#mr. oakes husbanded too hard with this

[borgialucrezia]

father hyping mother 😌🫶

(from david oakes' instagram story. natalie starred in an episode of inside no. 9 titled 'curse of the ninth'. episode that premiered in june 5th)

[pearlywritings]

Surprisingly

synopsis: for the public eye, the head of the Oak Family and his wife are a loving couple. In private they are astonishingly content with each other too.

pairing: Sunday x fem!reader

tw: fluff, arranged marriage, reader is halovian, established some time before the game quest on Penacony.

word count: 2.8k+ words

Nothing supports the man’s prestige and public image more than a proper marriage with a proper woman. So, I want you to meet this very woman, my child…

Two months, fifteen days and one hour. That’s exactly how long ago Sunday became a husband. A role he didn’t imagine himself playing, not with the role assigned to him from above. But, it was Gopher Wood - his adoptive parent basically, who brought you to him and announced his grand plan. And even if the head of the Oak Family had his doubts initially, a thorough conversation held with and without the Dreammaster, plus your immaculate background and some more specific matters proved to him that you were indeed chosen rightfully. He wasn’t sure if it was Mr Wood’s way of helping him, offering you as an aid at handling some of the work-related matters but with the seemingly perfect image of being wed - the elder gave no answers, however Sunday knew better than to question some of his schemes.

And so, your union was sealed. The ceremony wasn’t something exceptionally huge, none of you wanted that, but it was public enough for everyone and their mother to be talking about it. A couple of perfectly sterile interviews, some joint photos and three or four public appearances together, and people have been fooled enough to believe that.

That was enough.

Something as shocking as a wedding would avert the public eye and serve a great purpose in deceiving the people. After all, newlyweds are far too busy for one of them to be plotting something, right?

Right. So right, that Sunday himself was in a somewhat daze for the first week. But it’s understandable - on top of his regular responsibilities he had to prepare for the wedding and get to know the person he was about to spend life with better. Surprisingly, you turned out to be very understanding and supporting from day one, actively participating in whatever additional activity served on the man’s plate. It was weird, new and confusing, but above all he caught himself considering it not unwelcome.

You are astonishingly easy to work with. Well-versed in the matters of Family (but he shouldn't be all too surprised, given who brought you to him), soft, yet - when needed - firm spoken, not afraid to face the crowd in your husband's place for a public announcement and taking a portion of his responsibilities without any questions asked. If not for your interactions outside of all of that, Sunday would've thought you were his secretary and not a wife (but even a secretary wouldn't have known as much as you are aware of).

You are…comfortable. Sunday should really reproach himself for giving in so quickly, but it’s so hard not to. Maybe his vigilance is lulled with security of his patron’s choice or maybe it’s his own longing for normal civil interaction with someone close, but it didn’t take much time to start entertaining your sparks of curiosity.

Oh, how curious you are. Despite being trapped in a loveless marriage, you’ve been willing to learn about him from day one, trying to unfurl at least one tiny secret of his every day. He knows that because you are methodical, because you write it down (and you don’t hide the fact - when he, alarmed, asked or rather demanded you to show him that little notepad of yours, you just did so, with an explanation of your reasoning.)

Speaking of getting to know each other better… It’s still half an hour before your recently established tea time, but… But maybe he could summon you earlier? 

I hope, my child, this woman will become your reprieve. You are not obligated to love her, see her as just a companion, but feel free to treat her as a continuation of yourself. I educated her to match you specifically, after all.

As a continuation of himself… Isn’t it cruel to speak such things of a sentient being? Isn’t it putting one into the position of submission? 

Somehow it feels bitter on the tongue when he thinks of you.

His hand reaches for the bell, but promptly stops before the fingertips can touch the polished metal. Ah, of course, he asked to not be disturbed today. So, let him not violate his own order. He can find you on his own, not to mention, a small walk around the building might help clearing up his mind. Lately, he’s been thinking too much.

Spacious halls of the Dewlight Pavilion are empty, he knows as much, yet he hopes he won’t have to roam for too long, as the gloved hands push the doors of the meeting room. Today you two decided to work from the main Family residence in need of some materials here, and since no congregations were scheduled for the day, the building was all yours.

Each step of his is muffled by the carpet, lining the exactly 39 stairs, every next one lifting some of the weight from his shoulders and smoothing the deep frown of light gray brows. When his heels click on the small podium with the additional three steps, Sunday feels like his head is cleared. 

Stepping on the carpet again, he finally ends up in the big hall with the 5 Lineages symbols and a big City Sandpit in the middle. Quickly fishing his phone out of the pocket, he swiftly unlocks the screen and finds your name in the recent calls, dialing it.

When did it happen that conversations with you outnumbered ones with his sister?

You pick up the phone after just two seconds.

“Hello? What is it, Sunday?”

Ah, straight to the point, he admires that. And the calmness of your tone is surprisingly grounding.

“I was wondering if you’d join me earlier,” he speaks softly, barely holding off from calling you ‘dear’. It’s not wrong for the spouses, but how would you react? He asks strange questions lately. “Tell me where you are, I’ll come fetch you.”

“To answer your first question, I’d love to,” the young man might lie to himself, but he swears he heard your voice sweeten just a little. It makes the little wings behind his ears flutter, which he is quick to still. “As for your second one, however, you might want to look down.”

Sunday follows your instruction without much thought, looking right at the red carpet covering the marble floor.

“...I don’t believe I understand.”

He hears you chuckle, a tinkling sound, lacking any malice. His left wing slightly jerks as the favorable noise fills his left ear through the phone.

“The City Sandpit, beautiful. I am not far from the origami birds’ nest.”

As he moves to round the table, your husband’s heart skips a beat. You called him beautiful, you have done so on multiple occasions already. You praised his intellect, you gently clapped for the perfect choice of the clothes for the day he made, you agreed with him on the most mundane things incorporated into your daily lives. And not once it felt forced or fake. You were surprisingly sincere with him - he would’ve thought that with the Dreammaster’s upbringing you’d have been all mastered flashy smiles and sickly sweet polished words.

But here you’ve been, admiring him in your own quite blunt kind of way.

He immediately spots your tiny figure among the fake buildings on the city’s layout. You are waving at him with a smile.

“Found me,” he hears again in the speaker, but now also from you as well.

“Found you,” Sunday echoes, reaching his free hand to you. When he curls his fingers, you understand and, clutching the strap of the bag hanging from your shoulder, carefully climb onto his open palm.

Your husband is careful, finishing the call and putting the phone aside, before cupping the other hand under the one holding your sitting figure. Bringing you closer to his eyes he can see all the little details on the pretty pale blue dress you left home in this morning, with your second pair of clipped wings wrapped around the waist like another skirt. Then his gaze skims along your neck, adorned in one of the pendants he gifted you and then up to the first pair of wings, bigger than his when you are your normal size. 

He doesn’t have an opportunity to marvel over your intricate halo, because your eyes capture his in a vice, looking at him inquiringly.

“Didn’t expect you to take a break earlier. I thought you liked to stick to your routine.”

This was probably the first thing you learned about your back then betrothed.

“I do,” a tiny smile adorns his pale lips, “however, today I managed to wrap the most attention-requiring matters up earlier. Now only the mundane cases are left.”

“Good to hear that,” you hum, swinging your stocking-clad legs a little. His golden eyes look over your form once more, capturing the image of surprising comfortability in the hands of a bigger being, one that could crash your body so easily at the moment.

“I do wonder however about the reason behind your current predicament,” the male tilts his head in an inquiring way. “I believe I’ve never seen you enter the City Sandpit.”

Well, not to count the very first time he was giving you a tour.

“Oh, as I said, I know your routine, so I usually leave it before our meetings. I actually enter it quite often when we stay here,” is your answer that makes Sunday’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Pardon?”

“It’s easier to do paperwork this way,” motioning to the bag still on your shoulder, you then huff in annoyance. “If only you knew how eager your subordinates to bother me whenever you are unavailable. I am well-informed of my seeming position as the “lady-of-the-house”, but I’ve never signed up to be a link element between you and them, let alone a pawn in someone’s game of becoming first to seek your favor. Pardon me for my straightforwardness, but I much prefer interactions without actual feedback from the interlocutor if the situation doesn’t require otherwise. Except for you, of course.”

Except for him.

“You are my equal. You can always order them not to bother you,” drawing his hands closer to the chest, Sunday turns and starts walking closer to the table’s side where the gates are located.

“As if,” he glances down and catches just the end of your eye roll. “Mister Wood would have had my head if I ruined your picture as little as being distant from your inner circle. I’d much rather prefer just to hide away when needed and return to my secondary duties once I’m done with the primary.”

With the Dreammaker’s upbringing you would think a person can’t be as open-minded. Sunday is sure that it was no different from his - after all you have the clipped wings to match his. But, it seems, you found a way to temporarily escape from the suffocating clutches. Today he learnt a new thing about you, and, surprisingly it warms his soul instead of feeling repulsed.

He carefully puts you down just in front of the gates from the city’s side. Almost knocking off  a little ”DO NOT TOUCH” card near it, your husband moves to the right to let you step out. And in a couple of seconds of blinding light you stand before him in all your tall glory.

“Thank you for making the trip across the city so much shorter,” you grin, shaking the bag’s strap down your shoulder and rolling it, before unwrapping the wings from around your waist and spreading them in a stretch.

“It was my pleasure,” his tone is even, yet the gaze with which he watches you move gives him out. To this day and probably for a long while the levels of intimacy that used to be unknown to him yet which you display are going to surprise him. Sunday almost feels an annoying twinge of upsetness when you rewrap your wings around the dress’s skirt. Though it lets him see a couple of ruffled feathers and he has to suppress the urge of his hand to reach and fix them for you.

Yes, there is some intimacy between you lately, but not close enough.

“If you give me a moment to drop off my papers, I’ll be swift in joining you,” your voice breaks the man out of his self-restraining thoughts, and he lifts his eyes from your waist back to your face.

“Ah, it won’t be necessary. I’d like to have our tea time back at the meeting room, I have some things to discuss with you.”

“So official,” you smile, taking a step to join his side. “Alright then, let us be on our way up. Would you like to fill me in on the agenda of our ‘meeting’?”

“Sure,” Sunday chooses to ignore your teasing, but habitually offers you his elbow to hook your arm in it. “My sister is going to visit soon and she seems to be quite pissed at me.”

“Miss Robin?” Your question is laced with puzzlement. “I assumed from your stories of her that she is hardly in a sour mood.”

“It is true, yes,” your husband sighs, leading you up the first set of stairs. “But I would’ve been mad too if my sibling had gotten married and I did not know a thing.”

“She does not know about us?”

The man nearly halts in his ascending. If he didn’t know better and where your thoughts and loyalties stood in this marriage, he would’ve believed you are offended that he kept such an important fact a secret from his only family member. Nevertheless, he continues his walking.

“I sent her an invitation, you know that. But it seems the planet she’s been on is pretty far away and she’s gotten my message only recently, on her way back. I loathe to admit it, but now I feel very bad and the situation itself is iunjust. I am aware we were in a rush, all because of the- you know why,” he sees you nod from the corner of his eye and feels your fingers carefully dig into his arm, “but Robin has always wanted to be a maid of honor at my wedding. And I ripped this opportunity from her.”

And I am not going to get married the second time. This he did not voice out loud.

For a moment you both fall silent. You get lost in thought, Sunday does so too, analyzing his own words, wondering if this speech of his was too personal, if it was painting him as weak in your eyes.

And his own.

You speak only when he reaches for the knob and twists in to swing the door open and lead you two inside.

“So, how much time do we have before she gets here?”

“Maybe a couple of days,” he breaks the lock of your arms and gets a hold on the strap, sliding the bag down your shoulder and turning to put it aside for the time being. “Why asking?”

“You are a good brother, I can see that, “ ah, here you are, praising him again. “And it’s obvious you care for your sister and wish to give her the world. I suggest organizing a small party for her. This way she could experience what she missed and get familiar enough with me. I can negotiate with Mister Wood, I am sure I can convince him - he has some sort of a soft spot for you, Sunday.”

Surprisingly, it twists something uncomfortable in the halovian’s stomach.

“It sounds… delightful. However, are you certain you’d like to go to such lengths for Robin?”

“Well, she is your sister,” you chose the table farthest from the one your husband has been working at and grab the back of the chair to move it so you could sit, “and I am your wife. I’d love her to believe in us too. If I am not overstepping, of course.”

That’s actually not a bad idea. If almost four months ago someone - even you - suggested he let his sister and future wife meet, he’d be hesitant. He knows his little sister, he knows how perceptive she is - he is not so sure he wouldn’t have cracked under her inquisitive questions about whether he was happy with the arrangement or not. Plus leaving her sad and aching for brother if he let her know of the unjustness of the situation and still chose to proceed with the wedding is just too much for him.

Now he, at least, will not be lying that he is content if being asked.

“I accept your offer and thank you profusely for it,” Sunday slightly bows his head, to which you shake yours, reaching your hand out to beckon him to join you.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’ll have time to thank me later, once we’ve already done something, alright?”

Surprisingly… It is indeed alright.

[leclerc-hs]

wait for your love - cl16

pairing: arranged marriage!charles x fem!reader summary: in which you're in a fake marriage OR you and your fake husband might be in love with one another warnings: none?? no smut in this part (SORRY), badly translated french (pls correct me), NOT PROOFREAD!, angst, pining???, jealousy, complicated feelings word count: 3.6k author's note: I'm still unsure how i feeeeel about this one but I tried my best!! I think writing about an arranged marriage is a little hard because i didnt want it to be mafia related so this was my take on it. there will be a second part!! i also want to mention that all these separate parts are just events that are little peaks into their marriage. it is not in the span of a week or anything, it takes place over time. they do not go from nothing to being in love in the span of one week. just wanted to make sure you guys were aware of that LOL. ok love u all. sorry if this sucks.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE MARRIAGE WAS merely a façade, designed solely to serve the interests of both of your media images. You weren’t in love—far from it…right?

“Charles! How are you and the beautiful Mrs. doing?” A reporter placed a microphone in his face, an eager grin pulled on his lips as he awaited an answer.

“Elle est tellement merveilleuse, n’est-ce pas?” She’s so wonderful, isn’t she? His gaze strayed from the reporter to where you stood a few feet down the carpet, posing for the dozens of cameras. “Tellement belle.”So beautiful.

His eyes remained transfixed on you, the rest of the world fading into insignificance as he watched you approach. The chatter of the reporter beside him became distant background noise, overshadowed by the sight of your radiant smile. With each step you took closer, a surge of warmth flooded through him, causing his heart to swell with an overwhelming sense of anticipation. Charles turned back to the reporter just as he said “Looks like she is making her way over here!”

“Salut beau gosse!” Hi handsome! You gently press your lips to his cheek, the warmth of your smile radiating as Charles’ face lights up upon feeling your kiss. His hand finds its place on the small of your back, a comforting and possessive touch that speaks volumes of his affection and protectiveness towards you. A united front.

“You guys are seriously too cute!” 

The both of you smile largely at the reporter, thanking him, before heading down the carpet to enter the movie premiere.

It wasn’t until you crossed through the main doors of the building that you drop the smile, and his hand drops from the small of your back.

“Tellement crédule.” So gullible. He utters the words briefly, prompting a nod from you before you take a small, deliberate step back, putting some distance between the two of you. 

-

You learned early into the arrangement that Charles wasn’t capable of love. His heart seemed barricaded behind the walls of his ambition, his sole focus on climbing up the ladder of success in his career. It seemed easy at first though, it’s not like the either of you had any feelings for each other.

“Assez!” Charles roared from behind his imposing oak desk, his voice echoing through the room. “That’s enough!” His words cut through the tense atmosphere like a thunderclap, commanding your attention and halting any further discourse with an authority that brooked no argument.

With a subtle roll of your eyes, the delicate sundress draped over your form swayed gracefully with each purposeful step towards his desk. His gaze, cold and piercing, met yours as you reached out, your fingertips lightly grazing the polished wood surface. Leaning in just slightly, you locked eyes with him.

“Je vais me répéter une fois de plus,” I will repeat myself once more. You declared, your tone carrying a hint of assertiveness. Tracing the edge of the desk with a meticulously manicured nail, you maintained your composure, refusing to yield under his scrutinizing stare. “You need to be more careful in public.”

Your cheeks flushed red with frustration, a stark contrast against the determined set of your jaw. Despite the tension, Charles couldn’t help but be captivated by just how stunning you appeared in that moment. He couldn’t tell if he hated you or just wanted to fuck you.

He scoffed before reclining back in his chair, the top buttons of his shirt carelessly undone. His tousled hair appeared as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times—or perhaps someone else had.

He watched as your eyes traced along his disheveled hair and the partially undone buttons of his shirt, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Jealous, mon ange?” He teased; voice laced with amusement. Now it was your turn to scoff.

Mon ange. Him and that stupid nickname.

“Jamais.” Never. You replied firmly, your tone leaving no room for doubt as you turned around. With a subtle sway of your dress, it raised slightly, offering him a glimpse of the lace set beneath it. Without another word, you walked out of the room, leaving him to ponder just how badly he wanted to remove that dress from your body.

He always resented how you seemed impervious to his charms. No matter his efforts, you remained aloof, seemingly untouched by his presence. It bothered him to no end. To him, you were an epitome of perfection, a constant reminder of his own shortcomings.

-

“Es-tu affamé?” Are you hungry?

You didn’t care if he was. You just needed to distract yourself from the fact he never came home last night. From the fact that he came home obviously smelling like another woman.

The marks on his neck had your throat feeling tight. Marks from another woman. Marks on your husband.

You tried your best to ignore the dark purple marks littered on his neck, and the tiredness in his eyes as he plopped down on the chair across from you. The umbrella in the center of the table, protecting you both from the bright sun as you sit beside the pool.

“Non, simplement fatigué.” Just tired.

You nodded slowly, your movements languid as you bit into a strawberry, its juices trickling carelessly past your lips and trailing down your neck in a sensuous cascade.

Charles couldn’t help but allow his gaze to follow the path of the juice, his eyes tracing its journey down your neck, almost reaching the enticing curve of your breasts.

You made no effort to wipe away the trail of juice, the glistening droplets lingering on your skin like a tantalizing invitation. With a knowing smile, you relish in the anticipation, fully aware of the effect it had on Charles. Men, they’re too easy.

“You should cover up those marks.” You bit into the rest of the strawberry, before standing from the table, preparing to dip into the pool. Charles hands reached out as you walked by him, his fingers dipping into the strings of the bikini bottoms at your hips. 

His touch seared through you like a branding iron, leaving a scorching trail of sensation in its wake. 

“Est-ce que ç ate derange?” Does it bother you? He looked up at you, his face serious.

The words felt like lead in your throat, heavy with unspoken truth. It didn’t bother you, did it? But deep down, it gnawed at you like a persistent ache, an undeniable discomfort you refused to acknowledge.

“No.” You attempted to push out of his grip, to no avail. “Lâche-moi.” Let go of me. He didn’t.

Never, is what he wanted to say.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned; his eyebrows scrunched as he looked up at you from his chair.

Your hands slipped around his wrists that rested on your hips. “Rien ne va pas.” Nothing is wrong. He cocked his head to the side, as if to say liar. You finally pull out of his grasp, walking towards the pool and jumping in.

End of discussion.

-

“Did you really need to eye fuck her the whole night?” You half-shouted in the passenger seat of his car, the cool leather seats contrasting with the warmth of your bare thighs clad in the mini skirt.

“Did you really take that guy’s number?” He half-shouted back, his hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel. 

“What’s wrong with taking his number?”

There was nothing wrong with taking his number. You both agreed you can date other people if it was kept under the wraps. But despite the coolness of the leather against your skin, it did little to quell the agitation simmering within Charles.

Perhaps it was the rarity of you into dating others. It wasn’t that you couldn’t attract men; in fact, men often vied for your attention. Rather, it was your own inclination against one-night stands that set you apart. Charles concluded in that moment that this must be the reason for his discomfort. And considering you had finally shown interest in someone, did it imply he was special?

“Tout le monde remarque!” Everyone noticed!  He spat out the words, unable to conjure a coherent response in his frustration. Deep down, he knew there was nothing inherently wrong with simply exchanging numbers.

You laughed, a carefree melody that seemed to dance through the car, causing you to lean forward over your lap. The casualness of your reaction grated against Charles, intensifying his frustration. How could you be so nonchalant about accepting another man’s number? The knot of unease in his stomach tightened, gnawing at him with a persistence he couldn’t comprehend.

“So?” You turned towards him; his eyes were focused solely on the road. “It’s not like I fucked him in front of everybody.”

Charles head snapped briefly towards you; his eyes narrowing with sharp intensity. The mere thought of you being intimate with another man felt like nails scraping against a chalkboard, setting his teeth on edge with raw, visceral discomfort.

Why was he so bothered? It’s not like he doesn’t fuck other girls.

-

“Où vas-tu?” Where are you going? You found yourself stood in the archway of the kitchen; Charles leaned against the kitchen island with a glass of water in his hand. 

His eyes trailed down your figure, a short black dress that hugged your curves. He felt his patience wearing thin as he watched you engrossed in your phone screen, fingers tapping away and a large smile on your face. 

Who were you texting?

“Hm?” You said, still smiling down at your screen. “Où vas-tu?” He egged on, his tone dripping with impatience at your lack of an answer.

“Oh, j’ai un rendez-vous.” I have a date. You tore your gaze away from the screen for the first time since you came downstairs. Lifting your eyes, you met Charles with an infectious smile spreading across your face. The sheer warmth and joy emanating from you caused Charles’s heart to momentarily falter in its rhythm.

A date? He felt sick.

Charles remained silent for a few moments, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand betraying the turmoil within him. The sudden crash of the glass hitting the kitchen floor startled you both, causing a shared flinch as shards slid across the tiled surface.

“What about my event tonight?” He disregarded the broken glass around him, his attention consumed by the word “date” echoing relentlessly in his mind.

“Pretend I’m sick or something,” You tilt your head in confusion. “You’ve gone to events without me before.”

It wasn’t until you went to make a step towards the broken glass that Charles snapped out of it. “Don’t come near, tu pourrais te faire mal.” You could get hurt.

The words made you stop in your tracks and your heart clench slightly.

“Je dois y aller.” I must go.

Your eyes meet Charles one last time, you offer him a small smile before pulling your phone to your ear and answering it with a smile.

Leaving Charles alone in the kitchen, the lingering question of when this feeling would dissipate hung heavily in the air.

“Je ne veux pas que tu partes.” I don’t want you to go. He muttered to nobody but himself in the empty house.

-

You went on a relentless series of dates since then, each time returning home with a grin that seemed to mock Charles. He longed to wipe that smug smile off your face, but deep down, all he truly desired was to see you genuinely happy. Yet, the idea of your happiness being derived from someone else filled him with a sense of dread he couldn’t shake.

One night, Charles felt his sanity slipping as he anxiously waited for your return, each passing minute amplifying his restlessness. Was this what you did when he was away?

His unease peaked when you finally walked through the door well past noon, wearing a smile that seemed out of place and with your hair tousled, a stark departure to your usual pristine appearance. A faint, barely perceptible mark gracing your collarbone served as Charles’ triggering a tumult of emotions within him.

“Did you fuck him?” His voice was gruff as he walked up to you by the front door, essentially cornering you between the front door and his body.

Your eyes widened at his tone and question.

“Cela ne te regarde pas!” That’s none of your business! You shouted, your finger pressing into his chest.

His eyes blazed with fury, the green in them almost appearing black. “C’est tout à fait de mon affaire!” It’s all of my business! 

He was aware of his irrationality, but despite that knowledge, he couldn’t shake the overwhelming emotions stirring within him. All he wanted was for the burning ache in his chest to subside.

“Ce n’est pas juste.” That’s not fair. You countered, your narrowed eyes reflecting your simmering anger, your chest flushing red with frustration as you breathed heavily.

“Tu es ma femme.” You are my wife. He folded his arms firmly across his chest, the sinewy muscles of his biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt, emphasizing his imposing presence.

You rolled your eyes, “C’est faux.” It’s fake. The words almost hurt to say aloud.

“Is it?” His words were short as he looked down at you, his gaze unfaltering, almost begging you to admit that there is something between you two.

“Oui.”

You pushed past him, rushing up the stairs and slamming your bedroom door shut.

-

You didn’t always fight though. There were good and bad days. Almost like a real marriage, right?

“Mon ange, wear the blue one.” His voice came from a distance as he sat on the edge of your bed, surrounded by the chaos of your closet. You felt a sense of panic wash over you, unable to find solace in any garment you tried on. You couldn’t even decide on a color.

“You always look good in that one, yeah?” He continued; his tone almost absentminded. Despite your turmoil, his words elicited a small smile, causing a faint blush to rise on your cheeks. Grateful that he couldn’t witness your reaction, you silently thanked whatever higher power existed. You vowed never to let him see you blush from his words.

You stepped out from your closet a few moments later, the blue silk dress that left little to the imagination of your breasts, with a small thankful smile on your face. Charles felt his hands itching to touch you as you leaned over the vanity, applying a last coat of lip gloss.

“Prête?” Ready? You turned back towards him, the small pebble of your nipples poking through the thin fabric, a sight that momentarily arrested Charles’s attention. With an effort, he tore his gaze away, clearing his throat discreetly before nodding in response and leading you out the house.

“Pourquoi cela?” What is this for? You quickly ask about the purpose of tonight over the low murmur of the radio as Charles pulls into the valet area of the event.

“It’s for charity,” He swung open his car door, the faint sound of camera clicks filling the air in the moment it remained ajar before he swiftly closed it again. With a sense of urgency, he hurried around the car to open your door, his movements a flurry of activity as he sought to ensure your comfort.

Tonight, he remained steadfastly by your side, his attention solely focused on you, his wife. He didn’t allow his gaze to wander, even as other females vied for his attention with near desperation. It was a departure from his usual behavior, as if he finally decided to listen to your complaints.

“Tu es magnifique.” You look beautiful. He muttered into your ear, his words meant for you alone, shielded from prying cameras. It caught you off guard—a genuine compliment, untainted by presence of the reporters or observers.

-

“Mon ange, regarde tes cheveux!” Look at your hair! Charles laughter filled the kitchen, reverberating off the walls with a hearty resonance. It wasn’t long until you joined in, your laughter mixing with his in symphony. The sight of both of you covered in flour from your baking rendezvous added a touch of whimsy to the moment, the white powder dusting your hair like a playful snowfall.

You stepped closer towards him, a playful pout forming on your lips, while he looked down at you with a twinkle in his vibrant green eyes. The intensity of the green hue in his eyes was so striking that it caused your stomach to flutter with nervous anticipation.

You noticed his eyes briefly flicker to your lips before meeting with yours again. A silent ask.

His flour dusted fingertips rested against your jaw, holding your face in the palm of his hands, while his eyes flickered to your lips again. 

“Laisse-moi t’embrasser, s’il te plait.” Let me kiss you, please. His words were so quiet, as if you both were secluded in your own bubble. You didn’t answer as your eyes trailed all over his face. As if you weren’t sure if you heard him correctly.

“Ne me fais pas supplier.” Don’t make me beg.

He could feel the rapid pace of your heart, almost beating out of your chest as he uttered the words. You nodded in response, but before you could even finish the nod, his lips crashed into yours.

It was anything but gentle. As if, you both had waited years to be able to do this without a camera in your presence.

His tongue slipped into your mouth almost instantly, eliciting a soft moan that escaped your lips and melded with his own. He groaned in response, his arms encircling your waist to draw you closer, pressing you flush against his chest before guiding your back against the messy countertop. One hand found its place against the nape of your neck and jawline, holding your head in place with gentle insistence. Meanwhile, the other hand tenderly played with the ends of your hair before wrapping them around his fist, holding your hair firmly yet tenderly.

“Si doux.” So sweet. He murmured against your lips; his breath warm against your skin as he continued to savor the moment. 

Your hands instinctively wrapped around his biceps, holding him close, though he showed no inclination to pull his body away from yours.

His lips trailed along your jawline as he pulled the ends of your hair, lulling you head back to give him more access to your neck. Another soft moan left your lips, escaping into the kitchen, as he sucked on the spot where that mark once was.

“Drive me crazy, mon ange.” He muttered against your skin, peppering kisses along your neck, along your jawline, until he met your lips again with a soft peck.

Your eyes met his and you could’ve sworn you would’ve dropped to your knees right then and there for him. 

The distant ring of a cell phone was heard in the background, immediately causing you to push him away from you. Your cellphone.

You looked at Charles with a sense of panic. What were you doing?

As if Charles could sense that panic, he brushed off the pain with a small smile. “Tu devrais répondre à ça.” You should answer that.

-

You didn’t see Charles for a few days following the kiss. 

“Que fais-tu ici?” What are you doing here? Charles eyebrows were furrowed as he took in your figure standing before him, an unnamed bag in hand.

You shook the bag in your hand, “Déjeuner.” Lunch. You waved the bag around like it was no big deal. Like you didn’t come all the way to Maranello to bring your fake husband lunch.

You found yourself unsure of the exact reason behind your actions, yet you did it anyways. With Charles away for the past few days, leaving you alone at home, a peculiar sense of longing seemed to linger in the air. Though you refused to admit it outright, all indications hinted at a quiet, yearning for his presence that you got so accustomed to over time.

“Tu n’avais pas besoin de le faire.” You didn’t need to. A smile pulled on his lips as he slung his arm over your shoulder, grateful for the sight of you.

“Je m’ennuyais.” I was bored. You confessed with a shrug, a hint of sheepishness coloring your tone.

He pulled you into an empty room, wordlessly. Instructing you to take a seat as he grabbed two waters from the nearby fridge.

“Comment se passe le travail?” How’s work? You asked, although your inquiry was more out of habit than genuine interest. Since the kiss, you found yourself at a loss for how to engage with him, unsure of how to navigate the shifting dynamics between you two.

He chuckled softly, choosing to settle into a chair beside you rather than sitting across from you, as if he wanted to be close to you. “Tu m’as manqué.” I missed you. He confessed quietly, his tone revealing a vulnerability he rarely displayed with you.

The tips of your ears flushed with a rosy hue in response to his confession, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Your gaze softened as you reached into the bag, delicately arranging the food on the table before him, each movement infused with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

“C’est bon.” It’s okay. He muttered, a silent acknowledgment passing between you two. “I know you missed me too.”  A smirk pulled on his lips as you shoved his shoulder half-heartedly. 

You didn’t deny it.

[fleckcmscott]

Making Motions

Summary: Months ago, Y/N shared an unexpected flight of fancy. Arthur decides to take it to heart.

Words: 3,652

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: @sweet-nothings04​ requested to see Arthur enact the fantasy mentioned in Ch. 3 of Stepping Stones. 👓 This is the result! Hope you all enjoy this story! Thanks for your support! 😊

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Three sandwiches in a row. Three lunches gobbled in a meeting. Three breaks skipped to pace the length of an oak conference table. But going up against NCB required more than a will to find a way, so Y/N took another bite of pastrami on wheat and settled on the windowsill.

Popular wisdom held that harassment was a worry solely for women. That they were never, ever perpetrators. Having come of age before she could get a loan on her own, experienced an era in which an employer had sought her ex-husband's permission to hire her, it'd been a hiccup for Y/N to get past that assumption.

But power had a way of begetting bad behavior, which in turn begat ever more power. And when Aaron Williams had stumbled into her office, embarrassment trembling his squared off fingers, she'd believed him.

Lana Miller, Gotham's Golden Girl, charmed the city on the six o'clock news. Bringing You the Truth! as the slogan went. Bleached teeth smile, gleaming grey gaze, a confident cadence that demanded trust.

She'd set her eyes on Mr. Williams a month after he'd signed his contract. Blocking his way as he'd try to exit the production control room, suggestive comments that'd escalated to the outright lewd. An offer to put in a good word with management if he'd visit after a broadcast. ("I hold a lot of sway with the boys upstairs.")

When a meeting had devolved into her nude on his desk, that grey gaze had turned steely. He'd kicked her out and filed a complaint.

A cardboard box shoved at his chest, an order to leave the premises by noon. That a handful of others had reported bullying hadn't mattered to The Top. Ratings were too high, too critical to hassle the on-air talent. A behind the scenes guy was expendable, a money saver even. Big deal if he blabbed about it over beer with buddies. That kind of tale had been blabbed before. Bye, bye trouble, hello to the next desperado trying to break into showbiz.

Wage theft, safety violations, employee misclassifications. Those were matters Dube, Ellis, & Flat handled on a regular basis. Filing a motion in court often got the Mom and Pops to behave. Publicized cases, though? Speculation aired on tabloid television? The firm wasn't used to that.

Williams v. National Center for Broadcasting had spent the past year collecting dust in the corner filing cabinet, waiting for its turn on the docket. NCB had stalled every way it could. Frivolous Motions to Dismiss, fillings for discovery every month as if a past due bill. A flurry of due process that felt like old money showing off. Then, low and behold, another case settled, and their matter was set for a two-week trial.

The delay had allowed Y/N plenty of investigation hours. He saids, She saids were hard to prove, and anything she could find to put a dent in the network's excuses was worth the effort.

She'd snuck into NCB studios as part of a tour group, just to refamiliarize herself with the place. When a copy editor discovered her in the stairwell, pretending to be a new employee had been the easiest solution. ("Oh, you must be Brenda's replacement! Personnel is one floor up.")

Mrs. Cunningham was a barrel of woman, a cigarette held perpetually in her left hand. Y/N asked about Spencer Fox, a counterfeit sounding name that kept appearing in NCB's filings. "He's an old friend," she'd claimed. "I wouldn't mind getting back in touch."

The older woman shook her head. "He moved to California nine months ago, pilots and renewals. Damned if I know when he'll be back."

At that dismissive declaration, Y/N had to shove her hands under her thighs to hide her excitement. Fox had sent in an affidavit, stating he'd witnessed no harassment during the period in question. Now she could testify that was meaningless. Mistreatment is easy to miss from three thousand miles away.

Turning to sift through manila folders, Mrs. Cunningham tapped ash into a pink ashtray, florals printed in the glass. "What did you say your name was? Treble? Your paperwork isn't here." She'd offered a pained expression. "You look more fun than Brenda. God, I hope you are. She had bitch stitched in her seams."

Y/N wished circumstances would have allowed her to get to know this woman better. As a thank you for her trouble, she'd sprung for two vending machine coffees, shaken her hand, and slipped through the nearest emergency exit.

"I'm not even that good looking," Mr. Williams said, fingers trembling again. He flexed his knuckles, left knee bouncing like a snare drum. Mannerisms that held a touch of Arthur. "I don't know why she picked me."

Placing her sandwich on a napkin, she took a coffee carafe from the center of the table to refill his cup. "Her actions have nothing to do with you and everything to do with a lack of consequences. But we're going to change that, aren't we?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I guess so."

"Good. Now let's review court etiquette and your testimony again."

She covered the basics. Stand when the judge enters and leaves, always address him as Your Honor, don't chew gum during the proceeding. When on the stand, pause before answering. Make sure you understand the question being asked. Be clear and concise.

"Don't guess, either," she continued. "It's fine not to recall everything, even expected. Remember you're under oath. An 'I don't know' is better than speculation." She'd seen too many people twist themselves into Slinkys trying to say the right thing, to justify themselves. "And don't volunteer information. If you get nervous, focus on our team. We're here for you." She popped the last bit of crust between her lips, wiped her fingers, and grabbed her binder.

The lines between her brows deepened. Fingers paged through the documents faster and faster. She regarded Mr. Williams over the top of the binder. "Let's take five minutes." Then she rose and jogged to her office. The file had to be there...

Just as she strode in, her phone rang. One hand sorting already sorted stacks, she set it to speaker. "Dube, Ellis, & Flat, this is Y/N."

"Hey, it's Arthur." Her heart leapt. She grabbed the receiver to listen closer. "I was wondering if we could meet for lunch? I'm kinda in the mood for a Reuben. They're on special today." Patricia had gotten him hooked on the combo of sauerkraut and corned beef.

Y/N's heart sank back to her ribs, a pang starting below her left breast. A glance through half-glass walls. Her colleagues were gathering materials for this afternoon's meeting with expert witnesses. She'd be expected post-haste.

"I'd love to but we're so busy here," she said. Then added, a tad defensively, "You've seen the news coverage."

"Oh." The solitary syllable came out low and slow.

She closed her eyes. She hated disappointing him. As of late, she'd found herself doing so too often. "I promise to be home on time tonight. I'll make it up to you-"

"There's nothing to make up."

"-when all this bullshit is over. Tell you what. I'll save you my coleslaw."

"No, you need to eat."

"Y/N!" Her name bellowed across the room like an air horn. Not scolding but sure to get her attention.

A pause. "You better go," Arthur said.

She raised her hand in a One Minute gesture. She wasn't about to cut this goodbye short. "Thank you for understanding. I don't take it for granted."

"Yeah. See you tonight."

"You will," she affirmed. "You will."

~~~~~

The cordless handset clicked in the cradle. A lean hip hutted against the counter, a cutting line against bone. Arthur pressed his head to the light blue cabinet door. He drew in one long breath.

He'd meant what he'd said. There was nothing to apologize for, there was nothing to forgive. He'd read the headlines, heard the lowlights on GCR, skimmed editorials in the paper. NCB was continuing its age-old tradition of shitting on the little guy.

And he knew what was at stake for Y/N. Challenging those who abused their advantage was important to her, had been since they'd met. Christ, it was how they'd met. He couldn't be prouder of her for believing in something, for having convictions strong enough to take it on. Yet, tendrils of dissatisfaction spread across his chest, a vise he couldn't loosen no matter how much he longed to. An annoyance as much as it was truth.

She'd helped him. Plenty. Taking messages from clients, ensuring his gigs were on the kitchen calendar so they could plan around them. On evenings he was home late, dinner was ready and on the table. She rubbed his lower back if it ached, massaged the stubborn knots that tended to swell by his misshapen shoulder. (He was over forty now; his body liked to remind him.) She listened when needed, left him alone when requested.

A couple Tuesdays ago, he'd dropped in his chair, palms flat on his desk. A sinking slowness had snuck into his schedule, leaving him bereft, feeling unwanted. As if he should do more but with no clear vision of what. He'd worried the seam of his legal pad, curled torn strips of yellow paper with his thumb. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

Clad in mauve tunic and black leggings, Y/N had knelt beside him. Offered a tender look with love as its foundation, gentle debate twinkling her pupils. "Do it until it stops making you happy," she'd said, ruffling his oily hair. He'd leaned into that touch like she was water and his ruminations flames to be doused. "But even then," she'd continued. "Don't quit. Think of it as taking a break. That way you can make sure you want to live without it."

He'd taken her advice, kept his calendar clear. A choice rather than circumstance. So far, it'd been a good decision, one that allowed him to write more jokes, make more observations, work on his timing, work on himself. Already, the itch to return to Carnival had started in his inner wrist, traversed his lanky arm. Led to an impromptu dance in the living room, when he hadn't moved to a beat in days.

She was a resilient woman, wore an exterior as tough as bull hide. But he saw through all that. Deepened wrinkles framed her mouth, flattened cheeks, eyelids that drooped well before bedtime.

Y/N had restarted his pulse. There had to be a way for him to do the same.

Heaving a sigh, he tapped a Stutton into his palm. Grabbed his lighter from the counter and headed for the fire escape.

Just as he was about to light up (a few seconds too early, he'd crack the window, she'd never know), a folder on the coffee table forced a doubletake. Egg timer set, limiting herself to half an hour, she'd worked on a binder last night. He'd brought her a coffee, kissed the top of her head, skimmed the top notes in her loopy script.

Arthur's lips pinched. From the beginning of their courtship, she'd stressed that she'd tell him what she could, but privacy laws and her own code of ethics prevented her from sharing a whole hell of a lot. But this was their coffee table in their living room in their apartment. Obviously, the folder had been forgotten. If he were to steal a peek, who would know? Maybe it held the key to giving her a hand.

That convenient line of thought drove him to pluck it from the table and flip it open.

Green bar printer sheets, two columns of questions in dot matrix font. LIKELY and HYPOTHETICALS in all caps. Squinting, he held the pages a foot away. How many incidents were there? Did you report them to anyone? Can you describe your relationship with...

A sudden image came to him, a spark of awareness. A flight of fancy imparted in a hospital garden, sitting side by side on a concrete bench. Cool breeze on raw, goosepimpled skin. Whiffs of strawberries and musk.

Yes. Yes, that would work!

He raced to the bedroom closet, nearly stumbling in his haste. A suitable shirt, striped tie, brown trousers, freshly polished Oxfords. Only a couple more props were necessary. A bit of research at the video store, the jotting of his own questions.

From interviews on the highest rated shows to dating the prettiest girl in the world, fantasy was one of Arthur's longstanding habits. Although the weaves of his dreams had changed - less dire, more aspire - his mind still titled towards the land of make believe. He had no doubt he could pull this off.

Eager as a gumshoe, he patted his wallet, tossed on his jacket, and flew out the door.

~~~~~

Though the temperature hovered around fifty, patches of sweat darkened the armpits of Y/N's bow tie blouse. The breakneck pace of the day had overheated her, ponderings of all tomorrow would bring. And where the hell that file could have disappeared to.

Due to electrical work, she had to exit the subway at Ditmas Avenue. Five stops early. She skipped the offered buses to walk the rest of the way to 4A. That always helped her sort her thoughts, decompress. Put her mind in Pay Attention to Home mode rather than lingering on a missed comma in an affidavit.

Besides, she adored her adopted hometown, the aura of the city, the souls of its people. The street musician blasting a trumpet on the corner, the homeless woman wrapped in a blanket who asked for the time, the guy in a beanie selling bootleg VHS tapes, laid out on a ragged blanket. Y/N loved them all. And, if she was lucky, walks led to unexpected joys. Like the stroll from Burnley that'd led to a certain greasy donut shop in Otisburg.

A sort of silliness accompanied her, the kind only fatigue can bring. Silly as best experienced with Arthur. She'd stopped at Ed's Grocery for a surprise dinner of breaded pollack fillets with white rice and ketchup - a take on a fish stick dish he'd often made as a teenager - and a lone flower, the apology he'd said wasn't needed.

Coat hung on its hook, kitten heels kicked off, court bag dropped to the floor, she moved to put the fish in the fridge. Brown Eyed Susan in hand, she aimed for the living room to find her husband, seize the kiss she'd craved since his call.

She stood stockstill in the entrance. Fingers curled about the stem. Her lips gaped.

Buttressed on the wall to her right, under the windows, sat the television and coffee table. To her left, the cream couch was now six inches in front of their console stereo in a parallel line. A yard from the bedroom door stood a lone dining chair, the remaining three had been arranged in random spots about the room. A sort of imitation of an audience. Or a gallery...

Was this what she thought it was?

Pulling at his belt loops, Arthur entered from the bathroom. With the sheer will of a gallon of hair gel, deep mocha locks had been forced into a side part. He wore a violet and gold striped tie, fixed neatly at his neck in a half Windsor knot. The pale yellow button-up was a shirt he donned far too rarely, his medium brown trousers the perfect fit for his narrow waist. Black suspenders gave him a look more 1940s than modern. A classic, classy man. It was a style that worked, one she loved on him and only him.

He nodded at her, mischief curving his lips. "I'd like to call Y/N Fleck to the stand?"

"Arthur..." Chuckling, she shook her head, crossing the carpet. She reached to embrace him, petals brushing his bicep. "What in the world?"

He caught her hands. His were warm and firm on her skin. "I wanna help. I rented 'Adam's Rib.'"

"Isn't that about a murder trial?"

"Yeah, the husband and wife are lawyers. Anyway, I think I got the hang of it. I know you sometimes get nervous when you testify. I thought it'd be good to practice, like what I do for my shows."

Wetness stung the corners of her eyes. She blinked it away in haste. That he'd recall the fantasy she'd shared at Arkham, a goofy trifle she'd disclosed during his toughest of times, moved her deeply. He was a wave upon the sand of her soul.

Clearing her throat, she slipped the flower in his breast pocket and patted it twice. He angled his head to admire it, gave her hand another squeeze. "I better hurry before the court holds me in contempt," she said, and passed him to sit on the setoff dining chair, the presumed witness stand.

A piece of paper emerged from his sleeve, a magician's move. He unfurled it with a flick of the wrist. Her brows shot up and held. "Where did you find that?" she asked, incredulous. She'd recognize that dusty printer paper anywhere, the list she'd spent a better part of the afternoon scouring for.

"The coffee table." He plucked a pair of reading glasses from his trouser pocket. Espresso browline, rounded wire bottoms, a pair that looked as if it'd been selected from the display stand at Groves. When he put them on, the temple tip momentarily caught in his hair. 

She felt her insides melt. It was a glimpse of the future she longed for.

His gaze rose from the paper. "Raise your hand."

"Which one?" As innocent as an intern on her first day.

"Uh, the right," he said, indicating with his chin. He straightened his posture, feet squared with his shoulders. "Do you swear to tell the truth?"

"I swear to tell you anything."

A laugh caught behind his teeth, green eyes sparkling. "What's your name?"

"Y/N Fleck." She spelled it for good measure. A third of court transcribers left off the h.

"And what's your job? Have you had it for long?"

"I'm a senior paralegal at Dube, Ellis, & Flat. I've held that position for just under a year. I started there as a paralegal in 1982 - before the Flat. Prior to that, I worked in firms both in Gotham and Missouri."

"I see. Do you think you're a good boss, Ms. Fleck?"

"Misses, actually." At the correction, pleased pink stained his cheekbones. She crossed her legs at the knee. "And I'm no one's boss, but I am good at what I do."

"What did your client say happened?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to object to that question." She tapped her chin in mock suspicion. "It's dangerously close to hearsay."

"What does that mean?"

"That you'll have to ask the complainant directly, not me."

"Okay, well..." Eyes narrowing, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "How did you prepare for trial?"

Flirty and fun was what she wanted to be, but reciting it all, even the compact version she offered, exhausted her all over again. "I reviewed the filings submitted by both parties. I assisted in preparing the complainant and expert witnesses to testify. I snuck into NCB Studios - an old habit I developed awhile back. And I put on many, many pots of coffee."

"That sounds like a lot. Gotham is lucky to have you." A tender look that said and so am I.

"It has been. A little too much." She let out a weary sigh, everything at risk an abrupt weight on her shoulders. All she'd wanted tonight was escape and laughter and him, but now... She folded her hands together in her lap to maintain her composure.

Lowering the list, he ventured a step closer. Earnestness softened the lines of his face. His head dipped down and towards her. "How are you feeling about next week?"

Suddenly, she was the case he'd decided to investigate. She shifted in her seat. "That depends. Are you retained by the plaintiff or the defendant?"

"I'm on your side," he said, kind as a pat on the back.

Fresh perspiration stained her blouse. Five seconds of pondering before she dropped the brave face. "A little scared, to be honest. I'm glad the judge decided to keep the proceedings private - we don't need a circus in there - but I'm still going to angle for the back door. NCB has so much money, and so much of the public is behind Lana Miller. I just want our client to get what he deserves. And for NCB to pay for protecting the wrong people.” She smoothed the pleats of her skirt, bottom lip planted firmly between teeth. “I've worked hard on this. We all have. I need it to be worth it."

"It will be." He knelt on one knee before her, his breath warm on her chin. He plucked the flower from his pocket, took her fidgeting fingers, and placed the bloom in her palm. "Is there anything else you wanna tell the court?"

A gulp cleared the breath locked in her throat. "Just two items. You're an ace lawyer, Attorney Fleck. If you're ever looking, you should apply to my firm."

"And what's the other?"

On a grin, Y/N cupped his cheeks. "You forgot to ask if you could approach the witness." Then she kissed him. "I love you."

He caught her by the collar. "Kiss me again."

She did. Sweet but sure, the testimony of her whole heart. Her forehead bumped his glasses, his nose collided with hers. When they broke apart for air, she stood and took his hand. "I'd like to submit a Motion to Dismiss. It's time for us."

Arthur's thumb traced hers, his feet already guiding them to the kitchen. "No objection, Mrs. Fleck."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​​ @fleckficgirl​

[useless-englandfacts]

In light of all the horrid stuff going on in this country lately, I would just like to remind everyone that england isn’t a totally terrible place!!

This country is full of beautiful architecture, art, literature, and natural beauties that are sometimes hard to believe are real.

This is the Major Oak of Sherwood Forest, and is estimated to be as much as 1100 years old!! It is estimated at 23 tons, and is 33 feet in girth/10 metres. According to local folklore, it is the tree where Robin Hood and his merry men slept when in the forest.

This is Durdle Door, in Dorset. It’s a natural limestone formation on the jurrassic coast, which was deemed “of such international geographic importance” that it was England’s first foray natural World Heritage site with UNESCO in 2001, joining the Grand Canyon and the Great Barrier Reef (visit-dorset.com)

As for architecture, we have the iconic Highclere Castle

Most well known for its use in iconic historical drama Downton Abbey, first written records of the Highclere estate date back to the year 749 when the estate was granted to the bishops of Winchester. In the late 14th century the bishop of Winchester William of Wykeham built himself a palace on the property, and was taken by Edward VI during the reformation in 1551. It was then granted to the Fitzwilliam family, rebuilt in 1679 by then owner Sir Robert Sawyer, who then bequeathed it to his daughter Margaret, first wife to the 8th earl of Pembroke, Thomas herbert, and it remains in the hands of the Herbert family to date, albeit the branch that resulted in the current Earl of Carnarvon. It was redesigned in the years 1842-49 to the facade we know today. (Quick side note, I am directly related to the herbert family through my great grandfather, so carnarvon I’m coming for you watch out)

We also have of course, the ever iconic Chatsworth house

IYKYK. Jk this incredible house is most well known for its use as Pemberley, the Derbyshire residence of Mr Darcy in the 2005 production of Pride and Prejudice (the best film ever made thank you very much).

The Manor of Chetesuorde is listed in the Domesday Book of 1086 as property of the crown in the custody of William de Peverel. Chatsworth ceased to be a large estate until the 15th century when it was purchased by the Leche family. They enclosed the first park and built a house on what is now the south east part of the gardens. The lands were sold in 1549 to Sir William Cavendish, husband of Bess of Hardwick (who was the “keeper” of Mary Queen of Scots while imprisoned. Also apparently her grandson married ANOTHER of my ancestors so I’m related to her too?? What the fuck I need to stop learning family history on the fly). Bess began to build her own home on the property from 1553 to the 1560s.

The home was renovated a truly mindboggling amount of times, as is the amount of times it changed hands. So I’ll keep it simple. A great number of important changes were made by the 4th duke of Devonshire, greatly changing the layout of the home. His son would marry Georgiana Spencer, 4 times great aunt of princess Diana (and YET ANOTHER RELATIVE OF MINE! From another branch of the family!! I need to call my mother. And update my ancestry.com).

In 1811 the 6th duke of Devonshire inherited Chatsworth, and proceeded to transform it into the wonderful beacon of regency romance we know and adore today over the course of his stewardship over the property.

These are only four incredible natural and historical landmarks in England. There are so many more that I could spend 3 life times researching!! (And so many more that have nothing to do with my family history, I promise. Swear I wasn’t doing this on purpose lmao)

This country can be a fucking nightmare, but it’s also a beautiful country with incredible sights and history, and I think we do ourselves a disservice when we forget that. It’s okay to love England (I fucking adore this country you have no idea, wouldn’t be running a blog if I didn’t!), you aren’t a bad person or supporting the bad shit we’ve done if you are proud of being English.

Because don’t get me wrong this country has perpetrated some of the worst shit in history, but we’ve also contributed some of the most important literature and scientific discoveries ever!!

Mary Anning revolutionised the field of paleontology!! Mary Shelley started the entire sci fi genre. Steven hawkin, Charles Darwin, Dorothy Hodgkin and Rosalind franklin discovered DNA! Isaac Newton, William Blake, John Keats, Byron, Alan Turing, Branwell, Charlotte, Emily, and Anne bronte, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, John Everett Millais, John William Waterhouse, to name a few merely off the top of my head!

England can be a wonderful place, and our heritage can be incredible and a legacy to be truly proud of. It would not do to forget, however, that a lot of our history would not have been possible without queer and ethnic minority groups. We all know a good deal of English wealth came from the slave trade, female scientists and artists often had credit for their work stripped from them and given to husbands or even strangers, and a good number of our most influential scientists and artists were very notably queer who were treated incredibly poorly and sometimes killed, and these are facts that can and do exist simultaneously.

Our heritage is wonderful, but it is still being made today. Things that we do now will be landmark events for our descendants, and it is our duty to do better for this country than our ancestors.

[libertineangel]

Profane/Sword, for @tes-summer-fest

Sergius looked once more over the accounts, put down his quill and closed the thick, leather-bound ledger with a thud; he stood up from the expertly-carved oak desk, snuffed out the study’s lamp and left, heading up the narrow stairs to the bedroom. He crossed over to the farthest window and stood for a moment, hand resting against one of the ornate bedposts as he looked out, admiring the wheat fields – his wheat fields – under the light of the moons, acres of land stretching out before him, rippling softly in the breeze.

He turned toward the bed and then stopped, moving instead to a heavy wooden chest in the corner, still with a satisfied smile on his face as he stooped to open it.

He blinked, mouth now agape at the empty chest before him.

He whispered a low “fuck” through heavy breaths, hands gripping the rim of the chest before throwing himself upright and staggering back with a louder “fuck,” then screamed it once more as he turned back to the window, slamming his fist against the wall.

“Oh please, is the profanity really so necessary?" asked a nonchalant voice from behind the bedcurtains.

Sergius let out another short scream and steadied himself against the window-frame as he jumped away from the bed, then crossed back over and threw open the nearest bedcurtain to find a tall, slender figure draped across the bed like a lord. The figure wore a deep navy cloak with a delicate gold trim, its hood meeting an opulent silver mask at their forehead which left only their mouth and chin visible; they idly held up a hand gloved in opalescent silk, admiring the way it reflected the moonlight.

“After all, it’s only a bit of gold, and from the furnishings I daresay you’ve plenty already,” the figure continued, completely unfazed by the shock of the man stood before him; his voice was Alinori, and well-to-do at that.

Sergius could at first only manage a bluster of garbled syllables, before taking a deep breath and bellowing out the first sentence he came up with.

“What have you done with my wife??”

“Your wife?” the figure scoffed, sitting up slightly. “I’ve done nothing at all to your wife, she’s been out since three – she spends the first Loredas of every month away, have you really not noticed? No, she’s off down the road enjoying the pleasant company of Ms Veturius while her husband’s off with his old boys’ club, and if this is your average level of attentiveness I can’t say I blame her.”

This reduced Sergius to wordless blustering once again, this time raising his fist a few times too, before he found his next question.

“Who are you??”

“Suffice it to say I’m a representative of the Grey Fox, I presume you’ve heard of them?” He watched Sergius’ eyes widen, immediately followed by his mouth contorting with rage, and chuckled a little before continuing, his tone as blithe as ever, “I take it that you have. Wonderful! Well, we have been watching you for some time now, and we are aware that you’ve made certain promises to the labourers that work your land and fill your pockets – better wages, new tools, more hands to make for shorter hours and the like – but so far have failed to keep them.” Sergius opened his mouth to speak, and raised his fist a little with it, but the thief quickly held up a hand to stop him. “Ah- I have not finished, Mr Cantaber, you may speak when I have. As I was saying, you have reneged on every single promise you have made, even in spite of the bountiful harvest your workers provided last season, which left you more than capable of fulfilling your word, instead choosing to keep every drake for yourself. This is simply an insult to the hard-working peasants of this land, and just the sort of thing my colleagues and I will not stand for.” He lowered his hand with a wave, continuing to look Sergius in the face.

Sergius, by now, had recovered enough that his words came quick and low and harsh, with no more desperate blustering.

“Where’s my fucking money??”

“Oh, that money isn’t yours, not anymore,” the thief replied, a hint of derision creeping into his voice, “I really don’t know where it is because the redistribution wasn’t my job, but rest assured you’ll never be seeing a penny of it again.”

Again, Sergius began to move to strike the thief before thinking better of it, then crossed to the wall by the door; there, he retrieved from a display plaque a gleaming steel sword.

“I ought to fucking run you through, won’t be the first time this weapon’s had elven blood,” he growled as he pulled aside the curtain at the foot of the bed.

“Oh please, your weapon’s pristine, you just swing it about in your hand every so often,” the thief shot back, “and besides, you couldn’t harm me with it if you tried.”

“And why’s that, eh? You fucking bastard!” Sergius brought the sword down for a heavy blow, but as he spoke the thief clicked his fingers and a slender rapier of shimmering midnight blue appeared in his hand, and he blocked the strike with ease. Sergius grunted as the unexpected impact sent a jolt of pain through his wrist; he looked down at the blade and took an instinctive step back, his mind momentarily filled with whispered screams in languages not for mortal ears.

“Because I, Mr Cantaber, am a far superior duellist,” the thief replied coolly. With a flick of his wrist, and without getting up from the bed, he made a quick cut across Sergius’ fingers and another in the crook of his elbow, causing him to drop the sword with a cry; he then pointed the blade directly toward his neck before blowing the base of the hilt like a kiss, turning the weapon to smoke in Sergius’ face.

When he finished coughing and sputtering, the thief was nowhere to be seen.

[revolversandlace]

Blemished Silk | Chapter Twenty-Four - Sodom? Back to Gomorrah

Chapter Index

Arthur Morgan x f!OC Longfic

Mature Rating - 4.5k Words

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Arthur!POV, Angst, Pining, Canon Divergence, Violence

Summary: Arthur heads back to the estate to deny himself a chance at happiness

Valentine, May 1899 

Finally, it seemed that their luck was on the up. As close a call as it was, the bank robbery led to a mighty fine take. Even Bill - the moron - managed to not screw anything up. 

One bank robbed, a couple of dead Pinkerton’s and a pocket full of cash. It was almost enough to put a smile on Arthur’s face until he remembered that he had to make another trip to the Downes’ ranch. 

The first visit was bad enough, beating some sickly old fool near to death. It didn’t sit right with him and now he’d have to do the same with the widow. 

It weren’t all on him though. Damn fools shouldn’t have been borrowing money they ain’t in no position to pay back. Especially borrowing money from the snakey little Strauss. How anyone could even look at that man and trust him was beyond Arthur. 

But they all had their parts to play, and debt collecting - whether he liked to admit it or not - was good money for the gang. He supposed he could always rustle up some cash, say they paid it back but he weren’t a numbers man and Strauss would figure it out sooner rather than later. And the last thing Arthur needed was Dutch thinking he’d gone soft. 

Arthur was a wanted man after all, and he didn’t get that bounty on his head from playing nice. 

So he climbed on the back on Montague, clicking him into a gallop in hopes that whatever Pinkertons were still sniffing around would soon be lost. 

 As Arthur arrived, riding through the oak trees with the snowy mountains invitingly lying on the horizon, he rode up to the ranch. Mrs Downes and the boy were already outside, meandering around as Arthur pulled his horse to a stop and swung his leg over, dismounting. 

The widow looked over her shoulder; her lined skin formed into a frown as she organised some boxes on the cart that she stood over. 

‘My husband’s not cold in the ground, and you’ve come back here. Archie.’ She waved her hand dismissing the boy, and she wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I nearly paid off what was owed.’ 

Arthur shrugged as her son went into the house as their hound greeted Arthur with a sniff on his leg. 

‘Your husband knew the rules when he took that money,’ Arthur said, wanting to be done with the exchange and away with the money as quickly as possible. ‘Now I’m real sorry about the way things turned out, but he had a choice. Ain’t my fault about the way the world is.’ 

‘He didn’t have a choice,’ Mrs Downes retorted as she walked towards her son, who had returned from the house with a luggage case. 

Clearly, their debt came with more than just the price of paying the gang back. A knot formed in Arthur’s stomach. 

‘He was good and did good,’ she continued moving one thing and the other from their porch to the cart. ‘There wasn’t no choice in that. And you as good as killed him yourself, and don’t kid yourself.’ 

She turned to look at him, right in the eyes. A very different woman to what he last saw. But Arthur didn’t shrink from her gaze, as much as his conscience told him that she was right. He was here for one thing and one thing only. 

‘You had a choice,’ she said, and she may as well have spat on him right there. 

‘You speak as if killin’ him were something I cared about,’ Arthur said, his voice low and mean. 

‘You ever wonder about eternity? You should.’ She said, turning to collect more belongings from her son. 

‘I hope it’s hot and terrible, Mrs Downes, otherwise I’ll feel I’ve been sold a false bill of goods.’ 

His mouth spoke before his mind thought too hard on the matter. He knew damn well where he was going to end up after all of this, and he deserved every second of it. Well, that was if he believed in those children’s tales. Life weren’t fair and whatever happened after - which he was sure as shit was nothing - weren’t going to be fair either. 

And besides, he knew it would wind the widow up enough to get on with getting the rest of the money, as she seemed too suited on giving him some rapture. 

‘Now, please…’ he said with an exasperated sigh, as his arm gestured towards the house, ‘get me that money.’

With a tut, she stormed into the house, shaking her head from side to side with her feet heavy on the porch stairs. 

The boy, meanwhile, brought out yet another case, his eyes far too narrow for Arthur’s liking. He shifted himself on his feet, looking the kid up and down. 

‘Either you’ve got a lazy eye or a lack of respect. Which is it, boy?’

‘I ain’t got no lazy eye,’ he said, his scrawny shoulders puffing out as he turned to Arthur, ‘nor respect for the likes of you.’ 

Arthur would have laughed any other time, but he was growing impatient and his blood was still hot from the robbery not one hour ago. 

Gun fights were funny like that. The rush would cling to your veins for hours, even days afterwards.

‘Well, maybe when your mother’s finished mournin’ your father,’ he stepped closer to the boy, his eyes squint and chin jutting as his thumbs tucked into his gun belt, ‘I’ll keep her in black… on your behalf.’ 

The boy stepped back, growing suddenly sheepish with the brief moment of his balls dropping out of him. 

‘You think on that, boy,’ Arthur said with a firm nod, his tongue flicking out the corner out of his mouth like a hungry wolf. 

‘Well, maybe you shall sir,’ the kid said, his voice shaking as Arthur was sure he could hear the fear filled heart beat, ‘and maybe other events will transpire.’ 

Now Arthur did laugh, but in no way was it a kind laugh. It was a dark laugh that bordered on unnatural. 

‘You best stick to them books, because mark my words on this - vengeance is an idiot’s game.’ 

The footsteps returned as Arthur stood back from the son, his eyes only gracing him for a second longer while the widow appeared with a healthy billfold. 

‘Ah, Mrs Downes, thank you for punctuality,’ he said, not giving her a moment before he held out his hand as she shoved the money into his palm. ‘It’s next to godliness, isn’t it?’

He licked his thumb, flicking through the notes. The last thing he wanted to do was to return or track them down if they weren’t paying proper. 

‘That’s cleanliness,’ she said with tight lips. 

‘I’ll have to take your word on that,’ thankfully, the money was all there as he shoved it into his back pocket with a swift nod. ‘Good day.’ 

And so he left, without another word, throwing himself onto the horse and getting away from that damn ranch as quickly as possible. 

He wasn’t ready to return to camp, far from it. The whole interaction with the widow had left a dirty taste in his mouth like sour beer, his mind heavy with regret. The world was simple to Arthur. You take, expect to pay back. Even with all the stealing, he knew his price was at the end of a rope, but he was smart enough to not get caught. 

But he wasn’t smart enough to stop making excuses for himself or for the gang. They could have had a cleaner life, a life without being on the run, but they were in far too deep now. 

Far too deep in the cheating, the stealing and killing. And he was far too deep in with Amelia. Hell, he cracked a man’s skull open like a glass jar, just in the hopes of some information. He wasn’t even just putting the gang at risk with his schoolboy crush. He was risking everything, risking her. 

Another unfair thing in life. 

He was a goddamn outlaw. A no good thief and killer, and she was… she was good and kind, with a beautiful elegance and charm, and it was beyond Arthur why she had even turned sweet on him. 

But it had to end. He had to put a stop to it all, and it was that simple. 

Before he even realised, he was heading down the treeline of the Edwards Estate. The grand manor nestled in the southern countryside against the sun which had started to drop in the sky leaving the whole world orange.

Hitching his horse, he looked around for her golden hair and bright smile. The thought of her face damn near broke him in two. 

He wanted to tell her, tell her all of it. All the mistakes, the bad decisions and all the shit he was in with no one but himself to blame. For a fleeting moment, he thought that her kindness would extend to him, that she would forgive him, that maybe she would even help him. 

He knew it was foolish, but he hoped just for a second, it could all play out how he wanted even if he didn’t deserve it. 

But that weren’t the way. Good people like Mr Downes got sick and beaten by miscreants like him, good horses got shot in the chest because people like him would lead them to their death when they had nothing but blind loyalty. Children begged on the street with dirty frozen feet, and women let men do whatever sadistic shit they wanted for a few dollars. 

If life weren’t fair to them, why did Arthur hope for anything better?

He knocked on the door with the side of his fist, almost hiding underneath the brim of his hat.

The door pulled opened slow and heavy, as the tall man with a thick moustache that he recognised as Mr Jameson appeared on the other side.

‘Mr Morgan,’ he said, his words curt as he looked down at him. ‘I don’t believe you were expected today.’ 

‘Nah, I ain’t…’ Arthur said, clearing his throat, ‘but I was hopin’ to speak to Miss Edwards.’

Mr Jameson held his silence, standing in the doorway with his eyes looking over every part of him. 

‘Very well,’ he said eventually as he stepped aside, gesturing Arthur in. 

He walked through into the marble entrance as two of the young maids walked passed with arms of laundry as they looked at him and giggled to each other not as silently as they hoped for.

‘Miss Edwards is in her study. Please follow me,’ Mr Jameson said, his tall stature walking towards the curved staircase and up onto the gallery. 

Arthur followed timidly, his footfall unusually uncertain as he felt a pressure in his head. 

The man said nothing as he knocked on the thick wooden door as Arthur heard Amelia’s voice from the other side, beckoning him to enter. His stomach flipped at the sound of her sweet voice. 

‘Wait here,’ the older man said as Arthur nodded, taking a deep breath as the door closed before him. 

He waited a moment, his shoulders tense and his mind reeling. 

What are you even doin’, Morgan?

It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually the door opened, as Mr Jameson stood before him, his eyes harbouring doubt. 

Perhaps he’d already put the pieces together about Arthur, but maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. It wasn’t like he was thinking straight after all. 

Arthur gave a terse nod and stepped into Amelia’s office as the door closed softly behind him. 

The way she rose from her desk, Arthur could have sworn she was ready to swallow him whole and spit him out. In all his years, he never felt so small, nor so afraid. 

The room was dark as the sun had now set with only a few oil lamps simmering and dancing in the corners of the room. 

‘Ma’am,’ he managed to muster as he removed his hat and held it, passing the brim through his hands. 

‘Mr Morgan,’ she said with a tight smile as she gestured at the chair in front of her desk, ‘I did not expect to see you so soon.’

He could hear her words, calculated and punctuating every last letter. He didn’t expect much else, and probably deserved even less. But all of this was for her. At least that’s what he told himself. 

He took the gesture, sitting demurely in the chair, expecting Amelia to be no warmer to him than the northern mountains. Whatever she said to him would at least never be the words that he had already said to himself. 

The regret was already eating him alive. 

Even in the bitterness that lined her face, he couldn’t help but soften towards her as he dragged his hand through his hair. 

‘How… how have you been?’ Arthur said with a slight choke in his throat. Pathetic, he caught himself thinking as her face - although had all the hardness he expected - remained passive. 

‘Fine,’ Amelia said, her lips pursed and eyebrows raised expectantly. ‘Drink?’ 

He nodded meekly as she moved swiftly from behind the desk to the drinks cabinet as he looked to his lap, doubtful that he would find the answers there that he needed.

If only Hosea was here to give me the clip I needed, he thought sarcastically. 

Amelia returned, passing him a very generous measure of whiskey as she returned to her seat, taking a large gulp as she folded her hands in front of her face with a distant gaze. 

‘Amelia -’

‘Is everything in order?’ Her voice was taut as she barely even looked at him. 

He paused for a moment. He knew he had fucked up, fucked up worse than any job that had gone wrong. It was staring him directly in the face, and yet he refused to let this lie. He was a lot of things, but a coward weren’t one of them. 

‘I…’ He began looking her up and down. The front of her hair framed her face so perfectly. Everything about her was so perfect and yet there he was, causing her nothing but pain. 

‘Shit,’ he sighed as he reached for the glass and swallowed hard and thick, his eyes closed as he drank like a man who had been stuck in the desert for a week. 

Wiping his chin, he slammed the glass on the table as Amelia’s shoulders tensed at the noise. 

‘Look, Amelia…’ 

Her lips parted, those precious lips that occupied every other thought he had since that night. 

‘Please, just listen.’ He said, his voice stern and hard, and he tried to meet her glare of sheer disregard. ‘This… all of this,’ he gestured broadly with his hand, the whiskey hitting him almost instantly. ‘Hell, I don’t even know where to begin.’

He sighed as he heard her breath draw in. 

‘Amelia, everythin’ I’m involved in now… it ain’t right, ain’t proper. It’s a goddamn mess.’ 

Nothing he said stirred her, a statue of beauty in a cage that he had caused. He’d seen it enough times, the walls that women built. He weren’t that much of a fool. 

‘I can’t…’ He said, barely above a whisper as his gaze dropped to the floor. 

‘What is it that you “cannot” Mr Morgan? Cannot protect the estate? As far as I was aware, that is exactly what you are employed to do, and nothing more.’ 

With that, she dropped her hands and looked at him with such venom he was sure even the likes of Abigail would shrink. 

He had no words, no excuses. All he knew was that she couldn’t be a part of it, a part of the mess he, Dutch, and everyone else had created for themselves. The running, the hiding, the scheming. The dying.

He tried to resist the ever burning fire, those tempting whispers that sang to him like a morning breeze. To throw it all over the cliff and reach out to her and to tell her he was a sorry, sorry fool.

‘My life ain’t simple. Never has been. And I doubt any time it will be. I just want you to be safe.’ 

She laughed, not a real one though. A laugh filled with morose, devoid of any humour while she grabbed for her drink. 

‘What is going on here, Arthur? Really?’ She gave a small shrug, and she shook her head in disbelief as she averted her gaze. ‘You humiliated me, and you’re talking about my damn safety?’ 

He couldn’t even look at her. Arthur had known what he’d done. Hell, it’s all he could think about since. 

Amelia had made herself vulnerable, had opened up to him and made her intentions known with that look that would be scorched into his mind until the day he died. 

‘I know. And I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice low, ‘but this can’t happen, Amelia. I don’t think you know -’ 

She stood suddenly; her drink swirling as she pointed her finger at him.

‘I don’t think you have any right to come here, to try to tell me what is or what isn’t. What to think and feel and that all of this is your fucking decision!’ 

Her voice rose to a shatter level as all her calmness dissolved. He almost crumbled to dust on the spot. 

Every part of him felt so ashamed. You left her there. He thought to himself; she had made her feelings as clear and as plain as day and yet he walked from her like she was as important as a hay bale.

He had done this to her, and there was no turning away from it.

‘Amelia, it ain’t like that!’ He couldn’t help it but he was angry, angry with himself as he stood too, reaching his hand towards her as she stepped back, her eyes rolling with a resounding nod of her head. 

‘Then what is it like? You knew what you were doing, and you said nothing. What was the plan, Arthur? Toy with me until it suited you and then drop me like it meant nothing? That I meant nothing?’ 

She sucked at her bottom lip, a wistful smile appearing on her face as she took another gulp. He could see the moisture in her eyes, like morning dew on the garden roses.

He wanted to tell her. God, he wanted to tell her. To tell her everything. The lies, the gang, how he was a wanted man in god knows how states with a bounty so large you could retire on it.

‘I just need you to understand, Amelia -’

‘It’s Miss Edwards. And the only thing I need to understand is whether you are fit enough to ensure the security of this property,’ she said with all the rancour he deserved as her drinking glass crashed onto the desk. ‘If you are not able to do that, I will hire someone more becoming.’ 

The withering look she gave him told her all he needed to know. Whatever excuse, any reason he could give her, would be nothing that could placate her. And he doubted he deserved anything else. 

She turned her back to him as Arthur sighed. He weren’t one for picking battles he was going to lose. 

‘Ma’am,’ he said, placing his hat back onto his head as she barely acknowledged his presence. 

He turned, making his way to the door, gripping the knob and turned it with a heavy heart. 

‘I thought…’ he heard her say those soft words, that voice so decent, so genteel. ‘I thought there was something between us.’ 

He felt his hand tighten around the golden doorknob, so much so he was convinced he would tear it off. His heart thrummed in his chest as he looked over his shoulder towards her. 

Just kiss her, you damn old fool. 

Arthur’s mind stopped, all sense gone, all warnings aside and all good reason had left his body like a loose thread singed over the campfire. 

He stomped over to her, grabbing her by the elbow turning her to face him as his other hand slunk around her waist. 

She looked away from him, almost pushing away from him as she refused to meet his gaze. 

Bang.

They both jumped as they looked toward the window, and then there was another. That unmistakable sound. The sound of gunfire. 

The flash of orange strobed through the air as the sound echoed outside as Arthur saw Amelia’s face run pale, her entire body tensing in his arms as she turned to look up at him. 

At that moment, two things happened. Before he had time to blink, his gun was in his hand and she ran for the door. Sprinting from the office, Amelia ran as the distant sound of her heels clipped down the stairs. 

‘Amelia!’ He roared, as he willed his feet to move. Somehow they obeyed him, as all of him felt numb and on fire at the same time. He followed her as the yells and distant screams filled his ears. 

If there was one thing all those damn skirts and corsets was good for was that she had barely made it to the front door before Arthur had nearly thrown himself down the staircase to catch up with her. 

‘Get inside!’ He yelled, as she threw open the door with both hands, her back arching as she threw all of her weight into it. 

‘Goddammit woman!’ Arthur cried, as he just managed to grab her shoulder on the front porch, the gunfight continuing somewhere ahead of them. 

‘Unhand me or give me a damn gun!’ she yelled, her face changing to an expression he had never seen her wear, but one he knew all too well.

‘Amelia, get upstairs and lock the door,’ he tried to say calmly, looking between her and the sounds behind him.

‘This is my estate!’ She tried to shrug his hand off, but he wasn’t letting her go anywhere other than back into the house. 

‘I know, but please, Amelia, I’m beggin’ you,’ he pleaded as she blinked at the tears that had started to roll down her cheeks. 

Gritting her teeth, she looked between him and the sounds deep in the grounds. She nodded slowly as he ferried her back towards the entrance.

‘Now listen, Amelia. Don’t open that damn door.’ Arthur said forcefully, his mind regressing to its natural state. The state of a killer. 

In less than a flash, the sound of a gun burst through the air around them and all time seemed to slow. 

Arthur turned and saw a man, his gun raised as the darkness shadowed him. 

‘Arthur!’ He heard Amelia cry, but she sounded so far away. He saw her blue eyes in the low light, wide and terrified. 

He aimed and pulled the trigger at the man, an action so simple, yet it had seemed to take hours. The man fell, a single bullet straight through the brain and the blood blew through the air. 

He heard Amelia scream; her dress once cream and unblemished, now painted with the splatter of crimson.

‘Get inside!’ He yelled at her again.

Against every instinct that told him to chase after her, he turned towards the stables, moving as quickly as he could in a crouch as he heard the door bolt satisfactorily behind him. And then he saw a familiar face.

‘Arthur ain’t it?’ The man said, the stable master with his hair falling over his eyes and his shirt half done up. 

Arthur nodded, his knuckles turning white around the wooden grip of the pistol. 

‘All the women inside? Thought I heard a scream?’ 

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

The fight carried on; the bullets flying and sounding like corn in a hot pan. 

‘I think so,’ Arthur said, his gaze steady. 

‘Best get shooting then,’ the man said as he turned and Arthur followed. 

They ran towards the sounds as Talako, or whatever his name was, pointed with his pistol at the half wall before them. 

‘Any idea where they’re coming from?’ Arthur said, ducking his head, trying to make sense of the shit show he had run into. 

‘Nah,’ the man said, ‘they’re swarming us though.’ 

Arthur peeped his head over the brick, praying the darkness would shield him for the brief seconds he needed. 

Horses stamped and neighed, but he couldn’t see any. Bastards must have come in by foot, least it made for a slower moving target. 

He aimed his gun, cocking the hammer and shot, hoping it wasn’t one of the staff. 

‘I’m on you,’ Arthur said, turning to the man. ‘I ain’t got no clue who’s who.’ 

Talako looked at him with a twisted mouth. Hesitantly, he nodded. 

‘I’ll scout, you shoot.’ He said, balancing himself on his haunches.

And so they fought on, Talako peering over, instructing which o’clock the robbers were at as Arthur took aim and laid them to waste. 

The night was growing more humid as sweat dripped from underneath his hat and into his eyes. It was a dark night with a covered moon, and Arthur could barely see his hand in front of him. Luckily, the metallic glisten of gunfire was all he needed to keep his aim true. 

They moved forward when they could, but neither of the men were in the mood to take any risks. 

Eventually, they found their way near Mr Jameson, who covered them whilst they reloaded their empty pistols.

He was a good fighter. Even the stable master was competent, so thankfully before long the bullets ceased and the men could breathe. 

Arthur’s chest heaved with the life that was coursing through his veins as they looked around at the bodies on the floor. 

They certainly weren’t Raiders and didn’t look like O’Driscolls, neither. 

‘Check the bodies,’ Mr Jameson instructed them as a few of the other staff made their way out of cover. ‘Anyone injured?’ 

Arthur looked around and, aside from the shaken faces and panting, everything still seemed attached to where it should be. 

A few headshakes and a nod of gratification from Mr Jameson who seemed content that all heads were accounted for, Arthur got to checking the bodies. 

No cards, no insignia, rings, nothing. Even the label of their clothes had been cut from the seams. Whoever they were, they made a clear effort to cover who they were. 

After rummaging through every pocket he could find, Arthur shook his head. 

‘Ain’t nothing here,’ he sighed. ‘Only thing is these damn guns.’

Mr Jameson breathed through his nose heavily as Arthur walked around, collecting the firearms off of the ground. 

‘They’re good guns, don’t waste ‘em,’ Arthur said, handing them over to Mr Jameson as he took a smoke out of his pocket, lighting a match off of the bottom of his boots. 

‘You got the bodies?’ Arthur said, filling his aching lungs with smoke.

Mr Jameson nodded, turning the safety guard on each of the weapons.

‘Good. I’ll go check on the women,’ Arthur said, puffing on his cigarette and walking as quickly as his legs would allow him back towards the house and back towards Amelia.

[bimrwolf]

Promise? to Leave the Window Cracked Open

steve harrington x afab!reader words: 14,379 warnings: mentions of cancer (minor details of aftermath of treatments), minor character death, implied smut summary: Dealing with his father's presistance that he become a perfect son and being told he can't be "just friends" with girls, Steve has to learn the hard way that being popular is not what it's cut out to be. Growing up is a lot harder than it looks. a/n: i'm not *entirely* happy with this piece but my friend told me to post it anyway. so here you all go!!!

The red brick house at the corner of Dearborn Street had gone through many inhabitants. There was the weird Gibson family whose grandfather lived with them, occasionally he stood on the front porch in nothing but his house shoes. Then there were the Weirs. Their kids always came to school smelling of salami. Finally, there was the Lyons. The small town life did not set well with Mrs. Lyon, forcing her husband to sell the home after two months of living there, leaving the red brick house up for sale once again.  

One day when Steve Harrington was in the back of his father’s car, playing with two green army men, he noticed the large SOLD covering the for sale sign that had been up there for exactly seven months and three days. The next day, there was a car parked outside, boxes in the driveway, and a woman yelling at two children running in the freshly mowed grass. 

A week later, while his dad was at work, his mom drove them to the red brick house. She knocked on the door, a casserole in her hand, looking down at her son, straightening the collar of his shirt.

A woman with a bright smile answered the door, greeting the two enthusiastically. 

The two women began to talk and five minutes turned into ten. 

They weren’t paying attention so he wandered off into the yard, noticing a few toys strewn about. The summer sun beamed down on the back of his head as he hopped on the stepping stones next to the rose bushes. 

His ears perked up when he heard shouting around the corner of the house. 

He looked behind him, his mother still in deep conversation. Curiosity built inside of him, peeking around the corner he saw a younger boy covered in mud, looking up at the side of the house. Steve followed his gaze, catching the sight of a girl leaning out a window, holding a wooden sword that was pointed towards the boy. “The treasure is mine.” The girl proclaimed.

“Come on, Y/n. I wanna play something else.” The boy complained, kicking up some of the mud at his feet. There was a water hose laying a few feet away from him. 

The girl, Y/n, sighed. “Please, Aaron. Mom made her peach cobbler tonight and I’ll let you have my slice if you play.” 

“That doesn’t matter. You hate peach cobbler.” He crossed his arms. Steve could see her pucker her lip and bat her eyes. Aaron groaned, holding up a sword himself, unenthusiastically. “Come down and fight me you coward. The jeweled crown will be mine.” 

“Arrrggh!” Steve watched in bewilderment as Y/n stepped out of the window and onto the ledge, climbing down on the lattice panel that was covered in dead vines. Steve gasped when the small girl misplaced her foot, causing her to fall on the ground. She landed with a thud. 

He was amazed she didn’t cry or scream. 

He remembered two days ago when he had stepped on one of his toy race cars and cried for twenty minutes, maybe longer if his dad had not come home. 

The girl looked up, locking eyes with Steve. She smiled at him, revealing her two front teeth that were missing, quickly pushing her body up and pointing the sword in his direction. “What do we have here?” 

Steve cowered behind the corner, his cheeks were red, too shy to answer. 

“Another pirate looking for the crown, eh? Looks like you have no weapon but that stick by yer foot.” Y/n pointed to a long thick stick that had fallen off the oak tree next to her house.

Steve stepped where they could see him. “M-my mom will be upset if I get mud on my shirt.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Pirates don’t listen to their mommies.” 

Her brother spoke up. “Mom did tell us not to get dirty before-” 

“Shut up.” She scrunched her nose up, examining Steve up and down. His hair was short and slicked back. His teeth were too big for his mouth. A few freckles were scattered on his face. “What’s yer name, matey?” 

“S-Steve.” 

“Pirate Steve?” Aaron laughed.

Y/n nudged him to be quiet. “That’s a lame pirate name, but it will do. When you’ve been sailing the seas as long as I have, you’ll come up with something better. Now, Pirate Steve, you will have to fight us both to the death if yer want the treasure.” The two siblings held up their weapons higher, mutually deciding to team up to fight the strange boy in their yard. Y/n took the first step toward him, her brother close behind. Finally, the tip of her sword was only inches away from his chest. 

Steve noticed the dried up mud caking her cheek, but she didn’t seem to care. 

Steve looked down at the stick, then looked back up at the siblings, then over to where his mom once stood. She had gone inside once the two mothers saw their children were talking.

Y/n leaned her head closer to him, breaking character. “Promise to not get mud on you.” She held out her pinky, and he hesitantly took it, watching with wide eyes when she kissed her thumb, telling him that’s what seals it. So, Steve also kissed his thumb. “Have any last words?” She asked, pointing the sword at his neck. 

Without a beat, Steve picked up the stick, swinging it against hers. The three of them chased each other in the yard, yelling, giggling, and clanking the wooden objects against one another. When finally, Steve had softly tapped Y/n on the side of her stomach with the sword, declaring he had killed her. She did not accept the defeat, arguing that Steve had cheated. When Steve wouldn’t let her continue on, she balled up her fist with one hand and shoved him with the other, so hard he fell backwards in the mud. 

Soon, the three kids were talking over one another in the kitchen of Y/n’s house, trying to explain to their mothers what had happened. It was clear that Steve’s mom was irritated that her son’s shirt was dirty, but still put a fake smile on, claiming kids will be kids. Then she grabbed the ten-year-old’s hand, said goodbye, and took them back home. 

Two days later, Y/n and her mother had shown up to the Harrington household. Steve was forced to come downstairs and stand in the doorway so the toothless girl could apologize. It was obvious she wasn’t that sorry, but when she revealed a wooden sword from behind her back, telling him that he could come play pirates with her anytime, a toothy grin spread across his face. 

That afternoon she also promised her window would be cracked open for him to call her to come down and play. 

Although Steve and Y/n had outgrown playing pirates together, the pair never seemed to separate. Their families thought maybe it would have been Steve and Aaron that ended up childhood best friends, but Y/n’s mom sometimes would have to beg them to include him in the things the two older kids did. 

The evening before the first day of middle school, Steve had convinced his parents to let him go over to Y/n’s, promising to be home before dark.

The bike ride was only fifteen minutes, plenty of time to see his best friend before their big day. 

Two years had gone by since he first met Y/n. Their yard was decorated differently. Her mother had exchanged roses for petunias, hydrangeas, and lilies. There was now a tire swing on the big oak tree. Aaron used to make Steve push him so hard that he went so high that he almost wrapped around the big branch. 

Steve got off his bike, setting it in the lawn, walking past the front door and over to the side of the house. He smiled when he saw the window cracked open slightly, Dreams by Fleetwood Mac drifting out. 

Her parents had accepted the fact Steve had no intentions of using the front door, never surprised to see him in her room if they opened the bedroom door. They would just ask if he wanted anything to drink, and he would always ask for a Dr. Pepper. No one in the household drank Dr. Peppers, but they always had a case just for him. 

Steve climbed up the lattice panel, the old vines had been ripped off. When he got a view of the inside of her room, he expected to see her reading or painting her toenails. Instead, she was in front of her dresser, throwing clothes behind her, groaning loudly. A messy room wasn’t shocking, Y/n was always getting in trouble for never cleaning it. But the sight Steve was looking at was horrific. “Are you rearranging?” Steve asked, sliding the window up, crawling through. 

Y/n didn’t seem phased that he had shown up unannounced. “What are you wearing tomorrow?” 

“I dunno.” He answered, smiling because there was already a Dr. Pepper can on her desk. 

“I forget. Your mommy still dresses you.” She teased him.

She loved to poke fun on how much of a momma’s boy he was. “Why are you worried about clothes?” 

She let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s the first day of middle school.” 

“So? It’s no different than fifth grade.” Steve shrugged, taking a sip of his Dr. Pepper. 

“To you! I spent the night at Tammy Thompson’s last night. Tina is a B cup now and Carol had her first kiss at summer camp.” The girl pulled out a pair of shorts, sighing when she saw the tag. 

“That stuff doesn’t matter, Y/n.” He downed the rest of the drink, belching loudly. He started to giggle, but quickly stopped when Y/n gave him a disapproving look. He frowned. She always laughed when he burped. 

“No girl is gonna kiss you if you do gross things like that.” Y/n put a hand on her hip. 

Steve still didn’t understand why his friend was making a big deal about clothes, other girls, or kissing. Why did any of it matter if they had one another? “I could be your first kiss.” Maybe if they kissed then maybe she would stop worrying about it. 

Y/n’s expression didn’t falter. It was like she hadn’t heard him. “Very funny, Steve. Kissing you would be gross.” 

When Steve had rode his bike back home— after finally convincing Y/n to wear the dress his mom had bought her for her birthday— he kept thinking about how she had reacted to the idea of kissing him. 

What made him gross? 

He was one of the cleanest boys at school. He took a bath every night, and his mom started making him wear deodorant. His hair was nice and neat. He didn’t eat his boogers like Tommy Hagan or ate dirt like Reed Booker. He’s never even had lice before. 

Had she even thought about it before? Did she lay awake thinking what if she and Steve kissed? Is that when she came to the conclusion kissing him would be gross? 

He couldn’t even sleep properly that night, tossing and turning, irritated that Y/n decided to make these thoughts appear in his head. 

It was so stupid. He didn’t even think about kissing girls until now.

Then it seemed like seventh grade came in a blink of an eye. Steve’s dad was getting harsher about grades and what Steve’s plans were for extracurriculars. “A good Harrington boy is well-rounded, who doesn’t run around and play pretend.” He would tell him at dinner, whenever he wasn’t away on business trips. He had recently been promoted at work, making him less and less available to stay home. When he was home, he was always sitting in his office, smoking a cigarette, yelling on the phone. 

But one good thing about seventh grade was that he had changed. It seemed like he had gone to sleep one night and woke up the next day two feet taller. His clothes were too small and sometimes he found himself tripping over his new long legs. 

Girls were starting to put letters in his locker, and sometimes he caught them giggling on the other side of the gym during PE, watching him play basketball. He would blush when the other boys would nudge him, pointing out which girls they thought were cute. His attention would then turn to Y/n, standing in a corner by herself jump roping, obviously annoyed that the other girls were gawking at him.

Steve didn’t understand that she had no friends except for him. All the girls pretended to be friends with her and then they would ask about Steve. Steve this. Steve that. Quite honestly, she was sick and tired of them always talking about her friend. There wasn’t anything even spectacular about him. He still had too large teeth for his face and he always burped or gave her wet willies. When Y/n fed them the answers they wanted, they’d never speak to her again. She never told him that was the main reason she stopped going over to Tammy’s slumber parties. 

Steve on the other hand, didn’t mind the attention. His new popularity with the girls changed his social status with the guys as well. Soon, he was roped in with Tommy Hagan and spent his lunch period, sneaking off in the woods by the school to smoke cigarettes with one other boy, Carter Adams. 

One particular chilly day, Tommy shushed them when he heard giggling coming from their spot. They all hid behind the wall that bordered the school, peering over to see two high schoolers making out against a tree. 

Steve immediately felt uncomfortable, whispering they should probably go, but Tommy grabbed him by his jacket, pulling him back. “Ten bucks says he’ll grab her tit.” Tommy told the boys. 

“Ten bucks he’ll grab her ass.” Carter challenged. 

“What about you Harrington?” Tommy asked, looking at him with a smirk. “Tits or ass?” 

Steve shrugged, glancing nervously back at the school, praying a teacher would catch them so he could get out of the situation. “I dunno.” 

“Have you even kissed a girl before?” It had been known that Tommy had kissed lots of girls. 

Steve looked at the ground, shaking his head, regretting telling the truth when Tommy and Carter laughed quietly. “What about your girlfriend?” Tommy raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” 

Carter poked his side. “He’s talkin’ ‘bout that girl you’re always with. Have you kissed her?” 

“Y/n? She’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends.” Steve answered. 

The two boys next to him exchanged a knowing look, trying to hold in another fit of laughter. “Boys and girls cannot just be friends, Harrington.” 

Steve furrowed his brows. He didn’t understand why it was so wrong to be friends with her. She wasn’t mean. Except the other day she did smack him upside the head because he put his armpit in her face. He understood he had it coming. 

He should have told the boys he didn’t care what body part the high schooler grabbed. But he knew if he didn’t say anything, they’d stop wanting to hang out with him. He peeked back over the wall to see the couple again. “Tits.” 

A part of him regretted participating in the bet, mostly because he had lost ten bucks, but also because it seemed to be the rite of passage to be personally invited to Tommy’s girls and boys party the next Friday. 

Steve was nervous. He had only been to birthday parties with parents watching their children closely as they swam in the pool or played on the swing sets at the park. This was different. 

Tommy’s parents were out of town, his big brother in charge and Tommy gave him two months worth of allowance to buy everyone beers and keep quiet. 

He kept looking over at Y/n, who was walking next to him, pulling down the uncomfortable itchy yellow dress she decided to wear. “Did you really have to wear that? You look like Big Bird.” Steve poked the puffy sleeve, warranting a slap from her. 

“Shut up, or I’m going home.” She warned him. 

“You can’t because you promised.”

Steve had climbed through her window, begging her to come with him. He had to lie to her that Tommy wanted her to come. She still wasn’t convinced, but agreed nevertheless. 

“Maybe fun for you. You’re cool in their eyes.” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. 

“Once they get to know you they’ll see how cool you are too. Listen, we’ll stay an hour tops and if you are ready to leave, we’ll go. I promise.” He stopped walking, looking at the white house that belonged to Tommy. He stuck out his pinky towards the girl. 

She gave him an unimpressed look. His attempt to pull the pinky swear trick they used to do three years ago was a cheap gimmick on his part, knowing she was a sucker for nostalgia. She tried her best not to break, but when he leaned forward, looking at her with his wide brown eyes and toothy grin made her roll her eyes, sighing in defeat. She wrapped her pinky around his and they both brought their thumbs to their lips, locking the promise in place. 

Tommy’s brother was the one who answered the door, leading them to the door of the basement. 

Y/n scrunched her nose up when the smell of cigarettes and beer greeted them at the top of the stairs. Steve decided to ignore it, walking down the creaking wooden steps. When Tommy saw him, he immediately jumped up from an old battered brown couch, announcing the arrival to everyone in the room. He tilted his head slightly, frowning when he saw trailing behind Steve. He quickly wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder, pulling him to the side away from the girl. “I told you not to bring her, Harrington. The girls here are gonna think you two are a thing.” 

Steve looked over at Y/n. She was looking over at a group of girls huddled in a corner, looking between her and him, whispering. “Tommy, give her a chance. She’s cool and really funny when you get to know her.” 

The lanky boy whose breath already smelled like beer and cigarettes sighed, agreeing to let her stay. He then turned around, clasping his hands together dramatically, announcing it was time to play truth or dare. Steve felt his heart drop in his chest, looking over at Y/n who seemed to still be observing the room and the people that filled the space up. She always did that before interacting with anyone, studying them quickly in her mind.

He was about to tell Tommy he didn’t feel good and had to go home, but was shocked to see Y/n confidently walk towards the circle forming on the floor, plopping down next to a boy he didn’t recognize. Steve gulped, deciding to sit between Carter and Tina. 

The rules were simple, either tell the truth or do the dare and if anyone chickened out, they had to take a drink. 

Secrets were spilled, kisses were exchanged, someone was dared to lick the bottom of Carter’s foot, but no one was chicken enough to take the first sip. The longer Steve sat on the cold concrete floor of the basement, the longer it felt sticky, hot, and damp. The air was almost suffocating as he anticipated his name to be drawn out of Christopher Smith’s baseball cap. When his name finally did get drawn, it took him a moment to process when Carol had said it. 

He knew Tommy would give him shit if he said ’truth’ but he was afraid of what Carol might ask him to do. “D-dare.” 

Carol smirked, sharing a look with Tommy. “I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.” It dawned on him that this party had been a set up the entire time. Tommy was throwing Steve into the lion’s den, forcing him to finally catch up with the rest of the grade and kiss someone. But Steve had never thought about anyone in the room like that before. Sure Heather Holloway was cute, but once in second grade she threw up on his new pair of shoes. He could still smell the fish sticks burning in his nostrils. 

Then there was Beth Johnson, she wore braces and was always wiping dripping saliva off her chin. No way. 

Carol was pretty, but Tommy had a crush on her.

Which meant the only two girls left were Tina and Y/n. 

He tried to see how Y/n felt, maybe she would give him the face that said “Kiss me Steve!” But there was no sign whatsoever of what she wanted him to do. He remembered a year ago when he had suggested being each other’s first kiss, but she was revolted by the idea, telling him kissing him would be gross. He remembered from then on, he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to kiss her. 

Carol had said he had to kiss the prettiest girl in the room. To him, Y/n was by far prettier than any of them. The longer he looked at her, the more he began to admire her features. Her puffy cheeks, her nose, the way her eyes gleamed from the bright yellow dress she wore. The other girls in the room looked so dull compared to her. 

He debated the consequence of taking a sip of the beer to get out of it. 

The choice was so simple and easy to him, but he was confused. Y/n was his best friend, he couldn’t think of her like that. He most definitely couldn’t kiss her either. 

So instead of crawling across the circle to kiss her, he turned and gave Tina a quick peck on the lips. 

The basement erupted in hoots and hollers, making Steve blush. 

It was Steve’s turn to pick a name. When he reached in the hat, he frowned, realizing there was only one piece of paper left– Y/n. Her face was still stoic. “Y/n, truth or dare?” He asked her, mind buzzing with what he should say. 

He should have known she would pick dare, never backing away from a challenge. However, a few minutes passed by, struggling to come up with anything. He looked at Carol for help, who immediately accepted. “Write down the name of the one person you want to kiss in this room, then put a blindfold on and wait for them in the closet.” She pointed to the closet that went under the stairs. 

Y/n didn’t hesitate once, scribbling a name on a piece of paper that was handed to her, standing up to give it to Carol who then put a bandana over her eyes and walked her to the closet. Steve watched her disappear inside, almost immediately Carol put a hand over her mouth when she shut the door. “Where’s Rosie?”

It had happened all so fast. Tommy had gone upstairs, bringing back his pet beagle. Steve was confused, until Carol and the other girls let Rosie lick their hands. Tommy started towards the closet door. Steve jumped forward, blocking his way. “What are you doing?” 

“Giving her a kiss to remember.” He tried to step around him, but Steve stepped back in front of him. Tommy scowled, narrowing his eyes. “Always knew you were a pussy, Harrington.” 

Steve swallowed, feeling like he was drowning in thick molasses. “No, I was just volunteering.” He stuck out his arms. 

Tommy smirked, looking back at the others. 

Everything seemed to go slow, Rosie being put in his arms, the closet door creaking open, taking heavy steps inside. Even when they closed the door, his back hitting against it, darkness enveloping the room, Rosie whimpering, he was still able to see Y/n in the bright yellow dress. Like the sun. 

She tilted her head up, the black bandana covering her eyes. Steve walked closer to her, taking in the smell of mothballs, dust, and copper. When he crouched down, the closet scent faded away. Y/n’s sweet honeysuckle fragrance and mint toothpaste overtook it. 

He knew what Tommy and the others wanted him to do. But being this close to her, led him to put the dog down who immediately found a place in her lap. She giggled when Rosie licked her hand repeatedly. 

Steve reached out, putting his hand on her shoulder, letting the tulle of the puffy sleeve scratch against his fingers. 

“Are you gonna kiss me or what?” He almost wanted to laugh at how bored she sounded. 

He should tell her what was going on, that an hour had passed and it was time to go. When they got back to her house, they could laugh about how ridiculous seventh grade was. Maybe they should have never hung up their wooden swords and eye patches. He didn’t want to grow up and do the things that Tommy Hagan did. 

However, she licked her lips and he realized from the way his tummy flipped and breath hitched in his throat, he couldn’t stop from growing up.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips on hers, tender and saccharine. 

He pulled back, smiling, lifting the blindfold up, catching her eyes with his. 

“You’re not Tommy.” Y/n’s eyebrows creased.

Steve didn’t understand why she looked disappointed. 

He didn’t have time to ask because the door swung open. The two quickly shot up, eyes wide like kids who had their hands in the cookie jar. Rosie barked, running out of the closet. “Wait a minute… did you two kiss?” Carol snickered. 

Steve saw the piece of paper in the blonde’s hand, suddenly remembering that Y/n was asked to write down who she wanted to kiss, making out the cursive ‘T’ in her neat handwriting. 

She wanted to kiss Tommy. Not him. 

He clenched his jaw, balling up his fist as they laughed at them, ignoring the look on her face, silently asking if he was going to say something. “Me? Kiss her?” He scoffed. 

He noticed the way Y/n’s mouth fell open, shocked he had said that. 

“Rosie took one sniff of Y/n’s dog breath and cried. I wasn’t gonna take a chance.” He instantly regretted the words leaving his mouth when he saw his friend clench her jaw, eyes glossy as she fought the tears forming. 

Someone made a comment about being able to smell her breath from across the room, and soon the others chided in, all laughing at the made up lie that Steve couldn’t take back. 

Y/n had stormed past him, exiting the closet. The others started making barking noises as she ran up the stairs, bending over in laughter when they heard the front door slam shut. 

Later that night, Steve had to retrieve his bike back from Y/n’s, having left it there so they could walk to the party together. He had worked on his apology on the walk back from Tommy’s, even picking zinnias out of The Wheeler’s garden for her. But when he walked over to her window he felt his mouth go dry. 

Her light was on, but the window was sealed shut and the bubblegum pink curtains were closed. 

The next week, Y/n didn’t come to school. 

Steve tried to go over to her house and apologize, and every day her window was shut. He even knocked on the front door, her mom telling him Y/n wasn’t feeling good or wasn’t home. Which he knew was a lie, because one day he saw her peeking through the blinds in the living room. 

When she did come to school, kids barked at her in the hallway until the principal sat everyone in the gymnasium to speak about bullying and if any of the teachers caught them making dog noises at any student, they would be suspended for a week. The principal tried to keep Y/n’s name out of it, but everyone was looking at her, knowing. 

Two days later was when Y/n finally acknowledged him. 

He was alone at his locker, cramming answers for a quiz he was about to take for math. His locker slammed shut. He jumped up, locking eyes with her. She looked like she had just been crying, eyes red and puffy, shoving a box against his chest. “Tell your friends they’re so funny.” Steve looked down to see the contents. There was a toothbrush, cheap toothpaste, and a dog bone tied in a red bow. 

He gulped, not sure what to say to her, the rehearsed apology slipping from his mind. When he noticed Carter lingering by, pretending to tie his shoes, Steve felt himself speaking before thinking. “Maybe next time we should get you a shock collar.”

He took note how her face fell, the little bit of glitter in her eyes flickered out. Whatever little bit of hope she had left for him to fix everything, vanished. As she walked away, head hanging low, Steve realized this wasn’t like the time she pushed him in the mud. He wouldn’t be able to show up to her door with a wooden sword and she would forgive him. 

That night he rode his bike down her street three times before he finally walked to the side of her house. 

The window was still shut. 

As the seasons changed, Steve would check every day if it would be open. But it never was. 

Finally, there came the day when he stopped checking.

–

Hawkins High felt intimidating when Steve’s mom pulled to the front, tears in her eyes because her baby boy was growing up on her. He kept begging her to calm down. If his friends saw her reacting like that, they would give him shit. He allowed her to give a kiss on his cheek, before hurriedly grabbing his blue book bag and climbing out of the car. He saw Tommy and Carter hanging over by the railing, scanning the crowd of high schoolers, greeting them both with fist bumps. 

“Who knew high school was full of babes?” Carter nodded at a redhead walking into the school. “Is that Becky? Jesus, look at the rack on her.” Tommy laughed, closing the boy’s mouth, making a comment about him drooling. 

Steve observed the lawn, taking in the sounds of kids chattering amongst themselves, basking in the sun, trying to get the last few moments of summer into their systems. He then stopped, staring at a girl whose back was facing them, wearing a pair of Levi’s. “Shit.” He said out loud. 

“Looks like Harrington has scouted his first victim. Damn, what a sweet ass.” Tommy exclaimed. 

“Don’t let Carol hear you say that.” Carter chuckled. 

“What? You don’t think I know she’s looking at other dudes? This is why we work out, because we respect and trust one another.” Tommy explained. It was true, they always made comments about other people in front of each other, but neither of them got jealous. In fact, Steve swore they got hornier, knowing that there was nothing to worry about. “Why don’t you go over there, lover boy?” 

Steve turned to face them again, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno. What if she’s ugly? Like her face covered in warts or something.” 

“Just go, and if she’s ugly, tell her Carter wants to take her out on a date.” Tommy slapped his hand on Steve’s back, pushing him to walk over there.

“Wait, why me?” Carter asked. 

“‘Cause even the ugliest girl wouldn’t want to go on a date with you.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, their arguing voices drifting away as he walked closer to the girl with the sweet ass. She was talking to another girl he didn’t recognize. He coughed, but neither of the girls heard him. He took a deep breath and tapped her on the shoulder. 

He felt the world freeze around him when she twisted her body to face him. His jaw fell, and her beaming smile turned sour. It was Y/n. 

Everything about her was different. Her face, her hair… her body. He swallowed, hard. He knew if he turned around, Tommy and Carter would be bent over in laughter. He was unsure what to say or do, except gawk at her. 

“Something I can do for you, Harrington?” She was the first to speak, and her voice had changed too. It was calm and soothing, but he could hear the tone of hostility. 

“I er… hi.” He wanted to hit himself in the head for sounding pathetic. 

“Really? You haven’t talked to me in over a year and you start with, ‘Hi?’”  She raised an eyebrow, eyes burning into his skin, waiting for him to answer. Instead, he stood there stupidly. “Oh, am I not standing in the right area? Sorry, I couldn’t find the dog park.” She turned to her friend, telling her they were leaving. She turned her head, “Nice outfit, Harrington. Did your mommy pick it out?” 

He watched her walk away and he could see Tommy and Carter covering their mouths so they wouldn’t burst into laughter. Steve walked back over to them, hitting Tommy’s stomach. “Shut up.” 

If Steve hadn’t gotten the picture he and Y/n were no longer friends, he had gotten it now. 

–

If there was one thing Steve loved most about his home was the swimming pool in the backyard. The house itself was way too big for the family of three, and recently, it’s just been him around. He hated to admit the loneliness creeping around the corners of the rooms, following him around. 

Whenever he was bored, but still wanted to be alone, he walked outside and got in the pool. Today, however, he had invited Tommy and Carol over. They, of course, took the liberty of inviting TIna. Steve didn’t mind, more nervous than anything. Last year she had gotten prettier, no longer wearing pigtails or clothes that didn’t fit. 

He also enjoyed kissing her. 

Steve had kissed a lot of girls since the eighth grade. Now it was the summer before sophomore year, and a week before his sixteenth birthday. Him and Tina had been on a few dates, always ending up making out, tongues, salvia, heavy breathing and touching each other in places they shouldn’t. 

The blonde was sitting between his legs, laying her head on his chest, placing soft kisses on his jaw. Tommy and Carol were on the lawn chair next to theirs. Tommy was rubbing Carol’s shoulders, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, listening to Carol ramble on about her uptight step-mom. “Did you find someone to get us some beers?” She asked Steve, rolling her eyes when he wasn’t answering, his lips locked on Tina’s. 

She hit him with a towel, forcing him to break away from Tina, lips red and wet, giving Carol an annoyed expression. She repeated her question. “Yeah, they’re in the kitchen.” He tried to go back to kissing Tina, but Carol asked her to come with her, making the girl slip off the chair and follow the brunette back into the cool house. He watched the way her hips swayed side to side in her blue bikini bottom. 

“Jesus dude. When are you gonna man up and fuck her?” Tommy asked once the girls walked inside. 

Steve licked his lips, staring at a water bug as it skidded across the surface of the clear pool water. “We’re not even anything serious, yet.” That was always his excuse. Like the girl before Tina and the girl before her, they were never official enough to sleep with. Tommy and Carol always gave him shit for it, having done it since the beginning of freshman year. 

The growing popularity in high school was overwhelming, girls coming up to him and saying their friend thought he was cute, landing a varsity spot his freshman year, being invited to upperclassman parties. A lot had changed for him.

His hair was thicker, his teeth were no longer big, his legs were longer, his shoulders broader and arms stronger. Last Christmas his grandmother made a sweater that ended up ripping because she didn’t realize how big he was. 

He hated to admit that although the attention was staggering, he enjoyed it. In fact, he no longer blushed when girls would express their interest in him like he did in PE. Instead he would smirk, flirt, and occasionally, if he thought the girl was cute, he would give his number to them. 

Tommy scoffed, “It’s just sex. It doesn’t have to be serious.” 

Steve wanted to tell Tommy that it wasn’t just sex. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it. Oh god, no not at all. There was an embarrassing amount of wet dreams, or uncomfortable hard-ons in class that proved otherwise. But it was nerve wracking to think about being so young and stripping down to show the most vulnerable parts of yourself to somebody. 

Then there were the expectations. What if it wasn’t good? What if he wasn’t good? 

Steve was about to give Tommy an answer until the large gate to the pool opened. The boys turned their heads. 

Y/n was pushing it open with her back, then closing it with her foot. When she turned around, she stopped in her tracks realizing they were staring at her, holding a rectangular glass platter covered with tin foil. “Um, your mom called my mom and mentioned you were by yourself. She was worried about you being fed. No one answered the door and I… well I don’t know why I came back here.” 

Steve knew exactly why, especially when her eyes flickered to the second flower pot by the back door, the flower pot that always had the spare key underneath. 

Steve sighed, pushing himself up off the pool chair to help the girl into the house. When he opened the door to the sun room, Tina and Carol were coming out holding beers, giving each other a look when they noticed Y/n was behind Steve. 

He motioned for her to go in, closing the door quickly when he heard Carol say, “Since when did Steve get a dog?” 

It was silent between them as she walked in front of him to the kitchen. Although they didn’t speak, or hung out, their families still had dinner every now and then. His mother may redecorate when she’s bored but it was nearly impossible for Y/n to forget how to get around the Harrington household. 

She set the dish on the kitchen island, running the back of her hand over her forehead, wiping off the beaded sweat from the blazing summer sun. “Mom is trying out a new recipe. M’sorry if it’s not any good.” 

“It’s okay. Tell her I said thank you.” Steve shifted uncomfortably, his bare feet stinging the cold linoleum. Y/n’s eyes were anywhere but on him, trying to ignore the fact he was shirtless and wearing only his swim trunks. “How’s Aaron doing?” 

She shrugged. “Has his good and bad days. Yesterday he couldn’t stop throwing up.”

“Cancer sounds like an asshole.” He joked, earning a small smile from her. 

The two of them were still far from being friends, but the second semester of freshman year they were partnered together for biology and now Y/n would actually have a conversation with him without scowling. 

“How are you doing? With everything going on, I mean.” He asked her. 

Something flashed across her face that told him she hadn't been asked that. “Alright, I guess.” 

“You wanna stay? We have beers. Tommy and Carol aren’t that bad anymore. Tina’s cool too.” He could tell by the way she bit her lip and nostrils flared, she wasn’t going to stay. 

“Preheat the oven at 350º and reheat it for ten minutes.” She left the room, making her way to the front door so she could avoid walking in the back again. 

He joined the group outside again, Tommy and Carol wading in the pool, Tina laying on her stomach soaking up the sun. If this was seventh or even eighth grade, they would have interrogated him about Y/n showing up unannounced. But they never brought it up, at least not in the way they used to. 

“How is it possible for someone’s ass to get even sweeter?” Tommy gave a cheeky grin when Carol splashed him. 

Steve sat on the edge of the chair Tina was on, rubbing her back, slick of tanning oil. 

“Why don’t you ask Reed? Tammy told me the other day they did it in the back of his dad’s car. Chief Hopper was the one who caught them.” Tina said.

Steve furrowed his brows.

It was no secret some of the boys at school started to find interest in Y/n, the rumor of her having dog breath had been set aflame when she allegedly sucked face with Connie Phillips at a party the beginning of freshman year. 

“Can’t believe she lost her virginity before you, Harrington.” Carol sniggered. 

He felt the heat on his cheeks rise. 

It was odd to talk about her in such a way. He knew they were older, grown out of their awkward bodies. He knew they weren’t friends anymore. He knew he shouldn’t care what she’s doing or who she’s hanging out with.

So why did he feel his chest tighten?

–

Steve had never lost someone before. Any funeral he had gone to was as a visitor. Sometimes he would get asked how he knew the family, he’d look up at his mom, because he had no idea. 

He didn’t know the pain of having a loved one ripped away suddenly from your life, having to adjust and adapt to a life without them. 

He guessed that’s why it was hard to understand Nancy. He loved her, but in reality, he didn’t understand the things she had gone through.

He realized that when he looked her in the eyes at the Halloween party, and he finally saw her for the first time in their entire relationship. She didn’t love him— she couldn’t. She resented him. 

He sat outside on the sidewalk of Tina’s house, cigarette in his hand, recalling his entire time with the eldest Wheeler. Anytime they were intimate, it was like she disappeared inside of herself, and it wasn’t until now that Steve realized it only reminded her of Barb. How they creeped up the steps of his house to his room, giggling and carefree while Barb was killed. 

How the hell was he supposed to know Barb would be dragged to another world by a monster? 

Shit, he thought to himself, taking another drag of his cigarette. 

Not only was the first long-term relationship he had ever been in was over, but school wasn’t any better. Tommy and him stopped being friends last year. The new kid, Billy Hargrove, was now Hawkin’s High golden boy. He wasn’t anything special anymore. 

He felt like the failure his father always said he’d be. 

“I should have known you’d dress as Risky Business.”

Steve snapped his head towards the mysterious voice. He felt his stomach dip. Y/n was standing behind him, a beer in her hand, and a smirk on her face, wearing a Wonder Woman costume. He watched her walk over, plopping right next to him on the sidewalk. 

“Your girl was fucked up.” It was a statement. He wondered if she knew about the argument in the bathroom. He wondered if it was her way of comforting him, telling him Nancy was drunk and they would be fine tomorrow. 

But Steve knew there was no going back to the way things were before. 

“It’s whatever.” He mumbled, resting his arms on his knees, flicking the butt of his cigarette he wasn’t hungry for anymore. 

Her costume was shiny, gleaming underneath the streetlight softly glowing above them. “Still sucks. I could tell you were really into her. You somewhat stopped being a dickbag.” 

A corner of Steve’s mouth turned upwards. He had wondered how she really felt about him. 

She had to grow up, watching him go from the boy who played pirates, the boy who still slept with a baby blanket until he was eleven, the boy who attended tea parties willingly, the boy who was disgusted by the idea of kissing girls. She had to grow up, watching him become something the opposite of everything he once was. Cruel, self-obsessed, and seemingly heartless. 

Although he was different, nothing could change what he had done to her what seemed forever ago in that damp basement closet. That’s the Steve Harrington she knew. 

But he didn’t know anything about her. Was her favorite color still lilac? Did she leave the window cracked open for the boys she’s been with? 

“Do you think you could take me home? This party is kind of lame.” She asked, taking one last sip of her drink, tossing the can into the yard. 

It made Steve chuckle, past Y/n would have been angry if she caught someone littering. 

The car ride was mostly silent, besides the soft crackling of the radio. One point, Y/n reached over and grabbed the Ray Bans hanging off his shirt, putting them on, resting her head on the window. 

“You going to college?” She asked him. 

Steve felt his body tense, thinking back on the evenings his dad forced him to send applications to every possible school in the United States. If it weren’t for his mom, Steve would have probably been shipped off to military school by now. “Hoping to. You?” 

“Just got my acceptance letter from UCLA.” He was envious of the proud tone of voice she had; nevertheless, he was happy for her. 

He pulled into the familiar driveway, but she didn’t rush out of the car once he put it in park. There were a few trick-or-treaters walking through the lawn from getting enough tooth rotting candy that would make a dentist cry. “I miss trick-or-treating.” She sighed. 

Steve agreed. 

There was a beat.

“Wanna come up?” 

His jaw slacked, chestnut eyes drooped, brows creased. Did he hear her correctly? She didn’t say anything else, getting out of the car, sauntering inside her house. He could see her greet her mom in a hug through the frosted glass on the door. He waited until he saw her bedroom light turn on when he turned off the engine of his BMW, getting out. She still had his sunglasses, that was the only reason he would go in. At least, that’s what he told himself as he crossed the yard to the side of the house. 

He turned the corner, stopping when he was greeted by her brother, Aaron, leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers. 

He looked Steve up and down. “Harrington.” He was skinny, face sunken in. Usually he wore a cap to cover the lack of hair on his head, but tonight he wore a pirate hat, almost making Steve laugh. 

“Should you be smoking?” Steve asked him. 

Aaron looked up above him, smiling knowingly. “Should you be sneaking through my sister’s window? Neighbors might get the wrong idea.” 

Steve wanted to answer, but Y/n voice interrupted him. “Aaron, if you don’t piss off I’ll tell mom you’re smoking again.” 

“I’ll tell mom you’re sneaking boys in again.” He challenged. 

“You’re the one dying, she doesn’t care what I do.” 

Aaron gave her an unimpressed look, smashing the cigarette into the wall, flicking it to the ground, mumbling insults. He set a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Careful, I hear she bites.” 

Steve swallowed. He had always been embarrassed when he thought that Y/n probably told her family what he did to her. He always assumed when her mom stopped inviting him to go to Indiana Adventures– an amusement park outside of Indianapolis– or when her father gave him a narrowed eye look if he walked into the room. But now, Aaron confirmed it. 

Steve looked up at the window, wide open. Just for him. He climbed up the lattice panel, remembering where to avoid because the wood was weak. Although now, he had to be careful because vines had grown back, that would be morifying if his foot got stuck. 

Fortunately, he successfully slipped inside the room with a smooth landing. 

Y/n’s room was different from the last time he had been in there. The walls were still white, small holes from nails and chipped paint. There were now posters from her favorite bands and the Karate Kid. There were a few trophies and medals from academic meets and debate club. Pictures decorated her bookshelf. He smiled at the one of her frowning the summer her mom forced her to join gymnastics. 

Y/n, now changed into an oversized shirt and shorts, was rummaging through her dresser. Finally, she pulled out a jewelry box, opening it up and taking out a blunt. Without a word, she walked over to the window seal, plopping down criss crossed. Steve just stared at her stupidly, watching her light the blunt and inhaling it, tilting her head when she noticed his uneasiness. “Have you never smoked before?” 

“I have.” He joined her, crossing his legs as well, giving a small thank you when she handed the blunt to him. 

The two sat there, listening to crickets chirping, the doorbell ringing, kids yelling excitedly down the street. It smelled like banana bread and pine. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve blurted out. He felt like he was a balloon airing up for years, the needle finally closed in on him, forcing him to burst. 

She made a face, knowing what he meant. “I get it. I probably would have done the same to you. Remember me at the beginning of sixth grade?” 

“No you wouldn’t have.” Steve said sternly. “You would have never done that to me. Not to anyone. You realized quicker than I did that some people are full of bullshit.” 

By now the blunt had been passed between them so long that it was only a nub. She put it out in a glass bowl, setting it to the side. “Then why did you tell them that? What was so bad with them knowing you kissed me?” Her tone was soft and sad. He imagined her staying up late at night, wondering what was wrong with her all because her friend had rather made up an outrageous lie than admit he had kissed her. 

Steve ran his hands over his face. “No one was supposed to even kiss you. They were going to make the dog lick you, and I just couldn’t do it. But then when you looked disappointed that it was me and not Tommy… anyway, it’s stupid.”

Y/n didn’t look at him, instead her eyes were focused outside the window. “I didn’t want to kiss Tommy. I mean, not really.” 

“Not really?”  

“I wanted to kiss you.” 

There was a beat. 

“Oh.” He felt like he was back in that closet, heart thumping and mind racing. So long he had questioned what was wrong with him that made her not want to kiss him. His eyes fell on hers and his mouth parted. He couldn’t help that they wandered over to her lips. 

She noticed.

“You wanna kiss me right now?” This time she was looking at him, eyebrows raised, part of her mouth upturned. 

Steve licked his lips, swallowing when she leaned forward, placing a hand on his thigh. Her face was close enough he could lean down and close the gap between them. It was an easy task. However, he sighed and looked down at the floor. She took the message, leaning back and taking her hand off of him. “If this was a year ago. I would with no hesitation. But I can’t. Not like this. I love Nancy and I…  just can’t.” It was hard for him to explain that even though she was pretty, things were different than before. He was different. 

He realized tonight, he never needed a wooden sword to apologize to her. It seemed like she had forgiven him a long time ago. 

But maybe he needed to apologize to his younger self too. Putting so much pressure on the young boy with too big teeth to grow up faster than he really wanted. It was uncomfortable, outgrowing his old self, becoming the version of himself that he always envisioned. 

Maybe that’s another reason he didn’t kiss her. 

He’s rushed so many things before he could properly think about the consequences or after math. 

He needed to learn how to be a friend to her again. 

–

Since junior year, Steve had always dreamed about being crowned prom king. That would be the moment he knew he made a mark in high school. 

Yet, when they announced his name and set the plastic crown they probably got at the party store on his head, slightly messing up his styled hair, he didn’t feel satisfied. He looked out onto the dimly lit gymnasium streamed with cheap decorations, sweaty bodies, and the spiked punch with cheap tequila. 

His date, Betty Simpson, had ditched him the first ten minutes they had arrived, somewhere in the crowd with her friends, only finding him whenever a slow song came on. 

There was only thirty minutes left of the dance, people already treading out to get ready for the after party at Tammy’s house. He stood to the side, watching everyone jump or sway to the music. Some people came up and patted him on the back to congratulate him, something he did to the prom king before him. 

“There you are.” A pair of hands wrapped around his arms. “I think I’m going to catch a ride with Billy to Tammy’s. Is that okay?” Betty asked. He could smell the hint of alcohol from her breath. His eyes flickered over to the exit of the gym, a couple of girls were standing by the long haired boy, whispering to one another as they watched him. Billy had a smug look on his face, waving tauntingly. 

“Yeah, whatever.” Steve shrugged the girl off his arm, thinking about how he wasted his entire night bringing her. He bet Billy wouldn’t have taken her to Enzo’s or would have even bought dessert like Steve did. 

Betty didn’t notice the irritated expression on his face, happily telling him goodbye, picking up her dress and running towards her friends. 

Steve walked over and sat down on a chair, dropping his head and taking the crown off. Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time came on, he glanced at the couples dragging their dates to dance, sighing. “The prom king shouldn’t be moping around.” The familiar voice of Y/n made him look over, straightening in his seat. He had seen her earlier, it wasn’t that hard to point her out in the yellow dress she wore, outshining everyone in the room. Sometimes he’d tune out Betty talking his ear off, and just stare at her. Admiring how pretty she was. 

He wouldn’t say things had gone back to the way they were between them, but they’ve made progress the past seven months, hanging out, having movie nights again, talking at dinners with their families. 

“You know, you made a pinky promise to dance with me at prom.” She didn’t wait for an answer, grabbing his hand, pulling him up, dragging him towards the group of people. Y/n took the crown and placed it back on his head, smiling, settling his hands on her waist before placing hers on his shoulders. “Why do you look so sad?” 

Steve motioned his head over to a couple. Y/n looked, “Ah.” It was Nancy and Jonathan, looking ever so in love. Although he had given up pining over her and letting her go from his thoughts, he still sometimes felt that pang of hurt whenever he saw moments like that. “Well, she can’t say she danced with the prom king, can she?” 

Steve managed to smile. “Is that why you wanted to dance with me?” 

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Yes, you caught me. Wanted to tell my kids someday that I danced with the prom king in high school.” The sarcasm was thick, but it still made him chuckle. Her face softened. “Also, like I said. You promised me.” 

“Do you remember every pinky promise we made?” He noticed that his hands had relaxed, mindlessly thumbing the fabric of her dress. He may have even slightly pulled her in closer. 

“Only the important ones.” She shrugged, clasping her hands around his neck. “A lot of the broken ones.” She mumbled, looking at their feet. 

“Can I make a new promise to you?” Steve asked her, bringing her chin up so she would look at him again. “My promise to you is if I ever lose you again, I will do anything to make sure to find you.” To her, the promise was at surface level than what he meant. Steve had gone through a lot the past couple of years, and although she knew about it, saw it first hand herself, she had no clue how terrified he was that he’d never get a chance to say how much he missed her all these years apart. How much he missed the silly pinky promises. How much he missed hearing her laugh. How much he missed crawling through her window and opening a cold Dr. Pepper that she set on her desk for him. 

He held up his pinky in front of her, smirking. 

She shook her head, her smile betraying her. She wrapped her pinky around his, neither of them forgetting to kiss their thumbs to secure the promise. Normally, they would drop their hands and go on about their business. However, their eyes stayed locked on one another, pinkies still clasped together, lips parted, a tingling sensation moved from his pinky through his hand up his arm to his chest, his heart beating fast. “Wanna get out of here?”

The clatter of bowling pins and cigarette smoke greeted Steve and Y/n when they walked into the bowling alley, still dressed in their prom attire. They replaced their dress shoes and high heels for uncomfortable smelly used bowling shoes. A large cherry slush was shared between them, slurping, sticking their tongues out occasionally like they did as kids, comparing whose tongue was redder. 

“How is it possible to get worse at bowling since middle school?” Y/n laughed, climbing triumphantly into his car after undeniably beating him. “Don’t say ‘cause the suit. I wore this dress and still kicked your ass.” 

Steve threw his white suit jacket in the back seat of his BMW, visibly pouting at the loss. “Whatever, next time I’ll prove to you that it is the suit.” He pointed his finger at her before pulling out of the parking lot.

“Oh, next time?” She tilted her head, giving him a ‘yeah right’ look. 

He nodded ferociously. “Yep. How about next Friday?” His brown eyes flickered towards her. 

She rested her elbow on the center console, setting her head in her hand. “Did you just ask me on a date, Harrington?” She moved the crown on his head from leaning over. 

“No.” He said, maybe a little too quickly. His brows creased, recollecting what he had just said, trying to figure out what words specifically made it sound like he was asking her on a date.  “Henderson will be there and probably the other dorks.” 

She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. “Really shouldn’t call them dorks.”

“I find it offensive you would think me, Steve Harrington, would take a girl bowling on the first date.” He looked at her with a lopsided grin. 

“I don’t think you take girls bowling on the first date,” She replied. “I think you take them to your bedroom.”  

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, Big Bird. That hurt a little.”

He saw the way she looked down, fidgeting her fingers, a bashful look on her face. “Shut up.” 

“What? I think you make a cute Big Bird.” He poked her cheek. 

She opened her mouth to say something. However, loud sirens and lights rolled into earshot and eyesight, quickly passing Steve’s car. Y/n grabbed his hand, panicked breathing coming out of her as the emergency cars were still moving in the direction she prayed they wouldn’t. It felt like slow motion, stopping in the street in front of her house because the driveway was crowded with vehicles, blinding lights flashed as they ran inside. 

Steve watched as Y/n’s mother engulfed her daughter in a hug, rubbing her back, telling her how much she loved her.

They waited twenty minutes in the living room for the paramedics to come downstairs, assuring the family everything was okay. 

Y/n had been sitting on the couch with Steve, holding his hand the entire time. It was because she was scared, he told himself. 

She asked him to come up with her to see Aaron. Knowing she didn’t want to be alone, he agreed. 

Aaron’s room had changed too since they were kids. It still looked like a teenager’s bedroom, decorated in posters and pictures, but in the corner there was a hospital bed with beeping monitors. He remembered the day Y/n was upset that he had to be put on bed rest, because he no longer wanted to do treatments. Although she claimed she came to terms with her brother’s numbered days, Steve could tell by the way she picked her fingernails, or jumped whenever she was called to the office, she really hadn’t. 

Aaron weakly smiled when they entered. “Look, I’m E.T. now.” He held his finger up that was covered with a heartbeat monitor, moving it creepily towards his sister. “E.T. phone home.” His horrible impression made the three of them laugh. Y/n sat at edge, grabbing his hand. “Harrington, you’re prom king.” 

Steve touched the cheap crown on his head that he had forgotten about. No wonder they were giving him odd looks downstairs. “Yeah.” 

“Y/n was pissed you didn’t ask her to prom. Ow!” Aaron took his hand away, rubbing it after she had squeezed him ‘accidentally’ too hard. 

Steve crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, giving her a smug look. “Was she?” 

“Oh yeah. Now that I’m quite literally on my deathbed. I have so many secrets about Y/n I can share. Once I found her diary. Every page was always Steve this and Steve that. ‘Dear diary, I cannot stop thinking about that kiss-” Y/n’s hand found its way over his mouth. 

“If you don’t shut up now, I’m going to start unplugging shit.” She took her hand off of him, placing it back in her lap, avoiding the look that Steve was giving her. 

There was a moment of silence. 

“Always wanted to be prom king. The ladies were obsessed with me in middle school.” 

Aaron grinned, fidgeting with a loose thread on the bed sheet. “Because they thought you were dying.”

“I am.” 

Steve had always wondered what it would have been like to have a sibling. He once asked his mom why they never had any other kids. His father had interjected the conversation. “If we weren’t so worried about how you turn out, maybe we'd have time to have another kid.” He guessed that’s why he had taken such a liking to Henderson. A kid he once never thought twice about and now if someone even looked at him funny, he’d kick their ass. 

Steve looked down, a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth, bending down to pick up the familiar wooden object. Memories of laughing, falling in the mud, swinging too high on the tire swing, flooded his mind. He looked over at two of them, still bantering. “Hey, how about some fresh air?” 

The spring air was cool, a light fog casted down the street of Dearborn, the lawn was damp and muggy from the rain yesterday, Y/n’s mom’s lilies had just bloomed. Steve held the wooden sword firmly in his hands. Aaron sat in a wheelchair, covered in a blanket and a knitted toboggan on his head. He was opposite of Steve, holding Y/n’s sword, while she held the handles of the wheelchair to push him since he was too weak to do it himself. 

It took their mom a lot of convincing to allow Aaron to come outside, but even she couldn’t stop smiling ear to ear when Steve carried the boy down the stairs and outside. He even caught a nod of approval from her dad.  

“Aye, we meet again to fight one last time for the jeweled crown. If yer want it, you have to kill me first.” Steve spun the crown on his pointer finger. 

“Pirate Steve-”

“It’s now Pirate ‘the Hair’ Harrington, matey.” 

Y/n snorted, but didn’t say anything. 

“Pirate ‘the Hair’ Harrington. That crown will be mine!” He motioned for Y/n to start pushing, holding the sword out, charging towards the dark locked boy. 

It was like a messy dance as Steve ran in circles while Y/n and Aaron chased him. Occasionally the wooden swords would clatter against one another, Steve careful not to hit too hard. His shoes and the bottom of his trousers had mud and dirt splattered on the slick black. He would get an earful when he got home, but he didn’t care. 

Finally, Steve put himself in the position for Aaron to hit his waist, signaling he had been defeated. Y/n had been giggling the entire time, and it only got louder as Steve dramatically coughed. He took the crown off his head, placing it on Aaron’s over the toboggan. “You won it fair and square.” 

Aaron’s expression changed, quickly shaking his head. “Steve, I’m not taking your crown.” 

Steve smiled tenderly, “You didn’t take it. I’m giving it to you.” His eyes flickered to Y/n. Her head was tilted slightly and a toothy grin was painted on her face. 

He couldn’t help it, his feet started going towards her. When she saw the mischievous look in his eyes, she held a hand up, grabbing the bottom of her yellow dress, running away from him. She squealed when he easily caught up with her, grabbing her waist, her feet twisting underneath forcing her to the ground, pulling him down with her. He could feel her belly rumble against his own, laughing, smile beaming in the soft glow of moonlight. She had a spec of mud on her face, Steve brushed it off with his knuckles, chuckling because he had made it worse. 

“Did you mean it when you said I was cute?” She asked him in a low whisper so that Aaron couldn’t hear. 

He felt his own voice go down. “Of course I did.” 

She hummed, brushing her fingers through his hair. “Promise?” 

A breath of air hitched in his throat. His jaw slacked and eyes widened. She gave him an innocent smile, eyelashes fluttering when she blinked. 

Their noses bumped when he leaned down, connecting their lips. His stomach felt like it was doing flips as he drowned himself in her. He could taste the cherry slush that still lingered on her lips. He could feel the longing desire as her fingers touched the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper. 

This was his promise. 

“Guys? It’s awfully quiet back there. Did you kill one another?” Aaron asked, trying to look behind him. 

The two broke apart, sharing a giggle and a secret that only the two of them would know. 

–

Steve had never had a girl cry in front of him. He could always tell if they were about to or if they were sad, but never did they cry. He had always thought maybe they were too embarrassed, not wanting him to see their red puffy eyes or snot running nose. He had shrugged it off until he dated Nancy. 

He realized that none of them were flustered. They never trusted him enough to see that side of them. None of them felt safe enough. 

So when he laid in Y/n’s bed, holding her shaking body, her tears staining his polo, he was unsure what to do. 

It had been a week since her brother’s funeral.  Since then, he had seen a few tears fall when she thought no one was looking, but would always wipe them off and smile if he said something. 

It wasn’t until he had snuck in her window— her parents now disapproved of this since they assumed more might be happening between them, rightfully so. 

They were laying in her bed, his hand on her stomach, she was playing with his fingers. Until all of a sudden, she burst into tears. 

At first, he thought he might have said or done something wrong. All he knew what to do was pull her even closer, allowing her face into his chest, assuring her it was okay whenever she cried out an apology. There was no reason to apologize, he told her. She was allowed to be sad. She was allowed to cry. He would be there for her, always, even if he didn’t completely understand how she felt, even if she didn’t want him to be. 

The room fell silent besides her quiet sniffling. 

She turned over, making Steve believe she was ready to be alone. He slipped out of the bed, walking over to the window to put on his shoes. Y/n turned her body, watching him with creased brows. “Where are you going?” 

Steve looked up. “Thought maybe you wanted to be alone.” 

She shook her head, biting her lip. “Please stay.” 

Steve took his shoes back off, closed the window, and crawled back on the bed next to her, flushing his chest to her back and holding her tightly, never wanting to let go. 

—

Y/n had always hated peaches. Even the smell of them made her gag. Whenever the school served them and a tiny drop of peach juice touched her food, she wouldn’t eat it. Finally, her mom started packing her daughter’s lunches to prevent any further peach contamination.

So when the boy came up to the counter at Scoops Ahoy, smirking, asking about the pretty girl in the booth reading a book and what Steve thought her favorite ice cream flavor was. Steve couldn’t help but smile wide once he handed the guy a double scoop of Peaches and Cream flavored ice cream.

When the ice cream was offered to her, she smiled and gave a thank you. 

After he left, Y/n narrowed her eyes on Steve. She stood up and walked up to the counter. “Why did you do that?” 

Steve acted clueless. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She scoffed, holding the ice cream cone that was already melting and running down her fingers. “There’s other ways to make it known you’re jealous than making me come in contact with my mortal enemy.” 

His face pinched up. “I’m not jealous.” 

“Oh, so you won’t care if I call him?” She showed a piece of paper that Steve didn’t see earlier when he was watching them. 

Steve’s jaw ticked. “Let’s not go that far. I mean, did you see that unibrow?” He pointed to the space between his brows, grimacing. He then leaned on the counter with his elbows.

“Well, at least he’s man enough to ask me out on a date.” Her voice had raised, earning looks from some of the customers sitting down. 

Robin, his co-worker who had made a silent oath to make any second working with him miserable, pretended to come outside and check the toppings. 

This was ridiculous, he thought. He didn’t realize it was a big deal to play a harmless prank. Besides, Y/n was way out of his league. No, he was not jealous because there was nothing to be jealous of. If she was implying that he hadn’t asked her out because he was a wimp, she was wrong. Completely wrong. 

What was the point of starting something with her if in a couple of months she’d be across the country in California? He’s seen the posters of those surfers in her bedroom. That’s all he could imagine, her pathetically splashing around in a yellow bikini and a tanned, long hair blond saving her, complimenting how beautiful she looked and that yellow was definitely her color. He would stare at all her supple curves and her boobs and her sweet ass— Jesus what was he even thinking? 

She was his friend. 

A friend he’s kissed. 

A friend that he had only gotten back recently, and he was too selfish to let her go. 

Y/n wasn’t pleased with his lack of words. She pursed her lips, took the ice cream cone, smeared it on his dark mop of hair, and then pivoted on her heels to storm out of the ice cream shop. 

Steve poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, nodding to himself. He probably deserved it. 

He turned to look at Robin, seeing her smile for the first time since he started working there. “Dude, you kind of suck.” 

He muttered something about her getting off at his misery as he scooped the broken cone and melted ice cream off his head, trying not to think about how it screwed up his hair routine for the week. 

“So, why isn’t she your girlfriend? She comes and sits in here nearly every day.” Robin never took interest in his personal affairs, so why now? 

“Not that it’s any of your business, Buckley, but it’s complicated.” He used a rag to clean the counter off. 

She hummed, going back into the breakroom, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and a group of familiar looking teenagers. 

Steve couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning, uncomfortable because his hair was still damp from the shower he took. “Screw it.” 

When he got to Y/n’s house, he didn’t even care that her bedroom lights were off and the window was closed. He still climbed the lattice panel, knocking loudly on the glass. He was relieved when he saw a dim glow appear through the curtains which snapped open. Y/n’s face had no expression whatsoever, her eyes were half-closed and pajamas were rustled against her body. Nevertheless, she unlocked the window and opened it. “It’s two in the morning.” 

She still let him crawl through, shutting it when he stepped further into the room. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

“So you came over to wake me up instead? Did the ice cream freeze your brain cells?” She poked his forehead, giggling a little at her joke. 

“No. I came over to talk to you.” His serious tone made her wake up completely. He took a deep breath, already overwhelmed. “You’re my best friend, Y/n.” 

“Sure it isn’t Dustin?” She joked, sitting down at the edge of her bed. 

Steve rubbed his hand over his face. Why was she being so difficult? “Can you just let me talk?” 

Her jaw slacked, surprised at the mini outburst. “Losing you as my best friend was one of the worst things that happened to me. I became a douchebag and didn’t care about anything or anyone. Now, I’m scared that you’re going to leave for California and you’ll realize I’m just a nobody still stuck in this shit hole because I realized too late high school doesn’t matter.” 

Y/n eyes softened. “This is all about me going to UCLA?” She asked, disbelief laced in her words. He only shrugged, avoiding her sympathetic look. “Steve.” 

He still wouldn’t look at her. She sighed and stood up to walk over to him. “Steve.” She said again, softly, placing her hand tenderly on his face. His hooded eyes found hers, warm and sweet. “I made the decision to go to Indiana State.” 

“What? Why?” 

“To be closer to my parents. I don’t want to be across the country worrying about them all the time.” She paused looking down bashfully then back up at him, thumbing the collar of his sleep shirt, batting her eyes. “I also wanted to be closer to the boy I like.” 

Steve felt his heart beat fast. “Indiana State is about an hour and a half drive from here.” 

She began to pepper kisses against his jaw. “I could come down on weekends or somebody could come see me.” 

Steve felt selfish that he was more than happy with her decision to stay in Indiana. He should be jumping up and down, celebrating, but something was gnawing on his mind, like a tiny ant he couldn’t get rid of. 

—

Never did Steve think he’d be in a bathroom, coming down from the biggest drugged high of his life, with his co-worker Robin. Granted, they had just escaped Russians who had beaten his face so badly his eye was nearly swollen shut, but never did he think he’d be sharing the most vulnerable parts to someone that he barely knew. 

Yet, there he sat, back against the cold tiles of the freshly cleaned restroom, the scent of cleaning chemicals burning his nostrils. 

“Are you in love with Y/n?” Robin’s raspy voice was soft, but the question felt like it had echoed against the stalls, ringing in his ears. 

His chest tightened and he swallowed hard. “I dunno. I’ve never thought about it.” 

“Why are boys such idiots?” Robin said, mostly to herself. “She’s your girlfriend, dude.”

“Yeah, and we’ve only been dating less than a month.” 

She let out a long exasperated sigh. “You’ve known her longer than a month.”

Steve looked at the multicolor tiles below him as his hand cradled the toilet which was defaced in his vomit and blood. Steve might have lied. He had thought about Y/n beyond just liking her. 

He slid under the bathroom stall. “I’m scared.” He admitted. “I’m scared that I’ll tell her and she’ll look at me the same way Nancy did. With that blank look because she never felt that way and never will.” 

“Y/n isn’t Nancy.” Steve had to agree with her. Maybe that’s why he dived so fast into the relationship with Nancy. She was the opposite of Y/n. She didn’t remind him every single day that he was lost without his best friend. 

“You just wouldn’t understand.” Steve ran his fingers through his hair, damp with sweat. 

She let out a breathy laugh. “You really don’t know a thing about me, Steve.” 

He glanced at her, noticing the way she was chewing on her lip and how she was slightly pulling her hair, staring at the toilet paper holder next to him. He was still astonished that this day had brought them closer. A girl he would have never hung out with in high school. Maybe because he was afraid Tommy would have made fun of him or maybe it would’ve hurt his chances to be prom king. 

He knew it was all bullshit. 

He was different now, and Robin must have seen it too, because she told him a secret that she had never told anyone, letting him know she did understand. He couldn’t tell her how his high school self would react to the news of her being a lesbian, but it didn’t matter because that person didn’t exist anymore. 

So, four weeks later, when Steve still had a fading bruise under his eye, and a healing cut under his lip that would surely leave a scar, he still couldn’t get that ant from gnawing his brain. 

Not even when his lips were meshed with Y/n’s. His back against her headboard as she straddled his lap, fingers tangled in his hair.

 It was a heated kiss, heavy breathing, tongues sliding against each other. Y/n took his lip between her teeth, forcing a guttural moan out of him, his hands slid down her back to her ass, gently squeezing, smiling when he felt the sliver of flesh peeking through her shorts. 

Y/n’s hands wandered from his hair to his neck and then down his chest, her fingers hooked his belt loops, pulling his waist up against her.

She tasted sweet like the vanilla cookies his mom used to make for him. She still smelled like honeysuckle along with a hint of his cologne. It was like he was walking in an apple orchard. He didn’t believe in a God, but Jesus, she felt like an angel. 

He scattered kisses along her neck, finding her sensitive spot that made her let out an angelic sound which drove him crazy. 

He felt her slowly mess with his belt, unbuckling it. However, when her thumb unbuttoned his jeans, Steve quickly pulled her hands away, leaning back, chest heaving. 

“Steve.” She whined. 

He cursed the ant ruining his life. All he wanted to do was explore every inch of her. This wasn’t the first time they’ve been close, and this wasn’t the first time Steve, regrettably, stopped anything from going further. She sighed, wiping the wetness on her lips, crawling off him and the bed. He closed his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/n…”

“Don’t. It’s fine.” She started to mess with her stereo. 

“I’m sorry.” He continued, putting his belt back on and then throwing his feet over the edge of the bed. 

“Am I not attractive?” She asked him, spinning around, her nose flared. “Do you not find me desirable?” 

Steve shook his head. “Christ, Y/n. You have no idea how bad I want you.” He wasn’t going to say out loud he’s wanted her for a pathetically long time. 

“Then what’s wrong? I’m… dumbfounded that Steve Harrington is saying no to sex.” One hand was up in the air. Maybe she thought it would help her figure out what his deal was. 

There was a moment of silence except for the radio crackling. 

Steve had had enough of the ant. 

“You should go to California.”

Y/n’s expression changed, trying to process what he had just said. “Why would you say that?” 

“Because I’d be a fool if I didn’t.” He got up from the bed and walked over to her. 

She shook her head, pushing past him. “I already made up my mind. I’m staying.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ve told you! I want to be closer to home. I want to be closer to you.” She proclaimed. 

“Because you want to or you think you have to?” He didn’t want to raise his voice, but it was hard not to. She muttered something about him being unbelievable, plopping down on the window seal.

The sunset was bleeding through her curtains, illuminating all of her features. “I know you’ll be content with going to Indiana State but you won’t be happy. You don’t talk about it like you did UCLA.” 

She ducked her head but he could see the tears spilling from her eyes. He took long strides over to her, squatting down, looking up at her, cradling her face. “I can’t just leave my parents, not after Aaron.” 

“They’ll be okay, Y/n. I’ll come over every week and have dinner with them to make sure they’re okay.” His offer was serious. He’d move in if he had to. 

“But what about you, Steve? I don’t want to leave you.” She sobbed. “I love you.” 

Steve felt a lump in his throat. His stomach flipped and heart nearly jumped out of his chest. Tears ran down his cheek. He used to think he would have to beg someone to say those words to him. Beg them to love him. But there Y/n sat, his best friend, who loved him unconditionally. This made letting go of her even harder. “I love you, Y/n. I’ve loved you an excruciatingly long time. I’ve been in love with you since you wore that yellow Big Bird dress with the puffy sleeves. I’ve been in love with you since I kissed you in the closet. And I love you too damn much to not let you go to California.” 

She laughed and sniffled her nose. “You’re so cheesy.” 

He choked on his own laughter, pushing down another lump forming in his throat. She gave him a sad look, nodding slightly. “Okay, I’ll go.” She ran her fingers through his hair, already missing him. “What will you do while I’m gone?” 

He smiled, running his thumb over her lips. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.” 

“Promise?” She whispered, putting her pinky up. 

“Promise.” He took it and kissed his thumb exactly like they’ve done before since they were ten-years old. 

He then tenderly placed his lips on hers, standing up,  bringing her up with him by grabbing the back of her thighs, allowing her to wrap her legs around him. Steve carried Y/n back to her bed, laying her softly down. 

He made so many promises to her with each kiss and touch. He promised he would call her and write to her. He promised to never forget her favorite song or color. He promised he would never forget the way the color yellow complimented her skin. He promised he would never forget how much she hates peaches. He promised he would never forget the way she made sweet noises or how she moaned his name when she hit her high. 

Most importantly, he promised he would never stop checking if her window was cracked open.

[comfortscripts]

Do Your Job, No Matter What ¬ Draco M.

Plot - Following your boss's orders was part of the job but you never realised how far he'd take it.

Genre - Smut ♧ {16+ Only}

Pairing - CEO!Draco Malfoy x Fem!reader

Notes/Warnings - Power play plot with porn, harsh names, Dom/Sub, penetrative, choking, unprotected sex with creampie (dont be stupid like them irl). Astoria is the ex-wife in this as I couldn't bring myself to write about a cheater and I apologise in advance if this is terrible, I haven't written smut in years.

Word Count - 2.3k

The day had bled into night and as the gentle rays of sun disappeared, so did your co-workers. Mutters of goodbyes and heels clacking faded till all that remained was the muffled sound of Mr. Malfoy on his conference call.

You were used to being the last one to leave, often deep into the night. A common requirement for a personal assistant was to be there till the boss leaves but unfortunately, Mr Malfoy wasn't exactly rushing home most nights.

The simple hardwood desk was more familiar to you than your own bed nowadays. Nights got later as business got busier and Mr Malfoy became more involved with potential investors, but you never complained. You were always the best and you were planning on staying that way.

"Y/N, get in here!"

Being so involved in the setup for the next morning, you didn't listen out for the conference call or how it ended but from thunderous and rude tone of your boss, you could imagine.

Shuffling to your feet before straightening out your skirt, you made hastily made your way through the large oak doors that housed the king, as you co-workers often joked. You understood their distaste, a powerful and attractive man was already intimidating but Draco always found a way to rub people up the wrong way, except you. You always had a certain affection towards the man, not that you would ever admit it.

Entering the darkened office, you felt your breath catch in your throat as you faced your boss. His once tamed hair, now wisps of silvery blond streaking across his forehead. Veins prominent on pale arms where he had rolled up his sleeves. He stood behind his desk, with one hand leaning on the dark oak table whilst the other nursed a crystal glass of whiskey. Even in his frustration, he still looked like the most powerful man in the country.

Draco lifted his eyes to yours and you felt yourself squirm under his gaze, you'd be lying to say that the man wasn't gracing the thoughts you had in your more intimate moments. This simple act made you think that this could be more than a fantasy with how his eyes traced over you.

"Well that meeting was a total disaster." The man sighed before manoeuvring to sit on what could almost be described as a leather throne. "I told my father that trying to work with Potter Industries was useless but the stupid git wouldn't listen so I had to deal with them bastards for nothing!"

Whilst you tried to focus on his words, your thoughts were more taken with his hands. Strong, thick fingers graced with three solid silver rings and the way they wrapped around the crystal tumbler was so sinful, you let yourself imagine what they would feel like around your neck.

Snapping yourself out of your sinful thoughts, you notice the silence as if Draco had expected a reply to his rant. Whilst he valued your opinion, you weren't sure what to offer.

"I'm sorry they wasted your time sir. Is there anything I can do?" Whilst it sounded innocent enough, part of you couldn’t help but mean it in a suggestive manner.

Draco debated your offer for a moment. He always knew what you thought of him, how your thighs would clench together during car rides where he was just slightly closer than normal or how you would blush at the simplest praise. You were wrapped around his finger.

He knew you wanted him sexually, he too held this secret but he wondered if you were harbouring more than sinful thoughts towards him. He needed to know, to see if he was just seeing what he wanted to see or if there was something between the two of you. Draco knew that by tonight, he would have his answer.

"Come over here" He beckoned.

Obeying before thought, you carefully manoeuvred so you were standing behind the desk and in front of your boss.

Mr Malfoy patted his right thigh in a non-verbal demand for her to sit on his lap. Once again, you were obeying before thought or reason, you gently placed yourself on his muscular thigh, allowing your skirt to ride up.

Draco rested his hand on your exposed thigh, toying with the edge of your tight skirt. With the other hand he gripped your chin in a gentle but firm manner, turning your face to meet his, only centimetres away.

"You know exactly how you can help me"

"I'm not sure what you mean Mr Malfoy"

"Don't play dumb my dear. I see how you look at me, how you respond to me. Would bet money on the fact that you are getting wetter by the second just from being this close to me." His hand inched up closer and if on instinct, your legs moved apart to allow him. The tips of his fingers graced the edge of your panties before pulling them to the side, allowing his fingers to feel your wetness. "Just as I thought, always knew you were my little slut".

He slowly pushed a digit inside, allowing the warmth to coat his pale finger. The action caused a small whimper to leave your lips involuntarily and as you felt the cold metal of his ring graze your folds, you could barely stop the moan from escaping. Draco kept a slow pace, almost teasingly slow. Your body was begging for more but Draco wanted to hear it, needed to hear it. He could see you getting restless at the gentle pace but he needed more from you so he delicately removed his finger, which was met with an annoyed groan from you. Sliding his digit up your soaking slit, he brought his finger to your sense bud. Rubbing in careful circles, you felt your need for Draco grow even stronger.

"Please, I need more"

"Tell me what you want baby"

"I want your fingers. Want to cum. Please make me cum"

This was what he needed, you falling apart for him. Begging for something as simple as him to finger fuck you, and god the sound of you was better than he imagined. A cocky smirk grace his whiskey coated lips before colliding his lips with yours, a collision of tongues and teeth but it was exactly what you both craved. The messy kiss resembled the messy dynamic you were both about to enter.

Placing his attention back on your weeping hole, he broke away from the kiss. You felt your eyes flutter shut as he entered two of his thick digits into you, this time at a harsh speed. Moans were escaping your body as your orgasm built but Draco was quick to drink them up. The combination of the anticipation and how he was perfectly hitting every spot whilst massaging your clit was getting you there quicker than ever before.

Draco could feel your body getting closer to release, clenching and tensing against his fingers. "Cum for me, show me what a little slut you are."

His words were what pushed you over the edge as you came hard all over your boss's hand. You connected your mouths again in a brief moment of ecstasy. Breaking away from the kiss, you rested your head on his shoulder attempting to catch your breath.

You could feel his harden length through his trousers and the feeling alone was enough to make you need more. Carefully grazing your hand over the evident bulge, you felt the man tense under you.

Before you could do or say anything more, the phone rang.

The sharp sounds were enough to remind both of you that you were still in the office and technically still on the clock. Breaking your stare from the phone, you turned to Draco who simply stated "Better answer it sweetie, it is your job after all".

Rolls of frustration filled your body as you wished he would have simply thrown the phone out the window and taken you on the desk but no, here you were. Standing up from his lap, you picked up the phone.

"Hello, Mr Malfoy's Office. Y/N Speaking."

"Oh, Y/N, hello. I was hoping you would answer" You knew that buttery voice, Astoria Greengrass. Ex-wife of the man who just made you cum, of the man you were hoping to fuck.

"Hi Ms. Greengrass, how are you?" As you said her name, you spotted Draco rise from his chair.

Astoria started on a small rant about how hard dating is as a single mum but you could barely focus on her. The blond haired man had made his way behind your figure, and was slowly undressing you. Button after button until your bra-covered chest was exposed, a quick zip of your skirt left you standing in only your panties and finally, Draco decided to rid you of your panties as well with a quick rip of the fabric.

Whilst Astoria talked your ear off, Draco leaned down towards the other and whispered "Be a good girl and do your job, okay".

You shakily nodded whilst attempting to focus on the words the woman was speaking but you were rendered incapable when you felt his enlarged tip tease your folds. You couldn't help but intake a sharp breath.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Astoria paused, she was always a thoughtful woman who made sure Y/N was leaving enough time for herself between work but now here Y/N was, fucking Astoria's ex-husband whilst on the phone to the woman herself.

"Yep, I'm sorry. I jus-" Her sentence interrupted by Draco fully entering her tight pussy. His cock stretching her out in ways she had never experienced, she couldn't help but whimper in an attempt to hold back a moan. "I stubbed my toe really hard. It's all okay truly."

"Always hurts more than it should." You attempted a chuckle at the woman's remark but it became a strangled moan as Draco picked up the pace. Astoria continued "Anyways, sorry for ranting but I was calling to remind Draco about Scorpius' play on Tuesday, can you please make sure his schedule is clear".

"Yes, of course I will." You manage to respond, trying to focus on being professional rather than focusing on your boss pounding you into oblivion.

"Great, I won't keep you any longer. Thank you dear, have a good night."

You replied a quick 'You too' before slamming the phone down. A plethora of pent up moans rushed from your throat as you felt Draco's full size threaten to split you open, you had never felt this full and god, you loved it.

His slender hand wrapped around your neck, pulling you closer to his chest and gaining more force. "What a good little whore you are! Taking my cock like you were built for me". His words made you clench around him which caused an guttural moan to escape the dominant man.

"Please sir, I need more. I need to cum, please." You were close to seeing stars but you needed more, you craved more.

Draco had never felt more powerful than he did at that moment. Slipping out of you before lifting your body as if you were a ragdoll for his amusement, you were now seated against his desk and face to face with him as he re-entered your soaking pussy dangerously slow. The new angles were enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your head, moaning strings of swears as you approached your peak.

The pale businessman pounded you with such force you thought his desk might break under the pressure, holding your hips so tightly that you were sure to have bruises the following morning. Moans of your name graced the man's lips as he approached his orgasm, as his pace faltered and became uneven.

Grabbing your throat with force, Draco brought his face down to yours. "Cum for me."

His words were all you needed as you felt your climax hit you like a freight train. Moaning his name so loudly that you suspected anyone left in the building would have heard. Your vision darkened as the pleasure rolled over you in waves, feeling the release of all the late nights with your hands between your legs whilst fantasies of Draco fuelled you. The reality was better than the fantasy.

Your climax had left you clenching Draco, milking him dry as he released inside of your warm welcoming pussy. All frustration from work was gone, all the desire he felt for you was enhanced, just everything was right in this moment. He felt his cock soften and carefully slipped himself out, watching as his seed slowly trailed down your plump pussy.

Catching your breath, you slipped off the desk before finding yourself in Draco's arms once again. "That was incredible but I am still mad you fucked me whilst I spoke to your ex-wife"

"Very bold aren't I, kitten?. You have to do your job, no matter what" He chuckled. "What did she want anyways?"

"Wanted me to remind you about Scorpius' play on Tuesday." Answering in a nonchalant tone, which is never how you spoke to him but you were now feeling the repercussions of what just happened and were feeling insecurity, causing you to use attempted nonchalance to hide it. "So I guess I will see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, technically. I will see you tomorrow as well but for now, we are heading to back to my house. Have some dinner and see what happens from there." His gaze was often fierce and stubborn but now it was gentle and almost hopeful, showing that he was also scared of what this meant for your relationship, but hoped that you wouldn't reject his offer of something more romantic.

Even with already flushed cheeks, his words caused light blush to appear "That sounds like a perfect plan to me, Draco."

Draco's fears were put to rest as soon as he heard his name roll of your tongue. You may be wrapped around his finger but he was wholly wrapped around yours. Just took a bold move to release the truth.

[missymurphy1985]

The Shirt (part 2 of The Tease)

Warning - Smut / Breeding Kink

Request? Yes, decided to do it as a part 2 of the Tease. Incorporated two requests into one here...

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @semperfemina-xo

Two years had passed since your encounter with Tommy in the alleyway beside the Garrison, and true to his word, he'd married you within a month of proposing. Your son, Charles, had been born 8 months later.

Charlie was sleeping that afternoon, and you looked down at your dress - covered in the lunch Charlie had allegedly eaten, however the state of said dress suggested he'd decorated you with more of it than he'd consumed....

Heading up the winding staircase of the beautiful Arrow House home you shared with your husband, you entered your bedroom looking for a new dress to wear when you spotted one of Tommy's shirts hanging on the edge of the chair. You picked it up to take downstairs to be washed but stopped to smell the collar - his aftershave still lingered, the smell intoxicating you. He'd been away in London for three days and you missed him terribly. You slipped your stained dress off, and pulled his shirt on over your shoulders instead, wrapping it round you as tight as you could, fastening the buttons. It hung loosely on you, and fell to your thighs, but you didn't care. It smelled of him, and it was the closest you'd get to an embrace from him for now.

You held it as close to your frame as possible, before laying down on the large double bed. Your son normally napped for at least 2 hours, and Frances promised to take care of him this afternoon when he woke so you could rest, Charlie had slept poorly last night, crying for his father. You allowed your eyes to close as you inhaled the sweet smell of your husband, dreaming of when he'd be home.

You couldn't sleep though - you never slept properly when Tommy wasn't home. Sighing, you pulled yourself up and headed into the large ensuite bathroom to run a bath.

Your heart leapt when you heard the bedroom door open, and recognised his strong footsteps walking across the room. You lifted the hem of the shirt up slightly, and bit your lip. He was home early...

You were leaning over the tub when you suddenly felt strong hands underneath the shirt, running up your back.

"Wearing my clothes now, y/n..." His deep, husky voice whispered from behind you.

"Hmmm... They smell like you..." You murmured back, feeling his hands roam underneath the shirt and over your stomach.

"Wanna know a secret?" His lips on the back of your neck, sending shivers through you.

"Mhmm..."

"I miss feeling this belly all full and swollen with my seed inside you..." Tommy groaned in your ear, making your heart flutter in your chest.

"Well why don't you do something about it Mr Shelby?" , his eyes full of lust and need, spurred on by your words.

"Want me to fill you up again do you? Give you another baby to keep you busy while I'm gone eh?" Switching off the bath, you turned around with a groan.

You held his cheeks in your hands and stared into his blue eyes.

"Fuck me, Thomas. Now." He growled as he pulled you into the bedroom quickly, moving you to the drawers at the side of the room and bending you over.

"See now, I wanna see your pretty little face when you lose control over my cock, but I sense my little one needs to be treated as the dirty girl she acts like..." he watched your needy face in the large oak framed mirror and lifted the shirt up your back, your naked backside in front of his as he parted your cheeks and slid his hand between your legs, feeling how wet you were. His other hand squeezed an ass cheek, before slapping the flesh hard.

"Thomas please...." You begged, desperate for release.

"Pure filth aren't you little one? Missed my cock so much you're fucking begging for it..." You groaned at his words, pushing your ass back at him, rolling your hips as his fingers found your clit, gently massaging it.

"Gonna make a mess on my fingers little one? Gonna scream my name so loud, even our neighbours will know who you belong to eh?"

"You... Only you... It's always been you..." You heard him pull his trousers down and line himself up against your entrance, teasing your lower lips with the tip, stroking it up and down painfully slowly.

Edging himself inside you with a deep groan, he soon bottomed out against your ass, keeping his eyes on yours in the mirror, both of his hands now at your hips to keep you in place.

"You don't move - you let me take care of you now, understand?" He glared. You loved it when he took you like this - complete control, complete dominance. You could feel yourself getting wetter with every word. Words failed you, all you could do was nod.

He began to pound into you hard and fast - holding you strong with his hands to keep you from moving. You tried to arch against him but his hand slapped your ass hard, making you cry out.

"I said NOT to move sweetheart... Move again and I'll pull out!" He barked, but it didn't frighten you. Quite the opposite in fact. You knew the maids could probably hear everything and it only turned you on more.

"I'm sorry Tommy... I won't move I promise..."

"Stay still and I'll make you feel good little one.. so good..." His thrusts picked up in speed and force, edging you ever closer to the sweet release you craved. Your fingers gripped onto the edge of the dressing table as your cries got louder.

"Yes... Fuck that's it Tommy... Right there..."

"Still so tight for me.. so wet and needy all for me eh?" He gasped, his hips pounding into you with reckless abandon now as he felt your walls begin to contract around him.

"All for you... All for you... Oh god Tommy I'm gonna cum, please, please don't stop!" He squeezed your ass cheeks hard and felt your orgasm flow through you - watching your face in the mirror, how your eyes stayed locked with his until the pleasure became too much and your eyes rolled back in your head, your mouth emitting the most exquisite sounds as you came hard over him.

His orgasm approached quickly, the sounds you made sending him spiralling.

"Gonna fill you up little one, gonna make your body swell full of my baby... You want it?" He raised an eyebrow at you in the mirror.

"Please... Please Tommy give it ALL to me..."

"Gonna cum... Holy shit little one you feel so fucking good... Keep cumming, please, keep cumming for me baby..." He thrust you into another blinding orgasm as you felt his cock pulse and release deep inside your womb, filling you completely.

Your movements slowed to a stop, before he pulled out gently and lifted you into his strong arms, one under your back and legs and carried you gently over to the bath you were running. Standing you, and easing his shirt off your back, he lifted you again and placed you in the still warm water, kissing your forehead, then your lips gently.

"Stay right there for as long as you need - I'll take Charlie for a walk when he wakes up. Frances told me you'd had a rough night with him?"

"He just misses his Daddy," you sighed, relaxing into the bubbles.

"Well I'm home now, and I've cleared my schedule for the next couple of days. Neglected you, haven't I?"

"You never neglect us Tommy, everything you do is for us whether you're here or not," you caressed his cheek lightly as he bent down to kiss you again.

He smiled at you, and headed out to the door hearing Charlie calling his name.

"Oh and don't think I didn't mean what I said - Charlie needs a brother or sister, don't you think?"

"Good job you think so. Could be making a baby as we speak Daddy," you smiled, watching his eyes widen.

"Fuck don't call me that, else I'll be calling Frances back and taking my wife back to bed!"

You chuckled as he he as headed out, smiling as you heard him blowing raspberries on his boys belly before taking him down the stairs.

Stroking your belly hopefully, life was truly perfect, and with any luck it was about to get even better too.

[meirathinks]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥

Part II.  Egoist

suguru geto x reader

You find out that committing marriage fraud isn’t as easy as it seems + a government worker is onto you.

Warnings: Some religious imagery but it’s nothing crazy (look guys i thought it would be funny to compare geto to jesus i’m sorry), marriage fraud, Geto being terrible (again!)

Whats up! Updates will not usually be this fast but this was originally apart of Ch 1 before I decided it was too long lmao, this isn’t my favourite part of the story but I need to introduce the antagonist sigh. Stay safe everyone! :)

Series Masterlist  |  Part I.  |  Part III.

You've come to notice that Suguru fits the stereotype of a celebrity rather than editor-in-chief. His earrings are far from business casual, his demeanour is intimidating (and borderline narcissistic) and his lifestyle is one of comfort and indulgence.

In a way, Geto was not like everyone else.

He was worse.

Your boss (or was he your husband now?) expected the world to bend for him. He thought of himself as the exception to all flaws natural to humans. Suguru wanted to be the primadonna, the prophet and the deity all at once. You’d go as far to say that he wanted to watch the world sip the wine that was his blood, and eat the bread that was his flesh. 

His ego was impossible to work with. 

"Wait, Mr. Geto—"

"Suguru," He corrected

"Suguru, is this really a good idea?"

"Of course it is, I came up with it."

You grabbed his arm, stopping him at the door of the Immigration Office. The way his eyes darted to yours was a reminder of his impatience. The moment of physical content was uncomfortable, it was anything but fleeting. You gripped his arm tighter, "Are you sure you wanna do this?"

He looked at you in disbelief, a reminder of where you fell in his life. Geto was annoyed more than anything, your constant hesitation irked him.

"Just follow my lead it can't be that bad."

You laughed at his attempt to downplay the situation. He makes no effort to remove your hand from his arm as he pushes the doors open. You let go yourself.

The Immigration Office was, to put it simply, critically underfunded. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the building was eerily similar to a jail cell in colour. But, the place itself was large. Four lines of evidently irritated people sprawled from the back of the room to the doors where entered. You walked and took your spot at the back of the nearest line.

Geto walked past you, unconcerned about the scene he was causing.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

Geto snorted at your surprise and continued to walk to the front of the line, "It's not like these people care."

Yes, they did. In fact, a litany of curse words were thrown at him as he jumped in front of a man to reach the clerk's desk. Like always, Suguru did not care. Having no choice but to follow, you caught up to him. 

The clerk, a frail woman, looked up at him with disdain. Geto started, "Hi, I'm going to need you to file a fiancé visa."

The woman eyed him, "Name?"

"Suguru Geto."

"Come with me." She sighed.

He turned to you as the both of you followed the woman’s lead, Suguru fakes a pout, “Was that so hard.”

You can only roll your eyes while entering one of the back rooms. You were greeted with an oak desk, one similar to yours. The place was drab, the two foldable chairs placed in front of the desk looked like they would collapse at any given moment, you sat nonetheless. The green hue of the office only accentuated the stuffiness of the place.

“He’ll be here in a moment.”

The woman left before you could ask who ‘he’ was. Geto moves to sit beside you and pretends to look around the room. He clears his throat; you sigh. The both of you are eerily aware of the fact that you aren’t used to the other’s presence outside of the office. The realization only magnifies the dread that made itself home in between your lungs. 

The door opened to a pink-haired man in a muscle shirt. His stare was a cross between intimidating and egotistical. Tattoos ran up his muscular arms, though the black rings around each of his wrists stood out the most. 

“Name’s Sukuna.” The man grunts, low and unbothered. 

“Just Sukuna?” You asked

(He ignored you.)

“You must be Suguru! I’ve heard good things about you.” Geto hummed at the compliment, electing to ignore the question of how Sukuna had heard anything about him in the first place. 

The pink-haired man moves behind his cluttered desk and pulls his chair out, for several moments all that could be heard was the ear-splitting scratch of the chair dragging across the linoleum floor and the buzzing of the overhead lights. 

Sukuna finally sits with an awkward thump, he leans back and rests his feet on the desk, knocking several files onto the floor, you pick them up and place them neatly onto the corner of the desk.

“Thanks, Sweetheart” Suguru clenches his teeth at Sukuna’s comment. 

Like a good husband, you think.

“Okay!” Sukuna claps his hands together, “Today’s been busy so I’ll keep my questions to a minimum.”

“Of course,” Geto responded.

The man in front of you looks irritated as he eyes Suguru, “So— are the both of you committing marriage fraud to avoid Suguru’s deportation so he can keep his position as editor-in-chief at Jujutsu Publishing?”

Geto laughed, he placed his hand above your knee, “Absolutely not. Though— I have to ask, where did you get that information?”

“We got a phone call from a certain—”

Geto interjected, “Would it be a man named Gakuganji by any chance?”

Sukuna’s face fell, his eyes stared daggers at Suguru, his voice dropped to a whisper, “If you know the answer to a question, don’t waste my time by asking.”

Geto clenched the hand that wasn’t on your thigh into a fist. You cleared your throat, “It’s ridiculous that you’d even think that.”

“It’s absurd,” Geto added.

Sukuna laughed; it was nothing like Geto’s smooth chuckles or annoyed scoffs. The pink-haired man was cackling, the rumble of his voice was unsettling. You turned to Geto, he seemed just as uncomfortable as you were. 

His laughing settled down, “Look, here’s what’s gonna happen, I’ll schedule an interview time for the both of you, you’ll be asked questions only a real couple would know about their spouse.”

Easy enough.

Sukuna continues, “Then I dig deeper, I’ll ask family, neighbours and even coworkers about your relationship, if your answers don’t match up at any point both of you will face the consequences.”

“And what are those consequences?” you squeaked

Sukuna’s smile turned frightening, something eerily similar to a wolf torturing its prey, “Oh— I must have forgotten to mention that— Mr. Geto here will be deported indefinitely and your poor, little, self will have to pay a $200,000 fine.”

You sighed, Geto would pay for that. As of now the consequences weren’t horrible.

Sukuna’s eyes twinkled as he muttered, “And you’ll have to spend five years in—” His voice picked up, it became drastically cheerier, “federal prison!”

Oh. Oh.

You nodded in a weak attempt to hide your panic, Suguru remained tense.

Sukuna clenched and unclenched his fists, admiring the way his tattoos looked as he flexed his arms. After letting the idea of getting arrested mull in your head for several moments he shifted his legs off of his desk. Placing his elbows onto the peeling wood of the tabletop, he leaned forward and looked to you.

Sukuna was nothing short of patronizing as he stared at you with a fake pout. “Look— I don’t like putting cute little assistants in scary jail cells because of their big, mean, boss. So, I’ll let you confess.” 

Geto raised his voice, “Hey, you can’t—”

“Shut it Earrings.” Suguru was not fond of Sukuna’s nickname for him, but he shut his mouth.

You shook your head, praying that Sukuna wouldn’t see through your lie.

“No? Absolutely nothing to say?”

You hesitated, your head slowed; Sukuna grew visibly excited. Geto’s eyes darted to yours. In any other situation, you would have enjoyed seeing him freeze in horror. The power dynamic had taken a dramatic shift, you no longer relied upon Suguru, the opposite was true. He needs you. 

Suguru Geto, the man who has told you what to do for the last three years needs you. 

Your head comes to a stop, “Well… there is something.”

Sukuna chuckles, “Come on, spit it out.”

What was it that Geto had said?

“Truth is, me and Suguru are just two people who weren’t meant to fall in love.”

Geto caught on quickly, he filled the role that you previously had back in Yaga’s office, “Not meant to at all.”

You straightened your back and met Sukuna’s eyes, “Not to mention the fact that we couldn’t tell anybody we worked with because of my big promotion.” 

You lifted Suguru’s hand from your thigh and interlocked your fingers with his. 

“Promotion?” Sukuna asks his eyes darting from you to Suguru.

“Yeah... Promotion?” Geto echoes. 

“We both thought of it as unfair, if I were to be promoted to editor, while we were pursuing a relationship.”

Geto squeezes your hand, it was anything but a romantic gesture; more like something to air out his frustration, “Absolutely, we care deeply for the workplace environment.”

Sukuna hums, it’s sarcastic, meant to ridicule the both of you. “Have you told your parents?”

Geto speaks first, ”Impossible. My parents are dead.” There’s an obvious tension between the two, Sukuna’s look is smug while Suguru was unquestionably irritated.

The pink-haired man gave you a pointed look, “And your parents?”

Geto answers for you, “They’re alive, definitely alive.” You squeezed his hand, Sukuna’s eyes darted down to where your fingers interlocked. You hoped that he saw it as an intimate gesture rather than a warning for Suguru to stop talking. 

(Geto did not heed your warning.)

“Actually, we were going to visit her parents for the weekend.”

Suguru, please stop talking.

Sukuna hummed, egging him to continue, “Yep— it’s her dad’s fiftieth birthday.” 

“Oh? Where do her parents live?”

Suguru turns to you, his smile is strained, ”Why don’t you answer this one, sweetheart, you haven’t spoken for a while”

Sukuna took note of the fact that Suguru has absolutely no idea where your parents live. 

“Sitka.”

“Sitka,” Geto echoes with a prideful nod.

You let out a sigh, “Sitka, Alaska.”

Geto’s eyes focused on the peeling grey paint behind Sukuna. You squeezed his hand harder, this time to say: you brought this upon yourself. 

Sukuna watches Suguru’s throat bob, it took all of your efforts not to grimace at his scrutiny. It was clear as day that he saw through the both of you. 

Sukuna let out a grunt, he made it obvious that he was stifling a laugh. He leaned back in his chair as he dragged an important-looking document off of the surface of his desk. 

He began crushing the paper into a ball, “So, the both of you are heading to Alaska this weekend.”

Suguru was stunned, five seconds of silence passed, you decided to do the talking, “That would be correct— yes.”

Sukuna nodded slowly while throwing the ball of paper from hand to hand. “Here’s what I’m gonna do, I’ll let you guys go on your weekend getaway, and if neither of you confesses, I’ll meet you back here Tuesday morning at 11 am for your interview.”

He stopped tossing the paper ball, his head peaked upwards, “And after the both of you inevitably mess up on every single question—” He gives Geto a pointed stare, “—I will personally see to it that you are deported—,” He shifts his head towards you, “And that you find your pretty self staring at the cold, grey, concrete walls of a jail cell for the next five years.”

Suguru let go of your hand. Opting to sit in the silence, comforted by the soft buzzing of the overhead light as he tried to think of what to say next. 

The paper ball Sukuna was holding hit Suguru’s chest and fell limply into his lap. “Got it, Earrings?”

“Did you throw that at— can you even do that?”

(Sukuna ignored him.)

“Well, unless you have any further questions, I’ll be seeing you two on Tuesday.”

You stood promptly, to your surprise Sukuna mirrored your actions, he reached his hand out for a handshake. You took it. 

“Thank you for your time, Sir!” 

Geto stood and made a beeline for the door, not sparing a glance to Sukuna.

Sukuna raised his voice as you followed Geto to the door, “Make the right choice you two, It’s never too late to back out!”

Geto slammed the door the moment the both of you left the room.

“Okay so here’s the plan, I’ll buy plane tickets, we fly up to Alaska and have a good time. Then we’ll head back ace the questions, get married and then, finally, get divorced.”

You stopped in your tracks in the middle of the crowded plaza, you walked approximately two blocks after exiting the Immigration Office in complete silence.

Geto continued to walk before noticing you weren’t by his side. He turned around, “Is something wrong.”

At this point, you had made peace that you were about to marry someone you didn’t love. Though it was irritating, you had gotten over the fact that your first legal marriage would be with this asshole. You were willing to get married in order to get ahead. 

What you weren’t willing to do was go to jail for your employer. 

The somewhat normal work relationship you had cultivated over the past few years (despite Suguru’s horrendous attitude) had become a dilapidated version of itself. Its bones pulverized into fine dust, its flesh rotting, and its weak corpse collapsing in on itself. 

You can’t deny that you’ve been a good assistant (waking up in the middle of the night, to get snacks for him and whatever girl he’s with, is something no mediocre assistant would do.) Suguru was lucky to have someone who would do almost anything for him.

Almost anything. 

You took a deep breath, “I quit.”

“Huh?” 

“Look, I wish you the best— I really do, but I am not going to jail for you. Hell— I’d have to lie to my parents because of you, my mom would be heartbroken.”

Geto gripped the bridge of his nose and let out a quiet sigh, almost lost in the plethora of conversations and the rumbling of traffic, “You mentioned a promotion right? I can do that. The morning we come back I’ll make sure you get the position of editor.” 

It was your turn to be dumbfounded, “What?”

“There. Now you have a reason to go through with this.” Geto takes a deep breath in, “Look— I promise— I swear on my life, that I will do everything in my power to keep you from getting arrested.”

You took two steps closer, your eyes lit up, at the moment, you’d describe yourself as opportunistic. “Hmm, Suguru, I don’t think that’s enough of an incentive.”

He scoffs, “What else do you want?”

“How about you publish my manuscript, too.”

He pauses, “Fine, I’ll get 10,000 copies printed first run.”

You shake your head, “20,000 copies or you’re getting deported.”

Honking can be heard on the street beside you, scores of cars rev their engines after the traffic light turns green, Suguru’s eyes lock with yours, it’s a fierce moment. He breathes in, the realization that you were refusing to back down feels heavy in his chest. Suguru speaks, “Okay.”

You grasp your chin in between your pointer finger and your thumb, looking upwards in a moment of faux contemplation, Suguru’s shoulders drop. You hum a quizzical noise, “Weird... I thought you were supposed to propose before you married me.”

Geto’s voice dropped an octave as he pursed his lips together, “You’re not gonna make me do this— we’re in public.”

You looked to meet his eyes, his demeanour wasn’t desperate enough to be classified as pleading but the usual sharpness his dulled by a fraction.

“Come on Suguru, ask me to marry you.”

You expected him to yell at you; he should have given you a firm reminder that he was still your employer, that you still needed to show respect.

Instead, he relented, dropping to one knee while he made sure he maintained eye contact. His hands were gripping the material of his dress pants so tightly you were convinced his fingernails would rip holes into them. His breathing remained steady and his cadence was smooth, Geto’s voice was decadently low, “Sweetheart, will pretty please with a cherry on top marry me?” 

You let out surprised noise, Suguru was asking? 

You placed your hand on one of his shoulders, it was far from firm, but it didn’t matter much, you just needed him to keep kneeling.

What was it that he said at that staff meeting?

You raised the hand that wasn’t on his shoulder and pointed to your employer, your chest puffed up with confidence. Your voice was condescending almost an exact replica of the way Suguru had spoken to your coworkers.

“You’re the follower.”

Your finger made contact with your own chest as you leaned forward. 

“And I’m the leader.”

Never in his life had Suguru felt his heart stutter from rage. His emotions were elusive and fleeting, a quality he had come to appreciate about himself.

Right now, nothing felt fleeting. A concentration of fury and contempt settled in the base of his throat, he clenched his jaw to himself from cursing you out. He imagined the plane the both of were to board tomorrow crashing into the Rocky Mountains. It would collide into the ground while the yuppies who also happened to be flying first-class to Alaska screamed and cried.

But Geto, wouldn’t say a thing. He wouldn’t comfort you like a good husband should— hell, he won’t bother to speak to you. 

He’ll look out the window of the plane and sigh to himself while the it got closer and closer to the jagged ground, he would finally be rid of the situation he was in. 

You were taunting, opportunistic, and selfish. In a fleeting thought, he considered how similar you were to him.

Geto despised the game you were playing all the same. 

He stood as your hand lifted from his shoulder, you reached for your phone from your pocket, “Well, I guess I should call my mom.”

You began walking through the plaza as you dialled the number.

“Don’t forget to tell her you’re bringing me,” he reminded.

You acknowledged his comment while putting the phone up to your ear. “Hey, mom! I just rearranged my schedule and it turns out I can make it!”

Suguru rolled his eyes at the elated noises coming from your phone, “Oh— and I’ll be bringing my boyfriend if that’s alright with you.”

He gave you a confused stare at your choice to mention a boyfriend instead of a fiancé, you brushed him off with a wave.

“We’ve been dating for eight months— give or take.”

More excited noises came from the phone, “Alright! I’ve gotta go, mom, see you soon!”

You hung up, Suguru was quick to question you, “Boyfriend?”

“We should tell them we’re getting married in person.”

You manoeuvre through a particularly crowded area, Suguru puts his hand on the small of your back, you flush. “Smart move.” he praises.

The both of you arrive at the entrance of the subway station, “Okay— Suguru I’ve gotta catch the subway but I’ll give you a rundown of what’s happening tomorrow.”

You try to ignore Suguru’s disgusted look at the mention of the subway, “We’ll meet at the airport at 7:30, and we’ll catch the 8 am flight, we’ll get there at about 3 or 4 pm and you get to meet my parents.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll basically be a vacation.”

“No. It won’t because I will be quizzing you on my life during that seven-hour flight.”

His brows quirked at the reminder of Sukuna’s interview, for once he didn’t have a sarcastic comeback. He lifted his head higher, “Got it.”

You walked down the stairs to get to the subway platform, you called back to him, “7:30 tomorrow morning, don’t forget!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart,” he paused as he chuckled, “Enjoy the subway!”

He turned to hail a cab, silently praying that somehow, the plane would be struck by lightning and in something emblematic for divine punishment, it would crash and burn with the both of you on it.

Needless to say, Geto was not excited for the weekend to come.

Taglist: @crybabyjabby​ @wallywaffle​

[mrs-gucci]

Casting Couch {Charlie Barber x Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! I was driving home from work the other day and this idea just suddenly took over my entire thought process. so, naturally, I went ahead and wrote it up :)

warnings (what you see here is what you’ll get!): smut. the enemy of my enemy is my ally (with benefits). p in v sex. protected sex. rough oral sex. cum- swallowing.

(possible) tw’s: semi-public sex.

word count: 3.2k

charlie’s taglist peeps! {charlie currently doesn’t have any taglist peeps} my general taglist peeps! @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​  @gildedstarlight​ @mrs-zimmerman @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee @pascalisfairyy​ @I-can’t-draw-faces @ahsoka1​ @babbushka​ @safarigirlsp​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from any of my taglists, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist)

Two Years Ago.

“Y/N...she fucking did it again.” Nicole says as she barges through the door of hers and Charlie’s shared brownstone. “She got the fucking TV gig.”

Charlie’s eyebrows furrow a bit before looking up at his wife with an empathetic expression, setting the notebook and pen he’d been using down on the coffee table.

“Bummer. I really thought you had it in the bag.” He says, elbows on his thighs as he leans forward a bit, folding his hands. “There will be other roles; I wouldn’t worry too much. You win some, you lose some; that’s how it goes in this industry. You’ve taken plenty of roles from her.”

She sighs, nodding. “Yeah, I know, but this one I was excited about. And I really thought I had it, too. It just stung a little extra, you know?”

Her husband nods, patting the seat next to him on the couch. “C’mere, sit with me. We’ll have a glass of wine.”

Nicole gives somewhat of a dreadful grimace, a clear sign she really wasn’t interested. Charlie’s been noticing this for the past few months, her disinterest in being with him as much as she usually was, but he figured it was just her being tired. She’s been doing a lot of odd jobs to make some ends meet lately, so it’s probably a result of that.

“Are you sure?” He asks, a twang of longing sadness in his voice.

She nods. “Yeah, I’m just gonna go lay down for a bit.”

Charlie just nods, picking back up his notebook and pen, continuing to review and add to his notes from the day. 

“Let me know if you need anything.” He calls after her. “I love you.”

She only offers him a small smile over her shoulder in return before emerging into their bedroom, closing the door immediately behind her. 

Present Day.

It feels strange, holding auditions for a female lead. He hasn’t had to do so in almost a decade;  just yet another reminder of how much of his life has changed just in the past year.

The divorce had been painful, stressful, and he was honestly more relieved than anything when it finally came to a close, despite it not really turning out the way he’d hoped for in terms of custody over Henry. 

Luckily, he’s dove deeper into his one true love, directing, as a way to cope with the loss of everything he’d worked so hard to build for himself; the marriage, the 'American dream’ family and home he wished he’d had growing up.

Now, after six months of weekly therapy appointments and keeping himself busy with work, he’s feeling more like the old Charlie he was back before everything went to shit. Actually, he’s feeling like an even better version of that Charlie, the best version of himself there’s been in a while, perhaps even before he met and married Nicole.

The first audition comes onstage and Charlie can’t decide what’s worse, her off-pitch singing or her monotonous speaking voice. 

God, this was going to be a long fucking day.

-

You’d heard through the grapevine that the famed Broadway director had moved here to LA, and that he’d divorced his witch of a wife, Nicole. 

Nicole Barber had been your biggest rival ever since you swiped that first movie role away from her. She hates you, and you don’t particularly like her, either, thus your rivalry began. And it was pretty heated, too; the two of you were always trying to one-up each other.

It really was a back-and-forth battle, her swiping roles from you, you returning the favor; it was a game, to put it simply. Although lately, you’ve been getting more roles than she has, not that you’re complaining, and there’s a part of you that hopes she quits the business for good.

Word got around that Charlie is heading his first LA Broadway production and what better way to hit Nicole close to home than to show up at her ex-husband’s auditions? Even better, what if you got the female lead in her ex-husband’s production? Oh god, that would be fantastic, not only for the rivalry but also for your career.

You’ve been looking to branch out into more theater roles, and this is as good an opportunity as to dip your toe in the theater world water. Plus, you’re not necessarily complaining about having the chance to look at and work with Charlie Barber every day...

So you prepared your piece of dialogue and a section of one of the choice songs, heading over to the theater fifteen minutes before your set audition time. Your knee bounces as you sit in the waiting area, eyes running over your script and lyrics sheet one final time, solidifying it all in your memory.

Your name is called a few minutes later and you head out onto the stage, handing over your headshot and qualifications resume. The agent hands over your profile to the handsome director, but he doesn’t even really look at it, already knowing exactly who you are. A small smirk grazes his lips as he flips to a new page of his notebook, clicking the top of his pen.

“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Y/N.”

After you’re finished, Charlie scribbles one final thing in his notebook before looking up at you. His eyes trail over your figure for a moment, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Would you be comfortable coming back for a more intimate audition later this week? Maybe, Friday at four? I would like to get to know you better, see if you meet all of my... qualifications.”

The look in his eye tells you all you need to know about the true motivations behind his question. You nod, biting your lip.

“It’d be my absolute pleasure, Mr. Barber.” You purr.

He shifts in his seat suddenly and quickly crosses one leg over the other before opening up your folder, handing the top sheet to his assistant.

“Diane, go ahead and have Miss Y/N put down all of her contact information.” His gaze never leave you as he speaks to the timid-seeming young woman. “Make sure she gives her personal cell number.”

You pull a pen from your bag on the stage, clicking it open before Diane hands you the paper. As you write every means of contact you can think of, starting with your cell number, you playfully bite the end of the pen and tap it against your bottom lip, something that certainly keeps the already attentive director’s full attention.

“Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mr. Barber.” Your tone is innocent-sounding, but your gaze is anything but. It sends a chill down Charlie’s spine. “I promise I won’t disappoint.”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t.” A small tug at one corner of his lip accompanies his response. “See you soon, Miss Y/N.”

You offer him a nod.

“Looking forward to it.”

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

In preparation for your upcoming...meeting with Charlie, you take a quick trip to the nearest intimates store, picking up a pretty little lace bra and panty set. Your lingerie wardrobe is long overdue for a bit of sprucing up, anyway.

When the time comes, you slip the fresh lace garments on before putting on your planned outfit, a cute-but-subtly-sexy low cut romper. You put on a light face of makeup, purely for professionalism’s sake, then head out with a small bag which contains various personal items as well as your script and composition page.

He’s not in his backstage office when you arrive, but he comes in a couple minutes later, a strong stench of cigarette smoke trailing behind him as he walks by your chair.

“I apologize for the delay. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

You shake your head as he takes a seat behind the ratty oak desk, shifting a few small stacks of papers around on the heavily scratched surface.

“No, no I wasn’t waiting long.”

He nods, then folds his hands atop the desk, eyes flickering up to meet yours. For a moment, his eyes dart down to where your cleavage creeps out of your low-cut top.

“You’ve got the part.” Charlie says with a small smile. “You’re by far the best and most qualified audition we had yesterday, and I like the way you carry yourself. You’re exactly the type of person I like working with. Part’s yours if you want it.”

You’re overcome with joy, a wide smile spreading itself across your lips. “I’d love to be a part of this production, Mr. Barber. I’m really excited to get to work with you and the rest of the crew.”

“That’s great, I’m glad to hear it.” He nods, smile widening when as he processes your acceptance. His delighted expression falls after a few moments, replaced by one much more salacious.

“Now that we’ve gotten that part out of the way...I think you know why I called a meeting of such, uh, privacy.”

You smirk softly, shifting around in your seat slightly. “I believe I do.”

His feet plant on the ground as he pushes the rolling office chair out from under the desk, standing up and walking around the desk to tower over you. 

“Before anything happens, though, I want you to know that whether or not you do this with me will not affect my casting decision. Even if you decline, you still have the part.”

You nod before standing, quickly and swiftly, stepping forward to press yourself flush against him.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

Your hands rest on his chest, neck craning slightly to look up at him. “Just kiss me, will you?”

He laughs, massive hand moving to cradle the back of your head before he bends down and connects your lips in a passionate kiss. There’s nothing tender or gentle about this embrace, it’s all tongue and teeth, raw lust coursing between your two bodies.

“Couch.” His voice is soft but husky.

“Unzip me first?” You ask, turning around so he can unzip you. He does, then his hands slide down to your hips and pushes you towards the leather couch tucked in the corner of his office.

The material squeaks when you’re laid down on top of it, head resting comfortably on the cushy fabric accent pillow as he climbs on top of you. He presses his hips forward while he tucks his face into the crook of your neck and plants kisses on the skin there.

Your eyes widen as his impressive bulge rubs up against your inner thigh and you quickly wonder how in the world you’ll be able to take him. His crooked teeth scrape over the taut muscles in your neck while his hands pull the backs of your romper down over your shoulders.

His hands grab and grope your breasts beneath where they rest in your nice bra, one you wore just for him, and your back arches slightly up off the cushions with a soft sigh. 

A small smile crosses his expression, teeth sinking gently into your neck. “I like the little noises you make for me, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You smirk, running your hands through his hair. “Then I bet you’ll like my moans, too. If you think you can draw them out of me, that is.”

He laughs softly, sucking and licking at at the place his teeth have just abused. “Is that a challenge?”

“Well, it’s more like an invitation to prove yourself, but ‘challenge’ is also a good word for it.”

Charlie pulls away with a smirk, shaking his head as he sits back on his haunches and begins to unbuckle his belt.

“Brat.”

Once he’s undone his pants and pulled them down enough to expose himself to you, he leans down once more and pulls your romper the rest of the way off, leaving you completely bare, minus your undergarments. His eyes roam your figure for a moment before he dips a hand beneath the patch of black fabric nestled between your thighs.

Your breath hitches as his fingertips swipe over your erect clit, giving it a few little circles before yanking the panties off your hips and down your ankles, tossing them down alongside your previously-discarded romper.

His eyes widen in realization, cheeks flushing pink.

“Do you have any, um, protection?”

You smirk, nodding as you sit up and pat his chest. “Indeed, I do.”

He crawls off of you and you walk over to your purse, grabbing a condom from the mini-stash you keep in your wallet, the one you replenished just minutes before you left the house this afternoon. He takes it from you and pinches the tip, rolling it down his shaft. For a moment, you’re worried that it isn’t going to fit, but he rolls it on with little issue.

His hips press forward, then, entering you slowly but steadily with a soft grunt. You whine as your insides stretch out around him, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair.  “S-Shit.”

“You’re really fucking tight, jesus.” He growls between gritted teeth, jaw screwed shut as his hips begin to move. “I haven’t fffucked anyone in a while, Y/N, so I can’t guarantee that I’ll last very long.”

You nod, softly. “It’s alright, Charlie; it’s been a little while for muh--me, too.”

Your eyes flutter shut and your face begins to scrunch up with each time his fat cockhead brushes up against your cervix. His pace increases after a minute or so, a consistent slap-slap-slap noise now echoing off the drywall with each snap of his hips. 

“You’ve got a nice little pussy, you know that? Always knew you would be, too, knew you’d be a good little cccocksleeve.”

You moan shakily as he adjusts his position, towering over you and pinning your wrists above your head with one of his large hands. Your body begins to bounce, tits, thighs and tummy jiggling each time he thrusts in. 

He’s starting to sweat, a few dark hairs sticking to his dimly-glowing forehead, more and more accumulating there as his hair rocks back and forth in time with the rhythm of his hips.

“Touch yourself, now, rrrub your little clit.” His voice is getting shaky as he draws nearer to climax.

Nodding, your hand slides down between your joined bodies until your fingertips settle onto the small bundle of nerves. The hand that’s still weaved in Charlie’s locks clenches and he lets out a sudden deep growl, hips stuttering for a moment.

“Ooooh, Charlie.” You moan, hips lifting and gyrating against both his cock and your fingers.

“God, fffuck I love this cunt.” A vulgar squelching sound knits itself within the quilt of your salacious symphony. “Wrapped around my cock like a vice, gonna pull the fucking cum right out of it. Swear you get tighter each time I push back in...christ, I’m not gonna last.”

Your fingers circle your clit faster, setting a desperate pace, one that almost matches his quick and sloppy thrusts. You’re close now, too, and it doesn’t take much longer for your orgasm to hit.

You cream around him with a long moan and a string of various other noises, with a few profanities thrown in as well. The product of your release coats his shaft in a pearlescent sheen, dripping down his ball-sack soon enough. 

The sensations your climax creates around Charlie forces him to pull away almost immediately after, quickly yanking the condom off and onto his office floor, squeezing the base of his flaming red length. 

His hand seizes your jaw tightly, thumb pressing down on your tongue, prying your mouth open. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth and shove my cum down your throat, and you’re gonna take it all, isn’t that right?”

You’re nodding instantly, slacking your jaw to open even further in preparation for his upcoming intrusion. He smirks.

“Good. Now, on your knees.”

He sits down where you once laid, lazily pumping his throbbing length as you get into position between his spread legs. He pulls your hair up into a makeshift ponytail with his hand, then lines you up with his cock and eases your mouth down onto him.

“Thaaaaaat’s it, oh, gooooood girl.”

You start gagging about three quarters of the way down his shaft, but he still keeps pushing until you’ve got the whole thing in your mouth. Your jaw’s already getting sore as he begins thrusting upwards, fucking your mouth. 

Tears swell in your eyes and begin to spill down your cheeks the more he goes, mascara surely ruined and running down your face. The sight only arouses him further, a low groan rumbling through his puffed chest.

He’s trying so hard to keep himself together, to stave off his orgasm for as long as he can manage, but soon he finds it next to impossible to hold back. His bottom lip quivers ever so slightly as his length begins to twitch, balls drawing up.

“Fuck, I’m gonna--”

You taste and feel the salty ropes shooting down your throat before he can even finish his warning.

“Ah, fffuuuuck.” His head falls back against the couch cushions, hips bucking gently as each bit of release is spilled into your mouth. His grip on your head relaxes after he’s finished, cock softening while he catches his breath and re-grounds himself in reality.

Your chest heaves as full airflow returns to your lungs, knees and jaw aching a bit sore from their exertion. You grab your underwear from where they lay discarded on top of your romper, putting them back on before standing up on somewhat shaky legs. 

Charlie also redresses, standing and straightening himself out as you do the same. 

“Mind zipping me back up?” You ask, turning around again. 

He pulls the zipper up your back until it’s at the end of its tracks, then steps up behind you, placing a soft kiss to your shoulder blade.

“Thank you.”

A soft smile grazes your lips. “No ‘thanks’ needed; the sweet taste of revenge and spite is payment enough.”

He laughs quietly.

“Well, I’ll certainly be available, should you ever need a little replenishing of those feelings.”

“Mr. Barber, you wouldn’t be saying that because you’d like to see me naked again, now would you?” Your eyebrows raise and you look over your shoulder, a playful smile on your face.

He laughs again, blushing a bit. “Uh, yeah, sure, I'd like that a lot. But I’d also like to see you, um...not naked, fully clothed, maybe at a restaurant in the city for dinner sometime? I totally get it if you’re not interested, it’s not a big deal if you don’t want to...”

Holy shit, he’s asking you out on a date. Well, he’s trying to, at least.

You laugh, cheeks warming at his proposition.

“Sure thing. I just accepted this new job, though, so I’ll have to get back to you about my availability...”

Charlie smiles, shoving his hands down in his khaki pockets. “I’m sure your new boss would be more than willing to accommodate. He’s a pretty cool guy, or so I’ve heard. Handsome, too.”

“Oh yeah? Sounds like you have a reliable informant.” You turn around as you laugh softly, grabbing your bag off the chair before stepping up in front of him. Your lips plant a quick peck on his, hands resting on his broad chest. “See you soon.”

He nods, biting his lip to hold back his big, goofy smile.

“Can’t wait.”

[supernaturalgirl20]

Hidden Desire

Pairings: Din Djarin x reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, domestic violence, angst, family feuds, mutual pining, jealousy.

Summary: Forced into a marriage you did not want, your sentenced to a life of loneliness. What happens when you meet your husband’s handsome brother?

A/N: so this is another AU and is loosely based of the true story of Belvedere house(Ireland). I went for a walk along it’s grounds and got inspired. Also no helmets in this.

You’d been married to Paz for a year now and to say it was the worst year of your life was an understatement. You hadn’t wanted this marriage, but Paz was an Earl and your father had made an arrangement with his family. He was from an important mandalorian house and they we’re wealthy. Upon your marriage he’d brought you to his stately home. You were blown away by its beauty. It sat on acres of land, had I a huge forest and had its own lake. This was where the beauty stopped. Paz was cordially first and you had thought that perhaps if given time you both could learn to love one another, but that was not the case. Weeks into your marriage he became adamant that you produce an heir. Family he had told you,was sacred to the mandalorian culture. Weeks then months past and you were not with child. He became furious and began blaming you, and with each month passing when another period came he began to hit you and it only got worse. Your whole body was covered in bruises, you had prayed to whatever god was out there that you became pregnant to end his violence. But it never happened. A year on and Paz has now given up on you and has taken to visiting his other estates more frequently leaving you alone with just the maids. It was during on of these trips away that you had met HIM!

***

He has come to visit Paz, having been away bounty hunting. You were shocked he decided to stay when he was informed Paz was not there. Each night he would have dinner with you and after you would both walk along the forest path, discussing literature, politics, art, anything that came to mind. He told you his name was Din Djarin and that Paz’s parents had adopted him when he was very young. A debt he could never repay. It was on these night you had developed feelings for him. It began with stealing glance at one another to the soft brush of hands when you we’re near. Things had shifted dramatically one evening when you both stood at the edge of the lake, the moon shining bright. You stood staring up at the sky and you were illuminated but the light of the moon looking ethereal. He couldn’t take it anymore he had to have you. Walking up to you he put his hands around your waist turning you to face him. “What are doing Din?”. His eyes lingered on your lips and before you could say anything else he crashed his to yours. He kissed you like a man dying of thirst, and you his only source of water. He pulled back a little and rested his head against yours. “I can’t do it anymore, I can’t pretend I don’t love you when your all I can think about.” Your stunned by his admission but the joy it brings to your heart out ways all else. “I love you too Din. I wish it was you I had been married off to.” Upon hearing that Din walked you backwards towards the big oak tree. When your back hits it,he lifts up the skirt of your dress and runs his thin along your folds. “So wet for me already Mesh’la.” “Yes always wet for you Din”. He kisses you again unbuttoning his trousers in the process and lifts one of your legs around his waist. He lines himself at your wet core “are you sure you want this, want me Mesh’la?” “Yes yes…please Din I want you to fuck me.” With that he thrusts up into you and you let out a loud moan. He is huge, and the stretch of him hurts just a little, but you feel every ridge of his cock pumping into you and you love it. “I knew…thrust…that this…thrust…pussy…thrust..would be…tight. You take me so well. This…thrust…pussy..thrust…was made for me.” With that you feel the pleasure coursing through you and you can’t hold back anymore you scream his name into the night. “Oh god yes…Din…yes.” Your cunt clenches around him and it sends him over the edge. “Where, where do you want me?” “Inside, come inside.” With that his seed coats your womb. He rests his head on your shoulder. When he looks up he cups your face in his hands. “I do love you”. “And I you.”

***

From that night you spent most of your time in bed where he had you on every surface of the room. You both did not try to hide your growing relationship from the maids, who would they tell, Paz was never home. You began imagining a life with Din, away from this place, where you spend the rest of your days together. You had explained to him that you could probably not have children given Paz’s fruitless efforts, but this did not stop him from wanting to fill you up every time hoping it would take root. On this particular day you had been in the gardens playing with some of your nieces when he spotted you dancing with the youngest. He imagined you doing that with your child, his child, and he felt his cock grow hard at the thought. That night after dinner he was extra touchy and you had no sooner entered the bedroom when he pinned you to the bed. He wastes no time tonight, quickly stripping you both of your clothes. “On you knees Mesh’la.” You did what he asked and before you could think he was deep inside you. His thrusts were relentless as he pounded into you from behind. He grabbed your hair as to pull you towards him. He grabbed your breast roughly, kneading it. “You look so pretty like this, all cock dumb for me. Tell me who you belong too?” “You…only you.” “That’s right your mine. And I’m going to fuck my seed into you until it takes.” “Oh god yes…fuck Din, please give me a baby.” With one last thrust his seed spurts into your cunt. He pulls out slowly and you groan at the loss. You both collapse onto the bed and he pulls you into him. He runs his hand up and down your spine. You feel..happy. Your suddenly brought out of your daze when the door to the room bursts open. “What the fuck are you doing with my wife?”. Din gets out of bed, puts on his clothes and tries to calm his brother. “Paz please, brother, you do not love her, you fuck any whore you can, but I love her. You can both divorce and that’s the end of it.” “How dare you come into my home, fuck my wife and think I will let you get away with this, and you.” He turns toward you now, furious “you are nothing but a cheap whore, fucking the first man that comes into my home, you couldn’t even do your wifely duty and give me a child.” He is beyond angry now and he makes to pull you from the bed not caring that you are naked. He grabs you by the hair and pulls you along the halls. Din is trying to get you free but his brother is strong normally, but even more so when he is angry. “Paz stop, your hurting her, let her go.” “ oh no she’s going no where ever again.” Din is nervous now what did he mean by that. He tries to grab you again but to no avail. Paz brings you up to the attic. He throws you in and locks the door. “Now she can spend the rest of her days locked away. If I can’t have her no one can.” “ you can’t do this, I won’t let you.” “Oh and what are you going to do huh, last I checked I was the head of this household, what I say goes.” Din could feel the anger in his veins but he left, leaving you, the love of his life locked away like some criminal. He would not let this happen to you he needed help.

***

Weeks passed and you lost hope of ever seeing Din again. You had been given clothes and scrapes of food. Your were being held captive in your own home. You began to feel sick and after the sixth day you mentioned it to one of the maids. Paz allowed a doctor to visit you. It turns out you are 8 weeks pregnant. Your shocked, having believed your were barren. A maid comes in and tells you she can get word to Din and so agree. If Paz finds out about this he will kill you. Din is planning an attack on his brothers home to free you when the maid comes to find him. “Mr. Djarin, em excuse me sir, but I have news of Ms. Y/N.” “Y/N, is she ok has he hurt her?” “No he is not currently home sir, she has been ill of late and Paz allowed us to call for a doctor.” He walks up to her and puts his hands on her shoulders almost shaking her “what is it girl, spit it out.” “She is pregnant sir, 8 weeks I believe.” “Pregnant!” He is speechless sinking into a nearby chair. Cara stands and comes over to him.We have to move now Din, if Paz finds out his wife, who could not bare him a child,is now pregnant from his brother, she is dead.” With that Din stands “ok we go tonight.” You are asleep when you hear keys rattling at your door, suddenly Paz bursts in and storms towards you. “Your fucking pregnant?” He is fuming and grabs you by the hair. He grabs a knife and places it along your throat “ I should have done this in the beginning”. “Don’t you ducking touch a hair on her head.” Paz turns around quickly to see Din standing in the door way blaster pointed at him. “Come to rescue your little whore have you, sis you know she is carrying your child, of course you would get her pregnant, you were always better at everything.” “Put the knife down Paz, you don’t have to do this.” “Oh but I do, you see my reputation is at stake.” “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that, now.” Paz turns to see who Din is talking to buts it’s too late Cara shoots him in the head with her blaster. You fall to the floor trembling and Din moves towards you. “Your ok now Mesh’la, I’ve got you, I’ve got you both.”

Tagging:

@asta-lily, @lunaserenade, @librariantothejedi , @maievdenoir , @seasonschange-butpeopledont , @elinedjarin , @day-off-inkyoto, @danniburgh @absurdthirst

[lumiereswig]

a different curse: instead of being forced together for ten years as objects, everyone gets amnesia and disbursed to the far corners of the world

love love love

lumiere wakes up back in Paris, in his hometown bed, staring with a weird despair at his linen sheets. Surely they were silk—surely there was someone here beside him, someone soft and beautiful—and then he looks to his garret window, and the parisian sky beyond, and by the time he looks back to his bed it's the one he's always had, with the sheets he sleeps in every day, and it's another day working at the corner bistro

cogsworth is in London, he looks up from the papers he's sorting for the prime minister, and something in the way the candle flickers distracts him. It looks like it was dancing, for a second, and he has to chuckle—dancing candelabras!—then the thought slips off again, and all thoughts of dancing, and all he remembers is that he has never danced.

mrs. potts had a husband once, but where he went no one knows. she had a child, too, but no one ever speaks of him. the widow potts lives at the edge of the lane, in a witchy tumble-down house that's the disrespect of Yorkshire, and she sits in her garden with a cup of tea in her hands going slowly, slowly cold.

theres a wild-child running loose in Villeneuve, and his father tries to keep him safe but he just runs back toward the woods, speaking to the trees like they can speak back to him. thistles brush his shoulders and he pretends they're her touch. the village women shake their heads. he talks to the white owl in the oak tree, nearly walks straight into the woods, saying give her back, give her back, give her back

on a street corner in vienna stands a man so mute and slender many people mistake him for a lamp-post. every day he pulls out a fiddle and delights the children, but he never says a word; simply stands there playing, then slips away to who knows where, the quiet man without a family or home. they say he just showed up on the streets one day to make music, but who he is—who can tell?

in a tiny apartment in Moscow, plumette unbraids her hair. once she was a princess, a little girl running away the plague of paris—now she is here, working as a waitress in a soldiers’ bar. she knows she once dreamed of better things. but staring at the candelabra she keeps perched on a windowsill, it’s hard to remember anything beyond her lonely, all-alone life.

[lavienjin]

the assistant | kth

banner made by me!

Pairing: Assistant!Kim Taehyung x Boss!fem reader Warnings: 18+ content in the form of: unprotected sex • oral sex (f receiving) • dirty talk & name calling • spitting • creampie • spanking • choking Summary: Kim Taehyung is your assistant and moonlights as a masseuse in the evening. When you came to the office the morning after a bad date, all you wanted is his hands all over your body. Word Count: 3,874 Mobile: AO3

masterlist | one | two

Taehyung snapped to attention when he heard the familiar click of heels on the marble floor. He stood up abruptly, bowing at the woman that emerged through the threshold. Your tan coat perched on your shoulders fluttered as you walked, your hips swaying with every step. You wore a scowl on your face, a rather uncommon occurrence and Taehyung wondered if the date you had the night before was that bad.

You stopped in front of his desk. "Assistant Kim," you nodded, smiling lopsidedly in his direction. "How are you this morning?"

"Very well, madam," he bowed again. He turned around to pick up a stack of papers and you groaned slightly at the amount of work ahead of you. "Here are the Jeon accounts that need reviewing."

He placed the first stack of papers on your hands before grabbing more. "Mr. Jung needs your signature for the transfer and you need to approve Mr. Kim- yes- Mr. Kim Seokjin's time off request." Before you could ask, Taehyung interjected you by adding: "It's his anniversary, madam."

Taehyung prattled on, the mountain of papers growing in your hands. Your phone buzzed twice, signifying an incoming message and your head throbbed. You closed your eyes for a minute. Forcing a smile, you nod at Taehyung, promising that the work will get done before you leave.

As he opened the door to your office, you heard him call your name. He cleared his throat, a blush starting to creep on his features, staring resolutely at the flooring. "How was your date, madam?"

You groaned louder, the headache bloomed mercilessly. You barely started the day and already you wanted to leave. "Messy," was your response.

Taehyung seemed to want to know more but decided against it. Instead, he cleared his throat again, stepping forward and closing the oak door behind him. "Will you be needing my services this evening, madam?"

Your heart quickened at the thought of his hands on your body, stroking it gently the way he only knew how. Your headache disappeared momentarily, replaced by the dizzying smell that came from your assistant's cologne. "Yes," you said, barely a whisper. Taehyung nodded and bowed, politely leaving you with thoughts of his sweaty figure, his touches burning through your skin. All the more reason for you to quickly finish your work.

"Yes!" you cried out euphorically, eyes closing and head thrown back. Taehyung's hands were on your back, pressing gently to get rid of the tight knots that were starting to form while you sat hunched over your computer desk. The nightmare date long forgotten after the busy work day.

"Too hard, madam?"

"Not at all! Assistant Kim, this is wonderful," you drawled, feeling the stress melt away with every press of his hands on your shoulders.

Who knew that Taehyung practiced the art of massages? He was a bonafide masseuse, even receiving an award for his magic hands, you found out only recently. Your friend had badgered you about getting a massage to alleviate the stress from your job before you conceded. She took you to her favourite massage parlor.

"Book Mr. Kim!" she reminded you. "His hands are out of this world."

"A male masseuse? I don't think so," you halted your appointment while glaring daggers at your friend. She rolled her eyes in response, slapping your shoulder gently.

"I'm serious! I'm not doing it," you pouted. Your friend had other plans and booked an appointment for you anyway and you had scowled through lunch with her.

To your surprise, when your scheduled time arrived, for one Mr. Kim, you saw the dark curls that you were far too familiar with. The two of you stared at each other, mouth agape.

"Assistant Kim?" you screeched, your body moving backwards as you took him in. He was in his robes, a small expanse of his exposed chest making you blush.

"Madam?" he called after you. His brown eyes were wide with shock and he dragged his hands through his hair, looking away quickly from where you stood. "I- I'll be your masseuse this evening, madam. I'll be in your care," he bowed.

Your instincts had told you to run but the magnetic tension pulled you in. Within a minute, you were on the massage table, fully clothed of course. It was awkward at first, your subordinate putting his hands on you, they shook while working through every knot on your body. You begrudgingly admitted to yourself that your friend had been right. Regardless of the awkwardness that existed in the room, you were feeling much more relaxed than you've ever been in your life. It's nice letting someone else take charge for once.

Over time, you started to realize what an asset he was and tried to book him at every chance you got. Unfortunately, so did every woman in your city. Taehyung was handsome, there was no doubt about it, his dimpled smile and dark curls could make anyone fall in love with him. Over the past few months, you've lost count over the number of flowers that would be addressed to one "Kim Taehyung" and a myriad of other presents that he tried to discreetly hide from you. It was amusing and better yet, a win-win situation… Taehyung got all the girls' attention and the number of clients you have were doubled in size. You suppose you have his hands to thank.

One drunken night, Taehyung admitted that he had to quit moonlighting as a masseuse because it got too much. It got to a point where he was so uncomfortable that he had to only take married or elderly women. There was no way to confirm if one was married, and his stress doubled, asking pointed questions about their husbands. When it got too much, he tearily handed his two weeks notice, leaving his masseuse days behind. You were heartbroken when he told the story and asked if he would be willing to work "overtime" at your house to cover the cost of living in the city. He was too keen to agree.

"Madam, that'ssa great idea," he slurred his words before falling asleep on his table. You footed the bill that night and helped drag his ass back home.

The morning after was quite unnerving for him, seeing that he woke up on the couch of his boss' apartment, the memories of the night slamming into his head.

"Hangover soup?" you called, startling him. Taehyung winced at your voice but turned towards it anyway. You stood in the kitchen, apron around your waist as your eyes fixed on the pot in front of you. 

It was a solemn gesture, a person simply taking care of the other. But Taehyung couldn't help the surge of emotions. His heart beat fast while he looked at you, a sense of longing filling his heart. All he wanted to do was hug you from behind, imagining the life the two of you will lead as he watched you cook in the kitchen.

"Hope you like it spicy!" you laughed, pouring a bowl for him and placing it on the table. "Eat up, Assistant Kim, or it will get cold. We have much to do at work today."

"We do?" he asked blankly.

"Yes, Assistant Kim," you smiled amusedly. "We need to write you a new contract."

Was it a misuse of power? You weren't sure but your worries tend to melt away as he dug his hands all over your back. You even bought him a massage table and you let him have as much access to any items as he may need.

So there you are again, in the middle of your apartment living room, Taehyung's large, veiny hands whisking your knots away as you whine underneath him. You had no idea the growing erection that comes with hearing your moans or the way Taehyung looked at you from behind, trying to keep himself from moaning as his eyes darken with need. You definitely didn't know about the late nights he'd spend after leaving your place, working his way to orgasm after orgasm as he replays the sounds you make in his mind. Taehyung wished every night that you'd understand his feelings, but you go on meaningless blind dates to appease your father and though there wasn't anyone that suited your fancy, he knew it was only a matter of time. There were a lot of rich bachelors out there and Taehyung didn't even graduate college.

Stifling a moan, Taehyung worked his way downwards on your back, squeezing the tense area carefully close to your spine.

"Taehyung," you whined and your eyes snapped open, silently praying that he didn't hear the way his name dripped with pleasure. 

Taehyung's hand stilled and you knew you fucked up. You didn't mean to moan, usually saving the time for after he left. You hear his shallow breathing, the only accompaniment to your equally panicked state. You've never called him by his name.

"My name is Kim Taehyung. It's nice to meet you madam. I'll be replacing Mr. Min from now on."

Your first impression of him wasn't great. You thought he was a flirt and would be very poor at his job. His hair was blonde then, a boyish charm still on his face. Taehyung seemed desperate for the job and you purse your lips at his qualifications. It wasn't much, but he stated that he was a hard worker and the references that he brought were stellar. You took a chance on him and you were grateful for that decision.

He proved you right in a matter of a week. Taehyung was respectful to the female clients, even though they tend to dress a bit more provocatively since his arrival. He also spoke two languages, surprising you when he spoke casually to a foreign man, giving him directions. When you asked why he didn't put it in his resume, he simply shrugged.

Your previous assistant wasn't bad, but that was after spending the better part of a decade working for you. Taehyung was able to pick things up in a matter of a month and you were grateful for his attention to detail when it got busy. His briefings were always… well, brief. Taehyung would give you all the necessary info in a span of five minutes. He wasted none of your time and you were grateful.

'Assistant Kim, please help me bring in the coffee for everyone,'

'Assistant Kim, these files need sorting out, would you kindly help me with that?'

'Assistant Kim, would you mind checking on Margaret?'

It was always 'Assistant Kim' this and 'Assistant Kim' that. You've never uttered his birth name, fearing that he'd hear. That he'd know of the nights you'd spend in bed, twisting your body as you came on your fingers, pretending desperately it was his cock instead.

So, now what? You broke your one rule when it came to your assistant. You lay face down, too mortified to get up, knowing the colour of your cheeks weren't pink because of the blush. He'd read you too well.

Taehyung cleared his throat, looking away quickly to a spot on the wall. "Madam, please feel free to get up, I will now take my leave."

You had a few seconds to decide. Would you beg him to stay? Should you laugh and pretend it didn't happen? Should you watch him leave?

You heard him shuffle hastily across your apartment and stopped abruptly to fumble for his things. And you chose. It was the easiest decision in the world.

"Taehyung," you called out again, sitting up abruptly on the massage table. You saw him freeze, turning around slowly. You couldn't go back now. You couldn't hide the feelings that were threatening to burst out of your chest.

"Taehyung, please stay," you tried again, seeing how his mouth opened and closed in shock.

Throwing caution to the wind, you got up and strode towards him, swaying your hips seductively. When you were millimeters apart, you looked up through your lashes, tilting your head slightly. His eyes searched your features for confirmation; that this feeling in his chest matched yours. But the pull was too strong and in a heartbeat, you found his tongue in your mouth, his hands on the side of your face, holding you close.

Taehyung smelled and tasted like heaven. His cologne, a deep woodsy smell, penetrated your nose with every shallow breath you take. His tongue explored your mouth, teasing your own tongue that made you weak in the knees. Needing air, the two of you pulled apart, gasping at the sudden lack of warmth.

You stare at his features, looking for a sign of regret or something worse- hatred. But his eyes mirrored yours in adoration and his hands were reaching for you. You fell to his embrace, his lips on your neck as he lifted you up, moving towards the table, his lips never leaving your body. 

He sets you down gently, arms steadying your waist as he ravishes your mouth, nipping your lower lip and teasing your tongue with his.

You moaned wantonly under his grasp, losing all sense of control in an instant. It was his turn to take the reins. You were tired of being in charge all the time. You were pliant under his touch, a trail of fire spreading across your body where he kissed you.

You moaned as his kisses traveled down to your collarbone, his fingers making quick work of unbuttoning your blouse. He left you then, his kisses stopped while he marveled at your body. You glistened under the pale low light, your eyes trained towards him. He groaned at the sight and you were burning once more, feeling a sharp pang of pain as he marked you on the swell of your breasts, unclasping your bra in the process.

"Taehyung-" you gasped when his mouth found your hardened nipple, swirling the bud around his tongue. His fingers pinched the other one, your chest thrusted forward to get more of the sensation.

"I love it when you call me by my name," he growled into your skin. He traveled still, kissing your stomach as he knelt in front of your skirt, salivating at the scent of your wet cunt.

Taehyung dove in, marks bloomed where his kisses landed on your thighs. He ripped your panties, the seams no match for his strength. You keened at the sudden chill, your spine tingling with excitement.

"Look at this cunt, so wet for me," he groaned, teasing his fingers in front of your entrance, coating them in your juices. You buck your hips, grinding slightly on the table, as you hear the normally calm Taehyung so unhinged at the sight of you.

He licked a stripe from your clit to your entrance, nipping lightly at your folds before pushing them apart with his fingers. "Pretty cunt," he murmured as his tongue found your clit, making figure eights on the sensitive nub.

You tug at his hair, the heat spreading through your body as a familiar coil in your stomach forms. His name was a prayer on your lips. "Taehyung- please," you gasp, feeling the familiar edge blooming with each swipe of his tongue.

Taehyung seemed to read your mind and with a chuckle, he slipped a finger inside of you. "Fuck, you're so tight."

His hand found its way to your waist, steadying you once more as you buck wildly at the sensation. When Taehyung slipped another finger in, it took everything in you not to rip his hair off. He was different from your previous lovers, who never took the time to make you feel so good. Taehyung alternated between feeling the sensitive bundle of nerves and scissoring you, preparing you for what's to come.

You had no time to warn him besides a screech, his name in myriads of incoherent sentences. The coil had snapped and you were careening over the edge with pleasure, staining the front of his shirt with your juices. Through it all, Taehyung continued to suck on your clit, his fingers slowing down just slightly to ease you through your orgasm.

"T-Taehyung- ah, please," you whined. Your cunt was spasming with each thrust, gasping for air every time he flicked your clit with his tongue.

Taehyung stopped when he heard your whines, kissing your thighs. He got up and leaned over you, his face glistening with your arousal. His lips were swollen from use. His dark curls were as wild as his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

His mouth crashed into yours, letting you have a taste of your juices. "Open," he commanded and you opened your mouth. He gathered saliva and mixed them with your taste before spitting it in your mouth.

"Taste so good, huh? Yes, you taste so good," he murmured, watching the way you swallow the mixture, moaning when it went down your throat.

He stroked your cheek before his hand danced around your throat, squeezing lightly to experiment. You gasped in a mix of surprise and pleasure. You were discovering a lot of new pleasures.

Your gasp earned a low chuckle from Taehyung as he leaned over to whisper in your ear. "Tell me, and don't try to deny it - " he started, squeezing your throat - "who do you think of when you touch yourself?"

"Y-You," you responded meekly. You were burning from the inside out, an itch you couldn't quite scratch. "I think of you every night."

Taehyung nipped at your earlobe, sending fresh shivers down your spine. His warm breath tickled your neck and you knew instantly. You're completely wrapped around his finger. Pliant, obedient, submissive.

"Naughty girl," he growled.

You were so focused on his hand on your neck and his whispers in your ear that you hadn't realized that his pants were off. You felt the head poking at your entrance, lubricating his length against your pussy.

"Watch my cock fill you up," he commanded, tilting your chin down.

You saw his thick cock, veins running down the shaft, as it glided inside you. You were instantly filled to the brim, your legs shaking as he thrusted, hilting instantly. "Taehyung- ah!" was all you could manage.

"You take my cock so well." 

You leaned back on your elbows, waiting for him to move. Taehyung looped his toned arms around your thighs, dragging you into him. He groaned, watching your pussy twitching to accommodate his girth.

He moved slowly at first, his free hand coming to pinch and rub soothing circles on your clit. You sobbed at the stimuli, feeling like you were going to cum any time soon. Taehyung's grip tightened on your neck and he stopped completely.

"Dirty fucking slut," he spat, punctuating each word with squeezes on your throat. Not enough to cut off oxygen, but enough that your eyes started rolling to the back of your head. "You were about to cum, weren't you?"

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You cum only when I tell you to."

You whimpered affirmations, grinding your pussy into his length. Taehyung's eyes widened at the sight. His boss, someone he greatly admired, was fucking herself into him. Your walls clenched deliciously on his shaft and he groaned, moving to match your rhythm. Your vision swims, stars dancing when you close your eyes, as you feel his pace increasing.

Every slap of skin is punctuated with a growl, his hands digging deeper until you were sure there would be bruises in the morning. Taehyung slowed his thrusts and flipped you over, your feet touching the cold marble floor as your arms brace for impact on the table. He chuckled watching you gasp at the sudden change of position, his cock never slipping out of you. He held your hips once more, squeezing once to let you know he's about to continue. And his brutal thrusts returned, the new position giving him ample access to the deepest part of your pussy.

Your knuckles turned white as you held on the massage table for dear life, moaning expletives at the way he's fucking you. It didn't take long for your stomach to coil, the familiar feeling of your high familiar to you. 

"Taehyung," you plead, rutting against his thrusts, your pussy clenching tightly. "Please, can I cum?"

You peeked behind your shoulder to find his devilish grin, before the sting on your ass threw your head back. "Cum," he commanded simply.

With a few more thrusts, you arched your back as you found your release for the second time that night, his name uttered in a million different ways. Taehyung growled as he helped you ease you through your high, never stopping his punishing pace. Seeing your thighs shook was enough for him to hurtle towards his own orgasm, yelping your name as he painted your walls white. 

Taehyung fucked you for a little while before gently removing himself from you. "Fuuuuck," he drawled, watching your juices already spilling down the length of your legs.

He regained some of his senses and took the towel hanging from the massage table. It's primary use was to clean off any oil left on your body. But a towel is a towel. Your breath was still ragged, exhaustion settling in your bones as what you just did dawned on you.

You fucked your secretary.

The blush crept up your cheeks and you stayed as still as possible when you felt Taehyung leaned in front of your core, wiping the mess away slowly. You hid your face against your hands as he stood, placing the towel in a nearby hamper you've come to prepare when he comes to your place for a massage.

Taehyung felt the tension radiating from your body and he bit his lip, approaching cautiously after pulling his trousers on. 

"Madam? Are you okay?" he asked as he came closer, kissing your shoulder, your blouse folded neatly next to your head.

You stood up quickly, Taehyung jumped back in surprise with a yelp. You turned your eyes slowly to his, a mask of professionalism back on your face. You cleared your throat, shrugging on your blouse as you stepped away from the man.

"That will be all for tonight, Assistant Kim," you called over your shoulder as you walked away.

Taehyung's face fell, unsure of how to proceed. His brows furrowed to the center of his forehead, his mouth gaped open a few times, clearly trying to find the words as you walked away. Your voice rang in his ears and he finally understood that he's been dismissed. As though your activities were a meeting and you were discussing his performance.

Feeling the lump in his throat, Taehyung hurriedly gathered his things, almost tripping when he heard the shower running faintly. He slammed the door on his way out, anger finally rising through his body. He stomped down the stairs of your apartment building, not bothering to take the elevator. Unbeknownst to him, you were watching from your window, your apartment giving the perfect view of the entrance. You watch your assistant punch an electrical pole in frustration and you wonder just how badly you've fucked up.

all works © lavienjin love my work? don't forget to reblog, like, and share! want to know when the newest update comes? join the permanent taglist! Posted on Tumblr: 04.18.21 at 11:11pm CST

[softyoongiionly]

Bunny Do

You and your husband live in a cottage together in the forest.

Welcome to a day in your life.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, smut, slice of life au, domestic au, DO I EVER WRITE ANY OTHER KIND OF JUNGKOOK? No. I have a problem

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: Well hey there. Look it’s Aqua, back with ANOTHER Jungkook domestic au. Seriously someone needs to stop me. This is just excessive at this point. Anyways, I freaking love you. Yes you. Hi, I love YOU. Ok bye.

this fic is dedicated to @bulletproofbirdy​ whom I love with my whole entire heart. The war has begun.

IMPORTANT: Please check out this link and do what you can! All lives can’t matter until black lives do. 

https://softyoongiionly.tumblr.com/post/621111679997050880/jakegyllenhaals-here-is-a-carrd-for-blm-here

Warnings: swearing, Jungkook abs, smut (18+ only plz)

Chaos is not something you’ve been apart of for quite some time.

You traded in your busy life of hustling and turned away the bustling city you were born in to retreat into what could only be described as paradise.

Sure, the bugs can be a bit overwhelming and mating season amongst your animal neighbors doesn’t provide the most serene of soundtracks but, it was home.

Home is now a small cottage nestled into the forest at the base of Mount Iridescence.  

The exterior is made of smooth grey stone and the roof, which your husband laid by hand, is made from the finest oak the two of you could find.  

Of course, the exterior is covered in greenery, it wouldn’t be a cottage paradise if it weren’t.

The front of the cottage is adorned with a massive flower garden full of white daisies, pink roses, yellow tulips and tons of baby’s breath.  

Your porch served multiple purposes; housing the ridiculous amount of plants you’ve nursed, providing shelter to the occasional racoon or squirrel and, allowing you and your husband to watch the sun kiss the crest of the mountains every evening.  

The interior of your cottage was intentionally simple. Other than your husband’s many homemade ceramic pieces, the main source of décor was of course, more greenery. White linen, chocolate colored clay and, delicate lace also accented the inside of your home.  

Behind the cottage was essentially a small zoo, complete with a dozen chickens, a handful of geese, a cow named Jezabel, a llama named Su and, two baby bunnies named Floof and Tokki.  

Beside the animals was a garden that provided many of the ingredients you use in your kitchen every day; broccoli, cauliflower, pumpkin, green peppers, jalapeños, garlic, thyme, parsley, tomatoes, strawberries, grapes and carrots. There was a lemon tree or two as well but, the garden was consistently expanded as you and your husband learned new ways to be better plant parents.  

The point is, you had made yourself a nice little life in the forest.

An odd trip into town occurred every week or so as well as visits to friends and family but overall, life had resigned to the small nook in the forest.  

You had never felt more at peace...

“JAGI,TOKKI IS MISSING!!!”

Your husband’s urgent call rips you out of your gratitude as you begin frantically looking towards the direction of his voice.

“What??? Are you sure?! We locked their little home last night didn’t we?”

You’re now questioning every life decision you’ve ever made and whilst you’d like to be absolutely certain you’d never do anything to endanger the lives of your two tiny fluffy children, the fear in your husbands voice is unsettling.

Finally he whips around the corner, his black hair flopping about as he does, eyes wide with panic.

“I can’t find him anywhere- I went to feed them and I can only see Floof!”

“You checked under the patch of bedding in the left corner? He’s always hiding under there...” You insure, your breathing slightly increasing.

He seems to deflate beneath your question and, suddenly a rush of pink comes across his cheeks, “I- well...ok I may have forgot to check underneath the bedding...”

He rushes out the last bit of his words before hastily running to the backyard. Despite your inability to keep up with your freakishly athletic husband, your anxiety is fueling your movements to the point that you aren’t far behind him.  

“Excuse me Su, Jezebel! Ge-Get out of my way please!”  

You hear him try and reason with the ladies currently blocking his path as he nearly trips over some stray chicken wire.  

“Slow down!” You call after him, slightly out of breath as you see Jungkook halt abruptly in front of the baby blue hutch housing the bunnies.

“Hi Floof, sorry to bother you again I’m just gonna-” Jungkook murmurs into the hutch as you finally catch up to him.

Eagerly, you peak over his shoulder, heart wildly thrashing in your chest as you see him lift up the fluffy padding on the bottom of their home.

Sure enough, Tokki is sleeping soundly beneath the padding, his small caramel colored body curled into a little ball, completely unaware of the panic over his disappearance.

“Oh god...babe I’m so sorry, I just freaked out I thought- I thought I let him out because, I was the last one out here last night.”  

You can hear the tightening in his voice and it sends a thousands pangs of sadness into your heart.

Kissing your teeth, you pull him into your chest, laughing gently as you pat his back.

“Hey, hey it’s ok sweetheart. He’s right here yeah? You’d never forget to lock them up.”

His hands quickly find the back of your cotton dress, clinging to you tigher than you’d expect before tucking his face into your neck.

With a kiss he mumbles, “ ‘m sorry I scared you, I was trying to finish all the chores since you worked so hard on the garden yesterday.”

“You’re so sweet.” You peck at his cheek, “And wonderful.” Another peck, “And amazing.” Peck. “And cute.” Your kisses move lower so they are focused on his neck, “And I love you.”

With the onslaught of kissing, Jungkook snickers and playfully wiggles away from you as the sensations overwhelm his sensitive skin.

Despite the bit of tears that stain his cheeks, his brilliant smile is out to play as his hands find your waist to pull you against him.

“Soft.” He teases, sniffling slightly but the love in his eyes is unavoidable, “I love you too...”

“You really want to talk about who is soft right now?” You quirk an eyebrow, “You’re still crying...”

At this he laughs, his body shaking as he pulls you in closer to him, the scent of his eucalyptus body wash enticing your senses.  

“Shhhh...” He giggles, pecking the shell of your ear playfully, “Our children are safe, let’s just pretend this never happened.”  

You giggle and shrink away from his kiss before your body seems to snap back like an elastic band, your arms wrapping around his waist.

“Fair enough. As long as you promise to check the ENTIRE hutch next time.”  

He nods, smirking against the side of your head, “Deal.”

As you pull away from him, you feel a pang of regret, wishing desperately that you were able to stay near him for the entire morning.

Or the entire day...

Or the entire year...

But who’s counting?

However, cottages do not tend themselves and while you have the strongest urge to pull your husband into your bedroom, you know that there are chores to finish.

Jungkook’s eyes are on you, like he’s reading the script inside your head and as much as you’d like to convince him (and yourself) that everything in there is PG, you both know it’s not.

Newlyweds are like that right?

All passion, no pause.

Sex, love, touching, laughing, getting drunk off of one another...

It’s a daily occurrence.  

The honeymoon phase isn’t supposed to last forever but, you’ve been back from your honeymoon for 4 years now and you swear you want him more than you did when you first met him.

He giggles then, like a school-boy, his eyes alight with mischief.

“Stop staring at me...” He tucks a finger underneath your chin, “Weirdo...”

His soft cherry lips tuck into yours then, slowly unwinding you with his kiss as his fingers delicately cup your face.

Of course you reciprocate, drinking up every bit of his affection that you can, your hands sliding beneath the white t-shirt that hangs loosely off of his body.

Jungkook shudders as he feels your fingers brush over his lower stomach, arousal beginning to bubble up in his gut.

However, you aren’t going to let his snarky comment go unpunished so as you peek an eye open you say, “The hutch is still open...”

With a pop, he pulls away from your kiss with wide eyes to check on the bunnies. Once he’s satisfied with their well-being, he gently shuts the hutch and turns back to you.

“Rude.” He remarks, trying to appear unamused, “I was literally trying to make out with you.”

A laugh leaves your lips, “You can make out with me later...” You lean in to peck the mole beneath his lip, “We have chores to finish.”

“wE hAvE cHorES to FInisH...” He mocks you playfully and snickers as he narrowly avoids your hand as you swat at him, “I’m kidding! I’m kidding you’re right...just c’mere one last time...”

Your eyes narrow in suspicion but because you are completely weak for him, you allow him to tug you against his chest once more.  

“I love you Mrs. Jeon...” He vows but this time, you can practically taste the sincerity in his tone as he kisses the side of your head, then your cheek, then your lips, “I’ll see you in a bit ok?”

With nothing but warmth in your chest, you offer him a cheesy smile and give him a proper hug.

“I love you too Mr. Jeon...”

As the two of you part ways he turns around to continue his tasks revealing to you the sculpt of his ass within his black jeans.

And of course, you smack it.

Because, who the hell wouldn’t?

“Don’t forget the chicken coop!”

You yell as he jumps a mile high.

“YAH!” He calls after you, chuckling to himself, his cheeks reddening involuntarily.

The rest of the morning passes easily.

You harvest the various herbs and produce from your garden, clean the bathroom, organize the refrigerator after your grocery delivery and catch up on some of your reading before deciding to make some lunch.

Jungkook had been out all morning as well: tending to the animals, fixing some of the fencing, weeding, repotting some flowers and, mowing the front lawn.

He’s probably feeling the same level of hunger that you are so, you head out to the backyard to ask him what he’s in the mood for.

It takes a minute for you to find him but, when you do...you really regret that you did.

His white t-shirt has been discarded over the fence; the only left adorning his body are the dark wash denim jeans, his black work boots and, sweat.

Before he even notices your presence, he pushes his sweaty mop of hair away from his face, squinting at the ray of sunshine currently in his eyes.  

He truly has no idea how attractive he is.  

But you certainly do.  

And you feel like you’re going to faint.

His wedding band catches the sunlight and it reminds you, once again, that this man is your husband.

Which is a fairytale within itself.

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck, wincing slightly before his hand slides down to rub over his stomach (abs), signifying in his own way that he’s hungry.

Which causes you to remember why you came to find him in the first place.

“H-hey babe!’” You call gently, your voice wavering.

Eyes widening a bit, he hones in on the sound of your voice, his face lighting up as he sees you.

“Yah! There she is! Are you all done?”

You smile, adjusting your clothes and wishing that your knees were kissing the soft grass of the garden.

Nodding, you step a little closer to him, trying to avoid full-on eye contact, “Yeah, I just finished up, do you want something to eat? I was gonna make lunch...”

“That depends...” He maneuvers his head to try and catch your attention, his body bending slightly in the process, “Are you on the menu?”

He has the audacity to throw a smirk and an over the top wink your way before immediately cackling as you roll your eyes.

“Shut up...” You shake your head, trying desperately to fight the urge to smile at him but when his face lights up with laughter, you have no other choice.

“Are you????” He insists loudly as he turns to sling his shirt over his shoulder, “I’m starving.”

The way he says the last part of his sentence is less funny as there is clearly some humor disappearing from his tone but, his charming smirk remains on his lips.

As he strolls over to you and, you almost have half a mind to retreat back into the house because, your ability to keep from ogling at him is slowly fading.

“I was going to make something with the broccoli I harvested this morning...” You insist, playfully turning away from him when he tries to lean down and kiss you.

"Kiss meee...” He pleads, pouting his pretty lips, the sweat still very present on his figure, “I’ve been working really hard.”

The way he whines at you is actually kind of hot and, coupled with his slick backed hair and his shirtless torso, it’s getting hard to bring yourself to remember why you originally came looking for your husband.

You oblige, kissing the salt from his lips, indulging in the musky scent emanating from his body.

Jungkook doesn’t like to be dirty but ever since moving to the cottage, he’s fallen in love with working outside and doesn’t focus so heavily on being spotless.  

“I came out here to ask you what you wanted to eat and, now you’re flustering me in the middle of our garden all over again.” You accuse, smiling against his lips, “You need to eat something, I didn’t see you take any fruit this morning.”

He rests his forearms atop your shoulders, grinning shamelessly, “If you weren’t so adamant on feeding me, I could be doing more than just flustering you.”

Jungkook really is an anomaly.

Hours earlier, he was crying into your neck over possibly letting out the bunnies and, now he’s using his charm and good looks to reduce you to a pile of lust.

Unfair.

“Did you not get enough last night? I’m pretty sure we were at it til after 1...”

Jungkook raises a brow, his grin never fading, “Did you? You’re the one pressing your thighs together right now.”  

“No, I’m not.” You lie but, to be fair, you didn’t even notice you were doing it until he pointed it out.

“Yes you are.”

“No, I’m just standing here.”

“Babe, we’ve been together for how long now? I know when you’re in the mood. I don’t know why you can never admit it.”

Because you’re stubborn.

You take one of his hands, leaving one of his forearms over your shoulder as you press a chaste kiss to his knuckles, “I don’t know why you think I’m in a mood. I’m simply asking you what you want for lunch and, its quickly turning into an interrogation.”

It’s impossible to hide the smile on your lips because, he’s completely right.

You are in a mood.

You've been in a mood for hours now.

Jungkook smiles softly, unconvinced, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip, “Ok. Whatever you say. I need to shower really quick; do you need help with lunch?”

Are you disappointed that he didn’t keep at it? Yes.

Are you now left flustered and horny without a solution? Yes.

Do you still get a sense of satisfaction that your husband still tries to pursue even after so many years together? Also yes.

“Nope. I’m good. It should be ready in a half hour or so...” You lean up to press a kiss against his cheek, “Love you.”

A half smile comes over his mouth then, his eyes watching your lips, “Love you too.”

It’s later.  

You and Jungkook are sitting on your sofa, nestled under a blanket, eating homemade ice cream sundaes. The fire is crackling beneath the mounted television that is set to one of your favorite films whilst the world slowly goes to sleep outside your windows.

Life is sweet.

Literally.

“Yours looks so pretty jagi, how did you get the whipped cream to do that?”

Jungkook’s lips are pouted, his head tilting to get a better look at the perfect swirl of whipped cream atop your chocolate ice cream.

“I just swirled the can around in a circle.” You giggle, tucking your spoon into the fudgy scoop of ice cream in your bowl.

Jungkook is not satisfied with that answer at all and he looks sadly at the haphazard lines of whipped cream on his ice cream.

“Mine’s ugly...” His pout deepens, pushing his spoon around his bowl.

He’s freshly showered, his hair fluffy and damp, his skin moisturized and smelling like mint and sandalwood and now he’s pouting???

This man does not let you breath.

“It’s not ugly! It’s abstract.” You assure him, kissing the pout off his lips.

He doesn’t move even as you kiss him, his eyes eagerly looking towards the kitchen, “I wanna try again...”

The laugh that leaves your lips is unavoidable as you follow his gaze to the kitchen, “You want to try to top your sundae again?”

He deadpans, “Absolutely. I need to get this right. It doesn’t look like a sundae.”

“You’re just going to eat it babe, it’s fine. We can practice whipped cream swirls tomorrow.”

You’re still laughing a little bit and he’s chuckling too but the determination never leaves his eyes.

“No, nowwww.” He whines before pushing his bowl onto the coffee table and bounding over to the kitchen.

He plops back onto the couch, slightly out of breath with the can of whipped cream in his hands.

“Ok-” He grabs his bowl off the table and hands you the can, “Show me the motion again.”

You shake your head, smirking fondly at him whilst you set your bowl down where his was.

“Like this...”

You point the tip of the can downwards at his bowl and make a circular motion with your hand, glancing up towards him to insure he’s watching you.

“Ok- Ok I think I got it. Here...”  He gestures to the can, uncapping it before meticulously following the motions you demonstrated, and just like everything else Jungkook does, it comes out perfectly, “Yahhhhh letsgetiittttttt!!!!”

This has you in a fit of a laughter, your chest filling with joy at the sound of his excitement.

Jungkook shoves his sundae into your view, “Don’t laugh! See? It’s so much better now.”

You wipe the tear that’s forming at the corner of your eye, shaking your head at him, once more, “Yes baby, it’s so much better.”

He starts laughing again too because your joy is infectious and he is weak for your smile.

“Thank you. Your expertise is appreciated.”  

With that, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side, placing a kiss on the top of your head, “You’re prettier than this sundae though don’t worry.”

You’re all too eager to cuddle in close with him, admiring the way he looks in his gray sweat suit and admiring the way he makes you feel even more.  

“I’m glad you find me more attractive than the sundae Jungkook.”

He just smirks, getting to work on his ice cream and as he pulls the spoon out of his mouth, he shrugs, “I find you more edible too but, you aren’t ready for that conversation.”

Although you know there is an err of immaturity to his jokes, they still affect you.

They make you feel like a giddy teenager, sick from the pure lust and attraction you feel for your crush.

The comment also sends a rush of heat to your cheeks but, you don’t say anything, you merely kiss his chest and cuddle closer to him.

He is satisfied regardless as he enjoys the fact that he can still make you blush, even if its with cheesy jokes.

The rest of dessert passes in comfortable silence.

Jungkook finishes before you and, offers to take the dishes to the sink whilst you straighten up the living room before bed.

As you’re folding the cream throw blanket that rests over the arm of your sofa, you feel two strong arms wrap around your waist.  

He wastes no time by slowly placing kisses down the side of your neck, his hands slowly up towards your breasts but stopping just beneath the swell of them.

“Is it that time jagiya? Can I make you feel good now?”  

His request is nearing a whisper, his lips brushing up towards your ear.

You lean back, resting your head on his shoulder whilst your hands settle over the tops of his.

After resisting him for the past 10 hours, you’ve grown tired of waiting.

“Yeah- it’s that time.” You whisper assuredly and at that, he spins you around, pressing his lips eagerly against yours.

His breath stalls a bit as your hands find his hips, squeezing gently whilst the two of you settle into the kiss.  

It’s getting too frantic for Jungkook’s liking as he has specific plans for you but, the way you’re kissing him and touching on him is getting to his headspace and he knows he has to stop you before you start kissing his neck.  

Because after that, he’s a goner.

“Come here...come sit on the couch for me.” He whispers into your mouth.

Jungkook has you on the couch seconds later, ridding you of your sleep shirt, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

Instinctually, your arms come around your stomach.

You’re not exactly insecure around your husband but, old habits die hard you know?

Jungkook immediately kisses his teeth, bumping your arms with his hand, “Ah ah...don’t hide from me please, I want to see all of you...” He assures you, as he has a million times but it never gets tiring.

To solidify his sentiment, he spreads your thighs gently and leans over and kisses all along your lower stomach, focusing on the areas he knows you don’t like.

He drags his nose across the band of your panties, looking up at you through his hair, “Did I ever tell you how beautiful I think you are?”

You giggle, brushing a hand through his hair to reveal more of his face to you, “I think you have yeah, once or twice...”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking at the sound of your giggle, “Once or twice? Aish that’s certainly not enough...”

“Maybe more than that...” You mumble, a shivering as he runs his nose along your panties again, one of his hands travelling up towards your breast, “All the time.”

He chuckles lowly, “That’s more like it.” He hums, pressing a kiss above your belly button as his fingers brush over your aching nipple, “It’s still not enough though...that’s why I married you. So I’d be able to tell you every single day.”

Your back arches against his hand whilst he slowly rubs over the sensitive skin, bringing it to a frigid peak.

“I love you.”  

It’s all you’re able to whisper at the moment because your arousal is starting to invade your ability to form sentences and he clearly has a plan to continue fucking with that.

“I love you jagiya...” Jungkook smirks, kissing over your stomach again before sinking onto his knees, “Can I tease you for a little bit? I wanna make sure your nice and ready for my tongue. That sundae didn’t fill me up enough...”

With a shaky breath you nod, parting your legs further but to be honest, you can’t imagine being anymore ready than you are right now.

“Close your eyes for me.”

You’re engulfed in darkness then, surrendering yourself to whatever he has planned for you.

“Thank you.” He kisses the top of your pussy, allowing his lips to linger there as he inhales, “Fuck- you smell really good. I know you’re probably ready now but, I really want to make you drip if I can.”

His comment causes you to inhale sharply, your nipples hardening almost uncomfortably as begins tickling his fingers up the length of your inner legs. His hands are so soft, so delicate as they touch you, stopping just outside the seam of your panties before travelling back up to your knees. Over and over again, he tickles your skin and eventually he starts tracing the edges of your panties with his fingers.  

“Touch your nipples for me. We’re almost there baby, just a little longer.”

He isn’t controlling you.

He isn’t in charge.

He just knows your body so well.

He knows how to make you feel good.

And fuck, if he doesn’t want to make you feel so so good.  

You follow his instructions, bringing your fingers to your nipples and rubbing back and forth over the tops of them, the sensations going straight between your legs as your husband continues his teasing.  

He slides his index fingers beneath your panties now, allowing the backs of them to brush against the lips of your pussy ever so gently, ignoring the throbbing knot of nerves that needs it the most.

When he’s done there, he focuses the tickling motion just on the outside of your panties, tickling his fingers up and down.

Over and over and over and over...

It’s getting a little overwhelming and, just when you’re about to say something he gasps in admiration.

“Oh look at that jagiya- you did it. You dripped all over your panties for me...”

He sounds genuinely proud of you and, you react to his praise instantly, your eyes opening to catch the smile on his lips.

The darkness in his eyes is obvious but there is mixture of adoration and deviance in there too.

He’s going to destroy you.

“Good girl...” He tickles his fingers over your panties once more before kissing the top of your kneecap, “Are you ready to get your pussy eaten now?”

Your fingers are still lingering on your nipples, your legs twitching at his touch.

You're completely enamored with him.

His praise is addicting and you never want it to end.

“Please.” You clear your throat, brushing a hand through his hair, “Yes please.”

He smirks, almost darkly as he kisses the side of your wrist, “My sweet girl...”

It’s the last thing he says before he’s slipping off your panties and getting to work.

He starts by kissing down the length of your lips a few times but, he knows that the time for teasing his over.

You feel his tongue between your lips then, searching for your swollen clit before getting to work on it.

As he licks you towards bliss, his hands are wandering all over you, squeezing at your hips, brushing over your breasts, rubbing at your stomach.

He wants you to know how much he loves pleasing you.

He groans at the taste of you, his dick hardening almost painfully, precum staining the seam of his sweat pants.  

“I- Jungkook I’m gonna cum.” You whisper, hands tangling in his hair as he focuses all of his attention on your clit, licking at it faster and faster.

“Mhm- I know, you’re twitching all over the place for me. Let me taste it beautiful...”

The pleasure launches itself into your senses then, taking up every square inch inside of your body.

You feel your toes curling against the carpet, the back of the couch damp with your own seat as you press your hips towards Jungkook’s mouth.

When it’s over, he’s kissing you and his eagerness accidentally causes him to bite your lip harder than he intends to.

“Shit sorry- I'm so worked up right now. Eating you out makes me crazy...” He whispers shakily and you actually feel for him.

His erection looks painful beneath the confines of his sweat pants and, you want nothing more than to suck the discomfort away.

“Me too- it's ok.” You assure him, brushing his hair away from his face, “Switch me. It’s your turn.”

You don’t have to tell him twice.

He’s on the couch, tugging off his sweatshirt, which was sticking to his skin, his hair a mess as he leans back against the couch.

His body is beautiful; tan, toned and covered in little marks that are specific to Jungkook:

Little moles, various old scars and tan lines from working in the sun so much.

He is beautiful, it’s painful.

Chest heaving with excitement, he ushers your mouth to his “Please ride it, I wanna hold you.”

Who are you to refuse him when he asks so politely?

After yanking his sweats off, you’re sitting aside him seconds later, kissing his mouth like your life depended on it.

“Wasn’t our sex life supposed to go stale at this point? What are we doing right?” He jokes, his hands roaming over your back whilst you line him up with your entrance.

“There’s something in the water up here I think.” You giggle and he follows suit, nudging your nose as he tugs you closer to him.

“Oooh good theory.” He smirks and as you sink down on him, he locks eyes with you, allowing you to see his most vulnerable self.

In the midst of pure bliss...

His eyes widen as you engulf him, mouth opening at the sensation before his forehead falls against yours.

“Fuck.”  

Bracing your hands behind his head, you start a pace you know will lull him into bliss, all while keeping your eyes on him.

The gaze is so intense between the two of you but with the only sound being labored breathing and your skin slapping together, Jungkook snickers.

“Why does it have to sound like that?” He whispers, burying his face into your neck when you laugh.

“It’s not a cute sound.” You agree, giggling despite sinking feeling in your stomach.

Jungkook’s dick is a work of art and it’s more fulfilling than anything you’ve ever experienced.  

It’s going to make you cum again regardless of the unsavory noises filling the living room.  

Speaking of cumming, Jungkook seems to be getting further away from humor as you start to bounce faster on him.

“O-oh shit. Okay- fuck keep going jagi. Please keep going- like that...” He moans now, which is something he only reserves to inform you that he’s really close, “Shit. It feels so good.”

To solidify his fate, you usher his face out of your neck to lock eyes with him again.

“Yeah? I want you to feel good. Are you gonna cum inside for me?”

“Yeah...” He nearly chokes when you tighten around him, holding onto your hips for dear life.

“Let me feel it beautiful. Cum for me.”  

Using his own words against him was a dirty move but, Jungkook makes no complaints and follows your instruction.

His stomach caves in with the force of his breath as he spills himself inside of you, digging his nails into your hips as he does.

You’re not far behind and with a hand between your legs and your husband whispering encouraging words into your ear, you soon meet the same fate.

The two of you stay wrapped up in one another for quite some time before deciding to clean each other up.  

Straightening up the living room was a fruitless endeavor as your clothes end up abandoned on the floor anyway.  

You simply can’t be bothered as you usher a very naked, very happy Jungkook to your bedroom.  

Beneath the cool cotton sheets, he pulls you against his chest, humming contently.

“I wish I could marry you again- that'd be pretty cool.”

In the darkness, you smile rubbing your face playfully against his skin.

“Mmm no. This time, I’m definitely marrying you.”

He scoffs, “Uh no. You married me last time. I wanna marry you this time.”

“Um? You literally proposed to me last time so no, you married me. This time I get to marry you.”

He snickers, “Oh so are you gonna propose to me this time?”

“Yeah- then I’m gonna marry the heck out of you.”

The lack of light prevents you from seeing how big his smile really is but, you do feel the kiss he places between your eyes, “Fine. I’ll allow it but, only because I love you.”

You unknowingly return his smile, hugging him tightly, “I love you too.”