#is that it's probably the ONE thing that you can start doing for yourself for VERY little investment

[ghostwhippet]

From Scratch

Nutrition Info: Johnny/Reader; 4k; a meetcute launched by Reader's inability to cook reasonable portions, and Johnny's... well, just Johnny

No matter how long you live alone, you can’t get the hang of cooking for one person. Even when you try to make a single-serving meal instead of batch cooking, somehow it balloons out of control. Wasting food makes you feel awful, but you can only freeze so much.

One evening, desperate and utterly fed up, you go kick gently at a neighbor’s door, both hands full, trying to mimic a knock with your shoe. Jason, you think his name was? Striking blue eyes, big frame, a cute cropped mohawk, amazing brogue, and he’s always been cordial when you’ve run into him around the building. Friendly, but not too friendly.

He’s understandably confused by your request at first, but seems happy enough for the food, and takes it around your repeated apologies–for bothering him, for existing, for anything you can find, really.

Unfortunately, not even forcing yourself to go and do all of that manages to pierce your shite sense of volume. Your trips to his door do get less awkward over time, though. And Johnny, his name is, always has sparklingly clean dishes and containers to return in exchange for the full ones. 

Eventually he just starts showing up at your place instead and eats with you at your bar counter. He didn’t really ask, and you definitely didn’t, but there he is all the same, and… if you're honest? He’s just so easy to be around, it quickly feels natural having him there. He puts you off your guard, puts you at ease and makes you smile, like those are somehow the most natural things in the world.

From that first night, Johnny has insisted on helping with dishes. Starting the second, he’s always got groceries with him. Even manages to talk you out of your discomfort over accepting them, so well that on his fourth night, you’ve got a small shopping list ready. He’s cheeky, you don’t think he’ll mind. And he is right, after all: you're probably feeding him at least three or four nights out of the week, what with all the leftovers.

You start eating better, and trying new things you'd always planned on “getting around to,” now that you've got a reason to cook beyond not starving. Everything comes out fine the first time you make it, when you’re closely following a recipe, and Johnny has no qualms about trying anything you put in front of him. You’ve never met someone so genuinely un-fussy when it comes to food.

A couple months after he’s started eating at your place, he disappears for a while. “Work trip,” is all he'll say, and you don’t pry, even though you really want to. 

Once he’s back, he starts coming over weekend afternoons sometimes. You do brunch with beer or fancy drinks in champagne flutes, or occasional breakfast on the roof before other people are awake, him in a big hoodie or jumper, and you wearing a thick blanket like it's trying to digest you, looking like a half-drowned cat because no living being is meant to be awake at such an hour. 

You cut fruit into mangled flowers and vague geometric shapes for the brunches, usually while just spending time with him. He tries his hand at it once, with you pulling up videos, laughing the whole time you’re explaining how it’s supposed to work, and the utter bastard is better at it on his first go than you were after weeks. His hands are confoundingly steady, and his hand-eye coordination borders on the unnatural.

That’s probably the official start of his sous chef arc. And that’s what has him spending a night judging your knives and marveling, repeatedly and loudly, that you still have all your fingers.

You might put a piece of eggshell into his omelet that night in retaliation, and he might not even have the decency to react to it.

“...Johnny I can hear it crunching, oh my God would you spit it out!” You manage between laughter that’s got your face hurting.

That happens a lot around him. Smiling so much it hurts.

“Nah, i’s nice texture,” he says around the mouthful, then starts enunciating the longer words. “Very advanced technique. Shows a great awareness of the culinary experience–”

“You’re being such a prat. Why are you being such a prat!”

He talks over you as if he can’t hear you, as if he’s doing some mockingly posh review. “And honestly, the crunching–” he pauses and chomps down on the shell for effect, and how is it still intact, “it really engages the senses. Keeps me immersed in my dining experience.”

You regret loaning him your cooking books. Never again.

After that, though, he steals your knives, takes them home, and they come back so sharp you can cut windowpane slices of potato. He offers to teach you how to do it yourself–after stipulating with heart-clenching thoroughness that he’s happy to come over and do it for you any time.

Johnny gets weirdly into shopping farmer’s markets, walking around discovering new produce and varieties of things he’s never seen before. “Fuck would I know tomatoes come in this color? Look at this thing, it’s like a feckin’... it’s a wee lumpy sunset, isn’t it? And this! Like someone took the heart of a dragon,” his voice had gone terribly dramatic, and you definitely hadn’t covered your face, “and stuck it on a bush somewhere.”

“Baby how are you so huge, but so adorable?” You don't know when the pet names started, but you know he started them; sometimes it feels like you two grew up together. 

You like the challenge of the new and unexpected ingredients that come from his trips, and by this point, he’s keeping your kitchen pretty stocked with whatever oddball pantry items you ask for, so you're set up to deal with almost anything. But on rare occasions he’ll call you with a question, too. You’ve had each other’s numbers for a while, it just made coordinating easier. 

“Oi can you make sommat with uh… fiddlehead ferns?”

You always can, whatever he asks about. It just takes a quick internet search to find out if you can tackle it that same night, or if it needs to wait for another day. Sometimes it ends up disastrous, but like a shot, Johnny has you laughing or throwing something at him (usually-but-not-always also while laughing) before guilt or shame can get a proper foothold.

There was a night when he was too excited about something to wait for you to answer the door when he knocked, and since then, he just sort of comes in on his own after he announces himself—at least when you know to expect him. That feels right, too, just like having him at your counter had.

You’re feeding the both of you almost every night of the week by now, even if you’re still not cooking often. You like being around him so much, you can’t imagine doing it less, not even when cooking is the last thing you want to be doing. It’s like there’s a bubbly little sun in your chest when he’s around.

Johnny makes you so happy, in fact, and you’re so afraid of losing your time with him, it’s nearly six months before the first time you have to tap out of a dinner, too knackered to make yourself even casually presentable, nevermind cook so much as instant noodles.

He reacts like it’s no problem at all, which of course he’d do, because he’s wonderful, but you don’t manage to keep your heart from dropping that he’s not at least a little sad. That he doesn’t, maybe, look forward to the nights like you do. You know your arrangement is practical, and he’s never been over unless there was food involved, but… well… seeing him seems to have become rather… vital to you.

Which means it’s better to put it away, anyhow, right?

So when, an hour after you’d texted him and basically all he’d said was No problem, thinking takeout, any votes?, he’s coming through your front door with delivery bags and talking a mile a minute like it’s just another night, you're left with your mouth open and your hand on the knob, because… because he's here.

You're not cooking, but he's still here.

You just stand there gobsmacked as he sits on the couch, nattering away, half the food out before he even realizes you’re still playing doorstop. He asks if you’re having the time of your life or if you’re going to come sit down, those horrible (wonderful) crinkles at the sides of his eyes, brows pulled up in the middle.

He looks confused when you say you want to freshen up, like he can’t see that your hair might’ve lost a row with a feral rodent, or that you’re wearing clothes that shouldn’t even be outside of a bin, nevermind on a person. He just tells you the food will get cold, and that it’ll be no good that way.

So you run your hands through your hair and sit, subdued and uncertain like you haven’t been around him in ages, as he amiably fills the silence. You know he can tell you’re not right, but he’s just… acting like it’s ok that you aren’t.

Midway through the meal, he reaches forward to grab a container and put it in front of you, and it makes his knee come up against yours. 

It doesn’t move away when he sits back.

Then, as the night wears on and the very most jagged edges of your weariness have eased, he makes a joke and you bump your shoulder into him in retaliation. It pushes your legs flush… and neither of you do anything to separate them. He just keeps on being Johnny like nothing is different, like nothing strange is happening, like he can’t see how bloody flushed you must be, like the room hasn't turned to glass and burst, leaving the both of you toppling through the air.

You're not stupid, so you have to tell yourself repeatedly that he’s just trying to comfort you. He’s acting completely normal otherwise—for Johnny—and you look like a person in need of a friend tonight. And same as him, you’re at all your meal nights instead of off with friends or dates. At least for him, it’s because of his career. You haven’t even seen him bringing up a new fling in ages.

…You’re not stupid. Right?

After the food is finished, Johnny putters about cleaning up, working his way around your kitchen like he knows it exactly as well as he does. He puts all but one container of leftovers in your fridge. 

You hug your knees comfortably, just sort of watching him, too full of static to be paranoid about it, and he either doesn’t realize or isn’t bothered by it. Not being a complete creep, you don’t keep it up for too long, anyhow. You’ve got plenty to occupy your thoughts.

He surprises you on his way out by casually setting a mug in front of you. He’d made you something hot to drink while he was cleaning up, and you were so spaced you hadn’t realized. He just gives you a little smile, a gentle squeeze on the shoulder with a stroke of his thumb, says, “Wednesday, yeah?” (the night of your next normal get-together), and moves on toward the door. All normal. But there’s some metal in your chest painfully bending itself into unaccustomed shapes, jabbing places that aren’t used to the pressure, pushing into your windpipe until it’s hard to breathe, and you can’t stop yourself from telling him that you made up a new seasoning blend for popcorn, if he’d maybe like to watch a movie before he goes.

He stands there by the door looking at you just for a split second too long, opens his mouth, closes it, then settles right back onto the couch up next to you. He reaches out an arm and pulls you gently into his side, moving in a way that makes it an invitation and not a demand, while he’s talking about what to watch.

You fall asleep there. So does he.

Things turn a bit funny after that in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. At the surface, everything is the same. But nothing feels the same. Every time there’s a tease, casual touches, close quarters, you have to chant not stupid not stupid not stupid on repeat in your head. He’s just Johnny, that’s all. The guy you could have grown up with.

You keep up the dinners and the weekends, and eventually, finally realize that with him around to take all your extras, you can bake. It’s something you’ve wanted to try forever, but recipes don’t really make single servings, and you never had anyone to pawn off the other 22 muffins or ¾ of the cake onto, or the sheet of croissants, because you absolutely want to try the most fussy, difficult things. And it turns out, when at last he tells you what he does, that Johnny works at the local military base–which at least explains his size–so if he can’t polish something off, well, he knows some blokes.

You’re so excited after that, things almost seem to return to normal. He even comes over and hangs out while you’re baking sometimes. Just knocking about, licking the beaters and the spoons and the bowls, doing dishes as you go, fidgeting with this or that, all while knowing you’re equally as likely to produce something inedible as you are a treat.

Johnny tells you a little about his career one evening. He says that it means he’s in real danger often, there’s a lot of secrecy with people in his personal life, long absences and surprise ones, shit pay, and likely a brief expiration date. (You don’t really let that last one in). He’s got a bit of a funny look in his eyes when he shares about all of it. Quite focused on you, in a way? It makes your cheeks heat. It isn’t as if it’s on you to approve of his life.

But at least now you understand why he’s on his own. And you suppose you’re a bit small, because while you’re incredibly sad for him, part of you is thrilled that it means he’s not likely to be swept away by someone else too soon.

You just gather yourself up, smile, and tell him that at least he’s spending the time he has as best he can, which is a hell of a lot more than a lot of people do–although you personally hope there’s a lot more of it. And that… at the end, you're glad for all the times you're involved.

Johnny’s leaning against the counter while you fold nuts and rum-soaked fruit into a thick batter, his normally busy hands jammed into his pockets, posture a bit off, and so close you almost keep elbowing him on accident, the two of you just bantering back and forth. 

You turn your head toward him to fire back, and–

–his mouth is just there, on yours.

He lingers, but doesn’t move otherwise. It’s… testing, you think. You feel his lips shake against yours, in fact, just once. 

Your shock dies fast and your eyes slip closed, and while it’s a brief kiss, when he pulls away, you don’t open them. You can’t. Because if you’re honest, you’ve probably been gone for him since the first time you gave him a friendly hug goodnight, and it’s only ever gotten worse. If you open your eyes, this won’t be real, or it won’t have happened, or it will shatter somehow.

After a pause, he runs the back of a finger down your temple, trailing the side of your face to your jaw. You still won’t open your eyes, so he just toys with your face until you do.

He’s got a soul-crushing smile at the corners of his eyes.

“Been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admits into the quiet.

“...Oh?” Your voice is embarrassingly, unhelpfully breathy. It’d probably be mortifying, if you had the mental capacity to fully register embarrassment at the moment.

He pauses, smile making its way to his lips, and curling them up at the corners, bit by bit. He cants his head, just a little, like he wants to see you from another angle. “Aye. …Might’ve been since the first time I saw you at the mailboxes.”

“Oh?” 

That had been one of the first times you remember ever seeing him. He never said a word to you other than, “Mornin’” or “Evenin’,” if he said anything at all.

His smile blooms until you can see his teeth. “You were wearing this little shirt. Green, thin. Bit worn, like it was a favorite. Showed a wee spot of skin at your back.” His fingers brush the spot, soft and testing, near the base of your spine, and it jolts you from scalp to toes. “Might’ve… lost some time, thinking about what it’d feel like if I slid my hand up there.” He toys with the hem of your shirt and steps in, voice going deeper and rougher around the edges. “Might’ve imagined pushing it up, getting a bit closer. Really might’ve imagined putting your back up to the slots, mo–”

You kiss him this time, before he can go on, and it’s anything but testing.

And just like everything else about him, this fits. 

His mouth fits against yours. His body fits against yours. And as if some band of control snaps, so abruptly you swear you feel it jolt through his skin, he's got you up on the counter, his thighs between yours, both of you already breathing hard.

His hands on you are perfect, calloused, slipping up under the back of your shirt, smoothing and gripping, making your chest and your thighs feel molten. It's ravenous, like he just has to touch your skin, has to get you closer. You arch toward him, fingers running up through his hair, legs curling around his and pulling him nearer.

His hips are carefully, stubbornly, infuriatingly back from you, but the kiss is so full of need, so close, that some of his breaths sound hollow against your mouth. It's like he can't decide whether inhaling or devouring you is more important, so he just doesn't choose.

When you're at the point of moaning unintentionally, of hungry little sounds forcing their way out of your chest, of your hips moving against the counter in desperation, when you're moments from outright begging, Johnny pulls back, and goes further when you try to chase his mouth.

His lips are red and full, his face dark--much worse when he catches sight of how completely drunk you must look--and he's panting. His fingers dig into your hips like he's trying to keep one or both of you from drowning. He squeezes his eyes shut.

You don't mean to, you really don't, but you look down, and lord help you but–

“That looks painful,” you tell him. Your voice sounds like it's been run over a washboard. He's tented against his denim, and his size is… proportional.

…You can't seem to remember how to make yourself look up.

“Really rather not talk about my cock just now, love,” he gravels, fingers clenching briefly against you. His head tips forward onto your shoulder, breaths panting out against your collar bone, leaving you to pick up every bit of heat he's trying to get out of himself.

You hum, teasing. “Shame, because I can't think of anything I'd rather talk ab—”

His big paw covers your mouth. “For the love of every Saint, I’m beggi—”

You cut him off right back. By licking his palm.

He recoils in horror, but the moment your eyes meet, you both burst into laughter, made worse every time he tries to tell you how disgusting that is, something about his sisters as kids, you don't know what else.

You're the first to sober, breathing almost back to normal, thoughts already whirring on fast-forward. You look down, pulling your knees together, hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Are we…. Will we be ok, after this?”

You peek up to see him looking at you like you're daft.

“‘S been the better part of a year,” he says softly, moving forward and running his thumbs over your knees. Asking your legs to make room again, to let him get close again. “Have you really not figured it out, all this time?” 

Your legs open hesitantly, and he steps in and, when you look up at him, kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other, slow and warm and so tender it feels like your chest is cracking right down the center.

Eyes closed, brows a little pinched, you murmur, “We can't all be SAS savants, Johnny.” Maybe you know. Maybe. But it has been all this time, so maybe you need to hear it, too.

He's still kissing, pace unhurried and savouring, making his way to your jaw and just beneath it. But it's calming now, somewhere between reverential and still trying to bring the both of you down. Himself especially, you think.

“Then let me spell it out for you. Gladly.” He noses up against the bottom of your ear and roughs, “You are fucking stuck with me. Glued. Bloody welded.” He huffs a laugh and leans back upright—but not all the way, not too far back. “This isnae a new thing for me. You know that, right? I just….” He shakes his head and abandons the thought, “Hell, my mates have already been asking when they can come over for dinner, the dobbers.”

Your brows shoot up. “You've talked about me at work?”

He looks down, and while his face is in half a scowl, you'd swear he does it to hide a slight flush, too. “Haven't shut up about you, more like. Should hear what my Lieutenant– Ach, nevermind that.”

You hurry to say that they're welcome any time, but it makes him scowl fully.

“Not exactly keen on the idea just yet.” He puts his arms around you, buries his face in your neck, and just stands there, breathing you in. He mutters into the crook of your shoulder, “Mind if I stay like this for a bit? Just while I, uh… calm down.”

His hips are still well back from you. You’re not sure you’ve ever adored and hated him so much at once.

“I’d really like that,” you tell him softly, arms going around his ribs, hands on his shoulders, chest to chest.

It's warm and resounding like this, so after a spell, without thinking, you bite his shoulder. Just sink your teeth in and leave them there. It’s not even entirely conscious, it's just so comfortable and comforting.

“All good, there, wee piranha?” he eventually asks, a smile in his voice.

You detach instantly. “Ah, sorry! I, uh, might have a tiny bit of an oral fixation.”

He groans. “Are ye trying to do me in?”

“I’m not the one who said we had to stop, Mr. Military Discipline.”

His eyes darken in a flash, but he tamps down on it just as quickly and gets that godawful cocky look on his face, instead. “Pardon me for not wanting to rush something that really matters.” His tone goes so soft at the end that you can’t even be mad at him--exactly as you know he intended, the great bastard.

“How did I not know what a sadist you are?”

And that look means he’s about to make you eat your words.

“Johnny I will happily kill you in your sleep.”

“I could handle that. Means you'd be in my bed, aye?”

He pulls your hands up from the death grip they've found on the edge of the counter and laces your fingers together. “I dinnae….” He clears his throat, frowns. “Just being away on deployment is shite now, and I love what I do. But I miss you while I'm gone, think about you back here all the bloody time, and we havnae even….”

When he doesn’t finish, you whisper, heart clenching with the realization, “You don't want to rush this.”

He laughs quietly like he wants to argue. But what he says is, “No. I don't. But while that's true….” He steps in, chin ducking, eyes darkening even as they shine, voice lowering. “What do you say we turn the oven off? I've a funny feeling you willnae be getting around to that bake today.”

Masterlist

[goldfades]

paige bueckers x medic reader blurb

idk why this has been on my mind but here's something to feed you guys while i recover from whatever the fuck last semester was

here’s the thing about paige bueckers: she’s annoying.

not in the throw-your-clipboard, tear-your-hair-out kind of way, but in the she’s-too-charming-for-her-own-good kind of way. the kind that makes your pulse skitter and your cheeks burn, and—worst of all—she knows it.

you’re certain she figured it out the first time she winked at you during pre-season. she’d just finished a shooting drill, her braid swinging like a metronome as she jogged over to your side of the court, flashing that grin—the one that’s equal parts mischief and sunshine.

“think i’m pushing it too hard, doc?” she asked, her hand brushing yours when you handed her a water bottle. your stuttered response? a dead giveaway.

and now, it’s practically her sport. teasing you, that is. not basketball though she’s otherworldly at that too. but here she is, six months post-acl surgery, stuck in the monotony of rehab, and somehow still making you feel like the one who’s sweating under bright gym lights.

“you’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?” her voice cuts through your focus as you jot down notes on her progress for the day. when you glance up, she’s watching you from the training table, her injured leg stretched out in front of her, an ice pack wrapped snug around her knee. her head tilts, blonde strands falling loose from her messy bun, and there it is—that look.

“i don’t even know what you mean by that,” you mutter, knowing full well she’s waiting for you to take the bait.

she leans back on her elbows, her lips curving into a slow smile. “i’m just saying, if you don’t stay close, how am i supposed to recover? pretty sure moral support is in your job description.”

you roll your eyes, even as your heart hammers against your ribs. “pretty sure my job description is making sure you don’t blow out your knee again, bueckers.”

“so you do care about me.” her voice lilts, sing-song and undeniably smug, and god, you’re starting to regret all the years you spent chasing a degree instead of learning how to mask a blush.

you try not to sigh too loudly, scribbling something on the clipboard even though it’s just a nervous scribble now. she’s watching you like she knows—because, of course, she does. she always knows. it’s like she has a sixth sense for your embarrassment, and worse, she’s figured out exactly how to weaponize it.

“i care about all my patients,” you say, finally looking up from your notes to meet her gaze. it’s meant to come off clinical, professional, but the way her eyes sparkle makes you feel like you’ve said something embarrassingly sweet instead.

“but do you care about me more?” she asks, tilting her head, her voice dripping with fake innocence.

you deadpan her. “paige.”

“what?” she grins wider now, the kind of grin that should probably come with a warning label. “i’m just trying to gauge my ranking on the medic hierarchy. am i at least in the top five?”

“you’re lucky you even have a ranking,” you mutter, setting the clipboard down and moving closer to check her ice pack. you’re trying—really trying—not to make a big deal about how close you are to her now. but then her hand shifts, casually brushing against yours as she adjusts the pack herself.

and just like that, your resolve? gone.

“aww, come on,” she says softly, her voice lower now, almost teasingly gentle. “you can admit it. i’m your favorite.”

your lips press into a thin line as you busy yourself with checking the straps on the ice pack. “you’re impossible.”

“you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” she counters, and it’s so smooth, so shameless, that you actually pause mid-motion.

you glance at her, half tempted to say something snarky, but she’s already watching you with this expression that’s somehow both playful and too much. like she’s trying to figure you out and enjoy herself at the same time. it’s unfair, really.

“is this what you spend your time thinking about?” you ask, attempting to sound exasperated. “ways to embarrass me?”

“not just ways to embarrass you,” she says, and the mock sincerity in her tone is criminal. “also ways to make you smile. you should smile more, you know.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to give her the satisfaction, even though—damn it—you’re already fighting the urge to crack a grin. she sees it, of course. she always sees it.

“you’re insufferable,” you mumble, stepping back to grab another piece of equipment you need for her session.

“but you like me anyway,” she calls after you, her voice sing-song.

you don’t respond this time, opting instead to take an extra moment to gather your thoughts while pretending to look for something in the cabinet. when you turn back around, she’s already back to lounging on the training table, her arms folded behind her head like she’s posing for a magazine spread.

“okay, let’s get serious,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back to anything resembling professionalism. “how’s the pain today? any stiffness?”

she shrugs, but there’s a flicker of something more serious in her expression. “a little. nothing crazy.”

“you need to let me know if it gets worse,” you remind her, stepping closer to start her mobility exercises. “overdoing it isn’t going to help your recovery.”

“yes, ma’am,” she says, her tone light, but you catch the way her eyes soften when she watches you. it’s different from her usual teasing—quieter, more thoughtful—and for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with it.

you busy yourself with guiding her through the exercises, focusing on the mechanics, the angles, the movements. but it’s hard to ignore the way she keeps glancing at you, her smile smaller now but no less present.

“you’re good at this,” she says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

you blink, looking up at her. “at what?”

“this,” she gestures vaguely, her hand moving to encompass the room, the exercises, you. “taking care of people. making them feel like they’re gonna be okay, even when they’re not sure they will be.”

her words catch you off guard, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond. it’s so… earnest. too earnest for someone who’s usually throwing out flirty one-liners and over-the-top winks.

“that’s… my job,” you manage to say, your voice quieter now.

she shakes her head, her gaze never leaving yours. “nah. it’s more than that. you’re more than that.”

and just like that, the air feels heavier, charged with something you can’t quite name. she doesn’t say anything else, just watches you with those impossibly blue eyes, like she’s waiting for you to say something back.

but all you can do is focus on the way your heart is racing, the way her words linger, soft and unshakable, in the space between you.

it was hard to forget the day it happened. the sound of it—a sickening pop that cut through the air like a gunshot—still haunted you sometimes, echoing in your mind when the gym got too quiet. you’d been courtside, clipboard in hand, watching as paige went down. she didn’t get up right away. that was how you knew it was bad.

paige bueckers wasn’t the type to stay down. she played like she was invincible, like nothing could touch her. but that day, she just lay there, clutching her knee, her face twisted in pain. it wasn’t just the physical agony that got to her, though; it was something deeper. you could see it in her eyes when she finally looked at you as you rushed to her side—this raw, unfiltered fear. like she’d just watched her whole world shatter in an instant.

“is it bad?” she’d asked, her voice barely above a whisper as you carefully assessed her knee. there was a tremble in it that you weren’t used to hearing, and it made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

“we’re gonna take care of you,” you’d said, dodging the question because you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her the truth. not yet.

she’d nodded, but her jaw was clenched, her hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the bench where you’d helped her sit. and when the scans came back, confirming what you’d already suspected, the devastation in her face nearly broke you.

the weeks that followed were some of the hardest you’d ever seen her endure. paige wasn’t herself—not the confident, fiery leader everyone knew and loved. she was quieter, angrier, and you could tell she was struggling to keep it all together. rehab was slow and painful, and there were days when she’d show up to the training room with this blank look in her eyes, like she wasn’t sure she’d ever be the same again.

but then, there were the moments when you caught a glimpse of the paige you knew. the one who refused to stay down for long. like the time she’d walked in with her crutches slung over one shoulder, grinning like she’d just won a championship. “figured i should start carrying these instead of letting them carry me,” she’d joked, and for the first time in weeks, you’d seen a flicker of that unshakable determination in her.

those moments grew more frequent as time went on. she threw herself into her recovery with a single-minded focus that was equal parts inspiring and infuriating. there were times you had to physically stop her from pushing herself too hard, reminding her that she wasn’t invincible. but she’d just roll her eyes and flash you that grin, saying something like, “gotta keep you on your toes, doc.”

and now, watching her sit on the training table, her ice pack wrapped around her knee and her confidence radiating from every pore, it was hard to reconcile this version of her with the one you’d seen at her lowest. the injury hadn’t just changed her; it had shaped her, strengthened her in ways that even she probably didn’t fully understand.

“what are you thinking about?” she asks suddenly, breaking through your thoughts. her voice is lighter now, teasing as always, but there’s a softness in her gaze that catches you off guard.

you hesitate for a moment before shrugging, a small smile tugging at your lips. “just thinking about how far you’ve come.”

she raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “yeah? and what’s the verdict?”

“the verdict,” you say, setting your clipboard down and meeting her gaze, “is that you’re still a pain in the ass.”

her laugh is loud and genuine, echoing through the room in a way that makes your chest feel a little lighter. “you love it, though,” she says, grinning like she knows a secret.

and maybe she does. because no matter how many times she teases you, or how much she flusters you, you can’t help but admire her resilience—the way she got back up when the world tried to keep her down.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[beloveds-embrace]

what if duchess!reader is kidnapped... just thinking..

I love your thinking 👁️👁️ fyi writing heavy action is not my thing at all as I’ve found out while writing this 💀 CW: sexual assault (not rape)

Dukedom au masterlist

The day had started like any other. You’d awoken to the soft, warm light filtering through the curtains, greeted by the warmth of your bed and the quiet hum of the household waking up around you. You were the only one still in bed; Johnny and Simon wake up the earliest every day, then Kyle, then John, and you deduce that you must’ve not had much to do on your agenda if they had let you sleep in.

Your heart sighed, happy. They cared for you so much, you adored them.

Everything was normal from then on. You showered and dressed, had breakfast with Johnny and Kyle, got stolen kisses from Simon and John.

Everything was normal.

Safe.

Until it wasn’t.

The memory of how it all happened is fragmented- too fast, too sudden. You’d gone to the gardens for a stroll, accompanied by one maid and a single guard, a routine walk to clear your mind, get some fresh air in such nice weather. But the ambush was swift. Shadows that hadn’t been there before moved, voices hissed sharp commands, and then- pain. A sharp, stinging pain at the back of your head before everything went dark.

When you awoke, you were bound. Cold stone walls and floors surrounded you, damp and suffocating, the air stale with the scent of decay. The faint flicker of candlelight illuminated the room, but no one was there at first. You couldn’t even tell how long you had been out. Fear threatened to choke you, but you forced yourself to breathe. To think.

John, Simon, Kyle, Johnny- they’ll save you. They will. That thought kept you from truly panicking, even if your heart thundered against your chest and your body trembled, tears in the corners of your eyes.

The news hit John like a thunderclap. His ears rang, and he almost didn’t believe the words at first.

“She’s gone,” Kyle reported, his usually calm demeanor shattered. His fists were clenched, slammed on John’s desk, and his voice shook despite his best efforts to remain steady. “The guards- dead. The maid survived, but barely. It was an ambush. Everyone is tightening up the security right now, but- they’ve taken her.”

John didn’t stop to ask questions. Orders were barked, search parties sent out, guards work at hard. Simon was already armored and saddling his horse before John had even finished speaking. Johnny abandoned his kitchen entirely, storming out with sleeves rolled up, his eyes sharp and lethal in a way no one had ever seen before. And Kyle was barely holding himself together in his anger, but there was a fire burning behind his eyes that promised hell for whoever dared lay a hand on you.

None of them stopped to think. None of them cared about anything other than getting you back.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been there, cold and the ropes digging into your skin painfully when the door creaked open.

The man who entered reeked of sweat and desperation, and his grin made your stomach churn. It took strength not to gag as he neared you, grimy fingers grabbing your chin roughly. “The Duke will pay handsomely for you,” he sneered. “And if he doesn’t… well, I’m sure we can find other uses for you.”

The smirk that (dis)graced his face then alarmed you, even more so when he reached to rip off the fabric of your dress, around your collar.

You flinchd, terror clawing at your throat. The tears rolled down your cheeks then, and yet he only laughed, his rancid breath wafting over your face.

“Wonder how much he’ll pay for you, eh?” He mused. “Pretty face and probably a pretty cunt too, don’t think the Duke will let ya go that easily.”

You forced yourself to speak calmly, even if your voice trembled. Shame clawed at you, at his words and the way he talked about you. “You won’t get a single coin from him,” you said, steadier than you felt. “He’s a man who doesn’t bargain with scum.”

The chair you’d been tied to groaned as you threw your weight sideways suddenly, toppling it over and surprising him just long enough for you to maybe- just- knock him out, something to get his hands off you-

But you didn’t have to.

Because then, there was shouting. The door burst open, and the first thing you saw was Simon’s familiar, towering frame filling the entrance. Blood smeared his armor, and his eyes through his mask- normally sharp and calculating- were wild with rage.

“Don’t you fucking touch her.”

The sounds of swords clanging rang out from outside, and your captor crumpled to the ground before he could even react and you were so glad it was too dark for you to see his blood coating Simon’s sword; the smell alone had you gagging. Though it was forgotten as Simon rushed to cradle you.

Then they were there- all of them. John’s hands shook with rage as he knelt beside you, pulling at your bindings with urgency. Kyle hovered just behind him, dagger stained, and Johnny was at your other side, pressing his hands to your face, whispering reassurances even as his voice wavered.

“You’re safe, love. We’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

The ride back home was quiet, save for your stressed weeping. They didn’t ask questions- not yet. Instead, they focused on keeping you warm, wrapped in John’s coat as Kyle’s arms held you steady in the carriage. Johnny never stopped touching you, even if it was just to brush his fingers against your hand.

They did not stop your tears; they let you sob it all out, as much as possible. The fear, the panic, everything, and you simply clung to them.

It was only once you were home, surrounded by the familiarity of your rooms and you were calmer, that the questions came.

“Are you hurt, my love?” John asked first, his voice gentle but commanding. “Did they…” He couldn’t even finish the question, his throat tightening.

“No,” you said quickly, voice hoarse, reaching for his hand. “They didn’t. I swear it.”

Relief flooded his face, but it was fleeting. Kyle had already left to prepare a bath, and Simon stood by the door like a sentry. Johnny sat at your feet, eyes locked on yours.

“Ye need to eat,” he suddenly said, as if being reminded. His face softened when he caught the way your lips twisted. “I ken ye probably have no appetite, but ye gotta hold something down, lass.”

They didn’t leave you alone that night. Not even for a moment, and they were the ones to help you shower and dress. They held you close, touches gentle, soothing. Simon’s dogs were there, as well, napping by the fireplace.

And when you woke up in the middle of the night, trembling from the remnants of fear, it was Simon’s voice that soothed you.

“You’re safe, darling,” he whispered against your hair, arms wound around you like a cocoon of safety and security. “No one will ever touch you again.”

You believed him. You did. And yet- you still clung to him, to all of them, desperate for any touch that would remind you where you are.

And they were all too willing to soothe your fears (they needed it as much as you did, anyways).

[knightjpg]

 As soon as you close the bathroom door behind you the loud thump thump thump of the bass crashes over you again. 

Probably for the best. Your slightly drunk makeout session with the bloke you've been mooning after ended rather abruptly when he turned green and made for the toilet bowl. At least this way you can't hear him gag his guts up. 

You smooth down your hair, readjust your clothes, and try not to feel too disappointed. Maybe you built it—him—the fantasy—up too much. Got too in your head about it, too shy to actually talk to him. Because while your cheeks are still flushed and you feel too-warm and sweaty— 

He was kind of a mediocre kisser.

Which isn't a sin, you remind yourself as you shoulder through the party crowd. Who knows? With two less beers in him he might actually do an okay job at it. You should at least give him the benefit of the doubt. 

Someone bumps into you and very nearly sloshes their drink over your arm, and this is where you decide you've had enough of the sticky heat, the too many bodies pressed together, and the grating music drowning out everything else—seriously, who picked out this playlist? 

You press on ahead to the hallway. There's still people here, but it's much cooler and the pricks of an oncoming headache are slightly soothed removed from the immediate source of their irritation. You text your friend—and more importantly, your ride—and ask if she's had enough yet and can you leave, pretty please? 

Five minutes turn into ten with no answer, and you sigh. You're going to have to go out there again and find her. As you shove your phone back into your pocket your eye lands on the rack of coats. 

It's overflowing; some of the jackets have fallen down on the floor, along with scarves and hats and gloves and everything else that you need for England's nasty winter weather.  

Unless you're crazy enough to just show up with a dark denim jacket and call it a day. 

It's the first thing you see when you look at the rack. That must be a sign, right? A little thrill runs through you when you pick your way carefully around the fallen clothes, trying not to step on anything, and grab the jacket off its hook. 

You pause when you see the patches; faded drawings, mostly, bullets and a bomb and the Scottish flag. 

You don't remember seeing those, but then you were a little distracted with other things. And no one else would be crazy enough to wear just a thin jacket, would they? In the same colour, no less, made from the same rough denim. It looks a little larger than you remember, but clothes always do when they're not being worn. 

You smile and bury your face into the rough material, pouting when the scent is off. Must be all the other jackets messing it up. 

No matter. The cute little reminder you'll leave behind will stick, and that's what's important. A mixture of lingering arousal and interest—not quite a claim, but definitely enough to prompt him to at least call you later. 

And maybe this is a little bit for you, too. It's satisfying on a primal level, soothes the lizard brain wired to do thing you were made to do: 

Be something to claim. 

When you're satisfied you've scented the jacket properly you hang it back up with the others and brace yourself before diving back into the heart of the party. 

It takes long enough for you to actually start to worry, but you do eventually find your friend. Safe and well, you might add, giggling over what a handsome bloke with a quick easy smile and warm brown eyes just said. 

“I've been looking for you forever!” you shout over the music. 

“I've been here the whole time!” your friend replies, then looks at her prince charming with doe eyes. “With Kyle!” 

“Who?” you lean in. 

“Kyle!” the guy says himself, and you give him a shy smile. 

“Hi!” Then you lean back to your friend. “Can we go?” 

“What?” 

“Can we leave?” When she frowns, confused, you repeat, “Leave?” 

“Oh!” her face falls, and she glances back at Kyle. “Little longer?” 

Yeah, you know how that goes. It must show on your face, because Kyle says. “You need to go?” 

“No, no!” your friend says quickly, and shoots you a pleading look. 

Christ. Fine. You owe me, you mouth before turning and leaving the lovebirds to it. 

Now what? 

Your nose wrinkles when you have to step over a big stain on the floor of unknown origins. Get some fresh air, that's what. You'll see if there's anyone you can split a cab with, maybe, or call Em. She's usually still awake at this hour. 

You shrug on your coat, grab your bag, and make for the exit. 

It feels like you're taking a breath for the first time since you arrived here when you step out. The contrast of the cool night air smacking you in the face after all that heat and noise has you shivering, but not in a bad way. The music still thrums behind you, but it's muted and removed. 

You sigh in relief. These kind of parties really aren't your style after all. But you didn't want your friend to go by herself, and well... 

You knew your crush was going to be here. Not that that went well, exactly, but you're trying to feel optimistic about future encounters. Maybe next time he won't talk over you or pant bad breath into your mouth. 

There's only one way to find out. He'll have to call you first, of course, but you're pretty sure that— 

“There ye are, bonnie.” You startle as two large hands wrap around your waist from behind, and your surprise turns into confusion when you smell— 

Well, you.  

When you turn your head your eye catches a very familiar dark jacket. The Scottish flag sewn to the front pocket winks at you. 

Wait a minute.

“Been lookin’ fer ye f’rever,” a man with a thick brogue and a boyish grin says. His mohawk brushes your temple when he leans into nuzzle his nose against the scent gland on your neck. 

“Ready ta go home?” 

accidentally scent-marking the wrong person’s jacket, consequently attracting the attention of a possessive (and obsessive) alpha

[narxcisse]

★ — You have a WHAT— !?

Pairing: Viktor x GN!Reader

CW: OnlyFans (don't do it in irl, have some self-love. 😐), modern au, suggestive, recording with him, implied sex

English isn't my native language

You’d been living with Viktor for a few months now, and while you two had settled into a comfortable roommate dynamic, there were still plenty of boundaries. Viktor was, after all, a reserved and intensely private person. You, on the other hand, were a little more… free-spirited.

That’s probably why the revelation hit him like a freight train.

It started innocently enough. Viktor had been borrowing your laptop to work on something after his own device had overheated. You had, of course, told him to go ahead without thinking about the open tabs you’d left behind.

The moment he opened the browser, his eyes widened. Your profile stared back at him—your stage name, the carefully curated content, and the glaringly obvious subscriber count. He blinked a few times, unsure if he was hallucinating.

By the time you walked into the living room, coffee in hand, Viktor was sitting there, your laptop on his knees, looking like he’d just uncovered a conspiracy.

“Care to explain this?” he asked, tilting the screen toward you.

Your blood ran cold as your eyes darted to the laptop. The tab. Oh, no.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, nearly spilling your coffee. “I, uh… can explain.”

Viktor arched an eyebrow, clearly amused despite the slight redness in his ears. “I certainly hope so.”

You set your coffee down, running a hand through your hair. “It’s not a big deal. It’s… a side hustle. Pays the bills. And it’s not like I’m doing anything illegal.”

He hummed, leaning back on the couch. “A side hustle, you say? Judging by your subscriber count, it’s a rather… successful one.”

You couldn’t tell if he was impressed or mortified. Maybe both. “Look, I didn’t think it was something you needed to know about. It’s just… a thing I do.”

Viktor tapped his fingers on the laptop, his gaze thoughtful. “I’m not judging,” he said finally. “I just… didn’t expect it. You’re quite bold.”

You huffed out a laugh, relieved that he wasn’t outright horrified. “Well, thank you, I guess?”

He smirked, closing the laptop and handing it back to you. “Just make sure to clear your browser history next time. And if you ever need help with… production or branding—”

“Viktor!”

He chuckled softly, standing up and grabbing his cane. “What? You know I have an eye for design. Let me know if you ever need a logo.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, though you couldn’t help but laugh. Leave it to Viktor to turn your most embarrassing moment into a business opportunity.

---

It started as a joke, one of those late-night conversations fueled by too much takeout and not enough sleep. Viktor had brought up your OF account in passing, teasing you lightly about your "entrepreneurial spirit." You’d laughed it off at first, but somehow, the idea of him being your co-star had slipped out.

He’d arched an eyebrow at the suggestion, his lips quirking in a smirk. “You’re serious?”

“I mean…” you trailed off, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Why not? You’re… well, you know, attractive. I think people would lose their minds.”

To your surprise, Viktor had actually considered it. He wasn’t shy, but he had a reserved, almost clinical approach to most things. “If it’s purely professional,” he’d said eventually, his tone careful but intrigued, “then I suppose I wouldn’t be opposed.”

And that’s how you found yourself here, in your shared bedroom, with the camera set up and Viktor sitting at the edge of your bed, looking almost too composed for what you were about to do.

“You’re sure about this?” you asked, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, suddenly nervous.

Viktor adjusted his position, leaning on his cane with a slight smirk. “I don’t make decisions lightly. You, on the other hand, seem rather flustered for someone who does this regularly.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “Yeah, well, it’s not every day I film with my roommate.”

His gaze softened slightly, and he reached out, brushing his fingers against yours. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “We’ll take it slow.”

The camera started rolling, and all your nerves seemed to dissipate the moment his lips met yours. Viktor’s touch was deliberate, his movements precise as though he were approaching this like one of his experiments—focused, attentive, and surprisingly passionate.

You quickly realized that Viktor’s calm, calculated demeanor translated into an intensity you hadn’t anticipated. He was all in, every touch and movement deliberate, as if he wanted to ensure that this wasn’t just convincing on camera—it was unforgettable.

When it was over, you were both breathless, tangled in the sheets as the camera’s red light blinked softly in the corner of the room. Viktor let out a soft chuckle, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Well,” he said, his voice teasing, “I think that went rather well.”

You laughed, still catching your breath. “You’re a natural. I might have to recruit you more often.”

He smirked, his amber eyes glinting with amusement. “Careful. I might start demanding a share of the profits.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him. “We’ll see about that.”

But as you lay there, Viktor’s arm draped lazily over your waist, you couldn’t help but think that this was definitely one of your better ideas.

— Guys, I found a dubious wifi connection, but I guess I'll use it until I have to go home lol.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Different: Christmas

Katie McCabe x Teen!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Clover

"Coopurr...Coopurr, man, knock it off!"

Your mum's cat continues to try to attack your feet under the safe covers of your bed.

"Coopurr! Come on!"

"You can just kick him off the bed," Your aunt Ella says from the doorway and you finally sit up in bed.

"I can't because he's the only sane person in this house! Do you know what it's like leaving with you two?"

"Amazing?"

Your mother pops her head through the door. "The most perfect thing in the world?"

You let out a bark of laughter. "You wish."

Katie winks. "I don't have to wish for something that's already true."

"The most perfect thing in the world is you leaving me here for Christmas."

It's Katie's turn to laugh now, pulling down your blankets and allowing Coopurr to bat at your now exposed toes.

"No chance," She says," Come on, up! We've got the flight back home this evening."

"Just leave me here to rot!" You say dramatically and Katie laughs again.

"You know, if you're here alone then you have to cook for yourself," She points and you sigh, finally sitting up in bed and scooping Coopurr into your arms.

"Fine," You say," But don't think I'll be happy about it."

"You're never happy about anything."

"Kim'll tell you that it's because I'm a teenager."

Katie cracks a smile. "You know what? Kim's onto something."

You roll your eyes as you get out of bed as Katie's eyes narrow.

"You haven't even started packing yet, have you?"

"I was still banking on us staying here."

Katie plucks Coopurr from your arms with an eye roll, trying to push you along with her foot. "Go and pack. And make sure to bring lots of jumpers! You know my parents don't like turning on the heating in Winter!"

You rolls your eyes as you go rummaging around in your wardrobe for your suitcase.

It's not like you don't enjoy going back to Ireland. On the contrary, you love going back to Ireland. You just didn't enjoy how big of a family you have.

Certain members of the family seemed to delight in reminding you that you weren't actually Katie's daughter. It didn't seem to matter to them that Katie had been a mother figure to you all your life. It didn't seem to matter to them that you barely even remembered your biological parents.

All that seemed to matter to them was pointing out that you were technically, biologically, Katie's little cousin.

You stuff whatever's clean and visible into your suitcase with little regard to what clothes you're actually packing before practically throwing the suitcase down the stairs.

"Stop trying to break stuff!" Katie yells.

"Ella's the one that broke the hallway table!" You yell back with a laugh," She came in drunk and fell over it!"

Ella gasps in horror from her room. "You said that you wouldn't tell her that!"

"And you said you would get me ice cream. But here I am...Ice creamless!"

You don't actually get your ice cream, even at the airport when you very pointedly show a selection of ice creams to Ella and she promptly ignores you.

Pulling up to your grandparents' house has always been a bit daunting to you. Before Katie adopted you, you lived in that house too, once upon a time.

Now though, it feels you with trepidation.

Most of the family is probably already there and you just know you're going to have to end up sharing a room with more people than just Katie.

You're right, of course, when a few other aunts and uncles arrive. Katie's aunts and uncles, of course, but also kind of yours. But you'd never really considered them that.

They were related to your biological parents and, again, you barely remembered them. You'd grown up with Katie as your maternal role model so it made sense to you as you got older that her siblings ended up filling the roles of aunts and uncles to you.

"You feeling okay?" Katie asks, hand gently covering yours as you sit on the squished sofa and pick at the Christmas Eve meal that her mother made for everyone.

"I...Yeah, I just..." You look up at one of the older men in the room, the one that always insisted on calling you anything but Katie's daughter. "I'm just going to the toilet."

"You feel sick?" Katie sits up properly, eyes narrowed as they flick over your face, searching for a flush or anything that shows you're feeling under the weather.

"No! No...I...I just need a bit of a breather, you know?"

"Yeah, kind of overwhelming around here, huh?"

"Yeah...I'm just gonna..."

"Yeah, you go ahead."

The mirror in the bathroom clearly hasn't been cleaned in a while, covered in little water droplets but you don't really mind as you splash your face with water a few times and stare at yourself, gripping the sides of the sink in a white knuckle grip.

It takes you a while to psych yourself up, enough time that you're pretty sure dinner has been finished and people have moved onto dessert.

It's usually loud in the McCabe household and on Christmas Eve, it's no different.

Lots of people fighting over the remote and someone singing a horrific Christmas carol and someone else lecturing someone on the correct way to cook a turkey even though everyone knows that no matter how a turkey is cooked, it always comes out dry.

But this yelling is different and you definitely recognise the voice of one of the people yelling.

"Get your bag!" Katie yells, finally spotting you lingering in the doorway.

"Wh-What?"

"Your bag!" Katie snaps before sighing and softening her voice," Can you go upstairs and grab our bags? Wait for me by the door."

You know better than to try and ask her things when she's like this so you leave to grab everything, coming down to catch the tailwind of her yelling.

"-She is my daughter and she will always be my daughter, no matter what any of you people think!"

"Katie-"

"No! I won't hear it! She's my daughter and I love her and it's none of your business anyway!"

"You can't just leave, it's Christmas tomorrow!"

"Yes! And I will be spending Christmas with my daughter! I don't care if it's just the two of us. If it has to be that way then it will!"

Katie looks surprisingly calm when she joins you at the front door.

"I don't think we'll get a flight at this hour," She says," But I reckon we could still catch the ferry and then we'll take a cab back home, sound good?"

You smile at her. "I might have accidentally left your present at home anyway."

She laughs. "That's 'cause you're psychic. You knew we were spending Christmas at home this year."

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Falling Into Me

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Smut (p in v, fingering, oral f receiving), angst, loss of virginity, light fluff, feelings :(, real bad self-image issues

Summary/Warnings: You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you.

You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.

Author's Note: This might be the horniest thing I've ever written. Enjoy <3!

Title from Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan

Word Count: 8.9k

You haven’t slept in three days, and it’s starting to be a problem. But you can’t afford to sleep. You can only drink staler and staler coffee, sit at the motel table, and pretend this is a case that, somehow, you’re going to solve. That Dean isn’t grumpier than usual, and Sam doesn’t constantly look like he’s going to kill the next person that dares to have an incorrect idea. It’s why you volunteered for the next round of interviews. You don’t want to be there when one of them snaps and kills the other, and while you wouldn’t love to return to the room and find it covered in blood, at least then you’d have an excuse to call it.

You wouldn’t call it. You’d work the case until it was done, because that’s what you do. And Sam and Dean won’t kill each other, because they’re Sam and Dean. That said, you are expecting a pouting Dean to pacing back and forth outside the room as he waits for you to return, and a grumble about how Sammy said he was being annoying and needed to walk it off. You’re more than prepared to give him a sympathetic smile and ask him if he was being annoying. And he’ll probably protest that he wasn’t, and you’ll raise your brows, and he’ll admit he mighta been drumming really loud while eating the chips.

It’s not an unreasonable expectation. None of you have slept, because this thing is insane. There’s no obvious pattern to the victims, no connections, nothing in line with everything you’ve ever seen. It’s men and woman, a wide age range, no previous coflicts or knowledge of each other in life. There are holes through theirs chests that could be bullet wounds, but obviously aren’t, because Bullets don’t remove the heart from the body. But it’s not werewolves, because werewolves aren’t clean killers like this and every fucking person in this stupid town has passed the silver test. There’s a new kill every night, and a new body every morning, and another reason for you, Sam, and Dean to start screaming every day. Every hour makes you all wired, because it’s closer and closer to another evening where you won’t have caught this asshole and another person will die.

And it’s become really easy to get on each other’s nerves. Sam was mad at Dean because he’d purposefully gotten you all burgers instead of Sam’s rabbit food, you’re mad at Sam because he said you were bad at poker—and you are, but what the fuck—and Dean’s mad at you because-

Dean’s not mad at you. You and Dean don’t really get mad at each other. You understand each other, better than you’ve ever understood anyone else, and it’s the perfect amount of alike that you’ll lend him grace you wouldn’t lend anyone else—including yourself—but you don’t see enough of your own twisting, molding innards to hate him. You mostly see something better. A man that has all the same rotting parts, but has made something out of them while you just waste away in toxins.

And you think Dean sees something similar in you. It’s why you’d been obnoxiously chewing potato chips, right in his ear, and he hadn’t punched you or snatched the bag away from your hands. He’d just rolled his eyes, grabbed one of his own, and started chewing in Sam’s ear.

So you hadn’t really volunteered for interviews so much as been aggressively told by Sam you were doing interviews. And it was only fair Dean met the same fate.

But he hadn’t. And when you opened the door to the room, they both looked happy. 

Dean practically shouts your name when he sees you, wildly gesturing for you to join them at the table. “Sammy found it!” He grins at you almost manically, and it’s a little adorable. “We can finally fucking leave.”

“I might have found it,” Sam corrects, his smile a little more tentative, but still real. “And we can’t leave yet. Not until we actually get the thing-“

“Obviously, dude, but that’ll be soon, instead of in a million years.” Dean looks to you for agreement. “I mean, c’mon. You guys can’t really wanna stay in hicktown Ohio forever?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Good coffee.”

Dean glares at you. “The coffee tastes like ass and you freakin’ know it-“

“Dean.” You give him a flat look. “Do I actually get to know what the monster is?”

Sam sighs. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“I already don’t love it, it’s a monster that’s killed like, ten people-“

“Worse than that.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “It’s sorta like a dragon.”

You, very suddenly, don’t feel really well. Everything is hotter than it had been a second ago, and the walls seem to be closing in as your skin begins to prickle and ache. “Like a dragon?” You ask, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Or a dragon?”

“Like a dragon. Tell her, Sammy.”

Sam shoots Dean a glare—not happy being thrown under the bus—and mutters, “It’s a unicorn.”

You stare at him for a long minute, then shake your head. “It’s a what.”

“Unicorn.” Sam mumbles. “They’re, uh, looks like they’re real.”

“But not Pinky Pie and Disney.” Dean adds, turning Sam’s laptop for you to read. “Real fucking assholes.”

“They hunt virgins.” Sam explains. “To bond with. And it’ll kill anyone who falsely lures it.”

“Stab the poor son of a bitch right through the heart, then pull that sucker right out.” Dean adds, spreading his legs and propping his elbows on his knees. “And it looks like it’ll go after chicks and dudes, any age, so that’s why there’s no pattern. You’re able to fuck, you’re fair game.”

“Oh, cool.” You mutter, a lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m always looking for equal opportunity murderers in the monsters I hunt.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna make it a little harder to find the thing.” Sam grabs his laptop back, frowning at the screen. “It’ll take a human form, then look for a virgin. And it won’t be able to tell until it gets the person’s heartbeat up, so it might be a guy or a girl, depending on who it’s hunting tonight.”

“But,” you glance at Dean, who’s grinning as you start to put it together. “It is hunting tonight.”

“Hunts every night.” Dean says, rubbing his hands together. “And we don’t know where, but we can take some guesses. Split up and look at all the bars in town ’till one of us finds something, then gank this douchebag and get the hell out of here.”

“Split up?” You whisper, something wired and flailing coiling around your guts. “That’s, um, shouldn’t we stick together? If it’ll go after anyone?”

“Not everyone.” Same shrugs. “Low, uh, body counts. I guess. Low enough that it can’t tell immediately.”

“So we just need a bunch of whores?"

Dean snorts. “Well tonight,” he spreads his arms, shooting you a wink that really isn’t helpful right now. “We’re the whores, Sweetheart. We’re safe, and we’re going to kick some unicorn ass.”

It’s a cheesy, stupid thing to say, and usually you’d laugh and crack a joke back. Something about unicorn ass and whores that you can’t really think of right now, because there’s bile in your throat and something heavy fogging over your brain.

“How do we, uh,” your tongue is numb in your mouth, and every word is dragged out of your throat. “How do we kick a unicorn’s ass.”

“Well, we’re looking for electrical malfunctions, golden eyes when it gets, uh, excited, and a refusal to drink anything but water.” Sam frowns at the screen, looking up at you with a half-shrug. “Anything amoral seems to knock it down, so just, uh, swear? Then shoot it with iron. Iron kills it.”

“And, um,” you swallow, tugging at the fabric of your sleeves. “What’s gonna to the virgin? If the unicorn finds it?”

Sam sighs. “They, uh, they seem to use them.”

Dean frowns, leaning around to try and read the screen. “Use them-“ 

“Their purity. Use their purity.” Sam raises his brows, and you can see the exact moment it clicks in Dean’s head. 

“That’s...” Dean trails off, running a hand over his face. “Shit.” 

Sam mutters an agreement, and your mouth feels like sandpaper, your heart beating like it’s trying to escape your chest.

“And after?” You whisper, a little unsure you want to actually ask the question, or know the answer. “After they’re used?” 

“Well, they’re not ‘pure’ anymore.” Sam puts an air quote around pure, and you feel a little sick. “So, uh, stab.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly. You might need to lie down. “Stab.”

Dean looks over you with a drawn brow, his voice low and cautious as he says your name. “Are feelin’ okay-“

“I’m fine.” You remember how to smile, and hope it looks real. Not like your teeth are starting to feel out of place in your mouth, and you can’t seem to find enough spit to choke on. “Let’s get the unicorn ass.”

Dean doesn’t look convinced. Hell, Sam doesn’t look convinced. But they both let it go for now, and you can breathe just a little easier knowing you’re not barreling towards a fight.

But only a little easier. 

Because you’re fucked.

Virginity is a funny thing. It’s just a social construct, but it’s a social construct some monsters seem to take as scripture, making it a hazardous thing to still have in your line of work. 

And you hadn’t meant to be a hazard. It just kind of happened. Because it started as something that was a given to have, then turned into something that you just were a little too busy to lose, before becoming an awkward conversation you’re not willing to have. Something that hangs, silent and sharp, over your head and around your throat. Something that’s now a question of why? Why is it never you? You’re not ugly. You’re even pretty enough that, if you tell someone, they won’t believe you and it’ll all feel worse. You’re even pretty enough that you’ve seen people size you up at bars, but none of them ever approach you.

So it might just be you. You might just have something on your face that gives away that you’re more trouble than you’re worth, a little too rough to touch and not have it sting, telling people stay away. 

And Sam and Dean will never know. You’re already a little younger, a little worse of a hunter, a small problem when they’re obviously trying to take someone to their bed but the girl sees you and makes quick and inaccurate assumptions. Sam is better at brushing them off—She’s like my little sister—but Dean gets red and awkward and suddenly loses all his well-practiced charm. He sulks back to the table, and won’t look you in the eyes for an hour or walk with you back to the bar. You’re honestly shocked neither of them have thrown you to the curb by now, an you’re not going to give them another reason to. Another reason for Sam to make a sad, puppy-eyed pity face and Dean to stare at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like there’s no way someone could’ve possibility survived as a hunter like this. 

And a small, well-contained part of you wishes Dean would look at you the way he looks at other women. Like they still have beautiful, horrible secrets that he’d love to uncover with only his hands and mouth. 

You’ve got secrets. Dean can’t have them—because they’re a liability and you’re not looking to lose him forever—but you really wish he’d just look at you. Once, really look at you, and not see you. See something so much better, that you think he’s always a little close to finding, that nobody else ever seems willing to try and look for.

You’re a little grateful they left you alone in this backwater dive bar. It would hurt to watch Dean flirt right now, when everything feels raw and wired in your body, and every time someone drops next to you at the bar you feel more and more sick. There are quick, polite conversations with random strangers who sound like they’d rather be anywhere than here, with you, and by the time you’ve repeated your cover story for the eighth time your lungs are wrapped iron and your nails feel like a burden on your fingers.

It’ll be over by tonight. All three of you know what you’re looking for, so the unicorn will be dead before sunrise, and you won’t have to do any explanations about why you’ve been quiet and tense since Dean said like a dragon. Nobody will look at you with pity or confusion, nobody will get hurt, and you won’t end up with a hole in your heart as the only people that have ever seen you to be worth something realize just how wrong they were. That you’re really just a small, useless burden that even a literal monster wouldn’t be able to stomach the presence of-

“You here all by yourself?”

Something sparks in your gut at the voice, coming from off to the side, because for a second you really think it’s Dean. It’s deep, moves through your whole body, and knocks loose something in your lower gut that always makes you feel hungry, but it’s not Dean. When you turn, the man next to you looks like someone ran Dean through a printer too many times and he came out faded. A little too short, not quite as broad, all the pretty scars that make Dean Dean seemingly vanished, and a gleam in his eyes that Dean’s never had. It’s a little more feral, without any playfulness or glowing shadows. Too much yellow instead of green, the cocky smirk just a little off, none of it right. None of it Dean.

“I’m, um,” you frown, because this man even smells like Dean. “I’m waiting for a friend. He’s running late.”

Not-Dean clicks his tongue. “Shame, leaving a pretty girl like you all alone. You want some company until your boyfriend shows up?”

You shake your head, turning your glass around in your hand. “Not my boyfriend. And I’m actually…” You trail off, your eyes falling on the man’s own glass. The clear liquid inside. “You drinking vodka?”

“Am I- Oh, sure.” The man chuckles, raising his drink for you to click. “Here’s to not-boyfriends-“

“Can I have some?”

You watch the man carefully as he looks between you and the glass. “Nah, sweetie, you don’t want this, it’s some strong stuff-“

Sweetie. Not sweetheart. Not Dean, not right, not safe. And something is starting to crawl over your skin and shoot up your spine, making you sit a little taller as your heart pounds louder and louder. 

As Not-Dean licks his lips, and scans over you with yellow eyes that might be shining. 

Fuck.

“I, um, I’m gonna go call my friend.” You start to shift off your seat, pulling your phone slowly out of your pocket. “He should’ve been here a few minutes ago, and I’m worried-“

“C’mon, you haven’t even told me your name.” Not-Dean wiggles his brows, and it looks wrong on his face. “Bet I can guess, if you give me a hint-“

“No, it’s fine, my name is, uh…” you look down at your phone, the screen completely black. You’d charged it before you left.

“Your name?” Not-Dean prompts, grabbing your arm. Holding you near him, at the bar. “I’d really love to learn it. I could teach you a few things in exchange-“

“I was never given a name!” Your voice is a frantic shout, Not-Dean’s eyes narrow, and you do the only thing you can think of. Punch Not-Dean square in the face, yank your arm from his grip, and run. Fucking sprint out of the bar and not allow yourself to falter as you hear a roar that’s a little hoarse and off pitched. Like a horse keen. Like a wounded animal.

Like a monster.

Splitting up had been a terrible fucking idea. Now you’re alone, you don’t have even an idea where Sam and Dean are, and you can’t afford to stop and jack a car because you can hear it in the distance. Hooves, clapping against the pavement, getting closer and closer as you begin to run out of breath. You can’t hide, it can hear you, and you can’t go faster because you already feel faint and everything is beginning to collapse in your body. Muscles tightening and skin crawling and eyes pushing out of your skull, every breath too shallow and every step too short. 

You fall to your knees behind a truck, wrapping a hand around your own throat and trying to force your heartbeat back down. Slow, even breathes that come out in choked gasps, nails digging into your skin as the hooves slow, and you hear a low sputtering sound from somewhere behind you. 

And it’s too quiet. You can’t hear anything but your blood in your ears, and all you can see in the night is the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp in the distance. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow every breath, hoping you can force yourself out before the unicorn finds you. You don’t want to be used. You don’t want to be alone. You just want Dean, where’s Dean, why the fuck did you let him leave you alone, why didn’t you tell him the truth, why can’t you think of anything else but Dean, where’s Dean-

There’s something hot on your neck, and a large presence at your side. Something like spit is being splattered on your neck, and you can’t contain the vomit when a too-rough hand trails up your arm-

“Get the fuck back, you son of a bitch!”

A loud bang cuts through the air—making you jump out of your skin as a heavy body slumps onto yours—and it sounds like church bells and music. It sounds like Dean. That’s his voice shouting your name, his arms wrapping around your body and carrying you away from the unicorn, his breath fanning over your face as he sits you on the curb and starts to turn your face in his hands.

“Fuck, never should’ve left you, but I didn’t-“ Dean cuts himself off with a huff, and you think he’s talking to himself more than you. “Did the asshole touch you anywhere I can’t see?”

You shake your head, keeping your eye glued shut as you curl your hands in Dean’s shirt. Maybe Dean’s shirt. Not-Dean had been wearing plaid too, and you don’t have the nerve or will to open your eyes and seen if it’s your Dean, or the cheap unicorn knockoff.

“Shit, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me. Sam’s on his way, but we gotta get you out of here-“

“Didn’t touch me.” You whisper, fighting every urge into your body to curl forwards and start sobbing weak and pointless apologies. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay? You think, fuck-“ Dean’s arm—bigger, warmer, maybe actual Dean—loops around your waist, his voice a little closer to your ear. “Need you to hold onto me, got it? We’re goin’ back to the car, and you gotta, fuck, can you open your damn eyes?”

They fly open, almost on command, and it’s Dean. The smell of whiskey is stronger, more authentic, and his face is sharp in all the right places, and it’s really Dean. 

And he looks pissed. His touch on your body is careful, and his eyes are attentive and sparked with worry, but his jaw is clenched, and his every word is suddenly pushed through his teeth.

“You’re gonna hold onto me.” He orders, holding your wide-eyed gaze with a glower. “I’ll take a better look at you when we get back to the room-“

“Dean, I’m fine-“

“And,” Dean barrels on, as if he didn’t even hear you. “We’re going to have a chat. You’re, I can’t-” he shakes his head scooping you fully into his arms. “Just hold on.”

He sounds pissed. Dean’s rigid and silent the whole ride back to the hotel, his grip white-knuckled and tight on the wheel, and you feel even worse than before. This is it. He had to save you, and he’s going to learn why he had to save you, and he might not kick you out but he won’t look at you the same again. No more ease or awe or comfort or understanding, because Dean’s rotten in places where the mold can be burned away with every good part of him, but you’re just rotten. Just a hideous thing that roars in your chest, just angry and cowardlyand revolting and wrong. You’re just wrong. 

All the panic and paralyzing adrenaline had left your body, so you push yourself out of the Impala on unsteady feet. Dean mutters something about Sam dealing with all the cleanup as he opens to motel room door, watching you shuffle inside with clenched fists and an unreadable expression. You flop onto the bed with a small whine, your body beginning to drown in exhaustion, your gaze locked on the peeling paint of the ceiling as Dean moves around the room out of your view.

“Why’d you come back?” You ask, your voice hoarse and weak, and Dean lets out a long, low exhale from somewhere off to the side.

“You were actin’ really weird.” He grunts. “Didn’t sound like yourself. Weren’t laughing at my jokes, or making fun of Sam. Looked sick every time one of us said stab.”

“I could’ve just been-“

“Don’t.” He snaps, and you crane your neck to see him at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and looking at you. Dean seems to be really looking at you, all of you, and you suddenly really wish he would stop. You’re complete exposed below him, under his glare, and he’s going to see something he hates. Something you don’t have a name for that you’ve never wanted him to see, never wanted him to find. The thing that makes everyone else look away.

But Dean’s attention is like a drug, and you need him to stop before you lose him, but you also never want him to stop watching you. It’s confusing and raw and makes you feel like a live wire, one word or touch or stare away from snapping and bursting into a million sparks.

And Dean’s still looking at you. 

“I didn’t,” you swallow, his eyes like a magnet on yours. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t.” He repeats, his voice lower. Harsher. “You’re not injured.”

You shake your head.

“Good. We need to talk.”

“Dean, I-“

“I’m asking the questions.” Dean leers over you slightly, and you nod again. “Why the fuck did that unicorn seem like it was hunting you.”

He knows the answer. His whole face is already painted in anger, and you know he knows. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Because it was hunting me.”

“Unicorns only hunt virgins.” Dean grunts your name, still not looking away. “You’re not-“

“I am.” You mumble, folding your arms over your own body as you drop back down onto the mattress. “Sorry.”

“Why would you say, fuck- Why in goddamn hell wouldn’t you tell me and Sam-“

“Tell you and Sam what?” You scowl at the ceiling. “That I’m untouched? Pure? Boring-“

“That you’d be in danger!” Dean all but roars, and you don’t flinch, but you do cringe. All the mold in your body feels as if it’s spreading like cancer, because Dean would never hurt you with his hands, but he might be about to curb stomp your heart with only his mouth. “I don’t give a shit about the virgin thing, I care that you were so fucking stupid to go off alone, that you didn’t trust me enough-“

“It’s not about trust, Dean,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut again. “And it’s not like you tell me everything-“

“I do! I’ve told you about all the shit in my past, and my fear of flying, and Rhonda Hurley, and that weird freaking dream I had with the mice in top hats-“

“That’s not the same!” You’re pushing back up on your palms, raising your voice to match Dean’s. You just need him to stop yelling at you, to rip the band-aid off and finally give up on you so you can rest. “This isn’t your business-“

“It’s my business if it’s gonna get you fucking killed, Sweetheart. And I coulda helped you-“

“Helped me?” You scoff. “I don’t need your help with this, Winchester, I’ve come to terms with it-“

There was a brief moment where Dean had looked like you’d kicked him, but it vanishes in a second as he gapes at you in disbelief. “To terms with virginity?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, holding his suddenly slack expression with your own glare. “Nobody wants me, it’s not a big deal-“ 

Dean snorts. “There’s no damn way you’re that stupid-“ 

“I am not stupid-“ 

“Yeah? Cause you’re a fucking idiot if you think nobody wants you.”

It’s your turn to gape at him. Your heart stumbles slightly in your chest, your fingers curling into bedsheets, and the world begins to spin as you try and understand his words. “What?”

“You,” Dean takes a firm step forward, drawing your name. “Are a fucking idiot if you think that there’s not one damn person on the planet who wants you.” 

“But-“

“Nah. No freakin’ buts.” He’s closer now, his knees bumping yours as he glowers down at you. “I’ve watched too many hair-gelled losers at bars size you up like they wanna take a bite for you to have buts. Hell, I’ve-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Shit, there’s just, there’s no way-“

Your face twists back into a scowl. “Fuck off, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you believe me-“

“Oh, I believe you, Sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes flash, nostrils flaring as a low groan leaves his chest, rolling through the air and settling between your legs in an aching heat. “And I finally fucking get it. You just, you have no idea. I thought you just didn’t want it, but you’re just- Shit-“

“Dean,” your voice is soft, a little breathless, and can’t help but rub your thighs together as his hands start to flex at his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I know,” he mutters, scanning over your body with an almost predatory expression. “I’m not, I just gotta,” his gaze flies back to yours, his voice suddenly stern. “Sam tell you how the unicorn choses its form?”

You blink. “Wha-“

“It takes the form that will be most appealing to the target. To help the asshole get attention quickly. That unicorn,” his voice drop, deeper than you’ve ever heard it, and it takes all the will you have to not start fall back into in the sheets. “Looked kinda like me.”

“I, um, I don’t-“

“Do you want me?” Dean grunts your name, and you make the mistake of dropping your gaze down, to his pants. To where an impressive outline is straining against his jeans. 

“I’d, I mean, I’m not-“ You swallow, everything a dizzying haze of Dean. “Yeah, I think, but you’re not-“

“I’m not what?” He growls, kneeling down to your eye level, trailing a slow hand up your thigh. “Not interested?”

 “Yeah?”

“Wrong.” Dean’s hand moves higher, trailing closer and closer to your center before running back down to your knee. “So incredibly wrong, Sweetheart. I’ve wanted you since, fuck, since I first saw ya’. But you didn’t seem to want me, so I backed off, but if you just didn’t-“ He pauses, his brilliant green eyes suddenly tearing into your soul, unraveling you before he’s even touched bare skin. “Do you? Want me?”

“I already said-“

“You said yeah.” He mutters, rubbing his hand is a slow pattern on your knee. “Need you to say the full thing, before I do anything else.”

Dean’s face is suddenly softer, with something that aches and tugs on your own heart shining through his eyes, and you couldn’t lie to him if you tried. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to Dean. It feels cruel, and wrong, and as if you’d be denying yourself something so good and rare it will never be replicated if you walk away now. 

“I want you,” you whisper. “I’ve wanted you. But I’m not, it’s not going to be good for you. I mean, I know how to take care of that,” you point to the bulge in his pants, pressed slightly against your calf as he crouches before you, and Dean frowns. “But I’ve never, um, you know-“

“You’re not takin’ care of anything.” He says, scanning over your open face with drawn brows. “We’re doing this, it’s gonna be about you.”

“Oh.” There’s a little drool falling out of your mouth, Dean reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, and your voice becomes a squeak. “Okay.”

“If you really wanna,” his mouth curves into a smirk, and you need it on yours now. “Next time, I’ll let you go to town on Little Dean.”

You can’t stop the small giggle escaping your lips, and it turns into a full laugh as Dean’s own grin grows, and nothing really feels that bad anymore. “Little Dean?”

“Compared to the rest of me, yeah.” Dean does a loose gesture at his broad, strong body, his grin growing cocky. Hungry. Starved. “But trust me, gorgeous. Ain’t nothing little about him.”

Your eyes widen, your thighs rubbing together as the need for him becomes almost unbearable, and Dean lets out a deep, low chuckle. 

“You want me, babygirl?”

You nod, and Dean’s eyes narrow as he squeezes his hand on your leg. 

“Need you to say it-“

“Yeah.” You whisper. “Yes, please.”

A grin splits over Dean’s handsome face, and his hand drifts to your stomach, his eyes never leaving yours as he drawls your name. “I’m gonna need to get you ready, so just,” he pushes you slightly, and you fall flat on your back, moving your own hands to hold his against you. “Stay there, look pretty, and let me work.”

You nod, your vision already a little blurred with desire as you stare at the ceiling. Dean draws back, shuffling around at the edge of the bed, and you look up to see his shirt gone. It’s all warm, slightly golden and freckled skin, strong and soft in all the right places. His muscles flex as he takes a long, deep breath, and big, calloused hands lowering to trace over your midriff, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What’d I say about stayin’ there-“

“I, um,” you gasp a little as his hand slips under your shirt, bunching the material and starting to slowly pull it over your chest. “I’ve done other stuff. Just so you know. And I’ve done things to myself-“

“I bet you have,” Dean mutters, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you carefully against him as he helps you out of your clothing. “Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so damn beautiful. Can’t wait to taste you, touch you, fucking ruin you-“

You let out a high, needy moan, burying your face in his neck and mumbling against his skin. “Please, Dean, just-“

You cut yourself off with a gasp as his free hand slips into your pants, cupping your pussy over the fabric of your underwear and rubbing back and forth so torturously slow you might fly out of your skin.

“So wet for me already,” he grunts, tugging on your hair until you lean back, meeting his gaze. “Ready?”

You’re not sure what you need to be ready for, but as long as it’s Dean doing it, you’re good. You nod, wrapping your arm around his neck in silent affirmation, and Dean pulls back to pop open the button of your jeans with a single hand, offering himself easier access.

Two broad fingers toy with the hem of your panties, Dean’s eyes almost glittering as his attention falls to where he’s touching you. Watching your body shiver when he glides his thumb over your clothed slit, your hips jerk when he presses down on your clit, your legs stretch as wide as they can when he starts to rub small circles against you.

“Dean,” you whine, your free hand moving to cup his jaw, trying to move his gaze back to yours. “Please, shit-“

“That feel good, babygirl?” Dean starts to quicken his movements, adding small, teasing flicks and pinches that make your eyes roll back in your head. “You like me teasin’ you? Playin’ this pretty fuckin’ pussy until you’re soaked- Fuck-“

You start to grind on Dean’s hand, trying to chase relief while showing him that he didn’t need to play with or tease you. He has you, unraveled on his fingers and desperate for more of him, all of him, whatever he can offer you that will feel like this-

“Shit, you’re dripping.” Dean’s movement on your clit still as he drags his thumb down, resting right over your aching, already sensitive cunt, and pressing into you just enough to make you whimper. “I gotta taste you, Sweetheart, c’mon.”

His gaze shoots back to yours, something a little animalistic in his low, hoarse voice that almost makes you cum on the spot. “Need you hold on, pretty girl, we’re gonna get you out’a these.”

You nod, letting Dean lay you back down on the mattress, lifting your hips as he drags your jeans off your body, taking your underwear with them. Leaving to totally, completely naked on the bed. Vulnerable, entirely at his mercy, with not another place you’d wish to be in the world.

Dean crawls slightly over you, one of his hands tracing up your stomach, palming at your breasts, then rolling your nipple between two, rough, expert fingers. You gasp, arching slightly off the bed, and a low, deep groan rolls from Dean’s chest.

“Holy fuck, Sweetheart. You’re,” Dean cuts himself off, dropping his mouth to your other breast and latching plump, slightly chapped lips around your nipple. Your vision starts to line with light that might be angels coming to take you away, because this has to be heaven. This is better than heaven. Heaven wouldn’t allow such sinful things as Dean groaning against your skin, his boner pressing into your thigh, or his hand kneading at your ass. Someone shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good. This feels like everything, and blissfully nothing, and mostly just Dean.

You must have moaned his name, because he crashes up, fisting a hand in your hair as he pulls you into a sloppy kiss. All teeth and spit and burning need. Dean tastes like coffee and whiskey and syrup and fruit when he shoves his tongue down your throat, and he smells like gunpowder and leather as his weight hold you easily down, and his lips are so soft but so demanding as he practically devours you, and you’re high. He’s not even inside you yet and you’ll never have enough. This isn’t more than what you’ve done before, but Dean’s ruined you with just teasing touches and wet, starved kisses, and you’re starting to worry you might ascend when he actually fucks you.

He starts to kiss and suck a line over your jaw, down your neck, and between your breasts. It’s heavy and wanting, but still so carefully coordinated. Every move Dean makes seems to be calculated, because he nips at your collarbone right as he tugs on your hair, and the sound that leaves you is high and undignified and exactly what he wanted. His chuckle rumbles in his chest—now pressed against your stomach—and all you can do is moan as he continues his perfect torture. Licking one nipple as he pinches the other, dragging two fingers through your folds as he kisses down the plane of your stomach, stopping right at the apex of your thighs with glittering eyes and firm hands, slowly guiding your legs open.

“Shit.” He mutters, warm breath right over your pussy, making your hips jerk slightly. “Goddamn, baby, you’re responsive.“ A wide, smug grin overtakes Dean’s face as he pushes one finger into your pussy, and you squeak. “I’ve been waiting for this.” He growls your name, and starts to pump that finger in and out, the pace so slow and almost painfully good. “God, you have fucking idea how long- How bad-“ Dean groans as you squeeze around him, and adds another finger. “You’re making such pretty sounds, babygirl, better than I ever imagined. Shit, you’re sexier than a fucking dream.”

His eyes drift back to yours, and shiver goes up your spine from how Dean’s looking at you. Really looking at you. Watching your writhe in the sheets and plead for him in weak gasps, watching you at your most vulnerable state, and grinning like he loves what he sees. Like he’s never seen anything better.

“Dean,” you gasp as his fingers pick up speed, starting to scissor inside your dripping cunt, bumping against a tender spot inside of you that seems to sing under his touch. “Oh my god, Dean, please-“

“Such pretty sounds,” Dean grins at you, crooking his fingers against that same spot to rub. “Let’s see if we can make some more.”

Without further warning Dean drops back down, latches his lips onto your clit, and sucks it right into his mouth like candy. It’s almost immediate, how he pulls you from warm pleasure to raw, almost feral desperation. You’re right on the edge, grinding on his face as his stubble burns your inner thighs in the best was possible, his tongue flicking over that pulsing bundle of nerves, his fingers reaching a demanding and brutal pace-

“Fuck, I’m-“ You let out a loud moan as Dean growls against you, pulling at his short, soft hair to try and both move him away as you dangle over the drop, and urge him on to let him catch you when you fall. “Close, Dean, I’m close, please-“

He pulls away, and you almost scream from the loss. You even force yourself up to glare at him, but you’ve barely gotten a steady balance when a high, needy breath escapes you at the sight of him. 

Dean’s towering over you, his pants discarded into another corners of the room, stroking his massive, fully-erect cock in one hand as he scans over your sweaty, flushed body. 

“I wanna fuck you dumb, babygirl.” He grunts, and you can’t really hear him your own Dean-addled brain, so you just gape and moan, and he chuckles. “Shit, looks like we’re already halfway there. You got any words for me-“

“Dean, please.” The words start to fall out of your mouth with the slight drool on your chin, almost as if he’d commanded them. “Please, I need you, need you so bad-“

You spread your legs in offering, and Dean groans. “Fuck, Sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He closes his eyes, running a hand over his face, and there’s a moment before he speaks again where you worry you’ve ruined it. That you’d shown too much, or Dean saw too much, but no matter what this is over before you can even get that huge, glorious cock inside of you- 

“I’m sorry-“

Dean frowns, his brow drawn as he looks down at you. “What the hell are you sorry for.”

“I dunno, I’m just not-“ You swallow. “I’m not good at this, I don’t know what to say-“

He grunts your name, prowling over your body under your trapped between his strong body and the bed, unable to escape his intense, searing gaze. Looking at you, examining you, and not flinching or moving away. “You,” he says, tracing one gentle hand over your cheekbones. “Are fuckin’ amazing at this.” 

You can only gape at him, so he keeps going.

“I’m the one that might fuck this up, Sweetheart. You’re so,” he makes a loose gesture to your body, and you really wish he’d use words, but the look of sheer awe in his eyes will be enough for now. “And I get to do this for you, and I’m not trying to blow my load before you even cum once.”

“I almost came.” You offer him a small smile, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw. “But you stopped me.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’m plannin’ to make that up to you. If you still-“

“I want it.” You cut him off quickly, rolling your hips up, right against his cock. “Please, Dean, I really want it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, dropping a little further down. “Are you-“

“I’m sure.” You guide Dean’s lips back to yours in a soft, almost sweet kiss, and say the words you really hope will snap whatever leash he’s put on himself. “I want you.”

It works. Something flashes in Dean’s eyes, and his hand snakes between your bodies, finding your clit and rolling it in slow circles as he growls in your ear.

“Wanna feel you, babygirl. Fuck you raw. I’m clean, but if you want me to grab a rubber you’re gonna need to keep yourself going while I-“

“No!” You almost yelp, wrapping your arms around him in a desperate attempt to keep him above you. “I mean, I’m clean too, obviously, and I take birth control just for like, lady stuff-“

Dean raises his brows at you. “Lady stuff?”

“It kinda helps with period cramps and-“ You cut yourself off with a moan as Dean flicks your clit, tossing your head back you start to squirm, trying to catch him into you. “Fuck, Dean, please just fuck me-“

“You mean like this?” Dean guides the head of his cock inside you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. “Fuck ya’ like this, baby?”

You grind on him, scratching at his back as you plead. “Shit, that’s, Dean that’s good, more-“

“More, baby? You need more already?” His grin is shit-eating, and you’d hit him if the dark look of lust in his eyes, the baritone of his voice being several octaves lower than you’ve ever heard it, and the throbbing ache of him starting to split you open wasn’t rending your limbs only putty in his arms.

“Dean, please-“

You might stop breathing as Dean guides himself fully into you, settling his face in your neck as he bottoms out. There’s a long moment where it’s only Dean’s warmth over and inside you as he gives you time to adjust, groaning against your skin as you squeeze around him.

“Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so tight.” He kisses right behind your ear. “Feel, fuck, feel so good around my cock, so fuckin’ good-“ He emphasizes his words with one, short thrust that pushes him right against that one spot and makes you whine. “You ready, baby? Ready for me to pound this tight little pussy until you cum all over my cock-“

You almost yank him back down into a desperate, borderline feral kiss, because if he kept talking you might have cum from just the sound of his low, rough voice growling in your ear and rumbling in your chest.

Dean takes a long, ragged breath when he pulls away, and you roll your hips only once. Just enough for him to groans and fall back over you, kissing and sucking on your skin like he thinks you’ll vanish if he doesn’t mark you with his touch. 

Then he starts to move, and you were right. This is heaven. Dean’s moving so slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back inside, until you’re fully impaled on him—his cock pressed fully against that one spot, making your whole body feel warm and alight, and your head feel a little dizzy—then repeating the movement again. And again. Over and over, so fucking slow, still leaving softer, slightly uneven kisses along your collarbone and grunts against your skin but-

“Dean,” you gasp his name, your nails digging into the muscles of his broad back as he continues to move on you. “Fuck, Dean, go faster, please-“

He rises up to meet your eyes, an unreadable expression on his face that’s made entirely hunger and want, but edged with something a little stronger you don’t understand. “You sure-“

“Yes.” You’re practically whining, scratching at Dean’s skin as you squirm under him, desperate him to really, properly fuck you. “Please, Dean, feels so good, need more, need you-“

He shakes his head slightly. “Don’t wanna hurt you-“

“Not gonna-” you let out a breathy moan as Dean pushes back into you, the movement a little harsher than before, and so fucking good. “You won’t hurt me, please, Dean, fuck-“

“I’m-“

“You said,” you force your eyes to stay on Dean’s, even as he sits deep into you, cock throbbing against that soft spot and making you see stars. “You said you wanted to fuck me, Dean.” You raise your chin, grinding up into his torso until his throat bobs. “Fuck me.”

A low, primal noise leaves Dean’s mouth, and he fully snaps. You might have screamed his name when he began to move again—ramming into you at an unforgiving pace, creaking the bed and bruising your hips as he grabbed at your skin, molding you perfectly into his touch and body—but he swallows the noise with a deep kiss that makes your eyes go unfocused, your whole body slack and only for Dean to play with as he drags you higher. Slamming against that spot, balls slapping onto your ass, one free hand squeezing at your tits before dragging down your side and finding your clit-

“So fucking good, babygirl.” Dean groans into your mouth, and you think you might be floating or falling or flying, but it doesn’t matter because Dean grunting in your east and slamming into your dripping cunt, and that’s the whole world. “Look so good, all ruined and whiny, such a good fucking girl, taking this cock so well, made to be fucked so fucking pretty-�� He pinches your clit, and you whimper his name. “Wanna cum, baby? Wanna fucking soak this cock-“

“Yes,” you gasp, scratching at his back, muscles rippling as he drills into you. Something in you hopes it leaves a mark. That Dean feels you on his back a little forever, just like you know you’re going to feel him in your pussy and on your neck for the rest of your life. “Feels so good, Dean, feels so fucking good, wanna cum so bad-“

“Beg-“

Dean barely grunts your name before you bite on his upper lip, almost screaming into his mouth. “Please, Dean, please, need to cum, wanna cum so bad-“

“Shit, baby, you’re-“ Dean groans, his pace becoming uneven and thrusts slightly staggered, cock twitching deep inside you as he ruts into your aching, clenching pussy-

Dean flicks your clit once, sending your hips almost flying off the bed, and starts to rub you at a frantic, savage pace. 

“Cum with me.” He growls your name, lips ghosting over yours and you stare at him under, cockdrunk, lidded eyes. “C’mon, baby, cum-“

Your scream is hoarse as your orgasm slams into you like a freight train—pure, drug-like bliss washing over your whole body, a soft haze of Dean settling behind your eyes and over your skin—and Dean roars as he slams open, warmth coating inside you and dripping between your thighs, down your ass, and onto the bed.

Dean rolls over, taking you with him, and remains carefully sheathed inside you as your cunt grows sensitive and your breathing slows back down. It helps that he keeps your ear pressed to his bare chest, where you can hear his heart beating. Calm and steady and strong, just as certain and constant as the man it’s inside. 

As the man had been.

You’re not sure what he’s going to be now.

“That, ah,” Dean breaks the silence, his voice low and almost soft. “That do it?”

You smile against him. “If you mean take my virginity, then yeah, I think you did it-“

“No, I mean was it,” He groans, his arm shifting slightly around as his voice drops. “Was it good. For you.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, trying not to hum like a needy fucking when Dean starts to run his fingers through your hair. “Yeah. Really good.” You stifle a moan as he twitches inside you. “It was awesome. Good, uh, good job?”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” You can hear to smug grin in his voice, his free hand starting to rub soothingly on your back. “You were pretty fucking awesome yourself.”

There it is. You were pretty awesome. And he’s still inside you. And you need to know if you were awesome enough for something, anything to stick.

“You said, um,” you swallow, staring at his tattoo because you can’t bear to look at his face right now. “You said I could give you a blowjob next time. Did-“ 

“Did I mean it?” 

You nod nervously, and Dean’s whole chest rumbles with his low laugh, rolling right through your body. He grunts your name, and—when you still don’t look at him—hooks a finger under your chin to guide your gaze to his. 

“Look.” He sighs, and this is it. He did you a favor, and that’s it. He won’t stay, nobody stays, why would Dean Winchester be the one to stay- 

“I get it,” you mumble, and wish you would find the will to make your body roll away from his. “You don’t need to explain-“ 

Dean’s grip on you remains firm, and his voice is a deep, amused drawl. It feels a little cruel in your gut, because you’d have really liked more. More would have been the best. You didn’t even need all of Dean, you’d just have really like more. 

“You get it.” He raises his brows, and you nod again. “Sweetheart, you might want to actually hear the explainin’ part before you say anything.”

“I, um-“

“See, I’m a firm believer that all ladies should ride more than one dick in life. Too much of a good thing, ya know?” He winks at you, thrusting slightly up into you, and you flush. “But, if you’re taking applicants for long-term dicks, I’d have to be dumb not to apply. I’m never gonna complain if I get you all to myself.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a whisper. “So, um, you mean-“

“If you’ll have me,” he mutters. “I’ll take you up on that blowjob offer soon. And any other offers you’ve got.”

“Offers,” you swallow. “For long-term dicks?”

He shrugs—tracing a finger over your arm and refusing to meet your eyes—and it might be your turn to make the move. 

“Dean.” You whisper, crawling up his chest just enough for his eyes to easily find yours. “I’d really like you being my long-term dick.”

He frowns. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that-“

You drop down to press a soft, tentative kiss against his lips, and he tenses for only a second before overtaking you. Deepening the kiss with his tongue pushing on your lower lip, groaning when you open for him without a moment’s hesitation, pinning you onto his chest with big, strong arms as you fall fully into him.

Dean pulls back for only a second, searching over your open expression—all affection and need for him, swollen lips and shallow breaths—until he finds what he’s looking for, and his face splits into a wide grin. 

“If you’re lettin’ me,” he says, tucking a little bit of hair behind your ears. “I think I’ll stay your long-term dick for while, Sweetheart.”

“I’m letting you.” You whisper, a small smile pulling on your own lips. “But we need to come up with a better name than long-term dick.”

“Boyfriend?”

You stare at him for a second, unsure if this is real, because Dean just said that word like it was obvious. Not something he’s adamantly refused to be for anyone, ever, for the entire time you’ve known him. He said it like he was waiting to say it. And, looking at him—unfamiliar hope haunting the very deepest part of those perfect eyes, his grin so genuine but filled with nerves—you think he might have been. And all the money and glory and pleasure in the world couldn’t make you tell him no.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Boyfriend’s good.” 

Dean’s grin becomes almost boyish, and this last kiss is sweet. It’s a kiss in the rain, or under bleachers, or on a rooftop with nothing but time and peace around you.

And you and Dean have never had either of those things. 

But you’d really like to and find them. And if it’s with Dean, you really think you could.

End Note: Look at Dean. Being Emotional. I'm so proud of him (I made him do that)

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

[thecottageinthedark]

It's inverted snobbery, I think. A lot of people like feeling superior to someone; queer people aren't immune. And the way human minds work, it's easy to take a group, any group, and write them off in your mind as Less Human Than You, if doing so will get you some kind of benefit.

Plus a lot of people have uncritically accepted that 'punching up' is always okay no matter the context.

I'm probably gonna get these exact people sneering at me for Caring About Cishets' Hurt Feelings, so heading that off as best I can by saying; first, people's hurt feelings are generally something you should take into account. They're often not the most important thing in a situation but they're also not nothing.

Second, the psychological payoff from thinking that queers are innately Better in some way than cishets is what you might call a payoff in cursed gold a la the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie.

Being queer doesn't automatically make anyone smart, right about things, interesting, or compassionate. It definitely doesn't make us harmless. The idea that abuse-of partners, family members, employees, friends, anyone-is a Cishet Thing? Makes it so much harder for members of the queer community to recognise when they're in an abusive situation or get help. I'm speaking here as someone who's been in abusive queer relationships! With people who vocally identified as leftist!

And the flip side of that is that if you think of yourself as innately Harmless and Correct, that...you will hurt people. You will, even if you don't become an outright abuser, because you will be refusing to acknowledge that you are a human being with the power to hurt the other humans who you share your life with.

And I'm not even gonna start on how the idea feeds into exclusionism of people who are queer in ways deemed not queer enough, such as ace, bi, and nb people...

Dehumanisation is-callng it 'the weapon of the enemy' honestly does not cover it. It's more like the One Ring, or red lyrium from the Dragon Age games. You cannot use it for good because using it at all WILL fuck you up. That is just how it works.

genuine question: why is it so hard for people to shift their language from "i hate cishets" to "i hate queerphobes".

same amount of syllables. and then you don't have to sit there and go "well DUH we don't mean 'all' cishets we don't mean the GOOD ones." like you don't have to add an asterisk, here. just say what you mean. like forreal, just... say what you. mean. if you have to CLARIFY that you don't mean a certain part of that group then why are you saying it to begin with? why are you over complicating it and skirting around it like you're scared of making your own point?

are you really that attached to the conflict between queerphobic cishet people and queers that you have to reinforce it from your own side? are you really that attached to needing to hate something that you take it out on people who haven't hurt you. i've been hurt by many, many women- would you excuse me for saying i hate all women because of that? of course not. women can also be abusive, but that doesn't give me the right to hate womanhood.

it is so easy to shift the verbiage and have it actually mean what you say. unless you truly do mean that you hate the concept of cis heterosexuality, then i don't know what to tell you, but we don't do that here in the queer community. we don't hate people for their gender and sexuality. this is not the place for you if you want to shit on people for their identities.

[katsu28]

connection

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: when a holiday gala that neither you nor max want to be at brings two people from vastly different worlds together, you find out that you might have more in common with the four time world champion than you think you do. (3.6k)

warnings: swearing, creepy men (not max don’t worry)

a/n: day three with max :) somewhere along the way this became less of a holiday fic and more of me projecting onto my characters but fuck it we ball! 

You don’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, toting around trays of champagne flutes and painfully tiny hors d'oeuvres to fancy rich people is the last place you want to be on a Saturday night, but your friend had roped you into working this event with her and you need the extra money a holiday event pays, so here you are. 

You’re not even sure what exactly it is either. All you know is that it’s some gala for folks in a totally different tax bracket than you, and you need to be on your best behavior—which, you’ll admit, isn’t your strong suit.

Your loved ones would say your headstrong, take-no-shit personality is one of your admirable qualities, but you know they only say that because they know the real you. 

These people don’t. They don’t need to. All they need from you is whatever you’ve got on the silver platter you’re holding. 

You glide through the crowd like a woman on a mission, turning up the charm to an eleven to get rid of these beef tartare crostinis as fast as you can. 

It’s part of the job description, but apparently some of these old men think you’re throwing yourself at them. The amount of ass patting bordering on groping, and sleazy comments about how you’re young enough to be their daughters you’ve had to endure in the last few hours is astonishing, and not in a good way. 

What you want to do is slam them upside the head with your tray, but you can’t. So you grin and bear it, redirecting their leering as best you can without causing a scene. What a way to start the festive season…not. 

Soon enough you’re out of food and you’re glad for it, because it grants you even just a little reprieve when you return to the kitchen. 

“I swear to god, I’m gonna punch one of those old fucks,” You fume, having just pushed through the adjoining door leading from the ballroom. 

Your friend offers an amused snort from where she’s waiting on a refill of stuffed figs. “Yeah, don’t do that, probably.” 

“They’re disgusting.” 

“They’re entitled.” 

“Okay, so they’re disgusting and entitled. God, the nerve!” 

“Y’know what, maybe you should take your break now? Cool off a little bit before you rip someone's throat out and get us both fired?” She tips her chin towards your hands, and when you look down, your fists are clenched. You’ve got them clenched so tight your nails are starting to dig crescent shaped divots in your palm. Any tighter and you’re sure to draw blood. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s—I’m gonna go,” You mutter. You can’t afford to be dismissed from the event and lose out on the payday. The best thing to do is find somewhere quiet, somewhere you can be alone and settle your temper. 

-------

Max doesn’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, milling around shaking hands and making small talk with these people is the last thing he wants to be doing on a Saturday night, but he has obligations to fulfill, appearances he needs to make to cast Red Bull in an admirable light in this season of giving, so here he is. 

His suit is expensive but itchy, the starched collar of his crisp button up pulled too tight around his neck. What he wants to do is rip it off and go home to his cats, but he can’t.

So he grins and bears it, summoning all his years of PR training to get through the next few hours as best he can. 

“Max, there you are!” His press officer materializes right next to him, clamping a hand down on his arm. He bristles a bit at the sudden touch, but it soon dissipates as he realizes it just means he has yet another hand to shake and conversation to make. “There’s some people you should meet with. They’re from one of our smaller sponsors, but important nonetheless. Think you should have a conversation, find some common ground.” 

“Do I have to?” The question is a moot point, but Max feels the need to ask anyway. Just in case the answer has changed since the last time he asked. When all they do is fix him to the spot with a deadpan look, he sighs. “Yeah, heard. Lead the way.” 

Small talk comes easily to him at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t mind numbingly boring listening to the two middle aged men go on and on about something Max couldn’t care less about. 

To the untrained eye, it would appear that he’s listening intently, feeding into their words with every carefully timed nod of the head. A chuckle here, a smile there. All the while, he’s itching to get away. The itch grows and grows and grows until Max can’t take it anymore.

He has to go somewhere. Anywhere other than here. 

Before he can second guess his gut feeling, he excuses himself quickly and expertly, making his way carefully through the crowd and towards the nearest exit. Another glass of champagne couldn’t hurt, so he snags one off a tray on his way out, sipping on it leisurely as he searches for a place to be alone. 

That’s how he finds himself outside in this open area looking over the water, somewhere completely empty and quiet, save for the slight breeze sending tiny waves splashing against the rocks below. 

Max sheds his jacket, undoes the first few buttons of his pressed shirt so he doesn’t feel like he’s being choked anymore. His chin tips towards the sky, eyes scanning the sky above. 

The moon is out in full swing tonight, hanging big and bright in the sky, illuminating the beautiful architecture around him. Max has always liked the moon. It represents success and fulfillment and power, but also has an element of mystery to it. He thinks that, in a way, the moon is kind of like him. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays here, just knows that he doesn’t want to go back inside. Finds himself dreading it, actually. Knows that inevitably he’ll have to make his return, but he’ll delay it as long as he can before someone comes looking for him.  

The sound of a heavy door creaking open draws his attention a little while later, and it makes him sigh. Looks like his time hiding out here is over. He pushes off the pillar he’s leaning on, ready to spin some half assed excuse, but then he hears it.

“Fuck!” You bite out, letting the door slam behind you. The empty area provides an echo to your dramatics. 

Max peers wide eyed around at the sudden expletive, spotting you across the way. So…definitely not his press officer. You’re already pacing back and forth, hands on your hips as you shake your head. 

He should say something, right? Announce his presence? 

He’s about to, but then you start muttering to yourself, something about old rich men thinking they can do whatever they want just because they have money. Colored by a plethora of choice swear words, you look and sound entirely pissed off. 

Probably best to leave you alone for the time being. He doesn’t know you, but he knows anger, and yours has a fire that almost rivals his. You’re also very pretty, but he pushes that thought aside for the time being. 

For the first time tonight, Max’s interest is piqued. Even so, he feels like he’s encroaching on something too personal, too private for anyone else’s ears. 

Maybe he can sneak away undetected? 

He doesn’t remember the champagne glass he’d set down until his foot hits it, and then it’s too late. Thankfully it doesn’t shatter, but the clinking against the cobblestones as it rolls away gives him up automatically. Your head snaps towards his general vicinity, eyes going wide with fear. 

Max imagines it’s probably scary for you to think you’re alone and realize that you’re not, and he’s not a monster. He has no choice but to step out from the shadows, raising a hand in awkward greeting. “...Hi.” 

“Jesus. Shit. Uh, I didn’t know anyone was out here,” You breathe, already slipping back into that carefully practiced professionality. Embarrassment and a little bit of shame runs through you at the same time as realization blooms of who this man is. Everyone knows Max Verstappen is, and you just cussed out his colleagues big time. Oh, you’re so getting fired. “Sorry you had to see that, Mr. Verstappen.” 

Max waves a hand in the air with a shake of his head. “Please, we don’t have to do that. Call me Max.”

It feels a little wrong to do so, but you oblige. “Right. Well, sorry you had to witness that, Max.” 

“Oh, that was nothing. Plus, god knows I’ve done worse.” Somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better. Max steps out a little further into the light, stooping down to grab the rolling glass before it gets too far. “Is everything alright? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Does it look like everything is alright?” You shoot back, throwing your hands up into the air. Then you remember just who the fuck you’re talking to and you freeze. “Sorry! I am so sorry, I—” You take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. Max isn’t who you’re mad at. This has nothing to do with him at all. “You didn’t do anything, I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you. I apologize. Again.” 

Max feels his lips quirk into a smile. He doesn’t remember the last time someone had spoken back at him like that. It’s actually quite refreshing. “No need. Probably very warranted too. I’ve been told I’m quite a good listener, if you need to let things out.” 

“I shouldn’t,” You sigh, pressing your lips together. Max raises a questioning brow. “It would be extremely unprofessional.” 

“You’ve just caught me out here hiding from doing my job. I think we’re past professionalism at this point,” He snorts. He takes a seat on one end of the concrete bench nearest, tipping his head towards the empty space next to him. “The floor is yours.” 

You explain your situation as best you can without getting too heated again, half expecting Max to grow defensive of his acquaintances—they always do. 

It’s a pleasant surprise when he does nothing of the sort. Instead he calls them all assholes, along with some other choice words you won’t dare repeat. He apologizes for them, says he’ll do his best to remedy the situation, but you’re sure all it’ll do is make things worse if he gets involved. 

“So…that’s why I’m out here. What’s your excuse?” You finish, letting your shoulders drop. It feels nice to get all of that off your chest for once, and to someone who actually gives a shit. 

Max sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. It probably makes it stick up at all odd angles, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I don’t really like these things. Talking to people, making small talk—between you and me, it’s the worst part of the job. Not my thing.” 

“You like to do your talking on the track,” You supply. 

Max lets out a sharp exhale, leaning back against his palms to regard you with careful amusement. “You watch?” 

“No, but I think I’d have to be living under a rock not to know a little bit about it. About you.” 

“And…what do you think you know about me?” He tilts his chin up almost in challenge, as if he’s daring you to analyze him. 

Challenge accepted. 

“I think you’re lonely.” 

A surprised laugh escapes from his mouth. He certainly wasn't expecting it, but quite enjoys your forwardness. “Well, that was unexpected. Why do you think that?” 

“You’re untouchable. A four time champion, I’ve heard.” 

“World champion,” Max corrects, but not obnoxiously. It seems like a habit to add that distinction, years and years of hard work and dedication and training for the recognition. 

“World champion, my bad.” You nod. “Congrats on that, by the way.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Like I said, untouchable. You’re the best of the best, and I’d assume even though it’s nice to be regarded as so, it’s hard for you to know when people actually want to know you, or if they just want something from you. Hence…why you’re out here.” 

“Whoa. Didn’t know this was going to turn into a therapy session.” 

“Am I wrong, though?” 

“No. You’re right on the nose, actually.” He shouldn’t be admitting this. He’s supposed to maintain the image that he has going for him, but something about you makes him feel like he can trust you with his true self. 

You’ve drifted closer together without realizing throughout your conversation, shoulders brushing, knees bumping. Max’s pinky moves to brush over yours. You let it happen. 

He’s got really pretty eyes, you notice, steel blue staring right back at you. Piercing the careful facade you have to put up when working these events. Some people are charming, and you’ve learned to keep yourself a closed book to keep yourself safe. But Max feels different. Max’s interest seems genuine. 

It only intrigues you even more. You don’t know him, but you want to. 

Max clears his throat suddenly. “I should go,” He says. 

You wait for him to back away, to put some space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. If anything, he looks like the last thing he wants to do is leave. 

Part of you wants him to stay, but you know he shouldn’t. The same is true for you. He needs to get back to his job, and you need to get back to yours. 

“Me too,” You reply, taking careful notice to keep your tone from sounding too dejected. “Thanks for listening to me rant. I feel a little better now.” 

“I’m glad I could help.” 

You force yourself to climb to your feet, putting that distance between Max and yourself up before you have the urge to do something rash. A flash of your mouth on his zips through your mind for a split second. 

No. You can't do that. 

“Bye, Max. It was nice meeting you.” 

“Yeah. Nice meeting you too.” 

Now is the time for you to leave—one foot in front of the other, away from him, back to reality. 

“Wait!” He calls before you can get far. You turn on your heel like you were expecting him to say something else, waiting for him to reach you. He catches your elbow, squeezing gently. “What are you doing after this is over?” 

“Honestly? I was going to go home and pass out on my couch.” Max’s eyebrows pinch in the middle. “But I could be persuaded otherwise. Why?” 

“Would you want to get a drink? With me.” 

“Not really helping the lonely allegations,” You tease, smiling warmly despite your ribbing. Max rolls his eyes goodnaturedly.  “Yeah, I’d love to grab a drink. But I don’t get off until late, so it might be a while.” 

“I’ll wait.” His answer is immediate. Firm. 

“Okay. Okay, cool,” You say, fighting a smile. “I’ll find you after everything is over.” 

“I’m counting on it.”

The night flies by faster now that you’ve got Max to look forward to by the end of it. By the time you’re freed from the shackles of customer service, you don’t feel as drained as you normally do. You’re strangely excited to get to know him some more. 

You find Max waiting for you just outside the coat check, pretty eyes searching the dwindling gala goers until he spots you approaching. He smiles, nods his head in greeting.

“Hi. Everything alright?” 

“It’ll be better the sooner we get out of here.” 

“Let’s go, then.” 

Instead of a bar, he brings you back to his place. It catches you by surprise when he asks, but he assures you it’s more for privacy purposes than anything else, strictly two new friends sharing a drink and some more conversation. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting for a man of his financial standing, but a massive penthouse overlooking Monte Carlo makes sense. You do your best to tame your reaction, but it really is impressive. 

His living room is probably the size of your whole apartment, and that’s just what you can see right now. A pristine white couch sits in the middle of the room on an even whiter carpet in front of a sleek, top of the line entertainment unit, and there’s some sort of sim racing setup with a fancy chair nestled in the far corner near a wall of floor to ceiling windows. Surrounding the rig are a handful of trophies and racing helmets, each of them polished to perfection. 

Over in the far corner is a huge evergreen tree, decorated with twinkling lights and silver baubles. It looks extremely professional, almost staged, and the more you look at it, the more you’re sure he hadn’t been the one to put it up.

“What do you like to drink? I’ll make you something.” Max’s voice pulls you out of your gawking at his home. Your eyes snap over to him hovering next to a bar cart stocked with liquor, sweeping a hand along the bottles. Twisting your lips to the side in contemplation, you tell him your drink of choice and he smiles. “Nice one. I’m more of a gin and tonic kind of guy, but hey, to each their own.” 

You find your way to one end of the giant sofa not long later, aforementioned gin and tonic in his hand, your drink nestled in yours. “I did you, now you do me.” 

Max nearly chokes on his drink, brows flying high at your bluntness. “Sorry, what?” 

You look unphased. “What do you think you know about me?” 

Oh. Of course that’s what you meant. 

He takes a few beats to ponder your question, eyes squinting in thought. Then he fixes you to the spot with a decisive look. 

“I think you have big dreams. Changing the world, making it a better place—but you haven’t quite figured out how to do it yet,” He says, tilting his head. Your chest tightens at his words, because they’re true. “You’re going in circles, not able to figure out that one thing that’ll break the cycle you’re stuck in. I think once you do figure it out, you’re going to do great things. Big things.” 

Like before, somehow the space between the two of you has dwindled into nearly nothing as he looks at you so intently with those piercing eyes of his. You’re a little surprised by how on the nose he is about you, but it also makes sense. Max seems very observant. Perhaps it comes from being on the lookout all the time. 

“If the racing doesn’t work out, you might want to consider psychology,” You manage to say. 

He chuckles, nose scrunching. “Sure, I’ll think about it. Though I think it’s going pretty well at the moment.” 

-------

“When can I see you again?” He asks a while later, head lolling to face you lazily.

His hand has somehow found its way spread over your knee, nimble fingers tap tap tapping mindlessly. The first few buttons of his shirt have been undone, hair mussed from how often he'd been dragging his fingers through it.

Your drinks have worn off ages ago, but you still feel warm and fuzzy. Though you suspect it’s more from the man you’re with rather than the residual alcohol talking. 

You’ve been getting to know each other as the night goes on, swapping stories about your lives until you feel like you haven’t just met him a few hours ago. His are by far much more entertaining than yours, but Max seems to enjoy the mundane of yours. 

Part of you is surprised by his question. In your mind, you were expecting this to just be a one time thing. An easy way to fill a boring night, never to be thought about again. But Max does want to see you again. You don’t let it phase you. Instead, you raise an amused brow. 

“Why? You planning on kicking me out anytime soon?” You joke. Max’s fingers twitch, and he shakes his head. 

“No, I just—I’d like to see you again, is that so wrong?” 

“Not at all. I’d like that too.” You smile at him. “Though it is getting late, so I should probably head out anyways.” 

Max doesn’t push for you to stay, just nods understandingly. “You’re sure you’re okay to make it home on your own? Let me order you an Uber,” He says, digging his phone out of his pocket. 

“Yes, Max, I’m fine. And I can get my own Uber, thank you very much.” 

“Please, let me. I asked you here, the least I can do is pay for your ride home.” He seems like a very insistent person, so you sigh goodnaturedly, waving a hand for him to go ahead. When he’s done and a car is on its way, he turns to you, propping his chin up in the palm of his hand. “I had a nice time tonight.”

You scoff lightly, raising a brow. “I recall you saying something about how company galas are the worst part of your job.” 

“I dunno, this one wasn’t that bad.” Max shrugs, a fond smile playing at his lips. “I met you, didn’t I?” 

“Best night of your life then, huh?” You tease, winking at him. 

“It’s definitely up there.” 

“Too bad it’s ending soon.” 

“Too bad,” He echoes. He tilts his head, rubs at the smooth fabric of the sofa cushion just so he has something to do with his hand. “Looks like we’ll have to see each other again soon.” 

You have all the time in the world to unravel the mystery that is Max Verstappen, if he’ll let you. And judging by the way his hand inches towards yours until your fingers intertwine while you’re waiting for your Uber to come, he will.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new writing :)

[sweetflanfiction]

Assymetrical Symphony - Part 11

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N: I am going on a little vacay and I'll probably won't be able to update it as regurlarly, but I'm going to try and schedule this chapter and another one. Good news is more time to write :D

A.N. 2: Apparently the tags have not been wroking. If you asked to be tagged and haven't been, let me know!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10

• ··········· • ············ •

It was the morning of the day after Viktor had come to the penthouse and taken a twelve-hour power nap. 

You walked into the kitchen with a yawn that stopped abruptly when you saw the three people in the room. Two of its usual occupants: your mother, Wyllah, but also a very tired Jayce. Your eyes shifted between your mother and the tanned man on the table, hunching sheepishly as he sipped from a mug filled with coffee to the brim.

“Jayce?” Your tone is a mix between a welcome and a question, not even bothering to call him by his title.

He mumbled his reply, and you looked back at your mother and Wyllah. They both gave a sad smile and a shrug.

“You left the lab.” You began, trying to get him to talk, and he nodded. 

His hair was unkempt, and his beard was starting to emerge, meaning he probably had not even been home yet.

“I needed to find Viktor.” He said, not looking up from the mug. “Your mother found me halfway out of the Academy.”

“I left one of my security guards at the lab door,” Wyllah explained proudly. “No one is getting in unless we say so.”

“Thank you.” Jayce said, still looking at his reflection.

“Did you two argue?” You asked, knowing the answer.

Viktor would have never just walked out of the lab, leaving his best friend behind, and Jayce wouldn’t look half as dejected if they had parted ways amicably. Although Viktor had probably already gotten over the argument, Jayce liked to mull over it. 

“How…?” he asked. “Wild guess…” you answered.

He sighed, putting his head on his head, finger digging into his unkempt hair.

“What was it about?” You inquired, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, even though you could also guess the subject.

“What do you think?” He snapped, and you sat down in front of him at the booth, grabbing a cookie from the plate one of the older women had placed on the table.

“The great mystery of Runeterra.” You grinned, and he just stared at you, eyes narrowed. “I know it was about the council shenanigans, but what was it specifically about? Gods know you two can fight about a fleck of dust in the window.”

Jayce looked at you and was about to retort but closed his mouth and looked at his coffee before sighing and reopening his mouth.

“I told him I want to give the Hextech freely to the council in exchange for keeping us there as engineers for it, no matter what. I would rather be there to stop them from screwing up than have it destroyed or sold to someone else.” He sighed. “Viktor would rather grab everything and run as far as he can to keep it safe.”

You smiled softly at him gently and touched his white-knuckled hand on the mug. He relaxed his grip and looked at you.

“You can both be right, you know.” “I know, but it’s not that I want to be right… It’s just…” he scoffed, frustrated, looking at the window. “He has stood up for so long, taken so many beatings from topside, kept a straight face throughout everything we’ve ever been through; he has made his mark in this world whether he signs on it or not… And now he wants to run? It feels like a step backward.”

“You both know what hunger feels like, what a wind so cold that seeps through your clothes feels like in your bones. You both know how it is to have nothing and then have everything.” Jayce looked at you both confused and interested. “The difference is Tallis; he knows what happens when you just wait and watch. You get eaten by the big fish eventually. He stood up so many other times because he knew you’d have his back. But right now both your backs are against the wall, and there will be no sorcerer to help you escape the storm.”

There was silence in the kitchen as Jayce searched your eyes for answers all the while trying to assimilate what you said about Viktor.

“How…?” He asked again. “Your past and my present aren’t that different.” 

His eyes widened for a second, and he was about to start talking again when you shook your head.

“Discussion for another time and place.” 

He nodded, still reeling but quieted down when the telltale sounds of a cane making its way to the kitchen were heard.

“What do I say?” “Nothing…” you whispered back. “He is your friend Jay. He understands the same way you do…deep down…”

Viktor was also stifling a yawn as he made his way to the kitchen, stopping mid-stride just as you did when he saw the other man in the kitchen. 

“Jayce?” He puzzled, eyes still blinking the sleep away. “Hey, buddy! You got me worried there for a second.” Jayce got up from the table and walked towards him, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen…I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn’t.”

Viktor blinked a couple of times and gave him a nod and a smile.

“Do not worry, Jayce. I understand.” He patted the bigger man’s arm and limped to the small breakfast nook, where you sat.

“Thank you, Madame Rainemour, for the hospitality.” He smiled at your mother, and she smiled back. “I don’t think I had any say in it this time, but you're welcome, my dear.”

He shifted his eyes to you, and you shrugged.

“You looked like exhaustion and tiredness had a child and left it out in the rain.” You paused and raised an eyebrow, conveying you were joking. “No offense…”

“None taken.” He smirked and grabbed a cookie from the plate.

“Well,” your mother clapped, and everyone’s eyes turned to her, you noticing a small grin on Wyllah’s face. “Since everyone is now sort of awake and looking less dejected…I have a plan…” “A plan?” Jayce asked, leaning against the door frame. “A plan.” Wyllah repeated. “Should I be scared?” Viktor asked, and both older women shook their heads in sync. “That makes me scared.” “Alright, you two... out with it...” You motioned with your head for the ladies to sit and talk.

Your mother started to explain what she had been doing yesterday after she left you and Viktor. Esther had put on her detective’s hat and gone to investigate the ins and outs of whatever was happening with the Hextech vs. Council situation.

She found that the council was going to make the decision to take control of Talis Lab and Hextech in a week or so, with Councilor Salo spearheading the efforts, being the one that seemingly had lost more in the rocket attack.

He had announced to all of those who wanted to hear him about the dangers of the usage of hextech by those who wanted the worst for Piltover. The topsiders had clutched their pearls and agreed he was right and that the council, the voice of all citizens of Piltover, needed to seize control of the tech.

Jayce bonked his forehead on the door frame where he was leaning, and Viktor rolled his eyes.

“I’m starting to see the beauty of him as a stain on the hex gate’s floor…” you mumbled, munching on a cookie. Viktor looked at you questioningly, and you shrugged him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Do not despair, my dears; as I’ve noted, I have a plan.”

Between her and Wyllah, the plan was laid out in front of the three of you. Your mother would rally up all of the investors and get them to stop the tech from falling into the council’s hands. It seemed simple and very straightforward, but knowing the Topsiders, there will be money exchange and drama and fights. Something your mother seemed very willing to do.

Both of the scientists had nodded in agreement to whatever your mother had put on the table, and you realized how much trust they all had in each other. The universe had to find a way to make up for you not being here. It had put your mother in their path so they could have her instead of you. It hurt as much as it elated you. 

“And what do we do in the meantime?” Viktor asked, breaking a cookie in half. “Well, we will need Jayce’s assistance.” Esther pointed at the broader man. “His place as a councillor and one part of the Hextech team will help us get to certain people. But I don’t think that would be your cup of tea, so you can keep securing the lab and the projects, making sure nothing ends up being shown to prying eyes.” “Are they allowing us to work?” Viktor asked Jayce. “No. No hextech projects are allowed to go forth.” Both men sighed. “I’ll stay in the lab with Viktor. I don’t want to get mixed up in that crowd again…” “Again?” Jayce raised his eyebrows, and you matched the expression.

After a while of discussing and more planning, between calculation and scheduling, your head was about to burst, so you excused yourself for a bathroom break and walked to the living room. You sat on the chair that wasn’t Viktor’s favorite place on earth and, drowning out the noise from the kitchen, felt the sunshine on your face.

You jumped at Jayce’s voice calling your name right next to you.

“Holy blue balls of Hextech.” You mumbled, putting your hands on your heart and leaning back on the chair. “Oh, so that’s where it comes from…” Jayce joked. “Sorry…” “Don’t worry about it.” You looked up at him, leaning your elbows into your knees.

“About that thing you said before.” Jayce took a deep breath. “I never told that to anyone but Viktor, and I know he would never tell anyone…” “Like I said, your past is my present. I was snapped here the same way you were.” “Yeah, I got it the first time. I’m as smart as the other co-creator of Hextech, believe it or not.” He grinned. “How? I have searched and researched high and low to figure out why it happened to me, and I never found the answers. Did he appear to you too? The mage? Did some runes in the sky and…new place, new you?”

You shook your head and looked at your hands. He was taking this considerably well, which made sense since he had also lived through something similar.

“I don’t know how it happened; I was there one second and here the next.” “That’s why you ran to the council room; you did know what was gonna happen.” He frowned, his eyes searching the air for connections. “Were you in the council room? Or in the Undercity?”

“I was in the lab when it happened. All was quiet, and then…boom…”  “What changed?” Jayce asked, and you shook your head. “I’m not going to tell you. Not all of the details. You…from there…lived it…you felt it…If I tell you, it might make you do something that would lead to the same path, and…I can’t go through that again.”

He nodded, understanding that the addition of knowledge to a situation can drastically change the outcome. You looked at his wrist, the leather band secured tightly around it and the teardrop-shaped gem encased in it. Stretching your arm, you grabbed his hand, turning it palm up. The rune was different. 

Jayce also grabbed your hand and turned it palm up. A different rune was carved there, not glowing since you had spent most of the night remaking the star rune in case Viktor woke up. You looked up at him and sighed, his eyes searching for answers.

“I think the technical term is Rune Speaker…” You smiled at him, finding amazement in his eyes.

• ············ •

It didn’t take the group long to have a sort of guarding schedule around keeping the stuff in the lab from prying eyes. Because it was involved in council business, the boys couldn’t work there, but they refused to leave anything unsupervised. And that’s why they had looked like exhaustion itself.

Between the two of them, yourself and some of Wyllah's personal security, it was manageable, although Salo had shaken his fist at having the unknown guards at the door. To which your mother promptly told him she had more money invested in that lab than he could count; she was merely securing her investment.

Your endeavor to enter the orchestra was still in full swing, so you took the time at the lab to write out some of the music you were composing. You had an outline of the piece, but it needed tweaking and cleaning up.

You were not a composer. You hated writing your music. It felt strained. You’d rather just sit at the piano and play something from the top of your head. You were good at that. This was hell for you.

Groaning, you laid your forehead on the cold lab table and groaned. A hand patted your arm, and instinctively you jumped back as far as you could.

“Eh. It’s just me, good old Viktor.” the scientist announced, limping around you and placing a cup of tea and something wrapped in a cloth on the table. “One of those days, huh?”

He sat down next to you and peered at what you were doing. 

“Looks complicated.” He said, taking a book out of his shoulder bag, and you look at him sideways, glaring at the man. You pointed to the chalkboard that now has a sheet covering it and raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve seen what you do…” you mumbled. “Numbers. I crunch numbers. Calculation and variants. It’s easy. I see them in my mind. Some are more complicated than others, but… It’s easy. This…?” He touched the clean sheet of music and made a negative sound with his throat. “Cannot comprehend.”

“Remind me to teach you the scale at some point. My mother is catching on pretty quickly. I fear she might get the position faster than me.” “Position?”  “I’m trying for the orchestra. I’ve learned that being a stay-at-home Piltie is not for me.” “Piltie?” He frowned at the nickname the Zaunites gave the topsiders. “How very uncivilized of you.” 

You both chuckled at his joke, and he nudged your shoulder in a friendly manner. He mentioned the wrapped thing with his chin, and you grabbed it. A small little cake was inside. A round little creamy thing with a slice of strawberry on top.

“Don’t expect much.” He said, opening his book. “It’s from the Academy’s cafe.”

You took a bite out of it. It was a little dry, but it was sugar, and you welcomed the feeling of something sweet in these desperate times.

“Where's Jayce?” You asked after you finished with the pastry. “I thought he was supposed to come with you.”

Viktor took a sip of his cup of tea and shook his head, rolling his eyes in the process.

“Councilor Medarda asked to see him.” He scoffed. “Confraternizing with the enemy, more like it.” “Spending time with his significant other.” you corrected, smiling when he made a ‘yeah yeah’ face.

Silent took over the lab while the two of you both got entranced by your tasks; only the scratching of pens on paper was heard. It was a friendly silence, with both of you sitting close enough that your knees would bump occasionally. Sometimes you would hum the melody you were writing, and he would stop writing to listen to it.

After a while Viktor stretched, moving his arms up to the ceiling. You looked at him and mimicked the movement but stretched your arms in front of you. The two loud ‘aahs’ of pleasure came from both of you in sync, making you both snort.

“I have been thinking…” Viktor began relaxing on the table, his shoulder hunching over. “The other day, you kept having to remake the rune.”

“You noticed?” You looked away from him, slightly embarrassed. “I thought you were sleeping.” “I caught you once or twice. It was a nice gesture, so I kept quiet. In any case, you had to keep redoing it. And well, we have had the same problem with the cores.”

“Vik…” you warned, but he raised his hand, stopping you.

“I know, but technically I am not using your magic for Hextech; I’m using Hextech for your magic. We solved that problem by introducing an artificial rune to the process.” He drew two squares touching on one corner, a crude infinity symbol. “That sustains the power of the core indefinitely. If we work at this the same way we work with Hexcore, your rune ‘push’ simply means you have no other inputs to add to it, and that means that inputs can be added.”

You remembered the rune circle in the council chambers. Going by what Viktor was saying, it made sense; the magic didn’t happen until you had pushed it forward, waiting until you finished the whole rune circle to work and slamming your hand on it to work.

“Could work, but if you tell it to keep going indefinitely, how do we stop it?“ You looked back at him and saw him scratch his neck.

“Usually we have buttons and dials…sometimes an emergency lever.”He placed his head on his hands and looked around for inspiration to strike.

You looked down at your music sheet and rolled your eyes. The answer was right in front of you. You slid the music sheet towards him.

“When you want to bring your composition to an end, you add this…” You pointed to a circle enclosing a crosshair.

“The runes are a language, and languages are fluid. New words are being introduced every day. We can keep adding to it until it works…” Viktor continued excitedly. “We have to test this theory.”

“I’m not going to test something that has a possibility of permanently staying in your lab. I don’t think a never-ending whirlwind is very discreet.” 

His shoulders slumped for a second, and then he pointed to a small door next to the front door. That was a cleaning supply room spacious enough for the janitor to keep his cart there, but it was closed off so that if something were to happen in there, it would be contained.

“Alright…Let’s test this out.” You rolled the stool away from the table and slapped your hands on your thighs, watching Viktor move with efficiency.

• ·········��·· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr

[magicalbats]

Soft Edges (Harumasa x Reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 3756

Warnings: afab!reader, chronic illness, piv, condoms, angst with porn

⭐

Spring rains bring summer flowers, and the clawing death rattle at the end of the world.

The moisture in the air bothers his lungs. 

You spend some time puttering around in his small kitchenette, preparing a herbal infused tea to help soothe the ache in his throat while he coughs and hacks incessantly in the other room. It makes the one bedroom apartment smell vaguely like an apothecary rather than a hospital bed. 

That seems to come as a relief almost as much as the warm drink does when he sips on it, humming a low sound of appreciation before thanking you for the thoughtful gesture. 

Sitting on the edge of the mattress with him, you study Harumasa for any signs of further deterioration in his condition. There were good days and there were bad days, and today was just unfortunate enough to be one of the latter. The hot tea and its medicinal properties seem to do him some good though. He doesn’t look like he’s in the process of actively dying on you, at least. 

Noticing your lingering stare on him, he lifts his attention to peer over at you. “What? Is there something on my face?” His voice is still a bit raspy. Weak. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Oh, come on. Tell me where it is so I can get it.” His unoccupied hand, the one not currently wrapped around the cup he’s got braced against his knee, comes up to swipe at the corner of his mouth, his cheek. But the knowing twinkle in his eye belies his sincerity and gives him away. 

Laughing despite your best attempt not to, you reach out to gently tug his arm back down. “Stop that. You know I’m just worried about you. It’s not nice to tease me.” 

“But I told you I’m fine, sweetheart. There’s nothing to worry about.” He assures you, his fingers snatching at yours before you can pull them out of his reach. 

Successfully snagging them, he makes quick work of sliding his palm over yours and fitting the digits together like they were a perfectly aligned puzzle snapping into place. 

And beyond the sterile sanctity of his apartment, the pelting rain buffets at the windows, an incessant staccato played to the tune of the howling wind.  

His skin feels clammy, you notice, and you wonder if you should go get the space heater out of the closet in the hallway. It was almost summer in New Eridu but the rain had brought with it an unseasonable chill that had even made you opt for a hoodie before venturing outside. He was probably feeling it worse than you were. 

“Haru - -“ 

“You don’t need to fret over me so much every time you come over,” He tells you gently, his thumb idly brushing over the back of your knuckles. “No matter how much you may want to be, you’re not actually a nurse you know. And for the better, really.” 

“Why is that?” You ask, earning yourself a softly husking laugh from him. 

“You’re way too cute, for starters. I’d never be able to control myself and I’d get into all sorts of trouble. Can you imagine your patient popping a hard on in the middle of you trying to help them get dressed? You’d hate it too, don’t lie.” 

Rolling your eyes at that, you start to pull away but he holds fast to your hand. The way he snickers, low and quiet, like his lungs couldn’t take anything more than that, almost pulls at your heartstrings enough to distract you from his real angle. But at the same time it’s also an intimately familiar sound that you don’t associate with his illness at all, in so much as you could separate one from the other. He often laughed like that when he was in the process of turning your own body utterly against you. 

Warming at the thought, you shoot him a halfhearted look of warning. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re not incapable of dressing yourself then.”

“Mm, perhaps. But I’m afraid that’s not gonna’ stop me from getting a hard on though.”

He throws you a playful wink to go with it and you draw a quick breath to chide him for not taking his health more seriously, for always downplaying his own mysterious maladies. But the words catch in your throat when he suddenly tugs your captured hand across his lap. 

Right into the center is where he presses it, making sure you feel the stirring outline of him through his cozy pajama bottoms. That he’d managed to change into them at all before knocking out under the medicated lull of myriad sleep aids and nervous system suppressing narcotics the night before was likely a small miracle. Sometimes the looming possibility of Harumasa needing help with basic everyday functions like dressing himself did not seem like such a far off what-if.  

It was not yet that day though and he was still in control of his body, at least for the time being. 

Lifting your gaze, you find his eyes underneath the attractively tousled fringe of his bangs where it was slipping forward without the usual headband in place to keep his hair back. He’s smiling at you, a barely there upward curl of his mouth that almost reads of fatigue rather than sly intent. The ghostly suggestion of tension lines on his otherwise blemish free face further solidifies that impression. 

But the way he looks at you speaks volumes, loudly conveying the message of the young man he might have been if he were not so plagued by ill health. He was sickly, yes. There was no getting around that uncomfortable truth no matter how much he tried to write off the severity of it. 

Yet he was by all accounts in the prime of his life, or he should have been anyway. Just a headstrong twenty something with the libido to match. He wanted to live, to experience. You could certainly give him that. 

“Are you sure?” At his nod, you carefully adjust your hand to close your fingers around the slowly stiffening length of him. He breathes a quiet sigh when you squeeze it through the thin layer of his bottoms. Keen and perfectly eager, but as always you were wary about going into it too hard and too fast. Especially after that coughing fit he had earlier … 

“Don’t make that face,” He murmurs. Stretching his arm out to the side, he sets the nearly empty cup on the bedside table right next to the menagerie of prescription pill bottles left out in disarray. “You’re not going to break me or kill me. Promise. I said I’m fine, didn’t I?” 

You think the two of you must have drastically different ideas of what it means to be fine but you don’t say that to him or push the topic any further than that. For his sake as much as for your own. 

And when Harumasa reaches for you, pulling you in against him, you willingly relent and sink happily into the familiar warmth of his lean, athletic frame. He feels sturdy enough that you don’t let your mind linger on it any longer than necessary and instead give yourself over to the searing kiss he presses into your mouth. You trust him to know his own limits, to recognize when something was actually wrong versus when he was just going through a bad flare up or having a shitty day. If he was feeling well enough to initiate this then you were happy to oblige. 

Which was the real crux of it, wasn’t it? The problem with a casual hookup turned long term relationship through some inexplicable means that you still weren’t entirely clear on even to this very day. What should have been a one time exchange somehow became months spent together, and now these sorts of physical exchanges were one of the rare comforts you still had that everything was going to be okay. Somehow, someway, it would all work out in the end. 

Because he certainly doesn’t seem frail and prone to illness when he bodily hauls you up further onto the bed so he can toss you down next to him with an expert flip. Your weight bounces against the mattress once from the momentum and then he’s on top of you, pinning you in place underneath him. The Harumasa you’d met that very first night and the one you make herbal tea for to soothe his throat were sometimes difficult to reconcile in your mind. But there was no mistaking that they were indeed one and the same in moments like this. 

Leaning over you, his mouth meets yours in a slow motion crash, hungry and eager to taste, eliciting a low moan of wanting from you. Kissing him back, you lift your arms to twine them around his neck while his hands slip under your hoodie to feel along your front. The shirt underneath is quickly rucked up to give him access to your chest where he hooks his fingers into the band of your bra, inching it down while his tongue tangles with yours.  

You gladly arch into his touch and your tits slip free to brush against the interior of your sweatshirt unimpeded. The sensation makes you full on shudder. Tearing your mouth away from his, you loose a quaking exhale into the still apartment which he responds to with a soft groan. The sound makes your socked toes curl as he shoves a hard kiss into the soft swell of your cheek, your jaw, then your neck. 

Unable to go any further past the bulk of the hood gathered around your throat, Harumasa pushes back just enough to give himself room to work. Grabbing the hem and shoving it up to bunch under your chin, he quickly brings his hands back down to slip them into your stretchy leggings next. Your achingly stiff nipples strain in the open air now, making the growing knot in your lower stomach tighten even more. 

A new buzzing thrum of anticipation runs through you as you lift your hips up off the bed, allowing him the space needed to yank them down your legs. They’re immediately discarded as soon as he’s got them off, carelessly tossed to the floor before he crawls back up to cover your body with his again. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs, lowering himself to his elbows so he can fully cage you in. His mouth finds its way to yours as if pulled by some invisible string and you drag your hands down his lithe frame while you exchange another heated kiss. 

Sliding underneath the rumpled back of his long sleeved shirt, your fingers quickly locate the top band of his pants and tug. The two of you are pressed too tight together in a tangle of limbs, slowly grinding against one another, for you to pull them more than half of the way down. That’s decidedly fine though, and you take to gently kneading over the exposed strip of his ass with encouraging squeezes that just make him press into you even harder. 

The outline of his cock is rigid and unrelenting where it digs against you, moulding your panties to the shape of your labia. You’re eager for the friction of his cock moving inside you, flesh sliding against warm, sticky flesh, and you can tell he is too. Yet he doesn’t rush it and instead takes his time savoringly rolling his hips as if to drag it out and make it last just that little bit longer. 

Or, an unhelpful voice in the back of your mind suggests, maybe this slow tempoed pace is all he can handle right now. 

That chilling thought curbs any impulse you might have to speed things up and take your pleasure from him, allowing Harumasa to set the pace while you simply follow his lead. The first night you’d met after a brief exchange of text messages you’d wrestled with him for dominance in this very bed to see who would come out on top. Now, however, you’re pliant and perfectly in tune with the signals of his body, lessening the demanding pressure of your hands when his breath starts to become a bit too labored. 

Groaning a shuddering noise of appreciation, he nudges himself down to your chest where he covers one pert nipple with his mouth. A roughly calloused palm comes up to grab and pinch at the other while he suckles your teat to aching attention, using his lips and his tongue to lave at the bud. His pulse soon seems to even out again and the shallow contractions of his chest become not quite so dramatic. Still, you worry about him. 

“You should switch me spots, Haru.” You tell him gently as you thread your fingers through his soft, silken hair, cradling him to your breast. “Let me be on top this time.” 

Harumasa comes up off your tit to shoot you an overly confident smirk, one you’re not quite sure he can back up right now. But you don’t protest or tell him to stop when he reaches between you to fist at his pants, shoving them down in the front to let his cock spring loose. “That won’t be necessary. Really, I had no idea I was dating such a mother hen. I’m not made of glass, babe.” 

A mournful chord curls through you, dousing the knotted heat in your stomach by some small margin. 

At the same time the rain picks up outside as if mirroring the tumultuous rising current of emotion in your chest. It smacks at the windows so hard they begin to rattle in their frames, thunder booming loudly somewhere in the not far off distance. The storm was getting worse. You hope the electricity doesn’t go out. 

“I know you’re not.” 

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Keeping his tone light and playful, Harumasa stretches over you to pull open the bedside table drawer. A condom is quickly located and pulled out, the foil wrapper crinkling lightly when he starts to rip it open. “Even if I was on my deathbed I think I could still make you scream. I wouldn’t underestimate me if I were you.” 

“Please don’t joke like that.” You snip back at him, not finding it even remotely funny. But he just laughs another low snickering sound as rolls the flesh colored rubber over his stiff cock almost down to the base. Feeling a mild pang of remorse, you draw a careful breath and say much more gently, “You don’t have to wear those if you don’t want to, Haru. I told you I’m taking birth control.” 

Humming a quiet sound, he gives himself a brief pump of his hand over the latex before settling between your legs once again, his hips nudging close to line up with yours. “Don’t worry about it. This is just fine.” 

You’re not so sure you believe that. But for as long as you've known him he’s always been adamant about using protection and you don’t understand his reasons enough to really argue against it. He’d said once he just didn’t want to take any risks or run the chance of leaving you worse off than when you’d met him. You hadn’t been sure what to make of that then and you still don’t know what to make of it now.

There were a great many things about Harumasa that remained a mystery to you though, like what exactly was wrong with him, what his diagnosis was. No matter how you posed the question he was never outright or forthcoming about that either. And while it bothered you sometimes, undeniably so, you’d found that your feelings for him were much too tender for you to push him on such topics. He’d tell you when and if he was ever ready. 

So you reach up and take him into your arms, pulling him against your chest while he tugs your panties to the side with his thumb. His mouth angles towards yours on a steady, unfaltering trajectory and he kisses you deeply, sinking into you with a stilted sigh of relief. 

The weight of his body coming to rest on top of you prods the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing in on clinging, sticky viscous arousal. You’re keenly aware of the heat of him even through the barrier of the condom and you issue a faint moan against his lips as your legs come up to lock around his waist. The careful squeeze you give him has Harumasa sinking inside you, slowly stretching your inner sleeve to the now familiar shape and size of him. 

Another teeth rattling peel of thunder sounds right overhead, as if the very center of the storm was hovering directly above the building. Perhaps it was watching the scene play out, its destructive energy growing and cresting in time with your pleasure while the two of you move in tandem with each other. Or maybe it had taken offense to the measly little ants getting it on first thing in the morning instead of bowing down and cowering in the face of its mighty wrath. 

Or maybe — just maybe, it was trying to warn you. One of you, both of you. You or him. It was impossible to say when the notion itself was so ludicrous but you can’t quite shake the feeling of existential uncertainty that sits like a lead weight in your gut now. 

It feels good having him thrust inside of you, just like you’d known it would. If you were only a bit more naive, in fact, you might have almost thought Harumasa had been made for you, and you him, given the way he seems to rub against every single pleasure inducing nerve ending along the way. You can’t help but grow wetter for him, tightening for him when your muscles eagerly clench down on the steel of his galvanized length. And you freely moan into his mouth where he’s still kissing you between soft rattling groans but … 

Why was he so dead set on using condoms even at this casually crucial junction of the relationship, after all these months spent together in sickness and in health? Did he not trust you? Did he think you were lying about the birth control and he simply wanted to avoid being stuck with you indefinitely? 

Or — could it actually be that the problem lies with him, resting squarely on his shoulders rather than yours? Did he fear what taking that final step would mean, what the end result of it might manifest when he was always prone to bad bouts of illness? 

Was the looming possibility of the existential end really so close that he needed to worry about such things? 

This was no way for a twenty something to live, and you cling to him all the more fervently for it, desperately clutching him to you like a lifeline. You wanted to save him but you don’t know how, so you open your body to him instead. Shelter, comfort and peace; the safe haven of flesh and blood, and heated breaths swapped back and forth between two locked mouths. 

And Harumasa gladly loses himself in you as if in chasing his release he could also escape the cold, bony fingers that hover just out of reach behind him. His flexing hips quicken, smacking into you with abandon now, and he sobs a frantic moan that you greedily swallow, taking it into yourself before feeding it back to him. 

His skin is so clammy under your hands. Like even the flush of arousal couldn’t completely disperse the chill that’s taken up root in him, and your heart skips a harrowing beat when his labored breaths suddenly turn thick with choking little gasps. His chest positively heaves against yours as your hands fly up to take his cheeks between your palms, carefully pushing him back just enough to look into his face. 

Expression wretched, Harumasa whimpers a low sound as if in apology while his pace slows to a weak crawl, almost a total standstill. He doesn’t completely stop fucking into you though, his cock stiffly nudging through your slick inner sleeve at such a stilted, uneven rhythm you know finishing like this will be impossible for you. But that doesn’t really matter now. It’s the very least of your concerns as you softly shush him, cooing gentle reassurances that make him screw his eyes shut as if he were in pain. 

He barely manages to reach his peak before the coughing takes hold of him again. It doubles him over and makes him collapse on top of you where he proceeds to shove his face into the pillow next to your head. You’re only distantly aware of his cock flexing within you and filling the tip of the condom with impotent seed, the vast majority of your attention fixed on the way he hacks and wheezes through the fit that assails him. It bows his spine into a dramatic, worrying hunch which you gently try to smooth out with your hand. It’s no use though. He can’t seem to get it under control. 

“Harumasa, let me help you.” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He croaks, very clearly not fine. 

Sucking in a sharp, clawing breath that seems to rip his throat on the way down, he slowly manages to rouse himself enough to pull out and roll off of you. You’re quick to follow him though, pushing up to your elbow so you can look down at him while your hand continues to ineffectively rub over his shuddering back. He sounds like he’s going to cough out a lung. The thought of calling for an ambulance momentarily crosses your mind but you know how he feels about the hospital. Only if it’s an actual emergency, he’d once told you. 

But how the hell were you supposed to know when that line had been crossed? 

Unsure what else to do, you lean further over him so you can reach down and carefully help him take the used condom off. It’s a difficult task in this position, when he’s half curled over on his side like this, still struggling to get his breathing under control, but you manage, somehow. Just like with everything else, you try to make it work. 

And outside the unsympathetic storm rages on. 

⭐

Crossposted: here

[niallerspayno]

Behind Closed Doors (Harry Styles x reader) - Fic Request

Masterlist

Anonymous request: Hiiiii can you do a imagine where it’s harry x reader and it’s during one direction and the reader is the sixth member of one direction and is dating harry but in secret because of the management and the boys catch them making out on the tour bus and never let them love it down? xx

Tags: Harry x reader, frat boy Harry era, friends to lovers, secret dating, fluff, smut

…

“You were amazing out there tonight,” Harry says softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you. He’s leaning back, his arm resting along the back of the couch, his green eyes fixed on you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

You smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You say that after every show, Harry. You’re not tired of repeating yourself?”

“Never,” he replies, his voice unwavering. “Because it’s true. Every single time.”

You try to laugh it off, shrugging. “I’m just trying to keep up with you lot. You’re the real stars here.”

“Stop that,” he says suddenly, his tone serious. You glance at him in surprise, and he’s sitting up now, his eyes locked on yours. “Stop brushing it off like that. You belong here just as much as any of us. You’re incredible, and it’s about time you believed it.”

You feel heat creep up your neck, his words catching you off guard. “Harry, where’s this coming from?”

He hesitates, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he starts, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “And I’ve been putting it off because I wasn’t sure if I should, or if it would mess everything up, but…” He runs a hand through his curls, exhaling shakily. “I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

Your heart pounds, the weight of his words settling over you. “What is it?” you ask softly.

“I care about you,” he says, his words rushing out. “More than I should, probably. More than just as… friends or bandmates. I have for a while now.”

Your breath catches, and you sit up straighter, your pulse thundering in your ears. “Harry…”

He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I know it’s selfish, and I’ve tried to push it down, but it’s always there. Every time I look at you, every time we laugh, every time you’re on that stage killing it… I can’t ignore it anymore.”

The vulnerability in his voice makes your chest ache, and you find yourself reaching out, your hand brushing his arm. “Harry, you’re not selfish,” you say, your voice trembling. “Because I feel the same way.”

His head snaps up, his eyes wide with surprise. “You do?”

You nod, your heart hammering. “I do. I’ve just been scared. Because of the band, because of management…”

“Then let’s not tell them,” he says quickly, shifting closer to you. “At least, not yet. It can just be our thing, something that’s just for us. Please. I don’t want to miss out on this—on us—because of them.”

You hesitate, the weight of the decision pressing on you. But when you look at him, his eyes filled with hope and fear and something else—something deeper—you know there’s no going back.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Let’s keep it between us. For now.”

Relief washes over his face, and his smile is so full of emotion it nearly takes your breath away. He reaches out, his hand cradling your cheek as he searches your eyes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmurs.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours, soft and tentative at first, as if he’s afraid to push too far. But when you kiss him back, your hand sliding into his hair, he deepens the kiss, pouring everything he’s been holding back into it.

The world fades away, the distant sounds of the crew and the hum of the venue disappearing. It’s just you and Harry, and for the first time, everything feels right.

When you finally pull back, both of you are breathless. His forehead rests against yours, and he smiles, his dimples making your heart skip.

“One step at a time,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “We’ll figure this out together.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Together.”

And in that moment, you know you’ve just crossed a line you can never uncross—but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

…

A week later you’re snuggled with Harry in the back of the tour bus. Harry’s hand is warm against yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm. The faint glow of his phone illuminates his face, casting shadows that highlight his cheekbones and the soft curve of his lips.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low to avoid waking anyone, “I think this might be my favorite part of touring.”

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Sitting on a lumpy couch in a moving box with no privacy? Sounds dreamy.”

He laughs softly, his dimples appearing as he leans in closer, his curls brushing against your temple. “No, smartass. Being with you. Like this.”

Your cheeks flush, and you’re about to respond when the bus lurches slightly, making you both laugh under your breath. The sound feels too loud in the otherwise quiet space, and you instinctively glance toward the curtain, half-expecting someone to appear.

“Relax,” Harry whispers, sensing your nerves. “They’re all dead asleep. Besides, they’d never look back here. Too lazy.”

You want to believe him, but the weight of the secret feels heavier in moments like this. “I just don’t want them to figure it out,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “Not yet.”

He squeezes your hand, his expression softening. “They won’t. And even if they do… it’s not the end of the world, yeah? They’d understand.”

Before you can respond, his lips brush against yours, soft and careful, like he’s savoring the moment. You kiss him back, your hand slipping into his hair, and for a brief second, it’s just the two of you in your own little world.

“Oi, where’s my charger?”

The voice snaps you apart like a rubber band snapping under pressure. You both freeze, your eyes wide as you hear Liam’s voice from the bunk area.

“Check by the table,” comes Niall’s sleepy reply.

There’s the sound of movement, and you can hear Liam’s footsteps coming closer. Harry quickly sits back, grabbing a pillow and tossing it into his lap, trying to look nonchalant. You scramble to fix your hair and sit up straight, your heart racing.

The curtain pulls back slightly, and Liam peers in, his brows furrowing. “What are you two doing back here?”

Harry’s quick to respond, his voice casual but steady. “Just talking. Couldn’t sleep.”

You nod, hoping your expression is neutral. “Yeah, same.”

Liam eyes the two of you suspiciously for a moment before shrugging. “Right. Well, if you see my charger, let me know.”

“Will do,” Harry says, offering a quick smile.

As soon as Liam disappears, you let out a shaky breath, your hand flying to your chest. “That was too close,” you whisper.

Harry grins, clearly amused by your reaction. “Admit it. You love the thrill.”

You glare at him, though you can’t suppress the small smile creeping onto your face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teases, leaning in to steal one last quick kiss before settling back into the couch.

Despite the close call, you can’t help but feel the smallest thrill in your chest. For now, at least, your secret is safe.

…

The arena is buzzing with energy as the boys prep for soundcheck. The stage is set, crew members moving around to fine-tune everything before the show. You’re standing at the side, leaning against a speaker, watching them all warm up. Harry stands next to you, hands tucked in his pockets, his usual mischievous grin on full display.

You laugh at something he says, just a little louder than you intend, and Harry gives you a playful wink, leaning in closer. The way you two interact is casual, but it’s clear to anyone watching that there’s something more.

“Oi, what’s going on here?” Louis calls from the center of the stage, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smirk. “You two getting all cozy or something?”

You freeze for a split second, your stomach dropping as your heart picks up pace. Harry quickly shifts, straightening up as though nothing’s wrong, though the faintest glint of mischief dances in his eyes.

“What?” Harry says, throwing Louis an easy grin. “We’re just messing about.”

“Yeah, totally,” you add too quickly, nervously brushing your hair behind your ear. “We’re just joking.” You catch Harry’s eye, both of you fighting the urge to laugh, but the tension in the air is undeniable.

Zayn, who’s been quietly tuning his microphone, glances up from across the stage, a subtle but sharp look in your direction. He doesn’t say anything, but you catch the way his gaze lingers on you both.

Niall, ever the curious one, furrows his brow as he steps closer, his eyes flicking between you and Harry. “Really? You two are just ‘messing about,’ huh?”

You flash him a nervous smile, trying to keep your cool. “Yeah, of course. Just having a laugh.” Your voice comes out higher than usual, betraying your nerves.

Harry laughs lightly, a little too loudly. “Yeah, nothing to see here. Just good old banter, mate.” He nudges you with his elbow, leaning in slightly, making it look even more casual.

Louis narrows his eyes playfully but doesn’t push it. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. But, Harry,” he smirks, “You’re not trying to steal our secret weapon, are you?”

“What? You mean her charming personality?” Harry teases, a grin tugging at his lips.

You bite back a smile, but you can’t help but feel your cheeks heat up. “Harry’s right,” you say quickly, “I’m just full of charm.”

The other boys exchange looks, and Liam steps forward from where he’s been testing his mic. “You two are a bit too… familiar with each other. Are you sure there’s nothing more going on?”

You laugh nervously again, your hand instinctively reaching for your water bottle. “Nothing at all, Liam. Honestly.” You take a sip, hoping it’ll ease the tension, but it doesn’t seem to help.

Harry gives Liam a quick grin, trying to make light of it. “What can I say? We get along well. Nothing suspicious about that.”

Zayn’s gaze flicks between you two again, his expression unreadable. “Sure,” he says dryly, before turning his attention back to the mic stand.

Niall watches the two of you, a hint of suspicion in his eyes, but he shrugs it off with a grin. “Alright, whatever. You’re both weird, but I’m too hungry to care right now.” He heads toward the back of the stage, probably in search of snacks.

“Yeah, we’re all weird, Niall,” Louis chuckles, clearly dropping the subject. He starts fiddling with some drumsticks, but he shoots you both a look that lingers just a little too long.

The atmosphere in the room settles, but the unease lingers. You’re both careful now—trying to seem normal, to keep things light, but the tension between you and Harry is almost palpable.

Once the boys are distracted again, you exchange a quick look with Harry. His smile softens as he meets your gaze, his eyes saying everything words can’t.

“Close call,” you whisper, your voice still a little shaky.

“Yeah,” he agrees, though there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “They’ll never figure it out.”

You roll your eyes, trying to suppress your smile. “You wish.”

He shrugs, looking far too pleased with himself. “Trust me, they’re too busy with themselves to catch on. But hey,” he adds, his voice dropping low, “we have to be careful.”

“I know,” you whisper back, feeling your heart race again, even as the other boys continue to rehearse. Despite the close call, you can’t shake the feeling that this game of pretending isn’t going to stay a secret for much longer. But for now, you’re safe—at least until the next time the boys catch on.

…

The tour bus hums softly as it barrels down the highway, the gentle motion lulling you closer to sleep. You’re curled up in your tiny bunk, the curtain pulled shut to block out the dim glow of the hallway light. Just as your eyelids grow heavy, you hear the rustle of the curtain, and Harry slips in without a word, his face illuminated by the faint glow of his phone.

“Harry, what are you doing?” you whisper sharply, your voice a little more panicked than you mean.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, his voice low, already sliding into the cramped space beside you. His body presses against yours, warmth flooding the small, cool space.

“This is a terrible idea,” you hiss, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you shift to make room for him, your heart pounding at the proximity.

“Relax,” he whispers, tugging the curtain closed behind him, blocking the hallway from view. He pulls you closer, his arm sliding around your waist as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. “No one will hear us. They’re all asleep.”

You want to protest, to tell him the risk isn’t worth it, but the feel of his body against yours makes it hard to think clearly. “One of these days, they’re going to catch us,” you mutter, though your words come out breathy.

“They won’t,” he promises, his voice confident but hushed. His hand slips under your shirt, the warm skin of his palm gliding slowly across your stomach. You shiver at the touch, your body instinctively leaning into his.

Before you can speak again, his lips find your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin just below your ear. You try to swallow back a breathy gasp, biting your lip to keep quiet.

“Harry…” you whisper, your voice breaking as he nips at your skin.

“Hmmm?” He hums against your neck, his lips moving lower, brushing just below your jaw. His hand slides down, fingers lightly tracing your side, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

You can’t stop the soft hitch in your breath, and you quickly bite your lip harder to stop yourself from making noise. But it’s impossible to ignore the way his touch ignites something deep inside you, the heat between you two building with each soft caress.

“Harry, we can’t,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, trying to pull back slightly. But his hand moves to your waist, pulling you in even closer.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing to the curve of your shoulder, the sound of his breath warming your neck. His fingers slide under the waistband of your shorts, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of your hip, making you shiver.

Just as your mind is completely consumed with him, you hear footsteps in the hallway.

You freeze, your body going rigid against him as the footsteps draw closer.

“Where the bloody hell is my charger?” Niall’s voice rings out, groggy but loud enough that you can hear every word clearly.

You glance up at Harry, and his lips are still hovering near your neck, his eyes flashing with mischief and something darker. He doesn’t pull back. Instead, his lips press softly to the sensitive spot below your ear, his hands running up your side, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just beneath your ribs.

You bite your lip hard to keep from making a sound, heart hammering in your chest as Niall’s footsteps come closer. You can hear him mumbling to himself as he shuffles toward the back of the bus, then opening a drawer.

“Check by the table!” Niall mutters, clearly distracted.

You press your forehead to Harry’s, barely able to breathe as your hands clutch onto his shirt. You’re too afraid to move, afraid that the tiniest sound will betray you.

There’s a faint sound of Niall rummaging through the kitchen area, followed by the dull clink of a cup. You wait, your pulse racing, and when the footsteps start to fade, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Harry’s hand slowly slides back down your side, and he pulls back slightly, his face inches from yours, his breath hot on your lips. “Told you they wouldn’t catch us,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement.

You can’t help the small, breathy laugh that escapes your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teases, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite everything. He presses another soft kiss to your lips, and you can’t help but kiss him back, your body relaxing just a little, even though you know the danger isn’t over yet.

...

The concert venue is a maze of hallways and hidden nooks, and Louis has, unsurprisingly, decided to turn it into his playground.

“Hide and seek! Thirty seconds to hide, and I’m coming for you!” he declares, hands covering his face as he starts to count.

Everyone scatters, laughter and hurried footsteps echoing through the backstage area. You find yourself heading down a narrow hallway, your pulse already racing—not just from the game, but from the thought of Harry finding a way to be alone with you.

You turn a corner and nearly collide with him, his green eyes lighting up with amusement.

“Lost, are we?” he whispers, his voice low and teasing.

“Looking for a spot,” you reply, trying to sound calm despite the butterflies swarming in your chest.

Harry grabs your hand before you can take another step. “This way.”

Before you can argue, he pulls you toward a door marked Storage. He pushes it open, and the two of you slip inside. The small room smells faintly of cardboard and cleaning supplies, shelves stacked high with boxes and equipment. Harry closes the door softly, plunging you both into shadows, with only a faint glow of light from the crack under the door.

“Harry, this is—”

“Perfect,” he whispers, cutting you off as he turns to face you. His hands find your waist, pulling you against him.

“Not perfect,” you start to protest, but the words die on your lips as he leans in, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s anything but innocent.

You respond instinctively, your arms looping around his neck as his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss deepens quickly, his lips moving with an urgency that sends your pulse racing.

“Harry,” you murmur against his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. His lips trail down to your jaw, then your neck, finding the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. You tilt your head, biting your lip to suppress a sound when his teeth graze your skin.

“Shhh,” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck. “They’ll hear us.”

His hands slide lower, one settling firmly on your hip while the other sneaks beneath your shirt, his fingertips brushing against your bare skin. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to his touch despite the danger of being caught.

“Harry,” you try again, your voice barely a whisper, but he’s already moving. His hand slips lower, over the waistband of your leggings, and then beneath.

You gasp softly, your head falling back against the wall as his fingers find you, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow.

“Quiet,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again. He kisses you deeply, his free hand tangling in your hair to keep you anchored to him.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, your body arching into his as his fingers work their magic. The rhythm he sets is enough to make your knees weak, and you have to bite down on his shoulder to keep from making a sound.

“Harry,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough to make him grin against your lips.

“You’ve got to be quiet,” he says, his voice low and filled with amusement.

You’re about to retort, but he presses his mouth to yours again, swallowing any sound you might’ve made. His fingers move faster, his precision making it nearly impossible to stay silent.

When you feel a moan threaten to escape, Harry’s hand comes up, covering your mouth gently. His eyes meet yours, his gaze dark and filled with both heat and a silent warning.

“Not a sound,” he whispers, leaning in to press kisses along your jaw.

You nod weakly, your body trembling as the pressure builds, his movements relentless. His free hand trails down your arm, anchoring you to him as his lips find the sensitive spot on your neck again.

Your breathing quickens, your grip on his shirt tightening as you come undone beneath his touch. He swallows your muffled cries with his kisses, his hand never faltering until you’re left breathless and boneless against the wall.

Just as you’re catching your breath, you hear footsteps in the hallway.

“Where are you lot hiding?” Louis’ voice echoes, followed by Niall’s laughter.

Your heart leaps into your throat, but Harry doesn’t pull away. Instead, he grins, his forehead pressing against yours as you both listen intently.

The footsteps pause outside the door, and you hold your breath, praying that Louis won’t check inside. After what feels like an eternity, the footsteps continue down the hall, and you exhale in relief.

“That was close,” you whisper, your voice still shaky.

Harry chuckles softly, brushing his lips against yours one more time before stepping back. “Close, but worth it.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” he teases, grabbing your hand and giving it a quick squeeze.

As the two of you quietly slip back into the game, your cheeks still flushed and your heart racing, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at what just happened. But one thing’s for sure—this game of hide and seek has never been so memorable.

...

The concert had been electric, the adrenaline of the crowd still coursing through your veins as the five of you spill backstage. The boys are buzzing with post-show energy, laughing and recounting moments from the performance as they head toward the tour bus parked outside the venue.

You and Harry, however, hang back, exchanging lingering glances that spark something hotter than just the high of the show.

As the others disappear into the bus, Harry gives you a knowing smirk. “You coming?”

“Not yet,” you reply, your voice low and teasing, tilting your head toward the quiet corner of the lot.

His brows lift in mock surprise, but he doesn’t need convincing. Within seconds, he’s following you into the shadowed side of the bus, away from the bright floodlights and prying eyes.

The cool night air brushes your skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat building between you as Harry steps closer. His hands are on your waist before you can say another word, his mouth finding yours with a desperation that makes your heart race.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and thick with amusement.

“Maybe I like the heat,” you reply, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him back into another kiss.

The kiss quickly deepens, his hands roaming over your back and slipping under the hem of your shirt. The rough pads of his fingers against your bare skin make you shiver, and you press closer, your body molding against his.

“You’re going to drive me mad,” he says, his lips brushing against your jaw as he trails kisses down your neck. His teeth graze your skin, and you bite your lip to keep from moaning, the memory of the storage closet still fresh in your mind.

“Good,” you whisper, your voice breathy as your hands slide under his shirt, your nails lightly scraping along his abdomen.

His breath hitches, and he retaliates by pinning you gently against the side of the bus, his thigh pressing between yours as his lips return to yours, hungrier this time. The faint smell of engine oil and the distant hum of voices inside the bus fade into the background, your entire focus consumed by the way his body feels against yours, the way his hands know exactly where to touch.

“Payback,” you murmur against his lips, your fingers toying with the waistband of his jeans.

“For what?” he asks, his voice rasping as he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“The closet,” you reply, tugging him closer.

He chuckles, low and deep. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

Before you can respond, the sound of a door swinging open makes you both freeze.

“Oi, where are you two—” Louis’ voice rings out, sharp and teasing, but it cuts off abruptly.

You turn your head just enough to see him standing there, his mouth agape. Behind him, Liam, Niall, and Zayn appear, each one registering the scene with varying degrees of shock, amusement, and disbelief.

“Oh, my God,” Niall mutters, a laugh bubbling out as he covers his mouth.

Harry steps back, his hands still lingering on your waist as he turns to face the boys, his expression a mix of guilt and defiance. “Uh, hey, lads.”

“You have got to be joking,” Louis says, a grin breaking across his face. “How long has this been going on?”

Liam crosses his arms, his brows furrowed. “So this is why you’ve been sneaking around?”

Zayn, ever the calm one, just smirks. “Well, that explains the looks.”

You feel your face flush, but Harry tightens his grip on your waist, grounding you. “Alright, fine,” he says, his tone firm despite the slight flush on his cheeks. “We’ve been seeing each other.”

“Secretly,” you add, your voice quieter.

“Obviously,” Louis quips, gesturing at the two of you. “What, you thought we wouldn’t notice the stolen glances and the disappearing acts?”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his cool. “We just… didn’t want to make things complicated.”

“Too late for that, mate,” Niall says, grinning. “You’re both rubbish at hiding it, anyway.”

“Listen,” you interject, your voice more serious now. “You can’t tell anyone. Not yet.”

“Management,” Harry explains, his voice hardening slightly. “They’ll lose it if they find out. You know how they are.”

The boys exchange looks, their teasing expressions softening.

Liam nods first. “Alright. If it’s about management, we’ll keep it quiet—for now.”

“But,” Louis interjects, pointing a finger at both of you, “you owe us. Big time.”

“Agreed,” Niall says, still grinning. “This is prime blackmail material, and you’ve just handed it to us on a silver platter.”

Zayn shrugs, his smirk turning into a small smile. “As long as you’re happy, I’m not saying anything. But don’t think we won’t give you hell about it.”

“Fair enough,” Harry replies, his lips twitching into a grin.

“Seriously, though,” Liam adds, his tone softer. “You know we’ve got your backs. Just… try not to get caught like this again, yeah? We can’t cover for you forever.”

You nod, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you.”

Louis claps his hands together, his mischievous grin returning. “Now, get on the bus before someone else catches you. And try not to make out too much in front of us. We don’t need the trauma.”

As the boys retreat back into the bus, still laughing and throwing jabs, you turn to Harry, your shoulders relaxing.

“Well, that could’ve been worse,” you murmur.

Harry chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Worth it,” he says, his green eyes sparkling with amusement and something softer as he looks at you.

The moment you and Harry step onto the bus, the teasing begins.

“Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence!” Louis exclaims, sprawling on one of the couches with a smug grin. “Our very own Bonnie and Clyde.”

“You guys done snogging, or do we need to give you more time?” Niall quips, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he munches on a bag of crisps.

You groan, your face heating up as you slip into the nearest seat, hoping the cushions will somehow swallow you whole. “Can we not make a big deal out of this?” you mumble, avoiding their gazes.

“Not a big deal?” Zayn drawls, raising an eyebrow as he leans casually against the wall. “You were practically glued together out there. Pretty sure the bus driver heard you.”

Liam sighs, though you can see the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, guys, ease up. Let’s not traumatize them too much.”

“Oh, come on, Liam,” Louis says, grinning wickedly. “This is the highlight of my week. I mean, think about it—Harry Styles caught red-handed. And with our very own Y/N, no less!”

“Shocking,” Zayn deadpans.

Harry, to your surprise—and slight annoyance—takes it all in stride. He sprawls lazily beside you, draping an arm over the back of your seat with an infuriatingly smug grin. “Jealous, are you?” he drawls, shooting Louis a pointed look.

Louis clutches his chest dramatically. “Oh, absolutely gutted, mate. I thought we had something special.”

Harry laughs, his dimples flashing as he leans back. “Sorry to break it to you, Lou. My heart belongs to someone else.”

You swat at his arm, mortified. “Harry!”

“What?” he asks innocently, turning to you with a playful smirk. “It’s true.”

Niall lets out a low whistle, his grin widening. “Look at him. Not even embarrassed. Meanwhile, she looks like she wants to sink through the floor.”

“She’s not used to your incessant chatter,” Harry retorts, giving Niall a pointed look. “Give her a break, yeah?”

“Oi, don’t act all protective now,” Louis cuts in, his grin wicked. “You didn’t seem to mind showing off out there.”

“Showing off?” Harry repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty sure you lot interrupted what was shaping up to be a very good time for me.”

The boys erupt into laughter, and your embarrassment deepens as you bury your face in your hands. “I hate all of you,” you groan, though there’s no real malice in your voice.

“Aw, she loves us really,” Niall says, his voice sing-song as he throws a crisp at you.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Zayn teases, smirking as he sits across from you.

Harry leans closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “They’ll let it go eventually. Maybe in a year or two.”

You glare at him, but his soft laugh and the sparkle in his eyes make it impossible to stay mad. “You’re not helping,” you mutter.

“Not trying to,” he replies, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

“Alright, enough,” Liam says, trying to restore some semblance of order. “Let’s at least agree not to bring it up in front of management, yeah? We promised we’d keep this quiet.”

“Fine, fine,” Louis says, waving a hand dismissively. “But you can’t stop me from enjoying the fact that you two got busted.”

“Enjoy it all you want,” Harry says, his smirk returning. “Just remember, I know all your secrets too.”

The boys exchange amused glances, and the teasing finally begins to die down as the conversation shifts to lighter topics. But you can still feel the occasional glance their way, and every now and then, a sly comment slips through.

Despite the endless ribbing, Harry’s calm confidence keeps you grounded. He doesn’t seem fazed by any of it, his hand casually resting on your thigh under the table where no one else can see. And when you catch his eye, the warmth in his smile reminds you why the chaos is worth it.

As the bus rolls into the night, the teasing fades into the background, and you find yourself leaning into Harry’s side, a small smile tugging at your lips. Because no matter what, you know you’ll face it together.

[lady-silva]

Enjoying The Show?

(poly!) Dabi | Touya Todoroki x Hawks | Keigo Takami x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Notes from Elle: currently fixating over dabihawks x reader and wanted to write a little something. Enjoy!

Warnings: established poly!relationship, no quirks au (none mentioned or used), pwp, petnames: angel & baby - by keigo, babe & princess - by touya, a bit of voyeurism, marking, oral: m + f rec., unprotected p in v sex (wrap before you tap friends), dirty talk by both kei and touya, general threesome things, otherwise pretty tame. let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Cross-posted to ao3: @ ladysilva

Banner cred to @arcielee

Do not copy or translate my works. Thanks!

What a day, you think, closing your car door and heading toward the door to your apartment building. After a long work shift, you can’t wait to kick back and relax at home. While waiting for the elevator, you glance down at your phone to check your messages. You had planned to stop at the store to pick up a few essentials after work, texting Keigo and Touya that you’d be home a bit later than usual. However, after a few minutes of driving and navigating rush-hour traffic, a tired feeling set in and you opted to go straight home instead. Keigo texted back a while ago:

[kei] alright angel, we’ll see you at home 😘

Touya doesn’t respond, though he has seen the message. Probably because they’ve both been together at home all day, you let out a little sigh. Lucky ducks. The elevator pings, and you start down the short hallway. Your keys jingle softly as you reach to unlock the door of your shared apartment. You’re greeted with silence.

It is an unspoken rule in your relationship that whoever is at home for the day cooks the evening meal, and usually on days like today you walk in to Keigo in front of the stove while Touya lounges at the table nearby, teasingly critiquing his cooking skills. Now, there are a few ingredients out on the counter, but otherwise no trace of your boys. That is, until you hear a faint sound come from the hallway. You stop moving to listen for a minute, and sure enough another muffled noise makes its way to your ears.

Curious, you creep toward your shared bedroom, and the door is cracked open just slightly. Hiding your body from view, you peek inside. Touya’s back is against the headboard of your bed, neck arched back, eyes closed, and body on full display. One of his hands fists the sheets, the other is tangled in a mess of familiar blond hair bobbing up and down between his spread legs. Keigo’s shirtless, face flushed, and bracing himself with both hands on Touya’s thighs, enthusiastically swallowing down the cock in front of him. You feel a wave of arousal go straight to your core at the sight of it. Keigo pulls his head away, using his hand to give a few slow strokes down Touya’s length and planting a wet kiss on his pretty tip. Touya lets out a low growl.

“Fuuuuck, don’t be a tease right now.” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” comes the reply from Keigo, who looks content to continue at his current pace.

Touya grips Keigo’s hair tighter and pushes his mouth back onto his cock, angling his head further downwards this time. He lets out another one of those sinful sounds, and you dip a hand down into your pants to tease your clit, the other still hanging on to the door frame as you continue to watch the scene unfold in front of you. Keigo lets Touya buck his hips upward, and his jaw slackens as he lets out a moan of his own. Their movement gets faster and faster and you continue to stroke yourself, trying to be quiet so as to not be caught. It’s not often you get to see them like this, completely wrapped up in pleasure and arousal, Touya desperately chasing his high and Keigo doing whatever he can to help him get there. 

“Shit - cumming.” He grunts, still fucking Keigo’s mouth while he rides out his climax. You whimper softly and immediately feel Touya’s icy blue eyes lock on to yours through the door frame. Hand and body freezing in place, you curse yourself for giving your presence away.  Keigo swallows, sighing deeply, then flops onto his side. Touya finally looks away, and you attempt to sneak back down the hallway before you hear his gravelly voice.

“Wasn’t expecting you home for a while, babe. Are you enjoying the show?” He drawls.

Your cheeks heat up, and you pull the door open with a creak, revealing yourself to your boys. Keigo props himself up on one elbow, amber eyes finding you and sparkling with mischief.

“Hey, angel.” He gives you a lazy smile. “Just what did you think you were doing, trying to sneak around like that?” 

“I wasn’t being sneaky, I promise-” you start, but Touya interrupts.

“I don’t believe that for a second, babe. I could tell you were watching us the whole time.” 

“Dirty girl. Were you getting off to it?” Keigo cocks an eyebrow at you, and you suddenly feel a little self-conscious.

“Maybe…” you say shyly, breaking eye contact to stare at the floor. Touya moves like lightning to where you’re standing and hooks his thumb under your chin, bringing your mouth to his for a passionate kiss. Keigo undoes his belt and pulls out his cock, lazily stroking it as he watches Touya lap into your mouth with his tongue. You tangle your hands into his hair and pull lightly, making him groan onto your lips as his hands find the buttons on your shirt and deftly undo them. It gets tossed somewhere in the room for you to find later. Still kissing Touya, you make a move towards the bed and he lifts you up and carries you over. Your legs lock around his waist and you can tell that he’s hard again when you feel his arousal brush against your ass.

He places you down and crawls over top of you, lips going straight to your neck and sucking at it, leaving a few marks in his wake. Keigo crawls over to the two of you, admiring your body as he does.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so gorgeous, so cute when you get all shy like that.” he teases, running a hand down your side. Touya’s made his way down to your chest now, bra pulled down to access your nipples and toy with them with his fingers and tongue. You moan softly as you make eye contact with Keigo, his hands still stroking up and down your body with feather-light touches. He leans in and presses his lips against yours softly. You reach a hand down and wrap it around his shaft, and he groans. 

Touya goes for your pants next, pulling them right off you. Your breath hitches as he nips one of your thighs and looks up at you with those piercing eyes again while settling between your legs. You squirm as Touya moves your panties aside and runs a long finger down your slit. 

“You’re fucking soaked down here, princess. I knew you were touching yourself over there.” He muses. 

“I couldn’t help it, you just both looked so sexy.” You say huskily, and Touya continues with those light caresses while Keigo attacks the other side of your neck with his mouth, hands palming your chest. 

“Not so shy anymore, are you, angel?” Keigo chuckles against your neck, moaning when you tighten your grip around him and moving your hand a bit faster. His cheeks are flushed the prettiest pink and you kiss him again with fervor. Your attention snaps back to Touya again as he gives a rough suck to your clit, grinning when he feels you shiver with need. He repeats the action to coax another sound out of you. 

“Enough with the teasing, Touya!” You whine. “Please just touch me.” The doe eyes you give him are enough to make him give in - almost. 

“You’re in no place to be making demands, babe. Seems to me you haven’t thanked Keigo for that little show earlier yet. Why don’t you show him some love with that sweet mouth of yours while I play with this pretty pussy?” He hums, pulling away from your heat and motioning to Keigo.

“Sounds like a good compromise to me. What do you think, baby? Wanna choke on this cock?” You nod, now completely worked up and desperate for any kind of contact. Keigo shifts onto his knees near your head. You angle your head to the side and adjust as Keigo eases into your throat. You hollow your cheeks with the suction you know he goes crazy over, your hand stroking what you can’t fit into your mouth as your head bobs. Meanwhile, Touya makes good on his promise between your legs as he dives into your pussy. He eats you sloppily, alternating between worming his tongue deep inside you and sucking your clit, groaning as your taste floods his tongue.

“So good at sucking cock, angel, so fucking good-” Keigo moans. His hand threads into your hair and he begins to thrust his hips towards your mouth. “Such a pretty little thing, swallowing this dick so well, shit!” He shifts his hips to angle his strokes deeper. Your throat stings a little, but you’re too lost in the pleasure building between your legs to notice it much. 

Touya now has his fingers thrusting and scissoring inside you, his tongue still working its magic on your clit and building that knot of pleasure in your stomach. The room is filled with a cacophony of sounds from all three of you. 

“I know you’re almost there, princess. I can feel you clamping down on my fingers.” Touya murmurs into you, purposefully moving his fingers deeper. 

“Fuck angel, - so good - you gonna cum on Touya’s tongue? Make a mess for us, yeah?” Keigo’s starting to ramble, a telltale sign he’s close to his climax as well. He continues to thrust into your mouth until he stills, letting out a strangled moan and painting your throat white. Hearing Keigo snaps your own coil and you throw your head back onto the pillow. Touya has to drape an arm across your hips to keep you from bucking upwards too much as your orgasm finally rips through your body. 

You lay still on your back for a moment, chest heaving. Both boys move to lay on either side of you. “That was incredible. Thank you Touya,” You turn to him and place a chaste kiss on his lips, then lean over to Keigo to do the same “Thank you Kei. Love you both.” 

Keigo hums. “You’re welcome songbird. Love ya too, but I’m not sure we’re quite done yet.” He motions to the man behind you. Touya’s eyes hungrily roam up and down your body, palming his still-hardened length. You meet his gaze, then look in question to Keigo, who shrugs.

“I’m spent for right now, but I’m happy to watch.” His amber eyes have that mischievous gleam in them again. Touya wastes no time to climb over you and line himself up with your dripping entrance. He slowly sinks into you and both moan, you at the stretch and him at your silky walls sucking him in. Keigo’s got himself situated laying on his side, one hand cupping your face lovingly.

“You should have seen how pent up Touya was earlier, baby. He practically dragged me in here to get started after you told us you’d be late.” Keigo chuckled.

“If I remember correctly, it was your needy ass who couldn’t wait until Princess here got home.” Touya growled in reply, picking up the pace of his thrusts a bit. “As if I’d lose my composure like that.” 

“Whatever you say, but that doesn’t sound like me at all,” Keigo sits up and mashes his lips against Touya’s in a flurry of teeth and tongue. 

“Shit, Touya. Keigo.” You moan as Touya breaks his kiss with Keigo to hook one of your legs over his shoulder, making the angle deeper and so much more satisfying than before as he continues to fuck you into the matress. Keigo opts to tease his thumb over your clit, relishing in the sounds you continue to make. His lips find your neck to kiss at it and whisper in your ear.

“Look at you being so good for us, angel. You like when we ravage you like this?”

“Fuck, yes! Love it - love it so much. So close!” You choke out. Touya takes this as a cue to go harder, the caress of his tip on your g-spot overwhelming and the slap of his balls against you echoing in the room. 

“Mmmm, can’t get enough of the way you squeeze me, Princess. Love this fucking pussy so much, gonna mold it into the shape of me, fuck! Be a good girl and cum on my fucking cock.” Touya groans. 

“Go on, baby, do what he says and cum for us.” Keigo goads, now rubbing tight circles on your clit. You hurdle over the edge at full speed, Touya not far behind you. He pulls out and spurts his release all over your stomach. 

Touya collapses onto the bed beside you and Keigo, still panting hard. He looks at you, your chest heaving from the intense orgasm.

“You okay, princess?” He asks. He might be exhausted, but he knows he can be rough and makes a point to always check on you after sex. 

“Yeah, I’m good, thank you.” You sigh back, running a hand through your hair. Touya gets up to grab a rag from the closet, and drags it over your stomach and pussy to clean up the mess. You whimper, still sensitive. 

“Did you have a good shift, baby?” Keigo asks, holding your hand gently.

“It was fine. Long,” you reply. “I was too tired to stop anywhere on my way back, though, so we don’t have anything for supper.”

The three of you take turns showering, order in food, and spend the rest of the evening cuddling comfortably on the couch. 

[wilhelminyard]

compilation of nice/sweet things the foxes said to neil because even though they're a bunch of assholes who'll insult anyone in their vicinity they all just love him so damn much (part 1) :

WYMACK :

"if your parents are a problem for you, we'll move you to south carolina early."

"foxes are foxes for a reason and they know we wouldn't sign you if you didn't qualify. that doesn't mean they know specifics. it's not my place to ask and I'm sure as hell not going to tell them."

"it's about second chances, neil. second, third, fourth, whatever, as long as you get at least one more than what anyone else wanted to give you."

"I have never, ever hit someone without provocation and I'm sure as hell not going to start with you. you hear me?"

"I'll take care of this. you take care of you."

"do you have any idea what could have happened to you between here and there? what were you thinking? you should have called me"

"any of us would have come and gotten you"

"it's not your job to take care of yourself anymore. it's your job to play, and mine and abby's job to look after you."

ANDREW :

"oh you might actually turn out to be interesting"

"you be something. kevin says you'll be a champion. four years and you'll go pro. five years and you'll be court."

"curious that a man with so much potential, who has so much fun, who could 'be something' wouldn't want any of it"

"a liar who practices occasional honesty. clever."

"are you going to tell kevin?" "don't ask me stupid questions"

"oh neil, as unpredictable as he is unreal"

"what would it take to make you stay?"

"I'll stand between you and the moriyamas"

"you gave your game to kevin. give your back to me."

KEVIN :

"neil is exactly what the foxes need right now. his inexperience is inconsequential. we went through a hundred files looking for a striker for this year, but neil is the only one we approached. we knew as soon as we saw him we needed to sign him. we're just lucky we got there before anyone else did"

"our primary concern was keeping neil safe"

"*to riko* leave him alone."

MATT :

"are you bleeding anywhere?"

"coach says [neil's] got potential. andrew says you're fast. [...] andrew bets you can outrun everyone on this team."

"seriously are you okay?"

"I'll owe you one" "you won't owe me anything"

"you be careful, okay?"

"I'm fine" "you say that a lot. I'm starting to think you don't know what it means."

"coach says stupid but I say you have balls of steel"

NICKY :

"neil, you clean up good"

"andrew is keeping you, same as he kept kevin. it means you're part of the family now. [...] family means something different with us because it has to. it's not about blood. it's not even about who we like. it's about who andrew's willing to protect."

"that makes you invaluable to andrew"

"you're one of us, which means we'll never push you further than you're willing to go"

DAN :

"are you okay?"

"coach said you hitchhiked your way back here. I'd yell at you for being stupid but coach said he handled that already"

"we didn't let him [in]. he didn't make it further than the front door."

"neil? you don't have to do this, you know"

ALLISON :

"looking fancy"

SETH :

"maybe you're not as stupid as I thought"

AARON :

(I know it surprised me too but it's probably the only compliment he gives neil throughout the entire series and they literally just met at that point)

"at least you're not going to completely drag us down. it'll take most the season to get you where we need you to be but I can see why kevin picked you"

[momolady]

Kirilka the Orc

𝔉𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔵 𝔐𝔞𝔩𝔢 𝔒𝔯𝔠

ℜ𝔬𝔶𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔶 - 𝔄𝔭𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔶 - ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 - 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔡 𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔵𝔦𝔪𝔦𝔱𝔶 - 𝔄𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔶𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔬 ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢

When your brother married Tashka, the whole kingdom thought he was insane. What was the future king doing marrying an orc woman? But you knew exactly why he did, because Tashka was exactly what your brother always wanted. Sure, she wasn’t the frail princess everyone imagines for someone like your brother, but he never wanted frail.

“Hurry, the baby!” Your brother was fretting while you were doing the best you could to hobble down the hallway. Since you were little you needed leg braces, now you hold a cane to keep steady.

“Pasha! I am doing the best I can!” You tried to comfort him, after all his first baby was just born a few short days ago. The birth had been hard, but you had studied and trained for all that, helping Tashka through the difficult birth. Now, Pasha was worried about the state of his daughter and wife.

“Is he fussing at you?” Tashka asked softly as you went into the room. “I told him not to worry! I just had a simple question.” She tsked while gazing back down at the baby.

“You said-” Before Pasha could finish, both Tashka and you quietly shushed him.

“What’s the matter Tashka?” You set your cane aside and took your bag from Pasha. “Is she feeding okay?”

“Oh yes,” she said proudly, if not a bit sleepily. “But she’s getting these little bumps around her mouth.” She showed off the baby, pale soft green and already plump. Around her mouth was a bit of small red bumps and dried skin. 

You smiled, gently brushing the soft, fawny hair on her head. “Nothing to worry about. Just a bit of drool rash.” You reached back for your bag. “Nothing a little ointment won’t fix.”

Paha had tears in his eyes already.

“I knew it wasn’t anything too bad.” Tashka’s gentle smile was so beautiful, you could tell why Pasha fell for her. “But Pasha and my brother,” she scoffed.

Ah yes! Tashka’s brother, Kirilka. You had run afoul of him since coming home. He didn’t seem quite trusting of your medical background, despite the years of training you had taken. He seemed assured only orc knowledge would be good enough for his sister and brand new niece.

“Firstborns have the ability to make panic occur with the slightest sound,” you say while applying some of the specialty made ointment to the baby’s mouth, making sure to wipe away excess.

“I’ll say,” Tashka chuckled, glancing towards her husband.

Pasha pouted but then broke into a smile as he took his wife into his arms, hugging her while gazing lovingly at their child.

“I’ll go make you a little kit.” You take your cane back in hand. “So you can be better prepared for rashes and the like.”

Tashka sighed, exhausted and relaxed in the same breath. “Thank you. I’m very relieved knowing this little one is getting the best care..”

You puffed up with pride.

“This little one also still needs a name,” Pasha remarked.

“It’ll come to us,” Tashka mused. “I didn’t get my name until I was a month old.”

You rather liked the orc tradition of letting the baby’s name come naturally. You found it much more personable. “Well, I’ll come back later. You three should rest.” 

“Thank you again,” Pasha sighed.

You nodded, leaving the royal bedchamber and heading back out into the hall. Pasha had made you private work quarters down the hall, but it was still quite the long hall. You were nearly down it when Kirilka started walking up it.

“Dammit,” you grumbled to yourself.

“And what were you called for?” Kirilka grumbled. This beast of a man towered over you, casting a dark shadow wherever he went. Growing up on one of the largest farms in the kingdom, probably on this side of the Cobra Strait, he’d grown up a farm boy, rearing animals, tending to fields and working day in and day out. He was built for it, built for a lot of things probably. His long hair was always tied up into a thick, ropelike braid that he kept coiled up into a bun.

“The baby had a little drool rash, nothing awful, nothing even too concerning. I'm going to make a kit of ointments and the like for them now.” You said sternly, if not a little brusk. 

His amber eyes looked you over, taking in the cane then focusing on your own eyes. You knew you weren’t his version of a healer. You dressed prettily, wearing fancy but comfortable dresses you had collected from your travels for education. Compared to him you were a dumpling beside a steak, that probably also irked him.

“What sort of ointments?” He sounded like he was ready to discourage all your ideas.

You sighed. “Look, Kirilka, I know I’m not the healer you want for your sister. But I’m using my education for what it is for and it is taking care of her and that baby. And you, if you should walk into a doorway.”

He sneered, his upper lip curling ever so slightly. “All I asked was what ointments you were planning on using. Orc skin isn’t like human skin.”

“Oh?” you feigned ignorance. “Is it not?”

He scowled.

You stomped your cane in lieu of your foot. “I’ve been trained in such things, you know! And if you must be so nosy, I am making a comfrey mixture.”

His brow raised slightly. “Comfrey?”

“I did train with orcs at the university,” you scoffed. “We shared our knowledge, rather than test one another.” You continued to try and walk ahead, but to your dismay, Kirilka kept following.

“Kirilka, please,” you huffed. “I’m just doing my job.”

“No,” he snarled, stopping you from continuing forward.

Dammit, you thought. This wasn’t what you wanted today. You knew the tension between you and Kirilka had been building, but you didn’t realize he was willing to throw down over it. Maybe you could get in a few good jabs with your cane. You knew you should have accepted your uncle’s offer of a sword cane. 

“I know how people look at my sister here! I know how we are treated amongst your circle. I also know how I look, and if I can use it to protect my sister and niece I-”

Your mouth hung open. “Protect them? From me?” You slapped your hand against your chest. “I adore Tashka! I brought that baby into the world with my own hands, I would die for that child!” Your voice was raising, your blood was boiling. “Even if I didn't, I took an oath to care for people and see after their health. How dare you?” You stomped towards him, clomping down your cane like you were going to take one of his toes. “I love my family, which now includes you unfortunately! I helped convince my father to accept Tashka! Did you know that? I was almost thrown out of the castle! Protect them?”

Kirilka was backing down now, looking frightened.

“Let me work, farm boy!” You snapped and stormed past him, getting to your office and slamming the door shut. You huffed, glaring into the room. “Who does he think he is?”  

After working for a few hours to distract yourself, you came out of your office, a new baby kit prepared and placed into a beautiful tin. You knew how Tashka liked roses, so you had painted the tin with them just for her. 

You knocked on the bedroom door and waited, admiring your handy work on the tin when the door opened. You smiled to greet your brother, but it was Kirilka. Your smile vanished.

“Quiet,” he whispered. “They’re finally asleep.”

“I’ll just leave this with you then,” you grumbled, offering out the tin.

Kirilka took it. “Wait,” he set the tin inside the door then stepped out himself. “I want to apologize.”

You furrowed your brow. “Really?”

He returned the frown as he gently closed the door behind him. “I didn’t realize all you had done for Tashka.”

“You’ve treated me like scum since I got here. Don’t mind me saying I feel the apology comes a little late.” You then rolled your hand in the air. “But go on.”

Kirilka walked you a little further down the hall, away from the bedchamber. “Ever since Tashka became queen, I have heard the most vile things spoken about her. The past two years my head has been full of them, and being in this castle makes them sound like cannons in my head.”

You sighed. “The moment I met Tashka I liked her. Pasha doesn’t fall in love easily, you know. Surrounded by dancers all his life, I never saw his eyes turn once. Not until Tashka.”

Kirilka looked away, pouting.

 You moved to stand in his line of sight. “I stood up for your Tashka against my father. I stood beside her when she was crowned. And I am going to fight for that little girl to be heir. She’ll be queen one day.” You watched him, waiting. “Now what do you say?”

“I’m sorry,” he growled under his breath.

You cupped your hand around your ear. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I. Am. Sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. He turned those amber eyes back upon you and huffed. “I misjudged you.”

You nodded in agreement. “That’s right, you did!” A smirk crossed your face. “I’ll forgive you. But that may take time.”

His lip curled and he clicked his teeth. “I get it.”

This was such a good feeling! All this time you wanted to smack him around, now it felt like you’d gotten in the first whack. “But maybe now we can be friends! After all, we’re both the eldest sibling, we should have a lot in common.”

He looked distrustful, eyeing you up and down wondering where the rest of you was.

“That’s right! I came out of the womb first,” you announced proudly, puffing out your chest. “But for health reasons I abdicated my spot to my brother.”

Kirilka’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t even know you were twins.”

“Yes , well, Pasha went on to train in ballet while I read in bed with several illnesses. That can change figures.” You patted your belly. “And hobbling around isn’t the exercise I make it look to be.”

You saw it! He was suppressing a smile!

“I blame it on Pasha sitting on my head in the womb.” You peeked at him again, seeing the corner of his lip curl ever so slightly upwards. “I’ve delivered orc twins, you know?”

“Those are quite rare for us,” he muttered, wiping away any semblance of his previous smile. “How did that go?”

“Very well, my teacher and I together came up with a new method that made the birth easy for the mother and safer for the babies.” You then offered your hand to him. “Since our siblings are asleep, why don’t you and I have tea together?”

He looked unsure, eyes darting away. “I don’t like tea.”

“Then you can eat scones the entire time. Come now, we have a lifetime to deal with one another. The first foot was awful, like mine, but the second foot can be a strong one, like mine.”

He was forcing that smile down hard again, but he took your offered hand, shaking it heartily rather than be delicate. His fingers flexed after touching you. Perhaps he was more used to rougher palms?

He was silent for most of tea, taking sweets and cookies eagerly while you went on and on about your schooling. Afterwards, he made an excuse to leave while you finished the teapot by yourself. 

Over the next few days you passed him in the hall, attempting to make small talk. It took a while, but after a while he began offering more than monosyllabic responses. He was also joining you for tea more often, actually offering you bits and pieces of his life. He had prize cows he loved, bison he raised from birth, and sheep he spent summer nights sleeping beside.

“Where do you harvest your comfrey?” He asked one day, having come into your office with a rather large cut on his palm.

You were cleaning it, using a cloth and a strong alcohol, watching to make sure there was no debris in the cut itself. “I was gifted a plant by a friend of mine at university. I came home and planted it in the garden a few years ago. It’s spread out quite a bit, I have decades worth now.” You were even surprised he came to you with such a wound, but you were glad he did.

“We have large patches of it all around the farm. Our mother loved it,” he murmured.

“Tashka told me she was quite the gardener,” you murmured. You dabbed away some blood and remarked on an old fairytale from your youth. Something about a field mouse and a lion. 

“She loved flowers. Her roses were used during your parents’ wedding. So it’s funny how this all worked out.”

You stilled and looked into his face. The way the light from your small lantern hit his face made him look much handsomer than you were used to seeing. “I didn’t know that.”

He nodded, long lashes falling to his cheek. “They bought every single one she had. I had never seen the farm look so…empty I guess is the word. She worked hard all year to make sure there was enough.”

“Wow.” You were more remarking on how differently he looked, how long his lashes were, how full his lips appeared. You swallowed, trying to hide your blush. “I’ll just put some of said comfrey on here,” you laughed nervously.

“Thanks,” He muttered. 

You bandaged him up, flexing his fingers to make sure nothing was wrong. “There. Should be good as new eventually.” His hand then captured yours, locking his fingers around your own. You looked unsure up at him. “Arm wrestle?” You chuckled.

“Let me thank you.” He pulled you close, closing the gap between you and placing a soft kiss on your lips. Oh, it was heaven! You leaned in, closing your eyes and melting. You then came to your senses and hurriedly pulled back.

“What was that?” You snapped.

Kirilka chuckled. “What do you think?” He focused upon your eyes, freezing you in place with how intense his gaze was. “You impress me. I like a woman who frightens me a little.”

Your stomach flopped. “Oh.”

“You remind me of the ram who guards my sheep. Small, soft, but very ferocious. I’ve seen him take down a mountain lion. I want you to do that to me.”

What was this? Your mind was racing, your heart was trying to keep up with it. Your mouth hung open but you closed it back quickly. “Th-that’s enough out of you!” You stood up quickly. “You should go check on your sister.” Turning around, you tried to ignore him while cleaning up your desk.

“If you’re at all curious, meet me in the garden tonight. Right near your comfrey.” Kirilka got up and left.

You huffed, clutching your chest as the door shut. “Fucking hells! I’ve not been turned on like that before,” you whispered to yourself. You glanced back at the door. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖆𝖘 𝖆 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖆𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖔𝖓!

[metallicames]

New fic inspired by the song Loverman because James with that voice makes me imagine certain things... 😈

@metalmaidenn Thank u for your precious help ❣️

Loverman

Description: you broke up with James a year ago and while you are trying to get your life back together by dating a new guy you unexpectedly meet him outside your hotel.

Warning: dirty talking, sex, oral sex

Staring at the ceiling, heart beating wildly… you look at the clock on the bedside table: it's 3 in the morning, you already know that you won't sleep a wink after what happened today. You thought you had gotten over the breakup with James: a year has now passed and you felt quite calm, you seemed to have solved the situation by detaching yourself completely from him and his world, so as not to suffer and no longer feel dependence on him, on his company, from his body. After months of suffering you managed to tell him that it couldn't works anymore, that knowing that he was always on tour and often had sex with other women just to overcome abstinence and distance was wearing you down inside, you had the strength to do it and just with one look from him, the sound of his voice you screwed everything up.

“Y/N is that you?" he asked you in a surprised tone, approaching you after you got out of Theo’s car, the boy you've been dating for a month and who had kindly accompanied you to the hotel. From that moment your brain went into blackout, you probably looked at him with a shocked expression, he smiled at you, with that smile that made you fall in love and that bewitched you for two years. After a few moments of embarrassment you started talking as you used to, you had almost forgotten how magnetic his gaze was and his way of talking to you, of taking interest in you. You couldn't say no to him when he proposed to meet up the next day just to let you listen to some covers he was working on with the guys in the band, it's something you've always done since before you got together, the love for music was the thing that bonded you from the start so initially accepting it didn't seem strange to you but now thinking about it with a clear mind you already know that the inevitable could happen, that you won't be able to resist him if he ever takes the first step and this thing it agitates you it makes you come dizziness.

You spend a sleepless night, in the morning you go to a meeting with an agent who has to talk about a collaboration proposal for a job there in New York, for a few hours you manage to distract yourself and think about something else.

7pm arrives, getting you ready to meet your friend Mel in the nearby bar, while you're leaving you see your reflection in a shop window and realise that you've dressed for James: black dress with flounced skirt, fishnet stockings and boots. You leave the hotel and meet Mel, you spend two hours catching up on the latest events but for the moment you avoid talking about James, you don't want to be influenced by his opinions even if you know they could bring you back to reality and make you more realistic, but at the same time you can think of something else and be less tense about the upcoming meeting.

Hours pass, Mel greets you and takes a taxi you while you wait outside the bar. Shortly after James arrives on his Harley, just to complicate the situation even more, he greets you with a toothy smile, his eyes shine, his gaze is vibrant. He hands you the helmet and signals you to get on his motorcycle, you get on and you hold on tightly to his sides, leaning slightly on his back: just that first contact makes you jump, as if it were the first time you’ve touched him in your life.

James opens the attic door and beckons you to come in, closing the door behind you shortly after. It takes your eyes a few seconds to get used to the soft red lights which create a warm and sensual atmosphere. The room is big, with large windows that overlooks the illuminated city, dark but welcoming at the same time, the king-sized bed is covered in elegant black sheets.

You feel restless, your body tells you to follow your instinct, to let go, to get closer to him, kiss him, taste him, touch him… your head instead tries to proteste you, because rationally you know that you will get hurt again, that the relationship with James at the moment it's impossible and dangerously unhealthy.

James moves in the room with quietly and naturalness, he takes off his leather jacket, revealing his slender body, the black shirt slightly open on the chest reveals some blond hairs that peep out. Looking up slightly you see his iconic necklace with the silver pendant of a wolf head, twisted around his neck as if it was a choker accompanied by other necklaces, you swallow and look away. “Do you want something to drink? Make yourself comfortable” he asks you as he takes two glasses from the spirits cabinet. You nod while trying to calm down and start talking to him about this and that to create a relaxed and friendly situation, the topics range from the tour, to the guys in the band to your next project with a fashion house, everything seems to be back to how it was a few years ago, when you had met and always found something to talk about, anecdotes to share. Every now and then you notice that when you look away from him or take a sip of Jager, he fixes you with a look that makes you dizzy and make your toes twitch and often out of the corner of your eye you notice that his eyes linger on your chest and then move up towards your face slowly.

While you are talking, he gets up and places a disc on the turntable… you had almost forgotten why you were there. He plays a track and tells you the story of the album project which will be a covers album and which will be released in the next few months . You relax on the armchair next to the window, sipping the Jager and letting yourself be carried away by the music: he lets you do it without distracting you, he sits on the bed with his forearms resting on his legs, playing with the ice in the glass, staring at the floor, then from time to time he raises his head and looks at you slightly smiling. The songs follow one another, James’ voice at some points gives you chills, it even seems better than all the previous records: more mature, powerful, vibrant… sexy. You start walking backwards and forwards in front of the window, James’ eyes are glued to you, you see that his gaze stops on your legs and goes up your entire body as if he were taking an x-ray and you feel yourself growing inside a powerful, unstoppable, uncontrolled feeling of pure desire.

Another track starts, the tone of his voice hits you immediately, it's penetrating, sensual in a way you've never heard him sing, for a moment you hold your breath you look away from the raindrops falling on the glass you feel almost stunned by the words of the song and James' voice.

There's a devil waiting outside your door

(How much longer?)

And he's weak with evil and broken by the world

(How much longer?)

And he's shouting your name and asking for more

(How much longer?)

There's a devil waiting outside your door

(How much longer?)

”And… what is THAT?” you say looking at him, his gaze is dark, intense, penetrating he sips the Jager and then he places the glass slowly on the table... the tension in the air is palpable, the song in the background and the setting make you feel like in a movie, a surreal situation.

“Come here” he invites you, in a firm tone, your heartbeat increases, you knew this moment would come, you wanted it, you can't lie to yourself. You approach -almost scared-, your legs are shaking but inside you know what you want: you want him. He stands up, holding you by the hips, close to him, then he kisses you softly almost as if he were waiting for your consent and then more and more intensely, passing his tongue between your lips meeting yours and you feel the butterflies in your stomach as if it were the first time. James increases the pace and intensity and with his hands he holds you even closer to himself, allowing you to feel his erection against your belly. You thread your fingers through his short hair at the nape of his neck and pull his head towards you, letting out a soft moan.

L is for love, baby

O is for only you that I do

V is for loving virtually everything that you are

E is for loving almost everything that you do

R is for rape me

M is for murder me

A is for answering all of my prayers

N is for knowing your loverman’s going to be the answer to all of yours

The song continues to echo in your ears making you feel even more excited, James stops kissing you for a moment, biting your lower lip first and keeping his forehead resting on yours. He moves his hands down from your hips towards your buttocks under the dress and starts to palpate them, pushing you even more against his erection, "turn around" he tells you in a low, almost whispered tone, staring into your eyes. You turn around and James slowly but firmly bends you forward towards the bed with his hands, pulling your dress up to your waist and letting out a low, guttural growl at the sight of your buttocks wrapped in fishnet stockings. You rest your knees on the bed and look at him over your shoulder giving him a wink, he returns with a devilish grin on his face. God, you know it's wrong, you know you're making everything more complicated but you can't stop, you can't resist him.

With a quick and unexpected movement, James tears your socks off with both hands, you gasp and as soon as you feel his hands moving your thong to the side, you lean forward deeply into the mattress with your face, stretching your arms forward, “God… what a sight" James pants behind you before giving you kisses followed by bites on your buttocks, your heartbeat speeds up and before you know it you feel his tongue sinking inside you, you hold your breath at the sensation and arch instinctively your back allowing him to have more access to your throbbing pussy.

“Mmmmh” James emits low and vibrant moans that send shocks throughout your body as he continues to eat you, squeezing your thigh with one hand and moving the other between your legs, pressing on your belly and then sliding on your clit swollen with desire, you narrow your eyes lost in the moment. You had almost forgotten how good he was and how much chemistry there was between you, almost because it is impossible to forget the intensity and dedication he puts into every movement, as if his only purpose in life was to give you pleasure and take you to the limit. As he pushes his face against you, divinely licking every spot, you can't hold back your moans and the thing that drives you even more crazy is seeing your reflection in the window overlooking the city.

Gimme more gimme more gimme more gimme more

While you are lost in ecstasy, James stops, slaps you on the buttock and undresses himself throwing his clothes everywhere and you take the opportunity to remove your dress and bra. James lowers himself towards you caressing your back using his nails but without hurting you and he moves closer to your face “did you miss me? Hmm?”

“Yes James… please” you tell him with a whisper, your sense of guilt is now only a faint memory, nothing exists but of you and James in this moment.

He caresses you with his fingers, passing them between your wet folds, while with the other hand he strokes his length before placing the tip against you and pushing in slowly. He lets out a long, low growl, going all the way in and your eyes roll back from the ecstatic sensation: you realise you haven't felt sensations this intense in a year, no matter how much you like it, Theo can't hold a candle to it.

His grip on your hips is firm and he begins to move slowly allowing you to adjust to his size and enjoy the moment.

Your moans are increasingly louder and synchronised with his thrusts, you grip the sheets with your fingers to avoid sliding forward and increasing the intensity of the penetration, "look at us, look at how beautiful we are, I missed you..." he tells you, lowering himself towards you and placing his hands on top of yours, squeezing them. You feel the warmth of his chest on your back and this makes you pant… then you open your eyes: you see your reflection once again but this time James is completely naked on top of you, while he gives you all of himself. His thrusts are slow but relentless, he's so deep inside you that you can't even think just moaning and panting.

“I love to fill you, I love to feel you only mine…”

While he talks to you and continues to push himself inside you without ever coming out, he puts one hand around your neck reaching up to your jaw and squeezes slightly panting in your ear.

“Fuck I love you James” automatically comes out of your mouth without even thinking about it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to say.

James stops, comes out of you and slowly turns you onto your stomach and takes off your stockings and thong, literally penetrating you with his gaze, breathing heavily, "I've always loved you..." he tells you almost with a low voice, moving a lock of hair from your face. He repositions himself between your legs and pushes himself inside you again, resting his elbows next to your face, you wrap your legs around his hips and hold him to you, digging your nails into his hot and sweaty back.

From this moment you both lose control, he increases the pace, pushing himself into you with renewed power, you hold tightly to his back while you moan and whisper his name in his ear pressing your lips against it. “I'm so close James…so close…” - “mh… me too… come with me ok? Can you do it for me?” as he says this he increases the intensity of his thrusts, you nod and lift your head back moaning at the contact of his pubis against your clitoris.

“God… you're so wet” he murmurs breathlessly, chills pervade your body and you let yourself go into his arms under the weight of his body, squeezing his back and buttocks to you to feel him even closer.

“Oh my Godddd…” you can only exclaim this, you are in ecstasy your vision is blurred and your senses amplified, while your orgasm continues to make its way through your body in waves. James comes deep inside you emitting a low growl smothered by the mattress, you feel his hot cum dripping down your legs and his chest pressing against yours due to his altered breathing. You feel dizzy as if in a state of alteration but as soon as James turns towards you smiling, you come back to reality, he kisses you tenderly on the lips and coming out he rests his head on your breast, you automatically run a hand through his hair savouring the moment synchronising the breathing with his which from altered returns to being normal and relaxed.

As the feeling of ecstasy fades, a feeling of overwhelming anguish begins to creep inside you and the sense of guilt slowly resurfaces.

“What is it? Your heart is beating very fast” James asks you with a worried look, looking at you.

“James.. I.. I have to go”

“What? Now?”

“Yes we shouldn’t have…”

“Why? You just told me you love me!”

“I know but it’s not right, I don’t want to go back to being as bad as I was a year ago… it’s not healthy”

“But you can’t pretend that there’s nothing between us… you can’t lie to yourself… what am a lover to you?”

You almost want to laugh, but it’s a nervous laugh of discouragement.

“James please… let me go” you quickly dress, wiping a tear that was starting to fall on your still red cheek.

James remains naked on the bed staring at you with a look of disbelief, if you could look inside him you would see his heart crumble with your every movement, but this is partly his fault, the fault of his water instincts inability to stay in a monogram relationship and commit.

You finish dressing quickly, you look at him one last time, with a defeated and suffering look.

“I really love you James, but I have to love myself first” you tell him with a trembling voice, you open the door and disappear into the corridor, you don’t know if you will ever see him again, you only know that you are destroyed, confused and madly in love.