other time. 

You press the third between your lips and flick the lighter. You’re not good at lighting them, worse at the first inhale, your throat an agony that rivals the sting of your battered cheek. 

Shoes on the sidewalk, a scratch of loose gravel. Your eyes well with another line of tears that you work hard to hold in, taking another quick, cruel drag. They don’t make cigarettes long enough, in your opinion. They don’t last. 

He stops in front of you. Quiet, Agent Hotchner looks down at you where you’re sitting on the low wall, expression as steely as ever. You meet his eyes, worried your wobbly lip is giving you away, not sure calling him was the right thing to do after all. 

When he raises his hand to the cigarette you let him take it. His fingers wrap carefully around the butt of it, the side of his thumb brushing your lips. 

He flicks it to the ground and steps on it flat. 

You don’t say hello. It’s obvious you’ll cry, he can tell too, and he doesn’t make you. You wince as he raises his hand again, your eyes squinting closed, but he isn’t going to hurt you. His palm is warm where it cups your cheek, turning your face to the light emanating off of the club neons. 

“Do you know his name?” he asks. 

“No.” 

He raises your chin higher still. His frown turns to a glare, the brunt of which is directed elsewhere but intimidating all the same. His touching is gentle at least. 

“What happened?” 

“I told him no.” 

His jaw ticks. “Can I take you home?” 

You sniffle, turning your face out of his hand and down to your lap. He’s kissed you, he’s done more than that, but he knows you’d felt like you had no choice and so he’s giving it to you now. It’s exactly why you’d called him. It’s the man he is, and he should never have ended up looking after you. 

“Sorry I called you,” you say, hiding your face in one hand. Pain flickers behind your eyes as tears mount for the tenth time tonight. 

Hotch gives a sigh, sitting on the wall beside you. He wraps his arm behind your back and with a familiarity you need desperately. You press yourself into his side, sew your arm hesitantly over his stomach, the starch of a pressed shirt crisp on your clammy skin. 

“It’s cold out here,” he murmurs, bringing both hands to your arm, one to hold you tight, the other to rub your cool skin. 

“I think I want to quit.” 

He nods into the side of your head. “I think you should,” he says, “if that’s what you want… honey, you can do whatever you want.” 

“I don’t think I can. I’m trapped and it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not your fault.” He encourages your head under his, your face to his neck. When he talks, it’s a quiet, lulling promise. “You’re not trapped. I’ll do anything you need me to do. If you want an apartment, I’ll get it for you. If you want to shut this place down, I will. The last thing either of us want is for you to work here when you don’t want to.” 

“You don’t have to say work here like I’m not a glorified prostitute,” you say hotly, anger turned in rather than out. 

“You don’t really think that.”

Being a sex worker is complicated. You don’t know how you feel about it, and you can’t ever understand why Hotch would bother with you. You’d worried at first that your vulnerability is what attracted him, like a kid with a broken bird, but he’s proved a hundred times that your job is pretty much separate from why he likes you. He thinks you're pretty. He loves your voice. You make each other laugh, and somehow inexplicably he’s the first person you call when things go wrong. 

“Quit your job,” he says. “Even if it’s just to dance somewhere else.” 

“You can say strip.”

He nods. “You shouldn’t have to worry whether your ‘no’ will be met with a backhand. You know that breaks my heart?” 

You blink and pull away from him. He isn’t unemotional, but it’s a surprise nonetheless to hear him talk like this. “Aaron–” 

“Please,” he says. “I shouldn’t ask you to. But there are better places for you. You deserve more.” 

If it were anyone else you might get defensive. Only people who do your job could understand why you do it, it’s a hundred different things to you, but you do deserve more. You’re sick of leery men, sick of wolf whistles and bad tips and other people's hands. Hotch has never asked you to stop, but now he is, it’s to keep you safe. 

You can’t begrudge him. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“No.” He rubs your arm. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. And I’ll make it right.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“I’ll make it right,” he promises. “No matter what. No one gets to hurt you.” 

You could quit. You want to. Even if it’s just for a couple of weeks, just so you don’t have to pretend you know what you’re doing. You’ll think about it in the morning. “Could I stay with you for a bit?” you whisper. “Just tonight. Please.” 

Hotch taps your back for you to stand. He stands with you, brushing down your coat, his eyes impassive where they look over your face, your purpling bruise. 

“You can wait in the car,” he says quietly. “I’m going to ask a few questions inside before we leave.” 

[mrsbarnesblog]

can you do rafe finding out the reader has no experience with boys, like first kiss and first time and what it would be like for them??

masterlist ko-fi ao3

requests are open

word count: 1k

warnings: like one mention of sex, reader is anxious about not having an experience

a/n: I wanted to write about their first time too but it felt kind of out of place here. so if y'all want, I will post it separately

You felt the palms of your hands getting wetter with every passing second as Rafe Camron was driving you to the beach to watch the sunset after dinner that you had together. He took you out to a nice restaurant at Figure 8 and you spent an amazing time talking to him and enjoying the warm summer weather. 

His hand was resting on your naked leg, not pushing or making you uncomfortable, but you were so nervous that you thought you might die. Rafe was fully focused on the road, not noticing your anxiety and obliviously humming to the song. 

You had no experience whatsoever, you had never been on a date or kissed anyone, and you were not stupid enough to know that Rafe had done way more than you. The thing that mostly freaked you out was the way he might react when you finally find the courage to admit it. 

You knew that a lot of guys didn’t want to be anyone’s first because it could make things too complicated. Even though Rafe was nothing but nice to you the whole time he tried to find a way to ask you out, you hated to think that everything might end before it even started. 

“You okay?” His soft voice pulled you out of your head. He squeezed your leg and you realized that the car had stopped. You quickly nodded, but even if Rafe didn’t seem like he believed you, he nodded back. 

He quickly got out of the car, circling it to open your door and help you get out. With your hand wrapped in his and your shoes left behind, you walked through the warm sand closer to the water. 

“It’s really pretty, Rafe.” You stopped when your feet touched water, too mesmerized by the view of the setting sun in front of you. Rafe hummed, his hands slowly wrapping around your waist, bringing you close to his chest. His head lowered to your neck; that way, he could place a soft kiss on your skin and enjoy your sweet scent. 

You didn’t know how long you had been standing there. It just felt so safe and comfortable to be in his arms, and you almost forgot about all of the concerns that you had. 

The sun had almost hidden behind the horizon when you felt your body being moved until you were standing face to face with Rafe. 

He looked down at you with that weird look in his eyes. His hand reached your face and he was slowly caressing your cheek with his thumb. Your heart was beating in your ears, and your own hands were gripping his shirt way too hard because you knew what he was going to do. 

He wanted to kiss you. 

You held his eyes contact until his eyes lowered to your lips and the look of complete desperation and desire in them made your stomach jump. 

Your head lowered, eyes closing and face heated up from embarrassment. 

“Did I do something wrong? You don’t want this?” Rafe tried to sound normal, but you heard a bit of disappointment in his voice. You looked back at him, trying to find words. 

“N-no. Everything was perfect. You were perfect, Rafe, I promise. It’s just…” You hesitated, trying to focus on anything but nervousness that was eating you alive. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never been on a date, never kissed, and never had sex. I’m scared and I don’t know how to act. I don’t know how you feel about it, because some guys don’t want to be anyone’s first, so I thought that since you were— like, you know, Rafe Cameron you wouldn’t like it and wouldn’t want to be with someone so inexperienced because—“

“Hey, hey, hey, Y/N!” He stopped your stream of words before you could overwhelm yourself. “That’s why you were nervous in the car, hm? You thought that I wouldn’t like it?” He asked, his blue eyes searching yours for an answer. “Goddammit, you’re so fucking cute, you know that? I don’t care how much experience you have, because I don’t expect anything from you on this date or after that.”

“No?” Your eyes lowered to his lips, which started to finally grab your attention as the anxiety left your body. The craving to have Rafe closer, to finally know how it feels to be kissed by someone, made you slightly tremble.

“No. I wanna be your first. I want to show you, teach you, and make you feel special. And I think I need to kiss you right fucking now, because you’re too beautiful. Can I?” 

You nodded, holding back a smile. Rafe’s lips curled in a smirk, his big finger under your chin tilted your head up and the next thing you knew, he was kissing you. 

God, he was gentle, so soft, with his other hand on your waist, bringing your body against him. His lips moved on top of yours slowly, not pushing you but letting you figure out how to move.

You let out a faint moan at the sensation of him all around you, which made Rafe smile into the kiss and tighten his grip on you. 

“You’re driving me crazy. I wanted you for so long…” 

“Rafe…” You pulled away, lacking some air. Your hands sneaked up his chest until you wrapped them around his shoulders and started fidgeting with the hair at the back. “I think I need more practice with kissing, you know.” You bit your lip, smiling.

Rafe playfully rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Mhm, fine, I think I can do that.” He mumbled and captured your lips in another kiss. 

[seulw0nz]

★ BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND!SUNGHOON

brother's best friend!sunghoon x f!reader warnings skinship, petnames && 1090wc 𓈃 ♡ fluff, oneshot, secret relationship ─── ୨୧

THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. it was a simple enough rule: don’t get close to your brother’s best friend. it should’ve been easy, you thought, but that was before you got to know sunghoon beyond the surface. now here you were, leaning against your bedroom door, heart hammering against your chest as his warm gaze, full of mischief and something deeper, held yours.

“do you think he heard us?” you whisper, clinging to his arm as the footsteps in the hallway grow quieter. your brother had already knocked once, asking about a missing hoodie. thankfully, sunghoon was quick on his feet and tucked you both into your closet. now, he pressed a finger to your lips, smirking as if this was all some game.

“not a chance, babe. but we have to be quiet.” his breath tickles your ear, and you shiver at the close proximity. his hand reaches up, thumb tracing your jaw before he dips down, stealing a quick kiss. “as long as you keep that pretty voice down, no one will know.”

you try to scoff, rolling your eyes. “you’re the one who nearly knocked over my lamp. if he finds out, you’re explaining why you’re here.”

he chuckles, fingers finding their way into your hair as he holds you close. “i would. i mean, if he catches us, i’ll just say i was… checking in on you,” he teases, voice low. “that’s what friends do, right?”

“very believable,” you reply, pushing at his chest lightly, though you don’t really want him to move. his laughter is soft, the sound warm and comforting in the silence of your room. the familiar scent of his cologne wraps around you, a reminder of how many times he’s been here before—how many times he’s snuck in through your window just to see you.

your lips curve into a smile as you lean up, brushing your nose against his. “you know, one of these days he’s going to figure it out. he’s not stupid, and we’re not exactly subtle.”

sunghoon hums thoughtfully, his arms circling your waist. “then we’ll just have to be careful, won’t we? i’m not ready to give you up just because of some little… complication.”

your heart skips at his words, and you feel the blush spreading over your cheeks. he always had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world, and it was as intoxicating as it was terrifying. “well, maybe i don’t want to give you up, either.”

his smirk softens, replaced by a gentler smile as his thumb brushes your cheek. “good. because i’ve never felt like this about anyone else, you know.”

you swallow, barely able to handle the sincerity in his gaze, the way he looks at you like you’re something precious. you tug on the collar of his shirt, pulling him down for another kiss. it’s soft and lingering, your hands traveling to rest against his neck as he pulls you close, sighing into the kiss as if he’s wanted this all day.

then there’s another knock at your door.

you both freeze, your breath hitching as your brother’s voice calls from the hallway, “hey, you sure you’re not hiding something in there? you’ve been quiet for a while.”

your eyes widen as you look up at sunghoon, panic seeping into your gaze. he raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the predicament. “well, you’re great at staying quiet, huh?” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before you pull away.

“shut up,” you hiss, shoving him toward your closet. he stifles a laugh as he ducks inside, closing the door behind him just as you open yours.

your brother stands there, arms crossed, eyeing you suspiciously. “what took you so long?” he asks, glancing past you into your room.

“nothing. i was… reading,” you stammer, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so unconvincing. your brother narrows his eyes but shrugs, giving you one last lingering look.

“right. just… remember, you can talk to me if there’s anything you need. or anyone you want to tell me about,” he says, an edge to his tone.

your heart races as you try to keep a neutral expression. “of course, i’d tell you.”

he gives a slight nod, stepping back into the hallway, but you don’t miss the way he glances over his shoulder before heading to his room. you close the door quickly, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

as soon as you turn around, sunghoon’s head pops out from your closet, a grin tugging at his lips. “i think he knows,” he says, a bit too gleefully for your liking.

“he does not,” you protest, though you’re not even sure you believe it yourself.

“oh, really?” he steps out, hands settling on your hips as he pulls you close again. “because if looks could kill, he’d have me six feet under already.”

you let out a laugh despite yourself, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “okay, maybe he suspects something. but he doesn’t know it’s you.”

sunghoon lets out a soft chuckle, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “i think he’d have a heart attack if he did.”

“and that’s why we’re being careful,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “if he finds out… he’ll never let us live it down. or worse, he’ll hate me for not telling him.”

sunghoon’s expression softens, his hand moving to cradle your cheek. “hey, he won’t hate you. and if he does… then i’ll just have to convince him otherwise. for now, we’ll keep this between us.”

you nod, heart swelling at his words. he’s always been so understanding, so patient with you. it’s moments like these that remind you why you fell for him in the first place.

he dips down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and you melt into him, fingers tangling in his hair as he holds you close.

you break apart only when you hear footsteps again, and you both stifle your laughter, hearts racing in unison.

“guess we’ll just have to be extra careful, babe,” sunghoon whispers, his forehead pressed against yours, his lips hovering just above yours.

you grin, resting your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “and maybe next time, don’t knock over my lamp.”

he snickers, kissing the tip of your nose. “no promises, sweetheart.”