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joelscruff · 1 year ago

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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART SIX

previous chapters | again, thank you so much for all the love on this fic. it's so beyond overwhelming and wonderful to know that people are enjoying this story. i hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know! and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave me a tip 💕 chapter summary: it's time for your first official "lesson" with joel. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mentions of religion, catholic guilt, fingering, oral (f receiving), lap-sitting, grinding word count: 8.7k ao3

You feel ridiculous.

You stare in your bedroom mirror at yourself with a look of pure mortification, assessing the beige dress you're currently wearing that your mother picked out from her own closet, falling to your ankles and bagging off your hips in the most unflattering way imaginable. It looks like a potato sack with long sleeves, long and floppy and absolutely horrendous.

You slowly shake your head at your reflection as she comes up behind you with attentive eyes, assessing the same trainwreck you are. You can see in her expression that she's similarly disappointed in the way it looks.

"I'm not wearing this," you say quietly, trying not to sound too harsh, "Please, Mom, this doesn't fit me right."

She bites her lip, eyes still scanning you up and down, "You're probably right," she sighs.

She wants you to dress modestly for your first lesson with Joel. You'd settled on Saturdays as your official "lesson" day, a perfect choice in your opinion as you now have an excuse to go to his house on the weekend without having to lie to your parents about where you are. You want to appease them in some way, your mom in particular; you've felt so bad about all the lying you've been doing, you feel you owe her something. And that something is apparently agreeing to let her pick your outfit, a decision you're already regretting immensely.

"The navy blue one was nice," you say, gesturing toward one of the other options she's laid out on your bed - one that's actually from your own closet and not hers, "I know I've grown out of it but it's not that short."

She walks over to your bed and picks up the dress in question with an exasperated sigh, eyeing the clock on your night stand, "I guess it'll have to do, we're running out of time. You don't want to be late," she hands it to you quickly, "You'll have to wear stockings with it though."

You nod - that's a compromise you can deal with.

She gives you some privacy to change, leaving you to fight your way out of the oddly shaped beige atrocity on your own. It crumples into a pile at your feet and you kick it to the side with a little too much aggression. Imagine if she'd actually made you wear that - Joel would never want to touch you again.

The thought of Joel sends a rush of warmth throughout your body as you slip into the other dress, velvet and modest but nowhere near as awful as the previous one. You'd talked to him on the phone last night after he'd finished work, cuddled in bed against an extra pillow in place of him - you'd slept so well on Thursday night when you'd slept in his bed, felt so safe and warm in his arms, you're now doing anything you can to replicate it. You'd wrapped his flannel shirt around it, coating it in his scent.

"I miss you," you'd whispered through the phone, the insecurities from the previous night almost nonexistent as you nuzzled your cheek into the fabric of his shirt, "I know I saw you this morning but I can't help it."

He'd laughed lightly, soft and familiar in your ear, "I miss you too, babygirl. Miss havin' you in my bed."

You'd taken only one deep breath before admitting softly, "I miss your cock."

He'd groaned, low and deep, "I know, darlin'. I know you do."

You'd both had simultaneous orgasms about ten minutes later, your name on his lips as he came into his fist and you buried your face in the pillow you wished was him, fingers scissoring inside you. You walk over to your bed now and pull up the mattress a bit, tugging his shirt out from underneath while you have a spare moment alone. You bring it to your face and inhale deeply, eyes closing and heart fluttering; you're obsessed.

"Ready to go?" your mom calls from downstairs, and you quickly shove the flannel back under the mattress, making sure it's hidden before you dash to your dresser to grab a pair of stockings. They're black and stop at your thigh, the edges hidden beneath the dress; you already know Joel will take them off soon enough.

You immediately notice the grimace on your mother's face when you appear at the bottom of the stairs and you wonder what you've done wrong already. She assesses you again without saying anything, gnawing on her lip and circling you a bit.

"Can I go?" you ask quietly, unsure what she's going to say, "I don't wanna be late."

"Where's your crucifix?" she finally says, tilting her head slightly, "I don't think I've seen you wear it all summer."

Astute observation - you haven't worn it all summer. It's still upstairs in your jewelry box, exactly where you'd left it when you went off to college several years ago. You'd begun to resent everything it represented and no longer felt like parading around with it on your neck like you'd done your whole life. The thought of wearing it now after so many years of forgetting it even existed... well, it certainly doesn't appeal to you whatsoever.

But you are trying to make up for all the lying, even if she doesn't necessarily know it.

You plaster a forced smile on your face, "I'll go get it." She mirrors it and nods as you turn around and head back up to your bedroom. Do it for the lessons, you think to yourself calmly.

Looking in the mirror after clasping the gold cross around your neck is a trip to the say the least. You suddenly feel ten years younger, standing in your bedroom preparing for an early service, Sunday School homework crumpled in your backpack and an immense weight of pressure on your shoulders to be perfect. You stare at the crucifix and feel that familiar sense of guilt begin to creep in, surrounding you in a quiet but palpable void of judgement that you've spent years trying to escape.

Why the fuck are you doing this? Why are you so hellbent on following the rules, after everything you've done? Why does the approval of your parents still mean so much to you? How is any of this even worth it?

You swallow back the pain you feel, the guilt, the anger, the resentment, all of it. Now is not the time to have an existential crisis; you have a "lesson" to go to - something you are not going to feel guilty about, no matter how bad your former Catholic brain may want you to.

As if by some ironic miracle, your phone buzzes and you unlock it to see a sudden surge of text messages in your college group chat:

have fun at your lesson 😘

don't do anything we wouldn't do!!!

pls give us all the details later 🥵

ITS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE TO SUCK DICK ON ACCIDENT JUST FYI

A breathless laugh escapes you, relief flooding your body at the sudden sense of normalcy, the reminder that what you're doing is not wrong. You're so glad you told your friends about what's been going on - you can't imagine keeping this secret all to yourself any longer. Knowing that they're there, that they support you and care about you and want you to have these experiences... it's enough for you to turn from the mirror without a second glance.

It's just a fucking necklace.

You arrive on Joel's doorstep at exactly ten o'clock, smoothing down your dress a bit and taking a deep breath before knocking. You're not sure how he's going to react to you standing there in all your Catholic glory, hair down and parted through the middle, crucifix dangling from your neck, hymn book weighing heavily in your purse. You still feel like that past version of yourself, shifting nervously from right foot to left as you stand there waiting for him to open the door.

The knob finally twists and there he stands, tall and broad in front of you. Your eyes widen when you see him, lips parting in surprise - the exact same reaction he has when he sees you.

He's dressed up. No band t-shirt or jeans to be seen, no bare feet or messy hair or disheveled beard. His grey curls are gelled back, demure and handsome, scruff trimmed up to shape his jaw. He's wearing a grey button down tucked into a pair of black dress pants, shoes that look freshly shined. For all intents and purposes, he looks like he's about to go to a church service.

You both stand there staring at each other without saying anything, both pairs of eyes scanning up and down your bodies with almost no regard for politeness. You're speechless, completely in awe of his sudden transformation, a transformation you certainly had not been expecting.

"I thought, uh-" he chokes out, breaking the silence between the two of you as his hand reaches up to awkwardly touch the back of his neck, "I thought your mother might bring you."

You continue to stare at him, a ball of emotion suddenly growing heavy in your throat, "Y-you wore this in case my mom came with me?"

He slowly nods, suddenly looking a bit sheepish as his eyes scan the road behind you for any onlookers, "I wanted to make a good impression."

With a shaky inhale full of a feeling you can't describe, you take a step toward him, unable to stop yourself from reaching forward to grab his hand, "Joel," you whisper, barely audible and almost alien in your mouth - you're so used to calling him Mr. Miller, "That's... that's..." you don't even know what to say, words completely failing you.

"It's no big deal," he says with a small smile, tugging on your hand and urging you to follow him inside, "C'mere."

As soon as the door closes behind you he's grabbing both your hands and pulling back to look at you again, eyes still awestruck. You can't help but feel embarrassed when his gaze freezes on your crucifix.

"My mom made me dress up," you mumble, "I know, it's a lot."

He nods and clears his throat, taking a long exhale through his mouth as he continues to peer at you, "I'm a bad man." Your brow furrows, confused for a moment before he laughs breathlessly and shakes his head, "I am, I must be, 'cause I shouldn't find you wearin' all this so damn sexy."

A giggle slips past your lips, skin warming as he entwines his fingers with yours and moves forward a bit to tower over you, eyes trailing to your lips.

"I mean it, darlin'," he whispers with a tender smile, "You look... fuck, you look pretty."

"Thank you," you whisper back, tilting your head up a bit more, waiting for him to kiss you - and he does. It's soft and sweet, not the type you'd been expecting after a comment like that. He seems slightly reserved as he kisses you, squeezing your hands in his and pulling away far too quickly, "What is it?" you ask quietly, raising an eyebrow, "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head again with a chuckle, "Nothin' at all, babygirl. I'm just... I'm tryin' to keep at least some of these next two hours focused on learnin' guitar."

You make a face, "Oh. Right."

"Remember what I said the other night?" he looks down at you with a playful smirk.

We'll make it sexy.

A smile spreads slowly across your face, "I remember."

He sits you between his legs on the couch, just like the first time he'd touched you. He noses your shoulder and breathes you in, pulls you close as he carefully places the guitar into your lap. His arms are warm and comforting, thighs strong and safe. You lean back into his touch immediately with a sigh of contentment, closing your eyes.

"Now, how am I supposed to teach you if you've got your eyes shut?" he asks with a laugh. You pout and open your eyes again, turning your face a bit to catch a glimpse of his relaxed expression.

"Sorry, it's just - you're distracting."

He snorts and redirects your attention to the task at hand, reaching down to capture your fingers in his and bring them up to the neck of the guitar. It's already distracting having him so close, but you can feel the shape of his cock against your lower back; it's not even hard -not yet, anyway - and your heart is already pounding.

"I mean it," you mutter softly, "I can't think when you're so close to me. Not after..." you trail off, feeling your cheeks warm at the thought, "Not after what we did the other night."

You feel him smile against your jaw, lips ghosting your skin, "I know, it's overwhelmin' isn't it?" His fingers trace the shape of yours, pressing gently against the guitar, "That's normal, sweetheart. We took a big step."

You can't help but lean back into him as he speaks, head coming to rest gently on his shoulder, forehead brushing his neck, "It felt so good," you whisper, secretive and shy, "When you were on top of me like that. When you had your mouth..."

He hums softly in understanding without you having to finish the thought, turns a bit to nose your hairline, "You want my mouth on you again, huh?"

"Yes."

He kisses your skin softly, lingering for a moment before moving his face downward, "How 'bout this?" he murmurs, pressing another soft kiss to the bare skin at your neck, "How 'bout I teach you three chords? Just three," another kiss, this time to the spot above your collarbone, near your crucifix, "and when you can play them for me without my help, I'll give you a reward."

"What kind of reward?" you breathe, eyes closing again as his lips graze your neck back and forth.

"Somethin' that feels really good," he whispers, and you swear you feel the tip of his tongue flutter against you for a brief moment, warm and wet, "Somethin' new I wanna show you, if you'll let me."

"I'll let you do anything," you admit, voice shaky, "You know that."

He smiles against you, then slowly licks a long stripe up from your neck to your cheek, an act that probably would have disgusted a previous version of yourself but now sends you reeling, skin going hot beneath his mouth. You turn your head toward his and he captures your lips in a searing kiss, the kind you'd expected at the door, full of arousal and sex and the promise of more. You're already wet and throbbing when he pulls back to peer at you.

"I know," he murmurs, hand that's not on the guitar coming up to hold your chin between his thumb and index finger, "You'd do anything I asked, huh?" You nod, eyelashes fluttering as he thumbs your chin and whispers, "Such a good girl."

Your mind is empty as he releases your chin and takes your other hand in his, bringing it down to the strings. You let him move you the way he wants to, adjusting you a bit between his legs so you're pressed more firmly against him, his broad chest tight against your back. You can't help but let out a breathless noise, almost a whimper.

"I know," he repeats, voice calm and soothing as he pushes his groin forward so his clothed cock makes even more contact with your lower back, "I know, babygirl, it's so much, isn't it? Feelin' so many different things," he carefully adjusts your fingers on the neck of the guitar, places them on the correct strings and murmurs, "You can do this, I know you can. And then you'll get your reward, I promise."

His words are smooth as butter and have almost no meaning at this point, thoughts foggy as you press down on the strings and try your best to focus on what he's asking of you. You're suddenly completely pliant under his touch - he could pick you up and bend you over the kitchen counter and you'd let him, wouldn't even have a thought in your mind as he did it.

But he won't - that's not why you're here.

Learning guitar chords with a half-hard cock digging into your back and warm breath at your neck is much easier said than done. You don't know how you manage to get through the fifteen minutes it takes you to learn the C chord, and the ten minutes it takes to learn what you think is the D chord - you can't even remember now, you're so distracted by his body against yours. He's teaching you G when you feel yourself slipping, thighs rubbing together to seek some kind of relief. It's never felt like this before; usually you'd be touching yourself at this point or he'd be touching you. The lack of contact almost hurts, your pussy throbbing around absolutely nothing and dampening your underwear, begging silently to be relieved in some way.

"What's wrong?" he whispers, big fingers still pinning yours to the neck of the guitar, stubble scratching against your skin as he presses a feather-light kiss to your ear, "Tell me, darlin'. Why're you wigglin' around like that, huh?"

He knows why; you can feel the smirk on his face, sense the teasing edge to his voice. He's enjoying this, having you completely under his spell while you try your hardest to learn and remember. His cock is getting harder by the second, the movement of your hips and ass certainly not helping the situation by any means. You know what it looks like now, what it feels like, can picture it in your mind growing stiffer and stiffer, leaking from the tip through his pants.

"Feels f-funny," you manage to whimper, forcing yourself to strum out your first G with shaky results. You try again, pushing your fingers more firmly against the strings with Joel's help, feeling his nose trailing gently across your temple.

"What feels funny, sweetheart?" he murmurs, and part of you wants to rip yourself from between his legs, toss the guitar to the floor, and straddle his lap, grind yourself down on him. You've never done it before but you can suddenly see it in your mind plain as day, an obvious solution to the problem in your panties that's growing worse by the second.

"My pussy," you moan, closing your eyes and tilting your head against his shoulder again, hands loosening on the guitar, "It hurts."

He pulls you in closer, inhales your perfume and releases a low groan, "Poor baby," he murmurs, "I know, honey, you're just achin' to be touched, huh?" He tightens your fingers against the strings again, eyelashes fluttering against your neck, "Come on, sweet girl, you almost got it, you're so close."

You're not sure he intends for that to have a double meaning but it makes you groan nonetheless, a weak sound that makes him chuckle. He removes his fingers from yours and waits for you to show him the chord without help - you can feel his eyes on you as you shakily strum. You wince when it comes out sounding wrong.

"Gotta push down harder," he murmurs, "You almost got it, babygirl, show me."

"I can't," you whimper, shaking your head, "I can't, Mr. Miller, it's too much, please."

"Shhh," he soothes, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck, "You can, darlin'. You're doin' so good." You feel him pull your dress up in the back as he speaks, and then he's suddenly pulling you up and into his lap, sitting you directly on his clothed cock. "You just gotta push a little bit harder." He grinds against you at the word, firm and purposeful, pinning you to the solid length of him.

"Oh my god," you gasp out, awestruck by the feeling of him, so big and thick and warm beneath you. Your pussy continues to pulse and throb and you know you're already starting to soak the nice pair of dress pants he'd worn for you, covering his crotch in your slick.

It's somehow still not enough. You find yourself grinding down onto him, matching his own movements as your hands squeeze the guitar and your thighs push together. You whimper pitifully in his lap, squirming and making a mess but too horny to care about how ridiculous you probably look.

"You feel my cock against your pussy, baby?" he asks, voice low and deep, and all you can do is nod frantically, a moan tearing from your throat, "That feel better? Think you can play now?"

You truly don't think you can, but he's clearly still waiting for you to show him. Your whole body is on fire, hands trembling as you push your fingers against the strings as hard as you can, strumming out the G chord with more success this time. You sigh in relief, loosening your grip on the guitar and leaning back into his touch.

"Now show me all three," he whispers.

"Mr. Miller," you groan, frustration and arousal starting to fully overtake you, "Please."

"Shhh," he repeats, "Shh, baby, it's okay. It's okay, I'll touch you this time. Just play those three chords while I play with your pussy, alright? Can you do that for me?"

You nod again, swallowing tightly as you reposition your fingers on the neck of the guitar and try to remember where they're supposed to go for the C chord. It's impossible to focus as Joel snakes his arm up around your belly, slips his hand down beneath your dress to where you're aching.

"Lemme feel," he murmurs, fingertips tickling over the wet spot of your panties and pressing down gently against you, "Oh, she's throbbin', babygirl." You moan again, borderline hysterical as he uses two fingers to circle your hole through the fabric, callused tips prodding your folds. "Shhh, I know, baby, I know. Keep goin honey, keep playin'."

You don't know how you do it, have absolutely no idea how you manage to actually strum out the chords while he's touching you like this, but you do. You shakily play the C as he slips his index finger inside your panties and places it against your hole, feels how much you're dripping for him and groans into your neck.

"Always so fuckin' wet for me," he murmurs, "Never even had a cock inside you and your pussy's so ready for it every time, babygirl, just beggin' to be filled up."

He pushes both his index and middle fingers inside as you play the D chord, slipping them in with barely any resistance as you grip the guitar and try your hardest to keep going, to not give up - you're so close, in more ways than one. You whimper when the tips of his fingers brush gently against that spongey part inside you that you can't reach yourself.

"That's it," he encourages you softly, slowly beginning to fuck you with them, pulling them out and pushing them back in as he noses your neck and breathes you in as you tremble, "I know, sweetheart, feels so good, doesn't it? One more, baby, one more."

Tears are stinging in your eyes as you strum out the G chord, the last one you need to play in order to get your reward, to end Joel's teasing and finally get what you were promised. You push your fingers down as hard as you can and play it with a finality that makes him smile against your skin.

"All done," he murmurs, taking the guitar from you with one hand and tossing it to the other end of the couch. You moan out a sound of relief and he pulls you in close, holds you firm against his lap and speeds up his fingers, fucking you harder and smiling wider when you cry out in pleasure, "Good girl, angel, good girl."

You can't speak, jaw going lax and eyes hooded as his fingers plunge in and out, his other hand spread on your belly as he pushes you down onto his cock. You turn your head slightly to bury your face in his neck, biting down on your lip and letting the sensations overwhelm you, whimpering when you feel his cock twitch and pulse through the material.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks huskily, "Didn't even wanna learn guitar today, did you? Just wanted to come over and be my good little girl, get fucked by my fingers and grind against my cock, that right?"

You're unable to answer any of his questions, letting your body do all the talking for itself as you become completely loose and pliant under his touch, a ragdoll in his lap as whimpers continue to escape your mouth.

"Wearin' this little dress," he murmurs, "And these fuckin' socks," the hand that's not on your pussy comes down to rest on your thigh, squeezes the bare spot between your dress and your stocking, "Just beggin' to be touched, babygirl."

You should've seen what I had on before I left the house, you think to yourself, remembering the beige potato sack and thanking the heavens that your mother hadn't made you wear it. You watch as Joel pulls up your dress in the front, exposing both of you to the pornographic image of his hand inside your panties, fingers fucking you relentlessly while you drip and soak everything within reach.

"You want your reward now, baby?" he asks you softly, pulling your hair back and pressing a wet kiss to your temple, fingers beginning to slow, "Huh? You wanna try somethin' new?"

"Y-yes," you manage to finally speak, voice faint and weak, "W-want it so bad." And it's true - you don't even know what it is but you're dying for him to do it already, teach you something else that's not just chords on the guitar.

At your words he pulls his fingers out of you and you whine, petulant and frustrated as your hips buck in his lap. Without a word he pulls you off of him and carefully slips off the couch, placing you back against the cushions where he was sitting. You watch with wide eyes as he kneels on the floor in front of you, hands coming up to rest on your knees as he slowly pushes your legs apart.

"W-what are you doing?" you whisper, but a small voice in the back of your mind tells you that you already know, recalling past discussions from your friends that you'd listened to with curiosity. Is he...? Is he really going to?

"Gonna kiss it better, baby," he breathes, hands trailing up to the edges of your stockings and carefully thumbing your bare skin, shuffling closer and looking up at you with those big brown eyes, "Gonna make you feel so good."

"Isn't it..." you feel yourself frowning, thoughts muddled, "Don't guys not like..." you're not sure how to word it, grimacing, "Aren't you supposed to hate doing that?"

His brow furrows, "And where'd you hear that from?"

"My friends at college," you breathe, "They say guys hate doing it. Or... or they don't know how to do it right or something like that."

He surprises you when he smirks, eyes going devilish and sexy in that rugged way you love, "That's 'cause college girls usually sleep with college boys, babygirl," he says softly, "And college boys are dumb as rocks."

You giggle at his words, thinking back to that freshman party you'd attended where the handsome college boy had rejected you, gone for your friend instead. Joel's words are validating, comforting.

He pushes up your dress a bit more, then drags your panties down your legs, completely soaked. He smirks again at the sight of them, squeezes them in his palm before dropping them to the floor and picking your legs up to place them on his shoulders, pulling you toward him. You let out a gasp, eyes going hooded again as he scoots you forward and then dips his head down, presses a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.

"This," he murmurs against your skin, "is one of my favorite things to do in the whole world." He kisses your other thigh, the hint of his tongue just barely flicking out to wet your skin, "And I wanted to do it to you," another kiss, "since the first day," and another, "you showed up on my doorstep."

You're losing your breath again, lips parting as he finally brings his lips to where you're aching for him, soaking the couch with your arousal. He presses a small and tender kiss to one of your outer lips, then the other, then carefully moves his hands up to thumb them apart, holding you open for him. You don't dare make a sound, biting down hard on your lip as you watch him look at you, take you in.

"Prettiest pussy I ever saw," he says quietly, breath fanning out over your wet skin, "I mean it, sweetheart. Ain't never gotten to kiss a pussy like this," he leans forward then and presses a small kiss to your clit, feather light. Your hips buck immediately, an odd sound coming from the back of your throat as you try to keep yourself together, "I know," he murmurs, "Just let go, honey. Don't hold back, want you to come all over my mouth."

And then he's licking a stripe up your folds, just like he'd done to your neck, long and languid and wet. Your eyes roll back, head hitting the back of the couch as he tastes you. The feeling of his mouth on such a sensitive part of you is indescribable; your head is suddenly empty again, no thoughts to be found other than feels so good, feels so good, feels so good. You don't even realize you're saying it out loud until he laughs, mouth vibrating against your pussy in the most perfect way.

"Love this cute little clit," he murmurs, kissing it again and then tugging it into his mouth with his tongue, sucking on it and making you writhe on the couch, fingernails digging into the cushions. He hums around it, pulls off it relatively quickly, then drags his mouth downward and pushes his tongue inside your hole, fucks you with it as your head lolls atop your shoulders.

College boys really are dumb as rocks.

"Your tongue," you moan out, eyes scrunching together as gasps continuously rip from your throat, "Oh fuck, oh my god." He licks inside you, pulls his tongue out to suck your labia, nose bumping against your clit. You shriek, hands coming up to cover your face as you bite down so hard on your lip you fear you might draw blood.

"Tastes so fuckin' sweet, babygirl" he says gruffly, pulling away for only a few seconds to peer up at you, chin glistening with your juices, "Just like I knew you would." He drops back down to suckle on your clit again, the tip of his tongue circling it over and over until you're on the verge of completely falling apart, a fire burning inside your belly that's growing stronger and stronger by the second.

The only thought that comes into your mind before you come is how sinful you must look right now, wearing your Sunday best, crucifix around your neck, hymn book strewn to the side as your fifty-six year old neighbor eats your pussy, coaxes noises out of you that you didn't even know you could make. You should feel ashamed, should feel sorry, but you don't. In fact, it's probably the hottest thing you've ever experienced in your life.

You have no time to give him any sort of warning, not that he needs one anyway. With one final suck to your clit you're gone, hips bucking upward as you cry out into Joel's living room pathetically, eyes shut tight as you flail beneath him. He puts his hands on your hips, pins you to the couch so you don't fall off as you come all over his mouth, just like he asked.

You lay there for what feels like a long time, body like jelly as you sink further and further into his couch. He peppers tiny kisses all over your pussy, avoiding your clit as not to cause you too much overstimulation, then very slowly pulls back to look at you, dropping your thighs from his shoulders.

"Good reward?" he asks softly, and all you can do is nod.

You listen as he gets up and busies himself in the kitchen for a moment, running the tap. He returns with a wet cloth and a glass of cold water, handing it to you before dropping back to his knees to wipe you clean. You hiss a bit when he touches your clit, hips stuttering.

"Shh, it's okay," he murmurs, "Just cleanin' you up, sweetheart."

When he's done he scoots in beside you on the couch, lets you curl up against him and lay there for a few quiet moments, breath evening out as you come back down to Earth. He strokes your hair, kisses your forehead, thumbs your cheek.

"That felt really good," you finally whisper softly, eyes hazy as you open them to look at him, "Thank you."

He smiles, charming and gentle, "You're welcome, babygirl."

"What time is it?"

He looks at his watch, "Ten after eleven, still got some time to spare," he brushes his nose against yours, "You wanna keep practicin' or do you wanna relax?"

"Relax," you hum, "Definitely relax."

He chuckles, "I'll put this away then," he extricates himself from you and reaches for the guitar, turning around to lean it back against the wall. He picks up your hymn book and goes to slip it back inside your purse before you sit up, shaking your head.

"I told my mom I loaned that to you," you smile sheepishly, "You should probably, um, keep it for a little bit."

"Ah, so that's my reward," he says with a laugh, thumbing the pages gently, "I'll take good care of it, promise."

Your eyes go wide at his words, "Oh my god."

He raises an eyebrow, puzzled by your reaction, "What?"

"You never came," you sit up on the couch, shaking your head frantically, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, come here, let me help," you reach toward his belt and he just laughs again, taking a step back.

"You don't need to do that, sweetheart," he says softly, kindly, but you're not having it.

"No, I want to, please," you stand up from the couch and step toward him, gripping his belt buckle, "Please let me."

He shakes his head; suddenly he's the one looking sheepish. You halt your movements, staring at him in confusion.

"I came, darlin'," he says with a breathless sort of laugh, smiling at you, "I came in my pants like one of your college boys. Haven't done it in years, actually. I'm surprised I still could." He pulls your hand off his belt and brings it to his lips, presses a kiss to your knuckles, "You're not the only one who learned somethin' new today."

You feel a proud warmth flood your cheeks, smiling softly to yourself as you take his words in.

"That bein' said, I'm gonna need to change," he winces a bit as he adjusts his pants, "I'm a bit of a mess right now." His eyes suddenly light up with some kind of realization, and he quickly puts his finger up before walking over to one of his bookshelves and pulling a little gift bag off the bottom shelf, "Which reminds me," he says with a smile, heading back over to you, "This is for you."

You stare at the bag, confused, "For me?"

"For you."

You take it from him, feeling beyond touched despite not having any idea what's inside. Your heart is beating fast as you reach in the bag, push past the tissue paper and pull out something lightweight, soft under your touch. You stare at it for a few seconds, looking at the pastel pink material and thumbing it gently, brow slowly beginning to furrow.

"You said you needed a new swimsuit," he says softly, "You wanted a bikini, remember? I picked this up for you."

"Yeah, I... I remember," you're still staring at it; it's cute and ruffled, nothing too crazy like the things you'd worried he might get for you. However there's an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach as you look at it, dropping the bag at your feet and holding up the top half in front of your face, staring at it like it could attack you at any second.

It's quiet for a moment, then, "I can take it back if you don't like it, darlin'. No worries."

"No, no, I...I like it," you say quickly, "I just..." you can't really explain how you're feeling, unsure how exactly to word it, "If my parents ever saw me in this..." you suddenly feel like you're going to cry, shaking your head and dropping the top back into the bag, "I'm sorry, I know I told you to get it but... now that I'm actually looking at it... there's no way I can wear this in my pool. Not without my mother having a conniption. I don't know what I was thinking."

You feel his eyes on you as you reach down to pick the bag back up, pushing it back toward him, waiting for him to take it from you - he doesn't.

"It's yours, angel," he says softly, "You don't have to wear it but I want you to have it."

You shake your head, pushing it toward him again, "No, you don't need to waste your money on something I'll never wear."

"I don't care, I want you to have it," he repeats, voice kind yet firm, "I bought it for you, it's a present, and I think you deserve to have somethin' nice for yourself."

"I have plenty of nice things," you snap, letting go of the bag and watching as it cascades to the floor, "I don't need it."

You can't bring yourself to look at him, crossing your arms against your chest and biting down on your lip to keep the tears at bay. He stands there for a few seconds silently, probably waiting for you to say something else, but you don't.

"Well, I'm gonna go change outta these clothes," he says quietly, "I'll meet you out on the back deck, alright? It's real private out there, don't gotta worry about anyone seein' you."

You nod slowly, staring at a spot on the floor. He turns away from you and heads upstairs, leaving you standing there feeling like a complete asshole. What is wrong with you? He just gave you a fucking present, not to mention the best orgasm of your life, and this is how you treat him? You take a deep breath and force the tears away, sighing to yourself and bringing your gaze back to the little bag on the floor.

You hate this. Why does every single thought you have need to be somehow policed by your parents despite them not even being in the room? Why is every decision, every move you make, always influenced by that guilty part of you, the part of you that wants to be their perfect girl, their star student, their obedient God fearing daughter? How has it gotten this deep? Why are they so ingrained in you to the point where something you literally asked for is tainted by thoughts of their disapproval?

You stand there staring at the bag, arms still crossed, thoughts going a mile a minute. Get over yourself. You just had a man's mouth on your pussy and you're suddenly worried about wearing a bikini? You make a grumbling sound in your throat, exhaling and shaking your head. Stop letting them control you. Stop giving them power.

You slip inside the downstairs bathroom, little bag in tow.

The sun is hot against your skin as you step out onto Joel's back patio, clad in your brand new bikini and surprisingly less self conscious than you thought you'd be. He was right; the backyard is very private, shielded by trees and a tall white fence similar to your own. You briefly wonder why he'd choose to play guitar on his front step when he has such a nice atmosphere back here, but the thought fades quickly when you see him sitting there in front of you in a lounge chair, wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else.

You feel your heart pound as you walk forward, shutting the door behind you with eyes glued to the hair on his chest, the sweat clinging to his skin, dipping into his tummy. You're still a bit embarrassed by your initial reaction to your gift but it's seemingly water under Joel's bridge when he turns around at the sound of the door to see you standing there.

He whistles when he sees you, low and cartoonish, "Phew. I think I made a good choice," he looks you up and down as you smile shyly, "Gimme a twirl."

You do as you're told, the thin ruffles tickling the tops of your thighs as you spin on the spot. You giggle when he whistles again.

"I really do like it," you say softly, walking over to him and settling into the other lounge chair, "It suits me. I'm sorry I got all weird."

He smiles at you tenderly, "That's alright, babygirl. I understand," he pauses then, looks thoughtful for a moment before saying, "You know... I know what it feels like to be worried about disappointin' your parents. To always be seekin' approval."

Your brow furrows at his words, "You do?"

He nods, leaning back a bit in the chair and sighing a bit, "I may be new to this neighborhood but I ain't new to Texas, darlin'. Born and raised here, went to church every Sunday just like you, had a curfew and rules and expectations and all those things you have." He closes his eyes against the rays of sun, "Difference is, I'm not an only child. I wasn't dealin' with it alone, thank God. Had my little brother Tommy with me every step of the way."

You smile at that, trying to picture a much younger version of Joel in his childhood, horsing around with another little boy. You'd always thought about what it would have been like to have a sibling, to not be the only one with all the pressure on your shoulders, but your parents had never given you any. Your mom had wanted to have more kids and simply couldn't, another layer of guilt added to your ever increasing pile. Her only daughter - a sinner. You shake the thought away and continue to listen to Joel.

"The thing about havin' a brother, in my experience anyway, is that people will always find ways to compare you. Tommy was always the smart one, the moral one, good head on his shoulders, always did well in school and knew his scripture back to front," he chuckles to himself, "I tried so hard to be like him but I just couldn't do it, wasn't built that way, never have been. I was the angry one, the problem child. Was always good with my hands but my parents never saw much value in that, always ended up askin' me the same shit: Why can't you be more like Tommy? Tommy's got straight A's, why don't you? When are you gonna start actin' more like Tommy?"

You frown, feeling a pang in your heart at the words.

"Was too much pressure to be like Tommy. He was their golden boy, you know? And I just couldn't compare. God knows I tried but..." he reaches over the side of his chair and picks up a bottle of beer you hadn't noticed before, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip, "I started messin' up a lot when I hit my teenage years," he continues, "Drinkin', breakin' curfew, sneakin' out to see girls. I had fun but my parents...phew, my father in particular, he was not happy, let me tell you. And then -" he cuts himself off suddenly, frozen for a moment before taking one last sip of beer and putting it down again.

"Then...?" you ask softly.

He shrugs to himself, hesitating a bit before answering, "Then... I got myself into some trouble. Won't go into it, not right now, but they kicked me out. That was that, didn't wanna have nothin' to do with me after that."

Your stomach twists at his words, "That's horrible."

He shrugs again, finally turning to look at you, "It ain't as bad as it sounds, trust me. I was better off, I didn't need any of their judgement in my life, any of that Catholic guilt. It was like a weight came off my shoulders. Sure, I had some bigger fish to fry after that, had to do a lot of things on my own, but I wouldn't change a thing."

"So, do you still talk?" you can't help but ask, feeling slightly selfish; it's for you, for your own conscious.

"Who, me and my parents?" he laughs lightly, "They're long gone now, sweetheart. But yeah, after my Dad died I spent some more time with my Momma, got to have her in my life again for a bit. That was nice." He ponders to himself for a moment, "I think, as cliché as it sounds, time really does heal most wounds. Nothin's ever perfect, nothin' can ever go back to the way it was, but people change. And while they're changin', you gotta focus on what's right for you, on livin' the life you want, not worryin' about what they'll think."

You nod thoughtfully, taking in his words. "So... this life, the one you're living right now... is it what you want?" you ask softly, brow furrowed, "Are you happy?"

He sighs then, leans further back into the chair and closes his eyes once more, "Now that's a complicated question."

You both lay there in silence for a little while, though it's neither awkward nor uncomfortable. It feels nice, to just sit with somebody with no pressure of making conversation or answering things about yourself. Every time you've interacted with anyone this summer, whether it be your parents or your mom's friends or people you used to know, there's always been an expectation to inform. To prove yourself, to show how good of a person you are, how much you've achieved. With Joel none of that pressure exists; it's so easy to just be with him and not have to be anyone but yourself.

Though he hadn't really answered your question, you have an answer of your own. Before you met Joel, almost two weeks ago now, you hadn't known where you stood in life, what you wanted, who you were. And now you're slowly beginning to realize that there's this whole other person inside of you, dying to get out, to be free. And you like that person, want to be her more than anything, want to live that life.

But just like Joel said - it's complicated.

"Do you ever..." you break the silence, trailing off slightly before continuing, "Do you ever feel like you're just kind of going through the motions? Like... wasting all your time doing things for other people instead of yourself?"

"Honey, you just summed up my whole life," he says with a laugh, deep and smooth, "You think I wanna be out workin' til ten every night, doin' construction and barkin' orders and layin' plans for shit I got no interest in? I'm fifty six, I should be thinkin' about retirin' by now." He winces at his own words and then sits up a bit, giving you an odd look, "Forget I said that."

You raise an eyebrow, confused, "Why?"

He grimaces, "I don't need to be remindin' you how old I am."

You can't help but laugh, smiling to yourself and shaking your head quickly, "I don't mind, Mr. Miller, really."

His expression softens at your words, but then his brow furrows. He's quiet for a moment, the cogs in his head seemingly turning until he finally says softly, "Call me Joel, darlin'."

You're a bit surprised by his words, eyes widening, "Oh, I'm sorry."

He smiles, "Don't be sorry, sweetheart. I... I do like you callin' me Mr. Miller, but you can call me by my name too, if you want. If it feels natural for you."

You nod slowly, "Joel," you say quietly and he chuckles, "Joel," you repeat, smiling to yourself, "Joel."

"Don't wear it out," he admonishes with a grin, reaching down to pick up his bottle of beer again, "Though I do like how you say it."

Your cheeks warm at his words and you settle back into the chair, closing your eyes and inhaling the fresh air. Your time is winding down now - you'd told your mom you'd be home around noon; the sun is almost at the highest point in the sky.

"So what would you be doing?" you ask suddenly, "If you had more freedom for yourself, if you weren't doing the whole contracting thing?"

He thinks to himself for a moment, then shrugs, "Playin' music, I guess. Always wanted to when I was young but my parents didn't like the idea, I'm sure you can imagine." You grimace at his words, understanding completely. "But yeah... doin' some gigs, playin' guitar, singin' a bit here and there... that'd be the dream." He smiles at you then, crinkly eyed and gorgeous, "What about you, darlin'? If you didn't have all these things with your parents to worry about, what would you do?"

You bite your lip, averting your eyes from his as you softly murmur, "I think I'd still be sitting right here with you."

He looks at you for a long time, thoughtful and soft. You can't help but feel shy under his gaze, toying with a ruffle on your bikini and wondering if maybe you've said too much. You've barely known him two weeks, you doubt he's feeling any ounce of the butterflies that have been fluttering in your belly since the day you met him, and yet you can't help but hope that maybe...just maybe... he's starting to.

"You want a beer or anything, sweetheart?" he interrupts your thoughts, standing up from his chair and gesturing toward the house, "I'm goin' in to get another one. I have some lemonade too."

"Lemonade sounds nice," you say with a smile, and he mirrors it, reaching down to push a strand of hair behind your ear.

"One lemonade comin' right up," he murmurs, then leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, sweet and quick. You melt under his touch, eyes closing as he strokes your cheek, realizing you could sit here forever just existing with him, being touched by him, being kissed by him.

Yup. Very complicated.

You arrive home to find your mother sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch; she looks up as soon as she sees you, eyes lighting up, "So? How'd it go?"

You're wearing the dress again, the stockings, the crucifix. The only difference is that the hymn book in your purse has been replaced with the pink bikini, wrapped in tissue paper. You sit down across the table from your mother, feeling a little lighter, like there's a little less weight on your shoulders.

"It was amazing," you tell her, unable to stop the genuine smile that spreads across your face, "I learned so much."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #fic: feelings on fire #*

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wannaeatramyeon · 2 years ago

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Lookism Boys (+ Taehoon + Wangguk) being ill + YOU looking after them hc

Gun Park, Goo Kim, Samuel Seo, Jake Kim, Vin Jin, Johan Seong, Seong Taehoon, Han Wangguk

Gun Park

He is self-sufficient to the core.

Does not need any looking after.

You offer to run out and buy medicine? No need, he is stocked better than a pharmacy.

Reminders to hydrate? He's had 2 litres already and it's not even midday.

You don't need to tell him to rest, his body is his temple and he takes the utmost care.

Some homemade food though? Oh. Well. You can't buy homemade.

Him lying all fever brained on your lap as you watch TV or whatever? That's not so bad neither.

You running a bath for him? Thanks. That's thoughtful.

Huh, he thinks maybe it's not so bad relying on someone other than himself.

Goo Kim

Clingy and fussy-

But you knew that already, being his partner.

Treats you as his hot water bottle one moment, the next will kick you away saying he's too warm.

He expects to be babied, and he expects your full attention. So please drop everything and tend to him now.

If you could also run your fingers through his hair and let him lie on you for the next few hours, that would also be great.

And if you can put his favourite show on that would also be appreciated.

You trying to watch something else once he's sleeping? No chance. He is wide awake and pouting at you.

At least he will give you the same treatment when you're ill.

Samuel Seo

Samuel is not ill.

How dare you imply he is in anything but peak physical condition

That's not a cough, that's not a sniffle, and he is not flushed.

There's something wrong with the thermometer, he is fine.

Nothing is wrong with his voice (as he slowly loses it through the day...)

Will take a lot of persuading and convincing to rest up

"Yes, there will be other people to pick up your work. And no, it's not a personal slight to say that you are sick."

You have to pry his laptop and tablet and phone from his fingers.

Of course, that's easy. His strength is waning in his current state.

"Shhh Sammy, go to bed." Tuck him in. lay next to him, pet his hair.

He'll soon be napping next to you, holding you tight.

Jake Kim

Also complete denial at first.

He is the head of Big Deal, he cannot be sick.

That SINU! sneeze is not a front. That is actually how he sneezes.

Phelgm and snot everywhere. It's pretty repulsive to be honest.

After one too many sneezes, and everyone flinching the hell away from him, Jerry carries him home to you.

Wants to be babied, wants to be fussed, wants your complete attention.

Goes about it in a slightly less obnoxious way, but he's so adorable, even trying to give you a wink in his current state so you can't say no.

Pads around the home following you, blanket wrapped around him, tissue shoved up his nose.

Might as well give up whatever you're doing and tend to your boyfriend.

But Jake would absolutely do the same for you.

Vin Jin

This fucking guy-

Demanding and a little shit.

If you let him, he would take absolute full advantage.

Would run you in circles doing things for him.

"Y/N I want some water, Y/N where's my medicine, Y/N I need some chocolate, Y/N I need a burger." "What?? Shouldn't you eat something.. healthier?" "No babe, the body wants what it wants."

Will flop all over you, lying on your lap, your chest. Partly because he finds you comforting, partly because he's a little asshole.

"Sing me a lullaby" "Uh... ok." You sing. "Actually, no shut up babe you sound like shit."

Once he falls asleep, his breath laboured and cheeks flushed, you can't help but think ok, he's pretty cute. Only when unconscious though.

Will still keep his sunglasses on the whole time. "Just in case someone ambushes me." "WHO?!"

Johan Seong

Way too ill and low in energy to put up any of his usual defenses. Will revert back to a little meow meow.

You are absolutely not allowed out of sight.

In fact, you are not allowed out of arm's reach.

Will cling to you like a koala, that is a fact.

Actually, you might as well all stay in bed, Eden and Miro included because you are guaranteed to not get anything done.

Even cooking is only a possibility. Hopefully you have all medicine stocked, and some decent, cheap, healthy take-outs nearby.

Because if Johan wakes up from his nap and you're not there, he will be sulking for a year straight.

The only excuse?

"Johan, I need to walk Eden and Miro." grumble grumble "Ok... but be back quick?"

Seong Taehoon

The grumpiest babygirl you have ever seen.

It's a goddamn good job you love him because my god, this guy!

Equal parts bad-tempered and clingy

A bit like how he usually is, to be honest, but turned up to the MAX.

Go away, you're crowding him one second, he's all up in your face wanting cuddles the next.

And the fact that he's not allowed to train?

Good lord, don't anger it further. It's not like he's in any fit state to train anyway but he will still be fuming about it.

No Taekwondo, no arcade. He might as well just DIE.

At least he's still got his other favourite thing - you. This placates him a little.

Han Wangguk

Wangguk does not get sick, Wangguk is the caretaker.

Other people get ill and he looks after them.

"No, seriously, Wangguk. You're burning up. Go back to bed!"

Needs a lot of goading to actually rest. Even then, he doesn't fully rest.

He keeps a watchful eye over you, just in case you need him.

After he gets used to it? Absolutely loves it.

You making some food for him, grabbing him medicine, gentle cuddles, forehead smooches, even taking care of Gyeoul?!

He really could get used to this.

Is a puddle, constantly leaning on you and wanting to be close.

After this, he always enjoys being ill. Only a tad. It's a way for him to be spoilt guilt-free by you.

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mickstart · 3 months ago

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- be me

- sketchy stock market obsessed F1 team principal with multiple bodies found on my home property.

- want verstappen

- can't have verstappen

- insecure AF because my current 7 time wdc is divorcing me for being unable to stop fucking him in the ass with terrible cars

- tell everyone I've got my own verstappen and he's younger and cooler and better and more talented and I don't need that 7 time wdc anyway BC I have the world's most talented teenager

- put world's most talented teenager in the car on low fuel and softs within an hour of his first ever proper formula one session and tell him to do a glory run

- worlds most talented teenager sticks it in the barriers

- everyone laughs at me and worlds most talented teenager now has trauma BC I built him up too much too early with too little support.

- ah fuck that's Gasly not Verstappen

#f1

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watermelonlovershigh · 2 years ago

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12 Little Things Harry Does >

AN: so thank you to my brain for coming up with this idea. i've done one of these similar to this concept before except that one was specifically dadrry. hope you all enjoy and feedback is encouraged.

This contains: mentions of sex, mostly fluff, mentions of being sick

{ husbandrry - softrry - current harry era }

word count- 1,392

Twelve small things Harry does out of his love and admiration he has for you.

1. No matter how heated the moment is getting, Harry will always stop before things get too carried away and take off each of his rings, setting them in the little ring dish that sits on his bedside table. Sometimes it can be annoying when you've just stumbled into the bedroom, making out and tugging on each others clothes for Harry to just stop and remove his rings, but you know he has good intentions. His good intentions are that he never wants to hurt you by accident with his rings, beings his hands love to roam your most sensitive areas and sometimes even go inside those sensitive areas.

2. If Harry wakes up before you do to go on his morning run or trip to the gym, he always leans over your sleeping body before he leaves and pecks a kiss on either your cheeks, nose, or parted lips. Most of the time you stay asleep through his act of love but there have been times you've woken up. Harry just can't leave the house without giving you a quick kiss, even if you won't know it happened because you were asleep.

3. Harry knows you are severely allergic to lettuce so he makes sure when ordering you food that he mentions no lettuce. If he ordered you burgers or tacos, he'll even open them up, digging through the meat and toppings with a fork to make sure there are no traces of lettuce before giving it to you. And if he eats a salad himself, he makes sure to brush his teeth right after so when you kiss each other you don't come in contact with any lettuce he just ate. His kind gestures make your heart nearly burst.

4. When he's away on trips that you unfortunately couldn't come with him on, Harry will always send you a goodnight text. Even if the time zones are totally different. If he's in America and he's going to sleep, he'll send you a little goodnight message even though for you in England are half way through your morning activities.

5. When Harry is feeling a bit sad or down about something, he'll crawl into your lap and lay his head either on your chest or shoulder. This can be when you're on the couch watching a film or in bed about to sleep. He doesn't even ask you if he can do it, he just does it and you don't question it. You welcome Harry with loving arms and hold him to you tightly so he has that security feeling he's longing for.

6. Harry will track your periods each month and make sure you have enough pads and tampons stocked up in the bathroom. When he sees you're about to start your period within the next couple of days, he'll look in the bathroom cabinets and see how many products you have left from your last cycle. If you're running low, he'll make a trip to the store and grab you another box of whichever ones you were running low on, pads or tampons, sometimes both. Since you've been married you've never gone a month without enough period products.

7. He'll tell you he loves you about a million times each day. Harry's love language is physical touch and words of affirmation. If he's not physically showing you he loves you with hugs, kisses, or even sex, he'll say "I love you". When you first wake up, Harry tells you he loves you. When you're driving down the street, he'll say" I love you" over the radios music. When he's cooking you both dinner, he'll turn around from the stove and tell you he loves you. When he's in the shower and you're at the sink getting ready, he'll yell out from within the steamy shower, "I love you". During sex, no matter if its a casual quickie or love making, he moans out "I love you's" over and over again, making sure you know he really does love you alot.

8. When Harry's asleep, he's always gotta be touching you in some way. When you first got into a relationship that part was a hard one to get use to because you loved your personal space when sleeping. But after a while you got use to it. Harry is either spooning you, you're spooning him, he's laying across your chest, you're laying across his. If you are sleeping side by side, he'll have an arm stretched out so his hand is on your arm or belly. Sometimes subconsciously rubbing your skin with his thumb in gentle circles in his sleep. You're legs are usually twisted together somehow as well.

9. Harry will cry at sad films and not be embarrassed about it either. Well, when you first started dating years ago, he was, but now in your marriage he's not at all. He's watched The Notebook a thousand times before but still cries at the ending every time he watches it again. Every time you watch Titanic together he bawls his little green eyes out, which in turn has you holding him like he's a baby and kissing his tears away. You love how as a man he's not afraid to show his emotions. It's a sexy trait for males to have in your opinion.

10. When you're sick, Harry goes above and beyond to make sure you're okay and well taken care of. If you have a cold, he will run to the store in the middle of the night to buy you some cold medicine. He'll set a timer on his phone for each new dose you're suppose to have and check your temperature every few hours to make sure it doesn't spike. If you have the dreaded tummy bug, he'll sit with you on the bathroom floor while you're puking your guts up in the toilet, rubbing your back and holding your hair away from your face. He'll make sure you stay hydrated with plenty of fluids and even feed you some plain crackers in hopes they stay down. And when they don't stay down and you can't make it to the toilet or trash can fast enough, he will pull out the cleaning supplies and clean up your vomit. All while comforting you and telling you it's okay and not to worry about the mess.

11. When Harry is sick, he is such a baby but you truly don't mind because nothing brings you more joy then taking care of your lover when he's in a vulnerable position. Though he is scared he'll get you sick, he can't help but need your cuddles and care when he's not feeling very well. If he has a cold, he'll ask you nicely if you can bring him some warm tea and run him a bath. After you make his tea and fill up the bathtub, he'll beg you to sit beside the tub and keep him company. Then you'll see just how weak and fragile he is and end up washing his hair and body yourself. Him loving every second of your gentle hands on his body. When his stomach is not well, he'll ask for tummy rubs. When the tummy rubs don't settle his swirling stomach, he'll tell you he's gonna be sick and have you lead him to the bathroom because he hates being sick alone. You'll clip his hair up and rub his back as he kneels down and pukes in the toilet. And Harry hates throwing up so he'll end up crying and you have to comfort him even more then you already were.

12. If you have a date planned for the night and you're getting ready, when he first views your sexy outfit he has to palm himself through his pants because you turn him on. Harry will walk up to you, wrap his arms around your body, give you a smiley kiss on the lips, mutter how beautiful you are, and tell you how he can't wait to get you out of these clothes when you get home later. Then throughout the drive to the restaurant, in the restaurant, and the drive home, Harry will be supporting a boner. He's not only turned on by your appearance but also just has a love boner from how much he loves you.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @japanchrry // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet // @meetmyblondemuffins // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles // @skyangel57 // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss // @kissmyaxe140 // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore1 // @florencepughily // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom // @swiftmendeshoran

// @luv-flor7777 // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone // @goldenkhae // @lntwithharry // @shadowygladiatorlight // @manifestrry // @mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghosts // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @theroosterswife24 // @justlemmeholdyou // @stylesmygucci // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

#harry styles #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles numbered list #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #husbandrry #husband!harry #softrry #soft!harry #harry styles fic rec #harry x reader

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gretavangroupie · 9 months ago

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Errant

Word count: 16.0k

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smoking, Angst, Fighting, Name Calling, Toxic Themes and Behavior, Allusions to Cheating, Jealousy, Anger, Gaslighting. Smut: Kissing, Touching, Oral M!Receiving, Fingering, Oral F!Receiving, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Slight Masochism, Slight Humiliation Kink, Spanking, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex. Fluff.

A/N: Hey! Welcome back for the third installment of the four part Valentine's Day Mini Series I've been working on along with my best pal, @sacredstarcatcher! We've had so much fun writing these, and we hope that you enjoy Josh's story! This may not be everyones cup of tea, so make sure you read the warnings! There's only one left now, and we can't wait to share Jake's story with you! See you real soon!

JOSH POV

You sit on the exam table, gently swinging your feet as the doctor scribbles on his prescription pad. The paper underneath you crinkles, your clammy hands getting stuck to it.

“It’s looking like the perforation is healing, but I’m going to give you some antibiotics and ear drops. You’ll take the antibiotics for 10 days and the drops for 5.” He tears off the prescription and hands it to you. “Just be sure you aren’t drinking and you avoid getting any water in or around your ears.”

You scrunch up your nose when you hear the pointed reminder not to drink.

“Thank you, doc. I’ll be on my best behavior.” You joke, hopping down from the table. Your sneakers squeak as you stick the landing.

Navigating through the back halls of the ENT practice, you follow the signs that direct you to the check-out. It’s eerily quiet as you walk through the waiting room and out of the front doors. The sun nearly blinds you when you get outside, so you lift your hand to block it out while you search for your girlfriend’s car.

Spotting her a few rows into the parking lot, you walk in her direction, knocking softly on the window once you’re close enough. She unlocks the door and you slip inside, the car next to her parked a little too close. She sighs, shifting from park to drive while you buckle your seatbelt.

“How was it?” she asks, her enthusiasm lacking. You look over at her as she cranes her neck to check that the way is clear before she pulls out of her parking spot.

“Well, it was fine.” You take a deep breath before continuing. “I have to take antibiotics and put in ear drops for a few days, so you might have to help me with that. I can keep taking the pain meds that the doctor I originally saw prescribed, but the pain should subside as I heal.”

She nods, keeping the radio volume low. The only time she doesn’t sing in the car is when she’s upset, and you know the song currently playing is one of her favorites. So, you seal your fate and ask the dreaded question in every relationship.

“What’s wrong?”

She huffs and thinks for a moment before she answers.

“You know it’s Valentine’s day, right?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess it is.” You’ve never put much stock in the holiday and you didn’t think she did either. The last two years, you hadn’t ever done more than get her some flowers or chocolates delivered, mostly because you weren’t around.

“I just… I don’t know, it’s the first one we’ve been able to spend together and we’re spending the day going to the doctor and the pharmacy…”

“Oh, so you’re mad that you had to bring me to the doctor?” you ask, a little defensive now.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Josh. I’m just saying I wish we were doing more than running errands.” She speaks curtly to you, and honestly, it’s a little condescending.

“It’s a made up holiday anyway. I’ve never bought into all the hearts and candy and bullshit. I didn’t think you did either.” You rest your head on your hand, looking out the window as she drives a little too fast down the freeway.

“It’s not about that. You’re not getting it.” she snaps, her tone whiny and frustrated.

“Listen. I had my assistant send you chocolate covered strawberries to your office. I don’t really know what else you want from me.” you bite back. You’ve had enough of this argument and want to be home already so you can take something for your pain and try to get some rest.

“I didn’t even know that, seeing as I had to call out and use a sick day to take you to the doctor.” she says, and you feel your scalp get hot, your temper flaring.

“So you are mad you had to bring me to the doctor.”

“I just don’t understand what a ruptured eardrum has to do with driving!” she says, her voice raising a bit. “You didn’t take your pain meds this morning so you technically would have been fine to drive… I just don’t appreciate that I had to use my PTO on Valentine’s day and all I’m doing is driving Miss Daisy.”

“I don’t know if you realize this, but I’m in a lot of fucking pain.” you grit out, and she scoffs a laugh.

“Yeah. I’ve heard.”

You know you’re about to lose it, so you close your eyes for a moment, gathering your composure. Unfortunately, she just keeps going.

“I thought I was going to spend my Valentine’s day getting bitten and scratched by your brother’s awful fucking cat, but now that you’re all home, I get to spend my evening dealing with you while you’re miserable and in pain, and I’m not sure which is worse.”

“You act like I’m home on some vacation… I have a work function tomorrow even if I’m not out at the shows, so–”

“Are you kidding me?! You somehow have MORE obligations now that you’re home? I guess I’m the fool for thinking we would have more than a few hours to spend together.” She cuts the wheel and turns sharply into your driveway. You grab the handle of the door and grumble under your breath at the way she’s driving like a maniac.

“Look, it’s not like I asked to go. Jake and Danny did the last one, so now Sam and I are stuck going tomorrow. It’s supposed to be nice. It’s a fancy thing, dinner and drinks. I figured you would be my date.”

You watch her turn off the car and think for a moment, the word “date” appealing to her a little bit, which is exactly what you had hoped.

“Come on. I missed you and I feel like shit and you’re… you’re all prickly. Can’t we just have a nice night in? I’ll make it up to you. I just want to take a nap.”

She seems to be thinking about it as she gets out of the car. You unbuckle your seatbelt and follow suit, walking around to her side and reaching for her hand. Tugging her closer, you wrap your other arm around her shoulders and kiss her on the side of her head with some force.

“Okay, okay…” she relents, leaning in to you.

“I love you. You’re still my Valentine, right?” you ask, nuzzling your nose into her hair and squeezing her tighter. It works up a little giggle out of her, which means you’re in the clear.

“I guess so. You didn’t even ask me.”

You squeeze her again, this time digging your fingertips into her sides to tickle another laugh out of her.

“It was on the card that came with the strawberries, obviously.” you quip, peppering her cheek and neck in kisses while she continues to soften up.

“Oh, get out of here. Go take your damn nap.” she says with a smile, turning you by the shoulders towards the house and pushing gently.

—

HER POV

You hear the soft padding of feet upstairs and the whip of the flat sheet as your bed is remade, pulling your attention away from your computer screen as you send off emails. The sun is set now, the room cast in darkness, and you figure Josh has slept off the fatigue that was a result of his medications. You gently close your computer, setting it next to you on the couch as you hear his feet walking slowly down the stairs. You turn to lay eyes on him, looking a little worse for wear in his low slung joggers, but still glowing as usual.

“Hey baby, you feel any better?” you ask, resting your chin on the back of the fluffy leather couch cushion.

“No. Not really, but it’s fine.” he pauses, reaching the landing and walking up to the back of the couch. He pulls his phone from his pocket and checks the time, “You want to get ready, we can go grab dinner?” he asks, running a hand over his messy curls.

“I would love to, but are you sure you want to?” you ask, a little surprised that he actually wants to go out.

“Yeah, I have to eat with these antibiotics.” he says, pushing off the couch, and heading into the kitchen. “How long do you need to get ready?”

“Um, I don’t know, twenty minutes or so?” you answer, standing quickly and grabbing your phone from the coffee table.

“Alright, I’ll be up there to change in a minute.”

You take the stairs two at a time, rounding the corner into your bedroom, and dashing into the closet. You finger through your hangers searching for the perfect outfit, the idea not occurring to you that you’d need one since he wasn’t even supposed to be home for Valentine’s day this year.

You pull a dark burgundy top from the hanger, the thick sweater material perfect for the cold snap that has swept over Nashville this week. You pull your t-shirt over your head and put it on while reaching for a pair of dark wash jeans. After shimmying into the denim pants, you find a pair of heels, kicking off your socks and securing the buckle at your ankle.

You make a mad dash into the bathroom, doing a quick version of your normal make up and running a curling iron through your hair. You’re spraying your wrist with his favorite perfume just as you see him walk past the bathroom door and into the closet. You can hear him changing clothes, grabbing his coat and pulling it over his arms as he steps into the bathroom and meets your gaze in the mirror.

“Wow, uh, you know it’s freezing out, right? Actually, colder than freezing.” he says, adjusting his sleeves.

“Yeah, I’ll grab my coat from the closet down stairs, no big deal.” you answer, walking towards him and shutting off the bathroom light.

“You sure you want to wear heels?” he asks, as he ushers you downstairs, a lilt in his voice.

You open the coat closet, grabbing your jacket and pulling it over your arms. “Yeah, why not?”

He throws his hands up, “Just asking…”

You grab your purse from the kitchen counter, following his lead out to the car. He makes a point to open your car door, shutting it behind you before skittering across the front of the car to join you.

With the turn of his keys, his Jeep roars to life, his fingers quickly pressing the buttons to turn on the heat. He puts the car in reverse, backing up enough to turn around in the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath his tires. He lays his hand over top of yours on your thigh, clasping your hand in his. He licks over his lips and turns to look at you.

“Hey,” he pauses, waiting until he has your attention. You let your eyes meet his, before he refocuses on the road. “I’m sorry about earlier… I just have a short fuse when I’m in pain. Thank you for taking me today, and thanks for taking care of me.”

“Oh, it’s– it’s okay, I know you don’t feel good. Don’t worry about it, baby. We’re here now, right?” you say, offering him a lopsided smile.

He pats your thigh as he drives down the road, leading you into town as he mouths the words to the songs playing through the speakers. Your heart flutters as you look at him, your head tilting back to rest on the headrest, just happy to be with him, and happy that he changed his mind about doing something tonight.

You’re quickly pulled from your daydreams as he whips the car into the parking lot of Phil’s Tavern, a local spot that is not exactly known for its phenomenal cuisine, sitting a whopping 5 minutes away from your home. You sit up a little straighter, making sure you’re seeing this right, and that he really is parking the car.

“Phil’s…” you question, turning to look at him.

“...Yeah? Did you want something else…?” he asks, as if annoyed you’d question his decision.

“You said– You– I thought we were going to dinner, not picking up sandwiches from the fucking neighborhood bar?!” you shout.

“I’m not getting a sandwich. I’m getting soup. You can get whatever you want.” he says, pulling his keys from the ignition, and opening his door.

A huff leaves your mouth as your jaw hangs slack, watching in shock as he shuts the door behind himself and makes his way to yours. He opens yours and offers you a hand to step down, but you’re still sitting in shock that this is his idea of a romantic Valentine’s day date.

“Josh…” you admonish, looking down at your heels and sweater.

“What? I asked you if you wanted to wear that and you said yes!” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Yeah! I didn’t think we were going to fucking Phil’s, Josh! It’s Valentine’s Day! I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there aren’t a lot of cars in the parking lot?!”

He clicks his tongue, and looks around. “Perfect, then we have the place to ourselves.”

Your eyes close on their own and you take a deep breath to keep yourself from having a meltdown. You grab your purse from the floorboard and grab his hand, stepping out of the car and snatching it away from him as soon as your feet hit the gravel.

He shuts the door behind you and locks the car, the two of you walking quickly into the dimly lit bar and grill. You walk up to the counter to order, watching as the bartender throws back a shot with the guys at the end of the bar. You catch his attention and he rushes over to the order counter pulling a pen out of his pocket. “What can I get ‘cha?”

“Hey man, can we uh– I’ll take the soup of the day, whatever it is is fine.”

“It’s ahh, it’s Chicken Tortilla.” he answers.

“Yeah, that’s great, thanks.” he answers, pulling his wallet from his pocket. “Babe?” he murmurs, wanting you to order.

“Okay, I’ll do a Cuban, extra pickles.” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

He nods, “Outta Cuban bread, sorry sweets.”

“Okay I’ll do the Italian then.” you concede, watching him scribble it down on the notepad.

“You want that hot or cold?” he asks.

“Hot.”

“Think our press is down, but I can check.” he says, turning to shout towards the kitchen.

“It’s down, is cold fine?” he asks, him and Josh both staring at you.

“Fuck.” you mutter under your breath. “Yes, fine.”

“$17.97.” he says, ringing the service bell for the staff. Josh swipes his card through the card reader and puts it back into his wallet, placing it back in his pocket before thanking the man at the counter.

“Oh shit, I didn’t tell him it’s to go. You don’t care if we take it home, right? It’s a little loud in here.” he doesn't give you a chance to answer before stepping back up to the window.

You pull your phone from your purse, opening Instagram to mindlessly scroll while you wait for your food, seeing story after story of the dates your friends are on, fueling your rage all the more. You didn’t care that you weren’t at a fancy restaurant. You didn’t care that you were having a sandwich. You cared that he seemingly didn’t care about how you were feeling. That it was just any other old day to him, simply because he didn’t subscribe to the holiday. But that didn’t mean you didn’t. You tried to see the bright side, that he was home, and that you were at least together, even if he was in a sour mood.

He steps back over to you, pulling his own phone from his pocket and sending a few texts. You can’t help but notice how carefree he is, completely unbothered and oblivious to how you’re feeling as you stand right next to him.

“You wanna watch a movie or something when we get back?” he asks, putting his phone in his jacket pocket.

“What movie?” you ask, raising a brow.

“I don’t know, a documentary? We can find something, I’ll probably fall asleep watching it anyways.”

You huff out a laugh, “Of course. Yeah, whatever you want Josh.”

“What’s your deal tonight, Y/N, Jesus…”

You feel your blood boiling beneath your skin and just as you are about to unleash, the order bell rings and a brown paper bag is placed on the counter. Josh steps up and grabs it, pulling his car keys from his pocket and heading for the door, leaving you to follow behind him.

—

He pulls into the driveway rapidly, rocks flying as he throws the car into park. Shutting off the engine he pulls his keys from the ignition and grabs the brown paper bag from the center console. “Come on, let’s get inside. I’ll start the fireplace.”

You huff as you step out of the car, making your way up the walkway, pulling the sleeves of your coat over your hands. He unlocks the front door and places the to-go bag on the kitchen counter on his way to the living room.

You take off your coat and hang it in the closet, pulling your foot up to release the buckles of your heels, letting you drop back down to your normal height. You can hear him mumbling in the living room, clearly having a hard time getting the fire lit. You walk into the kitchen grabbing a bottle of red wine off the top of the fridge, and searching around the junk drawer for the corkscrew. It’s no time at all before you’re popping the cork out of the bottle and pouring the Merlot into a bulbous green colored wine glass.

He joins you in the kitchen, washing his hands in the sink before looking over at you, starting to take the first sip of your wine. “Really? You’re serious…”

“Serious, what? About this glass of wine? Yeah, I am.” you quip, swallowing down the first sip.

“You’re really gonna drink my favorite wine, right in front of me when you know I can’t have any? What are you playing at tonight, Y/N?” he seethes, pulling his plastic container of soup from the bag.

“What am I playing at? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that just because you can’t drink, meant that I had to follow suit! My mistake!” you shout, setting the glass down on the marble countertop maybe a little more forcefully than you should have.

He shakes his head trying to rid the nasty thoughts you know are swirling around up there as he pulls a spoon from the utensil drawer. “Whatever, I’m gonna take this to the couch.”

You grab a plate from the cabinet in front of you, unwrapping your sandwich and placing it on the plate. You look over and see him tinkering with the TV remote, no doubt queueing up something the two of you have watched, studied, and rewatched a hundred times. You grab your wine glass and your plate and join him in the living room, setting your items on the coffee table before sitting at the opposite end of the couch.

The tension in the air is thick, neither of you wanting to say anything for fear of it turning into yet another argument. So instead, he presses play on the remote, and as suspected, ‘Kubrick by Kubrick’ begins to play for the 77th time in this household.

“Josh, really…” you whine, your shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I don’t want to get too invested in anything, I’m gonna pass out as soon as I finish this soup.” he answers, turning up the volume to effectively silence you.

“Can’t we watch something, I don’t know… With a plot? With a shred of romance? That we haven’t seen a hundred times?” you barter, talking over the intro music.

“Can’t you just let me enjoy being home for once?” he snaps, pressing pause on the remote.

Your eyes dial in on his, and almost poetically, you’re positive he can see the reflection of the flames in the fireplace dancing across your infuriated eyes.

“For once…” you breathe, biting your tongue. “Sure, sure. You uh– you just enjoy yourself, okay? I would hate to ruin your time at home with my presence.” you say, standing up from the couch with your wine glass in hand, leaving your sandwich laying there as you bound up the stairs.

Before you even reach the top you hear the music blare back to life, and the slurping of the soup from his spoon. If you had a bedroom door you would slam it but fucking of course, you don’t.

You place your wine glass on your nightstand before walking into your closet ridding yourself of the wasted outfit. You pull a slinky black satin slip from your pajama drawer, dropping it over your bare body before padding back out to the bedroom to close the curtains.

You draw back the fluffy flax colored duvet, thinking of nothing but positively melting into your olive green linen sheets; a Christmas splurge the two of you decided you couldn’t live without. Sinking down into the feather pillows you let out a sigh, finding yourself exactly where you expected to be tonight, before you ever knew Josh was coming home for a few days.

You settle in with your glass of wine and your kindle, reading love stories of men, who at this point, you were sure didn’t really exist. An hour or so later, when the wine was long gone, and the house had grown quiet you heard the front door lock, and the flick of the light switches downstairs. You switched off your lamp, hoping to avoid any further conversation for the night, placing your tablet on the nightstand and pulling the sheets up over your shoulders.

His footfall is light as he pads up the wooden stairs, rounding the corner hesitantly as he catches sight of you in the bed. He slides his hand down the wall as he enters the room, walking quietly into the bathroom and shutting the door. You can hear the sink running and the sound of him tossing his clothes into the hamper as you close your eyes and will yourself to fall asleep.

It’s not long until you hear the door open and feel the dip in the bed as he slides in behind you, a gentle sigh leaving his lips as he sinks into the sheets. You feel the brush of his knuckles as they glide up your spine. “I know you’re not asleep, my love…”

Knowing you’re caught, you turn softly to your back, “No, you don’t know. I could have been.”

A soft smile forms on his lips, a few misplaced curls falling over his forehead, “Not true. I know you fall asleep with your arms over your head every single night. And in the middle of the bed. You never sleep on your side of the bed.”

“Well maybe I want to tonight.” you quip, rolling back to your side and repositioning the sheets.

“Come on baby, don’t be like that.” he says, wrapping his arm around your waist. He pulls you towards him, his obviously nude body conforming to yours. You can feel him, hard against your back and you push away from him.

“Josh…” you scold.

“What, baby…” he asks, running his hand along the curve of your waist. “I miss you…”

“You didn’t an hour ago!” you sneer.

“Yes I did! I miss you all the time! Every single day I’m away from you. That’s why you moved in, remember? So I could spend every day with you when I’m home?” he pauses, “Every night like this?”

“Josh, I just– Tonight was… Well the entire day, really, was rough. I’m not exactly in a romantic mood at the moment.” you answer.

“Well that’s okay, you can just blow me instead.” he says, more of a demand than a question, his lips brushing against your shoulder.

“Oh can I?! How generous of you to offer that to me! What a privilege!” you mock. “You really have earned it, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this myself!” you scorn, reaching for his hand and shoving it towards his dick. “Try that instead!”

“Goddamn you’re being such a bitch!” he seethes, throwing the duvet off of himself and snatching his phone from the nightstand.

“Yeah! Happy Valentine’s day to you too, Josh!” you spit one last time as you watch him pull on a pair of boxers. He smooths his hand over his face and runs his tongue under his lips, looking at you one more time before stomping his way down the stairs.

—

JOSH POV

It took you approximately fourteen seconds after you said it to know you fucked up. It took you two more seconds to realize there was no coming back from it, at least that’s what you deduced as you tossed and turned on the living room couch all night. You spent those sleepless hours racking your brain for ways you could fix this. You were a dick, admittedly, in pain or not, and she in no way deserved the way you treated her.

You pulled your sore body up from the couch, tossing the throw blanket over the arm as you made your way up the stairs. She was still sleeping, sprawled across the middle of the bed with your pillow hugged to her face. You wished you could take back what you said. You wished you had taken her somewhere nicer than Phil’s. You should have known that when you saw her in heels and smelled your favorite perfume. She dressed up for you. But you couldn’t see past your own selfish needs. You only cared about yourself and what you wanted.

You kicked yourself the entire time you spent under the spray of the shower, knowing that of the three sporadic days you would spend at home with her, you’d let one go completely to shit. Then tonight, you’d spend the whole night schmoozing with label executives, where she would willingly stand in your shadow until it was time to go home.

Unless…

A smile spread across your face as you formulated your plan, and as you shut off the water and wrapped a towel around your waist you hoped and prayed it would work.

—

You rap your knuckles against the old wooden front door, peeking through the glass to see if there is any movement inside. It’s nearly noon and you know he’s in there, but whether or not he’s awake is the question. You shove your hands into your pockets, the cold air whipping through the porch a little too harshly for your liking.

You hear his footsteps bounding down the stairs and you see him appear through the glass, a strange look on his face as he opens the door.

“If you’re on my doorstep, you want something that a text wouldn’t cover.” he says, raising a brow.

“Can I not come visit my twin?” you ask, pushing past him into his warm house.

“No, I think your last words to me when we left the airport were ‘Fuck off, don’t call me, I’ll see you in three days’, but I could be mistaken.” he says, shutting the front door.

“Listen…” you counter, flopping yourself down onto his couch with a huff.

He stands across the living room with his hands on his hips and a small smile on his lips. There’s something different about him, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Almost like a little bit of life has been breathed into him.

“Why do you look different…” you ask, the intrusive thought pushing through.

“I don’t.” he says, putting his hands on his hips. His eyes flick up to the window behind you, before looking back at you.

You cut your eyes at him, you can tell he’s not telling the truth but you let it go because you have more important issues to deal with.

“I need a favor.” you say, cutting right to the chase.

He raises his eyebrows signaling for you to continue.

“I need you to go to this event tonight in my place, I–”

“No.” he shouts, cutting you off.

“Jake, please. Y/N and I got in a huge fight and I have to make it up to her and I can’t if I have to go to this fucking thing tonight.” you explain, giving him the shortened version.

“No. Actually, my answer is not only no, but fuck no.” Jake stood with his arms crossed across his chest. You let your head flop back onto his couch, a groan leaving your chest.

“You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t fucking dire.” You plead. “I fucked up, and I have to make it right. Please Jake…”

“Jesus Christ, it’s Thanksgiving all over again. You know Josh, if you and Y/N didn’t fight like this every other day, I might be more willing to consider it. One day you’re gonna fuck around and lose her for good.” he says, shaking his head and rubbing his hand over his chin. “Hold on, you two fought on Valentine’s day? Fuckin’ poetic. What did you do, buy the wrong flowers? The wrong chocolates?”

“No, I… Didn’t get her flowers.” you mumble, hoping he didn’t hear you.

“Okay, so no flowers. Did you take her out to dinner or something?” he asks, tilting his head.

“No, I mean, well, kind of.” you mumble again. “Didn’t really think about it.”

“Where did you take her Josh.” he demands, crossing his arms again.

“We went to Phil’s…And got…To-go…” you answer, realizing again as you say it out loud how bad it sounds.

“The fucking sandwich place Josh, you’re kidding me…” he spits, starting to pace around the room.

“Don’t act all high and mighty Jacob, you sat home alone...” you retort, knowing this isn’t helping your case.

He lifts his finger to you, pointing at you with a scowl, “Fuck you. Also, it sounds like she was justified. Didn’t she take you to the doctor yesterday? Hasn’t she been catering to your ass since we’ve been back?”

“Yeah.” you answer.

“And you didn’t plan a single thing at all…” he confirms.

“Correct.” you say, over enunciating the ‘T’.

“Asshole.”

“Okay, so you agree, I fucked up and need to fix this.” you say, gesturing with your hands. “So go to the event tonight in my place and let me smooth things over with Y/N tonight.”

“Sorry, but I can’t. I have plans.” he answers, shrugging his shoulders.

“Plans?! With who? You don’t leave your house!” you shout, seeing a blur of black fur and claws tear across the living room. “Jesus, I always forget you have that thing.”

“Yeah, I’m not keeping it.” he says, shaking his head. “And it’s none of your business. You’re going to that event. The label doesn’t care if you’re in a fight with your girlfriend. They are expecting you, and you are who they’re gonna get. Plus, Sam will be there so you don’t have to do all the talking. Take her with you, lay it on thick, and take her home. Things will blow over like they always do and you’ll be back to your 2AM facetime gushy bullshit in no time.”

“Fuck…” you sigh, laying down across his couch. “I just don’t think it’s gonna go that way. This was a bigger fight than usual.” you say, feeling your phone vibrating in your pocket. You pull it out to see your timer flashing, indicating it is time for your next dose of antibiotics.

You reach into your other pocket, pulling out the loose pill, and grabbing the glass of water you assume to be Jake’s from the coffee table. You swallow down the pill as he watches in contempt, checking the time on his phone.

“Do you need anything else?” he asks, pacing around his living room.

“No. Guess fuckin’ not. What are you getting into today?” you ask, relaxing back into the cushions.

“I have… some errands to run. And a few other things.” he says, dismissively.

“Errands and a few other things? Who the fuck are you…” you ask, stretching your legs out on to the coffee table.

“I was about to take a shower, are you staying or going?” he asks, and as you lay your head back on the couch your eyes start to feel heavy.

“Just gonna rest my eyes for a minute.” you answer, getting more comfortable.

“Goddamnit, Josh… Okay, but you’re leaving when I do.”

—

The sound of the front door closing is what wakes you, and as you come to you see Jake standing in front of you with grocery bags, clearly back from his errands.

“Well, good morning.” he says, his tone a little snipped.

“Shit, what time is it?” you ask, pulling your phone from your pocket and checking the time. Fuck.

“Yeah, time for you to go the fuck home and get ready.” he says, making his way into the kitchen.

“Alright, I’m outta here, good luck with your… plans…” you smirk, making your way to the door.

“Don’t need luck, but sounds like you do. Fix it, Josh.” he says, pushing you out the front door and slamming it behind you.

—

HER POV

As you leave the house, you think back on how many hours it’s been since you spoke to Josh. He popped into the bedroom when he got home and let you know that you had to leave by 6 to get to the event on time, but you don’t really count that as a conversation. You hadn’t actually exchanged words since your argument before bed.

The two of you sit in complete silence as he drives, the radio turned down so low it’s barely audible. You hold your jacket close around you, unable to shake the chill from the awful cold snap plaguing Nashville.

As you arrive, Josh quickly gets out of his Jeep, jogging around to your door to open it and offer you a hand to step out. You accept it, begrudgingly, and steady yourself on the asphalt. You opted for smaller heels tonight, a little scorned from the night before. You look at him and see his slightly forced smile under the streetlight. He’s in his favorite brown suit, his hair in perfect curls, three tiny, metallic dots painted on the apples of his cheeks. He looks sinfully good, and if you weren’t so upset with him, you’d kiss him square on the lips.

“I know you don’t want to be here. Just… at least try to smile in the pictures, okay?” He says, a hopeful lilt to his voice.

You give him a little side-eye before starting to walk towards the front doors of the venue. He catches up with you after locking the car, his hand landing on your upper back as he ushers you into the front door he’s holding open for you.

The two of you wait in line for the coat check, your eyes scanning the lobby for anyone you may know. You don’t recognize anyone, so you shuffle ahead in line and keep your coat pulled tight around you. Once you’re a bit further up in line, almost to the front, you hear a familiar voice.

“Heeeeey guys!”

Sam’s arms wrap around both of you from behind, pulling you into a forced group hug. He unintentionally cuts the entire coat check line to stand with you and Josh.

“Hi Sammy,” you mumble, giving him a halfhearted smile. He looks to Josh, who forces a grin, his nose scrunching up in a way that makes it clear to Sam that the two of you aren’t getting along. It’s nothing new to Sam, so he shrugs it off.

The line moves again and you’re finally at the front. A friendly young girl is standing behind the podium at the entry to the closet, a few guys running back and forth to take coats and put them in their assigned spots. She offers the three of you a smile as she looks down and tears a tab in half.

“Can I take your coat, sir?” she asks Josh as you start to shrug your own off your shoulders.

“Ohoho, trying to get me out of my clothes, young lady? I just walked in the door!” he says, like he’s some sort of comedian. You roll your eyes so hard you think they may fall out of your head and fold your coat over your arm. She laughs, her cheeks turning pink as she accepts your coat instead. She dutifully hands the coat to the boy behind her, then offers the other half of the ticket up, between you and Josh for either to grab it.

“And now you’re trying to give me your number?” he jokes with a charismatic grin, seeing the number 107 on your ticket. She lets out a shameless giggle at that one and you can’t help but shake your head and walk away, uninterested in hearing any more of his god awful jokes. You arrived in a terrible mood and he’s already managed to make your night worse.

Passing through the entrance to the cocktail hour, you grab a glass of champagne and thank the server. Taking a big sip, you look behind you and see Sam and Josh approaching, Josh talking animatedly with his hands to Sam, but Sam is looking straight ahead. At you.

His eyes scan over your figure- you’re in a champagne satin mini-dress. The cowl neckline is loose, but the waist pulls in due to the lace-up back. The shimmery color is brought to life under the light right above where you’re standing. Sam isn’t listening to a single word Josh is saying, just nodding and staring at you from a distance as his steps slow.

It’s then that you cook up a terrible idea, if not the worst you’ve ever had. If Josh wants to treat you like he doesn’t care about you and put more romantic energy into the coat check girl than he’s shown you in days, you may as well give him a taste of his own medicine. Right?

Sam eventually pulls his eyes away from your body, nodding cluelessly at Josh. He can’t help it and looks back at you again, but this time, Josh’s gaze follows his. You sip your champagne, ignoring the way Josh’s eyebrows raise in surprise as his neck cranes forward slightly. You can read his lips as he says, “Jesus Christ.” and look away without giving him a reaction.

The two of them make their way over to the high top cocktail table you’ve claimed as your own. Josh clears his throat and musters up the courage to speak to you. His voice sounds like it might crack.

“I’ve never seen that dress. Where’d you get it?” he asks, giving you another once-over now that he’s closer.

“You sent it to me while you were in Paris for my birthday.” you answer dryly. “Or was that your assistant too?”

He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, realizing he’s just dug himself a little bit deeper.

“Come to think of it, Josh, have you ever bought me a gift yourself? Or do you just send the people that work for you on errands to ship me fancy baubles to keep me quiet and occupied while you’re away?”

He steps a little closer to you, lowering his voice.

“Do we have to do this here?” he pleads. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember. You look beautiful. Okay? Let me go get you a drink. What do you want?”

You cut your eyes to Sam, who seems to be trying to occupy himself by staring up at the ceiling. Letting out a big sigh, you mumble back a tired, “Champagne,” to Josh.

He nods and walks off, heading for the bar. In the meantime, you look at Sam, who’s giving you a nervous smile.

“Sorry. It’s been… a rough few days.” You confess. “This ear thing has turned him into a jackass.”

“Oh, yeah. He complained the whole way home.” Sam says, commiserating.

“So it’s not just me?!” You laugh, Sam joining you.

“No no. Not just you.”

You notice Josh is on his way back and decide to test the waters. Reaching forward, you step closer to Sam and adjust the collar of his shirt under his suit jacket, your touch lingering as you let your hand brush down the front of his chest before tugging his jacket into place and pulling your hands back to yourself. You’re in close proximity, so you look up at him with a little bat of your eyelashes.

“Oh. Thank you!” He says, a little caught off guard, but he’s Sam, and he’s friendly, and you know he’s going to let you get away with it.

Josh appears and somehow squeezes his arm between you and Sam, placing your champagne on the table. He’s noticed the mischievous glint in your eye and it’s game on.

The event starts to pick up, more and more people roping Josh into conversations. It’s obvious that he’s the more recognizable of the two brothers there tonight, so you find yourself left standing with Sam on more than a few occasions.

“Did you trim your hair?” You ask him, reaching out to twirl the end of his shiny brown locks around your finger. He chuckles softly, feeling a little bashful. Josh is at your side but deep in conversation with a man you’ve never seen in your life.

“Yeeaaaaah, I did, it was getting a little unruly. Just trying to keep it healthy. I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Of course I noticed, Sammy. Some people may not notice you. But I always do.” Your voice is syrupy sweet. You feel a nudge from the other side of you and Josh is clearly eavesdropping, his brain working overtime as he nods at the gentleman talking his ear off while also listening to you and Sam. Sam doesn’t notice and gives you a soft laugh, shrugging. His cheeks are tinted a little pink. He’s too easy.

“Why don’t we go find our table for dinner, hm?” Josh suggests, cutting his conversation short, which is just not in his character. You finish your last sip of champagne and leave your glass on the table.

“You heard him. C’mon, Sammy boy.”

You reach for his arm, linking it with yours. Josh gives you a look, but you usher him forward with a dismissive gesture. He glowers at you before walking toward the seating chart to see that the three of you are at table six. Sam follows along, his hand in his pocket as you hold on to his forearm.

You settle into the chair between Sam and Josh. You opt for the chicken when the caterers come around, and both Sam and Josh go for the fish. There are a few speeches that go on before your plates arrive, so you sit politely and listen, Josh’s back to you as the speakers present. Since Sam is behind you, there are a few points where you turn around to laugh with him about something the presenter says. Josh stays facing forward, effectively blocking the two of you out.

As your plates are delivered, everyone starts to eat, the table occasionally chattering, but it’s mostly quiet as some music plays.

“How’s the chicken?” Josh asks, trying to make small talk. You take a bite, nodding.

“Really good. And the fish?” You ask politely, but you don’t really care.

“Delicious. Do you want a bite?” He asks, gesturing to his plate with his utensils.

“Oh, no. No thanks.” You reply, turning away. He shrugs and goes back to eating his dinner, sipping his water.

“Do you wanna try a bite of the chicken, Sammy?” You ask, raising your eyebrows. You give him a soft smile as he nods, swallowing his bite.

Cutting a piece, you lift your fork towards Sam and he instinctively opens his mouth. Your other hand comes up under his chin to make sure he doesn’t get any sauce on his jacket. He accepts the bite from your fork and chews, nodding.

“Oh, that’s really good. I should have gotten that.” He says, talking with his mouth full. It’s then that the stranger next to Sam interjects.

“How long have you two been together?” She says, a nosey but well meaning woman. Josh nearly chokes on his dinner, pulling his cloth napkin up to his mouth as he coughs. It’s such a distraction that you don’t hear what Sam says to her.

Once Josh stops coughing, he looks at you with a subtle anger behind his eyes.

“Can you stop? I get it. You made your point.” Josh grumbles through gritted teeth. You feign innocence, blinking at him with bullshit doe eyes.

“What point, Josh?”

“You’re flirting with my brother so blatantly that strangers think you’re dating. What the fuck am I supposed to do, just sit here and let it happen?”

Sam, realizing tensions are high, starts to stand up.

“I’m gonna go get some air…” he says, departing from the table like it’s on fire.

“I’m not flirting with him. I’m just being nice to him. You remember what that is, right? Being nice?” You say with an attitude, tilting your head as you wait for an answer.

“Cut it out.” He tenses his jaw and his mouth barely moves as he scolds you like you’re some kind of dog.

“Fuck you, Josh.” You’re not putting up with it for another second, so you push away from the table, grab your drink, and head in the direction Sam went.

As you sneak through the crowds and the bar lines, you check to see if Josh is following you, but he’s still seated at the table. You see Sam through the glass doors, standing under a tent that’s doing little to nothing to stop the wind, smoking a cigarette. Gently pressing against the push bar, you slip outside and approach him tentatively.

It’s quiet between the two of you as he gives you a smile that’s more of a grimace, though you know him and know that it’s not his intention.

“Two wrongs don’t make a right, you know that, right?” He says, giving you a knowing smirk as he exhales some smoke. You sigh, kicking at a pebble beneath your feet. You hold your glass of champagne with both hands, your thumb nervously running along the side of it.

“I feel like I do. But sometimes I can’t help myself.” You peer up at him, a coy smile spreading across your face. He lets out a laugh, shaking his head.

“You two are a match made in hell,” he starts, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. “But I can’t imagine him with anyone else.”

You roll your eyes. Lately you’ve been feeling like Josh doesn’t even want to be with you anymore, but it’s not like you would have time to even discuss splitting up in person, since he’s hardly around long enough. Instead of divulging any of that to Sam, you lift your head and step closer.

“Can I have a drag of that?” You ask, giving him a mischievous smirk.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. You know how he is.” Sam says, well aware that the only thing Josh thinks it’s okay to smoke is not cigarettes.

“Just one.” You bargain, looking out at the parking lot for a moment, then up at him with doe eyes. He can’t help but smile at you in return.

“Don’t even touch it. He’ll smell it on your hands.” He jokes, turning it around in his fingers and holding it towards you. You tilt up your chin, smiling sweetly before he moves it closer to your pouty, glossy lips. Your eyes close gently and you start to inhale.

Within seconds, it’s pulled from your lips, and all you hear is Sam’s thick Michigan accent as he whines, “OWWWW!” your eyes shooting open.

“I will break every bone in your fuckin’ hand if you don’t get the fuck out of here right now, Samuel.” Josh threatens, suddenly outside with the two of you on the patio. Sam grabs the cigarette from his restrained hand with his free one, dropping it to the ground and stepping on it with wide eyes.

Josh pushes his arm towards him as he lets it go and Sam nearly trips over himself, mumbling a startled, “Jesus Christ.” before adjusting his suit jacket and heading for the door.

“And you.” Josh is positively seething, as he steps up to you. “What am I going to do with you, hm?”

You nervously step backwards, leaning onto the railing behind you as he cages you in. “Josh, I’m–”

“Oh, it’s a little late for that, don't you think? I fucking warned you, Y/N.” His hand grips into your elbow, yanking your forward and dragging you behind him as you make your way back inside the building. “Get your fucking coat and meet me at the front door.” he says, releasing you as you enter back into the large crowd.

You walk back over to your table, collecting your bag and your champagne before rushing over towards the coat check. You hand the same girl your ticket stub, and you anxiously sip your champagne as you wait. You may have pushed him too far this time. Seconds later she returns with your coat, and you take it with a smile, pulling it over your arms and making your way to the front door.

Josh is waiting, chewing a piece of gum a little harsher than necessary. His jaw is hard set and his cheeks are pink and you know this does not bode well for you. As you approach him he offers a small wave and a smile to someone behind you, before letting his eyes drift back to yours, full of fury, the tension returning to his body.

“Oh, so you can listen.” he says, yanking the large glass door open, both of you being hit with the cold outside air. You step out the door and begin the walk to the car, clutching your jacket close to your body. Your teeth chatter as the wind hits you, your whole body shivering.

“What, are you cold in that slutty little dress?” he asks, walking a little too quickly for you to keep up with him. “Seemed just fine on the patio with Sam. Suck it up and keep walking.”

He turns his head looking back at you as you try to drink down the rest of your champagne. He reaches for the glass, ripping it from your hand and tossing it into the bushes. You hear the glass shatter and you’re a little taken aback. You’ve never seen him this mad before, and you hate that you kinda like it.

“Josh!” you shout, you cheeks heating at his aggressiveness, and you think the alcohol in your system is to blame for that.

“What has gotten into you, Y/N?! You think– You think you can just go around acting like a little slut at my work events? With my fucking brother? Do you know how that looks!?” he shouts, as you round the corner, steadily approaching the car. He is still chewing the gum too hard, hoping it will relieve some of the tension pulsing through his body.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Josh, I think the pain meds are making you crazy.” you scoff, completely brushing off his accusations, even though he is completely right.

“Oh, fuck offff…It’s not the pain meds, it’s you! You’re making me fucking crazy! Running around like a little trollop just to make me irate for sport!” he yells, his midwestern accent peeking out in his anger.

He reaches for the door handle, yanking it open to let you step in, regardless of how angry he currently is. As you position yourself in the seat you turn to look at him, ready to deliver another snarky comment but as you open your mouth he cuts his eyes and slams the car door closed. You huff and fasten your seatbelt as he joins you on the other side.

He starts the car and peels out of the parking spot, spinning the tires as he pulls out onto the main road. Your hands grasp at the door handle for stability, his expression unwavering as he continues to blow down the backstreets of downtown Nashville.

“Josh, I–”

“No. Silence. Don’t say another fucking word until I speak to you first. Got it?” he snaps, the fury is thick in his voice.

You cross your arms over your chest, debating whether or not to taunt him further. As if he can hear your thoughts he turns to you, speaking through clenched teeth.

“Not. A. Fucking. Word.”

The rest of the drive home was spent in silence, and you could tell he was compiling his list of your transgressions. You knew that the second the front door shut behind you he was going to unleash every bit of it on you, and to be quite honest, you couldn’t wait.

Once he tears recklessly up the driveway, he kills the engine and the headlights. Throwing open the door, he slams it behind him and makes his way around to the passenger side. Despite his burning anger, he’s still insistent on opening your door for you. He offers you a hand and when you take it, you feel how warm he is to the touch. Hopping down to the ground, he lets you steady yourself, then tugs your hand so you’re forced to walk in front of him. He lets go once he knows you’ve gotten the hint and start off wobbling through the gravel in your heels like a baby deer as he locks the car.

You wait next to the front door, knowing Josh has his keys and you opted to leave yours at home to save space in your clutch. He ignores you, his jaw still working overtime on the probably stale gum in his mouth, turning the key in the lock and pushing into the house. He leaves the door open for you to follow him in, so you do, shutting it gently as you slip off your heels.

He tosses his keys onto the dining table and you watch as they slide to a halt as he rids himself of his suit coat, tossing it over the back of a chair. You make a move towards the closet, ready to hang your own coat but as you walk he steps in front of you, snatching the thick black fabric from your hands to throw it over the same chair. He stares at you with a hardened jaw, his face and ears red as he prepares for his onslaught, and as a small grin turns up the corner of your lips you see his anger tip the scales to catastrophic.

“I don’t know why you’re so worked up, Josh. If I didn’t know any better I would say you’re acting a bit jealous. Or threatened, maybe?” you pause, tapping your finger to your chin. “Yeah, I think threatened is the right word. Are you nervous little Sammy is gonna steal your spotlight and your girl?”

“Steal my spotlight?” he responds, scoffing. It’s clear you hit a nerve there. “You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut. Especially when it comes to things you know nothing about.”

“I know how many people were bumping elbows with him tonight, talking about his upcoming projects, barely even asking about the album. He’s got his own career now.” you double down, narrowing your eyes at him, twisting the knife. He steps closer to you, his nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath. You know he’s about to lay into you for that.

“You should be grateful I even let you tag along to these fucking things.” he snaps, his voice raising. “You know, there’s a hell of a lot you should be grateful for, now that I think of it. Do you know how easy it would be for me to find a nice, quiet girl who waits patiently for me to come home and doesn’t spend every waking moment reminding me of my shortcomings?”

You don’t like the direction he’s taking this, and you’re realizing you may have pushed him a little too far.

“I could go down the line and pick any one I wanted, but I still come home to you. And this is what I have to put up with?”

“So do it then! Go ahead and take your pick!” you shout, throwing your hands in the air. His cheeks grow red, and his eyes narrow.

“But you won’t, will you Josh... Because you know that not a single one of them will stick around once they find out how you really are. When they find themselves home alone night after night. When you don’t speak to them for days at a time when you’re writing or on the road. When you miss their birthday… and every major holiday for that matter. When they find out that your idea of love and romance is having your assistant buy hush gifts you can’t be bothered to choose yourself. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the one texting me from your phone, too!”

He slams his fist down on the dining table, his keys rattling against the wood. “That is not true, and you know it!”

“But it is, and you know who puts up with it? Me, because I love you. And I can promise that you’ll be hard pressed to find someone else who is willing to deal with all of that.”

“Dare me?” he challenges, wincing slightly as the pressure builds in his ear.

“I don’t know Josh, is that what you want? Wouldn’t say I’d be surprised with how you’ve been acting lately.” you say, pushing away from the kitchen table and walking further into the house.

“How I’ve been acting lately?” he scoffs, following after you, hot on your heels.

“Yeah! Like I’m such a burden to bear. Like you’d rather I wasn’t here. I’m practically your glorified assistant, or arm candy when you feel like dragging me along.”

You start to climb the stairs toward your bedroom, needing to get out of your dress and away from him. Unfortunately, Josh isn’t one to ever let you have the last word, and he starts bounding up the staircase after you.

“Is that what this is about? You’re still mad you had to bring me to the doctor? God forbid I ask you to do something besides complain and spend my money. I needed your help, because if you haven’t noticed, something pretty serious happened to me, but for some reason you won’t stop giving me a hard fucking time about it!” That comment about the money stops you in your tracks, leaving you glaring down at him on the step below you.

“It’s not about your money and it’s not about me having to help you. It’s about you not giving a shit about how I feel and blowing me off when I try to tell you. All I want is for you to care! Have we grown so far apart that seeing me upset doesn’t even phase you anymore?”

Josh runs his tongue over his teeth as he tries to conjure up a response. He steps up so he’s on the landing with you, a little bit of silence settling over you both.

“And you thought…” he starts, looking out the window behind you for a moment, then back to your eyes. “You thought the way to get me to care… was to behave like a little slut?”

The energy suddenly shifts between you. You know that in the silence, he must have had a realization that he’s not meeting your needs. You feel your mouth go a little dry and you take a step backwards, reaching to hold on to the railing.

“I–”

“You know what I think…” he says, moving closer, caging you in with his arms. “I think that I’ve been gone too long…” his breath is hot on your cheeks. “I think you’re due for an attitude adjustment.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you grip into the bannister. You swallow nervously, as his hand moves to meet your satin covered waist. “Yeah, I think I need to remind you just how good you have it, don’t I sweetheart?”

The words are there, swirling through your head but as his eyes peer into yours, nothing seems to come out.

“S’matter, baby? Nothin’ to say suddenly? No smart ass remarks? I’m right, aren’t I? You need me to fuck some sense into you?” he growls, his fingers gripping into the curve of your waist. He nods his head in the direction of your bedroom, a crooked smirk on his face.

“Go ahead and take off your earrings, baby. Get out of that unbecoming little dress and wait for me on the bed.” he says softly, rubbing a thumb over the apple of your cheek before walking off and locking himself in the bathroom.

The cocktail of emotions your brain is floating in has you dizzy. You want to be angry at him, but you’re starting to feel a little embarrassed as you think back on how you acted at dinner. Part of you wants to cry, his harsh words hitting you where he knew it would hurt, but another is so turned on by the way he just flipped the switch on the entire emotionally charged exchange.

You shuffle into your shared bedroom, sitting gingerly at your vanity and taking off all of your jewelry. As you take off your rings, you stare at the earrings and necklace in your porcelain dish, remembering when he had gifted each piece to you. Maybe it’s not that he doesn’t care how long or how often he’s away…he just doesn’t know how to make it better. So he sends you trinkets from wherever he visits, reminding you that you’re on his mind. Your heart lurches as you realize that maybe all he wanted while he was away from home was a quiet dinner with you, his love, at Phil’s, and that’s why he didn’t take you out to an expensive steakhouse where you would undoubtedly sit awkwardly across from each other and make conversation. He wanted comfort. He wanted what he knows no other woman can give him.

You hear the water start to run, which zaps you back into the moment. Standing from the velvet upholstered stool, you head for the walk-in closet and try to reach for the zipper on your dress. You can’t exactly get to it, stretching to try and pinch the zipper between your fingers. The bathroom door opens and you whip your head around, knowing he’s going to come looking for you.

It’s only seconds before you feel his warm hands gliding across your hips, no doubt knowing you need his help with the zipper. Perhaps that’s why he purchased the dress to begin with. Knowing he would be the one to help you take it off. He moves your hair, laying it all to one side of your neck before pressing his lips to your skin. His fingers pinch the small zipper as he slides it down, letting the silk dress flutter down around your ankles.

“Tell me you know that I love you.” he breathes, his lips brushing against your neck.

“I know you love me.” you answer, breathless as your chest heaves.

His hands slide around to your bare stomach, pulling your body back until you’re flush with his own. “Now, tell me you’ll remember that.”

“I’ll remember.” you whisper, feeling him long and hard as he rests against your back.

He grabs your hips and spins you around to face him, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “Good, because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”

A gasp leaves your chest as your eyes meet his, dark and blown out. He drags his thumb over your lips, smearing the remnants of your pink lipstick across your chin. “Now get on the bed like I told you the first time.”

Reluctantly pulling away from him, you make your way back into the bedroom, kneeling on the bed, sitting on your heels. You nervously cover your chest with your hands, the room feeling a little cold all of the sudden. He steps into the room, his hand lingering on the doorframe.

“Move your hands,” he says, his voice quiet but stern. “You wanted the entire dinner table to see them. Why can’t I?”

Your cheeks burn red as you lower your hands to your lap. He approaches, his eyes scanning every inch of you like he’s appraising you.

“He didn’t touch you, did he?” he asks, pushing your hair behind your ear. “My brother?”

You quickly start to shake your head. Maybe a little too quickly. You watch him with careful eyes as he lets his hand gently graze your throat, then move further down, the gears in his head turning.

“I bet you wanted him to, though…” he adds, pinching at your nipple teasingly, wanting a reaction. You take in a sharp breath between your teeth.

“No.” you say defensively.

“You like Sam because he’s so sweet. He cares. That’s what you want, right? Someone to wipe away your tears when you cry about meaningless shit? You know that’s his specialty.”

“I don’t like Sam. I just wanted–”

“Save it.” Josh snaps, grabbing harshly at your cheeks to shut you up. He stares at you for a moment before placing a gentle kiss to your squished lips. He pulls away quickly, but doesn’t release his grip on your cheeks.

“If you want to act like a little whore, I’m going to treat you like one. If I want to hear you speak, I’ll tell you.”

He pushes you backwards as he releases his hand, landing you in the pile of soft feather pillows behind you. He stands up from the bed, shimmying off his boxers before crawling back onto the bed in front of you. His eyes meet yours and for a second there is a softness there, almost as if he is asking if you’re okay with this. You offer him a subtle nod before he lowers his head and begins to drag his nose up the length of your leg.

“Did you have fun tonight, flitting around the place, drink in hand, practically begging to be fucked in the bathroom? Hm? Is that what you wanted?” he asks, pressing a hot kiss to the inside of your thigh.

You squirm beneath him as the filthy words leave his angelic lips. “Did you want him to take you away and fuck your stupid little brains out? Answer me.”

“No.” you reply, desperate to feel his lips on your body. “I… I wanted…” you stammer, your bravery leaving you with every shaky breath. He places an open mouthed kiss to your mound, but freezes once your words trail off.

“You never stop talking, but now you’re at a loss for words? Fucking say it, Y/N.”

“I wanted you!” you cry out, your head falling back onto your pillow, a heavy sigh leaving your chest. He squeezes the softness of your thigh before he speaks.

“And you really thought that would work?” he asks, nipping at your soft skin, chuckling quietly. “You’re dumber than I thought.”

You feel your skin grow hot at his words, your hips jerking upwards on their own accord.

“You like that, don’t you? You like it when I call you my stupid little girl?” he asks, sucking a mark into your thigh. “My dumb little brat?”

A whine leaves your chest as you feel his tongue slowly start to slide through your folds.

He pulls away from you, “Ah, ah… Be quiet, remember? I know it’s hard for you to do as you’re told, but if I have to remind you again you aren’t going to like what happens.”

You stifle your moan and move your hips as his hands hold you in place, his tongue reconnecting with your core as he makes slow, languid laps against you. “Did I leave this pretty pussy too long? Does she miss me and need my attention?”

He moves his hands to let his thumbs spread you further, swirling his tongue over your clit. “I think she misses me so bad that it’s got you acting crazy, my love.” His lips suction against you, sucking you into his mouth with a lewd slurp. His hands slide up to your hips, pulling you closer to his face. His tongue grazes your entrance, dipping in just long enough to tease you. He presses a kiss to your clit before pulling away again.

“You must be crazy if you think my brother could do even half of what I do to you. No one, no one, treats this pussy like I do. Worships this pussy like I do.”

“Josh…” you whine, the word leaving your lips before you could stop it.

You feel a sharp flick to your clit and you cry out, your body jumping in response.

“I told you that you wouldn’t like it.” he says, pressing a kiss to your sensitive clit, as if to soothe the pain he inflicted. You feel a rush of warmth at your core, your body responding positively to his actions.

“Oh, baby, fuck…” he groans, sliding his fingers thorough the wetness. “But you do like it. You love it.” He pauses, locking eyes with you. “Answer me.”

“I–Yes…” you breathe, feeling his smile against your core.

“My dirty, sweet, baby likes a little pain with her pleasure.” he growls, sliding a finger inside of you. You clench around it, desperate for more. “Yeah? More? You want two or three?” he asks, his eyes flicking to yours.

“T-Three.” you beg, breathless as you feel him slide in two more.

His lips find your clit again, suckling the sensitive nub into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it again and again as his fingers work you from the inside. The pressure is growing and you know you’re close. He must feel you fluttering around him, so he pulls his fingers and mouth away from you quicker than you can blink.

“Nu-uh. Not until I say so, and I do believe I’d like to get mine first tonight... You know, for my troubles.”

A huff leaves your chest as you look at him, sitting back up to rest on his heels.

“You know baby, I think I’m feelin’ a little reckless tonight...I’m thinkin’ maybe we skip the condom, what do you say?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, Josh always having been completely adamant that you use protection. Always. Despite being on birth control. You can count the number of times you’ve gone without a condom on one hand over the three years you’ve been together.

“Are–Are you sure?” you ask.

“Yeah, I think you need the full effect… need to really feel me so you can remember your place. Remember why you count down the days until I come home.” he says, fisting his base.

“Although,” he says thoughtfully before pausing. “… if I’m going to fuck you like a whore, I’m gonna have to wear one. Standard procedure, you understand…” he mumbles, reaching over to his nightstand and pulling a silver foil package from the drawer. You feel your heart drop as he rips it out of the package and effectively rips the opportunity away from you. A quiet, disappointed whine leaves your throat.

He clicks his tongue as he watches your face drop, “Aw, what is it? Did you want my cock?” he asks, a smug grin on his face. “If you behaved yourself I probably would have given you what you wanted. It’s a shame, really.”

“Please…” you whine, hoping he doesn’t notice the tears in the corners of your eyes.

“Oh she’s begging for it. God, you really are so sweet when you want to be.” he says, rolling the condom over his cock.

“Josh come on, please!” it’s a pathetic whine as it leaves your mouth, but you don’t care.

His hand collides with the side of your hip, a loud smack ringing through the room. “Don’t be a little brat. You’ll take what you’re given.”

A whimper leaves your lips as the sting sets in. “That hu—”

“What? Hurt? That’s typically the point, love.” Your hips jerk up towards him, his abs peeking through as he leans towards you. “Now, do you understand?”

You nod your head as he lowers his, pressing his lips to yours. His perfect heart shaped lips capture yours, his tongue pressing into your mouth with fervor. Your hands come up to wrap around his waist, his skin soft and smooth beneath your hands. You feel his muscles tense under your touch as he ruts his hips, dragging himself against you, the sound of the latex audible as you try to angle yourself so he’ll slip inside you.

“So impatient…” he chides, sucking his teeth as he hovers his lips just above yours. He decides to take mercy on you, letting himself start to slide inside with ease. You cup his cheek, kissing him tenderly, a silent thank you. You feel the heat building in your abdomen again, half the battle won after the way he edged you previously.

“Does that feel good, sweet thing?” he asks, pushing in to the hilt before slowly pulling out again. “You gonna settle down now that you’re feeling nice and full?” he asks, and you respond with a shake of your head. “No?” he questions, surprised. He fucks into you slowly, deeply. You feel every inch of him that you’ve missed… but it’s not the same.

“No…I wanted you to take it off…” you whine. He shakes his head, a little chuckle leaving him.

“You’re in no place to make demands. I’m gonna get mine, toss it in the trash, and leave you wishing it was dripping down your thigh. And if you’re smart, you’ll say thank you.”

You feel yourself clench around him at his cruel words, making him smirk. So he carries on, picking up his pace as he grips into the softness of your thighs.

“But you’re not, are you?” he taunts, lowering his head to kiss and suck at your collarbone. “Can’t be if you pretended to be interested in my idiot brother. You’re mine. What do I have to do to get it to stick in that little brain of yours?”

You whisper his name, closing your eyes as your cheeks turn pink, his insults both embarrassing you and bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“I told you I’m getting mine first. Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns, his palm landing on the pillow next to your head as he rests his weight and increases his range of motion. As he moves faster, his thrusts become more brutal as he starts to knock the wind out of you. It’s getting harder to keep yourself from losing it, your thighs starting to quiver.

He feels it, because he always does, but you can tell by the look on his face he doesn’t want to stop. He curses breathlessly and pulls out, his hand leaving your hip and moving down to stroke himself, but he lets out a grunt and pushes up to sit on his heels, looking down at himself.

“...Fuck.”

He wraps his arm under your thigh and tugs you closer, urgently, and sheathes himself inside so quickly you cry out.

“Oh, baby. You feel like fucking velvet.” he moans, his head falling back, his moans bouncing off the ceiling. When he pulls back, something feels… different. “Looks like you got what you wanted after all…”

He sits back again and pulls out of you, resting his hands on his thighs as he takes a deep breath like he needs to get himself under control. Sitting up on your elbows, you look down at him between your thighs to see the condom has not just broken, but torn. It’s more than halfway down his shaft, which explains why he felt so slick and warm inside you.

“Oh…” you say softly, your lips parting. You stare at him above you, his chest rising and falling, his eyes heavy as they lock onto yours. He lifts one hand, motioning you forward with two fingers, and you know exactly what he wants.

“On your knees.”

You don’t hesitate to roll onto your side and stand from the bed, dropping to your knees with your hands in your lap. He watches as you go, waiting until you’re in position to stand himself and approach, raking his hand through your hair almost affectionately. You keep your eyes on him, the way he’s hard and straining against the useless condom.

“Does being on your knees hurt, little slut? Or is that right where you belong?” he asks, resting the tip of his cock against your lips. “Open.”

You stick out your tongue, dragging it against the bottom of his tip.

“More.” he demands, pushing his hips forward. You open your mouth wider as you move to reach up and touch him, but he immediately tells you, “No.”

Your eyes look up at him, brows furrowing in curiosity as you question silently whether or not he’s going to take the condom off.

It’s sudden and shocking when he answers your question, grabbing the back of your head and shoving himself in deep. You feel him against your tongue, tasting the lube and feeling the latex on the front end of your tongue.

He starts to thrust so quickly, you reach for his thighs to try and push him back. He doesn’t seem to care, almost relishing in your struggle, his fist tightening in your hair. As a gag works its way up your throat, he pulls you off of him, gasping for air, saliva dripping down your chin and neck.

“How’s it taste, baby?” he asks, tugging your hair, making you look up at him through bleary eyes, trying to catch your breath. As you open your mouth to answer, he fists himself, shoving himself back into your mouth. You gag immediately and he pulls out, your mouth open as you try to breathe. He doesn’t let you, though, grabbing your jaw and spitting directly into your open mouth.

“You better think twice before you complain.”

You snap your jaw shut, swallowing thickly, your eyes popping back open to look up at him in shock. He gives you a crooked smile, pleased with the way he’s managed to throw you off. It only encourages him as you look up at him with wide eyes and try to catch your breath. He quirks a single brow, then runs his tongue over his teeth.

“Nothing to say?” he asks, challenging you. You shake your head once.

He pushes the head of himself back inside your mouth, then spits again, making you flinch as it lands on your cheek. You squeeze your eyes closed, intending to hollow out your cheeks and suck, but he pulls himself out with a pop and drags his cock through the spit on your face, chuckling.

“You’re starting to smarten up.” he mumbles. “Little brat.”

He taps the tip of his cock harshly against your lips and you can see the wheels spinning in his head as he plans his next move. “Back on the bed, all fours.” he says, snapping his fingers and pointing to the center of the bed.

You immediately pull yourself from your aching knees and scramble onto the bed, positioning yourself on all fours, just as instructed. You feel the bed dip behind you and you turn your head, seeing the remnants of the condom still intact around him. He makes no effort to remove it, wearing it like a trophy as his hands find your hips. His left hand slides up the curve of your back before pressing a palm to your spine, a silent order to arch a little further.

“You’re trembling. You want it so bad don’t you…” he growls, his tip brushing against your entrance. “Want to feel my nice warm cock inside you…Nothing but me and you…You’d like that wouldn’t you, baby…”

“Yes.” you breathe, almost a whisper.

“I shouldn’t…I should put a new one on right now.” he says, the clench of his jaw audible.

He thrusts himself inside of you, the barrier of latex gone between the two of you, letting you feel every ripple and vein of his perfect cock inside of you. It nearly takes your breath away as his hips slam into you. A groan leaves his chest as his hands grip into your hips, and you can feel his hot breath on your back.

His hips crash violently into yours, his pillow soft tip grazing your cervix with every stroke. He’s struggling to keep his composure, it's evident with his erratic breathing and the stuttering of his hips.

You clench around him, a whimper falling from his lips in response, briefly breaking the facade he’s chosen for the evening. “Fuck, Y/N… I– I fucking hate you. You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

A pang shoots through your chest, you feel the tension in your stomach start to build as you flutter around him. “I hate that I can’t live without you. I hate how much I love you. You–I can’t deny you anything…Not ever…” he pauses, his chest heaving. “Can’t you see that?”

“Josh…” you beg through panting breaths.

“Not yet, you’re gonna wait. Wait until I say, yeah? Can you wait like my good girl?” he says, struggling to stave off his own release.

“I– I can’t…” you whine.

“You will.” he demands, punctuating his sentence with his hips. “Fuck, you feel so good, swear to god I’m gonna– fuck…”

“Josh please, please!” you beg, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“My little slut begging to cum, oh you’re a fucking vision… My angel…” he pauses, sliding his hand around your waist and pinching your nipple between his fingers. You tighten around him and you hear him hiss in response. “Oh goddamn, you’re not a fucking angel though, are you… You’re straight from hell.”

His hips start to falter, and you can tell he’s close. You turn your head to look at him, his hair wild and sweaty against his temples, his jaw hanging slack as he watches himself fuck you. His eyes flick up to meet yours, they are dark and his pupils are wide as a slight smile turns his lips.

“I know I said I was going to get mine first, but you’ve been such a good girl for me. Go on, cum baby. Cum right on my cock, wanna feel you give yourself to me.” he says, nodding his head.

His permission throws you right up into the sky, your release washing over you so forcefully that your arms give out below you, sending you tumbling into the sheets. His hands hold you up as he continues to fuck you through it, curses and praise falling from his swollen pink lips.

As if your bliss fueled his own, you feel him pull your hips back firmly against him, a groan exploding from his chest once he can’t hold on any longer. You feel his cock twitching, his release beginning to spill inside of you as your name falls from his lips. You clench around him and he rapidly pulls out of you, fisting his cock as his cum continues to spill, painting hot white streams across your back.

The room is quiet, just the sounds of the two of you attempting to catch your breath. His hand slides up over the curve of your ass, his fingertips catching a drip of his cum before it falls to the sheets below you. His hand reaches around smearing his fingers across your lips, and you can hear him snickering as he leaves his release behind. “A much better shade on you, darling.”

With a smack of your ass you feel him step off of the bed, padding towards the bathroom. “Stay there, don’t move. I don’t want a mess on the sheets.”

You stay put, frozen as you lean down on your elbows and rest your chin in your palm. He comes back out of the bathroom a moment later in his robe and saunters to the stairs. You hear his footsteps slowly descending the steps, the occasional squeak indicating how far away he is.

You figure he’s heading to get you a towel from the dryer, so you just sigh and bide your time, feeling the wetness on your back start to get a little cold as the air moves through the room. In the silence, you hear a cabinet opening… then a cup being placed on the counter. Your lips part in shock as you realize he’s downstairs making a drink while he leaves you here, messy and exposed. The cherry on top of the punishment he’s dealt you this evening.

It’s a good, long while before he comes back up the stairs, again, at a leisurely pace. He softly pads across the room, then steps into your line of sight, putting a mug down on the nightstand. He made himself a cup of tea?

You sigh, looking at him flatly, a little tired of the game at this point. He steps into the bathroom again, this time reemerging with a warm, wet towel. He approaches the bed and kneels over you, gently wiping you clean as silence settles over you both.

“I made you some tea. In case I was a little rough on your throat.” he says quietly. “I figured I owe you a drink after throwing yours into the bushes.” His tone conveys that he’s remorseful, his voice back to its unique, charming timbre. “Listen, I didn’t mean to get so… worked up. You were right when you said I was threatened by Sam, and I just kind of lost control.”

You hum softly, resting your head on the pillow and looking at him over your shoulder, your eyes soft and tired.

“I’m sorry I pushed you that far…” you say quietly, your voice hoarse. He tosses the towel towards the hamper, standing from the bed. He leans down and places a kiss to your temple as you lay all the way down, just as your back starts to hurt.

You hear him opening your dresser drawer and soon enough he’s back at your side, placing a set of silky, cream colored pajamas and a pair of underwear near your head. He kneels at your bedside, resting his head on the bed to look at you where you lay.

“I picked these out for you when we were in Glasgow. There was this little boutique near the hotel that caught my eye. It was after dinner one night and I tried to call you but the time difference was making a mess of things…I couldn’t get ahold of you and I was just feeling lonely… so I took a walk and decided to pop in. I saw them and thought of you immediately. Thought of how they’d feel when I got back home and in bed with you.” he confesses, petting your hair the whole time he speaks. There’s almost a sadness to this story that makes guilt bubble up in your chest. You accused him of never calling, rarely thinking of you, and sending his assistant off to buy you meaningless gifts. The thought of him hand picking it for you while he was feeling lonely thousands of miles away breaks your heart.

“I’m sorry I said all that stuff. About the gifts. That was admittedly pretty awful of me.” you squeak out, feeling ashamed of the way you acted and who you painted him to be. “I’ve been really hard on you.”

“Hard on me?” he asks, a breathy laugh rumbling through him.

“I just… I haven’t been really considerate about your ear and the stress you’re under and I think I’ve been feeling neglected in a way, so instead of trying to fix it, it was just easier to put all of the blame on you and lose sight of the sacrifices you make for me every day. For us.”

He shakes his head, unwilling to let you accept all the blame. “I haven’t exactly made things easy on you…” he says, his voice a little small. “I think–no, I know I can do more. I will do more. I fucked up yesterday baby, and I’m sorry. I should have planned something nice. You deserve that. And I’m sorry about tonight, fuck, I’m just sorry for all of it. I love you and I need you and I’m just really, really sorry.”

He stands from his place on the side of the bed, watching you as you slide into your silky pajamas. He tosses his robe to your vanity chair and joins you on the other side of the bed, pulling back the linen sheets and sliding in next to you.

“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I was a brat, and I’m sorry I used Sam to get under your skin. I just– I wanted your attention…and I know it was stupid and immature… I just needed to know you still cared, even just a little bit. I wanted to see it.” you pause, looking into his dark brown eyes.

“And last night, you just wanted a night in and I was…less than agreeable. I wish we could do it over. You just wanted your comfort food and your favorite movie, home alone with me…but I couldn’t see that. I know you’re hurting. I know you’re doing your best and I’m sorry I was ungrateful. I’m happy that you were even home. I’m happy I can take care of you while you’re here.” you say, moving closer to him in the middle of the bed. “I missed you last night…”

He props himself up on his elbow, his cheeks still a little pink from earlier, and in the dim light of the lamp he is glowing. “I missed you too baby, I knew I fucked up before I even got out of the room. I should have never said that to you. Not ever. Can you forgive me?” he asks, letting his free hand slide across the sheets and grab yours.

“Can you forgive me?” you ask, letting your glassy eyes meet his.

“Baby…” the word is a breath from his lips. You reach for him as he wraps his arms around you. You cradle his head in the crook of your neck as he breathes you in and you know all is forgiven between the two of you. You scratch his scalp and pet his velvety shaved sides, holding him close enough that you can feel his heart beating.

“Can I make you that soup you like tomorrow? With the kale and the carrots…” you ask, a whisper against his temple. You feel him nod, a small hum leaving his chest.

“And I still have that sourdough starter that Jake gave us… I can make some bread with it? Does that sound good?” you ask, feeling his grip on you tighten.

“Oh my god, that starter. Have you been feeding it like he said!? I completely forgot!” he gasps.

You laugh hard enough that it shakes your chest, “Of course I have. He would be so sad if I let it die.”

You feel his body relax against you again, “Do you know how much I love you?” he asks, turning his head to face you.

You feel your skin blush as he looks at you, his eyes full of adoration. “A lot?”

“More than that.” he smiles, his cheek dimple peeking out just a touch. You can hardly stop yourself from pressing your lips to it, your favorite thing.

“I love you, alot.” you reply, peppering his face with kisses.

“But there is something that I want to talk to you about…” he says, his voice growing a little more serious.

“W-what?” you ask nervously, pulling away just a little.

“I know you’ve been so excited about coming to Spain in a few weeks…And I’ve really been looking forward to it too…” he starts, and you feel your heart drop. Is it canceled? Does he not want you to come?

“Yeah…” you breathe, anxious to hear what he’s about to say.

“So, you know it’s been a long time since we’ve toured over there, and our normal coordinator isn’t able to make it, so we are using a secondary coordinator…It really throws a wrench into everything. Things are going to be really shaky those first few days with the jet lag and all of that. I just– I know that it’s gonna be super crazy, and I feel like we probably won’t be able to spend much time together while we get the tour stuff sorted out.” he pauses, and you feel your eyes well with tears. “I just don’t want you to come and feel ignored...”

“So I’m not–”

His face softens as he brings his hand up to cup your cheek, “So, I went ahead and booked us flights to go a whole week early, just me and you. Found us a quiet little place on the water right outside of Barcelona. It has a big open porch and a giant bed. It’s so beautiful and I know you’re going to love it. We can do whatever you want, just you and I.” He kisses your forehead before he continues.

“And before you ask, yes, your boss already knows. I wanted to surprise you when we left, but I figured you would be suspicious that the rest of the guys wouldn’t be with us in the airport. I was planning to tell you tonight when we got home, but we saw what happened…” he smiles, his eyes positively sparkling. “So, how does that sound, my love? Will you come with me?”

Tears rush to your eyes. You were so prepared to be disappointed again that they were already on their way and this sealed the deal.

“That sounds so perfect,” you manage to squeak out as he wipes away an errant tear sliding down towards your pillow. When he pulls you in for a tender kiss, you can feel him smiling against your lips. “My coworkers are going to kill me for going on a two week vacation during tax season…”

“I’m sure they’ll be okay.” he says, brushing it off with a soft laugh. “They probably ate your strawberries yesterday, so you can call it even.” You suck your teeth at that, lips parting in shock.

“They better not have! I’m out for one day and the wolves descend?”

“I’m sure they’ll be there waiting for you Monday.” He soothes, pulling the sheets and comforter up higher over the both of you, pulling you in close as his little spoon. “But just in case… Maybe we can get some melting chocolate at the store tomorrow and make our own for dessert?” he mumbles softly.

“Oh, I’d love that…” you say, pleasantly surprised at his effort already. He holds you tight, nuzzling into your hair. His hands are soft and warm as they sneak up under the silky pajamas, a comforting touch after so many nights spent in this bed alone.

“It’s a date, my love.”

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babygorewhore · 1 year ago

Text

Act of Contrition

James Patrick March x Virgin! Reader.

Inspired by a post by @ahsjpm

On Halloween night, you’re alone as James is participating in Devils night. As a Christian, you’re often modest and found in prayer. But James habits inspire you to engage in your deepest fantasies.

WARNINGS! Porn with little plot. Virgin! Reader. Violence! Murder! Oral! Male and female recieving! Bondage! Light degrading! Dom! Reader. Sub! James. Brief PnV! Use of religion disrespectfully lol.

Your fingers were locked together as your nostrils inhaled the warm meal in front of you. Your prayers typically were kept short during dinner time, as you were eager to dive in but tonight you needed the strength. It was Halloween. You opened your eyes, resisting the urge to scratch at your lash line. You didn’t want to ruin your makeup.

“You still pray? Honey, you’re sleeping with a ghost. If there’s a God, I think he forgot about this place.” Sally taunted you.

Your partner, James Patrick March wasn’t with you tonight. Opting you to sit at one of the tables in the main lobby of the Cortez. The spirits of this building kept you company whenever James was away and they were the only company he somewhat trusted with you. Tonight was the infamous Devils night along with the celebration of the holiday.

You hadn’t been with James very long. Sally was incorrect on your intimate status with him but you didn’t dare correct her. James explained that the ghosts of past murderers dined with him on this occasion and frankly, you were too afraid to participate.

He chastised you only briefly before he understood. It was something you cherished about him. He tried his best to accommodate your apprehensions. You toyed with the fork after you took a bite. You almost ordered a alcohol beverage but often you and James would enjoy a night cap.

You dressed up. It was primarily a joke since your modest dressing drew criticism from others. Knee high fishnet stockings up your thicker thighs, wider than a majority of women. A black hip length coat, a low cut white shirt that accentuated your full breasts. A wide black cross in the center. Your hair was styled last minute. Your makeup was dark and sultry as you gingerly tried to eat without smudging your lipstick.

Your high heels clicked together as you shifted in your chair.

“Sally, be easy on the girl. Let her enjoy her faith in peace.” Liz interjected but you knew she was joking. They sat adjacent to you. You didn’t blame them for mocking your beliefs given their current states as ghosts but James never ridiculed you.

Before sleeping, you lowered yourself to your knees and prayed for the safety of yourself and your family. The first night when James saw you, you expected him to laugh but instead, he gave you a warm smile and said, “I’ll give you a moment of privacy, my dear.”

A sensation of tugging brought your attention back to the present. You looked up, Sally was toying with the chain of your wrap around cross bracelet. Her dark lipstick was smudged from drinking but she gave you a quick smile anyway. She pulled out her phone, her lifeline. “Do you mind?”

You were camera shy by nature but Sally had few pleasures. You nodded. “Yes. Do you want to take a picture of my bracelet or my whole costume?”

“Your whole outfit. Everyone will want to see a slutty nun.” You huffed but obliged.

You modeled for her and she finally broke out into a pleased grin. She stepped away from you, typing away and you smooth your shirt. You weren’t hungry anymore, too preoccupied with James activity. Could you do it? Bypass your fears and join him? You missed him and his affectionate gestures.

You straightened your shoulders with a resolution. “Don’t worry about your plate, I’ll get it.” Your head snapped towards Liz’s direction. As if she was reading your mind.

You could do this. You could be brave. James wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. And you could run quickly if you needed.

The hallways felt closed in, daunting like a countdown as you trailed toward James room. You quieted your breathing to somehow conceal your vulnerability. With the dimmed lights, it was difficult to keep steady in your heels as you narrowed in towards his door. Your hand wrapped around the handle, a quiet noise of scraping came as your bracelet scratched the gold.

Pushing the door, you blinked as the brighter light peeked at you as you stepped inside.

You opened your mouth to greet James but you froze. Several other men were at the table but they weren’t sitting. Instead, they stood and started cheering. Wildly clapping and chanting, “Ten commandments killer!” Your hand went to your mouth.

James held a man by his hair with one hand and his other continuously rammed his long blade all over his torso. His knife plunged deep and with purpose. Your teeth chattered as he yanked it free and slit it across his throat. Blood coated his hands, danced on his normally immaculate suit and even splattered on his face. His smile was wicked and he started to laugh. Proudly and heartily from his chest.

“James,” You whispered in fear. It wasn’t loud enough to be heard but somehow another presence caught his attention and he met your terrorized stare.

James smile immediately dropped and he released his victim. “Darling-“ He tried to speak in a alarmingly gentle tone in contrast to his animalistic action.

You spun around on your heels and ran out. You didn’t take off your shoes so you couldn’t sprint but the surrounding rooms blurred together. Across the hallway was a balcony and you cling to the rails. Your fingers tighten around the white bars and you pant. He slaughtered again. Brutally. Your bravery was misplaced. You should have stayed downstairs.

But this small moment of terror could never erase your feelings for him.

You closed the bedroom door behind you after an hour passed. You pressed your back against the wood. You needed the time to think. Consider how to approach James with your feelings. You prayed. Begged God to give you clarity and strength. Sitting on the bed, you contemplated taking off your costume, Halloween was nearly over now. You weren’t in the mood to go out and celebrate. You didn’t want to be without him.

But he lied to you. He promised he wouldn’t hurt anyone again.

He needs to endure the consequences.

Standing, you intended to go the bathroom and wash off your makeup when a voice caught your attention.

“Y/n, my love.” James’s eyes were glazed over with regret as you faced him.

He engulfed your hands and pulled you close to him. His lips pressed against your neck with urgency, “Darling, you weren’t supposed to see this. I know you disapprove.” You stepped away from him and set your mouth.

“James. I just wanted to be with you tonight. But you insist on traditions. Of course I want to honor this but to walk in on such a thing, it’s madness.” You went to step away from him but he rushed around. Gripping your shoulders.

“My dear, I can’t be in ill standing with you. Tell me what I can do. Tell me how to earn your forgiveness.” You shook your head, crossing your arms but something…tightened in you. At the account of his pleas.

James Patrick March wasn’t one to ask for forgiveness. He didn’t show remorse. And he never showed a shred of submission. Being a partner to a ghost wasn’t morally clear according to Christianity. You couldn’t hold him to the same standards as a human. In his past, he was a killer. Despite his promises that he grew tired of murder, you couldn’t remove the gleeful grin across his face as he slashed a man’s throat from your mind.

James enjoyed the applause. It seemed to drive him. Attention. Praise. Devotion. You always knew once you gave into him, that he would pry every ounce of worship from you.

You would offer it. Without a single thought of resistance.

He lowered himself down, fingers ghosting over your clothes as he settled on his knees before you. His wide palms cupped your thighs and his black gaze torturously raked over your stockings. “You look irresistible, my little mouse. Powerful. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. I am your slave, y/n. Take me however you wish.”

Your bracelet covered hand cupped his cheek, stroking his skin with your thumb. A darkness clouded you, deep and hungry urges clawed inside you like a disease. You couldn’t resist anymore. He willing to abide every command.

Fuck it.

“James, you need to cleanse your conscience. Confess to me. Tell me how wrong it was.” You lifted your chin and his brows raised. A sign of hope.

“This is a religious practice, yes? Do you want me to pray, my love? I will for you.”

“Tell me how bad you were. How could you disobey me?” Your voice was lower, husky and it caused him to shiver.

“I shouldn’t have. I-I don’t want you to be cross with me. My only desire is to see you happy. Perhaps I became too carried away. Determined to gain the respect of my fellow man.”

“You wanted their attention. You enjoyed that man bleeding in front of you. Oh, James. That’s so sad…how pathetic could you be?” His hands clung to your hips.

“Yes, pathetic-“ You clutched his chin in your hand, hard enough that his eyes widened.

“Beg. Beg God for forgiveness. If you really meant what you said about making me happy.”

He was resisting inwardly, you knew that. But you counted on his love for you to override it. He tilted his head down and started whispering.

“Dear Heavenly Father, I come to you-“ You stepped out of his embrace and you released him.

“I said pray to God, James. That’s not correct.” James stumbled and tried to grab your arm.

“I’m doing what you asked.”

“I am your God.”

The silence echoed after your direction but James appeared to be stunned. His breathing was heavier as he slowly scanned your heels, legs, stomach and now your breasts. “Darling, if you make me scream your name, would that count as praying?” He asked with a growing smirk.

You beckoned him with a finger. “Crawl to me, James. Show me how repentant you are.” He was fast to oblige. His large hands held his weight as he moved and he settled on the back of his calves when he reached you.

James touched his palms together, staring up at you. “Please forgive me, y/n. I beg you. I promise I’ll listen. I promise I will never disobey you. And I promise I will get on my knees everyday if you allow me to touch you.”

Your mouth curved in a satisfied smile. “Was that so hard? But I’m afraid this is just the beginning. I want you to go to the bed.”

He practically jumped to his feet and prowled to the bed. You trailed after him, flicking the cross between your fingers as a thrill ignited in your bones. It was obscene to use Gods name in vain like this. To pretend you were the highest power. But it was too delicious to see such a dark man beg and not give into your temptation. You would just have to go to church more often after tonight.

You took ahold of his suspenders and yanked him close. Chest to chest. “You’ll do anything?” You proposed.

“Of course, kitten. I could never disobey my God.”

You smashed your lips against his, not giving a shit about your lipstick. Your arms encircled his broad shoulders and his hands captured your middle, hips and then they cupped your ass. He moaned as you bit his lower lip and pulled. His tongue swept your mouth and you met it with your own. He lifted you by your thighs, his strength evident by the way he made your curvy body feel weightless.

He fell back on the bed and you straddled him. James ripped away from the kiss, red product smeared on his mouth. He latched onto your skirt, hiking it over your thighs and his fingers brushed against the growing wet spot of your underwear. You swallowed and shook your head. Normally, you were too insecure to entertain this. A part of you wanted to run away and hide. But you pushed back those thoughts and wildly took off your underwear.

As if reading your mind, James assisted in sliding you higher until you were above his face. Tearing off your jacket, James shoved you down, his tongue licking a stripe. You nearly screamed at the foreign contact. He circled your clit before laying his tongue flat. Your hands braced on his chest as you rolled your pelvis against the pace of his mouth. His lips suckled your clit and he gently let his teeth give it a tug.

He moaned, a pretty sound that you needed more of. “Fuck,” he said in-between lapping your pussy. He didn’t swear often so you knew this was a special occasion. You continued humping his face as a rush of heat flushed your face and your entrance tightened. You were close.

He started to shift, “I need you underneath me. I need to feel you cum while I’m fucking you.”

You maneuvered yourself down enough so he could talk as you gripped his jaw. “Good boys take what I give them. If you’re not, I’ll have to walk away-“ you didn’t finish as James jerked you back into place. Getting the point.

He dipped his tongue inside before it resumed working over the sensitive bud in the center and you stilled as you reached your peak. You shook as you chased your high. You moved off of his face and his chin was wet but he didn’t wipe it off. “Darling, you are ravishing. I could spend an eternity between your legs if you allowed me.”

A lightening burst of bravery surged you onto your own knees. Your heels giving you a modest boost as you practically ripped off James trousers and threw them across the room. Pausing, your eyes took in his raised dick in the confines of his boxers. He supported himself on his elbows as you licked your lips.

“If you behave yourself, then maybe I’ll let you fuck me. Don’t cum unless I say you can.”

You pulled down his underwear, feeling the heat rise from him as his swollen, heavy cock hung as it leaked precum. You were intimidated by his size but you refused to let him see fear.

Sticking out your tongue, you licked his tip before going along the side. James grunted as you wrapped your hand around the base, taking it into your mouth. He shuddered as you bobbed your head up and down as you went further, pumping him at the same time.

“That’s-thats not fair, mouse-“ He whispered harshly and you tried not to smirk.

He started thrusted into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat but you breathed through your nose to keep from gagging. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked faster and he clenched his fists.

“Y/n, please. I’m going to cum-this is-“ You shook your head causing James’s head to jerk back.

A creamy liquid shot down in your mouth and you removed yourself. He chanted your name and God as you watched with a quirked eyebrow.

James lifted up, “Y/n. Surely you know that I was never going to win that game. Please, allow me to take you. I promise I will-“

“Another promise, James? I meant what I said. Now, I’m going to have to punish you.” Standing, you grabbed his belt and wrestled his arms down, pinning his wrists together. You bound them tightly and gently smacked his face. “You’re not allowed to touch me. If you break free, I’ll leave you here. Do you understand?”

James moved his head in a short nod.

“Do you understand, James? Is that anyway to answer me?” You taunted.

“Yes, I understand.” He ground through his teeth. You knew the submission was killing him

You balanced on your knees before grabbing his dick. You lined it up with your pussy and sank down. James whimpered, actually whimpered and you groaned from pleasure. And a small stretch of pain. You felt full but the hilt of his pelvis hit your clit.

You rocked your hips, your eyes fighting to stay open from James meeting your pace. His hands, despite being tied, attempted to touch you.

“James. I told you to keep your hands down.” You scolded with a half serious tone. James was looking at you with fuck me eyes as you used him.

You lifted off him, taking your discarded coat and wiping your inner thighs.

“Darling, I’m sorry. No, please. Please allow me to make you finish. My pet, I don’t know what’s gotten ahold of me. I don’t know why I can’t seem to listen-“

“Who said I was done with you?” You questioned and his mouth fell. You had reached for his cane. Holding it across your body, you unsheathed the hidden knife. It was still covered in blood. Half naked, you still had your heels on.

“James. I suggest you start praying again.”

Taglist. @icannot3 @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @alittlesil @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @randodummy @evanptrss @hyperharlz @howtobesasha

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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 6 months ago

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Wait, how would Cooper feel about thigh high stockings with some of those heels? Possibly a garter belt too? Or even just knowing that his partner has them on underneath whatever they usually wear? My mind goes blank when I see them on a pretty lady (or a man or anyone else really, I'm bisexual) Something about wearing them also makes me feel super hot but also powerful? Is that weird?

Oh, they feel very powerful, Anon. That's definitely not weird. In fact, I'd argue that that's one of the main selling points of them. It's very empowering and confidence-boosting to feel desirable and sexy.

That's why Cooper would absolutely adore seeing you in the entire get-up. He'd also like seeing you be so confident...

I think it would start small, maybe him gifting you your first very nice set of lingerie for your first Valentine's Day together. To you and your current financial situation, nice lingerie is simply defined as "a cute-ish top and bottoms that match and aren't completely ratty".

It's been about a year since he and Barb officially divorced, and about four months since you and Cooper started dating. You're both still quite low-key about it, not wanting to deal with the drama or the guilt of making Barb feel bad, but you're wild about one another. Coop likes being with someone who is more down-to-earth like he is, someone who he could really see raising chickens with him. You enjoy the older man's kindness, his generous nature, all the things he can show and teach you from years of life experience.

You aren't inexperienced, sexually, but the things you've tried aren't exactly adventurous. He catches you reading a steamy novel one evening, though, and suddenly you're getting quite the interrogation about what naughty things you like while he tickles you and kisses at your neck. And trust me, you will be divulging that information; he's a patient man, and if he has to wait until the next time you have an extra glass of wine with dinner to ask again, he will.

One of the things you eventually mention, lips loose after too much New Year's champagne, is how you've always liked the idea of dressing up in sexy lingerie, high heels and all, parading around a tied-up man like a prowling seductress.

So, naturally, you're over the moon when, a week before Valentine's Day, he gives you a gorgeous satiny bra and panty set and some stockings to go with. The sizing is perfect, of course, because he's so wonderful about attention to detail. The garter belt confuses you when you try it on, but eventually you manage to wrestle it all into place, and you're blown away by your reflection in the mirror. Cooper insists you don't show him what it looks like on until the day of, and you keep to that. But after your romantic dinner together that evening, you find yourself almost overly giddy to get out of the nice dress you'd chosen for your date. He's been shooting you heart-stopping glances all night, running his eyes up and down your body like he knows what you're hiding underneath your clothes.

Which, of course, he does.

When you finally get home, he takes great pleasure in slowly peeling you out of the thing, revealing the black satin and silk and the little bow between your breasts. Your feet have much less traction than usual against the hardwood floors in the stockings, but you're sure in your step as his eyes on you give you a huge confidence boost. Leading him to his bedroom, you push him down on the bed and kiss him for a long while before telling him to stay put, disappearing from the room and reappearing with a few lengths of rope in hand, his white cowboy hat on your head.

A few minutes later, his arms are outstretched just enough to keep him from being able to reach his body with his hands, the knots around his arms and the headboard posts nice and secure. He taught you the knots, and you'd really enjoyed learning them, but you still didn't think it had been fair of him to test your knowledge on them while he made you cockwarm him. But that's a score to settle another day.

You enjoy taking your time teasing him, running your tongue and nails along his chest and stomach, noting the way he shivers as you run your fingers along the waistband of his slacks. After he pleads a little, you free him from his open fly and tease him with your lips and tongue until he's pleading again. You smile wickedly at him as you move back.

Balancing on your rear and your palms, you lean back as far as you can while still staying upright between his knees, slowly and intentionally running your silk-clad feet all along the planes of his bare chest, appreciating his physique as you tease all the way up to his collar bones. A giggle leaves you when he cranes his neck to allow himself to nibble at your ankles, but the playful little kick you give him to the forehead sends him staring you down with a heat in his gaze. When he's settled down, you move your feet back down to the trail of hair that leads to his twitching, throbbing erection.

"Dirty tricks, little lady." he growls when you start to gently rub your smooth sole back and forth across his cock. You've managed to sniff out this particular kink of his between all the "secret" little glimpses at you after you take off your heels at the end of the day, the glut of compliments about how pretty your feet are, the regular pedicures he happily pays for. The massages where he can barely conceal his growing erection. You'd thought it a little strange at first, but he didn't judge you for your stranger proclivities, so you tried your best to grant him the same grace.

Plus, it was really quite hot how worked up he got about it, and you certainly didn't mind all the gifted shoes.

Since you've already been working him up and teasing him, he quickly reaches his end. You're both a little shocked by exactly how hard he cums, and how much, jet after hot jet spattering across his chest, his stomach, and your stockings, a low, guttural groan leaving him as you continue to gently pet at him until he pleads with you to stop. You can't help but notice that he seems like he's having a hard time meeting your gaze.

The whole display is incredibly erotic to you, despite what you may have thought about this sort of thing before. You'd never considered how much you could enjoy having a man you actually liked and trusted thinking your feet were very, very sexy, and now the whole thing has you ready to plant yourself down on him and never get off.

"Well, are you gonna untie me so I can return the favor, darlin'?" he asks eventually, face and neck still pink as he finally seems to gather up the courage to look over at you. You grin, slinking forward to lean in and kiss him deeply, running your fingers through the cooling rivulets of semen painting his toned chest.

"Mmm, I dunno, cowboy." you tut, pulling his hat from your head and giving your hair a seductive shake as you place it onto his. "I sorta like you like this. I'm thinking about maybe taking you for a little test ride."

His muscles flex against his restraints as he grins impishly at you. You have him under your control, and you intend to keep him that way for quite a while. Your pretty lingerie will definitely be destroyed by the time you're finished with each other, but no worries; he's got another of the exact same set hidden in the closet, ready to replace it so you can have one to actually keep.

He's just thoughtful like that. 😈

To the innocent anon: I'm sorry I used your submission to write foot job porn. :( Well, I'm kinda sorry.

I do feel at least a little bad, scout's honor.

#cooper howard #the ghoul #prewar!cooper howard #cooper howard headcanons #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv show #fallout prime #submission

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orb-the-watchman · 7 months ago

Text

WAMBUS STICKER DROPPED !!!!!

Edit: Currently I'm sold out! Apologies for such a low stock. I did not expect so much interest in these stickers, which I very much appreciate! Thank you guys so much for the support. The stickers should be back by next Friday the 19th!

I’M SELLING A STICKER!!! OF WAMBUS!! CHECK IT OUT HERE!!

This is only a start of more stickers and other things I’d like to sell, THESE ARE IN VERY LIMITED SUPPLY! SO GET ONE WHILE YOU CAN! This is a test run to see how many people are going to be interested. If they sell out I will restock and announce once they’re restocked.

Let me know if there’s anything you wanna see in my shop in the future!! Or if you’re experienced with selling are online any feedback on how I’m going about this is SUPER appreciated! I’m still very new to this, so this batch of stickers is very experimental.

Reblogs are very appreciated!!

#bugsnax #orbs art #wambus troubleham #sticker

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akingdomscrypt · 6 months ago

Text

War is Over (and what have we done?)

Part Five

Paring; Graves x m!reader (slow burn)

WC; ~8.8k

Summary; where was Graves in all those months he was gone? What brought him back?

Warnings; just some general internal turmoil, brief imagery of death, implied human trafficking when including the context of past chapters, a lot of self doubt/feelings of betrayal. Tame compared to my usual stuff tbh

A/n; I hate dialogue. Also the moon phase mentioned in the beginning is what it would have been in-game for that mission too :3

---"And I'll crawl home to him"---

You arrive a few hours later, according to the ticking clock above the bed—knife still embedded into the plastic face and all, he hadn't bothered to remove it, even after all this time—and at that point Phil had started to believe Venn had chickened out. That, or she just didn't bother telling you.. perhaps she had forgotten. All were of an extremely low probability. He should know better by now than to doubt her.

Even now, only a few weeks later. You looked so.. so drastically different. Phil takes stock, compares your current form from when he had last seen you all those weeks ago—had it been weeks? Phil didn't even know what day it was.

Drifting. Up, down, and across every inch of your concealed form. Something foreign pulls at the hardened strings of his heart—strands of silk toughened up by years upon years of repressed emotion and poorly dealt hands—at the sight of you. Standing tall and confident, as if he can't see the strain buried in your shoulders from the effort of holding yourself up, keeping yourself from crumbling to dust right before his eyes. And he swears you've lost weight, a noticeable difference in the amount of muscle mass wrapped around your bones, even under all that clothing.

When his gaze meets yours, taking a peek into the torn and frayed patchwork of your soul, all he can feel is the stinging reminder of you wishing him dead. Telling him you'd hoped he'd died all those months back; suffocated by his own lungs.

And it's like the past decade of getting to know you, watching you open up, never happened. Wound so tightly, that all that progress is dumped right down the drain; he isn't sure if he'd ever be able to tear down those walls again. Not this time. He scrambles brick by brick to reach the top, but you're too fast, replacing those crumbling stacks with bolts and iron at an alarming rate.

He can't see over the wall anymore, it's too high to reach, too steep to climb. And he fears he may never have the honor of reaching that softer center ever again, barred by thick metal and scathing words.

“You wanted to see me?” Hell… you even sound different. Cool and collected on the surface, but there's an edge there that tells Phil you're not as put together as you are trying to appear to be.

“I did.” But now that you're here, he can't remember the script he'd spent the last week constructing, so delicately, in his mind.

“Well,” you drawl, lifting your arms and gesturing widely. Dropping back down to your sides with a dull smack. “I'm here.”

Are you? Phil doesn't think so. Not really.

Your eyes are the only thing on display, and just a year ago Phil wouldn've prided himself in the fact that he could read you so well. But not anymore.

He can't see that lighthouse shining through, guiding him through the night. There's nothing there. The lamp has run out of oil, and the keeper died months ago.

You're right here, and yet Phil has never found you to be so out of reach.

Who would've thought; his savior, and the one who had damned him to the fiery pits of hell, were both the same man. It felt almost poetic.

Phil thinks he had made peace with his death. Sure, this hadn't been what his younger self had imagined when the topic of death was brought up; still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, believing himself to be near invincible.

He had never been particularly religious, even after being forced to sit in those church pews and listen to some old man drone on and on about shit his child brain didn't care to make sense of. Bored out of his mind, but only sitting still, behaving, because doing the opposite meant taking over his younger sister's chores for the rest of the day.

Phil still couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was some sort of fucked-up retribution or some shit like that. Paying for the sins he'd committed within his lifespan, and so on.

And he wasn't just speaking of the blood that permanently stained his hands, no, he was thinking of you. Always you.

You and those endless pools of warmth that made up your eyes, always a slight glimmer in them when you looked his way. You and those rough, work-hardened hands, always so soft and gentle when you handled him. Like he was something delicate, something to be cherished and protected. Him the altar and you the devoted worshiper knelt before him, praying for the mercy of a god who never answered your calls.

And that laugh. Like nothing else he had experienced before, a blessed thing he was granted the honor of witnessing. Of having directed his way. So rare, but so carefully captured and sealed away in Phil's heart when he heard its boisterous sound.

The main reason Phil had never really connected with the religion he was raised into was, even though they were the same people who preached about community and loving thy neighbor and whatever the hell, they were also the kind to shun and exile those they deemed unworthy. Those who didn't fit into the cookie cutter shapes chosen for them before they'd even taken their first breath.

He had completely dismissed his family's religion entirely when, after one of the members of his church discovered him getting a bit too cuddly—nothing more than an innocent hug that lasted a few seconds longer than it should—with one of his male classmates, they were outcast from the very same church he'd practically grown up in. And Phil would forever be thankful for having parents who stuck up for him to the very end, he doesn't think he'd ever seen his dad so thoroughly pissed off than when going after a churchgoer who'd slung a few cruel choice words at a younger Phil.

And Phil can't help but feel he knew this was how it would end when he made the decision; like some cruel method of justice.

So, while he no longer considered himself aligned with any specific religion, Phil still held onto that deep-rooted fear of something. Of damnation and redemption. And in that moment, as his heart began to slow and stutter in his chest, when his head felt too heavy to hold up, and the simple task of breathing caused his chest to burn, he did something he hadn't done since middle school. Something he never thought he'd do again.

He yearned for forgiveness; begged and pleaded until black swallowed up his vision whole.

Phil doesn't remember when the world had gone dark; doesn't think he had even fought against the pull. Willingly, had he responded to the siren's call through the waves crashing in his ear, a sound so alluring he would never even consider resisting, one that held a certain likeness to your voice.

What he does remember is the sudden gulps of stinging ash in his lungs, shocking his system into alertness, and the touch of oddly cool hands pulling at his shoulders. Hard, sandy earth beneath him, but he can't look up, can't peel his eyelids open and take a glance at his savior when those hands disappear. Only to wrap a pair of arms snug around his waist and continue dragging him over jagged stones and bits of metal.

It's not until Phil abruptly feels a lot cooler than he did moments ago that he's finally able to force his eyes open, a gasping breath kick-starting his heart back into motion.

And when he looks up, dazed and more than a little out of it, what he sees nearly steals his breath away once again.

Smoke wafting off your uniform in waves, dancing with the remaining embers still shining bright in a sea of black like stars in a night sky. It should be terrifying, but it's not.

Because Phil cannot see how the material clings unnaturally to your body, his brain is too fogged up still to notice the torn patches in your clothing. Blood stains the dark fabric into a deeper shade, trickling from gouges in your skin and dripping onto his.

All he sees is that perfect, unmarred face of yours. Mask pulled down and out of the way as you pant for breath; the flesh warmed a more intense reddish tone than usual, but Phil didn't register that, unable to yet comprehend that what was once untouched would soon become scarred and disfigured within the next few hours.

And with the setting sun positioned behind you, glowing almost like an angel's halo to frame your head, he had never been so enraptured by the sight of you as much as he was in that moment.

It's clumsy and uncoordinated, taking a few tries to even get the limb to function, but he manages. Reaching up to gently cup the jaw of his savior, his guardian angel, to feel that familiar warmth against his skin.

Only to have his wrist snatched out of the air by your still gloved hand, the hold a little tighter than normal, held for a second before being dropped carelessly onto his chest. And Phil doesn't have the energy to lift it again.

“You breathin', sir?” Comes your once angelic voice, now sounding like someone had shoved a saw blade down your throat; scratchy and not at all the soothing rumble he was used to, a strange shiver alighting his nerves at the sound.

All Phil can muster up is a strained, grunt-like sound in response. But that seems to be more than enough for you as you stand back up from your crouched position, sigh, and look over the ruined training grounds.

There's a hard set to your jaw, and Phil begins to feel something akin to fear. An emotion he doesn't think he could recall ever feeling around you if he tried.

“Good enough.” You huff, leaning back down to wrap your strong arms around his waist. Dragging him like a ragdoll to a more secluded, out-of-the-way spot just outside the remains of the designated training area.

He can't fight it, can bring himself to move or speak or do much of anything, really. Laying limp in your hold and letting himself be hauled away.

Phil considers that whatever method of exfil you had prepared must be this way. He doesn't remember making any plans like that with you and the others. But why else would you take him here?

Those hopes are crushed when you prop him against a fallen log, the remains of Alejandro's base now just barely out of sight, then pull away.

“This should be fine,” you mumble to yourself, cold gaze studying him briefly before darting back to where you two had come from. “Mhm. They shouldn't patrol this far.”

“-nant?-” Crackles through your radio before Phil can muster the energy to ask you what you meant by that. The feed is distorted, the device had probably been damaged sometime during the fight, but it's clearly a panicked voice speaking on the other end. “-Lieu-en-t? Are- y- there? Pha-nt-m?-”

“2-3,” you respond, voice level. “I'm here. Problem?”

“-N-o, no problems, sir-” Kip, 2-3, says. A little calmer now that he has heard your voice. Phil watches the scene through blurry eyes. “-We got- he's- Viper is stable-”

“For now.” You mutter bitterly, switching the radio back on to reply with, “Give me a sit-rep, 2-3.”

“-V-enn’s got ‘em lo-aded up-” a pause. “-a quarter left, sir.”

A quarter left. Even in Phil’s muddled up state, he knows what that means. It meant three-quarters of the soldiers he had taken with him were dead. Too many to feasibly count. So many bodies left unidentified, in enemy territory.

“-How-re yo-u and the- c-mander, Lt.?-” Phil would've said something if he could. But his vocal cords are paralyzed and his tongue feels like it's constructed of pure lead.

“I’m breathing.” You joke, your slight amusement is obvious even in such a bland tone. At least to Phil it is.

“A-nd,” if Kip notices, he doesn't mention it. “-and the commander?”

You spare one glance down at his slumped, barely breathing form, gaze shut-off and distant, and a cavernous pit of dread opens up in Phil's stomach.

“KIA.” You grunt, eyes narrowing down at Phil. And he may as well be, to have you look at him like that.

Kip doesn't respond and you click your radio off. And it's as easy as that, as if Phil, your co-founder, your friend, you lover, meant nothing to you.

You turn and leave, and Phil doesn't even possess the ability to call your name.

The next time he wakes, Phil doesn't think he's been colder in his damn life. And he's done his time in deep dive operations in the frigid hellscape that is the wilderness of remote foreign bases just past the Bering Sea.

It's dark, stars and the illumination of the moons’ waxing gibbous all the man has to light his way.

For a prolonged moment Phil doesn't even consider pushing himself up from his current pathetic, slumped over position against the decaying log. Would it even be worth it? He had nothing but the singed clothes on his back to call his own, not a weapon he can use in sight. Not even a pocket knife up his sleeve or a heart nestled in his ribcage.

Phil has experienced his own fair share of betrayal within his lifetime; ranging from small, nonsense instances with his little sister, to slightly bigger ones like with the church; then there were the more prominent, glaring ones that stuck out like a sore thumb. From before he started this damn company, freshly enlisted, and only a year later when he met you.

With shitty, high ranked officers who didn't give a single fuck about what happened to him or his squad—not that that had changed much after being taken under the watchful eye of General Shepard. Freezing to death in bumfuck nowhere Russia, or nearly drowning in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic Ocean.

You had been there for every single one. Such a constant in his life; a steady, unmovable force by Phil's side no matter what happened. Even before he'd fallen for you, before you became more than just a friend. Like two peas in a pod, you two.

There was no you without him, and vise versa, the soldiers you two worked with knew it too. They were always sure to throw in a teasing jab now and again, asking the typical “trouble in paradise?”, when you were spotted away from each other for more than a few hours.

So forgive Phil for being a bit melodramatic, because, out of all the people on this godforsaken planet, he never expected such a thing from you.

Maybe he should have. He wouldn't be on the verge of catching fucking hypothermia in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country.

Phil tries to think back, to push past the pounding in his skull to recall even a moment that would have given away some sort of clue to your betrayal before it happened. Maybe he could've prevented it if he had just looked closer.

But no. There's nothing. If anything, Phil recalls you being a bit more.. clingy, before this whole thing started. In your own way, of course; he's pretty sure you would rather be caught dead than let someone catch you hugging him or, heaven forbid, holding his hand.

Your neediness manifested in standing just close enough to him that any shift in stance or movement caused your shoulders to brush together; getting up in his personal space and staying there.

Maybe that was it? Maybe you had been so unusually affectionate because you'd planned on betraying him. And Phil was just too blinded by the sudden influx of your undivided attention to see it; he's starting to consider that that may have been your intention all along.

To distract him with your attention, to hide your true intentions under the guise of gentle words and adoring eyes.

Phil gives it a few more minutes, shivering his ass off against that damn log, before he finally gives in and decides to stand. He wasn't dead—yet—and by staying he was nothing more than a sitting duck in shark infested waters—which was a weird saying, wasn't it; how could the waters be infested when that was a shark's natural habitat?

Traveling under the blanket of night provided him with the highest chances of survival, even if it meant he was constantly on the verge of freezing to death. Under the dark, star speckled sky, he was, for the most part, safe from the prying eyes of enemy soldiers. It would be much more difficult for them to spot him under the protection of a waxing moon than, say, the full, all-encompassing concentrated power of the fucking sun.

So he gets his hands under himself, weakened arms trying their damnedest to force him to his feet. Phil takes a moment, leaning against a strong, tall tree that was luckily rooted right beside its fallen brethren.

The last time he had put anything in his stomach was yesterday (?) morning before they had been so rudely interrupted by the 141 boys knocking on their—or, really, not theirs at all—front door. And after an afternoon like that, all his energy was beyond drained. It's a surprise Phil was still standing—not that he was exactly doing a very good job at that—, though, to be fair, he wasn't new to going lengths of time without proper sustenance. It was a byproduct of the job, of the life he led, after all.

Phil can't do anything to rectify his current hunger right now, so he has no choice other than start getting some miles between himself and the wrecked base next door.

Signing, he looks down, spotting a small dagger lodged into the tree he'd been resting against before. Huh, at least you hadn't left him completely defenseless.

Knife secured in his boot, Phil begins the long trek to who knows where. It's not like he could just make his way back to company HQ, now could he? Not when it was so damn clear he was an unwanted face there.

The chipped watch on his wrist reads o-five-hundred, giving him about an hour until sunrise. Phil has already made pretty good progress, if he did say so himself. And the Vaqueros base has long since faded from his view; leaving Phil to now wander aimlessly through the harsh Mexican terrain; traversing over dry, crumbling rocks through a sparse forest, avoiding sudden drop offs and twisted roots on wobbly legs.

Phil had detoured around the broken city of Las Almas, a certain brand of discomfort crawling up his spine and settling heavy across his shoulders at the mere thought of passing through the ruined city. The barest glimpses of it he'd gotten bore the harsh reality of cobblestone roads still bathed in watery crimson, the familiar color splattered over everything within reach; streaked over stone walls and staining the clothes of bodies still laying cold, face-down in the streets.

One look at the carnage left behind and he'd nearly doubled over from the sheer force of the sudden churning of his stomach. Expelling the bile building at the back of his throat would only end in the burning of his esophagus from his empty, acid-filled belly. There were likely valuable resources left behind in the town, something to aid him in his solo travels, but he quickly dismissed the idea at the sight.

He'd rather skip this city and continue to walk with nothing to his name but the clothes on his body and the knife in his boot then be forced to face that massacre.

Phil hopes, come morning, the very same people he'd stabbed in the back take the time to ghost over the town and dispose of the mess he'd left behind. To reap the souls of those innocent civilians and treat their bodies with much kinder hands than his own Shadows had.

Phil was really getting tired of waking up to people dragging his ass around.

Well, judging by the way, at least this time around, there were no sharp rocks digging into his spine and the fact that this ride was.. quite bumpy, it appeared Phil was being carried this time. What an improvement.

And while he should probably be very concerned as to who, or what, exactly, is carrying him from point A—aka, where he'd likely had passed out again—to point B, the man can't bring himself to care. He doesn't have the energy for it.

Instead, he's in a bit of a daze. Wondering how in the everloving fuck this damn country jumped from near freezing in the night, to scorching hot temperatures that could rival the damn devil. All Phil remembers leading up to this is him cursing the damn sun with his whole chest, feeling like his freaking skin was melting off, then somehow finding himself face-down in the goddamn sand—when had he made it into the damn desert??

And now he was here.

Being carried to God knows where, still sweating profusely under his clothes—how his body still had the capability to sweat when he was already so dehydrated, was beyond him—and too tired to do anything more than lay there.

Phil must've drifted off again at some point, because when he wakes again he's no longer moving. Instead he's flat out on his back, a hard surface beneath him not unlike the old bunks he'd slept on when he was a newbie, and his entire body feels like one giant ass bruise. An all encompassing ache that traveled from the base of his skull to the tips of his toes—as if, now that he was finally resting, his entire body had collectively agreed to seek revenge on his overused muscles.

Distantly, he can hear the chatter of a man and a woman speaking in hushed voices, muttered Spanish drifting from somewhere to his left.

Every instinct that had been ingrained into him screams at Phil to launch himself up and either attack or make a run for it. He does neither, too exhausted to even move or open his eyes, much less to try and stand.

He ends up dancing on the fine line between consciousness and slumber while the two strangers talk, presumably, about him. Lingering in that peculiar space where you're not quite awake, but you're not sleeping either; able to hear and feel, but not aware enough to get up and move.

Phil chose to use that time to attempt to listen in, see what all, if any, of the words he could catch. He wasn't going to pretend to know more than he did, as Phil really only knew the more simple Spanish phrases from his time in highschool when it was a required course. He picks up the usual filler words, a few pronouns, something that sounds much like ‘the American’, and the suppressed voices briefly increasing in volume, rushed, before quieting. Then silence.

With nothing to stimulate his brain, Phil once again falls into a fitful rest.

Power? Is that what this had been about? In all the years Phil has known you, he never would've thought of you as the type. But could that have been what you were after the entire time? And all these years you were just biding your time, waiting for the best time to strike.

How could he have been so blind, how did he not see this coming? The person closest to him, a man who knew more about Phil than any single other person to exist. He should've seen this miles away before it hit him like a fucking freight train.

This is why you had to turn on others before they had the chance to flip the blade on you first—a lesson Phil had learned oh-so long ago. After all this time, how the hell had he forgotten that?

Which is why, the second Phil has the capacity to, he bolts upright and does his best to regain his bearings. A little dizzy, body shaky, limbs trembling from a lack of nutrients, but no longer in the fetal position at least. As aware as he physically can be.

Somewhere between blinking away the blur obscuring his vision and forcing himself into a fully seated position, Phil hears the two voices again

Faint at first. Then growing louder. Closer.

Phil's eyes, still unfocused, dart around his surroundings.

A room. Closed off with only one door, and a window too small for his body. Below him is some sort of flimsy cot placed in the corner furthest from the exit, one that's metal frame squeals with the slightest movements.

Getting distinct now, one woman and one man, just as before.

Phil's hand shoots down, patting his boot; heart rate skyrocketing when the man realizes the knife is missing. His crutch, the only thing he'd possessed to defend himself beyond his own bare hands. It was gone.

They'd taken it from him.

Closer, closer, closer still. The door opens, hinges creaking as a tall, heavy set man walks in; black, cropped hair and a well kept mustache are the first things he notes. And Phil can immediately tell that, even if he were standing, there's no way this guy wouldn't tower over him.

That is a problem. Not because Phil hasn't taken on much large men than himself, but because he usually managed such a feat when fully put together and decidedly not when half-starved, dehydrated, and barely conscious.

While the man approaches Phil with a certain air of caution, the woman, on the other hand, stays behind. Leaning against the doorframe, watching.

But not afraid, no, there's nothing to hint at fear in her intense gaze. Long, dark hair pulled up and tied in loose updo, arms crossed tight over her chest, and mouth set into a firm line. And still she appears to be more curious, or concerned, than fearful; perhaps a bit heedful, but that's as far as it goes.

The man, surprisingly, seemed much more on guard than his counterpart. To be fair, and give the poor guy some credit, he was the one tasked with coming closer to Phil. And Phil, in all honesty, was not of the.. low-risk variety.

Not that the two would know that, all identifying parts of his uniform were either torn or stained, but it's always safer to be wary of strangers. And given Phil's appearance—dirtied, bloody, and cowering like a caged animal ready to strike at any given moment—he obviously wasn't just some random guy who they'd stumbled upon.

Come to think of it, Phil wondered what they thought had happened to him, or why he was out there—wherever he was when they found him—in the first place.

Beyond that, who were these people? Why did they bring him here, why not just leave him, a complete stranger and possible danger, where they'd found him instead of risking their lives carrying Phil to their home? At least they'd been smart enough to check him for weapons, for their sake.

Which begs the question; were these people just plain stupid, or did they trust enough in their own abilities to put him down if need be?

“So,” the man begins, now within a few feet of where Phil sits. Spine straight, chin lifted, and arms crossed much like his partner; posture firm, aiming to appear confident. “You military?”

Oh, what could have possibly given that away?

“Sorta.” Comes Phil's stilted reply.

To Phil's great unsettlement, the man smiles. Only a tiny thing, a barely twitch at the corner of his mouth before it's gone.

“Where am I?”

The man hesitates, and the woman chimes in with a few uttered words of Spanish again.

“Not too far from the border, a few hours most.” when Phil doesn't respond, the man continues. “Name's Eric and this,” he tips his head slightly in the woman's direction. “Is my wife, Sofia. We have.. decided to help you back onto your feet.”

Another murmur, then Eric corrects with an, “if you want.”

Lovely. Now it didn't sound as much like he was being held hostage.

“Y'all want to.. help me?” Phil asks, skeptical as he flicks his gaze between the two. Trying to decipher any double meaning, any sort of threat veiled under these too-good-to-be-true words. “...And why would you do that?”

“My wife was a field medic, and me a soldier,” he begins. “We know what a person looks like wounded.. not only physically.”

Oh, so they wanted to be some sort of great savior or some shit? Give Phil some weird form of therapy? He didn't need that, he didn't need anyone's pity. Especially not these strangers who knew absolutely nothing about him.

Eric must sense something off about him, because he immediately rushes to continue. “Like it or not, we are your best option. You go out there? Try to get home in the state you are in? You will die before the sun sets.”

Phil wasn't quite sure he'd be opposed to that.. but the man had a point. He couldn't seek his revenge if he were dead, now could he?

“I won't stay long.” Phil asserts, sitting up a bit straighter with a challenging glint in his eye.

“Of course not,” Eric agrees easily. “Just until you are better. Maybe a few days, yes?”

Phil shouldn't, he should get up, tell these people to go fuck themselves, and get as far away as he possibly can. Even if that means, come morning, he’ll have succumbed to the elements- “Okay.”

“Okay.” Eric offers a smile and Phil isn't quite in his right mind, but he swears that man, this complete stranger, has some of the kindest eyes he's ever seen.

A few days turns into a month, and a single month becomes four. Phil learns a lot about the couple he's been staying with.

Learns that Eric was telling the truth and that they both had met in the field; apparently the man had been outright refusing treatment so that his fellow soldiers could get it first, claiming it to be nothing more than a light scrap. According to Sofia—from what little Phil could gather with the language barrier; though narrowed eyes and flailing hands are pretty damn telling no matter the language, Phil supposed—it was most likely a lot worse than Eric let on.

Only when Eric had conceded and pulled down the collar of his shirt to expose the long, jagged scar that began at just below his collar bones then traveled further, larger than the tugged down fabric could show, did Sophia give a satisfied hum. And Phil could tell from the gentle way she looked at Eric as he spoke, this woman wholeheartedly adored that man—he had to look away after a moment, feeling out of place, like Phil was intruding on something not meant for his eyes.

Phil also learns that the couple is very active in their little community, often volunteering for social events and making whatever donations they could to the local church, and more specifically the program involved directly in helping children in need.

The two had discovered many years ago, after they left the service, that neither were capable of having children. And while it did put a strain on their relationship for some time, the couple loved each other too much to let that fact tear them apart. Instead, they dedicated their time and whatever leftover funds they had into helping provide for the few orphaned kids in the area.

They even had some adopted children of their own, ones now grown and dispersed around the country; attending college and creating families of their own.

At some point, Phil had been baffled by how utterly good these people were, he couldn't believe how lucky he had been to be found by such genuinely kind people, ones who knew nothing of him or his crimes. They would hate him, surely, either cast him aside or turn him in to local authorities. Who would then hand him over to federal.

He was a criminal on the run, something that had taken Phil a while to come to terms with.

A thing he had realized on the very same porch steps he was setting on right now in month two. Eyes on the horizon as the hot, late spring sun faded in an array of nostalgic warm tones of red and orange, of yellow and pink. Dressed in clothing a few sizes too big; the ones he'd donned when he had arrived far beyond salvageable.

A small, child sized soccer ball rolls to his feet. Bumping against the toe of his boot, quickly followed by little feet stomping over to where Phil sat. Picking it up, Phil cradled the ball in his palm, offering it to the boy running over to him with a soft smile.

One of the orphaned kids; has a sister only a year younger than himself, something Phil knows not because the couple told him, but because he'd started doing some volunteer work himself—with Eric and Sophia’s encouragement. It helped keep his mind wonderfully empty, able to concentrate on the now rather than past or inevitable future.

It also helped remind Phil why he'd even joined the military in the first place, what his younger self had aspired to be all those years ago.

Phil had been able to reflect on a lot over these past seven months. Given the opportunity to think on why he did what he did, who he wanted to be. And, most importantly, you.

After months upon months of denial, cursing your name before he went to bed each night. Reminded of you by the absence of a warm body curled up behind his own; the lack of a soft, rumbling voice murmuring a sleepy goodnight before you'd fall asleep with your face tucked away in the place between Phil's neck and shoulder. The gentle puffs of your breath ghosting over his skin and the secure weight of an arm draped over his waist, luring him to join you in the depths of dream land.

Always making him feel so warm, so safe, in that perfect in between, just after the sun set and right before it rose again. For a few hours you were his. For a few fleeting hours he had you all to himself; he had someone.

Someone more than the names of all the men he'd killed, ingrained permanently in his psyche no matter how hard he tried to ignore it; something more than a pen and himself up against stack after stack of paperwork containing nothing but political bullshit Phil couldn't care less about.

For that brief time Phil had belonged.

But now.. now he had nothing.

He wasn't a commander here, wasn't a soldier. Phil didn't have the responsibilities he'd had to manage back home at base anymore. He should probably be grateful, it was a stressful life.

But.. but he still wasn't quite.. anybody. He was nothing but the stranger who'd appeared in town out of nowhere. Who was silent and kept to himself, who barely even left the residence he'd been so lucky to be offered a place in. Not unless he was doing some volunteer work here and there.

He had nothing; he was nothing. Phil used to hold the reins of dozens who'd act solely with his interests at heart, and now he didn't even have an army to command. He wasn't anyone anymore. Not here.

At least, if he went back, he'd have something. Something more than this endless repetition of kindness he didn't deserve. You'd hate him, surely, after what he had done.

To you, to your friends, family, fellow soldiers. Phil was supposed to be a leader, someone who those under his command looked to for guidance. Someone dependable, someone trustworthy.

It was, again, sometime ago on these same steps, where Phil had the grand revelation that maybe, just maybe, you hadn't betrayed him. You were just doing what you thought was best for yourself and the rest of the company. It was in everyone's best interest—except his.

Phil had pushed you too far, stretched you too thin. Even though he knew how fragile delicate vulnerable-

Even though he knew damn well how you used to be, the cavernous depths of your own mind Phil had single-handedly had to drag you out of kicking and screaming several times over.

Phil knew all of this, and yet he still did it. Never considered the consequences his actions would have on you—or the others, but you were more important—, never stopped to consider your own feelings on, well, anything. On what your opinions were for improving the company—even though you two had built it up from the ground up, together—, or what applications to accept, or whatever it was that you two had going on that was surely more than friends and co-founders did with each other.

He'd pushed and pushed and pushed- and Phil had broken you.

Snapped you in two.

So, at the very least, if he went back, Phil would have someone to hate him. Anything from you was better than being nothing. Even if it were hatred; he just needed to be someone again.

Just needed to belong.

“You can't stay here.”

Phil turns his head slowly, the sun now barely a sliver as darkness overtakes the sky. Stars begin to join the moon in illuminating the town.

“I'm sorry?” He asks, spotting Eric standing on the porch behind him. A somber sort of expression painting his features.

Eric sighs, rocking on his feet briefly as his hands move to tuck into his pockets, seeking warmth as the lack of sunlight drops the temperature by several dozen degrees.

“I don't mean- I am not kicking you out,” the man clarifies, looking off into the distance. A bittersweet smile gracing his lips. “But you are not happy here, are you?”

It's a rhetorical question, and Phil, too, turns away, looking back towards the sky, mouth pressed into a thin line. The sun had disappeared completely, and Phil instead looked to the moon.

Now a completely different phase from that fateful day where you'd abandoned left him against that log. So long ago, and yet Phil swore he could still smell the smoke burning his nostrils and scorching his throat.

He was lucky to have not borne many scars from being trapped in that tank; he didn't want to know how you'd fared.

“You miss them.”

“What?” The words break Phil out of his trance, brows furrowing, but he doesn't turn back around.

“I don't know if it is a family or something else,” Eric continues. “But you miss them. This is not the life for you; you still carry that.. spirit I only remember having during my time in the army.”

“I can't go back.”

“Because you think they will not take you?”

“I,” Phil barks a hushed, humorless laugh. More of an exhale of air than everything, bitter and leaving a foul taste on his tongue. “I do not belong with them anymore, sir. They don't want me, I can promise you that.”

“So grown,” Eric chides, coming to sit on the same step Phil was on. “And yet still so damn naive.”

It's not cruel, but it does have Phil opening his mouth in protest, only to snap it back shut again with a huff.

“You don't know what you're talking about.” He grits out, mouth forming a small pout, an ache of something opening up in his ribcage. A void, once full, overflowing, almost, but now so, so empty. Starving.

“Did you even consider, maybe,” Eric continues on with the same patience he'd had all those months ago. “..they miss you, too?”

Phil swears his heart stops just then, slow, stuttering to a halt before ba dum.. ba dum.. it gradually starts back up again. A frog leaped, lodging itself in his throat, suffocating him, echoing the beat of his heart.

Eventually, he manages to croak out, “They don't.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

And Phil doesn't have anything to say to that, so he doesn't. Continuing to gaze up at the moon as if it held all the answers to his problems. Wondering if, maybe, you were looking up at it too.

“I will not pretend to know what you are going through,” Eric hesitates. “What you are running from. But.. but you cannot stay here, it's killing you. Sophia and I can both see it.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Phil forces out. “you don't understand. He is stubborn, he is childish, and he is- he was. You wouldn't understand.”

“You are talking about this man like he's dead,” observant, are we? “And yet he is not, is he?”

You may as well be. “No.”

“Then maybe it's not too late.. maybe..”

Phil could feel hope sparking in his chest at the man's words, and he immediately crushed it between his fists.

“It is.” Phil says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “It is too late.”

A sigh. “But you're right. I can't stay.”

The distant sound of a coyotes’ howl and the rustling of leaves fills the space between them as the conversation lulls to a stop. It's peaceful out here, much more so than any base Phil's stayed on, and even before that, far quieter than a house full of gentle chatter wafting in from the living room, or the sounds of childish glee from his sister's bedroom when she had a few friends over. Drifting down through thin but sturdy walls; both a perfect ambiance to listen to while he did his homework at the dining table.

Nothing compared to the heartwarming sound of your laughter. Of your soft, rumbling voice; always so quiet, even when just chatting in his office or while overseeing the Shadows honing their skills in the courtyard.

Quieter than his family, but louder than the silence between you two when you would give him the cold shoulder; a sea of rage hidden neatly within a show of blank stares and empty words.

He misses you.

You didn't do anything wrong.

Why did he break you? When did he break you?

Was it just the incident all those months ago? When he'd forced you to shoot down people who, just the day before, Phil had told you to treat like family? Like brothers?

Or was it something far before that? Something you had been holding on to all this time; keeping caged within your heart instead of taking it out in him.

He wishes you had taken it out on him. Maybe then he wouldn't be considered KIA by his own people, men and women and all alike, whom he—and you—had practically raised as his own?

Anyone who tried to proclaim that Phillip Graves didn't care about his soldiers, his Shadows, was just flat out wrong. A piece of his heart, of his soul, had been ripped out of him when one of his squads died in that botched mission Shepard had sent them on. Ambushed by Russian PMCs. Now that had been one very dreaded set of paperwork; writing down the names and cause of deaths for people who he knew, his friends.

He hadn't even been able to tell their families what had happened to them when they came knocking on his door. No closure for any of those grieving relatives, phone calls day and night. Endless sobs and askings of why, why can't you? And my baby gave their life for your cause, but you can't even do me the honor of explaining why they're buried halfway across the world instead of with their family?

“Where will you go?” Phil had been so lost in thought, he'd entirely forgotten Eric was still beside him. Five months ago and that would've never even been a possibility.

He was losing his touch. Would he even be useful back home?

After all these months, surely not.

When the silence drags on a little too long to be comfortable, Phil murmurs a delicate, “I don't know..” then, “maybe I'll go back after all.”

Phil does, in fact, not go back.

Instead he finds himself staying at an apartment complex just a few cities away. Like a coward.

Phil had left that night, before the sun rose again, and without saying goodbye to the couple who'd let him stay with them for a little over four months. He's only left a little note as thanks.

Also, like a coward.

But Phil decided to embrace this sort of cowardice, at least for now. It's not that he couldn't just go over to the ol’ base, pop in and say hello to the people whose lives he had ruined- of course he could!

He could do it right now if he wanted. He didn't want to.

Phil could just pack up his shit—it had been fairly easy to retrieve his emergency fund, held in one of the many banks he had an account or two with; for security, of course—and skip over to that familiar town, take a few turns down some back roads and bam! Back home he would be.

Back home.

…

..would it still be home?

What if his Shadows hated him now? What if you'd turned them against him? Couldn't even stand the sight of him? Would they kill him then and there upon first sight?

Or would they detain him, torture him maybe?

Either way, Phil couldn't risk it. It's been a few weeks since he left Sophia and Eric's residence, and he's no more motivated to go back to you his old stomping grounds today than he was all those months ago.

He can't imagine which would be worse; seeing that look of disgust, of simmering hatred in the Shadows’ eyes or your own.

Phil tries to keep his mind blissfully blank every moment of his waking hours. Preferring more to spend his time sleeping, but when he could not do so anymore, when his legs ached with the need to move and his stomach rioted in the name of it's hunger, he would have to get up.

Reading, listening to a radio, sometimes even adding the background noise of the old TV in the corner of the living room whenever Phil needed to complete a simple task such as eating or another.

As of right now, he was doing just that. Only this time.. this time it doesn't work. Swirling around the remaining bits of cereal in the now sweetened milk, gaze drifting up from the little floating pieces to the window before him instead.

Thinking. Thinking of you. Because there wasn't any time where Phil wasn't thinking of you. Even with all these distracts, meant to keep his mind off his old life, off what he used to have, off you.

It didn't work. Not when it came to you.

Wondering what you could be up to right now. How you were faring commanding an entire army of your own—or however many were left—, how you were handling all the politics that came with such a job.

When you two shared ownership, Phil was always the one to handle the people, scheduling meetings and dealing with generals and such.

It's been months, surely you were handling this fine on your own. You didn't need him, there was no reason for Phil to go back. Nothing more than his own selfish reasons.

A little over ten months now, it has been. Phil shouldn't bother you. You were dealing with it perfectly fine, he'd bet.

There was not a single excuse for him to assume you didn't have everything under control, for him to swoop in like some sort of savior.

Sure, you'd always been a bit.. off kilter. But who wasn't in this line of work.. right? It was only to he expected after what you had been through, or what little you had told Phil.

He knew you didn't like crowds, didn't even like talking for that matter, hated interacting with the stuck up higher ups most of all, of course. Everyone did. But Phil knew you could also reign yourself in if need be.

Well, that was unless something threw you off center. It would have to be something huge, something life-changing for you to really-

Oh, fuck.

The metallic crash of his spoon bouncing off the ceramic bowl and clattering against the floor doesn't even register in Phil's mind. Not even the sweet milk that goes splattering everywhere pulls him away.

He'd broken you. He'd left you alone. Left you alone with her.

Fuck staying here, lying to himself and avoiding any and all subjects that reminded him of you. Reminded him of what he had lost.

Maybe if the event almost a year ago had never happened, and even if Phil had still been removed from your day to day, it wouldn't have been a possibility.

But you were broken. Shattered. Vulnerable.

And for someone like you; that was a concoction that spelled nothing but bad decisions.

Phil left a few hours later. A single stuffed backpack and a rental car all he took with him in his haste.

He hoped he wasn't too late. Hoped he hadn't broken you too much.

Maybe you were able to resist her offer.. maybe there was still a part of you left that knew it would bring nothing but your own destruction.

Maybe.

Standing before you now, with those empty eyes and stiff posture, Phil knew something was off. More than he had assumed before. Sure, he knew you were a bit fucked, had always been a bit fractured, but Phil had cared for you all the same. Knew there was something more to you beyond that rough, off-putting exterior.

But now, the way you covered yourself head to toe, the little twitches and fidgets you tried so hard to conceal—but Phil had been able to identify them then, and he still could now—, now it was obvious. There was no hiding it.

“You're..” Phil begins, hesitant. “Different.”

You scoff, something in those clouded depths flickering. “You've said that before.”

“No, no, Phantom-” he winces, noting the way the name has your right hand—concealed in a glaringly different glove than the other—twitches, fingers curling slightly in one, quick movement, at the name. Your head ticking a bit to the left.

“You are.. not yourself.”

“Is that all you had to say?” You grit out, gaze narrowed, voice more a growl than the gentle rumble Phil was used to. “You called me down ‘ere again to tell me I'm “different”. As if it hasn't been almost an entire fucking year since you last saw me.”

A step closer, another fidget. “People change, Graves. Just because you can't, too caught up in your own damn ego to care, doesn't mean others don't.”

Phil can think back on that little insult later, pick another time to lick his wounds. Right now he needed to know. Needed a confirmation.

“Just tell me-” he doesn't care if he sounds like he's begging. He needs to know. “You told her no. Please, for Christ's sake, tell me you said no.”

Phil can hear the way your breathing hitches briefly, see the way you try to shift your posture impossibly straighter. “I don't know who you are referring to.”

A part of Phil shrivels up and dies in that moment, frozen in time as you basically confirm what he already knew. What he knew and yet so desperately hoped he was wrong about. Hoped and prayed you'd be strong enough.

He was wrong.

“Oh, Phantom,” He breathes, right when his body kicks back into motion again. Unable to hide the pure, unfiltered grief in his croaked out words. “What.. what have you done?”

Phil never gets to hear your reply, because right then there's a frantic knocking at the door. Panicked or enthused, Phil cannot decipher.

It catches you both off guard, heads snapping to the person who hurts through the entrance. Not bothering to wait for an okay to come inside.

“Alik? What the fuck are you doing here?” You snap, glaring at the newcomer.

1-5 comes to a halt right in front of you, breathing heavily from the exerting of running from wherever the hell he'd come from. Phil feels himself stiffening, waiting for something, anything to happen.

“Sorry, sir,” Alik pants. “But this couldn't wait.”

“Spit it out.” Phil cuts in, seeing how you tense and ready to go on one of your rare—or maybe not rare anymore—tangents.

1-5 barely spares Phil a glance before locking eyes with you once more, unflinching.

“Viper,” he says, chest still heaving. A single word, a single word that bore so much weight within its five letters. “He is awake.”

@cptg00s3 @ruthgrimxiao @20nerd04-blog @gloma08 @mikahrh @in-down @hauntedapplefarm @mello-life69 @unkn0wnd3ad @tayaisback @starre-eyes @gabbvr-dog @suhmie @lazyrel @spiritzofthedead @yeonpm @its-ares @k1ssesofdeath @ravagerdogz @embry-garrick @the-spartan-himself @justacreamcheesesandwich

If you want to be added to the tag list, or removed, let me know in the comments!

#this man is so in love w reader its unreal #wasnt my intent in the beginning #but it wrote itself #call of duty #cod x male reader #male reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #reader insert #gay #phillip graves x male reader #graves x male reader #phillip graves

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chickenkupo · 6 months ago

Text

I Just Want My Tea

Summary:

Wriothesley, the busy man that he is, doesn’t notice that his tea stash is getting rather low, no thanks to Sigewinne taking her share since she considers it payback for what Neuvillette and him put her through once he was claimed. It wasn’t until after a shift at the Fortress of Meropide, however, that he noticed this. After going to the home that he and his mate, Neuvillette, share, he vows that the next morning he will run to the nearest grocery market to take note of their goods, and purchase some more that suit his tastes perfectly. He drools just thinking about it.

However, Neuvillette is starting to feel a sort of odd heat beneath his skin recently, and it only gets worse as the days go by. He constantly finds himself staring at his love when they are together, and when they are apart, he can only think of having his man back in his embrace, littering him with possessive affection and a viscous need. He’s finding it hard to let Wriothesley go anywhere without him, now, this heat feeling like it is reaching its peak.

But, the man desperately wants his tea, and the dragon wants his man. The compromise? Why, of course the dragon sovereign is going to turn into a little noodle version of his full dragon form, and go with him! Why, you ask, would he do this?

Well, how else is he going to pleasure the both of them while out in public?

TLDR: Horny noodle dragon is in his heat and tries to get freaky with his mate while he just wants to do some simple grocery shopping. Chaos ensues.

Recommendations: For full context, please refer to I Promise and Now For the Next Act. This is considered a little side story before I continue on with the next 'serious' work in the series.

Warnings: 18+, though barely. Will be writing up some stuff to add onto this as a second chapter with even spicier content, but this story had to leave my head one way or another. Dubious content, public sexy behavior, slight mind manipulation.

SHOUT OUT TO MY AWESOME BETA READER, Gleth_Eldigande! Please, if you like my content, go and check out theirs here! I promise you'll enjoy it! ALSO SAY THANK YOU! They work hard to keep my lore together and keep me on track!

Author Note: IM BACK BBY! Finally wrote up my Noodle Dragon/Wriothesley story. I made it WAY LONGER than I intended to, but I don't care, here it is! Tumblr is getting 2 day early access to this, after which I will be posting to AO3 because, once more, I cannot write something short to save my life.

Sheeeeeesh, long enough intro, right? Well, let's get to the good shit!

•

Wriothesley groans as he holds his head, a small, yet persistent, headache forming. He knew what the exact cause was, and there was nothing he could do to cure it, currently. He had a few more appointments with new inmates to address, assigning them to their roles and housing, before he could leave the rest of the duties to Grace. Thankfully he had a few more moments until the next prisoners arrived for his council. His wrapped hands reached towards one of the side drawers of his massive desk, and after reviewing the contents (or lack thereof) once more, a defeated sigh escaped his lips. His wooden tea box that was consistently managed and previously well stocked had taken quite a hit logistically. He reckoned that he should have taken Sigewinne more seriously when she proclaimed that she was going to do some damage to the supplies.

“YOUR TEA IS FORFEIT!” She screamed, loud enough for Neuvillette to still remember, even with his then feral brain taking over and becoming the overprotective mate that he was now.

The Duke did not take her that seriously after the event, however. Neuvillette had informed him of what she proclaimed, as he was still passed out at the time, his body trying to process all of these new changes and get some sort of semblance of rest, for once. But, as he continued to stare down at the empty contents, he knew then that she kept to her word. He winces, a sharp pain shooting through his skull. Not only did the tea he drank help to calm his nerves after dealing with, to him, ridiculous situations most of the day, it also provided him with a level of caffeine to keep him awake. Now, not having a single drop of tea all day, his body was going into withdrawal. He desperately needed the energy, too. Not only did the constant appointments seem to drain his energy, but he also had the odd situation occurring at home.

Neuvillette, to be completely honest, was going full horny mode on him here recently, and it felt like every night it was getting worse. At this point, from what he experienced last night, he knew that the moment that he walked through the threshold of their home, the hydro dragon would once again pounce on him. The attack being sudden, as Neuvillette would probably assault his mouth with his own, his long dragon tail being released from its glamor spell and then wrap itself around Wriothesley’s legs, and halfway up his torso, holding him in place as Neuvillette would continue his assault. Then, literally get dragged into their bedroom, tossed onto the bed and be devoured as if he were some sort of feast for a god. Granted, Wriothesley loved every single second of it, but it would take so much energy out of him. They’d continuously partake in divine levels of intercourse for the remainder afternoon and well into the throes of night, until it was almost near time for him to get up and return back to the fortress, though he noticed the snarls and hisses thrown at him as he got up and ready. Never threatening to him, but he knew now how dragons would literally throw a hissy fit now. It was cute, yet slightly terrifying.

So, yes, Wriothesley needed his tea, desperately. There was no way he could go through another night of this and live to tell the tale. He’d just have to stop by the grocery building in Fontaine before he headed home. As much as he did enjoy the meals provided to him in the Fortress of Meropide, only one of the grocers in Fontaine had his favorite flavor of tea bags and loose leaves in stock, and he never went down the cheap route when it came to his tea. The man had standards, you know. He’d be a little late getting home, and maybe Neuvillette wouldn’t really notice. It wouldn’t take that long, anyway. Just one quick little trip and return home, snagging a sample of the already brewed tea that they normally had on sample display should be enough to boost his energy levels, somewhat. Ever since his somewhat odd transformation, his body did recover much more swiftly regarding many different levels of exertion, than his previous, normal human body did. For that, he was grateful, though it did take a decent amount of time for him to mentally and emotionally adjust to such changes. Dragons were determined and possessive little fuckers, but at the end of the day, Wriothesley wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“Sir! Two new inmates would like to come in for their meeting, would you care to have them come in now, or do you still need a moment or two?” One of the fortress guards addressed him from the other side of the room. They must have walked in while he was deep in thought, as he didn’t hear their footsteps at all. Thinking about how your horny mate was fucking your brains out the previous night and reliving those clips in your head will do that to you. Wriothesley closed the drawer that contained the empty tea box at his desk, and did his best to put on a look that didn’t show the now throbbing headache he was suffering from.

“Go on ahead, let them in, let’s get this done and over with.” He almost grumbled, pulling out their files and taking a brief overview before the two entered his office.

The Duke had barely finished his sentence before two figures came barging in, the guard having to help press against the two individuals to keep them at a respectable distance from Wriothesley. Not so much for his safety, but rather theirs. Wriothesley did pack a rather ferocious punch, but little did everyone know that he had an even more ferocious hydro dragon that would spill blood in less than a heartbeat if even a hair on Wriothesley’s head had been damaged. But the citizens of Fontaine didn’t need to know about that, not quite yet.

“WHY IS HER ASSIGNED BED LARGER THAN MINE? HER CRIMES ARE WAY WORSE THAN MINE, THIS ISN’T FAIR!” One of the women screeched out, pushing against the guard with each emphasis.

“WELL HER MEALS ARE BETTER QUALITY THAN ANYTHING I HAVE HAD HERE SO FAR AND I DEMAND RETRIBUTION!” The other woman rang out, also pushing against the poor, singular guard, who was doing a rather fine job of holding the line. They might need a raise after today.

“S-S-SIR!” The guard yelled out, looking for any sort of instruction or assistance in the current matter.

The Duke merely sighed, shaking his head as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, the migraine now pulsing.

How the hell was he supposed to survive today?

•

What should have lasted five minutes felt like it lasted five hours. In reality, it did turn out to be a couple of hours that Wriothesley had to sit there, trying to make sense of the situation and figure out the best way to handle it while the poor guard held the two women back from causing not only a fight with Wriothesley, but also between each other. Grace, having stepped in to take over when she noticed she had not been called after, had truly saved him that day. He swiftly exchanged information with her, and eased himself out of the room while the Melusine tried to calm the entire situation down. At first he was nervous for her, but after turning around and looking at her crazed expression and wicked smile about facing a new challenge, he blinked, gave her a thumbs up and headed out swiftly. He didn’t have much time to spare at this point, or at all, so he needed to make this trip quick.

As much as he hated using the teleport points, mostly because it always left him with such an odd dizzy feeling after reaching his destination, he didn’t have much of a choice this time around. Touching the teleport point at the Fortress, he concentrated his energy to focus himself to travel to the central hub of Fontaine, where the shops were only a short walk away. The blue aura took over him as he closed his eyes, and felt his entire being travel from one distant location to the other. He wasn’t sure what else he could describe the sensations he was feeling when this happened, other than he felt like he was displaced in an unknown area before his being settled to where it should be. A part of him wanted to figure out the mechanics of these one day, but sometimes it was better left unknown and to just be happily taking advantage of its properties.

As his body settled in the heart of Fontaine, he doubled over for a second, holding onto a concrete railing to gather himself. Normally it wouldn’t have affected him so badly, but with the thudding pain in his head still present, it only amplified the uncomfortable sensations he was going through. Wriothesley took a moment to take a deep breath, hold for a few seconds, and then slowly exhaled. He found that helped him level himself after teleportations, and it did end up alleviating a little bit. He would have normally spent more time taking it easy for a few more minutes, but he didn’t have that luxury at the moment. He was late, still needing at least a smidge of caffeine at this point, and he had a nagging feeling in his soul that Neuvillette was not happy with him not being at their home. He was seriously fucked, not that he really minded that, but he’d rather not pass out the second they get started. Oh no, he was going to wear that hydro dragon out if it was the last thing he did.

Once he fully gathered himself and his surroundings, he hurriedly walked himself closer to the grocer. Luckily, they were ones that stayed open later than the usual surrounding vendors, so he still had some time. Wriothesley noticed that the surroundings were getting darker, the sun must be setting. His suspicions were confirmed as the outdoor post lights that littered the city began to glow, offering a new form of illumination for those out wandering about. Yeah, there was no way he was going to make it back at a reasonable time. He cursed to himself but accepted the circumstances. Now wasn’t the time to wallow and be mad, he needed to get in, grab as many of the peppermint tea bags as he could, and bail. Wriothesley looked up and saw that he was maybe a half a block away at most, before something suddenly came crashing into his side, sending him flying into a nearby alleyway. He gasped and braced himself for impact into the concrete below, but was shocked when he noticed he didn’t feel any pain, just a very familiar weight on top of him. He didn’t even need to look up to notice who was now straddling him in the dark and hidden alleyway.

“For fuck’s sake, Neuv! Really?!” Wriothesley fussed at his mate in a harsh whisper, eyes narrowed at the dragon that was laying on top of him, noticing that he was in a more half transformed body. His horns were showing again, his hair more unruly and trailing down further, eyes more feral, fangs showing and a faded mirage of his actual draconic tail whipping back and forth behind him; a dragon studying his prey.

It took a few seconds before Neuvillette replied, a hiss escaping his lips as his words left his mouth. “Yes, really…”

Wriothesley rolled his eyes, and then tried to push the man off of him, who didn’t budge at all. Blinking in confusion, and then trying again, he got the same result, with a hint of a growl from the man above him. Neuvillette lowered his head and started nuzzling down on Wriothesley’s neck near his mating mark, purring again, looking very reminiscent of the day when the claiming took place. A part of Wriothesley wanted to fade into bliss and let the hydro dragon have his way with him, but for now he had more blood rushing to his brain than his cock, which was starting to get harder by the second. They couldn’t do this out in the open, and Neuvillette sure as hell couldn’t reveal his form to the citizens of Fontaine like this. Well, brute force obviously wasn’t going to work. He had only one plan left that seemed to snap Neuvillette out of his feral fits like this, and technically it was true.

The Duke lifted one of his hands slowly, running it through Neuvillette’s hair, in a calming manner, letting him nuzzle further into his neck and breathing in his scent. The massive amount of heat radiating from Neuvillette indicated to Wriothesley that whatever he was going through was getting worse, so hopefully it wasn’t too late for him to listen to reason.

“Babe, please. My head is throbbing right now, and I need some caffeine, okay? It’ll help lessen the pain and I can uh…actually be awake and last for what you got planned, eheh…plus, can you put away the whole…dragony bits? This is not the way to really reveal this sort of information, you know…” Wriothesley laughed nervously, his cheeks flushing with an intense blush, praying to the archons that this would actually work.

Neuvillette immediately stiffened as the words settled into his brain and he fully comprehended the situation, but the heat within his body was unrelenting. His two cocks, hard as the cement below them, were brushing against Wriothesley’s own erection, still tempting the two of them into further, dirtier deeds. The hydro dragon’s instincts were going wild, demanding relief for the two of them, and Wriothesley, though his scent was incredibly attractive to him, was severely lacking in his own scent being mixed in (even though, to be quite frank, if there were any other dragons around, they could definitely smell Neuvillette all over him), which made him even more irritable. But his mate was correct, and he needed to get himself together. Wriothesley was not rejecting him, and he needed to be a good mate and take care of him.

Almost immediately, the tail that was behind Neuvillette faded back away into nothingness, his horns began to recede, fangs and hair retracting back to their previous forms. A noticeable, and adorable, pout played on Neuvillette’s face as he started to remove himself from straddling his mate, offering him his hand as he pulled the two of them up so they were both standing casually in the alleyway. Wriothesley, as he was shaking the dust and dirt off of himself, started to scan his surroundings. It didn’t seem as though anyone had walked by while they had their little scene, a relieved sigh being released once he realized this.

“Listen, ba-” Wriothesley grunted, knowing he wasn’t whispering now and was addressing Neuvillette properly, as they were in public now and more easily noticeable than before. “Monsieur Neuvillette…” he corrected himself, and cringed at how that sounded now. He knew the hydro dragon didn’t like being referred to in that way by him, but knew that they had to keep up the formalities until the proper time presented itself.

“I’ll be able to come back once I’ve grabbed what I need, real quick, alright? It shouldn’t take long, and then we can go back to…” Wriothesley’s voice trailed, as he continued talking, but Neuvillette couldn’t seem to focus on anything that was being said, as long as it was nothing regarding his health or safety.

Instead, all Neuvillette could do was feel both of his cocks still pulsing, needing friction and release. His skin started to grow hot again at the lack of touch against his mate, driving him insane. He could feel his fangs beginning to lengthen, ever so slowly as he continued staring at the scales that lightly dusted Wriothesley’s skin from his recovered injuries. He had to do something, and he had to let Wriothesley get what he needed.

“I’m coming with you, end of discussion.” Neuvillette proclaimed, ever maintaining the image of a proper gentleman even with the hell he was currently going through, as he cleared his throat and adjusted his garments, slapping the dust off of them as well from when they plummeted to the ground earlier.

“What? No, that’ll take forever! Everyone will want to talk to you! Listen, we’re both struggling here, ba-Monsieur. Go on back, and I’ll meet you there. I promise, it will not take long, okay?” Wriothesley stated, trying to reassure his lover, patting him on the shoulder as an emphasis to this. The Duke thought he was finally in the clear as Neuvillette did not respond, and began heading his way back to his original destination, before he had the oddest sensation run through him.

As quick as he felt the energy in the air, it dissipated, and suddenly he felt something wriggle its way through underneath his jacket and undershirt beneath his vest, and wrap around him like some sort of snake. He gasped in shock, trying to tear open his shirt to see what the actual fuck was going on, and his mouth dropped open as he peered down. This hydro dragon was nothing but trouble underneath all that proper poise and composure.

Underneath all of his clothes and happily coiled around his bare torso, was the hydro dragon himself, in his full dragon form, but…incredibly tiny, like a plushie. His white scales glistened with blue ever so slightly in the little amount of light that was being produced nearby. His little white hair and beard was rather fluffy and tickled his skin, the horns being too dull to prick or poke him, but still noticeably there, and the same with his claws. His tail completely wrapped around his torso and tickled his body a bit as it waved back and forth across his skin.

With an agitated sigh, he glared back down at Neuvillette one last time, who merely placed his scaled chin on one of Wriothesley’s pecs, tongue flickering out and teasing the skin of his mate, looking up at him with large, slit lilac eyes that Wriothesley was all too familiar with. The man sighed as he tightened his clothing back up, trying to ignore the ever present hydro dragon that was now descaled down to a small noodle plushie size and wrapped around him. Yeah, he wasn’t going to regret allowing this to happen at all, but maybe for once the dragon would behave himself.

“Alright, I’ll allow it, I get it, we’ll compromise on this. But if you give me any sort of trouble, I swear…” Wriothesley warned, and knowing his lover, he was surprised when he didn’t hear any sort of feedback. Dragons were rather proud creatures, so a statement against them as such, even from their lifelong mates, usually warranted some sort of warning growl, hiss or light love bite. But Wriothesley felt nothing. Blinking, thinking that maybe Neuvillette was just really distracted with how he had been feeling the past couple of days, he took it as a sign of acceptance of terms, and moved onward to the grocery store.

Oh, how wrong he was. No matter the dragon, they were all the same in this respect. When they wanted something, they got it. End of discussion. Though they do cherish their mates deeply, they were nothing but masters of persuasion and persistence. One way or another, what they wanted would become theirs. Neuvillette was not an exception, even to this.

Even if he was in an adorable noodle form that Wriothesley was secretly gushing about in his mind – it was too cute to handle, but he had to stay focused.

Wriothesley tested the next few steps that he took, making sure to concentrate more on the dragon that had curled around him than the still throbbing pain that he felt in his head. So far, so good. It seemed Neuvillette was content with just having some skin to scale contact. Maybe that’s what he needed all along, or that’s just the level of restraint that Neuvillette had now, knowing that his health wasn’t at tip top shape. He chose to end his logical reasoning, and focused instead on the grocer, who was now in plain sight. The door was still propped open, and the lights were still on inside, some patrons walking in and some walking out with their purchased goods. A brief sigh of relief escaped his lips as he started to walk through the threshold, observing the different aisles of goods, knowing exactly what he needed. He was a man on a mission right now.

Though the building looked rather small from the outside, the inside of it was quite large. Aisle after aisle of consumable goods were on display, one trip here is all you would require for most of your culinary needs. Ranging from fresh meat, to locally grown vegetables and fruits, to imported goods, the store had all that you needed and then some. Since the rebuilding efforts of Fontaine began after the the chaotic events occurred, many of Teyvat’s nations decided to pitch in one way or another and send goods to the local stores of Fontaine, helping to restock whatever goods they had until the nation was able to provide at full capacity for its citizens once more. The citizens of Fontaine greatly appreciated this for many reasons, but one of the major ones was the new type of diversity of resources and food provided. Wriothesley was just one such of these people. Without Mondstadt sending over some of their interestingly flavored tea, he would not have been able to try the peppermint flavor that he now constantly desired. Something about the mint from the land of freedom itself just had that extra fresh and tasteful twist to the brew that he couldn’t find anywhere else. Plus, if he ever had a day when his throat was irritating him (he’s mentally glaring down at the cute but troublesome noodle dragon that was coddling his chest, being the source of these recent moments), it fixed him right up. The Duke was about to walk down one of the aisles to go to the middle of the store where it had a more open view of where the items were located, when all of a sudden he felt a light tapping on his shoulder.

The man turned around to address the individual, immediately on high alert, which faded almost as soon as it had developed. A sweet, gentle smile of a young woman graced him, one that was sadly familiar to him now, but he was used to having social situations like this. He blessed her with one of his trademark smiles, arms crossed over his chest. He did poses like this to give off a rather calm, but stern demeanor. He had a reputation to uphold, after all, no matter the circumstances. But he would be lying if he were to say that this didn’t have a secondary purpose. He had started feeling Neuvillette wiggle against his skin and clothing, trying to adjust himself, he supposed, to get a better view of the situation. Though, that was still rather hard to do with the amount of layers that Wriothesley tended to wear.

“Your Grace, it was indeed you! I just wanted to thank you for your assistance the other day. I know it’s not the best situation, but you’re truly one of the best to handle it. I don’t know what I would have done without all of the help that you and your men provided.” The young woman said, with a sweet, soothing voice. Such a compliment caused Wriothesley to blush ever so slightly. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell, even in bright lighting. But one being could, and that was the ever growing jealous dragon that was snuggled up to him.

Noodlette (Wriothesley was proud of this title he just came up with for him, he’d have to tell him about it later after they got back from pound town), was clearly starting to get agitated. The moment he seemed to have heard that it was a female voice that was close to his mate, a slight hissing sound escaped him. Luckily for Wriothesley, her voice seemed to out-mask his tiny hiss, which irritated the hydro dragon even more. He was well aware that women were of no interest to Wriothesley, but he was also well aware that most people found the man attractive, and loved to have his undivided attention. Attention that should be his, by the way, especially now when his heat was about to be upon the two of them at full blast. Noodlette grunted, and being the needy dragon that he was, started to come up with some mischievous plans.

“Of course, it’s all part of the job, after all. Your brother will be taken care of at the Fortress of Meropide, I swear. But, it’s good to see you out and about. Get your mind off things, you know? People make the wrong decisions sometimes, but we’ll handle it from here.” Wriothesley tried to assure her that no thanks were necessary, it was all part of the job. He was about to continue on with another sentence before he stopped in his tracks, immediately becoming stiff, so much so that the young woman in front of him gasped, reaching her hand out to him to check on him.

“Your grace! Are you alright?!” The woman asked, worriedly.

Wriothesley continued to try to keep himself together, but the sensations were already starting to flood his senses. Noodlette had started slowly licking the skin around his left nipple, lapping the hardening bud up while lightly nipping and pulling on it. Noodlette also had his claws out, though not all full sharpened length, as he slowly dug into Wriothesley’s skin, not enough to break it, but enough for his mate to feel the tension, and slowly started to drag his claws down. The two of them came to find out that Wriothesley loved it when the hydro dragon would release his claws and scratch at him while they were love making. It became one of his favorite things, and Neuvillette didn’t mind at all. The more marks on him to show the world that he was claimed, the better, in his opinion. Wriothesley grunted as he tightened his arms around himself, hoping to constrict the noodle dragon and halt his actions. It worked, for now. Little did he know that the dragon was beaming, having had a naughty moment with his mate, getting him all flustered, and this woman hadn’t achieved that. Plus getting a tight hug like this? The dragon was the proudest he had been in a while now.

Clearing his throat to hide a moan as Noodlette started to slowly inch his claws back down his skin, Wriothesley put every bit of his focus and energy into keeping the conversation normal.

“Y-Yes, sorry about that. I’ve been having a little bit of a headache today, nothing to worry about. That aside, I’ll be sending some update reports your way once your brother gets established at the Fortress.” Wriothesley stated, surprised at his own ability to keep himself together at this point. He could feel the little noodle dragon starting to squirm again, and he had no doubt that his lover wasn’t enjoying the woman’s company, especially being so close when he had one thing on his mind, dicking his mate down hard. The Duke was getting the message loud and clear. Get away from other threats, get the goods and go home so they can lose themselves in feral lovemaking.

The young woman brought her arm back to her side as she eyed him up and down, skeptically, making sure he was indeed alright. After a few seconds of seeing him maintain his composure, she simply offered him another soft smile, nodding her head.

“Alright. I do hope that you feel better, your grace. Once more, thank you for all of the help, truly. I apologize that part of my family caused so much of a mess for you, but hopefully this will all be the proper steps in the right direction.” She concluded, giving a small bow as she eyed him up and down once more, making sure that she didn’t miss anything. But, his stature and expression remained the same as he had given a small smirk, nodding his head in acknowledgement to her. She took that as her dismissal, and promptly left after gathering her small bag of goods and left.

The moment that her presence couldn’t be felt nearby, Wriothesley began to feel an odd, small vibration coming from Noodlette. Blinking in curiosity, Wriothesley peeked downwards and saw that the small dragon was gently rubbing his head against his skin again, purring away, with a big smile. It was almost as if the hydro dragon were just as gleeful as ever, rubbing his face away on him like a cat would their owner. The man had no doubt Noodlette was enjoying himself by staking his claim yet again by scenting him, like it wasn’t already obvious through the faintly shimmering scales that littered Wriothesley’s skin if the light hit them right, or the blue essence that Neuvillette had pumped into him the night of the claiming that was still coursing through his veins. This made Wriothesley think of all the ways the dragon obviously had him as his mate and vice versa, his mind not clearly understanding just how truly territorial dragons were with their mates and close loved ones. In truth, the woman that had approached Wriothesley just moments ago was lucky that the dragon didn’t strike her down right then and there. Dragons, back in prior times, held no mercy against any threat, subtle or not, to their claim. However, that just showed how much Noodlette still respected the position and title of his mate. Though, instincts were hard to completely control, and this was what resulted from him trying to resist them while also giving in a bit, before it all drove him into insanity.

If only Wriothesley understood this to the fullest extent, however. Instead, the man just found Noodlette to be needy and extremely bratty at this point. Though not necessarily untrue, he would find out later that night exactly what this all entailed. That didn’t stop the Duke from continuing to glare down on the blissed out Noodlette, and after looking around to see if anyone was nearby and content when there was not, he squeezed the dragon a bit which earned a little adorable squeak from the tiny dragon, like some sort of plush toy. Wriothesley knew he didn’t hurt the poor little thing, just surprised him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Wriothesley hissed at at Noodlette, who tried to look up at him with the most innocent eyes that he could muster, along with an odd light chuffing noise, which the man assumed was some sort of pouting huffs to emphasize his adorableness and lessen his anger. Wriothesley growled at the minuscule dragon, who then got a cranky face of his own, and growled right back at him, even though it sounded so pitiful. The growl of the dragon eased off into a whimper, as Wriothesley started to feel the whole body temperature of the noodle dragon that had wrapped himself around him start to drastically increase. Noodlette started whimpering even louder, and Wriothesley blushed as he started to feel a rhythmic movement against his chest, sides, and…was that Noodlette’s little tail that had somehow wormed its way past all of his belts and headed straight down his waist?

Wriothesley’s eyes widened as the rhythmic ministrations continued, and he began to hear an odd panting noise coming from Noodlette. Was that also…what was that hardness that was bumping up against him? Wait, what the fuck? Was Noodlette humping him now? Was this what this was?!

“Y-You need to stop that and get it together! You’re such a little shit! Stop it, stop it!” The man growled out, keeping his arms once again tight around his own torso, trapping the little Noodlette to prevent any more movements. The last thing that needed to happen was for him to have a massive boner in public like this and have to provide some explanation to the general public as to why he was walking around a grocery store in that sort of state. The little Noodlette let out a little squeaky whine again, barely audible but with Wriothesley’s increased sense of hearing since their initial coupling, he sure was able to hear it loud and clear.

However, the young little boy that was bouncing between the aisles didn’t notice this noise. He had broken away from his mother, who had found someone that she knew a few aisles down and was doing the classic mom thing of talking for what felt like hours, just to say nothing or discuss boring drama that the little boy had no interest in. None of the aisles had really piqued his curiosity, except for the one with sugary sweets and drinks. His mother had swiftly ushered him away from those, the last thing she needed to deal with was a hyperactive kid when it was close to dinner time as it was. So, the kid ventured away as soon as her attention was divided, and that’s how he came upon the aisle where he saw the strange man, dressed so scarily (and like a badass), in grays, black and reds, with belts and boots to match. He was awed at first, until he saw the odd behavior of the man. He seemed to be hugging himself and muttering some odd words, almost as if he were fighting with himself. What was once awe then turned into apprehension and wariness as the kid started to get a worried feeling about the guy in front of him. He was acting odd, clearly talking to himself, should they call the guards?

The child started to take a few steps away until he accidentally backed into one of the shelves, causing a can of archons knows what, to fall off of the shelf and roll on the ground towards the odd man. The kid's heart began to race so hard he felt like it was about to burst out of his chest and go running down the street. He was frozen in fear as the can rolled right into one of the black boots of the man. The man then whipped around to look at the kid, sharp, gray-blue eyes pierced right through the kid's soul, it felt like, and the kid started to shriek and cry as he ran back towards where he last saw his mother.

Wriothesley stood in place as he was trying to comprehend what was going on, as well as hoping that the kid didn’t see the little Noodlette’s head poking out from underneath his vest, tongue flicking out in curiosity. It took a second for the man to notice the little dragon head poking out, viewing the outside world for a few seconds before he hastily shoved the little scaled head back down underneath his clothes. At first, the dragon tried to fight and push its way back out, but the horny seemed to get the best of him again the second he felt more skin to scale contact. The little dragon crooned as he began rubbing his face all over his mates skin again, tongue lapping out, teasing the man. This made Wriothesley groan as he accepted his fate. He knew there was no trying to calm the little dragon down, he needed to go and get the tea and get the fuck out of here, and fast. He was already starting to make a scene, he didn’t need anymore added to his docket right now.

“Just, just don’t do anything crazy, please, I’m almost done!” Wriothesley begged as he began to race down through the store, heading towards the exact aisle that he needed. He glanced around, sighing in frustration as he noticed some of the items had been moved around since he had last visited the store, the peppermint tea not in the same location as it was before. Luckily, he remembered that the packaging was in a light blue box with a scene of misty mountains on it, and after taking a moment to go back and forth in the aisle, he managed to finally find it. The second that his hands grasped the box, he felt like his migraine was already starting to fade away, the cure was finally in his grasp. Happy, and somehow not becoming a moaning mess at the noodle dragon that was currently trying to tease his nipples again, he began to storm out of the aisle and towards the front of the store to pay for his goods, before he felt a presence in front of him.

“Oh, it’s you! Oh, my son just adores you, he’s always going about how he wants to work at the Fortress of Meropide one day! Seriously, you’re his biggest hero! It’s not often we see you in these parts of Fontaine, can we get your autograph, your grace?” A middle aged woman ran up to him, leaving her cart and child behind, and whipping out a pen and notepad that he saw also had a grocery list on it.

As much as Wriothesley wanted to oblige her, he felt the little noodle getting rambunctious underneath his clothing again. That was never a good sign, he noted. The hydro dragon probably thought this was yet another threat to his claim, which had him mentally rolling his eyes. However, to his surprise, and dismay, it seems as though Noodlette had come up with a new method of torturing him. It was subtle at first, but as Wriothesley was about to reply to the woman, his actions ceased as he heard a weird sort of…tune? Coming from the little dragon. At first it just seemed like a series of growls and coos, but now it started to blend together in an odd, soothing melody that hastily started having his senses be dulled and a light heat pumping through him. He shook his head, holding a hand up to it to support himself as he began to come back to, though not fully snapping out of it.

“Oh! Are you alright?! You must be suffering from hay-fever like the rest of us right now, I know that look anywhere, young man. You need to be getting your rest and sleep! Come, Conner, let’s leave your hero to rest! How else is he going to stay big and strong and keep us all safe?!” The mother stated to her child and she returned back to her cart, trying to usher the two of them away.

It was then that Wriothesley got a good look at the young kid that was with her, eyes wide open as he noticed it was the same young child that he had seen before that ran off, terrified of him. He inwardly groaned, thinking for sure that he didn’t blame the kid for having that sort of reaction, he was a kind of scary guy, especially with how frustrated he was sure he looked after this whole debacle. After the kid realized who was in front of him and his mother, sniffles turned into a full blown crying episode as he clung to his mother for comfort and safety.

“Now, now, Conner! It’s okay, we’ll get his autograph when he’s feeling better, okay sweetie? Who knows, maybe the Duke will feel so much stronger then that he’ll even want to pick you up onto his shoulders, wouldn’t that be fun?!”

The child only started crying harder after hearing that, clearly still terrified of the man, little to the knowledge of his mother.

“Hush, hush! Here, why don’t we go back down the sweet aisle and I’ll grab you some sweet bread, wouldn’t that be nice? That’s my big boy!” the mother crooned, as she gathered her son and started walking down the way towards the desserts and breads. Wriothesley only wished he could give some sort of verbal reply, but that damned song that Noodlette was performing was preventing him from doing so. He was surprised that the older woman or her child couldn’t hear it, which started to make him believe that Noodlette was making this only noticeable through his own hearing.

The little noodle started to unwind himself from his mate, now slithering out from underneath his clothes, head and neck peering out to look Wriothesley directly in the eyes. The duke could only stare and get lost in the piercing, slit eyes of his mate, even in this form. Where they were once wide and adorable to look at, now they held a level of conviction and seriousness, a possessive aura flowing through them. Wriothesley didn’t sense anyone near them, which was a relief, but he was confused as to what exactly was going on now.

To his shock, those same small glowing orbs that had appeared when Neuvillette had first claimed Wriothesley appeared again, and the longer that the man stared at them, the more he started falling under whatever spell that Noodlette was casting upon him. The tune was so coaxing, his migraine, which was still there, had lessened to a dull thud, and the heat that was once pooled in his gut was starting to branch out everywhere within himself now. The song teased him with senses of peace, pleasure and possession, if he would only surrender himself to it. It needed his consent, craved it, and he knew the moment that he gave it, all of Fontaine be damned, this dragon was going to claim him then and there, in front of them all. This was, he assumed, what Sigewinne had once told him about as she had started to study the mating rituals of dragons, especially after what she had witnessed that one fateful day. There weren’t many records, but the ones that did exist, she absorbed their contents immediately.

There was one story that she shared of a dragon’s mating call. Normally, this would be used to lure a potential mate in, but it also served different purposes as well, especially if a mating bond had already been established. If that prerequisite had been met, then the mating call held an overall different purpose. Instead, instead of luring in a potential mate, this call was used to lure their stubborn mate to give into their deepest, carnal desires, tossing logic to the side and also increased the sensitivity within their nerves, guaranteeing that once the mate fully submitted, they would experience a pleasure more intense than ever before, unless the song had been used on them previously. Sometimes mates needed to be reminded of who they belonged to, and when a dragon called out to them with this mating call, they would never forget again.

Wriothesley tried to fight against the sensations at first, but the battle was easily lost. He felt his consciousness flow into a state of calm and bliss that no other sensible thoughts were running through him. He should be resisting, checking to see if anyone else saw this little noodle of a dragon poking out from underneath his clothing to stare into his soul and devour it whole. He should be convincing Neuvillette that this was a horrible idea, that they needed to keep away from the prying eyes of the citizens of Fontaine that were still within the store. He knew at first that this needed to be top priority, fuck the tea at this point, but he couldn’t fight. Whatever energy was flowing through him now, it was as if it were his own blood pumping through his veins. This claim that the dragon had was eerily strong and superior, it transcended anything that Wriothesley could muster against it. It should horrify him, but it oddly gave him a sense of satisfaction and adoration for the hydro dragon. Previously, no one in his life held any high value to him, other than Sigewinne. No one truly cared or wanted the best for him or would be willing to give up everything just to see him smile. He felt that, among many waves of lust and wanting, through the bond that they shared with each other. He, himself, was about to toss every sense of care away and act upon it.

Wriothesley took a few steps forward, now noticing that there was a full body supporting him now, helping him to keep upright. The Duke wanted to raise his head and address the figure, but no words could be formed. The searing heat continued to rage through him, not in discomfort, but rather waves of pleasure. He was about to release a series of moans, before a gloved hand came up to press a finger against his lips, silencing him.

“Shh, my dear, we wouldn’t want you to, how does one say, ‘spill the tea’ now, would we?” A haughty Neuvillette teased, now fully back into his humanoid form. Since his mate received the mating call so well, his body and soul knew that it would be appeased soon, and the primal instincts within himself started to recede, enough for him to drag his prize back into their den for a copious amount of carnal activities.

“Now, let’s go and make a purchase and commence our meeting, shall we? We have some rather important details to go over…” Neuvillette said, again in the same teasing tone as before. He offered Wriothesley his side for support, helping him walk ahead towards the front of the store. Helping was a rather loose term here, however. The call was still playing through Wriothesley’s mind, and it felt like the bond between the two of them was flowing through his body and helping to propel his legs forward, beyond his sense of control, one of his hands holding his head to soothe the dull throbbing that still persisted. Even the mating call wasn’t enough to douse the intense pain. To outsiders, it would look as if the duke were suffering from a casual migraine and the prim and proper Neuvillette was helping him to finish at the store and return back to the Fortress of Meropide as soon as possible. They had no idea that there was a dragon in heat clawing to release and mate with its lover before a feral rage took him over that would level Fontaine as fast as it was rebuilt.

Wriothesley could hear faint mutters through all of the sensations that he was currently feeling. He recognized Neuvillette’s voice easily, but there was another that was there. Cheery, concerned, and businesslike. He assumed that it was the storekeeper, ringing up their purchase and voicing their concerns for him. However, his professional mate addressed the issue, he was sure, as they spent a few more moments there and were ushering themselves out the store, he could hear the bell of the door ringing as it opened, and once more as it closed. It was odd, he couldn’t really sense anyone strongly outside of his mate, but a part of him knew it was still the working of the mating call. He only needed to recognize his mate, respond to him and surrender himself completely to his dragon, and only his dragon.

He felt his body continuing to move on its own, until it suddenly stopped. The hold that was over him was starting to lift now, not completely, but enough for him to become aware of his surroundings. It was now dark outside, the sun must have set while they were inside dealing with each other's shenanigans. The lights of the lamp posts were keeping the areas lit, which struck him with a wave of curiosity. The two of them were currently in front of one of the large fountains within the city square, close enough to feel some of the droplets of water bounce off of the surface and dust their skin. As Wriothesley continued to take note of his observations, he saw that there were a decent amount of people surrounding them, some in small groups and conversing with each other, others appeared to have been walking down the streets connecting to the other parts of Fontaine, while the rest were surrounding the fountain, taking in the beauty of it. But, there was something really odd going on here.

None of the people were moving. It was as if they were frozen in time, but everything else around them was continuing on. The waves of the fountain continued to cause a light sprinkle to grace their skin, and for that Wriothesley was thankful. At least there was something moving and making him feel less crazy, though he had no idea what was going on, yet again. Looking to his mate for answers, he gasped as he saw that Neuvillette’s eyes were glowing bright, pupils sharp as he stared at him, causing shivers to go down Wriothesley’s spine. They didn’t need words between them right now, the bond pulsed between the two of them and gave him all of the information that he needed. Neuvillette had done something to stop everyone from being able to see whatever the hell was about to happen. The duke tried to take a few steps back from Neuvillette out of caution, and that was the absolute wrong thing to do.

It all happened within a split second, a snarling, loud and ferocious growl was released from Neuvillette as he rushed right up to Wriothesley before he could take a second step backwards. Immediately, arms were wrapped around the duke, pulling him so close to the man that their noses were practically touching. The hydro dragon continued with his warning growls, fangs elongated to greater lengths than before, horns protruding from his crown and the dragon tail that was once a ghost form of itself now completely corporeal and wrapping around Wriothesley, holding him tight.

“Wriothesley…” the dragon purred out, with a slight growl towards the end. This made the man weak in the knees, completely thankful that his mate was supporting him with his arms and tail. He felt like such a limp noodle right now, and he knew that fighting any further would not be beneficial to him at all anymore. No, he was prey that was captured now, and he needed to face what was coming for him.

“We have what you need…” Wriothesley looked and saw a small bag attached to his side, it must have been the tea bags from earlier. The man gulped, knowing that he had teased the dragon before and had given him trouble while in the noodle form, a big no-no for the mate of a dragon.

“Now, you must suffer the consequences of your actions, my love. You were late, you did not tell me of your status, and kept me waiting.” Neuvillette continued, as he began to move the two of them painfully close to the fountain that was behind them. Then, a sharp smirk played on Neuvillette’s face as he pushed the two of them into the water of the fountain, Wriothesley’s eyes becoming wide as he wasn’t prepared for his dragon’s sudden motion. The dragon continued to push the two of them into the water’s depths that seemed to be endless now. The Duke could feel the unfamiliar waters turn into ones that he was too familiar with now. What felt like minutes underwater being pushed through by his dragon, then ended as they both breached the water's surface, his body being tossed onto the familiar bed that the two of them shared. It was obvious now that Neuvillette had frozen people in their steps so that they could teleport back swiftly to their den. Neuvillette stood at the door leading to their watery bedroom, as he smirked at his mate, holding the bag with the caffeinated goods inside.

“You’ll have your tea here in a few moments. But I’m going to have you all night…”

Archons, this dragon drove him crazy in every sense possible, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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