#most people have mid to dark brown eyes

[asitrita]

Reasons why Doffy alway uses sunglasses (yes, all of them):

He always needed them because he has severe light sensibility (photophobia).

He did get hurt by that arrow, he miraculously didn't lose his eye, but he has a small scar and is almost fully blind on that eye (he can barely see some shadows and distinguish some objects) plus he has corneal opacity.

Though he has the eye shape of his mother's eyes, he has ice blue eyes, very similar shade as his father's, and he hates it when he sees himself in the mirror.

[awrkive]

Idk I must have some problems I need to talk about with my therapist, but I NEED the #3 lmao

summary: jungkook is usually a nice guy from the way he interacts with other people – but the only exception comes to you. and you can't figure out why.

w/c: 3.5k

note: aurkayyyy general consensus says write # 3 and that post got 40 likes idk so here it is ig.. unedited cos its 3am but also i tried my very best awrkive nation 😞💔 under the cut cos its long asf for a drabble crying

People always gravitate to you. You have this sort of unbreakable and contagious energy around you that just pulls people right into your orb – your classmates in middle school through college, your cousins, even the cashiers at the cafes you like visiting downtown every here and there. 

And it is why Jeon Jungkook from your Environmental Science class baffles you. Because while everybody in the lecture hall – even prof Nam – likes to give you a smile or even just a nod of acknowledgement when you walk in, he does the total opposite and will just do about anything to avoid you. 

It had been during the first week of the term when you realized this fact. When Jungkook seemed to have abhorred the idea of sitting next to you because somebody had “stolen” his seat. 

Of course he knew the fact that you technically could not “steal” a seat in college – there are no such things as assigned seats in college, after all – so you had kindly offered the empty chair beside you, then, but he just looked at you with his knitted brows, like he couldn’t believe you had asked him that in the first place. 

In the end, he chose the free seat at the back of the hall – even though as far as you know him, he’s the type to like sitting in the front rows to engage with the class better. 

However, that did not deter you from trying to befriend him. In fact, it just made you want to get closer to him more. 

You like Jeon Jungkook. Not romantically, of course! You just like the fact that he is extremely smart and listen, he seems nice. The girls always have something good to say about him, and he’s friends with one of your closest friends, Namjoon – whose judgment you trust most of all. He’s acquainted with most of the people you know and you’ve seen him interact with others – he’s charming and doesn’t exactly look broody and uninterested when he’s with them. 

So when Prof Nam partnered you both in a presentation for your final requirement for the term, you were over the moon to have been given the opportunity. 

“__,” Jungkook calls, but you’re way too busy admiring the strands of his hair that had now been dyed to gold – a contrast to his previously dark brown locks. It’s mostly hidden from the beanie he’s wearing. Something you’ve noticed he’s been wearing a lot these days even though it’s not that cold. 

You think it’s because he’s not too keen on getting attention for his newly dyed hair.

Jungkook calls your name one more time, and this time it snaps you out of your trance. 

“Hm?” You look up, blinking at him – only to be met with his knitted brows again. At that all too familiar look by now, you frown slightly, knowing the tell-tale signs of his annoyance. 

“I’ve been asking you about biofuels for the past two minutes.” 

“Oh!” Your eyes widen for a bit, quickly looking at your iPad. “Uhm… it’s here…” you slide your device over to his direction and he’s quick to read over your work. With him seated beside you, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and you don’t even think it’s cologne in the first place. It just seems like his natural smell – like fresh laundry. Downy or something. 

Ever since you started working on the project, you’ve been going to cafes and the library to work on it – for at least an hour – and you’re starting to get accustomed to everything Jeon Jungkook. He’s smart – and that’s a given – but he also smells really good; that’s what you noted specifically.

But most importantly, he’s dyed his mid-length hair blonde. And he looks different but somehow… really handsome. With his prescription glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, you just can’t help but to look. 

“Where is your citation for this?” He says, pointing to a certain part of your work. 

At that, you grow anxious. Jungkook’s really serious about his academics. And even though he looks distracting with his blonde hair right now, you can’t help but feel a bit nervous. 

You’re not dumb or something! You’ve survived three years of college just fine – you’re just not the likes of him, or Namjoon, for that matter. But you do well for yourself. 

But Jungkook, reading over your work with furrowed brows, you can’t help but second-guess yourself.

Especially when the next thing you can say is just, “Oh, uhm… I thought citations would only be after every four sentences?” 

“Did you not read the instructions?” Jungkook says. It’s not harsh but there’s a certain lilt to it. A bit pointed that you visibly recoil. As if noticing you do that, Jungkook clears his throat and looks right back to your iPad. With a tone that considerably sounds gentler to you this time, he says, “You should put a citation every three sentences.” 

“Okay…” You say. You look at Jungkook and you give him a tight-lipped smile when he meets your gaze. “I’m sorry.” 

His gaze lasts longer than necessary – he almost always doesn’t really look at you but this time he does, and just when you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, he peels his eyes away from you and turns to his computer, not saying anything. 

You sulk in your seat, revising your paper while Jungkook acts like a stranger beside you again. 

“Kook…” you say after awhile. You watch as Jungkook visibly stills at the nickname. Nonetheless, he hums, but he doesn’t stray his eyes from his laptop. “I really like your hair.” 

Nothing. 

“Kookie…” This time, you poke at the material of his purple hoodie. “I said I like your hair.” 

He doesn’t budge. 

When you make a move to poke him again, he finally says, “I heard that.” 

You turn back to your google doc with a pout. 

You don’t know what you’re expecting from him. A thank you, maybe? But that would be unlikely for him to say to you. He’s just always so quiet around you. Annoyed, irritated—

“Thank you.” 

At first you don’t quite catch it, but you kind of got the gist. Unbelieving, you turn to him with a confused look. “What?” 

“Isaidthankyou.” 

But it was spoken so fast that you just grew more puzzled. 

“What…?” 

“Nevermind.” He says, hacking away on his laptop again. 

You pout the whole time writing your paper. 

———

You’re just about to approach Jungkook to talk about your recent development for your project when somebody beats you to it first. 

It’s Han Hyorin from the same class. You made friends with her from another minor you’ve had in the previous semester and she was a really nice woman – sort of similar to you. A big ball of sunshine, all smiles and cheerful and full of energy. It’s why you clicked instantly a few months ago. 

But that’s also why it surprises you when you see her talking animatedly with Jungkook and him listening to her attentively – smiling and laughing. 

Certainly not his vibe when you’re the one in conversation with him. 

Listen, you’ve been so accustomed to his behavior to you all this time that you just don’t mind it now. But for the record, you just thought that maybe – he just can’t quite level up to your energy. You’re too bubbly and he’s too… calm. And you get that! You certainly don’t hold it against him. 

But as he catches a glimpse of you his mood turns completely different, no longer smiling ear to ear. It makes Hyorin stop speaking, turning her body to look at your direction as well. 

“Oh, hi __!” She greets, grinning. “I was just talking to Jungkook here.” 

“Hi, Hyorin.” You wave at her, mirroring her smile. You walk towards them, hugging your iPad tight to your chest. “Hi, Jungkook.” 

He just sends you a timid smile. 

Weirdly enough, it makes your heart twinge. 

“Anyway, are you two gonna work on your project? Sorry for keeping him up, if that’s the case. I’ll be off then.” Hyorin says as she picks up her bag. She looks at Jungkook once again, saying, “I’ll send the link to you later, Jungkook.” 

Jungkook only nods before Hyorin walks out of the lecture hall.

You watch her disappearing back before you turn to Jungkook. “I didn’t know you guys were friends.” 

He shrugs. “We talk sometimes.” 

“Ah.” You nod. 

“Anyway, you got my text, right? Hoseok said it’s too crowded at 556 right now. And my laptop’s dead so I can’t use it either. Left my charger at my place,” he says, starting to put his stuff in his backpack. 

“Yeah, I got it,” you say, stepping out a bit to let him out of his row. You follow beside him when he begins to walk. “Well, where should we do the project?” 

You see Jungkook wince. “I have no choice but do you mind if I just suggest my place? I have a roommate but he’s not around this time. Or we can just call it off for today and resched.” 

You blink at him. “Your place?” 

He arches a brow. “Yeah. Is it okay? Do you have something else in mind?” 

Shaking your head, you look straight ahead. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s just a three minute walk from the campus. Do you mind?” 

“Nope.” 

“Alright, then.” 

——— 

Jungkook thinks you’re strange today. 

You’re usually so full of stories. Never ran out of things to say. His silence never deterred you from sharing something and even though Jungkook would deny it to you and to all his friends – he actually secretly enjoys your blabbering. Finds most of them funny.

But right now, you’re all quiet on your iPad and notes, focused on doing your work. The last thing he’s heard you say something was when you commented earlier, “This is a nice place,” when you stepped inside the threshold of his and Taehyung’s apartment.

No comment about his hair. Or his hoodie. Or the stupid occasional, “You look handsome today.” that makes his heart perform backflips against his ribcage and makes him all nervous that he can’t really look straight into your eyes for the rest of your interaction.

He finds it strange that he finds you strange today. He should be… happy about this right? He always tells his friends that you’re too… loud when they ask why he doesn’t seem to like you. For the record, he does not not like you. Jungkook just thinks you’re too much. 

Or that you make him feel too much it drives him insane.

“Are you alright?” He breaks the ice after a few minutes. He couldn’t help it. This isn’t like you at all. At this point, you should have already told him twenty different stories that includes your breakfast and the bird that keeps knocking on your window every 5am. By this time, you should have already asked him if he likes your outfit or some stupid shit like if he likes your nails. 

For the record, he likes all of them. Your blush pink nails and your pink skirt that stops above your thigh, exposing your smooth thighs that Jungkook always berates himself not to look at. You always wear skirts. He hates them. 

He hates that he doesn't really hate them. At all. 

“Huh?” You turn to look at him, blinking. Meek and pouty and puzzled. You look so cute it confuses the hell out of him. 

“I asked if you’re okay.” Jungkook says, leveling his voice. Lest he gives himself away. What would he give away, though? That he’s weirdly worried about your silence? That he’s starting to think maybe you’re getting fed up with his constant avoidance of you and you’re starting to realize he’s a shit person and he doesn’t deserve any of your time? 

That he’s putting way too much meaning into this? 

And what for? 

“Oh,” you utter. A bit taken aback. You nibble on your bottom lip and Jungkook tries hard not to focus too much on the way your gloss makes them look so plump. You had pretty lips. Jungkook’s not that prideful to admit that. Just to himself, though. “Yeah. I am fine. Why do you ask?” 

He clears his throat. “Nothing.” 

You look at him with furrowed brows but don’t really say anything further. “Okay.” 

When you go back to working in silence simultaneously again, Jungkook finds himself not being able to focus on the words of the journal article he’s reading. There’s a sentence to it he’s been going right over and over again. Everytime he reads it, it’s like the point just crosses right over his head and his efficacy in the language degrades every single time he repeats it internally.

All the while, you’re still quiet. 

And Jungkook’s had enough. 

Why weren't you saying anything? 

“__.” 

“Hm?” When you tilt your head to look at him, Jungkook nearly falls over his bed. You’re across the room on his computer desk while he’s on the mattress. 

God, you are so unbelievably beautiful without trying it makes his head ache. 

“Are you –uh. What’s with you today?” He finally asks. He watches as your face contorts into an expression of confusion once again, which he can’t really blame you for feeling the way. 

“What’s with me today?” 

“You’re just…” he tries to find the right words. “Quiet.” 

You don’t say anything for a while that Jungkook was about to take his words back. 

“Oh… I’m just not feeling well today, I think.” 

His brows furrowed. You looked perfectly fine today. You were your usual sunshine shelf when you stepped in class – all big grins and pretty laugh Seo Jihyun as usual was trying too hard to get your attention beside you all day. 

“Really?” He asks. “Do you need something?” 

It takes you by surprise. But you recover fast. “No, it’s fine.” 

“We don’t have to do this today if you’re feeling under the weather.” 

You laugh. And Jungkook thinks that’s a win. He thought he wasn’t getting any of that for today. 

“It’s fine, thank you, Jeon.”

Jeon?! Jeon, like his surname? 

He chooses to ignore that. But then a few minutes passed and he spoke again. God, he couldn’t stand any of this.

“How’s the bird?” 

“The bird?” You parrot back. 

“The bird at your window.” 

“Oh!” A flash of recognition goes through your face. “That. Well – as usual it knocked on my window again.” you giggle and it’s the first time Jungkook feels a little light ever since you entered his place. 

Good. This is good. 

“I didn’t know you’d remember that.” You say, giving him a small smile. 

Jungkook feels his cheeks burning so he had to look away. “You tell me about it everyday.” 

There’s a pout he can feel you’re sporting when you say, “But I thought you don’t care.” 

Jungkook frowns at that. 

But he realizes… he gets it. He doesn’t exactly show the opposite.

When he looks at you, your eyes are solemn and your downturned lips look so sad that it makes him feel like shit. 

See. This is why he’s always confused when he’s with you. You make him feel so much all at once and he can’t quite put it. 

“You tell me a lot of stuff everyday.” Is what he settles with. 

“Fair.” You say after awhile. “But uhm…” 

“Yes?” Jungkook immediately says, intrigued. You’re about to speak when his phone rings. You both look at the small device lying on his bed. When Jungkook picks it up, the caller ID says Han Hyorin. “Sorry, I’ll just pick this up.” 

Pressing on the green icon, he hears Hyorin’s voice at the end of the line. 

“Hey, Kook,” 

“Hi, Hyorin. What is it?” 

“What was your student email again? I can’t really find it on the roster.”

Jungkook recites it and then that’s the end of the conversation. He finds it strange because she could’ve just texted him but anyway, he turns to you again after the call ends. 

“Who was that?” You ask curiously. 

“Hyorin.” 

You still in your seat. Then nod. 

You don’t say anything again. 

And that stretches into another few minutes that Jungkook is once again confused. When he looks right over to you, you’re all up in your device. 

He stands up from the bed, leaves his laptop on the mattress, and then walks right over to your direction to stand behind the chair you’re seated on. Ducking down a bit, he peers over your shoulder to see what you’re doing. 

“You’re almost done?” 

When you turn back, your faces are so close to each other that his swivel chair creaks a little when you get taken aback. Jungkook steps back. 

“Yeah. I think so. You?” You say, looking up at him. 

Jungkook runs his fingers through his hair, inserting his hand on his pockets as he looks straight ahead on your screen. 

“I’ll finish up later.” 

You nod then turn back to your iPad. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows meet once again and he sighs. 

“__,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you mad at me?” 

You turn to him so quickly. “What?” 

“Are you mad at me?” Jungkook asks because he can’t take any of this anymore. You’re so… distant. And it makes him feel like he’s on edge. “You’ve been so quiet since we got here. I want to apologize if I did something wrong. But even if I didn’t, then I’m still sorry.”

Jungkook watches as your lips part, surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth. Jungkook’s not the one to shy away from apologies – if he’s done something wrong, then he makes sure to take accountability. 

It’s different when it’s with you, though. He knows he isn’t exactly his nicest and his best to you… but it’s his complicated feelings that get in the way. He doesn’t know how to handle them. He doesn’t know how to handle you. 

“N-no!” You say. “You didn’t do anything.” 

He sends an arched brow your way. 

You shake your head vigorously. “It’s just… uhm… I thought…” 

“You thought…?” 

You look away, and it’s the first time Jungkook sees you seemingly shy. 

“I thought you’d like my company more if I didn’t talk much.” 

Now Jungkook’s just perplexed. 

You. ibble on your bottom lip before you say your next words. “I know you don’t exactly like me that much – that you’re just putting up with me because of this project and all that, but I really like you. Uhm. As a friend. I’d like to be your friend but I’m realizing now that I’m probably just annoying you with all of my blabbering and it’s unfair to you that I just keep on imposing myself on you even though you make it very clear that you’re not keen on befriend—” 

“__?” 

“— hm?” 

“Stop that.” Jungkook says because he can’t bear to hear you say things that aren’t the least bit true at all. “It’s not true.” 

“Which part?” you pout.

Jungkook would like to wipe that off your face with something. Like his lips. And that thought sends him into overdrive. He needs to get a grip of himself, seriously. 

“Everything.” 

What he doesn’t expect is for you to just frown. 

“You’re a liar.” 

“What?” 

You burst. “Well, for one– you always avoid me! You don’t even greet me in the hallways. And even in the same class you don’t smile at me or anything and the only time you ever acknowledge me is when we do this stupid project and okay I get it, you only like bubbly girls when they’re Han Hyorin, but why not me?”

Jungkook, puzzled, asks, “How’d Hyorin get into this?” 

Your shoulders deflate. “I don’t know.” 

“Can you—” Jungkook inhales a sharp breath. He closes his eyes before opening them back again. “Can you listen to me?” 

You plop back down on the chair with an indignant huff. Jungkook lets out a low chuckles but you only glare at him. 

So goddarn cute, he thinks to himself. 

“You’re just… you’re just too much okay?” He sees the way your face falls and he nearly punches himself for how he worded it. “Wait no– that’s not right. I meant, you’re just – you make me feel a lot of things, __.” 

“Things?” 

“Yeah. You confuse me.” 

“Why?” You look so confused it melts Jungkook. 

“I don’t know how to explain it either. Just that… you need to know I don’t not like you. I like your little blabbering. I look forward to your breakfast stories. I like your nails. I like your skirt. And I like your new apple pencil case.” 

Jungkook watches as your face turns soft. And suddenly, you have that million dollar grin again on your face. 

“Really?” 

“Hm.” 

You squeal and the next thing he knows you’re onto him, arms wrapped around his neck, locking him into a hug. 

“We’re friends now?” 

Jungkook takes the opportunity to encircle your waist around his arms, noting the size difference. And how easy it was for him to snuggle his nose subtly into your hair to smell your sweet shampoo and perfume in that position. 

You always smell so good. 

“Friends.” 

Jungkook doesn’t really think he can take both of you as just being friends, though.

[beckwritesif]

The vast stretches of lone trees and wild grass of the rural countryside lures the ego overboard, pulling consciousness off course into addiction, delusion and seduction’s disintegrating madness. You barely pull yourself home from there every evening, the sun telling your time, the birds your weather forecast. One day you might not return home at all.

From the Mud is a Midwest gothic inspired horror set in a solitary countryside occupied only by two small towns and stretches of untamed nature. You play a troubled cowboy/girl/puncher who‘s ground deep into a maddening, repetitive routine that a string of deaths suddenly upends. The sheriff of the neighboring town along with a driven journalist and an old friend whose bridge you’ve long since burnt comes to town having heard the news. As you’re hunting for the culprit and running from yourself, your quiet life on the ranch is disturbed, forcing you to keep your cards close and choose your company carefully. But the most pressing matter proves to be whether you can trust your own mind.

From the Mud

☆ Interactive fictional psychological horror written in choice script

Features

Play as either a man, woman, or other

Choose your appearance from overall features to minor details

Experience nuanced romance as either straight, gay, or bi, or forgo romance altogether

Choose whether you’re religious or not in an overly christian rural town

Experience the world react differently towards you depending on who you identify as

Get wrapped up in the chaos to solve the mystery of several murders

Lose touch with reality and slowly question everything around you

Remember: you have to choose to get better

Reject the possibility of unnatural forces at play, or believe

Rot in a jail cell

Ride a horse!

Play a game mostly not driven by numbered stats but meaningful actions and a fuck ton of trackers

Demo! | pinterest

Advisory for the story so far: death, gore, profanity

Basics about some of the important RO characters and other below

The Sheriff ☆ Zachariah “Zach” Mallory ☆ a man in his mid thirties

Sheriff Mallory works from his office in Two Rocks, and though his occupation means working closely with other people and seeing to their needs, it would be indolent to describe him as being good with people. At all. Being abrasive and ill-natured, the man does, however, suit the role of authority well. When the angry crease on his forehead soften, you might find there is something else within his tired eyes.

The sheriff has dark brown, chin-length hair and a matching little effort short beard. His sand-colored skin is sun-kissed from being outside, the circles under his eyes almost a purple kind of shade. Under a heavy set of brows sits a pair of dark blue, almost stormy gray eyes. Standing at an imposing height, Mallory is nigh refused anything, and can’t be forced to wear the ugly uniform his rank requires. Instead, he sports a simple white fitted t-shirt and a pair of well-loved denim jeans.

The Journalist ☆ Candy Tillman ☆ a woman in her early thirties

Working for the local news station in Two Rocks, Ms. Tillman has through work experience and excellent mentoring from her predessessor become a hound chasing stories and truths. She is both idealistic and romanticizing (that which shouldn’t), and yet entirely unsusceptable to bullshit. When her facade falters who will accept her then?

The woman with the sweetest name has blonde hair that falls to the middle of her shoulder blades, which she loves to blowout. Her tan skin is contoured by a natural style of makeup, her small, light blue eyes painted. Candy is average height, reaching taller stature with her go-to minimalist pumps. The journalist prefers simple, feminine silhouttes of clothing, keeping up with the times.

The Best Friend ☆ Blythe Abel Goodwin ☆ a woman in her mid twenties

Blythe is your best friend who you grew up with in Ashley and who stuck around when everyone left, though you know she would’ve loved to leave just as much as you once did. In response to the death of her dreams and the narrow-minded opinions of the general inhabitation of the area, she has defiantly become a person of unique and unpredictable character. You’ve known each other through thick and thin, but is there a side to her yet to be discovered?

Your childhood friend is a contrast-filled woman just under average height. Long, black, cascading hair falls from her head down to her mid-back. Choppily home-cut bangs frame her small face. Her fair skin turns rosy in the cold. Blythe’s almond eyes that are sometimes obscured by a pair of reading glasses, are hazel. She wears whatever the fuck she wants.

The Colleague ☆ Ford Wiley Mallory ☆ a man in his early twenties

Ford Wiley is the younger half-brother of Sheriff Mallory and your colleague on the ranch. Working there only half-time, the younger Mallory is dedicated and driven only in the field of his passion; music. His band has only ever played at the local bar, though. Reserved and perhaps somewhat more thin-skinned than most living out on the countryside, Wiley makes do with refreshing optimism. Whether this optimism is genuine or fabricated is yet to be revealed.

Your part-time cowboy coworker has long, wavy brown hair that he sometimes makes an effort to style, and otherwise lets it live its own life. He and his half-brother have little in common, appearance included; Wiley has olive skin covered in freckles. His eyes are dark brown, and he is of average height. The musician’s clothes consist of unwanted (by himself) hand-me-downs from Zachariah and ill-gotten items.

The Old Friend ☆ Sawyer “Saw” Brennan ☆ a gender selectable person in their late twenties (m/f)

You grew up with Sawyer along with Blythe, and the three of you braved your childhood and youth in this godforsaken place for years. But they left when things got hardest, and you haven’t been able to get past it even after all these years. Over the years Sawyer has been away they’ve grown into a person you barely know anymore, and you struggle with their sudden return. Will you be able to understand and forgive them for leaving?

Sawyer has inky brown curly hair, worn long (f) or short (m) and loose, carefully taken care of and styled. They have warm brown skin and sharp eyes to match. Your old friend is tall, fitting their frame into oversized graphic t-shirts and either color matched sweats or baggy jeans.

My intentions with this game: It is not supposed to be a beautiful story, it is supposed to be ugly. Writing this game in the way I am is my taking a step away from perfection and seeing where my unpolished writing takes the story. I have been ruled by fear of inadequacy and a desire for ‘perfect timing’ long enough. If I continue to wait for the ‘right moment’ to create, I will end up not creating at all. My only desire now is to simply create, and continue doing so until I have something to show for it.

Story is written and coded by me

Credits to Cole Meanor for the beautiful photography done for the headers!

[mangionebabymama]

Red-Handed — Luigi Mangione

Summary: When Luigi, this super sweet and also really hot-looking computer science major guy that you’ve become friends with while attending UPenn, calls you before the upcoming homecoming game because he has a favor to ask. It’s kind of important.

Word Count: 5.9k (forgive me)

Warnings: Sexual tension through the roof!

A/N: As promised, my gift to you all for reaching 200 followers—and somehow, we’re now at 300-something and counting. My first ever official piece of writing on here, based on this little thought I had. Any feedback is appreciated! I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you for giving me the space to be here.

The phone vibrated in your hand, illuminating the screen with Luigi’s name. You paused for a moment, captivated by his contact photo—a candid, goofy selfie of him mid-laugh, dark curls playfully tumbling into his eyes. With a slight breath, you swiped across to answer, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“Hey,” you said, keeping your tone light.

“Hey, uh… I need a favor.” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, but beneath it lay an unmistakable urgency that sent a flutter of unease through your stomach. 

“What kind of favor?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

“Could you come by my dorm? Like… right now? It’s kinda important.” 

You glanced at the clock on your wall. It was late morning, not far from a quarter until noon, giving you just enough time to come back and get ready before the upcoming football homecoming game against Brown, which you planned to attend with Luigi, which was going to kick off at one. “Sure,” you replied, forcing a casualness into your voice despite the way your pulse quickened. “I’ll be there in five.”

Luigi. What a name that was, and what a young man you had recently become acquainted with and knew quite well these past two months while starting your first-ever semester of college at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. He was a first-year student like you, who you happened to meet on the first day of school, stuck in the midst of finding the room number of your first class that afternoon, as he was finding himself doing the same. Oddly enough, your scheduled classes began at the same time, but they were across the hall from each other, which led the two of you to help one another look for the right place for your class location. Of course, that one chance meeting turned into a conversation; you and him introduced yourselves. Without one another, you wouldn’t have arrived on time for the first official day of your classes—the most stereotypical, unforgivably cringeworthy, yet frightening rookie mistake that any freshman could make on the first day, no less, at an Ivy League—and since then, your beginning college career hasn’t been the same with this newfound friendship with him.

He majored in Computer and Information Science, with a concentration in Artificial Intelligence, and even admitted to you that he possibly thought about adding a minor in Math. Luigi was undeniably, unquestionably brilliant, without a doubt. By sharing conversations with him, you learned that he was born and raised in a suburb of Baltimore, attended an all-boys school where he was the valedictorian of his graduating class, and decided to learn how to code simply because he loved playing independent games and wanted to create his own. Jokingly considering, he seemed like any other nerd that you would come across at an Ivy League, one who was enthusiastic about computers and would remind you of that about themselves every five seconds.  

Luigi was different, though. Out of all of the acquaintances you come to know and friends you made and connected with so far, at Penn, he was just… unforgettably special. Luigi was one of the sweetest people you had ever met and, in all likelihood, would do anything for you at any given time of the day, whatever might bring him your way, because his compassion for people was like no other. He cared about you; he cared for you. It looked as though one could take a step further and imagine him as that dream guy you find by chance once or twice in your lifetime, that one that exclusively seems too good to be true, even if he only lives in the thick of your dreams. He was personable, relatable, and genuine—despite his larger-than-life personality, you never forced yourself to belittle or magnify your authenticity in front of him. He liked you, for you, and you liked him, one and the same. 

It also doesn’t help when he’s incredibly, extremely good-looking, in the face of it all and your friendship. He was beautiful, to say the least. 

When you knocked on his door, it swung open almost instantaneously, revealing him in all his boyish glory—shirtless, his short, thick brown curls disheveled and tousled as if he had just woken up, standing in an old pair of basketball shorts. He held a big plastic bottle of bright red paint in one hand, and for a split second, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Hi,” he said, a playful grin spreading across his face, his bent arm leaning against the doorway, that charmingly wicked trademark of a smile of his always managing to make your heart flutter.

“Hi,” you managed to reply, your gaze momentarily drifting down his torso before snapping back to meet his eyes. It wasn’t that you struggled to keep your eyes off of his V-line, you know, that visible, muscular line prominently at the base of his abdomen; it was that his V-line that couldn’t keep its eyes off of you—that is, if it was possible that the chiseled intersection of two of his abdominal muscles could have any. Why did he have to look so good? His chest was lean yet broad and sculpted, skin smooth and inviting, each contour begging for touch. And those arms—strong enough to embrace you tightly, yet soft enough, lithe and limber- make you wish you could linger in his warmth forever.

“So…” he said, lifting the paint bottle and giving it a gentle shake. The slosh of the liquid inside echoed in the small space. “I need some help.”

“With… painting yourself red?” you asked, half-teasing yet thoroughly intrigued. 

He chuckled, running a hand through his messy curls, adding to the casual charm he exuded. “Yeah. It’s for the game, and I’m part of the stunt in the student section where we’re supposed to be, like, human canvases or something. Some of the guys and I decided that we’re all gonna spell out Penn on our chests, and I’m the designated one with the letter P. Everyone else bailed last minute, so…” He trailed off, shrugging as if the situation were nothing to worry about.

You raised an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and disbelief crossing your face. “And you thought of me because…?” 

“Because you’re creative.” He paused, a flicker of something deeper flashing in his gaze as he locked onto yours. “And patient. And, uh…” The room seemed to shrink around you, his eyes holding a warmth that made your heart race. “I trust you.”

The way he said those words sent a shiver down your spine, leaving your throat dry and your chest tight, as if he was confessing something deeper, unspoken. 

“Okay,” you replied, stepping into the room, the soft click of the door echoing in the still air. “But if I get paint on my clothes, you’re buying me new ones and food at the next football game.” 

A slow grin spread across his face, illuminating his features. He handed you the paint bottle, its synthetic coolness contrasting with the warmth of his palm, and a brush that felt solid in your fingers. “Deal,” he said, his enthusiasm infectious.

For a moment, you found yourself transfixed, taking in the details of him standing there. Up close, the faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin beneath the soft light of the fluorescent ceiling, and you could see the subtle movements of his well-defined muscles as he shifted, not to mention a couple more beauty marks stippled across the portrait of his chest. The tension in the air was palpable, your fingers twitching lightly around the brush handle.

“So, uh… how do you want to do this?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest, the boggling in your mind, and the rushing in your veins.

“However you want,” he replied, leaning casually against the edge of his desk, his tone playful yet inviting. “Just… cover me. Slather it all over my body. Everywhere.” 

His words hung in the air, thick with unspoken promise, setting the stage for whatever came next.

Everywhere.

Your heart raced as you dipped the brush into the vibrant paint, swirling it around until the bristles were thoroughly saturated with color. Stepping closer, you could feel the air between you thrum with electricity, thick with unspoken tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

As the brush first glided across his chest, he inhaled sharply, the sound betraying a mixture of surprise and anticipation. You glanced up to catch his expression, noting how his jaw tightened with each smearing stroke.

“Cold?” you asked, attempting to lighten the charged atmosphere, your voice soft and teasing.

“A little,” he confessed, his tone rough and edged with breathlessness. “But… keep going.”

Encouraged, you continued, dragging the brush slowly across his collarbone as the bristles danced against his skin before trailing down the center of his chest. The paint spread in thick, expressive streaks, each line forming a vivid contrast against his skin as though it were a second layer of himself. With every deliberate stroke, you could see his body respond; his breathing deepened, his chest rising and falling rhythmically in sync with your movements.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmured, his eyes growing heavy-lidded, watching you intently as if you were creating a masterpiece just for him.

“Thanks,” you said, your own voice barely above a whisper. You circled the brush around one of his nipples, watching as it hardened under the chill of the paint. His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might say something—maybe about how you made his nipple so erect and taut—but he stayed silent, his gaze locked on yours.

Your hands trembled slightly as you moved lower, painting over his abs. His stomach tensed at the first touch, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Ticklish?”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning despite himself.

You kept going, alternating between broad strokes and careful detailing. By the time you reached his hips, the tension in the room was unbearable. He hadn’t moved an inch, but you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint citrus scent of his cologne and the male pheromones mixed with the sharp tang of paint.

“Turn around,” you said softly.

He obeyed without hesitation, presenting his back to you. The muscles rippled beneath his skin as he shifted, and you couldn’t resist tracing the curve of his spine with the tip of the brush. He shuddered, his shoulders stiffening.

“Sorry,” you murmured, though you weren’t entirely sure what you were apologizing for.

“Don’t be,” he said, his voice thick. “It feels… nice. It’s kinda relaxing.”

You painted his shoulders next, working your way down to the small of his back. When your brush grazed the waistband of his shorts, he inhaled sharply, his hands gripping the edge of the desk.

“Almost done,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Your free hand hovered over his hip, wanting to steady yourself but unsure if you should touch him. Before you could decide, he turned suddenly, catching your wrist, minor, in his rather large grasp.

“Wait,” he said, his grip firm but not unkind.

You froze, staring up at him. His eyes were dark, intense, searching yours for something.

“Is this… weird for you?” he asked, his thumb brushing over your pulse point.

“Weird?” you echoed, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“Yeah. Like… inappropriate or whatever.”

You swallowed hard. “No. It’s… fine.”

He didn’t let go of your wrist, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Good. Because I don’t want to stop.”

Neither did you.

His other hand came up to cup your cheek, his palm, big and warm, against your skin. The paintbrush slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor, but neither of you noticed.

“Luigi…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but he silenced you with a kiss that surprised you with its intensity. It was soft at first, a gentle brush of his lips against yours, tentative as if he were gauging your reaction, testing the waters of uncharted territory. But as you leaned into him, a rush of warmth blossomed in your chest, his restraint shattered like glass.

Luigi pulled you closer, his hands moving with confidence, sending shivers down your spine. One hand slipped around your waist, firm yet tender, while the other found its way into your hair, fingers weaving through the strands as though anchoring you to him. His mouth opened against yours, coaxing you deeper into the kiss and inviting you to explore the depths of this newfound passion. You couldn’t help but melt against him, surrendering to the moment, every nervous thought slipping away.

His taste was intoxicating, a perfect blend of mint and rich chocolate, with an underlying hint of something uniquely him—a flavor that would linger in your memory long after this moment. You craved more, an insatiable need building within you; you felt as if you could lose yourself in this kiss, in this connection, wanting to delve even deeper into the abyss of desire that had suddenly enveloped you both. The paint on his chest smeared against your shirt as he pressed you against the wall, his body pinning yours. His lips left yours to trail down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot.

You shook your head, your fingers tightening in his curls. “Don’t.”

​​The moment his lips left your neck, a rush of boldness surged through you. His chest was still slick with paint, red streaks sliding down his abdomen as he pulled back slightly, his dark curls damp with sweat, and his breath ragged. You didn’t hesitate.

With a sudden push, you reversed your position, guiding Luigi backward until the back of his knees hit the edge of his twin bed. He laughed, surprised, his lopsided grin spreading wide as he fell onto the mattress, the springs creaking softly beneath him. God, he looked good like this—sprawled out, his skin glistening with streaks of crimson, his eyes dark with desire and amusement, his body raging with excitement.

You climbed onto the bed, straddling him without breaking eye contact. His hands immediately went to your hips, fingers digging lightly into the fabric of your jeans, but you shook your head, placing your hands over his and guiding them up to rest on the pillow above his head. “Stay,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing. His grin softened into something more heated, his lips parting slightly as he obeyed.

Your fingers glided along his arms, leaving delicate trails of vivid red paint on his otherwise smooth skin. A shiver coursed through his body at your touch, and you could see him struggle to catch his breath as you leaned closer, your lips just a whisper away from his ear. “You’re such a mess,” you murmured, the warmth of your breath sending a thrill through him. “Let me fix that.”

You reached for the brush you had set aside earlier, dipping it into the glossy bottle of paint resting beside the bed. The soft bristles glided over his skin as you began to paint, tracing the contours of his collarbone and following the natural line down to the center of his chest. He inhaled sharply, muscles tightening under your careful strokes, the heat of your fingers igniting tension between you. “Are you trying to torture me?” he teased, though the strain in his voice betrayed the pleasure he was losing himself in.

“Maybe,” you said, swirling the brush in slow, sickening circles over his stomach. The paint caught the light, wet and vivid against his skin, and you couldn’t resist leaning down to blow gently on it, watching how his abdominal muscles tightened, just about seizing in response. His hands twitched as if they wanted to move, but he kept them where you’d placed them, his trust in you evident in how he stayed perfectly still.

You set the brush aside, opting instead to use your hands. The cool paint squelched between your fingers as you smoothed it over his shoulders and arms. His biceps flexed under your palms, and you could feel the tension coiled in his body, the way he held himself back. It only made you want to push him further and subdue him with your power.

Leaning down, you pressed your lips to the hollow of his throat, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin mingling with the sharp tang of the paint. His pulse raced beneath your mouth, and you smiled against him, dragging your lips lower, following the trail of red you’d applied paint to. Your hands slid up his chest, the paint making your movements slick and deliberate, and when your thumb brushed over one of his nipples, he let out a quiet groan.

“You’re killing me,” Luigi muttered, his voice rough.

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, your lips curving into a smirk. “Good.” Reaching for the bottle of paint again, you dipped two fingers into the thick liquid, letting it drip slowly down his sternum. He watched, spellbound and stunned, as you followed the droplets with your tongue. The taste was strange but not unpleasant, and the sensation was clearly driving him crazy.

His hips bucked slightly beneath you, and you felt the evidence of his arousal pressing against you through his shorts. A thrill shot through you at the realization, but you weren’t ready to give him what he wanted just yet. Instead, you sat back, admiring your work—his chest and torso now coated in red, the paint clinging to every ridge and dip of muscle. Your hands rested on his thighs, shifting closer so you could lean over him, your faces inches apart.

“How’s that for school spirit?” you asked, your tone teasing but your eyes serious as they searched his.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Perfect,” he said, his hands moving from the pillow to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, and you realized too late that the paint had transferred to your skin. “But I think you missed a spot.”

Before you could react, he flipped you onto your back, his body covering yours as he kissed you deeply. The paint on his chest pressed against your shirt, soaking through the fabric and cooling against your skin. His hands roamed over your body, leaving streaks of red wherever they touched, and when he pulled back, his eyes were wild with hunger.

“Now,” he said, his voice a low growl, “it’s my turn.” He reached for the brush, dipping it into the pot with deliberate slowness before trailing it down the side of your neck. The bristles tickled, the paint cool and wet, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through you.

“Lu,” you breathed, unable to let out the remaining syllables of his name, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continued to paint you, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he worked, his breath hot and uneven. “Trust me.”

And you did.

Luigi’s brush paused mid-stroke, hovering just above the dip of your collarbone. His eyes met yours, dark and searching, as if he was trying to read the unspoken words lingering between you. The air between you felt charged, heavy with something neither of you had dared name—until now.

“I think…” he started, his voice low and hesitant. The playful edge from before was replaced with something more profound, deeper, and more vulnerable. His fingers tightened slightly around the brush, the paint dripping onto his hand. “I think I’ve been waiting for this. For you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking into your skin like the red paint he’d been so carefully applying. You could feel the warmth of his body, the way his chest rose and fell in time with yours. His free hand reached up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips.

“Open your mouth,” he murmured, his tone soft but commanding. You hesitated for a split second, but the intensity in his eyes made it impossible to refuse. Slowly, you parted your lips, and he dipped the brush into the paint again, swirling it gently across the curve of your bottom lip.

The sensation was remarkable, both cool and electric. The bristles teasing your sensitive skin as he worked with precision made your stomach flutter. He leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours as he focused on the task, his face just inches from yours.

“Perfect,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he pulled the brush away, leaving your lips a deep, bold, vivid red. His eyes lingered on them for a moment, his gaze almost reverent, before he finally looked up at you again.

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw, desperate, and full of all the things he hadn’t said yet. His hand slid into your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue swept across your painted lips, the taste of the paint mixing with the heat of his kiss.

You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, the paint on your fingers smearing against his skin as you gripped him tightly. His other hand trailed down your side, leaving a streak of red in its wake, before settling on your hip, pulling you even closer.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless. Your lips were still tingling, red hot, and burning like fire from the intensity of the kiss. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, as he tried to steady his breathing.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “I just… I didn’t know how to tell you... how to ask for this. For you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, the vulnerability in his voice making something inside you ache. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

“Luigi…” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off.

“Don’t,” he said softly, his eyes opening to meet yours. “Don’t say anything. Just… let me have this. Let me have you. Even if it’s just for now.”

There was a plea in his voice, a fear of rejection that made your chest tighten. You could discern how he was holding his breath, waiting for your response; his body tensed so that he was ready to pull away if you hesitated.

But you didn’t hesitate.

Instead, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a soft, lingering kiss that spoke more than words ever could. His breath hitched, and then he was kissing you again, his hands roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

The paint between you became a blur, streaks of red mixing with the heat of your movements as you lost yourselves in each other. His fingers trailed down your back, leaving a trail of paint that felt like fire against your skin. You could feel his trembling, the intensity of his emotions spilling over with every touch, every kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips, his voice breaking with emotion. “I don’t think you even realize it.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you pulled him closer, your hands tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss. The room around you faded away, leaving nothing but the two of you, the sound of your breathing, and the feel of his body pressed against yours.

He broke the kiss again, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he looked at you, his eyes dark with need. “Tell me you want this,” he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me you want me.”

The vulnerability in his voice tore at something inside you, and you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I want you,” you longed for him, your voice steady despite the thunderstorm of emotions, a natural disaster of your own aches and needs gyrating inside you. “I’ve wanted you for longer than I care to admit.”

A slow, lopsided grin spread across his face, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both sweet and possessive. “Good,” he murmured against your lips. “Because I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”

His hands slid down to the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against your skin as he hesitated for the present. His eyes discovered yours in a silent question. You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as he slowly lifted the fabric of your top over your head. His eyes traveled over your figure with a hunger that made your heart race.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his hands trailing up your sides, leaving streaks of red paint in their wake. “So fucking perfect.”

You reached for him, your fingers brushing against the paint on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart racing beneath your touch. “So are you,” you murmured, your voice soft but full of emotion.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the button of your jeans, his eyes never leaving yours. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice rough with need. “I don’t want to rush you. I just… I need you.”

You nodded, your hands sliding into his hair as you pulled him in for another kiss, your lips moving against his in a way that left no room for doubt. “I need you too,” you whispered against his lips. “More than anything.”

His fingers fumbled with the button, and his movements were hurried but gentle as he pushed your pants down your hips, his hands shaking slightly as he touched you. You could feel how he was holding back and moving heaven and earth to keep himself in control, having the decently respectable audacity for a hot-blooded young man, but the look in his eyes told you he was close to losing it.

“Luigi,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pressed yourself against him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “Please.”

That was all it took. Luigi let out a low groan, his hands tightening around your hips as he pulled you closer, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was nothing short of desperate. The world around you disappeared, leaving nothing but the two of you, the panting of your inhales and exhales, and the feel of his body pressed against yours.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with need as he looked at you, his hands trembling slightly as he touched you. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “I don’t think I ever will.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you looked into his eyes. “I’m yours,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “All of me.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hands tightening around your hips as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both sweet and possessive. “And I’m yours,” he murmured against your lips. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

The room was a blur of red and heat, the air thick with the scent of paint and citrus, mingling with the sound of your racing hearts. Luigi’s hands were still on your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin as if he couldn’t bear to let go. His lips were still against yours, but the urgency had softened, replaced by a lingering need that neither of you seemed ready to break.

But reality was creeping in, insistent and unyielding—the game. The football game was starting soon, and you both knew it. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your breath mingling with his as you spoke, your voice trembling slightly. “Luigi… the game.”

He groaned, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if he could allow the universe and everything consisting of it to stop spinning for just a little longer. “I know,” he whispered, his voice strained. “I know, but…”

His hands glided up your sides, leaving vivid streaks of crimson paint in their wake. Each touch ignited a shiver that danced along your skin. The sensation was electric, a pulse of warmth contrasting against the coolness of the paint, flooding your senses with intensity. “Just a little longer,” he murmured, his lips grazing yours once more, soft and filled with yearning. “Please.”

You yearned to say yes, every fiber of your humane being just aching to submit to the moment. Yet the rational part of your mind screamed in protest, a reminder of the ticking clock, of the urgency for him to be ready and for you to be too. With a soft sigh, your fingers slid up his chest, the paint still slightly tacky under your touch, a reminder of the chaos of creativity that surrounded you both. “We have to finish painting you,” you whispered, your voice barely cutting through the charged air, hushed but firm. “And we have to clean up.”

He let out a low, frustrated growl, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped back slightly, his hands reluctantly leaving your body as he reached for the brush again. Though dark and intense, his eyes never left yours, filled with a hunger that made your stomach flip.

You took the brush from him, your fingers brushing against his in a way that sent a jolt of electricity through both of you. You could feel the tension between you, thick and unrelenting, but you forced yourself to focus. Get this done. Get him ready.

You dipped the brush into the paint, the bright red liquid glistening in the dim light of the room. You started on his chest, sweeping the brush over his skin in long, even strokes. His skin was warm under your touch, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. You tried to keep your movements brisk and efficient, but it was hard when he stood so close, his breath hitching every time the brush touched his skin.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. His hands were clenched at his sides, the muscles in his arms tensing as he fought the urge to reach for you.

“I’m trying to finish,” you replied, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound firm. You moved the brush lower, painting over his abs, the muscles twitching under your touch. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and it was intoxicating.

His breath hitched again, and you saw his eyes dark with need. “You’re not making this easy,” he said, his voice rough.

“Neither are you,” you shot back, your voice shaky. You struggled to focus, and your desire made it hard to think straight. You just wanted to drop the brush and kiss him again, to feel his hands on your body, to lose yourself in him completely.

But you couldn’t. You had to finish, and you still had to return home to get yourself ready. 

You moved the brush lower still, painting over his hips. The muscles in his thighs tensed as he fought to stay still. You could see the effort it was taking him: his jaw clenched, his hands trembling at his sides.

“Almost done,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You were both on edge, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating.

“Good,” he muttered, his voice strained. “Because I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

You could feel the heat of his gaze on you as you finished painting him, the brush moving slower than it should have as you tried to prolong the moment. But eventually, it was done. You stepped back slightly, your eyes scanning his body to ensure you hadn’t missed any spots.

“You’re all done,” you said, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound calm.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands finally moving, reaching for you. “Now you,” he said, his voice rough with need.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the brush from your hand, dipping it into the paint before turning it on you. He started on your chest, the brush gliding over your skin in slow, deliberate strokes. You gasped at the sensation, the paint's coolness contrasting with his touch's heat.

“Lui…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his eyes dark with desire as he continued painting you. His touch was gentle but firm, the brush moving over your skin in a way that made your whole body tremble.

You could feel your resolve crumbling. The need to touch and feel him against you overwhelmed you. You reached for him, your fingers brushing against his chest, the paint still slightly tacky under your touch.

He let out a low groan, his hands tightening on the brush as he fought to stay in control. “You’re making this really hard,” he muttered, his voice strained.

“Good,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a sweet, desperate kiss.

He let out a low growl, his hands dropping the brush as he pulled you closer, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was nothing short of primal. The world around you disappeared, leaving nothing but the two of you, the sound of your breathing, and the feel of his body pressed against yours.

“We’re going to be so late,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound firm.

“I don’t care,” he replied, his voice rough with need. His hands were everywhere, touching you, caressing you, leaving streaks of red paint in their wake.

You could feel yourself giving in, your body responding to his touch in ways that made it hard to think and breathe. “Lu…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His lips brushed against yours again, soft and pleading. “Just a little longer,” he murmured, his voice filled with need. “Please.”

You hesitated, the rational part of your brain screaming at you to stop, pull away, and get ready for the game. But the look in his eyes, the way his hands were trembling as he touched you, the way his body was pressed against yours… it was too much.

“Just a little longer,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you gave in, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that was nothing short of desperate.

His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that sent sparks of heat through your body. You could feel the paint smearing between you, but you didn’t care. 

All you cared about was him, how he felt against you, and how he made you think.

If you were caught red-handed, at this instant, for what you and he brought about, so be it.

After all, it can’t be considered wrong if it feels right.

[attapullman]

Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

If you liked this, you may also enjoy on our syllabus Bob From Pi Kapp.

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head. 

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action. 

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?" 

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester. 

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed. 

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg. 

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse. 

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily. 

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester. 

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!” 

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch. 

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house. 

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare? 

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face. 

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest. 

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe. 

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?” 

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them. 

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself. 

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher. 

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder. 

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.” 

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you. 

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent. 

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good. 

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind. 

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right. 

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands. 

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses. 

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out. 

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light. 

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

Want more Frat Cowboy Bob? Hang out with Bob From Pi Kapp!

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[saphiccarma]

If your requests are still open, could you write a jealous female reader x Agatha? The age gap is important, with the reader in her mid-20s, possibly as Agatha's grad student or assistant. You can take the story in any direction, and I’d be thrilled with it.In this scenario, Agatha is hit on by a colleague named Rio at a work or school event, and she indulges her because she notices the reader’s jealousy. Agatha is surprised when the reader takes control to show that she belongs to Agatha just as much as Agatha belongs to her. After this interaction, the reader storms away, leaving Agatha worried.vThey drive home together, and Agatha feels anxious because the reader is upset and hasn't spoken much after they had sex. The reader feels hurt, but Agatha apologizes and makes an effort to return the favor to the reader.

I also love your writing!

- Jealousy Jealousy

Relationships - Agatha x Reader

Summary - You worked for Agatha as an assistant for a few months before you became her girlfriend and as her girlfriend she liked to drag you along to fancy parties. At one of those parties, one of Agatha's old friends flirts with her and you get quite jealous.

Warnings: Jealous reader, fingering (both receiving), oral (r receiving), hickeys (both), semi-public sex, possessiveness.

A/N: I absolutely loved this request. thank you so much for sending it :)

People chatted happily around you, wine or champagne or some other fancy beverage in hand as they conversed with their colleagues. Music played lowly over the speakers. It clashed with the various conversations happening. Fancy perfume and old man cologne was all you could smell, even after taking a step outside for a breath of fresh air.

Public events like these typically weren't your style, but when Agatha had thrown a dress with a thigh slit at you and told you to get dressed, you didn't have much of a choice. Agatha herself wore a tight, black suit that she looked absolutely divine in. Her makeup was perfect, highlighting her sharp cheekbones and pink lips. You had lost her after you took a step outside to get some fresh air, tired of the stifling atmosphere inside. You had no idea how she stands it.

Personally, you carried no drink as you meandered through the assortment of people, searching for your girlfriend. You felt entirely out of place here, most people being in at least their thirties while you were in your twenties. Maybe it wasn't that big of a difference, but you barely had your footing in life when you started working for Agatha. You became her assistant and then it only evolved from there until she was taking you to all the fancy parties as arm candy. Well, that's what the old men said, their eyes raking over you hungrily while you stood next to Agatha. That was part of the reason why you decided to leave her side tonight.

And as you turned past a group of younger women laughing as they elegantly sipped their drinks, you began to think it was a bad idea. Agatha was leaning against a counter, the flirtiest smirk spread across her lips as she swirled a glass of wine in her hand. In front of her was another woman who had an equally sharp smile. Intent sparkled in her dark brown eyes as she laughed softly at something Agatha said, brown hair flowing down her shoulders. Your jaw clenched at the sight of them together.

She wore a tight suit, pressed firmly down on her shoulders but the pants flared out at her ankles. It took a moment before you could decide who she was. Rio Vidal. Agatha used to work with her, being old colleagues in collage and then working together before splitting. Agatha had never given you the details on it and you never pressed the issue. Now you were starting to think you should have. Rio's hand landed on Agatha's arm, fingers slowly sliding up before resting on her shoulder, and then her eyes flickered towards you. The smirk she wore deepened and you could feel the mischief radiating off of her.

Anger bubbled in your stomach at the sight. Mainly at the fact that Agatha didn't shrug Rio off or politely tell her that she was dating someone, she allowed Rio to touch her in a way that was more than just friendly. Your cheeks heated slightly, you couldn't tell if it was from anger or something entirely different. With fast, deliberate movements you marched over towards them, your heels clicking against the floor, audible even above the music.

"Hey," you greeted, your voice clipped. You wrapped your arm around Agatha's waist, squeezing her hip in a rare display of dominance. Agatha was typically the more possessive, more jealous, person in this relationship, but you couldn't fight off the envy that pounded in your heart.

Rio's hand slipped off Agatha's arm as the latter turned to face you, her smile softening at the sight of, "Hi, hon." She leaned down to peck at your lips, and reluctantly, you let you her, even though you had half a mind to turn your head away and deny her.

“Who’s this Agatha?” Rio’s voice flowed like honey, her tone controlled and taunting.

Agatha smiled down at you, “Y/N.” You exhaled sharply at the simple way she introduced her. As if you were nothing more than just a friend.

"Can I steal her for a moment?" You directed your question towards Rio, although you hardly waited for an answer before dragging your girlfriend away, much to her amusement. She laughed lightly in your ear, leaning down so that her breath was hot as you moved to grab her wrist and drag her through the halls.

You wandered for a moment, almost getting lost in the extravagant building before you found an empty closet, devoid of even cleaning supplies. Shoving Agatha inside, you pressed her up against the wall, your lips latching onto hers. You could practically feel her smirk against your lips as she placed her hands on your shoulders. With just that simple movement, you could imagine Rio's hands on her, teasing your girlfriend.

Swiftly, you snatched up her wrists and in one quick movement pinned them to the wall. You pulled away from her lips with a triumphant smirk and Agatha scoffed, rolling her eyes. She tugged at her hands, trying to free them, but you held firm. While Agatha often took the lead, you were stronger than she gave you credit for.

"Did you enjoy that?" you snarled, attaching your lips onto her neck, teeth grazing against her skin, "Having her hands all over you? You're mine." You punctuated your words with a harsh bite to her tongue, smoothing it over with your tongue.

Aware of the time restraint before someone would notice she was missing, you slid your hand up her thigh while you sucked on her neck. Agatha whimpered when you bit down hard, a sound you rarely heard, and she made another needy noise when your fingers swiped through her folds.

"Somone's possessive," Her voice was breathless as she teased you, trying to regain some sliver of control in her position. You responded to her by shoving one finger into her cunt, hard and fast. Breath hitching, Agatha's hips bucked away from the wall. Her hands tugged on your grip, desperate to touch you. Your tongue licked a long stripe up her tongue. Another finger joined the second, your thumb pressing against her clit roughly with each thrust.

It wasn't long before her thighs started trembling slightly, a silent sign of her orgasm approaching, and a cruel idea crept over you. You continued to pump your fingers in and out of her, relishing in the soft sounds she made as her hips ground down on your fingers, searching for more friction. Her climax was coming quickly as her breaths increased and her chest rose and fell rapidly, her pulse thrumming beneath your lips.

Then, when you knew she was just about to tip over the edge, you pulled your fingers out. Agatha whined, the sound entirely unlike her, and you silenced her by shoving your fingers into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around them, cleaning her arousal off your digits and her lips sucked. You scoffed at her.

"I'll be waiting in the car," you remarked, pulling away suddenly once again, "Come find me when this party is done."

You could feel her icy blue eyes on you as you walked out, filled with need and frustration. Her arms flopped down to her sides as she watched you storm out, anger radiating off of you in harsh waves, your footsteps a clear sign of that. You weaved through the bundles of people, lips pursed as you made your way to the car. The cold night air hit you hard once you stepped out. Inside it was humid and crowded, but it was so nice out here. Inhaling deeply, you walked over to the car, sliding into the driver’s seat and leaning back.

You crossed your arms over your chest, keeping the anger close to your chest. Who was Agatha? Flirting with other girls? You should have never come to stupid even in the first place.

It wasn't too long before Agatha opened the passenger door, sliding in silently. You started the car, the engine humming to life, and tires rolling smoothly over the pavement as you pulled out. There was a tense silence that enveloped the car as you drove, your hands tight on the steering wheel, and eyes trained directly on the road.

Usually, you were so vibrant and full of joy, and Agatha began to worry when you remained terse throughout the whole drive. There had been a few fights in the relationship that blossomed between the two of you, but you never shut down like this. Agatha hated the thin line that your lips were pressed into and clench of your jaw. Your hands had not once moved since they latched onto the wheel, and you had not once glanced in her direction.

Testing her limits, Agatha placed her hand on your thigh. You tensed beneath her but didn't look down or at her. You also didn't tell her to stop. She slowly trailed her fingers up your thigh, under your dress, inching them closer to where she knew you wanted them, and then slid them back down softly. Her own core was throbbing with need after you left her high and dry. Your thigh twitched as her nails dug into your thigh, and for the first time you glanced at her, but it was only a warning glance.

She saw you swallow thicky when her hand trailed back up and pressed down. You had to bit down on your lip to prevent from whimpering and Agatha took great pleasure in the sight of your flushed cheeks. A strained sigh escaped you when she slid her finger up the middle of your thighs.

"Agatha," you managed to choke out.

She smirked viciously and cooed with faux sympathy, "What's wrong?"

"I'm driving," your teeth grit together as she started playing with your clit through your underwear and your breath audibly hitched as you squirmed in your seat. She kept you like that the entire ride, on the edge of your seat, needy for her. Your face flushed even more as the drive went on, a solid half hour from the venue for the place, and she adored the way your eyes became hooded with desire.

By the time you finally pulled into the parking lot, you were on the precipace and your breaths were coming in fast.

"Upstairs," she whispered and pulled her hand away before she was sauntering inside. You let out a shaky exhale and your head fell onto the steering wheel. You took a moment to catch your breath before heading upstairs on wobbly legs. Creeping up the stairs you could feel your heart pounding inside your chest with anticipation.

The minute you stepped into the room, you were spun around then shoved backwards onto the bed. Agatha fell on top of you, her legs straddling your hips, and her smile wicked as she stared down at you. She bent down, her lips catching yours in a fiery kiss. It was one that was all teeth and tongue, passion and desire. A needy whine left your lips as she explored your mouth with her tongue. Your hips wriggled beneath her; heat even more prominent in your throbbing core.

Agatha pulled away, breathless, "Who's in charge now?" She moved to your neck, her lips a soft tease, "You're mine." She bit down hard, mimicking your actions from earlier. Pain flashed there before it was cooled by a lick of her tongue, and then enough sucking to leave a mark. You bucked up into her, begging for more. A noise of pure want came from the back of your throat, your hands coming to tangle in Agatha's hair and tug. Smiling against your neck, Agatha paused for a moment, "Use your words, hon."

"Need you," you pleaded pathetically, bucking up into her. She pressed her hips down harder onto you, keeping you trapped firmly in place, her smirk widening. You have her big, begging, eyes, a silent request in them.

"You can do better than that."

It took a moment for you to force words out as she nibbled on your neck, "Please. Agatha fuck me. Please." Your hands moved to claw at her shoulders, trying to force her down. She paused for a moment. Pulling up to look you in the eyes, Agatha hummed in contemplation, although her mind was already made up. With one more whimper from you, Agatha shimmied down before shoving your dress up. You lifted your hips to help her with that and pulling your panties off.

Agatha's hands found your thighs, nails digging into your skin and holding your legs apart. She wasted little time in diving right in, her tongue swirling around your clit as she strained to keep your thighs from crushing her face. Not that she would mind. Your hands tangled into her hair once again, obscene moans being drawn from your lips as Agatha worked her magic. Her tongue played around in your folds, teasing your entrance and playing with your clit.

Heat pooled in your stomach, all the more prominent now, and spread through your veins. You tried to grind your hips into Agatha's face, desperate for more. She laughed softly into your cunt, the vibrations rattling through you. A filthy moan left your mouth at the sensation. One of Agatha's hands released your thigh and came to replace her mouth. She pulled up, her face slick with your arousal, before she began pumping her fingers in and out leisurely, curling once they were deep inside you.

Your hips thrusted to meet her every movement, working in sync as you chased after your high. Her thumb ground against your clit, a much-needed friction that had you going insane at the feel of it. She picked up her face, hands curling fast and fucking you hard - leaving you a writhing mess, desperate for release. At some point you had let go of her hair and fisted the bedsheets, your toes curling and back arching. Agatha took her time in teasing you until you were a sweaty, breathless mess that only had one thing in mind - release.

"Aggie," you moaned her name like a prayer, "Please."

"Hold it." Agatha bent forward, crashing her lips onto yours with as much force as possible while her fingers curled to hit your g-spot. You whimpered into her mouth, eyes squeezed tightly shut. When you thought you might pass out from oxygen loss, Agatha pulled away, seemingly not phased. "You're mine," she snarled, "and I'm yours. Say it."

"I-" you couldn't form a coherent sentence, your brain fuzzy and body on fire as her thumb and fingers worked magic on your cunt, "I'm yours."

"And?"

"You're- You're mine," you keened loudly and squirmed beneath her.

"Good girl," Agatha placed a soft kiss on your lips, "Go ahead."

With permission, your orgasm washed over you as Agatha's name rang through the room as pleasure surged through your body. You forced Agatha back down so that she was kissing you, her mouth muffling your moans as you rode out your high. Once your body finally relaxed a bit more, she slowly pulled her fingers out, softly apologizing when you whined. She flopped down next to you, still dressed in her elegant suit and you in your dress, even though it was wrinkled all the way up your hips. Agatha threw her arm over your hip, tugging you close. She buried her face into your neck, placing a tender kiss on one of the bruises.

"I'm yours." She whispered, her voice filled with admiration and praise.

You smiled, your hand coming to cover hers in a tender show of affection, "And I'm yours."

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

More Than Just a Favor | Sebastian Sallow x Reader One-Shot

I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAVE 100 FOLLOWERS?

Might be a small milestone to some but I only made this blog a little over a month ago so I am just quite surprised, and honored! Thank you to every single one of you who chose to follow my silly little fanfic blog. To celebrate and as a little thank you, I've written a female mc x sebastian one shot for y'all to enjoy <3

Summary: Rumor has it, you're still a virgin. Sebastian intends to find out if the gossip is true.

Words: ~9,300

Tags: Modern AU, Confessions, Smut, First Time, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sebastian x Female Reader, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House

It started the way most Hogwarts rumors did: with a fragile ego, a loose tongue, and someone who couldn’t keep their mouth shut.

Sebastian wasn’t one to keep track of the latest school gossip. He had better things to do—like beating Ominis at chess, ditching homework, or sneaking off to the Undercroft with you. But this time, he didn’t have much of a choice. This particular rumor wasn’t just background noise; it was everywhere. And it was about you.

Apparently, your ex-boyfriend, the prat Sebastian had barely tolerated even back when you were dating, had let something slip to one of his friends. It wasn’t just an offhanded comment, either. No, he’d told the guy—loudly enough to be overheard in the courtyard—that the two of you broke up because you refused to go past second base with him.

“Six months, and nothing,” the friend had gossiped afterward, his c oice carrying over the sound of students milling about after lunch. “No wonder he’s still bitter.”

From there, the rumor was all anyone could talk about.

“She’s still a virgin?” “You’d think she’d have gotten it out of the way by now.” “Didn’t they date for, like, six months? What was the point?”

The whispering spread like Fiendfyre. Even students who didn’t know you beyond your reputation—the girl who’d saved Hogwarts from Ranrok’s rebellion in fifth year, who seemed fearless in every sense of the word—were weighing in, dissecting your personal life like it was some kind of puzzle to solve.

Of course, it didn’t help that your ex was known for being pissed about the break up. People speculated he’d let the secret slip on purpose, unable to handle the fact that you’d dumped him in the first place. That made the whole thing worse, because now it wasn’t just about you—it was about him and his wounded pride, and the entire school seemed to be picking sides.

Sebastian overheard it for the first time during lunch, sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table. A group of fifth years down the way were giggling, their voices barely low enough to avoid catching the attention of a passing professor.

“Can you believe it?” one girl said, her voice dripping with glee. “Her, of all people?”

“What about her?” her friend asked, clearly out of the loop.

“She’s a virgin!” the first girl whispered, as though it were the most scandalous thing she’d ever heard. “Apparently, that’s why her ex dumped her. Six months together, and she wouldn’t even—”

Sebastian’s fork clattered against his plate, cutting the girl off mid-sentence.

She froze, glancing nervously at him as he slowly pulled the earbud from his right ear. His music—something dark and brooding, of course—cut out as he turned toward her, brown eyes sharp.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

The girl fidgeted with the sleeve of her robe, but her friend wasn’t nearly as cautious.

“You haven’t heard? Her ex said they broke up because she wouldn’t put out,” the friend explained matter-of-factly, not bothering to lower his voice.

Sebastian stared at them as a slow, creeping heat rose in his chest, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he was feeling. Anger? Maybe. Amusement? Possibly. Relief? …Definitely.

Not that he let them know that.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than talk about things that aren’t your business?” he asked, his voice low and even.

The girl fidgeted more visibly now, her face paling. Her friend, however, didn’t seem to share the sense of self-preservation.

“Relax, Sallow,” he said with a smirk, leaning forward conspiratorially. “It’s not like we’re the only ones talking about it. It’s everywhere.”

Sebastian’s dark eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his temper in check.

“Well, maybe you should be the first ones to shut up about it.

“Alright, alright,” the friend muttered, holding up his hands defensively. “No need to get all defensive. I’m just saying what everyone’s already heard.”

“Right,” Sebastian drawled, his lip curling in disdain as he leaned back slightly, letting his glare linger just long enough to make them uncomfortable. “Because if everyone is doing it then it's totally fine to continue parroting garbage.''

That seemed to do the trick. The pair exchanged nervous glances before muttering half-hearted excuses and scurrying off like rats abandoning a sinking ship.

But of course, it wasn’t just the younger students gossiping. For the rest of the day, he caught snippets of conversations in the corridors, in classrooms, even in the common room that evening. It was everywhere, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, his curiosity got the better of him.

That night, he found you in the Undercroft, just like he’d expected.

The moment Sebastian stepped through the arched entrance, the tension in his shoulders eased. The familiar hum of magic in the air wrapped around him like a blanket, muting the noise of the outside world. The Undercroft had always been your shared refuge—a place where the two of you could escape from everything else.

And there you were, sitting on the floor near the far wall, legs crossed with a book resting on your lap. Your back was straight, your expression focused, but the way your shoulders hunched slightly told him everything he needed to know. You weren’t fine.

Sebastian leaned against one of the stone columns, crossing his arms as he watched you for a moment. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy like a storm waiting to break. Part of him didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to push you when you clearly needed space.

But the other part of him—the louder, more stubborn part, the part that wanted the rumor to be true—refused to stay quiet, because the thought of you being with someone else—being close to someone else—had always tied him up in knots. And your ex? That prat? The six months you’d spent with him had been absolutely torturous for Sebastian.

He’d never told you, of course. He’d plastered on his usual smirk, rolled his eyes every time you mentioned the guy’s name, and thrown in the occasional jab about how you could do better. But every time you left to meet him, every time he’d see the two of you sitting together at meals or laughing in the courtyard, it had felt like a gut punch.

He’d spent more nights than he cared to admit lying awake in the Slytherin dormitory, staring up at the canopy of his bed with his heart pounding and his mind racing. He hated the thought of someone else holding your hand, kissing you, whispering things in your ear that he didn’t dare say aloud.

Not that he should’ve been surprised. Every guy at Hogwarts had pined after you since fifth year. You were fearless, funny, and maddeningly brilliant. You were the one who had charged headfirst into danger when Ranrok threatened everything, the one who’d become a legend among your peers before you even hit sixteen.

And on top of all that, you were beautiful. Not the kind of beauty that demanded attention, but the kind that pulled people in without you even trying. You didn’t seem to realize the effect you had on people, and maybe that’s what made it worse.

Because Sebastian had known, from the moment he met you, that you were going to ruin him.

And now, standing here in the Undercroft, watching you hunch slightly under the weight of a stupid rumor, all those feelings surged to the surface. The relief, the jealousy, the guilt. He wanted the rumor to be true—wanted it to be true so badly that it scared him.

"So..." he start slowly, "You want to talk about it?"

You startled slightly, your head snapping up to meet his gaze. For a moment, you didn’t say anything, your eyes narrowing as if trying to figure out his angle. Then you huffed, snapping your Charms textbook shut and tossing it onto the floor beside you.

“Not really,” you muttered, your tone sharper than usual.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smirk despite the tension in his chest.

“Come on,” he pressed, his voice softer now but still laced with that familiar teasing edge. “It’s me. You can tell me anything."

Your expression darkened as you stood abruptly, brushing dust off your robes. “What’s there to talk about, Sebastian? It’s just a stupid rumor.”

“Is it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he watched you pace the length of the room.

You stopped mid-step, your shoulders stiffening before you turned to face him fully. “Yes, it is,” you snapped, your voice rising slightly. “But apparently, the entire school thinks it’s their business now.”

Sebastian studied you carefully, his smirk fading. He could see the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, the way your hands clenched and unclenched at your sides. This wasn’t like you. You were always so steady, so unshakable, the kind of person who didn’t care what anyone thought. But now? Now you looked… rattled.

“They’re idiots,” he said simply, shrugging one shoulder. “You know that.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head as you turned away from him. “Doesn’t stop them from talking, does it?”

Sebastian pushed off the column, closing the distance between you with a few lazy steps. He stopped just a foot or two away, his voice low and careful as he said, “So… is it true?”

You froze, and for a moment, the silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. Then, slowly, crossed defensively over your chest.

"That's not your business, Sebastian."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk—too soft, too careful—but still undeniably him. He tilted his head, studying you with that infuriatingly patient look he reserved for when he wasn’t ready to let something go.

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “But you’re my best friend, so I’m making it my business.”

You glared at him, your arms tightening over your chest. “Why? So you can laugh about it like everyone else?”

That stung, more than he wanted to admit. His smirk faltered, his brows knitting together as he took a step closer.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softening. “You know me better than that.”

Your gaze flickered, uncertainty flashing across your face before you looked away, your jaw tightening.

Sebastian let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. He didn’t want to push you, not when you were already on edge, but the knot in his chest refused to loosen.

“Look,” he started, his tone gentler now, “I don’t care what everyone’s are saying. They don’t know you—not really. And whatever your ex said? That just proves how much of a git he is.”

You scoffed, your eyes snapping back to his. “You hated him before this, Sebastian. Don’t act like this is some new revelation.”

“You’re right,” he said, his grin creeping back, though it was tempered by something warmer. “I did hate him. Still do. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was less fire in the gesture now, as though his words had chipped away at some of the tension in your shoulders.

Sebastian took another step closer, the space between you shrinking until he could see the way your hands trembled as you fidgeted with the fabric of your sleeve. He tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours.

“So,” he said slowly, “you’re not going to deny it?”

You hesitated, your throat working as you swallowed hard. “Why does it matter to you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. Sebastian’s heart thudded in his chest, the truth clawing at the back of his throat. He could feel it pressing against his ribs, begging to be let out.

But instead, he shrugged, forcing a casual grin. “It doesn’t,” he lied. “I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

“Why not?” you asked, your voice sharper now, defensive.

He hesitated, his grin faltering for a split second before he recovered. “Because it’s you,” he said, his tone quieter now. “You’re… you. Brave, reckless, brilliant—and gorgeous, by the way, not that you ever seem to notice.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away, clearly caught off guard by the compliment. He couldn't really blame you. Sebastian almost always avoided saying anything that got too close to the truth of his feelings.

But he pressed on, his voice softening further. “You could have anyone you wanted. Hell, half the guys in school are practically lining up for a chance. So yeah, I just assumed…” He trailed off, shrugging again, though the motion felt heavier this time.

“Well, you assumed wrong,” you muttered, shifting your weight awkwardly.

The confirmation leaving your lips had Sebastian’s thoughts grinding to a halt, his mind caught somewhere between relief and confusion.

By principle, Sebastian didn’t care how many people someone had slept with—or if they hadn’t slept with anyone at all. It wasn’t something he judged people for. Hell, he was hardly a paragon of chastity. His own reputation preceded him—half the school whispered about his escapades, and he didn’t exactly go out of his way to deny the rumors. He wore the label of "man whore" like a badge of honor, not because he particularly enjoyed the attention, but because it was easier than letting anyone see the truth.

And the truth was simple: all of it—every fleeting flirtation, every casual hookup, every whispered name—had been nothing more than a distraction. A way to dull the ache of wanting something he could never have.

So when it came to you, his principles fell apart. The selfish, possessive part of him—the part he usually tried to shove into a dark corner of his mind—was pleased. Pleased that you were still untouched. Pleased that he might still have a chance to be your first, and if he had his way, he’d be your only.

He shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t fidget. “Well,” he said softly, his voice dipping into something quieter, something that wasn’t quite teasing but still carried the edge of a grin. “…Good.”

Your head snapped up, your eyes narrowing as you stared at him. “Good?” you repeated, your voice sharp with disbelief.

“Yeah,” he said, his smirk softening into something warmer, something real. “Good. It means you didn’t let that asshole have something he didn’t deserve.”

You blinked at him, clearly caught off guard by his words. For a moment, you just stared, like you were trying to figure him out, to dig past the layers of teasing and bravado to whatever truth lay beneath.

"You're oddly fixated on this." You observed.

Sebastian could feel the truth clawing at him, desperate to be set free, but instead, he forced a shrug, his smirk creeping back into place.

“I'm not fixated,” he lied, though the words tasted bitter on his tongue. “I just think you deserve better than someone like him.”

You rolled your eyes, though the gesture lacked its usual fire. “You’ve been saying that since the day I started dating him.”

“Because it’s true,” Sebastian shot back, his grin widening just enough to show a hint of teeth. “You’re amazing, and he… well, he was decidedly not.”

The faintest smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and Sebastian’s chest tightened at the sight. He would’ve given anything to see that smile directed at him forever.

“Thanks, I guess,” you muttered, though your cheeks were still flushed, and you shifted awkwardly under his gaze.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the air between you thick. Sebastian could feel it—the tension, the weight of everything he wasn’t saying—and he knew, deep down, that this moment was teetering on the edge of something neither of you could take back.

And then, because he couldn’t stop himself, he said, “You know… if you ever wanted to change that status, you could always come to me.”

Your eyes widened, and your mouth fell open slightly as you stared at him, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

He shrugged, trying to keep his tone light even as his heart threatened to pound out of his chest. “I mean, you trust me, right? And I’m…” He paused, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Well, let’s just say I have experience.”

You groaned, "Seb, I really don't want to hear about how you fucked three girls in one night in three separate broom closets, okay? You sexcapades are not exactly my favorite topic."

Sebastian blinked, caught off guard by your blunt response. Then he burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the Undercroft. It wasn’t the reaction you were expecting, apparently, because your glare deepened, but there was a flicker of something softer in your eyes—maybe amusement, maybe exasperation.

“Why not?” he asked, grinning wide, leaning slightly closer. “You don’t find my sexcapades entertaining?”

“No,” you shot back, though your lips twitched like you were fighting a smile. “They’re revolting. And the fact that half the school thinks you’re incapable of keeping it in your pants doesn’t entertain me nor scream trustworthy.”

Sebastian pressed a hand to his chest. “Ouch. Way to attack my character”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks were flushed. “You practically brag about it. You’re always smirking when people bring it up, like it’s some badge of honor.”

“Maybe I’m just giving them what they want,” Sebastian shot back smoothly, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “You know how people are. They love a good story.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “So you didn’t hook up with three girls in one night?”

Sebastian hesitated, his grin faltering for a split second. “Well, I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Yes, I have a bit of a reputation. But let’s be honest—none of it actually matters. It’s not like I care about any of the girls I hook up with.”

You frowned at him, your gaze narrowing. “Then why do it?”

Sebastian blinked. For a moment, his smirk slipped completely, and the air between you grew heavier. But then, just as quickly, he recovered, his lips twitching into that familiar, teasing grin.

“Well,” he started, his tone light but laced with mischief, “it’s better than getting myself off alone in bed ten feet from Ominis, isn’t it?”

Your jaw dropped, and you gawked at him, absolutely dumbfounded. “Sebastian!”

“What?” he said, shrugging innocently, though the grin on his face was anything but. “I’m just saying. Can you imagine?” He raised his voice, mimicking Ominis’s clipped, proper tone. “‘Really, Sebastian? At two in the morning? Some of us enjoy sleep.’”

You stared at him, torn between horror and the urge to laugh, your cheeks burning. “I didn’t need to know that!”

“Sure you did,” he said, clearly pleased with himself. “Now you understand why I’ve had to… broaden my horizons.”

“Broaden your horizons?” you repeated, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “That’s what you’re calling it?”

“Well, what would you call it?” he shot back, his grin widening.

“I’d call it—” You cut yourself off, groaning as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

Sebastian laughed, the sound warm and rich, and for a moment, it felt like the tension between you had lifted. But then his laughter faded, and he took a step closer, his expression softening into something more serious.

“Look,” he said, his tone quieter now, more honest. “What I’m really trying to say is that if…” He swallowed hard, and for a brief moment, he considered stopping—considered leaving it unsaid. But then he met your eyes, and something in your gaze spurred him on, despite every instinct screaming at him to shut up.

“If you’re planning on… you know, getting it over with,” he forced out, his voice low and uneven, “then I’ll help.”

You blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Help?”

Sebastian nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets to stop them from fidgeting. “Yeah. I’ll… I don’t know. Give you the dirt on whoever you’re thinking about. Tell you if they’re decent, or if they’re just going to make things worse for you.”

Your expression shifted from confusion to something closer to disbelief. “Seb, are you seriously offering to vet potential guys for me?”

“Well, someone has to,” he said, his grin returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I mean, let’s face it—your taste hasn’t exactly been stellar so far.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real heat behind the gesture. “Gee, thanks.”

“I’m just saying,” he pressed, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “If you’re going to do this, you might as well make sure it’s with someone who’s not going to screw it up—or worse, brag about it to half the school.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your arms still crossed over your chest. “Why would you even offer that?”

Sebastian hesitated, the mask slipping for a split second as he tried to find the right words.

“Because you’re my best friend,” he said finally, the words tasting both honest and hollow at the same time. “And I don’t want you to regret it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged, and Sebastian felt his heart thudding in his chest. The truth was, it wasn’t just about you. Not entirely. A selfish part of him couldn’t bear the thought of someone else being close to you in a way he wasn’t. Offering to help—offering to vet anyone you might consider—felt like a way to keep some semblance of control over a situation that made his stomach churn.

Because now he had a second chance at this. And if you went through with it, if you let someone else touch you, have you in a way that Sebastian could only dream of, he didn’t know what he’d do.

He told himself it was noble—that he was doing this for your sake, to protect you from making a mistake. But deep down, he knew it was self-serving, a desperate attempt to steer you away from anyone else while he tried to gather the courage to tell you the truth.

“Well, I’m not… planning anything,” you said at length, your voice softer now, almost hesitant.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, the knot in his chest loosening just slightly at your words. He hadn’t realized just how tightly he’d been wound, how much tension he’d been carrying since this stupid rumor started spreading.

“Good,” he said, his tone gentler now, though he couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “Because honestly? Most of the guys around here are prats. You’d be better off waiting two months until after Hogwarts. At least then you won’t be stuck hearing about it in the Great Hall for weeks.”

You hummed thoughtfully, tilting your head as if considering his words. “And… if you were vetting yourself… would you approve?”

Sebastian froze, his usual quick wit momentarily failing him as his brain scrambled for a response. “I—what?” he stammered, caught entirely off guard. “That’s—that’s not—”

“Well, it’s only fair, isn’t it?” you cut in, your tone light but pointed as you smirked at him. “You were just interrogating me about my sex life. Why shouldn’t I get to turn the tables and question you back?”

Sebastian opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to even begin responding. His mind was racing, caught somewhere between indignation, panic, and the nagging realization that he’d never actually considered it before—but now that he had, the answer was glaringly obvious.

He wouldn’t pass his own vetting.

Not even close.

If the situation were reversed, if someone like him were sniffing around you, Sebastian would shut it down faster than you could blink. He wouldn’t just give a list of reasons why the guy wasn’t good enough for you; he’d give a dissertation.

The reckless streak. The reputation. The countless rumors of broom closet escapades. It didn’t matter that most of them were exaggerated, or that none of it had ever meant anything.

And that wasn’t even scratching the surface. Because beyond the gossip and the bravado and the endless teasing, Sebastian knew himself. He knew the flaws that weren’t just rumors. The impulsiveness. The temper. The way he threw himself into things without thinking, consequences be damned.

If he were vetting himself for you, the answer would be painfully clear: absolutely not.

But here you were, watching him with a raised eyebrow and that infuriating, knowing little smirk, like you were daring him to come up with an answer that didn’t make him look like an idiot.

“Well?” you prompted, your tone light but laced with curiosity. “Would you pass?”

Sebastian cleared his throat, stalling for time as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “That’s… an unfair question,” he said finally.

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

“Because you’re not trying to get with me,” Sebastian said, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth, like he’d swallowed something he couldn’t spit out.

But then something happened that he didn’t anticipate.

You didn’t respond.

Your mouth opened, as though you were about to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you just stared at him, your eyes wide and searching, your expression unreadable. Slowly, your cheeks began to flush, a deep warmth spreading across your face.

Sebastian froze, his own grin faltering as confusion flickered across his face. “What?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You blinked, quickly snapping your mouth shut, and for a moment, it looked like you might try to play it off. But the blush only deepened, spreading to the tips of your ears as you looked away, fidgeting with the sleeve of your robe.

Sebastian’s stomach flipped. He didn’t know what to make of this—of you.

You, who could go toe-to-toe with him in every argument, every tease, every prank. You, who always seemed so steady, so sure of yourself, now standing there, cheeks aflame and uncharacteristically quiet.

“Wait,” he said slowly, his voice dropping as he stepped closer, his brows furrowing. “What—"

“It's nothing,” you said quickly, your tone higher than usual as you avoided his gaze.

Sebastian blinked, his mind grinding to a halt as he stared at you. Slowly, like puzzle pieces falling into place, the realization began to wash over him.

“Is it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge gone.

You froze. “Sebastian, don’t,” you said softly, but there was no bite to your words—no real protest.

Sebastian’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. It certainly was not nothing.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t agree with me.”

You winced, your cheeks burning even brighter as you finally glanced up at him. “Seb…”

“No, no, hang on,” he said quickly, his mind racing as he took a step closer, his dark eyes locked onto yours. “Are you—wait, are you saying that you would—” He cut himself off, his voice catching in his throat as the weight of the moment hit him. “Bloody hell—"

“Sebastian, please,” you cut in quickly, your voice rising just enough to interrupt him. Your hands flew up as if to stop his words before they could leave his mouth. You were panicking now, trying to salvage the moment, the heat in your cheeks only growing more intense. “It’s not— I didn’t mean— Look, it’s nothing, alright? Just forget I said anything.”

“Forget it?” he repeated, his heart was pounding so loudly in his chest that he was sure you could hear it. “Are you serious? You expect me to just… move on like you didn’t just almost admit—” He stopped himself, swallowing hard, his voice dropping lower. “Like you didn’t just make me think that you might—”

“Sebastian, don’t,” you interrupted, your voice trembling as you took a half-step back. “This is stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“But you didn’t even say anything,” he countered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took a step closer, closing the distance you were trying to put between you. “You didn’t have to. I saw it on your face.”

You flinched at that, your lips pressing into a thin line as your gaze flickered downward.

“Look at me,” Sebastian said softly, his tone lacking its usual teasing edge. “Please.”

You hesitated, your shoulders tensing, but eventually, you lifted your gaze to meet his. Your eyes were wide, brimming with uncertainty, vulnerability, and something else he couldn’t quite name—but it was enough to make his chest ache.

“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me I’m not imagining this."

You opened your mouth, your throat working as you struggled to find the words. Sebastian thought you might deny it again, that you’d laugh it off and shove him back into the safe, familiar box of your friendship. But then you closed your eyes, exhaling shakily.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you admitted, your voice quiet but steady. “You’re not imagining things. But this… this doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t mean anything?” he repeated, his brows furrowing as the words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Not like that,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I just mean… it doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Sebastian said, his voice firmer now, more insistent. “And neither am I.”

You blinked at him, startled by the intensity in his tone, and Sebastian felt a flicker of hope spark in his chest.

“Do you know how long I’ve been—” He stopped himself, letting out a shaky laugh as he raked a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I don’t even know where to start.”

“Sebastian...”

“No, listen,” he said, cutting you off as he stepped even closer, his voice dropping into something softer, more vulnerable. “I’ve been driving myself mad for years thinking that I’d have to spend the rest of my life pretending that I’m okay with just being your friend. And now you’re here, blushing like mad, trying to convince me that this doesn’t mean anything, when it’s the only thing I’ve wanted to mean everything.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the air between you crackling with tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

“Tell me I’m not wrong,” he said, his dark eyes locked onto yours. “Tell me that you’ve thought about this, about us. Because if you haven’t, I’ll let it go. I’ll never bring it up again. But if you have…” He trailed off, his chest heaving as he waited for your answer, every nerve in his body on edge.

You stared at him, your lips parted slightly as you struggled to find the words. And then, finally, you let out a shaky breath, your shoulders relaxing as you whispered, “I have.”

Sebastian’s heart stopped.

"So you... you want me?"

You huffed a laugh, your gaze flickering away. "Of course I want you,” you mumbled. “I’ve wanted you since we met."

The world seemed to tilt beneath Sebastian’s feet. His legs felt unsteady, his chest too tight to contain everything that had been bottled up inside him for years. All the late nights he’d spent staring at the canopy of his bed, wishing things were different. All the times he’d watched you smile at him, laugh with him, and ached for something he thought he could never have. And now, here you were, saying the very thing he’d been terrified to let himself hope for.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair as a shaky laugh escaped him. He felt dazed, like he’d just been hit with a Confundus Charm. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your brows furrowed, and the corners of your mouth dipped down. “Seb, if you’re about to make a joke—”

Sebastian didn’t let you finish. He closed the distance between you, his hands coming up to gently cradle your face as his lips crashed into yours.

You froze for a split second, caught off guard, but then you melted into him, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as if to anchor yourself.

Sebastian kissed you like his life depended on it, like you were air and he’d been suffocating.

And in that moment, he realized he had been suffocating, drowning in his feelings for you and his fear of ruining everything. But now, with you in his arms, kissing him back like this was where you’d always meant to be, he felt like he could finally breathe.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you were breathless. His chest heaved as he tried to steady his breathing, his hands still cupping your face as though he was afraid to let go.

"So... you want me too?" Your voice was small, almost uncertain, like you still couldn’t quite believe it yourself.

He let out a breathless laugh, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I thought I made that pretty clear,” he said softly, his lips twitching into a small, crooked smile. “But yeah. I want you. I’ve wanted you since… well, since the first time you insulted my dueling form.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, the sound light and shaky, but genuine. “That was years ago.”

“Exactly,” he said, his grin widening.

Your expression shifted. Your eyes, still soft from the kiss, suddenly took on that sharp edge he knew all too well.

He’d seen that look a hundred times before—right before you suggested something outrageous, something that would almost certainly land the two of you in trouble. But this time, it was different. This time, the stakes felt infinitely higher, and Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat as he watched you, holding his breath.

“What?” he asked cautiously.

You leaned back slightly, studying him with that mischievous gleam in your eyes, and Sebastian swore his heart was about to give out.

“Well,” you started slowly, your lips curving into a playful smirk. “If we’re being honest about what we want…”

Sebastian swallowed hard, his hands still resting on your cheeks. “Go on,” he said, though his voice was rough.

Your hands slid down his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you leaned closer. “You said you’d help me if I ever wanted to change my…status,” you said, your voice dropping into something softer, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “Does that offer still stand?”

Sebastian’s breath caught. His eyes widened slightly, searching your face for any sign that you might be joking, but all he saw was that familiar confidence, the same fire that had drawn him to you in the first place.

“You’re not serious,” he said, though his voice wavered, betraying the rush of emotions swirling in his chest—hope, fear, and something that felt dangerously close to pure, unfiltered desire.

You tilted your head, your smirk softening into something gentler, something that made his stomach flip. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you asked quietly.

Sebastian couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He just stood there, staring at you like he was committing this moment to memory—like he needed to be sure it was real before he dared let himself believe it. Then, slowly, a small, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Well,” he said, his voice rough but tinged with a teasing lilt, “I’d be an idiot to say no, but..."

"But?"

Sebastian’s voice dropped, softer now, almost hesitant. “But if we do this… I need you to understand something.” His thumbs brushed gently over your cheeks, his gaze searching yours. "I don’t want this to be some casual thing. I don’t want it to be something we joke about tomorrow or pretend never happened."

Your teasing smirk faltered, your expression softening as the weight of his words sank in. “Sebastian…” you started, your voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, shaking his head slightly as though to clear his thoughts. "Fuck, I'm in love with you and I want you forever. I want all of you. And I need to know that this is what you want too. Because if we do this—if we cross that line—I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back. I don’t want to go back. "

Your laugh was soft, shaky, but warm enough to chase away the tension tightening Sebastian’s chest. “Sebastian, you absolute idiot,” you said, your voice a mix of amusement and affection. “I love you too. You already had my forever."

Sebastian froze. You loved him. You loved him.

With a low, broken sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, he pulled you to him, his lips crashing against yours.

"Then yes," he said against your lips, "The offer still stands."

His lips crashing into yours, Sebastian backed you up slowly until you pressed against the cool, rough surface of the wall. His hands slid down your sides, his touch warm and firm, before they found your thighs. With a low, breathless groan, he lifted you, his fingers curling around the soft flesh beneath your skirt. The warmth of your skin against his palms made his head spin, and a shaky moan escaped his lips as he pressed you tighter against him.

He was in heaven. After so much imagining, so many stolen glances and sleepless nights spent wanting this—wanting you—he finally got to touch you, hold you, have you. And the way you clung to him, your legs wrapping around his waist as your hands tangled in his hair, only made it better. Perfect, even.

Your kisses were desperate, almost frantic, and every press of your lips, every flick of your tongue sent fire racing through his veins. When you broke away from his mouth, trailing kisses along his jaw before latching onto the sensitive skin of his neck, he let out a deep, shuddering breath, his head tipping back slightly to give you more access.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse as your teeth grazed his skin. “You’re driving me mad.”

You didn’t stop, didn’t so much as pause, as you nipped at his neck, your lips soothing the sting with soft kisses before you sucked gently, leaving faint marks in your wake. Your hands slid down to his chest, tugging at the buttons of his shirt, and Sebastian could only chuckle breathlessly, his voice rough with want.

“Impatient, are we?” he teased, though his own hands were just as restless, roaming your thighs and hips like he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Shut up,” you muttered, your tone sharp but breathless as you finally yanked the fabric apart, buttons clattering to the floor.

Sebastian’s hands tightened on your thighs, his arousal growing almost unbearable as you continued your assault on his senses. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and he knew he couldn’t take much more of this—of you.

With a low, frustrated growl, he pulled back slightly, carrying you to one of the worn-out couches in the corner. The cushions creaked under your combined weight as he set you down gently, his body covering yours as he leaned over you, his hands braced on either side of your head.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his dark eyes roaming your face as though committing every detail to memory, because you were a vision, and the fact that you were here, with him, looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered, nearly undid him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with reverence.

Your lips parted slightly, a faint, breathless laugh escaping as you reached up to cup his cheek. “You’re not so bad yourself."

Sebastian huffed a laugh, and his lips found their way back to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin with a newfound urgency. His hands slid along your sides, his fingers skimming the fabric of your sweater until they found the hem. He paused for just a moment, giving you a chance to stop him, but when you arched into him, your silent permission, he tugged the material upward.

The sweater caught slightly as he pulled it over your head, and you laughed softly, the sound muffled by the fabric. “Impatient are we?” you mocked breathlessly as he tossed the garment aside.

“Can you blame me?” he shot back, his voice low and gravelly as his hands immediately found your waist again, sliding up to palm you over your bra. His fingers curled around the soft fabric, thumbs brushing over the lace, and his breath hitched when you let out a soft, barely audible moan at the contact.

“Fuck,” Sebastian muttered, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he squeezed gently, his touch reverent, almost hesitant. “You’re perfect. I’ve thought about this so many times, and it doesn’t even come close to—” He broke off, his words dissolving into a groan as you arched into him again, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“You think too much,” you murmured, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as your hands found their way to his chest, exploring the warm, firm planes of muscle beneath your fingers. “Just feel.”

Sebastian let out a soft laugh, though it was shaky and tinged with desperation as he pressed a kiss to your collarbone. “Oh, believe me,” he said, his voice rough, “I’m feeling plenty.”

His lips trailed lower, down the column of your neck and across your chest, lingering just above the edge of your bra. His hands slid around your back, fumbling slightly as he searched for the clasp, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his eagerness.

“Need some help?” you teased, though your voice was just as breathless as his.

“Shut it,” he grumbled, though there was no real heat in his tone. When he finally managed to unhook it, the fabric loosened, and Sebastian pulled it away slowly, almost reverently, his eyes darkening as they roamed over you.

“God,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he cupped you in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your bare skin. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Your cheeks flushed under his gaze, but before you could respond, his mouth was on you, hot and insistent. His lips and tongue worked in tandem, drawing soft gasps and whimpers from you that only spurred him on. His hands explored every inch of you, mapping out the curves and dips of your body like he was committing them to memory.

And Merlin, you were just as eager, your hands slipping down his back, your nails grazing his skin as you tugged him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist once more. Every touch, every kiss, every breath shared between you was electric, setting your nerves alight and leaving you both trembling with need.

“Sebastian,” you murmured, his name a plea on your lips as you arched into him, your hands tugging at the waistband of his trousers.

He groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as he tried to steady himself, his breathing ragged. “You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed the heat and affection swirling in his chest.

“Then die happy,” you shot back, your hands working to unbutton his trousers

Sebastian’s laugh was low and breathless, his hands momentarily leaving your body as he stood to slide the the fabric down his legs, and he decided that if this was the end, if you were the last thing he ever got to hold, he would die the happiest man alive.

His hands trembled slightly as they found your hips, his fingers curling around the waistband of your skirt. Slowly, almost reverently, he began to tug the fabric down, revealing more of you with each passing second.

His heart thundered in his chest when the fabric slid past your thighs, pooling at your knees before he finally discarded it onto the floor. Now, with both of you stripped down to nothing but your underwear, the reality of the moment hit him like a lightning strike.

His arousal, already insistent, became nearly unbearable, straining against the fabric of his boxers as his gaze swept over you. Splayed out on the worn couch, your hair spilled like a halo across the cushions, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, and every inch of you seemed to beckon him closer. The taut peaks of your breasts, flushed and bare to him, drew his attention, sending a sharp pang of need coursing through him. Your kiss-bruised lips, slightly swollen and parted, were enough to leave him breathless, but it was the way your thighs pressed together, your hips shifting slightly, and the soft flush painting your skin that nearly broke his restraint.

You squirmed under his gaze, your cheeks burning a lovely pink that traveled down to your neck, and Sebastian was certain he’d never seen anything more stunning in his life.

Sebastian sank down onto the couch, hovering over you once more, his arms braced on either side of your head as he took in every detail of your expression. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might break through his ribs. But when his eyes met yours, he faltered.

There, just beneath the heat and want in your gaze, was a flicker of something softer—nerves, apprehension.

This was your first time.

The gravity of it settled heavily on his chest all over again, eclipsing the raw desire that had been driving him just seconds ago. As much as he wanted to let his instincts take over, to lose himself in the sheer need coursing through him, he knew he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—rush this.

He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, one hand coming up to gently cradle your face. The tenderness of the gesture seemed to soothe the tension in your body, and he felt you relax slightly beneath him.

“We don’t have to do this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice soft and steady. “If you’re not ready—if you need more time—just say the word, and we’ll stop. No questions, no pressure. I mean it.”

Your lips parted as you stared up at him, the weight of his words sinking in. Your hands slid up to rest on his shoulders. “I want this,” you said, your voice quiet but sure. “I’m ready, Seb. I trust you.”

Sebastian closed his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly as relief and affection washed over him. When he opened them again, his gaze was softer, his brow furrowed slightly as he studied you. “If I do something you don’t like,” he said gently, “or if you change your mind at any point, just tell me. Promise me.”

“I promise."

Sebastian nodded, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “Alright,” he murmured, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips before he shifted back. After sliding your thong down your legs, his hands reached for your knees, his fingers curling around them as he gently urged your legs apart. His touch was firm but careful, like he was holding something fragile and precious.

When his gaze dropped to the space between your thighs, a low, guttural groan escaped him, unbidden. He braced himself with one hand on your knee, the other sliding along your inner thigh as though drawn there by instinct.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

“Seb…” you murmured, your voice trembling as you reached for him, your fingers brushing against his forearm.

He met your gaze, his expression softening as he smiled—a small, lopsided grin that carried all the affection and adoration he couldn’t put into words. “I’ve got you,” he said softly, his hand sliding to your hip as he settled between your legs. “I promise, I’ve got you.”

Sebastian leaned forward again, his hands framing your hips as he lowered himself over you. He felt your trembling hands move to the waistband of his boxers, your fingers brushing against his skin. He bit his lip, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he tried to keep his composure.

When you tugged gently, his hands left your body for just a moment as he helped slide the fabric down, discarding it carelessly onto the floor. He knelt there for a second, his heart pounding as he hovered above you, watching your reaction like it was the only thing that mattered.

The moment your gaze dropped, your breath caught audibly, your lips parting in surprise. Your eyes widened slightly before the surprise gave way to something deeper, something that made the heat in his chest bloom into something all-encompassing. The desire in your expression, raw and unguarded, left him completely undone.

Sebastian felt his face flush, a lopsided, slightly nervous smile tugging at his lips as he watched you take him in. “You alright?” he asked softly.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flicking back up to meet his, and he saw a glimmer of shyness there—so unlike the confident, unshakable version of you the rest of the world knew. “I’m... you're so..." he watched you swallow hard, hesitant yet heavy with want.

“I’m what?” he asked softly, his voice low and rough. He leaned closer, his fingers brushing against your hip, his touch warm and grounding. “Come on, sweetheart, don’t leave me hanging now.”

You swallowed again, your chest rising and falling with shallow, unsteady breaths. “You’re so big, I— will it hurt?"

Sebastian’s breath hitched at your words, a wave of satisfaction and desire crashing through him, leaving his heart pounding and his arousal almost unbearable. The raw honesty in your voice, the uncertainty paired with the compliment, made his chest ache with a mixture of pride and tenderness.

Still, the flicker of apprehension in your gaze snapped him back to the gravity of the moment. He couldn’t let the intensity of his need overpower what mattered most: you.

He exhaled slowly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“It might,” he admitted softly, his voice low and steady. “It might hurt a little at first. But I promise you, I’ll go slow—so slow—and I’ll stop the second you want me to. You just have to tell me, okay?”

Your lips parted slightly, your breath trembling as you nodded. “Okay."

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over your hip. “I swear, I’ll take care of you. I won’t let it be anything but good for you.”

You gave him a small, shaky smile, your fingers curling around the back of his neck to pull him closer. “I know."

Sebastian let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting briefly against yours as he reached down to position himself at your entrance. His hand trembled slightly—not from hesitation, but from the sheer weight of the moment, the overwhelming intensity of finally being this close to you, of having you completely. His eyes flicked up to meet yours one last time, searching for any trace of doubt.

“Breathe, love,” he whispered, his voice soft and soothing as he pressed a tender kiss to your cheek. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders, your fingers curling into his skin as you drew him closer.

With infinite care, Sebastian began to press forward, his body taut with restraint as he eased himself into you. The moment he felt your warmth enveloping him, tight and slick and impossibly perfect, a low, guttural groan tore from his chest, his head dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless as he stilled, giving you time to adjust. “You feel… you feel so good. So fucking good.”

Your breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your body stretched to accommodate him. There was a slight pinch at first, an ache that made you tense momentarily, but Sebastian’s hands were there, grounding you, one cradling your hip while the other brushed soothing circles against your thigh.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice laced with both tenderness and the barest hint of desperation. “Just breathe, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.”

You nodded, exhaling shakily as you focused on his voice, his touch, the warmth of his body pressing against yours. Slowly, the discomfort began to fade, replaced by something deeper, something warmer.

Sebastian felt the change, the way your body softened beneath him, the way your fingers gripped his shoulders less tightly. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there as he began to move again, inching deeper with agonizing slowness.

“You’re so tight,” he muttered, his voice thick with awe and desire. “So warm. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Your soft whimper in response had his restraint fraying at the edges and he fought to keep his movements measured. Every inch of you wrapped around him like a vice, and the heat and wetness of you was enough to drive him to the brink of madness.

“Sebastian,” you breathed, his name a plea on your lips as your hands slid up to tangle in his hair. “You can… you can move.”

He groaned softly, lifting his head to look at you. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice tight as he forced himself to hold still, his entire body trembling with the effort.

“Yes,” you whispered, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. “I’m ready.”

With a shaky exhale, Sebastian nodded, his hands tightening on your hips as he began rocking into you with slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation was overwhelming—your body clinging to him, so snug and impossibly warm, every movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through him.

“Fuck,” he muttered again, his head dropping to rest against yours as he found a rhythm, each thrust measured and careful, ensuring you had time to adjust.

Your soft moans and the way your body responded to him only spurred him on, his movements growing just a fraction deeper, more deliberate, as he let himself sink further into you. The way you arched beneath him, the way your nails grazed his skin, made his restraint fray further, but he forced himself to hold on. This was about you—making sure you felt safe, cherished, and utterly adored.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured, his voice rough but laced with affection as his lips brushed against your ear. “I need to know you’re okay.”

“It’s… it’s good,” you whispered, your voice trembling but full of warmth. “Better than good. You feel amazing, Seb.”

The sincerity in your voice made his chest tighten, his heart pounding as he pressed a series of soft, reverent kisses along your jaw. “You’re amazing,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re everything.”

And as he continued, his movements slow and deliberate, Sebastian let himself savor every moment, every sound, every touch, etching the memory into his soul, and he swore he’d spend the rest of his life making sure you knew just how deeply he cherished you.

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[gildedbirdcage-if]

DEMO TBA

Berenzia- a kingdom ruled by a powerful, stern King. For most of his rule, most anyone would report that he was a fair man to those who relied on him and merciless to those who opposed him or wished harm to his kingdom. It’s said there was once a time where he had calmed, finally found himself beyond his role, and all was well. The people loved, practically worshipped, their soft, perfect, patient, and kind Queen but the King would tell anyone that it paled in comparison to his love for her. The King and Queen were truly one half to the same whole and envied by all. As with all things, it did not last. In a classic tale of tragedy, the King lost his beloved Queen and it is said that it was an event he could never recover from. Whisperings in the street and kingdom’s borders would report that he lost his humanity the day the Queen died.

An event that coincides with your birth.

Play as the only child of Berenzia’s king- from your isolated youth to your isolated adulthood. You’re relatively safe from your father’s ire until your mid-twenties as you must fulfill your duty and get advantageously married. Build your relationships with your childhood friends, your new suitors, and a new friend. Will you do your father’s bidding or will you take destiny into your hands?

Gilded Birdcage is an 18+ interactive fiction not suited for minors. This interactive fiction will contain optional sexual content, suggestive themes, optional references to suicide, child neglect, abuse, deadnaming (gender selectable content), use of incorrect pronouns (gender selectable content), sexism, and death. This list will be updated as needed during content creation.

MC will be set to AFAB with options to explore gender identity. ROs down below will also not be gender selectable.

Aleksander “Alek” [M]:

Age: 25

Physical Description: 6’4”, ivory skin painted with freckles, red, loosely curled hair that reaches his nape, broad shoulders, thin waist, deceivingly strong despite appearance, crooked nose from a break, with warm, brown eyes.

Personality: Warm, affable, easy-going, energetic, extroverted, and impossible to not get along with. Makes anyone feel like they’re the only person in the room… until you walk in. [ENFP-T]

Info: Your childhood friend since diapers, you were born only two days apart. Alek is your first, and closest, friend. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you. He has loved you his whole life but will never act upon it, believing you could never feel the same. He enters the battle for your hand not because he hopes you’ll see him as more than a friend, but to give you a friendly, familiar face to choose from. He’ll only ever have eyes for you. (Note: Can choose Alek for a platonic,romantic, or poly route)

Relationship to MC: Childhood friend, Suitor

Orion [M]:

Age: 24

Physical Description: 6’2”, tawny skin with small burn scars scattered on his forearms from cooking, stocky build, straight brown hair (loosely tied in a knot), with piercing green eyes.

Personality: Hardworking, sardonic, introverted, pessimistic, and pessimistic. [ISTJ-A]

Info: Orion began working in the castle at a very young age, thus being one of the only other children you had around growing up. Orion could not stand your demands or position and was, and always will be, quick to point out how the real world works. Despite his cold behavior, he does come around to like you as a person (friend or romantic) and will do anything to make things… livable for you. You often spend time taking up space in his kitchen as a sanctuary of sorts. (Note: available for romantic and poly route)

Relationship to MC: (reluctant) Childhood friends, personal chef

Cyrus [M]:

Age: 29

Physical Description: 5’10”, chestnut skin, thin, black hair that falls in messy waves (reaches his shoulders), with dark brown (nearly black) eyes.

Personality: Flighty, playful, cunning, charming, deceptive, extroverted, and (occasionally) manipulative. [ESTP-A]

Info: An inconsequential prince (fourth born) from a bordering, allied kingdom. Takes life as it comes and never tries to be serious about anything. He has entered for your hand to continue his easy life with hopefully less people trying to control his actions. He is a flirt above all else, capturing every heart he desires, but never offers his own.

Relationship to MC: Stranger, suitor

Irvine [M]:

Age: 28

Physical Description: 6’0”, sun-kissed skin, straight, dark blonde hair that falls to his waist, muscular build, scar across his eyebrow and lip, with one gray eye and one brown eye.

Personality: Calm, sweet, patient, ambitious, peaceful, extroverted, and warm. [ENFJ-T]

Info: The second born prince from a country threatening to wage war against your own. He is hoping for a mutually beneficial marriage between the two of your to keep peace. Despises war and will do anything with minimal bloodshed to get it. Will promise you near anything if you give him your hand. Will wear whatever mask he needs to, as well. (Note: Available for platonic route or a strictly physical route)

Relationship to MC: Stranger, suitor

Blaire [F]:

Age: 23

Physical Description: 5’2”, deep umber skin tone, tightly curled (4B) black hair that reaches her jaw, thin build, with amber eyes.

Personality: Fun, mischievous, joyful, secretive, confident, conspiratorial, extroverted, playful, and a tease. [ENFJ-T]

Info: One of the latest nobles to hit the scene, her father is staying at the castle to work with the king to further himself as an advisor. Noticing you lack companionship, especially female, Blaire’s father offers her up to spend her days with you. She is your first female friend and confidant. Happy to give you opinions on your suitors- you’ve become her latest project and game.

Relationship to MC: Stranger

~Under Construction~

12/27/2024

- Updated that there will not be an option to not have the MC be AFAB- the story is so built around the treatment of being born female. There will be gender identity options as the MC grows up but there will be no option to be AMAB.

-Still working on if I will end the project with choicescipt or twine, but for now all demo is going to choicescript.

- I have about 6,000 words all typed out over four scenes and am hoping to have the demo up and going once I have the MC through toddler phase. So far I finished the MC being born.

-Questions are welcome! Including RO questions! :)

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡Kiss of Indifference 🌙

You've ordered: a slice of black forest cake! enjoy!

"'Cause I have hella feelings for you, I act like I don't fucking care, 'cause I'm so fucking scared"

post Water of Life! Paul Atreides x Fremen! reader | word count: 2,076 words

Summary: paul's recent indifferent attitude towards you causes new sparks to fly~ 🌙

Warnings: long intro? before dialogue, slight angst, paul still loves reader while engaged to irulan (previously established relationship), yelling (you two make up in the end!), mild spice (MDNI), heated kissing

Note: kinda rushed. first time writing this much, WOO! might be a bit inaccurate, i tried my best. 🫠 enjoy!

Paul Atreides. The skinny, dark haired, and pale skinned boy you had fallen for. The boy who didn't care about being Lisan al Ghaib, but who rather hated it. The boy who would immediately shut down his mother's talks of her Bene Gesserit lore and prophecy, who would instead find solace and comfort in your arms.

This was not him. This was some blue eyed doppelgänger wearing his skin, you were sure of it. The sudden shift in his attitude and overall demeanor after having consumed the "Water of Life" sent a chill down your spine. Obviously, you weren't the only one that noticed. But you were the only one who was concerned about it.

Paul was becoming...distant. Especially from you. With his duties as the new emperor, it was understandable. Even more so, since he'd asked for Irulan's hand in marriage. The fact that he'd professed his love for you and then asked for such a thing in almost the same breath broke your heart and crushed your soul. You'd often see Paul accompanying the princess to meetings and such. Obviously he didn't love her, he never had 'that' look in his eyes when he looked at her.

'That' look being the one he'd have in his eyes as he'd sneak glances at you as you'd pass each other in the hallways of the grand palace or when you'd attend meetings as well to give some Freman insight. Saying that Paul hated this was an understatement. But he had to keep up appearances, attending meetings and staying one step ahead of his enemies.

That was another problem, his enemies. He always had to keep up with his image of being a stern and almost cutthroat leader, which meant showing no weakness, ever. Unfortunately, this also meant distancing himself from people he truly cared about: his mother, his unborn baby sister, and worst of all...you. After all, the only reason you were let into palace was by Paul's orders. He'd have to force himself not to love you, or at least act like it. Your greetings were met with a nod or a silent mumble, or, like most times, nothing at all.

It was late at night, the sound of your ticking clock keeping you awake. No, it was actually your never ending thoughts of none other than Paul. You wanted nothing more that to rush out of your room to his, knock on his door, and give him the biggest hug you could give, to run your fingers through his dark brown locks again, to tell him that everything would be okay. you stood up, deciding to take a walk through the palace to clear your mind. As you opened the door, you were met by Paul, mid-knock. His hair was a little messy and it seemed like he'd just retired from his study.

You didn't say anything, instead stepping aside to let him come in and closing the door behind him. There was a moment of silence that felt it had lasted a little too long before Paul spoke up. "How have you been? You seem to be looking well." Paul commented, standing in the middle of your room as you sat on your bed.

"Yes, I've been fine. And what of you?" He wasn't even looking at you. Yes, he was facing you and to anyone else, it looked as though he was staring straight at you.

But his mind was obviously elsewhere...he wasn't paying attention to you.

"Paul," you said, raising your voice a bit and reaching out to hold his hand. You could see him being pulled out of his state of distraction, your hand squeezing his.

"Talk to me. This is the first time we've been alone together in weeks. Please..." Paul could see the pleading in your eyes, a soft sigh leaving him as he sat down next to you.

"Don't worry about it," he brushed you off, pulling his hand out from your grip.

"I simply came to see how you're doing." An obvious lie.

"Paul, something's bothering you. You can tell me," you began.

"Y/n, I'm fine,"

"But you're not. I can tell it's eating you up inside: the visions, your enemies."

"Y/n-" He was staring to get irritated, not at you, but at the fact that you were right. It was eating him up, slowly consuming him and making him lose himself more and more each day.

"It's why you've been avoiding me, right? You're scared they'll take advantage of your affection towards me-" Paul stayed silent, his fingers curling up into fists as he looked at the floor.

You grabbed his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. "These visions don't define you, Paul! This prophecy doesn't define you! You can't just run away from us and face this on your own!"

That was easy for you to say.

You didn't have throngs of people either depending on you or praying for your untimely death. You didn't have the weight of the entire universe on your shoulders. "You don't understand-"

"I'll try to-!"

"YOU CAN'T!" Paul yelled, pushing your hands away from his face. You flinched, your eyes going wide as he stood up and ran his hands through his hair.

"You can't possibly understand the horrific things I've seen each time I so much as close my eyes. Do you know what I see? People dying from starvation. Holy wars being waged in my very name. The people I care about with every bone in my living body being slaughtered in front of me! And you," he turned to you pointing an accusing finger at you as if it were a blade.

"You sit here and act like you understand me?"

You didn't expect for Paul's words to hurt so much. He'd never raised his voice at you, and he'd certainly never yelled at you. You felt like a knife was being twisted into your heart as the boy you loved turned into someone you didn't even recognize.

"I'm just trying to comfort you-"

"Well stop! Because...because I love and care about you so much, it physically hurts me. I'd be a lost soul if something ever happened to you," You looked at your hands, feeling a whirlwind of emotions as you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. But you refused to cry.

"You should go. I'm sure Irulan's looking for you."

"You know we sleep in separate rooms-"

"Still...you don't need unsavory rumors on top of all you have to deal with..." You turned away from Paul, using the back of your hand to dab away the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. You felt the bed dip, but didn't turn to look at him

"Y/n, look at me..."

You didn't answer, sniffling softly and moving to get up, ready to try your hand at kicking him out once again. A soft yell left your lips as Paul's slim fingers wrapped around your wrist and pulled you right back next to him, his face so undoubtedly close to yours. You could smell the pent up emotion on him, a word of protest ready on your tongue.

Before you even knew what was happening, Paul's lips were on yours. You let your eyes flutter shut, yelping softly into the kiss as he pulled flush against him, leaving absolutely no space between your bodies.

Another observation you'd made was that ever since Paul drank the "Water of Life", he'd been extra aggressive in most everything: he'd give people harsher punishments, he'd execute orders with upmost precision, and when he loved...he'd love harder. His heart was practically bursting at the seams as all the love he'd been forced to shove down spilled out of him in the form of a bruising kiss.

You felt dizzy as paul pulled away from you, your cheeks flushed and your breathing a bit labored. The two of you just stared at each for a while, your fingers still twirling strands of his dark hair.

"Still want me to leave?" he asked, lightly brushing his lips against yours, his action making your eyes flutter shut. You felt your heart squeeze as you opened your eyes once again, gazing at him through watery eyes.

"Paul-"

"I know...I know." Paul's hands came up and cupped your face once more, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks and wiping away your tears.

"Me too...I'm sorry too..." he whispered before leaning back in to meet your lips again.

A shaky breath left your lips as you melted into the kiss once again, your hands clutching the front of his shirt as if he'd slip right through your fingers. Paul's fingers playfully danced beneath the fabric of the shirt of your sleepwear, slowly tracing the skin of sides, as if trying to relearn their curvatures. Your hand snaked up to tangle into his hair, a few tears flowing down your cheeks. Not because you didn't want this; in fact, you wanted this so much it almost hurt. Your breath hitched as you felt Paul deepen the kiss, his body pressing against yours.

As you pulled away, breathing a bit heavier and cheeks flushed, you swallowed and met Paul's eyes. the look in them was an untamed mix of love and something more.

"...We should stop..." you murmured, your hands moving down to cup his face. You felt him relax into your touch, your heart warming.

"You're right...but I don't want to-" Just as he was about to lean back in for another kiss, a rhythmic knock on your door stopped him.

"Ignore it." he muttered , a flash of irritation on his face.

"But-" Paul cut you off with another kiss, pushing you back into the mattress.

His lips started to move with newfound fervor, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses over the skin of your jaw and down to the dip of your neck. Feeling Paul's hands start to roam under your shirt caused a soft sound between a gasp and a moan to leave your lips.

"Paul..." you muttered, letting your eyes flutter shut.

Another knock made him hiss in annoyance.

"Y/n, are you awake?" Princess Irulan's voice asked from behind the grand door.

You and Paul looked at each other, his eyes giving you a serious look. He got up and reluctantly hid in the little space between your bed and the wall.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late at night." the princess said, a gentle expression on her face.

"Oh, no, not at all, princess. What did you need?"

"Just Irulan is fine. I was wondering if you'd seen Paul. He wasn't in his study." You felt your stomach churn as the princess said his name. You shook your head, muttering a quick apology.

"No, I haven't seen him today. Maybe he went outside to get some fresh air." you lied.

She gave your room a quick scan from where she stood and you knew she knew. She knew and decided to stay silent.

"Very well, have a good night."

"You as well."

Once the door closed, you were met with Paul's bright blue eyes as he stood behind you, a soft but startled yell leaving you. You hadn't even heard him get up. He reached out and held your hand, gently squeezing it and kissing the back of it, letting his lips linger for a moment. Paul then looked back up at you, leaning in and brushing his lips to yours one last time.

"I'll see you soon..." he whispered against your lips, a soft hum of a response leaving you. You squeezed his hand, feeling your heart skip a beat.

"Yeah...see you soon..." He pulled away from you, making his way to the door and opened it a crack, glancing for anyone else that might be awake.

Just as he was about to take his leave, you grabbed his hand, leaning back in to give him on final kiss.

"Good night." you murmured, your grip absentmindedly tightening.

You didn't want to let him go, not now, not ever. Not after knowing this would be the last night the two of you would share like this before Paul went back to wearing that dreaded mask of indifference.

"Good night."

You felt his hand slip from your as he took his leave, turning to meet your ocean blue eyes once last time. Now you knew, he still loved you, even if he wouldn't show it.🌙

© m00nkissedlover, 2024

[fandombandomfics]

If I Killed Someone For You? (Salesman x female!reader)

Y/N’s POV 

My boyfriend…he isn’t the most conventional person. When he told me what he does for a living, I was taken aback. He recruits people who are in an insane amount of debt to play ddajki to win money. When they play enough rounds, he gives them a card to play in the Squid Games. I didn’t like the idea, didn’t really talk to him for a few days to process what he said. It has been a few days since I saw him, now we are grabbing dinner together since his work is done. 

“Recruiting done?” I ask, as I sip my wine. He nods, taking a sip from his own glass. His black hair slicked back as usual. His brown eyes gaze into mine, looking exhausted yet still put together. 

“Yeah finally, it’s always draining this time of year,” He says and I nod. Yeah sending people to their deaths. 

“I’m sure it is…glad it’s over,” I say 

“Yeah I get to spend time with my favorite girl,” He says with a soft smile. I smile back and give him a small nod. 

“Gong Yoo, do you feel guilty about what you do?” I ask and the tension in the air increases. He stops mid cut of his steak and slowly raises his eyes to look at me. 

“Oh sweetheart, I don’t,” He says, a glint going over his eyes. Something in his eyes changed, something….dangerous. 

“You don’t feel an ounce of guilt?” I ask, seeing the look in his eyes not changing. He smirks at me and leans back into his chair. 

“Those pathetic human beings went into debt themselves, I simply just gave them a nudge,” He explains and I shift in my seat. Listen, knew my boyfriend was crazy but this is a whole new level. 

“They are still human being,” I say and he scoffs. 

“Listen here darling,” He starts, getting up from his chair and walks over to me.  As if he is a predator about to pounce on his next meal.

“Those humans are in such debt they won’t be able to pay it off in their lifetime. I simply gave them an opportunity to pay it off,” He explains further, cupping my face with his hands. 

“By sending them to their deaths,” I say plainly. He chuckles, the glint in his eyes becoming darker as he continues to speak.

“That’s simply up to them,” He emphasizes the last part with his dramatic change in tone. He tightens his grip on my face slightly, making sure I have no choice but to look at him. 

“How can you be so ok with it?” I ask and he chuckles, a dark menacing chuckle. 

“Oh darling, you knew who you were getting involved with when we started dating,” He says, his tone dropping low and rough. I look up at him, my eyes gazing into his. The look in his eyes was a mix of lust, love, and contemptment. How can he be so content in being compliant in their deaths?

Later that night 

As I get ready for bed, my conversation with Gong plays in my head. The look in his eyes, the chuckle, it’s all coming back to me. I sigh as I finish doing my nighttime routine. When I exit the bathroom, Gong looks up from the book he was reading. 

“Ready for bed my love?” He asks and I nod, walking over to him. Before I could react, he throws me on the bed. My back hits the softness of the mattress as he hovers over me, pinning my arms down to the bed. 

“Gong what are you doing?” I ask. He studies my face, as if he was remembering every detail of it. 

“I need to ask you a question and answer me truthfully darling,” He says, caressing my cheek with his thumb. I nod, wondering what question he could possibly ask me.

“If I killed someone for you, would you love me more?” He asks and I’m taken aback by this question. 

“Gong I–,” “Answer the question,” He says, more like demands. The look in his eyes is telling me to answer him truthfully and quickly. My mind goes a million miles a minute, the more I find myself leaning towards the answer I never thought would ever leave my lips. 

“Yes…” I say and he grins, no more like smirks. 

“That's what I thought darling,” He says before capturing my lips into a heated kiss. I close my eyes and let myself get lost in the feeling of his lips on mine. He smirks against them before pulling away. 

“I’m taking my time with you tonight,” He says, his voice low and husky, I feel a shiver down my spin. Tonight is gonna be a long night. 

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Cream Filling: Chapter One

Warning: Use of drugs and dubcon.

(MC is dosed with an aphrodisiac and is all too willing... But you know)

This was originally posted on A03 and is my most popular work, so I thought I'd put it here.

I hope you enjoy.

Lightning flashed overhead, lighting up pitch black streets for an instant. Elle Shepard nearly slipped on a horribly placed patch of mud. Windmilling, she caught a streetlight and came to a stop. A crack of thunder made her let go. Another bolt struck, enveloping the buildings and pavement in a brightness that was almost blinding, before a loud boom shook the windows.

Finally, she came upon a neon sign, showing a drink being shaken, then poured into a martini glass. The glass then changed to a coffee mug, the shaker into a pitcher. The words read: Ramses Brew, Bar and Café.

Pushing open the door, Elle stepped inside and pulled down the hood of her raincoat. Closing her umbrella, she stuck it in the container with the rest. Music played, pool balls cracked, conversations blurred together in one continuous hum. A bartender passed out drinks, moving with inhuman speed.

Walking up to the bar, Elle took a seat on the stool near the end. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a stack of papers and set them on the polished wood.

“What will it-” The bartender flinched at her, their nostrils flaring. Their voice sounded like many people talking at once.

“Oh, you’re the human.” They reached into their pocket and pulled out a phone. Tapping on the screen, they sent a quick message and put it away. They dropped their voice and leaned in closer to her. “Sorry, our drinks are a little too strong for your kind.”

They were most likely a demon, with horizontal lined pupils and a pair of antlers. Their sunken face showed a skeletal structure that was more deer than human, with a slight brown fuzz instead of fur. Their hands were coal black, their fingers tapering off to a clawed end.

“Can I just have water?” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, her heart fluttering. Focus! The job was more important than a one night stand.

“Of course.” They bowed their head, before going to a new arrival at the bar.

Sighing, Elle debated pulling her hood back up when she felt the eyes on her. No, she’d have to get used to the stares if she wanted to get this job. A human woman, with dark hair and hazel eyes, wearing dress pants and a button up peach blouse. No horns, fangs, scales, or a tail. Not even markings that would signal she was a mage or tied to someone with magic. 

Swinging her leg back and forth, Elle sipped at her water, looking around the bar. There was a pair of trolls playing pool. A pair of drow were in the corner, looking like they were discussing more… Intimate plans. A human looking man sat on the couch, a cane between his legs. A spread of cards were on the table in front of him, small black wisps curling around them. He seemed to be the shortest occupant, he was probably a head and shoulders taller than her. 

“Ms. Elodie Shepard?” The voice made her turn.

An angular face stared at her. It was human in appearance, but black scales appeared like freckles, shimmering in the low light. A pair of ram horns curled around cheeks, the ends sharpened and looking ready to puncture anything that got near them. He was dressed in a white button up shirt and a red vest, with a black tie. He was young, appearing to only be in his early to mid 30s.

“Yes!” Elle held out her hand. The speaker took it in shimmering black hands that were very large compared to his body. They left a residue on her skin that she tried to discreetly wipe off when he turned around, looking at the loft above. "But please, call me Elle." 

“Let’s go talk more privately.” He walked to the bottom of the stairs, unclipping a chain that indicated the area was closed until the morning.

Elle nodded and followed him. Stepping aside, he allowed her to go first and clipped the sign back in place. Once the links were formed, a small bit of magic rumbled through the floor, making Elle’s knees weak. Gripping the handrail, she kept herself from falling and quickly climbed up.

Once they were in the loft, Ramses clapped his hands and a few candles lit. The light was warm and calming. There were a few couches set up, with a coffee table between each pair facing one another.

Taking a seat, Elle set her papers on the table and cleared her throat. Even with the water, there was still a tickle in her throat.

“Alright,” The man sat down. “So, as you may know, this is my business. Ramses Sesbrun.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I appreciate you coming out so late, but since demons don’t do so well in sunlight…” He shook his hand back and forth like he was tipping a scale. “I still have a limited staff, so I don’t have much of a day shift.”

Elle nodded. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.” She reached into her shirt and pulled out a silver chain, with wire wrapped around an obsidian stone.

Ramses flinched at the charm, before clearing his throat. Elle quickly stuffed it into her shirt and shuffled her papers.

“Alright. So as you may have noticed, we have a bit of a uniform.” He gestured to his attire. “It doesn’t matter if you prefer skirts or pants, just make sure it’s got a white button up shirt under your apron and a tie or scarf.” Inhaling sharply, he adjusted his glasses again. “We have a very diverse staff. If you do get the job, expect to work with all kinds of people.”

Elle simply nodded. “I know it is probably a strange thing, getting a human to apply.” The thought of being around so many demons and patrons of the “other side”, it was somewhat exhilarating.

“A little. But your safety is promised here,” Ramses insisted. “I’ll do what I can to make sure that you and your fellow employees are comfortable in this environment. Everyone here is just looking for a place to unwind.” He smiled at her, showing his teeth were fangs.

Shifting uncomfortably, Elle gave a smile. Those fangs looked like they could leave some decent hickeys. Wait, no, she had to remain professional. “Erm, not to sound too forward, but the job posting mentioned pay?” Right. Stay professional.

“Oh, right.” Ramses picked up a staff of his own papers from a table next to the couch. Flipping through the stack, he left small black thumbprints on each page. No wonder he needed help with the kitchen and other places. He probably couldn’t even touch the food he served his customers.

Finally, he stopped at what he was looking for. “I know the pay is high, but that means I’ll be expecting more from you. But if what I’ve heard about humans is correct…” His cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to rely on stereotypes, but I know humans are known for getting things done faster.” He clicked his mouth closed, not wanting to insert his foot into his mouth.

“Then you’ll be happy to know I fall into that!” Elle said quickly, hoping her tone didn’t sound too desperate. “I promise I’ll be fast and get the work done!” She clasped her hands together. “I just really… Need a job.” A job that seemed to offer a lot of eye candy...

Ramses nodded, taking her papers and flipping through them. “I’ve already read what you sent me, but I just want to make sure…”

He made a couple more noises of affirmation, before setting the now spotted pile down. “I don’t know if you’ll have a uniform on standby, but I think we might have something in your size. If you are willing to come in tomorrow, then I can have Wrecks and Horac show you the ropes.” Tapping a finger to his lips, Ramses’ brows knit together. “You don’t have Arachnophobia, do you?”

*** “Welcome to Ramses!” Elle called out, bowing her head. When she straightened, she ignored the look of befuddlement from the new arrivals. “Just two?”

After seating the pair, she bid farewell to some patrons as they left. They acknowledged her, but seemed more confused than anything else in her presence. When the door closed behind them, she went to quickly clean their table.

Despite looking bulky, the maid outfit they had provided her was light and cool, with a long skirt, deep pockets in the apron. She’d brought her own tights and comfortable shoes. Her hair was tied into a pair of buns to keep it out of her face.

The morning rush was a surprise. Most demons were supposed to be unable to walk in sunlight, but that didn’t stop the clientele from coming in, carrying parasols, charms to protect them, and even wrapping themselves in bandages.

The newly arrived pair were dragonborn, who had quickly fallen into an in depth discussion about maidens and maids. When she approached them with her notepad, pencil to the paper, they quickly quieted.

“Can I recommend one of our Ashburnt Scones?” She asked. “They’ve got an arsenic glaze!”

After taking down their order, Elle quickly scampered to the kitchen and placed the paper on the counter.

“A pair of Coalpressed Muffins with Ashen Dustings!” She called out.

The Drider at the stove nodded, pulling out some blood red pancakes with a tar like topping that he set on plates, the two smaller legs at his waist doing small clean up details. A pair of triple lens spectacles balanced on his nose, which he was constantly adjusting to allow a different pair of eyes to see. Despite his name being “Wrecks” he actually seemed rather dexterous and nimble.

The second was the boarman, Horac, who was frying several cuts of meat and eggs. He seemed immune to the open flames, casually reaching across them to turn over a large slice of ham. Elle tried to not think too hard about the implications.

“Breakfast rush is almost over, rookie.” He said, his voice barely audible over the chaos of the kitchen.

“Thanks!” She took the plates and lined them up on trays, before rushing back out to the main room with the orders.

“I can’t believe a real life human is here,” A goat headed man said as she passed.

“I know. And so fast, too.” Their companion appeared human, but their teeth were too sharp. Enough to pass the line from sexy to frightening.

Just smiling, Elle passed over their food, which they quickly began to ravenously tear into. The remarks, while strange, seemed mostly positive.

By the time the morning rush was over, Elle’s feet were killing her. She collapsed into a chair once the last customer left.

“Elle, can you tell Ram I’m coming in late tomorrow?” Horac said, not giving further details as he went out the back. The bell chimed as he left.

“Sure.” She merely lifted her hand to give a wave he wouldn’t see.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Wrecks said, his voice jolting through her. He hadn’t spoken all morning, only cooked and passed the orders to Elle. The dishes and counters were clean, so she wasn’t going to complain.

Once the ache had mostly gone, she got up and went to change the menus over. The bell chimed again when her back was turned, and she quickly turned back around.

The newcomer had silvery hair, a pair of fox ears twitching on his head. His eyes were closed, his mouth pulled into a vulpine grin.

“Welcome to Ramses!” She tried to pour in the sugary sweetness that customers loved. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Hopefully, Wrecks wouldn’t mind serving up breakfast still. “So, he did have a human on his payroll.” The new patron muttered to himself. “How quaint.” A bushy silver tail waved behind him.

Elle felt herself blushing. “Can I get you anything? Our Blasterjelly rolls are a customer favorite, along with our Hadesfire Pomegranate Tea.” She reached for a menu to shove in his hands. His gaze seemed focused on her, despite his eyes being closed.

“No,” He held up his hand. “Thank you. You served my friend earlier.” Reaching into his sash, he pulled out a box about the length of his hand, the width of two put together. “He’s too shy to show his gratitude in person, so he sent me in his stead.”

Setting the box on the podium, he turned on his heel and gave a backward wave, the bell chiming as he left.

Frowning, Elle used her pen to open the corner of the box. Inside, she saw a small flat pastry, the side of one showing a beet colored paste. Picking it up, she realized they were covered with powdered sugar. Setting it back down, she closed the box and stuffed it under the podium. How odd she’d been given a human friendly dessert.

“Ready for round two?” Wrecks asked when he came back in, wiping his hands on a towel.

“You know it!” She brushed back her hair, pushing the fox man out of her mind.

The bell chimed, a trio of trolls coming through, looking like they’d gotten off a construction job. A goat headed woman burst through the door behind them, looking frazzled. By the end of the second shift, Elle was nearly laying on the table. Her feet and back ached, her hair was a mess, and the uniform was rumpled.

“And my favorite part of the day…” Wrecks said, flipping the sign to indicate they were closed until the bar opened. He laughed to himself as he went to tally up the totals.

“Count this for me to make sure my math is right.” Taking the cash from the drawer, Wrecks slid it to her. He poured himself a sludge looking coffee, enough steam and heat coming off it to fog up his spectacles. Sweat trickled down his brow.

Elle’s stomach growled, and she found herself blushing. While his lower half made her nervous, his upper half was certainly handsome.

Right. Focus.

“Oh, right.” Wrecks paused. “You can’t…” He struggled to find the words. “Eat anything on our menu, can you?”

“Not without getting violently ill,” Elle admitted, before remembering the podium. “Oh! Right!” Rushing to it, she pulled out the box. “I was going to pack my lunch, but I woke up late!” She’d actually slept in her car because she was terrified of missing her first shift. It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting for her at home. And driving nearly half an hour both ways seemed like a poor use of her time.

Sitting next to the money, she took out one of the cakes and took a bite. Powdered sugar flew around her in a cloud, sending residue all over the uniform.

Keeping the cake in her mouth, she nursed at the paste and counted out the cash, keeping notes. Once she finished, she paused over the calculations and finished eating. Then, she quickly ate a second, barely tasting it as it went down.

“Get some actual food,” Wrecks chided. “I can smell the sweetness from here. Where did you get that if you didn’t pack your lunch?”

“Apparently one of the customers really liked my service and gave me a gift.” Elle shrugged. She looked down at her tips for the day, her breath catching in her throat. How much money did this damned clientele have!? Pulling out her wallet, she quickly signed off on the amount and collected it. Looking down at her uniform, she excused herself to the bathroom.

There was no way she was going to risk getting it dirty and looking unprofessional. If she was going to be making money like this every day, she was going to take this job seriously. Going to the restroom, she did what she could to clean up her uniform. No way was she going to take a dock in her pay to pay for the outfit.

Her face felt hot. Slipping off the apron, she unbuttoned her blouse and splashed water on herself. Looking in the mirror, she saw her cheeks and neck were crimson. The blush spread even further, hidden by her shirt.

Slipping off her blouse, she stared at the sleeveless shirt, which only showed off more of her flushed skin. It was still hot, but more bearable. And she was NOT undressing more. Splashing her face again, she got her hair damp. Slicking back her loose bangs, Elle took in a deep breath.

When she walked out, she saw Wrecks looking at the cakes. Holding one between his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed it. The paste oozed out, dripping onto his fingers. He had his phone to his ear, waiting for someone to answer.

Elle was about to complain he’d ruined part of her gift, but his expression was serious. It sent a twinge of worry through her, followed by another hot flash. This one made her head spin, and she quickly sat down.

“Where did you get these?” His voice was sharp.

“Some guy dropped them off. Um… Foxy.” She started to recall his face, but all it did was cloud her mind with other details she’d overlooked. The way his collar bone peeked out over his robe. How veiny and strong his hands looked. His lips, perfectly glossy, the fangs peeking out with his grin.

“Shepard?” Wrecks asked.

“Hmm?” She smacked her cheeks to try and refocus. “Where was I again?”

Before Wrecks could answer, the person on the other end picked up.

“Yeah.” Wrecks tossed her a damp towel.

Wiping it across her sweaty skin, Elle began to inhale deeply. She felt hot all over, her body starting to shake. Every fiber of her clothing brushed against her, scraping her raw.

“I’m sure it was him,” Wrecks’ voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a tunnel. “Bet my first born on it. I could smell fuckery on the box.” He looked over to Elle, licking his lips nervously. “She seems fine now, but I don’t want to touch her, could you get a hold of a human doctor?” He paused, nodding along with the speaker, small grunts escaping his mouth.

“Alright.” He hung up, inching closer to Elle.

“That was Ramses. He’s on his way.” He pulled another towel off the counter and soaked it in icy water, before passing it to Elle. “Those cakes were laced with… Something.” He frowned, brows coming together.

“I guess it was Tanpopo’s way of saying hello…”

“Who?” Although Elle was sure she had a good idea who the Drider spoke of. Her insides twitched, needing to be filled. Sweat trickled down her neck and back. Slowly, she laid down in the booth, her legs facing the wall.

“An asshole who runs the bakery down the road.” Wrecks jerked his thumb behind him. “He thought it would be funny to “prank,” He added air quotes. “Some of our staff last year by spiking some cakes and tea with Hellfire Mint.” Three pairs of eyes watered at the memory. “Most of them were fine, but one of our hosts got sent into early labor and had to go to the hospital.”

Fanning herself with a menu, Elle panted. “I wish I’d been warned.”

“Well, there hadn’t been any problems since then,” Wrecks explained. “Horac was a pretty decent deterrent.”

Elle’s mouth was suddenly dry. The heat was becoming unbearable. Her legs refused to budge, each breath making another flash of arousal go through her. “I’ll get you some water.” Wrecks excused himself, quickly coming back with a glass. He passed it to her. “Now, I’m not sure how long this is supposed to last, but Ramses seemed pretty sure he knew what it was.”

Their hands touched. Elle let out a cry, dropping the glass. She shook, nearly convulsing as the need seized her.

Wrecks jumped back, his legs skittering across the floor, unable to gain traction.

Elle was on her feet, grabbing the front of his vest and pulling him to her. Their lips nearly brushed.

“No no no no no no!” He said rapidly, using his front legs and arms to push her away. “It’s flattering, but you are in no condition to be initiating this!”

His skin was scalding hot against hers. She grabbed his clothing so tight she thought it would rip. Pulling him close again, she ignored the impact of his front legs against her skirt.

“I’m terribly sorry, Shepard.” Wrecks said, before she suddenly couldn’t move.

Looking down, she saw she was covered with white bindings. Webbing kept her still, binding her legs together below the knees, and her arms below the elbows. He then pushed her back into the booth.

The bell chimed. Nostrils flaring, Elle thrashed around to try and sit up as the scent of Demon hit her.

“Oh, thank Arachne.” Wrecks backed away. “You made good time.”

“Of course.” Ramses' voice thundered in her ears. Elle’s lips parted slightly as she continued to wriggle around, trying to get free of her bindings. “Leave us. This is easier if there’s only one target.”

Wrecks didn’t have to be told twice. He picked up his scant belongings and quickly scampered out the door.

Ramses stood in front of the booth, his crotch the perfect height for-

And he was gone.

The door locked.

Then, he was back.

“You’ve ingested Asmodeus Fruit,” He explained, pulling out a knife. “Better known as Lustberries.” Looking at the blade, he set it down on the table. “Hold still.” His visible skin was wrapped in bandages. To protect him from the sun?

The order made Elle still, the only movement was her shaking with desire.

“I’m going to cut you loose. But you have to promise me you’re not going to jump on me. Okay?”

Despite the words barely registering, Elle nodded, her body still trembling.

Ramses cut the bindings, his bandaged hands brushing against her. Unlike with Wrecks, it didn’t send a jolt through her. But his scent, the way he panted with exertion… She found herself leaning forward.

“KNIFE!” He yelled, shoving her back. His hand hit her protective charm, and both of them went flying back. She hit the wall hard, and he slid into the front counter in front of the kitchen. Wincing, he slowly got back up, rubbing the back of his head.

“Are you okay?” Her legs were still bound. She started to climb out of the booth.

“Stay!” He commanded, getting up.

Elle’s legs became weak, and she nearly face planted on the floor. Catching herself, Elle held onto the corner of the table. Her charm hung low. 

Ramses rushed over, cutting her legs free.

“Now. Listen.” He shook his finger in her face.

Nodding, Elle leaned forward.

“Go to the loft.”

She rose up, the charm snagging on the corner of the table, the wire wrapping coming undone and the stone falling to the ground, sliding under the booth. 

Her feet slapped against the floor, she nearly tripped over the chained sign as she ran. But she was up the stairs, lungs and chest heaving. Collapsing onto the couch, she felt the heat rolling over again, almost unbearable. Clothes continued to rake against her skin so roughly she thought it would make her bleed. Her hands went to her top, trying to pull it off.

“Okay, Elle. I need you to listen to me.” Ramses said, coming up in the loft. “Normally this stuff wears off after a few hours. But it’s demon fruit, so humans suffer-” He let out a surprised noise as Elle rushed over to him.

When her hands touched his shirt, she realized he wasn’t wrapped under his clothes. Working her fingers through the gaps between his buttons, she touched her fingertips to his bare chest. The heat of his skin made her shudder.

Dropping to her knees, she started to unbuckle his belt.

“Elle!” He said sharply. “Hold on!” Grabbing one of her buns, he held her head in place. Lips parted, she looked up. Panting, she reached for him. Despite denying her advances, his erection was growing quickly.

“Here.” He pulled out a vial, a white liquid inside. “Drink this first. I know it’ll be nasty, but-” As he spoke, the white liquid suddenly yellowed and seemed to become crusty.

She grimaced.

“I know. But the other cure is… Not ideal.” He offered her the vial. Uncorking the top, he pressed the glass to her lips.

Slowly, he tilted it. Once the liquid touched Elle’s lips, foul gelatinous sludge tried to worm its way into her mouth. Pulling back, she sputtered and coughed. Eyes watering, she shook her head.

There was glass breaking, and the liquid spilled all over the floor. The fog was gone, but Elle suddenly felt so hot she started to claw at her clothes.

“You’re going to hurt yourself!” Ramses grabbed her arms, straddling her. His erection dug into her as he pinned her to the floor.

“Elle, listen to me.” His breath was warm against her skin, caressing skin, the wetness from it sliding down her body. 

Closing her eyes, Elle thrust against him. Ramses let out a distressed yelp, before gripping her tighter.

“Fuck me…” She moaned, rubbing against him. A wet spot was left on Ramses pants, although she wasn’t sure if it was from him or her.

It was getting so hot she felt like she was going to pass out, black spots filling her vision. Her clothes felt like they were tearing large chunks of her skin off.

“I’m… So sorry.” Ramses picked her up off the floor, setting her down on the couch.

“For what?” She grabbed his shirt, pulling him down. Their lips almost touched, but he turned his face so she kissed his horn.

“You’re in no state of mind…” He knelt between her legs. “Just let me try something.” Taking her tights, he clumsily pulled them down. Catching the waist of Elle’s panties, Ramses left her completely bare. At the sight, averting his eyes, Ramses cheeks turned crimson.

“Yep…” He struggled to find the words. “That’s certainly Asmodeus fruit.”

Elle touched herself, spreading the soaking lips wide. Grinding against the couch, she felt herself drenching the fabric.

“Okay.” Ramses draped her legs over his shoulders. “I’m going to try something. If it doesn’t work, then we have one option left.”

Elle nodded, but her mind was buzzing. Grabbing Ramses by the hair, she shoved him into her drenched folds. Whatever response he had was muffled, making her shiver.

His tongue began to trace her lower lips, before he slipped it inside. Ellen held his head in place, biting her lips as he continued to lick. Reaching up, he seized her thighs and spread her legs wider. His breath made her tingle.

Closing her eyes, Elle focused on the sensation, the heat now concentrating in her lower half. Ramses’ head bobbed back and forth, the sounds of licking and sucking so loud in the empty loft. She let out several moans, trying to lock her legs around his head.

Keeping her legs open, Ramses continued to lick, before exposing her clit and swirling his tongue around it. Elle moaned, releasing his hair and grinding against his face. “Come for me, Elle.” He groaned into her, his breath so warm. “Come for me, please.”

Letting her head lull back, Elle moaned and grabbed the couch tight enough to feel the fabric start to rip. She felt the orgasm start to build, each lick eliciting another cry from her. Eyes watering, she nearly screamed when Ramses plunged his tongue inside.

But before she could release, it was like slamming into a brick wall. White filled her vision as the heat became a searing pain. A scream escaped her and she shuddered, falling to the side.

“S-stop…” She panted, tears streaming down her face. “It… It hurts.”

Ramses pulled back, his bandages around the lower half of his face now loose. They were soaked with Elle. Small bits of skin were visible. Despite the pain in her lower half, Elle grabbed Ramses by the shirt. She then climbed on top of him, rubbing her aching groin over his crotch.

“Fuck me, please.” She begged, continuing to grind against his hardness.

“Hold on.” Ramses pushed the table to the other couch, his glasses askew. Picking Elle up, he placed her on the couch. Unzipping his pants, he let them fall to the ground. His fully erect cock came forth, beads of precum dripping from the tip. Elle leaned forward, wrapping her lips around it.

Ramses let out a surprised moan, knees nearly giving out as Elle sucked. Once the few drops of precum were swallowed, the heat drastically reduced. Panting, Elle pulled back and let her tongue swirl around the tip.

Then, she felt herself blushing. The reality of the situation began to crash around her. Pulling her head back, she quickly let go of Ramses cock and put her hands at her side.

“Um…” The wetness between her legs was almost unbearable. “I’m… Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ramses panted, sitting down on the table. “It wasn’t your fault. I understand if you want to leave now.”

Elle stared at his cock, swallowing hard. It was glistening with her saliva. She should leave. This was not only inappropriate, but they were both in a bad spot. But her body was literally hurting with need.

“Ramses.” Her face was probably tomato red. What had she just done? Ramses probably thought… “This wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But I should have warned you.” He was attempting to put his dick back in his pants, which seemed to be a challenge.

“Erm…” She prodded her forefingers against one another, biting her lower lip. “This is super inappropriate. But is the antidote for this fruit…” Her voice trailed off as she became more flustered. “You know, demon semen?”

Mutely, Ramses nodded. “I didn’t want you to either get too excited or too disgusted.” He looked up at her when she stood over him. “Because I’ve been told it can be rather potent.”

“So, are you sure you gave me enough of a dose?” She lifted her skirt, showing him her wetness. “Because I would, uh, prefer not to go back to how I was.” Her legs shook, the blush filled her entire body.

Ramses’ eyes went wide, and he took off his glasses, setting them down on the table. “I’m not sure. It’s not an exact science. But…” He was cut off when Elle kissed him, straddling his lap.

“Oh.” He kissed her back, looping his hands around her waist.

“Elle,” He said, his voice muffled by her mouth. His pupils dilated slightly, the blood vessels thickening.

“Hm?” She pulled back, her arms around his neck.

“If you want to wait, the lust will wear off.”

Elle thought about it, but shook her head, “I want to do this.” She nibbled at his exposed skin, hands running up and down the nape of his neck.

“Very well.” He stood, keeping her legs wrapped around his waist.

Setting her back onto the couch, Ramses straddled her, pinning her arms above her head against the armrest.

“Are you still hot?”

She nodded.

Taking Elle’s shirt, he slid it off and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in only her skirt.

“Aren’t you?”

“Sunlight.” He gestured to the windows.

“Oh.”

“Consider this… Paid overtime.” Nudging her legs open, Ramses lined himself up, prodding against her slit. Each touch made Elle gasp, grinding against him.

Then, he slid inside. Elle gasped, instantly clenching around him. Ramses gripped the back of the couch, letting out a surprised whimper. Leaning down, he wrapped his arms around her and began to thrust. Once her arms were free, she let her hands explore him.

The touch seemed to encourage him further and he hilted himself.

Elle screamed in pleasure, digging her nails into Ramses’ shirt. Covering her mouth with his, Ramses began to pound into her, each thrust making her see a flash of color.

“God,” He said between thrusts. “You’re so tight.” His breath was warm against her face and neck. Leaning down, he nibbled her neck. “I…” The blush returned to his face.

Elle pulled him back, their lips meeting again. Pushing her tongue into his mouth, she let them dance as he found his rhythm and continued to pump back and forth. Each moan encouraged him, and he went harder.

As the thrusts went deeper, Elle cried out, her back arching. She ran her hands down Ramses shirt and vest, the fabric chafing against her skin. Unlike her own clothing, it pushed her closer to the edge, but she felt herself hitting the wall again.

Her breasts began to bounce, and Ramses groaned, his legs and buttock suddenly clenching.

“Please!” She begged, squeezing him tightly. “Finish inside me!”

“Fuck!” Ramses yelped, before he released, the fluid spilling out of Elle. Panting, he shuddered, placing his hands on either side of her head. Sweat trickled down his face. Clenching, he thrust against her as he emptied everything inside.

The orgasm finally came, and Elle clenched, wrapping her legs around his and pulling Ramses close. Shivering, she panted and closed her eyes.

“I think… That’s enough.” He slipped out of her and sat up on the couch, his softening cock still shimmering with her wetness.

Elle shuddered, then slowly sat up, rescuing her shirt from the floor and holding it up to her chest. She was covered with the strange black residue from his hands.

“I am very sorry about that.” Ramses zipped his pants up and buckled his belt. “I completely understand if you want to quit.”

“Umm…” Elle worried at her lower lip. “You see, I didn’t exactly dislike it and I really need this job.” She couldn’t even look at him without blushing.

“I could tell.” Ramses eyes went wide and he put his glasses back on. “Although I’m not sure how much of that was me or the Fruit.” He rubbed his face. “I’m going to kill that fox the next time I see him.”

Elle swallowed hard, thinking of the cakes. “Um, before you get all worked up, shouldn’t you get ready to open the bar?”

Ramses rubbed his face with a sigh. “I’ve got some time.” He looked her over. “I know you live farther away, but do you want to get cleaned up at my place? Er, not that I’m inviting you back over for...” He let the silence hang in the air. 

Sighing, Elle nodded. “One thing at a time. I need to get this ‘antidote’ off me before it leaves a stink.” The scent of sex was already making her dizzy and flushed.

Helping her up, Ramses helped her dress and helped her back down to the main gathering area, collecting the charm from the floor. Stopping at the umbrella holder, he pulled out a parasol and opened it. When he took a few steps outside, he suddenly staggered.

Wrapping his arm around her, Elle helped him walk.

“It’s not too far," Ramses explained. “Erm, so, about what happened.”

“My lips are sealed,” Elle mimed locking her lips and throwing away a key. “As long as you don’t tell the others about me trying to blow you. And everything else.”

Ramses stifled a noise and looked away. “It’s fine. Just erm… Expect a bonus on your first check.”

“A bonus?” Now she was starting to feel like it was some sort of hush money.

“I take… Very good care of my employees.” Ramses frowned. “It’s hard to keep them on.” Swallowing hard, he sighed. “Elle, what I did back there, I promise I’m not normally like that. I know demons have a reputation for being sinners, but I don’t want you to feel I took advantage.”

“Too bad, I had a lot of fun.” Elle blushed at her words. “Sorry, was that too much?”

Ramses bit at his lip. “No, but I am your boss. I don’t want rumors to spread.”

“I understand.” She felt the rest of the heat finally leave her body, leaving her head clear. “But don’t… ever be afraid to ask. I um, headed after this job for a reason. Not just for the pay.”

Ramses hid his face and nodded.

If every day was going to be like this, then this new job was going to be interesting. She’d have to apologize to Wrecks tomorrow.

At least there was hazard pay.

(You can read part 02 here!)

[adoreeenina]

For You, I’ll Risk It All

Part one: High School Crush

-Series Masterlist-

Relationship: DBF! Hank Voight x Plus Size! Olinsky! Reader

WC: 7.3k

Series Summary: He is corrupted and vicious, nothing but a dirty cop. At least that's what you've been told by your mother. You hated him and you weren't afraid to show it at the slightest, but that all changed when he protected you from going to jail when you were 18.

Coming back from New York after five years, you decided to live for yourself for once.

You didn't expect it would start by falling for Hank Voight.

You know your dad's best friend.

Being one of the well known detective’s daughter has its perks, the main one is protection from anyone and anything, the second anyone hears your last name, they quickly back off, knowing what to come of them if they even lay a finger on you; but it also has its downfalls. One of them involving dating.

Anyone who you brought home were intimidated by him almost immediately, you’re pretty sure they know about your fathers being a dirty cop, or atleast the whispers.

Yes. You knew about it, you always known since you were thirteen. You remember the late night arguments between your parents, you would be sitting down on top of the stairs and listen. They weren’t exactly being quiet, atleast your mother wasn’t. Your father trying to calm her down or atleast keep it quiet before you or your sister wake up. Since then, you try to keep your sister Lexi in the dark as much as you can, she doesn’t need to know how many people your father killed.

And that’s where Hank comes in. You haven’t met him yet or seen him. Your mother always mentions him in almost every argument she has with your father. Blaming him for getting your father involved in his dirty work and maybe one day getting himself killed because of it. And that thought scared you.

You were sixteen when you met Hank for the first time. It was the middle of your summer break. Your sister wanted to go to summer camp and your mom volunteered to be one of the chaperones, and the offered you to be home alone most of the time when your father works.

On the rare days when your father gets those days off, he spends them with you. You were having a movie night. Your father let you choose, you decided on a horror movie, Conjuring. You were in the kitchen making popcorn, one with kettle corn powder and the other with white cheddar.

You were making your way to the living room when the door bell rings. Startling you, you pause mid step, you look up the stairs where your father is doing god knows what.

Then you remembered your dad ordered pizza from the closest pizzeria 15 minutes ago. Your stomach grumbled when you thought of food, and you couldn't wait to dig in.

Walking the rest of your way to the living room, you place the bowls of popcorn down on the coffee table. Grabbing money out of your dad’s wallet, you quickly walk over to the front door.

Opening the door, ready to hand the delivery person the money, but pause when you see an unfamiliar man you’ve never seen before.

The man before you stood about 5’10, cropped black brown hair that was greying from the temples upwards and brown eyes that considered you carefully. He had the jaw line of a Greek God.

He looks down at you with a raised brow in confusion. Why the hell is he looking at you like that? If anyone should be staring like that should be you.

He scans you and you only just now realize what you are wearing. Or lack of what you are wearing. In your blue Cookie Monster pajamas shorts and an oversized black shirt that hangs on your left shoulder.

Feeling a little selfconscious by the way he’s looking at you, you subconsciously pull down your pajamas shorts down.

Pushing your feelings aside, you cross your arms across your chest and glare at the man trying to be intimidating but it only amuses him.

“Can I help you?” You ask not caring how rude you might’ve sound.

You could’ve sworn you saw the corner of his mouth twitch as though trying to stifle a smirk, after silently considering you for a few more painful seconds, he decided to speak.

“Hank Voight. I’m looking for Alvin.” your brows raised up slightly at the name.

“Sorry. you must got the wrong house. I don’t know any Alvin.”

He hums in the back of his throat, the only acknowledgement he gave to your answer.

If he is who he says he is, you don’t want him here at all. You only know what your mother said about him. He’s nothing but a dirty cop. Your mother would be infuriated if she were here.

“You sure?” He squints at you, obviously giving you a chance to be honest with him.

You give him a sarcastic smile, “I’m sure.” taking a step back, you grab onto the door to close it, “Sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for” you fake being sympathetic. “Bye bye.” you wave as you close the door with a smile.

“Y/n!” You hear your dad’s fast footsteps rushing behind you to stop the door from closing, grabbing the door to allow it to fully open.

“What?” You faux innocence. Your dad looks down at you with a stern look obviously not buying it.

Turning to face Hank with apologetic grin, “Sorry. My daughter can be a little asshole.”

“Dad!” You gasp with a glare his way.

Hearing Hank chuckle under his breath made you snap your head at his direction and glare.

Spurred by annoyance, you contemplate just slamming the door to his face, the scolding you might get be damned.

“Why the hell is he doing here?” Your face scrunch up as you wave your arm at Hank’s direction.

“Alright, Y/n that’s enough.” your dad grabs you by your bicep and tugs you away from the door.

“You know mom won’t like it if she finds out he’s here.” you whisper. Your dad sighs, glancing at Hank before dragging you to the kitchen.

“That’s why we won’t tell mom.”

“What?”

“Look sweetheart-“

“Are you leaving?” You cut him off. His face softened hearing the distressed pain in your question.

“Y/n-“

“You promised you would spend the day with me. I miss spending time with you, I never get to see you. All you focus on is your stupid job…. Is this why mom made you move to the garage?”

Alvin was lost for words. He should’ve known better he’s oldest daughter would’ve caught on with all the fight and late discussion he had with Meredith. It hurt him the way Meredith looks at him but it hurts even seeing the broken look in your eyes.

“Y/n.” he reaches his out to you, making you take a step back. Feeling betrayed and hurt.

“Actually, You know what dad? You can do whatever you need to do. Clearly I’m not your first priority.” pulling your arm out of his grip, you move past him, and grab your phone from the table.

“Y/n!” Alvin calls behind you, but you ignore his calls, not giving a glance towards the door, knowing Hank is still there waiting. You rush up the stairs to your room, slamming the door behind you.

You might’ve been dramatic, overthinking, or overreacting, but since that day, your relationship with your dad hasn’t been the same. You’ve always been daddy’s girl, so it hit you pretty hard not having that kind of relationship with him anymore. But you were tired of being put a side and not being a priority, you miss spending those days where it’s just the two of you, it could be him taking you shopping,or taking you to the ice cream parlor, or just taking to the park.

Now, it’s like you don’t even have a father, at least one that’s present in your life. Not only is your relationship with your dad went downhill, your mom isn’t any better.

Your mother can be a bit overbearing at times. At least with you. Mostly about your weight. She always been pretty brazen about her opinion on your body. Telling you to lose weight by going to the gym, go on a diet, even going as far to suggest some supplements she seen on TikTok that could help you(which you know are BS).

You’ve always been a big girl, even when you were a little girl. Though you went through puberty pretty early in your life, your curves came in and shaped your body beautifully.

You love your body, you might get a little self conscious about it from time to time but what girl doesn’t? You learned pretty early on you might not be everyone type but you might be someone’s type and that was enough to give you confidence about your plump figure.

Now how your luck has it, you actually know Hank’s son Justin and adopted daughter Erin Lindsay though you didn’t know it at the time. You went to school with them, Erin is a little older than you but Justin is the same age as you.

Now back to your father’s best friend. After your first meeting, you started to hold a little grudge against him.

But it seems like luck isn’t on your side when you keep crossing paths with him once or twice. More since you became close friends with Justin and Erin. Though you you try your best to never interacted with him. Yeah, you might’ve been a little brat about that.

Once Erin graduated, she went straight to the Police Academy, wanting to follow Hank’s footsteps. That left you spending most of your time with Justin. Who would’ve thought you spending so much time together would’ve led you to lose your virginity to Justin Voight.

But sadly it wasn’t mind blowing like you had thought. Your girl friends always talked about how their first time was magical, even went into to much details. Now that you think about it, maybe it was all bullshit to make themselves look better in front of your friend group.

Though you can’t put the full blame on Justin, he has a decent size penis and tried to make you feel good, even tried to put your pleasure over his own. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t good either. After that, you two decided to just stay friends and act like it never happened, which you were glad it didn’t mess up your friendship.

There’s also one big thing you learned about yourself pretty early on… you liked men. Older men. Old enough to be your father.

You always knew you liked older men but being under aged is what stopped you most of the time. You were flirted with by older men more than boys your age.

And you liked it. You liked it a lot.

You liked the attention they’ve given you, they were shameless and wasn’t afraid to get what they want. They didn’t care about how much you weigh or what size of clothes you are.

You didn’t know what to was about men that really turns you on. It could be the deep voice. Salt and pepper hair. The way men could get protective of you. Or maybe it could be they are experienced.

You need a man who can teach you a thing or two.

Now, you did an amazing job of avoiding Hank but that couldn’t be avoided when you were eighteen.

Justin💙: Party 2night?

You: Fuck Yes!!! You’re picking me up, right???

Justin💙: What about your parents?

You: Told them I’m going over to your place. Besides they won’t even notice. Mom is out with Lexi and Dad is most likely drinking and watching TV

Justin💙: You sure?

You: It’s the only way I’m going

You: What should I wear?

Justin💙: Something Sexy🥴🤤

You: I’m serious Justin😂

Justin💙: What are my options then?

You:

Justin💙: Fuck🫠😩

Justin💙: The red one. Definitely the red one

Justin💙: And wear those heels that makes your legs look so sexy🥴

You:😘

With a smile, you toss your phone to your bed and make your way to your bathroom to take a quick shower.

Today is supposed to be the best day. You’ll graduate the end the week. Which means you’re done with the people you could care less from High School completely.

Tonight you’re going to party. One of your classmates is having at party at his place while his parents are away for their anniversary.

Getting out the bathroom in only a robe and a towel over your head. You sit down in front of your vanity and do your makeup as natural as you can, you’ll be sweating and drinking, you need your makeup to last all night and not look cakey.

You look at the time and quickly put on a pair of biker shorts and a zip up hoodie. Grabbing your backpack, you place your dress, heels, and purse inside, along with your perfume and extra makeup to finish yourself up.

Justin will be coming by to pick you up in his car. Everything was set and making it home from school the excitement made you zone out.

Your phone flashes signaling you Justin has texted you.

Justin💙: I’m outside

Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you race down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Your dad stops you before you could reach the door. He is sitting on the couch with his feet prompt up on the coffee table with a beer in hand, watching TV.

“Over to Justin’s. I told you already.”

“He’s picking you up?”

“Yes.”

“Just the two of you? Alone?”

“Dad.” you groan, “I’m eighteen, you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“That may be true.” you watch as he gets up from the couch with a grunt and stands in front of you, “but you’ll always be my baby girl. No matter what.” He smiles sweetly at you.

You give him a sincere smile. Even though your relationship has been somewhat strained, moments like these is what you cherish the most.

“I love you. C’mere. ” he pull you in for a bear hug.

“I love you too, dad.” you smile into his chest. Alvin presses a kiss on your head then leans his head back to look at you.

“What?” You question. He tilts his head with furrowed brows.

“Are you wearing makeup?”

“Dad!” You whine as you cover your face to hide how embarrassed you are.

Your phone rings once more, another message from Justin telling you to hurry your ass up.

“I gotta go. Justin is waiting for me.”

“He’s outside?”

“Mhmm.” you hum, looking down at your phone messaging Justin back. Your dad nudges you to the door.

“Bye dad.” you peck his cheek.

“Bye baby.”

“Hey, Justin!” Your dad waves once he opens the door allowing you to leave.

“Hey, Mr. Olinsky!” Justin waves back through the open window of the car.

“Better take care of her!”

“Oh I will. Don’t you worry!” Justin winks at you.

“Oh my god.” you roll your eyes at Justin, waving bye at your dad, you get in the back of Justin car.

“Why you sitting in the back?” Justin looks at you through the rear view mirror.

“Hey! Eyes on the road, pretty boy.” you reach from the back seat and hit the back of Justin’s head “I’m changing.”

“Why don’t you wear the dress under your clothes like any normal girl”

“Cause I’m not normal, you should know that by now.”

You unzip the thin jacket you have on and pull it down your shoulders. You’re wearing an adhesive bra, to hold up your heavy breast while wearing the dress that reveals your shoulders.

“Damn.”

“Fucker!” you hiss. Zipping open your backpack, you grab your dress, putting the sleeves of your dress on first, “I said no peaking.”

Justin lets out a low chuckle, keeping his eyes on the road once more.

Placing the dress over your head, you tug it down to your waist. You pull down your shorts and throw them in your backpack, then tug down the rest of your dress down to your mid thigh. Lastly the best for last, you strap on your heels.

“What did you tell your dad, when you left?” You ask to break the silence.

“Nothing. He’s working late. He doesn’t know I’m gone.”

“My, my, what a naughty boy you are, Justin. I might have to punish you.” you lean forward against the center console to look at the side profile of Justin.

“Shut up.” he laughs.

“You know… I might not like your dad but I can’t deny that he’s hot.” you tease.

“Of course you would say that.” Justin face scrunches up in disgust making you laugh, “I forgot how you prefer older men.”

“Yep! And it’s thanks to you.”

“Hey! I wasn’t that bad!”

“You weren’t good either.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” Justin shakes his head with a laugh.

“Yeah but you still love me though.” you smile smugly at him.

“Unfortunately.” you slap his shoulder making him recoil away from you with a smile.

Justin parks the car a little further than the house since the road was already cut off from how many cars were parked. ‘Rack City’ by Tyga burst through the loudspeakers, you could feel the vibration in your entire body.

Justin being the gentleman that he is with you, opens the door for you. He helps you of the car and steady you in your heels. He tugs down the back of your dress as he closes the door. You thanked him.

Justin places his hand on your lower back and guides you to the house full of people.

“Woo!!! Senior graduates!!!” You hear someone cheers running into the house.

“Woo!!!” Justin mimics next to you, he wraps his arm around your shoulder pulling close to his side.

Entering the house, the place is decorated in the school colors of blue and black streamers, paper graduation caps hanging from the end of a stream decorates in various places in the ceiling, different color lights shine brightly in different rooms of the house. The party is awesome.

“Yo, Justin! Glad you could make it bro!” Mickey steps in front of the both of you, he hands Justin a drink.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Justin chugs down whatever alcohol was in the cup like it was nothing.

“N/n you look scrumptious as ever.” Mickey smirks at you.

“Bite me.” you roll your eyes, showing your disinterest at his attempt of flirting.

“I will if-“

“Hey what did I say?” Justin points a threatening finger against Mickey’s chest.

“Sorry.” Mickey raises his hands up, palms out.

Yeah, Justin is over protective of you, that’s much is clear. He’s basically one of the reasons why no one never really picked on you. They were afraid of Justin, he has just as much of a reputation as his father.

The last time a guy tried to pick on you ended up with a concussion and Justin suspended.

Not only is he over protective of people picking on you, he’s also over protective when it comes to guys flirting with you. He acts like an older brother wanting to protect his younger sister’s innocence, which is kinda weird to you since he was the one that took your virginity.

“Y/n!!!” You hear someone suddenly screech and jumps on you wrapping their arms around you.

“Bitch!” You groan at the added weight. You thank the lord for Justin holding you up if not you would’ve fell and everyone would’ve gotten an eyeful.

Recognizing the blue hair, you instantly knew it was Gwen.

Gwen pulls herself away from you, her hands on your shoulder and her eyes gaze up and down at your figure with a smirk.

“You look hot, babe.”

“Thanks Gwen.” you laugh at her bluntness.

“C’mon the others are waiting for you.” she grabs your wrist to tug you along with her.

“Hey!” Justin shouts offensively, throwing his arms up.

“Relax, pretty boy. We’ll be by the pool so you know where she’s at. Geez he acts like he’s your boyfriend or something.” Gwen rolls her eyes.

You smile sheepishly at Justin who doesn’t stop glaring at Gwen. You let Gwen take you to the back of the house where the pool is.

There you meet up with Daniel, Jacky, Sean, and Kate.

“Y/n Olinsky at a house party. Never thought I’ll see the day. I didn’t take you the type to be into this kind of thing. I thought clubs will be more your thing.” Daniel grins.

“Hey if theres alcohol involved I’m coming.”

“Speaking of coming. Here.” Kate hands you a red cup, “its squirt with tequila.”

“You’re the best.” you take the drink and chug it down, wincing a little at the after taste of the tequila but that’s to the soda it keeps it at bay.

Two hours into the party, you’ve danced with your friends, watched the guys play beer pong, and the people who are at the pool.

You, Jacky, and Gwen decided to take a break from the party and sit down on the steps of the porch to get some air that doesn’t smell like sweat and alcohol.

“What you planning on doing after high school?” Ask Jacky before she sips the rest of her alcohol.

“I don’t know about y’all but I’m ain’t going to college. I just want to travel around the world with my cat. I could do it, you know. I could just get a random job, buy a bus, buy the supplies, and just remodel it. I could just work online.”

“That’s sounds badass.” you respond to Gwen.

“What about you?” Gwen turns the question to you. You shrug.

“I got accepted in NYU Groosman School of Medicine.” you mutter. You hear the two girls squeal making you wince.

“Dude isn’t that your dream school?”

“It is.”

“Then why does it sound like you aren’t excited about it?”

“Maybe because I don’t want to go to the medical field. The whole reason I even applied was because I wanted to get out of here and be on my own. My mom wanted me go to a college close by but I want to be independent and be on my own.” you sigh.

You’ve been understandably stressed out. You wanted to get out of your parents house and be independent but you also don’t want to be away from home. You don’t want to leave Lexi alone with your overbearing mom, you know your dad would be there but he’s too busy with work to be at home most of the time.

You didn’t think you’ll be accepted to NYU. It has a reputation of being one of the hardest colleges to be accepted in. The only reason you applied is because you were good in Biology, Chemistry, Physics, and Calculus. Your teachers always encouraged you in the medical field so that’s what you did but now you’re starting to regret your decision.

“You know what you need?” Gwen looks directly at you.

“What’s that?” You answered, taking a sip from the cup in your hand.

“To get laid.”

The way that you choked on your drink was undignified and most unlady-like.

You glare at Jacky and at Gwen who was smirking. Jacky patted your back, sympathetically.

Surprisingly, the thumping music vibrated through your body, calming your mind. The alcohol also helped!

“First of all,” you clear your throat, “I get laid plenty, thank you very much. Second, how did we go from talking about our future to getting me laid?”

“Your still fucking that fire fighter?” Question Jacky

“Oh yeah.”

“I wonder what your dad would say if he ever finds out.” teases Gwen with a knowing smirk

“He will say nothing cause it’s none of his business.” you roll your eyes.

“Not if he finds out which one it is.” Jacky grins down at her cup.

“Maybe.” you shrug

“Dude, what is it with cops and firefighters having a war against each other?”

“Right? What’s up with that?”

“Who knows.” you shrug, “i think-“

“Shh!” Gwen shushes you, “ya hear that?”

Just as when Gwen says that, you hear the distance sound of police sirens. Leaning forward, in the distance you see the red and blue flashing lights.

“COPS!!!”

Just like that everything runs into chaos. Everyone runs around trying to get out of the house and make a run for it.

Everyone is drunk as fuck to even run straight. So were you but you were sober enough to get up and run in the house to look for Justin.

“Justin!” You shout over the crowd of people. You stand on your tippy toes to look over the crowd but couldn’t find him.

"Y/n, what are you doing?” Mickey suddenly appears in front of you, his eyes wide. He quickly takes your hand. "We gotta go."

“But Justin-“

“He’ll be fine. C’mon there’s no time.” you nod, letting him pull you out of the house.

The house is still half empty of drunk teenagers as the cops surrounds the house, but that doesn’t stop Mickey from making a run for it with you behind him.

“Freeze! Stop where you are!”

“Shit!” Mickey curses.

“Hey Cal, there’s alcohol surrounding the place. These kids been drinking.”

Of course someone called the cops on the party, what a cliche.

“Arms in the air and turn around. Slowly.”

Doing as your told. Two cops you don’t recognize, walks towards the two of you.

One reached for the cuffs at his belt, quickly grabbing you by the elbow and cuffs your wrist in front of you. He grabs you by your elbow leading you to a police car.

“Hey!” You whine from the tight grip of his hand on you.

“Keep moving.”

“Calm it, I’m in heels, asshole.” you snap at him.

Opening the door, the cop pushes your head down as you get in, the other cop pushes Mickey in next to you.

“Fuck. My dad is going to kill me.” you quietly groan, throwing your head back. You look out the window seeing some other kids being dragged into different cop cars.

The drive to the police station was a blur. The same cop drags you out of the car with Mickey behind you.

Seeing the familiar silver haired woman with her normal stern face in the front desk, you keep your head down so she won’t recognize you.

“You have to be so rough?!” You glare at the cop as he pushes you down on a chair and cuffs your left hand on the armrest, “is that really necessary?”

The cop ignores you, he walks away with your confiscated purse in his hand.

“Hey asshole, watch it!” you turn your toward the noise to see Mickey being dragged, the cop shoves him down in the chair next to you.

“Both of you wait here till we get back.”

“Like we have much of a choice.” you bite back. The cop gives you a look before leaving.

“Fuck man.” Mickey groans next to you.

“Tell me about it. I had to get arrested wearing this.” you point at your red dress. Compared to the plain looking police station, you stand out like a sore thumb.

“Could be worse.” Mickey smirks down at you.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“You could look like him.” Mickey points at what looks like a man in women’s clothing. Is that a prostitute?

“Oh my god, Mickey! Don’t point!” you scold him and pinch his side with your hand that isn’t restraint.

“Ow okay!” he laughs as he tries to get away from you.

“Hank, you’re still here?” You overhear Trudy, you lean over slightly to see none other than Hank.

“Fuck.” you groan.

“I thought you left with the others.”

“Nah. I needed to get some paper work done first.”

“You know him?” Mickey looks between you and Hank.

“Yeah that’s Justin’s dad also my dad’s best friend. Quick make yourself big so he won’t see me.”

“Babe,” Mickey deadpans at you, “your dress is a far cry compared to everything here. He’ll notice you even if I try to cover you.”

“Shut up and do as your told.” you shove him.

“Hey!”

“Alright.” the police officer from before walks up to the two of you. “I’ll need your name”

“Y/n.” he writes it down.

“Last name?”

You hesitate, “Olinsky.” you mumble.

The police officer pauses, he gazes down at you before letting out a hearty laugh, “Olinsky? You’re Alvin’s daughter?” You wince at how loud he’s being, “No fucking way.”

Well so much for being discreet. If Hank didn’t know you were here now he does.

You shift in your seat uncomfortably, your eyes gaze around the room before hiding your face behind you hand. Trying to make yourself small as possible.

“Y/n?” You hear the all familiar gravelled husky voice of Hank. You look up to see Hank gaze on you with a raised brow. You two make eye contact for a split second, before you break it.

“You got to be fucking kidding me.” you mumble, sliding down your chair slightly and cover your eyes with your hand.

You want the floor to swallow you whole.

“What’s going on here?” Hank question the officer.

“Someone called about a house party. These kids been drinking.” You roll your eyes at the officers matter of fact tone.

“Is that right?” Hank gaze goes back to you, his expression hard to read, making you feel uneasy.

God kill me now. Please.

“Apparently this one right here is Al’s daughter.”

“I’ll take her off your hands and take it from here.

Mickey sits quietly next to you with raised brow, astonished. He looks at you and mouths ‘what the fuck’.

“Uhh Sarge, I don’t think-“ one hard look from Hank made him reconsider. “Okay. No problem.”

“Uncuff her.”

“Sure. Okay.”

You watch silently as the officer stumbles a little with the keys and takes off your handcuff. You sigh as you rub your wrist in relief from its tight bounds.

“Let’s go.” Hank gestures for you to get up with his fingers.

“Did you have anything with you before you got arrested?”

“Yeah my purse. It has my phone and wallet in it.”

Hank turns to the police officer.

“Where’s her purse?”

“It’s confiscated in a storage location.”

“Get someone to bring me her belongings and her arrest charges. I’ll be in my office.”

“Yes Sarge.”

He grabs you by the elbow, more gently than the cop did and . You both barely made it half way to wherever he planned on taking you when you start to protest.

“Hey! Wait a second! I’m not going anywhere with you.” you yank your arm out of his grip.

You watch the way Hank clenches his jaw as he looks at you, losing his patience with your bratty attitude, but you don’t shy away from his stare.

“For once, be a good girl and do what I say. Al might tolerate your attitude but I surely won’t.” Hank retorts, his eyes never leaving yours, a shiver going down your spine at his dark tone.

“Now move it, princess.” you roll your eyes at the pet name and begrudgingly let Hank lead you with a hand on the small of your back.

Hank leads you up the stairs to the bullpen and into his office. Opening the door, he allows you to enter first before he does and closes the door behind him.

“Sit down.” At his sharp tone, you oblige instantly with no arguement from you.

Besides your dad, Hank could be scary at times but you do have a tendency of pushing a little too far.

Hank not once takes his eyes off you, he stands in front of his desk. Hank leans back against it with arms cross against his chest.

“Does Al know where you are?”

“What do you think?”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“Excuse me?”

“You could’ve gotten yourself arrested. You going to graduate on Friday and this is how act? You could’ve ruin your chances for college education.”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Al told me you got accepted into NYU. You really want to ruin that by getting arrested for underage drinking?”

“Who are you to be getting after me? You’re not my dad.”

“No I’m not. But I am someone who cares about you. I know you don’t like me, Y/n. You made that perfectly clear. But your Al’s daughter and my son’s friend. I protect my own and that includes you!”

You and Hank don’t break eye contact. Both waiting for the other to break first.

“Sargent.?” someone knocks on the door before opening it and entering.

“Yeah?” Hank switches his gaze away from you to the officer who just entered.

“Here’s her belonging and her case file you asked for.” the officer hands hank a yellow folder and your purse.

“Is this all?”

“Yes sir.”

“Thanks.” the officer nods and leaves, closing the door once again.

Hank walks around his desk looking through the file before slamming it shut and throw it the trash making your eyes widen.

Did he really just throw away your arrest charges down the trash?

Hank drops down into his chair behind his desk, not taking his eyes off you. Almost challenging you to say something.

“Why?” Is you could ask.

“Consider this me offering you a truce.”

“Truce? For what?”

“I want us to get along. And I’ll start by doing this.”

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t think he would basically erase your arrest charges. If anything you thought he would use this to blackmail you or something.

“Are you going to tell my dad?”

He leans back in his chair, fingers interlacing across his mid-section as he considers you for a few moments before replying.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Wow. You didn’t expect that. Hank just keeps surprising more and more. You assumed he would call your dad the second he saw you handcuffed in the police station.

“How much did you drink?”

“What?”

“You’ve been drinking haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“If you’re asking if I’m drunk. No I’m not. I only drank two or three cups but they weren’t strong. I was tipsy when the cops came. I got sober pretty fast when an officer roughly pushed me in the police car.”

“Who?”

“Who what?”

“The officer. Who was the officer that arrested you?”

“I don’t know. He had a pornstache that you see only in bad pornos.” you shrug.

Hank smirks amused at your answer.

“You still feel a little tipsy?”

“A little.”

“Okay.” suddenly Hank stands up from his chair and walks around his desk, grabbing your purse along the way and hands it to you, “let’s go.”

“Wait what?” You were taken back. You stumble over yourself trying to stand up.

“Where we going?”

“To sober you up.”

“I said I was a little tipsy.”

“I don’t care. Let’s go.” once again Hank places his hand in the small of your back to lead you out of his office. He turns off the light and closes the door, locking it.

You walk close behind him down the stairs. Hank stands on your right side, guiding you to the front entrance.

“Heading out for the night, Trudy.”

“Alright. See ya in the morning.”

Stepping outside, he leads you to his SUV. Walking to the passanger side, Hank opens the door and helps you before closing the door behind you once you sat down comfortably.

You reach for the seat belt buckling yourself up, you sit silently watching out the window with your purse on your lap.

The driver side door opens and Hank gets in. He takes a deep breath before shoving the keys in the keyhole and turn on the SUV.

The entire drive was in complete silence. You start to feel a little awkward being in close proximity with Hank. You never been alone with him before.

“Where we going?”

“There’s a diner close by that’s open 24/7.”

“Why we going there?”

“You need something in your stomach other than whatever alcohol you were drinking.”

“Why do you care so much?”

“I told you, I protect my own and that includes you”

For the rest of the ride you kept your mouth shut. Arriving the diner, Hank gets out first, walking around the front of the SUV and opens the door, holding his hand out to help you down.

Such a gentlemen. Now you know where Justin gets it from.

Once the both of you enter the diner, you both get seated in a booth. Hank sitting across from you.

Looking around the place, it’s practically empty, reminding how late it must be. You have yet to check the time.

A woman in her late 30s maybe mid 40s walks towards your table, “Hello, my name is Rachel and I’ll be you waitress” she place down two menus infront of you and Hank.

“Before we start, will the check be separate or together?”

“It’ll be sep-“

“Together.” Hank cuts you off. Your brows raised as you look at him.

Not only did this man saved you from getting arrested, he’s also buying you food.

“Okay, want to start off with drinks?”

“You have sweet tea?”

“Mhmm, we do”

“I’ll take that”

“I’ll get the same thing.”

“Alright. You two ready to order or do you want time to look at the menu.”

“We’ll take the cheeseburger with everything on both and fries.” Hank tells the waitress. She lets out a soft okay, writing it down. She grabs the two menus before leaving, letting you and Hank be alone once more.

“You’re buying me food too?”

“I’m a gentleman.” he retorts making you shake your head with a laugh.

“Well now I know where Justin gets it from.” you grin at him, you place your elbow on the table with your on the palm of your hand.

“Speaking of Justin, was he at the house party with you? You two always been thick as thieves for as long as I can remember.”

“Will he get in trouble if I say he was?”

“Only for leaving you alone to get arrested.”

“He didn’t leave me alone.” you defend Justin, “we were separated with our different group of friends when the cops showed up. I was looking for him but Mickey stopped me and tried to get us out of the house but the cops caught us.”

“The boy that was sitting next to you at the station?”

“Yeah.”

“Here’s your drinks,” the waitress comes back with two cups of sweet tea, “and your burger and fries.” she places down two plates in front of you and Hank, “enjoy.” she leaves.

“My dad told you about me going to NYU?” You mention, stuffing a couple of fries in your mouth, remembering Hank mentioning it back at the station.

“He did. He’s really proud of you. Had the biggest smile on his face when he told me.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. You knew how excited your dad was about you being accepted to one of the best colleges, you also knew how he didn’t like how you would be moving far away from home but he won’t voice it. He knows this could be big for you.

Your mom is whole another story. She’s been trying to change your mind from going since you gotten the letter.

“Same can’t be said about my mother.” you mutter, taking a sip from your cup.

“Yeah Alvin told me about that too.” Hank sighs, shifting in his seat.

“She’s unbearable. Did my dad tell you she blames him for me leaving?”

“She what?” His eyes widen, telling you your dad hasn’t said a word about it.

“Yep. This whole time I thought my dad was the problem but it turns out it’s my mom. Or both.” you shrug

“Is that why you sneaked out to go to a party?”

“Technically… I didn’t sneak out. My dad saw me leave… but he was drinking when I left but he wasn’t drunk.” you tried to plead your case.

“Did you tell him you were going to a party?”

“No.” you play with your straw.

“Did he see you leave in that?” he points at your dress.

“No.” you mutter in between sips.

“Then you were sneaking out. Did Justin park at the end of the street to pick you up?”

“That’s such a fucking cliche,” you laugh, “he parked in front of my house. My dad saw him and even said hi.”

You smile when Hank lets out laugh and shakes his head at you.

“Why are you being nice to me? I’ve been nothing but a bitch to you since the moment we met.” you start to feel guilty.

Even when you started to hang out with Justin and Erin more, you would sometimes go over to their house. Hank for the most part would stay out of the way but he’s been nothing but kind and caring to you when you stayed over. Now you feel like a complete bitch.

You really let your mother’s words brainwash you into thinking Hank is the devil or something. But he’s far from it. At least with you.

You’re not naive, you know what Hank does in the dark where no one sees, but that’s doesn’t stop him from being gentle and caring to the people he holds dear to him.

You’re surprised one of them is you.

“I know your mom don’t like me. Al mentioned once or twice she argues a lot about me involving him in certain situations. I’m not denying they aren’t true but-“

“It’s okay.” you cut him off, “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m not a kid anymore, I know what’s goes on around me. I know you and my dad -maybe your entire squad- do behind the scene. I know you’ve killed people. it doesn’t scare me.”

“It should, sweetheart.”

“But it doesn’t. You only do it cause you care. You don’t hurt innocent people. You just take justice in your own hands. You just do what others aren’t willing to do. I could respect that.”

Hank hums, considering you for moment before speaking.

“You’re something else, you know that.” he grins making you smile.

Finishing off your meals, Hank pays for both your meals. Once again being a gentleman, he walks you to the passenger side and opens the door for you to get in.

Hank slows down and parks in front of your house. You look out the window to see all the lights in the house are off, telling you everyone should be asleep by now. Giving you the chance to sneak in without being seen.

“Listen,” hearing Hank’s voice, your turn your to look at him, “I know you’re scared about moving away from home but do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” You squint your eyes at him.

“Take care yourself in New York.” he says softly and he genuinely means it by the way he looks at you.

“I will.” you gently smile at him. Hank shifts in his seat and opens the center console, grabbing a card handing it to you.

“Here.”

“What is it?”

“My business card. It has my office and my personal number. Don’t be afraid to call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Hank.”

“Go inside. You should give Justin a call to let him know you’re alright. He’s probably worried about you.”

“I will.” You smile before leaning over and giving him a small kiss on the cheek, “Goodnight, Hank.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Take care.” You nod before getting out of his SUV. Hank softly smiles as he watches you round the SUV.

“Hey!” Hank calls for you, making you turn around. “don’t tell your dad you were with me.”

“It’ll be our little secret.” you wink. Hank shakes his head amusingly. He waits a little longer till you enter the house. The second the front door closes, he drives off.

(This took so long to write but I’m happy how it turned out. Please don’t be shy to let me know what you think. I love reading your comments.

Can anyone guess who the fire fighter reader is sleeping with? Anyone who guesses right gets a cookie🍪)

[cod-dump]

Nikpricegraves thoughts, special delivery!

Nik getting more grey in his hair, and neither Price or Graves wants to bring it up, because they don't know how Nik feels about it. They dom't want to make him feel self-conscious.

So they wait. And Nik finally brings it up, very casually (fronting like hell) musing aloud that he might color the grey so people don't think their evac pilot is too old.

And maaaaybe Price and Graves wanted their responses to be a liiiittle more restrained, a little more level-headed. But they weren't.

Price: You are not TOUCHING that silver--

Graves: Like HELL you're--absolutely not!

Price: Anyone lucky enough to have you picking him up has no right to complain about that!

Graves: And it's sexy as hell anyway!

Price: Exactly, you're fuckin gorgeous.

Nik: ... Thank you?

Nik was a very confident man. He was sure of himself, comfortable in his own skin and almost never doubted himself. But seeing the thin stripes of silver in his hair… he wasn’t too confident on it. The reality of him being old was setting in and he wasn’t very happy about it.

Nik never gave the thought of him getting old much thought considering he didn’t think he would get this far, especially not with his constant flirting with death. He never thought about how he would feel about growing grey, and now that it was here, highlighting his temples? Nik felt his heart squeeze, uncertainty making his chest tight.

Worse part was that neither his husband or boyfriend had mentioned anything about the grey, which just added to his uncertainty about it. He’s caught them whispering about it, both immediately cutting themselves off upon noticing him. He’s caught them staring, again no comments about it. Nik knows they had noticed it, of course they did. They notice everything new or different about him, most of the time even before he’s noticed it.

He didn’t like their silence and was choosing to assume the worst. But he kept quiet, just like how they were choosing to stay quiet. The topic of greying hair wouldn’t come up until one night while they ate dinner. He couldn’t help but stare at their own hair, how he would’ve noticed if John had started to grey (surprising he hadn’t by this point). The silver would’ve been noticeable amongst his dark brown hair, within his beard. It would be undeniably attractive.

Phil greying would been less noticeable considering his golden hair. There would’ve needed to be quite a few grey hairs before it was obvious and even then it would blend nicely with the gold strands. It would add to the American’s charm. Both would carry silver has crowns yet… Nik couldn’t determine that about himself. Couldn’t see himself with it, even as it took residence within his hair.

“I think I need to start investing in hair dye.”

The speed in which Phil turned his head to look at him made Nik fear he would break his neck. John just froze mid bite, eyes looking up to stare at him. Nik kept his usual level of smug confidence about him even though he wasn’t feeling anything remotely similar. Phil swallows his food, taking a deep swig of his water before he glares at him.

“Over my dead body.”

Nik blinked in surprise, his facade cracking.

“Nik, my love, if you do that you’d break my heart,” John added, staring intensely at him.

Nik looked between his partners before he cleared his throat, “Right-“

“Nikky, I’m serious,” Phil said firmly, “That silver is so fucking hot and if you dye it I’ll probably cry.”

“I second that,” John said very seriously.

Nik couldn’t help but laugh at their seriousness. Phil stood and walked behind him fingers going into his hair which of course caused Nik to lean back and practically melt. John stood as well and walked over.

“Should’ve known something was up when you hadn’t said anything. Big, bad Nikolai, insecure over some grey hairs.”

Nik huffs, closing his eyes as Phil continued to play with his hair, “I am not insecure.”

“You just said you wanted to dye it.”

Nik huffs, he could hear Phil’s smirk. He mustered up an unamused frown, which was immediately chased away by a well placed kiss from John. Nik was choosing to be annoyed in order to hide how relieved he felt about their approval. The two would probably pry that confession out of him later when it wouldn’t add onto their smugness over his unusual lack of confidence.

“You might want to prepare for when we return from leave, the boys are definitely going to say something when they notice.”

Nik snorts, “If they have a problem with their transport getting grey then they can cry about it.”

“Cry and complain, with bad jokes on the side.”

By the time they returned from leave, Nik would regain his rock solid confidence. And some jokes of his own because what is an old man without his jokes?

[livwritesstuff]

this one is in honor of the 2-year anniversary of st4 (literally last week but my life is a whole whirlwind atm)

It occurs to Eddie one night as he’s putting his and Steve’s daughter to bed that it’s been twenty years since everything in Hawkins, Indiana went to shit (for him, anyway).

Not down to the day, obviously, but it’s mid-March of 2006 and, honestly, mid-March is the only calendrical detail he ever really retained (too preoccupied with the whole on the run thing to be paying attention to the date, which he thinks is fair enough).

It’s kinda crazy, when he thinks about it, because he really didn’t see himself coming out of those god-awful days alive to tell the tale. Here he is though, twenty years later, alive and truly well.

Steve beats him to bed that night (probably because he’d called dibs on their youngest, Robbie, that night, leaving Eddie to wrangle Moe – the difficult one of the pair when it came to bedtimes because, frankly, her ability to argue her way into extra stories is getting a little frightening), already sitting under the covers with a magazine by the time Eddie retires to their room.

Their room.

That’s one of those things Eddie wouldn’t have believed if he’d heard about it while he was bleeding out in the Upside Down twenty years ago. 

The Steve of it all really is the most improbable – that’s Eddie’s opinion anyway.

Surviving a swarm of hungry bat demons? No problem.

Bagging (i.e. marrying the fuck out of) Steve Harrington? Totally out of the question.

Here he is though, defying all the odds.

“You know what I realized?” Eddie asks as he climbs into bed beside Steve.

“Hmm,” Steve replies, not looking away from his magazine. His glasses are slipping a little as he reads, and Eddie reaches out to nudge them back up the bridge of his nose. The gesture has Steve raising his head to look at him.

“What’d you realize?” Steve asks.

“It’s been twenty years since all that shit in Hawkins.”

Steve’s gaze slides off somewhere behind Eddie for a moment.

“Shit, you’re right,” he says, “Crazy.”

“That’s what I said,” Eddie grins. Steve isn’t matching his expression though. Rather, he’s looking at him somewhat pensively, dark brown eyes roaming over his face.

“Hey,” Eddie says, because he gets it. They can make all the jokes they want about how wild that time was, but it doesn’t ever take away the horrible things they'd seen, the horrible things they'd been asked to do.

Eddie’s glad he survived and all, but people don’t always talk about how the after of surviving isn’t necessarily a walk in the park either.

He runs a hand through Steve’s hair, grazes the tips of his fingers over the barely-raised scars on his neck left behind from whatever went down at the Creel House in the Upside Down, “I love you, Steve.”

“Love you too,” Steve replies, gripping a hand tight around Eddie's thigh, "So much."

"So fucking much. Sucks we had to go through all that shit to get here, but...I'm glad we're here."

And Steve only nods as he wraps an arm around Eddie's shoulders to pull him in close.

"Yeah," he eventually says, pressing a firm kiss against the side of Eddie's head, "I'm glad we're here too."

[aroaceleovaldez]

Hi! I recently saw your post about the Grace siblings' and Percy's eye color and was wondering if you had any headcanons either for the Olympians' general eye colors or eye colors for some of your favorite demigods?

[BREAKS DOWN DOOR] HAZEL EYES. I DONT CARE WHO. GIVE LITERALLY ANYONE HAZEL EYES. it is one of my number one pet peeves in the franchise that Rick seems to be under the impression that. hazel eyes just? dont exist???? he has literally not once given a character hazel eyes. its kind of ridiculous.

i have a post uhhhh somewhere but im too lazy to find it so i'll just repost the art here about my hcs for Percy & the Argo II crew and co's eyes:

some of my strong notes are:

Percy's eyes change color to match the closest body of water, to me. His base color though is dark green.

Nico i give dark hazel eyes (because he has Maria's eyes whereas Bianca has Hades' eyes so her eyes are just solid black). Also his old official art has a lot of green and brown tones in it so that's what I associate him with. He doesnt have a canon eye color so free reign babey.

Piper i give hazel eyes for her "kaleidoscope eyes" cause the kaleidoscope eyes thing is stupid and i think it's funny if the rest of the crew was just so unfamiliar with hazel eyes (cause some people are for some reason. see: Rick) that they were describing it like it was magic. I also usually give Piper sectoral heterochromia with greens and browns.

Thalia i stick firmly with her original description of having "storm green" eyes, though I will occasionally throw some blue heterochromia of some variety her way just for funsies.

Sometimes I will give Annabeth more grey-hazel leaning eyes cause why not. logistically if she has grey eyes theyre probably actually hazel anyways.

In general I like to play around with variety in exact colors and highlights and stuff. Cause it's no fun when people will give characters four different shades of green eyes and ten shades of blue but only one shade of brown. That's a huge pet peeve of mine as well. All my Athena kid designs still have the grey eyes but theyre all very varying greys (mid-tone grey, hazel-grey, blue-grey, brown-grey, dark grey/nearly black, etc etc).

For gods/Olympians i dont have a lot of specific ideas! Besides Hades' irises probably being just solid black or close to solid black most of the time, since we know Bianca has his eyes. I imagine it'd probably change for the gods depending on how they're being perceived or what form they're in.

[ketamollykaine]

Creepypasta AU Headcanons

Midnight City: Jeff the Killer

★ He is 27, and he's a Capricorn sun, Scorpio Moon, and Taurus Rising (Gemini mercury, Sagittarius Venus, Sagittarius Mars, Leo Jupiter, Aries Saturn, Aquarius Neptune, Sagittarius Pluto)

★ Jeff stands at 5'9", has a slim physique but has defined, strong muscles. His body fat % is probably around 6-7%. He's pale nut not ghost white.

★ Is from a mid-middle class family from Montana.

★ His chelsea smile has long since healed into keloid scars, never burned or cut his eyelids, only has a few burn scars along his temples and forehead that he covers with his hair.

★ His hair is very slightly wavy, parted in the middle, and of course it's black. His natural colour was very dark brown. He'll dye it maybe once a year if he feels like it. It goes down right past his pecs/to hs mid back.

★ Has really nice defined eyebrows and lighter blue hunter eyes. His nose is thin, has a ridge from being broken a couple times, and is upturned slightly.

★ Wears guyliner and it's the hottest thing you've ever seen.

★ Thin, but strong jawline. Doesn't care for growing out his facial hair past a week or two, mostly likes to be clean shaven which can be hard at times because of his scars.

★ Has always been conventionally attractive and had a huge complex about it that shattered when he saw his face permanently altered, making him have the mental break that made the chelsea smile.

★ A metalhead, 100%. Goes to underground shows a lot and doesn't bother hiding his face. He has grown to love what he made of himself.

★ Genuinely enjoys impulsively planning his next kill, he gets a rush from playing God with someone's life.

★ Very confident and sure of himself, but surprisingly not full of himself. Jeff has gotten good at what he does and knows it.

★ Charming to a fault, but also cold and sometimes rude. Doesn't care to come off any type of way. He's very apathetic when it comes to people and their emotions. Enjoys his own company most, but is friends with Dove, Toby, Jackson (the Puppeteer), and Laughing Jack.

★ Doesn't work for Slenderman, is 100% a lone wolf. He doesn't fuck with the fact that Slender exists, so he stays clear of him as much as he can.

★ Has his own cabin in the woods, mostly everyone does if they share it or not.

★ Sings! He loves music. I think he'd sound like Landon Tewers. When he hangs out with Dove, they jam together.

★ He is "Need To Change" by Landon Tewers personified. He can be a great lover, but he will chose himself at the end of the day. Very self aware.

★ He's covered in stick and poke tattoos and has self inflicted scars only for counting each kill, not no barcodes. They're 1cm lines neatly cut on his left pec.

★ Is a sucker for real goth women. Don't hand him an e-girl or TikTok alt girl. He wants a trad goth baddie, hopefully with some amount of bloodlust.

★ Wants a lip piercing but hasn't gotten it because "What if it gets caught on something and rips his lip apart?"

★ He tends to not sleep for a couple days at a time then sleeps for 18-20 hours and act like nothing happened.

★ Uses recreational drugs sometimes. Is no stranger to blow, xanax, 2CB, or molly. Drinks frequently and smoked weed daily. He's even learning how to grow!

★ Isn't a sociopath. He still very much has feelings, lots of big feelings. Jeff is a sadist in non-sexual terms. He enjoys seeing people in pain and being the one to cause the pain.

★ Wears dickies or black cargo pants, grommet belts, steel toe, black latter laced boots, black crew socks, a black band t or black muscle t in the summer, and various hoodies. Some are white, some are black. Sometimes he'll wear a bullet necklace that he stole from Dove and spiked leather bracelets.

★ Some of his favourite songs are "All Around Me" - Flyleaf, "Fentanyl" - McCafferty, "Pet" - A Perfect Circle, and "Chelsea Smile (KC BLITZ remix)" - Bring Me The Horizon

★ Knows his brother is alive, but is still reeling with guilt and will never forgive himself. He stays far away from Liu, trying to make Liu forget about him. Wants to have a brother again so badly. He drinks about this all the time and will cry alone.

★ Satanist, has a copy of The Satanic Bible by Anton LaVey. "the group views Satan neither as a supernatural being, nor a symbol of evil, but instead relies on the literary Satan as a symbol representing "the eternal rebel" against arbitrary authority and social norms,"

★ Will help you take revenge or he'll get it for you. Any excuse to kill and help someone realise their power. He likes having equals and moulding killers. This is an extremely rare occurrence though.

I made a c.ai character for y’all to enjoy, here.